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butyoudidthis4what · 2 days ago

Text

I hear you.

Andrew Pope Cody x F!Reader

Based on this ask for the 1k celebration! The prompt was "show me that bruise please."

6.1k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: Discussion of reader being very briefly assaulted in the form of her arm being grabbed hard; diverges from canon; a fairy bad bruise but no heavy graphic description; canon typical violence in the form of the guy who assaulted you being taken care of by the Cody boys™️; reference to use of a bat as a weapon; mention of a shotgun; super vague reference to drugs if you've watched the show and/or know Craig; mention of a bar; Pope struggles; heavy allusion to sex; emotional-ish but I think still quite fluffy; no use of y/n or related.

Summary: You come home to Pope with a bruise.

AN: My first time writing for Pope. He is a tough one to nail down in all aspects, voice, characterization, movement. So I'm very nervous and concerned about whether this reads and feels like him in those ways. I'm also only about half way through season 4 so I haven't seen all of him quite yet. I didn't get into too much into either Reader or Pope's internal thinking and feelings how I sometimes do. I was trying to keep it lighter and shorter. 😂 Anyway, I hope it reads and feels like him and is nevertheless enjoyable if it doesn't. I'd love to hear your thoughts and comments and thank you so much for reading!

You’re still thinking about how you’re going to tell Pope as you turn down the street of your house.

You suppose it doesn’t really matter in the end. His reaction will be the same no matter how gently you tell him or how much you play it down. Because it’s you. And so it’s visceral for him. Instinctual.

Especially when it’s you being injured by someone else.

The two of you met shortly after Deran bought and opened the bar. He hired you as a bartender. To the surprise of everyone, Pope included, the two of you hit it off. He’d come in and sit at the bar before opening while you prepped. You’d talk, he’d listen, would talk some. He talked more over time as he became comfortable with you. You started going to parties at the house which gave you more time together, got him more comfortable around you. Particularly because you generally spent about five minutes in the backyard before slipping with Pope to whatever free room was available and shutting the door.

You only ever talked. You’d lay on the bed side by side and stare at the ceiling while you talked and during the periods of comfortable silences. You never made him talk. Never made him try to be something he wasn’t. Never tried to push for more while in a bedroom with him.

He let you help with Lena. It was you he turned to when he had to let her go. He spent considerably more time at your place after, both because he wanted to be there and because you saw what Smurf was doing to him.

Your relationship was a slow progression. But he finally asked you out like you hadn’t been dating in a way already and things grew from there. You probably moved in together a little too quickly but you had to get him out of that fucking house and away from Smurf. The progression wasn’t linear. Nothing ever truly is. Both of you had things to work through, pasts that made relationships difficult. You stuck together though. And here you are a few years later. You just bought a house together and are both thinking about more in your own heads.

Pope’s on the couch waiting up for you and watching another nature documentary when his phone rings. His brows furrow a little when he sees it’s Deran. “Yeah?”

“Hey, so listen… little physical altercation at the bar tonight-”

“Involving her?” He’s already up and grabbing his keys.

“Yeah but she’s fine, man,” Deran sighs in that vaguely impatient and resigned way he does. “She already left and is on her way home. It really wasn’t much. Some guy grabbed her arm and that was really all he was able to do before it was handled. I just didn’t want to get yelled at for not telling you, so I called.”

Pope’s voice is even lower than usual, seething. “You better hope she’s really okay.”

He hangs up, turns all the living room lights on, sits back down, and turns the TV off. He’d love to know why the fuck you didn’t call him.

He hears the garage door opening, your car pulling in and it closing again. He’d taught you that when you guys moved in. To keep the car in reverse and close the garage door before parking, unlocking your car doors and getting out. Safer. Thirty seconds or so later the door leading from the garage into the house opens and you walk in, set your stuff down with its usual clatter. “Hey! I’m home.”

You toe your shoes off and kick them onto the bottom shelf of the shoe rack how Pope likes. The second you step into the living room and find the TV off, all the living room lights on, and Pope sitting straight up in the armchair you already know. His eyes find yours immediately and stay on you.

“Deran?” you confirm as you walk further into the living room. You stand near the armchair, close enough that he could stand and reach you or grab your hand as he sits but far enough away to give him space and not be looming over him.

“Called.” Pope’s face would be unreadable to anyone but you. Everyone would just see anger and his scowl. And yes, he is angry. But you see the slight softness to his eyes, the way his eyebrows furrow just a little differently than when he’s angry, and the way his head isn’t bowed in anger but rather lifted just a little with the slightest tilt. Worried. Pope is worried about you. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

It’s acerbic. It’s Pope being worried and struggling with the vulnerability that worry brings. He’s not sure what he would be without you. Not sure he would continue to be for very long without you.

You tilt your head at him a little, keep your tone soft and volume normal. “Of course I was.” You nod as you say it. “I just thought doing it in person would be better so that I’d be here and you could see I’m okay.”

After a few seconds of consideration your answer earns you an almost imperceptible nod. He likes that thought process, the way you were trying to make this even a little easier on him. “Are you hurt?” You shake your head at him and he accepts it for now. “What happened?”

You shrug. “I was walking back from a table and some guy stopped me and started talking. When I tried to excuse myself to get back behind the bar he grabbed my arm. I got away quickly enough. Left a bruise but it’s really not bad.”

“What?” It’s low, eerily calm and all gravel. And there’s anger, you think. Real anger. Not anger that’s in part masking worry. You can see it and you can hear it.

“Pope, I’m okay-”

“He left a mark on you. That’s not okay.” His breathing has gotten heavier as his anger grows. It’s not at you and you know that. He’s just livid at the thought of someone leaving a mark on you. He’s glad he can’t see it, that you’re wearing one of his shirts and the sleeve is long enough on you to just about hit your elbow. Glad he has time to try to prepare himself to see it.

“It’s not that bad, it’s just a bruise.” You offer him a small smile to see if it’ll help show him you’re okay. It does. Just slightly. Your smile helps him. Always helps him regulate and come back to center even if just the slightest bit. “I give myself them all the time.”

He shakes his head a little. “Doesn’t matter how bad it is or isn’t. And if it’s already visible it’s bad enough.”

“Pope, I’m okay. Look at me.” You offer him your hand and after a few seconds he takes it and stands up. You take one of his hands in yours and press his index and middle finger into your wrist, his fingers automatically adjusting until they find your pulse. You cup his face, keeping looking into his eyes. “I’m here,” you murmur. “I’m here with you and I’m okay.”

His jaw grinds a little but he nods and lets out a breath. It’s helped him come down a little. “Show me that bruise please.” His tone has evened back out. He’s not demanding. It’s a statement, but there’s just enough of a slight upward intonation at the end of the sentence that you know you could refuse.

You don’t want to refuse though. And there’s no point in refusing. He’s going to see it at some point tonight unless you change in the bathroom with the door closed and wear one of his shirts or something long sleeved.

“Okay.” You nod at him. Pope lets go of your wrist and your hands move from his face, one hanging at your side as the other grabs your sleeve and pulls it up, bunches it at your shoulder before coming down so he can see. You hold that arm out a little for him.

Pope’s breathing picks back up as looks at your arm, uses his finger to ask you to hold it out more and turn it for him. He’s a little lightheaded and a lot nauseous at the sight, red and purple blotches are already settling into your skin. But it’s not so much the red and purple that makes him lightheaded and nauseous.

“That is not just a bruise,” he grits out, his breathing picking back up again. “That’s his fucking handprint on your skin! That is his fucking handprint bruised onto your arm!” He doesn’t raise his voice or yell though he says the words with force behind them. The words are strained too. A man trying to keep himself collected. At least for now. At least for this conversation with you.

Pope thought he was livid before, thought he was full of rage. At whoever did this to you. At himself for not being there to protect you. But one look at the handprint shaped bruise on your upper arm has him thinking he’s never truly been livid before. Hasn’t come close to hitting true rage before.

“I’m okay. It doesn’t really hurt and it’ll fade.”

“Who was it?” Pope finally pulls his eyes off the bruise and back up to yours. “Is he a regular?”

You shake your head and let out a concerned breath. “Deran and I already took care of him, Pope. Please. I don’t want you to leave tonight or put yourself at risk while you’re this upset about it.” Your eyes grow a little glassy and the corners of your lips pull down.

Both your words and the look on your face make Pope pause for a second. He can’t let his anger go. But he can at least try to set aside for now. For you.

“You took care of him?” His eyebrows raise slightly.

“Yeah.” You nod. “Pretty sure I broke his nose. If I didn’t, Deran definitely did. He was there within seconds of my punch to take over for me.”

“With?” You know he’s asking how you might’ve broken the guy’s nose.

“My fist.” You smile a little at the way the quickest little smirk of pride flashes on his face.

“Does your hand hurt?”

“A little maybe.” You open and close it. “Nothing I’d be desperate to take ibuprofen or tylenol for.”

“Let me see.” He holds his hand out and you place yours in his. Pope looks down and doesn’t love what he sees. Your knuckles are very clearly bruised. “It’ll be worse tomorrow,” he releases your hand and looks at you, “it always is.”

You shrug. You don’t really care. “But hey, it’s not broken because I had such a great self-defense instructor who taught me how to protect myself for the times when I can’t be with my boyfriend.” Something about ‘instructor’ gets to Pope a little, makes his heart beat a little faster. You pull your sleeve back down, covering the bruise. “Probably the most handsome man I ever laid eyes on.” You hold out your hands for Pope and pull him gently and start walking backwards towards your bedroom once he takes them.

“He can be taken care of again.” He’s talking about the guy who did this to you. You give him a little nod, shrug in admission and acquiescence. The guy could.

“Auburn curls,” you continue, squeezing his hands. He goes to squeeze back but stops, doesn’t want to make the bruising worse. “The most beautiful hazel eyes. Big hands that enveloped mine. Soft yet firm tummy I could feel whenever he was right behind me helping me position my hands or something. Muscular arms.” You cross the threshold into your bedroom, warmth flooding through you when you watch the corners of his lips twitch up, his eyes crinkle a little as your words make him give you the smallest smile. “Sharp jaw with some stubble that made me shiver when it would scrape lightly over my ear and face when he leaned in from behind to give me instructions.” You stop walking when you and Pope are standing face to face at the end of your bed, stepping close to him and resting your hands against his chest.

“You were supposed to be paying attention.” He tilts his head slightly as he slides his arms around your waist. “To what you were being taught.”

You smirk at him. “Evidently I was.” You pull your bruised but not broken hand from his chest and wiggle your fingers at him.

“Maybe you need to take a refresher course from this instructor.” It seems teasing. Or the closest to this kind of teasing Pope will probably ever get. And perhaps it is in part, slight part. But really it’s a type of vulnerability Pope only gives you. It’s a veiled ask and expression of concern. He wants to teach you again, assure himself that you know how to defend yourself when he’s not with you.

“I’d be more than happy to do that.” You nod at him.

He swallows. “Thank you.”

“Always,” you murmur. You press your lips together and up, ask him for a kiss. He leans down and in to give you one. More than one. Brings a hand up to hold your jaw gently. Like you’ll break. Another silent ask, though you’re not entirely sure for what. You’re not sure he knows. You pull away a little at a natural break in your last kiss. “What do you need?”

He shakes his head a little. “I don’t…” His eyes wander around your face, jaw rolling as he tries to find the answer. Not because he feels he needs to give you one but because he wants to find the answer for himself. A few quiet moments pass, but you’re patient. You’re always patient with him. He finally gets what he needs articulable, brushes the thumb of the hand still holding your jaw over your lips, just enough force to tilt your head a little. “To look at you. To feel you.”

You nod as you study him, his eyes. There’s really two ways to give him both of those. But there is only one way he’s using his eyes and body to ask for, consciously or not.

If he wanted to strip you and lay you on the bed and look over you by kissing every inch of you his free hand would be playing with the hem of your shirt or the waistband of your pants and his eyes would flick to the bed at least once. But neither of those happen.

Instead his eyes stay locked with yours the entire time. His free hand squeezes your hip gently, gives it the slightest tug to the right. It matches with the way his thumb tilts your head slightly to the right. The bathroom is off to the right.

It’s obvious.

“Shower me?” Your words are important. Especially now, especially to Pope. Shower me. Not shower with me. You want him to do this for you. You’re giving this to him. Giving yourself to him. “Wash him off me. Please. I only want you on me.”

“Yeah,” he nods, “okay.”

You smile at him as he lets his hand fall from your jaw and take yours. He leads you to the bathroom, closes the door so the steam will heat the room, turns the shower on and lets the water get warm as he strips you, pants and underwear first, then himself completely, and then his fingers play at the hem of your shirt for a few seconds as he tries to brace himself to see it again before he takes it off, makes quick work of your bra.

His anger hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s right there beneath the surface. It flares when the bruise is revealed again, rings in his ears. But you’re more important than it. You need him right now. To take care of you and wash the guy who did this from your skin as much as he can.

And he needs you. Now and always. Needs to know you’re okay. He feels like his emotions, his worry and resultant need to see and feel you might be out of proportion with what happened, especially to an outsider. Because at the end of the day you are right. It is just a bruise. It’s not life-threatening. You don’t need any medical treatment. But for Pope it might as well have been. It was life-threatening to him because you were in danger and he wasn’t there. The situation was life-threatening even if the bruise it left you with isn’t.

The whole thing is a reminder of something he knows all too well, how fragile life is, how easily it’s taken away. How easily the woman he loves could be taken away. It makes him breathless if he thinks about it for too long. So maybe his emotions and his reaction feel out of proportion, would seem that way to an outsider. But they aren’t to him. He’s had too much ripped away, seen too much violence and death, and so every threat to you is life-threatening in his mind.

Pope grabs your hand again before he uses his other to feel the temperature of the water. You bite your lip at it because something about it is just adorable and precious. He wants to hold your hand here in your bathroom. Doesn’t want to be not touching you.

Once he’s satisfied with the temperature he gets you in first, makes sure you get completely wet and are warm before he lets you spin the two of you so that he’s under the stream of water. When he’s done he moves you back, has you get your hair wet again before grabbing your shampoo. He’s thorough, massages your scalp a little before rinsing and applying your conditioner. He holds you while it sits, hugs you to him, his head turning to rest on your shoulder. After enough time has passed he rinses your hair, makes sure all the conditioner is out.

The breath of air he lets out as he takes a step back to grab your body wash would be just that, him letting out a breath, to anyone else. But you see it for what it is, a small sigh of relief that he can now finally do what he’s been aching to do. He can wash you, can run a soaped up washcloth over you, follow behind it with his other hand so he can feel you as he looks you over, go over every inch of you to reassure himself. To comfort himself.

You grab the washcloth and start to get it wet as he grabs your body wash. But you stop him. “Yours, please.” He’s still for a few seconds before grabbing his and turning around to take the washcloth for him. You love smelling like him. And you know that smelling like your shampoo and conditioner and his body wash is going to be perfect for him in bed tonight. Because he loves the smell of you but also loves the possessiveness of you smelling like him. Best of both worlds.

The shower has been quiet and continues to be as Pope washes you, kneeling to wash your legs to make sure he feels all of you, looks at all of you. It’s not unusual. It’s Pope. He doesn’t need words to express himself right now. His hands and eyes and lips say everything. He’s worried about you. He’s scared. He’s angry at the guy who did this. He doesn’t like you getting hurt. He hates it. It’s unacceptable. He’s sorry he wasn’t there. He’s going to take care of you. He’s got you. You’re safe with him.

He loves you.

You don’t speak because you know how focused he is and wants to remain. You talking might interrupt or distract him. He might not get everything he needs from this. So you watch him wash you, run your hands through wet curls when he’s on his knees in front of you.

Pope occasionally presses kisses after the hand following the washcloth. To your hip, your collarbones, your knee, your inner wrist, your tummy, the back of your calf, your lower back, up your spine, your shoulder, your hands, your fingers, your neck. He doesn’t care about the taste of soap on his lips, he doesn’t even really register it.

He avoids it though. That one upper arm. But once the rest of you is finished and it’s the only unwashed part of you he turns his attention to it. You watch the maelstrom of emotions behind his eyes as he looks at it, watch his jaw clench and unclench. Pope looks at you, waits for the soft smile and nod you give him before his eyes turn back to your upper arm.

He’s exceedingly gentle as he runs the washcloth over the bruise, the hand that follows behind it feather light, fingertips dragging over your skin lightly enough to bring goosebumps to your skin even with the heat of the shower. The washcloth hitting the floor makes a slapping sound that neither you nor Pope really hear. He’s too focused on you and you’re too focused on him.

He leans down, drops his head enough to bring his lips to your arm, shifting as he needs to in order to kiss every single square inch of the bruise. His eyes stay on it once he’s done, fingers tracing over it again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers as he brings his eyes back to yours. His scowl has tightened enough to reflect how sad he is, how responsible he feels. They match his slightly glassy eyes. Shame clouds his features and he has to look away, afraid of what he’ll see on your face once his apology processes even though he knows your face isn’t going to change.

And there’s the fear you knew was coming for him.

The fear that he fucked up, that he wasn’t there and let this happened and failed to protect you so you’re going to revoke your love. Break up with him. Leave him. Or maybe just punish him with the silent treatment and put downs and little snide comments designed to inflict maximum damage until you decide it’s enough. He knows you won’t do any of that but that type of treatment is all he’s known and even with the years between you where you’ve never done anything of the sort, it’s still almost impossible for the fear to not take him over for a little when he feels like he’s messed up and let you down. It’s a Pavlovian response. And he knows you know that. That you don’t hold it against him or think it’s reflective of what he thinks about you.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Your voice is warm and even. It’s normal, how you always talk to him. You have to fight to keep it that way not because you’re mad at him or upset with him but because seeing him like this, being this hard on himself, feeling this guilty, makes your heart ache for him and hurts worse than the bruise or when it was left.

“I should have been there.” He shakes his head and you can see his scowl relax back into anger at himself, jaw setting.

You move your hand within his field of vision so that he knows it’s coming when you slide it into his and squeeze. “I know it feels that way, and your feelings are valid and your guilt makes sense, I promise. But we can’t be together every second Pope. And even if you had been there unless you were following me from table to table it would’ve happened all the same.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe he’d have seen us together and not tried.” You tug on his hand a little, try to get him to come closer to you so that he’ll be in the stream of water. You can see that he’s cold. But you’re not surprised when he doesn’t move, knows he thinks being cold is just part of the penance he feels he deserves. So you step out of the stream and drop his hand so you can wrap your arms around him and rest your head on his chest. “And I’d have been there. I’d at least have been there.”

As you expected, Pope slides his arms around you and walks you both back into the stream of the shower. You stand there quietly with him for a few moments until he relaxes enough to truly hug you back, lean over you and rest his head on your shoulder. You rub his back, try to give him as much comfort as he’ll accept before you pull back and lean in to kiss him.

You break the kiss and let your hands leave his body to hold his face so that he’ll look at you again. “I know I can’t take it away from you or convince you that you don’t need to feel responsible or guilty or like you let me down or failed me. But I can tell you that I don’t feel like you’re responsible for it, I don’t feel like you let it happen or that you weren’t there for me or that you let me down or failed me. This doesn’t change anything between us. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going silent.” You give him another couple of kisses before smiling at him, watch him fight to accept your words. “I still love you more than I know what to do with and I still feel loved by you. There hasn’t been a single second since you first told me that I haven’t.”

“There hasn’t been a single second I haven’t.” He’s urgent in the way he says it, like he needs you to know, needs you to believe him.

“I know,” you murmur. You steal a lingering kiss from him and then settle him back into you. It doesn’t upset you that he doesn’t really verbally acknowledge the rest of what you said. You know he was listening and taking it in and is trying to process it all.

After another minute or so Pope pulls away from you so that he can quickly wash his hair and body. Normally you’d ask to do it for him but you know it would be too much for him right now, that he’d let you but grow even more tense with how much he’d feel like he didn’t deserve it. So you just watch, step out of the stream when he needs to rinse. And when he’s done he pulls you into him so that your back is against his chest, positions you just right so that the water falls on you both but keeps your heads out of the stream as you soak together.

Eventually you start to talk softly, chatter at him like you do. It’s something he loves about you. That you’ll talk to him and not expect him to talk in return. But you don’t talk constantly either. You know when to and for how long. You’re not afraid of the silence that often falls between the two of you, it’s always comfortable, always feels safe. Sometimes you just like to break it. Sometimes the energy shift within him as he starts to get in his head is so palpable you can feel it and start to talk to bring him out of it before he gets too far in. Sometimes it’s some of both.

He comments from time to time, gives you hums of acknowledgement to make sure you know he’s listening. He doesn’t need to because you know he’s always listening. Always remembering. He’ll bring up something you randomly spoke about as you guys make dinner a month after the fact. Sometimes you don’t even remember.

You bring a hand up and back and run your fingers through his hair for a second as best you can. “I love your curls when they’re wet,” you sigh happily.

“You always love them.”

You giggle a little at him and the way he says it so simply, like he’s saying water is wet or some other obvious fact, almost a little distracted, voice stoic in a way and low enough to be all gravel. “True.”

From there you tell him about other things that happened at the bar. Give him a little more info on just how well Deran took care of the guy.

“And as Deran’s hauling him over to the door Craig leaves the bathroom,” you pause in a silent we both know why, “and is like ‘yo, what the fuck?’ and starts yelling for Kai to hand him the bat and when she wouldn’t he started to go for the hidden shotgun. Luckily Deran had the guy out by that point, but then Craig found out what happened and was asking for the bat again and saying he was just going to find and have a talk with the guy and make sure he knew I was yours and that he was lucky it was him and Deran there and not you.”

“Fucking Craig,” Pope huffs. But you know his lips are upturned at least a little, know that he loves it, his brothers protecting you, that he loves them. “Deran should’ve let him.” You hum in acknowledgment and stand in comforting silence for a bit. “I’m glad they had your back.”

You don’t comment on those words, know he doesn’t want you to. Instead you tell him the rest of the night was uneventful, let there be a few minutes of silence before you start talking again, this time about whatever pops into your head. Things you need at the grocery store, somewhere you think you guys should go on vacation, another random story someone at work told you, how you need the oil changed in your car.

The entire time you chatter at him Pope holds you close, kisses at your neck and just below your ear, occasionally letting his lips pull up just a little at something you say or how animated you get, content to listen to you and let you drown out the thoughts in his mind trying to take over.

“Leave your car tomorrow and take mine. I’ll change the oil.” He gives your neck one last kiss and then moves his hands to squeeze your hips gently. “Let’s get out. The water is getting cold.”

“That would be very nice of you, thank you.” You spin to give him a kiss quickly before you wait for him to turn the shower off and step out, dry himself and wrap his towel around his waist. He holds his hand out for you and you take it, let him grab your towel and dry you off.

Pope wraps your towel around you to help keep you warm while he sorts out your wet hair for you. You both hang your towels to dry before heading back into your room.

“No.” He says it softly but it’s loud enough to hear and you turn to him, abandoning the pair of pajamas you were about to pull from the dresser. His eyes flick to the bed and then back to you. “Please,” he whispers. He needs you skin on skin, no fabric between you. He needs to feel your warmth seep into him. Needs to know you still want his skin on yours.

“I’d love that.” You smile brightly at him. It makes his heart seize a little. He’ll never get over you wanting him in every way, of you looking at him like that. Like he’s your world.

Nor will he ever get over sliding into bed next to you and laying on your side, you seeking him out, tangling your legs together and resting your arm across the side of his waist as your heads lay on the same pillow and you look at each other.

There’s a couple moments of silence as you both settle in.

“How’d your day go? Anything you want to share?” The smile you wear reassures him he can say no if he wants.

He shrugs with his top shoulder. “It was fine until that phone call from Deran. Didn’t really do much.”

You hum at him. “Well I’m glad it was otherwise fine.”

He gives you a single nod and the peaceful silence returns. The two of you just rest together, looking at each other, hands running up and down your sides. You watch his face slowly tighten. He has something to admit.

You give him time to work it out in his head, don’t prompt him or ask him anything. And eventually the silence is broken.

“I’m finding him,” Pope admits.

You let out a small laugh, smile at him and nod. You squeeze his hip. “I know.”

“Does that make you mad?” That question is quieter, like he’s afraid of the answer and feels like shit for the way he’s not sure a ‘yes’ would be able to stop him.

“No.” You shake your head.

“I don’t want to make you mad.” He swallows thickly, like he’s trying to take his next words down with it. “But he bruised his handprint onto your skin. I can’t let that go, I can’t let that go.”

“It doesn’t make me mad, my love. I promise.” You run a hand through his hair. “Just be careful, yeah? Can’t have you getting hurt on me. Or anything else.” You don’t need to specify you’re talking about him getting caught and going back to prison. He knows.

There’s a brief pause as he accepts your words. “You like taking care of me when I’m hurt,” he mumbles like it doesn’t mean everything to him.

“Well yeah!” you huff a laugh. “But I’d gladly accept never getting to take care of you in that specific way again if it meant you were here with me and never got injured, or sick for that matter, again.”

Pope nods. More silence. He shifts in bed, just a small wiggle. But he has been the whole time. He’s restless. He knows you’re okay but he needs more to quiet his mind.

“You’re okay?” He breaks the silence again.

“I’m okay.” You smile at him and nod. Your eyes roam his face and then settle back on his as you hear what he wants. “It’s okay if you need more.” You grab Pope’s hand and roll on your back, tug on his hand to get him to follow you so that he’s on top of you. “If you haven’t felt me quite enough to really believe that I’m okay.”

“Yeah?” he breathes with a nod.

You lean up and kiss him, run a hand through his curls and use it to guide his head down with yours as you kiss. “Yeah,” you whisper against his lips.

He kisses you this time, gives you a tiny grunt of appreciation when you open your mouth for him so he can taste you. As you kiss you grab his hand, guide it over your body to remind him that he can touch you, that you’re his, all of you. He doesn’t need much of a reminder, hands roaming all over you as he kisses you breathless. His hands are softer than usual, gentler. He doesn’t squeeze quite as hard. It’s not that he doesn’t want to mark you, he loves marking you. But not tonight. He can’t tonight.

You whine in discontent when he breaks the kiss and pulls up to look down at you, hazel eyes blown and chest heaving slightly. “Thank you. For not making me ask.” He gives you another lingering kiss and pulls up a little and looks at you again like you’re unreal, a figment of his imagination. But he could never imagine something as good as you, no matter how hard he tried. “You never make me ask.”

“You do ask.” You sigh softly as he moves one of his hands closer to where you want it. Where he wants it. “Just not with words. You ask with your eyes. With your hands, your body. And I learned quickly how to listen. How to hear you.” You widen your legs for him letting his pelvis drop down and settle against yours more as you continue to look him in the eye. His hips and yours roll and his hand falters as you both find friction another way. He gives you a soft groan as his hand starts moving closer again, though for a different purpose this time. The pleasure Pope’s sending through you has your voice breathy and low as your hands tangle in his hair and pull him closer again so that your lips touch. “I hear you. I’ll always make sure I can hear you.”

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barnesandashes · 2 days ago

Text

need a ride? | oneshot

pairing: congressman!bucky barnes x assistant!reader

summary: save a horse, ride a congressman. after waiting for congressman james bucky barnes to finish his emergency meeting— which lasted the whole night, he offers you a ride home, at the back of his motorcycle. like, what could go wrong?

warnings: 18+ content, MDNI. reader is female. swearing, dom!bucky, unprotected sex, piv, semi-public sex, his motorcycle plays a big part (ok they fuck in the motorcycle), creampie, reader is down bad but bucky is down badder, porn with plot, y/n and bucky are both horny, no use of y/n.

wc: 8.6k

author’s note: in honor of me graduating and thunderbolts hd, i present to you my first oneshot! i hope u like it <3

“I’m really sorry you had to wait that long.”

An apologetic sigh came from Congressman Bucky Barnes as he entered his personal office. He looked at you, seated at your desk, laptop still on and fingers clicking the keyboard. You were composing emails and scheduling them to be sent at exactly 8:00 AM sharp tomorrow.

The government��s forte was not making lives easier for its people— no, it’s making sure their underpaid employees work at least overtime every single day.

So, you weren’t exactly pleased.

You had been waiting for Bucky for at least 2 hours now, he was cornered into an emergency meeting that started around quarter to nine. You looked at the time on the bottom right of your device, 10:58 PM. To pass the time, you opted to just do the work for tomorrow earlier, so in the future, you can thank yourself in that matter.

Being stuck alone in the office with grey carpets that reeked of stress and greed with the fluorescent lights just above your head, flickering every now and then to make sure that you were still awake, and the shadow it gave exposed your face heating with annoyance.

Your hands paused for a brief moment, turning your gaze to the man who stood near the glass door, hand in waist. The other hand was loosening his tie from its tight grasp on his neck then running his hands through his hair. You looked away, you didn’t need to be attracted to him right now, you were annoyed.

But, what the hell. Is it even possible for a human to look even finer under stress? You compared him to diamonds— better under pressure.

For you, it wasn’t fine at all, he had destroyed all your usual habits of cooking dinner, watching your favorite series, and sleeping at exactly the time where you were at the office right now. You couldn’t leave here without ensuring that Bucky’s schedule had all gone out according to plan. One emergency conference, and your night was ruined.

“It’s okay, I was just wrapping up as well.” You managed to plaster a polite smile, you couldn’t exactly admit to your boss that you were kind of infuriated at him. Kind of, because you couldn’t fully get mad at Bucky, your infatuation always seemed to be stronger. Could you really even help it if he looked glorious every single day? Wearing a usual black or navy blue suit and tie, hair slicked back with gel, and a set of blue eyes just always piercing through your soul.

Suddenly, the room ran out of air for you to breathe on, you couldn’t pinpoint whether it was the strong perfume he wore— an oddly lavender aroma with a kick of spice thanks to its amber base. It was sleek, mature, and downright sexy. Or, if it was just his presence. It probably was just him all in all.

“I’m really sorry.” He looked utterly devastated in a manner that made him even hotter than he usually was, you couldn’t afford to stand up just yet and realize that there was a wet patch on your chair. “You can take a sick day tomorrow. I don’t have that much meetings—“

“It’s fine, Mr. Barnes. Really.” You cut him off, you didn’t even care anymore if your annoyance was obvious. You wanted to go home badly and melt down your bed, eyes shut, maybe dream of him when you have calmed down. “I’ll fix my things, then I’ll go.” You added, slowly standing up from your desk and picking up your bag to put your laptop in.

“I told you to just call me Bucky.” He looked at you, taking note of your particular habit of always calling him by his last name.

Well, he did give you the freedom to be casual. Too casual. Casual in a way that you might mistake for a flirty remark— like the one that you’d give a handsome man you’ll see on a bar then never again.

You couldn't call him that for your own personal sanity— and because you were too afraid to reveal anything about schoolgirl hopeless romantic feelings and imaginations straight out of a fanfiction written by people who had the same amount of thirst for the ex-assassin turned U.S. House Representative.

“That would be really unprofessional since you’re my boss.” You gave him a dry, sarcastic chuckle, trying to be humorous, but it came out rude instead due to your sour mood.

“Right, right. Well, people usually call me that. Just sayin’.” Bucky gave you a tight-lipped smile and lowered his head down.

“How are you getting home? You have a car?” He asked, trying to spark a conversation again.

“I just walk. My apartment’s not that far, like a 15-minute walk from here.” You sighed, finished packing up your stuff, ready to go. Your heels clacked on the waxed floor when you picked up your things and went to the direction of the door, where Bucky was, seemingly waiting for you.

Your attention was now focused on tidying up your clothes, fixing your pants as well as patting them free of dust, adjusting the sleeves of your blazers, and pulling up the neckline of the inner blouse you wore. You grew conscious when you realized that Bucky was watching, his jaw unusually tightened. He’d probably reprimand you for wearing clothing that slightly showed the top of your chest, but you didn’t care for that, not right now at least.

“It’s unsafe for you to walk at this time.” He stated the obvious as his eyebrow slightly raised, looking down on you.

You were slightly thankful that the usual pencil skirt you had always worn was in the washer today, or else you’d have a hard time battling off countless catcallers in the street around your area.

You pulled out your phone from one of the pockets in your pants. “I’m just gonna call an uber.” You shrugged, opening the app as Bucky watched your thumbs hovering the device.

“I doubt you’ll find someone who accepts that, they’re all probably snoring by now.” He retaliated.

You only gave a hum in response, too tired to think of a witty retort anymore, your soles were hurting from the inches your shoes had. Your eyes were heavy and you were seriously considering sleeping in this office right now, just slouched in your chair.

“I could give you a ride.”

You immediately looked up from your screen, eyes slightly widened in his offer. Bucky, giving you a ride, in the backseat of his motorcycle? It definitely seemed like a good way to end your life. You thought about it, he’d look insanely mouth watering maneuvering the bike that was as big as him. Your hands wrapped around his waist, feeling his abs and you pressed against Bucky’s back.

You couldn’t, you shook your head in a panicked manner.

“It’s fine, I can wait.“ You gave him a reassured smile. The universe was giving you the opportunity of a lifetime to finally bag Bucky Barnes, but you had no other choice but to reject the notion— you needed this job badly, enough pay to buy you a few guilty pleasures, and the privilege to fawn over your boss everyday.

“And if there are no available drivers nearby?” He questioned you. Bucky’s face was covered in the expression of sarcasm, he certainly thought it was unsafe for a woman to go home this late— and it was his fault, he felt accountable. The least he could do was to safely bring you home.

You, on the other hand, were completely against this. Even if it was in your wildest dreams, it was unprofessional. The scenario to ride with him (or ride him) was straight out of your dirty fantasies, but not under these circumstances where one of you could be put at risk— worst case scenario, the both of you will.

“I’ll just walk then.” You squint your eyes at the tone of sass in his remark, slightly amused. He scoffed at your reaction, not pleased by your response.

“Please,” He ultimately sighed in defeat. “Just accept my offer.” Bucky looked at you with determination swirling his iris.

“I’m sure someone’s gonna accept me.” But you did not budge, not even in the slightest. Maybe just a little, but you were still in the right mind to say no. “Please go ahead, don’t wait for me.” You gave Bucky a comforting grin once more, taking note of the fact that he had a meeting first thing in the morning, he couldn’t afford to be late.

The super soldier stared at you for a moment, his usual thing to do whenever debating something in his head— or when zoning out. His gaze pierced yours, thinking if it’s really okay, or if you were just too annoyed to even face him right now.

But he didn’t like to push people just to get what he wanted (sometimes), he tried to convince himself that you were capable of defending yourself outside, under the light of the moon. Albeit you were a skilled assistant, seemingly efficient in every task that Bucky can throw at you.

Organizing his schedule? Check.

Managing his appointments? Check.

Handle communicating with the press? Excellent.

And being absolutely hard headed right now? You were valedictorian, flying with all the colors in the rainbow.

But he couldn’t exactly say the same for your brilliance in the streets. The two of you weren’t that personally close yet for him to know— although sometimes, he wanted to. He can’t risk the life of his precious assistant, or his work will be very disastrous and chaotic, that’s all there really is to.

“Fine,” He raised his hands up, seemingly signifying that he surrenders. “I’ll go.”

You only gave him a grin in response, you weren’t even sure yourself if you’d be able to get an uber— but you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of your boss when you'd decide to just sleep in his office instead. Meanwhile, Bucky only gave you a look of suspicion before walking to his desk, which was adjacent to yours, picking up his bag and a few paperworks in his arm, his footsteps led him to the door again, where you were.

“I will see you tomorrow, Mr. Barnes.” You politely greeted him goodbye; like you always would on any other day, the only difference this time was that it was nearing midnight— and the two of you were the only ones left in this building.

Bucky muttered something underneath his breath, you didn’t catch it, it was more of a grumble rather than a word that’s actually coherent. He gave you his usual, charming smile, before opening the door and closing it behind his back�� footsteps getting fainter by the second.

It had been over an hour since you uttered that phrase to your boss, a literal hour of hoping someone would accept you.

You groaned in frustration, standing from Bucky’s comfortable swivel office chair, then sitting back down again in hopelessness. You were beginning to think that you should have just accepted his offer, not chicken out like you always did.

But no, you were left alone to deal with the consequences of your stupid decisions.

You were left with no other choice but to walk home, maybe ride in a cab if you’ll have the chance to find one. But it was almost midnight, you didn’t like to get your hopes up anymore. It felt foolish to even have a sliver of faith that you were going to get sleep tonight. You sighed, stood up from the seat, meticulously arranged Bucky’s desk before you left, and picked up your things that were sprawled in your own desk, after you had just organized them a few moments ago.

Closing the glass door on your way out, you prepared yourself for whatever obstacle there may be outside the streets, you hoped there were none— although that’s statistically impossible, you assumed. Your shoes hitting the ground was the only noise that echoed throughout the floor, your eyes darting from left and right to observe the closed lights, except for the one by the elevator.

It was eerily quiet, but you had that coming, leaving the office a few minutes after the clock hit midnight. You really didn’t have a choice— a curtain congressman with a vibranium arm left you with this predicament, then you made yourself suffer more. It was an unfortunate situation, but you’d accept any mode of transportation now, as long as you still have time to rest to prepare for tomorrow— which was actually just a few hours later.

You walked to the nearest elevator, which was fortunately just a slight left to where Bucky’s office was. Letting out a small yawn, you reached for the down button beside it, pressing it gently. Your mind started to wonder about him, like clockwork.

It was hard to not like him— Bucky was the perfect guy you could bring home to meet your parents because of his gentlemanly nature. But the contrast of that to his physical attributes always made you wonder… if he were also a gentleman in other places.

It wasn’t even just that, or the fact that he’s a decorated veteran— his upstanding morals made him even hotter.

The world had been familiar with the controversy of him in politics, his past, and if he was even worthy of being one. But come on now, Bucky’s probably more qualified than half of the people in the government right now— his virtues and principles alone.

His thought process on hiring you was even more baffling, you didn’t go on any interviews or even met him before you got hired for the job. You simply sent a resume, a short message explaining your interest to take the position, and sent it to his email— which you weren’t even sure was his. You found it through a shady hiring website in the last page.

It didn’t even have any information about the tasks you would need to do, the qualifications and requirements needed, or what you would be exactly assisting for. A few hours after you sent your application, he had replied; a short message expressing that you are hired, with the address of his office at the bottom of the email. Sent at 3:07 AM.

He really needed an assistant.

The first thing you had asked Bucky when you went to his office— which was coincidentally in Washington, DC as well, the House of Representatives, to be exact. The question that slipped from your tongue was— what was exactly your basis in hiring me?

“You were the only one who actually sent a resume— not a weird picture or a love letter.” He replied, curtly.

Since then, you practically took every interaction like he was head over heels for you as well. The brushing of fingers whenever you’d hand out a document, or when you would catch him looking at you through your peripheral vision in your desk. And the offer he made a while ago, to give you a ride in his motorcycle. This was bad, you needed to have an actual social life before you get fully delusional over your boss, as if you weren’t already.

You shook your head violently as the doors to the elevator opened with a ding, you entered the oddly spacious machine with utmost caution. Your left finger pressed the button that will lead you to the basement. The lobby was closed now, you could be actually stuck there the whole night.

“I need coffee.” You thought to yourself, before the elevator opened its doors to welcome you in the dark basement parking of the building. Even though it was dimly lit, you could still clearly see the rusty exit door. It was on the opposite end of the elevator, a bit far because of the massive size of the parking lots, which looked odd when it wasn’t full of vehicles in different sizes and colors.

You gripped your bag tighter, and started walking in a frigid manner away from the elevator, which quickly closed when it felt your presence leave its space. There was an aura of discomfort in the fact that you were the only person here left, in this creepy place— where no one could probably hear if you let out a scream. It was probably from the true crime shows you had been binge watching for you to grow paranoid.

The moment you’ll get out of this building, was the last moment of this happening ever again. You should’ve never waited for him, but it was your responsibility. Your pace started to grow quicker, heels getting louder by how fast you were walking. The last thing you needed was a serial killer suddenly running around all loose.

“I take it that you’re walking home.”

“Fuck!”

Your body jumped in surprise, mostly fear. Because you thought you were going to get killed— worse sliced alive or shot by someone who craved vengeance. You felt a presence looming beside you, as Bucky Barnes came out in the shadow, arms crossed, eyes immediately met yours. His usual suit and tie was replaced with a leather jacket now, which also did not help in the fact that he goes to the gym everyday, absolutely ripped inside. You tried your best not to imagine what’s under, tried.

“Why are you still here?” You exclaimed, a dread of annoyance coated every syllable of your question as you turned to him. If you were frustrated at him then, you were infuriated now. Bucky shrugged nonchalantly, walking towards you.

“Wanted to see how long you’d take up on my offer.” He gave you a teasing grin. “I was about to leave, but I heard the elevator.” Your eyebrows furrowed at his statement, probably his enhanced senses working their magic again, you didn’t question it.

“You waited for me?” Your eyes slightly softened, as you let out a breath of relief from the scare he unintentionally made a few seconds ago.

“It’s my fault you’re here at this hour.” Bucky was only a few inches away from you, the conversation echoing loud in the basement where only the two of you could hear.

“I told you, it’s fine.” You sighed. “Plus, you can’t scare people around like that! Lurking in the shadows like a madman.” Your hand went to your chest, signifying that Bucky scared the shit out of you. He gave a small chuckle in return, he definitely did not feel guilty— he was more amused.

“Let me take you home.” He said, casually. Like it was a normal occurrence for bosses and their assistants to drop them down at their apartments, maybe give them a kiss goodnight if the mood was right. He walked away again, but looked back, urging you to follow his direction. And you did, with hesitation that also dripped in nervousness. As you come into eye contact with his Harley Davidson.

You thought about it. There was no uber accepting your ride— it was a death sentence to hail a cab at this hour, and your eyes were far too tired to even walk now. Your only option was either crawl all the way home, or accept his offer.

Giving out a small sigh of defeat, you gave in.

“Just this once.” You let out a small gulp, hands consciously fixing the attire you wore again. Bucky smiled at you, in a rather boyish manner— you hadn’t seen it before, it was laidback and all the synonyms for cool. You wished he expressed that side more often, just out of working hours, you supposed.

Bucky was also tired, it was quite obvious. You noticed the way his vibranium arm dragged the way he walked and the small heaves of sigh he made. But something felt different about him, curiosity started to get the best of you. Despite the calm way of his hands patting where you’d sit on his black-on-black motorcycle, the coolness of his voice, his eyes looked like they were fighting with himself.

Like he was waiting for a trigger to break free from his spell, reliant on one single word that could make him think or take an action freely. You bit your lip unknowingly, affected by the sight of him.

“Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost.” Bucky looked at you, eyes blinking in confusion when he realized you were dazed out when he had asked which street you live in— all he knew was that you were from around here.

“Yeah, you scared me. I thought you were a serial killer.” You scoffed at his remark, crossing your arms in a defensive manner.

You immediately realized what you had just said, covering your mouth quickly. Bucky only raised his eyebrow at you, as his vibranium arm rested on the motorcycle seat, the other flesh on his waist. His eyes had a glint of mischief around them, looking you up and down as he gave out a dry chuckle.

Your cheeks immediately heated up in embarrassment. “I mean, I thought I was alone. Thinking that nobody could—“

“Hear you scream?” He tilted his head sideways, giving you a teasing grin. You nodded in return, somehow, you didn’t know what to say next. Besides the growing tension between you and Bucky as your legs tightened on instinct when he grew closer.

He stopped just when your bodies are only centimeters from touching, one small move and you’d immediately feel his chest.

“Wanna test it?” He added, in a voice lower than it usually was, drawing out every word for you to thoroughly comprehend. Your mouth opened slightly, you couldn’t tell whether a moan or a reply wanted to come out. But you were left speechless, the familiar sensation between your legs tingling once more.

“What— What do you mean?” Those were the only coherent words that managed to come out of your mouth.

“You know what I mean.” Bucky replied, almost immediately.

Bucky was playing a dangerous game, and you were scared to even gamble. You couldn’t risk losing your job— or him being heavily criticized by the public for being with his assistant. Too many factors that were all needed to be considered, but your self-control was running low, tempted by his offer.

“This is highly unprofessional, Mr. Barnes.” You whispered, voice even shaking in nervousness. You clutched your bag hard, knuckles almost turning white.

“There ‘ya go again, with that unprofessional shit.” He gave you a response filled with sarcasm, you would think it’s venomous.

“Like I don’t smell your arousal every single time we’re in that office together.” Your eyes widened once more at his sudden confession, you were embarrassed to the brim. He could smell that? His jaw was tightened, like it was back at his office when you were fixing your blouse haphazardly.

The tables were turned as the attention of the night was now on Bucky Barnes’ admission. He immediately sighed, like he did not mean to let the words slip from his tongue. But he had grown increasingly tired of his pretty little assistant being a tease every single day, even if you meant to be one or not. It affected him far worse than the way it took a toll on you— he was just more skilled at hiding it.

But today was his last straw, Bucky’s last defense of self-control was immediately shattered when you walked in the office in the morning. Opening the door with such confidence, immediately handing out to him his planned schedule for the day like you always did, in a methodical manner. He liked that about you, precision and keen attention to detail.

Bucky let out a small groan when you leaned down to explain his itinerary, who he will be meeting, what he needed to say in front of the press, and always asking him which food he wants for lunch, so you could buy it. He usually says nothing— it was weird, having you buy lunch for him, how ungentlemanly if it was normal even.

Your perfume was the only thing that filled his sense of smell, eyes gazing at the delectable view in front of him— the off-white blouse that you wore revealed a little too much of your cleavage that when your hands were rested in his table, body just inches away from him at the seat. His eyes savored in the top of your breasts peeking out, and you were blissfully unaware of such things, still ranting on something he couldn’t even comprehend now.

He tried to think of anything else, he turned his gaze to your face— which only made things worse. Your eyes focused on the second event of the morning, the hearing of Valentina Allegra De Fontaine and her organization. But fuck her and fuck everyone but you, he couldn’t care about anything right now. Your eyes were slightly furrowed in a manner that made you adorably tempting, and lips painted with a tinge of redness and shine from lip gloss.

All Bucky could think about was standing up, putting his hands against both sides of your waist, and removing the black pants you adorned. He thought about making the table shake violently that all his paperwork would be on the floor. Hips thrusting against your ass while balls deep inside your pretty pussy.

In the shitty dimmed light of the basement floor, a thick air of silence filled the space between the two of you. Your head was starting to get dizzy due to nervousness, you wanted to fight back. God knows how much you’ve spent the nights imagining him working you up like what he’s doing right now— but now that it was actually happening? You were scared. Terrified of the consequences that might happen after this.

“Sir Barnes—“

“Don’t call me that.” He cut you off quickly.

“I apologize for letting my feelings get in the way.” You muttered a shaky apology under your breath, looking down on the ground in shame and embarrassment when you realized you were not being sleek with your infatuation— Bucky had known along. And you should have known as well, he wasn’t exactly just a congressman, hundreds of notable things he had done were under his belt. Of course, he would’ve sensed your ogling from a mile away.

“Sweetheart, I get hard every time you call me Mr. fucking Barnes. The last thing you need to do is apologize.” He chuckled sarcastically, putting his vibranium arm against your waist. “I’ll stop if you say so— but don’t pretend like you’re not wanting this.” He added, putting his fleshed index finger to your chin, and pulled you closer to his body.

That action rendered you speechless— but you couldn’t even really think of anything to begin with, just him, his hair, his hands, everything that he ever was. His hands swayed dangerously lower, moving to your back and right above your tailbone, like he had to stop himself from grabbing your ass.

If the nonexistent space between the two of you wasn’t enough, Bucky persisted and pushed your hips to make you feel the clothed hardness that had formed in his pants. Your breath hitched, trying your best to stifle the moan that was threatening to roll out of your tongue when he grinded just enough for your clit to feel, despite the layers of fabric against it.

“This is dangerous, sir.” You managed to garner a reply. “You could lose your job— or mine, even both if this ends up in the headlines.” Your hands creeped up his chest, a last offer of defense, that’s what you convinced yourself.

“I’ll make sure nothing comes out.” He gave you a look of reassurance, and you swooned right into it. You knew you were in capable hands, a highly capable man that is as intelligent as he is hot. Bucky kept promises, never letting a word fall under his grasp. He could be trusted with it, and it was not making your case any easier.

“But you’ll have to fire me, this is against the code of conduct.”

“Keep being this uptight, baby. You’re gonna make me cum in seconds.” He let out an almost pained groan in response, hands still not leaving your hips as the other went their way from your chin to caress your cheeks. Fingers just softly rubbing against, as if he was scared to break you.

Bucky looked at you fervently, his eyes were desperate to meet yours, eyebrows slightly furrowing in anticipation of your words. He would’ve been fine with anything, you could say no— he would gladly pretend to forget that any of this has ever happened, even give you a raise for the inconvenience.

Or you could bite back, just give in. One nod, a hushed word of approval, any form of recognition that you wanted this too, and he’ll be the one to take care of the rest. Nevermind the bigger problem he had in between his legs, he was a gentleman— but only the heavens knew how much he had been controlling himself for the past eight hours or so. He couldn’t care to count the minutes anymore.

One word, just one.

He had been through hell and back his whole life, for a whole century even. He had repented his actions— mistakes and failures that he did not even do, but he still made up for it, for everything. But all Bucky had ever wanted right now, what he pleaded to the gods, was to be given a chance to savor a taste of your lips.

“You’re making this harder for me.” You gave out a small chuckle, the bag on your shoulder was suddenly a lot heavier than it was. You couldn’t pinpoint if it was excitement or nervousness in your veins, maybe both— you couldn’t think ahead anymore.

So fuck it, right?

You let out an inhale of courage in the form of air as your lips went straight crashing with his— in an impatient manner that even made Bucky’s knees slightly weak at the collision. He let out a whine of satisfaction when you pressed in deeper to the kiss, mouth slightly opening more when his tongue licked your lips— a beg to let him do more.

Now both of Bucky’s hands were on your waist when he gripped it harder, and pulled your back against the motorcycle, slightly wincing at the contact of cold metal. Your left arm rested on the cushion of the seat as your right fingers dangled in the strands of his hair, never once did you let the kiss separate. Not even for a brief moment, even if you needed to gasp for air.

Because you weren’t going to deny this moment when Bucky’s tongue was working wonders to explore every inch of your mouth, fingers that were once on your waist were now working their way up to your stomach, mere inches away from your breasts. He separated from your lips and locked eyes with you once more.

“Can I?” He asked for permission. “Please, baby.” Bucky added, and you weren’t sure to which part of your body he was pleading to, but you nodded hazily— you couldn’t wait any more longer. But you quickly realized what he meant to do when he started to remove the bag that was decorated on your arm and safely hung it on the windshield of his bike, you wondered if its strength could hold on the files that were in your bag.

The lust-ridden congressman then slowly took off the blazers that you perfectly wore, his hands worked their way on your shoulders. His eyes were shifting from your orbs to your chest— you gave him a small smile of amusement.

“You gonna wait ‘til sunrise just to get me off of my shirt, sir?” Your eyes crinkled playfully. On the other hand, your boss was not amused. He wanted— no, needed to ravish you already. He couldn’t wait as well.

So, in the poor ventilation of the basement, only the echoes of your moans were heard, and its light reflected the absolute want in your face, to which Bucky only had the privilege to drink in the view. You were a goddess to his eyes, and he was nothing but a measly worshipper.

“Great idea. Let’s fuck here until sunset.”

He gave you a coy smile, before his lips met contact with your neck, prompting little pecks of kisses as he went lower while simultaneously undoing the buttons of the blouse that had made his already struggling morning even worse. He looked up, lips still adorned to your collarbone with furrowed eyebrows, hair slightly covering the sides of his face, and the look of utter desperation.

You shuddered, what a sight to behold. You tried to etch this memory onto your mind before you could even forget the next second.

The soldier only finished half of the buttons before spreading apart the blouse to reveal the lace bra you wore underneath.

“Just for me?” He gave you a boyish smirk, fingers rubbing your nipples against the cloth as you let out a breath of his name like an earnest prayer. In return, your hands rested on his shoulders for support, left leg slightly hiking up to grind against his. You were desperate for friction, to the point of being pathetic, but you did not care.

“Maybe.”

“I’m gonna need a better answer than that, sweetheart.”

In a dazed manner, you recaptured Bucky’s lips, a little too rough and impatient, even for your own liking. You felt his touch caress the skin of your back, and in a smooth manner, he unclasped your bra easily. A shot of jealousy went down your throat, wondering how many bras he had removed just for him to undo yours with utmost ease. But they weren’t the one in your position right now, at least not anymore.

Your boss did not even bother to fully remove the articles of clothing, he just pulled the blouse down at your waist, and put your upper undergarment to hang beside your bag, careful not to let it fall down the ground. His darkened eyes reveled in the sight your bare chest, mouth agape, and you could feel the way his cock twitched between your legs.

“Fuck, you’re divine.” He let out a breathless moan, immediately cupping your left boob with his vibranium laced fingers, index fingers rubbing your nipples when his tongue lapped on the other, making sure it wasn’t left out. “God, you don’t know how many times I’ve imagined this.” He muttered in between breaths.

“Bucky,” You gave out a whine, knees slightly trembling and nails gripping for support in the sturdy bike pressed against your back as he lazily gave a long lick on your right nipple before rubbing it once more. The long nights if fantasizing about fucking your boss were now starting to become reality when his hands snaked their way to caress your thigh that was wrapped against his hips.

“More, I want more.” You confessed, in a soft whisper, afraid that everything would end in a second should your voice be higher than a decibel.

You gazed upon his face, wrecked with nothing but the need to be further, to know your skin more— to unravel your body completely. Bucky quickly obliged, like the good man he was, he couldn’t restrict you from your needs when he was also under the same predicament of losing control.

He only gave you a smirk, before dropping dead to his knees in the cemented and uneven floor of the basement, with white marking lines decorating where he knelt. His black pants were starting to look the color of ash, but he did not seem to mind, not at all. How could he? You were the only thing to ever cross his mind at this very moment. His eyes dead set on yours, still with the same lust adorned dust hovering, but with intensity a depth lower.

Your heart skipped two or three beats in recognition.

“My pretty assistant wants more?” Bucky’s fingers were on a mission, he did not waste time to remove the button in your pants, revealing a matching set of underwear as your bra. You couldn’t quite figure out if this was your lucky day or his, either way, you thanked the laundry gods that your clothes managed to dry on time.

“I’ll give you more.” He added, voice deeper than it usually was. He started to unravel what was beneath the last piece of clothing you had, and the black trousers you once wore were pooled down your feet, to where he was— in full devotion and worship.

“Oh, matching sets. Did you plan all these, baby? Get me to lose control so I can fuck you on my motorcycle?” He taunted, snapping the waistband of your panties.

“Coincidence.” You feigned innocence, terribly. Like Bucky wasn’t smirking in front of your clothed, sopping cunt. He was caressing your thighs, dangerously going higher, as if to test you. “But if you like it that much, I’ll let you live on your little fantasy.”

“Coincidence, huh?” He tilted his head, eyebrows slightly raised at your sarcastic comment. Bucky slightly spread your legs apart, hiking up your left thigh to his shoulders, to which you immediately shuddered in excitement when he brushed against your clit. The counter of your black heels drilled against his back, he didn’t seem to mind.

“You’re soaking for me, sweetheart. Is that a coincidence too?” The congressman did not even give you time to reply nor react when he strided a long, slow lick to your pussy, never breaking eye contact with you. He sure did love to stare— a little too much sometimes. But you were unphased, turned on was more of an accurate term. You moaned, embarrassingly loud for it to echo the white walls of the basement.

“Fuck,” You exclaimed, lost in the pleasure when he rubbed your clit with his cold fingers. The warm ones were pushing aside your panties like it had a personal vendetta against him, not even bothering to remove them as he stuffed your entrance with his long and thick digits.

“I’m getting there.” He sarcastically responded, growing closer between your legs because his fingers weren’t enough, he needed to taste you as well. Starved was an understatement— how could he have gone on decades of famine and not having the luxury of eating you out? He sucked hard, tongue memorizing the feast bestowed upon him, lapping on your wetness with an unquenchable thirst.

In response, you let out a dragged and broken moan. “Bucky,” You muttered his name like a perfectly tuned melody, he grunted in response.

Congressman James Bucky Barnes on his knees, eating out his young assistant in the parking lot of the House of Representatives. It would be an eye-catching headline to see on the news articles, TikTok for you pages, and newspaper stands.

Your boss added one more finger, and quickened the pace— the rubbing of your clit, fingers in and out, and his fucking skilled tongue circling around it all.

If you weren’t too deep in pleasure, lost in ecstasy you were sure no drug was going to compare to the feeling of high. Then, you would have noticed him spelling his own name with it— like a cast of spell to guard what was his.

You were done for, and you did not even mind.

“So fucking sweet. I—I need you so bad, shiiit.”

You were also certain that Bucky was done for, he groaned when your legs started to shake lightly, pre-cum decorated his tip that leaked from his pants as the consequence of punishing himself by not stuffing you full of his dick earlier.

“I’m gonna…” With eyes closed and lower lip bitten, you couldn’t even finish your words without making lewd noises of satisfaction because of the soldier’s relentless pace.

You felt like exploding, in the best way possible. Just a tinge closer to coming undone, you were already in the route going there.

“That’s right.” His mouth was agape when he looked up, seeing you in the same level of need that he was in. “Be a good girl and come on my tongue, baby.”

That’s all it took for you to release on his fingers, tongue, and everywhere that he was— even spilling enough that it coated his salt and pepper stubble. His lips were glossed all over with your liquids. You looked away in embarrassment. But he looked like it was the most delicious meal he’d ever eaten in a hundred years. He slowly removed his digits that were once inside you. Agonizingly slow.

Blue eyes blown away and the sides of his mouth twitched to what seemed like a smile— or just a smirk. You thought it was done, that it’s goodbye now. And he’d be dropping you off your apartment for real this time.

In a rush, you pulled the blouse that was scrunched on your waist to wear it properly again trying to button up what you could button in this drunken state of mind, even forgetting about the bra that hung in front of Bucky’s bike.

But he did not budge there, just watched you with keen eyes as his grip firm on the side of your hiked up thigh, liking the way your heels felt against his back. He was full on smirking, amused by your actions— his flustered assistant that was once calling out his name in the dirtiest way possible. You tried to lean down to take your pair of pants when Bucky stopped your arms.

He wasn’t just going to let you go that easily.

“Nah, we ain’t fucking done, sweetheart.”

Your eyes unknowingly went down to the bulging view in his pants, his cock was rock hard— no amount of jerking off to interactions with you could suffice it, not when he already had the taste of it. Bucky stood up and faced you, eyes pleased at the sight of you in nothing but your off-white blouse and black heels.

He did not even care what time it was right now, how many hours left before a day filled with endless— pointless meetings will start. He needed to be balls deep inside of you.

“Sit in front.”

He gestured to the seat of his big, black bike, where you were leaning against, in the receiving end of his lust. You looked at him, confusion brimming your face to its highest setting. You weren’t even wearing any pants yet, and now he wants to leave? After he gave you quite possibly the best orgasm you ever had in your entire life.

“What?”

You looked at him like he was a madman. He probably was, you thought that you were too. Was this just the dizziness that stemmed from fatigue because you needed sleep, or was he actually commanding you to sit in the front seat of his motorcycle? He grew closer, you thought it was even impossible for him to be, both of his thumbs ran circles on the sides of your waist.

He squinted and tilted his head playfully— seductively, even.

“Thought you needed a ride?”

Oh.

And fuck, that got you worked up all over again.

You wasted no time, turned to the side and carefully went up his motorcycle as the congressman’s hands were on your back for support— albeit lower than it should have been. Your heels trembled to climb in the foot rest as your right leg separated to get on the other side, you quickly held onto the throttle for a sense of stability.

You could feel your wetness stain against the leather of the seat, in a desperate effort to feel his warmth again, you grinded slowly, mouth opening up to release a soft noise.

“Couldn’t wait for my cock, baby?” He gave a low chuckle, the one that vibrated off his chest in amusement. He followed, and in a swift motion, he hopped to sit close behind you, close enough to feel him practically radiating your back.

“Need you so bad, Bucky.” You turned your head back to him, where he was fumbling to take his dick out of the confinement of his pants. He frantically pulled down the zipper, and slightly pushed down the clothing to reveal the v-line of his lower abdomen, and slowly took out the tip just for you to see how red and hard it had been from eating you out.

“I need you just as bad, sweetheart.” He let out a small groan, pulling it out altogether, pumping up and down using his vibranium digits to relieve the pain he accumulated from months of holding back, pre-cum leaking as he swirled it all around the tip. The other arm was on the very end of the motorcycle seat, so he could have support. Bucky’s eyes were half-lidded, face contorted in pleasure.

You swore you moaned at the sight.

“Are you gonna help me out?” He had a smug grin on his face when he finally opened his eyes fully to see you watching the scene unfold.

“God, yes.”

Bucky grabbed you by the waist and pulled your hips closer to his, you could feel his length twitch against your back as he carefully pushed your stomach down lower, urging you to keep your hands on the throttle as he arched your back in the seat. His hands were on your ass now, drawing near to your glistening cunt.

“You want me this much, sweetheart? Want me to fill you up?” He muttered, breathing near your ear as you can only let out a weak whine in response, softly nodding. From the position alone, you were sure you could cum by then. Not only did you get the chance to be railed by the hottest member of the representative, he was going to rail you completely on his motorcycle. Like it was straight out of a porno, you never realized he had this kink— and you were starting to think that you had it too.

He teased the tip of his aching cock to your wet folds, he didn’t do anything yet, just rubbing it in between, using your wetness as a form of lube— you reckoned it was enough for him to easily push it in, but he wasn’t going to do that just yet. He wanted to savor the moment. You in front of his bike, ass hiked up and pussy just devastatingly ready to swallow him whole.

“Fuck.” He let out a sigh, tucking his strands back that stuck to his forehead from the sweat— because the parking lot had shitty ventilation, like all of them do. “I was so fucking close to bending you over my desk. But this— this is so much better.” He winked at you through the side-view mirror.

“Oh my god, Barnes. Just put it in.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He drew a low chuckle.

Like you had been waiting for an eternity for this to happen— your grandeur visions of delusion finally crawling out from the grave and coming to life to give you a kiss on the cheek and say that it wasn’t actually just your imagination— that Bucky felt the same way as you did about him.

You slightly raised your hips to take him in, wetness dripped down from the seat as he slowly pushed his cock inside. It was hurting— he was too big, too thick, but you took pleasure from the pain. Too eager to take him in, to be deep inside you. Reaching places where your fingers could not comprehend to even go. Meanwhile, the congressman’s eyes were focused on you from the mirror, groaning at how easy he slipped in, and how perfectly his cock fit— like a glove.

“So fucking— tight for me.” Bucky caressed your back, he noticed you struggled from the pain evident in your face as he paused for a brief moment. Waiting for your signal to move. “You’re taking me in so well. So good.”

“Bucky,” You breathed out his name like it was the only word you ever knew. Glancing at him as you slowly grind your hips in a circular motion to test it out. Testing out the ride that you needed to go home. And there, you started to bounce like your life depended on it, taking him in— inch by fucking inch.

You were riding Bucky’s dick on his motorcycle, a line straight out of the fantasies you once touched yourself to.

The sergeant— who was too preoccupied at watching you grind up and down, mouth agape at how his cock glistened by your wetness,

disappearing completely when you went down. His hands travelled to your stomach as he pushed your back against his chest, ripping off the buttons of your blouse to cup your breasts— caressing your nipples along the way.

“Look at you, like a fucking slut on my dick.” Just when you thought it could not get more pleasurable, his digits went to rub your clit in a fast-paced manner, your legs trembling in absolute pleasure.

“Fuck, oh.” You were too lost, drowning in the feel of Bucky’s length as he thrusted upward when you pushed down— the action hitting your g-spot, straight to the core, you swore you felt him through your stomach. “Bucky, oh my god.”

Bucky was close to cumming— embarrassingly close. But you were too good, too sweet for him, and pussy taking him in so well he was sure that it was made for him, just him. He gave out a guttural groan, squeezing your breast as he thrusted even faster, matching the timing of your hips. The motorcycle shaked, struggling to keep up with the momentum.

He did not care anymore whether or not this violates whatever rules there was— the code of conduct. All he needed right now was your pussy.

“B—Bucky, please come inside me.”

Who was he to deny your request?

“Shit.” He whispered, just loud enough for you to hear. He quickened his pace, arched your back once more so Bucky could see how it’ll look like to shoot his load inside yours, how his cum will drip down your pussy. You grew conscious of his view and he was smart enough to realize.

“Yeah, baby. I’m gonna cum inside your pretty pussy.” He licked his lips, nearing his release. “Gonna fill you up with my cum.” For a man whose age is a hundred-something, he sure did love to get down and talk filth. Not that you minded, it was hot— he was hot all over.

You were the first to come, thighs shaking and slowing down your motion at the release as it pooled down the ruined motorcycle seat and made a mess on Bucky’s dick. You saw the stars when you rolled your eyes back— hard enough to even see the sunrise preparing to get up a few hours later.

He groaned, shortly following after, thrusting even deeper inside of you, filling your cunt to the brim as he ejaculated. The spurts of cum dripped down the side when he separated from you, fingers entering your folds to put it back in. You hummed in response, body too weak to move. Bucky was pleased, and wasted no time to pick up the pants you left on the floor.

He dressed you up, quite gently, as opposed to railing you hard just a few minutes before. You loved the contrast, but he was— and always had been a gentleman. You stood up to switch places with him, you were getting your real ride home. Covering your blouse, which was missing a few buttons with your blazer.

You gave him a small smirk.

“So, does this mean I’m fired?” You chuckled.

Well, you definitely needed to call in sick for today, not because you were battling a life threatening fever. Calling in sick because your legs were wobbly and cunt fucked to the brim by your boss, who looked at you like you were the only precious thing in the world. It wasn’t fair that your chest tightened immediately.

Bucky gave a hearty laughter— one that was rare to see from him. You must have saved an entire village, or you could’ve been an avenger in your different life to witness it.

“Nah, baby. You’re getting a raise.”

#bucky x reader #bucky smut #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #bucky #thunderbolts #the winter soldier #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #thunderbolts*#bucky x female reader #bucky imagine #marvel #mcu

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softjeekies · 2 days ago

Text

Waiting After The Rain - 9

Pairing: ot8!stray kids x pregnant omega!reader

Synopsis: An omega pregnant and alone after being kicked out by their alpha stumbles upon a pack willing to take them in and care for both the omega and their pup as if they were their own, because now they are.

Genre: strangers to lovers, angsty but lots of fluff to even it out.

Warnings: a/b/o, past abuse physical and verbal, past sexual abuse(mentions of past non-con), mentions of past violence, trauma, self esteem issues, pregnancy, aftermath of abuse, panic attacks, anxiety, pack dynamics, angst but it will be okay, polyamory

A/N: I got a little stumped with this chapter but I hope it’s still enjoyable, I’ve got a few ideas for the coming chapters so we should be good :)

previous chapter // next chapter(coming soon)

When you woke up this morning the events of the day before hit you like a train, It didn’t help that after bringing you breakfast in bed Hyunjin had to leave for the day, to do some work at his art studio. You let him go with no pleas or cries but as you sit alone in his bed, your heart aches. Most of your life was spent pushing down your needs, especially the need for comfort and love. Now that you’d found this pack and your walls had started to crack it was hard, a sense of yearning sat deep in your chest. Hyunjin had let you know Seungmin would be home today so you could easily seek him out if you needed anything, and that’s exactly what you would do. It took a minute to find his scent but when the strong smell of freshly cleaned laundry hit your nose you knew you did it. The beta is sitting on the living room couch curled up looking a bit disassociated but once you enter the room he immediately perks up, his full attention on you while you take a seat next to him.

“Y/N! Are you okay? Do you need something?”

“I’ll be okay. Are you okay? You look, I don’t know, not Seungmin-like.” The beta lets out a lazy chuckle at your observation and you can’t help but laugh as well.

“I’m fine. I just get a little thrown off when my packmates are down. It hurts.” He looks away from you, embarrassed to be showing this kind of vulnerability.

“Oh! God, I’m sorry I’m causing you pain. Here lie down.” You pat your lap for him to lie his head down. He happily obliges, choosing to lie facing your bump as you run a hesitant hand through his hair. Seungmin feels a strong instinct to fix things, he wants his pack happy, and he wants you happy.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“Hmm, that’s probably a good idea… It’s hard to explain though. I grew up very sheltered and in a more conservative household, raised to believe that alphas were gods amongst men who could use me however they pleased. Seeing my old alpha and hearing him talk about me like that made me feel like I was back at our first meeting, and he got in my head. Seeing him again, it made me feel like maybe things can’t be good for me, so coming home and seeing everyone here I got scared. It sounds horrible but you and Hyunjin are fine because all I know about betas is what I’ve learned from school and the K-dramas I would sneakily watch when I was younger. I feel safer with you.” You don’t realize how shaky your voice is until Seungmin pushes out his calming scent.

“I can’t explain how amazing it is to hear you feel safe with me. I hope that you can feel safe with the whole pack soon. I’m sorry your life so far has been so horrible but you’re here now, right? We’re here for you.”

“It sucks because I do feel drastically safer with you guys, I have never felt this safe in my life. But it’s just like my head won’t let me settle, I’m so on edge, I’m stuck in a permanent fight or flight it’s exhausting.” Your hands run over your face in frustration. All you want to do is give in and accept this good thing but it’s like you can’t be sure it’s a good thing at all.

“We’re not going to give up on you. We want you, all of you.” Silence falls over the living room, there’s no tension or fear, just calm between two almost pack mates. Seungmin stares at your belly intently with a soft smile before he speaks up again.

“Can you feel him?”

“Him?”

“I don’t really care either way, but I think he’s a boy.”

“Hmm, I guess I haven’t thought about what I think they are. But yes I can feel them. You won’t be able to for probably the next month but soon.”

“Can I touch him?” You nod and Seungmin takes a gentle hand and rubs it across your bump, but his hand doesn’t linger.

“Hi puppy.” He speaks mere inches away from your bump, his voice is soft but projected.

“Yeah they’re moving, I guess they are saying hi back.” You let out a giggle and the beta continues to mumble nonsense to your belly, that was until another presence entered the room causing Seungmin to growl at the doorway. When you look up your eyes meet Chan’s and you immediately tense, which only makes the beta growl more at his alpha. Chan raises his hands in surrender and doesn’t make any move towards the couch.

“Hey, you know me, I won't hurt anybody. I just got home early and smelled Y/N down here and wanted to talk.” It takes a moment but you force yourself to relax, a mantra replays in your head reminding you how much Chan has done for you this past month, he’s not a threat.

“It’s okay Seungmin, we should probably talk.” Seungmin is immediately satisfied by your words and stands down, placing his head back in your lap waiting for more pets. Subconsciously you return to running your hand through the beta’s hair, more for your own comfort than his. Chan makes his way towards the couch and sits on the floor in front of you, Your mind short-circuits for a moment at the realization, he’s showing submission to you. By sitting below you making himself a literal sitting duck he is making sure you know he’s not a threat.

“Is Changbin okay?” Your mind lingers on the image of that punch. The cracking sound replays in your head on loop. You know alphas are incredibly resilient and as wolves, you’ll always heal well if you do get hurt but the shock of someone hurting and getting hurt for you rattles your brain.

“He’s in great shape, Minho looked over his hand and everything looks good, he’s a little bruised but he said it doesn’t even hurt.”

“That’s good.” You trail off, unsure how to start this conversation. Luckily the alpha does that for you.

“Y/N I never want yesterday to happen again. We were all so on edge, wanting nothing more than to comfort and protect you. When Changbin called me and told me what happened my instincts went insane, I called everyone and made sure we all got home to you. You shut us out and I felt like the worst alpha in the world. Your feelings are totally valid though, This is all still new and I know you don’t trust us yet but we want to be there for you.” There’s no posturing, there’s no overwhelming pheromones meant to manipulate you, all you saw was a big puppy sitting on the floor in front of you nervously playing with his fingers.

“I know. And that’s the part of this that scares me the most, deep down I want to give in I want to let myself have this and be your omega. This past month has been the best month of my life, but I can’t shake the life I had before all of this.”

“So we work through it together, we’ll help you work out your new normal and we’ll show you so much love and comfort along the way. We do want to court you, and as far as we’re concerned you are already part of the pack, we just have to get you acclimated.” A stray tear rolls down your face, a happy tear. Seungmin sits up and playfully rolls his eyes.

“Alright you sappy alpha, come hug your pack mates and make it all better.” He scoots away from you, giving ample room for Chan to make himself comfortable between you two. He takes a seat and immediately pulls Seungmin into his side but hesitates touching you so you take the initiative and curl into the alpha’s side, he absolutely melts at your touch. He would make it all better, if it’s the last thing he does.

The rest of the pack came home as normal throughout the day, no questions or awkwardness, they were just so happy you were feeling better and willing to let them exist in your bubble again. The last person to come home is Jeongin who you find sitting outside your door, you assume similar to how he was last night. The alpha looks up at you shocked as you exit the bathroom.

“Y/N? I thought you were still in your room.” You can’t help but let out a giggle.

“If you had talked to the pack before coming to sit at my door you’d know we worked things out, I talked to Chan and we’re going to be as okay as we can be for now. Now get off the floor.” A smile graces Jeongin’s face, and he looks at you as if you’ve hung the stars for him. He obeys and stands up, and he tries to approach you before you stop him.

“Nuh-uh, you have outside smells on you, go change.” You scrunch up your nose at the smell of other wolves all over Jeongin but he doesn’t fight back; he simply nods eagerly and heads to his room.

You lie in your nest with a protective hand over your bump when a knock steals your attention.

“Hey, I showered and changed. Is it okay if I join you now? You know, in your nest?” Jeongin’s scent is stormy, it’s clear that he’s nervous about what you might say.

“Yeah, you can join us.” Jeongin smiles at the use of the word us. He doesn’t know if he’s thinking too much into it but it makes him feel you’re reminding him the pup is there too and he can include the pup in the love he’s ready to give. The alpha climbs into the nest gently taking you in his arms.

“May I touch?” The request catches you off guard, you understand why Seungmin asked, he’s never touched your bump before. But Jeongin had done it twice now, so why would he feel the need to ask?

“Of course you can.” As he rubs gentle circles on your bump you stall for a moment thinking of how you want to word your thoughts.

“You know, I didn’t know people were supposed to ask to enter my nest, Jisung had to tell me that. People asking me for consent is really foreign to me, but I really appreciate how you guys always ask.” Jeongin smiles.

“I know firsthand how good it can feel to have people respect your boundaries, I’m not obsessed with skinship-“ You don’t mean to but you cut him off.

“But the pack? And you? You touch me though?”

“This pack has shown me how beautiful touch can be. I learned I was never against touch, I was against my boundaries being broken. I’m still no Felix but I feel safe with you guys.” You felt uncharacteristically warm, the more you learned about these guys the more you felt the knot in your chest settle.

“I was a really clingy kid, I know omegas are meant to be clingy and that was probably my instincts forming from a young age but it was so bad. All i wanted to do was cuddle with my parents all the time, they hated it though. When they began to hurt me as punishments, I learned to fear touch. It only got worse from there.” You let out a sigh, a pit forming in your stomach out of fear that you ruined the mood.

“It’s a good thing there will be no lack of cuddles for you in this house. The only touch you’ll ever receive from us will be out of pure love for you.”

You think you believe him. Nobody had ever shown you this much kindness or said these things to you, so maybe this really was different.

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jellyfishoreo1206 · 2 days ago

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Quite the Vocalist

Summary: What if the objects had a homeowner who sung often around the house before said homeowner was cursed blessed with the Dateviators?

POSSIBLE(?) SPOILERS FOR THE GAME

Notes: Pre-Dateviators! They/them used but they wear makeup, will switch to 3rd POV and 2nd POV often. You already KNOW that this is a Hector x Reader fic

Totallyyyyy not me trying to influence you guys into listening to my favorite songs no siree, why would you assume such a thing

Warnings: Slightly suggestive! That means, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!! YOU WILL BE BLOCKED IF I SEE YOU INTERACTING WITH THIS POST IN ANY WAY

Headers belong to @/thecutestgrotto

Before the Dateviators crashed through their door window came to their house, the homeowner was quite the vocalist. It’s not that the objects didn’t like it, no, it had quite the opposite effect!

It made the home feel more, well, like a home.

Even if the homeowner didn’t know that almost all of the objects in their household was alive and listening, it was entertaining for them to listen in on their constant humming whilst they busied themselves with a whatever task needed to be attended to or to watch their “live performances” as they belted out whatever lyrics came to mind.

There are many instances of the homeowner doing such things for as long as the objects can remember…

—

It was two months after you had fully settled into your brand new home, and honestly? It feels AMAZING! Amazing to have your own privacy, amazing to finally enjoy the peace and quiet that seemed to never exist, and! No longer having to share the bathroom or bedrooms anymore!!

Is this what liberation feels like?

So here you were, in your bathroom before taking the longest bath known the human-kind. You hadn’t had the chance to use your bathtub, as there was lots of cleaning to do around the house and remodeling to do. And when taking in the final result, it was wonderful. So for all that hard work, a nice hot soak in the bathtub sounded like the perfect reward.

The whole bathroom was decked out: dimmed lights, lightly scented candles, essential oils, bath salts, bubbles in the bath, and of course, your favorite playlist playing softly in the background. After the preparations, you slipped into the warm water, muscles instantly relaxing at the warmth, a soft sigh slipping out once you had fully settled into the bath.

Ough this feels gooooood

Warm water enveloping every inch of you—soothing and massaging the cramped and tight muscles, ebbing away at the gnawing feeling of exhaustion, the feeling of your heart rate beating gradually, and the soft notes of your playlist…Speaking of which, one of your favorites is playing.

It began as a murmur,“You've got this golden way of making my body sway,” Honestly, you forgot where you heard this one, maybe from one of the shows Sam made you watch, but the rhythm of the music stuck to your head, it’s just so groovy. Your head sways gently to the lyrics as the next few line falls from your mouth oh so easily, “Of making my mind fly away, of making it fly,”

“It's the world I love to be in,”

“Come on, let's go high above the ceiling,”

“Oh, we could be feeling, oh, what we could be feeling”

Only when did the chorus begin did you start putting more passion into it, lifting your hand up to swirl a finger in the water in time with the chorus, “I’m one of those witches, babe,”

“I’m one of those witches, babe,”

“Just don’t try to save me, ‘cause, I don’t wanna be saved”

The objects in the bathroom are certainly not annoyed by this, oh no no no. Well, Amir is slightly irritated, but not for the reasons you might think, his mirror is just being fogged up by the warm atmosphere. Though he lets it slide, for now anyway. “They are delightful!! I never knew our new human liked to sing,” Bathsheba exclaimed excitedly, clapping together her manicured hands. The rest of the bathroom residents hum in agreement, chatting amongst each other as they look away to respect the privacy of their new human as they continue singing.

But within the vents, deep within the vents does your voice carry up and up into the attic, where the local vent-dweller resided, listening in to the homeowner sing without an ounce of hesitation. Warm bursts of air spill from the gaps of Hector’s metal suit, face becoming warm. He could feel his heart stutter at the lyrics and their wondrous voice, their voice like the sweet nectar of the Gods that he was somehow blessed to hear.

He never felt this way with the previous homeowners, but this one, this one. He knows they are the one.

He hopes that this is a regular occurrence…

—

And by god was it a regular occurrence.

Hector would watch and listen whenever (Y/N) did anything (except whenever they were in the bathroom, he respects their privacy). But when they sang, overwhelming feelings of love and adoration would fill his very being. Sometimes, sometimes he would imagine that they were singing for him, serading him as they danced underneath the veil of darkness to the rhythm of whatever song was on their mind.

Their faces just inches away from one another, as he held eye contact with their stunning eyes, a hint of a teasing smile on their lips as they leaned in close, so close, to his own. Only for them to kiss his adam’s apple—leaving behind the dark red paint of their lipstick, their lips just barely brushing against his slightly stubbled chin as they pull away.

He shivers in delight at that thought, oh to be claimed by such a kiss.

Before he could delve any further into his imaginations, he was brought out of his thoughts by someone’s distant humming. He crawls towards the source, his metal suit clanking against the air-ducts walls until he arrives at the bedroom. He hesitates, before looking out into the room.

After stepping out of the bath and changing into your pajamas, all that was left for the night was your skincare routine. So, sitting on your bed, and facing the mirror, you begin. It wasn’t a very extensive one, nor was it plain and simple, but it was a routine you liked doing. It made you feel great after you finished, and the products smelled nice.

Silence fills the room, only the sounds of popping caps filled the room. You hummed for a few minutes, but it didn’t feel right. So you do what you love most to fill in the silence.

“Estas tan dentro de mi,”

“Te sigo pensando,”

“Te sigo esperando”

Hector’s attention was immediately drawn and caught, worry etching itself into his face. Why were they singing such a sad song?

“Y estas, oh,”

“Tan lejos de mí, oh”

“Te sigo pensando,”

“Me canso llorando,”

Oh, he recognized this one. It seemed to be one of their favorites to sing whenever it got quiet. He heard you sing the rest before, and he feels that song deep within his chest. It’s sad, but comforting in a way. The brief thought that if you actually see him, he wonders if this song will pop up in your head whenever you think of him..

A worthless thought for him to think. He goes back into the attic to nurse the negative inner turmoil.

—

“Come onnnn!!! You’re telling me that you won’t be the Romeo to my Juilet? Be all romantical and serenade me while I’m swooning up on my balcony?” Sam flutters her eyelashes at you dramatically, hands clasped together along with an over theatrical pout present on her lips. You roll your eyes playfully at her antics, a smile tugging at the edge of your lips as you attempt to keep a straight face.

“Did not say that. I’d just rather be the Phantom to someone’s Christine. Or vice versa, I'm not picky."

Sam's dramatic gasp brings a laugh out of you, as she pretends to faint and lands into your lap, hand on her forehead. “The BETRAYAL! After all those times when I brought you food! All those times when I put you on some of the best fanfics!” She fakes a sob, her lower body slowly sliding off the couch, “How could you do this to meeeeee..?” She lies still on the floor, hand reaching for the ceiling as you give her a dead-pan look.

“Girl get your ass off the floor. I just vacuumed.”

“Gasp! Are you saying I’m dirty?!”

“Dirty minded? Yes.”

“Bitch.”

“Whore.”

The air is filled with silence, staring at each other with a straight face, until laughter bursted from you both. You help Sam back onto the couch, Sam making sure to dust herself off before doing so. “So,” You begin, sinking into the plushness of the couch, “-what’s on the agenda today?”

“So glad you asked.” She jumps up from the couch, and runs outside. A couple seconds later, you could hear her struggling alongside with something heavy being attempted to be dragged inside. You eventually got up from the couch, knowing Sam would be needing some help (and you really don’t want your floors to get scuffed either).

Once you rounded the corner and faced the front entrance, you let out a noise of shock, “Woah! Is that a karaoke machine?”

“You bet your fine ass it is!” Sam heaves out, the machine stuck on the ledge of the front door, stubbornly refusing to move. She kept pulling, but didn’t seem to be making much progress. “Here, lemme help.” Squeezing in-between the door and the machine, you lift up the edge that was stuck. The two of you got it into the living room no problem, so you watched as Sam connected it to your TV, chattering back and forth, laughter ringing out into the house.

Hector watched on in curiosity and the smallest bit of envy. Who was this other human? Why are they so close to them, perhaps lovers? That thought brought a spike of pain to his machine heart, he pushed it out of mind. But they can’t be, lovers don’t insult each other so casually, or do they? He isn’t quite sure in the field of romance, more questions keep piling up with so little answers. So he goes to ask Dorian.

He shuffles back up into the attic, meekly approaching the attic door, attempting to hide the lower half of his face. He squeaks out a small, “Dorian?”, second-thoughts already invading his mind.

“Ah, hello there Hector,” Dorian manifested quickly, greeting him with a small smile, arms crossed as usual. It isn’t often that Hector talks with any other objects that aren’t the attic residents, due to his shy and nervous demeanor. But it is quite a treat whenever he musters up the courage to talk with them, especially with Dorian. He knows that he’s quite literally scared shitless of him, so Dorian tries to lessen his fear of him by showing him some kindness.

He could already tell that the poor chap is nervous out of his mind, noting how he kept wringing his hands, eyes not being able to make eye-contact with him, and how he constantly seems to be tripping over his own words.

But he knows what he’s about to ask, “The other human downstairs is jus’ a friend. Ain’t nothing for you to worry about, mate.” He chuckles as Hector’s sigh of relief, a puff of steam bursting out from his metal collar. He gives him a firm pat on the shoulder, before quickly disappearing.

Back downstairs, you come back into the living room with some drinks you just whipped up at the minibar. “Thank youuu~!” Sam hums out as you hand her her extra sugary and very alcoholic drink. You settled for a whisky sour. “Oo, oo! Can we do a Beyoncé song?” She claps excitedly (her drink on the coffee table), looking at you with sparkly eyes. You hum, mulling it over in your mind, gently swirling the amber liquid in the crystal cup. “...Yeah why not?”

Up in the attic, Hector took a few minutes to calm his racing heart and mind, instead just letting his thoughts wander. Wandering a little too far…He feels a flush of heat rushing into his cheeks as the brief thought of what your lips would taste like, what it would feel like to swallow all the little sounds you make into his own, as the kiss becomes more and more passionate-

OKAY! No more of that…

Bringing himself out of it, Hector’s hearing registers the music blasting downstairs, alongside with two voices singing. Shuffling back into the vents with haste, he makes it back to the living room, peering out with curious eyes to see what commotion has been brought to the living room. And to watch the reason for his living to sing once more.

You and Sam are side by side, facing the screen of the TV. Both of you are covered in sweat, partially due to the summer heat and exerting yourselves so much with how much passion the both of you sing. And because you were dancing (You and Sam almost tripped several times, BUT WE DON’T TALK ABOUT THAT).

The next lines of lyrics pop up, your blood pumping from all the rapid movement as you bring the mic back up to your lips, “Baby, I can’t go anywhere, without thinking that you’re there!” Your body buzzes with energy, limbs becoming agile and they follow the beat of the rhythm. Sam was hyping you up on the sidelines, whooping and dancing along with you.

“Seems like you’re everywhere, it’s true, gotta be having déjà vu!”

“Cause in my mind, I want you here,”

“Get on the next plane, I don't care!”

“Is it because I’m missing you, that I’m having déjà vu?”

Hector watches on in amazement at the vibrancy of your movements, both rhythmic and captivating. Oh if you could hear him, he too would be cheering you on without a single care of who is watching. Reaching the climax of the song, you drop into a sudden split, posing with your hand as you are left heavily breathing, a wide smile on your sheen coated face. Sam quickly goes over to you, excitedly squealing and talking a mile per minute.

You chuckle, using her shoulder to get up from the split, which hurts now jesus christ what the hell, going over to drain the rest of your whisky sour. “I…I think that’s enough singing for today.” You breathlessly say, bumping your hip into hers.

“Oh yeah, definitely.”

Hector will forever have this memory burned into his mind, as he returns back to the attic, face burning and jaw-slacked.

—

Your bathroom sink counter is covered in everything make-up related. Highlighter, foundation, bronzer, eyeshadow palettes, mascara, eyeliner, body glitter, glittery eyeshadow, blush, lipstick, lipstick liner, false eyelashes, make-up brushes, hell even some damn rhinestones to spice it up.

Now you may be wondering, what is it that you’re getting ready for?

Today was a very special occasion, for it’s Sam’s birthday. And Sam, being Sam, wanted to go to a popular pizza place and pub with you and a few other close friends. The only thing she said to you over the phone was two words, “Be extra.” And boy oh boy will you deliver.

Though, you are having quite a hard time deciding what outfit you will be wearing out. Eyeing the two sets indecisively as they hung on the edge of the bathroom door, then looking over at the clock. You have three hours to get ready, and you’re still in your towel! A noise of frustration leaves you, pinching the space between your eyes as you attempt to choose what you’ll be wearing.

The one on the right side consisted of varying tones of (F/C), a pair of pleated wide-legged pants that would perfectly snatch the waist, with a dashing flowy long sleeve shirt with a rather large, yet fashionable, bow on the front. And it paired quite nicely with a vest and pointed business casual shoes.

Though the left one was quite the same as the right, but with a few modifications.

First off, it was glittery. Like, so glittery that if washed with the other clothes they too will equally become glittery. Second off, instead of a bow on the front, it was a large jeweled star brooch that also glittered.

It was a very hard decision. So you merely went downstairs to grab your D-20 to make the decision for you. Whilst downstairs, the objects began to talk amongst themselves. “Oooh they should go with the left one! It’s so pretty!” Bathsheba gasped out, holding the fabric gently in-between her fingers, smoothing over the glittery material.

Amir also inspects the outfit, but with a more scrutinizing eye, bringing the fabric closer to his face, “Hmm, the material is of great quality..lots of glitter, and it seems like our human knows how to style it…” He lets the fabric fall from his hands with an approving grin, “Ah, our little reflection is growing up!” He pretends to wipe away a fake tear.

“Indeed indeed! Lovely fabric, and plenty of ways to stylize a look!” Barry adds on, peeking out from behind Amir, hands itching for the make-up brushes.

Meanwhile in your office, you are trying to find your 20-sided die, but it just seems like it fucking disappeared into thin air! “Fuck! Where is that thing?” You looked everywhere, on your desk, shelves, the floor, drawers, even the small closet here! All without any luck. What you failed to notice was, he was underneath your chair.

Chance merely watches in amusement and fake offense, crossing his arms as he watches the human slump in temperaliy defeat. He was about to reveal his object form before a quick, “Psst!” catches his attention. It’s coming from…the grate? Oh shit, Hector!?

He quickly clears his throat, throwing on his dramatic persona, “Ah, the infamous Enchanter!” He gestures theatrically with his arms, spreading them wide, voice loud yet performative “Do tell, what has brought you down to these weary parts of the village?”

An amused chuckle could be heard from behind the grate, Hector also taking on a dramatic persona to be on par with Chance, “Ah, but a simple favor, dear Master of the Gargoyles.”

“What for?”

Hector drops the persona, clasping his hands together in a sort of begging motion, eyes becoming rounder, how could they possibly get any rounder?? “Please, Chance, whatever you do, please! Choose left!” Chance was left confused, but the dots quickly started clicking together as a sly grin made its way onto his face, wiggling his eyebrows up at him, “Ohohohh, okay, I see what you mean.”

“Please?”

“Okay, but on one condition.”

“Name your price.”

“Come to our next session tomorrow?”

Hector is silent for a bit, contemplating, then with barely contained excitement, “Okay.”

Chance pumps his fist in victory, “Great! We’ll see you at 5 PM!” And with that, his object forms rolls out from underneath its hiding space, hitting your foot, quickly snatching it up and rushing back up the stairs to the bathroom.

“Alright! Anything above a 10, we’ll go with the right.” Clasping your hands around the die loosely, you begin to shake it earnestly, “Anything below a 10, we’ll go with the left!” Letting the dice go, you watched as it rolled, slowing down, before it landed on a nat 1.

“Left it is!” Hector mentally gives his thanks to Chance, his face becoming flush with excitement and adoration. Though he waits for a few minutes before going back up to the upstairs bathroom. He is a gentleman! And as a gentleman, he will do no such thing as breaching your privacy.

Upon arriving at the vent, both his eyes and ears are blessed by your voice and by your figure, watching as you navigate the organized mess of make-up products laid out on the sink. The outfit hugged every curve, as if it were built and made for you! The shimmer of the fabric looked as if it were made from the very night sky itself! Hector couldn't help the burst of hot air, flustered beyond belief as he burned the very moment into his mind.

Unaware of your admirer in the vents, you went about applying the product to your face, free handing something that will match with said outfit. Though, it felt too quiet in the bathroom, even with all the clattering of plastic. Though it is getting a bit hot here…

Probably from your bath earlier this morning.

Some quick tapping, and your playlist is now playing! Oh, and it’s your favorite song too!

“People say she’s bad, but they don’t see, the way she is with me!”

“P is for the painful ways, she makes me feel some days,”

“U is for Utopia, the other times with her,”

“N is for the new wave dreams she had back in her teens,”

“K is for the kid in her, my P.U.N.K. girl!”

The energy was buzzing in the bathroom, as you grooved along with the while also maintaining a steady hand, patting the necessary amount of a product before moving on to the next. Applying the shimmering eyeshadow in a gradient, using a smaller brush to blend the colors in.

“She is honest and kind but in a way that people see,”

“As telling lies and being mean,”

“She has thousand of dreams, but what they are I’ll never know,"

With a stroke of the eyeliner, you have finished the eyes. Turns out you don’t need the fake lashes. You move on to the rest that needs to be finished, maybe you could add some of those rhinestones underneath your eyes to give it more pizzazz…

“Hector, you're steaming again.” Amir points out rather playfully, jutting out a hip and arms crossed. Hector blubbers something out, most likely an apology, too absorbed into the absolute divine being before him, embarrassment coursing through his body like a hot wave as he retreats a small ways from the grate. Though not far enough where your figure doesn’t leave his sight. As he attempts to calm his embarrassment, his mind begins to wander…

You, standing behind him, a mirror in front of you both. It’s the veil of night, the only sourceof light being the soft lighting of the moon. He’s human within this scenario of his, no bulky metal suit dragging down his frame, no metal suit in sight. Instead, soft and squishy flesh is what is seen. He doesn’t have a shirt on, seeing that it was rumpled on the floor beside the two of you. A glimpse in the mirror confirms his face is flushed all the way down to his neck.

He imagines your hands encircling his waist, just underneath the pudge of his stomach, merely resting there as your head rests in the crook of his neck. He feels your heartbeat thumping against his bare back, the slow rise of your chest, the inhale and exhales of yours against his neck.

Goosebumps form wherever you touch, causing delightful shivers to rack through him. He doesn’t dare touch you, not yet. Not until you gave him explicit permission. Slowly, ever so tantalizing, does one of your hands begin to travel up and up his torso—stopping every so often to draw a seemingly random pattern on the exposed skin.

But he’s hyper aware of what these patterns detail. First an “I”, followed by a, “L”, a “O”, a “V”, and a “E”. He already knew what followed after that, his breath becoming slightly heavier as he watches your reflection trace a “Y”, a “O”, and a “U”.

By then, your hand was so maddeningly close to his chest. Barely just a few inches away from his perked nipples, begging for your attention.

He feels it before he sees it, a flash of arousal courses through him as your hand gently pinches the perked bud, rolling it in between your pointer finger and thumb, slowly, oh so very slowly. You’re watching him in the reflection, watching as he crumbles beneath your touch, he feels you shift, no longer are you resting within the crook of his neck.

Your lips are right beside his ear, huskily whispering, “There’s my pretty boy~” Before you gently sucked on his earlobe-

NO! OKAY NO MORE OF THAT! Hector’s face is positively steaming once he comes back to his senses, the vent walls replacing the walls of his imagination— utter shame and delight overtaking his mind and body as he recalls the motions of his daydreaming, covering his heated face with his hands, as if that would deter all the feelings of shame coursing through him.

“Annnnd, done!” You set the make-up brush down, finally finished with the make-up. It is one of your favorites so far! The rhinestones really pulled it all together. A glance at the clock tells you there are 30 minutes until you have to leave. So, you cleaned up the sink, put the outfit back in the closet, threw the dirty laundry in the basket, and left the house with your keys, phone, wallet, and some make-up to touch up your look.

Hector watches as you go, waiting for the moment you come back.

—

Today was a rather slow day.

The house was clean, the fridge was stocked with food, you’re not hungry nor are you sleepy, the laundry was done, the bed was made… You didn’t feel like reading, nor did you feel like doing anything else.

Well, other than lying on the floor of your room.

The hard wood presses into your back, bringing a rather grounding and somewhat comforting feeling. Though it’s not entirely comfortable, it does, however, distract you from impending boredom.

It's quiet in the house, only the dripping of water, the slight creaking of the floors and wall, and the distant humming of the AC are the only prominent noises permitting through these walls. You would call Sam to come over, but she’s been swamped with meetings as of late.

Then, an idea. Sitting outside for a little bit would surely clear your head…

You move to get up, but it seems like your body would rather stay planted on the floor.

You try again, same result.

“Well, shit.”

With a sigh, you just relaxed further into the floorboards, eyes boring into the ceiling. What can you even do when your body doesn’t want to do anything?

Hector watches from above, his hands supporting his face. He wished he could help with your boredom, but what can an AC do when its only purpose is to blow cool or warm air? Hector lets a noise of frustration escape his mouth, letting his head fall forward, a low thunk resonating when his forehead came in contact with the grate.

You don’t hear, of course you don’t hear. So close yet so far from him.

Several minutes have passed, you have not moved a single inch from where you reside. Your thoughts are muffled, foggy even. It feels…nice. Yeah, nice to not think. It’s quiet, you always used to fill the silence somehow…

An idea worms its way into your brain.

It was a song you heard somewhere many years ago, maybe a cousin of yours?

Yeah, your cousin. It’s been a while since you last talked with him. You wonder how he is? Your eyes flutter close, the first verse of lyrics come to you, “Ver como te alejas y querer más de ti,”

“Sin tener en cuenta como eso te hace sentir,”

“Quédate aquí que pronto yo voy a partir,”

“No quiero estar solo cuando me tenga que ir,”

Short, but one you kept close.

You feel a little lighter, maybe you can finally get up? With a grunt, you finally separate from the floor, stretching your limbs due to the lack of blood flow. Man, you should do floor time more often, it feels great.

Your back doesn’t though, but whatever.

Eyes watch as you walk out the room, for once staying in place instead of following

—

Man what god did you pissed off today?

After getting fired from your last job, Sam was able to put in a good word for you at her workplace. Today was just your first day, and you just got fired. Just your fucking luck!

Whilst staring at your monitor in complete disbelief, you get a message from some guy named Tinfoilhat who said he was sending you a package that you’re supposed to keep top secret!

And now the window of your front door is broken, with a blue package being the said cause. Inside said package was a pair of glasses.

This is what you’re supposed to keep top-secret? A pair of glasses??

Well, it’s not like this day can get any weirder!

…

You take that back, it got weirder.

“Hey there!.” A pink-haired stranger now stands in front of you, donning the same pair of glasses as well. Her expression radiates friendliness, a bright smile seemingly permanently etched into her lips. “Your life is about to change. Hope you’re ready!”

You’re bewildered. “I’m sorry, what??”

—

The stranger, now known to you as Skylar, explains everything to you. She’s a pair of glasses called “Dateviators”, which can basically acknowledge any object into existence in your house. Any. Object. Within this house. Embarrassment is the only sole emotion you’re feeling right now. Oh god, maybe your privacy wasn’t so private after all.

The first thing, or um, person Skylar had you acknowledge was your door, who was named Dorian. He’s pretty aloof, with a somewhat gruff exterior. But, he’s actually pretty pleasant to talk with! His aloof nature made it easy to talk with him, the conversation flowing into different topics. Skylar left the two of you to talk for a bit, saying how she’ll check in with you a little later as she threw a wink in your direction.

“So, do you know any of the other objects?”

“‘Course I do, it's very important to keep a steady friendship with everyone.” He pauses, seeming to think over his next response, eyes shifting towards the vent. Well, might as well push you in the right direction.

“There’s this one chap I know, his name’s Hector.”

“Who’s Hector?”

“Why, he’s your AC.” The ends of his lip tilt up with his next response, “He has quite the, ah what’s the saying…” Dorian racks his mind for the words to put together what he’s trying to say, combing a hand through his hair. “Oh yes, he has quite the soft spot for you in his heart.” He can already hear Hector cursing him and thanking him from wherever he is in the house.

“So if I were you, I’d make him your next visit.”

A blush has made itself known on your cheeks. Your AC likes you? You can’t help but feel a little weird about it, but at the same time, your heart flutters a bit. Just a bit.

Only one way to find out more about this Hector.

“Where do I find him?”

“You’ll find him at any of the vents,” Nodding his head towards the closest vent. “Anyway, cheers mate.” And he disappears. You're left standing by your lonesome, staring where Dorian just was. Looking towards the vent, then the surrounding objects, you decided to move towards your room instead.

Sure, it may not have as much privacy, but it makes you feel a little better to be in your space.

Hector is panicking. He watched your entire conversation with Dorian, excitement filling his very being! But Dorian. Dorian mentioned him to you and his undying love for you! He couldn’t see your face very well from this angle, and that scares him. It scares him that you're actually going to meet!

Are you going to be disgusted by him? Creeped out maybe?? God, you’re probably going to absolutely hate him!

Up in your bedroom, you stare up at the vent, anxiety festering in your stomach. You shake those thoughts away, steeling your nerves as you point and focus the glasses on the vent. Your met with a pair of tan hands hanging out the grate, alongside with the most beautiful brown eyes you’ve seen.

You both merely stare at one another, one with curiosity, the other with devotion.

“Hi?” You offer quite lamely, not knowing what else to say as you stared deep into those brown eyes. God, they really are beautiful.

Hector says nothing at first, still drinking in your features, before he clears his throat, hands intertwined together quite loosely as he levels his gaze with you.

“Why hello there.”

OH MY GOD I'M FINALLY DONE!!!!! This took me A WEEK OF NON-STOP WRITING. Not complaining though, 10/10 will do it again.

I hope you guys enjoy this! I'll be putting it up on my AO3 soon.

Here's the list of songs in order:

Witches by Alice Phoebe Lou

No One Noticed (Spanish Extended Verision) by The Marías

Déjà Vu by Beyonce

P.U.N.K. Girl by Heavenly + the art piece that inspired that one steamy scene

No Te Hace Bien by Ale Murío

Have a good day, make sure to eat and drink something!

#hector date everything #date everything #date everything x reader #date everything spoilers #hector valentino airnesto condicionado #hector valentino airnesto condicionado x reader #jellie writings #dw guys I'll post more spicy dribbles about the skrunkly soon

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killishin · 1 day ago

Text

inconveniences are a common instance in your line of work, it springs up in the most unimaginable ways in the most horrid times but you— you handle them. you can.

that's what you always told yourself.

you had found yourself involved with jason regarding a certain undercover mission, it required both of you to stay close to the target.

at this moment, you and jason are standing in the hotel room he booked which, coincidentally, has only one damn bed. he is someone you're deeply annoyed of, maybe even dare to say hate, but you're a nice person, you don't hold such extreme feelings. he isn't that bad, sure he's got a mouth on him but he is tolerable—

"well isn't this interesting."

"i will actually hit you."

you hate him.

you throw the bag on the bed, which had two towels beautifully rolled into swans, joined to form a heart. butchered it, just like you might have to the entirety of this nonsensical establishment. who even makes those stupid heart swans anymore?!

"what the hell did you do jason?" you took a huge inhale, sharp, while rubbing your face as if to somehow magically erase this situation from existence. you were trying to keep your cool, after all, you're the calmer, more sane vigilante of the two.

"right. real mature of you to shove all the blame on me." he scoffed as he practically sauntered off to the chair by the window, sitting on it comfortably before putting his legs on the small round table. his confidence, like he owned the damn room, which he did technically since he paid for it, was itching your soul.

your brows furrowed as your lips parted in confusion, "im not shoving any blame, i am putting it at its rightful place." clearly your composure was long gone, like a poof in the air.

his lips tugged up lazily in a knowing manner, he did this a lot, as if he knew you better than you did yourself. "i had texted you about the shortage of rooms. you said, its fine. go on, sweetheart, check." he goaded you, tilting his head back as that self assured smile remained plastered on his face.

you didn't had to check, you remembered it well but you still couldn't stomach this. "you didn't tell me they gave us only one room— did you even tell them that we needed two, separate rooms?"

"like I'd wanna be stuck in a room with you."

"well did you?" you pressed on annoyingly, teeth almost gritting and he simply raised his brow, giving you a pointed look.

your stomach twisted and churned while your cheeks, having a mind of their own, started growing warm. with a groan you rubbed your face again before pushing your hair back and marching to the landline.

"i'm calling room service. they— they have to fix this—" you muttered firmly while squinting your eyes to find the number.

"you do that, watch them tell you this is the last room."

"how do you know that?"

"i've read books."

you turn your head over your shoulder to give him a deadpanned look, "this isn't a rom com."

cut to two minutes later and you're sat on the edge of the bed with a half mortified, half dumbed out look, staring into the space. he was right, they said it was the last room.

"oh my god," he laughed, eyes crinkling into cresents as he couldn't keep it in.

"what?"

"we are in a rom-com."

"is the romance in the room with us?" you deadpanned and his cackled even more.

shaking his head, he took his legs off the table before getting up and taking his jacket off. his amused eyes linger on you, lips threatening to spill more to add to your irritation.

your eyes find his and you huff quietly in irritation before getting up and heading to your duffel bag. as you fetch a change of clothes and head to the bathroom, you pause. you turn on your heels, an arm resting on the wall as your brows furrow, like you just had a very serious thought.

"jason."

"hm?"

"how against sleeping in the hallway are you?"

"i will throw you off the window. scram." he replied without missing a beat.

the shower wasn't as pleasing, how could it be? the impending doom of sharing a bed with him— jason, of all people. its not like you had a secret, unrequited love for him. no, it was something more persistent, annoying, a headache.

there was this lingering tension between you. it was more than lust, yet not something you could put a name on. neither of you could, you didn't know what it was. but it was evident in the lingering gaze, the brush of the other's touch, insults that turned to flirting, caring in ways you think is indirect but seems obvious to others— there was this connection. a bond that had formed over years of working together, arguing and making up with quiet, reluctant apologies. and as much as you hated it, you were scared of those very bonds, like him. you were scared of its fragility.

which is why, maybe, you kept that line between you, even it was long blurred.

you stepped out of the bathroom, bravado again going poof as you stand awkwardly for a moment. jason was beside the bed, checking his phone with that little frown on his face, lower lips slightly jutted out. you averted your eyes just as the world 'adorable' entered your mind.

'get a grip, dumbass' you reminded yourself before shaking your head and clearing your throat before heading towards the bed.

"well i hope you like the floor." you said nonchalantly, your eyes averted and fixed on the bed that you're straightening and fluffing... which is already made.

his eyes glanced up from the screen, a brow raised slightly, "..why?"

you pull the blanket off before getting under them, still averting your eyes, hands still fluffing the blanket. "cus you're gonna sleep there."

he scoffed, loud. keeping his phone back on the table he crossed his arms, staring right at you with narrowed eyes. he seemingly couldn't comprehend why it's such a big issue. or maybe he just doesn't like the fact that you're that against sharing a bed with him.

"what is your deal? it's just one night." he said, unbothered and so casual that for a moment it did make you feel conscious about your actions. why were you the only one affected by this?

"you're my deal—"

"oooh." he grinned mischievously and your eyes widened with a glare before you threw a pillow at him, which he caught with ease.

"i meant you're the problem. i cannot share a room with you, much less a bed!" you hissed, but with each word your voice died down to an angry whisper because you're pretty sure the walls are paper thin.

"and why is that?" he questioned, the delight and tease in his voice increasing ten fold. he was enjoying your misery, more so the way you're getting flustered, be it anger or something else.

for a moment you sputtered, dumbfounded that he even had to ask that, but then he hummed at you questioningly, deep and amused, and that sound did not help at all.

your nose scrunched into a frown as you snatched his pillow and put it on your side, "you're fucking huge, alright. you big ass pole. i just don't want you hogging the whole bed and the blanket."

"ah." he nodded to himself, his lips twitching as he made his way to the bathroom. he then paused at the entrance, looking over his shoulder, "you're scared you won't be able to resist me."

with that, he closed the door, humming some stupid song, leaving you fuming while your heart begging for mercy.

"resist my ass. what's there to resist? killing him in his sleep?" you muttered to yourself before switching off the lights and laying down, pulling the covers over your head.

you tried to put yourself to sleep before he came, you tried counting to hundred, breathing tactics— everything. but your silly little mind was busy freaking out. its a wonder how you lasted this long in the vigilante field.

just as you heard the opening of the door to the bathroom, you went still, made sure to keep your breathing quiet and even. you heard some ruffling around, some sighs before you felt the bed dip beside you and you swore your heart's never jumped this bad.

you stayed still, very, very still. eyes open under the covers but body limp as dead.

"you're not sleeping."

"nope."

"why not?"

"don't want you to stab me the second i close my eyes."

"i won't."

since there was no point in keeping up the obvious act, you pulled the covers off your face and shifted to get comfortable.

"if your foot even touches me for a second tonight i will cut it off." you murmured and he sighed with a roll of his eyes, shifting to get comfortable and, of course, his foot touched yours.

"jason!" you angrily whispered, and basically snatched your foot away from him, "it wasn't intentional!" he chuckled.

"wai— stop hogging the blanket you fucking hulk!"

"you're the one hogging it all!"

"well i run cold!"

"that's a you problem."

you finally opened your eyes and turned to glare at him. big mistake. that's when you realised how little the space was between you both. maybe it was because he was built big and broad, or maybe the bed was unbearably tiny.

your breath got caught in your throat as your eyes stared— admired him up close. harsh lines, blemishes, scars old and new running from his face to the sliver of his chest that was visible. and still, despite everything that usually views him as rough and untouchable, the dim light from the window makes him almost gentle. maybe this was the jason that hides from the world, tucked in the most sacred corner of his heart.

"done staring you pervert?" he murmured, his eyes still closed and you rolled your eyes before looking away.

"i hate you."

"as long as you don't hog the covers, i don't care." but he does.

underneath that cool, sarcastic and teasing exterior, his heart's a chaotic mess. he could feel the warmth radiating off of you, smell the vanilla off your skin and it makes his ears go red. he was just as shocked as you when he found out there was only one bed. the mere thought of sharing a bed with you made his heart shut down.

and he hated that. he hated the way his soul finds you even when he shouldn't.

there's nothing between him and you, even if some part of him wanted otherwise.

maybe an hour passed or two, but neither of you could sleep. you were worse than him, with all the turning and sighs.

"jesus can you stop?" he lazily murmured in irritation and you frowned. "I can't sleep."

"well then sleep on the goddamn chair and let me sleep."

silence.

"fine." you sighed but he recognised that stubborn firmness that meant he messed up.

"ugh wait—"

"zip it." you got off the bed and rounded the bed before plopping down on the chair, pulling your knees up to your chest and laying your head back.

now, normally jason wouldn't give a flying fuck, he'd instead hog the whole bed, laying like a starfish. but this is different, you're different. you have weaseled your way in his life and he can't pretend it doesn't matter.

"alright sleep in that tiny chair. let's see how long you last there." he muttered as he crossed his hands behind his head.

maybe a minute passed.

and then ten...

another ten...

"alright get your ass in the bed." he grunted as he got up, sighing while rubbing his forehead in annoyance.

"piss off."

"real mature, ha ha ha. now come on, grow up and get in the damn bed!"

"why do you want me in bed so badly, huh?"

"cus i can hear your shitty brain cursing at me—"

"oh yeah? suddenly you're a telepath? huh?"

"fuckin' hell—"

"nah its something else."

"get–"

"you're being sooo weirdly clingy–"

"i swear—"

"what, you in love with me or something?"

dead silence.

"alright."

you didn't mean to say that, it slipped. the heat of the moment got into your head and mixed the wires, resulting in one huge mess. while jason on the other hand, it really was radio silence in his mind. whatever he was doing, about to do, it was all on autopilot. his reasoning, he had enough. consequences be damned.

your eyes shot open just in time to see him throw the covers off before getting off the bed. his face was unreadable, stoic— even more blank in the dim light from the window. he came to a stop just infront of you, making you jerk back and crane your neck to stare at him warily.

"....what are you—"

"im gonna say one last time." he said before leaning down, keeping both his hands on the arms of the chair, caging you in.

"get. your ass. in the goddamn bed." his voice had dropped down to a rough murmur, yet the warning was firm enough to send shivers down your spine.

you stared back at him, even in the darkness his blue eyes gleamed green, such beautiful hues they could be another set of weapons for the red hood. bless the helmet.

"......no— WHAT THE FUCK?!" you screeched as, in a second, you were hauled into his arms bridal style, effortlessly. your face grew impossibly warm, eyes widened, lips agape. "WHAT are you DOING ?! oh my god— get off me—"

he sighed, like you were nothing but a mild inconvenience and then extending the hand beneath your back, he captured both your hands in his hold.

"stop scratching me, you fucking canine."

if it was possible your jaw would fall to the floor. it was all too much, the audacity, the disrespect, the sheer warmth of his chest and how cosy it was in his arms, the way his face was so close to you— close enough to feel his breath fall on you.

your senses were overwhelmed.

and so was his.

he was the picture of calmness, yet on the inside he was panicking like a teen confessing to his first love. what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck—

he laid you down, pulling the covers over you and then rounded the bed before getting in. and you thought that'd be it.

and then you felt his arm snake around your waist, splayed flat against your stomach, before pulling you back to his chest. his warmth enveloped you while his breath brushed your neck, and you knew what restraint was. he was close to making this a full blown cuddling session, but the little logic that remained in his mind was holding him back.

you thought it was your heart racing like a train, but no, no it was his. his was much faster, much louder than yours, his hands were maybe even trembling.

oh.

"jason."

"shut up."

"...."

"you do know how awkward—"

"i know."

" we have to talk. tomorrow. about...whatever you did."

"and what you said."

"hey yours is way more embarrassing—"

he slipped another arm beneath your head and gently wrapped it around your head, closing your eyes. "sleep before i kick you out."

nothing could have stopped the smile that threatened on your lips. your tense body gradually relaxed into his, growing heavier against his. the you that was screaming in your head was now merely a whisper, for despite the uncertain questions the future now has, a lot has been answered and known.

also, your pride might have just inflated a bit knowing he's more affected than you.

"you're such a loser, jason."

his body stilled for a moment, your laugh ringing in his mind till it got saved as something precious. his lips tugged upwards as he pulled you closer, his lips kissed the air above your head. he was much too afraid to touch you anymore than he already has.

"i know."

yeah he's a loser. how could he ever win against you?

dividers by @enchanthings

NOTE: if it isn't obvious i love this trope, its a little silly AND I LOVE IT. prompts taken from this post by @celestialwrites, her prompts are sooo awesome.

reblogs are appreciated! :)

#dc x reader #dc comics x reader #dc fanfiction #red hood fluff #red hood fanfiction #red hood fic #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #dc fluff #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fluff #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd x you #red hood imagine

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motzglorp · 2 days ago

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You think Soap has ADHD energy? Meet the missus!

Everyone knows that Soap gets distracted easily when he doesn't have anything to focus. Outside of missions he gets restless and if he is bored he shouldn't be left without supervision.

They made it to the safehouse, got a good night's sleep and had another day to spend until transport was ready and would be on mandatory leave for the next two weeks. So of course they were talking about their plans.

Price had promised Kyle to show him his cabin by the lake and nobody commented on the faint blush under his beard or how Kyle's touch lingered a bit longer than usual. To be honest Soap and Ghost were betting on who would catch the kissing first.

Ghost didn't have plans so he was actually contemplating taking Soaps offer to stay at his house for a while.

"Honestly, ye should see what ma bonnie made of that place. Real cozy now." Soap was talking away, not noticing the other three staring at him.

"Come again? Your whatnow?" Asked Kyle.

"My Bonnie? The missus? Ma wife? You forgot about my wife?" Johnny seemed to be undecided whether to be angry or confused.

"Soap... You never told any of us. You mentioned a bird now and then. You mean to tell us it was the same one the whole time? You been stable? Since when?"

Now that made Soap think. "Ah mean.. known her forever. Stable for some years now, as stable as we can be. Proposed last summer we just didn't get around actually speaking the vows." He looked a bit sheepish. "Ah never told you? Sure 'bout that?"

Price didn't know how to react, other than: "You better marry her as soon as you are in the same country. If she hasn't left you by now she will never and you need to make sure the paperwork is all set up, just in case."

"And you should probably introduce us, so she won't be scared if one of us appeared on your doorstep." Kyle added.

"Actually, we can do that right now, we have a satellite connection."

Johnny was still trying to remember if he really had forgotten to mention the most important person in his life to the other most important people in his life, so he just acted on autopilot when Kyle shoved a tablet in his hands, starting a video call.

They all gathered around the screen, watching as the lights flickered and a disheveled face came into view, round face, sleepy eyes, hair sticking in every direction.

"Tha' you babe? You alive?" Johnny immediately had a smile plastered on his face. "Alive and kicking, didn't even get shot. Listen, sorry I woke you, wasn't my idea. But remember we planned our wedding to be with all friends and family and my captain could stand in for you dad since he is not invited and all and. Maybe I forgot to tell them.. about you.. like.. ya ken?" He sounded not as nervous as someone should sound who forgot his fiancé as soon as he was away.

You just blinked. "Johnny... Are you serious?" It was hard to tell if you were angry or not. "Okay, I just want to know: Did you forget because you already did it in your head or because you forgot to remember?"

"Bit of both? Bit like you forgot to tell your sister." Johnny admitted, grinning.

You giggled "Oh that was fun. Well, when she talked to me again. Oh, I should call her." You got up, apparently already forgetting you were on a call, looking for something. They could see your bedroom, organised chaos, plants, some pictures of Johnny, all in all a cozy home.

"Have you seen my laptop?" You wondered, confused when you heard a snort from Ghost. "What.. ooh... Hi there. You must be Ghost, yeah? Good thing you wear that mask, I am terrible with faces. And you are Gaz, right? You're pretty. Johnny he is so pretty, why am I marrying you again?"

"Because you love me and nobody else can tolerate either of us so we are stuck with each other?" came the answer like a well used banter.

"True. I do love you. But I also haven't slept for two days because I was building something. A surprise. When are you home? Don't tell me, just text. Please. Bring the boys. Oh, Captain Price, could you marry us? Or is that just a Ship Captain thing? Might be, I never cared, but that would be very practical. Give me a week to get everyone together and we could have the ceremony in the backyard, I can wait with the new greenhouse, so we would have the space." You were making notes on something that looked like a pizza box, lost in thoughts already.

You seemed to have forgotten you were still on the call, writing down things. Until you heard Price laughing, unable to hold it in any longer.

"Oh, I drifted. Sorry, didn't take my meds, I promise I'm better at this when I sleep. So.. are you coming to the wedding or not? And bring my future husband with you, in case he forgets again."

You were not angry at all. One of the reasons they worked was that you never got angry with each other about stuff like that. You knew each other for too long to try and change or 'fix' the other. If there was a problem or hurt feelings you would address it and work on a solution.

Ghost just looked at Soap. "You really found that one girl with even less ability to focus, did ya?"

Johnny just nodded happily, "She is absolutely perfect."

#bit exaggerated but also based on personal experience #Soap has ADHD #reader has ADHD #john soap mactavish #call of duty #cod #fanfiction #simon ghost riley #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #soap x reader #soap x you

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dreamivyisla · 1 day ago

Text

ʚɞ 𝐆𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐒 ʚɞ

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ➤ Elias “Stack” Moore

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ➤ after a beach day with your man, you get a little too bold inside a gas station. stack’s always let you act up — until today.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ➤ my sister gave me this idea a few weeks ago, and i’ve been afraid to execute it. i tried my hardest and my best, so enjoy!

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ➤ 6.5k

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ➤ public sex, brat!reader, dom!stack, rough sex, agoraphilia, exhibitionism (implied/mentioned), brat taming, black!reader (but anyone can imagine themselves), choking (light), spanking, dirty talk, creampie denial. 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈! 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓! 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 ��𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

you knew you was doin’ too much the second his hand slid off yours in the car.

been out all damn day—beach, then food, now gas station. and you still had your bikini on, that pink two-piece that got his ass quiet all morning. real quiet, like he ain’t even wanna look at you too long, ‘cause he knew he couldn’t do nothin’ about it. or maybe he just ain’t feel like dealin’ with you, same way he never do when you start actin’ up.

elias always let you talk shit. roll your eyes. twist your neck. he was calm with it, too — never raised his voice, never cussed back, just let you throw your little attitude around like it wasn’t nothing but summer breeze. he’d hit you with them same three words every time:

“you done yet?”

like he was bored. like you wasn’t pressin’ his buttons on purpose.

but today? you was pressin’ all of ‘em.

you had sand stuck to the back of your thighs, sunglasses on your face, and that top barely tied behind your neck. and when you stepped in that gas station, them heads turned like they was supposed to. not his, though. elias just walked straight to the back cool as ever, like you wasn’t trailin’ behind him with your hips swingin’ and that little smirk on your face.

he looked too good to be that unfazed — tall, all dark brown skin and gold glintin’ in his mouth when he talked, them coarse waves slicked back clean like always. lean arms, long fingers. he smelled like ocean water and white tee. real easy on the eyes.

and you was actin’ out just to see if he’d finally bite.

“you need help wit somethin’, baby?” you asked him, loud enough for the cashier to hear. he didn’t even turn.

“nah.”

you followed him toward the drinks, slid in front of the glass cooler with a stretch you ain’t even have to do. bent over a little too far when you reached for that arizona. caught your own reflection in the glass — yeah, you looked too good. thick thighs, toned stomach, lips glossed up and pouty. black skin glistenin’ all over. everybody was lookin’, except him.

so you kept goin’.

grabbed the drink and popped it open without payin’, took a slow sip like you was in a music video. even gave a little moan at the end. “mmm. so good.”

he finally turned his head.

just for a second. you saw the jaw clench. saw the way his nostrils flared a little. then he looked back down at the row of drinks.

“girl,” he muttered. warning tone.

you ignored it, stepped in front of him with the bottle still in your hand and leaned up like you was gon’ whisper in his ear.

“bet i could get a discount if i smile at the cashier.”

he ain’t move. ain’t blink. just let you be stupid with it.

“stack,” you said, draggin’ his name out real slow. “you gon’ keep lettin’ me play with you like this?”

his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek.

he looked at you. really looked. and that shit hit your stomach like a punch. his eyes dropped to your mouth, then your chest, then your legs, then back up. heat crept up your neck and you started smilin’ before you could stop yourself.

“go on,” he said, voice low. “keep actin’ like that.”

you stepped closer. “what you gon’ do?”

“you’ll see.”

you rolled your eyes again, took another sip of the arizona and walked off with your head high. whole back exposed, sand still stickin’ to your skin, every part of you beggin’ for attention you swore you ain’t want.

and then you heard his footsteps.

soft, but steady. real smooth. and the next thing you knew, his hand wrapped around your wrist, firm but not rough. he pulled you right back past the chips and snacks like he owned you. ain’t say a word. just looked down at you like he was tired of playin’.

“what the fuck is your problem?” he asked, low enough for just you to hear.

you blinked up at him, lips still glossed. “ain’t no problem. you just don’t know how to pay attention.”

his fingers flexed around your wrist. he pulled you deeper into the store — toward the back where the stockroom door was cracked and the big-ass refrigerators blocked the view. cool air blew down from the ceiling vent, and you shivered, suddenly hyper-aware of how bare your body was.

elias turned to face you, eyes sharp.

“you think this funny?” he asked.

“i think you full of shit,” you shot back, half-laughin’. “you always talk like you gon’ do something, but you don’t. i walk all over you and you don’t even care.”

his tongue clicked against his teeth. he stepped forward. “you really wanna test me in public?”

you smiled again, but your heart was beating now. hard. “you ain’t gon’ do nothin’, stack. you all talk. like always.”

he stepped in closer, and your back hit the cooler.

his voice dropped even lower. “you sure about that?”

you stared up at him, breath caught in your throat.

and that’s when it hit you. this wasn’t like the other times. his eyes weren’t lazy. he looked… tense. jaw locked. like he was holding back. like he was real close to snappin’.

you swallowed.

“…you mad?”

he leaned in. gold glinting under the fluorescent lights. “nah. not mad. just done wastin’ time.”

you blinked.

and then he gripped your waist, turned you around real quick and pressed you into the cold glass of the cooler. your breath hitched. his hand slid up the back of your thigh — slow, calloused — and your whole body jerked at the touch.

you gasped — quiet, but not quiet enough.

your thighs clenched. your lips parted.

he pulled back just enough to look at you. “say somethin’ now.”

but you didn’t.

you couldn’t.

his hand slipped under your bikini bottoms like it belonged there. like this wasn’t the back of a gas station and you ain’t just get done mouthing off. you pressed your palms flat against the cooler, forehead touched the cold glass, and you told yourself you was gon’ keep your composure.

but the second he touched your pussy?

you folded.

“mhm—fuck…” you hissed, voice pitchy, legs already damn near shakin’. his fingers moved slow. practiced. two fingers slid right through that mess he made, and he let out a low breath through his nose when he felt how wet you were.

“you walkin’ round actin’ like a damn fool,” he muttered, draggin’ his fingertips over your clit lazy as hell. “and for what? attention? this what you wanted?”

“yes,” you whispered. no hesitation. “been wantin’ it.”

he chuckled — low, mean. the kind that said i know.

“so you just gon’ keep pushin’ me till i break you in half, huh?”

your back arched. “been waitin’ on it.”

his hand wrapped around your throat from behind, gentle but firm. not squeezin’ — just holdin’. keepin’ you still.

“nah, baby,” he said. “you don’t wanna get broke in public. not for real.”

you whined. actual whined. teeth clenched, hips grindin’ against his hand like you ain’t got no damn sense. your voice came out high and bratty: “why not? scared somebody gon’ see me beggin’ for it?”

he bit down on the back of your shoulder. not hard, just enough to make you flinch.

“nah,” he mumbled against your skin. “i’m scared i ain’t gon’ stop.”

you turned your head just enough to see the way his eyes looked — dark, hooded, patient. stack was never loud with it. never rushed. he could have you cryin’ just by talkin’ slow and fuckin’ deep, and he knew it.

you rolled your hips into his palm again, lips partin’. “so don’t stop.”

his breath caught in his throat.

and then? he moved your bottoms to the side, pulled his hand out real slow, and sucked your slick right off his fingers.

“nasty ass,” he muttered with a little smirk, eyes still on you. “gon’ make me act up in here.”

you looked back over your shoulder, smug as hell. “then do it.”

that was the last straw.

he unzipped his jeans without a word. no rush, no warning. you ain’t even hear it until you felt the weight of him pressin’ between your thighs. you started to turn around, but he pressed a hand flat to your back and bent you just a little more over the cooler.

“nah, stay just like that. you wanna be a show? gon’ be one.”

your mouth opened to say somethin’ smart, but then he slid in — slow, thick, deep. one long stroke, no hesitation. and your ass damn near came on sight.

“fuck—!” your knees buckled. “stack—”

“uh huh. keep that same energy, loudmouth.”

he gripped your waist with both hands now, fuckin’ into you like he meant it. no build up. no foreplay. just deep, steady strokes, long and heavy. like he been waitin’ to remind you who you belonged to.

your hands slipped against the cooler. the glass fogged up with your breath.

“you so fuckin’ wet,” he muttered, jaw tight. “walkin’ round here tryna flex, all this pussy drippin’ down your legs—”

“’cause of you,” you moaned. “’cause you don’t ever fuckin’ touch me when i need it.”

“’cause you don’t know how to act,” he snapped.

you looked back at him through heavy lashes, lips glossed and pouty. “so fix me.”

that man grabbed the back of your neck and started fuckin’ you hard.

no more slow strokes. no more chill. he gripped your hips and pulled you back onto every thrust like he ain’t give a fuck where y’all were. your ass was bouncin’ off his pelvis, that bikini top was barely hangin’ on, and you could hear somebody at the front of the store.

but you didn’t care.

he slapped your ass, deep voice growlin’ in your ear: “you still want attention?”

you nodded frantically. “yes—fuck, yes.”

he chuckled under his breath. “gon’ give it to you.”

his hand slid down, rubbed your clit in tight circles while he kept fuckin’ you rough. deep strokes, heavy grip. he ain’t stop to be sweet. didn’t check in every five seconds. he knew you wanted this. needed it.

your mouth hung open.

“stack—i’m—I’m finna—”

“yeah, go ’head. bust for me, loudmouth.”

you came right then. loud. shook against the cooler, legs tremblin’, toes curlin’ inside your slides. moanin’ his name like a damn warning siren.

and he ain’t even slow down.

he fucked you through that nut like he wanted you to cry. had you pushin’ off his chest, whimperin’ and twitchin’, beggin’ without even sayin’ shit.

“you feel that?” he muttered, grindin’ deeper. “that’s me. every inch.”

you was too gone to respond. just noddin’, tryin’ to breathe, thighs stuck together with your own mess.

he hissed low when your walls squeezed him again. “damn, you tryna make me nut in this bitch.”

you barely managed, “do it…”

“nah, you don’t want that.”

“yes i do. please.”

his grip tightened. hips startin’ to stutter. he let out a sharp breath through his nose, whole body tense behind you, and then he pulled out and stroked himself twice before he came all over the curve of your ass. low groan. real low. sounded like it took everything in him to stay quiet.

you both stood there for a second. breathin’. sweaty. dazed.

“damn,” you muttered, still facedown on the cooler.

he chuckled. real soft. “told you to stop actin’ like that.”

you turned your head, smirkin’. “then stop givin’ me a reason.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐕𝐘𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐀.

(do not actually have sex in the public places, you can go to jail. i may or may not know from experience.)

╰┈➤ 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐒𝐎 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐃𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄.

#reader insert #x reader #established relationship #modern au #sinners 2025 #sinners 2025 fanfic #elias stack moore #smoke sinners 2025 #smut #smut with plot #stack moore x reader #black reader #fanfiction #sinners fanfiction #sinners fic #smokestack twins #sinners smut

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liuhsng · 1 day ago

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─────⋆˚࿔ ⋆ strings and satin ( pjs ! ) — part 1

✩ˎˊ˗ enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — jay x fem!reader

⤷ part 1 | part 2 ⤷ word count — 19k ⤷ based on this request by 🍓 anon ⤷ permanent taglist — open !

⤷ a/n — finally here it is ! i loved writing this so, so much—i hope you guys fall for it the way i did. there’s definitely a second part coming, so don’t forget to pace yourselves, loves 🤍

⤷ warnings — college au, guitarist!jay, ballerina!reader, college!jay, college!reader, college!enhypen, band!enhypen, slow burn, strangers to lovers trope, soft!jay, emotionally constipated!jay (but he’s trying), late-night cat hunt (we love doobu), subtle mutual pining, jay is in denial (maybe), reader is confused (definitely), domestic undertones, accidental vulnerability, soft tension, unspoken feelings, kpop demon hunters reference, fluff

✩ˎˊ˗ summary — as a ballet major with a bleeding heart and a cat that bites, you’ve learned to keep your world simple: dance, stretch, cry a little, repeat. you don’t do rumors, don’t do games, and you definitely don’t do campus heartthrobs with guitars and god complexes. so when a blurry photo and one harmless conversation spark a wildfire of dating rumors between you and park jongseong—guitarist, campus enigma, known for broken amps and colder stares. except, he’s nothing like they say. or, where he plays like the world’s his stage, but you're the only thing that makes him nervous.

The practice room was warm. Not hot, exactly—just the kind of warm that stuck to your skin, that lingered in your collarbones and made your bangs cling annoyingly to your forehead.

You stood in front of the mirror wall, catching your breath, fixing the satin skirt tied loosely around your waist.

Your black cropped shirt had already slid down one shoulder, exposing the strap of your leotard underneath. You didn’t bother fixing it.

Your focus was elsewhere—mostly on your discomfort, and the silent scream your thighs were making from doing that god-awful développé combo three times in a row.

“Hey,” Kazuha called softly from the side, wiping her neck with a towel as she approached you, “you okay?”

You nodded, lips pressed together in a tight smile. “Yeah. Just… not my usual skirt,” you muttered, glancing down.

Kazuha tilted her head. “I noticed. It’s shorter than usual.”

You gave a dry laugh, fingers tugging lightly at the tie. “Yeah, it’s my old one. From high school. My usual skirt’s in the laundry and I forgot to grab it this morning, so I’m surviving with this thing.”

Your reflection blinked back at you from the mirror—sweaty, flushed, still catching your breath. Your ponytail was coming loose and you were already sure your tights were rolling at the waist.

You turned slightly to the side and tugged the skirt again, voice flat. “This is what I get for being too lazy to do laundry.”

Kazuha laughed, leaning back on the barre. “It’s kinda cute, though. Retro. You look like you're in a throwback recital.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway.

Getting into Decelis University hadn’t been easy. The performing arts department—especially the dance conservatory—was known across the country for its prestige and high expectations. Hundreds auditioned every year. Not all made it past the first round.

You did.

On your first try.

Full-ride scholarship. Competitive record. Trophies and tears to back it all up.

People said you made it look easy, like you were meant to be there. But it wasn’t ease—it was effort. It was years of calluses, missed parties, bleeding toes, and sacrifice. You didn’t just want to dance. You needed to.

Kazuha tossed her towel on the bench, pulling her leg up on the barre to stretch. “You staying late again tonight?”

You nodded, eyes fixed on your reflection again. “Yeah. I have to perfect the solo for finals. My second rotation’s on Friday.”

“You know,” she grinned, “you say that like you’re not already one of the top students here.”

You shrugged. “Perfection’s the bare minimum.”

Kazuha blinked at you like you were insane, but she didn’t push it. She knew you well enough by now.

The speaker clicked as the next song loaded, soft classical strings filling the room again. You took a breath, stepped forward, and let your body move—not perfectly, not effortlessly, but honestly.

Your feet kissed the marley floor with a quiet grace, arms extending with purpose as you lost yourself to the swell of the violins.

You didn't think, didn't worry—this was the part where everything else slipped away. Just you, the music, and the ache in your chest that only dance could reach.

Just as Kazuha stepped forward to join you in the center, the door handle jiggled behind you.

You both froze mid-pose.

Then—knock knock knock.

Sharp. Persistent. Not polite.

You blinked at Kazuha, who mirrored your confusion, and as you turned toward the door, you caught a chaotic shuffle of movement behind the foggy glass panel.

“What the hell—” you muttered, already walking over as Kazuha crossed the room to pause the music.

Three heads crammed into the glass at once, pushing and jostling to get a peek inside, like some low-budget Scooby-Doo skit come to life. Behind them, more bodies shuffled around, some holding instruments.

You squinted. One had a guitar case strapped to his back. Another was holding drumsticks. Someone in the back had an amp cord looped around his neck like a scarf.

Kazuha tilted her head. “Are we being… robbed? By a band?”

You raised an eyebrow, folding your arms across your chest. “Who even lets them in here?”

The glass panel fogged slightly from the nose of someone pressing into it a little too eagerly.

You sighed, took a few steps forward, and called out—loudly enough to be heard through the semi-soundproof barrier, “Do you need something, or are you just here for a group peep show?”

That did the trick.

The door burst open like someone forgot subtlety existed. Seven guys came tumbling in, all trying to talk at once, their words tangling into a mess of “wait—no you ask—dude, she’s literally glaring—” while you stood, unamused, watching the circus unfold.

Kazuha blinked, frozen in place like her brain short-circuited at the sheer volume of testosterone in the room.

The boy with dyed blonde hair lit up like a switch. “Kazuha!”

Her head whipped around at the sound of her name, and when she caught sight of the voice—tall, bleach-haired, grinning like a kid—her face softened instantly.

“Oh, Ni-ki,” she said with a small laugh, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s you.”

You blinked.

Wait. Ni-ki?

As in—her cousin Ni-ki?

The one who, according to Kazuha, played bass ‘like he was born doing it’ and could barely stay out of trouble for longer than a week?

The dots connected in your head like a quiet click—that was the cousin who hung out with some band. That was the chaos she warned you about when she said don’t mind the noise if you hear it down the hallway.

“Wait,” you said slowly, glancing between her and the group of rowdy boys trying to look innocent while still blocking half the studio entrance. “This is your cousin?”

“Yup,” Kazuha replied, already looking more amused than confused. “And that—” she gestured loosely toward the rest of them, “—is his band, I’m guessing.”

“You’re guessing?” you deadpanned. “They walked in here like they were about to headline Coachella.”

The boy in the front—tall, dark eyes, jet-black hair pulled back under a hoodie—finally stepped forward, less loud than the others, but still undeniably present. A black guitar case hung across his back, the strap slung casually over one shoulder like it belonged there, like he belonged here.

He wasn’t smiling.

He looked at you, at the studio, at your sweat-damp shirt and worn-out ballet shoes, and then back at you.

He raised a brow.

And then he said, “Is this the part where we pretend to be sorry for barging in?”

Your arms stayed crossed, lips twitching. “That depends. Is this the part where you explain why you’re here like this is a battle of the bands?”

Kazuha snorted. Ni-ki cackled.

The guy with another guitar case nudged the hoodie boy with his elbow. “Jay, say something normal, you’re scaring them.”

You raised an eyebrow.

The rest of the room seemed to pause, some failing to hide their grins while others tried very hard not to look like they were watching a drama unfold.

The so-called Jay hadn’t looked away from you once—dark eyes unreadable, the weight of his stare almost intrusive if it didn’t feel so curious.

You refused to break eye contact. If he was testing you, he’d have to try harder.

Kazuha stood quietly beside you, arms lightly crossed over her chest now, the tension in her jaw suggesting she was just waiting for someone to say something stupid so she could comment.

Finally, someone near the door cleared his throat—a polite, practiced sound that immediately drew your attention. The boy who stepped forward looked nothing like the storm standing across from you.

He was shorter than Jay, cleaner cut, dressed neatly in a dark crewneck and jeans. He smiled, dimples flashing as he extended a hand toward you.

“Hi,” he said with a slight bow, voice warm and measured. “I’m Yang Jungwon. Sorry to barge in all of a sudden. I know it’s unexpected, but…”

He reached into his back pocket and unfolded a neatly creased slip of paper, holding it up for you to see.

“It says here on the permit that we were assigned this studio for band practice at 7:30 PM,” he added carefully, his smile faltering just slightly. “And, uh… well…”

His voice trailed off as you took the paper from him, your eyes skimming over the familiar university header. You read the fine print, squinting at the date and time listed in the middle of the page.

Your jaw tightened.

It was 7:32 PM.

You looked up. Right on cue, another boy—tall, broad-shouldered, impossibly pretty—piped up from behind Ni-ki, his tone light and almost too casual.

“Well, it is 7:30,” he said, shrugging one shoulder, an easy grin on his face. “Technically.”

You gave him a flat look. He smiled wider, clearly not sorry.

“I’m Lee Heeseung,” he added, a little sheepishly this time, like that would soften the blow.

“Oh,” you said dryly, crossing your arms. “So your plan was to just burst in and interrupt mid-combo because you had a slip of paper and a sense of entitlement?”

Heeseung winced, looking to Ni-ki for backup, who was definitely not paying attention—too busy playing with the hem of his oversized jacket while whispering something to Kazuha.

Jay finally blinked, his voice low and slow as he spoke for the first time. “No one said it was a good plan.”

Your eyes flicked to him again, sharp. He still hadn’t moved from where he stood—hoodie half-zipped, guitar case slung over one shoulder, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans. He didn’t look embarrassed. He looked bored. Or tired. Or both.

“And you’re Jay?” you asked, tone unimpressed.

His head tilted slightly. “Unfortunately.”

You gave him a look. He held it again.

“God,” Kazuha muttered under her breath beside you, “do you two want a chair so you can keep eye-fighting in comfort?”

Jungwon, ever the peacemaker, gently stepped between you again, holding up his hands.

“Look, I think the admin office made a mistake. We’re not trying to kick you out or anything. We just… really need a place to rehearse tonight. Our usual room’s under maintenance.”

You glanced at the clock near the mirror.

Your solo practice was supposed to end at 7:30, but you usually stayed longer—everyone knew that. No one ever came after you. No one dared.

Until now.

You inhaled slowly, then exhaled.

“Fine,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. “Give us five minutes to cool down and grab our stuff. You guys can have it after.”

Jungwon looked relieved. “Seriously? That’s—thank you.”

Heeseung threw a little fist bump in the air, whispering a triumphant “yes” under his breath.

Without another word, the group finally started moving—some quieter than others—as they drifted further into the practice room. You and Kazuha stepped aside instinctively, watching as they began unloading.

The boy with the second guitar case unclipped it and set it gently on the floor. Jungwon followed him, coiling a few amp cords neatly, while someone near the door nearly dropped a whole keyboard with a loud thud.

You flinched.

Your jaw tensed. "Seriously?"

“Sorry!” the boy called out quickly, already scrambling to fix it.

Ni-ki ducked around him and pushed the door open again, holding it wide with his foot as another boy wheeled in a full drum kit like this was a full-blown arena setup and not just a shared university room.

“Careful with that, I tuned the snare this morning!” Jungwon scolded, and Ni-ki just huffed dramatically but helped anyway.

Across the room, someone handed Heeseung a mic stand like it was a sword and he was about to lead them into battle. You watched with a quiet sigh as chaos began blooming in your sacred space.

Beside you, Kazuha chuckled under her breath.

You nudged her shoulder with your bag. “Your cousin’s just as hardheaded as you, you know that?”

She laughed softly, looping her sweatshirt over her arm. “I know. I’m sorry. It runs in the family.”

You knelt down to grab your ballet flats, towel already half-hanging from your tote, when a shadow fell across your line of sight.

You looked up.

It was the same boy who had nearly dropped the keyboard earlier. He was standing in front of you now, hands clasped in front of him, an almost apologetic smile stretched wide across his face.

His hair was cropped short, brushing just above his brows. His eyes practically sparkled.

“Hi,” he said brightly, almost like he meant it. “I’m Sunoo. I—uh—just wanted to say I’m really sorry about earlier.”

You blinked. He had that kind of smile that felt like it came with its own lighting—warm, unguarded, maybe a little too charming for your own good.

You stood, slipping your shoes into your bag. “It’s not that big of a deal,” you said lightly, waving a hand as if to brush it off.

Still, he bowed slightly, earnestness in every movement. “Still. I apologize. Jay usually isn’t that…”

He hesitated, searching for a polite word.

You offered, “Intense?”

He laughed. “Yeah. That. Or dramatic. Or socially incapable, depending on the day.”

You let out a small, unwilling laugh. Damn him and his infectious energy.

Behind him, the tall boy who had helped Ni-ki drag the drum set in let out a sigh as he leaned against the mirror wall, arms crossed.

“Yeah, seriously,” he said, brushing hair away from his forehead. “We don’t usually come in here, and we didn’t mean to crash your rehearsal or anything.”

You turned to him, a little caught off guard by his voice—deep, smooth, kind of casual in a way that made you think he wasn’t used to saying sorry out loud.

“Oh—yeah, I’m Sunghoon,” he said quickly, standing up straighter. “I play bass. In the band. That’s here. Right now.”

You raised an eyebrow at his awkward phrasing. He ran a hand through his hair, chuckling under his breath.

“Sorry. That came out weird.”

Before you could respond, Ni-ki—who’d reappeared from behind the keyboard stand—elbowed Sunghoon in the ribs with a mischievous grin and said, “You mean I’m the better bass player.”

Sunghoon didn’t even flinch. He just deadpanned, “Ni-ki, shut the fuck up.”

“You say that now,” Ni-ki replied, holding up a guitar clip like it was a trophy. “But when I go solo and top the charts, don’t come crying.”

Kazuha laughed, grabbing your arm gently as she looped hers through yours. “Okay, that’s our cue. We should go before my cousin starts making powerpoints about why he deserves a bass solo.”

Ni-ki beamed. “You’d watch it, admit it.”

“I wouldn’t,” she said flatly, already tugging you toward the door.

Despite Ni-ki being the only one actually saying goodbye, a soft chorus of murmured goodnights and lazy waves followed behind you—Jungwon giving you a polite nod, Sunoo offering a sparkly smile, and Heeseung shooting a goofy two-finger salute like this was some kind of after-school special.

You glanced back once, just briefly—only to find Jay still watching you.

Still standing near the mic stand, still quiet, expression unreadable.

There was no smirk, no apology. Just stillness. Like he was memorizing something, but didn’t want to show it.

The door shut with a soft click behind you.

The hallway outside was colder—empty, quiet, the lights humming faintly above your head. Your footsteps echoed against the tiled floor, and Kazuha’s arm still looped around yours like second nature.

You sighed as you leaned into her slightly, the ache in your shoulders finally catching up to you.

“My God,” you muttered, pressing a palm to your forehead. “Your cousin’s band is weird.”

Kazuha laughed, eyes crinkling as she bumped your hip with hers. “I told you they were rowdy. You just didn’t believe me.”

“I thought you meant, like… normal band rowdy. Tattoos. Bad rehearsal schedules. Not actual sitcom-level weird.”

“Oh, that is their normal,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You let out a soft scoff, nudging her with your shoulder. “You say that like you hang out with them.”

“I don’t,” Kazuha said quickly, laughing. “Not really. I mean, I’ve never actually seen them practice or perform—Ni-ki just never shuts up about them.”

You hummed in response, the sound quiet between your steps as the two of you walked in sync down the empty corridor. Your shoes squeaked faintly against the tile, the overhead lights casting soft shadows on the tiled floor.

Now that the noise and tension of the room had faded behind you, your body started to relax, step by step.

Kazuha glanced at you, her expression thoughtful. “But like… I have heard they’re popular or something?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Popular how?”

“Like… actually good,” she said, lifting her hands a little as if that explained everything.

“Ni-ki said they’ve won the university’s Battle of the Bands for the last few years. Every time. So now they automatically get a slot in all the school events—like festivals, College Week, charity nights…”

You slowed your steps, head tilting slightly. “Wait,” you said, frowning. “You mean… those guys are the ones that perform after us during College Week?”

She blinked, then nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

You furrowed your brows, trying to remember. You knew College Week. Your dance troupe always had one of the final performances. But you never stayed long enough to watch what came after.

By then, you were usually backstage, catching your breath, fixing your makeup, or already halfway home with sore feet and sore everything else.

“Huh,” you muttered. “Weird. I’ve never actually heard them before. Like—properly.”

Kazuha hummed in agreement beside you as the two of you turned left at the corner, heading toward the student entrance.

“They’re good,” she said casually. “From what I’ve heard. Ni-ki plays me demos sometimes when I sleep over and pretend to be asleep.”

You looked at her. “That’s creepy.”

She snorted. “He puts his phone under my pillow. He calls it subliminal promotion.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound echoing lightly down the hall.

The two of you finally spotted the main exit doors at the far end of the building, glowing under the fluorescent lights like a way out of chaos.

Kazuha reached forward to push one open, and the second the glass door swung wide, a rush of cold night air swept in—sharp and biting, cutting through the warmth clinging to your skin from practice.

You shivered, instinctively hugging your arms over your chest. “Shit,” you muttered under your breath, stepping outside. “I forgot to bring my leg warmers again.”

The sky had already deepened into a soft navy, stars just barely peeking out beyond the clouds. The faint buzz of field lights nearby hummed in the distance, illuminating the quiet path that cut across campus toward the dormitories.

Kazuha slipped her arm back through yours. “You’re always forgetting those.”

“I was in a rush!” you said defensively. “Besides, I wasn’t planning on staying that long. Or dealing with an entire band.”

“I’d say that’s your own fault for being talented and dedicated,” she teased, bumping your hip lightly.

You groaned, breath fogging in the air. “Wanna crash at my dorm tonight?”

Kazuha perked up immediately, turning to you with eyes bright. “Wait—are you gonna cook curry?”

You narrowed your eyes at her, lips twitching. “Do I have a choice?”

“Nope,” she grinned, not even a second of hesitation.

She tightened her hold on your arm and tugged you faster down the pavement.

“Come on, let’s stop by the convenience store near the dorms first! You need something warm. Let’s get you that fancy black tea you like—what’s it called again? The one that smells like actual flowers and money?”

You rolled your eyes, but let her pull you anyway, the weight of her excitement warming you more than your sweatshirt did.

“It’s not that fancy,” you mumbled. “It just doesn’t taste like cardboard.”

Kazuha snorted. “Mm, cardboard tea. A classic.”

Your steps fell in sync again, the gravel path crunching beneath your shoes as the golden glow of the dorms and the soft neon flicker of the convenience store came into view.

“Do we need anything else?” you asked absentmindedly, your voice quiet against the wind.

“Just curry cubes,” she said, already scanning the store shelves from outside. “And maybe a pack of Pocky if you’re feeling soft.”

You huffed a laugh. “I’m not feeling soft.”

“You will be,” she grinned, tugging open the door. The bell jingled.

The lock clicked softly as you turned the key, Kazuha hovering patiently behind you with her arms full of grocery bags and her cheeks pink from the walk.

You pushed the door open with your shoulder, and the familiar scent of soft linen, citrus cleaner, and a little bit of cat greeted you instantly.

The moment the door cracked open—a little white blur padded across the wooden floor, tail high and curling like a question mark.

You lit up. “Hi, Doobu! Mommy’s home,” you cooed, immediately crouching down to scoop her up.

She let out a pleased trill, practically melting into your arms like she’d been waiting all day for this moment. Her fur was as soft as ever—warm and fluffy and slightly dramatic as she pressed her face to your chin and gave a little snuffly sigh.

“God, clingy,” you mumbled affectionately, rubbing your cheek against hers as her tail flicked lazily behind her.

Kazuha stepped in behind you, carefully closing the door with her foot as she dropped the plastic bags down on the small table beside the TV.

“For a school dorm, you’re living kinda luxurious,” she muttered, glancing around.

She wasn’t wrong.

Your dorm was unusually spacious—one of the perks of applying early and having ‘scholarship kid who needs personal space for daily injury recovery’ written in your file.

There was a small kitchenette in the corner, a two-seater couch against the wall, fairy lights strung up along your bookshelf, and a thick pink carpet you refused to get rid of even though Doobu had shed all over it.

Speaking of—

Doobu sniffed at your shirt suspiciously.

“Yeah, I know,” you said, following her nose with a fond eye roll. “I had to deal with weird boys today.”

Doobu gave a grumpy-sounding purr, like she understood exactly what that meant.

Kazuha came to your side, reaching out to scratch behind Doobu’s ears. “I don’t know what you feed her, seriously,” she said with a shake of her head. “She’s so chonky.”

You laughed. “Cat food, duh.”

Doobu meowed again like she agreed, batting her paw gently at your necklace before giving a little yawn and curling closer into your arms. Her soft belly pressed against your forearm like a warm pillow.

Kazuha leaned her head on your shoulder. “Okay, I vote we wash our faces, put on something fluffy, and start on curry.”

You tilted your head. “You mean I start on curry.”

She gave you an angelic look. “Well, someone’s gotta entertain the cat.”

You both giggled, shoulders bumping gently, the warmth of home already settling around you like a blanket.

Not long after, you’d changed into your fluffiest oversized tee and tied your hair into a messy bun, steam from the rice cooker wafting through your dorm.

Kazuha sat cross-legged at the small dining nook peeling open packets of curry mix like she’d done it a hundred times.

Doobu, in the meantime, had circled your feet three times before flopping dramatically onto her back like she owned the floor.

Fifteen minutes and one mini kitchen disaster later, you were perched on your bed with a steaming bowl of curry and rice, your legs stretched out under a throw blanket.

Kazuha sat beside you, her own bowl balanced on her lap, a green clay facemask smeared evenly across her cheeks—yours was a little more chaotic, mostly because she insisted on artistic freedom when applying it on you.

The TV played softly in the background, some K-drama with way too many dramatic hallway scenes and brooding men in trench coats. You weren’t even fully following the plot anymore, just laughing when Kazuha made commentary.

“Oh my God,” she said, mouth full of rice, “he’s literally been staring at her for five minutes. Say something, you dramatic coat rack.”

You snorted. “He’s trying to speak with his eyes, Zuha. Let him suffer in silence.”

“Okay Shakespeare, relax.”

You giggled again, leaning back on your hands as you spooned more curry into your mouth, warmth blooming in your stomach.

Doobu had settled into her cat bed just under your bunk, tail flicking occasionally as she napped peacefully, her belly rising and falling in the soft golden glow of your fairy lights.

Just as you reached for your water, your phone buzzed loudly on your bedside table.

Both of you froze at the sound cutting through the moment, your ringtone echoing awkwardly in the room like it didn’t belong.

Kazuha paused the drama with her chopsticks still in hand. “Who is it?”

You glanced at the screen, brow lifting. “Unknown number.”

She hummed. “Might be important.”

You sighed, putting your bowl on the side table and swiping to answer as you leaned back against your headboard. “Hello?”

“Hey, um—sorry—hi! Is this (L/N) (Y/N)?” the voice asked, polite and just slightly breathless. “This is Jungwon. From earlier.”

Your eyebrows shot up.

“…How’d you get my number?”

There was a pause on the line, followed by the distinct sound of Ni-ki laughing in the background.

“Oh—I, uh—sorry! I came from Student Affairs with Ni-ki and Jay just now,” Jungwon explained quickly, clearly flustered. “Ni-ki was trying to reach Kazuha but apparently—uh…”

“She blocked him,” you finished flatly, glancing at Kazuha.

She didn’t even flinch. “Deserved. He replaced my healing playlist with Mongolian throat singing.”

You blinked. “…That’s so specific.”

She shrugged. “It was an experience.”

Back on the phone, Jungwon stammered, “Y-Yeah, well, I’m only calling because, uh—not me, technically—Jay gave me his phone to call you.”

You blinked again, this time slower.

Your fingers tensed a little around the device. “Jay?”

“Mhm,” Jungwon said sheepishly. “I mean—it’s his phone number, not mine. But, like, he told me to—um—just give him the phone. Give—give me a sec—”

You heard more shuffling, the soft thud of something being handed over, and then a low, familiar voice spoke next.

“Hey.”

You sat up straighter without meaning to.

Jay’s voice was smooth. A little quiet. Just like earlier. But something about hearing it now—soft and direct, in your private space—made your stomach flutter once.

“This is kind of last-minute,” he continued, “but our practice room’s under construction. There’s water damage and they’re doing renovations.”

You blinked. “Okay…”

He sounded mildly annoyed now, like it physically pained him to say the next part.

“It’ll be down for at least two weeks,” he muttered. “And apparently we need to share your room. The studio, I mean. Starting tomorrow.”

Your mouth opened. Then closed.

You blinked at the wall.

“…You’re calling to tell me that we’re gonna be stuck together for two weeks?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Jay said, voice dry.

“Wow. You sound thrilled.”

“I’m always thrilled,” he deadpanned.

You pulled the phone away from your ear slightly and looked at Kazuha.

She was already wide-eyed. “What? What’d he say?”

You pressed the phone back. “Why do you guys even need to use the studio again?”

There was a pause. A beat.

Then Jay said, quieter this time, “Because we have a performance soon. A big one. We need the space.”

You exhaled through your nose, head tilting back against the wooden headboard, your eyes focused on the ceiling as a long silence stretched between you. The line didn’t hang up. He didn’t say more.

Neither did you.

There was a pause. Then—

“Seven onwards,” Jay replied, tone steady.

You closed your eyes for a beat, pressing your lips together. That meant long nights. Tired legs. Sharing mirrors. Sharing space.

“Okay,” you murmured. “Got it.”

Another pause. Faint static hummed between your ears. And then—

“…Thanks.”

The line went dead before you could say anything else.

You lowered your phone slowly, setting it on the nightstand beside your lamp, and let out a low cough—half irritation, half disbelief—as you mumbled under your breath:

“Rude.”

Kazuha was still staring at you, her bowl long forgotten, chopsticks perched against the rim like they’d been abandoned mid-bite.

“Well?” she prompted, peeling the now-dry mask from her cheek. “What did they want?”

You leaned back against the headboard again, letting your legs stretch out in front of you as Doobu gave a tiny sneeze from her bed below.

“They need the studio,” you muttered.

Kazuha blinked. “Again?”

“For two more weeks.” You rubbed your temple. “Apparently their practice room’s under construction or whatever. Water damage.”

She blinked again, expression unreadable. Then she shrugged. “Well… that’s not that bad.”

You whipped your head toward her. “You weren’t the one being stared down by Hoodie McBrooding in the middle of rehearsal.”

She snorted. “I was there. He wasn’t that scary.”

“He looked at me like I insulted his guitar.”

“Maybe you did.”

You threw a pillow at her, making her laugh as she ducked and caught it mid-air.

“I’m just saying,” she said with a grin, fluffing the pillow behind her, “if they’re really sharing the space, this might actually be kind of fun.”

“Fun is not the word I’d use,” you muttered, eyeing your phone like it might ring again.

Kazuha leaned back beside you, slipping her feet under your blanket. “Mm. I give it three days before someone flirts with you.”

You blinked. “Why would you say that?”

She grinned. “Because I know men. And I know your face.”

You groaned, pulling your blanket up over your head. Doobu meowed from below, clearly siding with Kazuha.

It was six in the morning when you blinked awake to the weight of soft fur pressed against your arm.

The bed wasn’t empty—Doobu was curled into a fluffy comma by your side, tail twitching as if to say how dare you even think about moving right now.

You reached over to gently run your hand down her back, your fingers brushing the warmth of her little body as she gave a contented little sigh in her sleep.

Your phone buzzed.

You squinted against the sudden brightness as you grabbed it, groaning as your dry eyes adjusted. The first thing on your screen was a message from Kazuha.

zuha [6:00 A.M.]: left at 5am to get ready, good luck waking up loser 💗

You scoffed under your breath, thumbs already typing a grumpy reply before tossing the phone aside. Still, you sighed and sat up, letting your legs dangle off the side of the bed.

You stretched slowly, your spine cracking, and rubbed the sleep from your eyes as Doobu rolled onto her back like a little queen.

“Be good today,” you murmured as you leaned down and gave her a kiss on the head. She purred, obviously pleased.

You padded into the bathroom, letting the warm spray of the shower melt away the heaviness from your limbs. Afterward, you tied your hair up, added a little makeup—just some blush and gloss and eyeliner to hide how tired you felt.

You pulled on a soft white ruffled blouse, tucked it into a pair of pale jeans, and layered a white jacket over it. Warm enough to fight the cold, but still light enough to move in.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and smiled faintly.

You kissed Doobu goodbye at the door, her round eyes blinking sleepily up at you from her cat bed.

“Don’t start a coup while I’m gone.”

She meowed like she made no promises.

The walk to campus was quiet.

The sky was still tinted pale gray, the kind that hinted at the rising sun behind soft clouds. Your boots clicked softly on the pavement as the cold air kissed your cheeks, your breath visible in soft puffs.

You moved slowly, soaking it in. The silence. The morning stillness. The kind of peace that only existed before the world woke up.

Until footsteps joined yours.

At first, you thought it was coincidence. But they fell in sync with yours too easily, too closely. Your shoulder barely brushed against fabric—black fabric.

You turned slightly, just enough to see the hem of a long, inky button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to the forearms, a silver watch glinting at the wrist. Black jeans. Clean loafers. And a guitar case slung casually over one shoulder like it weighed nothing.

Jay.

You raised a brow. “…Stalking me already?”

He didn’t look at you, but you saw the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I live across the quad. You just happen to be slow.”

You blinked. “Not slow. Calm. It’s called appreciating the morning.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s cold. That’s all I’m appreciating.”

You gave him a look, then returned your gaze to the path ahead. “Nice fit, though.”

That made him pause for half a second. Then he glanced down at his shirt like he forgot he was even wearing it. “Oh. Yeah. Thanks.”

You caught a glimpse of his profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the calm in his eyes, the way his hair was still slightly tousled from the wind.

Admittedly, the man had taste.

“Didn’t think black-on-black was a thing before sunrise,” you said dryly.

Jay glanced sideways. “You’re wearing white like you’re in a coffee commercial.”

You choked. “Excuse me?”

“All white, floating around in a dreamscape,” he deadpanned, eyes still forward. “All you need is a cup and a wind machine.”

You couldn’t help it—you let out a laugh, the sound cracking through the crisp air.

Jay didn’t say anything, but you saw the faintest quirk at the edge of his lips again. Like he was trying really hard not to smile.

“…You’re weird,” you mumbled, glancing at him again.

“Takes one to know one,” he replied.

You scoffed, raising a brow in mock offense as your eyes flicked toward him.

“Wow,” you muttered, hands deep in your jacket pockets. “Coming for my entire personality before sunrise. That’s bold.”

Jay only shrugged, unbothered, lips twitching like he was fighting back a smirk. “You started it.”

The two of you fell into silence again—not the uncomfortable kind, but the type that sat easily between two people who didn’t know each other well enough to fill it, and maybe didn’t mind that.

Your eyes trailed over the field as you passed it, where a few student athletes were already stretching, setting up cones and goalposts. You watched as one of them kicked a ball lazily toward the net.

“You play bass like Ni-ki and Sunghoon?” you asked suddenly, keeping your gaze forward.

Jay shook his head once. “No. Electric guitar.”

You nodded, quietly filing it away in the drawer of things you weren’t sure why you wanted to remember.

He didn’t offer more, but you didn’t really mind. You were content with the crunch of gravel beneath your boots, the wind playing with the strands of your hair that had come loose. The cold nipped at your cheeks, leaving them pink, but you liked the sting—it kept you awake.

A soft rustle came from your side, and you noticed Jay glancing at you again.

He wasn’t subtle about it. Not really.

He looked at your hair where it swayed against your shoulder, at the faint shimmer of your highlighter catching the morning light, at the soft pink ribbon that dangled from your tote bag—a leftover from the ballet shoes you had shoved inside before leaving.

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t look away either. Not until you caught him.

You turned slightly, brows raised, your mouth tugging upward at one side. “Staring’s kind of rude, you know.”

Jay blinked, deadpan. “You have glitter on your cheek.”

You blinked back, lifting your hand to swipe at your face. “Do I?”

He watched you try, then sighed and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a pack of tissues. Wordlessly, he offered you one.

You took it with a quiet thanks, dabbing carefully.

“Better?” you asked.

Jay looked at you, slower this time. “Yeah.”

Another moment passed before you tilted your head toward him. “So what’s the big performance all about?”

He looked back at you, one brow lifting slightly. “Don’t we have College Week?”

You blinked. Froze. Then groaned like something hit you physically.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face. “I totally forgot about that.”

Jay actually laughed—soft, deep, amused under his breath. “You perform every year, don’t you?”

“I mean, yeah, but I don’t remember until like, the week before,” you grumbled. “Last year I sprained my toe trying to cram the choreography into three days.”

Jay’s eyes widened. “That’s possible?”

“Apparently,” you said, exasperated. “My teacher still makes fun of me for it.”

A beat passed.

“…You’re kind of dramatic,” Jay said.

“You’re one to talk. You wear black button-ups at dawn.”

Jay gave you a look, but you caught the way the corners of his lips pulled upward.

The gates to the building appeared ahead of you, golden light just beginning to slip past the horizon behind it. You exhaled, watching your breath cloud in the air.

Jay suddenly spoke, quieter this time. “You looked like you liked the morning.”

You turned to him, a little startled by the softness in his tone.

“I do,” you replied, voice matching his. “It’s quiet.”

He nodded. “You look like you belong in it.”

That made you pause.

You didn’t have time to respond—Jay pulled the heavy glass door open for you and gestured subtly for you to go ahead. His face was unreadable, that same practiced neutral he always wore, but the soft pink dusting the tips of his ears gave him away.

“Thanks,” you murmured, stepping inside.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied simply, the door shutting softly behind the two of you as the cold gave way to polished floors and tall ceilings.

You both fell into step again, your footsteps echoing slightly as you walked side by side down the long hallway of Decelis’ east wing. The building was quiet this early in the morning—some classrooms still locked, lights flickering to life one by one, janitors mopping in the distance.

Jay glanced over at you. “What’s your first class?”

You blinked, glancing down at your schedule in your head. “Oh. Arts. I think we’re covering expressionist pieces this week.”

He hummed, nodding. “Makes sense. You… kind of give that vibe.”

You squinted at him. “What vibe?”

He looked straight ahead. “You know. All poetic and floaty and stuff.”

You snorted. “Wow. So insightful.”

Jay smirked, just barely. “I try.”

“And you?”

“Business math,” he replied, as if the weight of the world rested on those two cursed words.

You groaned instantly. “Ugh. Math.”

Jay turned to you, brow lifting. “You don’t like it?”

“Hate it,” you declared with no hesitation. “With a burning passion. I think numbers were invented just to make me cry.”

That made him laugh under his breath. “That’s dramatic.”

“You look emo right now. Don’t talk to me about dramatic.”

You saw the corners of his lips twitch again, his eyes dancing with quiet amusement.

And then—just like that—you came to a stop.

You glanced at the plaque beside the door:

ROOM 1B-04 ART HISTORY – PROF. CHOI

“Well,” you said, adjusting your tote bag higher on your shoulder. “This is me.”

Jay looked up at the sign and nodded once. “Art history. Got it.”

You looked up at him, lips quirking into a soft smile. “Try not to die in math.”

“No promises,” he said with a small shrug.

You hesitated just a second longer. “Bye, Jay.”

He gave you a small wave—fingers lifted, the gesture almost lazy, but his eyes lingered for a beat too long. “Later.”

The door clicked shut behind you as you entered, and Jay stood there for a second, just looking at the nameplate again.

Then—without a word—he turned and walked all the way back down the same hallway the two of you had just come from. He passed the entryway, the glass doors you came in from, then turned toward the elevators at the far side of the west wing.

When he stepped inside, he hit the button for the third floor.

Business math wasn’t even remotely on the way.

And yet he walked you the whole time anyway.

Now, alone in the elevator, Jay leaned back against the cool wall, head tilting up as he let out a long breath.

‘It was just a nice gesture’, he told himself.

Nothing big. Nothing deep. Just something to make up for being—well. Kind of an asshole last night.

He shook his head once, jaw tightening at the thought. He’d been tired, irritated, and none of that was an excuse—but still. You didn’t deserve that.

You didn’t even react the way most people did. No sarcasm, no petty comeback, no wide-eyed awe or annoying flirtation. You just went silent at him. Met him exactly where he was.

Yeah. Had to make up for it. That’s all.

The elevator chimed softly.

The third floor was just starting to wake up—some lights flickering on, the coffee machine across the hall hissing in the break room, students murmuring half-asleep greetings as they passed. Jay walked down the long corridor, muscle memory carrying him as he reached the classroom near the end of the hallway.

He pushed the door open with one hand.

“Yo,” came Jake’s voice from across the room, already lounging with a pen in his mouth. “You’re a few minutes late.”

Jay didn’t even glance at the clock. “Yeah. I was busy.”

Jake raised a brow, his smirk a little too knowing. “With what?”

Jay walked past him, slinging his guitar case off his shoulder and leaning it carefully against the chair next to his. “Just busy,” he said simply, voice flat as he pulled his seat out.

Jake snorted. “Okay, then. Mysterious rockstar things, got it.”

Jay didn’t respond, only exhaled through his nose, resting his arms on the desk.

Jake didn’t press any further.

It was only after the classroom started to fill in around them—students trickling in one by one, the professor still nowhere in sight—that Jay reached into the pocket of his pants.

He pulled out his phone, screen lighting up with a soft glow.

He opened his contacts and stopped at the one number Jungwon had dialed last night to call you.

Just a random string of digits. No name. No photo.

He hesitated, then tapped edit.

Then paused. His eyes flicked to your tote bag again in his mind, to the soft pink ribbon hanging out like a little flag.

He typed in your name slowly, deliberately—

(Y/N) 🎀

Jay stared at it for a second. Just long enough for the corner of his mouth to lift—barely there, just the ghost of a smile.

Then he hit save.

And tucked the phone away like it meant nothing.

Even though, deep down, he knew it already meant a little too much.

It was just past one in the afternoon, and you were quite literally seconds away from collapsing into your desk.

The sun filtered lazily through the windows of the arts building, golden and too tempting, especially when paired with the drone of your professor’s voice at the front of the room.

“…and if we consider the range of motion relative to the joint axis, then the flexibility of the hamstring significantly affects the body’s—”

You drowned her out halfway through.

Kinesiology. Again.

God, how many times do we have to talk about hamstrings?

Your cheek rested on your fist, elbow propped on your desk, lips pursed in a subtle pout as your professor continued with the enthusiasm of someone who had never seen the sun in her life.

“Now, these handouts,” she said, finally changing the slide on the screen behind her. “Please read them thoroughly—we’ll be applying this next week during assessments. Pass them around.”

You barely resisted the urge to groan. The stack of papers was passed to the row in front of you, then to you. You took one, handed it back without a glance, and immediately began packing up the moment the bell rang.

Your bag hit your shoulder with a soft thump, the only thing more desperate than your escape being the dramatic sigh you let out as you pushed through the doors and stepped into the hallway.

The cafeteria was already buzzing when you got there. Somehow still not flooded—yet. You weaved between groups of students chatting loudly, trays clinking, the smell of coffee and fried chicken lingering in the air.

You spotted a seat by one of the tall windows—sunlight spilling across the table like it was calling your name.

You made a beeline for it and dropped into the chair with a soft huff, letting your shoulders relax for the first time all day.

Pulling out your laptop and your phone, you set them both down and opened your notifications—only to be met with a string of messages from your group chat with your friends.

zuha [1:14 P.M.]: guys i can’t make it to lunch TT i have to finish two portfolios before 3

chaewon [1:14 P.M.]: same! i’ve got a crit w/ my prof in 20 minutes

yunjin [1:14 P.M.]: i’m dying in editing class bye

manchae [1:15 P.M.]: pls save me

kkura [1:15 P.M.]: sorry baby i’ll treat you to strawberry milk later

You sighed, thumbs tapping out a quick reply.

you [1:15 P.M.]: okay study well :( don’t forget to eat!!

You turned off your phone, placing it face-down on the table, and opened your laptop with a soft click. A sea of reports blinked back at you—deadlines lining the corners of your screen like silent threats.

You pulled one up, adjusted your seating, and leaned in to start typing, the warmth of the sun kissing your cheek as your fingers danced across the keyboard.

The ambient chatter faded into soft background noise—until a shadow crossed over your screen.

You paused, blinking, then glanced down—familiar shoes coming into view. Black loafers. Paired with dark jeans cuffed slightly at the ankle. And then—

“Is this seat taken?” a familiar voice asked, low and smooth.

You tilted your head up, eyes meeting a very Jay-like expression: blank, almost bored, but eyes just a bit too focused on you to match the rest of his face.

He wasn’t carrying his guitar today. Just a laptop tucked under his arm and his phone in hand. Minimal, neat. The sleeves of his long-sleeved shirt were still rolled up to his elbows.

Jay nodded once and sat down across from you, sliding into the chair with quiet ease. He placed his laptop on the table, phone on top of it. His eyes flicked over to your trayless setup.

“You’re not with Kazuha?” he asked, voice lower than it needed to be—like the question was just for you.

You sighed, slumping slightly in your chair. “Nope. All my friends bailed on me for deadlines.”

Jay’s head tilted slightly to the side. “But you’re here. In the cafeteria. And…” he glanced at your table, “you’re not eating anything.”

You let out a short laugh, soft and almost embarrassed. “I’ll eat in a few. I was gonna finish something first.”

Jay said nothing for a second. Then stood up, brushing invisible lint off his shirt. “What do you want?”

You blinked. “Wait—what?”

He looked down at you, dark eyes steady. “To eat. You said you’re not eating yet. So what do you want?”

“I—Jay, you don’t have to—” You frowned a little, sitting up straighter.

Jay clicked his tongue lightly, cutting you off. “Come on. What do you want?” His voice was gentle, but it left no room for arguing.

And god—he was tall. Standing there with the sun lighting up the ends of his hair, shirt slightly wrinkled from his classes, his height felt… kind of overwhelming. You sighed, giving in.

“Fine,” you mumbled, looking up at him through your lashes. “Anything. I’m not picky.”

Jay raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

You pursed your lips, thinking. “…Banana milk. And maybe tonkatsu with curry if they still have some.”

He nodded. “Any allergies?”

You shook your head. “None.”

Jay gave the smallest smile—so quick you almost missed it—and turned around to head toward the food stalls.

You watched him go, unable to stop your gaze from lingering on the clean lines of his back, the careful way he walked, the way he held his phone in one hand and checked something on it like he was making sure he got your order right.

The heat was crawling up your cheeks before you even realized it, blooming just under your skin and warming your ears.

You looked away, exhaling through your nose as you tapped your keyboard blindly, pretending to be busy—even though your fingers weren’t even on the right keys anymore.

But, your eyes found him again.

Jay stood by the food stall, head tilted slightly down as he tapped on his phone with one hand, the other holding the receipt.

He said something to the lady behind the counter—voice too soft for you to hear from this distance—and you saw her nod and begin plating the orders.

Your gaze wandered—he stood so casually, weight resting on one leg, hair slightly mussed from the wind earlier. There was a quiet patience to him, one that surprised you more than it should have.

You sighed softly, more to yourself than anything, muttering under your breath as you leaned forward, “I could’ve bought my own food…”

Still, you didn’t move. Just watched. And when he finally turned and walked back toward you—two trays balanced carefully in his hands—your heart had the audacity to skip.

He placed them down with quiet precision, yours sliding just in front of you as the scent of warm curry hit your nose.

You blinked. “Thanks.”

Jay gave the tiniest smile, barely there. “No problem.” And he sat back down like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You glanced at the tray. Banana milk, tonkatsu, steaming white rice with curry just the way you liked it. You didn’t even remember saying half the details.

He pushed a set of utensils toward you without a word, and you blinked again, heart fluttering at the small gesture.

“Thanks… again,” you murmured, accepting them as you pushed your electronics aside.

Jay did the same, nudging his laptop farther away as he grabbed his chopsticks and cracked them apart with a soft snap.

There was a moment of comfortable silence. Just the two of you and the hum of the cafeteria around you.

You fiddled with your banana milk straw for a second before asking, “Where’s your band? Thought they’d be glued to you.”

Jay took a sip of his miso soup, looking unbothered.

“They’re all busy. Practice. Class. Jungwon’s chasing down a professor. Ni-ki’s retaking a test he didn’t study for. Heeseung’s probably asleep somewhere.”

You laughed. “Sunoo?”

“Also probably asleep.”

You shook your head, smiling. “I didn’t know you did lunch like this.”

Jay didn’t look up as he stirred his curry around gently with his spoon. “I don’t,” he said simply.

You blinked. “Oh.”

That one word fell from your lips heavier than intended—softer, a little too laced with disappointment. Your smile faltered just a bit, a quiet frown forming before you could stop it.

But then Jay set his spoon down, the quiet clink of metal against tray pulling your eyes back to his. “But,” he said, lifting his gaze to meet yours, “I love curry.”

You blinked again, confused, but then—

“And you,” he continued, voice calm but not cold, “need to eat.”

Your breath caught, just for a second.

Jay was staring at you—not in a way that felt overbearing or cocky, but in a way that looked like he was trying to read you.

Not just the expression on your face, but the space behind your eyes, like there were answers only you could give. His gaze was steady, thoughtful, just the faintest softness lingering in the corners.

You stared back, lips parting slightly. You weren’t used to this side of him—not the aloof reputation, not the guitar-slinging campus enigma that everyone whispered about. No, this was something else entirely.

You smiled, quiet and warm. “Thank you, Jay. Really.”

His lips twitched into a small smile as he nodded once. “No problem.”

He went back to his food like it was no big deal, but your heart felt anything but calm.

You tried to do the same, digging into your curry with a distracted hum, before glancing back at him. “So… how much do I owe you—?”

“No,” he said instantly, cutting you off.

You blinked. “What?”

“No,” he repeated, tone firm but not unkind.

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing. “But I want to—”

Jay gave you a look—before he reached across the table, plucked your unopened banana milk off your tray like it was his, and silently started unwrapping the straw.

You stared as he poked the straw through the foil with surgical precision, then slid the drink back in front of you without a word.

“…Still,” you mumbled, fingers wrapping around the bottle.

Jay met your eyes. “And I said no. You’re not paying me for any of the meals you’ll be eating when you’re with me.”

That made you pause.

Your hand froze mid-air. Your brain might’ve, too.

“…When I’m with you?” you repeated, voice a little more breathless than you meant it to be.

Jay’s lips curled into the tiniest smirk. It wasn’t smug—it was playful. Mischievous. The kind of smirk someone wears when they know exactly what they’re doing to you.

“Depends,” he said, eyes flicking from your drink to your face. “Are you planning to eat lunch alone again tomorrow?”

You opened your mouth to respond—maybe to say yes, maybe to say something clever—but all that came out was a short laugh and a shake of your head.

“I guess that depends,” you echoed back, your grin growing.

He raised a brow, a subtle challenge.

“On whether you’re showing up with curry again,” you teased, sipping your banana milk.

Jay chuckled under his breath, low and smooth. “Then I guess I’ve got my answer.”

You tried to focus on eating after that, really—you tried—but something about the warmth on your cheeks and the smug little tilt of his mouth had you poking at your rice with more enthusiasm than coordination.

Still, you managed a few bites, asking him casual things between sips of banana milk.

“So… when did you start playing guitar?”

“Middle school,” he replied, chewing thoughtfully. “My dad had one lying around. Got curious.”

“Is it hard?” you asked, chin resting lightly on your palm.

He raised a brow. “Compared to what?”

“Ballet.”

He scoffed a quiet laugh, like it was the most ridiculous comparison he’d heard all day. “Hard to say. You make ballet look easy.”

You blinked, heart hiccuping a little. “…You’ve seen me dance?”

“Once,” he said with a little shrug, lifting his tray. “Before I scared the shit out of you in your studio.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Right.”

Jay smirked faintly, standing. “Mhmm.”

Before you could pick up your own tray, he was already reaching for it—wordless, fluid, like it was second nature. You moved to stop him.

“Jay—”

“Nope.” He cut you off smoothly, stacking both trays before walking off without looking back.

You sighed, lips twitching upward as you shook your head.

When he returned, he checked the sleek black watch on his wrist, lips tugging down a little. “Come on. We both have one more class this afternoon.”

You blinked, glancing at your laptop. “Already?”

Jay nodded, and just as you started packing up your things, he reached out a hand toward you. You looked at it, confused.

“…What?”

He didn’t answer. Just leaned over, hand brushing against your side as he effortlessly plucked your bag from the seat beside you.

You blinked. “Hey—”

“I’ve got it,” he said, tucking his own laptop under one arm and slinging your bag over the other.

You reached out again to take it back, but he shot you a look—stern, brow raised like a tired parent dealing with a particularly stubborn child.

You huffed. “You’re annoying.”

He chuckled. “You’re welcome.”

Grumbling under your breath, you fell into step beside him as he pushed open the cafeteria doors for you. “So… where’s your next class?”

You sighed dramatically. “Second floor. Art theory.”

Jay nodded. “Come on. I’ll walk you.”

You side-eyed him. “Why are you suddenly so nice to me?”

He smirked, not bothering to look at you. “Maybe I just like carrying your stuff.”

You rolled your eyes, walking a little faster to hide the way your smile grew too wide.

The studio lights cast long shadows over the polished floor, the mirrored walls reflecting every movement with brutal honesty.

You and Kazuha were the only ones left—again. Yunjin had dropped by earlier, but a project pulled her away, leaving you and Kazuha stuck in the studio running Swan Lake for the nth time that week.

You landed on your toes with a little huff, arms curved above your head as you wobbled slightly. “I didn’t even wanna be the White Swan, like come on, give me a break.”

Kazuha looked up from her own stretch, raising an unimpressed brow. “Stop acting like you didn’t fight blood and bone to audition.”

You groaned, flopping back down onto the floor and stretching your legs out in front of you. “Okay, fine. I do want it. But the work is slowly killing me.”

She laughed as she sat beside you, pulling her foot up into a butterfly stretch. “That part’s valid.”

You sighed, leaned back on your hands, and casually added, “Oh, by the way, Jay treated me to lunch earlier.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Kazuha stopped mid-stretch, twisting to look at you so fast you thought she might’ve pulled something. “What?”

You blinked at her, deadpan. “What?”

“What?” she repeated, louder, eyes wide. “Park Jongseong, rock band Jay, treated you to lunch?”

You shrugged, rolling your neck as you moved into another stretch.

“Yeah. We bumped into each other this morning. He walked me to class, then sat with me during lunch ‘cause you all were busy.”

Kazuha stared at you like you’d just said you got proposed to. “Girl—what the fuck? You let that man walk you to class and feed you?”

You rolled your eyes and stood up, brushing your hands over your thighs to shake off the lingering ache.

The hem of your skirt settled lightly against your legs as you turned toward her with a half-annoyed, half-exasperated look. “What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal,” she said, stepping forward dramatically, finger pointed, “is that Jay doesn’t just do that. He barely talks to people unless it’s his band. Even Ni-ki was surprised he agreed to this whole studio arrangement.”

You raised a brow, unimpressed. “I mean… he’s not that bad, Zuha. He just did it ‘cause he was eating alone, too.”

Kazuha looked at you flatly. “Yeah. And I’m Korean.”

You squinted. “But you aren’t.”

“Exactly,” she huffed, walking back to the speaker as she tapped the screen and said, “Shut up and get into position.”

You stifled a laugh, fixing the ribbon on your skirt and stepping slowly toward the center of the room. The soft opening chords of Swan Lake echoed through the studio, and almost instinctively, your entire body shifted.

Your breathing slowed, arms lifting in delicate arcs as your chin tilted slightly upward.

Light from the windows caught the sheen of sweat on your collarbones, the glow on your cheekbones, and the pale shimmer of your satin skirt.

You moved like you were born from the music itself—weightless, barely touching the ground.

Kazuha couldn’t help but smile, her gaze soft and proud as she leaned her hip against the mirrored wall, arms folded loosely. “Yeah, (Y/N)’s made to play the White Swan.”

But just as you bent into the first arabesque, a loud bang sounded on the studio door.

Kazuha groaned and immediately pressed pause. “What now—”

You blinked out of your daze, lowering your arms with a frustrated sigh. You padded toward the door, soft steps echoing faintly across the floor as you pulled it open—

And were greeted with a tuft of blonde hair and the brightest grin you’d seen all day.

“Hi there,” Ni-ki said cheerfully, pushing a rolling cart in front of him that carried half of Jungwon’s drumset. His own bass was slung over his back, dangerously close to sliding off.

Behind him, the rest of the band stood loosely huddled with various instruments in hand—Jungwon with his sticks poking out from his tote, Sunghoon balancing his amp like it weighed nothing, and Sunoo waving excitedly.

“Delivery boys,” Heeseung deadpanned with a mock bow.

You blinked. “You’re early.”

“We came straight from class,” Jungwon said, adjusting the strap on his shoulder as he stepped around Ni-ki. “Didn’t want to waste time.”

“You guys could’ve texted,” Kazuha called from inside.

“We did,” Sunoo pouted, stepping in behind Ni-ki. “But someone blocked Ni-ki.”

Kazuha threw him a pointed look. “I told you, deserved.”

Ni-ki dramatically clutched his chest. “I’m literally your family.”

“I said what I said.”

You shook your head fondly as the group started filing in like they owned the place, all noise and energy and guitar straps.

Ni-ki rolled the cart in with zero regard for studio etiquette, and Jake was already dragging an extension cord from the corner like he’d done it a hundred times.

You stepped aside quickly, flattening yourself against the door as Heeseung strode in next, his mic stand folded neatly under one arm and the actual mic dangling precariously from his other hand. He shot you a polite, small smile as he passed.

“Thanks,” he murmured, careful not to bump into you.

Then came Sunghoon, carrying his bass like it was a part of him, the strap slung lazily over one shoulder. He gave you a nod as he maneuvered around Ni-ki’s still-parked cart.

Jay entered last.

His black button-up was slightly unbuttoned now, revealing a sliver of skin that caught the light just enough to make your throat dry.

The strap of his guitar bag sat snug across his chest as he adjusted it, dark hair falling slightly into his eyes. He glanced at you and offered a soft, “Hey.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the acknowledgment, but quickly recovered. “Hey,” you replied, stepping back to let him through.

As the door clicked shut behind him, the studio seemed to hum alive with the sounds of their set-up—clinks of metal stands, low murmurs of discussion, and the occasional curse word when Ni-ki nearly dropped part of the drum kit.

Sunoo had gravitated toward Kazuha in the corner, the two chatting animatedly as she tied her hair up again.

“Woah—really? Swan Lake?” Sunoo’s voice carried easily over the sound of Heeseung testing his mic.

Kazuha glanced up at him, her face bright with amusement. “Yeah. Me and (Y/N).”

Sunoo’s eyes widened. “Wait—you’re both in it? That’s… that’s huge, isn’t it? Like, I swear even people who don’t care about ballet know that one.”

Kazuha smirked as she crossed her arms. “She’s playing the White Swan.” She tilted her head toward you with a subtle grin.

Sunoo’s gaze shot to you so fast you froze mid-step. “The White Swan? That’s the big part, right? The main girl?”

You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly, suddenly hyperaware of Jay adjusting his amp a few feet away. “I mean… yeah, but it’s not really finished yet, so—”

“Still,” Sunoo cut in, his grin infectious. “That’s insane. You’ve got to invite us when it’s done. I wanna see it.”

You blinked, surprised at his genuine excitement. “Uh… sure?”

“Promise?”

“I—uh, yeah. Promise.”

“Good.” Sunoo’s smile widened, almost mischievous now as he added, “Jay would wanna see it too, right?”

You caught Jay’s eyes flick up briefly from where he was adjusting his guitar strap. He didn’t say anything, but there was the faintest quirk of his lips before he looked back down.

You cleared your throat softly, heat creeping up your neck to the tips of your ears as you turned on your heel, walking back to where Kazuha and Sunoo were crouched over a tangled mess of speaker wires.

Sunoo shot you a knowing grin the second your shadow fell over them, his eyes sparkling mischievously like he’d caught the tail end of something he wasn’t supposed to.

“Need a hand?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, but the slight edge of nervousness betrayed you.

Sunoo smirked wider. “We’re good here. But you seem… flustered. Everything okay?”

Kazuha, bless her, didn’t even look up. “Leave her alone, Sunoo.”

You barely had time to respond before Ni-ki came bounding over, rolling his bass strap into his hand. His dyed blonde hair fell into his eyes as he grinned down at you, full of mischief like he was ready to stir up trouble.

“So,” he started, rocking back on his heels, “are you and Kazuha staying to watch? It’s gonna get loud in here, but I promise it’s worth it.”

You blinked up at him, caught a little off guard by his enthusiasm.

“Oh—well, I’m not really sure. We might have to run through some choreography again,” you admitted, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your skirt as you glanced at Kazuha for backup.

“We’ll stay,” Kazuha said simply, already settling herself cross-legged by the speakers like she was setting up for a full private concert.

“Oh,” you murmured, caught between protesting and following her lead. “I guess we’re staying then.”

Ni-ki’s grin widened. “Good. You’ll love it.”

And maybe you were imagining it, but when you caught movement in the mirror across the room, you realized Jay wasn’t watching his reflection like the others.

No—his eyes were on you.

He knelt by his amp, one knee pressed to the hardwood, black button-up sleeves rolled messily up his forearms as he plugged the cable into his guitar.

His fingers moved with practiced ease, but every now and then, his gaze flicked up—not to the tuning pegs, not to his bandmates, but to you. Like he couldn’t help himself.

You froze for half a second under the weight of it, lips parting slightly, feeling every bit like a bunny caught in headlights as Ni-ki kept rambling about their setlist.

Jay’s expression didn’t change, but there was something unreadable in the tilt of his head, the faint crease of his brows, the way his eyes followed your movements even as he reached for the volume knob.

You weren’t sure what to make of it. But it made your chest feel too tight for comfort.

You padded quietly across the wooden floor, the sound of your ballet flats muffled against the worn panels.

Kazuha glanced up at you as you settled beside her, tucking your legs neatly under you. She offered a small smile, the kind that said she noticed the pink lingering on your ears but wasn’t about to say a word about it—not yet anyway.

Your gaze drifted back to the seven boys scattered across the studio. They were lost in their element, voices low but urgent as they muttered among themselves, hands moving quickly as they adjusted knobs, checked wires, and tested mics.

Jungwon stood near the drum set, leaning slightly on a cymbal stand as he gestured toward Sunghoon’s bass. “You’re a little flat on the E string, try tuning up just a hair.”

Sunghoon gave a small nod, fingers turning the tuning peg with practiced precision as he strummed lightly. “Got it. How’s that?”

Heeseung, crouched with his mic in one hand, grinned. “Better. Jungwon’s ears never fail.”

Jake, who was sitting cross-legged by the amp, chimed in. “Do we want to start with Karma or Blessed-Cursed? Karma has a softer open, might be easier to soundcheck.”

Jay was leaning against the wall now, his black top unbuttoned just slightly at the collar as his fingers skimmed the strings of his guitar in a soundless rhythm. He hummed, low in his throat, eyes on the floor but clearly listening.

“Go with Karma. Better flow into the setlist that way.”

“You guys read my mind,” Jungwon said with a grin.

Ni-ki was already setting his bass strap across his shoulder, bouncing slightly on his heels. “Let’s not waste time. I wanna hear how the mix sounds in this room.”

Sunoo, who had been coiling cables neatly, added, “We’ll need to check the balance too. The acoustics here aren’t what we’re used to.”

You couldn’t help but watch them, your chin resting lightly on your knees. There was something mesmerizing about it all—the way their movements fit together like gears in a clock, efficient and familiar. It was chaos, but it was their chaos, and somehow it worked.

“They’re… really good at this,” you murmured softly to Kazuha, not taking your eyes off the group as Heeseung tested his mic with a smooth, “Check, check, one, two.”

“They’ve been at it for years,” Kazuha replied, her voice low but warm.

“Even if some of them don’t seem like it, they’ve always been serious about music. Ni-ki says they barely ever waste a practice session.”

Sunoo pressed a few keys on his keyboard, the warm synth notes cutting softly through the quiet air of the studio.

“Sorry for the wires,” he said into his mic with a sheepish grin, his voice light and melodic even in the test run.

Jungwon cracked his knuckles, adjusted his drumsticks in his hands, and leaned slightly toward his mic, his expression calm but focused.

“We are Enhypen,” he said, voice smooth yet commanding, like he’d done this introduction a hundred times. “And this is Karma. An original.”

You blinked, sitting up straighter. Original?

Before you could fully process it, Jungwon tapped his sticks together—“One, two, three, four”—and the room came alive.

The first sound was Jay’s guitar, low and steady, the distorted riff crawling like electricity over your skin. His fingers moved fluidly over the strings, confident and deliberate.

It wasn’t flashy, but there was weight in every chord, a rhythm that anchored the entire song as Jake joined in with his own guitar, layering bright accents and counter-melodies like sparks dancing over embers.

Then Jungwon came in. His drumming wasn’t frantic—it was calculated, tight, every beat hitting perfectly as his foot worked the bass pedal with precise force.

You could feel it in your chest, that deep, steady thrum that pulled you in and refused to let go.

The rock instrumental wasn’t loud in the grating way you expected from underground bands—it was powerful but clean, addictive even. The kind of sound that could fill an arena yet still feel intimate in a room like this.

You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until Kazuha nudged your knee.

“They’re… insane, right?” she whispered with a grin, her eyes locked on Ni-ki as he stepped forward for a small bass run.

You could only nod, your eyes catching briefly on Jay again. He wasn’t looking at his reflection in the mirror. He wasn’t looking at his bandmates either.

He was looking at you. Fingers steady on the strings, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as if he knew exactly what he was doing.

Your eyes were locked on Jay, unable to look away even if you tried. He was in his zone—fingers gliding across the frets with a practiced ease that spoke of years spent mastering his craft.

The way he leaned into his guitar slightly during heavier riffs, the faint furrow of concentration between his brows, even the subtle tap of his foot in time with Jungwon’s drums—it was mesmerizing.

And damn it, he knew how to play. No unnecessary flair, no overcompensation. Just clean, precise chords that bled into Jake’s bright melodies and Sunghoon’s heavy bass lines like they belonged there all along.

They all were good—no, they were phenomenal. Voices layered perfectly, harmonies slipping in like silk as Heeseung and Jake took turns on the vocals, with Sunoo and Jungwon occasionally adding backing vocals that rounded everything out.

Even Ni-ki’s occasional adlibs on the bass fit seamlessly, his energy infectious as his head bobbed with the beat.

As the song started to wind down, the final chorus hit with one last punch of sound—Heeseung’s voice raw and gripping, Jay’s guitar sliding into a clean, lingering note that seemed to hang in the air long after Jungwon gave a final, decisive hit on his snare.

The silence that followed felt heavy but electric.

You exhaled, realizing too late that you’d been holding your breath for most of the song.

Heeseung was the first to break it, pulling back from his mic with a grin. He ran a hand through his hair, sweat sticking a few strands to his forehead as he looked over at you and Kazuha.

“Well?” His voice echoed lightly through the room, still amplified by the mic. “How’d we do?”

You blinked, caught off guard at suddenly being the center of seven pairs of eyes.

Kazuha let out a low whistle, clapping her hands together. “I mean… that was insane. You guys sound like you’re ready to headline college week and then some.”

“Right?” Sunoo grinned, tapping a few playful notes on his keyboard as he leaned toward you. “(Y/N), what about you? You were pretty quiet over there.”

You opened your mouth, then shut it again, trying to find the words.

“I… you guys were incredible. Like, seriously. I didn’t expect it to sound that—” You made a vague gesture in the air, your mind still fogged from the performance. “—that good. That clean.”

“Clean?” Ni-ki raised a brow, smirking. “That’s it? We pour our souls into the song and all we get is ‘clean?’”

“She’s stunned.” Jay’s voice cut in suddenly, calm but with the faintest edge of amusement. He still sitting on his amp, one leg crossed casually over the other as he adjusted the knobs on his amp. “You can tell.”

Your head snapped to him, but he didn’t look up—fingers busy with the guitar strap, lips twitching into what looked dangerously close to a smirk.

“Guess we’ll take that as a compliment,” Jake chuckled, his dimples deepening as he leaned his guitar against the wall.

“You should.” Your voice was softer now, almost too quiet as your eyes flickered back to Jay. “It was really good.”

The clock above the studio door blinked 11:03 PM in harsh red digits when Jungwon clapped his hands, declaring, “Alright, pack it up before someone locks us in here.”

The sound of zippers, metal clasps, and light chatter filled the space as the boys moved quickly—Jake carefully winding his guitar cable, Sunghoon clicking his keyboard case shut with a soft snap.

Jungwon muttered under his breath as he berated Sunoo, “You almost killed my snare earlier—careful, man. That drum costs more than my entire existence.” Sunoo only laughed sheepishly, clutching said drum like it was a newborn child.

Kazuha was kneeling near the mirrors, folding up her jacket as she handed you your pointe shoes with a little grin.

“Here. Thought you’d want to put these away before they get stepped on.”

“Thanks, Zu,” you murmured, fingers moving to re-lace them neatly before slipping them into your tote. The satin was frayed at the edges, little scars from all the rehearsals you'd been throwing yourself into lately.

By the door, Sunghoon glanced over his shoulder, bass case in hand. “Everyone done?”

“Yes,” came a chorus of voices, yours included as you adjusted your bag strap.

Ni-ki, ever the chaotic younger one, suddenly grabbed Kazuha’s arm as she tried to slip past him.

“Did you film me? Tell me you filmed me—I swear my solo was sick.”

You laughed at Kazuha’s wide-eyed expression as she tried to shake him off. “Ni-ki, let her breathe. She’s not your personal videographer.”

“Should be,” he shot back with a pout, finally releasing her.

The group filed out into the hallway, their footsteps echoing off the polished floors. The building was quieter at this hour—no chatter from other students, no professors barking reminders.

Just the shuffle of sneakers and the occasional creak of instrument cases shifting against shoulders.

You hung back slightly, letting the line of boys and Kazuha move ahead as you pulled your jacket tighter around you. The hall’s faint chill clung to your cheeks. You didn’t notice Jay slowing down until you caught up beside him.

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his pace shifting effortlessly to match yours.

“Hey.” His voice was low, almost lost to the quiet hallway.

“Hey,” you replied, tucking your hands into your coat pockets.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. It wasn’t uncomfortable—just the sort of silence that settled when two people didn’t feel the need to fill it.

The air smelled faintly of dewy grass and cold concrete, your breath coming out in soft little puffs that fogged in front of you. Your gaze drifted to the field outside, now cloaked in darkness with only a few stray lampposts keeping it alive in faint golden light.

“…What did you think?” Jay’s voice broke the quiet, low and steady, pulling your attention back to him.

You blinked at him, tilting your head slightly. “Huh?”

“The songs,” he said, his dark eyes catching a glint of light as he glanced sideways at you. “Were they… good?”

You nodded almost immediately. “Oh—yeah. They’re good. You guys are really good.”

A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face, his lips pressing together in a subtle nod. But you weren’t done.

“And you’re… really good at playing that guitar,” you added, words softer now. You didn’t know why your cheeks felt warmer as you said it.

Jay looked at you fully this time, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a small, quiet smile. “Thank you.”

You returned it with a shy one of your own before tucking your chin back into the soft folds of your white jacket.

Silence settled again, but this time it felt a little different—like it wasn’t just there by default, but because neither of you wanted to disturb it.

“…Aren’t you cold?” you asked suddenly, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

He glanced down at you, buried like a marshmallow in your jacket with your tote bag swinging at your side. The faintest laugh escaped him. “No, not really.”

“You’re insane,” you huffed, your breath fogging in the chilly night. You exhaled again on purpose, watching the puff disappear like smoke as you hugged yourself tighter.

Jay chuckled under his breath but didn’t argue.

The group had slowed as they reached the path that split off toward the quad. The boys began murmuring their goodbyes as Sunghoon and Ni-ki led ahead, Sunoo falling back slightly to walk closer to you.

Jay suddenly stopped and turned slightly. “Guys, this is my stop,” he said, jerking his chin toward the dimly lit path across the field.

“Oh yeah, mine too,” Heeseung added, adjusting the strap of his mic stand case on his shoulder.

“See you tomorrow,” Jungwon called, waving his free hand.

Jay’s eyes flicked back to you once more. “Bye, (Y/N).”

Your name on his lips—simple, soft—sent an odd warmth rushing up your neck. You raised a hand hesitantly, giving him a small wave. “Bye.”

Heeseung shot you a bright grin and waved too before both boys began crossing the field.

You didn’t notice Jay slowing for just a moment, glancing back over his shoulder one last time.

His eyes caught on you, furrowed brows and lips parted slightly as you nodded at something Sunoo animatedly explained to you, trying your best to keep up.

A small smile tugged at Jay’s lips as he shook his head almost imperceptibly. Then he turned back, shoving his hands into his pockets and falling into step beside Heeseung as their voices faded into the cool night air.

They walked in silence for a few moments, the sound of their shoes against the pavement echoing faintly in the stillness of campus. The air smelled faintly of cold grass and leftover rain.

“Hey,” Jay said suddenly, voice calm but a little lower than usual. “You wanna stop by Prada with me tomorrow?”

Heeseung’s brows shot up slightly in surprise as he glanced at his friend. “Prada? Sure, I guess. I need a new bag anyway—my old one’s starting to look beat up.”

Jay nodded absently, his gaze fixed ahead at the dimly lit path. “Thought so. You’ve been carrying that same one since last year.”

Heeseung chuckled, adjusting the strap of the mic case on his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. So, what about you? What do you need?”

Jay’s hand brushed against his guitar case as he shifted it slightly, his expression neutral as he replied, “A scarf.”

“A scarf?” Heeseung repeated, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. “Since when do you get cold?”

Jay’s lips quirked faintly—not enough to call it a smile—as he muttered, “It’s not for me.”

“Oh?” Heeseung tilted his head, curiosity written all over his face. “Then who’s it for?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Jay’s tone was final but not sharp, and he quickened his pace slightly as if to move the conversation along.

Heeseung raised his hands in surrender, smirking. “Alright, alright. Your secret’s safe, Romeo.”

Jay shook his head with a quiet scoff, but the faintest flush crept up his neck under the dim streetlights.

They didn’t speak again as they reached their dorm building, the sound of the door clicking shut behind them echoing in the empty hallway.

It was Saturday morning—the kind of golden, lazy one that draped sunlight through your open curtains and made the dust motes dance in the air.

Your dorm room smelled faintly of Sakura’s lavender hand cream and the cup of instant coffee you’d abandoned hours ago.

The TV buzzed softly in the background, some slice-of-life K-drama playing with warm colors and melodramatic music. Laughter bubbled from the floor where Yunjin, Kazuha, and Eunchae sat sprawled out on blankets, their hair tied messily back, snacks scattered between them.

You were curled up at the head of your bed, your laptop balanced on your knees as you furiously typed.

Beside you, Sakura sat cross-legged, her hands skillfully moving a crochet hook through pastel yarn. The soft sound of her work was oddly calming against your clacking keyboard.

“Is that your Art History paper?” Sakura asked without looking up, her voice soft but teasing as she looped another stitch.

You let out a distracted hum, barely glancing at her. “Yeah… it’s due at three. I’m almost done.”

“Almost done, she says,” Yunjin snorted, tilting her head back from the floor to peer at you. “Why are you even cramming that? Didn’t the professor give you like… a week?”

“I thought it would be easy, okay?” you muttered defensively, your brows knitting as you hit delete on a sentence for the third time. “Turns out, it’s not.”

Chaewon let out a giggle from where she was cradling Doobu in her lap. The cat was purring like a tiny engine, squishing its face happily into her hoodie sleeve.

“Yeah, you hear that, Doobu? Mommy’s a really bad crammer, huh? Good thing your aunts aren’t.”

You shot her a mock glare over your screen, your lips twitching despite yourself. “Ha. Ha. So funny, Chae. Keep talking—I’ll assign you to finish this paper for me.”

Eunchae snorted and threw a pillow lightly at you. “She’d probably do a better job.”

You caught it with one hand, tossing it back at her with a small laugh. “Traitors. All of you.”

“Not a traitor,” Kazuha said from the floor, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of tteokbokki she’d brought from the convenience store earlier.

“I’m just saying… you’ve been acting busy all week. Between rehearsals and… other things.”

Her voice trailed, and Yunjin’s head snapped toward her with a grin. “Other things? Wait. Wait. Did something happen?”

You felt your fingers hesitate on the keyboard for a second too long, and that was enough for Yunjin to pounce. “Oh my God. You’ve been quiet since yesterday too. Is there something you’re not telling us?”

“I think there is,” Sakura chimed in, side-eyeing you with a knowing little smile, her crochet work still going steadily.

“There’s nothing,” you said quickly, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you. “Seriously. You guys are so dramatic.”

But Kazuha just leaned back on her hands and raised a brow at you. “Is it about Jay?”

You froze mid-type, your fingers pausing above the keyboard. “…Excuse me?”

“Jay who?” Yunjin asked immediately, her head snapping between the two of you like she’d just caught the scent of drama.

“The one from my cousin’s band,” Kazuha replied casually, twirling a piece of her hair around her finger.

Sakura’s crochet hook stilled as she turned her full attention to you, eyes widening slightly. “Wait… Park Jongseong?”

“The emo guitarist?” Eunchae added in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “The one Ni-ki’s always talking about in Biology? That guy?”

“Oh yeah,” Kazuha chimed in, nodding thoughtfully as if she’d just remembered a passing detail. “I forgot you guys are in the same class.”

Chae-won tilted her head at you from the floor, still holding Doobu lazily in her lap. “So? What’s up with him?”

You let out a groan, throwing your head back against the headboard dramatically as your laptop slid slightly down your thighs. “First of all, he’s not emo—he just… owns a lot of black clothes, okay?”

The room broke into quiet snickers, Sakura biting back a smile as she picked her crochet back up.

“Second,” you continued, shooting them all a weak glare, “he’s… nice. That’s it. He’s just nice, okay?”

Kazuha’s grin widened as she dropped her bomb. “And he bought her lunch yesterday.”

You buried your face in your hands, muffling a groan. “Zuha—”

“Oh, oh!” Kazuha added cheerfully, “And he walked her to class too.”

Yunjin’s jaw dropped as if you’d just confessed to dating a K-drama male lead. “What? Jay? That Jay? Doesn’t he like… not talk to anyone at all?”

“I don’t know!” you burst out, throwing your hands up in defense as your friends all gawked at you like they were watching the climax of a drama. “Maybe he just—was being polite? Or he felt bad? I don’t know! Stop looking at me like that.”

“Polite?” Eunchae repeated, raising a brow.

“Girl, he looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole whenever Ni-ki drags him to our morning classes, and you’re telling me he voluntarily walked you to class and bought you lunch?”

You let out an exasperated groan, flopping back against the headboard and covering your face with your hands.

“I don’t know, okay? I’ve barely even talked to the man! I already told you guys—he’s just nice. End of story.”

Sakura, sitting cross-legged on the other end of your bed with her crochet still in hand, hummed thoughtfully. Then she said, far too casually, “What if—and it’s a very big what if—he likes you?”

You peeked through your fingers, shooting her a look so sharp it could cut steel. “Sakura.”

“What?” she said with a little shrug, feigning innocence as her eyes sparkled like she’d just lit a fuse.

Kazuha, lounging lazily on the floor with her hair tied up, raised a brow and added fuel to the fire.

“I mean… it’s not impossible. Ni-ki literally says he’s single, and—if we’re being honest—Jay doesn’t seem like the type who cares about romance.”

“Exactly!” Eunchae said, snapping her fingers. “So what if you’re like… the first person who’s caught his eye or something?”

“Guys—seriously?” you muttered, your ears already burning as you hugged a pillow against your chest.

“You’re all making this sound like some kind of webtoon. He’s not interested. He’s just… being decent. That’s it. End of story. Period.”

But Yunjin, sprawled on your rug with her legs propped up on the edge of your bed, smirked knowingly. “You don’t sound very sure, babe. Are you sure it’s not you who’s starting to like him?”

Your head snapped down, “Yunjin.”

“What?” she said with a laugh, holding her hands up defensively. “I’m just saying. You’ve got that look on your face when we brought him up.”

“I do not—” you began, but Kazuha cut you off with a teasing grin.

“Yeah, you do. You’re blushing right now.”

“I’m not—oh my god.” You buried your face into the pillow, groaning as the girls broke into laughter and squeals.

When the sound died down just enough for you to breathe, you peeked out from the pillow, face still flushed, and mumbled under your breath, eyes fixed anywhere but at them.

“He’s… popular, you know? And he’s intimidating. Like… the way he carries himself? I don’t know, it’s hard to explain.”

Kazuha raised a brow, smirking as she picked up her water bottle. “You’re saying that like you’ve been analyzing him.”

“I’m not,” you said quickly, grabbing your laptop again and pulling it onto your lap as a weak distraction.

The sound of your fingers clacking on the keys filled the room as you added, softer this time, “I’m just saying—I have to agree with Kazuha. Maybe he’s not into romance at all.”

You took a breath, forcing a little laugh that sounded too tight. “So yeah. He probably just… took pity on me or something. Like, no big deal.”

The room fell quiet. Suspiciously quiet.

You didn’t look up, too focused on pretending to type as if your project was suddenly the most important thing in the world.

Then Sakura’s weight shifted on the bed, and you felt her scoot closer. Her hand landed softly on your knee as she said, voice gentle but firm, “(Y/N), don’t say that. Okay? Don’t ever say that about yourself.”

You blinked, your fingers pausing mid-word.

“We all know you—inside and out. You’re beautiful, and you’re talented, and you’re so kind it’s almost annoying sometimes,” she said with a small laugh, her eyes searching yours. “Jay wouldn’t be taking pity on you. Not a chance.”

“Exactly,” Yunjin chimed in from her spot on the floor, propping her chin up with her palm.

“And we’re not saying this just because we’re your friends. You really are that girl. Like, honestly? Half the campus has been trying to get your number since freshman year.”

You snorted, shaking your head, but Eunchae leaned forward too, her expression serious for once. “Plus,” she said matter-of-factly, “don’t you, like, reject guys every month? All because they’re too into you, or too clingy, or whatever?”

You groaned again, tugging the pillow back up to your face as their words made your ears burn even hotter. “Oh my god. Can you guys not bring that up right now?”

“Nope,” Chaewon teased, scratching Doobu’s chin as the cat purred in her lap. “Because we’re trying to remind you who you are.”

“You’re not someone he’d ‘pity,’” Sakura said softly. “You’re someone people fall for. And maybe he’s no exception.”

You blinked at her, the words sinking in like warm tea on a cold day. Your lips tugged up, small but genuine, and you nodded slowly.

“Thank you,” you murmured, voice quiet but full of gratitude. “Really. You guys are… way too good to me.”

Yunjin stretched her arms over her head with a dramatic sigh, the elastic between her teeth as she tied her hair up into a quick bun.

“Good to you? Babe, we’re saving you from spiraling into overthinking about some tall broody guitarist who might actually like you.”

“Yunjin,” you said with a laugh, rolling your eyes.

“What?” she grinned, hands on her hips now. “It’s true. Anyway, I’m hungry, and clearly you’re too distracted to feed yourself, so—” She pointed at you with mock accusation. “What do you want? Name it.”

You shook your head, amused. “Anything will do. There’s still stuff in the fridge.”

Yunjin nodded like she was preparing for battle. “Perfect.” She waved dramatically as she made her way toward the kitchenette. “Come on, Eunchae. You’re my sous-chef.”

“Eh? Why me?” Eunchae grumbled but still hopped up from her spot on the floor to trail after her. “Fine—but I’m not cutting onions!”

You shook your head fondly, the soft smile still lingering on your lips as you turned your attention back to your screen. Fingers danced across the keyboard, the steady click of the keys mixing with the sounds of Sakura’s crochet hook tapping against itself.

Then you felt a slight weight on your shoulder. Sakura had leaned her head there, peeking at your screen. “You spelled ‘kinesiology’ wrong.”

You snorted, backspacing quickly. “I always do.”

She hummed softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “You know, (Y/N)… we’re really proud of you. Not just because of ballet or school or whatever. Just… for being you.”

You paused, the words catching you off guard, and turned slightly to glance at her. She wasn’t looking at you—her eyes were on your laptop, her expression calm and warm.

“You guys are seriously going to make me cry today,” you teased lightly, though your throat tightened a little.

Sakura’s lips curved into a small smile, her eyes finally meeting yours. “Good. Means we’re doing our jobs as your best friends.”

You laughed softly and shook your head before turning back to your screen. “I really am glad I have you all, you know?”

“We know,” she said, patting your leg before picking up her yarn again.

In the background, you heard Yunjin yelling something about “Where’s the sesame oil?” and Eunchae responding with “You’re holding it!”

The scent of something beginning to fry wafted from the kitchenette, and you let yourself relax—shoulders uncoiling from a tension you didn’t realize you’d been carrying all morning.

It was perfect. Cozy. The kind of afternoon that felt like a bubble outside of time.

You smiled faintly as you hit the final save on your document, Sakura peeking over your shoulder to murmur, “Finally.” You chuckled. “Took me long enough.”

By the time six in the evening rolled around, the sky outside your window was a watercolor wash of peach and violet. The air had cooled further, and one by one, your friends began gathering their bags, the lingering laughter softening into sleepy goodbyes.

“Thanks for letting us crash your dorm,” Yunjin said with a grin, pulling her hoodie over her head.

“Don’t mention it. Come any time,” you said, hands resting on the doorframe as you watched them shuffle into their shoes. “And thanks for doing the dishes, Zuha.”

Kazuha waved you off, tugging Eunchae’s sleeve to hurry her along. “You let us stay; it’s the least I could do.”

Chaewon turned back briefly, holding Doobu like a baby in her arms. “Bye-bye, mommy’s little princess. Don’t keep her up too late.”

You laughed. “Goodnight, guys.”

“Night!” they chorused back, their voices overlapping as they spilled into the hallway.

Doobu trotted out after them as if to see them off. You crouched and scooped her up easily, cradling her against your chest. “Come on, girl,” you murmured, pressing your cheek into her soft fur. “Let’s get some sleep.”

You nudged the door closed with your foot, the faint click echoing in the now-quiet room. The air still smelled faintly of fried rice and buttered eggs.

As you laid Doobu gently onto the bed, she circled twice before curling into a neat ball beside your pillow. You smiled, slipping under the covers, pulling the blanket up to your chin and her tiny body close to yours.

The hum of the air conditioner filled the silence, joined by faint footsteps down the hall—someone passing by, a door closing a few rooms down. It was soothing in a way, grounding.

Slowly, sleep crept in, your eyes fluttering shut as your breathing evened out.

You didn’t know how long you’d been out when your phone buzzed softly on the nightstand.

With a groggy groan, you reached out blindly, fingers fumbling until you grabbed it. Blinking against the harsh light of the screen, you squinted at the time. 9:12 PM.

“Ugh.” You stretched lazily, arms above your head, a yawn spilling out as you rubbed your eyes.

But when you turned back, your brows furrowed. The blankets were rumpled—too rumpled—and the familiar soft weight of Doobu was missing.

“Doobu?” you called softly, still half-asleep.

Silence.

“She’s probably under the bed,” you mumbled to yourself, slipping one foot to the floor. You crouched down, peeking under. “Doobu?”

Nothing.

Maybe the bathroom. You padded over, cracking the door open. Empty.

“Come on, girl, where are you?”

Panic didn’t hit right away—not until your eyes flicked to the door and you noticed it.

A sliver of faint golden light where there shouldn’t have been any. Your door wasn’t fully shut.

“…Shit.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper as you crossed the room, heart thudding. You tightened the knot of your hooie over your pajamas and cursed under your breath again.

Pulling the door shut behind you with a quiet click, you huffed out a shaky breath, shoving your phone into the pocket of your oversized hoodie.

“Shit… okay, okay, don’t panic,” you muttered, yanking on your outside slippers so hard you almost tripped. Fingers raked through your hair in a half-hearted attempt to tame the mess from your nap as you stepped into the hallway.

The air outside was cooler than your room, and the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above you. You padded quickly down the corridor, whisper-yelling, “Doobu? Come on, girl… where the fuck did you go?”

Your voice echoed faintly against the closed doors lining the hall.

“Shit, shit, shit—she can’t have gone far,” you hissed to yourself, scanning every corner like a deranged detective.

You peeked around the trash bins, past the stairwell, even crouched briefly to check under the benches near the elevator. Nothing.

You bolted up the stairs to the next floor, slippers slapping quietly against the steps. As you rounded the corner, a small group of arts students you recognized from studio night looked up at you from where they lounged against the wall, sketchbooks in hand.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” one of them greeted cheerfully.

“Hey,” you said a little breathlessly, not slowing your pace as your eyes darted around. “Sorry—uh—if you guys see a white cat, she’s mine. She slipped out.”

“Oh no,” another said, eyes wide. “We’ll keep a lookout!”

“Thanks,” you called over your shoulder, already halfway down the hallway.

“Doobu!” you hissed again.

“Do not make me climb this entire fucking building in my pajamas. I swear to god—” You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Way to go, (Y/N). Lose your cat and look like a sleep-deprived idiot in the process. Great job.”

Your slippers squeaked faintly against the linoleum as you turned another corner, scanning the dimmer end of the hall where the lights flickered faintly.

Your heartbeat was loud in your ears, your breath visible in the cold drafts slipping through the windows.

“Doobu? Baby girl? Please don’t make me cry right now…” you muttered desperately.

You made your way down the other floors, checking every nook and cranny, even peering behind trash bins and under staircases. Your slippers scuffed against the stairs, the sound almost swallowed by your frantic heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Every student you passed got the same frazzled question. “Hey—sorry, have you seen a white cat? Fluffy, kind of round?”

Some shook their heads apologetically, others blinked in surprise at the sheer panic in your tone before nodding.

“Oh, I’ll keep a lookout!” a girl carrying an armful of books promised.

“Thanks—thank you so much,” you said breathlessly, bowing your head slightly before bolting down the next set of stairs.

When you reached the ground floor, you didn’t even pause. The cold air slapped you in the face as you pushed open the glass doors to your dorm building, the metal handle biting into your palm from your tight grip.

“Shit—Doobu, where the hell are you?” you whispered harshly, stepping into the crisp night air.

The campus was quieter now, the golden glow of the streetlamps casting long shadows across the empty walkways. You scanned the quad, your eyes darting across the open field, the benches, even the bases of the trees.

Your slippers whispered against the pavement as you jogged lightly toward the benches near the edge of the field.

“Doobu!” you called again, voice cracking slightly. “Come on, girl… don’t do this to me.”

Muttering curses under your breath—“Goddammit, (Y/N), you’re so careless…”—you almost didn’t notice it.

But then—there it was.

A tuft of white fur. A bushy tail flicking lazily.

Your breath caught in your throat. Doobu sat primly on one of the benches under the golden streetlights, her little face upturned like she owned the entire campus.

“Oh my god,” you whispered in disbelief, your knees nearly giving out in relief. You walked closer, slowly, carefully, afraid that a sudden movement might startle her away again.

Your cat sat so calmly on the bench, tail curled neatly around her paws, completely unbothered as if she hadn’t just sent you on a heart attack-inducing campus-wide manhunt.

You started walking closer, slow and careful, not wanting to startle her away. But as you got nearer, your steps faltered.

There was someone sitting on the bench with her.

A man.

He was leaned back casually, one arm resting along the backrest as his other hand absentmindedly stroked Doobu’s fur. She—your Doobu, who notoriously despised every single male human who dared to even look her way—was preening under his touch.

The little traitor was even leaning her head closer, purring so faintly you could hear it from where you stood.

Your eyes flicked up, scanning the guy. Black hoodie pulled over his head. A gray cap tucked low enough to shadow his face. Cream pants loose but clean. His sneakers looked a little scuffed, as if he actually walked around campus instead of just cutting through in a car.

Then he laughed quietly—low and warm, almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear it—and said to your cat,

“I bet your owner’s losing her mind looking for you, huh?”

Your jaw nearly dropped. He was talking to her?

You let out a shaky sigh, deciding to ignore him completely as you stepped forward. “Hey, Doobu,” you murmured softly, crouching slightly as you reached a hand out. “You scared the shit out of me. Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you?”

At the sound of your voice, Doobu’s ears twitched. She gave a soft purr, standing on her paws to hop down—only to pause when the guy slowly drew his hand back, letting his palm rest on his knee.

That’s when he finally looked up at you.

Sharp eyes under the cap. Lips quirked in an almost imperceptible smile.

“She’s got a habit of wandering off, huh?” he said, voice low and smooth with the faintest trace of amusement.

Your heart stuttered at the sound, recognition dawning like a wave crashing down on you.

“…Jay?”

He chuckled under his breath, his fingers drumming lightly against his knee. “You didn’t notice? Thought you were too focused on your runaway cat to see me.”

You straightened, blinking at him incredulously as your cat jumped off the bench and started rubbing against your legs.

“I—You—what are you even doing here?” you asked, your voice tight from a cocktail of exhaustion and mild embarrassment.

Jay didn’t answer at first. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, reaching down to grab two sleek Prada paper bags sitting on the concrete by his feet.

He swished them in the air casually, the crisp sound of the handles snapping into place breaking the quiet night.

“Shopped a little,” he said, his tone easy. “Went with Heeseung. We had some free time.”

You blinked at the bags, then back at him as he patted the now-empty spot on the bench beside him. “Sit down. You look like you ran a marathon.”

Hesitating only a moment, you bent down to scoop Doobu off the concrete, clutching her soft, warm body against your chest as you crossed the few steps to the bench.

Sitting down beside him, you let out a slow, shaky breath. Doobu purred against you, seemingly unbothered by her little adventure.

Jay was already looking at you—one elbow draped casually over the backrest, his dark eyes unreadable under the brim of his cap.

You glanced down at the bags and pointed at them. “So… you’re rich-rich, huh?”

His lips quirked, a small laugh rumbling out of him. “Not me. My parents are.” He nudged one of the bags with his foot before adding, “And anyway, I bought these using my own money. No trust fund involved.”

Jay chuckled again, softer this time. “I guess.”

There was a beat of silence before he tilted his head slightly, his eyes darting to the white fluff curled in your lap. “Can I?” he asked, one hand lifting a little as he gestured toward Doobu.

You looked down at your cat, who blinked up at you lazily as if granting her approval herself. “Sure,” you murmured.

Jay shifted closer, his fingers brushing over Doobu’s head with surprising gentleness. She pressed into his touch, tail flicking lazily as a faint purr rumbled from her chest.

“She likes you,” you said quietly, unable to hide the faint trace of surprise in your voice.

“She’s cute,” Jay murmured, his thumb stroking behind her ear. Then his eyes flicked back to yours. “So… what happened? How’d she get out?”

You sighed, your shoulders slumping as you leaned back slightly against the bench. “I didn’t close my dorm room all the way. Must’ve been when I fell asleep earlier. She probably pushed it open and slipped out.”

You buried your face briefly in Doobu’s fur, muffling a groan. “God, I feel so stupid.”

“Don’t,” Jay said simply, his voice steady and calm. “She’s safe now. That’s all that matters.”

You peeked up at him, startled by how sincere he sounded. He wasn’t looking at you anymore—his eyes were on Doobu as he continued stroking her fur—but there was something in his tone that made your chest tighten.

“…Thanks,” you murmured, hugging your cat a little closer. “For finding her.”

Jay glanced at you again, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “I didn’t find her. She found me.”

You huffed a small laugh despite yourself, your nerves slowly beginning to settle. “Typical. Little traitor.”

Jay chuckled too, his hand still absentmindedly stroking Doobu’s fur. “She’s got good taste, though.”

You froze slightly at that, unsure how to respond as the warmth from his words and the gentle sound of Doobu’s purrs filled the air. Your eyes flicked to his, catching the way he was already looking at you—something soft and unspoken in his expression.

Then his gaze dropped, and a faint smirk tugged at his lips as he tilted his head toward you. “Not sure about her owner, though. Teddy bears and choo-choo trains? Really?”

You blinked in confusion for a moment before glancing down at yourself, realizing too late he was talking about your pajama set—the faint pastel print of tiny teddy bears riding toy trains now painfully obvious.

Your jaw dropped slightly. “Oh my god—Jay!” You slapped his arm, mortified.

He let out a laugh—louder this time, low and warm in his chest—as his hand came up to rub the spot where you hit him. “What? I’m just saying.”

“Shut up!” you hissed, cheeks flaming as you buried your face in Doobu’s fur. “I was in a rush, okay? I didn’t think anyone was going to see me like this.”

Jay’s grin softened, his dark eyes glinting under the streetlight. “Okay, okay. No need to hit me. I surrender.” He raised both hands in mock surrender before leaning back against the bench again, his posture relaxed and easy.

You frowned at him anyway, though the heat in your cheeks didn’t let up. “You’re insufferable.”

“Maybe,” he said with a light shrug, still smiling.

The evening breeze picked up then, making you instinctively pull Doobu closer to your chest. You shivered slightly, tugging at your thin jacket as a chill ran through you.

Jay’s eyes flicked to you, catching the way your hair was slightly mussed from sleep and the faint flush on your cheeks. The corner of his mouth curved almost imperceptibly—not in amusement this time, but in something gentler.

He glanced down at the Prada bag at his feet, pulling one of the items out. The soft, knitted material clung to his hand as he carefully tore off the tag, fingers meticulous so as not to snag the fabric. Without a word, he scooted closer until his knee brushed yours.

You blinked as he draped the scarf around your neck, the sudden warmth making you jolt slightly. “Jay—?”

“Relax,” he said calmly, adjusting it so it sat snug yet loose enough to breathe. “You need it. You’re freezing.”

Your hands went up to touch the scarf, the fine, soft knit catching between your fingers. “Jay, I… I can’t accept this. It’s Prada. This probably costs—”

“No returns, I’m afraid,” he interrupted smoothly, his dark eyes meeting yours again with a quiet finality.

“But—”

“Don’t,” he said simply, voice low but firm as he reached over again. His hands were careful, almost tender, as he wrapped it more securely around your neck. “And you’re still cold. So don’t argue.”

You stared at him, your protest catching in your throat. The scarf smelled faintly of new fabric and something warm—something that somehow reminded you of him.

“…You’re ridiculous,” you murmured finally, lips twitching into a small smile.

“Maybe,” Jay said again, his lips curving ever so slightly as he leaned back, resting an arm on the bench’s backrest. “But I’m also right.”

You ducked your head, hiding your warming face in Doobu’s fur as she purred sleepily in your lap.

Jay glanced at you once more, his fingers flexing faintly like he wanted to reach for you again but thought better of it. Instead, he moved just slightly closer, the edge of his shoulder brushing yours as the cool night settled comfortably around you both.

“So… any plans after this?” he asked, his tone casual but his gaze unreadable as it lingered on you.

You tilted your head slightly, thinking for a moment before shaking your head. “No, not really. Why?”

The corner of his mouth lifted, just barely. “So you’re free.”

A small giggle escaped you before you could stop it, the sound carried away slightly by the night breeze. “Yeah, I’m free. Why?”

He looked ahead for a second, lips twitching as if debating saying the next words. Then he glanced back at you, meeting your curious eyes. “Do you… want to eat dinner?”

Your face lit up, eyes widening a little in surprise. “Yeah—sure. If it’s not a bother?”

Jay shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips as his eyes softened. “Never. It’s not.”

He glanced down at the white ball of fluff curled in your lap, still purring lightly. “But… what about Doobu?”

You followed his gaze, only now realizing your cat had made herself at home again, her tiny body rising and falling against your arms as she napped.

“Oh. Right.” You laughed a little sheepishly. “Would it be alright if I take her back to my dorm first? I should probably change too—”

Your voice trailed off as the memory of his earlier teasing came back, cheeks heating instantly. “—before you start commenting on my pajamas again,” you muttered under your breath, burying your face in Doobu’s soft fur.

Jay laughed at that—low, warm, and unrestrained this time. It sent a strange flutter through your chest.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said, standing smoothly as he grabbed his paper bags off the concrete. “I really am. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You stood too, cradling the now-sleeping Doobu in your arms. She stirred slightly at the movement, her tiny head tucking into the crook of your shoulder as her tail curled closer to you. You adjusted your hold on her carefully, trying not to wake her.

Jay’s eyes softened further as he watched you fuss over your cat—something unreadable flickering behind them. Then he shifted his bags to one hand and gestured with the other.

“Come on. I’ll walk you back.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know,” he said simply, his tone making it clear he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “But I want to.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting down the smile threatening to break through. “Okay… thank you.”

Jay only nodded, falling into step beside you as the two of you started walking back toward the dorms. His steps were unhurried, his presence steady next to yours as the faint sound of crickets and your own quiet breaths filled the night.

Doobu shifted slightly in your arms, letting out a soft sigh as if content, and you felt your chest loosen—somehow lighter with Jay’s warmth just a few inches away.

⤷ read part 2 here !

⤷ permanent taglist — @m1kkso @ilovhoonie @jiyeons-closet @manobillie @yjmylove ⤷ piece taglist — @strawjayrries

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demie90s · 2 days ago

Text

Yeah I Like That.

Kahleah Copper x Fem!Reader

NAVI | MORE

Summary: You’ve been bothering Kahleah about her tongue ring for two weeks asking dumb shit just to see it flash, pushing up on her even though she swears she’s not giving you the time of day.

Genre: Slow-burn tease turned smut

Word Count: ~ 1.7k

Warnings: tongue ring obsession, couch makeout, soft!sub reader, dominant!Kahleah, getting turned out, kissing kink, control kink, smut build-up, power dynamics, praise,

The bar burns under my palms, knuckles chalked and gritted white from the weight. But I don’t drop. I don’t flinch. I don’t even blink. Not when she walks in.

Kahleah’s voice is the first thing I hear clear, focused, steady like always. She’s saying something about coach. Something about minutes and matchups and “getting out the fucking paint,” probably. But I’m not listening.

I’m watching her mouth. Deadass. Mid pull-up. My chin don’t even clear the bar before I catch it. That flash.

A glint, quick, silvery, slick. Her tongue flicks mid-word and it’s there. Shining. Taunting.

I slow the pull-up down to a crawl, arms burning, body trembling from the stall, but I can’t stop watching her lips. Her mouth moves and moves and moves, and the more she talks, the more it winks at me like it knows I ain’t heard shit she said.

By the time I finish my last rep, I’m stuck. Standing there like a cartoon character hit with a frying pan.

“…yo.”

“Hm?” Kah turns slightly, towel in hand.

“When did you get that?”

She blinks. “Get what?”

“That. That piercing.” I step off the box, tossing my head in her direction like she ain’t the only damn thing I’ve been staring at since she opened her mouth. “Your tongue.”

Her eyes cut, sharp but confused. “What are you—”

“You got a ring in your tongue, Kah.” I tilt my head, smirking now, because I know I ain’t tweaking. “Don’t play dumb.”

She runs her tongue along the front of her teeth real quick like she forgot it was even there. A flick of metal flashes again.

“Oh,” she says, shrugging a little. “Had it. Since like…offseason.”

I squint. “You had that this whole time?”

“Yeah.” Her arms cross tight under her chest, lips twitching like she’s trying not to laugh. “Why you look like you just saw God?”

“Because I might’ve,” I say, eyes dragging over her lips again. “You ever use it?”

That does it.

Her whole stance shifts, back against the wall, lips parted in disbelief. “What?!” she huffs, but her voice lifts with a laugh she tries to bite back. “Girl, no. Wait a damn minute.”

“You want to?” I ask, too smooth. Too calm. Like I didn’t just make her whole body stiffen up with a single sentence.

Kahleah throws her head back like she needs to reset her whole spine. “You are so outta pocket.”

“And you’re not saying no.”

Her tongue pokes at the side of her cheek now, ring glinting just enough to keep me dizzy. She folds her arms tighter, that damn smug ‘older woman’ stare pulling itself together, but I know her now. I know her enough to see that blush under all that bronze.

“I’m not doing this with you,” she says.

“You never do,” I shoot back. “You always act like I’m just playing.”

“‘Cause you are playing. You don’t even know what to do with all that attitude.” She rolls her eyes, grabbing her water like she’s trying to dismiss me, but I don’t budge.

“Bet I could make you use that ring,” I murmur.

Her eyes snap back to mine, sharp enough to cut. “Keep talkin’ slick like that and see what happen.”

I grin, stepping into her space. “I am.”

Kahleah’s taller than me by a little. I get close enough to make her shift her stance, her back hitting the mirror now. I place my palm right above her head, lean in low—close enough to whisper.

“Damn. You just get finer and finer everyday.”

“…I’m not doin’ this—”

“You already are.” I pause. “You tryna tell me you never let nobody feel that shit? Never let nobody moan with your tongue halfway down the throat?”

She glares at me—stuck. But she don’t move. She don’t leave. “You talk too much.”

“I do,” I agree, licking my bottom lip, slow. “You ever thought about shutting me up with that tongue?”

Kahleah’s jaw flexes like she’s holding back everything she ever wanted to say. Her eyes drop to my mouth, and for the first time since I started this little game we don’t say nothing.

Just breathing. Just tension. She finally pushes off the mirror, brushing past me with a smirk. She calls over her shoulder. “You couldn’t handle it.”

I grin. “Try me. Please”

Two weeks. Fourteen days of asking dumb shit on purpose.

“Do it get cold?”

“Can you taste different with it?”

“Can I feel it with my tongue?”

Every damn time she licks her lips I freeze like I ain’t seen it before. And she knows. She been knowing. She just don’t say nothing pretend I’m annoying, pretend I’m a joke, pretend I don’t sit next to her like I’m her lil girlfriend even when she don’t acknowledge me in public.

And yet… I’m still here. Right next to her. Legs tucked under me on her couch, elbow on the armrest, head tilted like I’m doing an interview and she’s my favorite rapper.

She’s dressed down Nike shorts, big tee, no bra. Hair tied back. Bare-faced and fine like sin. Remote in her hand, phone on the armrest. Minding her business. Or at least she was.

Until I spoke.

“You ever accidentally bite it?”

Kahleah sighs, deep. But her lips twitch. “God, again?”

“What! I’m just curious.”

“You nosy. That’s what you are.”

I shrug. “You be real cute when you talk, you know that?”

“I don’t know shit,” she says flatly, turning the volume up like that’ll stop me.

I lean closer, staring right at her mouth. “You use it on anybody since me?”

Her whole neck turns toward me. Eyebrows arched. Mouth open just a little like she can’t believe I’m still on this. “Since you? Girl—”

“You know what I mean,” I interrupt, eyes dropping to her lips again. I don’t even try to hide it. “I wanna feel it again. Just a lil bit.”

“You never even felt it the first time.”

“That’s the problem.”

Kahleah exhales hard, tossing the remote to the side. “You’re like a damn fly that won’t go away.”

I smirk. “And you like honey. So shut up.”

It’s silent for a second. Tension thick. That stare-down shit she always wins, but this time I hold her gaze. Make her look back at me with that I’m so tired of you but not really face.

Then she moves. Slow. Purposeful.

Hand sliding up the back of my neck while I blink literally blink because I can’t believe she finally bout to fold, and before I can say some dumb shit like “Oop..what you doing?” her mouth is on mine.

It’s not gentle.

Ain’t nothing soft about the way her tongue slides into my mouth wet, heavy, cold, like she been saving it just for this. The ring presses against mine, smooth and teasing, a slick little roll that makes my spine lock up.

My hand hits her thigh on instinct. She kisses like she mad. Like she tired of playing. Like she told me she wasn’t going back and forth but now she’s here with her tongue in my mouth and her fingers curling in my shirt.

I moan into it. Can’t help it. Shit feel too good. That damn metal rubbing my tongue got me dizzy. Then she pulls back. Breath heavy. Lips swollen.

I blink again. Brain lagging.

“…..You taste good.” My voice come out low, dazed. Like I forgot how to talk for real.

Kahleah stares at me. Shaking her head. “You get on my nerves.”

“Okay. So do it again.”

She groans, already leaning in like she hate me. But she don’t stop. This time, I do feel it. All the way down.

I don’t know when my hands stopped working.

Maybe it was when her tongue slid over mine, that smooth little cold press making my stomach flip.

Or maybe it was when her fingers slid up my shirt while I wasn’t paying attention too busy whimpering into her mouth like I ain’t the one who started all this shit.

She’s kissing me like she been waiting to. I’m reacting like I never been kissed before. Like her mouth is scripture and I’m just trying to memorize the shape of every word.

Her tongue moves slow. Intentional. She’s not rushing. She’s exploring. Flicking that damn ring against the roof of my mouth. Sucking my bottom lip ‘til I moan again.

I’m soft now. Pathetically so. My legs loosen and my body folds with no fight, sinking into the couch under her.

“You always talkin’ shit,” she mutters against my lips, voice rough and quiet, “but look at you now…”

I whine when she pulls back, chasing her mouth, brain cloudy, head tilted back and lips parted like I need more oxygen and her at the same time.

She chuckles. Real low.

“You so easy,” she says, and she’s grinning. Her hand slides up my neck, fingers guiding my jaw until I’m looking right at her. “Didn’t even have to touch you yet.”

I don’t answer. Can’t. I just blink slow. Stare at her like a girl hypnotized. Like I don’t realize her knee is already nudging between mine, spreading me without even trying.

When she leans in again, mouth brushing mine, soft and wet and full of that piercing, I damn near whimper again.

“…you taste so good,” I whisper.

It slips out like confession. Like prayer. My hands grip her thighs now, needy, grounding myself because I’m floating.

Kahleah hums, dragging her lips across my cheek, down to my neck. “Say it again.”

“You taste so good,” I repeat, drunk off it. Off her. “You taste so fucking sweet…” I don’t even notice her hands anymore.

Not ‘til she pulls my legs up around her waist, presses her hips into mine like she been waiting years to feel how soft I’d get for her. My breath catches. My eyes snap open, body arching on instinct.

“Oh my God.” She just grins into my skin. Still in control. Still calm.

“Thought you could handle me?” she says, teasing, lips dragging across my jaw. “You was talkin’ all that shit. Now look at you.”

I’m speechless. Gasping. Palms flat against the couch, back lifted slightly as she settles between my thighs. Hovering. Heavy.

All I can do is blink up at her, dumb and desperate, with my shirt pushed halfway up and her mouth back on mine like she’s feeding me the very thing I asked for.

Control never looked so good.

@letsnowtalk @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264 @yorubagirlsworld @daffodil-darlings @h4untedghOul @followthesvn @hibiscusblu @sevikasleftbicep @swiftie4evr @babyphatbrat @sivensblog @beeop223 @huntedghOul @tpwkrosalinda @lightsgore @em-nems @salemsuccss @villain-ryuk @ihrtsarahstrOng @liyahh037 @sillystarv @somedetailsinthefabric @essence-134340 @mochelisgf @soph1asticated @heheievidbri @unvswrld @breezybellab @planet-ghoulborne @art-ofmusic @toorealrai @mrsarnold @prettyyyinblack

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justwinginglife · 3 days ago

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Stuck With You

I feel like no one is gonna read this cuz it's objectively so, so dumb, but honestly, this is the kinda shit that goes through my head on a daily basis and I just thought it would be funny to write it out. Anyway, here goes.

Synopsis: You're handcuffed to Sylus and he decides to make it the biggest pain in your ass. Approx Word Count: 1300 Tags: There's really nothing of note unless you get grossed out by the happenings in the bathroom. This really is just me fucking around for roughly 1300 words.

You held out as long as you could. You really, really did. But you couldn’t hold out forever.

You cursed heaven, hell, and everything in between for your bad luck. It seemed there was no getting past this now. You cleared your throat, already regretting the confession that was to come, even before it’d left your lips. “Alright…the moment we’ve been dreading has finally come.”

Sylus raised a brow at you curiously.

”I… I need to go to the bathroom.” You admitted, crimson soaking into your cheeks, as you shifted your weight around.

A grin spread across his face, slow and smug, as he processed this new information (leverage). “Well, I, for one, have not been dreading this moment at all. If you have to go, then go, sweetie.”

Your eyes narrowed, threatening to gun him down with nothing more than spite and spite alone. “You- you know damn well it’s not that simple! You have to… turn around or something!”

He lifted the wrist that was currently cuffed to you, and had been cuffed for the last two hours. The two of you hadn’t figured out much about the link that conjoined your bodies besides the fact that it was extremely inconvenient, and now, it was even more inconvenient.

“Not very much turning space in here, is there?” He gave shaking your wrists a weak attempt. An hour or two ago, he might’ve actually tried to escape these restraints (the asshole even suggested cutting your hand off at one point), but not now. Not when you’d single-handedly, willingly provided him with the most entertainment he’d had in decades.

You knew this. And you refused to be his shiny, new plaything. ”So close your eyes then, damnit!”

”Ah, but the thing is, kitten-“ He leaned forward, arrogance and audacity dripping from his lips, “I just don’t feel like it.”

”So what? You’re just going to watch me pee???”

He shrugged casually.

You scoffed before slouching back against the couch. Apparently you’d have to hold it a little longer until you could figure out how to sever the connection between the two of you. But how exactly were you supposed to sever it? The more you struggled against it, the tighter it got, but it was impossible to just completely relax- not when he was looking at you all beady-eyed and brat-faced. And the longer you pondered the situation, the more you regretted admitting to Sylus what your current condition was. Because he was insufferable.

He feigned playing a game on his phone to cure his boredom, but you knew he was behind the random waterfall noises that had begun to drift into the previously-quiet air. And even though he’d shown no signs of being thirsty before, he soon began to gulp down his water (that he’d seemingly procured out of nowhere!) as loudly as he could. And then there was his absolutely ridiculous dialogue.

“You know what sounds good right about now? Some peas.”

”Or maybe a piece of pie.”

”I hope nobody peeks into our room and sees the situation we’ve found ourselves in.”

”Goddamnit-Sylus! I already said I’m not gonna pee with you attached to me!” You huffed, whacking him across the face with a decorative pillow.

“Well, kitten, we’ve got another issue now. Or at least, you do. I have no issues with it whatsoever.”

You threw your head back, groaning in frustration. “WHAT, Sylus, WHAT? What’s the issue? Just spit it out already!”

He grinned, the devil in his eyes. “Well, you see, after drinking all that water, it appears that I need to pee now. So you can either watch or turn around.”

”What happened to no turning space??” You yanked at your joint wrists angrily.

“So watch then.”

”Can’t you just hold it?!” You exclaimed, exasperated.

”I could but where’s the fun in that?”

”Sylus- this isn’t funny!”

“On the contrary- I find it to be quite amusing. Up we go.” He slipped one arm underneath you, giving you no choice but to accompany him to the bathroom, as he carried you squirming and squealing all the way.

He didn’t waste any time dropping his trousers (without warning- mind you!) and positioning himself over the toilet (to which you very quickly squeezed your eyes shut). You heard a low chuckle rumble in his throat- the irritating evidence of his enjoyment.

“Bastard.” You grumbled under your breath.

”Ahhhhhhhh, feels so nice to just…let go.” He narrated.

”Yeah, yeah, I get it! Just hurry it up!” You groaned, squeezing your legs together tightly, trying to ignore the overbearing pressure building up in your bladder.

”Why? I’m quite enjoying myself.” He leaned in so his breath tickled your ear, “And you could be too if you just let yourself.”

You bit your lip.

You knew he was right. You knew you would feel so, so much better if you just relieved yourself. After all, your legs couldn’t squeeze together any tighter at this point and your core muscles were already strained beyond belief from holding back the raging floodwaters. But you couldn’t help being stubborn. You’d barely gotten used to having Sylus being around you at all let alone gotten comfortable enough to let him see you piss. This had to be some cruel twist of fate; someone somewhere had to be laughing their ass off, just thinking about how tormented you were. You didn’t want to give them, or Sylus, the satisfaction. So you squeezed your eyes shut and began thinking of random numbers to distract yourself… but you didn’t realize you had started mumbling them out loud.

”Fourteen…fifteen…sixteen…”

Sylus caught on quickly and proceeded to antagonize you further. “Seventy three…twenty one…one hundred and sixty four…five million…”

You glared at him as he interrupted your train of thought.

“Just helping.” He teased.

”Shut up, I don’t need your help.”

”But you do need to relieve yourself at some point.” He poked your nose.

You waved him away but, once again, you knew he was right.

You glanced down at your joint wrists and made one last, desperate attempt to sever your connection to him, but it remained as strong as ever. At this point, your options were either you pee in front of Sylus or you pee your pants in front of Sylus; both options unfortunately required a sacrifice of your dignity, but one a little more than the other. So you made your choice.

”Fine, fine. Move!” You tugged him out of the way and sat him on the ground in front of you.

“We’re sitting now?”

”Yes, we’re sitting! When was the last time you saw a girl pee standing up? You know what, never mind, don’t answer that. Just- face that way.” You planted your hands on his head and turned him towards the wall, attempting to maintain some small semblance of privacy while you went about your business.

When you were finally sure he wouldn’t peek, you let loose. You didn’t remember the last time using the bathroom ever felt so good, but today, it felt incredible. So incredible that you almost even forgot that there was a 6’2 man sitting on your bathroom floor waiting for you to finish. But, of course, Sylus never stayed quiet for long. There was always a new button to push, a new nerve to unravel.

As if testing out the new level of intimacy you’d accidentally reached together, he decided to push the boundary even further, because, well, he was fucking Sylus. “You know, now that we’re in the bathroom, I may as well try to empty my bowels too-”

OH, HE DID NOT JUST-

“Abso-fucking-lutely not!”

Taglist: @tbaluver @pixelcafe-network

#han's library #sylus love and deepspace #l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lads #lnds #love and deep space #loveanddeepspace #love and deepspace #l&ds #lds #lds sylus #lads x reader #lnds x reader #l&ds x reader #lds x reader

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idyllwave · 1 day ago

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30 MILLION TO 1

yandere!phainon x fem!reader | part ii. ∄

you promised phainon you could handle things, and he let you go against his better judgement. next time though, he refuses to let you go alone. however, next time may never happen.

word count | ~2k

cw | angst , death , blood, yandere!phainon , low key stalker phainon , 30 million cycles , grammatical errors , etc.

taglist

@hoonobono

Unlike most people, Phainon starts his day a bit differently. The moment he wakes up he is already pulling you close to his chest so he could hug you as tight as he could. His actions always jostle you awake as you yawn and wrap your own arms around his waist and stuff your face into his chest. He knew that if you didn’t hug him back in the morning then something was obviously wrong.

“Morning, Phainon,” you mumbled, your voice being muffled by his chest as he hugged you impossibly closer. He didn’t know why, but he very much enjoyed squeezing you. Now that he thinks about it … he believes Hyacine calls it cuteness aggression.

And like always since you both started living together, you would be up first. Somehow managed to wrestle out of his grip and get out of bed, and he would, of course, be hot on your heels. He honestly couldn’t stand not being close to you and you never said anything about his clinginess. In fact, you enabled him more often than not.

“What do you have planned for today?”

That was another thing. After he gets done training and makes some random excuse to the other Chrysos Heirs, he would quickly find himself tailing you throughout the day. His eyes soaking up any detail that he has failed to notice before while also hoping you would slip about something you’ve been keeping secret (like where you really come from). But he couldn’t say that to you, he didn’t want to see you react negatively towards anything he does. Which is why he hides the fact that he threatens any man or woman who comes your way, why he hides his tailing habits, why he hides how he is utterly obsessed with everything about you.

“Just some training,” he said simply as he started to brush his teeth right next to you in front of the mirror, his elbow sometimes knocking into yours.

You hummed as you spit out your toothpaste, “well, I have my own business to attend to today.”

He spit out his own toothpaste, “like what?”

You turned on the sink and cleaned off any toothpaste residue from your mouth before gently doing the same for Phainon which he happily leaned into your touch for.

“Professor Anaxagoras has some info for me that I had asked him about awhile ago, and asked me to meet him this afternoon.”

Phainon huffed, “I should-“

“Stay here just in case an emergency pops up,” you finished.

“But what if you run into some trouble?”

“I can assure you that I am a capable fighter Phainon.”

He gave you that look that screamed ‘I’m not too sure about that’ as you lightly pushed him with a roll of your eyes, “you were too much Phainon, I swear that I’ll be fine.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Against his better judgement, he did let you go alone. And later on through the day, he did get busy, so he didn’t even get the chance to see you off. Much to his dismay.

Meanwhile, when you had finally reached the Grove in the afternoon, Anaxa was already waiting for you. His eye already picking you out as he gestured for you to follow him.

“Leaving Amphoreus isn’t possible right now.”

You didn’t even have to ask as he already decided to hit you hard with the truth.

“I understand… so I’m stuck here.”

Anaxa looked at you as you closed the door to his office, and leaned against it as you hung your head – he never seen you look so defeated.

“Have you told Phainon?”

You shook your head, “no… I haven’t. I thought that if we could find a way to break through this place, then I could call for help, and then tell him everything, and maybe… ask him to come with me. However, it seems I will need to find a way out of this place before I tell him everything.”

“Wouldn’t it be simpler to tell the truth now?”

“He has the prophecy to worry about,” you said after a moment, “I don’t want to burden him with my own problems.”

“Then why bother getting close to him?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but ended up closing it. Why? You know you aren’t apart of this world, but you ended up getting close to Phainon anyway. It wasn’t like you planned to get trapped here and fall in love with him. In fact, this place wasn’t even where you were planning to go because someone or something pulled you here. Not to mention that Phainon didn’t make it easy. He was definitely persistent.

“Because I fell in love with him.”

“Foolish,” Anaxa muttered, “utterly foolish.”

You smiled a bit sheepishly. Anaxa reminded you a lot of Dr. Ratio, but luckily Anaxa was a bit more tolerable. (Especially when you were wrong about something he didn’t throw chalk at your head…)

“Anyway, Professor-“

You jumped as there was a knock on the door. And panicked voices were yelling from the outside.

You were quick to open it as a few people bursted in causing Anaxa to step forward as well, “what’s wrong?”

“It’s the black tide! It’s here!”

“Already,” you asked, “without any warning?”

You heard about the black tide, had your reservations about it, but decided to leave the problem to the chyrsos heirs while also offering your help here and there. You didn’t think that this would happen.

“We need to evacuate,” Anaxa said, “where-“

One of the students clutched her hands to her chest, “this is everyone, Professor. The others-,” she cut herself off with a choked sob. So another student spoke up, “the escape routes were blocked off. We’re basically stuck here!”

“Why weren’t the alarms set off?”

“Someone disabled them.”

You huffed, not really understanding why everything was falling apart so quickly, but it was fine. If this was all that was left, then you would just blaze a path for the survivors. As a nameless. It was your job to trailblaze a new path.

Phainon was the first to get the emergency. His footfalls were light even as he raced through Okhema. The other Chyrsos Heirs could only try to keep up, even Mydei couldn’t catch up to the Deliverer because the moment that it was said that the Grove was attacked he was already gone. And the sight that was left for him was –

His feet felt like lead as he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other. His eyes refusing to look down at the bodies he had to step over or move around.

“Phainon-“

He didn’t wait to listen to what his fellow Chyrsos Heirs had to say, and he didn’t want to ask Castorice if she could sense your soul. He had to find you for himself. Wherever you are.

Like a mantra, he chanted inside his head that you were fine. Probably fighting off the last remaining enemies.

And you were, you had been at least… but a sword had plunged into the upper left side of your chest, the jagged blade splitting your heart in two. Your weapon dropped to the floor as you raised your hands to grip the blade. Your eyes staring up at a figure dressed in black, his face masked behind metal plating.

“Not part of the cycle.”

In broken words, the masked figure spoke to you, his sword plunging in just a bit deeper as the students behind you huddled close together while also protecting a knocked out Anaxa.

“Cycle? What cycle?”

You coughed as blood dribbled from your mouth and seeped from your wound. Your vision was already darkening and your body started to feel cold where the wound was as a numbness started to form around your toes and fingertips which wanted to seep and spread into your very limbs. The cloaked figure raised it’s other hand, grabbed your neck for stability, before pulling the blade from your chest and dropping you to the floor.

“Core .. not here.”

You couldn’t manage to say anything as you lied there. You could feel everything going dark as you closed your eyes.

Is this where the trailblaze ends for you?

By the time Phainon and the others make it to where the survivors were, the cloaked figure was already gone. And even as the survivors cheered for their arrival, Phainon was only focused on you and your still body being cradled in one of the girl’s arms. His steps were slow as he walked over and knelt in front of the student who was holding you.

“What happened,” he managed to ask, his hand shakily reached out to touch your face, but you were already so cold. He moved his fingers to your neck. No pulse.

“A cloaked figure attacked us, but she stood in his way. They fought for a long time before that monster got the upper hand and stabbed her through the chest… We- we think she would have won if she didn’t get injured by protecting us from the black tide.”

He hated hearing the words “would have won” because that means these students were in the way of her victory. If she didn’t protect these selfish, ignorant, undeserving people then she would still be alive. Though, he also has the cloaked figure to blame as well… like a nightmare that monster seems to fester.

“Deliverer. You’re scaring them.”

He snapped out of his thoughts and noticed that he had ripped your body from the girl’s grasp and pulled you close to his chest. And the look on his face… just looking at the students he could tell that he had struck fear into them. And truthfully, he didn’t care.

He stood up and picked up your body as well. One arm was hooked under your knees while the other supported your back so that your head was resting against his chest.

“Good.”

After your death, the cycle continued as it always had and ended just like before with him resetting and starting the cycle anew.

When he walked through Okhema’s gates for the first time, he had immediately set out to find you. Though, throughout the years that he had lived there, day in and day out, you were never in sight. Even when he had become a Chyrsos Heir you had made no appearance. Before too long, he had went through one hundred different cycles but you hadn’t appeared again.

It was like you had never existed in the first place.

Meanwhile, you were resting a palm over your chest as you sat in the Astral Express infirmary. Your memories on what had happened being lost on your as Himeko told you that they found floating around in space with a massive wound in your chest. And you couldn’t even tell them nor remember how you got there. The last thing you remember was leaving to check a stellaron reading.

“Mannn, well, I guess it’s better than losing all my memories.”

“No kidding,” March said as she, Dan Heng, Welt, and a person you never met before entered the room.

And you learned that this person was named Stelle. A new member of the Astral Express. Also a person who currently housed a stellaron in their body…

“I feel like I missed so much.”

“You did. Thankfully, since we’re going to Penacony next, you can finally have some time to rest and relax.”

That was another thing you learned, you have been missing for about one to two years now. But that was alright, you were sure that you would get back into the swing of things eventually. And hey, maybe they were right. Penacony, as you had heard, was a lot like a fancy resort of some kind. So some fun and relaxation was definitely what you needed.

#hsr #honkai star rail #yandere phainon #yandere phainon x you #yandere phainon x reader #yandere phainon x y/n #phainon #hsr phainon #phainon hsr #phainon x you #phainon x reader #phainon x y/n

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bradleysass · 2 days ago

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plane - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 612

James had barely fastened his seatbelt before he noticed the subtle grimace pulling at Regulus’ features. His boyfriend sat stiffly beside him, pale and a little too focused on the seat in front of him like it had personally offended him.

A low groan slipped from Regulus as he blinked hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing once, twice—telltale signs.

“Did you take the nausea medication while we were waiting?” James asked, voice low and concerned, already leaning in.

Regulus shook his head, the movement sharp and miserable. “Forgot,” he rasped.

James sighed, gently placing a hand on Regulus’ knee. “Darling, we were literally at the gate for half an hour. I gave you the bottle.”

“I thought it was a mint tin,” Regulus muttered through gritted teeth, eyes now squeezed shut. “I didn’t want to take your last Altoid.”

James blinked. “You thought the Dramamine was an Altoid?”

From two rows down and to the left, Sirius barked out an overly loud laugh, almost like he was trying to project it directly across the aisle. “Oi, Prongs! You see the guy in 17B? He’s wearing cargo shorts! In first class! We’re all going to die, aren’t we?!”

James didn’t even look over. He could feel Sirius waggling his eyebrows and elbowing Remus.

“He’s not even looking at you,” Remus murmured wearily, flipping through the in-flight magazine like he was trying to pretend he didn’t know the man next to him. “You’re embarrassing.”

“You’re just jealous because I’m the fun one on this romantic getaway,” Sirius declared.

“We’re not even going to the same place,” Remus mumbled.

Meanwhile, James dug through his carry-on with all the urgency of a man on a rescue mission. “Reggie, c’mere—lean on me,” he coaxed, pulling out a tiny toiletry bag. “If you’re gonna be sick, at least do it into something I don’t have to apologize to a flight attendant for.”

Regulus pressed his forehead to James’ shoulder, lips parted, breathing slow and shallow like he was at war with his own stomach.

“Just wait until we hit cruising altitude,” James said gently, brushing Regulus’ hair back. “It’ll get better, yeah? I’ll get you ginger ale, rub your back, let you listen to that creepy ambient playlist you like.”

“It’s not creepy,” Regulus mumbled against his shoulder. “It’s atmospheric.”

“It sounds like we’re stuck in a haunted ice cavern,” James said fondly, kissing the top of Regulus’ head. “Still love you.”

Another loud snort-laugh came from Sirius' direction. “Reggie, you okay over there? You look like you’re auditioning for The Exorcist. Need me to do my ‘sick cat’ impression?”

“Sirius,” Regulus growled without lifting his head. “If you even meow once, I’ll vomit directly into your shoes.”

“Bet,” Sirius whispered to Remus, who pinched the bridge of his nose.

James held Regulus a little tighter, now expertly massaging his boyfriend’s thigh in comforting circles. “Just breathe through it. You’re doing great.”

Regulus groaned again. “I hate muggle transportation.”

“Could’ve apparated.”

“You said this was more romantic,” Regulus gritted out.

“It was, until you refused to take the anti-nausea mint.” James grinned.

Regulus gave him a weak glare. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Only slightly. But mostly I’m planning how many forehead kisses you’ll need to survive this flight.”

“Seven,” Regulus muttered.

James leaned in and whispered, “One…” and pressed a kiss to his temple.

Regulus didn’t smile—but his shoulders dropped just a little, the tension easing.

Meanwhile, Sirius, still narrating their lives like a live podcast, was trying to convince a flight attendant to let him use the intercom for “emotional support announcements.” Remus was actively pretending to be asleep.

Cruising altitude could not come soon enough.

#marauders #jeggyverse microfic #jegulus #sunchaser #starseeker #james potter #regulus black #microfic

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lascvitae · 2 days ago

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DISTRACTION ✵ YU JIMIN

ARE YOU DOWN TO BE A DISTRACTION, BABY?

BUT DON’T DISTRACT ME, LET ME ASK YOU BABY

ᝰ.ᐟ when rising designer y/n jeon is forced to marry her rival, karina yu as pr for her upcoming fashion launch, the only thing that proves to be messier than their contract is their feelings.

ᝰ.ᐟ pairing. model!karina × fashion designer!fem!reader ᝰ.ᐟ genre. enemies to lovers, slow burn ᝰ.ᐟ warnings/tags. forced/fake marriage, kissing, cursing, mutual pining, jealous karina, unresolved tension, yall argue and bicker a LOT, one bed trope 🥳 feat. sana of twice && giselle of aespa

ᝰ.ᐟ wc 12.5k (not proofread and ik there’s sm typos cause i was working on this late nights. i apologize chat i’ll eventually get to them and fix them all 🥀)

ᝰ.ᐟ katty a birthday present for my goat ( @1luvkarina ) <3 it was so longg and very much overdue but… happy belated birthday again angel 💕

(🎧) now playing — distraction by kehlani.

masterlist.

TODAY SHOULD HAVE BEEN A good day. you slept great, had your breakfast, and the outfit you pictured in your head turned out perfect. your hair had no flyaways in sight.

but it was too good to be true. like everything always is.

now, you’re sitting in a conference room with your mother, smiling through gritted teeth.

it’s a smile that you’ve perfected over the years. one that says you hope no one notices how your eye twitches every now and then.

across the room, karina stands like a statue. her arms are crossed and her platinum blonde hair is pulled back so perfectly it looks like she stepped off the runway. she’s flawless, and let's be real. probably completely miserable.

there’s a strange magnetic pull about her. something about the way she carries herself that makes everyone else feel like they should be privileged to be in her presence. the cameras love her. the media loves her. and for some reason, they all buy the faux perfection she’s selling.

you, however? not so much.

karina has been in your life as long as you can remember. mostly because your mothers despise each other with their entire souls. they’ve spent decades one upping each other at every fashion show, gala, and event. your mother says karina’s family is all about “safe and boring designs” while karina’s mom says your family’s work is “overrated and hard to look at.”

you’re the only daughter from the “party” family who only made it big because of your name. karina’s the “cold, robotic model” who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else than in front of a camera, but somehow that just makes her even more untouchable.

you’re trying to launch your own fashion line while dealing with enough press coverage about your wild nights out. so yeah. this marriage? definitely not on your to do list.

but yet here you are. forced into this contract and forced to pretend everything is fine. not to mention, forced to marry a girl you literally cannot stand.

just because your pr teams and families decided it was time for an “image overhaul.” apparently, a marriage between the rebellious daughter of a famous designer and the perfect, untouchable model would sell better than any brand deal.

“you really have to look so depressed? we’re about to sign a contract that will change both our lives and you can’t even pretend to be at least a little happy?” karina’s voice is sharp and direct but there’s an edge beneath it that makes you want to throw something at her. she’s glaring at you now.

“excuse me? maybe i don’t think pretending is worth it. i’m not the one trying to act like this is a dream.” you snap, your grip tightening around the pen.

the blonde haired girl rolls her eyes, leaning back in her chair. "you’re not the only one stuck in this, y/n. but maybe if you didn’t make a mess of your career by partying every weekend, we wouldn’t be sitting here."

she glances towards your mother. "oh, and your brand’s in trouble, isn’t it? before the first launch. a little too much wild behavior?"

the nerve.

you want to snap back, you really do, but there’s no point. she’s baiting you and you know it. besides, you’ve had this fight in your head a thousand times already. you know she thinks you’re a mess and you know she thinks she’s untouchable.

"don’t act like you’re any better. you’re perfect all the time. isn’t that exhausting?” you mutter, feeling the sting of her words.

“maybe. but at least i’m not the one sabotaging my future. let’s just get this over with.” she gestures to the paper where both of your names are already neatly printed.

you stare at the page for a long while, watching your name against the white paper. your whole life is about to change. again. but this time, there’s no turning back.

"fine.” you say, voice colder than you expected. you sign your name harshly like the pen could stab through the paper (and the paper is karina).

karina follows you with the slightest flicker of hesitation in her eyes. but it’s gone before you can grasp it, replaced once more by that perfect smile you hate.

“there. we’re done.”

“yep. we’re done.” you mutter, tossing the pen down.

the ink dries and neither of you are looking at each other but the realization of the situation dawns on both of you.

there’s a quick, awkward handshake. and then it’s over. at least for now.

───────────────────────

you’re in the backseat of the car, soft hum of the engine doing nothing to calm your nerves. your mom sits across from you with her eyes glued to her phone as if your world isn’t about to explode. her fingers click the screen with precision, completely ignoring the fact that your life is being tossed into the fire. again.

you think back to the past few days. the whirlwind of meetings, press conferences and forced smiles, and contracts you had no choice but to sign. now you’re on your way to the penthouse. the penthouse. the one you’re supposed to share with karina. the girl who probably wouldn’t spare a second glance at you if the press wasn’t currently making you two out to be the next power couple.

“this is ridiculous, mom. i hate this. this whole thing.” you mutter, letting your head fall against the cold glass window while watching the city pass by. your mom doesn’t even look up.

“you don’t have a choice, sweetheart. you need to get your career back on track and this marriage will make the media forget all the mess that you’ve been in.” she says. it’s not in a mean way but it’s that tone of voice she always uses when she thinks she knows better than everyone else. especially you.

you roll your eyes because you’re tired, and honestly, the last thing you need right now is a lecture on how this could be the best thing for you. “i wasn’t asking for a lecture, mom. i’m just saying — i can’t stand her. we’ve hated each other for years.”

she lets out a sigh. one that makes you feel like she’s already heard this a hundred times. and while she probably has, it doesn’t change how you feel. “i know you don’t get along with karina, but you’re both professionals. this is business. nothing more, nothing less.”

“yeah, well, it sure doesn’t feel like business. we’re basically being sold as a brand now. it’s not even real.” you shoot back in a frustrated tone.

“of course it’s not real. but you’re going to make it real. you’re a designer, y/n. this is what we do. we sell ideas. you’ve always known how to sell an image.” she says, tone softening but you can still hear that undertone that you can never lose from her.

“great. so now i’m selling myself? i didn’t know that was the plan.” you say, a bitter laugh escaping your lips.

your mom finally glances at you. “this isn’t forever, y/n. just… don’t make it harder than it has to be. karina’s a beautiful, talented woman. she’s not as bad as you think.”

“oh, trust me, she’s exactly as bad as i think.” you mutter, staring at the city lights flickering past. you’re already picturing her standing in that penthouse with her perfect, stupid blonde hair. you hate her.

but your mom is right about one thing. you don’t have a choice. at least not anymore. the car slows, tires scraping against the pavement as it turns into a sleek, minimalist building with floor to ceiling windows. your new “home.” you hate the idea of it already.

“here we are. you’re going to be fine, sweetheart.” your mom announces, looking out the window like it’s some beautiful moment.

you don’t feel okay. you feel like running miles away in your louboutins, iggy azalea style.

but you don’t say anything. instead, you just get out of the car, heels clicking on the marble floor as you step into your future. and apparently, karina’s future too.

the lobby is so silent it’s almost unnerving. clean lines and marble floors with chrome accents. it’s gorgeous, definitely. but it’s also soulless. exactly the kind of place you would expect karina to live in.

you’re barely through the door before a concierge appears, offering a smile and a clipboard for you to sign.

you print your name quickly, barely glancing at it. another contract, another deal.

"your wife is already upstairs." the concierge says politely, emphasizing the word wife.

you don't even correct him. you just nod and head towards the private elevator, heart hammering against in your chest in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with excitement.

when the doors open to the penthouse floor, you step out. and karina is already there.

she's standing in the middle of the massive living room, arms crossed, eyebrows arched. her hair is still pulled back into that same sleek bun, not a strand out of place. does that shit not hurt?

but she looks exactly like you pictured her in the car. annoyingly perfect.

you barely have time to process the room before she opens her mouth.

"what took you so long?" she snaps.

you stare at her, already exhausted. “really? that's the first thing you're gonna say to me?"

karina shrugs like she’s already bored with you. "i mean, some of us are trying to be professional about this."

you roll your eyes so hard that it’s a miracle that they don’t get stuck. "yeah because nothing says professional like fake smiling your way through a forced marriage. stop saying that, karina.”

"you could at least pretend to be grateful. you needed this more than i did.” she shoots back.

you step further into the room, ignoring the way her words sting. "oh, i’m sorry. i must have missed the part where you were a victim here. must be hard being the golden child of the industry."

karina scoffs. it’s a sharp and humorless sound. "and it must be so hard being the family disappointment."

your mouth drops open. "wow. you didn’t even hesitate with that one."

"i call it like i see it.” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder like she’s already won.

you let out a laugh devoid of humor, crossing your arms. "good to know the fake marriage is off to a great start."

for a moment, the two of you just stand there glaring at eachother like you’re about to launch into round two. and honestly? you would — if something over karina’s shoulder didn’t catch your eye.

you squint, stepping around her to get a better look into the side hallway.

and then you see it.

one bed.

one massive, king sized bed. centered neatly in one room.

your stomach drops.

"wait. is that… is that our bed?” you say slowly, blinking like maybe you’re hallucinating. karina turns lazily to look, face the definition of innocence. "oh, did you think we'd have separate beds? how cute."

"cute?! we have to share a bed?!” you basically shriek, spinning back towards her.

"it's king size. plenty of room. just… stay on your side.” she says it like that solves everything. like you’re supposed to be relieved about it.

you stare at her, absolutely baffled. "i'm going to lose my mind."

karina just smirks, stepping past you like this is all just some big joke to her. "then hurry up and unpack. you’re already late."

you don't even have any words. how could you think of any in this situation?

so you just stand there, fists clenched, watching her disappear down the hallway like she owns the place (she does. a little). you hope she sleeps on the couch tonight. and the night after that. and so on.

you turn back to look at the bed again, your future flashing before your eyes.

welcome to your new life.

and unfortunately for you? this is only the beginning.

───────────────────────

you step out of the shower with a towel wrapped around your chest. the bathroom is massive but whst you noticed first were the two sinks. side by side. like this is some romantic couple getaway and not your impending doom.

you eye the counter and immediately claim the left sink, unpacking your skincare bag.

you’ve just finished patting serum into your cheeks when the door creaks open and you hear the telltale sound of slippers on tile. you don’t look. you already know.

she glides to the right sink without a word with her toothbrush in hand. like this is normal. like this isn’t your bathroom now too.

you glance over once. just long enough to catch the soft smirk on her face.

“what.” you snap.

“nothing.” she says through a mouthful of toothpaste, brushing like she’s in a colgate commercial. “you just take so long.”

you scoff. “because i have a skincare routine.”

“most people do skincare before they shower.”

you pause and turn slowly. “what the fuck did you just say?”

karina gives you a blank look like you’re the crazy one. “before.”

you gasp. “you do your skincare before you wash your body?”

“yeah?”

you stare at her, completely stunned. “what are you, a war criminal?”

“it makes sense—”

“no it doesn’t! you wash it all off. that’s like brushing your teeth before drinking orange juice!”

“okay well, it’s not like i’m using bee venom and fish eggs. some of us keep it simple.” she spits and rinses her mouth, casually grabbing mouthwash.

“coming from someone who used apricot scrub in high school.”

she gasps. “you did not just bring that up.”

“oh, i did. i remember. you had texture on your cheeks for a whole semester.”

“and now i have a chanel campaign. guess it worked out.” the blonde responds, slamming her mouthwash down.

“still. if you didn’t willingly destroy your skin barrier you wouldn’t have this much to say about mine.”

“you literally steamed your face with boiling water in high school.”

you spin towards her with wide eyes. “that was ONE TIME—”

“you looked like a tomato.”

“you exfoliated with kylie skin!”

“it was natural!”

“IT HAD WALNUTS IN IT!”

you’re both standing there now, halfway through your routines and glaring at each other.

“just— stay on your side.” she reminds you.

“i am on my side.”

you both finish in tense silence, bathroom radiating with the scent of toothpaste and passive aggression. when she spits into the sink, you do too. when she opens the drawer for cotton pads, you grab yours quicker. it’s petty.

eventually, she finishes first, walking back into the bedroom. you follow two minutes later and she’s already in bed. not just in bed. she’s hogging the comforter. no pillow barrier. no separation.

you stop in your tracks. “karina.”

“what.” she says flatly, eyes closed.

“no.”

“yes.”

“we talked about this.”

“you talked. i ignored you.”

“karina.”

“what?” she’s still not even facing you. laying on her side but curled under your side of the blanket.

“pillow barrier. peace treaty.” you remind her, climbing in and aggressively yanking the comforter. “we agreed.”

“you agreed.” she mumbles.

“well you’re cosigning the agreement.” you say, tugging harder.

“you’re doing too much.”

“you’re so annoying.”

you both have a death grip on the blanket, refusing to look at each other. then finally, you give it one final yank that sends it perfectly into the middle.

“fine.” you say.

“fine.” she repeats. annoying.

a minute passes. then her knee brushes yours.

you both freeze before violently scooting in opposite directions.

at least you’re able to fall asleep.

───────────────────────

you’re sitting on the edge of your shared bed in a robe, phone propped against a bottle of setting spray as aeri stares back at you mid bite of her yogurt.

“i’m just saying.” you whine. “i haven’t eaten yet and i feel like i’m being exploited. this is child labor.”

“you’re twenty three.”

“and?”

karina, who is currently sitting at the vanity while a stylist infects the area with hairspray to set her hair, doesn’t even glance up. “you’re overreacting. you’ll survive a few hours without toast.”

you scoff. “says the person who stole the entire comforter last night.”

she glances at you in the mirror, arching a perfectly filled in brow. “stole? you gave it up.”

“i did not.”

“you said, and i quote, ‘fine, take it. i hope you sweat hoe.’”

you look at aeri. “see what i deal with?”

aeri smiles, spinning her spoon around. your pout returns at the thought of food. “you two are unbearable. can you both please look hot and act cordial for like, one hour today?”

karina lets out a hum that’s annoyingly calm. “i’m always cordial. it’s her that keeps trying to start shit before ten am.”

“i’m not starting anything.”

“you’re accusing me of blanket theft.”

“it’s not accusations if it’s true!”

“be grateful that i didn’t threaten to put my cold feet on you.”

“first, ew! second, you did put your cold feet on me.”

she shrugs. “then we’re even.”

you roll your eyes and drop back on the bed before groaning dramatically. “i’m gonna die before the event. tell them i was too pretty for this world.”

aeri rolls her eyes through the screen. “stand up and get in the damn dress i picked or i’m making you listen to karina’s stylist permanently.”

the blonde haired girl smirks as the makeup artist starts dabbing concealer under her eyes. “we’d get along great.”

you lift your phone just to glare at her. “she’d dump you after ten minutes.”

“she’d take one look at your crusty lip balm collection and cry.”

you gasp. “you don’t even own lip balm.”

“i do. i just don’t lose it every three hours.”

a stylist walks past, setting a dress over the bed with a whispered “two minutes.” you sigh dramatically and push yourself up.

“okay, i’m going. if i don’t make it, tell my story.”

“i’ll tell them you died trying to sabotage me.”

“i’ll tell them you use skincare before you shower.” you say before shuffling off to the bathroom with the dress draped over your arm, grumbling about lack of food and betrayal by the entire world.

“i’m still here, by the way. just waiting for you to complain about something else.” aeri calls out, voice echoing from the phone.

you stick your hand out of the doorway and flip her off.

the stylist laughs. “is she always like this?”

karina doesn’t answer right away. her gaze flicks towards the bathroom door before she shrugs. “only when she’s being dramatic.”

“…so, always?” someone mutters.

karina just smiles, eyes back on the mirror.

you enter the room again a few minutes later, tugging at the waist of the dress and already shaking your head. “i don’t know. i feel like an ugly bridesmaid.”

the fabric’s nice. sure. the color’s fine. but it’s not doing anything for your mood or your ego. and definitely not for the cameras.

karina glances over at you lazily. the stylist’s still curling a piece of her hair but her eyes move. down, then back up. she doesn’t say anything at first.

then she speaks. “you don’t like it?”

“i feel like i should be holding a bouquet and crying.”

she looks you over again, this time more directly. then she casually nods toward the rack.

“try the black one.”

you pause. “that one’s yours.”

“no, mine’s the velvet one. that’s silk.”

you look at it. its off shoulder and fitted around the waist and hips.

“i’m not trying to match with you.”

“we’re not matching.”

“we’re both in black.”

“we’re both breathing too. wanna fight about that as well?”

you shoot her a look. “you suggested it.”

“you’ll look better in it.” she says flatly.

there’s a silence that you don’t know how to fill yet. so you just walk over to the rack and grab it.

when you disappear into the bathroom again, aeri’s voice rings from the phone.

“she does this shit on purpose.” she says.

karina doesn’t respond. instead, she glances down at her phone with a tight jaw and reaches for her lip gloss.

when you come back out, you immediately busy yourself by adjusting the straps and smoothing the fabric over your thighs.

her eyes do that one thing again. they’re barely lingering, like she’s afraid of being caught. there’s no reaction or words. only a look.

you turn towards her. “too much?”

she lifts one shoulder in a half shrug gesture. “better than the bridesmaid one.”

“that’s not a compliment.”

“didn’t say it was.”

you scoff but the heat in your face betrays you. she doesn’t say anything else, grabbing her heels before standing and brushing past you without another glance.

you stay behind for a second then follow after her, grabbing the fine chain of jewelry on the rack as you go. the miu miu pendant gleams in your hand. it was delivered by the same stylist earlier.

karina’s already at the front door of the penthouse by the time you’re slipping into your heels. she doesn’t wait.

“clock’s ticking, princess.”

you roll your eyes and grab your coat, catching up with her at the elevator.

“i still think they should’ve let us go separately.” you mutter as you press the ground floor button.

“they want a show and we happen to be one.” she says simply.

“hey. can you put this on?”

she blinks, clearly surprised. “what?”

“the necklace.” you mutter, holding it out without looking at her.

she takes it without a word but there’s something in the way she lifts her hands behind you.

you tilt your head slightly, exhaling quietly.

her fingers graze the back of your neck and you flinch. not because it’s cold, but because it’s her. you’re close enough to feel the warmth of her breath as she fastens the clasp.

“there.” she murmurs.

you glance at her reflection in the elevator wall. she’s already stepped back with her arms crossed. like she didn’t just touch you like that.

“thanks.” you say flatly, adjusting the pendant.

“could’ve said please.” she replies quickly.

“i also could’ve asked someone else.”

she hums like she’s unbothered but you see her glance at your lips before she looks away.

then the elevator dings.

you both walk out in sync, heels clicking against the floor.

“wives. stunning as ever.” the concierge greets with a knowing grin.

you groan. “he’s doing it again.”

karina offers a smile that’s too charming. “he’s just doing his job.”

you elbow her, but not too hard. “stop feeding into it.”

“you asked me to help with your necklace in an elevator. that’s wife behavior.”

“it was for the brand. don’t make me throw my heel at you.”

“right. for the brand.”

the car’s already waiting for you outside. the driver opens the door and your “wife” slips in first. you follow, adjusting your coat and smoothing the fabric of your dress as you settle beside her.

“i’m not holding your hand.” you say.

“wasn’t asking.”

“…unless someone asks for a picture.” she adds casually.

“fake couple of the year.”

“we’d win.” she says without hesitation.

you sigh and glance at her outfit. it’s good. like, annoyingly good. you hate how good she looks. or rather, you hate that she looks good standing next to you. like this whole thing is real.

the city speeds past the window in blurs of warm light and for a few seconds, neither of you speak. the only sound is the click of karina’s nails against her screen and the occasional sound of fabric shifting when your legs accidentally brush.

she’s warm beside you and it’s annoying.

you glance over and realize she’s scrolling through the event seating chart, already planning where to sit and how to pose.

you on the other hand, just want to make it through the evening without getting caught drinking too much champagne or rolling your eyes on camera.

you pull your phone out and text aeri under your coat.

you

if i disappear halfway through the party it’s because i pushed her in the fountain

aeri 🧸

Y/N U CAN’T

you

u act like she doesn’t deserve it 🙄

aeri 🧸

this would be a perfect enemies to lovers kdrama 🥹

you

blocked

the blonde girl glances over then, lips barely twitching. “texting your fan club?”

“plotting your demise.”

she finally looks up and when your eyes meet, it’s brief, but it lingers. long enough to make you shift in your seat and look away first.

ew. you hate that.

the car slows outside of the venue, flashes already going off like the cameras were waiting specifically for this car to pull up. and honestly, they probably were.

your phone buzzes again.

aeri 🧸

make her laugh

yk they’ll eat it up

btw you guys look scary when you’re both silent

but its rlly hot

two hot scary gays 🤤

you sigh, slipping the phone away as the driver stops the car.

karina straightens her spine and adjusts her coat collar, fingers brushing the edge of her neck “ready?”

“don’t touch me.”

she huffs a laugh. “you wish i would.”

another fake smile. but your neck still tingles where her fingers were and her gaze lingers just a little too long before you both step into the light.

the flashes are disorienting at first.

“karina yu! over here!”

“y/n, who are you wearing?”

“is it true the two of you— ?!”

questions fly like migrating birds but you keep walking. you’ve done this before. being born into this environment taught you how to smile just right. chin tilted slightly, eyes soft but unreadable, lips parted enough to look like you might be about to say something scandalous.

karina walks half a step behind you at first, hands tucked into the pockets of her long black coat. she’s practically glowing under the camera lights. you hate that you notice. hate even more how well your silhouettes match.

she leans in slightly. “you’re slouching.”

you don’t look at her. “i’ll stab you with my heel right here.”

still, you straighten up.

the event handler ushers you both up the carpeted stairs and into the line for press photos. you stand with your hands at your sides. she shifts closer, barely brushing your shoulder. cameras shout your names and the lights start again.

her smile is elegant. yours is more cocky.

“closer, please! give us one for the fans!” someone calls.

you exhale through your nose. you really don’t want to, but karina’s already doing it, stepping closer like it’s nothing and brushing your arm like this isn’t war.

she leans toward your ear, voice soft so the mics won’t catch it. “you want them to think you’re the reluctant one or the mean one tonight?”

you turn your head. “i am the mean one.”

click.

the camera catches the moment your gaze meets hers and it’s way too intense and way too pretty. and you know it’s going to be on some fan edit by midnight with a stupid caption like “the way they look at eachother.”

you’re about to step away when someone from the pr team catches you both.

“quick interview. play nice.” they say.

you force your expression into something neutral as you and karina are ushered toward the mic.

the interviewer is smiling so wide that it’s kinda scary. like she’s so excited to be the one who landed the two of you. “y/n! karina! you both look absolutely incredible tonight. tell me— was the coordination planned?”

you open your mouth, but karina beats you to it with a sugary voice. “not at all. we just think alike.”

“scary, isn’t it?” you say with a dry smile.

the interviewer laughs. “there’s been so much buzz around you lately. everyone’s obsessed with your chemistry. how does it feel to have the internet calling you the most stylish couple of the year?”

karina glances at you and hums. “i think we’ll let the outfits speak for themselves.”

you cross your arms. “speak louder than her, at least.”

karina doesn’t react. she tilts her head and looks at you like you’re a puzzle that she can’t figure out. “i think i’m getting used to the sound.”

the interviewer blinks like she caught something in that moment but she keeps it moving.

“and last question. karina, would you ever consider walking in one of y/n’s shows?”

you raise an eyebrow and turn toward her, clearly amused.

she barely hesitates. “if she designs something worth wearing.”

you scoff. “guess i’ll have to start designing dresses with no personalities.”

she smiles with teeth. “perfect. you’ll have something to wear too.”

the interviewer is too stunned to speak for half a second before nervously laughing. “you two are—” she gestures vaguely, unsure of what to say. “unreal.”

you just smile sweetly, grabbing karina’s arm for the camera. “we know.”

there’s more flashes and buzz. the interview wraps up and you’re both guided into the main venue, shoulders bumping as you step inside.

you don’t look at her again but you feel her looking.

the event is dripping in excess. chandeliers like galaxies hang overhead with velvet walls and champagne towers. you fall in step in beside karina and immediately spot the flashes of press still hovering near the entrance, but you’re safe for now. it’s more exclusive inside.

karina doesn’t say a word when a waiter passes, simply grabbing two glasses of champagne and handing you one. you take it without looking at her.

you wander towards the corner, already recognizing half a dozen industry faces. that one creative director of some company you can’t stand. there’s a singer with their latest muse on their arm. and, of course, you can’t forget the permanently lurking cameras pretending to capture all the “natural moments.”

you’re mid sip when karina’s hand brushes your collarbone and you freeze.

“what are you—”

“your necklace.” she murmurs. her fingers are careful, almost tender even, adjusting the pendant so it lies flat.

“it was crooked.”

you give the blonde girl a skeptical look. “and that bothered you?”

she doesn’t answer, offering you a slow blink and dropping her hand like it didn’t leave heat trailing down your spine. before you can say anything else, a voice steals your attention.

“y/n, you look beautiful. who let you leave the house looking like that and not put you on a runway?” it’s sana, also known as the gossip queen. she’s sipping something from a martini glass and already looping her arm through yours.

“fashion’s newest hostage. have you met my prison guard?” you deadpan.

karina lifts her glass in an idle toast. “charmed.”

sana laughs. “she’s prettier in person. meaner, too. i like her.”

“don’t encourage her.” you mutter.

you’re pulled into more greetings and cheek kisses. karina floats a few feet away, effortlessly slipping into conversations. she doesn’t hog attention. it’s just magnetized to her. designers ask who she’s wearing, some leaning in too close. you try not to look but she finds your eyes through the crowd every few minutes like she’s checking if you’re still there.

you don’t know why that makes you feel steadier.

at one point she’s beside you again, half empty glass dangling from her fingers. your own drink is gone. hou’re about to gesture to a passing waiter when she wordlessly hands you her glass.

you hesitate.

she raises an eyebrow. “scared of my lip gloss?”

you take it and sip slowly. it’s still cold, barely touched.

she doesn’t look away and you pretend not to care.

───────────────────────

the event drags on. hours feel like days. eventually, you’re pulled into one last photo and handshake with someone who couldn’t name a single piece your entire bloodline has designed.

by the time you get back into the car, your heels are throbbing. karina settles in beside you with a sigh that you swear is real.

“finally.” she mutters.

“thought you liked playing dress up.”

“i like the check that comes after.”

you don’t have the energy to roll your eyes. you tilt your head against the window, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

“you did good tonight.” she says softly.

you turn your head. “what?”

her gaze is forward, voice quiet. “you looked good and didn’t throw a drink on anyone. impressive.”

“…thanks?”

she shrugs. “don’t get used to it.”

you laugh under your breath and let your head fall against the seat.

when the both of you step into the penthouse, you’re done. the coat’s halfway off your figure, heels discarded by the door. you kick them towards the corner and shuffle across the floor.

karina follows wordlessly, no more interest in bickering with you.

you flop onto the bed. your shared bed. “don’t touch me.” you mumble into the blanket.

karina walks into the closet and you hear the zipper of her dress a moment later.

you don’t mean to turn your head. you don’t mean to look.

but you do.

half of her form is a shadow, hair falling out of its updo as she changes into an oversized shirt and nothing else. she effortlessly takes out her extensions and you see the curve of her back.

then she’s gone again, disappearing into the bathroom.

you stay where you are, face half buried in the comforter and dress bunched awkwardly at your waist. you can hear the shower start a few moments later, water pressure shaking the pipes like the penthouse itself is sighing along with you.

you close your eyes. not to sleep, but just to rest.

the sound of the shower doesn’t stop you from thinking about tonight. no amount of cameras or flashes could make you forget about her hand adjusting your necklace with that softness.

you hear the water turn off and stir, blinking yourself upright again.

when she steps out of the bathroom, she’s wrapped in a white towel.

she glances at you for just a second, eyes flicking from your face to your legs and back, before turning toward the closet.

“don’t slip. if you bust your ass on the floor, i’m not carrying you.” you mutter, standing and peeling off your dress. “you’d be lucky to touch me.”

you scoff, already walking past her. “delusional.” you shut the bathroom door before she can respond.

the shower still holds some warmth, and you sink into it like you’ve been waiting all night.

you dry off quickly after and walk back into the room in one of your own oversized shirts.

karina’s already in bed, lying on her back and scrolling through her phone with the brightness way too high. you flop into your side.

she doesn’t move. “you always smell like strawberries and flowers.”

“are you sniffing me right now?”

“i’m just saying. you always do.” she shrugs it off, but there’s a flicker of something in her voice.

you roll over, facing away. “stop being weird.”

she doesn’t respond immediately, but the glow of her phone finally dims.

you hear her exhale through her nose aou hear the sheets shift. her knee brushes yours under the comforter. barely.

“you snore.” she says way too casually.

“do not.”

“you did last night.”

“you’re making that up.”

“i should’ve recorded it.”

“you’re sick.”

“you like it.”

you do. and you hate how much you do.

but instead you groan and throw the comforter over your head. “goodnight.”

you hear her turn onto her side behind you. except this time, she’s closer than before.

“night, petal.”

you’re still smiling when you fall asleep.

THINGS START TO SHIFT WITHOUT warning. or perhaps the warning signs were always there, hidden behind the way she says your name and looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching.

it begins with the press. you know, photoshoots, events and interviews. before, it was your names side by side in headlines some skepticism, but now they become one. the jeon-yu duo. they refer to you as y/n yu now.

“natural chemistry.” one reporter calls it, voice dripping with fascination. obviously, karina doesn’t flinch. she’s used to pretending for the cameras.

but lately, it’s not pretending anymore. at least not completely.

the first time it catches you off guard is during a vogue shoot.

you’re halfway through a pose when the photographer sighs and mutters something about needing “more intimacy.” karina’s arm slides around you without any hesitation, hand resting against your side while her thumb grazes the bare skin above your hipbone.

she doesn’t even look at you. then she leans in and murmurs “relax, petal.” quiet and just for you.

you don’t relax, but you don’t pull away either.

then it was the variety interview.

you’re both seated across from a roundtable of hosts. she’s in a tailored white blazer with her hair down for once. the conversation trails from your projects into your “new life together.”

“you seem more in sync now. is it just practice?” one host says, half teasing.

“she knows me. it’s not practice, it’s routine.” karina replies easily, hand resting lightly on your thigh under the table. you think it’s just a reminder to behave.

you almost snap at her, until she slides her thumb in one slow circle over your knee.

you say nothing, letting her speak for both of you.

at some point, the edits go viral. there’s loads of fan compilations and screenshots. popular ones are the clips of the two of you holding hands on red carpets or sipping from the same glass at the afterparty. you’re drunk in that clip, dress hiked up slightly as you tip your glass of champagne to karina’s lips. she takes a sip without hesitation even though your lipstick is smudged onto the glass.

“do you guys even like each other?” a designer asks one night somewhere between events.

she smirks and speaks. “you’d be surprised.”

you don’t say anything. you’re still replaying the way her hand skimmed down your back when she zipped up your dress. there was no reason for her to touch you like that. there was a stylist.

but she did it anyway.

now, you’re exhausted. today’s shoot ran two hours over because the photographer was indecisive. apparently the lighting was wrong and your heels were five inches too tall. and most annoying of it all? karina’s perfume was clinging to your dress and they made you retouch your face six times.

when you return to the penthouse, it’s past midnight. you kick off your shoes so hard they hit the baseboard.

karina tosses her jacket onto the back of the couch with a sigh. “don’t throw things.”

“don’t act like you care.”

she pauses in front of the mirror, removing her earrings with the elegance of someone still being watched. “i don’t.”

“great. so stop telling me what to do.” you tug your hair free from its clip.

it’s silent for a moment before she talks again. “you looked okay.”

you scoff. “oh, good. yay! thanks for the approval, karina. must be so nice being you.” you head towards the living room, shedding your earrings with annoyance and tossing them onto the coffee table.

she turns to look at you, leaning against the island with crossed arms. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“you know. you could walk onto a red carpet in a trash bag and still make the best dressed list.”

“you think this is easy?” she asks, voice dropping.

“i think you’ve had everything handed to you on a silver fucking platter.”

“you don’t know shit about what i’ve had handed to me.”

you step closer towards the blonde. “oh, please. spare me the sob story. you’ve been the golden child since birth.”

“and you’ve been the mess everyone has to clean up after.”

that stops you.

it’s not the words, no. it’s the way she says it. like it’s been waiting on her tongue. it felt like she meant it.

your throat tightens. “wow.”

karina exhales, but she doesn’t take it back. she looks at you, tense and tired and so clearly not just angry at tonight.

“don’t act like you don’t know it. you show up late and roll your eyes in interviews. you literally can’t go one week without some crazy headline— and somehow i’m the one that’s fake? at least i show the hell up.”

your voice cracks before you can stop it. “don’t say that shit, karina. i do show up. i showed up when i didn’t want to. hell, i signed the same papers you did. i’ve been smiling through all of this shit while you just stand there looking sad and acting like i should be grateful to be in this with you.”

“you should be.”

your breath stops.

her eyes widen like she didn’t mean to say that, not like that, but it’s too late. you heard it.

you swallow. “fuck you.”

she looks at you like she’s stuck between wanting to fix it and wanting to say more.

you shake your head, throat burning and vision blurry for a second too long. “god, you’re—”

“what?” she snaps. “say it.”

“you don’t care about anyone but yourself. that’s why nobody actually likes you. they just want what you have. ” you say with a shaky voice.

her expression falters. you regret it the moment you say it, but you don’t take it back. neither of you do. not tonight.

she turns and walks down the hall.

you drop onto the couch and let the silence swallow you.

───────────────────────

the morning after, the apartment is still. the sun bleeds through the beige curtains, casting soft gold across the floor. you’re still in last night’s clothes, curled pathetically on the couch underneath a throw blanket that doesn’t even cover your legs.

you didn’t sleep much. at all, if that.

you hear her before you see her, footsteps leading into the kettle starting in the kitchen.

you stay on the couch, eyes half lidded while you fling an arm over your forehead. you can hear every little sound of movement, especially her phone buzzing on the counter.

then you hear her speak. you almost don’t register it until you realize that she’s not calling you. she’s on the phone.

“…she’s not like that.”

“no, she’s not. she’s difficult, yeah. but not— she’s not a mess.”

your stomach turns. her voice is low, but not cold. tired, maybe. it’s soft in a way that you’ve never heard when it’s directed at someone else.

“i know what people say about her, but it’s not true. she cares. she still tries when no one gives her credit for it.”

you can practically hear whoever’s on the other line doubting her.

“yeah, well. maybe i care. maybe that’s the fucking problem.”

your heart stutters and you shift slightly. the couch creaks.

fuck.

her breath catches in the kitchen.

she doesn’t say anything else. you hear the sound of her hanging up before she stands still for a long time. you stay where you are.

finally, she leaves the kitchen. her footsteps trail off toward the bedroom and the silence returns, leaving you alone with your racing heart and thoughts.

and that’s when you realize that something has already changed. you just don’t know what to do with it yet.

so you don’t bring it up.

not when she walks out of the bedroom hours later, dressed in a towel with her hair slicked back like she’s waiting for you to ask what you heard.

you don’t.

instead, you get up, allowing the day pass with minimal words exchanged. the silence between you is no longer hostile. it’s unfamiliar.

and when night falls, rain begins to as well. you’re both silent in bed again. there’s no pillow barrier this time, but your backs still face each other. you’re texting aeri.

you

you up?

we fought last night

like bad

she starts typing.

aeri 🧸

u two need to make out alr

wait til she begs tho

hollon ima call u

you let out a half silent laugh. it’s loud enough to make karina stir.

“you’re loud when you text.” she mumbles into her pillow.

“you’re annoying when you exist. stop being nosey.” you shoot back at the blonde out of habit, but there’s no threat behind it. it’s soft.

“hard to ignore when you keep sighing like someone broke your heart.”

you roll over. “bold of you to assume you didn’t.”

her head turns, eyes catching yours in the faint moonlight. the rain gets louder.

a long moment passes before she speaks. “i’m not sorry for what i said.”

“i’m not either.”

then there’s a longer silence. you can only hear the sound of rain pattering against the window.

“but i didn’t mean all of it.” she adds.

you fully turn towards her now. “which part?”

she doesn’t look away. “the mess part. i was mad, but that doesn’t mean i was right.”

“i didn’t mean what i said either.”

karina watches you with an unreadable expression. then she nods slowly, like that’s enough for now.

you both lay there for a while. she shifts closer, close enough that you can feel the warmth between you.

you want to reach for it.

“are you still mad at me?”

you stare at her. she’s been barefaced for hours, and her voice isn’t even trying to be indifferent. it’s oddly cautious. you realize that no one sees this side of her but you.

you shake your head. “no. i’m just tired.”

her shoulders slump as silence envelops you once more.

“you’re really pretty when you’re not talking.” she says, barely teasing.

you scoff, pushing her hand away. but you’re smiling and she sees it.

she shifts closer under the covers and her knee brushes yours.

you could blame the heat under the blankets, or maybe even the leftover adrenaline from the fight. but when your eyes flick to her lips, it’s none of that.

she leans in. so do you.

her hand grazes your jaw, noses brushing against eachother. both of your eyes flutter shut.

then— your phone vibrates. loudly.

you both freeze, foreheads touching.

aeri 🧸 is calling…

“seriously?” she breathes before flopping back with a quiet for fuck’s sake.

you stare at the ceiling, heart pounding.

“i wasn’t going to kiss you.” she says suddenly.

you hum, half bitter. “sure.”

“i wasn’t.” she repeats, but she doesn’t sound sure anymore. you don’t believe her.

you answer the call and karina stays next to you the whole time, one arm folded behind her head as she stares up at the ceiling too. but the difference is, she looks like she’s waiting. waiting for the next moment. the next time you look at her the way you just did.

you can’t stop thinking about how she might’ve done it if aeri waited another second. and how much you kind of, maybe, really wanted her to.

THAT WAS THREE WEEKS AGO. you haven’t brought it up, and neither has she. which means you’ve been living in that silence where everything feels like it’s leading somewhere and neither of you are willing to admit it.

but the thing is, it changed everything. because nothing’s really happened since.

you haven’t gotten that close off camera again. not even close. she’s been soft ignoring you. you barely speak at events unless someone’s watching, but she still zips your dresses and straightens your necklaces like muscle memory.

and that brings you to now, the night before your official launch. you should be panicking. refreshing your notes. checking every tag on instagram. but instead, you’re at a ysl afterparty, buzzed off champagne and dressed to match karina.

she’s somewhere in the room in a structured black ysl suit. you’ve already taken the joint pictures for press.

so you decide to distract yourself. you’re standing near one of the tall glass walls, half lit by the glow of the city. it hits your face perfectly as you tell a chaotic story to a small circle of models and minor celebrities who are visibly enraptured by you.

“…and then i realized the room wasn’t even ours. we were in the wrong suite the entire time.”

laughter erupts, drinks clinking against eachother. you’re grinning with warm cheeks, tongue looser than usual.

you don’t notice the guy step a little closer until his voice cuts in low and playful. “you always cause this much of a scene?”

you look at him, a little thrown off. he’s tall and polished, the kind of man publicists love to pose you next to. his hand grazes yours when he takes your empty glass, setting it on the nearby table.

“only when it’s fun.” you say breezily, but your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

“i feel like i should get a warning.” he says, tilting his head, and then he catches your hand. he lifts it and brings it to his lips with a kind of precision that makes your brows lift.

you let him. well. sort of.

he kisses your knuckles gently. you’re not even looking at him. you’re looking at karina in the reflection in the glass.

she’s across the room between two editors, nodding politely at whatever they’re saying. but her gaze is stuck on you. her lips ate pressed into a line that doesn’t match the outfit she’s wearing. then she starts walking.

“excuse me. she’s needed.” karina says smoothly, appearing at your side like she’s always belonged there.

“by who?” the guy says with a chuckle, clearly trying to keep the moment alive.

“by me.” she says quickly. her voice isn’t playful. it’s sharp enough to slice through the air between you.

her arm wraps around your waist then she pulls you away. you let her.

“you okay? you look a little tense.” you ask lightly the second you’re around the corner and near the exit.

she doesn’t answer, turning to face you.

you lean against the wall with a teasing smirk. “what? you jealous?”

karina’s eyes narrow. “no.”

“oh, come on. he was cute.” you continue.

“you’re not taking this seriously.”

your smile slips. “what?”

“this. us. you don’t take it seriously.” she says, gesturing between you.

you stare at her. “that’s funny. cause i’ve been showing up to every event. standing next to you and leaning into every touch like this is real.”

“it’s not just about events.”

“then what is it about, karina? because when the cameras go off, you vanish. you avoid me. don’t act like i’m the one faking it.”

“god, you don’t get it.”

“i don’t. i really don’t. because you never say anything. you just look. leave me. or pull me away like you own me.”

“what if i want to?”

you let out a breath.

karina steps closer and her voice drops. only you can hear it. “you’re not the only one confused by this. you think i haven’t wanted to kiss you since that night? i’ve been trying not to all night. but then you let him—”

“prove it.” you cut her off. “prove it then, karina.” you repeat breathlessly.

and then she leans in and kisses you. hard.

her hands cup your face, jaw tilting as her mouth meets yours like she’s been starving for this moment. your heart thuds in your ears as one hand snakes to your hip, thumb caressing it the same way it did in that photoshoot weeks ago.

you gasp against her mouth. she swallows it.

and then, just as suddenly, she breaks it. her eyes are wide when she steps back, mouth parted. she looks like she’s realizing something she can’t say out loud.

you don’t move. you just watch as she turns and walks off.

then you lean against the wall again, dizzy as you try to blink away the lightheaded feeling her lips left against yours.

she tastes like vanilla.

you fish your phone out of your bag, hand shaking.

you

aeri

karina just kissed me

you don’t even get to send a third message before aeri’s voice cuts through the air like she’s been waiting in the wings.

“oh my god, finally.”

you jump. “what— where did you come from?”

“i have ears. and i saw that. it was hot. but what the fuck took you two so long?”

you stare at her, searching for words. but your hands search for a glass. of anything. “she’s so— ugh.”

“she has a death wish, huh?” you say dramatically, eyes wide.

aeri laughs. “a fat crush. but go off.”

you throw a macaron at her. it bounces off her shoulder and lands somewhere under the couch, lost to the ysl afterparty dimension forever.

“i hate her so bad. she had to do that in a suit. with her hands on my—“ you groan, covering your face.

“say it. say ‘my waist.’” aeri says.

you screech into your hands.

“she kissed me like she meant it.”

“do you want her to do it again?”

“yes. and no. i wanna slap her.”

aeri nods, sipping from her own glass.

you groan. “this is your fault. you told me to wait til she begs. i was literally normal before i met you.”

“you’ve never been normal.” she says, patting your thigh. then she straightens suddenly, eyes lighting up.

“oh. my. god. that’s him. i have to go.”

“what?”

“that’s the actor from that french vampire show! he’s wearing the suit with the mesh undershirt. i have to go.”

“aeri—”

“drink water! look at his hair—“ she squeals, already walking away.

you’re left in a half lit corner, few drinks deep, dressed to match your fake wife who kissed you like you were her real one. and now you’re alone. again. you reach for another glass anyway.

───────────────────────

by the time your security appears at the exit with karina beside him, you’re definitely drunk. but you look good. like, really good.

and there’s definitely going to be a viral clip later of her hand wrapped around your waist as she guides you out the building in front of the flashing cameras. she holds you like you’re fragile. you smile like nothing’s wrong.

but karina sees everything. you stumble as you make it towards the entrance, fingers clinging to her jacket.

and she doesn’t say anything when the car door shuts and you slump back against the seat, barely holding yourself up.

her nails click against the screen as she opens her phone and sees it. the photo of your kiss. your first kiss.

it’s blurry and taken from a distance. but anyone can see how breathless you look as her hand cradles your jaw like it’s muscle memory.

the internet thinks it’s romantic. it starts trending immediately.

you’re still slouched against the seat, legs crossed and arms folded. you refuse to look at her. not after she kissed you like that and then walked off like it meant nothing.

you tell yourself it’s fine. that you’ve felt worse. but then she breathes and it’s like your whole body remembers.

karina sits beside you, perfectly fine in her suit. one hand rests against her thigh, the other one scrolling through her phone.

you can feel her looking through the photos. in your head, you know one of them is already trending.

“you’re going viral again.” she says coolly with the same lips that were on on yours twenty minutes ago.

“cool. add that to the list. ‘makes out with fake wife in public.’” you mutter. she doesn’t respond.

instead she leans back, exhaling like she’s already tired of this. as if dealing with you is exhausting. “you’re drunk.”

“wow, thanks for the update. next breaking story? you’re a coward.”

“you’re blowing it out of proportion.”

you scoff. “really? you kissed me like it meant something and then walked away like i had cooties.”

karina’s head turns slowly, exhaling. “cooties? y/n. god, you’re— such a problem.”

your eyes narrow. “then stop looking at me like you want to make it worse.”

she doesn’t answer. even though you want a verbal one, the way her jaw clenches is enough.

the car glides into the garage. and the second it stops, you’re out the door with your heels in hand. walking barefoot into the elevator like you’re on a mission. karina stares at them like she wants to take them for you.

you don’t wait for her. she still follows.

“you’re upset.”

“ding! next question.”

“because i kissed you?”

you spin on your heel. “because you always pull away, jimin.”

her name hangs between you. it’s the first time you’ve said it to her.

you can see her expression change.

“you always disappear. or worse, act like it didn’t happen. like i’m the one imagining shit.”

karina exhales. “we agreed not to make this complicated.”

“yeah? well guess what. you complicated it when you started looking at me like that.”

“like what?”

“like you felt something.”

her mouth opens then closes. then she backs you up without touching you until your spine hits the wall just outside of the bedroom.

“you think it’s easy for me? i told you i’ve wanted to kiss you since that night.”

“then do it again. if it mean nothing, do it again.” you glare. you’re not even sure if you’re making sense anymore.

her eyes drop down to your lips.

“you’re drunk.”

you shove past her. “like i said. coward.”

“spoiled brat.”

“you like it.”

“you wish.”

you get to the bedroom first. your fingers fumble with the zipper of your dress before you give up entirely.

karina walks in behind you.

you turn to face her, arms out. “you gonna help or keep staring like a creep?”

she crosses the room quietly, one hand lifting to the zipper. it slides down slowly, making your breath hitch.

your dress falls and then she turns, pulling the blanket back on the bed like she didn’t just undress you with her hands.

“bed.”

“make me.”

“you’re sleeping while standing up.”

“your fault.”

“you’re so annoying.”

“and you’re so obsessed with me that it’s embarrassing.”

karina looks at you and something in her expression falters. just for a second. then it’s gone.

she straightens up. “get in bed.”

you crawl in. she tucks the blanket over your legs. her fingers brush your bare thigh.

“you kiss everyone like that?” you ask.

“only the girls who drive me crazy.”

“mm. should’ve gone for him them.” you hum.

karina flexes her jaw. “i’m gonna sleep on the couch.”

“no you’re not.”

“you can��t stop me.”

“you kissed me first.”

“what does that have to do with anything?”

“nothing. everything.” you whisper. and then you both go quiet.

she stares at you for a moment. then she turns off the light. she stays beside you, but neither of you sleep for hours.

───────────────────────

“i feel like death.”

aeri doesn’t look up from her phone across from you, scrolling with her thumb. “but you look like a million dollars. and someone who’s about to have a phenomenal launch.”

“can you at least look at me when you compliment me? makes it feel authentic.” you roll your eyes.

she raises an eyebrow, giggling away at something, or someone on her phone.

“you are like papa.” you mutter once she completely ignores you.

“don’t compare me to your emotionally repressed wife.”

“fake wife.” you correct, stabbing your straw into the untouched iced coffee beside you.

“emphasis on fake. she kissed me like it was real and then left me painkillers on the nightstand like we’re married and going through a divorce.”

aeri just hums. it’s her way of saying you technically are without actually saying it.

“she didn’t even leave a note. not even a ‘good luck baby’ or something. don’t i deserve compensation for the way she tried to shove her tongue down my throat then disappeared?” you add, flopping dramatically against the back of the chair. your stylist audibly grumbles from behind you.

“maybe the pills were the note.”

you scoff. “aeri, be for real. he leaves me mints everyday. does that mean he’s in love with me too?”

you gesture to the man fixing your hair before crossing your arms.

“girl, i’m gay.” he says.

“but you treat me better than karina.”

“she’s gay too.” aeri deadpans.

you look at her. “okay? i’m just saying, being gay doesn’t make you a good person. or a good fake wife. stop defending her.”

your stylist muffles a laugh behind you.

“i’m not defending her.”

“you totally are. but it’s fine.” you sigh dramatically.

“you sound like you caught feelings.”

you glare at the pink haired girl before speaking. “what i better not catch is her walking in here like nothing happened.”

“and if she does?”

“you’re still defending her like she didn’t ghost me while we share a bed.”

“you mean the california king?”

“our shared bed.” you repeat, sipping your coffee.

aeri begins scrolling again. “i’m actually kind of obsessed with you two.”

you tap your nail against the cup. “i cursed her in my head. don’t get comfortable.”

“you’re so annoying.” aeri grins, but she sounds endeared.

you groan and glance at the time. twenty one minutes until your first collection walks down the runway. the final outfit you chose is hanging up, zipped and untouched. you haven’t even changed yet.

“i don’t even know if she’s coming. and i don’t know if i want her to.” you mutter.

“she’s in love with you. of course she’s coming.”

you try to ignore the way your pulse quickens. “maybe she’ll finally do something on brand for once.”

aeri raises a brow. “you mean something that’s oddly thoughtful?”

before you can respond, a knock echoes throughout the room from against the dressing room door.

“if that’s an interviewer, ignore them.” you say instantly.

your assistant makes eye contact with aeri then heads to the door anyway.

“don’t open it!” you repeat.

but it’s already creaking open. your stylist turns around.

“oh. it’s your wife.” she says in a surprised tone.

you whip your head around so fast your earring nearly flies off.

she’s calmly standing in the doorway, wearing a matching cream suit with stitching that looks suspiciously similar to the one you’re about to wear.

and then her eyes meet yours.

“you’re not dressed yet.”

“what happened to hello?” then you slowly look over her clothes. the realization hits you like a freight train. “you color matched our outfits?”

aeri looks between you two, silent.

karina fully steps into the room now. “yeah. you say it like i don’t watch you.”

aeri sighs dreamily.

you spin around to face her. “don’t encourage her.”

the blonde is already walking towards the hanger to unzip your piece. your stylist stares at her like he might kick her out. you kinda want him to.

“you came.” you say, quieter now.

karina doesn’t even hesitate. “why wouldn’t i?”

“maybe because you ignored me like i was a bad tinder date.”

“you were asleep.”

“that’s never stopped you before.” you mutter.

her brows rise in an amused manner. “you want me to wake you up next time?”

“i want you to stop acting like everything’s fine when you literally mouth fucked me against a wall and then left before sunrise. why did you come?”

someone coughs awkwardly in the background. aeri stands and your stylist follows, ushering out the assistant with a look. the door closes gently behind them.

karina sighs and steps closer to you. “do you want to fight or do you want to get dressed?”

“why not both?” you lift your chin in defiance.

her fingers find the zipper on the hanging bag with a sigh.

“stop doing that. you kissed me first.”

“you kissed me back.”

“you left painkillers on my nightstand like we’re divorced.”

she turns to face you again, holding your outfit in one hand. “i was trying to be nice.”

“be meaner then.”

“you wouldn’t survive it.”

you try to come up with a comeback, but your brain stops functioning when she sets the hanger down and reaches for your waist instead.

her fingers skim your sides. “arms up.”

you hesitate.

“i’m not going to try anything.” she says, but her voice is smug.

“unless you ask.”

“i’d rather die.”

you raise your arms anyway.

she helps you out of your robe with a kind of gentleness that only makes you more feral inside. her touch is light but it lingers over your skin. it’s like she knows what she’s doing.

“stop looking at me like that.” you murmur.

“how?”

“like you’re about to kiss me again.”

she fastens the hooks at the back of your dress. her mouth is near your shoulder now.

“don’t tempt me.”

you glance at her through the mirror. she’s already looking at you with fascination in her eyes.

“tighten the corset a little.” you say.

“don’t tell me what to do.”

“karina.”

“i got it.”

she tightens it, knuckles brushing against your spine.

“we still have ten minutes.” she adds quietly.

you hold her gaze. “so?”

her hands pause at your back. “so… you still haven’t said thank you.”

you scoff. “for ignoring me?”

“no. i’m basically your unpaid assistant right now.”

“you’re basically my emotionally unavailable situationship.” you shoot back.

“you say that like i’m not here right now.”

you hate how your chest aches. “showing up isn’t the same as being there, karina.”

that leaves a silence between you two. her hand lingers at the small of your back, thumb pressing into the fabric.

you turn around to face her with a sigh. “you’re so full of yourself.”

“you’re dressed like my soulmate.”

“because you picked the outfit!”

“we were gonna end up matching anyway.”

your jaw tightens. she reaches around you again, taking a necklace into her hand.

“you look good. you’re beautiful.” she mutters.

“you didn’t answer me.” you say.

“about what?”

“why you came.”

karina’s fingers still and her voice softens.

“because you’re about to walk out there and show the world exactly what you’re capable of. and if i wasn’t here, it would be the dumbest decision of my life.” she says.

you look at her.

“that’s not saying much. you’ve made a lot of dumb decisions lately.” you mutter.

“you’re my favorite one.” she replies.

your lips part but nothing comes out.

then you swallow hard. “stop saying things like that.”

“why?” her voice is low. it feels like she’s not even trying to fight you anymore.

“because it feels like you mean them.”

her eyes flicker to your lips for just a second. “would it be easier if i didn’t?”

“yes. no. maybe. fuck.” you blink too many times.

she exhales like she’s been holding her breath this entire time. her fingers move to clasp the necklace around your neck with slow and gentle movements, and it feels like an apology.

you watch her in the mirror again. you hate her. her stupid, pretty blonde hair. the way her eyes soften when she looks at you. how her lips always look so kissable. you hate everything.

“please don’t tell me you came here to make it worse.” you say.

“i guess i sort of came too because i knew i already fucked it up.”

the clasp clicks into place. you spin to face her again. she’s too close.

“and what happens after this? when you leave again?” you ask, voice quiet.

“i won’t.” she says.

“don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“i’m not promising. i’m saying it. unless you don’t want me to stay.” she tilts her head.

you hate how bad you want her to. you hesitate long enough for her to notice.

“i hate you.” you mutter.

“i know. you’re pretty when you do.” she almost smiles.

you stare at her and she stares right back. it would be so easy to just close the distance.

but your name is called from the other side of the door. “five minutes!”

“fix my hair?” you ask just to be difficult. she rolls her eyes like she already knows that, but obediently steps behind you anyway.

then she steps back. her hand slides down your waist as she does, like she doesn’t wanna let you go.

“i’ll be front row. just like we planned.” she says.

“we didn’t plan anything.”

she gives you a look, smirking like it’s already been decided.

“we matched, didn’t we?” then she walks out.

“i’m gonna punch her later.” you murmur to your ancestors, looking over yourself in the mirror. you take a few deep breaths, hands ghosting across the pendant before perfecting your smile, clearing your throat, and walking out.

───────────────────────

flashes blind you the second you step outside.

your heels click against the pavement, seemingly louder than everyone else’s, because you’re kinda the main character right now.

your show just ended fifteen minutes ago and people are already calling it the collection of the season. cameras shout your name, karina’s too, but you don’t break stride.

she’s walking next to you, hand firm on your waist, practically glaring paparazzi out of the way as her other hand waves security forward. she’s muttering something about how some of them are getting sued tonight.

you’re just smiling.

once you reach the car, karina opens the door for you like a gentlewoman (even though security is right there?). “you take one more slow mo step for the cameras and i’m pushing you.” she grumbles.

you laugh as you slide in. “jealous they love me?”

she has to stop herself from saying “i love you.” so instead she climbs in beside you, door shutting just as your phone buzzes.

aeri 🧸

IM W THE HOT FRENCH ACTOR AYEEEEE 👅👅👅

he looked at you suspiciously tho…

BUT UR GAY AYEEEEE 👅👅👅👅

ur welcome for the emotional support this morning btw.

you

thank u 🥹

do i have to pay a fee for therapy

and don’t do anything i wouldn’t do

which is like

nothing

so go crazy ahhh

“texting your lawyer?” karina teases.

“texting aeri so she can help me sue you for emotional damage.” you say sweetly.

“gotta sue yourself first. you kissed me too.”

“don’t flatter yourself.”

she hums. “too late.”

you roll your eyes and glance out the window, city lights blurring past.

she doesn’t look at you right away. her palm rests on your knee, thumb brushing absentminded shapes against your skin.

“you were insane.” she says, quiet but sure.

“what?”

“the entire show. and that last model with the corseted jacket? your brain is perfect.” she says.

your throat tightens a little. “oh.”

then she finally looks at you. “you don’t believe me? you’re trending again.”

you shrug, eyes still on the window. “i just… haven’t heard you say anything like that in a while.”

her thumb pauses for a second before it resumes. “doesn’t mean i haven’t thought it.”

you glance over at her. she’s not teasing or smirking. you can see the devastating softness in her eyes as she watches you. it’s stupid.

you blink fast and look away again.

“you looked like you owned everything in that room. even the air.” she adds.

“and i still almost had a breakdown in the bathroom.”

“that’s the secret to your charm. you make everything look good.” she says like it’s obvious.

you huff a laugh, barely managing to hide how much that lands. “i hate you.”

“i know.”

your lips part again, useless. you have no words. she just keeps doing this. keeps showing up and saying things that make you believe she means them.

your phone buzzes again, thankfully pulling you from the tension.

aeri 🧸

he asked if we’re dating 😭😭😭

i said no but i think he’s suspicious

should i kiss him anyway???

AND pls eat something or i’ll be mad

you smile, thumbs moving quickly before she can peek.

you

kiss him

make out w him

and i’ll eat bread just for u

karina leans closer, peeking at the screen. “is that aeri? tell her to use protection.”

“the last person she needs advice from is you. you raw dog emotional damage.”

she grins. “you love it.”

you refuse to answer that.

outside the car window, more camera flashes burst like fireworks as the driver pulls up to the curb. your heart rate kicks up and karina’s hand doesn’t move from your knee. the car slows in front of the restaurant.

you hesitate. “you sure you’re ready for another round of this?”

“with you? everyday.” she shrugs.

the door opens. you step out first, letting your gaze flick to the crowd and then back at her. just briefly.

she smooths her suit and joins you, hand on your back.

the flashes keep going even after the door shuts behind you. her hand doesn’t move from your back as you walk into the venue, long marble corridor echoing beneath your heels. she nods politely at the host who leads you through the front.

your names are on the list. y/n jeon-yu & karina yu.

the room opens up with candlelit tables and a stupidly elegant floral centerpiece you know your mom picked. you spot her instantly, already waving excitedly like she hasn’t seen you in years.

your father looks unimpressed, but even he stands when you approach. karina’s hand only leaves your back once you’re pulling out your chair.

“darling! you were exceptional. absolutely amazing. it was art.” your mom gasps.

“and you. you looked like you were in love.” her eyes flick between you and karina.

you choke slightly on your water.

“she means with the clothes.” karina says smoothly, helping herself to a slice of bread.

“of course. but the chemistry? oh my god, girls. i’ve been getting messages. they think you’re soulmates.” your mom says. karina stifles a laugh. you can hear her going “that’s what i said” in her head.

you roll your eyes. “those people also think i’m secretly pregnant. somehow.”

“maybe you are. would explain all the mood swings.” karina mutters beside you.

you kick her under the table. she kicks you back.

“i’m just saying. now that you’re actually getting along, we should start planning the real ceremony.” your mom starts again, clutching her wine glass with too much force.

both you and karina speak up. “no.”

but you go “nooo…” while she goes “no, thank you.” with that ridiculous perfect politeness.

your dad sighs. “this again?”

across the table, karina’s mother appears mid sip of her cocktail and glares. “you think your daughter made my daughter less uptight? please. jimin’s the one carrying this pr disaster on her back.”

“oh, whatever. if anything, your daughter is lucky mine even agreed to go through with this—“ your mom snaps, lifting a brow.

“you act like she didn’t beg.”

you open your mouth but karina beats you to it. “okay. alright. that’s enough.”

the table goes awkwardly quiet. then she speaks up in a softer voice.

“this is her night. and she was incredible.” karina says.

your mom stares. her mom sets down her drink.

you glance at karina who’s already looking at you.

“we’re proud of you.” your dad says gruffly.

karina’s mom nods without looking at anyone. “she was very professional, i suppose.”

your throat gets tight again. karina leans closer.

“they’re annoying. but they’re right.” she whispers.

you almost smile. almost.

“wanna fake elope just to spite them?”

she shrugs. “tell me when and where.”

your mom gasps. “what was that?”

“nothing!” you both say in unison, grinning now.

karina’s hand brushes yours beneath the table. and for the first time in weeks, you let it stay there. you’ll probably fight again tomorrow. but right now, she’s here and she showed up.

taglist @saysirhc @blissfulflw @yuyuy90

#distraction — yjm #aespa #aespa imagines #aespa x reader #aespa karina #karina x fem reader #karina x reader #yu jimin x fem reader #yu jimin x reader #yu jimin

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