#and i’m literally paying out of pocket for this too

[transgenderbuffoonery]

it’s really sick and fucking twisted that i picked my top surgery place specifically bc they don’t have bmi requirements and yet i was informed yesterday that the facility it’s getting done at has a hard bmi limit of 40 like it literally said if it’s even 40.01 the day of surgery they’ll cancel it right then and there. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK???? my bmi IS 40???? why would they schedule it there??? i checked their website dozens of times and was told by. my. surgeon. that my weight wasn’t gonna be an issue and now it might be an issue🙃🙃🙃but i won’t even know if it’s an issue til THE DAY OF SURGERY like what the actual fuck am i supposed to do about that?

[er1nne]

rafe hates when you buy things without using his card

(do not copy or plagarize, original work) The Range Rover hummed quietly, its blacked-out interior wrapping you and Rafe in a cocoon of shadows and muted streetlights. It had been his idea to take you for a nail day—completely unprompted but not surprising. Rafe had a way of knowing when you needed a little spoiling, especially after the week you’d had. The air smelled like his cologne, something expensive and sharp, mixing with the faint scent of leather from the seats. You were reclined comfortably with both legs stretched out, your freshly painted white toes wiggling lazily as you scrolled through your phone.

Rafe sat in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on your thigh. His thumb stroked absentminded circles into your skin while his sharp blue eyes flicked toward the darkened street ahead. Traffic was crawling, a sea of red taillights stretching endlessly ahead. Rafe didn’t seem too bothered, one hand resting on the wheel while the other stayed on your thigh. His thumb moved in slow, hypnotic circles against your skin, his blue eyes flicking between the road and the glow of your phone screen. He was calm—you liked him this way.

“What’s got you so quiet, huh?” His voice broke the silence, smooth but with an edge that always demanded your attention.

“Just trying to check out before everything sells out,” you mumbled, barely glancing up. You were busy, furiously tapping away as you finalized your cart. The latest House of CB drop was a battlefield, and you weren’t about to lose.

“Lemme see.” He leaned closer, his sharp gaze cutting toward your screen. When he caught sight of the digits you were typing, his brows furrowed, his jaw tightening. “Wait, is that your card?”

You paused, immediately bracing for what was coming. “Yeah? Why?”

Rafe let out a short, irritated laugh, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You have all of my cards saved to your phone, and you’re using your own card? What the hell for?”

“It’s not a big deal, Rafe.” You kept your voice calm, like you weren’t trying to spark an argument in the middle of what was such a nice day. “It’s not like I can’t afford it.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a humorless smirk. “Afford it?” he repeated, voice tinged with a certain tone to it. “Sweetheart, I literally pay for your life. Why do you even have a card? For decoration?”

You glared at him, but the faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips betrayed you. “Rafe—”

“No, seriously,” he cut in, shaking his head as if the idea itself was absurd. “What are you holding onto that thing for? Just in case I drop dead tomorrow and you suddenly need it?”

You huffed an air of annoyance as a pout covered your slightly glossed lips and starred out the car window. The car filled with an almost unbearable silence. His hand, which had been rubbing your thigh, went still.

He turned to glance at you a few times before looking back at the road, the corner of his mouth twitching with a mix of disbelief and annoyance. “Afford-” he repeated again slightly scoffing, voice low and slow, like he was trying to decide if you were messing with him. “Do you even hear yourself?”

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms leaning slightly closer to his natural warmth. “It’s not that much.”

“To you. To me, that’s pocket change.” His fingers drummed a little harder against the steering wheel now, a restless energy creeping into his movements more obvious than ever.

“Rafe,” you started to whine, but he cut you off, shaking his head.

“Nah. Don’t start.” He turned fully to face you now, his hand lifting to cup your jaw, gently but firmly enough that you couldn’t look away. “Why do you always make this a thing? Is it so hard to let me take care of you? That’s why I’m here. To take care of you. You’re supposed to let me.”

Your resolve faltered under his intense gaze. He wasn’t just irritated—he was hurt. His words were a reminder, the same ones he’d given you before. Rafe wasn’t just possessive for the sake of it—he hated seeing you stress over anything, especially when he had the means to give you whatever you needed, whenever you wanted it. He didn’t want you holding onto burdens you didn’t have to carry. He’d told you before how it made him feel when you refused to lean on him, how he hated the idea of you ever struggling when he had the means to make your life easier. Rafe always told you how much he loved taking care of you, he felt proud to. Anything you ever want, he would give you, plus more.

“I’m not helpless,” you said softly, and it sounded weak even to your own ears.

“Did I say that you were?” he shot back immediately, his sharp blue eyes flicking from the road to meet yours. There was no trace of anger in his voice, just a steady, unyielding determination. “I know what you’re capable of. But you don’t have to do it all alone anymore.”

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, his gaze softening, though his tone stayed firm. “I’ve got you. I’m right here. You’re mine, remember? So stop making it harder than it needs to be. Let me do my job.”

Even while navigating the slow-moving traffic, his focus on you didn’t waver. His eyes flicked back to yours, holding them for just a second longer than he should have, but long enough to make your heart skip a beat. You felt the weight of his words settle over you, the quiet conviction in his voice leaving no room for argument.

“Rafe…” you started. You stared at him for a long moment before finally relenting, handing over your phone with a quiet sigh. “Fine. Just this once.”

He smirked, already deleting your card details and replacing them with his own Amex Black information. The confirmation dinged almost immediately, and he handed the phone back to you, smug satisfaction written all over his face. “There. Easy. Now you’ve got your shit, and I’ve got my peace of mind.”

“Thank you,” you muttered, cheeks warming as you avoided his eyes.

Rafe tilted your chin up, his fingers brushing against your jaw as he pressed a lingering kiss to your lips. “Don’t thank me, baby. Just stop making this harder than it has to be. Just let me take care of you?” A small pout covered your slighly glossed lips as you responded to him in a small voice, "Okay."

“That’s my girl,” He smiled and leaned back in his seat, hand returning to your thigh as he glanced toward the street, his usual sharp focus slipping back into place.

You smiled slightly, your frustration melting away as you leaned into him. Because no matter how stubborn you could be, you both knew he’d always win in the end. And deep down, you didn’t mind.

[hyuckiefluff]

nasty habits | park jisung

pairing: pervy!jisung x camgirl! reader

genre: smut, a little bit of fluff at the end

summary: what happens when you find out that your top spender as a cam girl isn’t some rich old guy, but an awkward boy from your campus?

wc: 20k+

warnings: cam girl activities, usage of sex toys, cursing, loss of virginity, sub!jisung, masturbation (like a lot of it), oral sex (fem.receiving), jisung is his usual introverted self (and only loud during sex), a lot of sexualization and just overall horniness lol. lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: heeey loves! i was absolutely floored with the amount of love that my latest fic got, so here i am with another one for you. this is my first jisung fic so im excited but also nervous bc jisung is one of my biases. idk why it took me so long to write him. but anyways i hope you all enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it. ps; y/n is terrible at recognizing people or remembering names and i’m only putting that here bc it comes out a few times in the fic lol (she’s just like me fr), ALSO, this is loosely inspired by BJ Alex. oh and one last thing, the idea for this fic or at least the characters’ dynamic was inspired by this tweet.

your college days have been, for the most part, unremarkable in the best way. you pulled decent grades, had a solid group of friends, and were generally well-liked.

but despite being somewhat popular, you managed to keep a lot about yourself private.

and by that, you mean the secret life that only a handful of your closest friends knew about.

after all, being a cam girl wasn’t exactly your average college hobby.

it started on a whim, born from equal parts boredom and curiosity. at first, you had no idea what you were doing. your streams were awkward, your lighting was bad, and your concept was nonexistent. but after a few months, you found your niche and suddenly, you were kind of a big deal on the platform.

granted, the website you streamed on was pretty obscure, the kind of place you could name in public, and nobody would so much as glance your way. still, you made decent money. enough to pay for your first two years of college, entirely out of pocket.

you never flaunted it, and most of your friends didn’t care to pry. they only ever joked about it, like they were doing now after you casually mentioned how much you’d earned last month.

“girl, what the hell. maybe i should start camming too,” giselle said, eyes wide as she stared at the number on your screen.

“you say that like it’s a joke, but i’m dead serious,” karina chimed in, striking a dramatic pose in front of the mirror. “i checked my bank account yesterday and almost cried.”

“i mean, i’m not saying you should, but if you need pointers…” you teased, shooting them a wink

“for real though, you’ve gotten so much confidence from this,” giselle pointed out, leaning back against the bed frame.

“oh yeah, nothing boosts your self-esteem like a 60 year old man telling you your ‘princess bits’ are so pretty he busted one in his pants,” you deadpanned, propping your chin on your hand.

“okay, they can’t all be old men,” karina snorted “like can you see their profiles or anything?” she asked, abandoning the mirror and flopping onto the bed beside you.

“not really. just their usernames and how much they’ve spent on my channel.”

“wait, check your top supporter!” giselle said, bouncing a little in excitement.

you scrolled through the dashboard until his username popped up. the moment your friends saw how much he’d spent on you this year, they both let out a loud gasp.

“what in the sugar daddy is this?” karina said, laughing in disbelief. “eighteen thousand dollars? that’s literally my entire tuition!”

“i don’t get the full amount, though. the site takes a cut, then there’s taxes and all that,” you clarified, shrugging.

“still! that’s insane,” giselle said, shaking her head. “honestly, i don’t feel bad about you paying for our sushi nights anymore.”

you laughed, leaning back into your pillows.

“but aren’t you even a little curious about who this…” karina squinted at the screen, “andyp4rk02 is? i need to know everything about this man.”

“i mean, of course i’m curious. but there’s no way to find out,” you said, twirling a strand of hair absentmindedly.

“unless…” giselle said, dragging the word out with a sly grin.

you raised a brow. “unless what?”

“haechan.”

you frowned. “what about him?”

“he could probably hack into this thing,” she said with a casual wave of her hand, as if that wasn’t a completely ridiculous suggestion.

“giselle, he’s a computer science major, not a dark web hacker,” karina said, rolling her eyes.

“okay, but remember when i got locked out of my netflix? he did some tech magic on his computer and got my account back.”

“yeah, because recovering a netflix account is exactly the same as hacking into a cam site,” you said dryly.

“i’m just saying, have you seen his setup? it’s literally something out of a spy movie,” giselle insisted.

karina shrugged. “it wouldn’t hurt to ask him…”

you hesitated, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “i don’t know, guys…”

“oh, come on,” karina said, nudging your shoulder. “don’t you want to know who this guy is?”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

they somehow managed to convince you, which was how you found yourself shivering outside haechan’s dorm, rubbing your arms to keep warm. the air was biting, and as always, haechan wasn’t picking up his phone.

“when he opens this door, i’m kicking him straight in the balls,” you muttered, bouncing on your toes to stave off the cold. giselle was furiously rubbing her hands up and down your arms and karina’s, trying to share what little warmth she had.

“we should’ve called earlier,” karina said through chattering teeth, her lower lip trembling. “he might not even be in.”

giselle huffed dramatically. “okay, this is ridiculous.” she stepped back and cupped her hands around her mouth. “lee haechan, come out right now!” her voice echoed down the street, startling a group of students walking by.

“haechan! get your ass down here!” you joined in, your voice cracking slightly in the cold.

karina gave a small, pitiful laugh. “he lives on the second floor… there’s no way he heard that.”

before she could finish, the door creaked open, revealing one of his roommates. you recognized him immediately but, as usual, couldn’t recall his name. he was younger than you by a year and usually kept to himself whenever you visited.

“uh… hey?” he said, blinking at the sight of the three of you standing there like frostbitten strays. he leaned awkwardly against the doorframe, clearly wondering why three girls were yelling outside their dorm at 9 p.m. on a tuesday.

giselle, ever the charmer, broke into a dazzling smile. “hi! thank you! we’re here for haechan.”

“okay,” he said quietly, still eyeing you all with suspicion. “he’s probably in his room playing league or something.” he stepped aside slowly, letting you in.

“thank you,” you muttered as you walked past, catching the way his gaze immediately dropped to the floor when you made eye contact.

once inside, you didn’t waste any time. storming up to haechan’s door, you knocked violently before pushing it open without waiting for an answer.

“what the hell—” haechan swiveled in his gaming chair, his startled expression melting into a sly grin as soon as he saw you. “hii, girls. to what do i owe the pleasure?” his tone shifted into his mock customer service voice as he leaned back, giving you his most charming smile.

giselle jabbed a finger into his shoulder, making him wince. “were you jerking off, or is your phone shoved up your ass? why didn’t you answer our calls?”

“sorry, i was mid-round, and my phone was on silent,” he said, rubbing his shoulder and smiling sheepishly.

karina folded her arms and sat on the edge of his bed, only to spring back up with a grimace. “ugh, have you even left your room this week?” she asked, glaring at the mountain of empty takeout containers and water bottles scattered across the floor.

“it’s winter break,” haechan said, turning back to his computer and clicking out of the game. “of course i haven’t.”

giselle gestured dramatically at the mess. “you’re one step away from being in a hoarders episode, dude.”

haechan ignored her, spinning in his chair to face you again. “so, what brings such beautiful company to my humble abode?” his eyes lingered on you pointedly.

“he only looked at y/n while saying that. wow.” giselle placed a hand on her chest in mock offense.

“she’s not gonna suck your dick, haechan,” karina said flatly, shaking her head.

“i didn’t even say anything!” he protested, deflating slightly in his chair, his pout almost comical.

“anyway,” you interrupted, rolling your eyes. “i need a favor.”

haechan perked up immediately. “anything for you,” he said with a wink, which earned an exaggerated gagging noise from karina.

you crossed your arms, leaning against the desk. “okay, first: how’s your hacking game these days?”

“eh… like a seven. why?”

“do you think you could, uh, hack into angel corner?”

his eyebrows shot up. “oh, oh.” he swiveled back to his computer, clearly intrigued. “i mean, i’m not super familiar with their system—it depends on their encryption layers and backend coding. but…” he trailed off, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the desk. “it shouldn’t be too hard. why do you want me to hack them, though?”

you fiddled with the hem of your sweater, trying to look as innocent as possible. “just… curious about one of my subscribers.”

giselle chimed in unhelpfully. “her top subscriber.”

haechan spun his chair back around, narrowing his eyes. “and what exactly do you want to know?”

you hesitated, glancing at karina and giselle. the truth was, you hadn’t really thought this through.

“everything,” karina said firmly, her eyes glinting with a kind of mischievous excitement.

haechan smirked, leaning back in his chair. “okay, but what’s in it for me?”

giselle thought for a second and then grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “y/n will sit on your lap while you do your nerdy shit.”

haechan shot out of his chair, clapping his hands. “deal!”

“huh?! i did not agree to this.” you immediately protested.

“c’mooon,” giselle said with a pout. “don’t you want to know?”

haechan patted his lap smugly. “don’t worry, baby. i don’t bite.”

groaning, you finally gave in, muttering curses under your breath as you sat on his lap. he sighed contentedly, spinning back toward his computer. with a few quick clicks, he opened a screen that looked straight out of a movie just as giselle said before. lines of code and strange tabs you didn’t recognize.

“how do you even know how to do this?” you asked, leaning slightly to the side to avoid touching his chest.

“self-taught,” he replied with a shrug.

“great,” you muttered. “i’m trusting a bootleg hacker to invade my subscriber’s privacy. that’s just fantastic.”

“hey, relax,” haechan said, grinning. “you’re in good hands.”

“can we get this over with so i can get off you?” you groaned, shifting uncomfortably on haechan’s lap.

“why? i’m cozy,” he said with a cheeky grin, snuggling into your back. you retaliated with a flick to his forehead.

“ow!” he yelped, immediately rubbing the spot. “i’m so nice to you and all you do is hurt me.”

“you’ll cope. now, what’s this?” you asked, pointing at the maze of numbers and codes flickering across the screen.

“this,” he said, his brows knitting in concentration, “is me trying to break through their firewall… which is a lot more complicated than i thought.”

“well, obviously,” karina chimed in from behind you, inspecting her nails, only half invested in the conversation. “that site probably has CEOs and politicians on it. maybe one of them is your top subscriber, because who else has eighteen thousand dollars to blow on a cam girl?”

“what?!” haechan yelled, whipping around so fast you nearly fell off his lap. “eighteen thousand?!”

“that was my ear,” you muttered, steadying yourself.

he cleared his throat dramatically, but his ears flushed pink. “right, sorry. anyway—oh, wait, i’m in!”

“wait, really?!” you leaned forward in excitement, your hands clutching the edge of his desk. “oh my god, that’s so cool, i could kiss you right now!”

“please do,” haechan replied, staring at you with wide, hopeful eyes.

“be a man,” karina said, smacking him on the back of his head as she moved closer.

“okay, so… bad news or good news first?” haechan asked, his smug grin returning as he reclined slightly in his chair.

“just rip the band-aid off,” you said, crossing your arms. “what’s the bad news?”

“your top spender is smart. like, annoyingly smart. the only personal info he filled out was his gender, and for his name he used a zelda character.”

“what a virgin,” he added with a laugh.

“look who’s talking,” giselle shot back.

“hey, i’m not the one spending thousands on a cam girl who wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole,” haechan retorted, his tone defensive. “and for the record, i do get some action, thank you very much.”

“sure you do,” karina muttered, rolling her eyes. “anyway, what’s the good news?”

haechan grinned like a cat who’d caught a particularly juicy mouse. “i can get his IP address.”

“wait, for real? what are you waiting for?” giselle leaned in, her eyes darting to the screen.

“hold on.” you hesitated, guilt prickling at the edges of your excitement. “isn’t this… a bit much? like, it feels illegal.”

giselle waved a hand dismissively. “please. we’ve come this far… we can’t leave with just this. we already knew he was a guy. only a man would be that desperate.”

“and besides,” karina added, “you’ve been sitting on this nerd’s lap for twenty minutes. make it worth something.”

“touché,” giselle said, nodding. “by the way, you can get up now.”

“yeah, but…” you paused, shifting slightly. “he was right—his lap is cozy.”

“told ya,” haechan said smugly, shooting you a wink. “so, should i pull up his IP or what?”

you sighed covering your face with your hands, hoping it would make the shame and ethical gray area feel a little less overwhelming “ugh. fine. just do it.”

haechan’s fingers flew across the keyboard, a blur of taps and clicks as lines of code scrolled rapidly across the screen. within three minutes, he sat back triumphantly.

“got it,” he said. but then his smile faltered, his brows knitting together in confusion. “wait… that can’t be right.”

“what?” you dropped your hands and leaned forward. “what’s wrong?”

karina’s eyes widened as she stared at the screen. “isn’t that���?”

giselle’s voice was barely above a whisper. “isn’t that this dorm?”

you all stared at the address blinking on the screen. it was the exact building you were sitting in.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“you’ve all been staring at me for the past three minutes, and i’m feeling very threatened right now,” haechan said, his voice trembling.

the three of you stood in front of him, arms crossed and glares locked onto his soul.

“well, we just think it’s way too much of a freaky coincidence that her top spender just so happens to live here,” giselle said, her tone accusatory. “care to explain?”

“wait, wait, wait,” haechan stammered, his hands flying up in surrender. “you’re not seriously implying i’m the top spender, right? cause that’s just—” he laughed nervously, “—ridiculous!”

“oh, is it?” karina quipped, raising a perfectly arched brow. “you’re always flirting with y/n and acting like a simp. what’s a few thousand dollars for your ‘queen’?”

“oh, come on!” haechan groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “i’m naturally a flirty guy. that’s my thing! and where do you guys think i’d even get that kind of money?”

he gestured around the room to back up his claim. the pile of ramen cups and the stack of free campus hoodies spoke louder than he ever could.

“besides,” he added, dropping his arms, “i’m not even subscribed to her channel. i admit i checked it out a few times after y/n told me about it, but i promise i’m not a weirdo or anything. you’re my best friend, y/n.”

his voice softened at the end, and you felt yourself relaxing slightly. haechan might be a flirt, a tease, and a relentless pain in the ass, but he wasn’t the kind of person to keep something like this hidden from you.

“he’s telling the truth, you guys,” you said finally, breaking the tension.

karina tilted her head, sizing him up. “yeah, i didn’t think a bum like him would drop that much money on you anyway.” she scoffed, crossing her arms tighter. “he asked me for five dollars the other day… by the way, give me back my money.”

“dude, it was five bucks! let it go,”

“let it go?” karina shot back. “i could’ve gotten a latte with that!”

“okay, okay,” giselle cut in, waving her hands to calm them down. “if it’s not haechan, who else could it be? is there anyone in this dorm who’s… obsessed with you?”

you blinked, thinking hard. “not that i know of. i mean, i don’t really talk to anyone here except for haechan.”

“how many guys live here?” giselle asked, turning to haechan.

“including me? 5,” he said, counting on his fingers. “but i’m pretty sure jeno has a girlfriend... so that leaves mark, jaemin, and jisung.”

“since when has having a girlfriend ever stopped a man from doing something shady?” karina deadpanned, crossing her arms.

“true,” haechan admitted with a shrug, “but let’s be real, girls… all of them are full-time students barely scraping by with part-time jobs. i doubt any of them have that kind of cash to drop freely.”

“you never know,” giselle chimed in. “isn’t mark’s brother the dealer on campus? maybe he borrowed some money.”

karina snorted. ��you’re forgetting mark is practically a saint. the guy’s too religious and too much of a goody two-shoes to even think about something like that.”

“okay, what about jaemin?” giselle countered. “he’s always wearing designer stuff. what if he’s secretly loaded?”

karina gave her an incredulous look. “have you seen jaemin? he’s got a different girl drooling over his shoulder every other day. i don’t think he needs to subscribe to a cam girl to satisfy himself and i’m sure all those were gifts from desperate girls”

“then that leaves jisung,” you said slowly, the name clicking into place. “wait… isn’t he the one who let us in earlier? the freshman?”

karina nodded. “oh right, the tall awkward kid. that would explain why he couldn’t even look at you.”

“wait, jisung?” haechan burst out laughing. “no way. the kid’s barely in his twenties! you’re telling me he somehow scraped together eighteen thousand dollars to spend on y/n?”

“well, he does live in this building so that makes him a suspect…” giselle reasoned, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

“ugh, this is getting too weird,” you muttered, pacing the small room. “are we really saying jisung might be the guy?”

“i mean, you never know,” karina said with a smirk. “quiet ones are always full of surprises.”

haechan groaned, flopping back into his chair. “this is turning into a bad episode of CSI”

“if he’s the top spender, that means he has a thing for y/n,” giselle said, grinning. “we should just ask him directly.”

“absolutely not,” you said quickly, your face heating up.

“why not?” karina teased. “we’re already halfway to solving this mystery. might as well get the confession.”

“no, i think this has already gotten out of control… you guys are too caught up on finding who it is but personally i don’t care that much, i’m fine with not knowing”

“really, even after finding out he’s living in this very dorm?” karina asked walking up to you.

“yeah. i don’t care.” you were lying and they could probably tell by your face but, surprisingly, they didn’t press you.

“okay, fine. let’s go home.”

“i think we should have a sleepover. what do you think, girls?” haechan said and you responded by throwing a pillow at him as you exited the room.

“damn, not even a thank you.” he said, rubbing his head.

you sprinted back into the room and gave him a quick peck on his cheek. “thank you!” you said sweetly.

“and clean your room, it stinks!” you yelled from the hallway.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

winter break had ended, and after coming back from visiting your family, you’d mostly forgotten about the fact that your top spender lived in one of your best friend’s dorms.

but your dismissive attitude disappeared as soon as the new term started.

suddenly, you were hyper-aware of every one of haechan’s roommates. even the ones you’d previously ruled out. like, why was jeno suddenly smiling at you from across the dining hall? and was that… a smirk you saw on mark’s face as you walked by? certainly not—you had to be imagining things. you were just being extremely paranoid.

“hey, gorg!!!” giselle greeted you with extra enthusiasm, practically bouncing into the room.

“you’re happy today,” karina observed, raising an eyebrow.

“i am! i really think i cracked this case, y’all.”

you sighed, already bracing yourself. “enlighten us,” you said flatly.

karina rolled her eyes. “you do know no one cares anymore, right?”

giselle ignored her and continued. “by the way, how were you guys’ breaks?” she asked casually before immediately cutting herself off. “never mind, we’ll get to that later. listen, i was in line for food earlier, and guess who i saw?”

when neither of you spoke, she dramatically continued, “jaemin.”

“fork found in kitchen. of course he’d be at the cafeteria during lunch,” you said, unimpressed.

“no, but listen! i said hi to him, and he flinched so hard he nearly dropped his phone. then he tried to hide it.”

“maybe somebody sent him nudes or something,” karina said, shrugging.

giselle shook her head, leaning in conspiratorially. “no, but catch this… he asked if i was here alone, and when i pointed at you”—she turned to you with a wide grin—“he blushed furiously.”

you tsked, slumping back in your chair. “that still proves nothing.”

“okay, but isn’t it suspicious?” giselle pressed. “why would he blush that hard just because i mentioned you?”

“because he’s a human being with a working circulatory system?” you shot back.

karina snorted. “for real. giselle, you’re acting like you just uncovered a government conspiracy.”

“you guys are just blind,” giselle huffed, crossing her arms. “mark my words… it’s him. jaemin’s the one.”

“even if it was him, what am i supposed to do with that information? march up to him and say, ‘hey, thanks for the eighteen grand’?”

“you should,” karina said with a smirk. “at least get him to buy you lunch.”

giselle sighed dramatically, feeling like she was surrounded by fools. “fine. don’t believe me. but when this all comes out, just remember i called it first.”

“boo!”

haechan’s voice was directly in your ear, and you jumped so hard you nearly spilled your coffee all over yourself.

“what the hell! i almost ruined my new skirt,” you snapped, quickly checking to make sure no drops had actually landed on the fabric.

“did you buy that with jaemin’s allowance?” he teased, a grin stretching across his face.

you responded by flipping him off, which only made him laugh as he slid into the seat next to you.

“you heard everything?” karina asked, giving him an unimpressed look.

“hard not to,” he replied casually. “in case you didn’t know, gi, your discreet voice is about as discreet as a foghorn.”

giselle rolled her eyes. “thanks for the input, hacker boy.”

“i’ve already said to drop the topic,” you cut in, frustrated. “what if one of them hears? and! you guys are being so obvious about it… don’t think i haven’t noticed the pointed stares you keep giving to every guy from the dorm. i’m sure they’ve noticed, too.”

“we’re just trying to help,” giselle said, stabbing at her salad with unnecessary force.

“and i do appreciate it,” you replied, though your tight smile probably said otherwise, “but i’d appreciate it even more if we all just moved on.”

your tone made it clear that the discussion was over, and the table fell into an awkward silence.

you felt a little bad about shutting them down so abruptly, but the truth was, you didn’t want them to figure out who your top spender was. not because you cared about protecting his identity, exactly… but because you feared that, in the process, they’d also find out the full truth:

you’d already interacted with him before.

not just casually, either. your top spender had paid for private sessions. more than once.

you still didn’t know what he looked like since he’d never turned on his camera but you could probably recognize his voice. a voice that, no matter how much you tried to ignore it, had been replaying in your head ever since that night you found out he was likely a student in this university. a deep voice that had a habit of making your heart race despite your best efforts to stay professional.

“i know you said to drop it, but is it just me or does hae’s nerdy friend keep looking this way every few seconds?” karina asked, nodding subtly toward a table a few feet away.

you turned your head, catching a glimpse of jisung sitting by himself, fiddling with his phone. “maybe he wants to sit with us,” you shrugged. “call him over, hae.”

“yo, jisung!” haechan called, raising a hand to wave the taller boy over.

jisung froze in place, his eyes widening briefly before he hastily shoved on his headphones and scurried away like a startled deer.

you frowned, puzzled. “what was that about?”

“that was so weird,” giselle snorted, biting back a laugh.

“ah, he’s just awkward like that,” haechan said with a casual wave of his hand. “probably saw me sitting with gorgeous girls” he locked eyes with you as he said this “and got scared.”

“anyways,” you rolled your eyes, but the slight twitch at the corner of your lips betrayed your amusement. “i have to go.”

“part-time obligations?” karina asked, raising an eyebrow knowingly.

“possibly,” you shrugged nonchalantly as you got up.

“can i come?” haechan asked.

you rolled your eyes at haechan’s hopeful grin as he stood up. “you wish,” you said, pushing him back into his seat before grabbing your bag and heading out.

your destination wasn’t your dorm or the library. instead, you made your way to the small studio you rented off-campus, tucked far enough away to avoid suspicion.

the studio was modest, just big enough to fit a bed, a desk, a small bathroom, and your filming setup. the air smelled faintly of vanilla, thanks to the diffuser you kept running to set the mood. locking the door behind you, you exhaled deeply and began preparing for the night.

the routine was familiar, almost comforting. you hopped into the shower, letting the warm water relax your muscles as you mentally ran through the checklist. after drying off, you slipped into your costume for the night—a delicate white lace dress with baby blue accents that hugged your body in all the right places.

at the vanity, you carefully applied your makeup, adding just enough to transform yourself into collette, your cam girl persona and paired with a small mask that covered your eyes and half of your nose. the wig was the final touch, a wavy style that framed your face perfectly, making you almost unrecognizable from your day-to-day self.

“let’s see,” you adjusted the camera angle to capture the bed and the soft glow of the fairy lights behind it.

you glanced at the table beside the bed, where the new toys you’d promised to showcase were neatly arranged. taking one last look in the mirror, you marveled at how different you looked.

“all right,” you muttered to yourself, glancing at your reflection one last time. “let’s get this show started.”

you hit start on your stream, and the chat immediately flooded with messages, emojis, and tips.

“hi, guys!” you greeted, your voice shifting into a higher, sweeter tone. “missed you all so much during the break.”

the messages came in rapid-fire:

“omg collette’s back!”

“you look stunning as always.”

“been waiting for this for weeks!”

you giggled, leaning closer to the camera so that your cleavage filled the frame. “you’re all too sweet. did you miss me that much?”

the chat practically exploded with affirmations, and the pings of tips coming in made you smile wider.

“i see you guys like the new outfit,” you teased, slowly standing to give them a full view of your legs, moisturized and shimmering under the warm light. “but i didn’t just dress up for no reason. i have a surprise for you tonight.”

you reached for the toys on the desk, holding one up for the camera. “look what i got during the break,” you said, biting your lip playfully. “i thought you’d want to help me break them in.”

the tips surged as viewers expressed their excitement, but one notification caught your eye. andyp4rk02 has tipped $100.

you grinned, recognizing the username instantly. “hi, andy,” you said, your tone dropping to something more intimate. “you’re late today. i thought you’d ditched me for someone else.”

a new ping followed, this time $50, accompanied by a highlighted message: “sorry ;) private livestream later to make it up to you?”

you laughed softly, leaning back on the bed. “hmm,” you tapped your chin thoughtfully. “i think i can squeeze you in on my busy schedule.” with a wink, you moved to grab one of the toys, careful not to linger too long on a single viewer.

“shall we begin?” you asked, spreading your legs slightly to reveal that you were wearing nothing underneath the flimsy lace dress.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

on the other side of the screen, jisung sat in his dimly lit dorm, his face illuminated only by the glow of his computer. he’d barely made it back in time, his breath still heavy from the sprint across campus. it didn’t help that the second he clicked into your livestream, you were already spread out on the bed, teasing the camera with that perfect smile.

he adjusted his glasses nervously, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. his heart was racing, but not from the run. no, it was from you. when you spread your legs, his breath hitched, and he felt his stomach tighten.

“you’re late today,” you’d said, and jisung shivered. god, it was like you were talking directly to him. well, you technically were, but still.

almost as if on autopilot, he unbuckled his belt and pushed his pants down. his fingers wrapped around himself, and he leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the screen.

the angle of the camera was perfect. from his perspective, it was easy to imagine that it wasn’t the pink dildo but his own dick sliding in and out of you.

“fuck,” he whispered under his breath as you slid the dildo inside yourself, your lips parting in a perfect "o" shape as you let out a soft moan.

“feels so good,” you breathed into the camera, your lashes fluttering. “can you make me feel good, too?”

“yes,” jisung groaned, his voice shaky as he gripped himself tighter. “god, yes.”

your moans grew louder, your body arching in a way that made his pulse skyrocket. his brows furrowed, and he bit down on his lip, trying to keep quiet so none of his roommates would hear.

you tilted your head back, the camera catching the curve of your neck and the way your chest rose and fell with each breath. “don’t stop,” you whimpered.

as your voice came through his headphones, sultry and sweet, he muttered to himself, “so perfect. so perfect it’s insane.”

his hand moved faster, his mind filled with nothing but the image of you—so close, yet so untouchable.

he leaned closer, his breath fogging the screen for a moment. “god… i can make you feel so much better than that piece of plastic,” he muttered, his tone almost resentful.

“you don’t even know what i’d do to you,” he whispered

in a minute, jisung came hard, his entire body jerking as his cum shot up and splattered directly onto his keyboard and monitor. he barely registered the mess he made until he heard the faint crackle of his PC struggling under the assault.

“no, no, no—fuck!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking as he scrambled to wipe the pc with the sleeve of his hoodie.

it was too late. the screen flickered, the image of you mid-moan freezing for a few painful seconds before the whole system shorted out with a pathetic wheeze and went black. jisung sat there in stunned silence for a moment, his hand still clutching the stained hoodie sleeve.

“shit…” he muttered, not out of concern for his destroyed PC but because he was now going to miss the rest of your live.

this wasn’t the first time this happened. clearly, his setup was already on its last legs from similar incidents but it still sent a wave of frustration through him.

he slumped back in his chair, running a hand through his damp hair. “guess i’ll just have to catch the replay,” he mumbled, though the thought didn’t satisfy him nearly as much.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the first day of the semester loomed the next morning. you had promised yourself this was the year you’d start fresh. on time to every class, taking meticulous notes, and becoming the academic weapon you’d always meant to be.

of course, none of that happened.

you didn’t hear your alarm because you’d been up until 3 a.m. doing private livestreams for your top subscribers. normally, private sessions didn’t last more than 20 minutes, but andy had an uncanny way of distracting you with his playful, teasing messages, keeping you hooked well past the scheduled time.

you ran into your first class fifteen minutes late, panting slightly and trying not to look as frazzled as you felt. the professor shot you a disapproving look, but a quick apologetic smile from you had him stammering and waving you off. men are so simple, you thought smugly.

after quickly scanning the room, you noticed all the front-row seats were taken which left you with no choice but to settle near the back. you sighed and headed to an open seat in the second-to-last row, cursing your luck.

on your right sat some frat guy you vaguely recognized from the same house as karina’s boyfriend. his name escaped you, but since he was already asleep with his mouth hanging open, you didn’t bother introducing yourself.

on your left, the person was less immediately recognizable. he was hunched over, hoodie drawn tight around his face, typing furiously on his laptop. his long, slender fingers flew across the keyboard with precision, but he didn’t seem remotely aware of your presence.

you cleared your throat softly, hoping to get his attention. nothing.

you tried again, slightly louder this time, but his focus didn’t waver. finally, you tapped his shoulder lightly.

“excuse me, did i miss anything important?”

his fingers froze mid-typing, but he still didn’t look at you. instead, he tilted his laptop slightly in your direction, revealing a neatly formatted list of bullet points. most likely corrections to the syllabus the professor went over at the start of class.

“oh,” you said, caught off guard. “can i take a pic of that?”

he gave a small nod, still not meeting your eyes.

you quickly snapped a photo and smiled. “thank you so much,” you said, your tone warm as you instinctively squeezed his forearm in gratitude.

you felt his entire body stiffen under your touch, his arm tense as if you’d zapped him.

“mhm…” he finally muttered, his voice low and rough from disuse.

you glanced at him again, catching a glimpse of his side profile as he adjusted his hoodie. sharp jawline, glasses slightly askew, and lips pressed into a thin line as he quickly returned his focus to his laptop.

you tilted your head slightly, curiosity piqued. something about him seemed familiar, but you couldn’t quite place it.

“well, thanks again,” you said softly, giving him one last smile before turning back to face the professor.

behind his laptop, jisung exhaled shakily, the spot where you’d touched him burning.

jisung knew you were one of haechan’s friends. he’d watched you walk in and out of the dorm more times than he cared to admit. you were always laughing, tossing your hair over your shoulder in a way that made jisung’s eyes land on you unavoidably.

normally, he wouldn’t even glance twice at the girls his roommates brought around. they were all the same: loud, shallow, and obsessed with their reflection in any shiny surface.

but you weren’t like them.

he’d noticed it the first time you came over. how your voice was softer, more melodic, how you smelled like warm vanilla instead of the overpowering floral perfumes he hated. he remembered catching a glimpse of you bending down to grab something off the floor and how his gaze lingered too long on the curve of your legs before he snapped his head away.

since then, it had only gotten worse. it annoyed him that his brain seemed to remember every little detail about you. the way your lips always looked plump and shiny, as if you’d just licked them. how your laugh was this low, throaty sound that made his chest feel tight.

it was frustrating, how easily you wormed your way into his thoughts.

and now, here you were, sitting next to him. jisung felt trapped, his senses overwhelmed by your closeness. the faint rustle of your skirt, the way your knee accidentally grazed his thigh, the soft, almost unintentional hum you made as you shifted in your seat.

he knew it was all normal, just small, insignificant things. but to him, it felt like you were doing it on purpose. when you tapped his shoulder, jisung’s heart practically jumped out of his chest. his first thought was how warm your hand was.

his second thought was how unfair it was that you could touch him so casually.

“did i miss anything important?” you asked, your voice sweet, your smile even sweeter.

jisung didn’t respond right away. he was too busy trying not to look at the way your lips curved when you spoke. he knew if he opened his mouth, something embarrassing would come out. so instead, he tilted his laptop screen toward you, his fingers twitching against the keyboard. you asked if you could take a picture, and normally he didn’t like sharing his notes but he nodded before he could even stop himself.

“thank you so much,” you said, your voice dripping with warmth. and then, as if to kill him on the spot, you squeezed his forearm lightly.

jisung felt like static electricity was zipping through his body. his skin tingled where you touched him, and he stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge how his breath hitched.

she doesn’t even know what she’s doing, he thought bitterly, his jaw tightening. so damn oblivious.

when you crossed your legs, jisung’s eyes flickered downward before he could stop himself. he caught the briefest glimpse of skin, the hem of your skirt riding up just enough to reveal more of your thigh, and his face flushed.

stop it, he scolded himself, tearing his gaze away.

but he couldn’t help it. he hated himself for it, but he couldn’t stop the way his imagination spiraled. he wondered what it would feel like if you touched him for more than a second. if your fingers lingered. if you looked at him the way you looked at your stupid phone.

his hands curled into fists under the desk, nails digging into his palms. he shifted uncomfortably, trying to will his body into behaving, but your proximity was making it impossible to think straight.

when the professor announced that these would be your assigned seats for the semester, jisung nearly groaned out loud. six months. six months of sitting next to you, of your bare legs grazing his, of your infuriatingly sweet perfume clouding his brain.

how am i supposed to survive this?

jisung clenched his jaw, his gaze flicking to the faint sparkle of lotion on your legs again.

she probably doesn’t even know how many guys in this room would kill to sit where i’m sitting right now, he thought, biting the inside of his cheek.

and yet, despite everything, jisung couldn’t help but feel a sick sort of satisfaction at being this close to you. like he was privy to something no one else was.

and as messed up as it was, he liked that you didn’t know. that you had no idea how much space you took up in his mind.

he glanced sideways at you again, the corner of his lip twitching as you absentmindedly adjusted your skirt.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

jisung bought a new pc, but it wouldn’t be delivered until the end of the week due to delays in the post office. he hated waiting. the old one had been perfect for watching your livestreams but now he was stuck with his laptop. the smaller screen didn’t do you justice. everything felt cramped and wrong, your image reduced to something far too small and impersonal. it frustrated him to no end.

so, in his growing desperation, jisung resorted to something he swore he wouldn’t do: borrowing haechan’s pc. at first, he only asked when he knew haechan would be out for hours, spinning some lie about needing to work on assignments that required a better setup for coding. surprisingly, haechan didn’t question him. he barely seemed to care, too busy running off to hang out with you and your group of friends. lately, you all seemed closer than ever, constantly whispering and giggling amongst yourselves.

not that jisung cared, of course.

but ever since you’d started sitting next to him in class, he couldn’t help but notice you even more. the way you crossed and uncrossed your legs every six or seven minutes or tapped your temple when the professor talked about a complicated topic. he hated that he was paying attention to things he usually wouldn’t. it was a complete waste of time.

today, jisung was forcing himself to focus. he had an essay due tomorrow, and he’d been putting it off for way too long, distracted by you (clearly) and everything Collette— streams, photos, even the grainy replays he managed to dig up online. last night was supposed to be productive, but instead, he’d spent hours rewatching one of the camgirl’s older private streams. by the time he passed out, his laptop was dangerously close to falling off his bed, his boxers halfway down his legs, and his dick sore after a night of relentless jerking off.

he made his way to the library, determined to lock himself in one of the private study rooms and finally finish his work. he needed to focus. no distractions, no excuses.

but when he opened the door to the room he’d booked, all of his resolve shattered.

you were there.

your books and laptop scattered across the table, and you were leaning over, reaching for something just out of your grasp. jisung froze in the doorway, his breath catching as his eyes landed on you. or, more specifically, the strip of black lace peeking out from under your skirt.

he knew he should look away. but his body didn’t seem to get the memo. instead, his eyes remained fixed on the sight, his chest tightening as if someone had sucked all the air out of the room.

his fingers twitched at his side, gripping the strap of his bag until his knuckles turned white. why are you wearing that? he thought, the question racing through his mind before he could stop it. are you wearing it for someone?

you shifted slightly, turning your head as if you sensed someone behind you, and that was enough to snap him out of his trance.

“uh—sorry,” jisung croaked, his voice cracking embarrassingly. he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat. “i—uh—this is... my room. i mean, the room i booked.”

you turned fully to him, startled at first, but then your expression softened into a smile when you realized it was him.

“oh, jisung!” you said brightly, smoothing down your skirt. “i didn’t realize this room was taken. sorry, i’ve just been so distracted, i guess i wasn’t paying attention.”

he forced himself to meet your eyes, his heart hammering in his chest. you recognized him now. during the first week of the semester, you’d seemed to be trying to place him in your mind, but he figured you finally connected the dots and realized he was haechan’s roommate after all.

“it’s... fine,” he muttered, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him. the sound echoed louder than it should have, making him wince. “i didn’t know anyone would be here.”

“well, i can leave if you want,” you offered, gesturing toward your scattered books and notes. “but if you don’t mind sharing, i really need to finish studying for a test tomorrow.”

jisung hesitated, his mind racing. on one hand, the idea of sharing a small, enclosed space with you was borderline terrifying. but on the other hand, the thought of you leaving made his stomach twist in a way he didn’t like to think too hard about.

“no need,” he mumbled, setting his bag down at the far end of the table. “you can stay.”

you beamed at him, and he felt a weird mix of pride and dread settle in his chest.

“thanks! you’re a lifesaver.”

you turned back to your laptop, leaving him to settle into his seat. jisung tried his best to focus on his essay, but his eyes kept drifting to you: the way you twirled your pen between your fingers, the way your lips pursed as you concentrated, the way your skirt kept riding up with every slight movement.

he bit the inside of his cheek, forcing his gaze back to his screen. his essay wasn’t going to write itself, and the sooner he finished, the sooner he could escape this.

but as jisung stared blankly at the screen, the words refused to come to him. his mind was too fogged up, the image of your black lace panties flashing at him. he could still feel the phantom heat pooling uncomfortably low in his stomach.

he adjusted his glasses for the tenth time in five minutes, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie sleeve. he needed to concentrate, needed to shove every inappropriate thought out of his head and focus on the stupid essay that was due in less than twelve hours.

but every tap of your pen, every soft sigh as you read your notes pulled his attention like a magnet. he could feel his skin prickling under the weight of his own thoughts, and it was starting to make him nauseous.

you shifted in your chair, crossing one leg over the other, and jisung caught a glimpse of your bare thighs again. he wondered how soft they’d feel under his fingers. he clenched his jaw, staring harder at the blinking cursor on his laptop. just focus. just write.

“hey,” you said suddenly, your voice soft but startling in the quiet room. jisung’s head snapped up so fast his glasses slipped down his nose.

“yeah?” he croaked, his voice coming out embarrassingly hoarse. he cleared his throat and tried again. “what’s up?”

you held up a book. “do you know anything about this? it’s for my history class, but i’m kind of lost on what the professor’s looking for.”

jisung blinked at the book, trying to register the title through the haze clouding his brain. the sight of your manicured fingers gripping the edge of the hardcover didn’t help his focus.

“uh… yeah, i think so,” he mumbled, his words fumbling over themselves. “i took that class last semester. what’s the assignment?”

you slid your chair closer to his, flipping the book open to a highlighted section. jisung stiffened as you leaned in, your shoulder brushing against his.

he could smell your perfume better now. it made his head swim, and his palms sweat.

“here,” you said, pointing to a passage. “i’m supposed to write an analysis on this, but honestly, it’s not making any sense to me.”

jisung forced himself to look at the page, his eyes skimming over the text even though he couldn’t process a single word. your proximity was unbearable, and the way you tilted your head to look at him made him hyper-aware of every inch of space between you.

“um,” he started, his voice cracking again. “it’s… about, uh, symbolism, i think. like how they use imagery to—”

his words faltered as your leg shifted, pressing briefly against his under the table.

“oh, i get it now!” you said, your eyes lighting up as you turned back to the book. “thanks, jisung, you’re really helpful.”

he swallowed hard, nodding stiffly as you returned to your side of the table. his hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his laptop, trying desperately to block out the lingering warmth of your touch.

as the first hour dragged on, jisung realized he’d barely touched his essay. instead, he found himself cataloging every little thing you did, learning more about your quirks and mannerisms than the topic he was supposed to be researching.

he noticed the way you squinted slightly when reading something closely. do you need glasses? the thought struck him out of nowhere, and the idea of you wearing a pair made his throat tighten and his dick stir to life.

you only seemed to use blue highlighters and matching blue post-it notes. the monochrome dedication was oddly satisfying to watch. jisung noticed you had a habit of twirling the highlighter between your fingers when you were deep in thought, the motion almost hypnotic.

when you weren’t sipping on your drink or snacking on something you’d fidget endlessly, picking up your phone, or tapping your nails on the table in an uneven rhythm. once, you opened an app but closed it just as quickly, as if scolding yourself for getting distracted. jisung smirked at that.

he noticed the way you pouted while typing, your lips forming a subtle, natural curve. every time you got stuck on something, you’d grab a blank page from your notebook and start scribbling aimlessly sometimes doodling stars or flowers in the margins, other times writing the same word over and over like you were trying to etch it into your brain.

you also had a habit of adjusting your necklace every few minutes, fiddling with the pendant as if grounding yourself. jisung wondered if it had some kind of sentimental value.

and then there was the small gasp you let out every time you found a passage you liked, quickly followed by you underlining it with almost comical precision. jisung thought it was cute, though he tried to push that thought away.

by the time the second hour rolled around, he was practically vibrating with tension. not just from the overwhelming presence of you, but from his own failure to accomplish anything.

you sighed softly and closed your laptop, stretching in your seat with a lazy grace that made his stomach flip. the movement caused your shirt to ride up slightly, exposing a sliver of skin and a tiny birthmark just above your hip bone.

jisung’s eyes widened. it was a small, and it was a flushed, pinkish hue, vaguely resembling the shape of a flower petal—or maybe a heart if he squinted.

why does that look so familiar?

he frowned, his brain scrambling to piece together the connection. it snagged at him, like an itch he couldn’t quite reach. had he seen it on you before? no, that didn’t make sense.

and then it hit him.

his heart stuttered as he remembered one of the streams he’d watched not long ago… collette’s stream. she’d been wearing lingerie that night, black with sheer panels, and at one point, she’d adjusted the waistband, revealing a glimpse of a tiny birthmark right above the hip.

holy shit.

jisung’s face burned as he realized the truth, his hands clenching into fists under the table. he couldn’t believe it. the girl he’d been obsessing over online, the one he’d jerked off to more times than he could count, was sitting right next to him.

he stumbled out of his seat, movements clumsy and frantic as he fumbled to gather his things. his hands trembled slightly as he zipped his backpack and he mumbled some half-formed excuse about having plans with haechan. the words tumbled out so quickly they were barely coherent. before you could even process what he was saying, let alone respond, he was already at the door, practically tripping over himself in his rush to leave.

“what an odd kid,” you giggled to yourself, shaking your head at his bizarre behavior.

he was strange, sure, but undeniably cute in his awkwardness. you’d always had a soft spot for guys who didn’t know what to do with themselves, and jisung was no exception. there was something endearing about the way he seemed perpetually out of place, like he wasn’t entirely comfortable in his own skin. but beneath the oversized hoodies and baggy sweatpants, you could tell he was hiding something.

he had broad shoulders that stretched the fabric of his clothes in a way that made you want to see more, and you still hadn’t forgotten the time he’d stripped off his hoodie on that unbearably hot day. the hem of his shirt had lifted with it, giving you the briefest glimpse of his waist, narrow and impossibly toned. you’d been thinking about that moment more often than you’d like to admit.

sitting next to him in class had only amplified things. you didn’t miss the way his eyes darted toward you every few minutes, his gaze lingering on your legs before he quickly looked away, as if he thought you wouldn’t notice. that’s exactly why you made it a point to only wear skirts to that class; short ones, ones that made it impossible for him not to look. it was a game, one you were starting to enjoy far too much.

you liked his hands too. he had large hands with long, slender fingers that flew clumsily over the keys of his laptop. you caught yourself staring at them during class, imagining how they’d feel against your skin, the way they’d grip your waist or tangle in your hair. you wondered if they were soft or if they’d leave a pleasant roughness behind.

his glasses added to the appeal, big-framed and slightly crooked on his nose. they couldn’t hide his soft, pretty eyes, though, or the moles scattered across his pale skin. every detail about him seemed perfectly crafted to make him irresistible in the most unassuming way.

but then there was the question that had been gnawing at the back of your mind, the one you couldn’t seem to shake: was jisung really your top spender? your friends had been so sure, pointing out all the coincidences, and you couldn’t deny that it was starting to feel like too much to ignore.

you smiled to yourself at the thought, unable to help the way your lips curled into something slightly wicked. haechan had mentioned how much time jisung spent in his room, his activities hardly a secret if you listened to the muffled sounds that occasionally slipped through the walls.

the idea made your pulse quicken, a thrill running down your spine as you considered how to take things to the next level. if jisung was your top spender then he was already yours in ways he probably didn’t even realize.

you toyed with the idea of making the first move, testing the waters to see just how far you could push him. he was skittish, easily flustered, and you had no doubt that one well-placed touch or whispered word would send him into a complete meltdown.

you suspected that if you really went for it, jisung might just have a heart attack on the spot. and for some reason, that thought only made you want to do it more.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the next time you met him in class, you decided it was time to confirm once and for all if he was into you. you dressed for the occasion, a skirt that showed just enough leg to make him squirm, paired with a low-cut top and your favorite push-up bra, the one that made your boobs look perfect. you threw on a sweater for good measure, unzipping it casually when you sat next to him, just enough to reveal the curve of your collarbones and the top of your cleavage.

“hey, jisung!” you said, your voice soft and lilting.

he barely looked at you, his lips moving in what you assumed was a greeting, but it was so quiet you couldn’t make out the words. he didn’t hold your gaze for more than a second, and from the way he kept staring at his laptop, you wondered if he’d even noticed the effort you put into your outfit.

you leaned in slightly, catching the faint scent of his detergent mixed with something musky. “sungie?” you whispered, your voice low and sweet.

his jaw clenched at the nickname, and his hands froze over his laptop keys. “hm?” he finally managed, his eyes flickering up to your face for the briefest of moments before darting away again.

“do you want to work on the project together?” you asked, tilting your head innocently.

his brows furrowed as he blinked at you, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and panic. “what… what project?” he stammered, his voice shaky, his breath audibly hitching when his gaze unintentionally dropped to your chest.

“the one he just announced,” you said, nodding toward the screen where the professor had outlined the details of the group assignment.

you watched as his Adam's apple bobbed with a nervous swallow, and he peeled his eyes away from you with visible effort. “oh… uh…” he trailed off, biting his lip. the gesture drew your attention to just how plush and soft they looked.

“if you don’t want to, it’s okay,” you said, leaning back slightly, your pout deliberate and perfectly executed. “i just thought since you helped me with my assignment last time, you’d be a good partner.”

he glanced at you again, his gaze lingering this time, as if trying to gauge your expression. your wide, hopeful eyes seemed to make his decision for him. “okay…” he mumbled, the word barely audible.

“really? yay!” you said, your voice bright with excitement as you reached out and wrapped your hands around his arm in a playful squeeze. the movement was quick, but enough for your chest to press lightly against him, the warmth of your body radiating through his hoodie.

jisung stiffened immediately, every nerve in his body firing off alarms. the combination of your softness and the faint scent of vanilla clinging to your skin was almost enough to send him over the edge. he inhaled deeply, trying to keep his composure, but the air felt thick and suffocating, and he was perilously close to letting out a moan that would’ve humiliated him in front of the entire room.

“i promise i won’t be a burden,” you added, flashing him a dazzling smile that showcased your perfectly sized teeth. “i’ll do my part, i swear.”

he nodded mechanically, his brain too messed up with the feel of your body against his and the lingering image of your lips curling into that smile. “y-yeah…” he muttered, his voice cracking slightly.

as you turned your attention back to the professor, jisung exhaled slowly, his pulse racing. his hands gripped his laptop so tightly his knuckles turned white, and he realized with growing dread that this partnership might actually kill him.

when class ended, you stayed behind, which was unusual since you were usually one of the first to dart out the door. as jisung zipped up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder, he noticed you looking at him expectantly. he panicked. did he have something of yours?

jisung glanced nervously at his belongings, double-checking as if your pencil or notebook might have somehow ended up with him. but you didn’t say anything. the silence stretched awkwardly until you finally stood up.

since the rows were so narrow, your movement brought you close… too close. jisung gulped as you stepped into his space, your perfume wrapping around him. he tightened his grip on his backpack straps.

“do you wanna start working on the project now? i have classes every day, and my evenings are pretty busy, so…” your voice trailed off meaningfully. jisung knew. oh, he knew. your evenings were reserved for livestreams. his evenings were also reserved for your livestreams. obviously, the project couldn’t cut into those sacred hours.

“uh, okay… do you wanna go to the library?” he managed, pushing his glasses up his nose. they kept sliding down because he had to crane his neck to look at you from this close distance.

“sure! next time, we can work at your dorm. i’d offer mine, but we have a strict no-boys policy in the apartment,” you said with a laugh, then added, “though my roommates break that rule all the time.”

“what about you?” the question tumbled out of jisung’s mouth before his brain could intercept it. his eyes widened as if he couldn’t believe he asked that

but you didn’t seem fazed. instead, you grinned. “you know, a lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” you teased, throwing in a wink that made his brain implode just a little.

as you spoke, jisung’s gaze flitted over you again—your mannerisms, your voice, that unmistakable charisma. the longer he looked, the more it hit him like a sledgehammer to the face. how had he not recognized you as collette sooner? sure, you wore a mask on the streams, and your hair was styled differently, but it was unmistakable now. you were her. and yet, standing here in front of him, you felt even more unattainable.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

at the library again, you couldn’t find a private room since you hadn’t booked ahead, so you settled for a secluded table tucked into the corner of the study area. it was jisung’s favorite spot on campus, not that he’d ever admit that to you. he didn’t want to look more like a loser than he already did.

you’d tied your hair up in a ponytail, and jisung wished you hadn’t. the simple change opened up your neck and collarbones, exposing more skin for his eyes to betray him over. he swore he could count the faint freckles scattered across your shoulders if he stared long enough. and, god, did he want to.

jisung sighed, pressing his palms into his eyes in an attempt to reset his brain. he needed to focus. if he was going to make it through this study session, he needed to stop thinking about your freckles or how your lip gloss shimmered every time your mouth moved.

focus, jisung. he started mentally listing the least sexy things he could think of: spongebob, frogs, khaki jeans, loud chewing. he even dredged up the memory of his fourth-grade math teacher, a grumpy woman he was convinced secretly hated him. it worked, until he realized you were talking to him, and he’d been staring straight past you like an idiot.

“sorry, what was that?” he blurted, blinking rapidly and focusing in on your glossy lips forming the last word of whatever you’d said.

you tilted your head slightly, your ponytail swaying with the movement. “i said, do you want to split up the research? or do you just want to work on the same section together?”

“uh…” jisung’s brain scrambled for footing, his face heating up again. “splitting it up is fine. yeah. let’s do that.”

you smiled at him, and he swore it felt like the library got ten degrees hotter. “great! i’ll take the first half, and you can take the second?”

“sure,” he mumbled, fumbling to pull out his laptop. as you turned back to your notes, jisung caught himself glancing at your neck and down to your cleavage again. frogs, he thought desperately. frogs. khaki jeans. loud chewing. but none of it helped.

he needed a cold shower. desperately. every time you leaned into him, jisung’s resolve cracked a little more. he was barely hanging on as it was, his left hand glued to his lap, pressing down in a feeble attempt to hide the semi he’d been sporting for the last twenty minutes.

“what do you think of this?” you asked, sliding your laptop toward him. your voice was sweet, your tone light and inviting, but jisung couldn’t focus on anything except how close you were.

“that’s good,” he mumbled quickly, trying to sound casual even though his throat felt like sandpaper.

“really?” you tilted your head, eyeing him skeptically. “you say that about everything i show you.”

“cause you’re really good at this,” he blurted out. he pressed harder on his lap, his fingers twitching in frustration.

you laughed softly, the sound making his heart stutter. then, to his horror, you gave him a slow once-over, your eyes narrowing slightly as you studied him. “you okay? you look tense.”

“yup, all good,” he said too quickly, his voice high-pitched. he glued his eyes to his laptop, pretending to focus on the passage in front of him, though the words blurred together into an unintelligible mess. please stop looking at me, he begged silently. please.

but instead, you cocked your head, resting your chin in your hand. “you know,” you began thoughtfully, “you sound like someone i know.”

jisung froze. fuck.

his mind went blank, panic flooding his system. his ears burned, and he felt a bead of sweat slide down the back of his neck. did you figure it out? do you know?

“but it couldn’t possibly be,” you said, shaking your head slightly as you turned back to your notes. “you’re too different.”

he released a shaky breath, his heart pounding so violently it felt like it might burst through his ribs. his lips pressed into a tight line as he risked a glance at you. so you did remember andy. jisung had assumed that with so many followers, even your most loyal supporter might fade into the background of your memory. but the private livestreams, the filthy words jisung had whispered that made you moan harder, all the praises and compliments he showered you with—it seemed those had stuck with you. because you remembered his voice.

“i’m gonna use the restroom really quick,” you said, standing up abruptly.

jisung’s eyes followed you as you walked away, the sway of your hips distracting him momentarily before reality snapped back into focus. as soon as you were out of sight, he groaned, his shoulders slumping as he looked down at his lap and the unmistakable tent that had formed there.

he needed to take care of this. now.

standing up, jisung winced at the sensitivity and began making his way toward the bathroom, his head down in an attempt to avoid eye contact with anyone. but just as he approached the hallway, he caught the sound of muffled voices. one of them raised, the other low and pleading. his steps faltered when he recognized your voice.

he crept closer and pressed himself against the wall, just barely peeking around the corner. there you were, gesturing wildly, your brows furrowed in anger as you stood toe-to-toe with someone jisung instantly recognized as sungchan, the captain of the basketball team.

“i told you to leave me alone,” you snapped, your voice sharp. “texting me from taro’s phone? really? now you’re dragging other people into this? why can’t you just understand that i want nothing to do with you anymore?”

“y/n, please,” sungchan said, his tone dripping with desperation. “i don’t know what else you want me to do. i’ve apologized a million times, and i’ve cut all communication with her. i haven’t seen her in months.”

he took a step closer, but you shoved him back by the chest.

“you should’ve done that before fucking her, don’t you think?” you laughed bitterly, shaking your head in disbelief.

“hey, it didn’t mean a thing to me, you know that,” sungchan said, his voice softening as he reached for your hip and squeezed. “you’re the only one i want.”

your body stiffened at his touch, and you glared up at him. “don’t touch me,” you hissed, but he didn’t move, his grip firm.

jisung’s jaw clenched. his fists balled at his sides as his eye twitched. why the hell was this guy touching you when it was clear you didn’t want him to?

“c’mon, baby,” sungchan purred, leaning in dangerously close to your neck. “you know i’m the only one who can make you feel good.”

before jisung could stop himself, he was stepping out from behind the corner. he cleared his throat loudly. the sound startled no one, so he did it again, this time pairing it with a sharp, “hey.”

his voice came out deeper than he expected, reverberating in the narrow hallway.

sungchan’s head snapped up, pulling away from your neck as he turned to look at the interruption. your eyes widened when they landed on jisung, standing there taller than usual, his broad shoulders squared.

“just wanted to check if you were alright,” jisung said, his gaze fixed on you, his voice steady.

sungchan’s expression darkened as his grip on your hip tightened. “and who the hell are you?” he spat, his tone venomous.

jisung didn’t flinch at sungchan’s hostility. his dark eyes flickered to your hip, where sungchan’s hand still rested, and then back to sungchan’s face.

“her partner,” jisung said evenly, his tone calm yet carrying a subtle edge. technically, he wasn’t lying, you were his group partner. “and she doesn’t look too comfortable right now.”

you glanced at jisung, your lips parting in surprise. sungchan let out a dry laugh, his hand finally dropping from your hip as he turned to fully face jisung. he towered over most people, but jisung stood his ground, unbothered by the difference in height.

“you’re her partner?” sungchan sneered, looking jisung up and down with a smirk that screamed condescension. “you don’t seem like her type.”

jisung’s jaw tightened, but his expression remained neutral. he looked at you instead, his voice softening slightly. “you sure you’re okay?”

your lips pressed together as you nodded quickly, your hands fidgeting at your sides. “i’m fine, jisung. really.”

but sungchan wasn’t done. “jisung, huh?” he repeated, his smirk widening. “sounds familiar. oh, wait—” he tilted his head, mockingly stroking his chin. “aren’t you that quiet little nobody who’s always hiding in haechan’s shadow?”

jisung didn’t react to the insult, though his nails dug into his palms. “that’s me,” he said with a shrug, his voice still maddeningly steady. “and you’re the guy who can’t take a hint and harasses girls.”

sungchan’s smirk dropped instantly, his expression hardening. “what did you just say?”

“you heard me,” jisung replied, his voice low. he adjusted his glasses with one hand, his confidence only making sungchan’s irritation grow. “she asked you to leave her alone, didn’t she? or was that too complicated for you to understand?”

you blinked at jisung, momentarily stunned at his boldness. sungchan, on the other hand, took a step forward, his fists clenching.

“listen here, you little shi—”

“stop!” your voice cut through the tension. both jisung and sungchan turned to look at you. you stepped between them, your expression firm as you faced sungchan. “i meant what i said, sungchan. this is over. stop calling me, stop texting me, stop showing up where i am. just—stop. i don’t want to see you anymore.”

sungchan’s jaw tightened, his nostrils flaring as he stared at you. “fine,” he finally said, his voice clipped. “but don’t come crawling back when you realize no one else is gonna treat you like i did.”

jisung couldn’t hold back the quiet scoff that escaped him, and sungchan shot him a glare before storming off down the hallway.

as the echo of sungchan’s footsteps faded, the tension in your shoulders eased slightly. you turned to jisung, your expression both grateful and embarrassed.

“thanks,” you said softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “you didn’t have to do that.”

jisung shrugged, his face a little pink as he adjusted his glasses again. “it’s no big deal. i just… couldn’t stand there and do nothing.”

“still, i appreciate it. my knight in shining glasses” you gave him a small smile.

jisung’s ears burned at the nickname, and he looked away, suddenly very interested in the floor. “ha, yeah.”

you laughed lightly “c’mon,” you said, gesturing toward the library’s main area. “let’s continue working”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

you continued having sessions for the project after class, and slowly, jisung started coming out of his shell. he still mumbled and stuttered every now and then, especially when your attention lingered on him for too long, but he was starting to hold actual conversations now. and once he got going, it was hard to stop him. he’d gush about the most random things, like his favorite video game characters or how much he hated remakes of old horror movies. sometimes, he’d pull up conspiracy theory videos about aliens on his phone, his voice picking up speed as he rambled about the possibility of extraterrestrial life.

“i mean, think about it… how could we be the only ones in this massive universe? that’s just statistically improbable,” he’d say, adjusting his glasses as he leaned closer to show you grainy footage of a supposed UFO. you’d nod along, amused by his enthusiasm, even if half of it went over your head.

you also learned jisung had a thing for metal music. he shyly pulled out his phone one day to show you his collection of signed albums from bands you’d never even heard of. “this one’s from when they did a secret show in busan,” he explained, his fingers tracing the signatures like they were sacred artifacts. “and this? their first album. impossible to find in good condition.”

“wow, you’re really into this,” you said, smirking as you scrolled through the pictures. “so... are you in a band or something?”

he flushed immediately, shaking his head. “no, no! i’m not cool enough for that,” he muttered.

you couldn’t help but smile. “i think you’re cool,” you said simply, and his ears turned pink.

but jisung’s curiosity didn’t stop at music or aliens. he was fascinated by the simplest things. one time, you brought a new lip gloss to class—the kind that didn’t smudge or rub off no matter what. jisung had been so impressed that he begged you to show him how it worked.

“wait, so it stays on? like, even if you eat something? how?” he asked, eyes wide as you swiped some on the back of your hand.

“even if i kissed you right now it wouldn’t come off”

“oh… w-what’s in it? do you have the ingredients list?” he stuttered, his hand coming up to his face to hide the blush on his cheeks.

you laughed. “are you serious right now?”

“yes! this is pretty cool,” he said shyly. “i need to know.”

he was, all in all, a total nerd. but you found that endearing. you liked how he could get so passionate about the smallest details, even if he didn’t realize how cute he looked when he did it.

what you wanted to know most, though, was if he was really loaded. after all, someone had to be, to spend eighteen thousand dollars like that. one particular evening, while you were working on the project at a cafe, you decided to subtly bring it up.

“so... you said you tutor a lot of students, right?” you asked, stirring your iced coffee.

jisung nodded, flipping through his notes. “yeah. it’s decent money, especially before exams.”

“and you... do homework for them too?” you added, raising an eyebrow.

he hesitated, looking a little guilty. “only when they pay extra,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “but yeah. it’s not a big deal.”

“huh,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “you must be really good at it to make that much money.”

“i mean, i guess,” he mumbled, avoiding your gaze. “but it’s not that much.”

“you sure about that?” you teased, giving him a knowing look. “because eighteen thousand isn’t exactly chump change.”

his head snapped up, and for a moment, he looked like a scared hamster. “w-what?” he stammered.

“nothing,” you said, smiling innocently.

he went back to his notes, but you didn’t miss the way his hand trembled slightly as he flipped the page. interesting.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the next time jisung almost had a heart attack because of you was after one particularly grueling day of tutoring half of sungchan’s frat. he’d spent hours going over equations with guys who clearly had no interest in learning and had been on edge the whole time, doing his best to avoid running into sungchan himself. all the bravery he’d mustered at the library had definitely worn off.

he finally made it back to his dorm, exhausted and ready to collapse, only to freeze in the doorway at the sight of you sitting prettily on the edge of his bed, flipping through one of the XXX magazines sitting on his desk. his eyes widened, and his mouth opened to say something, but no words came out.

you noticed him and laughed at his expression. “one of your roommates let me in,” you said, your voice light and teasing. “i think his name’s jaemin?”

jisung blinked, his brain struggling to process. “uh… yeah, jaemin,” he managed to stammer.

“i came to see haechan, but he wasn’t in,” you explained, crossing your legs in a way jisung was so familiar with now. “so i thought i’d pay my new best friend a visit.”

his stomach did a full somersault as he realized you were talking about him. “oh… uhm, hi” he said weakly, scratching the back of his head as he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.

“hi,” you echoed with a grin, holding up the magazine. “some interesting reading material you’ve got here.”

“t-that’s not mine,” he blurted out, his face flushing red. “it’s haechan’s. i swear.”

you tilted your head, clearly unconvinced but too amused to care. “no need to be embarrassed,” you said casually, placing the magazine back on his desk. “you’re not the first boy in whose room i’ve found porn.”

jisung’s ears burned, and he had no idea how to respond to that. “right…” he muttered, shifting awkwardly.

“your room’s cleaner than i expected,” you added, glancing around.

“did you think i’d be messy?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“hmm, more like… sloppy,” you said, arching a brow in a way that could only be described as suggestive.

jisung swallowed hard, unsure if you were flirting or just messing with him. either way, his brain was short-circuiting. “oh?” he said, his voice coming out higher than he intended.

you laughed and leaned back on your hands, watching him with that same playful glint in your eyes. “relax, jisung. i’m just messing with you.”

he let out a small, nervous chuckle and stepped further into the room, trying to act like your presence wasn’t completely throwing him off. “so, uh… what brings you here?” he asked, carefully setting his backpack down.

“just bored,” you said with a shrug. “and since you’re my new best friend, i figured you’d entertain me.”

he blinked. “entertain?” shit, he almost got hard just hearing that.

“obviously,” you said, grinning. “you’re way more fun than haechan anyway.”

jisung doubted that, but he wasn’t about to argue. instead, he sat down at his desk, desperately trying to ignore how pretty you looked sitting on his bed.

“how about you show me how to play that game you talked about?” you asked, walking over to him and resting your arm on his gaming chair.

jisung blinked up at you, startled. “you wanna learn how to play League of Legends?” he asked, his eyebrows shooting up.

“sure. it sounded fun when you told me about it,” you said with a casual shrug.

“uhm, okay then,” jisung said, his voice a little higher than usual as he leaned to flip the power switch on his PC. then he paused, realizing he didn’t have an extra chair. “wait, let me go borrow haechan’s chair,” he said quickly, jogging out of the room.

when jisung returned, chair in hand, his steps faltered. you were leaning over his desk, your skirt riding up just enough to show him what color were your panties today. his first thought, entirely unhelpful, was how badly he wanted to bend you over that desk. his second thought, unfortunately delayed, was that you had turned on his monitor.

and on the screen, clear as day, was his account page.

“so, it was you,” you said, the tone of your voice laced with triumph.

jisung’s eyes widened, panic flaring to life. “what—what are you talking about?” he stammered, dropping the chair with a clatter.

“andyp4rk02,” you said, your voice lilting with satisfaction as you turned to face him, crossing your arms. “i felt it was you. but i’m glad to have a confirmation now.”

jisung froze, his breath catching in his throat as his brain scrambled for something to say. “i—uh—what—”

“you’re not even gonna try to deny it?” you teased, stepping closer to him, the corner of your mouth quirking up in a smirk. “honestly, i was starting to think i was crazy. but you just confirmed it.”

“i—it’s not—” jisung’s voice cracked as he tried to speak, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

you tilted your head, watching him struggle with an almost predatory gleam in your eyes. “relax, jisung. i’m not mad,” you said, your tone softer now, though it didn’t erase the teasing edge. “in fact…” you took another step closer, your voice lowering slightly. “i’m intrigued.”

“huh?” jisung’s voice was barely above a whisper, his throat dry as he tried to process what you were saying.

“the one thing i’m most curious about,” you said, taking a step closer, your tone casual but your gaze sharp, “is how you… a freshman, who doesn’t seem to have a job besides tutoring, managed to splurge thousands of dollars on me?”

jisung swallowed hard, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. “i just…” he mumbled, looking away, his ears burning as he avoided your piercing gaze.

“c’mon, don’t be shy.” you leaned in slightly, your smirk widening. “andy would’ve bent me over that desk over there and started spilling every single thing i asked for.”

jisung’s eyes snapped up to your face, wide with shock. how did you know exactly what had flashed through his mind mere seconds ago?

“s-sorry,” jisung stammered, looking like he wanted to shrink into the floor. “this is just… are you really not uncomfortable? with me, i mean?”

“why would i be?” you asked, tilting your head as though the question itself was ridiculous. “i’ve gotten to know you better now. i know you’re not a weirdo or anything.”

jisung blinked, staring at you like you’d just told him the sky wasn’t blue. “but i—i mean, with everything i said to you before… all of that—”

“all of that was online,” you cut him off smoothly, your tone light. “and honestly? i think it’s kinda cute how much you adored me. well, adore me,” you corrected with a sly grin.

jisung’s jaw dropped slightly, his face somehow heating even more. “you… think it’s cute?”

“of course,” you said with a soft shrug, your tone so casual it was almost disarming. “you’ve been sweet this whole time, even when you were trying so hard to hide it. honestly, i’m flattered.”

your lips curled into a teasing smile as you leaned in just slightly. “but now, i want to know—” your voice dipped lower, warm and slow. your eyes locked with his, drawing him in without effort. “how did you manage it? the money, i mean.”

jisung swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he struggled to form a coherent response. “well… uhm…” he shifted nervously, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “i… saved up a lot of money since i was a kid,” he began, his voice quiet but steady as he forced himself to meet your gaze.

“i made a system,” he continued, his words gaining a bit more confidence as he explained. “i cashed a lot of favors, even in school. i’ve been doing other people’s homework since primary, practically. also…” he hesitated, his eyes flickering to the ground for a moment before darting back to you. “my dad… he started giving me an allowance every month when i was 14, and i never really used it for anything. so… i’ve just been saving. for a long time.”

you tilted your head slightly, clearly intrigued. “wow,” you murmured, crossing your arms in thought. the movement wasn’t intentional—or maybe it was—but it pushed your cleavage up just enough to make jisung’s brain stutter.

his eyes flickered down for half a second before he froze, his face turning crimson. his chest tightened, his breath shallow, because he was sure that if he so much as brushed against you right now, he’d moan like some desperate, pathetic fool.

“that’s… impressive,” you added, breaking the silence, though your tone had shifted, tinged with something almost playful. “you must’ve been really dedicated to saving all that up.” your words hung in the air, light and teasing, but your gaze lingered, as if searching for something deeper.

“y-yeah,” jisung stammered, his hands fidgeting by his sides. “i guess i’ve just… always been good with managing money.”

“clearly,” you said with a grin. you leaned in slightly, your voice dropping just enough to send his heart into overdrive. “it’s kinda sexy, you know.”

jisung’s brain went blank, his entire body tensing as if he couldn’t process what he’d just heard. sexy? he repeated in his mind, struggling not to outwardly combust. his mouth opened as if to respond, but no words came out, and the only sound was the faint hum of his computer in the background.

“you okay?” you asked, your smile widening as you noticed his wide-eyed expression.

“y-yeah,” he managed to croak out, though his voice cracked slightly.

“relax, jisung,” you said, stepping closer, your fingers brushing the edge of his sleeve. his breath hitched, and you couldn’t help but smile at how utterly helpless he looked under your gaze.

“i-i am,” he stammered, but the way he gripped the desk behind him for support said otherwise.

you laughed softly, tilting your head as your hand slid up his arm, fingers ghosting over his bicep before trailing down to rest lightly on his chest. “sure you are,” you murmured, leaning in so your lips were just inches from his ear. “you’ve been nervous since you entered the room.”

“i… i’m not nervous,” he said, his voice cracking slightly.

“oh, really?” you teased, letting your hand slip under the hem of his shirt. your fingertips grazed the warm skin of his stomach, and he jolted, sucking in a sharp breath. “but you’re trembling.”

“t-that’s not—” his words were cut off when your other hand came up to brush the hair out of his face, your touch gentle yet firm as you tilted his chin up to meet your eyes.

“you’re so cute,” you whispered, your thumb lightly grazing his jawline. his eyes widened, his lips parting slightly.

“you’ve been so sweet to me, sungie,” you continued, your voice dropping lower. “how could i not want to thank you?”

“t-thank me?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

you didn’t answer right away. instead, you leaned in, pressing a featherlight kiss to his cheek, so close to the corner of his mouth that he let out an involuntary whimper. “mhmm,” you hummed, your lips brushing against his skin as you moved to the other side, leaving a trail of soft kisses along his jawline.

jisung’s breathing was ragged now, his chest rising and falling rapidly as your hand slid further up his shirt, your nails grazing lightly against his ribs. “is this okay?” you asked softly, your lips hovering near his ear.

“y-yeah,” he managed to choke out, his voice trembling.

“good,” you murmured, pressing a kiss just below his ear, then another on the side of his neck. his hands gripped the edge of the desk so tightly his knuckles were white, and he let out a shaky breath, his head tilting slightly to give you more access.

you smirked, trailing your lips back up to his cheek, stopping just short of his lips. “you’re so quiet now,” you teased, your fingers lightly tracing circles on his stomach. “no more stuttering?”

“i… i don’t…” jisung panted, his words trailing off as your lips brushed against the corner of his mouth.

“you don’t what?” you asked, pulling back just enough to meet his dazed gaze. his eyes were half-lidded, his face flushed, and his lips parted as he struggled to catch his breath.

before he could answer, the sharp buzz of your phone vibrating broke the moment. you blinked, startled, and jisung let out a shaky exhale, his head dropping back against the wall in relief… or frustration.

“hold that thought,” you said, your voice still low as you reached into your pocket. your fingers lingered on his stomach for a moment before you pulled away completely.

jisung watched in a daze as you checked your phone, your lips pressing together. “looks like i’ve got to go,” you said, slipping the device back into your pocket.

“w-what?” he stammered, his voice cracking again as he stared at you in disbelief. “y-you’re leaving?”

“for now,” you said with a wink, stepping back and smoothing your skirt. “don’t miss me too much, okay?”

jisung could only nod dumbly, still leaning against the desk like his legs might give out at any moment.

“oh, and jisung?” you added, pausing at the door. he looked up, his wide eyes meeting yours. “you might want to take care of… that.” your gaze flicked downward for just a moment, and his face turned a brilliant shade of red as he scrambled to adjust his shirt.

you laughed, shooting him one last playful smile before disappearing out the door, leaving him flustered, breathless, and utterly unable to think about anything else but how good your lips felt on his skin.

that night, jisung lost count of how many times he jerked off. by the time he was done, he was so spent he didn’t even bother cleaning up properly. he passed out with a mess of cum smeared across his abdomen, his sheets damp and sticking to his skin.

the sound of retching woke him up.

he groaned, squinting as the sunlight poured directly onto his face. blinking sleepily, he turned his head to see haechan standing at the foot of his bed, his face twisted into an expression of pure disgust.

“look at the state of you…” haechan said, shaking his head like a disappointed parent. “seriously, dude, your dick’s gonna disintegrate if you keep going like this.”

“get out,” jisung groaned, voice hoarse. he rolled over, pulling the blanket halfway over his head to shield himself from both the sunlight and his roommate’s judgment.

“i would, but i have a message from y/n,”

jisung sat up at the sound of your name. his heart pounding as if he’d been jolted with electricity.

“she said she can’t meet you at the library today…”

jisung froze, the sudden buzz of energy deflating into cold panic. “oh,” he said softly, his voice laced with disappointment.

his mind immediately began spiraling. were you avoiding him? now that you knew he was andy, did you think he was a creep? were you disgusted? did you regret what happened yesterday? every terrible scenario played in his head as he stared blankly ahead, anxiety tightening its grip on his chest.

before he could spiral further, haechan continued, dragging out his words for dramatic effect.

“…she said she wants to meet you somewhere else instead.”

jisung’s head snapped toward him. “what?”

“she said she sent you the address and tried calling, but your phone’s off.”

his eyes darted to the floor where his phone lay facedown. practically leaping out of bed, he stumbled over the blanket, barely managing to stay upright as he grabbed the phone and plugged it into the charger.

“relax, dude. she’s not breaking up with you,” haechan said with a smirk.

“shut up,” jisung muttered, his focus entirely on the phone as it turned back on. when the screen finally lit up, he saw your message waiting for him.

his thumb hovered over it before he opened it. the address you’d sent was for a studio about thirty minutes away from campus. jisung frowned, his mind racing again. why there? what kind of place was it? and more importantly, how was he supposed to get there?

he groaned, already planning how he could convince jeno to lend him his car for the evening. but before he could get too far into his thoughts, he noticed haechan still standing there, arms crossed and a suspicious look on his face.

“what?” jisung asked, narrowing his eyes.

“nothing,” haechan said, but the grin spreading across his face said otherwise. “have fun tonight.”

with a wink, haechan strolled out of the room, leaving jisung standing there, equal parts nervous and excited, as he tried to figure out just what you had planned.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

by the time jisung reached the address you sent, he was soaked through to the bone. his hair sticking to his forehead, dripping rainwater down his face, and his clothes clung to his skin, cold and uncomfortable. jeno had flat-out refused to lend him his car, so jisung had to take the bus. the bus stop was two blocks away, and by the time he’d sprinted there in the pouring rain, his sneakers squelched with every step.

he stood now, breathless and drenched, staring up at the old building in front of him. the windows were grimy, and the exterior had an eerie, almost abandoned feel to it. with a reluctant sigh, he pushed the heavy door open and stepped into the lobby. it was completely quiet. the reception desk was empty, and no one was in sight, so he made his way up the narrow staircase to the third floor.

when he reached the door, his heart was hammering. should he have texted to let you know he was here? was he being too forward? after a beat of hesitation, he knocked, his knuckles tapping softly against the wood.

the door swung open after his third knock.

there you were, looking impossibly beautiful. your pink flowy dress caught the light, the fabric swirling around your legs as you smiled up at him. he’d never seen you wear a dress like that before. your makeup was flawless, more than usual, and the sight made his breath catch in his throat.

"you’re really punctual," you said with a soft smile, stepping aside to let him in.

but jisung didn’t move at first. his eyes scanned the space around him as he took it all in.

“is this…” he breathed in disbelief.

“welcome to collette’s studio.” you patted him lightly on the back, gently pushing him further inside.

“i wanted you to see it,” you continued, walking ahead, your fingers brushing against the smooth white sheets of the bed that dominated the center of the room. you glanced back at him with an expectant look.

jisung felt like he’d been dropped into one of his wet dreams. "i’m…" his words faltered as his senses overloaded, trying to catch up with what was happening.

"in shock?" you giggled softly, the sound light and airy. "you’re the first person i bring here."

"really?" he asked, his backpack slipping off his shoulder and falling to the floor with a soft thud.

“you brought your notes?” you asked, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

"yeah…" he stammered, feeling foolish now. "aren’t we gonna finish… the project?"

your gaze locked with his as you moved closer, your presence drawing him in. his eyes flicked nervously to the neon sign hanging on the wall.

"hm, we can… or we could do something more fun?" you suggested, your voice a soft temptation. you stepped closer, until there was barely any space between you two.

jisung tried to keep his composure, but his body betrayed him. every inch of him stiffened as you moved into his personal space.

"i have a proposal for you, sungie," you said, your voice lowering, honeyed and sweet. your hand found its way to the back of his neck, your fingers tracing the skin there lightly, coaxing a soft sigh from his lips.

"y-yeah?" he breathed out, eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment at the sensation of your touch.

"would you like to guest on my channel?"

jisung’s eyes snapped open, disbelief painting his expression. “what?… y-you mean… do a livestream with you?”

he could barely comprehend what you were saying, his brain scrambling to process the words. "but you… you never do that… it’s always just collette."

you smiled softly, a glint of something mysterious dancing in your eyes. "you’re right, but for a while, i’ve been thinking of changing that. i just never found anyone i trusted enough for it."

jisung’s mind was racing. he couldn’t believe this was happening. you, asking him? how many times had he imagined being in this room, taking you in that very bed? but now that the opportunity was right in front of him, he was frozen. what if he wasn’t enough? what if he couldn’t satisfy you like you wanted?

“it’s okay if you don’t want to… it was pretty sudden of me to ask this,” you said, sensing his hesitation. you slowly withdrew your hand from his neck, leaving him cold and wanting more.

jisung panicked. he didn’t want you to think he was rejecting you, but the fear of embarrassing himself in front of not only you but a whole audience gripped him tight. what if he couldn’t live up to your expectations?

but then again, the thought of you finding someone else to do this with made his stomach twist with anxiety. he couldn’t back down now.

with shaky hands, he finally nodded, his voice barely a whisper. "i’ll do it."

“really?” you asked, your voice tinged with genuine surprise. you hadn’t expected him to agree. jisung didn’t exactly strike you as the type to willingly step into the spotlight, let alone in this particular way. this had every potential to go sideways.

but there he was, standing in front of you, his expression a blend of nervousness and determination. he looked like he was trying to keep himself from bolting.

you extended your hand toward him, watching as his gaze flickered down to it. he hesitated, just for a moment, before his much larger hand engulfed yours. his touch was clammy, his grip tentative, but it was enough.

“have you done this before?” you asked, glancing back at him as you led him toward the bed.

he looked utterly petrified, like a deer caught in headlights, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. “a livestream, you mean? uh… yeah, i’ve—uh—seen a few… i mean, no! not seen, done! wait, i mean—”

you chuckled softly, cutting off his flustered rambling. “no, silly. i meant… is this your first time having sex?”

your tone was so casual and devoid of any judgment that it caught him completely off guard. his entire face went up in flames. he nodded slowly, his lips pressed into a tight line.

your smile softened, and you stepped closer, placing your hands lightly on his chest. “then, we should practice before turning the camera on, don’t you think?”

he swallowed hard, his lips parting in a nervous attempt to respond, but no words came out. he simply nodded, his breaths shallow and uneven when you pushed him down onto the bed.

you reached for the straps of your dress and slid them off your shoulders, the fabric slipping down your body and pooling at your feet. jisung’s eyes went wide, his lips slightly parted as he stared at you. his gaze flickered nervously, starting at your feet and slowly working its way up, lingering on the delicate white lace of your underwear. he looked like he was on the verge of tearing up.

you moved closer, settling yourself onto his lap. the sudden pressure made him suck in a sharp breath, his hands hovering awkwardly at his sides.

“tell me what you like,” you murmured, leaning in just enough for your lips to ghost over the shell of his ear.

“w-what do you mean?” his voice cracked, and he looked up at you with wide, panicked eyes. his hands were still frozen in place, unsure of what to do, so you gently took them and placed them on your waist.

“you can touch me,” you said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair out of his face. “when you watch my streams… what do you like?”

his whole body tensed, his fingers spreading hesitantly over your waist. he looked like he wanted to crawl out of his skin, but at the same time, he couldn’t seem to look away. “uhm… i-i don’t know… i… i pretty much like everything,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“do you like when i use the toys?” you asked, your lips brushing against his as you spoke.

“y-yes,” he breathed, the word coming out shaky and unsteady.

“do you like it more when i lay down or when i sit?” you asked, trailing your hands under the hem of his shirt and tugging it up.

his breath hitched as you motioned for him to stand. he obeyed, his movements clumsy as he pulled off his shirt and hesitated with his pants. his hands trembled as he pushed them down, leaving him standing there in just his boxers, his face burning crimson.

“uhm” he started, his voice cracking. he swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the floor before flicking back to you. “when you sit?”

the second the words left his mouth, you pushed him gently, and he stumbled back onto the bed with a gasp. the flush on his cheeks deepened, spreading to the tips of his ears, as he looked up at you with anticipation.

“good,” you murmured, your fingers trailing along his chest. “then let’s see if you like this more.”

the sight of you straddling his lap made jisung’s throat go dry, his mouth parting slightly as his breath quickened. was this really happening? was he actually about to lose his virginity with the girl he had spent countless nights fantasizing about? every inch of him buzzed with nervous energy, and for a fleeting moment, he thought he might actually cry—happy tears, of course, but still tears.

before his mind could spiral further, he felt the soft press of your lips against his. the sensation was so unexpected and overwhelming that he whimpered without meaning to. the sound would’ve embarrassed him any other time, but he was too lost in the moment to care. his lips parted instinctively, allowing your tongue to slide into his mouth, deepening the kiss.

your fingers threaded into his hair, massaging his scalp, and a low moan escaped him. the warmth of your touch was intoxicating, but then your hips shifted, brushing against the hardness in his boxers, and jisung gasped into your mouth.

“shit,” he whispered, his voice shaky as his hips jerked up in response, pressing himself against your core. the friction drew a needy, broken moan from you that he immediately wished he could record and replay for the rest of his life. his head fell back slightly, breaking the kiss.

“how does that feel?” you murmured, grinding your hips against him again. “hm?”

“g-good… so… go—” his words trailed off, his eyes snapping open as he caught you unclasping your bra. the sight of you now bare from the waist up making him forget how to breathe.

he’d seen you topless before on your livestreams, but this was something else entirely. now, you were right in front of him, real and tangible. your breasts were perfect, even better than his wildest dreams, and his hands twitched on your hips, desperate to touch but unsure if he even had the right to.

“go ahead,” you said softly, as if you’d read his mind.

jisung hesitated, the thought flashing through his mind: am i even worthy of this? but before doubt could take hold, you grabbed his hands, guiding them to your chest.

“fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his fingers trembling as they cupped the warm, supple flesh. the softness beneath his palms made his head spin, and he instinctively squeezed, earning a quiet hum of approval from you. “so… perfect,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, shyness seeping into his tone.

you smiled at him and leaned in closer, pushing your chest into his hands. his thumbs grazed over your nipples, and you bit your lip, the simple action making his heart feel like it might pound out of his chest.

“you’re doing so well, sungie,” you praised, your words wrapping around him like a warm blanket. he felt his confidence grow just a little, his hands becoming bolder as he continued to touch you, mesmerized by how soft and warm you were.

“c-can i…?” he trailed off, his lips brushing against your collarbone as he spoke.

“go ahead,” you encouraged, and his mouth descended hesitantly, leaving a tentative kiss on the curve of your breast. the feeling was so new that he couldn’t stop the soft groan that escaped him.

jisung pressed his lips against your skin again, this time lingering a little longer. he felt the soft rise and fall of your chest beneath him, and it was mesmerizing. the warmth, the way you smelled faintly of vanilla, and the soft sighs you let out as he kissed along the curve of your breast—it was too much for him, and not enough all at once.

you tilted your head back slightly, giving him more room, your fingers still tangled in his hair as he kissed lower. his tongue darted out, shyly tracing your skin, and he heard you hum in approval. the sound sent a jolt straight through him, and his hips involuntarily bucked up into yours, pressing against your core.

“that’s it, sungie,” you murmured, your voice like velvet, guiding him. “you can touch more if you want. i don’t bite”

the teasing lilt in your voice made his entire face flush, but it also spurred him on. he let one hand wander, sliding up your side hesitantly before it cupped your other breast. his touch was still timid, his thumb brushing over your nipple experimentally. when you gasped softly and your hips shifted against his, jisung nearly lost it.

“does that feel good?” he asked, his voice barely audible, shaky and full of nerves.

“mhmm,” you nodded, your lips ghosting over the shell of his ear. “you’re doing so well.”

the praise made him braver, and he leaned back slightly to look at you. your hair was slightly mussed, your lips parted, and your eyes were hooded as you gazed down at him. you looked like a dream, like something he’d only ever dared to imagine in the privacy of his own room.

jisung’s breath came in shallow pants as he watched you. your skin was soft, and your scent filled his senses, making it impossible for him to think about anything else.

“take these off too,” you murmured, your fingers tugging lightly at the waistband of his boxers.

his entire face burned crimson as he nodded, his hands shaking slightly as he hooked his thumbs under the fabric and began to slide them down. his heart was pounding so hard he thought it wasn’t normal, but the thought of stopping never even crossed his mind.

you leaned back just enough to give him room, watching as he pushed the boxers down his hips, his movements awkward and nervous. once he kicked them off completely, he sat there, completely bare before you, his hands fidgeting at his sides as he avoided your gaze.

“hey,” you said softly, reaching out to tilt his chin up so he’d look at you. “don’t be shy. you’re perfect, sungie.”

his eyes widened slightly at your words, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

“you’re really cute when you’re flustered, you know that?” you teased, leaning in to kiss him again. this time, the kiss was slower, deeper, and jisung melted into it, his hands finally moving to rest on your waist.

you shifted in his lap, pressing your core against him, and he gasped into your mouth, his hips jerking up instinctively.

“s-sorry,” he stammered, pulling back slightly, his face a deep shade of red.

“don’t apologize,” you said, brushing your fingers through his hair. “you’re doing so well.”

your praise made his chest swell, and he swallowed hard, his eyes flicking down to where your bodies were pressed together.

“touch me more, sungie,” you encouraged, taking his hands and guiding them up your sides, over your ribs, until they were back on your chest.

his fingers trembled as they cupped you, his thumbs brushing over your nipples experimentally. when you let out a soft moan, his confidence grew, and he leaned down to kiss your neck, his lips trailing lower until they found the curve of your breast.

“just like that,” you whispered, your fingers threading through his hair again as he continued exploring your body.

your hands slid down his back, your nails grazing his skin lightly, and jisung shivered under your touch. his own hands started to roam more boldly, tracing the curve of your waist, the small of your back, and finally settling on your ass.

you shifted again, grinding down against him, and he let out a choked moan, his head falling against your shoulder as he tried to catch his breath.

“you’re so sensitive,” you murmured, kissing the side of his neck.

“i… i c-can’t help it,” he stuttered, his voice shaky. “you’re… you’re just…”

you smiled, pressing a finger to his lips to hush him. “it’s okay, sungie. just let me take care of you.”

he nodded, his hands gripping your hips tighter as you continued to move against him. every touch, every kiss, every sound you made drove him closer to the edge, and he didn’t know how much more he could take.

you leaned back slightly, reaching between your bodies to tug your panties down, and jisung watched with wide eyes as you discarded them. he couldn’t believe this was happening, like any moment he might wake up in his bed, alone and frustrated.

“are you okay?” you asked, your voice soft as you looked at him.

“y-yeah,” he said quickly, nodding. i just can’t believe this is real, he wanted to say but he was scared he’d sound like a loser.

“wait a second,” you said, sliding off his lap, the sudden loss of your weight making jisung let out a soft, involuntary hiss.

his eyes darted down, and he realized—much to his horror—that his dick was now standing proudly at full attention, no longer constrained by his boxers. in his mind, it was almost mocking him, like it was giving him a thumbs-up for finally letting his hand rest after all those nights of longing for you. jisung felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over him, and his first instinct was to grab a blanket or pillow to cover himself.

just as he was about to reach for one, his attention was drawn to you. you were bent over by your bedside drawer, rummaging through it with an air of purpose. then, you pulled something out, holding it up for him to see… a shiny silver wrapper.

a condom.

jisung felt like his heart stopped beating for a second as he stared at the little package in your hands. something about seeing it made everything feel impossibly, undeniably real.

“ultrathin… so you can feel everything,” you said casually, your voice laced with amusement as you turned back toward him.

goodness, she’s gonna kill me. jisung thought, swallowing hard as he swore his dick twitched at your words.

“you’re quite big, sungie…” you mused, crawling back onto the bed with a grace that made his breath hitch. you moved toward him slowly, your eyes dark with intent. the way you approached him reminded him of a lioness stalking her prey.

“let’s see if it fits,” you added, a playful smile on your lips as you straddled his thighs.

jisung was completely frozen, his pulse pounding in his ears as he watched you unwrapping the condom with practiced ease. your hands moved so skillfully, the shiny material glinting faintly in the light. then you paused, looking up at him with a question in your eyes.

“may i?” you asked softly, your voice almost sweet, though your expression held that same predatory confidence.

“y-yeah,” he stammered, the word barely audible as he nodded frantically. in his mind, he was screaming, please, yes, god, yes.

the corner of your mouth quirked up as you leaned forward. your fingers were gentle but firm as you grasped his dick, and jisung couldn’t stop the shuddering gasp that escaped his lips. you slid the condom over him with ease, the mix of precum and the lubricant on the condom making it glide smoothly down his shaft.

it fit perfectly.

“fits you like a glove,” you murmured, your tone teasing as you leaned back to admire your handiwork.

jisung didn’t know what to do. his hands twitched at his sides, his mouth slightly open as he tried to breathe through the overwhelming sensations coursing through him.

then, without warning, you slid up his body, settling back onto his lap. the sudden pressure against his dick made him let out a low, shaky moan.

“ready?” you asked, your voice softer now, your hands resting on his chest as you leaned forward.

jisung swallowed hard, his wide eyes meeting yours. “y-yeah,” he croaked, his voice cracking slightly.

you lifted yourself slightly, aligning him with your entrance. jisung was trembling under you, his hands gripping the sheets as if holding on for dear life.

"breathe, sungie," you whispered, stroking his chest gently. his wide, panicked eyes met yours, and you smiled softly to reassure him.

he nodded quickly, forcing himself to take a shaky breath. when he exhaled, you sank down just a little, the tip of him slipping inside. his whole body jerked in response, a desperate, broken moan escaping his lips.

“fuck…” he muttered, his head falling back against the pillow. his grip on the sheets tightened, his knuckles turning white. the heat, the wetness, the feeling of you was unlike anything he’d ever imagined.

“good?” you asked, tilting your head as you hovered above him, testing his reaction.

“s-so good,” jisung gasped, his voice trembling. “so… tight… warm…”

you couldn’t help but smirk at his reaction, but you didn’t tease him. instead, you lowered yourself further, slowly taking him inch by inch. jisung’s breathing grew heavier with every movement, his hips twitching upward involuntarily as if his body couldn’t help but chase the sensation.

"easy," you murmured, pressing a hand against his chest to still him. "let me take care of you."

jisung nodded dumbly, biting his lip as he tried to stay still. his eyes were fixed on you, watching every little movement you made in adoration.

when you finally took all of him, you let out a soft sigh of relief, adjusting to the stretch. jisung, on the other hand, looked like he was seconds away from imploding.

"you're... you're perfect," he blurted out, his voice breaking with emotion.

you laughed softly, leaning down to brush your lips against his. “you’re pretty perfect yourself, sungie.”

you gave him a moment to catch his breath, your hands gently running up and down his sides to calm him. when you started to move, lifting yourself slowly and sinking back down, his head shot up from the pillow.

“oh my god—” jisung groaned, his hands flying to your hips instinctively. “oh my god, oh my god…”

his grip was unsure, as if he didn’t know whether to hold on tighter or let go. his hips bucked slightly beneath you, and you gasped at the unexpected movement.

"you're doing so well," you encouraged him, your voice breathy but soothing. you leaned forward, kissing the corner of his mouth before nipping at his jaw.

jisung whimpered at the praise, his hands sliding up your sides as he tried to ground himself. his lips found yours again, and this time, he kissed you with a bit more confidence, his tongue shyly seeking yours.

you rolled your hips against him, drawing a strangled moan from deep in his chest. his reactions were so genuine, so raw. it made your heart race just as much as his.

“faster,” he whispered against your lips, surprising both you and himself. his cheeks flushed red immediately after the word left his mouth.

you smiled, pressing your forehead against his as you obliged, picking up the pace. his grip on your hips tightened as he tried to meet your movements, his breaths coming faster and more uneven.

“you’re close, aren’t you?” you asked softly, brushing his damp hair out of his face.

jisung nodded rapidly, his eyes squeezed shut as his whole body tensed beneath you. “i—i can’t… i can’t hold it,” he stammered, his voice breaking with desperation.

“it’s okay,” you reassured him, your voice gentle. “let go for me, sungie.”

the permission was all he needed. with a choked cry, jisung’s hips jerked upward, and he came harder than he ever thought possible. his whole body trembled as he gripped you tightly, burying his face in your shoulder as he rode out the waves of pleasure.

you held him through it, running your fingers through his hair and whispering soft words of encouragement. when his breathing finally started to slow, you leaned back slightly to look at him.

his face was flushed, his chest heaving, and his eyes glazed over as he tried to process what just happened.

“you okay?” you asked, stroking his cheek gently.

jisung blinked up at you, a dazed but blissful smile spreading across his face. “y-yeah,” he breathed, his voice hoarse. “that was… amazing.”

you laughed softly, leaning down to kiss him again. “you did so well, sungie.”

he blushed at the praise, his hands resting on your thighs as he tried to steady himself. “thank you,” he mumbled shyly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“don’t thank me yet,” you teased. “we’re just getting started.”

the next day...

“sungie,” you said, your voice soft and slightly breathless. you were sprawled out on your couch, your notes and research scattered across the coffee table, all but forgotten.

“last night’s livestream got the most views i’ve had in months,” you murmured, looking down at him. “they must like you.”

jisung looked up from between your legs, his glasses fogged and slightly crooked on his face. his lips were swollen and glistening with your arousal, his cheeks flushed a deep red.

“really?” he asked, only half-interested. but before you could respond, he dove back down, his eager mouth finding your folds once again.

a sharp gasp left your lips as his tongue traced over you. this was already the second time today he’d eaten you out, and he’d only gotten better since his first attempt this morning.

earlier, you’d guided him through it, patiently showing him what felt good, what didn’t, and how to read the reactions of your body.

jisung’s long tongue worked wonders, licking and teasing in ways that had you gripping the cushions for dear life. when he sucked gently on your clit and flicked his tongue over it in quick succession, your thighs quivered against his head. he took note of the way your hips bucked involuntarily, doubling down on the action and making you cry out.

“you’re such a quick learner,” you panted, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging lightly to spur him on.

he hummed against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your core. the sound was almost self-satisfied, as though he was proud of the way he had you unraveling beneath him.

the combination of his inexperience and raw enthusiasm was intoxicating. jisung wasn’t just doing this to please you. he genuinely wanted to understand every inch of you, to learn what made you tick and what brought you to the edge.

and he was succeeding.

your thighs clenched around his head, your body arching off the couch as he alternated between languid strokes of his tongue and quick flicks against your most sensitive spot. “s-sungie, oh my god,” you whimpered, your grip on his hair tightening.

he pulled back just enough to look up at you, his glasses messier than ever. “does that mean i’m doing good?” he asked, his voice slightly muffled, and for a second, his shy, eager-to-please demeanor broke through.

you let out a breathless laugh, your hand cupping his cheek affectionately. “you’re doing amazing, baby.”

his lips quirked into a bashful smile before he returned his attention to your core, determined to coax another round of trembling moans from your lips.

jisung park, you thought as you teetered on the edge of bliss, was quickly becoming an overachiever in the best way possible.

a/n: my inbox is always open for any comments about the fic! thank you for reading <3

[trickbxbes]

𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝘿𝙖𝙚-𝙃𝙤 & 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙨 𝙃𝙀𝘼𝘿𝘾𝘼𝙉𝙊𝙉𝙎

DAE-HO

It’s been a long day for Dae-Ho. Struggling to pay off his debt made the man a busy bee. He was working himself to the bone, wanting a better life for you, his loving girlfriend. And so, you decided to give him a little treat.

He comes home, giving a little, “I’m home!” in the studio apartment you share. When he makes it to the bedroom, his jaw literally drops agape.

You’re there, sitting in the middle of the bed, candles lit in the dimly lit room. You wore a baby pink thin dress. “Welcome home, honey.”

He’s at a loss for words as he approaches. Gently touching your body to see if he was seeing the real thing. His hands gently caressing your hips with his thumbs.

Before he accepts what’s actually in front of him and mutters a, “This is all for me…?” He kisses up your collarbone to your neck, pulling you into his lap.

For someone so shocked about your surprise, he was staring more at your eyes than anything else. He looked like a loyal puppy, adoring you. You didn’t mind too much.

Gentle kisses turn into steamy make outs as he manhandles your body. “So pretty… so so pretty…”

Enjoy lots of foreplay before he gets to the real thing. He wants to admire how cute you look for him as long as possible.

Muttering soft words of affirmation, wanting you to truly know how much he appreciates this, and you

But don’t get me wrong he still fucks you like he means it, making sure you kept on the dress.

THANOS

Choi Su-Bong spent the day at the recording studio, embracing his persona ‘Thanos.’ But no matter how much attention and fame he got, you were always the one he wanted to go back to. No other girl could compare to you.

You saw him through the parts of him no one else could consider seeing into. The deep depression he fell into from being in so much debt. But recently, his newest song got him nominated for the Korea Music Awards. You thought now more than ever did he deserve something special.

He gets home, entering his loft that you both had to move into when his debt got worse. He rubs his eyes, tired from dealing with the press. He shuffles through his pockets, pulling out a baggy of a few pills. He stared for awhile, considering his next course of action. But then he heard the music.

He followed it to find you laying on your shared bed. A pink led light setting the mood. You wore a purple two piece lingerie, laying against the pillows with half lidded eyes. “Welcome back, babe~”

A small smirk immediately forms on his lips. “Baby?”

He’s on you in an INSTANT. Kissing and nipping at your skin, leaving marks down your body. “Fuck. I dunno why you bothered, I’m just gonna rip it off anyway—“ Yeah, you don’t know what you were thinking.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” He’d claim.

You’re face down in the pillows screaming his name as he rails you from behind. He had one hand on the back of your head to keep you there. He’d have your brains fucked out and your guts rearranged. “That’s it… that’s my girl.”

[madamechrissy]

Losing Control Now

Pairings: Mobster Gojo x bartender F!reader

Summary: Something about running the Gojo mafia just makes Satoru so bored. Boring, boring boring. Sure, he loves money, he loves women, he loves snorting snowy powder off their bodies. He loves the power that comes from it- but he's just bored. That is, until he stumbles upon you, the brand new bartender that makes him pause, falter, and then soon he becomes obsessed, with knowing you, in every single way. Paying off your mom's debts and working two jobs, you're exhausted, but something about this pretty Mob boy just makes you... excited again. How far in are you, and how far is Satoru in the mafia world? All he knows, is he must have you.

CW: Sexual tension, eventually explicit sex, mafia themes, drug themes, violence, obsessed ass whipped ass Satoru Gojo, oral sex, possessive Gojo, drug use and drug dealing - lowkey Yandere fkn Gojo hehe. Light angst, some fluff, heavy smut, lots of teasing. This part- Lots of plot. drinking, making out, oral sex (f recieving) teasing, overstimulation, hurt/comfort, light angst, say hi to a couple other characters from JJK hehe -WC this part- 7.3k wc

That Gojo art is by michi_ia on X!!! based on Satoru from Pour it Up (Sukuna's story) You can read it alone, but I think it enhances this- Reblogs//comments appreciated if you enjoyy!

<<<part one - masterlist - playlist- Part three>>> (coming soon)

Part two

Satoru sees your text two days later, bright and early that morning, as he and Sukuna, Toji and Suguru all pull up in a limousine to the Kamo manor. His dopey grin is so big Suguru notices clearly, leaning over to peek at his screen, as Satoru hides it to his chest, glaring behind his black shades. “Look at that face. Ya gonna ask her out now?”

“Yes… but she just texted me.” Satoru smiles again, thinking of you, how are your mornings, do you rush right to work? What’s your routine? How did you sleep after the other night, when you touched your-

“Focus, Satoru, you can simp later.” Sukuna grumbles, clearly upset at being away from his own girl, but at least he’s with her, Satoru still barely even knows you yet, and he already can’t stop thinking of you.

“What do I say back though? She said… good morning.” Satoru says with another bright grin, Suguru snorts in laughter.

“Ever thought of good morning back?” Satoru sighs, shaking his head.

“Too lame.”

“Try- ‘good morning lets fuck- hah!” Toji mentions.

“Don’t say that, shit! No wonder you’re single.” Sukuna says now, earning Toji flipping him off as they brush off their suits, standing in front of the opulent manor while Satoru can’t get his eyes off the text.

“She put hearts.” Gojo says dreamily, eyeing your text with literal hearts in his baby blues.

“So say- good morning, brat. Works for me.” Sukuna shrugs, and Satoru sighs again.

“Brat already? I don’t know…”

“What about- ‘good morning pretty’ hmm?” Suguru suggests, Satoru snaps his fingers now.

“That’s it, hah!”

Satoru: Good morning pretty.

“She’s typing! Oh, she hearted it too!” Satoru earns the eye rolls of all his friends as the butler opens the doors, and Satoru just wants to talk to you, but now he has to shove his phone in his slacks pocket with a pout.

You: I hope you have a great day, I’m excited to see you later.

You can’t stop the giggle as you read his text, pretty, something about being called that by Satoru Gojo meant far, far too much. You can’t wipe the giddy little smile off your face as you step into the elevator at work, holding two coffees, one for you and one for your boss, Mr. Nanami. You see him then as you look up from your phone, he gives you a kind smile.

“Good morning, Mr. Nanami, oh here!?” He takes his cup with a little nod of his head.

“Thank you, Miss…” He says your last name but it trails off because you’re still thinking of him, of Satoru Gojo.

“Oh, I meant to ask, is it alright if I take Friday off? I hope it’s not inconvenient at all to you.”

“Finally taking a day off, hmm? Of course. I don’t know why you haven’t, you have PTO days.” Nanami frowns a bit as he eyes you, so clearly exhausted, but always well put together with a pretty smile.

“I get those as extra pay at the end of the quarter though.” You murmur, and damn if you don’t need the extra. The elevator dings open and you both walk towards the office, everyone loves Nanami, he’s about the best boss you could have, he pays well of course, just nothing was getting you out of the debt you’re in.

“I think personal time is important, trust me.” He says softly, as he stops in front of your desk, while you start up your computer with a little yawn.

“I know but I need the money and…”

“We could do a review early? If you want. I can add to your salary.” Nanami murmurs softly, you raise your brows then, mouth opened.

“You would?”

“I’m not sure what situation you’re in…” He frowns a bit. “But of course, let’s do a review early after your shift today, that sound good?”

“Yes, I really appreciate it.” You smile as you start sipping coffee, tapping into the many, many tasks you take on so frequently. Nanami is kind and a raise would be great but he does not know the amount of money you owe.

Not much is putting a dent in it aside from the bar on top of this job, this job is truly for just your current bills and a little bit of food for yourself, if you were a normal person, it would work, it would be fine, but of course you’re not. You got stuck with this debt, from the woman you…

You thought she loved you, well…

You wanted her to.

Your mother has always been cold toward you for your life, dad long, long gone because he couldn’t handle her. You suppose that you felt almost sorry for her, as her addictions caused her downfall, the few moments you had with her being so sweet to you, when she got her fix, when she got her high of winning something for once, and she’d take you out.

Ice cream, something sweet, and give you that attention, so when she broke down on the phone with you and begged you to come back, of course you did, you always did exactly what she asked, what anyone asked, really. Firmly a people pleaser, you tended to give all of yourself to everyone all the time and ask for nothing in return, truly. 

Work goes by and occasionally you peek at your phone, a little fluttering feeling when Satoru writes you back after a couple of hours, you were so unsure if perhaps you’re a little too bold with the good morning text. But it took everything in you not to, after the two of you texted again yesterday, just little things, not bringing up anything that happened however.

It felt like some little fever dream almost, how it all happened, how you had fallen into Satoru so desperately over the phone, images flooding your mind, as he made you feel so wanted. You tended to avoid hookups, as your heart got invested in people, but you’ve never felt anything like his sapphire eyes rushing over your body, counting down the minutes till you saw him.

Satoru: You get that day off?

You: I did, actually.

Satoru: Call me when you’re off work, pretty please?

You flush at your seat, he’s so cute you can’t compute the dangerous world he is apparently in, he’s so sweet, but then… you saw there’s much more to him already than you likely know. You take a moment before answering him with a little heart react to his message, worried about letting yourself relax for even that moment, you are finally making progress with these debts, you can’t slack off.

You clack away at your keyboard, you deal with people as they walk in with a smile, you keep that smile even as people call to yell at you on the phone, taking several breaths to keep going. Finally, five is coming, and Mr. Nanami is at your desk, hands in his tan pockets, you thought he was very handsome and he used to even make you blush, truly.

The girls in the office giggle about him, but he’s always a professional, however as far as you have seen and known, and gave you a job so quickly when you needed it the most. “Come on in the office so you’re not staying too late past five.”

“You do hate overtime, hmm?” Nanami chuckles as you follow him inside the office now, meticulous and clean aside from some scattered papers, he leans back in his seat and gestures for you to sit.

“You really work hard and I see it, I usually do yearly reviews but I added another four thousand to your yearly salary, I hope it will help some?”

“It definitely will, you didn’t have to make an exception.” As sweet as he is, and it’s a good raise for this sort of work, it’s not close to really helping, but you feel he wants to help, and you’re so thankful to have good people around you, it makes you more emotional. Nanami is running his own business and does well, but you know he’s not greedy, he’s more than fair.

“No worries, you are fast becoming my go to girl.” He smiles just a bit at you, clearing his throat a little nervously then. “You have another job you said?”

“Just a few nights a week, I promise it won’t affect this job.”

“Can I ask, why a twenty five year old woman, no kids… please don’t take offense… needs two jobs? And never takes a day off?”

You sigh then, looking away. “It’s too long of a story.”

“I can help more if…”

“No, no please, you're already too nice of a boss.” You lean over now, hand over his, and watch a blush on his cheeks rise, making him just a little less hard edged than you’re used to. “I’m fine, Mr. Nanami, the story is one I don’t share much, maybe outside of work some day.”

“Would you like that, to go out-”

“Oh… that sounded horrible!” You gasp, and he chuckles, shaking his sandy blond head.

“I didn’t take it as an advance.”

“Okay thank goodness. Personal talk- I think I have a guy I like? But how do I even do that, when I work so much? Advice?” You ask, he rubs the back of his neck, leaning back and chuckling softly.

“No, I haven’t figured that one out myself, and you work more than me. Is this the day off, a date?”

“No!”

“It’s fine, you know, it’s your time.”

You sigh now, peeking at your phone. “Yes. Maybe? I think we are gonna…It’s been a while, ugh.”

“Well then you go have fun, and the next check will reflect the raise, okay?” He stands then, and you hug him on impulse, he tenses.

“Sorry! You’re just… thank you.” You murmur, smiling and blinking back tears.

“It’s nothing, let me know if you need more help, okay?” He pats your back awkwardly, and exhales just a bit. “He’s a lucky guy, a date with you.”

“Oh… you’re being too sweet.” You tuck a lock of your hair back shyly now, perhaps even last week you’d melt for that comment, but Satoru has fast become an obsession in your mind, one you don’t want to tell him about, what if he thought you were way too much!? “Thank you so much, truly.”

“Think nothing of it, go on now.” Nanami internally curses himself for not asking you out before, but then he has to be professional, curious as you swipe a couple tears off your pretty face and head out.

What sort of trouble were you in?

“Hey, Satoru…” You can’t stop your fingers from calling him, even as you’re in your car, hearing his deep, sensual voice on the other end while you drive.

“My little secretary is off work hmm?” He teases, you roll your eyes as you come to a red light, smiling.

“Your secretary, hmm?”

“Bet you look sexy in your little office dress.”

“You think?”

“I know. What time is your shift at the club tonight?”

You let out a yawn, shaking your head and sipping on coffee- you sip on some sort of caffeine all day long, you just hope your heart will hang on. “It’s not until nine, actually, what time will you get there?”

“Nine.”

You giggle now. “Mr. Gojo!”

“I’ll try to be there by nine, a pretty bartender there makes the best drinks.” He teases, untying his tie as he speaks to you, putting you on speaker and unbuttoning his dress shirt slowly.

“Should I be jealous?” You ask softly, pulling up to your home then and tensing, sick to your stomach when you see it.

Your mother.

“Shit…”

“What is it?” Satoru demands, panic filling him, he does not know all about your situation yet, was it with bad people- was it-

“I have to go.”

“Don’t hang up the phone, I…” You pause now, seeing her standing right on your porch, you’d changed the locks on her.

“I promise I’ll see you soon, shit it’s the one thing keeping me… I really want to see you.” You murmur, gulping down emotions.

“Are you okay!?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll text you when I’m there if you’re not yet. I really… I wanna… I have to… I have to go.” Is all you manage softly, making Satoru panic.

“Who’s there?” He demands, you blink then just a bit.

“Just don’t worry, I’m a big girl. See you soon.” You hate hanging up on him, but you can’t have him hearing what is going to ensue, surely the sheer amount of baggage would be too much, even for the lead of the Gojo family.

Your mom is staring at you, tears down her face. “You changed the locks to my house?”

“It’s not your house anymore, it’s all in my name, your debt, your mortgage, shit your refinance, all of it.” You say then, clutching your purse as you step up, the phone ringing, and you know it’s Satoru, but you can’t have him see you this way.

What if he hated you for this? Were you too harsh-

“It is still my fucking house that I let you have.” Your mom has the audacity to shove at you now, you blink in shock, seeing her rail thin arms and sighing.

“You’re using again, huh?”

“So what if I am? Can’t even come here now, because you pay some shit?”

“Pay some shit!? You’re in two million in fucking debt! I’m running on empty working my damn ass off so they don’t kill you and our whole family!” You’re screaming even as it’s a whisper, heart racing as your anger rushes through your veins, and your mother scoffs.

“Mei is giving you a payment plan-”

“The interest is thirty percent. You’re lucky I don’t disappear, is that what you want, to deal with it yourself?” Your mother blinks in fear now, stepping back just a bit as if things are going through her head.

“I’m sorry, sweetie.” Her tone changes, as she adjusts her body position, knowing how to tug your heartstrings. “You do work hard, I see you got a car all by yourself, looks kind of-”

“I swear to god if you even mention that I bought a car to go to my two jobs like I’m doing so well…”

“Just let me in for a bit please?” You exhale and unlock the door, she steps into your home that you barely spend time in, the one you have mafia and Mei’s minions frequenting- to give you friendly reminders.

You kick off your shoes, seeing the frantic texts from Satoru and feeling horrible, you hardly know him and he cares so much more than the woman that birthed you, already peering at everything in your home as if she has some eye for its worth. Like she’d pawn it, as she had literally everything she got her hands on.

“Miss you, sweetie.” She says now, scratching up her arms, and reaching for a cigarette.

“Don’t smoke in here.” You pause her, and she glares, then thinks better of it, surely she knows that if she gives you any affection you fold.

“Of course, oh so proud of you, look at this little award, for your office job already?”

“It’s just a licence certificate. Do you need something?” You ask then, and she starts putting on the waterworks.

“Just a few hundred, do you mind? You’re doing so well you know, and Steve he broke up with me, so I’m with Jenny and-”

“Just… here.” You snatch up what you have in your wallet, sighing and handing it to her. “It’s all the extra cash I have right now.”

She frowns at it, counting it and raising a brow. “Only two hundred fifty?”

“Are you serious!?” Your jaw sets, walking to your fridge and calculating your hours before you grab the bottle of wine, sipping it right out of the goddamn bottle as she begins.

“I always took such good care of you, god your father didn’t even want me to have you. Maybe we’d be together-”

“If I wasn’t born. Yeah I know the spiel.” You sip more wine, hating every second of your fucking existence, all you want is to have that day off, to have this damn date with someone that brightens your world, but here you are, as she comes closer.

“And who do you have but me? It’s not like you have a man, at your age I had your father, I had kids-”

“At your age the economy had not gone to shit first off, and I have no time for a man when I have a bitch mother’s debt to take care of.” She smacks you then, right on your cheek, echoing in the kitchen, even as tears stream down your face.

“You’d disrespect me like this!?”

“Want me to tell Mei you visited?” You ask then, raising a brow, and she gasps, stepping back.

“You would never do that to your own mother.”

“I’m pretty fucking close. Why don’t you get a job?”

“My job was raising you-”

“And you did like shit at it. My brother is homeless and a druggie, and I’m drinking wine from a bottle giving my bully my lunch money.” You’re laughing then, erratically, shaking your head. “Fuck, this is rich.”

Your mother steps back as she watches you have a full fucking break down, as you laugh so hard you have to double over, the mixture of laughter and tears actually seeming to terrify even her.

Good, you think.

“Honey…”

“You know what, next time you come I’ll tell them. I’ll call them, they are dying to know where you are.”

“You’d never!”

“Try me.” You whisper, jaw locked now, and she finally darts out, but not before she stares at you, slowly as if for two seconds she realizes what she’s doing, then she disappears, door slamming and leaving you alone.

What is this life?

The phone rings once more and you answer it, sniffling. “Mr. Gojo, I can’t talk right now, I’m sorry.”

“What fucking happened!? Can you just share your location?” Satoru’s already desperate as he slips into his car, his driver waiting for his orders.

“You can’t see me like this.” You whisper miserably, sipping more of the cheap wine. “I am a fucking wreck, please don’t.”

“Do you live far from the bar?”

“No…”

“Then let me come see you.”

“Why?” You whisper, and he exhales, heart pounding as he hears it, the pain in your voice.

“I just want to see you. Please?” You sigh then, and he hears a ding, as you share your location.

“I’m telling you, I’m not good company right now.”

“I’m on my way.” As he hangs up, you take shaky hands, struggling as you go to the mirror, swiping at the pesky mascara trails from work makeup that’s been on for hours. You try to put yourself together, taking down your hair clip, letting it fall and frame your face, cheeks flushed, eyes puffy from tears.

When Satoru gets there, half your cheap bottle is down your throat, and you’re just a little wobbly as you open your door, Satoru presses you inside then, shutting the door quickly, your back against the cool wood. His hand cups your face, brushing over your heated skin, as you look up at him, like some fucking dream in the night, you take several breaths, just standing there.

“Shit, you are the prettiest mess I’ve seen.” He murmurs then, and you giggle through a fresh onslaught of tears, your hands trailing up his chest.

“You’re like the only good fucking thing right now, I know that’s too much. We just met… I know I sound insane.” Satoru shakes his head, leaning lower. “I’m going to scare you with all my baggage.”

“Can’t scare me, baby girl.” He murmurs, leaning even closer, tasting the wine on your breath, sighing. “Having a party?”

“A pity fucking party.” He laughs softly with you again, this stranger damn near gets you just looking at you, just standing here. Your body relaxes, your heart thrumming in your chest.

“Think I haven’t had a pity party?” His eyes are glimmering, so beautiful you fall into them then, hands trailing down his chest, lower, watching his snowy lashes flutter, his lips part.

“Want the long version or the short?” You whisper, and Satoru tilts his head, hands now trailing down the nip of your waist, still in your little work dress, and god you do look so sexy in it.

“We have a couple hours, and I have a driver, why don’t we just…” His big hands unbuckle the belt at your waist. “Relax, hmm?”

“Yeah, you want my cheap ass wine Mr. Gojo?” You tease, he smirks then, nodding.

“Show me what you have, think I’m bougie?”

“Sure do.” You giggle then, noses touching before you press your lips against his, and it takes everything in him not to just fuck you right on your door, to hold himself back and just let you flow, to be what you need. He kisses you though, so deeply, lapping at your lower lip, his long elegant fingers enwrapped in your loose hair.

“God, the cheap wine tastes good on you.” He says, and you sigh, pressing a kiss on his pointy chin. “Wanna get out of this work suit? Sexy as it is.”

“You want me undressed, huh?”

“What do you think?” Satoru presses against you, and you feel him, hot and hard against your tummy, making you gulp and tremble.

“I think you’re too perfect.”

“Pshh, me? You haven’t gotten to know all of me yet.”

“I want to. Shit, I-”

Satoru slams his lips on yours again, a hungrier kiss now, sliding the little houndstooth pattern blazer right off your shoulders, tongue slipping into your mouth deeper. “I wanna know you too.”

“It’s insane. This?” He just nods, the fact that you feel the same is entrancing him, luring him in. “Let’s get you better wine, I have a stash.”

“Oh yeah?” He grins as you lead him into your kitchen, bending over in that business skirt of yours, making his jaw clench, as he eyes your home, it’s clean and quiet, a little empty, hard to figure you out. And he wants to, with every part that wants to lift your skirt and fuck you, is a part that wants to know you.

“This here, it's like at least thirty bucks.” He snorts then, because obviously he’s drinking hundreds a bottle, but to you he knows it’s something. You nervously look down just a bit, lashes casting shadows on your cheeks, still a little streaked from tears. “But I swear it’s so good.”

“I’ll drink it all up.” His words make your heart race, your mind go blank as he smirks, full lips right at you, and you try to clear your mind.

“Two hours before work, right?”

“And you’re going to sit on my lap again, you know. So you can get a buzz if you need one, shit I got you, okay?” He cups your face again, just understanding, as you grip his wrists, thumbs running over the raised veins. “There were plenty of nights I needed to lose myself, don’t feel ashamed.”

Your shoulders relax, god you think it’s the first time they’ve untensed in ages. “You’re like… no one I’ve ever met, Satoru Gojo.” You kiss him once more, then turn, pressing against him, leaning over to grab the corkscrew. “Can you open it while I get changed?’

“Sure thing, sweets.” You without hesitation trust him, a girl full of mistrust, as you walk over to the bathroom, quickly freshening up, wiping down a bit, putting on the little lacy bustier and stretchy shorts for the bar, far more comfortable than your business attire.

When you walk back out, Satoru’s got two glasses poured, handing one to you with a lopsided grin, so charming it destroys your addled mind. It takes so much not to jump him, to get on your knees for this man, as he leans so casually against your kitchen counter, and you stare.

“Oh god I’m a rude host, here! Sit, sit.” You grab the glass with a thank you, having him sit on the dining room table seats, ones that never get used, to the point you’re swiping dust he notices with a frown.

“Don’t eat much, do you?”

“I do nibble but it’s on the go, but I never sit down here.”

“You should.”

“Sit?”

“Sit, eat, relax. Shit, baby girl, the fuck is this?” He murmurs, gesturing around the home. “I’m gone a lot but even my place is more lived in.”

You sigh now, sipping the tart wine, leaning close, as his hand is on your bare thigh, hot and warm and tempting, you have to bite back a moan of pleasure. “I got into some debt with this lady. Her name is Mei Mei.”

Satoru freezes, raising a brow. “Mei Mei?”

“Do you know her?”

“She works for me. So fuck yeah I know her. How much?”

You shake your head, as he sips the wine, fruity and sweet, and he glares over the glass at you. “You’re not going to make a dent in it.”

“How much?”

“A shit ton, okay? I’m doing okay making payments, but she ups the interest, and… Satoru, I’m so tired, fuck. I’m so tired.” You burst into tears now, shaking as you do. “I’m sorry, I don’t do this, I keep it together but-”

“Fuck that, and fuck her. And fuck whoever did this.” He sets your glass down, brushing tears off your face. “Who did this?”

You take shaky breaths, sniffling. “My mother. She’s who was here… begging for money again.”

“She got you in debt with goddamn Mei Mei?” Mei ran with the Zenin, the Gojo, the Kamo family, whoever brought her the most income at the time. He dealt with her, but he never knew her depravity.

Debts were debts, he hated collecting them.

But this is you.

“She asked me to come home, she acted l-like she l-loved me for once…” Satoru aches for you then, so broken, so beautiful, as you pour your pretty soul to him. “Don’t feel sorry for me, please don’t.”

“I won’t, I won’t. But can I help you? Please.”

“I won’t take your money-”

“Fine, let me help. Some other ways. Please?” He asks again, and you’re shaking your head, earning his scowl. “You’re a stubborn brat.”

“Brat!?” You glare, as he glares, but then it’s too much, the wine, the atmosphere, his intent as he leans even closer, two fingers under your chin.

You want him.

No, you need him.

“Yeah, a brat, thinks she’s gotta do it all on her own, why? Why not let me help you, I want to.”

“But you don’t know me…”

“How can I get to know you if you’re bouncing around from a 8 to 5 to a night job, hmm?” You sigh, shaking your head a bit, earning him pressing his fingers a little more firmly. “I’ll talk to her, negotiate if you will.”

“You’re gonna… negotiate?” Your brows draw together, as Satoru smirks a bit, thanking god you couldn’t read his mind of what he plans on doing with bitch ass Mei Mei, doing this to you.

“I’m very convincing you know, she had a thing for me too back in the day. I’ll pour out all the charm.” You frown then, eyes narrowing, and his grin widens. “Are you jealous?”

“Maybe…” You whisper, leaning even closer now, his hand moving to cup your face instead, lips hovering over your ear as he leans in.

“Think she has shit on you? Think anyone does?”

“Mr. Gojo… you can’t mean all that.” He sighs, inhaling that perfume of yours, fainter than at the bar, mixing with your scent, as he presses a kiss to the shell of your little ear.

“I don’t say shit I don’t mean, understand?” You exhale, and he pulls back, gripping your chin again. “Say yes, like a good girl, hmm?”

“A good girl, but I thought I was a brat.” You tease, smiling tremulously, he eyes those teeth marks on your lips, thumb pressing on them, watching your eyes dilate, as he throbs for you.

“You can be good for me, can’t you?” You nod then kiss him fully, but he pauses you, taking a breath. “Let me talk to her?”

“I will. And… god, thank you. Really.” You whisper, before he pulls you back against his hard body, as you wonder, what does it look like, you feel it, the muscles under his suit as your hands run up and down over the starch dress shirt, feeling every line and bulge of his perfect form. “I should show you…”

“Show me what, sweets?” He murmurs softly, and then you shock even him, down on your knees in a split second before he can even blink, his lips part in surprise as you rub his bulge over his slacks, eyeing him under your lashes hungrily.

“How thankful I am for you.” You go to unzip him, and Satoru’s cheeks decorate pink, a pretty dusting across those high cheekbones, when he stops you, huge hands gripping your wrists, now you pause, blinking a bit. “Oh my god, this is too soon for you? I should-”

“Shit, no, god it’s like some fantasy… I…” Satoru’s blushing furiously now, as his cock leaks precum in his boxers, but he’s pulling you up, standing now and grabbing your waist, watching you shyly shift your hips. “I have never turned down a blowjob, and fuck I want one from you, but…”

Satoru picks you up like you’re nothing then, and you cling to him, still shyly burying your face against his neck, making him chuckle, as he grabs your ass, moaning at how good you feel, thighs wrapped around his hips. You’re grinding on him as you peck kisses across his neck, and he’s setting you right on the kitchen table, you pull back to look at him.

“I think you need to be taken care of, hmm?” He whispers now, a hand slipping down your breast, your head falls back, thumb brushing a nipple that perks up for attention against the pad of it.

“Taken care of?” Your pussy is drooling when he slips fingers over it, over your shorts, watching as your hips buck up, as you moan softly.

“You, pretty bartender,” Satoru kisses down your chest, as he presses your thighs open further, feeling your heat and groaning. “Had a shitty day. A shitty month, probably, huh? Shitty year?” You nod weakly, gasping as his sharp teeth nip your neck, sinking against delicate flesh.

“Y-you could say that, Mr. Gojo.”

“Then let me make it better, yes pretty? Say yes for me.” You nod eagerly now, when he smirks down at you, while your hands grip his jacket. “Words, sweetheart, use them for me.”

“Yes.” Your little whisper ends him, when he continues to rub circles over the thin spandex, soaking it completely.

“Want me to drink your pretty pussy up?” You nod again and he squeezes your throat just a bit, blue eyes glinting. “Words.”

“Yes… y-yes, please.”

“Such a good girl, just look at you.” He pulls back with glossy fingers, dripping from you, pressing them against your lips, watching hungrily as you suck. “Where’s the bedroom?”

You point weakly, gasping again as he just carries you like you’re nothing, until you’re in your room, scattered clothes and books you never manage to read strewn across your dresser and nightstand, as he lays you on your back now, the bed gently bouncing. He drags your shorts down your thighs now, moaning when he sees you for the first time, your perfect, glistening pussy.

“No panties, you so slutty, sweetheart?” You shake your head, taking several breaths now, while he lays on the bed, creaking under his weight, pressing kisses to your inner thighs, as your hands entangle in his silky locks. “You never wear panties to work at the bar?”

“No.” You answer softly, before moaning as his breath hits your clit, and he clicks his tongue.

“That’s not gonna do, I don’t want anyone seeing this, but me.” He practically growls those words, looking at you under those white lashes, as he parts puffy lips, watching your little clit twitch, grinning at the sight, cock pulsing damn near. “Do you understand me, baby?”

“Y-yes, Mr. Gojo.” He presses a kiss, chuckling as you jerk from it, both hands pining your hips down. “Please!”

“Satoru, it’s Satoru. While I lick you up, hmm?” He laps a stripe with the flat of his tongue up from your pretty hole to your little clit, spreading you wide, watching wetness just ooze out of you, exhaling at the prettiness.

“Satoru!” With his name on your lips, he loses his mind, burying his face against your overheated cunt, drowning in your taste, your flavor, your wetness, as you pull at his hair, arching your hips. “Oh my god, Satoru…”

“Mmm, that’s it baby, fuck my face. Good girl.” He huffs now, too fucking sexy, he feels too good, you feel the tension in your body completely release, replaced now by your tummy clenching, while his hot tongue works you, flicking your clit on the underside as he leans his head to the left fingers digging into the plush of your thigh. “God you taste so fucking yummy.”

Satoru Gojo is spreading you wide, like no one has ever done, has ever seen you like that, spitting right on your pussy and groaning, now using two fingers two spread it, sliding into you. You’re screaming out as his long fingers stretch you too much, he pulls one out, easing the stretch just a bit, the pressure building slowly while he eyes your reactions.

“You’re so tight baby.” He huffs in wonder, pressing his finger up on that spot, eyes so bright they’re impossible to look at, flicking his tongue right back on your clit again, loving as you pour down his mouth. “Mmm…”

He’s drinking you up, working you with one finger until he can get both in again, this time the stretch burns good, and he’s hitting this spot over and over, making you fucking dizzy. “Satoru, f-fuck! S-so good I…”

“Look at you, god.” He presses up again, curling his fingers in your slick walls as you start convulsing around him. “So fuckin’ pretty.”

“Satoru I’m… so close I…” He laughs just a bit, peering up at you, chin coated in your slick, as he kisses back down your thighs.

“Already, baby…” He slurps you up, obscene. “Lemme spend my time.”

You’re whimpering now, you can’t just make it stop, even as he slows his fingers, even as he laps at your clit even lazier, slower, enjoying every reaction he elicits from your body, your mouth. He’s so hard he’s pressing his cock into the matress, at your fucked out face, at your glazed eyes and swollen lips, then back to the perfect pussy twitching around his digits.

“Please…” You’re begging, hands pulling at his hair, just making him harder, more ready as your honeyed arousal makes your pussy sound so wet in your little bedroom.

“Cum for me, then, sweetheart, so easy just for me?” You just nod eagerly, and he kisses your clit, curling his fingers just so, watching you shatter for him. Your back arches off the bed, pussy right in his face as you grind on it, using him, making him moan against you.

Your room spins as it washes over you, as he hungrily laps your cum up, right out of your hole, face buried against you, you’re weakly crying out when he eases his fingers out now, sucking more of you off them, the sight so sexy you can’t take it. You have tears of pleasure running down your face as you ease your hold on his hair, and he exhales again, watching your engorged clit twitch again.

“Oh my god, Satoru… what even w-was that?” You mumble, drunk off his fingers, his mouth, he chuckles then, shaking his head.

“I’m not done yet.”

“W-what?”

“Gonna ruin my perfect meal? I’m hungry.” He’s latched back on your clit, sucking it in his mouth now and humming, you’re cumming again, already close to blacking out, stars bursting behind your eyes while this gorgeous man in a three piece suit won’t unlatch his mouth.

“Too much, shit, shit- Satoru…” You’re hiccuping as he draws that second orgasm out, moaning softly, damn near ready to cum in his three thousand dollar slacks, the cold metal of his Rolex leaving dents against your thigh, while you try to cling to him, to this realm. “Satoru, it’s so much…”

“Mmm, never tasted anything so sweet.” He whispers softly, as you yank on him, finally getting him to leave your pulsing, soppy little cunt alone, dragging him up to kiss you, tasting yourself on his lips, lapping yourself off him. “Fuck…”

“Let me make you cum, please.” You whisper eagerly, rubbing his cock, and he wants to, oh god he does, but he knows what you need, even if you don’t.

He takes your hands, pressing them over your head now, shaking his head as snowy locks fall over his forehead. “I told you, this is for you. You need to feel good, we have all the time for me.”

You blink back emotions, still dizzy from the orgasms, from falling into his perfect blue eyes, his big hand squeezing your wrists as he pins you under his weight. “You’re just… not like anyone. Ever. You’re so…”

“Amazing? Handsome? Perfect?” You smile at him as he eases off you, pressing little kisses against your cheeks, your forehead.

“All of that but…” Words get stuck in your throat, as you wonder what’s a swirl of your addled mind, and what’s more. “Special.”

“I’m special, hmm?” Satoru teases, and you just nod, so serious he notices, kissing your lips once more. “Special to you?”

“Yes. Is that okay to say?”

“Just had your pussy in my face, I’d say it’s fine.” You both laugh softly then, as he releases your wrists, and you cup his face, just in time for your alarm to go off, earning your sigh as he leans over, smacking at it. Your hands dart curiously under his dress shirt, your touch making him gasp.

“There is time to-”

“Not tonight, sweetheart. Don’t ask again, I’m not exactly a gentleman so this shit is hard enough.” You giggle breathless as he eases off you now, helping you sit up and picking up your shorts. “These are ruined now, shit.”

“Your fault! I have more, though.” You bend over, giving him a far too perfect view of your ass, as you slip a pair of panties on, peeking back with a little smile. “Better?”

“Much better.” He checks his watch then, as you finish getting yourself together. “You about ready?”

“Yes, let me just get my things.” You’re walking out with him, locking up, as you pause, seeing a whole ass limo, eyeing him. “I get to go in the limo huh?”

“You do.” He chuckles as his driver opens the door for you both, and you yawn just a bit, head on his shoulder in the back of the car.

“Satoru, can I just… rest a minute?” You murmur, he nods then, leaning back and pulling you against his chest.

“The orgasms knock you out or the sixty hours a week? Or the wine?” He teases, you glare cutely at him.

“All of it, mostly that mouth.” You peck another kiss, and he’s stroking your back then, opening his mouth, then closing it, then opening it again.

“Can we… go on a date? Like a real date?” He asks nervously, hearing you snore a moment later, he glares at you, with your mouth open, knocked the fuck out. He pulls you a little closer, god his cock hurts so bad, he doesn’t even have time to take care of this either.

When you pull up to the club, he lets you stay a few more minutes, as he just watches you, hating to wake you up, but finally he knows you all have to go in. He gently shakes you, and you shoot up, comically, making his heart flip for a moment in tenderness.

Shit.

Special, he’s special to you, already?

You make him feel special, as you swipe at your face, flushing in embarrassment. “Oh my god, I zonked on you!”

“You needed a power nap.” He teases, brushing back your hair, fixing your top just a bit, and you sigh, smiling.

“I did.” You both walk in the club now, thrumming as the dancers spin on the poles, and the lights start flashing, while you get prepared to work, but Satoru lingers just a moment, while you’re putting your hair up, grabbing bottles and sipping on a red bull, so tired you break his heart.

Fuck he needs to fix this shit, and the sooner the better, you are so clearly running on empty, and you deserve so goddamn much. He can still taste you on his tongue, so sweet god, he tries to pull together the myriad of emotions. You smile so sweetly at him, starting to pick all the sweet ingredients.

“Want something sickeningly sweet, Mr. Gojo?” You murmur, as his friends now walk out and gesture to him, he leans close now, against your ear.

“Nothing is as sweet as your pussy.”

“Satoru…” He exhales, nipping at your ear with his teeth, before pulling back and smiling. “You’re so cute.”

“Hush. Here, the sweetest I can make.” You hand him the drink then, and he moans, sipping it up.

“Perfection. Alright, they’ll call you back soon, okay sweets?” You nod as he lingers for a moment, taking a breath before he walks back, and enters the room, with the dim lighting, seeing someone he doesn’t recognize. He’s shyly allowing a stripper to sit on his lap, blushing and stuttering, dark hair and tattoos on his neck and face.

He looks at Satoru then, clearing his throat, as Sukuna sits back on the couch, crossing an ankle over his knee. “The new head of the Kamo family as of today, Satoru.”

“What happened to…”

“Died.” The man murmurs, but Satoru hasn’t ever seen this dude.

“How are you the head of the family and not-”

“I left a long time ago, but I’m the oldest son. I grew up with… my mother instead.” The man’s voice is soft, as he sighs. “Choso.”

“And we hope to have a good relationship with you, Choso.” Sukuna says, a threat lilting in his voice, as Satoru leans against the wall, hands in his pockets.

“As do I.” Choso speaks, he’s hard to read Satoru notices, out of place here, turning down cocaine with a shake of his head, hands nowhere near the girl grinding on his leg damn near.

“You’re new at this, then.” Satoru says, and he sighs, nodding. “No worries, I know all about family responsibility I don’t want. But… first things first.” He looks at Sukuna then. “Mei Mei.”

“What about that bitch, god she annoys me.” Sukuna grumbles, taking a shot of tequila as another girl walks in, sauntering toward Toji.

“She needs to be dealt with. And, it’s personal.”

Surprise this is gonna be way longer than I thought! lmaoo no one is surprised I'm sure. There is too much PLOT dammit hehe. At least six chaps are in play ;) I look forward as always to your comments they make me smile so big! Also tysm for 8k!

Taglist #1- @thejujvtsupost @moonchu @thikcems @yenayaps @luvmichu @antisocialinlw @sukunadckrider @gojoslefttoenail @genticcs @sukuxna0 @saitamaswifey @monster-effer @gradmacoco @bounie1 @bestelizabeth1 @alygator77 @arabellasolstice @naina326 @1satoruu @silvarys @feliaeae @jkslaugh97 @nerdybouquetofkittens-blog @simp-plague @ladyneisa @distractionforyourthoughts @erintaro @ninikrumbs @yesdere @stargirl-mayaa @wstaley2 @just-lilita @lady-of-blossoms @genshingeeksworld @yaoishipper19 @angryflowerwitch @strawberrysluttt @emochosoluvr @bluebrry05 @trishiepo0 @gina239 @bunheadusa @hazelll-trisk @simperisksksk @jud3thedude @breadsbasket @shhhhhhxoxo125 @gojosoups

[rbfclassy]

more ex husband toji plsssss

BABY DADDY TOJI! — TOJI FUSHIGURO

SYNOPSIS...nsfw and sfw headcanons of baby daddy!toji

INFO...baby daddy!toji x fem!reader, toji is also your ex husband, little bit of angst, some fluff, toxic!toji, reader and toji have a daughter, toji is a good dad, possessiveness, arguing, oral (f!receiving), p in v, mentions of marriage, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

baby daddy!toji who is quite literally annoying, always bothering you when he comes over to pick up his daughter. He’ll make jokes about you, constantly poke you. You swear he’s like a big man child

baby daddy!toji who constantly has women wrapped around his arm every few months, and as much as you tell him you don’t want your daughter around that he never listens to you because why would he?

baby daddy!toji who is also your ex husband, little do you know he always keeps his ring in his pocket

baby daddy!toji who still has a soft spot for you. No matter how many arguments or fights your guys get into he is always right behind you in every situation. You called him one night crying because you were stranded at a bar, scared. Toji nearly ran out the house barefoot to come and pick you up

baby daddy!toji who isn’t afraid to say you still look sexy to him. Hand always caressing your cheek before you swat it away and ask him, “don’t you got a girl?” Oh yeah, he does

baby daddy!toji whose relationships never last longer than 2-3 months because they’re simply not you. He knows he’ll never be able to replace you but he still tries (he ends up giving up)

baby daddy!toji who spoils his baby girl, buying her toys, clothes, shoes, whatever she wants. He loves seeing her cute smile and chubby cheeks because she looks just like you

baby daddy!toji who hates how toxic you and him are to each other which ultimately ended up in the downfall of your marriage. But besides that, you two were perfect together and he misses that

baby daddy!toji who loses his shit when he find out through gojo that you’re going on a date with someone. He pulls up to your house banging on the door before you swing it open. He’s barging in, slamming your door shut and y’all instantly get into a heated argument. “Don’t be slamming my doors, Toji! You don’t pay for shit in this house!” You yell, a scowl on your face. “I don’t give a fuck! When were you gonna tell me you were fucking somebody else?!” You weren’t even fucking the guy, you didn’t even get to go out on a date with him yet.

baby daddy!toji who let’s you go out on your date, but he knows he ruined your mood, mentally cursing at himself for being so possessive over you. He can’t help it. That’s why he’s texting you ‘even if we aren’t together you’re still mine’ while you’re on your date. He doesn’t give a shit if the guy sees

baby daddy!toji who shows up to your house unannounced, early in the morning to apologize. “I’m sorry for how I acted, mamas. Let me make it up to you, yeah?” Your knees are pushed to your chest as his tongue is lapping at your clit, long drawn out moans filling the room, your fingers entangled in his hair. “Mmmm, I hate you so much,” You whimper, legs twitching as the pleasurable sensation. “Shhh, just let me make you feel good.”

baby daddy!toji who has your favorite flowers sent to your door as another apology, a note written on the small card asking if you forgive him yet

baby daddy!toji who gets sad whenever your daughter asks why you and him aren’t together anymore, letting a sigh because he knows she’s too young to understand. It’s times like these where he wishes you and him could be happy together. “Let’s just say daddy has been mean to mommy a few times.”

baby daddy!toji who always shows up to the parent events and shows. His baby girl is being featured in a play? He’s there in the audience with you. She’s getting an award for student of the month? He’s right there congratulating her. If he can’t be the best boyfriend, he sure as hell is gonna be the best father

baby daddy!toji who notices the moments when you feel insecure about yourself, noticing the days when you’re quiet and more reserved, noticing how you hide away from him when he picks up your daughter. You’ve been having insecurity issues ever since giving birth to your baby girl and toji hates that you can’t see how good you look all of the time. “That outift looks good on you, might have to give Mia another sibling,” he says with a smile. “Toji!” You gasp, playfully smacking his arm. But he sees that smile on your face and hopes he made your day a little better

baby daddy!toji who got too drunk one night and crashed at your place in the middle of night. He was drunkenly babbling as you were taking care of him. “I miss us. You were my girl. You still are my girl,” he spoke. His words made you freeze as you stopped and stared at him for a moment. “You’re drunk, Toji.” You shook your head. He meant every word he said

baby daddy!toji who pops up when he gets a late night text from you asking him to come over. He’s there in a flash, never able to deny you. You two on each other the minute he walks through the door, sloppily kissing each other while he carries you to the bedroom

baby daddy!toji who can fuck you slow and sensual or fast and rough. His favorite position is missionary so he can look at your pretty face while you cum on his dick for the third time. “Missed me, mamas?” He asks, breathless. You nod with a whimper, eyes searching his, the tip of his dick rubbing against your sweet spot with each thrust of his hips. “Oh fuck, I missed you too.”

baby daddy!toji who swears up and down you’ll be the best he’s ever had, literally wifey material in his eyes. You’re beautiful, amazing personality, a good mother, makes him laugh, and you got good pussy. It’s all worth it when you drive him crazy or make him upset. What more could he ask for? One day he’ll put a ring on it

baby daddy!toji who is big on cuddling. This man is a tank, beefy as hell. Who are you to deny a cuddle from him? He’ll wrap you up in his arms after a bad day or after sex and you just fall asleep instantly

baby daddy!toji who stares down any man that look at you when you ask him to take you to run some errands. If looks could kill, multiple people would be dead. He doesn’t like how they’re practically stripping you with their eyes and having sex with you in their head. Only he can do such a thing—in real life too

baby daddy!toji who gains the courage to talk to you and ask if you’re willing to try again with him and be a family. You’re his forever girl no matter the stupid arguments or situations. He’s scared of what you’ll say but he just needs to know or it’ll always be a dying question in his mind. So, would you?

[foreveia]

director’s cut ⤨ tsukishima kei

⨭ genre; college!au, childhood best friends to lovers, fluff, minor angst like its there if u squint

⨭ pairing; tsukishima kei x fem!reader

⨭ word count; 17.3k

⨭ description; when you convince your best friend into being the male lead of your film project, you don't expect for it to make you question your whole relationship.

⨭ warnings; profanity, alcohol, smoking

⨭ a/n; this has been in the works for quite a while now and it is defff the longest fic ive ever written (not saying will ever write yet bc who knows), but i think i like it. i am a sucker for best friends to lovers, ESPECIALLY childhood best friends to lovers, so i hope u guys like it :)

song i listened to writing this: 'being your friend' by katherine li

one. 

The universe has a top-tier sadism kink, and its living proof is Tsukishima Kei. 

You know this to be a fact because 1) aside from his bachelor of science in anthropology, he’s pursuing a PhD in sarcasm and uses his learnings primarily to eviscerate your self-esteem, 2) The Umbrella Academy doesn’t come out with another season for another few months so your life choices have become the pinnacle of his entertainment, and 3) despite being your Bestie™ of twelve years, he still makes you beg for his benevolence, even if he does have the annoying habit of showing up when you need him most.

It’s deeply unfortunate that he’s all you’ve got, universe be damned. 

“Name your price. Cake? Head? Money? C’mon, just tell me what you want!”

Tsukishima peers at you over his laptop with disdain, the blue glow of his pirated PDF of The Communist Manifesto reflected in his glasses as he squints at you. His lips are pursed in annoyance, face scrunched up as he seemingly contemplates whether to put himself out of his misery or squash you to little smithereens. “What I want is for you to go away.”

True love, honestly. The golden standard for kindness and affection. A picturesque image of camaraderie. Lo and behold, everyone, your best friend.

“Oh my god, Kei, please,” you whine, hands clasped together as you look up at him through batted lashes. He doesn’t even flinch, looking completely unimpressed—how pretentious of him. “I’ll literally pay you whatever you want.”

The blond rolls his eyes, looking back down at his laptop screen as he briskly retorts, “I’m not a prostitute, idiot. You can’t pay me to star in your stupid movie.”

He ignores the several judgmental stares that turn in your direction at his response. You, on the other hand, are praying the library’s studious occupants don’t assume you’re a pimp preying on broke college students. 

In all honesty, you probably should’ve chosen a less populated spot than the library’s first floor seats in front of Crow’s Coffee, especially if you actually had any intentions to get work done. But with just a few months left until the end of second semester, you have way too many dining dollars left and not enough places to spend them; in this capitalist world, you refuse to let more money simply be pocketed by the greedy hands of the school. It’s how you managed to tempt Tsukishima out of the comfort of his apartment in the first place—with promises of free coffee and shortcake, courtesy of your four-star meal plan. 

“Technically, that’s a pornstar,” Yamaguchi supplies unhelpfully from his spot buried amongst stacks of math and science textbooks. He’s the only one of you who’s effectively completing his assignments because he won’t pass his classes unless he’s in constant fight-or-flight mode (you thank every deity you can think of that you weren’t born to be a STEM girlie). “You know you’ve got the time to, Tsukki.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to,” he shrugs. You promptly deliver a swift kick to his shins. “Ow—well, now I really don’t want to.”

“Be honest, do you hate me?” you sniff dramatically, letting your head hit the table with a soft thud; Yamaguchi pats your head tantalizingly, as if you’re a fuckin’ child, and you want to scream at them both.

“Yes,” Tsukishima snorts, not even bothering to glance up. “It’s your own fault for being a film major.”

You shoot him a glare, but no threats come to mind because he’s sadly right.

Being a film major is basically being in a perpetual state of begging: begging your friends to star in your work, begging your professors for an extension because your lead decided to quit the night before shooting, and begging your parents for forgiveness because they didn’t send you to college to become a “professional movie watcher.” 

Sure, you get to watch artsy film-bro movies for homework, but you also spend half your time pulling all-nighters to finish scripts and survive solely off a diet of Shin Ramyun and its complimentary mushroom flakes. Tsukishima likes to tell you how you reek of constant desperation; you concur because no one has a real penchant for the arts these days. In a world where everyone dreams of being the next Spielberg, nothing is truly original, and you’re just barely holding on with the kind of boundless optimism that can only be fueled by sheer willpower. 

So here you are, offering bribes of cake, coffee, and cold hard cash, trying to convince your best friend—who has the emotional range of a teaspoon and the patience of a sleep-deprived toddler—to star in your magnum opus so you can pass the semester. You’d ask Yamaguchi, but he’s got civil engineering exams and an actual promising future to worry about. Meanwhile, your future, desperation and all, hinges on whether Tsukishima will stop being a pain in the ass for ten minutes and agree to be your leading man.

Luckily, because you’ve been #pairbonded for twelve years, you know exactly what buttons to push. You let out a sorrowful sigh, before loudly declaring, “Fine. I’ll just ask Shoyo then.”

That does it. Tsukishima’s jaw twitches, his fingers pausing over the keyboard; you know him too well because the mere thought of the red-head starring in your movie is enough to make Tsukishima reconsider his stance. You never did understand their beef, but Yamaguchi tells you that they’re just inverse idiots, which seems pretty likely considering they’re actually both easily provoked and highly competitive. He looks up from his laptop, irritation flashing in his eyes. “Absolutely not,” he says flatly, closing the lid of his computer with a decisive click.

Yamaguchi snickers, clearly sensing victory in the air. You, on the other hand, suppress your triumphant smile and put on your best wounded-puppy look. “But he’s so eager to help,” you say, your voice dripping with faux innocence. “He’ll do anything for me.”

There’s a moment of silence as Tsukishima contemplates this. His fingers drum lightly on the table, a sign that he’s weighing his options. And then finally, he lets out a long, suffering exhale, head rolled back in exasperation. “Fine. I’ll do it. But I swear to God, if this film ruins my life, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

“You already hold me personally responsible for most things,” you chirp, practically beaming with delight. “But thank you, Kei! You’re the best.”

Yamaguchi looks up from his mountain of textbooks with a bemused smile. “That was a quick turnaround. You’re like a married couple.”

“Only in spirit, ‘Dashi,” you purr, blowing him a playful kiss. The freckled boy pretends to catch your kiss and presses it to his cheek in a dramatic gesture; no wonder he’s your favorite. He really is such a sweetie.

“Stop encouraging her,” Tsukishima groans, pushing himself up from the table. “And stop saying things like that. People might believe you.”

“Wow, not you denying our love,” you scoff, sticking your tongue out at him. “I want a divorce.”

The blond ignores your threat. “I need air. Bye, Tadashi.”

He gives you an unimpressed but telling look, so you roll your eyes and promptly start packing up your things, shoving notebooks and pens into your bag haphazardly. The last things you do are run over to give your beloved ‘Dashi a light squeeze goodbye, swipe your laptop and Owala into your arms (because you are a broke college student who cannot afford to get a new laptop and your New Years’ Resolution is to be more hydrated), and skip to catch up with your friend, already halfway out the door. The evening air is a refreshing change from the stuffy library you’ve been in for hours; you’re sure if you had any free hands right now you’d bend over and grab a handful of grass, just for the sake of it. 

‘Tis is the life of a film major, you guess. You’re bitchless with a capital ‘B’ and spend the other half of your time with your equally bitchless friends. And all they do is abuse your dining dollars and mock your miseries in life, so honestly, it’s a good thing you’re in school to write and produce rom coms. You can live vicariously through them, at least.

But whatever. Pathetic love life aside, right now, Kei has agreed, and you’re already one step closer to a successful final project. 

two. 

The walk home with Tsukishima is as comfortable as ever, the silence between you two punctuated by the soft crunch of gravel under your shoes and the distant hum of campus life winding down for the night. He doesn’t pull his headphones on, but he also doesn’t start up a conversation; being alone with him is simply being able to exist. 

He’s walked you home everyday since the beginning of middle school, when his mom found out he hadn’t waited that day and you had walked home alone in the dark. From your bedroom window in the house next door, directly mirroring his, you had overhead her lecturing both him and Akiteru about the importance of manners—and to Kei’s credit, he’s dutifully picked you up after your classes and chores ever since, even if he grumbles the whole way home. For some reason, this habit carried over when you, him, and Tadashi committed to the same university, even if it meant standing outside a frat house at two in the morning because you got too fucked up to walk home on your own. You puked out half your stomach on his sweatpants, and he’d made you do his laundry for a month as punishment, but he still waits patiently at the café by frat row every time you get coerced to go out by your roommates. 

As you reach your dorm building, Tsukishima steps aside, holding the door open for you; you roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips. “Such a gentleman, Kei. What would I do without you?”

He smirks, letting the door swing closed behind him as you head towards the elevator. “Probably get kidnapped or something. You’re too trusting.”

“The only person I’d let kidnap me,” you say dreamily, pressing the button for your floor with a dramatic swoop. “is Oikawa.”

You’re only half joking because Oikawa Tooru, the president of Sigma Epsilon Iota (SEI), is in fact extremely pretty and volunteered to be in your film last semester. You later found out that it was because he’s an astronomy major and thus felt compelled to star in your movie (which, yes, was titled Stars); he convinced you to spend many extra weeks in After Effects making sure the sky imagery looked ‘as perfect as him.’ He’d actually been a really good sport about learning his lines and cues, but you’re pretty sure neither you nor your 2014 Macbook Air would survive that experience again. 

“Right, fall for the guy who does keg stands at every party,” he drawls, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Smart.”

You huff and stick your tongue out at him, earning yourself a half-shrug and an amused snort. The elevator ride is brief, and soon you’re at your door, fumbling with your keys; as always, Tsukishima stops and stands to the side, waiting for you to invite him in, because again, manners. You turn to him with a playful grin. “You know, you don’t have to stand there like a sentinel every time. You can come in.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that an invitation?”

You laugh, pushing the door open and gesturing dramatically. “Oh, please, come in. Make yourself at home.”

Not that you had to tell him that. He slouched past you and kicked off his shoes as soon as you gave him the cue. He’s honestly just as relaxed here as in his own studio, already stretching and making himself comfortable on the couch with your favorite decorative pillow tucked under his head. 

You two have settled into a pretty comfortable routine. It’s a Friday night, so chances are that he’ll yank out his phone, scroll through his email. You’ll put something on the TV and he’ll critique it through mouthfuls of popcorn, only to have it ruin his appetite for whatever you end up ordering for dinner; later, if he’s tired enough, he’ll give up on the thirty minute drive home and collapse next to you in your Twin XL. It’s a mess of limbs and limited space, but you two manage—you always have. Your suitemates, Yukie and Kaori, have already texted that they’re bringing home Chinese takeout for four, so you decide against your usual snacks because your twig of a best friend needs actual sustenance.

Swinging by your room to drop off your bag and laptop, you take a pit stop in the kitchen on the way back to pluck two bottles of soju from the fridge. You toss him one; he catches it neatly and observes the flavor with scrutiny. 

“You hate strawberry,” he points out. “Why are you drinking this?”

You shrug, walking over to plop down on the couch by him. “Because it’s your favorite.”

His head is right up against your thigh because he’s too tall to fit on your shitty university furniture, even with his legs half-dangling off the armrest. You click through Netflix, nursing your drink with a slight pout until you make the executive decision to put on The Bachelor.

“Trying to prove you can love both me and Oikawa at the same time?” Tsukishima comments, watching the screen as he pops open the cap of his bottle. He’s referring to Ben telling both Lauren and JoJo he loved them in season 20; you lowkey love the series and he highkey loves the drama. There’s just something about people finding their supposed soulmates after knowing each other for like a month that really makes life entertaining.

“Don’t ever compare me to Ben,” you frown, because you think he was a massive asshole for doing that to JoJo and then not even picking her in the end. These bitches really be throwing each other under the bus. “You’re so mean to me.”

“You just bribed me with strawberry soju.”

“It’s not bribery if it’s out of love. Plus, I can tolerate it for one night,” you roll your eyes, taking a sip of the drink. “So, you wanna know what the film’s about or not?”

He looks at you over the rim of his bottle, eyebrow raised. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not really,” you grin, patting his head affectionately. “Okay, so, the film. It’s a romantic short about the progression of a college relationship. Like, from the first meeting to the final stages of being together. It’s dreamy, very aesthetic—y’know, all those soft hues and hazy shots. A smoking scene thrown in there somewhere.”

“Sounds like every other indie film ever made.”

“Shut up. This one’s different,” you insist, lightly tugging on a strand of his hair. “It’s got a great cast—Yachi’s playing the female lead.”

He nods, seemingly interested. “Yachi, huh? What’s my role, then?”

“The male lead, obviously,” you say, not even bothering to look away from the screen. The opening credits have just finished and you’re instantly sucked into the magical world of Malta; God, what you would do to be there right now instead of in your overpriced residence complex.

“Oh, great. Falling in love. My specialty,” he deadpans, taking another swig of his drink. “What do I have to do?”

You hum absentmindedly. “Learn the lines, cues, whatever. Yachi said she’s free tomorrow, so maybe we can get coffee with her in the afternoon and run through the working script?”

Tsukishima groans. “We already have to get started?”

“Yeah, there’s a lot to do,” you retort, giving him a gentle punch on the shoulder. He frowns up at you disapprovingly, and you mockingly frown back. “Get over it. You’re my main star.”

He shakes his head as you both watch the girls line up in knight costumes to compete in the episode’s extra-time competition. Modern television is truly unreal. “Why did I agree to this?”

“Because you love me.”

You flick your eyes from the TV to him, gauging his reaction. He’s rolling his eyes, of course, but the small smile and faint blush creeping up his cheeks tells you everything you need to know.

three. 

The prior night, your suitemates eventually came home with the promised takeout; Kaori even brought home boba orders courtesy of her friend Bokuto closing shift at the campus Broba Tea, so it’s safe to say you have the best roommates ever. 

Turnabout is fair play, so you and Tsukishima agreed to clean up—therefore, even after your suitemates retreated to their rooms, you two lingered behind in the living room, sorting away recyclables and compost into their respective places and watching your favorites get eliminated. Friday nights like this are nice: just you and your best friend, making three-pointers with empty soju bottles into the blue plastic bin. Even after you finished the season’s finale, you put on some nature documentary (courtesy of his Disney+ subscription, which he exclusively uses for National Geographic like a fuckin’ weirdo) and argued about which ugly fish looked more like each other the whole hour and forty minutes. You must’ve crashed no earlier than one A.M., but the specifics are hazy: you don’t actually remember falling asleep.

So the miserable blaring from your phone right now is truly, in short, cruel. Apparently, you forgot to turn off your alarm for your usual Friday 11 A.M. lecture last night, because you’re currently being rudely awoken at a completely unnecessary time on a Saturday morning. Groaning, you slap around the bed until your fingers find your phone, silencing the alarm. As you roll over, you find yourself face-to-face with Tsukishima, who’s occupying the other half of your twin XL bed, looking every bit as disgruntled as you feel. His hair is a mess, and there’s a faint crease on his cheek from your pillowcase; his arm is slung loosely over your waist as he grumbles and tries to hide his face from the light. He must’ve carried you to your bed after you dozed off on the couch.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters. His voice is hoarse with sleep. “Why do you set alarms on days you don’t have class?”

“I forgot to turn it off,” you mumble back, burying your face in your pillow. “Sorry for waking you up.”

He sighs, rolling over onto his side and squinting at you as he makes out the hazy figure of your silhouette through his shitty impaired vision. “Move over. Your greedy ass is hogging all the space.”

Ah yes. Truly, a dreamboat. You roll your eyes, but scooch closer to the wall nonetheless; his grip tightens slightly around the curve of your back as you make space, and you can’t help but smile into your pillowcase. Despite his grumpy demeanor, there’s a warmth to his presence that you’ve grown to appreciate over time. 

“Better?” you ask, your voice muffled by your cotton pillow.

“A little,” he grumbles. He shifts closer, his body warmth seeping through the thin fabric of your pajamas.

You lay there in comfortable silence for a few moments, listening to the quiet sounds of the morning outside and the soft rhythm of his breathing. Your head kinda hurts; you haven’t woken up this early on a Saturday in forever. Maybe in another life, you’re born as one of those matcha latte girls who get up at 6A.M. for a run and have their lives sorted out by noon, but in this one, you love procrastinating and Netflix far too much to have yourself in order like that. Truly, you run off caffeine and spite and Google Calendar reminders—and as if on cue, your phone buzzes with a reminder about the meeting with Yachi. 

Tsukishima, recognizing the sound of the notification, leans over and hands you the device to read, giving you a minute before he asks, his voice soft to match the stillness of the room, “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

“Crow’s with Yachi at one,” you murmur back. Normally, you’d be giddy to meet with your beloved angel of a friend (you would literally give Yachi your whole life), but truthfully, you don’t really want to get out of bed. Kei’s fingers, lightly tracing patterns on your back as he processes the information, feel so comforting and warm. You’re tempted to cancel and spend the day here, in bed, with him, but you know just as well as he does that you can’t.

“Right,” Tsukishima sighs. “Guess we should get up soon, then.”

“Mmm, in a bit,” you reply, savoring the warmth of the moment. “Just a few more minutes.”

He doesn’t argue, instead allowing the silence to stretch on comfortably. But eventually, it does slow. “We should get going, or we’ll end up being late,” he says, though he makes no move to get up.

You groan in response, but you know he’s right. 

“Fine,” you mumble, reluctantly sitting up. The room is still dim, the curtains drawn, and you glance over at Tsukishima, who’s also making an effort to get up; he grabs his glasses, neatly folded on your nightstand, and puts them on, blinking back into consciousness. He looks far too composed for someone who’s just gotten up, but of course he would be.

What a lovely, familiar sight. You hope this, these Saturday mornings with him, never end.

***

The campus is slowly waking up, students milling about, heading to the library or the better of the two dining halls, the one that serves freshly-made waffles on Saturdays. The other one only serves the world’s runniest scrambled eggs that’s held together with the most plasticky cheese, so even if it’s a ten minute walk further, it’s worth it.

You secure a table near the window; the dining hall overlooks the square and you like watching the way people narrowly dodge the campus seal. It’s a superstition that you won’t graduate if you step on it—and especially now, in the second semester when everyone gets pretty desperate, you gotta respect the grind. Tsukishima has already gone to order at the counter with your dining card, so you’re left alone to ponder about your impending project; you go over the working script in your head, running the lines and dialogue over and over. 

Your thoughts are interrupted when he returns with a tray loaded with waffles, two matching cups of coffee, and an extra serving of fruit for you—because he claims you need to eat healthier. You think he should eat more, period, but whatever.

“Wow, I’m impressed. Fruit? Did you find it hard to carry all this food without your arms falling off?” you tease, as he takes his seat across from you.

He rolls his eyes, picking up his fork. “Someone has to make sure you get at least one vitamin today.”

You stick your tongue out at him and dig into your waffles because you never wake up early enough on a Saturday to actually have them often. 

“When we finish eating, I need to go back and get my laptop,” you announce over a mouthful of waffle, ignoring the disgusted look Tsukishima gives you. “And then we’ll head to the library.”

“I am begging you to chew with your mouth shut,” he groans, throwing a well-aimed napkin at your face. You catch it with a dramatic flourish and quickly dab at your mouth, before you ball it and toss the napkin back at him; he ducks violently, almost knocking over his cup of coffee. You fight the urge to laugh at him and instead stab your fork into a piece of cantaloupe. 

“You need to eat,” you declare, promptly sticking the fruit in his direction. 

His eyebrows arch slightly as he glares at the fork held out toward him, but after a beat of silence, he leans forward and bites off the melon with a grumble. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” you beam, popping a grape into your own mouth. “So, Crow’s at one. We can read for like, an hour? And then you’re free to go home and do whatever you do.”

“Study.”

“So boring,” you sigh. “Don’t you have any friends, Kei?”

He scoffs, sawing off another meticulous square of waffle. “I have you. That’s enough socializing for a lifetime.”

“Lucky me, I guess,” you roll your eyes. 

He smirks in response, taking a sip of his coffee. “Yeah, lucky you.”

four. 

After breakfast, you head back to your dorm to grab your things. Tsukishima scrolls through his phone, making an occasional snide comment about whatever nonsense he comes across on Twitter. You pack your bag with your notebook, laptop, and a few pens—desperation fuels organization, and you can’t afford to leave anything behind.

The walk to the library is filled with light-hearted banter, and soon enough, you spot Yachi waving at you from a corner table. She’s already got her laptop out, a notebook filled with neat handwriting open next to her, and you skip up to the table. 

“Hi baby girl,” you coo lovingly as you give your friend a hug. Tsukishima gives Yachi a polite nod before sliding into the seat across from her, leaving you to fill the middle one. “Thanks for meeting us before your shift.”

“Of course! I’m really excited about this project,” Yachi beams, her cheeks slightly pink from your affectionate greeting. “I’ve been reading over the script and it’s just so lovely. I can’t wait to get started.”

And this, everyone, is why you adore Yachi Hitoka with your whole heart. You would actually dropkick your best friend off the face of the earth for her, and that is not an exaggeration.

Tsukishima sighs, reaching into your bag to pull out your laptop; he settles it on the desk and pries it open for you. “Let’s get started.”

His impatience makes you roll your eyes, but nonetheless, you click to the latest draft of the script and slide it over for your Blondes™ to see. “Here’s what I’ve got so far,” you say, pointing at the section still titled SCENE 1 DARFGT :P from when you wrote the first six pages over the course of an all-nighter. “The first scene sets the tone for our whole film, and I’m thinking of having it outside the library, so get used to this café.”

“As if we don’t already spend half our time here,” Tsukishima deadpans, but he leans closer to the screen anyway. You watch the way both of them take in the script, their gazes fixed on the document as they read through the lines. 

He looks visibly relieved as he scrolls through the very short document; it’s a mess of director and action notes because you have a very specific vision in your head that you want to execute. “It doesn’t have much dialogue because I want it to be focused on the little details that show your initial connection,” you say as they near the end of the script. “Y’know, body language. The way you look at each other. Your expressions.”

Momentarily, you pause to read their reactions; you’re minorly concerned because acting is actually the hardest part of the job, even if memorizing dialogue does suck. Thankfully, Yachi’s eyes visibly light up, and she chirps cheerily, “I love that! It feels very natural and genuine; I think that’s beautiful.”

Her reassurance makes you kick your feet like Sofia the First because she says it in a way that feels completely real. 

Tsukishima, on the other hand, does not acknowledge this statement: he’s too busy raising his stupid eyebrow and smirking as he reads scene four. He drags his finger over the screen, where the line reads Interior - Dorm Room - Night. “Okay, first of all, very original,” he snorts. “But second, you volunteered my place without asking me? How very presumptuous of you.”

“Well, I have roommates,” you say, really emphasizing that last word because you want him to feel as stupid as he looks smirking like that (he looks very annoyingly pretty with his cat-like simper). You know he doesn’t actually care about the usage of his studio: he just loves seizing the opportunity to mock you.

Your internal irritation clearly goes ignored by him, because he just grins as he continues to blissfully dissect your script. “And ‘they kiss passionately’? Really going for the heartstrings, aren’t you?”

“It’s called intimacy, Kei. It’s a crucial part of developing the relationship on screen.”

Yachi, ever the peacekeeper, nods eagerly. “I think it’s really sweet. It’s important to show the depth of their connection. The close-ups will make it feel very personal.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” Tsukishima says, raising an eyebrow, his expression still amused. He gestures to the next few pages—blank sans the text DJEJSJSJDJ PAIN, because again, you spend a lot of time writing during deranged all-nighters. “But what’s with the cut to black right after? Did you run out of ideas?”

You bite your lip. “I haven’t finished the ending yet. I want to see how you two portray the characters and their chemistry before I decide how it concludes. It’s not just about the script; it’s about the emotions you both bring to the roles.”

“You mean you’re winging it.”

“Creatively winging it, yes,” you roll your eyes. “It’s a work in progress, and I trust you two to help bring it to life.” 

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Alright, I’ll give you that. But if I have to make out with Yachi and you cut it short, I’m going to hold it against you.”

Yachi blushes, but she’s smiling too. “I’m sure it’ll be great. We can practice and make sure it looks natural.”

“Thanks, guys,” you beam at them both, grateful for their willingness to dive into your project. 

As antsy as you were, the film’s got a lot going for it—Yachi is a sweet, earnest cutie pie and Tsukishima is… well, him, so their contrast will hopefully make for compelling cinema. And the word compelling is honestly enough—those three syllables are truly music to a film major’s ears.

***

By the time you finish at Crow’s, the sun has already dipped below the horizon, casting a dusky glow over the campus. Tsukishima predictably gets ready to walk you home; he shoves his hand in his jacket’s pocket and tries to look nonchalant, so obviously you tell him he looks stupid, to which he promptly flips you off. Rude. Some people just don’t know how to appreciate honesty.

Yachi’s already headed off to her shift at the café, so you two are left alone, navigating past other tables to the library doors. The evening air is cool, a welcome contrast to the warmth of the crowded café; you walk in companionable silence for a while, the only sounds being the rustling leaves and the distant chatter of other students.

He walks you to your gate, and you’re honestly about to just head inside, but you pause in your tracks because he deserves to hear it twice. 

“Kei,” you say softly, breaking the silence. “Thanks again. It really means a lot to me.”

He looks at you, his expression unreadable. “I know. That’s why I’m doing it.”

You blink up at him, momentarily thrown off by his directness. Tsukishima isn’t the type to say things he doesn’t mean—he’s never been one for flattery or unnecessary kindness. And yet, there’s something about the way he says it, the quiet certainty in his voice, that makes your heart do something stupid in your chest.

Tsukishima Kei cares about you. No matter how much he pretends otherwise, you know he’ll be there for you when you need it most. If twelve years have taught you anything, it’s that he’ll do it reluctantly, begrudgingly, but he’ll be there for you. 

He always has.

five. 

The first day of filming is, somehow, going smoothly.

You’re not sure if you should be suspicious of this. Typically, film shoots involve at least three things going horribly wrong within the first twenty minutes. A mic cutting out. A location suddenly getting overrun with people. A key actor arriving late because they forgot their costume at home.

But today? Today, things are working. The morning light is perfect, the sound equipment is cooperating, and most importantly, Tsukishima and Yachi are actually… really good together.

Which is a huge relief, because you were honestly half-convinced you’d have to wrangle the emotional chemistry out of Tsukishima with sheer force. But watching them run through the first scene on the bench outside the library, you realize you don’t have to do much at all.

He’s relaxed, leaning back with an elbow draped over the back of the bench, his eyes sharp and calculating as Yachi speaks; she’s perfect for the blushing, hesitant-but-artistic old soul character you want to portray and he takes to his role just as quickly. There’s something natural about the way they interact—the slight hesitations, the way he looks at her before speaking, the subtle smirk that plays at his lips when she nervously tucks her hair behind her ear.

It’s not forced. It’s not awkward. It’s just real.

You bite your lip, watching through the camera screen as Yachi delivers her next line, her voice soft, a little unsure. Tsukishima’s response is barely above a murmur, but it carries, even in the open air. The way he’s looking at her—that’s what makes it work. It’s the kind of gaze that makes people believe in love stories. 

Holy shit. This might actually be good.

“Cut!” you call, your voice a little breathless as you lower the camera. Yachi blinks up at you, a little startled, before breaking into a smile.

“Was that okay?” she asks, a hint of uncertainty in her tone.

“More than okay,” you say, grinning as you step over to them. “You guys are killing it.”

Yachi lets out a relieved laugh, cheeks pink. “Oh, thank god. I was worried I looked weird.”

“Nope. You look like the perfect indie film love interest.” You pat her on the shoulder before glancing at Tsukishima, who raises an eyebrow at you.

“What?” he drawls.

“You’re actually trying.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, because I’m not going to embarrass myself on camera.”

“Right,” you deadpan, smirking. “Nothing to do with the fact that you two have, like, the easiest natural chemistry I’ve ever seen.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, but you catch the way his jaw ticks slightly before he stands up, stretching. “Are we done here? Or are you going to keep talking?”

Impatient idiot. You snort and go to collect your camera and sound system, and together, you all head off to film scene two.

***

The second scene of the day takes place in the small, naturally-lit art studio on campus. It’s not often used, especially not on the weekends, now that the university’s built the big fancy modern art building in the north campus, but it’s perfect for this scene. You wanted something intimate, somewhere that made the world feel smaller, quieter, to parallel the deep intimacy of a relationship (wow, look at you talking like a true film bro). A space where the characters could be alone, even if they weren’t saying much.

Tsukishima sits at the table, his hands idly flipping through a sketchbook that’s just a prop, though you think it suits him weirdly well. Yachi’s holding a paintbrush, standing near the window, looking at a half-finished canvas, the soft glow from outside catching the strands of her blonde hair just right.

“Alright,” you say, stepping back behind the camera. “Tsukishima, this scene is mostly you watching her. Yachi, I want you to look like you’re lost in thought. You’re thinking about something big, but you’re not sure if you want to say it.”

Yachi nods, exhaling as she settles into place. Tsukishima just leans on his elbow, glancing at her through his glasses, waiting.

You call action. And for a moment, the room changes. It’s not just a studio anymore. It’s a quiet, suspended moment in time.

Tsukishima watches Yachi, and you can’t look away. The way his gaze lingers, not quite analyzing, not quite soft, but something in between. The way Yachi’s fingers trace the edge of the painting, distracted, unaware of the way he’s looking at her. The way they look so perfectly together, like halves of a whole, like something that’s meant to be.

It’s... breathtaking.

You swallow, suddenly feeling warm.

They’re good. Too good.

“Cut,” you say softly, your own voice sounding a little distant.

Tsukishima looks up at you immediately, brows slightly furrowed, like he’s searching for something in your expression. Yachi, however, simply exhales a breath of relief, breaking into a small laugh. “That felt really real,” she says, beaming.

“It was really real,” you admit, trying to shake the weird feeling creeping up your spine.

Wow, honestly. They must be some of the best actors you’ve ever met. If you didn’t know better, you would think they were actually in love.

six. 

The blinking cursor on your laptop is mocking you. 

It’s a tiny, relentless metronome ticking away the seconds, reminding you of your failure to move forward. You glare at the half-finished sentence on the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, willing your brain to conjure anything—literally anything—that makes sense.

You had an ending in mind—of course you did. The perfect, soft, cinematic conclusion to your film. A final shot drenched in golden light, delicate and lingering, like a whisper against a bruise. The kind of scene that settles into the chest like an old song or a half-remembered dream, stirring something deep and unshakable. The culmination of all those quiet, electric moments between your leads, woven together into something fragile and honest.

Except every single draft you’ve attempted so far? Complete garbage.

You groan and throw yourself back against your chair, rubbing your hands over your face in frustration. Why does this feel impossible? You should’ve known writing the ending would be the hardest part. You’re always better at beginnings—openings are easy. Openings are full of possibilities. But endings?

Endings mean making a choice.

And right now, you have no fucking idea what choice to make.

As if on cue, summoned by your misery, your door swings open without warning, and Yukie strides in like she owns the place. Which, to be fair, she practically does—she and Kaori have an open invitation to barge in at any time, and they use that privilege liberally.

“Please tell me you’re taking a break from that thing,” she says, nodding toward your laptop as she flops onto your bed. “You’ve been staring at it like it’s personally offended you.”

“It has personally offended me,” you mutter back, head caught between your hands, visibly in distress. “I’ve rewritten it like five times, and it still feels wrong.”

Yukie hums, but her attention drifts toward your open script document, skimming the words with the sharp, practiced gaze of someone who enjoys knowing things before you tell her. A beat later, her eyebrows shoot up.

“I still can’t believe you’re letting Yachi and Tsukishima film together,” she says, lips curving in a smirk.

You glance at her, confused. “Uh, yeah? They’re the leads? Kind of an important part of the whole thing?”

She rolls onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow, expression downright mischievous. “No, I mean… you don’t think it’s a little risky?”

You blink. “Risky how? Like existentially?”

Yukie snorts. “No, dumbass. I mean, don’t you think it’s easy for co-stars to catch feelings for each other? Like hello? Zendaya and Tom Holland broke the Spiderman-MJ curse cause of it.”

“Oh c’mon,” you scoff immediately. “Kei and Yachi? Please. He’s the human equivalent of a hazard sign, and she’s literally an angel.”

“And opposites attract,” Yukie sing-songs, wiggling her eyebrows like she’s just cracked some grand conspiracy.

“Not like that. It’s literally just acting.”

Yukie tilts her head, looking entirely too entertained by your dismissiveness. “You say that, but it’s not uncommon. You spend enough time pretending to love someone, and eventually, it stops feeling like pretending.”

You open your mouth to retort—but for some reason, your brain short-circuits. The words are there. They’re on the tip of your tongue. But they won’t come out. Because now you’re thinking about it.

Tsukishima and Yachi. Together.

It’s ridiculous, obviously. Tsukishima is sarcastic and emotionally constipated, and Yachi is sweet and nervous and actually respects people’s feelings. They make sense on screen, sure—chemistry is chemistry, and that’s what acting is for. But in real life? You can’t even picture it. Matter-of-fact, you shouldn’t even be picturing it.

And yet, something uneasy churns in your stomach, and you shift in your seat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in your own skin. No, this is stupid. You’re overthinking. Yukie’s just stirring up unnecessary drama because that’s what she does when she’s bored.

“It’s fine,” you say, voice forcibly even. “They’re just acting. Besides, you really think Tsukishima of all people would catch feelings for someone just because of a film?”

“Mmm.” Yukie hums, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “You say that, but you’re weirdly defensive about it.”

“I’m not defensive,” you snap, too fast, too sharp. A mistake.

Yukie’s smirk deepens, and you hate her for it. She swings her legs off the bed, stretching like a cat. “When you’re done pretending you’re not in denial, dinner’s ready,” she chirps, sauntering toward the door.

You roll your eyes. Classic Yukie. Your roommates are simultaneously your greatest strength and your worst influence; they know you inside and out, and unfortunately, that means they never let you run from your own feelings. They’ve been convinced for years that you’re in love with your best friend, which is laughable. Delusional, even.

And yet.

The thought lingers longer than it should, trailing after you like a shadow as you trudge to set for the first day of filming.

You tell yourself it’s just curiosity when you glance Tsukishima’s way. Just morbid fascination when you catch the way his gaze lingers on Yachi between takes. Just professional interest when you watch how his sharp, unimpressed scowl softens—barely, just a fraction—when she nervously stumbles over a line, and he mutters a quiet correction, his voice steadier than you expect.

It’s just good acting, you reason. Nothing more.

Because Tsukishima is your best friend. And that’s all he’s ever been, all he’s ever going to be. You tell yourself that, over and over and over again, trying to make it feel like the truth. But for some reason, despite all your effort, it doesn’t, and it bothers you in a way that it wouldn’t bother friends that are purely just platonic.

seven.

“You look like shit.”

You rub your eyes, very conscious of the fact that you’re sporting dark eye bags and a goofy-ass fit. Your hoodie is three sizes too big, your sweatpants have a suspicious stain on them from an unknown source, and your hair looks… actually, you don’t even want to talk about it because it really is that bad. You blink up at Tsukishima, who has somehow managed to find you after your afternoon lecture, looking disgustingly well-rested and put-together as always.

“Thanks,” you deadpan, shouldering your bag. “Great to see you too, Kei.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes but doesn’t move out of your way. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, studying you with that keen, observational gaze of his. “Seriously. Are you okay?”

You pause, thrown off by his genuine concern—normally, he’d just mock you and move on, but there’s a sharpness to his tone today, like he actually cares. Maybe it’s because you’ve barely been outside in the last few days, much less seen him and Yamaguchi. Now that you’ve made it through over half of the film’s scenes, you’ve already started editing it together (arguably the worst part of being a self-produced film student: the excessive time spent with Adobe Creative Cloud). You hesitate, then sigh. “Just tired. I’ve been working nonstop, and I still haven’t figured out the ending.”

He lets out a long-suffering sigh, crossing his arms. “Why do you always do this to yourself?”

“I thrive under pressure.”

“You thrive off caffeine and bad decisions.”

“Same thing,” you mutter, rubbing your temples. “Look, I’ll figure it out. Eventually.”

Tsukishima doesn’t look convinced, but instead of pressing further, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his car keys, holding them up with a lazy shake. “C’mon.”

You blink. “Huh?”

“You clearly need a break. Let’s go.”

You frown at him, confused. “Go where?”

“Does it matter?” he counters, raising an eyebrow. “I swear to god, if you go back to your dorm and stare at your screen for another five hours, you’re gonna lose whatever brain cells you have left.”

You open your mouth to argue, but you know he’s right. Your brain is fried, your eyes are starting to blur from staring at a screen all night, and you could really use some air. So, with a dramatic groan, you give in. “Fine. But if you take me somewhere boring, I’m jumping out of the car.”

“Noted,” he says dryly, shoving his keys back in his pocket before turning on his heel. “Now move it.”

***

The drive is familiar, comfortable. You don’t even ask where he’s taking you because, honestly, he’s right: it doesn’t matter. Being in his car like this feels natural, like muscle memory.

You remember when he first got his license, the first of you three to do so. Akiteru had gifted him a car to use once he did, an old but functional, clean and simple one, much like him. At the time, it had felt like the biggest deal—suddenly, Tsukishima had a ticket to freedom, and by extension, so did you and Yamaguchi.

You can still picture those early drives vividly: the three of you packed into the car, Yamaguchi in the passenger seat nervously checking the map while you sprawled in the back, shouting ridiculous directions just to mess with Tsukishima. He always acted like he hated it, threatening to pull over and leave you on the curb, but he never actually did. 

There were the late-night drives to nowhere, just because none of you wanted to go home yet. The ice cream runs in the middle of winter, sitting in the parking lot with the heater cranked up as you argued over movie rankings. The way Tsukishima always kept one hand on the wheel, the other fidgeting with the volume knob, adjusting it up or down depending on whether he was feeling indulgent or annoyed by whatever you were blasting through the speakers.

You remember one time, when a storm had rolled in suddenly and you got caught out in the rain on the way back from a late study session; he’d picked you up after you spam-called him seven times. Tsukishima pulled up to the curb in front of your house, the wipers barely keeping up with the downpour, but for some reason, instead of rushing out of the storm into your apartment, you’d just sat there for a while, listening to the steady rhythm of the rain against the car roof. He hadn’t told you to get out, hadn’t asked why you were lingering. He just turned up the music, leaned back, and let you stay.

The cityscape blurs past the windows as the car hums beneath you, the low rumble of the engine mixing with the sound of the playlist Tsukishima has quietly playing in the background. You recognize the song instantly—it’s from one of your old shared playlists, one you made together back in your first year of high school.

You glance at him, but he keeps his eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily against the gearshift. His sweater is vintage, made of a gorgeous dark green wool that you had been ecstatic to find when you first took him to your favorite thrift store back home; it looks good contrasted with his blond hair and fair skin. His usual stoic expression is softer in the evening glow, illuminated by the street lamps lining the road. 

God. Have his eyes always been able to capture the city lights like that? 

***

Tsukishima drives for what feels like forever, but when he finally pulls over, it’s basically where you started: an empty parking lot, outside of your favorite convenience store because they’re open late and always stock freshly-made to-go onigiri. It’s owned by a sweet old woman, so double points; you two have been coming here since the start of your freshman year. 

He throws the car in park and gives you a look. “You coming?”

You sigh dramatically but unbuckle your seatbelt, stepping out into the cool night air. The store’s neon sign hums quietly, casting a soft glow over the pavement.

As soon as you step inside, the familiar scent of warm rice and miso greets you, and you immediately relax. Tsukishima heads straight for the onigiri section, while you linger near the drinks, debating between a matcha latte and a cappuccino.

“You’re getting the matcha,” Tsukishima calls over his shoulder, barely even looking up.

You roll your eyes but grab it anyway, because yeah, he’s right. You join him at the counter, where he’s already placed two onigiri on the register—one salmon, one tuna mayo.

“You know my order,” you say, amused.

He shrugs, handing over his card to pay before you can argue. “You never change it.”

The words are casual, offhanded, but something about them settles deep in your chest. You look at him, at the way he’s effortlessly familiar with your habits, your preferences, your life.

And for some reason, that makes your stomach twist.

eight. 

You tear into your onigiri, letting the familiar taste of salmon and warm rice settle on your tongue. The quiet hum of the city surrounds you both as you sit on the hood of Tsukishima’s car, drinks resting beside you. The neon glow of the convenience store sign flickers in the periphery, casting long, gentle shadows over the pavement; the night is cool but not biting, the breeze rustling the stray napkins you’d forgotten beside you.

The conversation flows lazily, touching on everything and nothing at once—complaints about professors, Yamaguchi’s latest doomed tutoring attempts with Hinata, Tsukishima’s upcoming project on primate evolution that he absolutely does not care about. It’s easy, the way it always is, but there’s a weight pressing against your ribs, something you can’t quite name.

Then it slows. After a beat, you sigh, staring out at the dim glow of the streetlights. “I think I might change the ending.”

Tsukishima shifts beside you, glancing at you briefly before turning back toward the night sky. You don’t even have to specify: he knows what you’re talking about. “Yeah?”

“I wanted a happy one,” you admit, your fingers picking at a loose thread on your hoodie. “But I don’t know if it fits. Every version I write feels fake. Too neat. Too… easy.”

He’s quiet for a moment, taking a slow sip of his drink before shrugging. “Then don’t force it. If it’s not working, make it ambiguous.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” he argues, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “People like things that feel real. If you’re struggling this much, maybe that’s your answer.”

You chew on his words, considering. Maybe he’s right. Maybe an open-ended conclusion is the answer—letting things linger, unresolved but full of possibility. But something about that unsettles you, like leaving something unfinished, like waiting for something that never comes.

And then, it clicks: how to leave it ambiguous without being unfinished. 

You exhale, pressing your phone’s power button and watching the screen light up, a blank notes app staring back at you. Your fingers hover over the keyboard before you start typing, the inspiration finally clicking into place. You can already see the scene in your mind—the way the light will filter in, the subtle expressions, the carefully chosen silence between words.

Tsukishima watches you with mild amusement, his lips quirking up just slightly. “Are you seriously writing right now?”

“Shut up,” you mumble, furiously typing. “You said something smart for once, and now I have to take advantage of it.”

He snorts. “You wouldn’t survive without me.”

You roll your eyes, but deep down, you know he’s right. The thought lingers, unspoken. How many times has he done this? Pulled you out of your own head before you spiraled, pushed you to do better, reminded you—without ever really saying it—that you aren’t alone?

The words on your screen blur slightly. Maybe it’s just the neon lights. Maybe it’s something else.

Then, softer, almost offhand, he says, “You know, if it’s really bothering you this much, maybe it’s because you want it to mean something.”

Your fingers still over your screen. The words sit heavy in the air, pressing down on you with a weight you can’t quite place. You look up at him, but he’s already turned back toward the city, his expression unreadable.

nine.

You think that you need a distraction. A long walk, or a snack, maybe. Or better yet, what you actually really want: a frontal lobotomy. 

Instead, you have filming.

Which is, honestly, the opposite of helpful when your current goal is to shove all of your weird, unwelcome, inexplicable feelings into the deepest recesses of your mind. It’s awful, but now that you’ve started to see your best friend in a whole new light, it’s really all you can think about. Therefore, you cope as you always have: running from your problems. You’ve been distant the last few days. You’re responding less, cancelling on your weekly study sessions, sprinting out of your lectures before he can catch up to you. You’ve even been ghosting Yamaguchi out of proximity. 

But you can’t do that today. Because today, you’re shooting one of the final sequences—the rooftop scene. The one drenched in soft intimacy, lingering glances, and unsaid words thickening the air between them. The one where Tsukishima and Yachi have to act like they exist in their own world, where nothing and no one else matters.

You try not to think about it too hard.

The rooftop set is perfect. The city sprawls beneath them, lights flickering like stars, a mirror to the actual night sky above. Yachi’s already in position, sitting at the edge, her posture relaxed but poised. Tsukishima is beside her, long legs stretched out, hands lazily resting on his lap. The camera is set up, framing them beautifully against the endless stretch of buildings and sky.

You call action, and for a while, it’s fine.

Yachi takes a slow drag of the cigarette (a prop one—she refuses to even come close to tainting her lungs), the smoke curling up between them. Her voice is soft, contemplative, as she delivers her lines. Tsukishima exhales smoke into the night, his face not particularly expressive but not detached. He’s… engaged. Focused. Too focused. There’s something in the way he looks at her that makes your chest tight, even though you know, know, it’s just acting.

Still, the words he says don’t feel like lines. Not when his voice dips just slightly, not when his eyes linger on her face.

“Maybe,” he says, his tone quieter than rehearsals, “but some moments leave imprints on our souls. They’ll last forever in our hearts.”

The air shifts.

Yachi leans her head on his shoulder. The city hums below them. The scene is exactly as you envisioned it, the kind of moment that pulls people in, that makes an audience believe.

And yet, it feels like you can’t breathe.

The worst part is that it isn’t even that bad—no, you get through the scene just fine. No one else notices the way your stomach churns, or the way your hands tighten around the back of the director’s chair. No one notices that the words aren’t just dialogue in your head anymore, that they feel… wrong, out of place, too much.

It isn’t until Tsukishima reaches out, without prompting, without direction, and brushes a loose strand of hair out of Yachi’s face that you realize you actually feel sick.

It’s not scripted.

The camera catches it perfectly, a soft, natural movement. The kind of instinctive touch that makes a scene feel real. Your breath stutters in your chest. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, he leans in slightly, pressing the briefest kiss to her forehead before pulling back, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Not in the script.

Not in the goddamn script.

“Cut,” you say, too quickly, your voice tighter than you mean it to be. You clear your throat, forcing a neutral expression onto your face when both of them glance toward you. “That was—good. Really natural.”

Yachi beams, a little shy but pleased. “It felt nice, actually. He made it really easy to stay in the moment.”

You swallow down whatever the hell it is that rises up in you at that.

Tsukishima doesn’t say anything. He just watches you, sharp and unreadable.

Your fingers curl into your palm. “I think we’re done for tonight,” you announce, forcing a yawn into your voice like exhaustion is the reason you need to leave so badly. “I’ve got a migraine coming on, and we still have to film the passion scene this weekend.”

Yachi nods easily, already stretching out her legs, but Tsukishima’s expression darkens slightly.

“You sure?” he asks, low enough that only you hear it.

You nod quickly, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah. Just need sleep.”

He stands, brushing invisible dust from his jeans, and you know what’s coming before he even says it. “I’ll walk you back.”

“No!” you panic, waving your hands wildly. “Kaori’s picking me up.”

It’s a lie, an obvious one, but you don’t care. You grab your bag and sling it over your shoulder before he can question it. “I’ll see you guys later.”

Then you leave, practically sprinting out, before he can say anything else. Before you have to deal with whatever the hell this is, whatever it means.

Because if you stop to think about it, even for a second, you’re pretty sure you’ll break.

ten. 

Midway through your most recent homework assignment (dissecting the art behind the glorious film Cars—the best Disney movie out there, fight with the wall), your phone vibrates against your nightstand. The screen flashes the text message that’s popped up, but you don’t even need to check to know who it is: it’s a notification that you already know you don’t want to see.

(11:12 PM) kei :P: are you avoiding me?

You stare at the text, thumb hovering over the keyboard, your mind spinning with an answer that won’t sound like a complete lie. The problem is, you are avoiding him. You’ve been practically stonewalling him, dashing away inconspicuously whenever you know he’ll be nearby, and it’s getting obvious. He knows it. There’s no use pretending otherwise, but the idea of confronting it—confronting him—makes something anxious curl in your gut.

You sigh, flopping onto your bed, one arm draped over your eyes as you try to gather your thoughts. Your fingers type out a response before you can overthink it.

(11:15 PM) y/n: no? y/n: i’m j busy lately u know that

The three dots appear, then disappear. Reappear, then disappear again. He’s debating his response, and for some reason, that is terrifying. Then it buzzes.

(11:21 PM) kei :P: right.

It’s short. Barely anything at all. But you know him, and you know exactly what that one-word response means. He doesn’t believe you. He’s letting it go for now, but he isn’t letting it go entirely. The thought unsettles you more than you want to admit.

Your room feels suffocating suddenly, like it’s pressing in on you. You glance around, searching for something—anything—to keep your mind occupied, but all you find are pieces of him.

Tsukishima had helped you move in, so he has a fundamental part in the whole place already, but when you look even closer, he’s really in the details. There’s the framed picture on your desk from your high school graduation, his hand resting lazily on your shoulder as Yamaguchi beams from besides you. There’s a hoodie draped over your desk chair, long since stolen from his closet during a late night out that never got returned. There’s a battered copy of Normal People by Sally Rooney tucked into your bookshelf, its pages creased and worn from the way he always mindlessly flipped through it when he came over. 

It never seemed evident until now, when you’re trying so hard not to think about him, to not let him occupy a space that he’s so clearly always kept filled, but now that you see it, it’s simple: Kei has been a part of your life for as long as you can possibly remember. He’s always been there, from the very moment your family moved into the house next door to him when you were seven. He’s in your daily routine. If you turned on your phone right now, it’d open to a picture of you three; if you were to open Spotify, you’ll find your blend at the very top of your pinned playlists. 

He’s everywhere. He’s everything. Tsukishima Kei is worn into your very bones, into every single cell, written into every little part of your being. 

Your fingers tighten around your phone, and for a moment, you consider texting him back. Saying something real. Something honest.

Your gaze flickers to your desk, to the script sitting on top of a stack of notebooks. The ending you rewrote stares back at you, the words bold and final.

Scene 6 Exterior - Rooftop - Sunset Yachi returns to the rooftop, now alone. She sits on the edge, looking out at the city. The sun sets, casting a warm glow over everything. She takes out a cigarette and lights it, inhaling deeply. Cut to: Tsukishima, walking through the city streets, the sunset reflecting in his eyes. He pauses, looking up at the rooftop where Yachi is sitting. The screen fades to black. Text on screen: “We’ll be there at the end of the world, together as the stars go out.”

The moment your professor read it, she called it striking. Said it felt honest. That the ache in the words felt real, like someone had lived it.

But you didn’t just write it. You felt it.

Because if the world were ending, if the stars were truly burning out—there’s no question where you’d be. Who you’d be with.

And yet, here you are, running.

You inhale sharply, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes.

With the weight of twelve years of friendship comes the obligation to not let it go to waste: you are terrified of what a confession could do. You can’t even imagine what a world without Kei looks like; you would honestly rather die than lose him. And well… admitting your feelings could very well mean losing him. 

Then again, you could very well lose him too if you keep ignoring him and running away. You just need to come up with some way to either 1) get over your feelings, or 2) explain to your best friend that you’ve suddenly started having inexplicable dreams about him and feeling the urge to kiss him. 

You mean, how hard could it really be?

eleven. 

Evidently, very difficult. 

You’re standing outside the door of Tsukishima’s flat for the first time in days, feeling like you might actually throw up. You have the horrible urge to cancel. Maybe you should turn around. Maybe you should fake food poisoning. Maybe you should suddenly develop an urgent need to flee the country.

But no. You can’t do that. This is your film, your project, your fucking grade on the line. You can’t just run away forever.

So you’re here. And you take a deep breath before you knock, because your heart is hammering like you just ran across campus, and it only picks up when the door swings open.

And then he’s there too—Tsukishima, standing in the doorway of his apartment, hair still damp from a shower, hoodie hanging loose on his frame. His glasses slide down his nose just slightly, and for a second, he just looks at you, eyes scanning your face, your posture, like he’s already found something off about you.

“You’re early,” he says, stepping aside to let you in.

You nod, stepping over the threshold, hyperaware of the way the air inside feels different—warm, his, thick with something you don’t have the words for.

“Wanted to set up before Yachi gets here.” Your voice is steady, detached, the way it should be.

It’s not a lie, not entirely, but it’s not the truth either. The truth is sitting in the space between you, glaring and heavy, pressing in like the weight of an oncoming storm.

He hums in response but doesn’t say anything else. Tsukishima doesn’t move, doesn’t drop his gaze. His arms are crossed, his posture lazy, but there’s something pointed about the way he’s looking at you—sharp, analyzing, like he’s cataloging every tell, every avoidance, every reason why you’re standing here instead of texting some excuse from the safety of your dorm.

You drop your bag near the couch and move to set up your camera, your hands moving automatically as you avoid his gaze. The apartment smells like him—coffee and citrus, faintly like that stupid expensive detergent he swears isn’t a luxury purchase but definitely is. The scent is so him, so familiar, that it makes your stomach flip.

And then he speaks.

“What’s going on with you?”

You freeze.

It’s not accusatory, not sharp, just… careful. Measured. Like he’s trying to get an answer without pushing too hard. Which, honestly, is worse than if he had just called you out directly.

You force yourself to keep your hands steady, adjusting the camera’s angle. “Nothing. Just busy.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Bullshit.”

Your stomach twists. The air in the room shifts, thickens.

He’s always been quick. Always been able to pick apart your bullshit before you even finish spinning it, before you can even convince yourself it’s real. And now, with those gold-flecked eyes trained on you, burning through every excuse you try to build between you… well, you’re drowning.

His voice is steady, but edged with something dangerous. “I don’t know what your problem is, but if you think I haven’t noticed, you’re dumber than I thought.”

Your breath hitches in your chest.

For a second, you want to tell him. Everything. The thoughts, the jealousy, the confusion that’s been clawing at your throat for weeks. You hate that he knows you this well, that he can see through you so easily. You hate that he’s giving you that look, the one that says I’m waiting for the truth, waiting for you to finally be honest, and you hate, hate, that you don’t know what to say. 

But then, the door swings open. Yachi steps in, breathless and smiling. “Sorry I’m late!”

The moment shatters.

You exhale, stepping back, forcing a smile as you greet her, ignoring the way Tsukishima is still watching you. He goes still, expression unreadable. And then—just like that—his face smooths out, his posture relaxes, his hands sink into his hoodie pocket like nothing happened at all.

“Let’s get this over with,” he mutters.

You nod too quickly. “Yeah. Let’s start.”

If you want to make it through a whole scene of them making out for three minutes, you have to stop looking at your best friend. His amber eyes, under his layer of concern, confusion, and annoyance, are filled with hurt, and your stomach feels like it’s being ripped out, torn to fucking shreds, to see him like that. 

So you avert your gaze, stubbornly keeping your eyes on Yachi and your camera, and set up to film the scene.

***

The camera is steady. Your breathing, however, is not.

The apartment is dimly lit, the soft hum of music playing through the speaker, some indie song with melancholic chords that you once added to the shared playlist, long before this—before all of this—became something unbearable. It filters into the space like a ghost of a memory, like something familiar that you can’t quite place.

Yachi sits on the edge of Tsukishima’s bed, her hands folded neatly in her lap, waiting for direction, waiting for him. Tsukishima stands in front of her, tall and composed, his fingers flexing at his sides like he’s testing the weight of the scene before stepping into it. His shoulders are loose, his stance easy, his face unreadable. Too unreadable.

Too casual.

Like he’s trying to make it look effortless.

Like he’s making it look effortless for you.

Your grip tightens around the camera. The frame is perfect—low lighting casting long shadows, the soft golden glow from the bedside lamp catching on strands of Yachi’s hair, the curve of Tsukishima’s jaw. It’s intimate. Close. Exactly what you wanted.

It should be fine. This should be fine.

The scene is simple.

Close-ups of hands, of fingers grazing over fabric. Of a breath caught in the space between them. Of a moment stretched too thin, heavy with something unsaid.

And then, they kiss.

Your stomach lurches.

It’s instinct—the way your body reacts, the way something tightens in your chest like a vice, the way your nails press into your palm where you grip the camera. You tell yourself to look at the screen, at the framing, at the way their silhouettes fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

But you’re not looking at the shot.

You’re looking at him.

The way his head tilts slightly, the angle just right. The way his hand ghosts over the small of Yachi’s back before settling, fingers barely pressing into fabric. The way he moves slow, deliberate, like every part of him has been designed for this moment, like he’s meant to be here, kissing her, making it look real.

Making it feel real.

Your fingers tighten around the camera, but you don’t move.

The shot is perfect.

Tsukishima is slow, careful. One hand cups Yachi’s jaw, his thumb brushing lightly across her cheekbone, his other resting against her waist, anchoring her in place. He leans in, the motion seamless, practiced, lips pressing against hers with just enough pressure to make it believable.

Your chest feels like it’s caving in.

It’s nothing. It’s just a film. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care.

But you do.

The words sit at the back of your throat like acid, thick and burning, because this is what you wanted—this is what you asked for—and yet you can’t seem to convince yourself that you’re okay with it.

You should be focusing on the technicalities. On the way the lighting frames them, on the way the movement aligns with your vision, on the way Yachi’s fingers twitch against his hoodie like she’s nervous, like she’s fully immersed in the moment.

But all you can focus on is him.

The way his eyelashes flutter for half a second before he closes his eyes.

The slow exhale against Yachi’s lips.

The way his grip shifts against her waist—just slightly, just barely, like he’s grounding himself. Like he’s steadying his breath, like he’s trying to remember it’s acting.

Something inside you twists, sharp and visceral, something so wrong it makes your stomach ache.

Your fingers are shaking.

And then, the worst part: Tsukishima tilts his head further, deepening the kiss.

Your breath catches.

It’s instinctive, automatic, the way your entire body tenses. You barely realize what you’re doing until the words leave your lips, unbidden, a little too fast, a little too urgent.

“Cut.”

The word slices through the air like a blade.

Tsukishima pulls back immediately, blinking, like something had momentarily snapped.

Yachi exhales, touching her lips, a little dazed, but then she laughs, easy and light. “That felt really natural.”

Natural.

The word rings in your ears, cold and foreign, something heavy and nauseating settling in your stomach.

Natural.

You feel like you’re going to throw up.

Tsukishima is still looking at you. Not at Yachi, but at you.

His expression isn’t unreadable anymore. It’s something else—something unread, something searching, something sharp enough to make your skin burn under the weight of it.

You swallow, forcing your voice into something neutral. “Yeah. That was good. Really… natural.”

Yachi grins, stretching her arms. “I have to run—I promised Hinata I’d help him study tonight.”

You nod too quickly. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Go ahead.”

She gathers her things, slings her bag over her shoulder, completely unaware that the air in the room is thick with something else, something unspoken, something unraveling.

The door clicks shut.

You inhale.

You should leave too, right now. You should grab your bag, make up some excuse, and go.

But before you can even think about moving, a hand wraps around your wrist, and drags you back in.

twelve. 

The door clicks shut behind Yachi, but the weight in your chest doesn’t lift. If anything, it gets heavier, pressing against your ribs like an iron hand squeezing the air out of your lungs. You force yourself to breathe, force yourself to move, force yourself to not think about the way Tsukishima had looked at her, had touched her, had—

A hand wraps around your wrist.

You freeze.

Tsukishima tugs, firm but not rough, pulling you back before you can escape.

Your heart stutters.

“What the hell is going on with you?” His voice is low, controlled, but there’s something underneath it—frustration, confusion, anger.

You try to twist your arm away, but he doesn’t let go. His fingers tighten slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to anchor you, to keep you here. You force yourself to look at him, to meet the sharp, burning gaze that’s demanding answers.

You swallow. “Nothing.”

His jaw clenches. “Try again.”

“Tsukishima—”

“No.” His voice cuts through the air, low and unyielding. “You’ve been acting weird for weeks. Avoiding me. Lying to me. Looking at me like I fucking killed your dog or something. Not even calling me Kei anymore. And then tonight—” He breaks off, exhaling sharply through his nose. His grip on your wrist doesn’t loosen. “What is your problem?”

The words sting, sharp and cutting, but the worst part is that he’s right. He’s right.

And you’re tired.

Tired of pretending it doesn’t bother you. Tired of biting your tongue. Tired of shoving down every ugly, twisting, unbearable feeling that claws at your throat.

So, suddenly, recklessly, you snap. “You! You’re my fucking problem!”

The words burst out of you like they’ve been waiting, desperate to escape, and suddenly, there’s no going back.

Tsukishima’s eyes widen—just slightly, just enough for you to see the flicker of shock before his expression hardens again.

“What?” His voice is sharp, almost mocking, like he’s daring you to say it again, to spell it out for him.

You rip your wrist from his grip, shoving him back a step. Your hands are shaking. Your heart is pounding.

“You don’t get it, do you?” The words come fast, breathless. “Do you even see what you look like? How easy this is for you?” Your voice wavers, thick with something too sharp to be just frustration. “How you can just— just kiss her like it’s nothing?”

His brow furrows. “It was a scene.”

“That’s not the fucking point!”

You shove him again, hands pressing against his chest, but he barely moves.

“I had to watch you,” you spit, voice cracking at the edges. “Watch you hold her like that. Watch you look at her like that. And I hated it, Tsukishima. I hated it.”

Something shifts in the air between you.

The anger is still there, but beneath it—something else. Something fragile and aching and real.

Tsukishima doesn’t speak. His lips part slightly, but no words come.

He’s staring at you, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—God, his eyes.

You inhale, shaking, your hands balled into fists. “I don’t know when it happened, or how, or if I’m just an idiot who took too long to figure it out, but I—” Your breath stutters. Your throat feels tight. Fuck, you shouldn’t be saying this. You shouldn’t be saying this.

But you do.

Because it’s too late.

Because there’s no running now.

“I love you.”

The words drop between you like stones in water, sinking deep, sending ripples through everything.

Silence.

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, erratic and deafening.

Tsukishima stares at you. Gaping. Frozen.

Like the world just tilted on its very axis. Like the entire sky is tumbling down, like gravity is the sole thing keeping him on the ground. 

And then you panic.

“I—I didn’t mean—” Your voice shakes, your fingers twitch, you need to fix this, you need to take it back before you lose him, before you ruin everything—

But then he moves.

Fast.

His hands are on your face before you can breathe, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head back.

And then he kisses you.

It’s not careful. Not controlled. Not measured, the way he was with Yachi.

This is something else entirely.

This is desperate. This is frantic. This is a storm breaking after years of tension, of longing, of something building between you that neither of you had the courage to name.

His lips crash against yours, stealing the air from your lungs, pulling a sound from the back of your throat that’s more relief than surprise. He kisses you like he’s been holding himself back for too long, like the second he let himself move, he couldn’t stop.

Like he’s been waiting.

Like he’s always wanted this.

The heat of his body devours you, swallowing you whole, pulling you under like a riptide you don’t want to escape. His hands slide down, fingers spreading against your waist, gripping tight like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his grasp. He tugs you forward, flush against him, so close there’s no space left, no room for doubt, no hesitation—only him, only this, only the way he’s holding you like he never intends to let go.

His mouth moves against yours with intent, deliberate and thorough, a silent demand, a confession with no words, just the press of his lips and the desperate, aching pull of his hands. He’s tasting, memorizing, mapping out every gasp, every shiver, every fragile part of you that has ever been his without either of you realizing it.

You make a sound against his lips, something caught between a sigh and a plea, and that’s all it takes—his grip tightens, his fingers pressing into your skin like he’s learning you by touch, like he needs you closer, closer, closer.

You melt into him. You break into him.

There is no hesitation when your hands reach for him, twisting in the fabric of his hoodie, clutching it like a lifeline, because you are terrified he’ll stop, that this will disappear, that he’ll come to his senses and—

But he doesn’t.

Because when you part, just barely, just enough to let air slip between you, Tsukishima chases after you.

His lips find yours again, softer this time, reverent, like he needs to remind himself that you’re real. That this is real.

That you’re not running anymore.

His forehead rests against yours, his breath uneven, warm, fanning over your lips in slow exhales. He doesn’t speak for a long moment, just lets the silence stretch, heavy and fragile and trembling with meaning.

Then, his voice—low, hoarse, something wrecked and beautiful.

“Say it again.”

Your heart stutters, something sharp and sweet twisting in your chest.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, amber eyes burning, raw with something you’ve never seen before, something almost pleading.

Your fingers loosen against his hoodie, but you don’t let go. “What?”

His thumb brushes over your cheek, his jaw tight, his gaze steady, searching yours for something unspoken.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, quieter this time.

Your throat is dry. Your world has shrunk to the space between you, to the way his hands still hold you, to the weight of his gaze pressing into you like an answer he already knows but needs to hear anyway.

You swallow once, then again. Then, soft but steady, you let it slip. “I love you.”

The way he exhales, sharp and shaky, is enough to undo you completely.

And then he kisses you again.

Slower this time. Deep. Intentional. Like he’s taking his time, like he wants to make sure you understand.

This isn’t a mistake. This isn’t something he can write off as an impulse, something fleeting or meaningless or careless. This is him. This is him choosing you.

He kisses you like he’s learning you, like he’s memorizing the way your breath hitches when he moves a certain way, the way your hands tremble when they slide up to cup his jaw, the way you—God, the way you kiss him back like he’s the only thing that’s ever mattered.

Like you love him, and you’ve always loved him.

Like he loves you, and he’s always loved you.

And maybe it’s too much, too late, too terrifying, but when you pull apart, he still doesn’t let go.

His fingers linger against your jaw, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, swollen from his kiss.

His voice is rough when he finally speaks.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he snorts.

You laugh, breathless, and it comes out half-shaky, half-dazed. “Excuse me?”

He shakes his head, his lips curving slightly—soft, unbearably fond, annoyingly smug—but his eyes stay serious, stay warm.

“I love you too,” he says, just like that, like it’s simple. Like it’s easy.

And for once, it is.

thirteen. 

You wake up in a panic.

Your heart is a drum in your chest, erratic, wild, out of sync with the soft pre-dawn quiet of your dorm room. The weight of last night presses down on you all at once—the argument, the confession, the way Tsukishima kissed you like he’d been waiting, like he meant it, like he wasn’t going to let you take it back.

You squeeze your eyes shut, inhale sharply through your nose. It doesn’t help. The air is too thick, your limbs too restless, your thoughts too loud.

What the fuck did you do?

You sit up, shoving the blankets off you like they’re suffocating you. Your hair is a mess, the hoodie you slept in (not yours—his, fuck) twisted around you uncomfortably, but you don’t bother fixing it. The digital clock on your nightstand blinks 6:04 AM, and outside, the world is just beginning to wake.

You should be asleep.

You should be anything but this.

Blindly, you reach for your phone, thumb swiping over the screen to unlock it. The notifications hit you like a brick.

— 17 missed calls — 3 new voicemails — kei :P: pick up your phone — kei :P: are you serious right now — kei :P: we’re not doing this — kei :P: text me back

Your stomach lurches.

Your fingers twitch over the screen, hovering, hesitating, and then—fuck—you lock the phone and throw it onto your desk like it burned you.

You can’t deal with this right now.

Not now, not when you’re still caught in the aftermath of what happened, not when the ghost of his lips still lingers on your skin.

You need a distraction.

You push yourself up from the bed, dragging your feet to your desk, where your laptop sits untouched from the night before. The screen glows as it wakes, casting a pale blue light over your desk. You click open Premiere Pro, fingers moving on autopilot, pulling up the final cut of your film.

Something to ground you. Something to keep you from spiraling.

The editing timeline stretches before you, a mess of layered clips and audio tracks. The cursor blinks, waiting. You set it to the last scene you worked on—the rooftop scene, Yachi and Tsukishima against the night sky, the cigarette smoke curling between them like something ephemeral, fleeting.

You press play.

The footage unfolds in perfect clarity.

Yachi sits on the ledge, her fingers wrapped loosely around the cigarette, her expression thoughtful. Tsukishima is beside her, arms draped over his knees, his profile sharp against the neon haze of the city below.

She turns to him, voice soft, hesitant. “Do you think it’ll last?”

There’s a pause.

Then—his response. 

“As long as we exist, it will.”

You exhale sharply, the words hitting you harder than they should.

The scene plays through, Yachi taking a slow drag of the cigarette before exhaling toward the sky, the glow of the embers casting flickering light over her features. Tsukishima doesn’t look at her. His eyes stay forward, locked on something distant, something unseen.

Your fingers twitch over the keyboard, and without thinking, you hit the spacebar.

The scene rewinds.

You play it again.

“Do you think it’ll last?”

“As long as we exist, it will.”

A lump forms in your throat.

You rewind it again.

Again.

Again.

You don’t know why you keep watching it, why the words keep lodging themselves deeper and deeper into your chest.

Maybe because it doesn’t sound like acting. Maybe because you remember the way he said it, the way he delivered the line so effortlessly, so quietly, like it wasn’t a scripted moment but something real.

Maybe because it reminds you of last night.

The way he kissed you, the way his hands held you firm, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. The way he told you, Say it again, like he couldn’t believe it, like he needed to hear it over and over to make it real. The way he looked at you when you did. The way you let yourself believe, just for a second, that everything you wanted wasn’t impossible.

Your breath hitches, sudden and sharp, and then— you’re crying.

It’s not dramatic. There’s no sobbing, no wretched gasps for air.

Just silent tears, slipping down your cheeks, slow and unrelenting, as the weight of it all crashes into you.

Because you love him. Because you’ve always loved him. Because you can’t remember a time of your life where you didn’t, and because you can’t imagine a time where you don’t.

And you’re terrified.

You don’t know how long you sit there, shoulders curled in, fingers gripping the edge of your desk like you need to physically hold yourself together.

The sun creeps through the window, light spilling over your room in soft golds and oranges. Outside, the campus hums to life—doors opening, footsteps in the hallway, distant laughter.

You should move. You should do something.

Instead, you hit play one more time.

“Do you think it’ll last?”

“As long as we exist, it will.”

The tears keep falling, and you don’t know why you’re crying anymore: whether it’s because you believe it, or because you don’t.

fourteen.

Your hands are shaking as you pull up your contacts list.

It’s barely past 6:30 AM, the sky still tinged with the last remnants of dawn, but you can’t stay here. The weight of your realization—your love for Tsukishima—is suffocating, curling around your ribs like something clawed and desperate, something that refuses to let go.

You need to talk to someone, and there’s only one person who will actually pick up at this hour. So you press the call button and wait.

The phone rings once. Twice. Three times.

Then, a groggy voice, scratchy with sleep but undeniably familiar.

“This better be good, or I swear—”

“I need you.”

A beat of silence.

Then, rustling sheets. A sigh. And finally.

“Where?”

***

The tiny café is quiet, still waking up alongside the rest of campus. The smell of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air, mingling with the scent of vanilla and warm pastries. Sunlight filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting golden rectangles onto the worn wooden floors.

You sit in your usual booth, hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea, though you haven’t taken a single sip.

You barely register the sound of the door swinging open before a familiar figure drops into the seat across from you, yawning into his hoodie sleeve.

“You look horrible.”

You huff out a weak laugh, your throat still tight from earlier. “Good morning to you too, ‘Dashi.”

Yamaguchi stretches his arms overhead before slumping against the seat, blinking at you with the exhaustion of a man who has spent way too many nights buried under physics equations. He eyes you carefully, then his gaze flicks to the untouched tea in your hands.

“You called me before seven in the morning,” he says, running a hand through his messy hair. “Which means either the apocalypse is happening, or you did something monumentally stupid.”

You drag a hand down your face. “Both.”

His lips quirk up slightly. “Alright. Start talking.”

You open your mouth, but—where do you even start?

The confession? The kiss? The fact that you spent half the night crying over your laptop, replaying Tsukishima’s voice like some deranged, lovesick film major cliché?

Your hands tighten around your cup. “It’s about Kei.”

Yamaguchi doesn’t even blink. “Figured.”

You exhale, shaky and uneven. “I—I don’t know what to do.”

He leans forward slightly, forearms resting against the table, his expression turning serious. “Okay. Take it from the top.”

So you do. You tell him everything.

About the jealousy—the awful, gut-wrenching feeling that took root in your chest the second you saw Tsukishima kiss Yachi, the way it spiraled into something uncontrollable, something you couldn’t suppress.

About the fight—the way Tsukishima saw right through you, called you out, made you snap. The way you finally admitted the truth you’d been running from for so long.

And then, the kiss. The way he grabbed you, the way he pulled you in, the way he kissed you like he was starving, like he’d been waiting for this just as long as you had. 

And the way, afterwards, you panicked.

The silence stretches when you finally stop talking. You can’t bring yourself to meet Yamaguchi’s eyes.

“I left,” you whisper, shame curling in your chest. “I—I freaked out and left. And now I don’t know what to do.”

Yamaguchi doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reaches for his coffee, takes a slow sip, and then sets it down with a soft thunk. Then—finally—he speaks.

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

Your head jerks up. “Excuse me?”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like you’ve personally caused him actual, physical pain. “This is literally the worst case of mutual pining I’ve ever seen.”

“Mutual—?”

“Yes,” Yamaguchi says, exasperated. “Are you seriously telling me you didn’t realize he’s been in love with you since we were, like, fifteen?”

You choke on air. “What?”

He gives you a flat look. “Oh, come on. You think he just puts up with people like that? Have you met Kei? He barely tolerates most human interaction, but you? You’re different.”

Your stomach sinks.

Yamaguchi leans back against the booth, studying you carefully. His voice is quieter when he says, “Now he’s waiting for you.”

And suddenly, it all comes rushing back.

Like that summer when you were fourteen, sprawled on the grass in his backyard, swatting mosquitoes away while he read some ridiculous philosophy book he’d scoffed at but couldn’t put down. You had called him pretentious, poked fun at his stupid little annotations, and then—just when he was about to snap back—he had looked at you. Really looked at you. And for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

Or the time in high school when he stayed up with you, sitting outside your house at two in the fucking morning, just because you had a nightmare and didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t say anything about it, didn’t mock you for it, didn’t act like it was a big deal. He just let you talk about stupid shit until you weren’t shaking anymore.

Then there was college. The night he drove across town just because you were too drunk to make it back to your dorm. The way he let you ramble about some stupid movie you had watched for class while he carried you—actually carried you—up the stairs because your legs had stopped working.

And then, of course, last night.

The way he kissed you like he had been holding himself back for years.

The way he whispered, Say it again, like he needed to hear it more than anything.

The way you had run.

Because maybe, deep down, you always knew.

Yamaguchi watches you, then exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “You love him.”

It’s not a question.

It's a fact.

And you know that, of course. You’ve always known that. But hearing it out loud—having someone else say it, no doubt, no hesitation—it does something to you.

Your fingers tighten around your cup.

“I love him,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “I love him, and I’m scared.”

Yamaguchi hums, tapping his fingers against the rim of his coffee cup. “Why?”

“Because if this goes wrong, I lose him,” you say, staring down at the caramel liquid in your cup.

He tilts his head. “And if it goes right?”

You swallow.

That’s the terrifying part.

If it goes right—if you actually let yourself believe in this, in him… then everything changes. You can never get it back. 

But then again, if you don’t, you’ll never move forward.

Yamaguchi leans forward, voice softer now. “Look, I get it. Kei is… a lot. He’s a pain in the ass. But you don’t have to be afraid of this. Not with him.”

You swallow hard. Your thumb hovers over his name on your phone. But you don’t call him.

Not yet.

Instead, you look at Yamaguchi, heart hammering, voice barely steady.

“What do I do?”

He smiles, small and knowing.

“Go to him.”

fifteen.

Your heart is pounding.

Your pulse is an erratic drumbeat in your ears, your breath uneven as you stand outside Tsukishima’s apartment at 7 AM like an absolute psychopath. The hallway is empty, most of the residents still asleep, because normal people do not show up at their best friend’s door at the crack of dawn after confessing their feelings, running away, and then ghosting them for a whole night.

But here you are.

You raise a fist to knock. Pause. Lower it.

Your mind runs through every possible thing that could go wrong. What if he’s still asleep? What if he’s awake, but he’s pissed? What if you just turn around and pretend this never happened and never speak to him again and maybe flee the country?

But no. No more running. You’re done with that.

You exhale sharply, grit your teeth, and knock.

There’s no response at first.

Then, a very loud, very irritated groan.

Footsteps. A thud as something (probably his knee) collides with something else (probably his desk), followed by a mumbled string of very colorful expletives.

And then, the door swings open.

Tsukishima is standing there, half-asleep and thoroughly unamused.

He’s not wearing his glasses, which is so much worse, because without them, he looks—soft. His blond hair is a complete mess, sticking up in every direction, and he’s wearing that stupid old hoodie that’s two sizes too big, the one you’ve definitely stolen at some point but returned because it stopped smelling like him. His sweatpants are loose around his hips, and his expression is pure murder as he squints at you.

“…The fuck?” His voice is rough from sleep. “It’s seven in the morning.”

You should probably say something. You should probably apologize. You should probably explain why you’ve lost your goddamn mind and decided to show up here like some dramatic main character in an early 2000s rom-com.

But instead, you go on your tiptoes, yank down him by his hoodie, and kiss him. 

It happens fast, and at first, he completely freezes.

Like full-body shutdown. His entire frame locks up, his hands hovering uncertainly, breath caught in his throat.

For one horrifying moment, you think you’ve made a mistake.

But then… then his hands find your waist. And suddenly, he’s kissing you back.

It’s slow at first, tentative, like he’s still processing this, still trying to believe it’s real. But then his fingers tighten against your skin, pulling you closer, and you can feel the exact moment he gives in.

The exact moment he stops thinking.

And God, you feel it everywhere.

The heat of him, the slow, deliberate press of his lips, the quiet, shaky exhale against your mouth before he tilts his head and deepens the kiss. He’s warm, solid, real, and for the first time in weeks, your head isn’t a tangled mess of doubt and fear.

For the first time, everything makes sense.

You pull away first, breathless, heart hammering.

His hands linger on your waist. He keeps his face close to yours, just centimeters away, and when he finally opens his eyes, they’re dark with something you’ve never seen before. Something raw. Something completely, utterly unguarded.

You swallow hard. “I—”

His thumb brushes over your hip, the smallest, barest movement.

You inhale sharply. “I’m sorry.”

Tsukishima doesn’t move. He just watches you, eyes sharp, unreadable. “For what?”

“For—” You hesitate. Your fingers tighten against the fabric of his hoodie. “For running. For taking so long to figure this out. For—”

He sighs, but there’s no real annoyance in it. His gaze softens—just slightly, just enough.

“You’re a dumbass,” he mutters.

You let out a breathless laugh. “I know.”

A pause. Then, he asks, “Do you wanna go for a walk?”

You blink up at him, caught off guard. “A walk?”

“Yeah.” Tsukishima shrugs, stepping back, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. 

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you gonna walk me back to my dorm? Because I literally just dragged myself here for nothing if that’s the case.”

He rolls his eyes. “No, dumbass. I just—” He exhales, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Just wanna walk somewhere.”

Your lips twitch. “…How romantic of you.”

He scoffs. “Shut up.”

But he doesn’t deny it.

The air is crisp, the early morning quiet—the kind of stillness that only exists before the rest of the world wakes up.

You walk side by side, the distance between you not much, but enough. For a while, neither of you speak.

“I meant it.”

You glance at him. “Huh?”

Tsukishima doesn’t look at you. His gaze is fixed ahead, his hands still tucked into his hoodie, his jaw set. But his voice—low, certain—doesn’t waver.

“I meant it,” he repeats. “When I told you to say it again.”

Your breath catches. He keeps walking, staring straight ahead like this isn’t some life-altering confession, like he’s just casually commenting on the weather. But his hands are tensed inside his hoodie pocket. His shoulders are tight.

You swallow. “Kei…”

“I don’t like a lot of people,” he says bluntly. “I barely tolerate most people. But you—”

He stops walking. You stop too.

Finally, he turns to you, and God—his eyes. They burn, golden in the morning light, open and completely unguarded.

“You make me feel like I belong in a movie.”

Your breath stutters.

He exhales, shaking his head, voice quieter now. “And I fucking hate movies.”

A laugh bubbles up your throat, sudden and unexpected, and you can’t stop smiling.

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely making it a thing,” you tease, nudging him with your shoulder. “My grumpy, six-foot-four, emotionally constipated best friend just confessed he’s been hopelessly in love with me for years.”

His ears go pink. “I didn’t say that.”

“You did.”

“Shut up.”

You grin. “Make me.”

A pause. Then, he does.

This time, the kiss is gentler. No urgency, no desperation—just warmth. Just him. And as his hands settle against your waist, as your fingers curl into the fabric of his hoodie, as his lips move against yours with something quieter, steadier, you realize something very, very important.

For the first time in a long, long time—you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

With him.

But then, the moment stretches, and a thought occurs to you. An extremely essential thought.

You pull back slightly, blinking up at him. Tsukishima frowns. “What.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Then, after a beat, you blurt out, “So… does this mean we’re dating?”

His eyes flicker with something unreadable—half amusement, half exasperation. He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his thumb brushes absently along your waist, his grip shifting slightly, like he’s still getting used to the fact that he’s touching you.

Then, flatly, he says, “I don’t know. Do you plan on kissing other people?”

“No?” You reply, your nose scrunching. 

“Then yeah.”

You stare. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

You gape at him. “Kei, you are the most unromantic—”

But then something flickers across your mind, something bigger, heavier. A thought that makes your stomach tighten, your fingers twitch against his hoodie.

You inhale. “Hey,” you say, softer this time. “How long?”

He watches you. “How long what?”

You swallow hard. “How long have you loved me?”

A pause. A long pause.

Tsukishima doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. But there’s something in his expression that shifts—something softer, quieter. His fingers tighten just slightly at your waist. And then, voice low, steady, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, he sighs.

“I can’t remember when I didn’t.”

Your heart stops. Your breath catches, your fingers clench around his hoodie, and God—what are you supposed to say to that? Because there’s no hesitation, no uncertainty. Just him. Just this. Just the reality of a love so deeply ingrained in the both of you that it has no beginning and no end.

You exhale—shaky, breathless. “You suck at romance, you know that?”

He rolls his eyes. “And yet, you’re still standing here.”

You laugh, bright and full, and before you can think about it, before you can overanalyze, you’re kissing him again.

It’s easier this time.

Because now, you’re sure. 

And maybe the universe really does have a thing for sadism, because somehow, against all logic, it made him your person. The same Tsukishima Kei who laughs at your mistakes and misfortunes, who calls you out for your delusions and idiocy, who makes fun of your collection of Smiskis and love of reality TV. But at the same time, this Tsukishima Kei would do anything for you, even if you have to beg and beg. This Tsukishima Kei has held you through the worst days of your life, has seen you at your lowest moments and stayed, has waited for you for years to see him the way he has always seen you.

And you think, feeling his hands tighten at your waist and his lips linger against yours like he’s memorising the feeling, that maybe, just maybe, the universe got this one right.

⨭ closing notes; i adore tsukishima kei so much. tbh i rly struggled w this work bc i had this concept fleshed out for so long and j cldnt execute it the way i wanted, but thank u to @kinaskorner for beta reading and for the reassurance <3 i hope u guys love this too!! if u made it to the end of this super long fic lol then thank u sm and i hope u have the loveliest day

[starrysturnz]

overseas, under you

pairing. chris sturniolo x reader

summary. the boys invite y/n to come along on their winter vacation to hawaii, but problems arise when she finds herself sharing a bedroom with her long time secret crush… and it only has one bed.

warnings. mutual pining between two idiots. smut; a wet dream, some grinding… minor voyuerism in a way. they’re so cute they make me feel so lonely and i literally made them up.

word count. 3.9k

author’s note. one bed trope friends to lovers my beloved <3 a bit cliche but i think i was able to put a unique spin on it! lmk what you guys think :3 this started getting too long so i broke it into two parts!! part two will be released at the beginning of next week. happy valentine’s day to everyone, especially @strnilolover and @darksturnz for helping a girl out with ideas!! kisses!

masterlist | taglist | part two

© starrysturnz. all rights reserved.

a sharp beep beep! from her driveway was y/n’s cue to move along. she’d been rushing all morning to finish up her last-minute packing, having left half of the job for the day of, in true procrastinator fashion. a quick sweep through her mental checklist— phone, wallet, keys, passport— and she was scrambling out of the house.

she almost forgot to lock the door behind her when she caught sight of the boy in the driver’s seat, drumming his fingers impatiently against the leather of the steering wheel. chris always managed to take her breath away, as if it were the first time she was seeing his sharp jawline and piercing aquamarine eyes. shaking the thought away, she turned around and stuffed her key into the lock, triple checking that it was secure before shuffling off to throw her luggage in the trunk.

the slam of the driver’s side door fell on deaf ears as the girl hoisted her suitcase into the van, on a mission to be as quick as possible (after all, she was making them late). a light touch on her wrist had y/n jumping out of her skin, almost dropping the second bag onto the icy ground at her feet. her free hand flew to her chest as her head whipped around to find chris there, the feeling of his fingertips burning into the back of the other still gripping the handle.

chris was already smiling when they locked eyes. “i got it, ma.”

“chris,” she breathed, her shoulders dropping. “thank you.”

“’s nothing,” he replied warmly, in a way that had her cheeks heating up in the cold boston air. “go hop up front, a’ight? you’re picking music. but if you choose wrong, i’m giving matt aux privileges.”

⁺⁎˚

the ride to the airport was relatively uneventful. chris was too focused on following the gps to chat with anyone, not willing to miss an exit and add more time to detour. nick and matt were busy discussing the logistics of an upcoming space camp photoshoot in the backseat, leaving y/n to chew anxiously on her nails, her thoughts racing so fast they could lap the van on the highway.

she felt like an intruder. this trip had been a sort of anniversary gift from a brand the triplets had been partnered with for two years— an all-expenses-paid vacation to hawaii. they could’ve invited anyone, and they used their one extra ticket on her.

even though the boys assured her multiple times that their decision was instant and unanimous— “of course we want you there, you’re our best friend,”— y/n still felt guilty, insisting their brother, justin, might be a more logical choice. it was chris who’d spoken first, claiming that if they’d invited justin, they’d have had to find a way to include their parents as well, and then they’d be paying out of pocket.

it sort of made sense, y/n could admit. but maybe a part of her wished that chris wanted her there for another reason. she wished she was his plus one. that they could hold hands on the beach at sunset. that he would wrap her in his towel to keep her warm as the salty air grew colder. that—

“hey. y/n.”

a two-toned whistle had her tumbling off her train of thought, head snapping toward the driver’s seat at the sound of chris’s voice.

“you good? we’re here.”

she cleared her throat. “sorry. i was just….”

she wasn’t even sure the boy had heard her, already pushing his door open to grab their bags from the back. taking a deep breath, y/n followed suit, double checking they hadn’t left anything in the car before heading to the departures entrance.

⁺⁎˚

y/n was an infrequent flyer, to say the least. the few times she had been on a plane, she found herself in the back of the cabin, sandwiched between large men whose legs took up half her space, and unruly children who should’ve been old enough to know not to throw their toys into her lap.

this was something else entirely. a whole private cubical to herself, with a seat that reclined into a bed? no large men, no unruly children? it was a dream, if nothing else. she was thrilled.

but she also wished she wasn’t in first class. which is ridiculous, by the way— no one ever wishes they weren’t in first class, it’s a backwards thought process. and y/n knew that, but she also knew that if they’d just been in comfort plus, she could sit next to chris, chatting and laughing as usual. he would make the twelve hour flight feel like nothing, but instead, it would feel like double the trip in her little isolation pod.

the thought had her kicking herself in guilt. not only was she in first class, but she was there for free. it wasn’t fair of her to be upset about anything.

unbeknownst to the girl, chris caught the crease in her brow, frowning at the idea that something was bothering her. he waited a minute for the people around them to take their seats before crossing the aisle to her seat, knocking gently on the partition to get her attention.

“y’know, for someone going on a tropical vacation, you don’t seem too excited,” he mused. there was a teasing edge to his voice, but just beneath the surface, concern. ���what, you worried you forgot to take out the trash before you left and your house’ll be smelly when you get home?”

“well i am now!” y/n groaned. “jesus, chris, why would you even say that?”

chris’s eyes crinkled as he laughed at her expense. “relax, ma, i’m just playin‘. knowing you, i bet you even swept your driveway before leaving. you didn’t forget anything.”

“swept my—?”

“excuse me, sir,” a polite tone sounded from the other aisle on the right side of the plane, “you’ll need to take your seat now. we will be taking off shortly.”

“’s my cue,” said chris, offering her one last reassuring smile. “stop stressing, okay? everything’s gonna be fine.”

⁺⁎˚

everything was not fine.

it was now three hours into the flight, and y/n had made the mistake of falling asleep immediately, missing dinner. she’d needed it, too, since the whole day had been so busy that she’d only managed to grab a couple snacks here and there. a small bag of chips was the only sustenance at her disposal, and the thought of eating another helping of overly-salted junk food made her feel queasy. she supposed she’d have to wait five hours until breakfast was served.

she’d just decided on a movie to try to pass the time when she heard the unmistakable sound of chris’s voice, his chin resting in his palm as he propped himself up on the partition.

“you get your beauty sleep?”

the boy’s hair was mussed— clearly, he’d made himself comfortable in his own seat. his sagging shoulders gave the impression that he was tired, but his shining eyes were wide awake.

“guess so.”

he hummed, his gaze softening just so. “doing okay? it’s gonna be a long flight still. you need anything?”

y/n gave him her best fake smile, not wanting to ask for anything more than she’d already been given. “i’m good, chris, don’t worry.”

mischief crept its way onto his face at her response, and before she could question it, he said, “guess you won’t be needing this, then.” he pulled the packaged meal from behind his back with a dramatic sigh and a look of faux disappointment he could only hold for so long at y/n’s reaction.

a gasp fell from her lips, her stomach growling at the site. “oh, my god, chris, how did you get that?”

“they skipped you at dinner,” he shrugged. “figured you were passed out, so i asked for two. first class comes with perks, apparently.”

“you’re incredible,” she sighed, relief washing over her like warm water when he handed her the container. “thank you. seriously.”

“’course, ma.” chris turned to head back to his seat, but stopped at the sound of her voice.

“wait, chris…," she blurted, maybe a little too quickly, "can you stay?”

when he turned back around, y/n’s demeanor had shifted from relaxed to tense— like she was afraid she might’ve said the wrong thing. her neck was turtling just barely into her shoulders, and she was picking at her fingernails, a longtime nervous habit chris had (unsuccessfully) tried many times to help her break.

it made his heart hurt. “sure, yeah. scooch over a little.”

the seat was suitable for one person, but it was obviously not built for a cuddle session. the pair struggled to find a comfortable position for a few minutes, before settling on chris sitting behind y/n, arms wrapped around her middle as she ate her dinner. she tried to ignore the electric feeling of his thumbs rubbing into her waist through her hoodie— and it had almost made her choke on a mouthful when he’d first started. she wasn’t even sure he was aware he was doing it.

when she’d finished the last of her lukewarm meal, chris set her tray off to the side in favor of pulling her back to lay down with him.

“i know you’re tired, y/n,” he spoke quietly, his breath fanning her temple, flexing his biceps to bring her that much closer to his chest (a move that made her cheeks grow warm). he planted a hand to the back of her head to steady her against his heart. “go to sleep, okay? i’ll wake you up for breakfast. promise.”

y/n only nodded, and prayed he couldn’t feel the intensity of her heartbeat through their clothing.

⁺⁎˚

the hotel was nice. far nicer than any y/n had ever stayed in before. the lobby alone was massive, with advertisements for every amenity a person could ask for— including a spa, which the girl would happily be taking advantage of. the thought alone sent a shiver down her spine.

nick, noticing, asked, “everything okay?”

she nodded. “just excited to finally relax. i’m afraid the first thing i’m going to do is take a long nap.”

“i hear you. matt kept me up all night with his giggling next door.”

“sorry i like comedies,” the middle triplet rolled his eyes, “not my fault you’re such a light sleeper. y’know they had complimentary earplugs, right?”

“i have sensitive ears, matthew.”

“next guest?” called the concierge before matt could respond, and he gave nick a pointed look before stepping up to check them in.

“so, chris,” nick started with a teasing tone, “what happened to you last night?”

“what do you mean, ‘what happened’ to me?” chris said, seemingly annoyed by the conversation already.

“i got up to use the bathroom and when i peeked into your seat, you were gone. care to tell where you were?”

y/n felt the flush make its way to her face, avoiding eye contact with either of the boys. she opened her phone, hoping to appear busy as she listened anxiously.

“dude, why were you peeking, that’s so creepy—”

“don’t sidestep my question, mister,” nick pressed. “you were gone when i came back, too.”

“i was hanging out with y/n, jeez, man. and it’s weird that you were stalking me, like that’s insane.”

“what, how—? i’m your brother! is it insane that i want to know where you are and that you’re safe? what if you were being kidnapped?”

“on a plane? really, nick?”

grateful that the subject had changed, y/n tuned out the rest of their argument, having mastered that skill many years ago. she watched as matt spoke with the kind-looking older fellow at the service desk, who eventually handed him two room keys. matt offered him a smile in return, and waved the rest of the group over to the elevators.

“okay, so,” he began handing them their respective keycards, “me and nick will take 1207. chris and y/n, you get 1204.”

y/n’s head snapped up at that. “i thought i was rooming with nick.”

“originally, yeah,” said matt, “but we had to move the space camp photoshoot to the early morning, remember? and since me and nick will have to wake up at, like, six, we figured we’d just bunk together.”

she paused. y/n did recall the boys mentioning how matt would come along to the photoshoot because nick needed someone he trusted to help oversee the production, since they’d be working with an entirely unfamiliar crew. she didn’t know they’d changed the time, though.

this wasn’t even out of the norm— y/n had slept over at the sturniolo’s many times growing up, often spending the night in the boys’ beds with them. but something about sharing a hotel room with chris, just the two of them, for a week... it filled her with butterflies.

“and the rooms aren’t connecting?” she clarified.

“well, they’re across from each other,” said matt. “sort of. we’ll just be ten feet away, don’t worry.”

“that okay?” asked chris, a nervous tinge in his voice.

y/n smiled as confidently as she could manage. “yeah, yes. of course. as long as i can take my long showers in peace.”

“fine. but you better leave the door unlocked in case i have to piss.”

they all laughed at that as the elevator doors opened, and headed in the direction of their rooms.

“okay,” matt began, checking his phone, “can we all agree to meet downstairs for dinner at eight?”

“eight? why so late?”

“because i’m tired, nick. i want to sleep. sue me.”

“at least you got some sleep last night,” nick mumbled, and matt’s hand flew up to smack him in the arm, but chris caught his wrist before it could land.

“just go take your nap. we’ll be down at eight.”

with that, the two retreated into their room. chris fumbled with his keycard for a moment, and y/n’s mouth had just opened to offer help when he managed to open the door.

“finally, some peace and—”

chris’s words died in his throat when he saw the room ahead of him. it was beautiful, like the rest of the hotel, with a mini-bar, a luxury bathroom with a glass shower, and floor to ceiling windows on the back wall. what he wasn’t expecting, however, was the bed.

the one bed.

behind him, y/n yawned, pushing past to be able to close the door. “what’s the matter?” she asked, before catching sight of the issue. “oh.”

it was quiet for a few moments.

chris didn’t know what to think. on the one hand, he’d be a liar if he said that this situation wasn’t on par with countless scenarios he’d daydreamed about him and y/n; the prospect of sleeping next to her— feeling her soft skin against his bare chest, the fresh scent of her shampoo filling his lungs— definitely excited him, no doubt about it. he wished they could have that every day.

on the other hand, he knew this wasn’t like all those times she had spent the night at their place over the years. back in boston, y/n split her time relatively evenly between the triplets. sure, she slept in chris’s bed occasionally, cuddling up close to him under his painfully thin comforter (often complaining that it needed replacing), but she did the same with matt and nick…. chris wasn’t special for that. here, though, in this five star hotel room… it would be just the two of them, alone every night, without so much as a connecting room with the others. it felt different, and he’d be remiss to blindly assume her comfort there.

the silence hung heavily in the air around them, creeping into awkward territory, but it seemed nobody wanted to speak first. chris glanced at y/n, who shifted her weight from one foot to the other. he tried to read her expression, but couldn’t land on anything concrete.

wanting to get ahead of the situation, to prove to y/n that her feelings were his priority, chris said in his best reassuring tone, “no worries. ’s probably just a mistake. i bet they’ll find us another room if we call the front desk.”

y/n’s heart dropped. of course chris didn’t want to sleep in the same bed as her for a whole week. that would be weird, she knew it would be. she just hadn’t expected him to suggest getting another room so quickly— knowing chris, she assumed he would make a few jokes about sharing, maybe playfully suggest she sleep on the floor (to which she would gently smack him upside the head, probably), but ultimately leave it up to her to decide. and from there, she could’ve told him it was no big deal. but now… well, she didn’t want to make him feel like he had to do anything he didn’t want to.

“uh, yeah,” she cleared her throat. “yeah, let’s call, then.”

nobody mentioned the way their once-bubbly energy seemed to fall flat, like a soda that had been left out overnight. in fact, nobody said another word until chris got the concierge on the line.

y/n didn’t bother to pay any attention to the call. she was busy trying not to let her exhaustion and disappointment mark the beginning of this trip; they were supposed to have fun! she needed to shake this one minor thing off and get to vacationing. maybe a visit to the spa would—

“you’re sure? all right. no, it’s no problem. thanks. you too.”

a short huff came from chris as he placed the phone back onto the receiver. scratching the inner corner of his eye, he spoke in an apologetic voice, “they said they’re booked out.” a sympathetic smile graced his perfect lips. “’m sorry. guess you’re stuck with me.”

y/n had never tried so hard to keep her emotions off her face. relief and excitement trickled down her spine, kickstarting her brain. it was like her body forgot it was tired. but she figured chris was probably still uneasy about it, and she didn’t want to seem like a creep.

“okay,” she said, “how about we figure out plan b later? i really need this nap right now.” a minor fib— she was giddy in the moment, yes, but the second her back touched a mattress, she’d be done for.

“all right, sleeping beauty,” the triplet rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth quirking up, eye crinkling. “you take the bed, i’ll take the chair.”

“don’t be ridiculous,” she tried, hoping she wasn’t pushing her luck, “you need to sleep as much as i do, chris. come lay down.”

“are you sure? it’s no big, honest.”

she giggled, partially to lighten the mood, but also because she found this whole thing to be a bit silly. they’d cuddled countless times! waving him over, she teased, “since when are you too good to nap with me? get over here.”

the content smile on his face was all the reassurance she needed.

⁺⁎˚

chris was losing his mind.

there was no one to blame but himself. he knew agreeing to sleep with y/n (in the literal sense) would be a bad idea, but he hadn’t anticipated this.

by some random fluke, he’d woken up before their alarm went off, disoriented. it took him a few moments to realize where he was, what he was doing there, and… why his chest felt so heavy.

his breath caught. somehow, in the midst of their nap, y/n had ended up right on top of chris— her face buried in his neck, ribs expanding and contracting opposite his own. her legs, which had fallen either side of him, were slightly bent, giving him a sinful view of her ass in those yoga pants.

chris laid there for a moment or so, dumbfounded by his sudden predicament. what was the right thing to do here? he couldn’t wake her up, they still had— (he looked over at the clock)— half an hour until the alarm sounded. and moving her felt like too risky a disturbance. if anyone needed the rest right now, it was y/n.

the boy sighed, gazing at the ceiling like it might have an answer written on it. a minute passed, and just when he thought things couldn’t get more complicated— a whimper.

so faint that at first, chris figured he’d imagined it. but then came another, louder this time, and he definitely didn’t imagine that.

she must’ve been having a nightmare. his heart broke a little at the idea that she wasn’t enjoying what little sleep they were able to get after such a long trip. his arms came up to carefully hold her, rubbing her back with tender strokes so as not to startle her awake. closing his eyes, he hoped that her subconscious would recognize his comforting touch and send the bad dreams away.

“i got you, ma,” he whispered quietly, continuing the motions on her back. it didn’t seem to help— she was still tense above him.

… then the craziest thing: the girl’s hips rutting gently into his own. “chris,” y/n whined, eyes still shut tight, another whimper spilling from her mouth.

chris’s eyes shot open.

no way. she was dreaming about him?

now he was really fucked. if he didn’t move her, he’d surely be getting hard any minute, and that would be… difficult to explain, to put it simply. but if he did, and she woke up, she’d suspect he’d done so for a reason, and she’d be embarrassed either way.

“please, chris.” she sounded desperate.

chris felt like a perv, with his unconscious friend unknowingly grinding on him and whining his name into his neck. god, maybe he was dreaming; she looked so beautiful like this. but she was clearly in some level of distress, and his concern for his friend outweighed his morals.

“okay, ’s okay baby. ’m here,” he laid his cheek against the top of her head, hugging her tighter to him. “’m right here, y/n.”

he kept rubbing her back— slowly, reassuringly. y/n’s body shook in his hold, and chris had to stifle a moan as she gave a particularly hard rut of her hips, another distressed noise hitting his ears. poor thing.

“shh. c’mon, ma… you’re okay.”

eventually, y/n’s movements began to still, and soon the only sounds to be heard were her soft snores filling the room, like nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

the boy beneath her stared at a spot on the wall, in shock. his best friend just had a dirty dream about him, right on top of him! what was he supposed to do now? tell her? ignore it? the thought of letting this go made his stomach churn.

what if it meant nothing? he’d had countless sexual dreams about people he wasn’t romantically interested in. (if every accidental fantasy had a deeper meaning, he’d be married to his high school algebra tutor by now.) chris couldn’t help but wonder, though…

what if it meant everything?

taglist: @stylessuperwhore @sofieeeeex

[5sospenguinqueen]

Pocket Money Pt 2 | Lance Stroll x Reader

Summary: After some time apart, you and Lance realise your love and future mean more than fans' hateful comments

Warnings: Swearing. Sexual innuendos? Hateful fans

Female reader. All pics found on Pinterest.

prev.

F1 Masterlist

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astonmartinf1 just posted

liked by chloestroll, scottyjames31 and others

astonmartinf1 fighting for points in imola. lance brings it home in P9, securing valuable points for the team #imolagp

5,396 comments

user1 lance stroll domination might bore some people

lance_stroll the car felt good this weekend. let’s keep it up, team

user2 just me or was lance looking a little happier this weekend than he has recently? 

YourUserName wonderful race result

liked by lance_stroll

→ user3 the first social media appearance we’ve had from y/n in weeks and it was in support of lance?!?! what does this mean

user4 does this mean they’re still together?

→ user5 nah he definitely dumped her ass and now she’s just trying to get him back

user6 y/n commented and lance liked it! please tell me they’re back together. most underrated but cutest couple on the grid

user7 @ YourUserName talk about trying too hard. he broke up with you, sweetie. let it go

user8 i know they’re more private but i need them to confirm they’re still together so i can sleep easy

astonmartinf1 @ YourUserName fancy paying us a visit in canada?

liked by YourUserName 

user9 not a bunch of you switching up like you weren’t calling for her head on a pike

→ user10 literally, you guys are probably the reason they broke up but now you’re acting like it’s not what you wanted, and the end of the world

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astonmartinf1 just posted

liked by YourUserName, lance_stroll and others

astonmartinf1 all ready for race day tagged: lance_stroll, fernandoalo_official, YourUserName

4,889 comments

user11 omg lance looked so happy this weekend and i bet it was because y/n was there

fernandoalo_official y/n looks far better in lance’s helmet

→ YourUserName should put me in his seat next time

→ astonmartinf1 deal

→ lance_stroll my father will hear about this

→ YourUserName okay draco malfoy

chloestroll okay but i think i just fell in love with those eyes

→ scottyjames31 why are you never this publicly obsessed with me

→ chloestroll because you’re not y/n

→ danielricciardo she is the moment

BestFriend do NOT put her in the car. girly barely passed her driving test the second time

→ YourUserName you can shade me in our messages but publicly, you’re supposed to support me

→ lance_stroll you told me you did pass the first time

→ YourUserName no, i told you i tried really hard. and you claim to listen to me

→ lance_stroll i do! 

→ YourUserName it’s okay. i’m still proud of you

→ lance_stroll and i’ll still let you behind the wheel so long as the drive is less than 10 minutes

user12 is this confirmation that they’re back together!!

→ user13 it has to be. not only is she in the paddock but she’s on an official post AND lance commented in response to her

user14 so you’re still trying to tell me she’s NOT a fame whore? she vanishes from social media after being found out as a gold digger to come back on an f1 page

→ user15 seriously, what is your issue? lance looked happier this race than he has in weeks, and he scored some points. there’s obviously only one reason for that

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user1 agreed with @ daddynando. when you search her business, she is literally like second face you see after the ceo. she worked hard and deserves to flaunt it

→ user2 honestly. everyone talks about her being with lance for his money like she’s not loaded herself, and earnt it

→ user3 lance stroll wins for #1 wag because he’s always been so supportive of her and proud 

user4 funny how many of you have switched your opinion since finding out y/n is in charge of running a pretty wealthy company, and has enough money to keep herself comfortable without lance

user5 i also really miss y/n and lance. they were a more lowkey couple but he was always caught in the background of driver clips staring at her

→ user6 i won’t believe in love until they get back together 

→ user9 @ user6 you’re such a hypocrite. you literally have rts from two months ago of hateful tweets about her

user7 i’m so happy other people are finally being supportive of lance and y/n

user8 the way the two of them used to gush about starting a family and growing old together but the internet had to make her feel horrible about being in love 

user9 not that i’m not happy to see all this support for y/nance. i’m just wondering where you were when she was getting death threats?

user10 omg guys, lance just posted! 

user11 aston martin reposted this as well

→ user12 so did f1

→ user13 and mclaren, redbull and mercedes

→ user14 and danny ric, charles leclerc and a whole bunch of the grid

→ user15 they really said, we’re fed up with all of you

user16 people who have actually met her in the paddock say she’s the nicest person ever so idk why all you keyboard warriors thought you knew better

user17 the grid really said “not our y/n”

user18 anyone else feel like that last sentence was a bit of a threat? 

→ user19 it’s because aston martin’s legal team located one of the women who was sending the most threats and served her 

→ user20 i love that the official F1 website did an article about this because it serves as a warning to others

→ user21 lance stroll will find you lol

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YourUserName just posted

liked by lance_stroll, danielricciardo and others

YourUserName here’s what you missed on glee 

3,115 comments

user1 omg welcome back. we’ve missed you 

user2 excuse me but all the lance pictures. my favourite f1 couple are back together! 

lance_stroll my pretty girl 💚 but why did you have to post the ice-cream pic?

→ YourUserName but i also posted that hot pic with the chain 🤤

→ lance_stroll i thought we talked about that emoji

→ danielricciardo don’t try and change her

user3 woof woof (i can’t tell which of them i want to sleep with more)

user4 okay but the black shirt and the chain. i’m starting to see what miss y/n sees him in

YourBrother dude, i do not need to see your underwear on this app. please do not post what are clearly post-sex pics

→ YourUserName they were not! we did that the night before. this was me begging him not to leave for a meeting and get back in bed. he declined :( 

→ BestFriend how dare he! 

→ lance_stroll it was an important meeting! 

→ BestFriend and she’s an important person! 

estebanocon at least lance will stop moping now

→ lance_stroll i think i was allowed to mope! the love of my life was sad and in another country 

→ user5 ladies, get a man who simps over you like lance stroll  

chloestroll um, why am i not included in this photo dump? do i mean nothing to you?

→ lance_stroll how many times do i have to tell you that you’re not her favourite stroll

→ YourUserName it’s actually lawrence 

user6 do you know what i like seeing more than happy y/n and lance? no hate comments on y/n’s post. our queen is being respected and loved as she should be 

user7 excuse me, are those wedding pics in the background

→ YourUserName oops

lance_stroll just posted

liked by alex_albon, fernandoalo_official and others

lance_stroll 💚🤍

4,006 comments

astonmartinf1 everybody stay calm! We are totally normal about this! 

→ user8 admin is all of us 

astonmartinf1 a huge congratulations to the newlyweds but we’re still disappointed that you didn’t have an aston martin themed wedding :( 

→ YourUserName we had an aston martin as our wedding car?

→ astonmartinf1 keep talking

→ user9 not admin acting like they didn't know this prior to y/n spilling on her recent post

YourUserName i love you, my darling husband

→ lance_stroll i love you more, my breathtaking wife. thank you for marrying me

→ user10 get someone who THANKS you for marrying them

danielricciardo what a beautiful day, mate. and what a gorgeous bride 

→ YourUserName no amount of compliments will make me forgive you 

→ danielricciardo i didn’t mean to! i was drunk

→ YourUserName you still kissed my husband

→ lance_stroll you promised you wouldn’t tell the internet! 

→ YourUserName i lied!

→ landonorris this marriage is off to a great start. nice work, ricciardo 

chloestroll have i stopped crying? not really. my baby brother and perfect sister-in-law

→ YourUserName i’m so lucky to call you my sister-in-law. although i think you’d do better as my wife ;)

→ chloestroll there’s still time

→ lance_stroll stop

→ scottyjames31 agreed

user11 i don’t understand how anyone could deny that these two truly love each other. the way they look at each other 

landonorris could you go be ridiculously in love somewhere else?

→ lance_stroll this is my instagram?

user12 omg they still got married on their original date

YourBrother nonna says it’s time for babies now

→ lance_stroll i’m trying my best

→ danielricciardo don’t tell the internet that you’re raw dogging every night

→ YourUserName that’s it. you’re blocked

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YourUserName just posted

liked by lance_stroll, georgerussell63 and others

YourUserName say hi to baby stroll

3,421 comments

lance_stroll my amazing family 🥰 y/n, you have given me the best gift by being my wife, and then by being my partner in parenting. i love you 

→ YourUserName why do you insist on making me cry, my heart. i love you and our family more than anything

user13 excuse me but where was the pregnancy announcement!

chloestroll baby and the bear

→ YourUserName baby stroll loves his bobo bear more than anything 

→ chloestroll what can i say, i’m the ultimate gift giver

→ lance_stroll you gave me an old vogue magazine for my birthday last year 

→ chloestroll yes but for your 18th, i got you a hot date who eventually turned into the love of your life so i think i’m off the hook until the end of days 

→ YourUserName i only agreed to it because i thought i would be YOUR hot date @ chloestroll 

→ lance_stroll i have feelings 

user14 we get their wedding and then we get nothing until they announce a whole ass baby 

scottyjames31 am i still banned from the stroll household?

→ lance_stroll idk will you stop bringing red bull baby stuff into my house

→ scottyjames31 but then how will he show that he’s uncle scotty’s #1 supporter

→ danielricciardo and uncle danny’s 

→ lance_stroll because he’s his dad’s #1 supporter 

→ danielricciardo @ scottyjames31 this is uncle erasure 

user15 when lance told us y/n wasn’t at races for the past 5 months because she was swamped at work, what he really meant was she was hiding a baby bump from us

user16 i knew her showing up in a different team hoodie every race was more than just a running joke! 

→ landonorris she wore those because she loves mclaren! she loves us! 

→ YourUserName debatable

→ landonorris i thought being a mum was supposed to make you nicer

→ YourUserName it did but you’re not my child 

user17 i know this is gross but from doing the math, he got her pregnant on their honeymoon

→ user18 faster than he is on track 

user19 um, mr stroll, we weren’t familiar with your game. those back muscles

→ YourUserName they’re what got me pregnant 

→ user20 um, hello mrs stroll. PR might be after you now 

→ astonmartinf1 she’s off the hook for now. we’re kind of hoping for them to make a grid’s worth of babies

→ user21 lawrence stroll ghost wrote this 

→ lance_stroll sounds like we need to get started on baby #2, sweetheart 

→ YourUserName only if you push this one out 

→ lance_stroll deal

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

Hands up if you were shocked by Lance’s contract announcement today 😂 Never saw that coming

Baby Fever Angst Series

F1 Request are open! (They might just take some time)

Tag list

@callsignwidow @luvrrish @evans-dejong @sadsierra2 @justdreamersdream @spookystitchery @dark-night-sky-99 @majusialikesfastcars @luckyladycreator2 @mrosales16 @reguluscrystals @tvdtw4ever @alwaysclassyeagle @gigicisneros @thecubanator2 @goldenharrysworld @awritingtree @jxnellat @lav3nder-haze @hc-dutch @mxdi0 @buckybarnessweetheart @ironmaiden1313 @dreamercrowd @yourbane @glow-ish @g-l-o-b-e-w-h-o-r-e @weekendlusting @lemon-lav @minkyungseokie @bibissparkles @peachiicherries @rosecentury @exotic-iris13

[midnightwriter21]

jjk hcs: toji & inumaki as boyfriends

characters: toji fushiguro & toge inumaki

warnings: slight toji slander hehe, nothing else i think?

an: read gojo & nanami version HERE read yuji, yuta, and megumi version HERE

TOJI FUSHIGURO

lord he is too fine

i’m so sorry for the toji simps myself included

cause you have the most nonchalant boyfriend to ever exist

he’s one of the “babe relaaaaxxxx. it’s not even a big deal.” boyfriends

and that’s cause for toji…. nothing is ever a big deal

unlessssss *wink wink*

unless you happen to be in danger

bc then toji is doing whatever it takes to make you safe

and i do mean whatever it takes

don’t expect fancy dates that take a lot of effort

toji’s version of a “fancy” date is taking you to the food court at the mall

and by taking you i mean he walks with you there and then makes you pay for the food

broke ass

he doesn’t really care about pda

toji does what toji wants

if he wants to pull you into his lap in the middle of a meeting with a client?

then he’s pulling you into his lap tf

and you’re gonna sit there until the meeting is over

if he wants to stick his tongue down your throat in the middle of a park?

he’s finding y’all a nice comfy bench to sit on and he’s pulling you in to meet his lips

toji WILL go radio silent out of nowhere

sometimes you’ll go days

maybe even weeks

without hearing from him

he always turns back up though

he’s like the stray dog that you start leaving food out for that disappears and reappears at will

he’s got nicknames for dayyysssss

but you never know what context he’s using them in

for example:

princess (derogatory)

brat (affectionate)

yeah anyways 10/10 would let him treat me like shit

TOGE INUMAKI

*sigh* he’s so baby girl sugarplum gumdrop angel face pookie bear handsome boy

so uh let’s address the obvious here…

mans can’t physically converse with you

BUT

inumaki is 100% the best of the jjk boys when it comes to communication!!

whether y’all talk using sign language, texting, a dry erase board, etc.

he is great when it comes to discussing feelings/ problems/ literally anything else

just uh… not verbally

now jjk usually portrays gojo and yuji as comedic relief

but inumaki? is a CLOWNNNNN

swear

i just know he’s funny asf

his facial expressions have to be top tier

and just imagine everybody having a lil sorcerer meeting. everybody is super serious and then you just hear “tuna mayo” come from the corner

bruh i would not be able to contain myself i would laugh til i cried

inumaki is stage 5 clinger!!!

bro is so open with the pda

he uses pda as an excuse to show you off brag

he spots some guys eyeing you from across the street?

he’s slipping his hand in your back pocket, giving you a lil squeeze and shooting them a smug smirk

and he is SMOOTHHHHH

bro can’t even speak to you but everything he does is so smooth

ong his rizz is top tier

as for nicknames…

since he can’t say normal words I like to think he’d find the name of a food that he can call you as a replacement lol

ex. when u blush he calls you out on it by poking your cheek and calling you “tomato”

boyyyy if you don’t find a cuter food name to call me

yeah i love him

[heavyhitterheaux]

Two Little Suspects

See Me Through You Blurb

Synopsis: Y/N and her husband do the suspect challenge featuring her twin brother Ja'Marr

Pairing: Husband!Joe Burrow x Wife!Reader

Requested by: @languageho3 and @hoodharlow 💕

Series Masterlist

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

Sighing as you heard the doorbell rang as soon as you had sat down at the couch instantly annoyed you. Joe was somewhere in the house and probably in his office downstairs going over film and figured that you had to be the one to answer the door.

As you approached the foyer, you could make out the tall shape of your twin brother without even having to see him face to face and quickly opened the door.

Even though he had literally been over for breakfast earlier that morning.

“So, ugly twin has returned. What do you want? Didn’t I just feed you like an hour ago?” You asked as you looked at your phone to see what the time was and he quickly rolled his eyes.

“Move your ass over so I can come in and besides that was breakfast and now I’m here for lunch.”

“Do I look like an all you can eat buffet to you?! Groceries are EXPENSIVE and you and Joe eat like yall have never seen food before in your LIVES.”

“Hmm, not to me but definitely probably to your husband. The all you can eat buffet I mean and um, so? He’s the highest paid quarterback in the league, he can afford it. Where is he by the way?”

“Minding his business which you should be doing sir. You have your own house, but no one would ever know it because you are literally here all the time. And I’m ignoring that first part.” You told him as you sat down on the couch as he sat next to you.

“I came over to see you because I was bored.”

“Well, I was about to watch a movie, but I have another idea.”

“Go on.”

“We’re doing the suspect challenge and I’m making Joe do it too because I have something to tell him. Let me go get him, actually I’ll call him because I don’t feel like walking.”

“Lazy ass. But what do you have to tell him?”

“I will put you out of my house if you don’t shut up. And I have to tell him about this.” You told Ja’Marr and showed him the picture that had been in your pocket as you clicked on Husband in your phone and Ja’Marr’s eyes went wide.

He answered on the third ring which had you confused.

“Hmm? Ignoring me, husband? What took you so long to answer?”

“Baby, I literally spent the ENTIRE morning with you besides you leaving earlier. I just wanted to look at film for an hour and I told you then you could have me for the rest of the day and it just so happens that I’m finished.”

“Good, come upstairs and pay me some attention.”

“What kind of attention? Like? Are you naked right now?” Joe asked as he whispered the last part and your eyes went wide.

“NO! Your best friend is here…. Again I might add talking about he's ready for lunch and getting on my last nerve as usual.”

“Don’t listen to her Joe!” Ja’Marr yelled and you immediately pinched him.

Joe’s laughter boomed through the phone as you could hear his footsteps coming up the stairs. Once he reached the top step, he hung up and made his way to the living room where both of you were to see Ja’Marr now deep in a bag of Doritos and leaned down to kiss you.

“Wait, where did those come from?” You asked him as he was crunching in your ear because he hadn’t moved from his spot on the couch and you didn’t remember buying any Doritos.

“The grocery store.”

“I will…. One of these days I am going to beat your ass for that smart mouth you have. But anyway everybody up and outside!”

“Why?! It’s our bye week! I want to relax!” Ja’Marr whined as Joe was just standing there.

“Because I said so and I’m the boss. We’re doing the suspect challenge.”

“NO.” Joe immediately protested and tried to run away, but you quickly grabbed him by his waist.

“YES! You are doing it and I don’t want to hear any complaints. You two outside, NOW.”

The three of you were now lined up on the pavement in your long driveway and you were up first as you handed Ja’Marr your phone to record it.

“You ready?” He asked and you simply nodded as you took off running.

“Suspect has the attitude of someone who is 6’5, but she’s only 4’11.”

You stopped running as he finished while Joe was trying not to laugh.

“AND?!?! The two of you would crumble without me. Give me that phone. Ja’Marr, you’re up.”

“Be nice to me now.”

“I’m never nice to you anyway, so why would that change? Anyway, start running.” You told him as you pulled down your sleeves because you were starting to get cold.

Ja’Marr did what he was told as you thought of something good to say.

“Hmm, the suspect claims that he comes over to see his twin sister, but is really trying to steal my man.”

“HE WAS MINE FIRST!” Ja’Marr exclaimed as you motioned for Joe to go next even though he was too busy laughing.

“You’re just another one of his groupies! Now come on, husband.”

“Here we go because I already know some wild shit is about to come out of your mouth.” He muttered and all you did was smirk at him as he started running.

“Suspect won’t let me hold it when he pees.”

“NOT YALL BEING NASTY.” Ja’Marr yelled as Joe was too busy laughing.

“Come on, babe. Just one time?!” You asked and your brother looked at both of you in disgust.

“No! And get over here because it’s your turn.”

“Make it a good one.”

“Suspect claims that she doesn’t want kids right now, but that didn’t stop her from wrapping her legs around me last night.” Joe finished and your eyes went wide.

You and Ja’Marr collectively gasped and all he did was pinch the bridge of his nose as you turned to Joe.

“No regrets, my husband is fine as FUCK. Just look at those frosted tips. I plan on wrapping…”

“OKAY, MOVING ON! SPARE ME THE DETAILS!”

“Ja’Marr don’t you want a niece or a nephew?” Joe asked him and he sighed.

“A smaller version of the two of you? I’m going to have my work cut out for me.”

Now it was Ja’Marr’s turn and he was smiling because he was waiting for you to tell Joe the news while Joe was going to record and he got into position.

“Suspect set me up with his sister and then proceeded to get mad when he found out that we were in a relationship and didn’t talk to me for two weeks.”

“AHT AHT! Because the two of you hid it from me! Nice try.”

“We didn’t hide it!” You exclaimed as Joe was getting into position for Ja’Marr to record him.

“You didn’t exactly tell the truth either. Anyway, moving on. Suspect is one of my best friends and because of him this is the happiest I’ve ever seen my twin sister even though the two of them make me sick.” As soon as he was finished Joe turned the camera to the two of you to show him leaning down to kiss you.

“Aww, that was cute. I guess you are okay, sometimes.” You told him as he rolled his eyes.

“Don’t make me take it back.” He told you as you took your phone back to record your brother.

“Suspect is the ugly twin who was found in a dumpster behind Popeyes in a back alley.”

“WE LOOK ALIKE, DUMBASS! And I just gave you a nice one!”

“YOU’RE ADOPTED! So I don’t know what you’re talking about! And I fed you this morning and that was nice of me! I could have let you starve!”

“I got one for you babe.” You told Joe and he nodded as he began to run.

“Even though suspects claimed that I don’t want kids right now, he’s in for a surprise because I took a pregnancy test two days ago and it was confirmed at my doctor’s appointment this morning. He’s going to be a father of not one, but two little Burrows.”

Joe immediately stopped and turned to you with a look of disbelief on his face.

“Are you serious? Baby, are you serious?” He asked as he couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

You nodded your head and proceeded to take out the sonogram picture from the pocket of your sweatshirt and handed it to him.

He stared at it for a few seconds before he immediately picked you up and you had wrapped your legs around his waist as he was planting kisses all over your face.

“See? That position right there is why she has two in her. Good lord, I wasn’t ready for one mini version of them and now there’s going to be two?!” Ja’Marr said as he had taken your phone and was now recording you and Joe.

“They’re going to need to pay me if they want me to babysit.”

[enzstr]

A simple gesture

pairing: timeskip pro hero bakugo x florist reader

synopsis: in which a villain attacks a city and how they first met

note: i swear I'll upload the new chapter soon...

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

The first time you met the pro hero Dynamight wasn’t under the best of circumstances.

It had been a chaotic morning. The air was thick with the smell of rain, the clouds hanging heavy in the sky like a warning. You were just finishing up with a delivery when the sound of explosions echoed through the streets. The sudden shockwave rattled your windows, the tremor of it sent a slight jolt of panic through your chest.

You knew that voice. It was unmistakable.

Dynamight, also known as Katsuki Bakugo.

As a Pro Hero, his presence was no stranger in the city. He was loud, brash, and was always making a scene—whether it was in the field or just walking down the street. But today, his usual energetic blasts of power seemed a little... too close to your shop.

You rushed outside, ready to make sure nothing had been destroyed, only to be greeted by the sight of Dynamight himself standing in the middle of the street, a few blocks down, as a villain sprinted away from him, seemingly unhurt despite the trail of fire left behind.

With a scowl, he blasted the villain back with a quick explosion, sending the enemy stumbling across the ground, and knocking them unconscious in seconds.

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the nearest cart of flowers from the front of your shop and ran toward the commotion. The villain had been caught, but the street was left in disarray, flower petals strewn about by the blast of Dynamight's attack. The sudden thought of your shop’s inventory sent a pang of frustration through you.

Just as you reached the scene, he was turning to leave, his back facing you. You could see the slight exhaustion in his shoulders, but as always, his demeanor was harsh. Before he could step away, you called out.

"Hey!" You jogged over to him, trying to steady your breathing. "Do you know just how much damage you caused?!"

Dynamight paused and turned, his fiery gaze locking onto you. His frown deepened, and the usual glint of irritation in his eyes returned "Tch, I don’t have time for this. It’s not like it’s a big deal."

"You literally just knocked over half of my flowers!" you retorted, raising your hands in frustration as you glanced at the scattered petals and crushed stems. You weren’t angry, not really—it was just the instinct to protect what you worked hard for.

He glanced over at the mess with a sigh, his expression softening for a brief second, though he quickly masked it with his usual scowl. "It’s not like I did it on purpose," he muttered, running a hand through his spiky blonde hair. "I’ll pay for the damages, alright?"

You blinked at him, taken aback. This wasn’t what you expected. Most people would’ve brushed it off or ignored it. But Dynamight, in his own strange way, was offering a solution.

"I’m not trying to take your money." you said, the words coming/ blurting out of your mouth before you could think. "Just... be more careful next time, alright?"

He looked at you for a moment, the familiar tension in his jaw easing up just a bit. He didn’t argue, which was surprising. "Fine," he grunted, his hands slipping into his jacket's pockets/ the pockets of his jacket. "Although, you should learn to stand further away when shit like that happens."

A brief chuckle escaped you. "I’m a florist, not a fighter. I’m used to taking care of plants, not dodging explosions."

He shot you a sideways glance, his expression unreadable for a moment. "Yeah, well... flowers are pretty delicate, huh?"

There was a beat of silence between you before he gave a sharp nod and walked away, leaving you to clean up the mess. His footsteps echoed in the quiet street as he disappeared into the distance. You stood there, staring at the spot where he stood, unsure of what had just happened.

---

A week later, Dynamight returned.

You were tending to some roses by the window when the bell above the door chimed again. You didn’t even look up at first, assuming it was a regular customer.

"Got any damn tulips?" a voice grunted from behind you, sounding annoyed.

You paused, recognizing the voice instantly, and turned to face him, who stood in the doorway with an expression that was half irritated and half... hesitant?

"Uh, sure, right here." you said, motioning to the cooler where the tulips were stored. “What’s the occasion?”

He grunted, his eyes darting around as he clearly tried to avoid saying much. “Just... get ‘em ready, okay?” He said awkwardly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it. He wasn’t one for sharing personal details, you knew that much. You prepared the bouquet, wrapping the stems carefully, trying not to notice how his gaze seemed to flicker back to you every few seconds.

"Here you go," you said, handing him the small bouquet of vibrant tulips. "Are these for someone special?"

He snatched them from your hands quickly, glancing at the flowers with an unreadable expression. Then, in his usual gruff tone, he muttered, "Yeah, whatever. I’m just trying to make up for last week."

A small, surprised laugh escaped you. "You’re actually apologizing?"

He scowled but said nothing, his hand/grip tightening around the stems of the flowers. "I’m not... apologizing. I’m just making sure I don’t get yelled at again."

Despite his stubbornness, you could see the sincerity in his actions. "Well, thank you. It means a lot, Dynamight," you said quietly, a smile tugging at your lips. "I’m sure whoever’s getting these will appreciate it."

He mumbled something under his breath, then turned to leave. But before he reached the door, he paused, glancing back at you.

"Yeah, well... don’t expect me to start buying flowers every week," he said, his tone a little softer than usual. "But I’ll see you around."

You watched him go, your heart unexpectedly light as you stood behind the counter, the soft scent of tulips still lingering in the air.

Maybe Dynamight was a lot more complicated than he appeared. But you had the feeling that this wasn’t the last time he’d be visiting your little shop.

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

enzstr © 2024. please don't steal, modify or copy my writing on any other platforms!

[bluejutdae]

• best friend Stray Kids saving you (or being saved by you) from a bad date | Seungmin x you

Chan, Minho, Changbin, Hyunjin, Jisung, Felix, Jeongin

genre: friend to (implied) lovers

warnings: non graphic shitty date, nothing too specific

These have been the worst two weeks of your life. And it’s not just to say it. Sure, maybe other people had it worse, but yours was bad!

First: your boss blamed you for his mistakes in front of all your colleagues.

Second: you were so mad at him, you drank a bit too much (but apparently not enough to forget it) and decided it was the perfect moment to finally confess your love to your friend Seungmin.

He rejected you.

Something about being friends and not being the right moment and honestly? You stopped listening after having grasped the direction of his answer. Being rejected is the worst, and also the reason why you waited almost ten months to confess.

Third: you decided to go out with the first guy you met on a dating app just to try and forget about Seungmin and the awkward tension following your confession. And this is just the cherry on top: the guy was such an asshole you literally had to ran away from him and, in doing so, you:

1. Lost your purse

2. Fell down the stairs, slippery from the rain, spraining your ankle

3. Had to contact the last person you wanted to talk to, asking for his help.

So you’re now waiting for Seungmin, sitting at a small coffee shop, your penchant for keeping spare change on all your coats’ pockets is finally paying you back and you have just enough to order a scorching hot coffee to warm yourself.

Your ankle hurts and you hit your elbow on the stairs but you’re too scared to check it out. All this is less worse than the fact that you had to call him. Calling Seungmin is humiliating, but all your other friends are either out of town or too far to help you.

As you go to check the time on your phone, only a black display stares back at you. Because of course you forgot to charge your phone, why would something be in your favor? Luckily, it’s only a few minutes later when you see Seungmin enter the coffee shop.

“Sorry I had to call you”, you say as a greeting.

“You keep apologizing, it’s dumb.” Of course it is. Taking a deep breath you stand up trying not to put too much weight on your bad ankle and start walking towards the door. After just a couple of steps, Seungmin’s hand is on your arm, stopping you. “If you hurt your ankle, we should go to the hospital.”

“No, no thanks. A trip to the hospital is the last thing I need, right now. I just need my bed and to forget the last two weeks.” You try to walk but he’s holding you again, preventing you from going far.

“At least don’t walk on it.”

“Am I supposed to jump on my good foot? I’m wearing high heels.” You show him your heeled boots but it’s not enough to deter him.

“Just-“ he doesn’t finish his sentence but bends a little and in a second he scoops you up, one arm behind your knees and one behind your back. Your crush, to whom you confessed just a few days ago, just picked you up bridal style.

Nor your complaints or your attempts of being put down are effective, and Seungmin carries you to his car, setting you with your feet back on the ground just outside the car door. God, this is so awkward.

Once in the car, he’s quiet but you’re so tense you just open your mouth and start speaking.

“I’m sorry I texted you,” you apologize again, “I just-“

“How did you hurt your ankle?”

“I fell from the stairs, they were slippery from the rain.”

“Were you rushing somewhere?”

This is weird. You haven’t talked to him since the whole fiasco. You used to talk to him daily, silly conversations and serious talks; and now you haven’t talked for almost 10 days and you miss him so much, but how are you supposed to act after he rejected you?

“I was running away, actually.”

“From?” He’s driving, but every now and then he turns his eyes on you.

“From a guy I was on a date with.”

He wants to press down on the brakes right there and then, wants to scream at you and pinch whoever this guy is. But he knows it’s his fault. At least partially. He did reject you. True, he did it because you confessed and all he could think about was all the time he spent crushing on you (maybe even loving you?) and how it would inevitably end up with him hurting you, because you deserve better and he’s not boyfriend material. How can he give you what you deserve? He’s busy, dating openly would be dangerous for you, and you’re so pretty it hurts.

“Did he- what did he do?”

“Nothing that requires calling the police. But he was not a nice guy and to get out I left my bag there.”

“Are you okay? Ankle excluded.”

“Yes. Thanks for picking me up.” Why is it so hard? “I-“ You what? You miss him? You want him? You wanna go back to when you hadn’t confessed?

With a dry exhale, he puts his blinkers on and tersely pulls over. He turns off the car and turns to face you properly, a serious expression on his pretty face.

“You went on a date and the guy was so terrible you had to run away. And got hurt in the process. How is this okay?”

“Min, it’s not a big deal.”

“Yes, it is!” He sounds frustrated, and maybe it's because he had to come pick you up.

“Sorry you had to come pic-“

“STOP FUCKING SAY SORRY!” He never screams at you, not when you’re serious. He rubs his eyes and exhales loudly. “Where did you even meet this guy?”

“On a dating app.”

“Why the fuck are you on a dating app?”

“Because that’s how normal people meet someone who they might like.”

“But you already like someone.” Your blood turns cold, you weren’t expecting Seungmin to mention it. Is he mocking you? Wasn't it enough to be rejected?

“Seungmin.”

“You already like someone so why are you on a dating app?”

“To forget that someone I like, since it’s unreciprocated.” You mutter, annoyed by this conversation but not knowing how to stop it either.

“Why are you being so stubborn now?”

“I’m the one being stubborn? What do you want from me Seungmin!”

“Not to give up so fucking easily, maybe!”

“Why? So I have to suffer even more?” You shake your head and, in another situation, you’d leave this car. “You don’t like me like that, you made that clear.”

“I just said it because I didn’t know what to say!” He’s loud, like he never is. “I can’t give you what you deserve, but I don’t want you to want other men.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Very mature, Min.”

“Just don’t date.” He says it like it explains everything.

“Why?”

“Because!”

“Fuck, I can’t do this now. Can you just take me home please?”

“How are you gonna go in with no keys?”

“Fuck! Fuck fuck.” How did you not think about that? You have to go back and hope your bag hasn't been stolen. Your money’s probably gone, but maybe they left the keys. You rest your forehead against the cold window and take a deep breath.

“You can stay with me.” Seungmin offers, and his voice is so careful and you’re so tired, you nod and answer with a small yes.

The ride to Seungmin’s is quiet, and so is the time spent doing your night time routine. Brushing your teeth side by side, washing your face, trying to be quiet while letting him help you move from one room to another. You did it together lots of times, but now everything is so awkward. You’re about to ask him for some clothes to sleep in when he speaks.

“When I said I couldn’t be with you was because I am not fit to be a boyfriend and you deserve someone who gives all he has to make you happy and I don’t know if I can be that person. Not because I don’t like you, I really like you. I have feelings for you. Not the friend kinda feelings. The wanting-to-kiss-you feelings. And I don’t want you to have feelings for someone else. Can you- Can you wait and give me some time?”

You weren’t expecting his confession, this is a surprise for you. And it’s stupid that he thinks he doesn’t deserve you, cause he’s perfect in your eyes, but you’re not gonna belittle his worries.

“This is the most I’ve ever heard you talk uninterrupted.”

“This is all you have to say??”

“You can have all the time you want, Seungminnie. Just promise to talk to me when you reach a decision.” He nods solemnly, and then he gives you a small smile.

Neither of you knows what will happen, but for now you’ll cuddle together under the duvet and leave for tomorrow your worries.

(In a week, he tells you he’ll do anything necessary to prevent you from liking other guys. Which includes being your boyfriend and work hard to deserve your feeling. You tell him it’s stupid, because he already deserves them. He doesn’t believe you, but he kisses you anyway. It’s the best kiss of your life and when you call him your boyfriend for the first time, his smile is so bright you might have to invest on some good sunglasses.)

[rosiecosy]

sticker war˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

(woozi x svt!reader) ft svt — fluff

the tour bus rumbles along the highway, the curtains drawn just enough to block out the afternoon sun.

woozi doesn’t even react when you climb into his lap.

he’s used to this—used to you curling up against him, used to your arms wrapping around his neck. he barely glances up from his laptop as you press your forehead against his shoulder, letting out a long, dramatic sigh.

"what now?" he asks, unimpressed.

"nothing," you mumble. "just love you."

he finally looks at you, one eyebrow raised. "do you?"

"mmhmm." you nuzzle into him. "so much."

he scoffs but his arms still wrap around your waist, pulling you in closer. "you only say that when you're about to do something stupid."

you gasp, offended. "excuse me? i’m just showing affection to my beloved boyfriend. is that so wrong?"

"no," he says dryly, "but you're never this sweet for no reason."

you pout at him, but he doesn't budge. after a long moment, you huff and pull something from your pocket.

"okay, fine," you admit, holding up a small pack of stickers. "i bought these at the last pit stop."

woozi eyes the stickers—cute, pastel-colored, shaped like little animals and hearts. "...okay?"

"i wanna put one on you."

"no."

"why not?"

"because i don't trust you," he says bluntly.

you whine, dramatically draping yourself over him. "just one! please, jihoonnnn?"

he sighs, long-suffering. "fine. one."

grinning, you peel off a tiny pink heart and gently stick it onto his cheek. you giggle, tilting your head to admire your work. "perfect."

woozi only rolls his eyes, but the tips of his ears turn red. "happy now?"

"very."

he lets you press a quick kiss to his lips before nudging you off his lap. "now go before the others see me like this."

"you're no fun," you tease, skipping off.

what woozi doesn’t know is that you have an entire plan in mind.

——

it starts with hoshi.

technically, seungkwan is the one who escalates it. he spots the sticker pack in your hand and immediately gets ideas.

"you know what would be funny?" he whispers.

"putting them on soonyoung?" you whisper back.

seungkwan grins. "exactly."

hoshi, as it turns out, is not observant. you and seungkwan manage to slap at least ten stickers on his arms, two on his forehead, and one directly on his nose before he finally notices.

"yah!" he yelps, swatting at his face. "what is this? who did this?"

"soonyoung-ah," jeonghan calls from the couch, not even looking up from his phone. "you're literally covered in stickers. how did you not notice?"

"who did this?" hoshi demands, glaring at you and seungkwan.

seungkwan, the traitor, immediately shoves the sticker pack into your hands and yells, "IT WAS Y/N!" before bolting down the bus aisle.

"yah!" you screech, but it’s too late. hoshi is already lunging at you.

——

the war that follows is legendary.

wonwoo, quietly amused, starts placing stickers on mingyu’s back when he’s not paying attention.

vernon, ever the instigator, sticks a tiny bunny onto seungcheol’s forehead while he’s asleep. when seungcheol wakes up, he sighs and mutters, "i don't even want to know."

jun and minghao get creative, turning dino into a walking sticker collage before he even realizes. joshua, ever the angel (or so he claims), slaps a cat sticker on jeonghan, who retaliates by covering joshua’s entire arm in revenge.

dokyeom? he just sits there and accepts his fate as everyone covers him in tiny pandas.

you, of course, are in the middle of it all, giggling as you stick another heart onto seungkwan’s cheek—

"y/n."

you freeze.

slowly, you turn. woozi stands there, arms crossed, an unimpressed look on his face.

he’s mostly sticker-free, except for the small pink heart still on his cheek.

"uh," you start. "hi, jihoon."

"you started this, didn’t you?"

"…no?"

woozi exhales, rubbing his temples. "you’re so much trouble."

"but you love me," you say sweetly, stepping closer.

he lets you, sighing again when you peel off another sticker—this one shaped like a star—and place it gently on the tip of his nose.

"there," you say, grinning. "even more perfect."

he blinks, scrunches his nose, then huffs. "you're ridiculous."

"and you're cute," you say, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before dashing off.

woozi watches you go, shaking his head. he doesn’t peel off the stickers.

[mejaemin]

how to kick someone out of your house - park jisung

day one of my valentine’s day countdown! ♡

wc: 0.7k

summary: you and jisung would never host hangouts for the sole reason of hating the idea of having to kick them out. what better way to do so than avoiding it altogether?

warning: socially anxious ji and reader, this is literally so me, fluff, featuring the rest of dream! ji and reader get very much babied in this but its cute

an: this was heavily inspired by my own hatred for inviting people over, because jisung and reader’s dilemma is so real !!! how are you supposed to tell people when they need to leave ?!?! i feel like there isn’t a single way that isn’t like kinda mean

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

the group is small, only being filled with jisung’s main friends but it feels so much bigger. they can get quite loud, altogether creating a sound loud enough to compensate for a small crowd. you’re tucked into his arm, watching a tv show that no one else is paying attention to while the boys engage in whatever wild conversation they’re having. some are making odd or inappropriate jokes, but you’re too preoccupied to laugh at any of it.

truthfully, you’d been dreading this get-together as soon as it was brought up. you already dealt with people enough today as work, but it was special for jisung and despite him not giving you much warning to mentally prepare, you still went to make him happy. it was quite overstimulating, and they’ve been over for quite a while, and you sleepily rub your eyes with a pout while you rest your head on jisung’s shoulder.

you can tell he’s starting to get there too, not being as responsive to the conversation. he leans back a little more against the couch, slouching and bringing you with him. after a few more detached responses, he pulls his phone from his pocket and begins texting you, looking at you expectantly.

ji 🐹: do you also really want everyone to go home or is it just me?

you: no, me too.. i’m so tired i can barely keep my eyes open ;(

ji 🐹: this is why i hate having them over.. how am i supposed to say, “i’m tired, can you get out now?” that’s so scary (ㅠ﹏ㅠ)

you: babyyy i cant do it either.. i’m no better than you!

ji 🐹: maybe we just fall asleep here? do you think they’ll get the message?

you: let’s do it!! anything to avoid having to say it out loud..

after shutting both your phones, you can’t help but giggle at your conversation. you’re both so similar, anxious and dreading the idea of confrontation. jisung’s arm wraps around your shoulder a little tighter, allowing you to rest your head on his. with your knees to your chest, you bring the blanket a little closer, covering you and him (mostly you) with it. you pull the oversized hood of jisung’s hoodie over your head, and finally let your eyes shut. eventually he falls silent and the weight of his head lands on yours, and you eventually fall asleep. one of the many skills you’ve developed since dating jisung was the ability to tune out his friends voices, and it’s something you’re very grateful for in this moment.

after a good while, your eyes finally open, and your heart nearly leaps out of its chest. everyone’s gone now, and not only is it dead silent but the lights were shut off. when you pull out your phone, immediately going to check the whereabouts of your guests, you finally relax into the back of the couch. the boys left messages in your shared group chat, taking pictures of you two sleeping while cooing about ‘how cute the babies are when they’re sleepy’ and how they were ‘soso responsible and helped put you both to bed’. looking down, you see the fluffy comforter from jisung’s bed over your laps. next to you, the boy himself is still asleep, neck in an incredibly uncomfortable position as he drools into his hand.

snapping a picture, you send it to them with a thank you message before shutting your phone off and kissing jisung awake. his brows furrow, putting his hands out in front of him as he sits up.

“hey, don’t.. don’t do that when they’re.. oh.” always so shy in front of his friends, he leans away from your lips before his eyes fully open and he notices their departure.

you smile, albeit tiredly, using your sleeve to wipe the corner of his mouth before leaning in to give him a hug. he thanks everything he loves that the lights are off, hiding his flushed cheeks while you do so.

sitting up, you take a minute to stretch. “they left, finally.”

he’s already up, taking the blankets in one arm and yours in the other to take you back to his bedroom. “oh, i’m so happy our plan worked. i was really dreading having to say something…”

he lays down first, opening an arm for you to rest your head on before pulling both blankets over your bodies. nuzzling your head against his shoulder you get comfortable again, ready to fall back asleep. you don’t even bother saying anything, simply nodding in response. you’re too sleepy to continue making conversation, and you know he is too, both of you drained from having to talk to people for so long.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

[glossdebut]

PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ 04

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SERIES SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you.

✧ SERIES TAGS: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut, fake/pretend relationship (not main couple), rockstar!yoongi, model!reader, guitarist yoongi, singer jungkook, bassist taehyung, drummer jimin, manager namjoon, yoongi & maknae line are in a rock band, reader & seokjin are best friends, yoongi & hoseok are best friends (sope duo ftw), yoongi has a tongue piercing, reader is a brat

✧ CHAPTER TAGS/WARNINGS: flashback in italics, the first chapter all in MC pov!, The Truce, yoongi is insane about pens and notebooks again, communication via lipliner and water, yijeong cameo, park jimin strikes fear into yoongi’s heart, tangerine hats and heart-pocket pants, seokjin is unhelpful, idk most of this chapter is a bit silly to be completely honest with y’all, stuff happens but i don't want to give too much away (see series masterlist for series warnings)

✧ CHAPTER WORDCOUNT: 6.8k words

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: i told y’all this was a slow burn... but happy valentine’s day! thank you to tanni @yooniivrse and K @ktownshizzle for beta reading this chapter (and K again for literally writing a whole line for me when i got stuck)

CH. 04: E-X-P-L-O-D-E

There are worse places to be, you think, than sitting across from Yoo Kihyun.

He’s easy on the eyes, that’s for sure. Expensive clothes, perfect teeth, dark brown hair styled neatly away from his forehead. An endearing little divot at the curve of his sharp jawline. The kindest eyes you think you’ve ever seen.

The restaurant he’s picked is a bit hard to get into, a new trendy spot that’s had a line out the door every night since it opened. You’re honestly a little impressed that he managed to get a reservation. If the flush in his cheeks when you mention that is anything to go by, that was his intention.

You’re no good at first dates, but Kihyun doesn’t seem to mind carrying the conversation. He has plenty to talk about, riding high on his critically acclaimed debut. Well-earned acclaim, in your book—he has a beautiful voice, along with a charming personality that his growing fanbase is sure to love the more they get to know him.

You’re happy to listen, and even happier to keep the attention off of yourself for as long as you can. Kihyun’s relatively new to the industry, hasn’t been in the game for too long, and you’re starting to realize that the less he knows about you, the more you like him.

It’s been a long time since you’ve been in such an intimate setting with a man, and you’re surprised by how at ease you begin to feel as the night goes on. The tension in your body dissipates more and more with every sip of wine, every kind word. Kihyun hasn’t made any move to touch you, but by the time he pays the check, you’re starting to think you’d let him if he tried. 

You wait together, side by side, for the valet to pull his car around. Maybe it’s the wine, but in a moment of bravery, you allow your fingers to slide between his tentatively. Your heart skips a beat when his hand squeezes yours, interlacing your fingers all the way.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Kihyun says, his voice soft. “I’m sure you get that all the time, being a model. But it’s true.”

His free hand comes up to brush your hair away from your face, and you turn to him. “It’s the first thing I noticed about you,” he adds.

It’s the first thing everyone notices about you now, with your new career path. More often than not, it’s the only thing people bother to notice, you think. You still haven’t learned how to respond to the compliments, not when you don’t even know how to feel about them.

You kiss him instead. Your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him to meet you. His lips firm against yours, frozen in surprise, before they yield into something softer. Tentative. Chaste. Gentle.

You were probably going to do it anyway. It feels better than saying ‘thank you’ when you’re not sure you’d really mean it.

★ ★ ★

A week has passed since you shook hands with the devil.

To his credit, Yoongi seems to be holding up his end of the deal—better than you are, even. It’s unsettling. You think you hate it.

It’s gone like this:

Day One

You wake up and choose violence. 

The memory of Yoongi using your ex-boyfriend against you is still fresh in your brain, and you decide to say fuck the truce until he pays suitably. It’s only fair.

Yoongi doesn’t leave the house often, unless dragged, but the universe seems to be on your side today. He’s out of cigarettes! Praise be. Surely his absence, however brief, will give you enough time to exact your revenge.

You tiptoe down the stairs just in time to watch the back of his stupid head disappear as the front door closes behind him. As soon as the lock clicks, you’re springing into action.

Careful not to tip off his bandmates, you slink around the house, stuffing your cardigan pockets with every single Uni-Ball Jetstream Premier pen you can get your sights on. 

Maybe it’s childish, stealing all of Yoongi’s pens, but fuck it. What else do you know about him? What else is there to take? Pens will have to do.

By the time you’ve scanned each room in the house, twice, your pockets are overflowing. More pens create indentations in your stomach, stashed in the elastic of your leggings like a belt. Like a trophy.

Fifty-six pens are dumped into the bathroom sink. An absolute mental patient amount of pens for one person to have, you think as you separate them into groups of seven. You bundle them with hair ties, stuff them into your emptied makeup bag, and hide your crime in plain sight—the bathroom counter.

Then you wait.

The payoff isn’t immediate. Once he gets back, it takes an hour or so for Yoongi to start patting his pockets. A little longer for drawers to be rifled through, for couch cushions to be overturned. You just watch, confident that he won’t find anything.

By the end of the night, the house looks like it’s been ransacked by a crazed fan, and your makeup bag remains untouched.

Day Two

You have sightseeing plans with Jeongguk today, a visit to the aquarium where photos are sure to be taken. You’re just about to leave the bedroom and head downstairs to meet him when you notice a piece of paper at your feet. 

When you pick it up, you’re faced with the scrawl of Yoongi’s handwriting, smudged in an eerily familiar shade of pink.

The name Yoo Kihyun will never come out of my mouth again if that’s what you want. Have mercy on my pens. They didn’t do anything wrong.

— The only person committed to this truce, apparently

P.S. Your lipliner is now a prisoner of war

You absolutely do not snort at Yoongi’s note. You don’t find him funny.

What is funny, however, is that when he swiped the lipliner from the bathroom you share with Jeongguk, he was less than three feet away from all fifty-six of his pens the whole time. Hilarious.

Later, when you’re watching a group of penguins waddle behind glass, you’re hit with a wave of genius.

“Jeongguk-ah.”

“Hm?”

“Can you give me Yoongi’s number? I don’t have it.”

Jeongguk seems more than happy to comply, instantly fishing his phone out from the inner pocket of his jacket.

“Wow, you two are really getting along now, huh?” he asks, sounding more than pleased as he taps on his phone screen a few times.

“What can I say?” you hum, retrieving your own phone as it buzzes in your purse. “You were right. We have more in common than we thought.”

You open your camera app and hit record, zooming in on one of the penguins for a few seconds. It’s the first thing you send to Yoongi.

You: has anyone ever told you that you walk like this?

Day Three

Yoongi has a new pack of pens delivered to the house. You decide to let him keep them, since your message was clearly received. No response to your penguin text yet.

Day Four

Jeongguk needs to learn to read the room, you decide.

It’s late as fuck. You’ve been out all night with him, on another sightseeing trip—following him around, holding his hand, resting your head on his shoulder. Everything that’s expected of you.

By the time you make it to the bedroom, the mask of ‘fake girlfriend’ feels too tight, too heavy. All you really want is to climb into bed and go to sleep.

Instead, you’re wide awake, idly scrolling on your phone in bed while Jeongguk talks to his real girlfriend over the phone. With all the fucking lights on.

Despite how hard you try to tune them out, you catch every single word. Jeongguk doesn’t seem to even notice that you’re in the room with him, that you’re trying to sleep, too busy cooing sweet nothings over the line. 

In this moment, you’re more aware of where you stand with Jeongguk than you’ve ever been. And for the first time since this whole charade began, you’re actually kind of grateful that you’re not really dating Jeongguk. As it turns out, Jeongguk in love is nauseating. Since you’re on your phone, you go ahead and tell Seokjin as much.

After toughing it out for nearly half an hour, you slip out of bed. You decide to go get yourself a glass of water or something, give Jeongguk time with his girlfriend. You’re sure he misses her.

You tiptoe to the door quietly, not wanting to draw any more attention than necessary to your presence or your departure. “Noona, I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Jeongguk whines, completely oblivious to you. 

Aw hell nah.

You book it down the stairs as fast as humanly possible, so fast that you’re out of breath by the time you make it to the bottom.

The living room is dark when you pass through it. You think, for a moment, that you and Jeongguk might be the only ones still awake at this hour. As you get closer to the kitchen, though, the smell of fresh coffee floods your senses.

There’s only one person in this house insane enough to make coffee this late at night.

“Hey.” 

The sound of your voice makes Yoongi freeze in his tracks, caught, but he shakes it off quickly. 

“Hey,” he replies in kind, looking you over. “You’re up late.”

Something in his tone makes you pause, confused, until you look down at yourself and realize what he must be thinking. You’re in sleep shorts and a tank top, barely covered despite the chill outside, sneaking downstairs late at night. From the room that you share with your supposed boyfriend. Out of breath and shaken up.

He probably thinks you just had sex.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply stiffly. “Thought I’d get some water.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything else, opting instead to stare at the coffee pot as it brews in front of him. Good. You don’t want to know what he’s thinking.

You grab a glass from one of the cabinets, filling it up at the sink. It hits you, as you take a sip, that you haven’t actually spoken to Yoongi since the truce began four days ago. Nothing beyond a note written in your lipliner and an unanswered text about penguins. You don’t know how to act around him now, unsure of how guarded you need to be.

Thankfully (you hope), he breaks the silence first.

“I’ll be out of your hair once this is done,” he says, gesturing towards the coffee. You can’t help but note that he still isn’t looking at you.

“Who drinks coffee this late, anyway?” It’s an attempt at a joke, something to cut through the awkwardness settling between you.

Right at that moment, the coffee pot beeps. Wordlessly, Yoongi fills his mug and shuffles past you like he’s in a hurry, hot coffee threatening to spill over.

“People with albums to write,” he mumbles once he reaches the doorway. Without another glance in your direction, he’s gone.

Day Five

Your day starts with a pounding in your head.

Despite both of you falling asleep around the same time (read: late as hell), the couch Jeongguk’s been sleeping on is desolate when you open your eyes. 

He does that, you’ve noticed. No matter how late he stays up, he’s always up at the asscrack of dawn, going for a run or whatever it is he feels so compelled to do during the devil’s hours.

You roll out of bed around ten. You don’t have anything to do today, and judging by the quiet, it seems like you might have an empty house on your hands. It’s for the best, you think, because your skull feels like it’s about to pop.

Coffee, then. That should help.

Almost as soon as you cross the threshold from bedroom into the hallway, you’re intercepted by an extremely perturbed Yoongi.

“Okay, the pen thing was cute and all, but this is a little different,” he says. No hi, hello, how are you? Great. Your temples are throbbing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble, making an attempt to push past him so you can get to the stairs, but Yoongi stops you with a hand on your elbow. Again with that shit.

“YN,” he huffs, unimpressed. “Just give it back. I know you have it.”

“Have what? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you repeat, jerking your arm out of his grasp. “Will you stop fucking doing that, by the way?”

“My notebook,” Yoongi says, stepping in front of you again. “I can’t find it, and you stealing my shit seems to be a running theme this week.”

You blink at him, brows knitted together in confusion. His notebook? The fuck?

“What, you only had the one? But five dozen pens didn’t seem like overkill?”

“YN, I’m not fucking around,” he snaps. “There’s shit I need in there. Like all the songs for the album I’m here to write? An album I’d really like to finish as fast as possible.” 

He doesn’t say the ‘so I can get away from you’ part, but he doesn’t really have to. His tone says enough.

That doesn’t change the fact that you don’t have his shit.

“Should’ve kept better track of it, I guess. I don’t know what to tell you.”

At this, Yoongi laughs, sharp and bitter. “You are fucking ridiculous, you know that? You’re the one who wanted this stupid truce. I was perfectly fine with the way we were operating before, but you came to me, practically begging me to play nice. What the fuck have I been doing?”

He’s looking at you like he expects an answer. You clench your fists at your sides. “Playing nice,” you say through gritted teeth.

“Better than you,” he adds, arms crossed over his chest. “I know you’re used to everyone letting you get away with whatever, but I’m not Kihyun, and I’m not Jeongguk. I don’t gain anything by letting you act like a brat.”

That makes you bristle. “Fuck you. I don’t have your stupid notebook, Yoongi. It may come as a shock to you, but I’m not interested in reading any more shitty lyrics about how much of a cunt you think I am.”

With that, you shove him out of your way once and for all. Blood rushes through your ears as you hurry down the stairs, almost running face-first into a wide-eyed Jimin in your haste. 

Shit. You can only hope he didn’t hear any of that.

You run into Yoongi one more time, right before bed. Same as last night, you’re getting yourself a glass of water while he makes coffee. You move around each other in stony silence, both of you unwilling to acknowledge the other’s presence in the kitchen. 

This time, though, you’re the one that leaves first. It feels a little like getting the last word.

Day Six

You spend the whole day in Teams meetings. You packed your schedule on purpose this time, disinterested in dealing with anyone that isn’t paid to kiss your ass. 

You eat a power bar for lunch. At dinner, Jeongguk brings a plate upstairs for you. You claim that you’re too busy to come down, but really, you’re still licking your wounds after your run-in with Yoongi yesterday afternoon.

It seems stupid now, but you really thought things were getting a bit better between the two of you. Or, at least, you hoped so. You weren’t naive enough to think that Yoongi was starting to like you, but you did think that there was a mutual respect forming there.

Your mistake.

It’s late when you decide to venture downstairs. You’re restless, having spent the better part of an hour tossing and turning while Jeongguk snores from the other side of the room.

Late enough that you think, hope, that you’ll be able to avoid another run-in with Yoongi. Even if he’s still awake, there’s no way he’s making coffee at this hour. You held off for long enough.

When you reach the kitchen, you find that you’re half right. The coffee pot is nearly empty, but judging by the aroma, the pot wasn’t made all that long ago. Yoongi, however, is nowhere to be found.

On the kitchen counter sits a glass of water, and next to it, a scrap of paper. Blank, but unmistakably from Yoongi’s thought-to-be-missing notebook.

Huh. So he found it.

You take the glass upstairs with you, careful not to wake Jeongguk as you sneak back into the room. It’s only when you climb back into bed that your phone buzzes beside you. When you open it, you’re greeted by the sight of your still-unanswered penguin text, and a new message.

The Devil: 🏳️

Day Seven

When you venture into the living room in the morning, you’re surprised to find the whole band gathered around the seating area. 

For the most part, the house has remained pretty quiet during the time you’ve been here. Today, though, it’s rowdy. You quickly find out why when you spot an unfamiliar fifth face—a handsome stranger with his arm slung around Yoongi’s shoulders.

A new bombshell has entered the villa. 

The chattering stops as soon as you’re spotted. You don’t even get a chance to be properly introduced to the new houseguest before you’re intercepted by Jimin, who throws himself in front of you at the foot of the stairs. 

“The inappropriately dressed goddess in silk shorts is Jeonggukie’s girlfriend, YN.”

“You may recognize her face from every Olive Young in Seoul,” Taehyung adds with amusement. 

“YN, this is Yijeong.” Jimin turns around, pointing at you. You think you catch a twitch in his right eye. “Go get dressed. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

“Um… Okay,” you say, half-awake and confused. 

Once you’re dressed less than half an hour later, you’re all piling into the van outside. The busy day, you find out, consists of a trip to the Little Prince citrus orchard—the trip that the band takes every time they’re in Jeju. You guess it was fast tracked due to Yijeong’s arrival.

In any other circumstance, you’d be thrilled at the prospect of spending your day picking tangerines, but the vibe seems off. Jimin looks like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin, and the glances you catch him sending Yoongi’s way chill you to the bone. You don’t know what Yoongi did to piss him off, but it seems like Jimin has officially cracked, and you don’t really want to get on his bad side by asking.

Still, you suck it up. There will be plenty of photo opportunities, you reason. Plus, the hallabong smoothie this place offers looks really fucking good.

Upon entry, you’re handed a small wicker basket and gloves for tangerine picking. At the very least, the weather is suitable for what Jimin has in store. It’s the kind of winter day that feels fresh and crisp, more than comfortable to walk around in as long as you have a jacket.

At first, the group breaks off into twos—Jimin and Taehyung, Yoongi and Yijeong, you and Jeongguk. You’re not exactly mad about the pairing, considering it means you’ll get to take those pictures for Seoyeon to post on your Instagram. Jeongguk is more than willing to indulge you, immediately tugging you close and snapping a selca with his cheek smushed against yours.

As your basket fills, though, you end up rotating through the group. Taehyung, dressed all in warm tones, buys you one of those smoothies you’ve been eyeing. Jimin snickers at you as you spike it with the flask you’ve had stashed in your purse, stealing a sip. Even Yijeong makes a point to walk with you for a bit, re-introducing himself politely.

“Sorry I didn’t get a chance to greet you properly earlier,” he says, sheepish. “It’s hard to get a word in with this group, sometimes.”

“So I’m learning,” you quip back easily, eyes scanning over the hanging hallabongs surrounding your path. “So, you’re here for the weekend, then?”

“Seems like it. Yoongi-yah called me down earlier this week. He wants a fresh pair of eyes for a song he’s working on.”

You scoff at that, unable to help yourself. “Like he doesn’t have three other pairs already?”

Yijeong gives you a sidelong glance, although it isn’t unkind. “He can be kind of secretive,” he explains, careful. “I think he just wanted the opinion of someone without a vested interest.”

You hum, unsure of how to respond. It makes sense, you guess.

“Am I wrong in assuming there’s a little bit of… tension there?” Yijeong continues. “Between you two.”

“We’re working on it,” you mumble, taking a much-needed sip of your smoothie. “Really. Chalk it up to incompatible personalities.”

“Ah.” Yijeong chuckles knowingly. “I get it. Yoongi-yah can be a little…”

“Bitchy?”

“Guarded,” he snorts. “But bitchy, too. I thought the same, when we first met. I was signed to the label about a year after Burn the Stage was. It took us a while to become as close as we are now.”

“You’re a musician?” you ask, interest piqued. You’ve never heard his name before, but granted, you don’t really keep track of that side of the industry anymore.

“Soloist,” Yijeong confirms, seemingly unoffended by your lack of recognition. “Producer, sometimes. I helped master their last album. I guess I impressed Yoongi, back then.”

“Teach me your ways,” you joke, earning another laugh from him.

“He’s not as hard to figure out as he likes to come off. It’s getting him to trust you, that's the hard part.”

Ah. Well. You’re kind of fucked in that department.

“Just give it time,” Yijeong says reassuringly. “If you’ve won the rest of them over, Yoongi will follow. He likes to play the part of the overprotective hyung, but he really is a nice guy when it comes down to it.”

“So I keep hearing. You two must be close, then.”

“Yoongi doesn’t have a lot of people to talk about his problems with. He’s way more interested in being a problem solver for others. But… everybody needs somebody.”

You grimace, stomach dropping at the thought of what kind of things Yoongi might have said about you, to this virtual stranger. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Yijeong.

“If it helps, he hasn’t had anything bad to say about you since I showed up,” he adds reassuringly.

“Meaning he hasn’t said anything about me at all?” you ask, hopeful.

“Mm. Well, he said you’re pretty… passionate,” Yijeong says, lips quirking up at the corners in a soft smile. “I’ve learned that’s a good thing, in Yoongi’s book.”

Or it’s code for crazy bitch. But hey, you’ll take what you can get.

“Sure,” you hum, glancing in Yoongi’s direction. He’s a little further ahead on the path, deep in conversation with Jimin. His face is as pale as the white flag he sent you. Uh oh. “We’ll see.”

As the two of you gain on Yoongi and Jimin, it seems like whatever confrontation that was being had is over with. Good, because you still don’t really want to know what that was about.

“You need the Vitamin C, hyung,” you overhear Jimin say as you and Yijeong approach. He bumps Yoongi’s shoulder conspiratorially. “I bought something for you.”

“What?” Yoongi narrows his eyes.

From behind his back, Jimin procures a hat—a fuzzy, bright orange tangerine hat, complete with a tiny green leaf on top. He looks thrilled.

Yoongi, however, does not.

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes.” Jimin is already shoving the hat onto Yoongi’s head before he can fight back, dodging his weak attempts to resist. “Cute,” he coos, stepping back to admire his work.

Yoongi glares, but to your amusement, doesn’t make any move to take it off. 

Jimin, delighted, raises his phone. “Come on, let me get a picture—”

“No.”

“Just one! You’re already wearing the hat—”

“Park Jimin, do you want to die?”

Before you can register what’s happening, Jimin is full-on sprinting, chasing Yoongi around the orchard, phone camera wielded like a weapon. You can’t help but laugh. You’ve never seen Yoongi run, but just like his walk, there’s something penguin-esque there.

As Yoongi dashes past you, tangerine hat still firmly on his head, your gaze catches on something. His jeans—fitted just right, annoyingly so—have heart-shaped pockets.

You blink, looking away immediately. Definitely not something you needed to notice. Definitely not something you should be thinking about. But the image is burned into your mind, and unfortunately, Jimin notices the direction of your gaze and stops dead in his tracks.

“Wait,” he gasps, doubled over as he catches his breath. “Hyung, are those hearts on your back pockets?”

Shit.

Puzzled, Yoongi slows to a stop, frowning. “What? So what?”

Jimin, absolutely giddy, points. “Oh my god. Look at you, Mr. Soft and Romantic.”

“They’re just jeans,” Yoongi grumbles, but the slight pink at the tips of his ears says otherwise.

Jeongguk, watching the whole thing unfold, slides next to you where Yijeong had just stood. “You know, you’re going to give everyone the wrong idea, staring at Yoongi-hyung’s butt like that,” he murmurs, voice low so no one else can hear.

You shove him, hard, heat crawling up your neck despite yourself. “Yah, they’re cute jeans!” you hiss-whisper. “Maybe I want a pair for myself!”

He just grins, nudging your shoulder again. “Come on, pervert. We’re all going to dinner.” 

★ ★ ★

When you make it back to the house, you can’t break off from the group fast enough. You don’t mean to be rude, but fuck. You need a minute to process the events of the day.

In an ideal world, said processing would be done with the assistance of your best friend. That’s what Yoongi and Yijeong do, right?

Once you make it inside the house, you make a beeline for the swing out back, phone already tucked between your ear and your shoulder as you slide the patio door open. It rings once, twice, before the call is declined altogether.

SuckJin: You’re joking right?

Right.

Too bad your best friend is a traitorous snake who prioritizes his medical career over being at your constant beck and call.

You: i need to talk to you!!!!!!!!!!!

SuckJin: Are you dying

You: no?????

SuckJin: Great

SuckJin: Nothing I can’t help with over text then

You: in case i don’t tell you enough, you are the fucking worst

You: just so you know

With a groan, you plop onto the swing, thumbs tapping wildly at your phone screen as you try your best to put words to what exactly you’re feeling right now. A task that proves impossible, since you’re not really sure yourself.

You: your worst mistake as my best friend is sitting idly by and allowing me to remain celibate since kihyun and i broke up. what’s happening right now is all your fault actually

You: because now that my JK-related feelings are waning i’m convinced i would fuck absolutely anyone in my current state. that HAS to be what’s going on because there is NO other explanation for my behavior these past few days

You: I CHECKED OUT MIN YOONGI’S ASS!!!!!!!!

SuckJin: LOL

SuckJin: How was it

Why does the universe hate you so? What could you have possibly done in your past life to deserve a best friend so devoid of empathy? You should’ve listened to your gut back in middle school, when it told you to steer clear of the weird, egotistical theatre kid with the bowl cut.

You: NOT the point you freak

SuckJin: What is in the air in Jeju lol

SuckJin: Maybe u two just need to bang it out

What the fuck!

You feel the heat flood your cheeks in an instant, indignantly typing what is sure to be a complete disembowelment of your best friend, but the sound of the sliding glass door opening stops you in your tracks.

It’s Yoongi. Of course it is.

Cigarettes in hand, he crosses the garden until he reaches the swing. Instead of joining you, though, he leans against one of the supports, holding the opened pack out to you in offering.

“No, thanks,” you cheep, stuffing your phone in the pocket of your sweatshirt as you will the flush in your cheeks to die. Seokjin deserves to be left on read for his crimes.

Yoongi shrugs, patting his pockets in search of a lighter. When he finds it, you watch the warm glow illuminate his face as he brings it to the end of his cigarette and inhales deeply.

You feel so far out of your depth here. It’s Yoongi’s house, Yoongi’s garden—even if you’ve staked your claim on this swing since the night you arrived, everything you’ve helped yourself to here belongs to him. Jeongguk included.

Yoongi is well within his rights to have a cigarette wherever he pleases. You just didn’t think he’d prefer to have one here, with you.

“You looked like you had fun today,” Yoongi says, the low hum of his voice effectively breaking you out of your thoughts.

“I did…” You shift positions on the swing restlessly, unfolding your legs and wincing as you stretch them out in front of you. “You looked like you had fun, too,” you offer.

“Mm.”

Talkative as ever, this guy. You guess it’s up to you to keep the conversation going.

“You looked goofy in that hat, though,” you add, your lips quirking up at the corners faster than you can stop it.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow at that. “Yeah? Maybe I should give it to you, then, dollface. You’re the model, after all.”

Dollface.

He keeps calling you that, doesn’t he? He called you that the first night you met. He must mean it as an insult, an implication that your looks are all you have going for you. That’s how it felt the first few times, at least.

Still, you can’t help but notice that this is the longest conversation you and Yoongi have had since your fight last week. You’re both being so shockingly peaceable, you can’t help but comment on it.

“So… I had fun, you had fun,” you mumble, lazily kicking your feet to push the swing back and forth. “Crazy concept that you and I can have fun in the presence of each other.”

“Crazy.”

“You can admit the truce was a good idea. It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone you were wrong.”

Yoongi’s eyes meet yours. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just takes a slow drag of his cigarette as he considers you. You shrink, pinned as his eyes scan over your face for so long it feels unbearable.

And then he’s moving, cigarette tumbling to the ground as his shoe stubs out the orange glow. Hands swiping ash off of denim. Your eyes track each movement against your will, until you shake yourself out of it and stare at your shoes instead.

“We’ll see.”

There’s the squeak of the sliding door, and then your only company is the smell of smoke and your phone buzzing in your pocket.

★ ★ ★

The finale to Yijeong’s impromptu weekend visit is a night of bar hopping. A night that ends at a local noraebang.

The room all of you inhabit is small but cozy, with plush seating surrounding a sleek table. Accent lighting on the walls glows neon, pulsing to the rhythm of the music. The large screen in the middle of the room is lit up with endless list of songs—some that you’re surprised to see in the repertoire.

Everyone picks off of a tray of drinks and snacks—crispy fries, fried chicken, soju shots, frothy beer—refueling after all of the alcohol you’ve downed tonight.

You’ve lost track of how many drinks you’ve had, but when Taehyung thrusts the microphone into your hands with a boxy grin, you don’t hesitate. It’s been a long time since you’ve been to a noraebang, but you can never go wrong with some Paramore.

The moment the opening chords of Ignorance blast through the speakers, something electric rushes through you. It’s instinct, really—the kind of song that demands to be sung like you mean it.

If I'm a bad person, you don't like me Well, I guess I'll make my own way It's a circle, a mean cycle I can't excite you anymore

Where's your gavel? Your jury? What's my offense this time? You're not a judge, but if you're gonna judge me Well, sentence me to another life

Like riding a fucking bike.

As soon as you open your mouth, Jimin and Taehyung immediately lose their minds, jumping onto the couch and headbanging along like he’s one of the fans at a concert for his own band. Jeongguk, beside him, stares in awe, boba eyes wider than you’ve ever seen them.

But it’s Yoongi you glance at between verses, though you’re not sure why. He’s leaning back against the couch, half-hidden in the dim lighting, watching. His expression is completely unreadable. You can’t look away.

This is the best thing that could have happened Any longer and I wouldn't have made it It's not a war, no, it's not a rapture I'm just a person, but you can't take it The same tricks that, that once fooled me They won't get you anywhere I'm not the same kid from your memory Well, now I can fend for myself

Don't wanna hear your sad songs I don't wanna feel your pain When you swear it's all my fault 'Cause you know we're not the same We're not the same Oh, we're not the same

By the time you hit the chorus, you’re all in—singing like you’ve got something to prove, like the song is a battle you refuse to lose. 

It’s cathartic. It’s messy. It’s more fun than you’ve had in a long fucking time.

As the last note fades out, you’re fighting for breath, buzzing from the energy. The room erupts into cheers, and Jimin all but tackles you in excitement.

“Holy shit, YN,” he howls. “That was amazing. Again, again!”

Before you can protest, Jeongguk takes the mic from your hands and spins through the song queue. “Nah, it’s my turn,” he declares. “Does this thing have Linkin Park?”

When you manage to peel Jimin off of you, Yoongi’s gone.

You know that it shouldn’t bother you. You know that you should say good riddance, let him go do whatever is so important that he had to bolt like that. But for some reason completely beyond you, you just can’t. 

Your feet start moving before your brain can catch up. 

“I’ll be right back,” you say, but it falls on deaf ears anyway. Everybody is wasted, attention already diverted to queueing up the next song, and you slip out entirely unnoticed.

The alley behind the noraebang is dimly lit, the cool air hitting your skin like a slap. And there he is, leaning against the wall, cigarette between his lips. He notices you immediately, his gaze flickering to you in that lazy way of his.

“You left,” you say dumbly.

He lifts his cigarette in answer. “Need something?”

It’s a great question. Now that you’ve found him and you’re freezing your ass off, your lost sanity is quickly finding its way back to you. Why did you leave everybody inside to follow a person you hate?

“Just needed some air,” you lie, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Couldn’t breathe in there.”

Yoongi exhales slowly, smoke curling in the space between you, and you shift on your feet, shivering against the cold. If he notices, he doesn’t comment—just watches you with that unreadable expression, waiting.

You should go back inside. You should say something biting, roll your eyes, turn on your heel. But you don’t. Instead, you rub your hands along your arms, trying to warm yourself up, and Yoongi clicks his tongue.

“You’re shivering.”

Uh, yeah? It’s winter and you forgot your jacket inside. Of course you’re shivering.

“It’s freezing,” you mutter.

Yoongi sighs, long-suffering, then shrugs off his jacket. Before you can protest, he steps forward, draping it over your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It smells like him—faint cologne and smoke, something a little sharp but not unpleasant.  

You clutch at the lapels before you can stop yourself, blinking up at him. “You didn’t have to—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he cuts in, waving a hand dismissively as he leans back against the wall. “Just don’t make it weird.”

Right. Because this is totally normal behavior.

You huff, rolling your eyes, but the warmth is welcome, and you make no move to give the jacket back.

Yoongi glances at you sideways, smirking. “See? You do like it.”

Suddenly, the cold is forgotten. Like somehow, the cramped noraebang felt less stifling than standing here, out in the cold with Yoongi.

“Why’d you follow me out here, dollface?”

There it is again.

“You need to stop calling me that,” you snap, annoyed.

“Nah,” he hums. Your eyes are drawn to the orange glow as he flicks his cigarette, crushing embers into the ground with the toe of his boot. “I think you like that, too.”

What the fuck.

“I—”

“Answer the question,” he interrupts.

“Why did you leave?” you counter.

“Needed a smoke. Told you that already.”

It’s a solid alibi, but something in his tone tells you he’s not being completely honest. So, you pry.

“Left in a pretty big hurry, for a cigarette,” you goad. 

Yoongi huffs, exasperated as he runs his fingers through his hair. “What do you want me to say? Clearly you have something in mind.”

All you do is glare at him in response. You’re out here, shivering to death instead of being inside with people that actually enjoy your company. The least he could do is not waste your time by being a fucking pussy.

It’s silent for a long moment, both of you waiting for the other to break. But then, Yoongi sighs.

“I didn’t know you could still sing like that,” he finally says, his voice a low murmur.

Wait.

“Still?” you ask, bewildered.

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth turns up in a lazy smirk. “What, you think I don’t know things about you? You should know better than that by now.”

“I was at your debut show,” he adds, his voice suddenly more earnest than you’ve ever heard it. “That voice was my first impression of you. Almost had me fooled.”

Infuriatingly, he doesn’t elaborate any further. “Fooled into what?” you ask, eyes narrowing. That wasn’t an attempt at a compliment, was it? There’s no way Min Yoongi is paying you a compliment right now.

“Into thinking you’re someone I might want to spend time with,” he replies, unwavering but still completely unclear.

You wish you could tell what he was thinking. What does he mean by that? That if you met under different circumstances…?

The tension is thick, suffocating. Your pulse thrums in your ears, drowning out everything else—the distant music, the buzz of electricity, the rational part of your brain telling you to walk away.

Yoongi just watches you, his expression unreadable, but there’s something different in his gaze now—something that makes your breath hitch. Eyes all pupil. 

Against your will, your gaze drops to his lips. You wonder if he notices. You hope he doesn’t. Or maybe you hope he does.

You don’t know who moves first.

One second, you’re standing there, glaring at him in the cold; the next, his mouth is on yours, and you’re backing him into the wall. It’s messy, urgent—like neither of you expected this, but now that it’s happening, neither of you want to stop.

His hands find your waist, pulling you closer as your fingers curl into the front of his shirt. You’re dizzy, drunk off the way he kisses you, how he tastes like smoke and whiskey, how his tongue slips into your mouth like he owns it, the sensation of smooth metal on the roof of your mouth making you whimper.

And then—

Reality crashes back like a cold slap to the face.

You pull away, breathless, hands shaking as you take a stumbling step back.

“What the fuck,” you pant, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, like that’ll erase what just happened.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but he looks just as bewildered as you feel, his chest rising and falling just as fast as yours.

What the fuck. What the fuck did you just do?

Without another word, you turn on your heel and bolt, nearly tripping over yourself in your rush to get away. Your head is spinning, your heart hammering against your ribs and threatening to explode.

And Yoongi doesn’t make any move to stop you. 

You leave everything. You don’t stop. You run, catch a cab, operating completely on instinct until suddenly, you’re in the bedroom, door shut behind you, hands pressed to your face like that’ll somehow ground you.

When you finally lower them, your lips are still tingling, Yoongi’s jacket still draped over your trembling shoulders.

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