#but I see him as a guy who helps without voicing this

[timelessjk]

somehow, you. | jungkook au

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ summary: he was the quiet one in class. the type who never talked unless called on, who looked at the world from behind thick-rimmed glasses and stayed out of everyone’s way. you? you were the girl everyone knew. the one who never let anyone in. you weren’t looking for connection, and he wasn’t the kind to ask for it. but still… he did. and somehow, it worked.

ratings: 18+

pairing: jungkook x fem reader

genre: college AU, emotional intimacy, slightly slow burned.

warnings: explicit sexual content including unprotected sex (not advised), soft but possessive dirty talk, emotional vulnerability, praise, mild insecurity and reassurance, and a rough but tender dynamic in an established relationship. and ofc…big dicc jungkook cause UGH.

word count: 5.2k

a/n: hi! ok so. this is my very first fic i’m posting and i’m actually kind of losing my mind about it?? originally it was supposed to be two parts (pt.1 soft, pt.2 smut) but i got carried away and ended up writing it all in one go because i wouldn’t shut up abt this two!!

*banners/dividers credits to the owners ♡ ྀི

thank you for reading!! leave your comments on what u think of my first fic 🥺! 🤍 - Sher

requests are officially opened!

The classroom always smelled like old air and pen inks, a familiar background hum to every forgettable weekday morning.

You sat at the back, as always, where you could stretch your legs, twirl your pen, and zone out without anyone bothering you. People knew you, too well.

Not because you tried, but because the world couldn’t help but notice the girl who always seemed a little untouchable.

Then the teacher changed the seating plan.

“Jeon Jungkook. You’re moving to the back, beside her.”

A ripple of murmurs went through the class, subtle but present. You could feel the stares. You looked up just in time to see him glance nervously your way before lowering his eyes and walking toward the seat beside you.

Jungkook. Everyone knew who he was, even if he rarely spoke. Top of the class. Never late. Always dressed clean, minimal, quiet. You didn’t expect anything from him. Didn’t need another nerdy guy going stiff just because you shared a desk.

But that day, he surprised you.

He sat down carefully, barely making a sound, and opened his book. No fidgeting. No glances. Just… stillness. Until you heard the smallest breath of a murmur.

“Chapter’s interesting,” he said, eyes still on the page.

You blinked.

“What?”

He didn’t flinch. “The reading. It’s good. Surprising, kind of.”

You studied him, confused. He hadn’t even looked at you. It was like he wasn’t trying to talk to you—just thinking aloud, and you happened to hear.

You didn’t answer.

But your curiosity flickered.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

The next few days, he didn’t speak again. But he was always on time. Always with his notebook perfectly aligned. Always glancing at your desk when he thought you weren’t looking—quick, nervous flicks of his eyes.

Then came the Wednesday.

You’d forgotten your pens, bag full of it. Not on purpose—just one of those mornings where you left everything behind. You muttered something under your breath, frustrated, and slammed your bag down.

Before you could think to dig through your things again, a sleek black pen rolled across your desk.

You turned. Jungkook was still facing forward, penless himself now.

“You sure?” you asked, surprised.

He nodded once. “I have another.”

You waited for a smile. A joke. Some kind of flirtation.

Nothing.

Just a calm silence.

It threw you off more than someone asking for your number ever could.

Then came the Thursday rainstorm.

You stayed behind after class, waiting for it to ease, stuck at the school’s entrance while thunder rumbled in the distance. Everyone else had already left, except for him.

He walked up beside you without a word, holding an umbrella. For a second, you thought he was going to walk past.

He hesitated.

“You live near East Gate, right?” he asked, voice low, eyes on the rain.

You narrowed your eyes. “How do you know that?”

He shrugged. “I’ve seen you leave that way. Every day.”

You didn’t answer.

He tilted the umbrella slightly toward you. “Come on.”

You stared at him like he’d grown two heads. But you followed.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

That walk changed everything.

He didn’t try to impress you. Didn’t pry. Just walked beside you, holding the umbrella with quiet precision to make sure it covered you both.

When you reached your turn, you stopped.

“Why’re you doing this?” you asked, genuinely confused.

He paused. Looked at you for the first time, really looked—eyes soft behind his wet fringe.

“Because you look like no one ever asks how you’re doing,” he said. “And i kind of want to.”

You stood frozen as he walked away, raindrops hitting your shoulders after the umbrella disappeared with him down the path.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

From then on, he became your quiet shadow.

Always beside you in class. Always one step behind in the hallway. But not in a clingy way. He respected your space but showed up when it mattered.

One morning, you came in late, eyes puffy from a night you didn’t want to talk about. You slumped into your chair, hoodie up, bare faced (that rarely happens whenever you go to class) sleeves tugged over your hands.

He didn’t say anything.

But when you finally looked at your desk, there was a folded note, written in perfect; clean handwriting.

“It’s okay to have days like this. You’re allowed to fall apart sometimes. I’ve got notes if you need them.”

You folded the paper slowly. Pressed your lips together. And something inside you melted.

You weren’t used to being seen like that.

You weren’t used to someone not asking for anything in return.

That day, you turned to him and whispered, “Thanks.” giving him a small smile.

He looked up, startled, as if he wasn’t expecting you to respond.

And smiled, unsure, but real.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

You think to yourself, you might fell for him. Maybe. Which is a weird feeling to you.

Given that you both barely have a proper (real) conversation.

Well you did exchange numbers—that’s because you both somehow were assigned to work together, so Jungkook thought it would be better to interact outside of class.

For study purpose of course.

Eventually both of you did text one another—occasionally. Just short texts nothing conversation worthy.

Yeah, you felt this weird butterflies.

But, you didn’t fall all at once.

It happened slowly. Over study sessions you didn’t consider were study sessions, coffee walks that became routines, quiet texts late at night when he’d ask, “Did you eat today?” and not stop asking until you said yes.

Over the time, during study sessions, you found yourself laughing around him. Trusting him.

Letting your guard down without realizing it had dropped.

One night, you asked through text, in your bed, loneliness crept again, “You know i’m kind of… a mess, right?”

He replied few seconds too fast.

“I know,” he said. “But you’re the kind of mess that makes sense to me.”

And you fell.

Quietly. Completely.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

You weren’t sure when the lines blurred—when study sessions became excuses to sit a little closer, when shared coffee turned into shared glances, when “see you tomorrow” carried the weight of don’t forget me.

Jungkook didn’t rush anything. He never did.

But one Friday, something shifted.

He caught up with you after class, his hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up, headphones around his neck, looking nervous in a way that made your heart weirdly ache.

“Hey,” he said, walking beside you. “There’s this exhibition at the design building… the one with digital installations. I thought—maybe you’d like it.”

You turned to look at him. “You inviting me?”

He nodded, looking at the floor. “If you want. No pressure. It’s tomorrow.”

You almost teased him. Almost said something sarcastic just to keep things from feeling too serious. But something in the way he looked—open, nervous, sincere—made you soften.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’d like that.”

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

The exhibition was small. Quiet. Dreamy.

Digital light shifted across the walls like watercolor in motion. Projected clouds drifted across the floor.

Every room had its own ambient sound—soft, electronic music and echoing whispers. It should’ve felt awkward, being alone together in that hush.

But with him, it didn’t.

You stood in one of the installations surrounded by cascading lines of digital rain, blue and silver glowing all around and he looked at you like he wanted to remember the moment.

“I like this,” you said quietly.

He glanced at the ceiling, then back at you. “Me too.”

A beat passed.

“Honestly… i didn’t know if you’d say yes,” he admitted. “To coming here.”

You tilted your head. “Why not?”

He looked at you. “Because i’m not like the other people you talk to.”

“You mean the loud ones? I don’t talk to just anyone, anymore. Besides, didn’t we spend a good amount of time together for the past month to be considered as…friends?”

He smiled, barely. “Yeah. The ones who know what to say. And yeah i knew that but still, i thought it was just a study session, coffee catch ups with you—that you’d rather spend your time with your other…friends.”

You shifted your weight. “Maybe i got tired of people who always know what to say and FYI—i’d rather spend my time with you.”

Silence.

Just the sound of soft electronic rainfall.

Then he said it—so low you almost missed it:

“I really like being around you.”

You turned to him, heart suddenly too loud in your chest.

He’s so dreamy, handsome.

“I really like being around you too.”

And he looked at you like you’d just said the one thing he’d been waiting to hear.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

Your first kiss wasn’t at the exhibition.

That night had already held enough. The way he kept sneaking glances at you while pretending to read the plaque beside a sculpture, the way his hand hovered close to yours but never quite touched.

You walked the whole gallery like that, quiet but full of something neither of you wanted to name yet.

Later, he offered to walk you home. You said yes.

The air was cold but not bitter, the city dim and quiet in that in-between hour.

Your footsteps echoed against the pavement, your breath blooming white in the air. He kept his hands in his coat pockets, close but not brushing yours.

“Did you like the exhibit?” he asked, his voice low and a little shy.

“I did,” you said. “But i think i liked walking around with you more.”

He turned his head slightly, surprised. “Yeah?”

You nodded, not looking at him. “It was… nice. I don’t usually do things like that. With people.”

Jungkook was quiet for a moment. Then “You mean dates?”

You blinked. “Was this a date?”

His voice went even softer. “I wanted it to be.”

You stopped walking. Your apartment was just ahead, but you didn’t want to go in yet. The moment felt full.

Suspended.

He looked at you, eyes searching. “Can I be honest?”

You tilted your head. “Aren’t you always?” you giggled.

He smiled faintly. “I think about you a lot more than i should.”

You swallowed. “What does that mean?”

“It means i’ve liked you for a while. Even before you started talking to me.”

“You’re not exactly… forward, you know.”

“I didn’t think i was your type.”

“You’re not,” you said simply. “At least, not what i thought my type was.”

His expression didn’t change much, but you saw the flicker of hope behind his eyes.

You glanced down at your keys, twisting them between your fingers. “You’ve been patient with me.”

“I don’t mind waiting,” he said. “But sometimes i think… i just want to know if i’m the only one feeling this.”

You looked at him then. Really looked.

His scarf was wrapped high, almost to his mouth. His cheeks were pink from the cold, eyes warm, uncertain, but wide open.

He wasn’t trying to be smooth. He wasn’t trying to win. He was just there, telling you the truth.

Then slowly and tentatively, he stepped closer, his breath shallow.

His voice barely carried “Can I kiss you?”

You felt everything in you pause.

And then “Yeah,” you said softly, heart pounding.

“Yeah, you can.”

He didn’t hesitate after that. He leaned in, hand rising to your cheek, thumb brushing gently across your skin. His lips met yours in a kiss that was soft, slow, careful.

He was learning something sacred; he didn’t want to rush what he’d waited so long to feel.

When he pulled back, your lips still tingled from the warmth of him, your chest full and fluttering.

You smiled, breath curling in the air. “You always this careful?”

His voice was low, but sure. “Only when it’s important.”

And you knew, right then, it was.

You didn’t talk much after that kiss.

Not because it was awkward. Because it wasn’t. It was the kind of silence that wrapped itself around you like a blanket. Soft, steady, enough.

He waited for you to open the door. Didn’t push. Just gave you that small smile, the one he only ever gave you and said, “Text me when you’re inside.”

You nodded, stepped in, and closed the door.

Then leaned your forehead against it.

You were in trouble.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

The next few days were different in all the ways that mattered.

You still sat beside each other in class. Still studied together in the library. But now there were new things. A small, subtle shifts.

His knee brushed against yours and didn’t move. He’d lean in when he spoke, voice softer. You’d catch him looking at you, and this time, you didn’t look away.

You weren’t used to this version of yourself; unguarded. And Jungkook, for all his quietness, seemed to understand that.

He never rushed you. Never asked “what are we?” or “where is this going?”

He just stayed.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

It wasn’t planned.

The day had been normal. Classes, campus noise, another group project that had you rolling your eyes while Jungkook just quietly took notes. He always took notes, even when no one else cared. You liked that about him. You’d never told him.

You were both walking back from campus, the sky soft with evening gray, when it started to drizzle.

Jungkook held his bag over your head.

You laughed. “You know i’m not gonna melt, right?”

He just looked down at you. “You’re still cold when it rains. You get quiet.”

You didn’t answer. Mostly because he was right. You did get quiet.

And he noticed.

By the time you reached your apartment, your hair was damp, and your mood had shifted. You weren’t sad—just heavy.

One of those days. You didn’t say much as you opened the door and let him in.

Jungkook toed off his shoes carefully, still holding that nervous energy he always carried when he was in your space. You dropped your keys in the bowl by the door and stood in the kitchen, hands on the counter.

“Want tea?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

The silence between you was soft. Not tense. Just full of all the things you weren’t ready to say out loud. You made tea. He sat at the table. You sat across from him, knees brushing under the wood.

Then, out of nowhere, you said it.

“I don’t let people in.”

He looked up, startled. You weren’t looking at him—just staring into your mug.

“I don’t know how to do that,” you continued. “It’s easier when no one expects anything.”

A long pause. Then:

“I never expected anything,” he said.

You finally looked at him. He looked… calm. A little sad. But calm.

“I just liked being around you.”

You nodded slowly. “You still do?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Even more now.”

The air between you shifted. Slowed. Deepened.

And you whispered, “Stay tonight?”

He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t assume.

He just said, “Okay.”

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

You sat on the floor of your bedroom while he changed into the extra clothes you gave him. A quiet hum played from the speaker, barely audible.

When he stepped back into the room; barefoot, hoodie sleeves pushed up, eyes soft, you suddenly felt that aching fear again.

What if you messed this up?

What if it didn’t last?

And then he crossed the room and knelt in front of you.

His hand rested gently on your knee. “You don’t have to be anything for me,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to perform. Or smile. Or fix anything.”

You looked down at your lap, fighting the warmth in your throat.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted.

“I’ll wait while you figure it out,” he said.

Just like that.

No grand declaration. No demand. Just steady, honest patience.

You reached for his hand.

Held it.

And when you finally crawled into bed beside him, there was no space left between you. You pressed your back to his chest, his arm wrapping loosely around your waist. His breath tickled your shoulder.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” you whispered back.

And you meant it.

You woke to the quiet shift of fabric. The soft sound of him sitting up beside you.

Morning light filtered through the curtains in a pale blur. Your back was still warm from where his arm had rested. You blinked slowly, your mind caught between dreams and now.

Jungkook was already awake, hoodie wrinkled, hair messy from sleep.

He was sitting at the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

He looked like he was thinking too loud.

You propped yourself up on your elbow. “Hey,” you said, voice scratchy.

He turned to you immediately, like he’d been waiting. “Hey,” he echoed. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

You sat up slowly, pulling the blanket around your shoulders. “You okay?”

He nodded. Then shook his head. Then let out a quiet breath, like he wasn’t sure how to start.

“Can i ask you something?” he said softly.

You stilled, heart already beginning to tap faster in your chest. “Yeah.”

He looked down at his hands, picking at a loose thread on the cuff of his sleeve.

“I don’t want to ruin anything. I’m not trying to pressure you,” he started, voice careful. “But… what are we?”

You didn’t answer right away.

His eyes lifted. “I just…last night meant something to me. You mean something to me. And i know you don’t let people in easily. So i don’t want to assume anything, but i also don’t want to keep pretending this is just… nothing.”

You watched him for a moment, your throat tight.

“I didn’t think you’d ask,” you murmured.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re usually the quiet one. The patient one.”

“I still am,” he said. “But being patient doesn’t mean I’m not feeling things too.”

You swallowed, fingers tugging at the edge of the blanket. “I’m not good at this. I don’t know how to explain what i feel when i’m with you. It’s new. And a little scary.”

He nodded slowly. “Same.”

You looked at him. “But i don’t want it to be nothing either.”

Jungkook’s expression softened. “Yeah?”

You nodded, quieter this time. “Yeah.”

He shifted closer, his knee bumping gently against yours. “Then maybe… we don’t have to label it yet. But I just needed to know i wasn’t alone in it.”

“You’re not,” you said.

You meant it.

Jungkook exhaled a breath he’d been holding. Then reached out, tentative at first and he curls his fingers around yours.

“Okay,” he said, voice warm now. “Then i’m yours. However long it takes.”

You smiled, eyes stinging just a little. “You’re really not what i expected.”

He grinned—finally, fully. “I get that a lot.”

And in the quiet that followed, your fingers remained laced with his. Simple. Certain.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you had to run.

It had been a month.

One month since Jungkook had leaned across your front step and kissed you like it mattered. Since he’d touched your face like he was afraid you’d vanish if he blinked too fast.

And somehow, things still felt new. Still soft. Still unreal in moments like now, with him sprawled across your bed in a hoodie, reading on his stomach, feet swaying behind him like a kid.

You were half-working on an assignment, half-watching him.

“You’re staring,” he said without looking up.

“I’m admiring,” you corrected.

He turned his head just enough to catch your smirk, then gave a small smile. “Baby,” he said under his breath, “you’re distracting.”

“You like it,” you replied, nudging his leg with your foot.

He hummed. “I do.”

⋆. 𐙚 ̊⊹ꮺ˚

Your relationship had grown into something… daily. Quiet rituals that made your chest ache. He’d walk you to class with your fingers looped in his sleeve. He’d wait for you outside the library, sipping iced coffee and reading the latest novel you lent him. You started wearing his hoodies without asking. He stopped looking surprised when you kissed his cheek mid-sentence.

But even with the sweetness, there was still something unspoken hanging between you.

Something warmer. Heavier.

Like tonight.

He was still lying on your bed when you finally gave up pretending to work and climbed over him, plopping yourself beside his back with a sigh.

He closed his book and peeked at you. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “You’re just comfy.”

He let out a soft laugh. “You say that every time you use me as a pillow.”

“Because it’s true, baby.”

You shifted, laying your head against his back. Your palm flattened over his spine.

Jungkook went still for a second—then melted.

“Do you…” you hesitated, unsure why your throat suddenly felt tight, “do you ever want to do more than just lie here?”

He was silent for a moment.

Then, softly: “Yeah. I do.”

You sat up a little, just enough to look at him.

His cheeks were already flushed.

“I just never know if you’re comfortable,” intertwining your fingers together.

“Or if you want to. I’ve never really… gotten this far before.” he added.

You blinked. “You haven’t?”

He shook his head. “I’ve dated a few, but it never got serious. And no one ever really looked at me like you do.”

That last part made your chest squeeze.

“You mean like you hung the stars?” you teased gently.

He smiled, eyes shy. “Kind of, yeah.”

You reached out, brushing your fingers through his hair. “You’re not the only nervous one, baby.”

“I’m not?”

You shook your head. “I’ve been with my fair share of…flings? boyfriends?, whatever you wanna call it—but it never felt right nor did it worked out, obviously. It always felt like they expected something from me. You don’t.”

Jungkook shifted, sitting up properly now. You were both facing each other, legs crossed.

“Can i ask you something?” he said quietly.

You nodded.

His voice was careful. “If we… wanted to try something. Anything. Would you tell me if you weren’t ready?”

“Always,” you promised.

He reached forward, brushing a thumb against your cheek. “Okay.”

You leaned into his palm.

And after a beat, you whispered, “Would you kiss me now?”

His lips twitched. “I’d give you anything you want.”

When he kissed you—slow and warm, one hand still cupping your jaw—it felt like everything in the world slowed down. Like it was just you and him, tangled in hush and trust.

You shifted closer, your hand slipping beneath the hem of his hoodie, resting just above his waistband. You felt him freeze, just slightly.

“Too much?” you whispered.

“No,” he breathed. “Just new.”

You smiled into the kiss. “We’ll take it slow.”

“Promise?” he breathes into the kiss.

“Promise.”

And when he pulled you fully into his lap, burying his face in your neck with a soft laugh, it felt like something more than new.

It happened on a night that didn’t feel special; no candles, no dramatic music, just the two of you in your room after dinner, legs tangled on your bed, warm with laughter and full from pasta Jungkook had insisted on cooking himself.

He was wearing gray sweatpants and one of your oversized shirts, sleeves pushed up, his hair messily falling across his forehead.

You had just pulled him down for a kiss. Playful, slow.

But then it lingered. Deepened.

And something shifted.

His tongue slipped against yours, deliberate. His hand came up to cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer like he couldn’t help himself anymore.

When you whimpered against his lips, he pulled back slightly, gaze heavy-lidded.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and rough.

You nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Just… wasn’t expecting you to kiss me like that.”

He brushed your cheek with his thumb. “Like what?”

“Like you’ve been waiting to.”

“I have been,” he murmured. “For so fucking long.”

Your chest tightened, breath caught in your throat.

“We’ve kissed many, many times before?,” you giggled.

And then his lips was on yours again, more desperate this time. No teasing. No question.

Jungkook leaned over you, pressing you into the mattress, his body slotting between your thighs like it was instinct.

You felt how hard he was through the thin fabric of your shorts. He wasn’t trying to hide it. He wanted you to feel it.

“Jungkook,” you breathed, tugging at his shirt. “Please.”

He sat back just enough to yank it over his head, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. “You sure?”

“Baby,” you said, reaching for him again, “I’ve never been more sure.”

Something in his expression cracked open at that relief, hunger, something fierce and protective all at once.

“Then let me have you,” he said, voice dark, breath ragged. “Let me fuck you like you deserve.”

The way he said it; need dripping into every syllable made your whole body shudder.

He tugged your shorts down fast, your panties going with them. When you gasped, he kissed the inside of your thigh, then hovered over you again, his cock straining visibly in his sweats.

“God,” he whispered, eyes raking over you. “You’re so fucking pretty like this. Laid out for me.”

Your hands reached for him, desperate. “I want you, Jungkook. I don’t wanna wait.”

“You won’t,” he said, voice curling around you like silk and smoke.

He shoved his pants down just enough to free himself, stroking himself slowly as he stared at you.

“You’ve got no idea what you do to me,” he murmured. “No idea how long i’ve wanted to be inside you.”

You reached between your legs, spreading yourself open for him.

His mouth dropped open slightly. “Fuck.”

He lined himself up, eyes locked on yours. “Tell me if i go too fast, okay?”

You nodded, heart hammering. “I trust you.”

That did something to him.

He pushed in slow, deep, all at once.

Your breath hitched, legs trembling.

“Holy fuck,” Jungkook groaned, head falling to your shoulder. “You feel like heaven. So wet for me already.”

You clung to him, nails dragging lightly down his back.

“Move,” you gasped. “I need you.”

He obeyed without hesitation, pulling back, then slamming into you again with a rhythm that made your head spin.

It was hard and deep. Not rushed, but intentional. Like he knew exactly how to tear you apart and put you back together.

“Baby,” he breathed, panting against your throat, “you’re taking me so well.”

You moaned, legs tightening around him.

“You always this tight, or is it just for me?”

“Only you,” you choked out, voice cracking. “Only ever been like this for you.”

That made him growl.

“You feel perfect. Like you’re made for me.”

Every thrust dragged a whimper from your lips. Every kiss to your neck made you melt further under him.

You could feel how careful he was, even in the roughness. Like he wanted you to feel claimed, but not hurt. Never that.

“You like when i talk like this?” he asked, voice low in your ear.

“Yes,” you moaned. “Fuck, Jungkook.”

“You make me lose my mind, princess. Got me thinking about you all day. Couldn’t wait to fuck you full of my come inside.”

Your back arched, nails digging into his shoulders.

He shifted his hips, angling deeper. “You gonna come for me like this? Gonna come on my cock hm?”

You nodded desperately, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes. “Yes….don’t stop.”

“Look at me,” he whispered.

You did.

And in the silence that followed, he slowed down, but pressed in deep and stayed there.

His body trembled above yours, like he was holding something back—not just his release, but something heavier.

You cupped his cheek gently. “Jungkook?”

His voice broke.

“I love you,” he whispered; then again, faster, almost panicked. “I love you so much it’s scaring me.”

You stared up at him, eyes wide.

“I—” His throat worked as he swallowed, his brows drawn tight with emotion. “I never thought i’d have this. You. I never thought someone like you would ever even look at me.”

“Jungkook—”

“I used to watch you,” he continued, voice cracking. “In class. You were always so confident. So distant. But then you sat next to me—God, i still remember the way you looked that day. I thought it was a joke. Like there’s no way you would sit beside me.”

Your chest ached. He kept going.

“But you did. You stayed. You talked to me. You let me see pieces of you no one else gets to. And i still don’t know why. I still think maybe you’ll wake up and realize you could do better and just… leave.”

You shook your head, eyes stinging.

“But you don’t,” he whispered. “You stay. You’re patient with me when i get quiet. When i don’t know what to say. You still kiss me like i matter.”

His voice dropped lower, barely a breath.

“I don’t know what i did to deserve you. But fuck—i’m so glad you exist. I’m so glad you sat next to me.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

He saw the silence as hesitation, and something in his face crumpled.

“It’s okay,” he said quickly, pulling back just slightly. “You don’t have to say it back. I just….i needed you to know. Even if i’m not what you expected. Even if I’m not enough.”

And that’s when it hit you.

This boy; this quiet, brilliant, soft-hearted boy had been holding it in for months.

You surged up and kissed him.

Not soft. Not gentle.

You kissed him like you were giving him an answer.

He gasped against your lips when you pulled away.

“I love you,” you whispered. “Are you kidding? You’re everything.”

He blinked, stunned.

“I didn’t say it sooner because i was scared i’d ruin this,” you said. “But Jungkook… you are everything i could ever ask for.”

He let out a shaky breath—half a laugh, half a sob—and kissed you again, deeper this time. Needy. Grateful.

You weren’t sure what hurt more. The way he was moving inside you, or the way he was looking at you.

Like you were a miracle.

Like you were something he’d never believed he could have.

Every thrust was deep, steady, but trembling with emotion. He was holding on for dear life. His forehead pressed to yours, sweat on his brow, his breath hot and uneven.

“God,” Jungkook groaned, voice raw, “you feel so good, too good.”

You cupped his face again, thumbs brushing over his flushed cheeks. “You can let go. i’ve got you.”

But he didn’t. Not yet.

“I don’t want this to end,” he whispered. “I don’t want us to end.”

“We won’t,” you said softly. “I’m right here.”

He choked on a breath, hips stuttering. “I’ve never… never loved anyone like this.”

You nodded, tears welling. “Me either.”

And still, he didn’t stop moving. He couldn’t; not when your body clung to his like a prayer, not when your nails curled against his back, not when your lips parted with little gasps that sounded like his name.

“Let go, baby,” you whispered. “I want you to come inside. Cmon baby.”

His pace faltered; sharper, desperate. “Can’t believe you’re mine,” he breathed. “Can’t believe it’s you.”

Then, with a deep groan against your neck, he finally gave in—shuddering in your arms, body tensing, spilling into you like it was all too much and not enough at once.

You held him through it.

Through the tremble in his limbs.

Through the whispered “I love you” that followed on the heels release. Ropes of come dripping out as he pulls out slowly then inside again. You moaned at the sensation.

He didn’t move for a while—just stayed there, inside you, wrapped around you, like he couldn’t stand to lose the warmth.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, stroking his hair. “You don’t have to hold on so tight.”

He nuzzled into your shoulder. “I want to, though.”

“I know,” you smiled. “Me too.”

Eventually, he shifted, settling beside you, your bodies still tangled beneath the blankets.

The silence was heavy but comforting. No more fear. No more holding back.

Just breathing. Together.

You turned to look at him, and he was already watching you.

“What?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He traced your jaw with his thumb, eyes soft.

“Out of everyone in this whole world… somehow, it was you.”

Your chest ached.

You kissed him, slow and deep and sure.

And thought, yeah.

Somehow, it was him too.

[scoupsakakitty]

Svt ot13 x reader, where like, reader made a single mistake during one of their concerts. Then when they practiced for the rest of tour reader keeps on spotting their flaws even when its fine. Maybe even overworking to the point she sleeps in the practice room? Then they(ot13) was confused to why reader hasn't come home yet, only to find reader passed out on the floor of the practice room, like literally passed out..

This is my first time doing a req, sorry if its too detailed.. please dont overwork yourself irl!!

Don‘t Dance Alone Tonight | idol!Scoups x 14thMember | angst fluff

The cameras stopped rolling. Lights dimmed. Staff members clapped as the director yelled “Cut!” for the final time. Cheers erupted. Another long MV shoot was done. But even through the chatter, the laughter, the scattered energy of a wrap party brewing — Seungcheol noticed it.

Y/N was gone.

She hadn’t said goodbye. No jokes. No nods. She didn’t even take her usual post-shoot selfie with Hoshi or tease Chan about his expressions in the last take.

Just… vanished.

And the worst part?

They hadn’t spoken all day. Not since that morning — the fight.

“You think just because you’re leader, you can talk down to me?” she had snapped in their dorm room.

“I’m not talking down to you. I’m trying to help you not burn out!” he had replied, voice rising with frustration.

“I know what I’m doing, Cheol. You don’t get it. You’re not the one messing up on stage.”

She had stormed out, leaving his words stuck in his throat and his heart heavier than he could explain.

Now she was gone. And his gut twisted.

“Y/N’s not here,” Chan said, peeking into her room in the Performance Unit’s dorm.

Seungcheol frowned. “I thought she stayed with you guys.”

“We thought she was with you,” Jun added from the kitchen, phone in hand. “She left right after the shoot.”

“She didn’t say anything,” Minghao said quietly. “Not even in the group chat.”

Seungcheol pulled out his phone again — five missed calls. All to her. None returned.

“She’s not answering?” Chan asked, voice rising slightly.

“No.” Seungcheol shook his head, trying to keep the worry from surfacing, but his tone betrayed him. “Goes straight to voicemail.”

“I’ll check the building rooftop,” Jun offered. “She goes there when she needs space.”

“I’ll try the stylist team,” Minghao said. “Maybe she went back for something.”

“I’ll text the managers,” Chan added.

“I’ll check the practice rooms,” Hoshi said without hesitation, already grabbing his hoodie. “If I were her… I’d be dancing it out.”

Studio 3 was nearly dark, save for the moonlight pouring in through the high window. Hoshi pushed the door open softly and froze.

There she was.

Y/N lay curled up on the wooden floor in the corner, her hoodie bunched up beneath her head, long legs tucked in, a bottle of water knocked over beside her.

The monitor in the room was paused mid-dance. It replayed the last segment they practiced together. Her figure in the center. Perfect form. But he knew she wouldn’t see it that way.

“Y/N…” he whispered, kneeling beside her.

Her eyes were shut tight. Sweat clung to her hairline. Her brows were slightly furrowed — even in sleep, she didn’t look at peace.

He pulled out his phone and called the only person who should be there right now.

“She’s here,” Hoshi said softly. “She fell asleep in the practice room.”

Silence on the other end.

“I’ll be right there,” came Seungcheol’s voice. He sounded breathless.

“I’ll wait.”

Seungcheol arrived within twenty minutes. When he opened the door, he found Hoshi sitting quietly near her, legs crossed, watching over her like an older brother.

“She hasn’t moved,” Hoshi whispered. “I think she passed out from exhaustion. She must’ve been here for hours.”

Seungcheol swallowed hard, guilt crawling through every inch of him.

“Thanks, Soonyoung.”

Hoshi nodded, then gave Seungcheol a small pat on the shoulder. “Talk to her. I’ll be right outside.”

When the door clicked shut behind him, the room was silent save for the soft hum of the AC and Y/N’s breathing.

Seungcheol crouched beside her. “Y/N…” he said gently, brushing a strand of hair away from her cheek.

She stirred, murmuring something unintelligible before her eyes blinked open.

“Cheol…?” she croaked, eyes adjusting to the low light.

“Hey.” He forced a soft smile. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

Confusion flickered across her face, followed by recognition. Then guilt.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep…”

“I know,” he said softly. “You scared us.”

She sat up slowly, her joints cracking from the cold floor. “I just wanted to get the routine right. I messed up that one time and now I can’t stop seeing the flaws.”

“You didn’t mess up, Y/N.”

She laughed weakly, without humor. “You didn’t see the replay?”

“I saw it. And I saw you trying to perfect something that was already beautiful.”

She turned her face away, jaw clenched.

“I thought you were disappointed in me."

His chest ached.

“I was never disappointed in you,” he said firmly. “Frustrated? Yes. But only because I saw you pushing yourself too hard again. I wasn’t angry at you. I was angry that you wouldn’t let anyone in.”

Tears welled up in her eyes.

“I didn’t want to seem weak.”

“You’re not weak. You’re the strongest person I know.”

“But I keep making mistakes—”

“You’re human,” he interrupted, voice breaking. “You’re allowed to make mistakes, Y/N. I’ve made more than I can count. But disappearing without a word? That scared the hell out of me.”

She looked down at her lap. “I’m sorry.”

He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly.

“I’m sorry, too. For snapping. For not checking on you sooner. For not being the partner you needed today.”

She sniffled against his shoulder. “You’re always what I need, Cheol. I just forget how to say it when I’m overwhelmed.”

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s warmth on the cold dance studio floor.

Back at the dorm, Y/N entered her room quietly, grateful for the silence. Her room was her sanctuary, a rare privilege in the chaos of idol life. She’d fought hard for it — not out of vanity, but for peace.

She sat on the edge of her bed, looking at the mirror across from her.

“How long were you practicing?” Seungcheol asked from her doorway.

“Since after the shoot.”

“Did you eat?”

She shook her head.

He disappeared for a moment and returned with a bowl of ramen.

“No excuses. Eat.”

They sat on her bed, sharing the meal in silence.

“I’m not good at resting,” she admitted.

“I know. That’s why I’m here. To remind you that you deserve it.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Promise me something,” he said, voice low.

“What?”

“No more running away.”

She nodded.

“And no more dancing alone until you collapse.”

She hesitated — then nodded again. “Deal. But only if you promise something too.”

“Name it.”

“Don’t ever stop fighting with me.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Because when we fight, it means we care. And I’d rather argue with you a hundred times than feel like we’re strangers again.”

He smiled softly. “Then I promise.”

A week later, during practice for their encore concert, Y/N danced the choreography perfectly. When the final beat hit, she turned toward the mirror and met her own gaze. No criticism. No anxiety.

Just pride.

From behind, Seungcheol’s voice rang out. “You did great.”

She turned. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes full of affection.

She smiled, breathless. “You saw?”

“I always see.”

[unluckilyimnot]

Hi!! Can you do bofurin boys with reader who has an iron deficiency?

S/o / crush with iron deficiency – Sakura, kiryuu, kaji, umemiya, suo

Note: my gf almost has anemia, I know VERY WELL what it is, she's never taking her iron tablets she'll be the death of me

around 0.7k each, slight miscommunication for kaji

m.list | rules

Sakura

The first thing that makes Sakura tick is the fact that Nirei always has hot pads in his pocket or his bag for you. Your hands are always cold, and you vent about it a lot, everybody knows it but nobody asks why. Maybe because they know. But Sakura doesn't, and he also doesn't know how to ask you if it's related to something in particular, or if you're just sensitive to the cold.

Then comes the fact that you're always out of breath, which is a problem when you have a friends' group like them who wander outside a lot. There's not a day without one of them suddenly running after some weird guy or a cat. You rarely follow, taking your time to meet them again later or Suo and Nirei stay with you – it depends. That makes him ten times more curious about it, but he doesn't see himself just ask you why. You're not close enough. Or are you ? He's not so sure.

That's around a rather calm break in a park, in the corner of a little fight, that he built the courage to ask you. Suo has been taking one of the tea bottles away from you when you asked for it and he didn't like being kept out of the general knowledge anymore.

"Why can't you drink tea ?" he asks shyly, his voice barely loud enough for you to hear. You giggle at his question.

"I have an iron deficiency, so it's not recommended to drink tea after eating," you explain, still trying to steal the bottle away from Suo but he's quicker than you, every time. You accepted your fate in the end, which made him smile. Instead, he handed you a lemonade that you reluctantly took.

"It sucks," was all he could think of as an answer at first, not really connecting the dots but he'll search it up. "What else does it do to you ?"

You fake reflection for a second, bringing a finger to your lips. "I feel weak sometimes, so I need to sit out of nowhere because the world spins, you know." You imitate a circle with that same finger.

"My hands are cold and I can't get up too quickly without consequences,” you laugh, “but that's mostly it. I don't have anemia, says my doctor, even if it feels like it," you smile at him when he nods slowly, showing he understood what you just told him.

You didn't expect much after that. It was fair, you even thought that you should've told him earlier since everybody knew already. You thought it would leave his mind quickly, no-one ever thinks about that every day – it's more like they remember every now and then, when you have to sit back immediately after getting up or when you grab someone's arm because the world starts spinning. Apart from Nirei, he's extra careful for some reason.

To your surprise, after the conversation, he got more careful when it comes to you. He might not seem like it, but as a leader now, he takes time out and waits for you more, so everybody does as well.

He stands by your side a lot more when you take a break and sit, you can tell he's trying to do well even if he's not sure. You appreciate it. Every part of it. From him telling everyone to slow down to when he crouches in front of you when you feel weak.

"Y–you alright ? I can hold you back to the station..." he's shy when he tries to help, always. There's people around, his face is all red and he can't meet your eyes – but you can tell by his voice he means it. And it never fails to make you smile

"I'm alright, Sakura, but thank you," even you can get a little shy. "I appreciate it."

He nods, standing up quickly and, after a moment, he holds his arms out for you.

"If you feel weak again, just take my arm ok ?!"

He's a little aggressive, certainly because Suo cooed when he heard him after giggling to himself, but Sakura tries to ignore it. What you can't ignore however, is how hot your cheeks feel at the moment. You take his arm anyway and get up as well, holding it firmly but with a soft smile.

"Thank you, Sakura."

"Yeah, whatever." Again, aggressive but the way he bringed you a little closer tells everything you need to know. That he cares about you, and it warms up your heart.

Suo (afab!reader)

Hanging out alone with Suo is always so relaxing. After spending time with so many people, who run around a lot, staying in silence for a bit is always nice. He's always careful anyway, and he knows that – as much as you love them – you need some alone time, or with him, after spending an afternoon with them. 

As soon as he noticed you were a little too much behind, he checked on you instantly. Kindly ask you if you're tired with a soft smile, one you can't send any hint of malice in. It didn't take more than that for you two to leave and take the road to his place. 

"Your hands are cold again," he mentioned on the way when your hand brushed against his, like taking note to himself. You simply nod, you get used to it even if it isn't nice. It is what it is. 

"I'll make you something hot," Suo doesn't waste time and leaves you the living room as soon as you arrive. Sitting there in silence, you take out your phone and scroll through the thousand of messages they've sent on the group chat – messing with Sakura again because he's too slow to answer. 

Suo comes back quickly with some snacks first, he carefully puts them on your side of the table. Then a second time with two fuming cups. He left the white one in front of you, filled with hot chocolate. You frown but still take a look at his cup, to find out its tea. A pout show on your face ; you wanted tea as well. 

"Why are you the only one having tea ? I wanted tea too," you shake his sleeve in the process. 

He doesn't seem to care, putting the cup to his lips and taking a sip. 

"If I recall well, you're on your period, right ?" 

You fell silent for a second, before sighing. Of course he remembers.

"Yes..." 

"Then no tea for you, my darling," he's a little too satisfied to turn you down, even if it's to take care of you. You want to rip the silly smile off his lips. 

"Just a sip," you begged quietly but he shook his head, putting his cup away from you. 

"Don't be silly. You'll have some in a few days," his hot hand gently cradles your cheek before kissing your forehead. "Warm up your hands." 

It's a soft command and you obey without giving it a second thought. Your ice cold hands warmed up in a minute with the hot cup between them and you lay on his shoulder for extra comfort. It feels nice. His hearing slightly brushing your cheek, tickling a little but you don't mind, his seemingly stiff appearance is soft around you and you couldn't ask for a better afternoon’s end.

Kiryuu

If there is one thing you love more than anything, it’s spending time at Kotoha’s place with the boys. It’s simple, you spend the afternoon drinking tea and talking – so much you could mistake it for a girls’ meeting if it wasn’t for the sappy jokes only boys can make. You laugh anyway, all afternoon, until the corner of your mouth and cheeks hurt. Enough for your head to hurt. Between the lack of sleep last night and not eating enough at lunch, blood was pounding in your head painfully.

“Are you ok ?” Kiryu, who was sitting across from you, asked while Nirei and Sakura were arguing again.

“Headache,”you said simply, putting your hand on your forehead. “It’s nothing, but I might leave soon.”

“I’ll get you some water first. I’ll walk you home,” he smiled before getting up slowly. It wasn’t a question, you didn't have the choice here but you weren’t arguing. You felt weak for no particular reason, it was a day without and didn’t want to tempt the devil; you had one or two bad experiences.

He was back quickly with a glass of water and, after you finished it, he took his jacket and gave you his hand to hold. You waved everyone goodbye before taking the road to your parent’s house. The walk is silent for a while, you don’t have much to say neither does he it seems like but it’s fine for you. You’re just comfortable around him. He knows when there’s something wrong and he’s by your side all the time, you just love having him around. He’s a really good friend.

Yeah. Friend.

Suddenly, you lose balance. You didn’t trip on something, like you thought at first, no, no. The world starts spinning out of nowhere, your vision is filled with stars in a second and if it wasn’t for the arm around your waist, you would probably have hit the wall. Warm got to your cheeks instantly when he held you even closer, when you realized your fingers wrapped around his jacket like your life depends on it. You push him away, but not too fast to not rush your body.

“I’m so sorry, Kiryu, I didn’t mean to–”

“Are you ok ?” He doesn’t want to let you go, still holding your clothes firmly – his voice laced with worry.

“Yeah, it just happens sometimes…” you’re feeling shy now. You never wanted to make him worry, but it wouldn’t be helped now, right ? You didn’t miss the frown on his face before he smiles softly your way again.

“I’m never letting you leave alone then,” he joked, voice light and he made you giggle a little. But his arm hooked with yours and he didn’t let go before you were a step into your home. Safe.

“Thank you again, Kiryu. I appreciate it.”

“Always, don’t be scared to ask. I’ll always answer.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, and your cheeks feel red once again. The way his eyes are soft when he looks at you, longing a little more than he should maybe but he doesn’t move.

“I will.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, only for him to hear and that’s enough to him. He leans in and ruffles your hair.“Rest now, see you tomorrow !” And just like that, he leaves you on your porch, not knowing what to do with your heart beating way too fast.

Kaji

When you know Kaji’s on patrol around your school, you always take a walk with him and his friends during your break. It became a habit, you can’t help but do it now – even if it rains. You just came back from the local store, a bag of lollipops in your hands. He ran out and, as you needed something to eat as well, you told him you’ll get some. 

Handing it to him, your hand brushed against his. It’s not the first time. You already hold hands once to help you run away from a situation, but it never fails to make your heartbeat speed up a little. You were about to look away, trying to push the feeling away. 

“I fucking hate it,” Kaji spits out. It’s not even in your way, he’s cursing under his breath but you can’t help but take it for yourself. 

“Excuse me ?!” you yelled, ready to throw hands. You just handed him the lollipop’s bag he asked you, that you kindly brought him on your break time for that ? Not even a thank you.

“Because my hand brushed yours ?! What, you think I've got the plague ?”

He’s too stunned to speak for a second, looking at you with widened eyes before frowning at you. 

“It’s always freaking cold ! I hate it !” Right after saying it, he knows he fucked up. 

He didn’t mean it like that. But it’s too late. You scoff loudly. You need to take a step back, sending him daggers. 

“Oh because you think I like that ? It ruins my life but I am really sorry it bothers you. I’ll think twice before having a deficiency next time,” you sarcastically answer, rolling your eyes. You’re speaking so fast, he can’t even hope to talk back. “I’ll make sure to never touch you again !”

“Let me speak !” he barked, getting up so quickly you barely had time to take another step back. Before he can do anything your phone rang, cutting him and telling you it was time to go back. 

He kept his hand for himself, not looking at you as you left without another word but Gods he hates it. All of it. You leave angry, because he knows you’re gonna think about it all afternoon, and he feels like shit, because he can’t even speak when he has to. 

He came back to your school’s gate by the end of your day and sat on the bench in front of it, waiting to see your pretty, probably upset, face walk out. He’s not supposed to be there, Umemiya asked them to come back for a meeting but at the moment he couldn’t care less. He had to fix this. His hands in his pocket, he waits patiently until he catches your silhouette coming closer. 

Kaji gets up and walks to the front of the gate. You’re glaring at him again, walking past him without a second look. Your jaw clenches when you hear him following you.

“For the record, I don’t want to see your face right now. Let alone talk to you, so lea–”

“Don't look at me the ! Just take this,” he voice is soft despite all the emotions rushing inside his mind at the moment, but he knows better than to listen to it. 

Softly, he catches your wrist and slips a hand warmer between your fingers. It was already warm, meaning he broke it before giving it to you and it takes everything in you to turn around and apologize. Your heart skips a beat when his fingers hold onto you a second too long. 

“I didn’t mean it like that, you know,” you turned around to look at him, not strong enough to ignore him when he’s speaking his mind. It’s hard enough for him. He looks away when he catches your eyes. “I’m just angry that I can't help it,” he confesses, louder than he wanted to but kept his chin up, not showing any sign of embarrassment. 

Beside his red cheeks, but you won’t mention it.

“Then, think before speaking next time,” you say as you look at the ground, but not upset anymore. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You nod, not thinking about it anymore. Your hands are warmer and his didn’t leave your wrist, better, he’s almost holding your hand and that gives you much more things to think about.

Umemiya (based on a real date with my gf)

Looking around this gigantic book shop is always so nice. Umemiya and you love books, so it's always a good idea to take a look around here, even if you don't buy anything. It's a cute date, as simple as it is.

You like how he stops behind you to read above your shoulder before asking you what it is about as if he doesn't know yet. There's so many books, comics, manga, you don't know where to look ! And you two always go through the 3 floors to be sure you see it all – even you already know the pace by heart.

"Oh look," Umemiya gasped.

You hum as you turn around to see him showing you a red cover you know too well.

"It's still there ! And Hiragi was worried he wouldn't find it for my birthday..." He took a second to stare at it, finding the details again with the shadow of a smile on his lips, making you smile as well.

"Ok my turn," you say, making your way to him and grabbing his arms to lead him to the manga section. You looked around the shelf, looking for soothing in particular before gasping softly. "There."

"See that ? Remember the cover please, I'd love to have it for my birthday! You know, it's like Tokyo Revengers, but they're just high schoolers fighting to protect their neighborhood."

"Sounds like something I'll do," he jokes, taking the book in your hand to take a better look. You giggle.

"That's why I like it."

After you get around your manga selection, and ask approximately 30 times if he remembered well, you two go to the underground level, consisting of books in foreign languages and research books. You like to read your book in English, even if it takes a lot of time, you want to get better at it so you often end up down there. Umemiya never finds his happiness, but he's happy as long as you do ! Instead, he spends more time around the research side – who knows, he might as well develop a passion for ships while reading a summary.

It hasn't happened yet, though.

If there's no book you're looking for, you honestly don't spend much time there. You feel bad to make him wait longer than necessary. Yet, you take your time, looking more than you needed, feeling a little weak at the moment. Grabbing the shelf behind you for a second, the time you steady yourself and take a breath, then you're ready to go.

"Let's go, Ume ?" You ask as you turn to the other side of the room but not too loud. You don't need to, because he's next to you in a second.

"Yeah, I need to pay for this then we're done."

You nod. You didn't plan anything to do after that, and you're glad because as you walk up the stairs you can feel your head spinning before your sigh completely black out once you reach the 1st floor. Grounding yourself on the first shelf you can feel, you close your eyes for a second – you're about to pass out seriously.

Umemiya calls out your name but you don't answer, being a little too slow at the moment. But you can hear him coming quickly next to you and his hands find your waist, holding you back to him as he moves you away to not bother anyone.

"Sorry..." you whisper, trying to blink the dark and stars away.

He shook his head, "It's ok, we have time."

You two fall into a comfortable silence, people are talking and walking around, not really caring about you two and it's better like that. You slowly got your vision back.

You push him away carefully once its fully back, but he's not letting go of you, not after that. You two make your way to the cashier, his arm holding yours as of his life depends in it ; more like the opposite if someone asks you. Yet you're glad, because you actually feel how weak your legs are. He's quick but polite, smiling for the few minutes he talked with him. Without even realizing it, you're already outside, the fresh air doing wonders to your body.

"We're gonna grab something to eat now," he giggles but you can feel in his voice he's worried.

"Sure," you nod, you're definitely not saying no to a sweet treat right now.

[eraserbread]

𝘪 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙛𝙚 part 3 masterlist, listen, nanami tag

god help me be a good wife, cause he needs me even when he's not right, he still needs me read part 2 nanami won't tell you he's hurting, but he can't keep you a secret any longer.

a/n: holy shit u guys... don't say i didn't warn you... this one is, uh... that's all from me. see you on the other side... cw: 18+ mature themes, canon-typical violence

♫ - salted wound - sia

Kento doesn’t wince, he doesn’t even move a muscle as he’s doted on. This time, it’s not by you, it’s by his colleague. One of the only sorcerers at Jujutsu High who can use reverse cursed techniques to heal. Her hands are warm, but her aura is cold, not like yours. Never as comforting as you. 

Facing the aftershocks of a fight against what he deemed to be a Special Grade, his side is gashed. It’s deep, too, bleeding into Ieiri’s silicone gloves as she pokes and prods. 

“I need to make a phone call – afraid it can’t wait, either, so please do not listen.” 

“No promises.” She replies coolly, pushing her rolling chair back to switch out her bloody gloves. In her sterile, white office, Kento leans his back against a plush, reclining chair. His dark blue work shirt is unbuttoned and messy, hanging off his shoulder. Blood is soaking through it, he’s cold, and Kento wants nothing more than to be home right now. 

Home will have to wait, but he can make up for some of it easily enough. He reaches for his smartphone, blinking drearily as his weak fingers stumble upon your contact. It’s well past the time he should’ve been home, now, and knows you’re up, worried sick. A message won’t suffice in this case; he needed to speak. 

Not even a full ring pass until the line clicks. Your smooth, sleepy voice licks the receiver. 

‘Kento?’ 

“Hello, dear.” Kento shuffles, taking a breath as Ieiri rolls back to his side. She has already used her technique; now it just has to settle in. “I know you are worried about me. Don’t be.” 

‘What’s happened? Are you okay?’ The way you sound – so worried and broken against cell static, shatters Kento’s psyche. He just wants to reach through the phone and tell you he’s okay, but he can’t. 

“I was struck by some falling rubble at work. Again, don’t wor-”

‘-fallen rubble? Kento, please come home.’ 

He presses his eyes shut. Your pain is palpable and laced throughout your caring tone. “I cannot come home yet. I’m getting the wound patched up.” 

Out of his sight, you’re chewing over your pristine nails, stewing with angst. He can hear the crack in your voice when you go to speak. ‘I’m terrified… this is the fourth injury this week.’ 

“I understand you’re worried, but I want you to know that I made that promise for a reason. I will never leave you.” He’s lying. He can’t believe he’s lying to you again, but it’s the only way he can keep you. His stupid, selfish nature needs you close when he knows he should cut ties and let you lead a life without constant fear.

‘And I want to believe that so bad.’ You’re crying now, or about to – Kento can hear it in the way your voice, damp with emotion, shakes helplessly. He knows if he were home, you’d play with his hair and kiss his forehead. You’d let him know that you can be his rock if need be – that’s your safeword, it’s his crutch. 

“How about you get some rest, dear? When you wake up, I’ll be right there… just like always.” 

‘No mysterious midnight missions?’ 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s hard to control that.” 

‘Then, just lie.’ You’re desperate for anything, now. Any lie, any amount of reassurance or stability – you were clawing at your skin for it. 

“No missions. I’ll be home with you all night.” 

You take that with a contented hum, sawing your bottom lip over the line. ‘Please come home safe and sound.’ 

“Mhm… okay.” 

‘I love you so much.’ 

“Yes, you too. You know that.” 

‘I’ll be waiting…’ 

Kento hangs up first – knows he has to, or you’ll be shoveling more worrisome phrases into his ear for hours. Then, he feels the guilt hit him like a ton of bricks, weighing his shoulders down as Ieiri finishes patching him up. Silently, she’s been listening – of course, she has. 

Notoriously mysterious, Kento never utters a word about his personal life when he’s on campus. He was aloof throughout his high school years, then just disappeared. It's safe to say that nobody truly knows him here. Not even the apparitional comrades he sees when he closes his eyes at night. 

However, Ieiri is not stupid. That shiny, silver band on Kento’s fingers was not just for decoration. He’s never worn an ornament in his life, save for the thick watch he ties some of his Curse to. She noticed – she could make out your worried ramblings in the quiet, and smiled at who you were. 

“Marriage… It’s definitely your style.” She finally stands, pressing the trash can open to toss away the sterile packaging she used. Kento sits up, following her gaze shortly. 

“I told you not to listen.” 

“Oh, geez – it was impossible not to.” 

“Then just pretend you respect me enough to listen.” He’s standing up, buttoning and tucking his bloody shirt back in his pants. He knows you’ll work your domestic magic on it when he goes home – the next time he’ll see this shirt, it’ll be like nothing happened. “If you don’t mind, I will be running home to my wife.” 

“Don’t… actually run. It’ll exert the site.” 

Kento lets the door swing shut as he leaves Ieiri’s office, not giving her a goodbye or thanks she already knows she has from him. 

Now, he’ll be the first to admit that he’s pulled away since his return. There hasn’t been a Welcome Back dinner like Satoru promised, or those occasional nights out they’d hop into after missions. Nothing is the same this time around, or maybe they just aren’t kids anymore. 

And much to his bad luck, he ends up running into an open conversation in the First-Year hallway. The door is just a stone's throw away, but Ino and Satoru are leaning against either wall, relaxed and uncaring of Kento’s presence at first. 

“If I have to talk to the higher-ups about that, it won’t be pretty.” 

“Satoru, you can’t keep letting them throw me into missions I can’t handle.” Ino grimaces, scratching an anxious hand behind his head. He barely scraped away with his life today, and he’s had enough. He’s gone through two too many near-death experiences this week. 

“Don’t mind me,” Kento mutters as he pushes through their invisible conversation. Satoru stands on the right, giving him the perfect view of the bloodied stain on his pristine clothing. He can also see it in Kento’s face – can hear it in the mumble he gives. 

“Bad mission?” 

“I do apologize – I’ll have to brief you tomorrow.” Kento’s trying everything – scraping by the skin of his teeth to avoid any and all distractions. Satoru could talk for hours about nothing, and Ino would pay to listen in. He can’t let himself be roped in. 

“Nanami, I faced a Special-Grade in Kamakura. Had to flee or die… this is getting out of hand.” 

“Struggling is not inherently bad.” He finally stops, giving Ino a passing look over his shoulder. He takes a few steps, hands tucked in his pockets. “Neither is fleeing. Sometimes it’s the only thing we can do – you have to be okay with that.” 

Ino gives him a meek nod, gazing down at his feet as reality washes over him. “B-but if we all flee… Who will exorcise all these Curses?” 

“Me. When I have time.” Satoru speaks, standing up straight as if he’s planning on walking away. In reality, he’s exhausted. Running on a night of no sleep and constant, back-to-back Special Grades, whilst teaching and lugging around Sukuna’s vessel, marred him to the bone. He was beginning to see stars through his thin, dark-framed glasses. “Thank you for helping with Itadori, Nanami. Saw he got back safely.” 

“It is my duty to put his life over my own. Now, I must be going on-

“Get lots of rest tonight,” Ino adds as Kento begins walking off, standing straight and at attention. 

“You too.” 

Kento can’t face you right now. He knows you’re behind that door, can feel your presence calling his name, but can’t give in. It’s so late now. Well past midnight, and he’s just now shuffling through the front door. He knows, and hates, that you’re not waiting up for him. The house is dark. Lifeless. It’s like you haven’t been in here all day. 

He waits in front of the cracked bedroom door, hand hovering over the knob as he works himself up. He’s still covered in blood – his shirt is stained and he looks like Hell. You’d wake up as soon as he sets foot inside, and he’d have to calm your shaking demeanor again. Selfishly, he’s far too exhausted to exert more energy that way. 

All he wants to do is sleep. He doesn’t want to exist on this day anymore. 

So, he turns around and makes his way to the couch, slinging off his belt and loosening his tie so he can sink into the downiness. He closes his hands over his face, breathing deep, thinking about that pathwork curse, dreaming up ways he can work around the technique, and stewing over it for far too long. Surprisingly, he skated away with his life today, but he knew it was a lucky draw – he needed to be more careful, far more conscious. 

Somewhere, lost in those late hours, he drifts off with his vapid thoughts running circles in his mind. It’s a sour mixture – a foul mood and visions of failure, which is why he dreams that night. 

He never dreams. 

You’re awake when that call comes, stepping out of the bathroom fresh from a shower. Somehow, he can hear you from the serenity of the shared bedroom. He wonders if you can feel him as you approach your wailing phone, looking so meek, wrapped up in a towel the size of him. 

Every step is deliberate as you cross the bed, reaching against the whiteness of the spread to retrieve the device. When you turn the screen over, an unknown number is painted across the top, and he can sense the hesitant dread that crosses your features when you notice. 

Kento knows you want that person to be him – you’re hoping he’s just at a payphone, or using a colleague's cell to update you on his status. His only call home was that evening around 7 – he whispered to you that he was being called into a situation around Shibuya, warning you not to worry and that he’ll be home soon. How soon, he couldn’t promise. Timelines are so flimsy, now. Your life together is built on promises he can’t keep. 

But you understand. You won’t fight him this time; you’ll accept defeat and spend another lonely night wrapped up in his smell. It’s the only comfort you can find anymore. 

“Yes?” With a pruned, shaking hand, you bring your smartphone to your ear to answer the call. 

‘...Is this Mrs. Nanami Kento?’ It’s a voice you’re not used to – feminine, yet powerful as it overtakes you. 

You repeat, “Yes.” 

Then, a broken sigh makes you stand up straight. ‘This is Ieiri Shoko from Jujutsu High.’ She begins, shaking her head where you cannot see. ‘There is no easy way to say this, but we have probable cause to believe that Kento either went AWOL, or is MIA after the incident he was called to in Shibuya. I don’t want you to panic yet, but considering the worst-case scenario… We’ve been able to recover a few bodies from the scene earlier this morning…’

You can feel it – the entire structure of your world falling to its knees as you shake still. Your grip tightens invisibly over your device, eyes lost in the room as you shudder on words you know you need to say. “W-what?” 

Another sigh. Just a sigh for her – you wish you could just sigh. ‘I don’t want to confirm anything I am unsure about, but it is unrealistic for him to shrug off on missions without a word.’ Pacing the morgue, Shoko navigates the chaos of bodies she needs to identify, tag, and store. Only one issue – one glaring, faceless issue. She takes a second to stare at the covered body on her table, bloodied brown shoes lying lifeless, and swallows. 

“I-I don’t… I don’t understand.” You swallow, dislodging a pile of angst from your throat. Your mind has already shut down, and your heart is sure to follow – they’re protecting you. Taking the news and eating it until there’s nothing for your soul to feel. “I don’t understand.” 

‘I know this news… It’s confusing. For us… too.’ Though level-headed and seasoned, Ieiri knows how fragile this situation is – how fragile you are. Tokyo Jujutsu Society would never function the same again, and she’d feel it to her grave. ‘Kento was an integral part of not only the School, but also of our society. We need him more than ever, which is why we won't rest until he is accounted for. I imagine he hasn’t reached out to you since yesterday?’

You don’t respond. You can’t respond. You can’t even fucking move. 

‘Nanami?’

You shake your head, but Ieiri can’t hear it. You don’t care. 

‘I can’t imagine how hard this is for you, so I will not press further… May I ask that you come up to the school to identify some remains?’ 

“If it’s him…” You stop, finally moving even when it’s just a step closer to the mattress so you can collapse in a shapeless heap. “I don’t want to see it.” 

‘Of course, I understand completely. Might I just add that DNA testing is a lengthy process, often taking over a month in this case. I can go ahead and start that for you, but if you need closure sooner, coming in to view the bodies is your best option.’ 

You’re sinking into the mattress, hoping it swallows you whole as Ieiri treats you like a name on a paper. She’s telling you that Kento is missing – he’s gone. She thinks he’s dead and wants you to confirm her suspicions by looking at corpses. You don’t think she understands — you will not be able to function if your eyes fall upon the body you married without an ounce of life in it. It’d be better to twist the knife and take that spot next to him in the refrigerated room than to live anymore.

But, you also prepared for this… In that sick, if it happens, it happens way that Kento shoved down your throat since he took the position. The least he can do, since he’s throwing his life to the curb, is to make sure the transition into a life of your own would be just as easy as falling in love with him. You wouldn’t have to work for a while with the money he has stockpiled. You have this house he fine-tuned for you, a brand-new car, and a free life – you could start over. He wants you to start over. 

But he doesn’t want you to marry again. Not ever. 

Not even once you begin to forget him. 

Over the phone, you whisper to Ieiri, “I will come.” 

Somewhere in a dream-like state, Kento watches you slide on a pair of loose-fitting pants, staring unblinking at the wall as you pull on a baggy shirt. He believes it’s his, it smells like him, and that’s what you needed right now. You wouldn’t drive, Ieiri scheduled someone to retrieve you by mid-morning, and that was quickly approaching. 

The one thing – the feeling that’s playing you in a loop is… emptiness. The bleak wall becomes your mirror as you stare into it, no longer caring to polish the appearance you had kept so pristine for your husband. He never asked for too much when it came to that, knowing you’d be able to steer your self-care the way you need to without much nagging. Now it all seems so trivial. 

If no Kento was waiting at the end of the tunnel, you didn’t want to trek. 

So, you’re swept away. Unshowered, unbrushed – unpolished, into the back of a sleek black, mysterious sedan. A woman in a suit waits by the back door as you leave the home Kento gave you. The air smells like his skin as the door pushes that faithful scent out into the world. It feels as if you’re losing pieces of him slowly. 

Luckily, the assistant understands the gravity of the situation as she ushers you into the vehicle. She sees the look on your face, that shadow in your eyes as you avoid eye contact. Not even a word – just a nod. You’re lowering yourself into the calm, polished leather expanse. 

You just can’t feel anything. It’s so odd, so mysteriously antagonizing, as the city you navigated your entire life starts to feel… unfamiliar. The first time you laid eyes on your Kento, once a small, shy blonde, was shoulder-to-shoulder at a bar in Azabu. Now, that lively night strip is jarring and uncomfortably empty. You have to let your eyes flutter shut. 

You don’t even have the strength to pull them open when the car slows to a crawl, shaking you back to sense before stopping altogether. 

Car bells ding, doors are pulled open, and cigarette smoke is in the air. You steady your shaking hands, finally letting your eyes creep open. 

You’ve never been to campus, Kento never told you where it was, but the whispers of the countryside are vibrant and green, stretching far beyond the traditional campus. From first appearances, it looks like every other private High School, and that’s what you would have clung to if you didn’t know the unfortunate truth. Every one of these selfless sorcerers was working their life away just to meet an untimely end. It’s all shit – the system is shit, but you understand that choice was a luxury. Just like Kento, he didn’t have a choice. You never blamed him. 

“Sorry to meet you under these circumstances.” That familiar voice, warm and welcoming, is shadowed against the smog of her balanced cigarette. Standing in front of you, brunette hair, light makeup – you could only deem this reflection as Ieiri Shoko. 

You step out of the car, leaving the door hanging open for the assistant to close. When she steps behind you and lets a gentle hand push it shut, the sound sends a chill up your spine. You shiver. 

“I apologize for startling-

“I-it’s fine,” you rush, voice sounding unfamiliar and meek in your throat. 

Ieiri ashes her smoke with a flick, gaze downcast and red with lack of sleep. Little did you know, last night was one of the most troubling of her career. Bodies upon bodies and injured colleagues stacked upon each other. Some were MIA – a scattered few meeting a supernatural fate that the higher-ups have yet to learn. She figures you haven’t turned on the news and heard about the devastation. She hopes you didn’t, it’d make this showing easier. 

“Nanami…” Ieiri approaches, holding her smoke to her side to stop the onslaught from meeting you. You blink. “I apologize for the chaos, and… for finally meeting you in these circumstances.” 

You’re nodding, too afraid to say more and risk sobbing in a pile on the polished cobblestone. 

“I won’t burden you for too long.” She’s reading your reflection, understanding that baseless words to break the silence will just make this difficult. Ieiri drops her cigarette, stepping on it as she turns to lead you. “Nor will I talk your ear off about formalities, or the fact that I am drowning in bodies and unknowing.” She’s walking fast, swinging doors open for you to pass through. These hallways, although designed for students, seem completely empty. There’s no sound of joyous teenage angst, no chaos that should fill a school – just a veil of blackness, devoid of laughter and emotion. 

You can guess it’s why Kento is so bleak at times, similarly devoid of laughter and emotion. He slaves away all day to this. 

“Now, I won’t tell you much, but this happens sometimes. Shibuya is in ruins, half of our Grade-1s are MIA or are down for the foreseeable future, higher-ups are scrambling – it’s a mess.” 

“And my husband…” It’s the first sentence you speak to her face-to-face. Ieiri thinks it’s as bleak as she imagined it’d be, and it’s not like she could blame you. Poor girl, tied unwillingly to sorcery through devotion. No human is fit to thrive in these conditions. 

“Mixed up in it all, I suppose.” She stops at a heavy set of swinging doors, sending you screeching to a halt. When she turns around, that confident, exhausted gaze is just exhausted. “Now, we found him just after the sun broke, along with some of his few… surviving colleagues.” Ieiri knows – of course she knows, there’s no other sorcerer who yielded a wrapped, spotted blade. It was at the scene, plain as day, and disregarded during clean-up. However, there is a slight, off-putting chance that she could be wrong. It’s why you’re here, it’s why she’s stepping away from your sight, heading towards the corpse. 

You don’t even need her to lift the pristine white sheet. You can smell him in the air – an odd, muted, clean sort of familiar musk. Right there, in that moment, is where it hits you. 

Your husband is gone. 

“I’m so sorry… the state we found him in is…” Ieiri doesn’t finish, she doesn’t even give you a second before she’s peeling the sheet away from clothed, cold ankles. 

Your soul falls. You can’t look. 

You can’t even think – your husband is gone. 

Kento jolts up as if he were being doused in smoldering coals. His heart is hammering in his chest, forcing him awake in a cold sweat. He’s still on the couch, neck sore from the odd position he drifted into. It had to have been hours, now. That dream felt like an eternity… your pain was palpable. He feels like Hell – guilty to the bone. 

With those downcast eyes, he leans his elbows to his knees, rubbing the tension in his face away. Slowly, he’s coming down from that nightmare, focusing his breathing on the late-night hum of city traffic. He can’t find a time, has no idea where his phone is, and is exhausted. There was only so much stewing he could do for the rest of the night, so he decided to call it and climb into bed. 

Except you’re not cuddled on your side when he walks into the room. The bed is barren, with messy covers strewn over the mattress. Kento’s disappointed, but he’s far too tired to think twice. He crawls into his side of the bed, lying on top of the sheets, reaching to clutch your pillow to his face. Perhaps, he thinks it’s you in his sleep-daze, or he knows it’s not you, so he whispers, 

“I’m sorry.” 

You step out of the bathroom three minutes later, hands damp from washing them clean. The bedside clock reads 24:23. Kento is curled up with your pillow. You smile. 

“Sorry. I had to pee.” 

“Come here.” He’s not really asleep, you know he isn’t asleep. His body is still tense. So, you make your way to him, footsteps light in the night before they morph into knee-crawling over the mattress. Kento finally cracks open his eyes, and a smile blooms. He’s happy to see you. 

You won’t mention his injury right now, he won’t mention his burdens as he drags you into his arms. He just holds you, letting you fall back asleep with your head on his chest. 

Like he promised, Kento held you all night until the morning birds awoke. 

Then, it’s the weekend and he’s home. You don’t dare move from this closeness when you wake up before him. It’s just too peaceful, the outside breeze, the beat of his heart, the sound of his breath. He’s a steady, sleepy rock. 

Hours fade, you doze off again. Morning melts into the afternoon, and the sun is hot. You blink awake in the same position, watching hairs of sweat bead against your husband's chest. Leaning forward to kiss him, he stirs. 

Then, mid-afternoon hits, and you’re finally crawling out of your bed with Kento following suit. He’s quiet, yawning into his hand as he cracks an eye open. “You didn’t wake me.” 

“It’s Saturday.” Waiting for you on your closet door, you walk to slide your robe on, pulling the windows open once it’s tied around your waist. “Didn’t talk much last night.” 

“Neither did you.” He’s looking at you over his shoulder, back hunched towards you as he sits on the edge of the bed. “You’re beautiful this morning.” 

“Afternoon.” You correct with a smile on your face. You’re doing nothing to appear more attractive than your half-asleep state allows, but he doesn’t care. “I love you.” 

Kento grunts when he stands, limping slightly as he makes his way to the wardrobe. He’s yawning again, stretching his big arms in front of him. Your eyes fall to his side – the big bandage covering his milky skin. 

You swallow down words, craning your neck when he passes you with a kiss to the cheek. “What’s for breakfast?” 

“Lunch, dear.” You remind him, sawing over your bottom lip as he strips in front of you. His movements are hardly sexual, but the way his body bends and moves as he steps out of his pants is adjacent. Wearing no briefs, he reaches for a pair you laundered for him. “Chicken katsu, maybe?” 

“Mm…” He hums, filtering through his hanging selection of casual shirts. He settles on a deep grey one, sliding it over his fluffy hair and his chest. “If that’s what you want to do…” sounds excellent.” 

“Careful – your side, baby.” 

“What? It’s fine.” He's giving you the cold shoulder, like he’s trying to blow you off. What he wants to do is pick a pair of comfortable pants that he wouldn’t have to squeeze into. It’s the weekend, after all. He had no career obligations. “Katsu is good, go do that.” 

“Pick me out something to wear. Comfy like that, it’s cute.” You’re mentioning finally pushing from the wall to head to the kitchen. Kento doesn’t respond, but you know he’ll do it. On weekends, you shower together in the evening. You know he’ll appreciate peeling the outfit he chose from your skin a little extra. 

While Kento gets ready for his rest day, you’re stewing in the kitchen. Starting with prepping chicken, cleaning, prepping vegetables, cleaning, then actually turning around to your hot oil to start cooking. Somewhere in the middle of the process, you turned on music from the house speakers, keeping it low but audible over the sound of the stove. It makes it so you don’t catch Kento sliding into the room, book tucked under his arm as he sits at your counter. Never speaking a word, just watching. 

“Didn’t hear you walk in.” You’re mildly startled when you turn around, heading to the sink to grab a utensil from your pile of dirty ones. 

“You’re just in your own world. Didn’t want to intercept.” Light, down-tempo jazz backs the sound of his words. You’re smiling under his warm gaze, proud like a child at his sweet attention. 

“Thinking about you.” You add, hands scrubbing under running water as you wash. You’re faithful, your chicken won’t burn behind you, so you let this mood carry. You can tell he wants to dote on you right now. “Halloween’s in a few days. Remember, we used to celebrate every year when we were dating.” 

“Mhm… I remember when you forced me to watch that anime so that I could dress as that character. All of our friends seemed to love it, but I don’t think a blonde Yagami Light was very convincing.” 

You’re giggling, fond memories flooding the front of your mind. A peeved Kento, a smiling you, friends, drinks, and love. It was the last time you two celebrated as young adults. “Well, I was very convinced.” 

“I’m sure you were. You had no problem putting on a wig and playing Misa.” Kento opens his book to his marked page, eyes flicking over your shoulder. “My love, your chicken.” 

“Oh!” You jump, turning around with your clean utensil to remove the cutlets from the oil. On your right, rice is cooking – steaming into the air, mingling with the scent of warmth and home. 

Every few seconds, you can feel his eyes bore into the back of your head. It’s like he wants to say something, but comes up empty every time. 

“If it’s not too much to ask, some coffee would be nice.” He mentions briefly when you turn back around. Nodding immediately, you place your things on the counter, wipe your hands, and move to the machine to brew him a cup. 

“Sorry, I’m so distracted this morning.” 

“Afternoon.” He replies cheekily, smirking up at you when you gawk over your shoulder. “And, it’s okay. You woke up later than normal, starting with lunch instead of breakfast, too.” 

“I actually woke up right on time, just didn’t want to wake you by getting up.” 

“You’re extremely thoughtful. I do appreciate it.” 

A few moments later, you’re cradling a steaming mug of black coffee in your hands, blowing over the top before you hand it to Kento. 

“It is sweet, how you do that.” He starts, so soft spoken, putting his book down so he can take a scalding sip. “It’s like a little indirect kiss.” 

“I have no choice, you drink it as soon as I hand it to you, and always end up burning yourself.” 

“Coffee burns are the least of my worries.” You’re stuck staring stars into Kento’s eyes, studying the fine lines, the familiarity, the gentleness. You don’t even realize how much time is passing until he does. Kento clears his throat. 

“Um, dear.” He nods back towards your stove, and you’re flustered, trying to reel your attention back. “I’m sorry, I’m distracting you.” 

“No!” You reply, shaking your head as you remove the too-crispy chicken to drain. You’re lost in your own skin, unsure what to do with your hands and hyper-aware of his presence now. “No, don’t go, I’m sorry.” 

“I won’t go, just don’t want you to burn down your kitchen.” There’s a chuckle there, faint, hidden behind his words. You can hear it.

While it’s still hot, you serve Kento his lunch, taking care to slice the meat against the grain and keeping its presentation as neat as possible.

A scoop of rice, chicken perched perfectly on top. You pick out his chopsticks, his sauces, and a beautiful, fresh pile of grated cabbage on the side. It’s only ready to eat when you place it gently in front of him, turning the plate so he can get the perfect bite of rice first. 

This attention to detail – Kento craves it. He needs it. By now, knowing exactly what he needs is second nature; he never expects you to falter. And that’s your fault for always being so perfect and loving. He expects the world from you, now—one bowl of chicken katsu at a time. 

Early evening comes with Kento’s gentle voice amongst the cracked windows, piercing through the outside noise. You two love the cooler weather – cuddling up close when there’s no other reason to. 

Back pressed to the couch, Kento’s balancing a thick hard-cover book about Japanese Folklore in honor of Halloween. His sweet, gentle voice makes the troubling stories seem like fairy tales. He’s speaking so wholly, stopping to nod you through any questions you had. Little by little, Kento has been explaining bits and pieces of his world – how curses are born, why he has such an overflow of Cursed Energy, and why he chose this life. 

The thing is, he didn’t. Nobody chooses to be scouted, or, in his case, completely abandoned by his family because they swore he was too abnormal to live a regular life. Desperate for normalcy in those first few years of High School, he lived his off-time nose deep in books that couldn’t talk back. 

He’s only recently started to let you in on those years – the darkest in his life. He speaks about them so solemnly, finally starting to tell himself the truth when it comes to what he saw all that time ago. His best friend's warm body sliced in two, blood gushing. Tears. Angst. Sleepless nights, early mornings, and dull breakfasts. 

He’s getting lost in his head again, words are starting to melt together, and your body is too warm. He shakes his head. “Sorry…” 

“Hm?” You look up at him, hand drawing pristine designs on his clothed chest. Being honest, you didn’t notice the minor stutter of his words as he droned on. You’re more focused on the grotesque human amalgamation that exists within the walls of a city school. The description he read made you shudder. 

“Sorry, I just-

Kento is sighing, sliding further on the couch with the intent to sit. You’re sitting up with him, the backs of your thighs pressed into your heels as he swings his long legs off.. He’s clutching the front of his head like a headache is brewing, eyebrows knitting in phantom pain. 

It’s like… ever since that dream he had the other night, he can’t think straight. He can’t get that fucking night out of his head. 

“Ken…to..?” You mutter, reaching to pull his hand from his face. Unfortunately, this has become familiar to you – these bouts he works himself up into. It eats him alive, rendering him speechless and distant even when you’re close enough to touch. “It’s okay.” 

“Just a… It’s been a week.” Is what he lies with, looking down at his feet. There’s a crook in his neck he has to roll out; it’s uncomfortable. Everything around him is on fire; his skin is churning. 

It’s a slip you witness in real time, heart thrumming painfully as his eyes go ghost. You feel so helpless right now, his hand flexes against yours like he wants to pull it back to his body, but he sits motionless. 

You stand, stepping in front of him to pull his limp frame into your chest. “No, come back to me.” You plead, voice as light as a whisper. “It’s not lonely in there? Just you and your thoughts?” 

Seconds pass, and Kento blinks. Then, shuts his eyes and breathes out a laugh. You feel accomplished, beaming with strength and knowing. “You are sweet.” 

“...are you okay?” You try, biting your lip, trailing fingers over his hunched shoulders. Kento finally blinks up at you, sleeplessness showing in the shadows under his eyes. He nods, but it’s not enough. “Hm?” 

“I’m okay. Yes, it’s okay.” Ken’s stumbling over his words like he’s distracted, sighing as he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your sternum. His long arms are warm – strong as they take hold of your waist. 

“I wish… You can just stay here with me all the time.” He’s purring like a kitten pressed to you, humming deep in his chest. You’re tangling a hand in his mess of blonde locks. “Never go to work, never sleep, never dissociate. Is that selfish of me?” 

“Very.” His voice is muffled. You don’t care. “That is okay. I tell you often, but I just want to reinforce…” Now, he’s peeking up at you, red-faced and ruffled. A reflection only saved for you in the darkest of nights — the most private of rooms. “You deserve a husband who lives for nothing else but taking care of you. I am so sorry I failed you in that sacred mission.” 

You’re not sure what to say, but you know he’s feeling down right now. You blink at him, eyebrows knitted up in worry. “Would you stop saying such vile things? It’s not true.” 

“I understand that you love me enough to lie, as well.” Wordless for a moment, Kento’s hands find their way under the back of your shirt, thick fingers pressing into the bare flesh. You shiver. “So, we will lie to each other then.” 

When he finally sets his stress to the side, he’s all yours. Kisses start at your stomach, lingering there over your shirt as his hands massage your back. You know this kiss – this feeling, it’s all the love he can’t quite figure out how to say to you, so he’s determined to show it. Each kiss is pressed to you in sloping curves, delicate signatures, and expensive lust. Kento loves everything about you, the way you shudder and whine when he ghosts that ticklish patch under your belly button. He can’t help himself. He has to paw your shirt off. 

Then, it’s like he’s trying to bury himself inside of you. He wants to cut you open and make a little home right under your skin. It must feel so warm in there, like it does when he’s making love to you. All he wants is to feel safe in a space where no one can find him. 

Losing himself in your skin is the only way he can seem to chase that feeling. It’s what he dives into every single day, rain or shine, blood or sweat, fighting or loving – being inside of you is his biggest vice. It’s all he needs to survive in a bitter world unfit for his mind. 

His lips are so hot, slick tongue leaving traces of him in his wake as he trails up your torso. Above him, you’re chewing at your lip, holding your breath when he ghosts over your pelvis. You want him there, but Kento wants to eat you alive. 

He starts at your hip, sinking his teeth through skin and flesh. You whine, a hand falling back into his hair to pull him close, yet he turns away. 

“Ouch.” You complain, breath stalling as his nose drags across the waistband of your loose pants. You’re not wearing any underwear – you’re his. Just a touch away from having it all. 

“I am so eager to be inside of you.” He’s talking through kisses, lips wet and warm. When he pulls away, hands playing at your pants, you’re purring – equally as eager, desperate. Loved. “Have you any clue how much I need you?” 

“Just a hint.” 

Finally, he’s pulling down your pants, letting them bunch at your thighs as he gets that beautiful, warm eyeful of you. Slick pools hot between your legs as he cranes his fingers between them, gasping at the silky feel of your wetness against the softness of your folds. 

Then, he’s muttering, “Wow,” Before bringing those two damp fingers to his lips, sucking them quickly into his mouth. It’s a newly formed habit of his, reveling in the taste or smell of you lingering in a room. It’s as if he’s picking up on something you didn’t know existed. And, it’s so sexy. 

“All this teasing…” You’re dragging a hand back over his face, fingers sliding against his ear, pressing into his jaw. Instinctually, he bares his neck. Now, it’s your turn to dive in. Sliding into his lap in a kneeling straddle, you attack the base of his jaw with feverish kisses, core rocking over his jutted sweatpants. You’re eager like a rabbit, licking and biting just like he did. However, Kento feels no pain from your nipping – nothing like the steady, dull ache that pangs your side every time you grind upwards. But it’s satisfying seeing his pristine skin bloom in pretty shades of red. It’s like he’s showing you off, with his neckful of kisses and marks – it makes you so weak. 

“I just want it,” you catch your earlier thought in midair, whispering against his lips. 

“Come and get it.” He replies, almost like he’s challenging you. His eyes are so fucked and heady when he pulls away. But, when you reach for his crotch, so ready to feel him stretch you full, he catches it. “Actually–

Kento takes over, leading you into a kiss, pressing his hand into your back as he stands, carrying you in his grip. You’re expecting to go far – perhaps to the bedroom, maybe to the kitchen counter. You’re not expecting to be slammed onto the couch, winded as Kento’s bodyweight pins you down. 

He’s so strong now, it’s like he doesn’t know his own strength. But, you won’t tell him that you can’t really breathe with him holding you like this, shoulder to shoulder, warm chest pushing you so far. But he feels so good grinding down on you, letting himself be needy and unrestrained in your presence. After all, you are the only escape he gets. The only home he truly has. You need to memorize every side of him. 

“Want you to put it in.” You’re whispering every little breath you can steal, fingers clawing into the thinness of his shirt. “Take it off.” 

“Demanding. Which first?” 

“Take it off.” You’re fisting grey fabric, pulling it out like it’d make him move faster. Against your nakedness, you want him to be with you. 

He sits up for a moment, letting you get a lungful of precious air. Even better than that, the closest possible view when he tears his shirt over his head, fluffy hair out of place, and chiseled chest rising and falling with need for you. 

You truly think you’ll combust. 

“Put it in.” 

Kento hums, a tiny smirk on his lips, when he reaches into the front of his pants. Your eyes trail down his chest, swallowing at the thin patch of hair that blooms just under his waistband. So sexy, so familiar. 

You’re whining. Sawing your bottom lip when he tugs his cock free. Kento is so swollen, so pent-up and needy for you. 

Just when you think he’s about to drop his guard and fuck you into the cushion, he leans down and kisses you, thick cock grinding right between your strewn legs. He’s never done this before – drawn this out in such intoxicatingly needy ways. Humping your legs, whining your name, pinning you down. It’s like he’s on a mission; something is still in the back of his mind. 

So, you tell him again. “Put it in.” 

Though he laughs, he listens. Finally, finally, he’s pressing into you so gently, getting you into that sweet, familiar stretch. It stings at first, always for him, but you love it. It just means that pleasure will follow, his love will fill you whole. 

And, it’s at that first touch of your strangling warmth that he screws his eyes shut, trembling on a sigh. “Oh, I love you.” 

“Mmfh – thank you. Thank you so much, baby.” 

“Shh…” he coaxes, kissing the small line of drool that falls from your open mouth. “Just take it.” 

Kento doesn’t want you to talk, but he does want you to scream his name. It’s how he fucks you, slamming so deep inside of your weeping hole that you can’t help but choke on a sob. 

“Don’t mean to – mm… Be so rough.” You can tell Kento is overcome, neck blooming a dark maroon as he fucks into you. You’re so wet – sopping, and sticky against his skin when he pulls out every time. “B-but, you’re so…” Sweat’s beading, he’s ignoring your pleading moans, holding you so tight you will definitely be marked tomorrow. “...perfect.” 

“I love you.” You’re crying now, squeezing tears from your eyes as he kisses so impossibly deep inside of you. With every thrust he’s giving you, somehow, he feels deeper than the last. It’s like he’s making a home inside your womb – just like he wanted. 

“Sweet… sweet girl. Just so sweet to me.” 

He’s talking so much, giving you so much, touching you so much. 

Then, you’re cumming, nails scratching deep in his back as your world stops… then, starts again. Kento leans down, groaning obscenly in your mouth as your cunt grips and tugs at him, pulsating milky streams of you everywhere. 

Though your arms go limp around him, thighs quivering as they lock onto his waist, Kento is sure he can milk one more orgasm out of you. So, he fucks you in your favorite way – silently, lips pressed to yours, his tongue slipping over your teeth. One big hand clutches over the back of the couch, leather creaking in the strength he knows he can’t exert on you. 

He wants to break this couch, to pin you through the soil and fuck you so deep until you’re begging him to stop. The only thing is, you never would – He knows that, you know that. And, your bodies know that, it’s why he controls himself. 

Kento lets you cum for the second time to the sound of skin slapping skin. He drinks up your cries and feeds them back to you in a kiss before he’s finally cumming. Still as a statue, he’s breathing through the feeling, Adam’s apple bobbing down moisture, sweet lips parted. 

He’s so beautiful, you’re so taken, life is so perfect. 

It’s all you’re thinking as you come down, eyes heavy and swollen with tears. Weakly, your hand rises to his cheek, pressing your palm there for reassurance. Any moment now, he’ll come back to his senses and ask if you’re okay. This is your way of beating him to it.

Though he knows you’re okay, thorough to the bone, Kento presses his forehead to yours. “Thank you for letting me do that.” 

He can’t see the small smile on your face, but he can hear the way your breath hitches. “I love you.” 

Spending that weekend so entirely trapped with you ultimately did help Kento’s mood heading into Halloween week. It’s a notorious time for curses to pop up – old ones returning, and new ones popping up in decorated, dimly lit alleyways. 

But this year felt different… almost calmer. 

It’s why he’s holding your hand through the late city streets on a Tuesday, watching how those street lights bless your lovely features. It’s a reckless decision. Kento knows that he’ll spend all of tomorrow wishing he slept all night, but the old ramen shop on the corner was calling his name – yours, too. 

It’s a hole-in-the-wall establishment. A married couple moves behind the sitting bar in perfect unison – passing noodles, spooning broth, and grilling meats. He sips over smooth liquor, you’re shoveling him smiling stories about holidays past. He thinks that right here, with you, past two in the morning, is his happy place – his Heaven. 

That feeling is truly the only thing keeping him sane, even when he’s mid-sip, nodding to your sweet voice, when an unmistakable presence, grating as ever, passes through the dinging front door. 

You’re giggling sweetly, he’s closing his eyes, praying Gojo wouldn’t notice. But, he already has.

It’s a lucky gamble, who knew the ever stoic Nanami would be frequenting the only open ramen shop in the neighborhood? So, of course, he has to approach. It’s just in Gojo’s blood. He’s starry-eyed behind his blindfold, fresh off a mission and ravenous for anything. His underclassmen’s attention is just as good as cheap ramen. 

“Dear, I am so sorry,” Kento mutters before Gojo closes in, bracing for impact and suddenly exhausted. The liquor softens the blow Gojo exudes, but it doesn’t make this situation easier. You’re looking at the white-haired stranger like he has you at gunpoint. 

“Wha-

“Nanamin!” Though moderately voiced, Gojo is elated, smiling ear to ear and totally shrugging off any feeling that wasn’t contentedness. “Why are you here!?” 

“It’s a big city… Gojo-san…” Another sip, Kento bears the weight of Gojo’s long arm slung over his hunched shoulders. “And you are in my neighborhood.” 

“Heh.” Gojo laughs, face falling when he notices your piqued attention. Of course, he saw you as he walked in, but assumed you were a diner. After all, Kento never told them about a partner… let alone a wife. “Hi, there.” 

The wave this stranger gives to you is curt, but you take it with a furrowed brow. 

Kento speaks for you. “Gojo, if you’d please take the blindfold off while speaking to her…” 

Then, you finally understand – blaming it on the lack of sleep. This brooding reflection in front of you seemed awfully familiar. “Oh, h-

Gojo takes orders like a god, immediately pulling the black binding from his eyes and over his head. The energy in this room is blinding, but he can hold out long enough to see who you were – this beautifully patient stranger sitting next to Kento. Surely you couldn’t be…

“Nanami, this is… Satoru Gojo, the one I was telling you about.” Kento mutters, losing himself in the rim of his glass. 

“Nan– wait, you tell stories about me? How sweet.” 

“Please, get your food and be on your way.” 

“Satoru.” You smile, bowing lightly in his oddly familiar presence. It’s genuinely like you know him, knowing how much Kento loves and loathes him. He would never say it, but in your mind, you equate their turbulent relationship to love… in some form, perhaps brotherly. “It’s so nice to meet you finally.” 

Gojo’s staring at you with a half-smile on his face, waiting for his colleague to expand, perhaps explain. But, the restaurant is silent save for sizzling stoves and gentle conversation. 

Kento drags his teeth, letting his forehead fall into his stretched palm.

“I do not believe I told you, but Gojo, this is my wife… Please, be respectful.” 

[b1eedthefreak]

hi!!! idk if you'd be interested in this idea, but i think it'd be funny daryl dating the reader but that doesn't stop other ladies from shooting their shot. i was thinking prison era, but whatever floats your boat, but like daryl genuinely doesn't understand how people don't get that he's in a relationship with literally the most amazing woman in existence?? but it gets funnier because these women actually don't know because publicly his declarations of affection just aren't that obvious but to daryl and reader his actions may as well be him screaming how in love he is. idk where i'm going with this but i hope you see the vision. 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Taken Man

⌇daryl dixon x reader

⌇summary: the women at the prison can’t seem to get the hint daryl is already a taken man and keep flirting with him, he’s sick and tired

⌇warnings: none

⌇word count: ~4.3k

a/n this request was so fun to write! i hope this was what you were expecting!

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The sun had set at the prison. The sounds of footsteps echoed off the concrete walls as Daryl made his way through the yard, balancing a stack of boxes filled with fruit. He’d volunteered to help out with the food distribution again, knowing it would give him something to do that didn’t involve constant nagging from people.

But, of course, peace was fleeting when you had a guy like Daryl Dixon, charming in his own gruff way, walking around.

As he moved, he felt something, someone, approach from behind. The first touch was unmistakable, a hand on his bicep. Daryl froze, a look of confusion passing over his face.

“Wow, Daryl,” the voice came from behind him. “You’re so big and strong. We’re so lucky to have you around.”

Daryl didn’t even look back, his face scrunching as if he didn’t know whether to be flattered or uncomfortable. “Uh… yeah. Thanks.”

He could practically hear the woman grin behind him, but he wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Still, he didn’t move, just kept carrying the boxes toward the makeshift food line. The woman’s touch lingered for a moment, squeezing his arm in a way that made him want to shrug her off, but he wasn’t exactly sure how to do that without coming off rude.

Daryl was trying to move along with his load, but the woman let go. The awkwardness was thick in the air, but Daryl continued forward, shaking his head and wondering why he couldn’t just be left alone. You already have the most amazing woman in existence, he reminded himself. Why can’t they get the hint?

Later that day, as Daryl sat down at the metal table, sharpening his knife, he thought he was in the clear. He was focused on the blade in front of him, the rhythmic scraping of the sharpening stone a moment of rare peace. But that peace didn’t last very long.

He heard footsteps approach, followed by the unmistakable voice of another woman. “Oh, Daryl,” she cooed, leaning on the table beside him. “Mind if I keep you company while you work?”

Daryl looked up briefly, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m good here,” he grumbled, his tone flat. He had no desire for company. Especially not from someone who couldn’t seem to see the obvious.

“Oh, come on,” she persisted. “Just a little chat won’t hurt.”

He wasn’t really paying attention anymore, just focused on sharpening his blade. His patience was wearing thin, and it was starting to show in his silence. But this lady was persistent.

Finally, she leaned over, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Daryl,” she said softly, “I just wanted to tell you how much we all appreciate you. You’re really something special.”

He let out a low sigh, gripping the handle of his knife a little too tightly. “‘Preciate it,” he muttered, clearly trying to steer the conversation away from something that didn’t involve her sitting next to him.

Just as she started to say something else, he cut her off, his voice a little firmer. “Listen, I got work to do.”

With that, she finally took the hint, stepping back. Daryl didn’t even watch her walk away. He just let out a frustrated breath, muttering to himselfz

Then, later that evening, when dinner was being served, he found himself walking into the mess hall, trying to find a quiet corner. But of course, someone else had other plans.

He was just about to sit down when another woman came up to him. “Hey, Daryl,” she said, her voice sweet. “You look like you could use some company.”

Daryl turned slowly, his face scrunching up in disgust. Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Nah, I’m good,” he grumbled.

But she wasn’t taking no for an answer. “C’mon, you’re always so quiet during dinner. You should let me keep you company!”

Daryl’s face twisted further into a frown. He couldn’t believe this was happening again. He grabbed his plate, shoved his food onto it with more force than necessary, and turned to leave.

“Yeah, I’m just gonna go eat by myself,” he muttered under his breath, clearly annoyed. “I gotta keep watch anyway.”

The woman was left standing there, flabbergasted, but Daryl didn’t care. He made his way toward Cell Block A, where he found a quiet spot, a corner where no one would bother him, and set his food down to eat in peace.

He grumbled to himself as he dug into his meal, shoveling food into his mouth like he was starving. Why can’t they just leave me alone? He didn’t understand it. He was already taken. So why were these women still coming at him like he was some sort of prize?

As he chewed his food, Carol entered, her brow furrowing slightly when she spotted him sitting alone, looking like he was about to burst from frustration.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, sitting down next to him.

Daryl glanced at her, his face scrunched up in a way that screamed pure exasperation. “These damn people won’t leave me alone.”

Carol raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her seat. “What do you mean?”

Daryl put down his fork for a moment, mimicking a high pitched voice, hands on his head as if he was imitating the women who’d been bothering him. “Oh, Daryl, let me stay with you… Ooooh, Daryl, Daryl, Daryl!” He exaggerated his words and shook his hair. “I don’t get it, Carol! I have a beautiful girlfriend! We’re obviously together!”

Carol snorted, holding back a laugh. “I wouldn’t say it’s all that obvious, Daryl.”

He blinked, completely thrown. “How the hell not? I gave her a sharpened knife! A sharpened freakin’ knife! And I brought her a rabbit to eat!” He was so frustrated, his hands throwing gestures into the air like he was giving some sort of declaration of war speech. “What the hell else do they need to see?”

Carol couldn’t hold it in anymore. She started laughing so hard she had to clutch her stomach. Daryl watched her, his frown deepening, and he shook his head. “What’s so funny? I’m serious!”

“Okay, okay,” Carol gasped, wiping away a tear. “It’s not exactly obvious to everyone. You’re not walking around with a neon sign that says ‘I’m taken.’”

Daryl looked horrified by the suggestion. “What the hell do you mean? I even—“

“You gave her a rabbit, Daryl,” Carol interrupted before he could continue, holding up her hands to stop him. “That’s not exactly common behavior for a guy who’s not into her. You don’t just bring women rabbits.”

At that moment, you walked into the cell block, out of breath and clearly on the search for him.

“Hey, where’s Daryl?” you called out, looking around for him. You finally spotted him sitting next to Carol, and a smile tugged at your lips as you approached them.

Daryl didn’t see you yet, too caught up in his frustration. “These damn women keep gettin’ in my face! I don’t know how much clearer I can make it!” He slammed his fist down onto the table. “What the hell do I need to do?! Start wearin’ a damn shirt that says ‘I’m a taken man’?”

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing as you approached them. Carol was cackling beside him, holding her stomach. The two of them looked at you in surprise, but Carol was clearly enjoying the show.

“I take it things are going well?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Daryl groaned, looking like he was about to lose it. “They won’t leave me alone, and it’s makin’ me lose my mind!”

You sat down next to him, placing a hand on his arm, trying to stifle your laughter. “Daryl, baby… it’s not that obvious to people.”

His face was so deadpan as he groaned, “What the hell do you mean? I gave you a damn rabbit!”

“Yeah,” you said, holding in a grin, “but some people don’t know our signs.”

Carol just about lost it again at Daryl’s expense, her laughter echoing through the room.

Daryl slouched, finally realizing the hilarious truth. “I’m gonna need a damn neon sign next time.”

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[munsonsmixtapes]

Maybe the reader and ghost are childhood best friends who lost touch after he joined the military and one night he’s at a bar off base that the force dragged him to on night off and they run into each other and reconnect and he confesses that he was always in love with her but couldn’t say anything and she admits the same??? And maybe after a confession where the both feel stupid for not saying anything sooner they hook up in his truck or something maybe 👀

This was so much fun to write!

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) public sex, grinding

The bar is pretty empty when Ghost enters it. The guys forced him even though he didn’t want to come. He just wants to curl up in bed and read one of the emails you’ve sent him over and over again until he falls asleep. 

And the thing is, he knows it’s pathetic. That he’s making so much out of nothing but he can’t help it. Right now, that’s all he really has to keep him going. He misses you more than he’ll ever admit because then he’d have to tell himself that he’s in love with you. But he’d never do that. You’re just friends. 

The kiss you shared before he left has taken over every inch of his brain, so much so that there’s not room for anything else. And he’s not so sure that he’s upset by that. Part of him wants to tell you exactly how he feels but that’s not exactly something could say in an email. He wants to do it in person, not that he could get himself to do that either. He just misses you and is counting down the days until he can see you again. 

What he doesn’t know yet is that you’re there too. You’re standing at the bar, nursing a beer, already writing out your next email to Simon. Your friends are caught up in conversation and you can’t even get yourself to participate. Ever since he left, there’s been a hole in your heart that can’t be filled with anything other than him coming back into your life. 

You’ve been thinking about him and the kiss every day since, but you can't get yourself to say anything about it, though, because you’re scared. You know you’ll just end up telling him the truth, that you want to be much more than you are. But you’d never do that. You’re just friends. 

You miss him. So much so that you see him everywhere. Even right now at one of the tables where a group of men in uniform are sitting. He’s facing you, laughing at what his friends are saying and that’s when you realize that he’s real. 

You set your drink on the bar and make a beeline for the table, having to squeeze by multiple people in your path, somehow making it there without a scratch considering that he was the only thing you were looking at. 

“Simon?” You ask as you get to the table and when his eyes lock on yours, you instantly melt, all of the feelings you have for him, rushing to the surface, driving you absolutely mad. 

His eyes widen as he takes you in but he’s quick to stand from the table, pulling you into a hug, squeezing you tight because he’s so afraid of letting you go again. You fit in his arms just like always and it takes everything in him to let you go even though all he wants to do is hold you for the rest of the night. 

“I missed you,” you tell him and he can sense the hurt in your voice. He still remembers the tears streaming down your face when you said your goodbyes. Just seeing you cry almost made him stay there with you. Leaving you like that was the hardest thing he ever had to do. He knows you would have forced him to go anyway so he didn’t even bother putting up a fight. Now he wishes he had. 

“I missed you too. So much.” He knows how desperate he sounds but he doesn’t care. It’s taking everything in him not to lay it all out on the table when he pulls away. 

“Oh my god, you’re the girl,” one of his friends pipes up which just leaves you confused. Simon’s talked about you? Well, of course he has. Your friends. 

“Yeah, the girl from his wallet,” another adds. Simon’s cheeks go bright in pink at that and you think it’s adorable. You love seeing this side of him. 

He has a picture of you in his wallet. You gave it to him to remember you and he keeps it in his wallet? This is the best news you could have ever received. 

“He stares at it all the time, don’t you Simon?” His name is said in a teasing tone and he would love nothing more than for the floor to swallow him whole. This is not at all how he was expecting your reunion to go. 

He was hoping for love confessions and kisses, not being embarrassed in front of the only woman he’s ever loved. You probably think he’s a freak now and he won’t blame you if you walk out that door. 

“He reads your emails too,” another one speaks up. “Every night before bed.” 

Your heart warms with every confession from his friends and when you look at Simon, he’s staring at you, his eyebrows pinched together, his cheeks and ears a bright shade of pink which you can’t help but giggle at. He’s so adorable. 

“Do you want to get a drink, Simon?” You ask, sensing his unease and need to get away from his friends for a little bit. 

“I’d love a drink,” he replies with that bright smile you know he reserves specifically for you and you grab hold of his hand, leading the way to the bar where your friends are still sitting. They all know him very well and they are all happy to be able to tease the two of you again. 

Everyone in your tiny little town has been rooting for you to get together since you were kids and as much as you wish that could happen, you just don’t think it will. If it was meant to be, it would have happened by now, right? You’re both grown adults with your own lives. No longer attached at the hip, no longer sharing everything with each other anymore. 

Whenever something exciting happened, you’d always run to Simon, but now that all of his time is taken up, all of the reactions-albeit, still matching yours-are way after the fact when the moment has passed. 

And you feel guilty when you get upset because it’s not his fault. And you encouraged him to go when he was asking for any reason to stay so you suppose you really don’t have any right to be upset. 

“Well look who’s back,” one of your friends speaks up. “You’d have thought you died with how upset y/n was.” Now it’s your turn to be embarrassed. Your cheeks heat and you see Simon trying his best not to laugh out of the corner of your eye. 

You turn to look at him and his eyes are already on you, that warm look in them that’s always reserved just for you. You missed this. Even though things seem very different than they were last time, you’re still so happy that he’s here and now that book you were looking forward to finishing tonight is long forgotten on your bedside table. 

You want everything to go back to the way it was. There’s tension where there never used to be and now it all just feels so weird. You both know you need to talk about it, but it’s clear that neither of you wants to be the one to make the first move. 

You turn back towards him and sip on your drink, not missing the way his eyes drop to your lips as they wrap around the straw, almost like he wants them to wrap around something else. He steps forward and you set your drink down on the bar, letting him take your hands in his. He holds them gently as he leans forward, his lips right by your ear and his hot breath sends a chill down your spine. 

“Can we talk?” He asks and all you can do is nod before he leads you towards the front doors of the bar. Rain is pouring down so Simon is quick to take off his jacket and hold it over your head as the two of you race into the parking lot where his truck is conveniently parked out front. 

He opens the passenger door for you and helps you into the seat before rounding the front to get into the driver’s seat. As soon as the door is closed, he leans over the bench to reach into the back for something and once his attention is captivated, you shamelessly look over just in time to see his shirt ride up, the wet skin making your mind swirl with the dirtiest things. 

He sits back in the seat and hands something to you. Once you hold it up, you realize that it’s the hoodie he always lets you borrow. You bring it to your nose and just as suspected, it smells like a mixture of laundry detergent and his cologne that he always sprays on it for you. You immediately unzip it and when he sees that you’re taking off your damp shirt, he clears his throat and turns to face the window, closing his eyes so he’s not tempted by the reflection. 

Once he hears the zip, he turns back to face forward as the two of you both unknowingly replaying the exact thing you’re intending to talk about in your heads over and over just like you have been this whole time. 

“I guess I should just be honest,” he says, taking a deep breath, turning to face you as his tongue runs along his bottom lip before chewing on it- a nervous habit he’s had since you've known him. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you nor that kiss since I left and it’s been driving me crazy that I haven’t been able to see you.”

The pit that's been in your stomach for months suddenly disappears and you’re so happy at Simon’s confession that you can’t help but let out a laugh. His cheeks go bright pink and he suddenly feels sick now that you’re laughing at him. Now he wishes he had the power to rewind and not say anything else. 

You seem to sense his unease because your laughter fizzles out and you scoot closer to him, taking his face in your hands. His eyes widen at your closeness and he has no idea what’s happening but he decides not to question it. 

“I love you too, Simon,” you tell him and he can’t help but grin, a little chuckle falling from his lips. “And I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing at the fact that we’ve been in love with each other so long and somehow neither of us picked up on it.” 

The more he lets the words sink in, the more he feels the urge to laugh as well, laughter bubbling up inside him and pretty soon, the two of you are cackling about the whole thing even though it’s not nearly as funny as you think it is. 

Once you both sober up, you realize how close you got in your fits of laughter and now your thighs are pressed together, holding onto each other, your hands still on his cheeks that are aching from how much he’s been smiling tonight and his hands now on your waist, the two of you now in the perfect position. 

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers and you smile wider, your own cheeks hurting now. 

“I’d be really disappointed if you didn’t,” you reply and Simon is quick to lean in, his lips capturing yours in a sweet kiss. This is so much better than either of you remember, and now that you know there will be more in your future, you take your time to explore each other’s mouths. 

Your tongue flicks into his mouth and as he pulls you into his lap, Simon swears that he’s going to lose his mind. You taste like the margarita you’ve been sipping and he’s still so surprised that you’re in his truck and willingly making out with him. This is something he’s fantasized about for so much of his life and part of him still can’t believe what’s happening. 

He feels you grinding against him and he can’t help but let out a moan at how good it feels. You feel yourself getting even more wet at hearing it as well as feeling his bulge hitting against you. His hand slide up your hoodie, pressing against your bare back your grinding picks up, your heavy breaths progressively fogging up the car. 

You push his still wet hair from his forehead as your fingers thread through it as his hips buck against yours. He decides that he needs you and needs you now so his hands move up to the zipper of your hoodie and he slowly unzips it, pushing it off your shoulders and only pulling away to get a glimpse of your naked torso. You’re even more beautiful than he imagined and he takes a moment to look at you, the woman he’s been in love with his whole life. The only woman for him whom for whatever reason he’s still unsure of is in love with him too. 

He helps you lie back on the bench as his own shirt comes off, though this is a struggle since he got most of the rain. You pull him down onto you, going for another kiss as you both attempt to finish undressing each other, various clothing items flying around the front of the truck until you’re both naked. 

Simon’s hands reach for yours, threading your fingers together as he slowly slides inside of you, both of you moaning and whining as he thrusts in and out, having no barrier feeling so good. You both fit so perfectly together and neither of you can believe that you haven’t done this sooner. 

Simon takes his time, slowly moving in and out of, wanting the first time to be soft and sweet. He gently squeezes your hands as he tells you how much he loves you over and over which you return before he goes back to complimenting you any chance he gets. He just feels so free and now he feels the need to tell you everything that he likes about you that friends definitely shouldn’t tell other friends.

“You look so pretty like this,” he says as he presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder. “In fact, I think this is the prettiest you’ve ever looked.” Your once freezing body is now on fire as his lustful gaze roams all over it.

“I feel the same way about you,” you reply, letting your eyes roam over his body too. You slowly take in his tattooed arm, the very tattoos that you’ve traced with your fingers over and over while you’ve been cuddled up on the couch.

Simon picks up the pace just a little bit but that seems to do the trick as your moans get louder and louder with every thrust. You can feel your orgasm approaching quickly and Simon is quick to encourage you, talking you through it with his sweet words.

“That’s it,” he says. “Just like that, sweetheart.” Your name falls from his lips in a loud moan and he can see that you’re going dumb on him so he’s quick to pull out before grabbing some napkins from the glove box to clean the two of you up. 

He grabs your clothes and helps you put them back on, pressing a kiss to your lips as he zips up his jacket for you. 

“Did so well, sweetheart,” he compliments against your lips. “Think you’re willing to go for round two at your place?” All you can do is nod as he gets himself dressed before buckling your seatbelt for you. Once your all set, he pulls out of the parking lot and heads to your place that he still doesn’t need directions for as he drives much slower than usual since he’s got precious cargo as well as his favorite passenger princess in the front seat.

[baigepueckers]

Caitlin Clark X Reader

Out of Frame Part 2

There’s a new hire shadowing you today…something about seasonal support for social media output, extra content now that the Fever are getting national attention. You hadn’t asked for help, but you’re polite about it, showing him the ropes. You’re patient, like always. Soft spoken. Encouraging.

And Caitlin hates him immediately.

She doesn’t even know his name. Just that he’s tall, fresh out of some communications program and absolutely useless with a camera. She can tell by the way he holds it…like it’s just equipment. Like he doesn’t care what he’s capturing.

But you’re kind to him. Too kind. Laughing at his awkward jokes. Walking him through the camera settings with that focused voice Caitlin’s heard a hundred times…usually when you’re beside her, mic clipped to her jersey, soft fingers brushing her collarbone.

Now those fingers are on his wrist, adjusting the lens grip. And Caitlin has to look away.

She doesn’t approach you during shootaround. Doesn’t trust herself to sound normal.

You’re there, camera slung across your chest, bouncing between angles. The new guy’s following behind, asking questions he should’ve Googled. You’re still smiling.

Caitlin hits three threes in a row and you don’t notice.

She does it again, louder this time, sneaker squeaks and net snaps echoing…but your back is turned, adjusting exposure with him beside you.

Her stomach twists.

After practice, she lingers in the locker room, earbuds in but no music playing. She watches through the open door as you pack your gear. You laugh at something the guy says again, nudging him with your shoulder.

It hits her like a punch.

Because she’s spent weeks trying to find excuses to stand near you. To say just enough without giving everything away. She’s memorized your expressions, your routines, your laugh. But he’s there..on day one..learning pieces of you Caitlin hasn’t figured out how to ask for.

And the worst part?

You look happy.

Later, when she finds you alone editing a highlight reel in the media lounge, she hesitates in the doorway. Your headphones are on. You don’t see her.

She almost turns around.

But then you glance up. Smile like nothing’s changed. Like her heart hasn’t been clawing at her ribcage all day.

“Hey” you say, warm and familiar. “Wanna help me pick music for this? I can’t decide if I should go hype or cinematic.”

She crosses the room before she realizes her legs are moving.

“I don’t get how you’re so calm after practice,” she says, voice tighter than usual. “I’d be dead.”

You laugh, spinning the laptop toward her. “Built different.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. You don’t notice.

Or maybe you do…and you’re just too kind to say anything.

You talk through the edit. Your knees brush under the table. Her pulse won’t settle. She tries to act normal, but it’s harder today.

Because today, she realized how replaceable she might be to you.

She wants to ask, do you even see me like that?

She wants to say, I think about you all the time.

She wants to beg, please don’t look at him the way you look at me.

Instead, she says “Is he staying long?”

You glance over. “Who?”

“That new guy. Intern or whatever.”

You shrug. “Not sure. Just here to support. Why?”

She hesitates.

And for a moment, she thinks maybe she should tell you.

Not everything. But something.

Because this…whatever this is…it’s starting to tear at the edges of her focus, her sleep, her calm. And if she waits much longer, she’s going to drown in it.

But then your phone buzzes. A message. You smile at the screen.

She watches you type back, fast. Comfortable.

The moment slips away.

“Just wondering” she mutters.

And she leaves before she can ruin it.

That night, she drafts another message:

“It’s not nothing, what I feel when I’m around you.”

“Do you see me, or am I just another player in your lens?”

“Tell me I’m imagining this. Or don’t.”

She doesn’t send it.

She stares at it for an hour, thumb hovering over the send button. Rereads every word until they blur, until she can’t tell if they’re too much or not enough.

Because what if she’s wrong?

What if the smile you give her isn’t special? What if the softness in your voice isn’t for her, just part of who you are?

What if she says something and breaks whatever this is…this fragile, unspoken thing that makes you look up when she walks into a room, that keeps you sitting next to her when everyone else has gone home?

What if she ruins the only version of closeness she’s allowed to have?

So she backspaces.

Slowly. Line by line. Until the message is blank again, like it never existed.

She tosses her phone on the nightstand and rolls onto her back, staring at the ceiling like it might give her answers.

The apartment is dark, quiet.

Too quiet.

She keeps thinking about your laugh. The one you gave him earlier, easy and unguarded. And how close you stood. The way your eyes crinkled at something he said.

She tells herself she has no right to be jealous.

But jealousy doesn’t care about rights.

It lives in her chest now…tight and loud and impossible to ignore. It colors everything. It makes her doubt every moment she thought was something. Every glance, every smile, every lingering second where she swore she felt you feel it too.

And underneath it all is that same helpless thought…

She doesn’t know if you want her back.

She doesn’t know if she ever stood a chance.

So she does what she always does when she doesn’t know what to do…she writes it down.

Half thoughts. Feelings. A mess of sentences scrawled in her Notes app:

“She looks at me like I’m more than just a jersey sometimes.”

“I think I’d burn everything just to hear her say my name like that again.”

“Is it possible to fall for someone without ever touching them?”

It’s pathetic. It’s real. She saves it anyway.

And when she finally falls asleep, hours later, her phone is still face up on the pillow beside her.

Just in case you text.

Just in case you already know.

[haeivie]

𓍼 LINE CROSSING. L. DONGHYUCK

𐙚. you weren’t supposed to want your best friend’s little brother, but haechan made it impossible to keep pretending.

bsf brother!haechan x fem!reader

wc : 4.3k

( smut mdni 18+ )

tags : legal three year age-gap, oral (f. rec), unprotected sex (wrap before u tap), teasing, dirty talk, use of baby & angel, slight overstim, praising, reader focused, cursing, i think that’s it !

𑁤 vie’s note : first full smut fic, please tell me what u guys think !

˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

your first mistake was asking for a towel.

“hyuck!” you yell from the shower, steam curling around your body as you stood behind the curtain. “can you bring me a towel? i forgot to grab one.”

you expect footsteps, a half-hearted groan, maybe a passive-aggressive toss through the door. but instead, the door creaks open a little, and haechan’s voice glides through the steam like honey laced with mischief.

“you sure you want me to bring it?”

you blink. “obviously? unless your brother magically came home early.”

“he didn’t,” haechan says, and then the door opens a little wider. you can’t see much, just his silhouette, and the towel hanging from one finger. “but i’m happy to help.”

you peek around the shower curtain, dripping hand outstretched. “just give it.” he steps closer. doesn’t hand it over. just lets it dangle. “what’s the magic word?”

you groan. “please, hyuck. please give me the towel so i can get out.”

“well, since you asked so nicely…” he tosses it at your face and laughs when you yelp.

“you’re annoying,” you mutter, wrapping it around yourself. “and you’re lucky i didn’t take a picture. half-wet and grumpy. real cute.”

𐙚 . . .

haechan’s always been like this. annoying, dramatic, loud. your best friend’s little brother who once cried because you beat him at mario kart and now, he walks around like he owns the whole world. only difference is he grew up. somewhere between you leaving for college and moving back home for work, he got taller. sharper. hotter.

and he knows it.

he leans back too casually. bites his lip when he’s thinking. flirts like it’s breathing.

your second mistake is wandering into the kitchen in search of coffee, wearing an old hoodie that definitely wasn’t yours and fuzzy socks that hushed your footsteps on the floor. you expect the house to be quiet and empty. instead, you stop short in the doorway.

not only are you met with the delicious smell of food and coffee but haechan too. standing by the stove, barefoot, shirtless, and wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that hang dangerously low on his hips. his back is to you, and from this angle, you can see the way his arm and back flex as he stirs something in a pan. his hair is messy, still damp from a shower, the ends curling slightly at his neck.

he looks like something out of a daydream. and you don’t mean to stare. you really don’t. but it’s early. your defenses are down. and he’s right there, all warm and tan in the morning light, humming under his breath. he must hear you eventually, as he glances back, eyes lighting up when he sees you.

“morning,” he says, voice still rough with sleep. “i didn’t wake you, did i?”

you shake your head, hovering awkwardly by the doorway still. “no, just…in need of coffee.” he nods toward the counter without looking. “already made. help yourself.”

you shuffle past him, pretending not to notice how close he is. how warm. how your bare thigh brushes his clothed hip as you reach for a mug. “you’re up early,” you murmur.

“your fault. couldn’t sleep.”

you glance over. “how is it my fault?”

his mouth quirks into a grin. “you talk in your sleep.”

“no i don’t.”

“you do.” he bumps his hip into yours playfully. “pretty sure you said my name.” your stomach does something dangerous.

“and i’m sure it was to tell you to shut up.”

he smirks. “sounded a lot more like begging.”

you narrow your eyes. “you’re ridiculous.”

“maybe.” he shrugs.

you try to sip your coffee, pretend he’s not affecting you, but then he turns the stove off and finally faces you fully. and you forget how to breathe. his chest rising and falling slow, lips a little pink like he’s been biting them. eyes glimmering with trouble as always. he leans back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest.

“you know i’m legal now, right?” he says, casual as anything.

your brow lifts. “so?”

he shrugs. “just figured i’d remind you. since you keep looking at me like that.”

“like what?”

“like you’re thinking about doing something.”

you roll your eyes, fighting the heat that creeps up your neck. “i know a lot of legal idiots.”

he grins, eyes gleaming. “but none of them look like me.”

you scoff, setting your mug down. “you are so full of yourself.”

he takes a lazy step toward you. “you have seen me, right?”

𐙚 . . .

your third mistake is staying too long. you were supposed to crash at their house for one weekend while your apartment’s getting fumigated. it turns into a week. then two.

his brother’s barely home. haechan is always home.

“this is dangerous,” you whisper to yourself when you catch him looking at you like he knows what you’d sound like moaning.

“what is?” he asks from the couch, licking chocolate off his thumb from a cupcake.

you shake your head and tell yourself he’s just being annoying again. but then there’s the night he walks into the kitchen in shorts and nothing else, scratching his hair and yawning like he didn’t just ruin your ability to form thoughts.

or the time he corners you in the hallway and leans in close, voice low.

“you keep looking at me like that, yn. maybe i’ll start thinking you want something.”

𐙚 . . .

one night, you’re curled up on the couch, blanket halfway off your legs and your laptop on your thighs. haechan drops next to you without asking, stretching his arm along the backrest.

you glance at him. “what?”

“nothing,” he says, smiling lazily. “just wondering how long you’re gonna pretend this tension isn’t real.”

you scoff. “what tension?”

he leans in, voice brushing your ear. “don’t play dumb. you know what i’m talking about.” you turn to glare at him, but he’s so close. and his eyes are darker than usual. serious.

“tell me to stop,” he says, reaching up to brush his knuckles on your cheekbone.

you don’t. you can’t. and when he leans in careful, and daring, you’re the one who closes the gap.

you kiss him.

his lips part against yours with the tiniest breath, a low sound catching in his throat like he’s surprised. like he wasn’t actually expecting you to give in. your hand brushes his jaw, and he stills. it’s not rushed. it’s not clumsy. but dangerous, like something that’s been waiting to happen for a long time. when you pull back, it’s barely an inch.

“don’t,” you whisper, breath brushing his lips, “don’t make it a joke.”

his eyes flicker. “i wasn’t going to.”

you nod once, your pulse is still racing and your fingers are still curled into his hair

“how long?” you ask.

haechan’s hand slides over your knee under the blanket, slow and easy like he’s testing the weight of the moment. “since you moved back,” he says. “probably even before that.”

your throat goes dry.

his hand moves higher.

“i used to hear you talking to hyung in your room,” he murmurs, fingers curling around your thigh. “laughing. whispering late at night. i used to imagine what your voice would sound like saying my name instead.”

you breathe out, shaky. “you’re bad.”

he grins. “you have no idea.”

and then he kisses you again. this time with more intent. not hesitant.

his lips slide slow and warm against yours, like he’s savoring it. like he’s memorizing the way you taste. one hand cradles your jaw, tilting your head just right, the other still under the blanket, still climbing, heat trailing under his fingertips. you’re the one who moves, swinging one leg over his lap without thinking. and he groans.

“fuck,” he breathes, head falling back against the couch. “you’re really doing this to me, huh?”

you’re flushed, hands gripping his shoulders. “you said i kept looking at you like i wanted something.” his dark now hungry eyes meet yours. “what do you want?” you bite your lip. press yourself closer. your hips meet his and he exhales hard through his nose, jaw tightening.

“for us to stop avoiding this.”

“baby,” he says, almost a whimper, “i’ve been dying for this.”

his hands slide under your shirt, thumbs brushing your waist. his mouth drags down your jaw, your neck, nipping once at the skin below your ear.

“you’re so warm,” he mumbles. “always walking around in your little lacey tops and sleep shorts like i wouldn’t notice. like i wouldn’t get hard every time.” you gasp, hips twitching against his, and he curses again, low and rough. his hands grip you tighter. “don’t do that unless you’re ready for where it’s going.”

“i am,” you whisper.

you kiss him again. this time harder, needier. you’ve got time. his brother wouldn’t be home until tomorrow.

𐙚 . . .

your back hits the door of his room before you even realize you’ve made it down the hall. it clicks shut behind you, and then he’s pressing into you, hands firm on your waist, mouth needy against yours.

“tell me to stop,” he murmurs into your skin, his lips trailing hot over your neck, your collarbone. “swear i will.”

“don’t want you to,” you breathe, fingers already under his shirt, dragging it up over his stomach, his chest.

haechan shudders. “fuck.”

you pull it off him, toss it aside. he looks good like this. all flushed, eyes dark, muscles tight with restraint. and when you kiss him again, he groans into your mouth, like he’s been holding it in for too long. you don’t stop this time.

he backs you toward the bed, fingers tugging at your shirt until it’s gone too. his eyes rake down your body, lingering. “fuck,” he says. “you’re unreal.”

you start to say something smart, something to break the tension, but then his mouth is on your chest, tongue dragging slow over your skin, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. your hands slide through his hair, pulling him closer, and he hums like he’s exactly where he wanted to be. then he’s sinking lower. kissing down your stomach, and untying your shorts with careful fingers. you lift your hips to help him, watching him the whole time. he meets your eyes as he slides your pantie down, slow enough to make your breath catch.

“so pretty…so wet…” he murmurs, kneeling between your legs like he’s done it before. “you’ve been like this for me all week, haven’t you?”

you nod. shakily. “don’t tease.”

but he smirks. “you like it when i tease.”

then he dips his head. and fuck.

his mouth is perfect.

soft and warm and wet, his tongue began moving in slow circles, teasing you open while his fingers dig into your thighs to hold you in place. you moan, head falling back, one hand tangled in his hair while the other grips the sheets.

“hyuck—”

he groans when you say his name, deep and wrecked, like he could come just from hearing that alone. he pulls back just enough to breathe against you, lips slick, voice hoarse.

“say it again,” he whispers. “say my name like that.”

you do, breathy and desperate, and he rewards you by licking a long stripe up your cunt slowly, dragging the flat of his tongue all the way to your clit, where he flicks it, light and fast, until you gasp and buck under him.

“that’s it,” he grins, looking up at you with blown-out eyes and a soaked mouth. “you taste so fucking good.”

his hips shift against the bed, grinding down like he can’t help it. his sweatpants hang low, barely clinging to his hips. the outline of him, hard and needy, was pressing against the fabric. he groans softly, hips rocking again. “been thinking about this for so long,” he pants. “how sweet you’d taste…how pretty you’d sound when i had you like this.”

he licks again, slower this time, circling with purpose, eyes fixed on your face while his mouth works you open. your thighs tremble in his grip.

“you’re soaked,” he murmurs, voice thick, almost reverent. “all this for me, huh?”

you nod, breath catching, one hand in his hair, the other fisting the sheets. he moans into you, rutting a little harder now against the mattress, like your sounds are getting him off just as much as the way you tasted.

“fuck,” he groans, “i could eat this pussy all night.”

his tongue flicks faster, more purposefully now. your thighs shake and your stomach pulls tight. and then he sucks at you and your whole body arches, your cry breaking in the back of your throat. he doesn’t stop. not even when your hips twitch up to him or your when fingers tug at his hair. he just keeps going, humming into you like he’s drunk on it, like this is exactly where he’s meant to be.

he keeps going, building you up, slow but relentless, and you’re already so close. your hips rocking, thighs trembling. his fingers soon join his mouth, slipping inside you with ease while his tongue flicks just right.

“fuck—i’m—”

you fall apart with a wrecked cry, back arching, legs shaking around his shoulders. your fingers twist in his hair, holding on for dear life as your climax crashes over you,

and he doesn’t stop.

he moans into you like he’s starving, licking through it messily, his mouth moving with no rhythm now. just pure need and hunger. he kisses you like he’s making out with your cunt, tongue wet and sloppy, lips dragging over every sensitive inch like he can’t stand the idea of pulling away.

you tremble, feeling oversensitive. your hips twitching as he keeps going. your hands tug at his roots, trying to ground yourself, trying to breathe. he groans when you do, hips grinding into the mattress like he’s losing it, like your taste is driving him insane.

“shit,” he pants, dragging his mouth open-mouthed along your thigh, still catching his breath. “you’re unreal.”

then he bites down hard on the softest part of your inner thigh, leaving a flushed, reddening mark that makes you gasp.

“mine,” he mutters against your skin, voice low, half-growled. “you hear me? mine.”

his tongue soothes over it like an apology. his hands stroking your legs like he’s trying to calm you down, but there’s nothing calm in the way he looks at you. his pupils blown, lips swollen, chin shiny with you. when you finally tug him up, your chest still heaving, he kisses you with that same messy need, tongue slipping past your lips like he has to let you taste yourself on him. like he wants you to know what he just did to you. and when he pulls back, breathless and smug, he grins like a boy who just claimed something he’s been wanting for a long, long time.

“you gonna let me do that again?” he asks, voice rough.

“shut up.” you pant before pulling him back to you.

you taste yourself on his lips even when you kiss him again. it was filthy. perfect.

“you’re okay?” he asks, panting, forehead pressed to yours.

you nod, dazed. “yeah. fuck. yeah.”

he grins, presses a kiss to your cheek, then your neck, then the top of your breast. “can i—?” he doesn’t finish the question, but you know what he means.

you nod again. “yeah. please.”

he strips quick after that. his sweats and boxers pushed down, cock flushed angry and ready. and you don’t even get to tease him about how hard he is, how needy, because he’s already settling between your thighs, kissing you slow again. he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, watching your face the whole time. his teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

“fuck, you feel so good,” he whispers, voice wrecked.

he bottoms out with a groan, forehead dropping to your shoulder. your fingers dig into his back, clutching him like you’ll fall apart if you let go. then he starts to move. slow at first. deep, rolling thrusts that make you feel everything. you cling to him, mouth open against his neck, gasping with each stroke.

“been thinking about this for so long,” he pants. “so fucking long.”

you moan his name, and that’s all it takes. haechan picks up the pace, hips snapping into you harder, deeper. the bed beginning to creak a little. every sound between you turns louder, messier, until you’re right there again.

his forehead presses to yours, sweat forming above his brows, strands of hair sticking to his skin. he looks down between your bodies, watches the way you take him over and over again like he’s memorizing the sight. like he never wants to forget how perfect you look when you’re wrapped around him.

you moan his name and clancy around him, and it’s like something snaps inside him. he groans, hips jolting harder, faster, the rhythm going from steady to frantic in a second.

“fuck, that’s it,” he growls, “do that again—one more time for me?” he moans feeling you clench around him once more.

“haechan,” you cry, voice catching on a gasp.

“just like that, baby. just like that.” he smirks.

his hand finds your waist, holding you steady, guiding your hips up to meet each deep thrust. every movement is slick and hot. the wet sounds between you only making it worse. your back arches off the mattress as his body covers yours completely now. his mouth was everywhere—your neck, your shoulder, the space just beneath your ear.

“you feel so good,” he groans, fucking into you harder, like he’s trying to bury himself so deep you’ll never forget what he feels like. “so tight, so warm—shit, yn, you’re mine.”

you gasp, body curling as heat coils tight in your belly again, building fast.

“haechan—baby—i’m gonna—”

“yeah?” his voice is wrecked and wild. he fucks into you faster, chasing it with you, every snap of his hips bringing you closer to the edge. “cum for me again, baby. want it all. wanna feel you—fuck—wanna feel you cum all over me.”

he lowers his head, mouth against your throat now, breathing hard.

“make a mess for me, angel,” he groans, “wanna feel you let go.”

you’re already shaking, nails digging into his back, the edge rushing up fast.

“haechan—i can’t—”

“yes you can, baby,” he pants against your skin, voice trembling as he drives into you deeper, harder. “don’t fight it—fuck—just let go. give it to me.”

his hand slips between your bodies, fingers finding your already swollen bud with ease, rubbing fast, pushing you right over.

you cry out, thighs locking around his hips, body arching up into his chest as the orgasm crashes over you. hot and heavy and violent. you clench around him so hard it rips a moan straight from his throat.

“oh my god—fuck, you’re so tight when you come,” he chokes out, hips stuttering.

you’re still trembling, breath knocked from your lungs, but he keeps moving, chasing his own release with frantic, broken movements. one of his hands grasps the sheets near your head, the other still holding your hip like he needs the anchor or he’ll lose it completely.

“gonna cum baby, you feel so good—i’m gonna—shit—”

you reach up, cup his flushed face, whisper just one thing through your wrecked moan. “cum inside me, hyuck.”

his eyes roll back. a sharp, desperate noise tears out of his throat. and then he’s slamming into you one last time, burying himself deep as he groans your name and spills into you, hips jerking through it. his body shaking above yours.

he stays there, forehead pressed to your neck, both of you catching your breath, sweat-slick skin stuck together in the quiet aftermath. for a second, neither of you speak. it’s just the sound of your hearts pounding. your uneven breathing. his hands still trembling where they grip you.

then he lifts his head, kisses your mouth softly. slow and lazy.

“you wreck me,” he whispers, smiling against your lips. “completely.”

you hum, eyes fluttering shut. “you deserve it.”

he laughs, still breathless. “round two after water?”

you grin. “after a lot of water.”

you knew you were in trouble now.

𐙚 . . .

it’s quiet in his room when you wake up.

sunlight filters through the blinds, soft and golden across the sheets. you’re warm, but not uncomfortably so. not with the way haechan was wrapped around you, one arm slung heavy over your waist, one leg tangled with yours. his chest pressed to your back, his breath warm against your shoulder. you shift a little and his arm tightens around you, pulling you back into him with a low sound.

“where you going?” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

“wasn’t,” you whisper. “just adjusting.”

he hums, nose nudging against your neck. “stay a little longer.”

you smile. you can’t not. his fingers slide over your stomach, lazily and soft, tracing little shapes. and you would’ve stayed like that, all wrapped up in the comforting, in the aftermath of everything line you crossed last night. if it weren’t for the knock. three quick taps. the door creaks open a second later.

“haechan, have you seen my—”

you both freeze.

his brother stands there, blinking, mouth halfway open.. he was completely unprepared for what’s in front of him. you. in his little brother’s bed. very clearly not wearing much, or anything at all. partially hidden under the blanket, but not enough.

haechan lets out the softest “shit” you’ve ever heard.

his brother’s eyes flick from you to haechan to the discarded clothes on the floor and then back to your face. you sit up, clutching the blanket to your chest, heart slamming into your ribs. “i—uh—hi.”

he stares for one more second before he slaps a hand over his eyes like it’s going to erase what he saw. “oh my god. oh my god.”

“hyung, can you—” haechan groans and covers his face with one arm. “can you not barge into my room at seven a.m?”

“are you serious right now?” his brother’s voice goes high, almost panicked. “is this a joke? you and her?”

“look, can we—can we just talk about this later?” you say quickly, still holding the blanket up, heat crawling down your neck and cheeks.

“later?” his brother says, exasperated. “what do you mean later? my best friend—my older best friend—just slept with my baby brother!”

“okay, ‘baby’ is really pushing it,” haechan mutters under his breath.

“you’re lucky i don’t punch you right now.”

“please leave,” you whisper, face hot enough to fry an egg.

his brother sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. “i’m gonna pretend i didn’t see anything. i’m walking out. i’m walking away. this…this never happened. breakfast is in the kitchen.”

the door slams shut behind him. you collapse back into the bed, burying your face in your hands. haechan just laughs. “well,” he says, rolling onto his side to look at you. “that could’ve gone worse.”

you groan. “he’s going to kill me.”

“nah. he’s just jealous he caught me right before i could spoil you in bed and show off my skills, cooking and in bed.”

you smack his arm.

“what? i’m not wrong.”

and despite your mortification, the awkwardness, the inevitable conversation waiting for you downstairs, you’re smiling again.

because last night wasn’t a mistake. and you both knew that.

𐙚 . . .

later in the afternoon, you’re on the couch in one of haechan’s t shirts and your own shorts, sipping a cold drink while he scrolls through his phone next to you. it’s comfortable, easy, like nothing’s really changed. except now his hand rests on your bare thigh, and every time he looks at you, it’s like he’s remembering exactly how you sound falling apart under him.

his brother left a note saying he was “going out for a long walk and possibly therapy,” which was either a joke or a warning. either way, the house is yours for now.

he nudges your knee with his. “hey.”

“hm?”

“i wanna take you out.”

you blink. “like, out out?”

“like,” he sets his phone down and turns fully to you, voice a little more serious, “a real date. the kind with food and conversation and probably me getting worked up because you’ll look stupid hot in whatever you wear.”

you choke on your drink. “haechan—”

“what? i’m being honest,” he says with that wicked grin. “i’d wine and dine you, pull your chair out, call you pretty all night…then spend the whole ride home thinking about how you’d look in the backseat with your legs over my shoulders, begging me not to stop.”

you stare at him.

he grins. “again. because, you know. i already know how you sound. but i’ll never get tired of it.”

you set your cup down. “you’re unbelievable.”

“and yet,” he leans in, brushing his nose against yours, “you still let me rearrange your guts last night.”

“haechan.”

“twice.”

you groan into your hands, but you’re smiling. you can’t not. not when he’s looking at you like that. soft eyes, lips twitching like he’s trying not to fall too hard too fast but already has.

he hooks a finger under your chin, tilts your face up to meet his.

“seriously,” he says, voice low now. “i wanna take you out. hold your hand. let people think you’re too good for me—which you are—but i still get to have you anyway.”

your heart stutters.

“okay,” you whisper. “yeah. let’s go on a date.”

he kisses you like you just agreed to everything he’s ever wanted.

then he pulls back, eyes gleaming. “cool. but heads up—if you keep wearing my shirt with nothing underneath, i might have to take you back to my room before we even leave.”

“so you’re saying i should keep it on?”

“oh, absolutely.”

and when you lean in, smiling into his kiss, you already know this is the start of something real. chaotic, a little reckless, but real.

you’re in trouble. you’re also in love.

and frankly? you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[sweetvoidstuff]

Just a Normal Night

Jungkook x Reader I Modern AU I Chance Encounter I Fluff I Romance

Summary: What begins as a chance encounter turns memorable when you help Jeon fucking Jungkook during an unexpected and chaotic night. Jungkook finds himself lingering in you world—sharing drinks, laughter, and lighthearted moments with your friends that feel more real than anything he’s known lately.

Word Count: 25K

Masterlist

A/N: Just a quick note on formatting: Bold text is used for dialogue spoken in Korean. Italic text represents internal thoughts or feelings. Normal text is used for dialogue spoken in English.

I hope this helps make things easier to follow while reading. Thanks so much for giving my story a chance!

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Jungkook had only wanted one thing tonight: a normal dinner. No hushed whispers trailing after him, no fans sneaking photos behind raised menus, no tight, tense feeling that he had to be ready to bolt at any second. Just one simple meal — that was all he was asking for.

Sometimes, he got lucky. Tonight, it seemed, luck wasn’t on his side.

He had chosen the place carefully: a traditional Korean restaurant tucked on a quieter street, not far from his hotel. It looked promising — cozy, with soft lighting and a small, not on any main roads. He figured he could at least have the comfort of ordering in his own language without fumbling through English. He'd even gone the extra mile to cover his hand tattoos, knowing how easily they gave him away. While he loved them, they were like a neon sign flashing BTS to anyone who glanced too closely.

At first, everything seemed fine. He ordered quickly and quietly, keeping his head down, then slipped off to the bathroom before his food could arrived. That was when things took a turn. On his way back to his table, two young women — early twenties, maybe — caught sight of him. He heard it before he fully understood it: a rush of excited chatter, the words tumbling out too fast. Still, a few things were unmistakable — his name. BTS. His stomach dropped.

Damn it.

He could already see it in their eyes — the disbelief, the beginning of hysteria, the desperate reach for phones. If he didn’t move fast, he’d have a scene on his hands. An entire evening ruined. Jungkook tensed, scanning for the fastest way out without making things worse. He adjusted the cap pulled low over his eyes, preparing to dodge past them—when suddenly, a hand landed firmly on his shoulder.

"Yah, Eun-woo," a voice said, warm and a little impatient. "You really left us sitting there alone forever?"

He froze. Eun-woo? Before he could react, a figure slipped smoothly between him and the two girls — you, stepping up like you belonged by his side. You didn’t even look at the strangers. Instead, you gave Jungkook an exasperated, playful glance, your hand still steady on his shoulder. "Come on, sit down. You’re not getting out of paying for the appetizer again."

The girls faltered. Confusion flickered across their faces. Jungkook, wide-eyed, caught the brief flash of uncertainty in their eyes — was he really Jungkook? Was this just some random guy who really looked like him?

Across the room, just minutes earlier, you had been minding your own business — more or less.

"Oh my god. Guys, don’t look — but I think my screensaver just walked in," you hissed across the table, eyes wide. Pascal barely looked up from his beer, snorting. "Ha! You say that about every hot Asian guy."

"No, listen," you insisted, trying not to move your head as you watched Jeon Jungkook slide into a booth like it was the most casual thing in the world. "I'm serious. I’m pretty sure that's the real one."

Pascal, skeptical but willing to humor you, turned slowly to peek. "The one with the cap?" You nodded, a little too quickly. Pascal grinned. "You wanna go over there? Get an autograph, a picture, maybe his firstborn child while you’re at it?"

"Shut the fuck up!" you hissed, smacking his arm lightly. "I'm not walking over there. He's human. He deserves to eat in peace — just like we do."

You stabbed at the grill, throwing a little more bulgogi onto the sizzling surface, but your eyes kept sneaking glances at Jeon fucking Jungkook sitting a few tables away, as casual as if he weasn’t the biggest star in the world. Pascal and Flora, your two best friends, were used to your dramatics — Flora being the towering but gentle giant of the group, and Pascal the sassy, slightly taller than you, but never impolite energy bomb.

"You’re really not gonna go over?" Flora asked, his deep voice low and amused.

"I want to," you admitted through gritted teeth, "but it’d just be...awkward."

"Why? You’ve been learning Korean with Eumi for months," Pascal chimed in. "You two can actually have conversations now. She said you were good. He'd understand you."

"Not the point!" you groaned, burying your face in your hands.

You peeked again just in time to see Jungkook stand up, making his way toward the back where the bathrooms were. Not long after, you heard the unmistakable chatter of two girls at a nearby table — rapid-fire excitement, the words BTS and Jungkook tumbling out clearly. You tensed.

Shit

You straightened up just as Jungkook reappeared, walking back from the bathroom — tense, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes flicking nervously as the two girls went to him chattering animatedly and making hearth eyes at him. He immediately looked tense and ready to bolt. You didn’t waste another second. You shot a quick look at Pascal and Flora.

"I’m gonna need you to fake it," you muttered under your breath, leaning in. "Pretend Jungkook’s part of our group."

Both of them froze for a second, then nodded sharply, understanding immediately — the chatter from the other table had tipped them off too. You grabbed Dong, your favorite waiter, as he passed by with a tray.

"Hey, can you bring whatever that guy ordered to our table if he sits with us?" you asked in a low voice, flashing your most pleading smile. Dong, ever the professional but also a secret gossip lover, glanced at Jungkook and then back at you. Without missing a beat, he nodded. "Got it."

Relieved, you made yourself ready to intervene, moving casually into his path like it was the most natural thing in the world. As you closed the distance and saw his shoulders with how close the girls approached, you acted on pure impulse — stepping up beside him, placing your hand firmly on his shoulder, and saying, loud enough for the girls to hear:

"Yah, Eun-woo, you really left us sitting there alone forever?" You gave him a playful, exasperated glance, ignoring the stunned look in his eyes. "You’re not getting out of paying for the appetizers again," you said, tugging lightly at his jacket like you'd done it a hundred times before.

The girls looked stunned for a second before one blurted out, "Wait—what are you doing with Jungkook?!" You let out a soft, easy laugh, glancing between them and Jungkook — well, Eun-woo for now.

"Jungkook?" you repeated, shaking your head fondly. "Ahh, you must be mistaken. Happens all the time. He does look a lot like him, right?" You gave a little laugh, warm and natural, and Jungkook — though still looking like a deer in headlights — caught the drift.

You quickly switched to Korean, low and hurried: "You looked uncomfortable. I help."

Your Korean wasn't perfect, but it was enough. Jungkook’s eyes widened, surprised, then softened with instant understanding. He nodded once — subtle, grateful. Unfortunately, the girls weren’t ready to let it go.

"Oh my god, you speak Korean?!" one squealed, inching closer. "Please tell him we’re his biggest fans!"

You turned back to them, switching back to English with the kind of casual patience that comes from telling a lie you’ve told a hundred times. "Sorry, but he really isn’t Jungkook," you said kindly. "You’re actually like the third group of people during his student exchange who think that."

You grinned in a way that invited them to laugh about it too — to feel a little silly, but not judged. For a moment, they wavered. But then one of them pointed sharply, "Yeah, sure. Look at his lip ring and his eyebrow piercing! It’s totally him!"

You could feel Jungkook tense up beside you, his body rigid, caught like an animal about to bolt. The girls were getting too close, practically in his personal space now. You stepped firmly between them and him, hands up in a calming, almost scolding gesture.

"Guys, guys," you said in a low, mock-conspiratorial voice. "I get it. It’s spooky, right? Crazy look-alike level. Even I freaked the first time."

You leaned in slightly, dropping your voice even more like you were sharing a juicy secret. "But trust me. If he were really Jungkook, he would have..." You grabbed his left hand gently, flipping it palm-up to show them his knuckles. Well it was his hand without tattoos. You hoped the girls didn’t know that.

"See? No tattoos," you said smoothly, smiling wide. "Eun-woo just likes to dress edgy sometimes. Doesn’t make him a K-pop idol.", trying to bluff your way through it. You didn’t really have any other way to try and convince them otherwise.

But the girls weren't buying it. "Yeah, right!" one of them snapped, jabbing a finger toward his hand. "On his left he wouldn’t have tattoos!"

Jungkook, still tense and quiet beside you, picked up enough of the fast English chatter to realize the situation was slipping. He glanced down at his own hand — the one you were still holding loosely — and seemed to understand instantly what was happening. Before you could stammer out some wild excuse —Jungkook moved.

He raised his other hand casually, briefly turning it up, then back down again, as if dismissing the whole thing. A quick, confident gesture — Look. Nothing there. You're imagining it. And because it was so natural, so matter-of-fact, the girls hesitated. Having showed them both his hands were tattoo free, for them to see, but not long enough to see one was covered in make-up.

You jumped right back in, "Trust me, we’ve been through this before. Poor guy can’t even go to a grocery store without someone asking for a selfie." You laughed like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world. Like it was all just a funny misunderstanding.

And finally — finally — the girls started to lose steam. They muttered something to each other, still suspicious, but not brave enough to cause a bigger scene.

"I mean, think about it," you added, tilting your head playfully. "If the Jungkook really came here, don’t you think there’d be like...bodyguards? Cameras?"

The girls exchanged a glance, suddenly unsure, their momentum stalling. You caught Jungkook’s eye and tilted your head slightly toward your table, (where Pascal was calling from, what took you so long) — Move now.

Jungkook blinked, then — catching on fast — nodded. You casually gripped his jacket and steered him away. Jungkook leaned in just slightly, his voice low and warm near your ear: "Thank you," he murmured in Korean.

You straightened, heart hammering hard. You hadn’t realized until now just how close you’d gotten to him. How much his presence seemed to settle over you like a heavy, comforting blanket. Only once you made it safely back to your friends, your heart pounding in your chest, did you let go of his jacket, sliding into your seat like nothing had happened.

You leaned in a little, keeping your voice low and soft so it wouldn't carry. "I’m sorry if I overstepped," you said in careful Korean, your nerves making you speak slower than usual. "You just looked... really uncomfortable. I thought maybe I could help."

Jungkook blinked at you — slow, processing — like he wasn't quite sure how he'd ended up here, surrounded by strangers who weren't trying to mob him. You rushed to add, "If you want to leave, you totally can. But..." You hesitated, glancing toward the girls. They were still peeking over, whispering behind their hands, but they didn’t seem nearly as sure of themselves anymore.

Jungkook followed your glance — having to lean slightly to the side around Flora’s massive frame to even see them. You had, very intentionally, placed him right beside Flora — your towering, gentle-giant of a friend — blocking most of the view and shielding Jungkook from wandering eyes. Meanwhile, Pascal, unfazed as always, continued grilling meat like nothing dramatic had just happened. With casual flair, he plopped a few sizzling slices onto Jungkook’s plate too, playing the part of a friend just sharing food — selling the image that Jungkook was simply part of your group.

Across the table, Pascal gave you a meaningful look, then asked slowly, deliberately, so Jungkook could follow the English easily, "So, what now?"

Jungkook’s gaze flickered between the three of you — you, Flora, and Pascal — something warm and amused beginning to spark behind his eyes. He turned toward you again, answering in low Korean, "Thank you... for helping. Really. But I don’t want to bother you."

You shook your head quickly, heart thudding. "No bother! Honestly..." You smiled, feeling a bit like a kettle about to boil over. "It’s kind of amazing to meet you here."

Jungkook’s brow quirked slightly — not out of arrogance, but like he was bracing for the onslaught of questions, of personal space invasions, of fans pretending to be casual. For a situation just like before. But nothing came. You didn’t start babbling questions hysterically about his music, his tour, his tattoos. You didn’t even ask for a selfie.

You just smiled across the table at him — and yeah, maybe your hands twitched a little like you were physically restraining yourself from peppering him with excitement — but you held it together.

And Jungkook noticed.

The way you were practically vibrating with curiosity, but still giving him space. The way your friends didn’t treat him like a trophy, but just another person at their table. He let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh through his nose. Then he gave a small nod, looking down at his plate — at the freshly grilled meat Pascal had thrown there without a second thought — and then back up at you.

"If... okay, then," he said lightly. "I’ll stay. If that’s alright?"

You grinned, feeling the warmth spread all the way to your fingertips. "Of course it’s alright. We have plenty of food. You can even steal Flora’s if you’re fast enough."

Flora, catching on without missing a beat, rumbled, "Not if I eat him first," flashing Jungkook a wide, toothy grin that was so over-the-top it made the idol chuckle out loud. And just like that Jungkook relaxed into his seat, picking up his chopsticks like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like for one evening, at least, he could just be a guy on holiday.

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You did what you always did when you came here: You overate. By a lot.

The two girls who had hovered and whispered about Jungkook had left ages ago — giving up when it became obvious that Jungkook wasn’t going to break away from your group. Now, the atmosphere was relaxed, warm, and a little sleepy, the grill cooling down after the last round of bulgogi. You groaned dramatically, leaning back against the booth.

"I’m dying. I can’t eat anymore," you announced, one hand cradling your stomach.

"Good," Flora rumbled immediately, grinning as he reached toward your plate. "Then I’ll just have your bulgogi, right?"

You shot forward like he’d just threatened your firstborn, jabbing your chopsticks at him defensively. "Don't you dare!" you cried, and before he could even try again, you grabbed the last sizzling piece of bulgogi and stuffed it into your mouth with a defiant groan of satisfaction.

Flora only laughed, and next to him, Jungkook chuckled too — a soft, genuine sound that made your heart squeeze a little.

It had been shockingly easy to eat with your group. No pressure, no weird tension — just easy laughter, messy chopsticks, and half-argued conversations. Pascal and Flora had made a real effort to slow their speech down, checking themselves so Jungkook could follow without feeling lost. You, meanwhile, translated where you could, your Korean a little clumsy but more than enough to get by. And when even that wasn’t enough, both you and Jungkook had your phones open with Google Translate, passing them across the table like some bizarre relay race.

It was fun — in a way that made Jungkook forget he was supposed to keep his head down.

In a way that felt... normal.

And the more Jungkook learned about your little trio, the more he found himself relaxing. Neither Flora nor Pascal had any real idea who he was. They didn’t listen to K-pop — hell, they barely listened to pop music at all, according to Flora, who proudly proclaimed over a plate of kimchi that "good music died with cassette tapes."

It was only you who had recognized him. You — who had quietly, almost shyly, admitted you were an ARMY, but not in an overwhelming way. You didn’t list off his accomplishments like a resume. You didn’t bombard him with facts you’d memorized from interviews. You didn’t even try to worm your way closer with desperate compliments or too-personal questions.

In fact, you hardly brought it up at all.

It had been Jungkook who pried the truth out — curious after you translated a complicated joke for him mid-conversation without missing a beat. When he’d asked if you were a fan, you had paused, ducking your head slightly, offering only small pieces in response. Guarded. Careful. Like you were trying not to make him uncomfortable, like you didn’t want to remind him of the distance between you.

You even whispered to Pascal and Flora at one point, firm but light-hearted, "No asking him to sing. No asking for autographs. Pretend he’s Flora, just smaller."

Pascal had snorted so hard he nearly dropped a piece of meat onto his lap. It made Jungkook laugh — real and open — because it was funny, yes, but also because it made him feel like he was with his Hyung’s again. It reminded him of the way the Hyung’s used to bicker and tease over late-night meals, eating until you were ready to burst.

He missed that.

He missed them.

And sitting here now, watching you argue half-heartedly with Pascal about how many scoops of matcha ice cream you deserved after dramatically declaring yourself "too full to move," something in Jungkook's chest slowly, quietly loosened.

Dinner was officially winding down. The plates were mostly empty now, only a few stubborn scraps of meat and side dishes clinging to the platters. The air was heavy with the warm smell of grilled beef and soy sauce, mixed with the lazy hum of a Friday night crowd. You’d been chatting casually with the server — Dong — a young man who clearly liked your table a little too much, lingering at every opportunity, refilling your water glasses three times when once would have sufficed.

Jungkook noticed it immediately. He noticed everything about you now.

It was strange.

Even after all this time at the table — after the way you had helped him out earlier, helped him laugh, helped him breathe without a weight on his shoulders — he still felt like he barely knew anything about you. Or your friends.

You were polite to the point of being overbearingly considerate. Every question you asked him was gentle, cautious — if you asked anything at all, that unsettled Jungkook more than if you had been the typical overeager fan.  He had braced for the usual flood of attention, the eagerness, the invasive questions. He almost wanted you to break and start peppering him with everything you were dying to know.

It would have been easier. Predictable.

But you didn’t.

You just smiled, careful and kind, carrying every conversation with a deliberate gentleness that made his chest ache a little. It made him want to know everything about you— needing — to know more. What made you laugh until you cried. What you thought about when you stared off into space. What songs you sang when you thought no one was listening.

And yet, Jungkook could feel you holding yourself back, watching him with bright, hesitant eyes whenever a new topic surfaced, like you were trying to calculate what was safe to say, what might be too much.

You wanted to ask him things. He could feel it — the questions trembling on the tip of your tongue. But you were afraid to step over some invisible line. Afraid to be another name on a long list of people who had only wanted pieces of him, not the whole person.

He couldn’t blame you. It wasn’t your fault. But somehow, that made him want to bridge the gap even more. It wasn’t just you protecting him tonight. Without realizing it, he wanted to protect this fragile thing between you, too — this warm, quiet, normal moment.

And maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to make you trust that it was okay to ask him things. That he wanted you to. And as luck would have it, Flora threw him the perfect opportunity.

"So, where are we going first?" Flora asked, stretching his arms wide like he was preparing for battle. You groaned faintly, looking about ready to surrender to your impending food coma. Still, you dutifully pulled out your phone, swiping through what looked like a list of names and places, rattling them off faster than Jungkook could even hope to follow.

He blinked at you, completely lost.

Pascal, noticing his confusion, leaned over and offered a translation — half in English, half through Google Translate — "It's art night in town," he said, flashing a thumbs up like it explained everything. "All the museums and galleries stay open until three a.m.! It’s awesome. You should totally come!"

You looked up at Jungkook instinctively — and the realization hit you both at the same time.

They were inviting him.

Your panic was immediate. Surely he didn’t really want to come? He was Jungkook — he had better things to do than stumble through art galleries with three random weirdos. He could be doing... literally anything else. But Jungkook just tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes pinning you with playful intent. "Can I?" he asked softly in Korean, his voice rich and teasing, like he already knew you wouldn’t dare say no.

And god, it was unfair — the way the restaurant lights caught the faint gleam of his lip ring as he dragged it thoughtfully between his teeth, the way a tiny, almost-shy smile flickered at the edges of his mouth as he watched you.

You huffed — a tiny, strangled sound — and nodded quickly, trying so hard not to burst into flames. Jungkook’s smile widened just a little, victorious, and you knew you had lost whatever silent battle was happening between you.

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When the check came, the server, Dong — who by now was basically auditioning for honorary fourth member of your little group — dropped it neatly at the center of the table with a cheery, "No rush!"

And then all hell broke loose.

Jungkook moved fast, reaching for it without hesitation. You, Pascal, and Flora all protested at once, insisting he was a guest and shouldn’t pay.

"No, no, you’re our guest!" Flora protested immediately, reaching for his bag.

"Absolutely not, man, you’re not paying," Pascal added, doing a frankly embarrassing full-body lunge across the table.

You had your wallet out too, fumbling with your card and a nervous glance at Jungkook.

But Jungkook just shook his head, his stubbornness absolute. He didn't even bother arguing properly — just stood and handed his card to Dong with a polite bow, cutting off all resistance. Pascal leaned over while Jungkook was distracted signing the receipt, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper. He spoke just loud enough for you to hear: "Damn... he's kinda hot when he gets bossy. No wonder you listen to K-pop."

You choked on your own spit, slapping a hand over your face as heat bloomed fiercely across your cheeks. Flora snorted his drink up his nose.

"PASCAL," you hissed under your breath, half mortified, half strangling on a laugh.

Unfortunately for you, Jungkook had impeccable timing. He turned back toward the table just in time to catch you covering your face and trying desperately to disappear into the floor. His brow quirked up, a devilish little gleam sparking to life in his eyes. "What - What did he say?" he asked in a mix of English and Korean, voice low and far too pleased, a grin already threatening the corners of his mouth.

You shook your head frantically, mouthing "nothing, it’s fine, please don’t" — but Pascal, grinning like the absolute traitor he was, had already shoved his phone into Jungkook’s hands, Google Translate glowing bright like a sword of betrayal.

Jungkook read the screen, blinked once, then grinned — a slow, lazy smirk that made your stomach do something wildly unfortunate. He chuckled — a low, warm sound that skated down your spine — and cocked his head at you, lip ring catching the light. "You like me bossy, huh?" he teased in Korean, clearly savoring every second of your visible suffering.

You made a strangled, dying noise into your hands as Flora and Pascal cackled at your expense. Even Dong, hanging around a suspiciously long time under the pretense of clearing plates, laughed quietly into his sleeve.

"I— That’s not—" you tried, but you were too flustered to form a coherent sentence. Jungkook just beamed at you, looking devastatingly pleased with himself, before tossing a playful wink your way that nearly finished you off completely.

You were going to perish right here, in the middle of this barbecue restaurant, at the hands of Jungkook’s teasing smile. And honestly, it would be a beautiful way to go.

Jungkook watched you quietly, his heart beating a little faster. You were... lovely like this — bright and real and flustered, your kindness and humor wrapping around him like a warm blanket.

And the best part?

He hadn't even really started yet.

Jungkook tucked his card back into his wallet with a satisfied air and turned to the table, clapping his hands once like a boss. "Let’s go," he said brightly. "Art night is waiting."

"You’re a tyrant," Pascal groaned with a smile, shoving his arms into his jacket sleeves. "You’re a saint," Flora said, with a deep chuckel.

You could only laugh, your heart buzzing in your chest, as you followed Jungkook out into the cool night air. He fell into step beside you almost naturally, his shoulder brushing yours just lightly enough to make you wonder if it was on purpose. When you dared glance up at him, he was already looking at you — smiling — like maybe he didn’t mind spending a little more time in your world after all.

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽

The city was alive tonight.

The streets buzzed with people, lit in gold and neon, the sidewalks thick with couples, families, groups of students laughing too loudly under the old streetlamps. It was the perfect kind of crowd — big enough, distracted enough, that Jungkook could move almost invisibly through it.

Especially with Flora at his side.

Flora, towering and broad-shouldered, was a natural shield — not even trying, really, but his sheer size meant Jungkook easily tucked into the space behind him whenever the street grew too crowded. It was funny, actually. Jungkook had spent years surrounded by professional bodyguards. But walking behind Flora, who cheerfully blocked people’s lines of sight without even noticing, felt easier somehow. More casual. More... normal.

You and Pascal, though, were another matter entirely.

You caught attention just by existing — a bright spark in the corner of Jungkook’s vision, laughing too easily, moving with that infectious kind of energy that made people glance over without even realizing they were doing it. And Pascal, tall and cocky in his easy, flippant way, was just as bad, tossing sly comments and grins over his shoulder that had strangers double-taking in amusement.

Together, you two were impossible to miss and draw even more attention away from Jungkook. And somehow, impossibly, Jungkook didn’t mind. It was... fun. Real. Messy and alive in a way he hadn’t realized he missed.

Your first stop was a tiny underground art exhibition tucked between two noodle shops. Only ten pieces total, displayed in a narrow, dimly lit space that smelled faintly of fresh paint and old stone.

The theme was "Nature Reclaimed."

Everything was green and rough around the edges — photographs of abandoned buildings overtaken by ivy, sculptures made of twisted roots and river glass. It was quiet inside, hushed in that reverent way art spaces sometimes were, the noise of the city outside muffled like a dream. As you made your way down the shallow stairs to the entrance, a man in a faded hoodie approached, murmuring something quickly.

Without missing a beat, you pulled out your phone, flashed a QR code from a ticket app, and then — smiling apologetically — pointed at Jungkook, indicating him as part of your group. The man nodded, satisfied, and waved you all in without further fuss.

Jungkook, lingering just half a step behind you, blinked in surprise. "What was that about?" he asked in Korean, his voice low enough not to carry.

"He just wanted to see our tickets," you said, switching languages. Your voice was soft, almost careful, but there was a lightness in your eyes that made him feel strangely at ease. Jungkook frowned slightly, processing — and then his eyes widened as the realization hit him. "But… I don’t have a ticket," he said, baffled.

You turned to him fully then, your smile gentle, almost teasing as you answered, "It’s fine. I got you one."

Jungkook stared at you. Like you had just sprouted wings or declared yourself king of Seoul. There was a strange little jolt in his chest — something between touched and ruffled — because he was the one who usually took care of things. He bought the tickets. He paid the bills. He made sure the people around him were comfortable.

He wasn’t used to... this. Someone quietly smoothing the way for him without making a big deal out of it.

"You didn’t have to..." he started, almost defensive without meaning to.

But you just shrugged easily, already drifting a few steps ahead toward the first sculpture — as if it really wasn’t a big deal at all. As if he wasn’t someone you needed anything from. As if he was just... your friend.

"It’s just a ticket." you said over your shoulder, voice warm and a little teasing. "Don’t be dramatic."

Behind him, Pascal snorted. "Oh no. He's learning your secret," he stage-whispered to Flora. "She pretends to be all nice and harmless, and then BAM — she pays for something and makes you feel like a useless piece of trash that’s forever in her debit."

"Happened to me last month at brunch," Flora added solemnly, adjusting his bag strap like he was remembering a war story. "Still not over it."

You turned back around, walking backward now, grinning wickedly. "Shut up, both of you," you said, voice bright with laughter. "I’m a delight."

Jungkook couldn’t help it — he laughed too. Something warm and full that he hadn’t heard from himself in longer than he liked to admit. He jogged a few steps to catch up to you, bumping his shoulder lightly against yours — playful.

"Next time," he murmured in Korean, just for you, "I’m buying your ticket."

You glanced up at him, surprised — and something flickered between you. Something bright and a little reckless.

"Next time?" you said softly.

Jungkook smiled — a real one, crooked and boyish and impossibly endearing — and followed you deeper into the exhibition, the city’s noise forgotten behind thick stone walls. One of the last exhibits at this place was a sculpture — simple at first glance — just a mass of twisted iron and polished driftwood. It looked almost like a bird caught mid-flight, wings half-formed, trapped in metal and wood.

You tilted your head, studying it thoughtfully. Jungkook drifted closer, hands shoved casually in the pockets of his jacket, watching your expression out of the corner of his eye more than he watched the art itself. There was a small part of him — quiet but insistent — that wanted to know what you thought of it. What you saw when you looked. What kinds of things stirred you.

Meanwhile, Pascal, in typical fashion, had already wandered closer to the next piece — a massive tangle of tree roots shaped vaguely like a crouching figure.

"Oh, hell yes," Pascal muttered mischievously, glancing back over his shoulder at you. "Come on, you have to!"

You turned, caught sight of what he was eyeing, and burst out laughing. Without hesitation, you moved over, and the two of you — grinning like fools — immediately contorted yourselves into a ridiculous reenactment of the sculpture: Pascal crouching dramatically, you draping yourself halfway over his back like a sagging vine.

"Hold still!" Flora said, laughing, pulling out his phone with a little huff of effort. He knelt slightly to get the right angle, his giant frame making the tiny gallery feel even smaller. Behind Flora, Jungkook chuckled low in his throat, bemused. He crossed his arms loosely and leaned in toward Flora.

"What are they doing?" he asked, amused but genuinely curious.

Flora shifted a little awkwardly, clearly searching for a way to explain it. "Uh... how to say..." He grimaced slightly, embarrassed, but soldiered on anyway. "Since I know them... there is no sculpture they don't — ehm — copy." He smiled sheepishly. "It's kind of their thing."

Jungkook blinked, then laughed out loud, nodding in understanding. "Tradition?" he teased.

Flora brightened. "Yes! Tradition."

Jungkook turned his gaze back to you and Pascal, who were dissolving into giggles as Pascal dramatically flopped to the floor, still committed to the ridiculous pose. You sat beside him, poking his shoulder, scolding him half-heartedly for "ruining the artistic integrity" of the piece.

They looked close, Jungkook thought. Comfortable. Easy in a way that spoke of long friendship, of thousands of shared jokes and late nights. He hadn’t gotten the vibe that you and Pascal were together — no overt flirting, no lingering glances — but still. Seeing you like this, smiling so freely, leaning on Pascal like it was the most natural thing in the world...

A tiny, unwelcome sting flickered through him.

Beside him, Flora shifted again, glancing down at Jungkook with a knowing twinkle in his eye. He leaned down, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper: "I have a pretty boyfriend, right?"

Jungkook startled slightly, his brows furrowing as he looked back and forth — from Pascal, still lying dramatically on the ground, to Flora, standing there with an easy, fond smile. It took him a beat. Two beats. And then it clicked.

"OH."

Understanding bloomed like a firework behind Jungkook's ribs — bright, stupidly bright — and he turned to Flora with a sudden, warm grin, nodding. Of course. Pascal and Flora were together. They were the couple. Not you and Pascal.

A soft, almost giddy sense of relief — of possibility — unfolded in his chest like a secret he didn’t even know he was hoping for. Without thinking too hard about it, Jungkook pulled out his phone and handed it to Flora.

"Take one more," he said, his voice low but sure. "Of me and her, yeah?"

Flora’s eyebrows jumped, but he grinned wide and took the phone eagerly. You, brushing dust off your knees, glanced up — saw Jungkook approaching — and blinked, startled.

"He wants to—?"

But Jungkook just smiled at you, easy and boyish and a little challenging, and dropped into a crouch beside you, mimicking the awkward, sprawled pose you and Pascal had struck earlier. He looked at you expectantly. "You’re not gonna leave me hanging, are you?"

Your heart did a weird, flipping thing inside your chest. Something fluttery and wild and wonderful. Because this was Jungkook choosing to be part of your chaos. This was him wanting to share a stupid, silly moment with you. Smiling so wide your cheeks hurt, you scooted closer, slinging an arm loosely around his shoulders, mimicking the sculpture’s pose with exaggerated drama. Flora laughed, snapping a few quick pictures while Pascal cheered you both on in the background.

"Artistic integrity!" Pascal declared. "Restored!"

Jungkook’s shoulder bumped yours lightly as you both tried (and failed) to hold the ridiculous position without laughing.

"You’re surprisingly good at this," he teased under his breath, his voice warm against your ear.

"I told you," you whispered back, smiling. "I'm a delight."

And as the flash clicked and Flora captured the moment — something unspoken settled between you and Jungkook, bright and sparking and full of possibility. You straightened up from the silly pose, cheeks warm from laughter. Flora grinned down at his phone, satisfied with the shot he had just taken of you, Pascal — and now, Jungkook — tangled together mid-laughter, perfectly recreating the odd sculpture’s awkward, balancing pose. Jungkook flashed you a quick, slightly breathless grin, and for a second, you let yourself just look at him — really look.

You peeked at Jungkooks’s screen. There it was — You and Jungkook, shoulder to shoulder, laughing like old friends, looking so natural. Like it was something you did all the time. Your heart gave a tiny, helpless flutter. You would have loved to have that photo. Loved to have that memory of you and Jungkook together, caught mid-laugh, tangled in a ridiculous re-creation of art. To have a little piece of this impossible evening, something to hold onto later when it felt like a dream.

But...

You hesitated. The thought of asking — of possibly making him uncomfortable, of seeming like some crazy fan who only wanted a trophy photo for social media — made your stomach twist up tight. No.

Better to let the moment pass quietly. Better to keep the memory for yourself.

You swallowed the wish and tucked it away. Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook watched it happen. Watched the way you bit your lip slightly, looked at the photo, then deliberately looked away.

He waited — giving you space — waited, thinking you might still ask.

But after a few seconds, when you said nothing and just smiled and adjusted your bag on your shoulder, he smiled softly to himself. Of course. He was already starting to understand you a little: you didn’t take — you never expected. You just quietly appreciated.

And somehow, that made him want to give you even more. He didn’t press. But he did make a little note in the back of his mind: to get that picture to you later.

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽

Pascal clapped his hands, dusting them dramatically as if he’d just completed a grand performance. "Alright, children. That’s enough culture inside walls. Let’s go outside and be sophisticated." he declared with a grandiose wave toward the exit. "There’s an installation out in the courtyard, and you must be seen with a glass of wine. It’s, like, mandatory. Très chic." He threw a dramatic arm toward the courtyard where twinkling lights were already coming on and food and wine stalls lined the edges. ”Let’s go be fancy art snobs outside."

You laughed, slipping easily back into the banter, and translated quickly for Jungkook, whose eyebrows lifted in amused confusion at Pascal's theatrical tone.

"Pascal says it’s mandatory to hold wine and look… pretentious," you added, grinning, having just checked the word for pretentious in Korean.

"Can’t argue with that," Jungkook said, lightly bumping his shoulder against yours, adjusting his cap. The subtle disguise doing surprisingly well so far. You didn’t even try to hide your smile.

Pascal was already striding ahead toward a charming little stand selling local wines and small plates, dragging Flora along with him. You and Jungkook followed at a more leisurely pace. Outside, the evening air had cooled just a little, and the courtyard looked like something from a storybook — soft golden light, the rich smells of roasting nuts, spices, and baked goods drifting on the breeze.

As you reached the stand, Pascal was already leaning against the counter, animatedly discussing the wine options with the poor vendor asking which wine would make him look the most "cultured."

You chose a light, fruity glass for yourself — something casual — and reached automatically for your wallet. Before you could even properly find your card, Jungkook was there, stepping in front of you, gently pushing you aside with a soft nudge of his arm.

"I got it," he said firmly.

"No, really, it’s fine," you protested quickly, heat rushing into your cheeks. "You don’t have to —"

But Jungkook just shook his head, looking down at you with that stubborn little smile you were already starting to recognize.

"I want to," he said simply, already tapping his card against the reader before you could argue more. You turned to the older man running the stand, hoping maybe he would help your case — but the man just chuckled, a twinkle in his eye, and said warmly, "Ah, let the gentleman pay, sweetheart. He is insisting."

You blushed harder, feeling the tips of your ears go hot, and Jungkook caught it instantly. He tilted his head slightly, absolutely delighted by your reaction.

"See?" he teased, voice low enough that only you could hear.

Behind you, Pascal — never one to miss a good opportunity for mischief — clutched his chest dramatically.

"She’s blushing! Flora! Flora!" Pascal stage-whispered loudly, grabbing Flora’s arm with faux urgency. "Call a medic! We’ve got a romantic casualty. Look at her blushing like a Victorian maiden! Flora, where’s my fainting couch?"

"Oh my god, Pascal, shut up," you hissed under your breath.

You buried your face in your hands for a second, groaning in embarrassment while Flora just laughed quietly and patted Pascal’s shoulder like he was an unruly child. Jungkook laughed too — not meanly, not mockingly — but warmly, like he was laughing with you, not at you. There was something soft and sincere in his eyes when you finally peeked up at him through your fingers. Pascal patted you patronizingly on the back, still dramatically gasping for breath like he might swoon at any moment.

"Cheers?" Jungkook offered, holding out your wine glass to you with a small, almost shy smile.

You took it carefully, your fingers brushing his just for a moment — enough to send a tiny, electric shiver racing up your spine.

"Cheers," you whispered back, your smile matching his.

You didn’t even notice Flora sneaking another candid photo of the moment — but Jungkook did. And he didn’t stop him.

The art installations out here were larger than life — strange metal trees twisting into the stars, mosaics glittering under fairy lights, even a giant abstract sculpture that looked suspiciously like a melted spoon.

"Clearly," Pascal said solemnly, swirling his wine glass like he was at a five-star auction, "this piece is about the futility of buying matching socks."

You burst out laughing, trying (and failing) to mimic his snooty voice while shaking your own glass dramatically. A tiny drop of wine sloshed out, and you gasped, wiping it quickly against your jacket.

"Careful," Jungkook chuckled, stepping closer, his eyes bright. "You're too fancy now. Gotta protect the image."

You grinned up at him, emboldened by the lightness of the evening. "Oh, absolutely," you said, twirling your glass again with a theatrical flourish. "I’m basically a... more than princess now."

You fumbled for a better word, realizing halfway through that your Korean wasn't good enough for this moment. Jungkook caught on instantly, his smile widening.

"You could say yeowang. Queen," he offered, voice warm.

"Ah, yeowang!" you repeated, beaming, and Jungkook gave an approving nod.

Pascal threw an arm around Flora’s waist and sighed dramatically.

"We are in the presence of royalty. Someone fetch me a fainting couch."

You snickered. "Pascal, what is it with you today and needing a fainting couch?"

"Art moves me," he declared, clutching at his chest. Jungkook shook his head in amusement and, swirling his own wine with a mock-serious air, leaned toward you. "In Korean, if you want to say someone’s showing off, you can say Pom jabn-da." He pronounced it slowly. You tried to repeat it — and immediately mangled the pronunciation. Jungkook burst out laughing, not unkindly. "Again, again," he encouraged, tapping the air like a metronome.

You tried again, slower. "Pom jabn-da...?"

"Much better!" he praised, his eyes crinkling. "Just casual. Like teasing a friend."

You practiced it under your breath a few more times, earning another bright thumbs-up from him. Your heart fluttered stupidly at how delighted he looked. A few installations later, you and Pascal spotted a new sculpture — a chaotic tangle of bronze limbs, like a group of dancers frozen mid-fall.

"This one's asking for it," Pascal declared.

Without even needing to speak, you both clambered into a half-recreation, Pascal sticking his leg straight up in the air and you pretending to trip over him, arms flailing. Flora chuckled and obediently pulled out his phone to take pictures. Jungkook laughed too — the sound bright and real — and watched you both with amused wonder. After a moment, he handed his phone to Flora.

"One more photo?" he asked you, offering his hand with an eager grin.

You took it without hesitation, your palm tingling in his. Together, you struck another ridiculous pose, trying to mimic the bronze chaos behind you. Jungkook leaned into it easily, copying your outstretched arm with exaggerated seriousness. Flora snapped the picture, snorting with laughter as you both tried to hold still.

When you finally broke apart, laughing, you brushed some dust off your coat, cheeks flushed from the cold and the silliness. Jungkook’s phone buzzed insistently in his hand, lighting up the space between you with a soft glow.

He glanced down, his mouth twitching into an automatic smile when he saw the stream of messages blowing up his group chat.

🐿️ (Hoseok): Where r u?? 🐨(Namjoon): You're still out? 😎 (Taehyung):  Send pics!!! 🐱 (Yoongi):  Did u get lost???

Jungkook huffed out a quiet laugh, fond and exasperated at the same time. His thumb moved quickly over the screen, tapping back a few replies. Then, almost shyly, he tilted the phone toward you, as if wanting you to be part of it too.

"They're checking on me," he said, amused. "I told them I’m out with some... cool new friends."

You smiled so brightly it almost hurt, something easing inside you — that tight, nervous coil you'd been carrying ever since you met him starting to finally loosen— and gathering your courage, you cleared your throat. Maybe it was the wine, or the night air, or just the way Jungkook looked at you— but for the first time, you didn’t overthink to much what you said next. You weren't triple-guessing if it would sound too much like a fan thing. You just... said it. Simple and honest.

"If it's not too weird... could you, um... tell them I said hi?"

Jungkook’s entire face lit up — not just with amusement, but with something warmer, softer. Like you'd handed him something precious without even realizing it. He nodded immediately, eyes bright. "Of course! They'll love that."

There was something a little new in the way he looked at you now — a quiet kind of delight. Like he was seeing you take a step closer toward him, and he liked it more than he probably should. He tapped out a quick message — [My friend says hi 👋🏻] — and sent it off without fuss, then tucked his phone back into his pocket without another glance. He wasn’t distracted. He wasn’t half-present. His attention was all on you.

You didn’t realize you were fidgeting slightly, smoothing the sleeve of your coat, until he chuckled lowly under his breath.

"Hey... random question. Who’s your favorite BT21 character?"

You blinked, caught off guard — and without thinking blurted, "Tata."

There was a beat of stunned silence. Jungkook recoiled dramatically, clutching his chest as if shot. "Not Cooky?! Betrayal!"

Pascal immediately gasped, clutching Flora for support. "Scandalous. How dare you!"

"I'm wounded," Jungkook said, lowering his head in mock despair.

"I didn’t realize there was a quiz," you teased, bumping his shoulder with yours. "And anyway, Tata’s a prince. I’m royalty, remember?"

"Excuses," Jungkook grumbled, though he couldn’t stop smiling.

"You can be my second favorite," you added magnanimously.

"Gee, thanks," he said with a dramatic sigh — but his eyes sparkled.

"And Pascal's favorite is Mang," you pointed out quickly, grinning. Pascal flipped you off over his wine glass, making you laugh harder. As you wandered toward the far side of the courtyard, Flora checked his watch.

"If we want good seats," he said, "we should head to the church soon."

Jungkook blinked. "Church?"

"There’s a little concert," you explained. "Local artists. It’s small, but cool. Flora found it."

He hesitated for just a breath — then smiled, resolute. "I'd love to."

The streets were quieter now as you made your way toward the old stone church, the evening mist curling around the narrow alleys like fingers. Jungkook walked close by your side, hands tucked deep into his jacket pockets, occasionally nudging a stray pebble along the cobblestones with his boot.

Warm yellow light spilled from the church's arched windows, casting long golden pools onto the street. From inside, you could already hear the soft hum of voices and the faint strum of a guitar being tuned.

"Wow," Jungkook murmured, tilting his head back to take it in. The church was small but beautiful, its ancient stones blackened by time, its steeple leaning just slightly, like an old man hunching over against the years.

You smiled. "Pascal said the acoustics here are insane. Like, even a whisper carries."

Jungkook grinned at that, bumping your shoulder playfully. "Guess we better not gossip too loudly, huh?"

You laughed, feeling light, warm. God, it was getting too easy to just be around him. Inside, the church smelled faintly of old wood, wax, and rain-soaked stone. The wooden pews were already filling up fast with people — a colorful, buzzing crowd of locals and a handful of tourists who had clearly stumbled upon the event by accident and decided to stay.

You hesitated, glancing around. You didn’t want to assume anything — maybe Jungkook would prefer some space? Maybe he didn't want you hovering— Before you could finish that worried thought, Pascal clapped a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder and gave him a not-so-gentle shove toward the pew where you were standing.

"Here! Plenty of room," Pascal declared with a grin, not noticing (or not caring) about the slight oomph noise Jungkook made as he was practically dumped beside you. Flora shot you a secret wink as he slid in next to Pascal.

Jungkook blinked once, surprised — then let out a soft, helpless laugh, shaking his head as he settled beside you. "Guess this is my spot," he said, throwing you a playful sideways glance.

You tucked a smile behind your hand, feeling giddy and weirdly shy all over again. The bells outside gave a soft, distant chime, and a low murmur of excitement buzzed through the church as more people filed in. The pews were old — carved from dark, heavy wood — and the space between each row was narrow. Cozy.

At first, you and Jungkook sat with a polite little buffer of air between you, your knees almost but not quite brushing. You kept your hands tucked carefully in your lap, too aware of how close he was. But then — fast — the church started filling. People squeezed into every row. An older man with a large coat tapped Pascal’s shoulder, gesturing to the crowd still trying to find seats.

Pascal looked around — then turned back to you with a big, sunny grin. "Hey — scoot up a little? Let's get cozy," he said cheerfully.

Before you could react, Pascal planted both his hands on Jungkook’s side and gave him a strong, enthusiastic shove. The force of it knocked Jungkook sideways — right against you. You gasped, instinctively catching yourself with a hand braced against the pew back. Jungkook let out a startled, embarrassed noise, his whole side pressing into yours for a heartbeat before he awkwardly tried to straighten himself — only to realize he couldn’t. There was no more room.

You were now squished between the cold stone wall and a very solid Jungkook. Your entire side was plastered against him — your coats and sleeves brushing, your knees bumping under the narrow pew rail. His warmth radiated through the layers of fabric, dizzying and so real.

Jungkook froze, obviously realizing the situation at the same moment you did. He turned his head toward you, cheeks visibly flushed even in the dim light, and managed a breathless, sheepish little laugh.

"Uh— sorry," he mumbled, voice low and rough. He tried to shift — to give you space — but there was none. Every inch of the pew was packed now, people squeezed shoulder-to-shoulder in every row. You shook your head quickly, fighting your own rising blush. "No, it's okay," you whispered back, and God, your voice sounded weirdly breathless to your own ears. Jungkook's gaze caught yours for a second — wide, surprised, a little shy — before he gave up, exhaling a soft, helpless little huff.

"I guess we're... stuck like this," he said under his breath, the corners of his mouth twitching like he couldn't quite decide whether to laugh or die of embarrassment. You nodded, biting your lip, pulse pounding. Neither of you moved again.

The rest of the pews were just as packed, a sea of strangers pressed elbow-to-elbow, the whole church buzzing with low chatter and the warm crackle of excitement. But all you could feel was Jungkook — warm, solid, steady — right there beside you, close enough that you could catch the faint, clean scent of his cologne every time you breathed.

It felt crazy. Exciting. A little dangerous, in a way that made your stomach flip. You stole a tiny glance at him — and caught him doing the same, his eyes darting away quickly, a guilty little smile tugging at his lips.

You weren’t imagining it. He felt it too.

The lights dimmed further as the musicians took their places, tuning their instruments with brief, fluttering notes that melted into a respectful silence. You felt the change instantly — the whole church seeming to hold its breath, waiting.

Then the music began. A soft, sweeping melody filled the stone chamber, rising up to the vaulted ceiling like smoke. It was beautiful — a delicate blend of classic orchestral pieces and haunting film scores that sent shivers down your spine. You exhaled slowly, letting your body relax for the first time in what felt like forever.

The concert would last about thirty minutes — not long, technically — but just long enough that sitting stiff and upright like a statue was impossible. Especially when you were packed so tightly in a crowded pew.

Next to you, Pascal was already adjusting — sliding down a little in his seat until his frame rested comfortably against Flora’s shoulder. Flora didn’t seem to mind in the slightest; he barely reacted beyond adjusting his posture slightly, offering a solid, comfortable place for Pascal to rest against. The two of them looked perfectly at ease, making a little more room for themselves without a second thought.

You shifted, too, almost without realizing it — leaning ever-so-slightly more into the narrow space you shared with Jungkook. It wasn’t much — just a subtle change — but it brought you even closer, until the line of your arm brushed his. And neither of you moved away.

Jungkook noticed immediately. He stiffened for half a second, some instinct in him flaring — but when he glanced sideways and saw your face, the tension melted almost instantly. You weren’t tense. You weren't looking around nervously or pulling away. You looked... content.

Happy, even.

Your eyes were half-lidded in peace, your body visibly trying to slump a little more comfortably — but there just wasn’t space to do it properly. Something inside Jungkook twisted sweetly at the sight. He wanted — badly — to just lift his arm and rest it along the back of the pew behind you, maybe even let it fall lightly around your shoulders. It would make it easier for both of you. Give you more space to lean, more room to relax. And... it would feel so natural, so right.

He could already imagine it: your head might lean into his side, both of you fitting together better, finding a little more space to breathe.

But he hesitated. If someone in the crowd recognized him — if a photo made it to the wrong hands — he could already imagine the tabloid headlines. "Jungkook Seen Cozy With Mystery Woman at Church Concert" "Romance Rumors Swirl After Late-Night Sighting"

It wouldn’t just be chaos for him — it would drag you into it too.

But you didn’t shift away. You didn’t stiffen or glance around anxiously. If anything, you looked even more comfortable as the music rose, the corners of your mouth softening in a small, private smile. So he stayed frozen, pulse racing, watching you out of the corner of his eye for any sign of unease. Anything at all. But you didn’t pull away.

If anything, you seemed to be relaxing more with every passing minute — your side melting unconsciously into his, your knee nudging lightly against his under the narrow pew rail. Jungkook’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. Very carefully, he allowed himself to relax — not dramatically, not enough to draw attention, but enough that his side pressed lightly against yours in a way that felt intentional. Enough that if you wanted to lean just a little bit more, you could.

The music swelled around you, rich and deep and almost cinematic in its beauty. Every pew was crammed full of people now, groups squeezing closer and closer to fit. In the row ahead, an older couple sat shoulder-to-shoulder, hands folded together. Farther down, teenagers bumped elbows and whispered with wide grins. Everyone was packed tight — no one would even blink at how closely you and Jungkook sat.

You lost yourself in it a little — the sweep of the strings, the low, steady pulse of the piano — but never entirely. Because you could still feel Jungkook, right there, pressed against your side. Every breath you took seemed somehow linked to him. You didn’t dare move too much, didn’t dare look at him, afraid you’d break whatever fragile, unspoken thing had started to stretch between you.

And Jungkook, for his part, was battling himself silently.

The longer he sat beside you, feeling the faint warmth of your body so close, the harder it became to stay still. The harder it became to pretend he didn’t want more.

Slowly — as casually as he could manage — he shifted. Not much. Just letting his hand fall, loose and heavy, onto his lap. An innocent movement to anyone watching. But he placed it carefully, precisely angled, so that when he next took a deep breath — deeper than necessary, maybe — the motion rocked his hand just enough that the back of it brushed lightly against yours.

It was feather-light. Accidental, surely.

You froze, heart thudding, half expecting him to immediately jerk away in embarrassment.

But he didn’t.

His hand stayed there, the faintest touch between you — just the back of his knuckles against the side of your hand. He didn’t grab you. He didn’t even really move. Only the tiniest twitch betrayed him, a small tremor that made his pinky bump gently against your skin.

Your breath hitched audibly — not loud enough to draw attention, but enough that you felt Jungkook go even more still, sensing it. You swallowed hard, pulse hammering in your ears, and allowed your own hand to twitch in response — a small, almost involuntary movement, nothing that could be called bold.

But it was enough.

Enough to tell Jungkook that you weren’t pulling away. He was tense beside you, vibrating like a tightly wound string about to snap. But emboldened by your tiny gesture, he shifted the smallest fraction, just enough to let his pinky curl — and hook lightly around yours.

It wasn’t hand-holding.

Not really.

But it also wasn’t nothing.

You felt it instantly — that almost imperceptible entwining of pinkies, the barest linking of skin. The smallest possible way to touch you more, without making a scene, without risking everything. And yet somehow, it felt monumental. It felt like the only thing in the world that mattered.

Your lungs burned slightly, your heart hammering harder than the crescendo of the music washing around you. You stared straight ahead, afraid that if you even glanced at him, the spell would shatter. Beside you, Jungkook shifted again — the tiniest adjustment — a breath that somehow pressed his side a little more firmly against yours. His pinky, still entwined with yours, twitched once, almost like a question.

You squeezed yours back — barely — the smallest answer you could give. But it was enough.

It was everything.

The music swelled higher, louder, grander — but you barely heard it anymore. Because Jungkook was there, his pinky tangled lightly with yours, his thigh warm against your leg, his presence swallowing up every breath you took. You had no idea how you would survive the next twenty minutes of this concert. And from the way Jungkook's breathing had subtly shifted — a little heavier, a little faster — he was wondering the exact same thing.

As the last note of the concert faded into the stone vaults of the old church, the first people began to rise from their tightly packed pews, voices low and murmuring as they shuffled toward the exits, eager for their next destination.

You and Jungkook didn’t move.

Neither of you wanted to.

And, realistically, you couldn’t, not yet — Flora and Pascal were still squeezed in on the other side, and the narrow rows left little room to maneuver without tripping over each other. But even without that excuse, you knew you wouldn’t have been ready to let go of him.

Not just yet.

Your pinkies were still lightly hooked together, the smallest bridge between you. You could feel Jungkook’s warmth through that tiny touch, a quiet heartbeat of connection neither of you seemed quite willing to break.

When you dared a glance at him, you found him already looking at you.

His eyes were soft — almost bashful — and a shy, almost sheepish smile curved his lips. You saw the faintest flush creep up his neck to his cheeks, the stage lighting doing nothing to hide it. And before you could say anything, before you could even breathe properly, he gave your pinky one last small squeeze. Your heart twisted almost painfully.

Slowly, regretfully, you both let your hands drift apart.

The group started to shift and rise, Flora stretching his long frame carefully to avoid knocking into the people in front of you. Pascal shuffled sideways, pulling the others with him, and finally you and Jungkook had enough space to stand without causing a scene.

Outside, the cool night air hit you like a balm, carrying away some of the dizzy warmth clinging to your skin. You regrouped under the streetlights, the tall, dark shape of the church behind you casting deep shadows. Jungkook stayed close. Closer than before. Close enough that his shoulder almost brushed yours whenever he moved, Jungkook stayed by your side as the group paused under the yellow pools of light spilling from the church’s old lanterns.

Pascal turned to the group, his voice casual but lively. "What now? We’ve got time for one or maybe two more stops before everything closes. What do you guys think?"

He was speaking fast again and you saw Jungkook's head tilt slightly, his expression attentive but a little hesitant. His English was good, but fast conversation could be tricky, especially when tired or excited. Instinctively, you stepped in, your voice a little softer, more private.

You translated with the help of google again at this point into Korean, glancing at him with a smile — hopefully not too goofily — and pulled out your phone to double-check the night's schedule. “Pascal is saying that there’s still some time, so we can go to one or maybe two more places. He’s asking where we’d like to go.”

Jungkook gave a small, grateful nod, his eyes flickering to you and lingering there for a heartbeat longer than strictly necessary. You could tell he was appreciating more than just the translation. You fumbled quickly with your phone, trying to act casual.

"Alright," you said, clearing your throat, partly for the group and partly for yourself. "We’ve got two options."

"First, bathroom break," you added firmly, shooting a quick grin around the group that made Pascal and Flora chuckle.

"After that, we have two options: There’s a movie museum exhibit — old horror films. Props from Nosferatu, Dracula, 28 Days Later..." You glanced up at Jungkook and saw his eyes light up a little at the mention and understanding. You tried not to let it distract you and continued.

"Or, there's a gallery nearby with a lot of acrylic-on-wood paintings. The theme is supposed to be 'Fever Dream'." You lifted your eyebrows at everyone, feeling their attention drift toward you, and shrugged.

"Vote?"

It wasn’t much of a contest. Flora immediately cast his vote for the horror exhibit — big guy, even bigger love for spooky stuff — Pascal nodded eagerly too, clearly into it. You watched Jungkook's eyes light up just a little at the idea of the horror props, and a small, almost mischievous smile touched his lips. He gave a little nod, confirming his choice without needing words.

You grinned, feeling a little giddy — but not just because of the decision.

“Movie museum it is," you announced, grinning.

You desperately needed that bathroom break. Because the way Jungkook was looking at you, now that you could see his face in the clear, open night — the way he hadn't really left your side even after all the people had spilled out around you — the memory of your pinkies tangled together, not just accidental, not just squished together — all of it made your heart thud against your ribs like it was trying to escape.

You were freaking out. —  Internally screaming while trying to look chill. — A classic.

You managed to give a casual little wave toward a nearby building. “Bathrooms that way,” you said, voice just a little too high-pitched to be completely natural. As the group started to wander in that direction, you pulled your phone closer to your chest, trying to hide your flushed cheeks behind it. You weren’t sure if you were overheating from the excitement of almost-hand-holding Jungkook, from the dizzy, half-panicked realization that he hadn’t pulled away — that he had wanted to stay close — or from the way he kept glancing at you now, like he was thinking about it too.

Either way, you were dangerously close to combusting.

And the night wasn’t even over yet.

You were the one who had begged for the bathroom break, but ironically, when you came out fresh-faced and trying to get your heart to beat normally again, it was Pascal who was still missing. The rest of you waited just outside the small public bathroom area, tucked against the side of the church. The cool night air wrapped around you, and without meaning to, you found yourself standing a little closer to Jungkook again.

He was quiet next to you, head slightly lowered, phone in hand. You glanced sideways, trying not to be obvious — but curiosity burned in you. Jungkook was texting, a small, shy smile playing on his lips as his thumbs flew across the screen. Every so often, he would type something, delete it, then retype it with more care.

If you could read Korean fast enough from that angle (which you couldn’t), you might have caught something like:

[🐰] : Hyungs… I’m so nervous I might die. Seriously.

[🐰] : I’ve spent the whole day with them and it’s so good it’s driving me crazy, haha.

[🐰] : It feels like butterflies are throwing a party in my stomach...

He quickly locked his phone when he noticed you looking in his direction, tucking it into his jacket pocket with a slightly embarrassed chuckle. You caught that chuckle and smiled to yourself, cheeks warming again. Finally, Pascal came jogging out, apologizing for the delay, and the four of you regrouped.

“Metro?” Pascal asked the group, glancing between you and Flora. It was just two stations — walkable, sure, but the metro would save time. You translated for Jungkook, and he nodded in agreement.

So the metro it was. The station wasn’t far, but the moment you descended underground, you realized the mistake: it was packed.

Way too many people. Way too little space.

You and Pascal cursed under your breath almost simultaneously — both of you being the smallest of the group and already hating cramped public transport situations. Flora, being tall and broad, carved a space around himself effortlessly, and Jungkook’s strong frame and solid build helped him stay upright even as people pushed and jostled around. But you?

You barely reached the overhead bars and had zero chance of grabbing onto anything. The sea of bodies swayed and pushed around you like a tide, and you knew immediately: this was going to be a nightmare.

When the metro car jolted with a hard start, you stumbled — and without even thinking, Jungkook caught you. His arm shot out, gripping the overhead pole running above the crowd. He positioned himself close to you, making sure if you were going to be squished against someone, it would be him. You leaned slightly on him, trying not to put your full weight against his side — but there wasn’t really a choice.

And then the metro braked hard at the first station.

You were sent flying — a small, helpless yelp leaving your lips — and instinctively you grabbed at Jungkook, fisting the front of his jacket. Even Jungkook had to plant his feet and shift his stance to keep steady, his muscles tensing under you. Without hesitation, he wrapped his free arm around your waist, firm and protective, pulling you flush against him.

He didn’t let go.

You were breathing fast, too aware of the way your hands clutched his hoodie and jacket, the way your cheek nearly brushed his chest, the faint scent of clean laundry and something distinctly Jungkook filling your nose.

You tried — once — to step back. To regain some polite distance.

But Jungkook bent slightly, lips brushing the shell of your ear, and whispered in Korean, voice low and rough: “Just hold onto me. I got you.”

His breath was hot against your ear, his words sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold night air.

Your knees wobbled. Your heart thudded so hard you wondered if he could hear it too.

You gave a small, helpless nod against his chest, too overwhelmed to meet his eyes, and instead, gripped the front of his jacket tighter — knuckles white, fingers trembling slightly.  Jungkook tightened his arm around you just a fraction more, anchoring you securely against him for the rest of the ride. He was your solid ground in that chaotic, moving sea of strangers. And somehow, it felt like the whole world had shrunk again.

Just you and him, heartbeat to heartbeat.

As your stop neared, everyone started pressing forward, trying to position themselves near the doors. It was a chaos of bodies, jostling and pushing. Jungkook stayed close. Too close for you to think properly — but it was necessary.

With this many people, if you lost each other now, finding each other again would be impossible. You could just call Flora or Pascal but you hadn’t exchanged phone numbers with Jungkook – you didn’t want to impose. Without a word, Jungkook slipped his hand gently to the small of your back, warm and steady, steering you through the crush of people like you were the most precious thing he needed to protect. His hand wasn’t pushy, wasn’t possessive — it was guiding, reassuring. Like he wanted you to know he had you. That he wasn’t letting go.

You clutched the strap of your bag with both hands to keep from reaching back for him, heart rattling inside your chest like a trapped bird. Finally, the heavy metro doors hissed open, and you both spilled out into the station — breathing again, laughing breathlessly as the cool air of the outside hit your faces.

If someone had asked Jungkook what you looked like right then, flushed cheeks, bright eyes, a soft smile playing on your lips — he would have said, without hesitation: beautiful.

Maybe the most beautiful thing he'd seen all day.

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽

The museum was only a short walk away, and the fresh air helped you all shake off the claustrophobic energy of the metro. You entered the exhibition hall, and soon you were wandering through corridors of dim lighting, eerie soundtracks playing faintly in the background.

Glass cases displayed old movie props, some beautifully preserved, some delightfully grotesque. Fake vampire fangs, latex severed limbs, crumbling Nosferatu prosthetics — pieces of horror history carefully presented under spotlights. Flora, who until now had been relatively quiet, suddenly turned out to be a bizarre fountain of random movie trivia.

“That arm," Flora pointed at a disturbingly realistic severed hand in one of the cases, "was made with real animal bones inside to make it look more authentic when it moved."

You blinked. Jungkook blinked.

You caught the confused furrow of Jungkook’s brow and leaned close to murmur a translation into his ear in Korean, your breath brushing his skin:

 "They used real animal bones inside to make it look real."

Jungkook widened his eyes slightly, letting out a soft, surprised laugh, and whispered back:

 "That's crazy..."

You grinned at him, feeling ridiculously giddy that you could be the one translating this strange world for him.

As you moved on, you came to a corner that had been redesigned especially for tonight's event. It was marked with low flickering lights and a small, crooked wooden sign:

"Horror Walk — Enter If You Dare."

Inside, black curtains obscured the view, and occasional flashes of light and small shrieks from earlier participants hinted at what awaited. It wasn’t a full haunted house — more like a cramped hallway with actors hidden inside, ready to jump scare anyone brave (or foolish) enough to walk through.

You all stopped in front of it.

Pascal groaned dramatically, already shaking his head. "No, no, not for me..."

You laughed and turned to Jungkook.

"He hates jump scares."

Jungkook smiled, clearly amused, but his eyes flickered back to the dark curtains with a gleam that made your stomach twist deliciously.

“And you?” he asked softly, tilting his head toward you.

You hesitated, chewing your bottom lip — horror walk with Jungkook? Half of you wanted to die of nerves. The other half wanted nothing more.

Flora, oblivious, was already striding forward to sign the little waiver the museum required. Pascal grumbled but followed. And Jungkook… well, Jungkook just watched you, waiting patiently for your answer.

You hesitated for a second before pushing through the thick black curtain, the material brushing heavily against your shoulders, swallowing you up into the dark.

Immediately, the world changed.

The hallway inside was nearly pitch black, save for faint, flickering lights far ahead. The floor creaked ominously beneath your feet. Somewhere deeper inside, you could hear recorded whispers, quiet footfalls, and the occasional high-pitched shriek that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

You swallowed hard, feeling your heart hammer against your ribs.

And then — a warm hand slipped into yours.

Properly, fully — Jungkook’s hand.

Strong, a little calloused, fitting into yours like it belonged there. You felt him step close behind you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his chest to your back. For a moment, you were too stunned to move.

He was just... holding your hand. Not by accident. Not by mistake. Deliberately.

You squeezed back, barely able to believe it was happening, and you felt the slight, quiet tremble of his fingers in yours. He was nervous too. The realization sent a bloom of something so sweet, so fragile through your chest, you thought you might actually float off the ground. Jungkook leaned down, mouth close to your ear.

 "Go ahead... I'll be right behind you."

You nodded mutely, and you started forward. Each cautious step you took echoed too loudly in the otherwise dead silence. Jungkook didn’t just walk behind you — he was guiding you, his hand sometimes sliding from your hand up lightly to your shoulder, to your waist, steadying you with feather-light touches whenever you flinched or hesitated. It was so subtle, so careful, like he was afraid to startle you more than the haunted hallway already was.

And then — something moved.

A figure — pale, twitching, all black eyes and sharp teeth — suddenly burst from a hidden panel in the wall beside you.

You shrieked, whipping around instinctively to run — but Jungkook was there, and you plowed straight into his chest. He laughed — a real, full laugh, delighted and breathless — and without thinking, he wrapped his arms around you.

Not just a safe hug — no, Jungkook hugged you properly, one arm strong across your back, the other sneaking under your open jacket, pulling you against him like you were something he couldn't bear to let go.

Your cheek was pressed to the warm cotton of his shirt, his heartbeat thundering in your ear. You whimpered — you couldn’t help it — the sound slipping out, high-pitched and soft and far too vulnerable. You prayed, prayed, that Jungkook thought it was from fear.

(And not because the feel of his fingers brushing lightly over your back, beneath your jacket, was making your knees buckle.)

But Jungkook stiffened for a fraction of a second against you — his breath catching sharply in his chest.

Like he heard it differently.

Like he loved it.

His hand flattened against the small of your back, feeling you, grounding you to him. His nose brushed your hair, and you could have sworn you felt him inhale deeply, a tiny shudder running through his body. You stayed like that — pressed together, hearts hammering, the haunted hallway forgotten — for a few infinite seconds.

In the dimness, only you and Jungkook existed. Only the way his thumb was rubbing slow, barely-there circles at the base of your spine. Only the way you gripped handfuls of his jacket, hiding your burning face against him.

He tilted his head down, whispering into your hair in Korean, voice rough and breathless:

"It's okay... I'm here."

You could only nod — your words were locked somewhere deep in your chest, strangled by the overwhelming way he was holding you like you were precious, real, and somehow already his.

And if you weren't careful... You might never want to let him go.

You finished the haunted hallway clinging lightly to Jungkook’s jacket, every loud noise and sudden shadow making you tighten your grip for a second longer than necessary. You could feel Jungkook's hand still hovering at your lower back, ready to catch you again if needed — though you both moved slowly now, hearts not quite back to normal. When you finally stumbled out through the heavy exit curtain and back into the dim light of the movie exhibit, it was like breaking through to the surface after being underwater.

You gasped a little laugh, immediately stepping a half step away, remembering where you were. Remembering yourself. Jungkook hated it. Hated the tiny, polite distance you carefully placed between you and him again. Because he couldn’t just pull you back. Because even now, there were a few people here, and a badly taken photo would be a nightmare for both of you — and worst of all, you would be the one most hurt by it. He knew it.

But still. His hands twitched at his sides. His heart screamed.

He licked his lips slowly without even realizing it, staring after you — dazed, helpless, and ready to follow you anywhere. And he would have — he was about to — until Pascal suddenly spoke up.

“Pfff… Okay, I’m done. Horror walk has officially killed me,” Pascal groaned, scrubbing a hand through his messy hair. “I need sugar. Then I’m out.”

You and Flora laughed, both nodding — though you covered a giant yawn behind your hand. It was nearly 2 a.m., after all. Even you, energized and excited, were visibly winding down now.

Jungkook’s heart stuttered in panic.

No. No, no, no. He didn’t have your number. He didn’t know where you lived. If you left now, you would just… be gone.

He could already feel it — that yawning space opening between you, the chance slipping away like sand between his fingers. While you and Flora casually debated which sweets stand was the best nearby, Jungkook frantically opened his group chat with his friends. His thumbs flew across his phone.

🐰: what do i do 🐰: i dont have her number 🐰: i cant lose her what do i do i cant just ask in front of everyone 🐰: HELP.

It took all of three seconds before his friends erupted in teasing.

😎 (Taehyung): lololol YOU'RE SCREWED 🐱 (Yoongi): Just ask her idiot. 🐿️ (Hoseok): Confess your undying love immediately. Go big or go home. 🐨 (Namjoon): Maybe just say you wanna text about the museum or something??? Chill bro.

Jungkook groaned under his breath, cheeks burning, still pretending to casually check his phone while you and Flora were oblivious. But Pascal was not oblivious.

🐰: i cant just SAY THAT. everyone is RIGHT HERE. 🐰: AND what if she says no 🐰: AND her friends will KNOW 🐰: AND then ill look like a desperate idiot

Taehyung was instantly bloodthirsty:

😎: you ARE a desperate idiot right now 😂

Hoseok added:

🐿️: Desperate and CUTE tho 🐿️: i believe in u soldier o7 🐿️: shoot your shot 🐿️: or steal her shoe and run so she HAS to find you later 🤡

Jungkook glared at his screen so hard he was sure the pixels would melt. Yoongi, the voice of (grumpy) reason, chimed in again:

🐱: just say you want to send her the museum address or something. 🐱: make it practical. not a confession, dumbass. 🐱: baby steps.

Jungkook thumbed back:

🐰: you make it sound easy hyung

Namjoon:

🐨: bc it IS easy 🐨: you’re just a lovesick mess rn

Jungkook ran a hand down his face, accidentally bumping shoulders with Flora, who glanced over in mild concern. He flinched and smiled a little too fast, tucking his phone behind his back as if he could read it.

Meanwhile, Taehyung was merciless:

😎: tell her you saw a ghost and the only way to be safe is to exchange numbers. spiritual protection reasons. 😎: very serious. 😎: for safety reasons

Jungkook huffed a tiny breathless laugh despite himself — and immediately bit it down when you turned slightly, giving him a small, questioning smile. He coughed into his fist and looked away.

He was losing it.

And then — Out of the corner of his eye, Jungkook caught Pascal watching him. Really watching him. Sharp, assessing — and then… almost kind. Pascal stepped close enough that Jungkook could see the screen of Pascal’s phone when he tilted it forward — a message typed out in clear, simple English with its translation into Korean next to it.

"Normally Flora and I bring her home if it’s this late. But if you want to take her home instead, we will leave you two alone?"

Jungkook froze. His mouth went dry. He blinked — once, twice — rereading it to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating from sleep deprivation or love-induced madness. When he finally looked up, wide-eyed, cheeks glowing bright red, Pascal just grinned at him — like a cat that had stolen the cream.

But Pascal’s smile turned serious in the next second.

He held Jungkook’s gaze firmly, and then, in slow, careful English that even he understood very clearly, he added:

"Just don’t hurt her."

The unspoken "or else" hung heavy between them.

Jungkook nodded immediately. Seriously. From the deepest part of himself. There wasn’t even a fraction of hesitation. He would rather cut off his own hand than hurt you.

Pascal seemed satisfied with that. He clapped Jungkook lightly on the shoulder, nodded once like a silent deal had been struck — and turned back toward Flora and you, who were laughing about how creepy some of the fake horror props had been.

Jungkook finally, finally allowed himself to breathe. He straightened, the panic in his chest easing just a little. He still didn’t know exactly how he was going to ask you — but now, at least, he had more time.

The four of you had gotten your sweet treats from Pascal’s favorite late-night stand — some homemade fudge and steaming paper cones of roasted almonds that perfumed the cool night air with caramel sugar.

You crunched your way through them peacefully, laughing with Flora about the terrible fake blood on one specific prop, while Pascal made dry commentary about how he’d seen scarier things at his tax office. Jungkook stayed close but quiet, occasionally smiling wide enough that the corners of his eyes crinkled, but he was still a little in his own head — winding down slowly from everything.

The walk to your designated tram stop was calm. Different from the chaotic crowd earlier — this station was just a little one, off the main roads. You stood together on the almost empty platform, idly chatting while waiting for your tram to rattle in. Jungkook couldn’t help but notice how the fluorescent lights made your skin look almost soft and glowing. He inched just a little closer, under the weak excuse of hearing you better, his hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets to stop himself from touching you again.

When the tram finally rolled in, it sighed and squealed against the tracks, and you all climbed inside together, still half-laughing over Pascal's bad jokes. It was quiet inside. Jungkook had just gotten used to the idea that he'd be sitting next to you for the rest of the ride — half-savoring, half-panicking about it — when it happened.

At the last possible second, just before the doors banged shut, Pascal and Flora jumped out. You both turned — mouths open, stunned — too late to follow. The doors slid closed with a harsh thump, locking the two of you in.

Alone.

The station outside slipped away into the darkness. You stared after them, frozen, and then muttered under your breath, a little stunned, "Fuckers."

Jungkook’s brows shot up — he didn't need any translation for that one. Even without knowing the word exactly, your tone said everything. He flushed immediately, dropping his gaze, rocking awkwardly on his heels.

"I... uh..." he started, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry... about... this situation," he said, clearly flustered, almost apologetic. His English was slow and careful, like he wanted to get it perfect for you. "I didn’t... mean to trap you?"

You blinked at him, heart twisting painfully at how sweet he was being about it — how he looked genuinely sorry, like he was afraid you’d be mad. Quickly, you smiled, trying to reassure him.

"I don’t mind," you said warmly, pulling out your phone. You tapped at the screen, pulling up the tram map, trying to figure out how he could get back to the Korean restaurant where you'd first met — it seemed like a million years ago already. You held it up to him, meaning to make it easy for him to jump ship if he needed. But Jungkook's face fell the second he understood.

He pointed at himself, then at you, his brows furrowing.

"You... don't want... me... to bring you?" he asked, his voice a little small, a little uncertain. His words were halting but sincere.

"If not... okay... I go. But—" He fumbled, gesturing at your phone and then back at you, urgent, "—I... pay taxi. So you get home safe."

You stared at him, completely blindsided.

"You..." You laughed, a little breathless, a little floored. "You want to take me home?"

Jungkook's ears burned visibly. He nodded so fast you were surprised his head didn’t snap off. "Yes," he said. "Yes... I want."

"But..." you faltered, still confused, feeling your heart race, "I don’t want to steal your time..."

He shook his head, frantic, taking half a step closer without realizing it.

"You don’t!" he insisted, voice low and urgent. "You don’t. I... I want... time with you."

He sucked in a shaky breath after that, eyes locked onto yours so fiercely you couldn't look away even if you wanted to.

"I choose." He had said it slower, firmer, so earnest it nearly knocked you off your feet. And you realized then — this was why Pascal and Flora had ditched you two at the last second. This was why Pascal had grinned like a madman. Jungkook had asked for it. He had flushed madly, panicked, but asked to be alone with you.

The tram clattered along the tracks under your feet, a quiet lullaby to the storm inside your chest. Your cheeks burned as you tucked your phone away again, pretending not to notice how Jungkook's hand hovered close to yours, not quite brave enough to touch yet.

He was still trying so hard — speaking English, clumsy but heartfelt, making it easier for you.

You smiled up at him shyly, and said, "We can keep talking in Korean."

Jungkook’s face lit up like a sunrise. He leaned in just slightly, like you had given him the best gift.

"I... want make easy for you, like you made it easy for me," he said, grinning wide, chest puffing up a little like he was proud of himself. "I want... you happy."

God. You felt like you were melting right there in the rattling subway car.

"I appreciate it," you said, voice soft but sure. The train rumbled to a stop a few moments later. You stepped out into the quiet coolness of the late night — your stop. The streets were empty, just the low hum of a far-off car or two, the golden glow of distant street lamps. You started walking, your footsteps echoing softly against the pavement.

Jungkook hovered close to your side, not touching, but close enough that you could feel his body heat seeping through the chilly night air. You risked a glance at him — the way his hands were tucked deep into his jacket pockets, the soft furrow between his brows like he was deep in thought.

Gathering your courage, you blurted out, "Can... can I ask you something personal, personal?"

You rushed to add, "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

Jungkook’s mouth curled into a wide, amused grin. He gave a little huff of a laugh, absolutely delighted with you. It wasn’t lost on him how careful you were — how, even now, after all the laughing, the horror walk, the sweets and jokes, you still treated him with so much respect. You hadn’t prodded or demanded like some people did, hadn’t poked at him like a shiny object.

Even now, you offered him the dignity of choice. And without hesitation, he nodded.

"Ask," he said warmly.

You bit your lip for a second, cheeks heating.

"Why are you here?" you asked finally. "I mean... here in this town? It’s not exactly... special."

For a moment, you worried you might have offended him. You searched his face for any sign of irritation. But Jungkook just smiled, slow and a little secret, like you had stumbled into something true.

"Holiday," he said. "Smaller cities... make it easier to blend. Easier to be..." He paused, tapping his chest lightly, "me."

Your eyes widened in understanding. You nodded quickly. "That... that makes sense."

It did. In a small city like this, he could just be Jungkook — not the star, not the phenomenon — just a guy eating sweets at 2am, laughing at terrible horror props, getting fake blood splashed on his shoes. The conversation loosened after that. He invited you to ask more.

You asked him his favorite food (which, predictably, made him light up and ramble about samgyeopsal and ramen), and he asked you about your work. He teased you gently about your horror movie squeamishness, and you teased him back for how much he liked it when you clung to him.

The walk to your apartment passed faster than you thought possible — fifteen minutes that felt like seconds. As your building came into view under the sleepy halo of the streetlights, you slowed to a stop — but your feet didn’t quite want to stay still.

You didn’t want to say goodbye to Jungkook.

Not with how warm the night still felt despite the chill in the air. Not with how close he was — real and quiet and nervously alive beside you.

You turned toward him, heart stumbling in your chest — and that’s when you noticed. He was fidgeting nervously on the spot, shifting from foot to foot like he couldn't settle. His hands curled and uncurled at his sides. He bit at his lip ring — hard — like it had personally offended him.

And he was looking at you.

No — he was looking at your lips.

It hit you like a freight train, how charged the air had become — how close you still were, how much he was holding himself back. Your heart pounded so loud you were sure he could hear it. And suddenly, you were excited all over again — and anxious, and dizzy, and so full of heat you could barely breathe.

Your fingers fumbled with your keys, looking between him and your building and him again, like you couldn’t decide which thing was more terrifying. And Jungkook just stood there, wrecked with nerves, looking like he desperately wanted something but didn’t know if he was allowed to take it.

And then, shy and barely above a whisper, you found your voice.

“Do you… um…” You cleared your throat, cheeks blazing. “Would you like to come up? Just for a bit?”

You gestured toward the building with a tilt of your chin, forcing yourself to keep eye contact. “I mean, the next tram won’t come for a while. Not that you couldn’t just get a taxi or something, obviously, but—”

“Yes.”

His voice cut through your ramble — soft but breathless. Like he’d been waiting. Like he couldn’t let you talk yourself out of it.

“Yes,” he repeated, and stepped just a little closer.

You blushed so hard you almost dropped your keys. Jungkook’s eyes flicked down to them, amused, but didn’t say anything. He just smiled — the kind that made your insides unravel — and waited while you got the door open, heart threatening to beat straight out of your chest.

You stepped inside and let him follow, suddenly hyper-aware of everything: the creak of the floorboards, the faint smell of the candle you’d blown out earlier, the slight mess in the sink you hadn’t quite tackled yet. It wasn’t bad — you’d cleaned yesterday, thankfully — but still, you couldn’t help the little twinge of embarrassment that bloomed in your chest.

Jungkook stepped inside gently, quiet and careful, like he didn’t want to disturb the air. He looked around slowly, eyes drifting over your space — the small bookshelf, the couch, the dish rack, the jacket tossed over a chair. The framed prints on your wall. The mug with the chipped rim on the counter.

Then his eyes caught on something else.

The wall of photos near your kitchen door.

He wandered a little closer after leaving his cap his shoes an jacket at your front door, expression softening as he scanned over them — a chaotic, joyful collage. There were pictures of you with friends, some clearly older and sun-faded. Others more recent, printed in glossy bursts of color. One where you and Flora were mid-laugh in a garden, holding fake knives from a Halloween display. Another where Pascal had his head in your lap while you looked mock-annoyed, eyes rolling but clearly fond.

Several photos showed you and Pascal together, reenacting sculptures — in museums, parks, once even a fountain. Jungkook paused in front of one where a much younger you stood frozen with Pascal beside you, both of you mimicking a classical marble pose with serious faces and ridiculous commitment.

He laughed, soft and surprised. “This really is … your thing?”

You hovered awkwardly behind him, feeling both warm and embarrassed. “We started doing them when we were, like, fifteen? It just… stuck.”

Jungkook smiled. “I like it.”

Then, shifting just a bit, his gaze flicked to the shelf next to the pictures — the one with your music collection. His eyes caught on the row of albums tucked to one side. Some of them were his. Not all, but a few. One of his solo projects. A BTS album with the spine worn from too many plays. Another still wrapped in its original plastic. Even an AgustD album between them all.

He blinked once — and then grinned.

Wide. Mischievous. Almost smug.

You groaned immediately, dragging a hand down your face. Jungkook laughed — really laughed this time — head tilting back slightly, hair falling into his eyes as his shoulders shook.

“You have… good taste,” he teased and pretended to examine the shelf like a judge at an art gallery. “And very supportive heart.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “You’re impossible.”

He looked at you over his shoulder, and smiled softer now — shy, like he couldn’t quite believe he was here either.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “but I’m glad you let me in.”

Your heart was doing ridiculous things in your chest and Jungkook's presence felt too big and too close in your tiny home, you managed to clear your throat and ask, “Do you want something to drink?”

Your voice was light — too light — and you didn’t wait for his answer before turning toward the fridge, using it as an excuse to collect yourself. Trying to be a good host. You needed something to do, anything to stop you from watching the way he leaned against the counter like he belonged there, sleeves shoved up to his forearms, lip ring catching the dim light whenever he bit at it.

Jungkook chuckled quietly behind you, following your movement. “Water’s fine,” he said.

You nodded, grabbing a glass and opening the fridge. The cool air hit your face, grounding, and you took an extra second longer than necessary, using the excuse to breathe. Just as you were closing the fridge door again, Jungkook’s voice broke the quiet.

“Can I ask you something personal?”

You turned around, confused — blinking at him over the rim of the glass. “You’ve kind of been doing that all evening.”

A crooked grin tugged at his mouth, but he looked a little sheepish, running a hand through his hair.

“No, I mean… something different.”

You hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

He looked at you for a moment — not scanning or judging, just looking, like trying to figure out how best to ask. Then: “Why are you like this?”

You blinked. Paused. Raised an eyebrow slowly.

“…Excuse me?”

The expression on your face made him huff at himself, rubbing the back of his neck, already regretting his wording.

“I didn’t mean it like— Not in a bad way,” he rushed, words tumbling now. “I mean… the way you’ve treated me all night. Like I’m not… you know—me.”

You stayed quiet, curious but cautious.

“You’ve barely mentioned anything about music,” he said, softer now. “You didn’t bring up BTS. You didn’t ask for a photo, or… anything like that. It’s like…” He shrugged helplessly. “You’re trying really hard not to.”

You exhaled, slowly. Set the glass down.

“Oh,” you said, a little caught off guard. “Well… yeah.”

He waited, head tilted, expression open.

You licked your lips, nervous. “I didn’t know if you’d want that. I mean… You’re a person. A really successful one, yeah, but… you seemed like you just wanted to have a normal dinner, a normal night. And I didn’t want to ruin that by acting weird or clingy or making you feel like I only saw you as this… brand.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything, so you kept going, fumbling your way through, but pacing yourself so he could understand you.

“I mean you are that brand but also aren’t. You’re a person first, right? I figured asking for pictures or autographs would be rude. Probably you’re not even allowed to talk about certain things? So I didn’t want to put you in a position where it got awkward or uncomfortable. I didn’t want to cross a line. Even if part of me…” You hesitated, smiled sheepishly. “Okay, yeah, part of me might curse myself later. When this ends and you go back to your world, to being that Jungkook again, is gonna hate myself later for not asking you for a picture or an autograph.”

That earned a small breath of laughter from him.

“But honestly? Just… being with you like this? Talking and laughing and walking around — it’s better than any signed album. Because you are way nicer than I ever imagined.”

You didn’t know what expression you expected from him. Maybe gratitude. Maybe amusement. But you didn’t expect him to look stunned. Utterly stunned — like you’d knocked the wind out of him. He stared for a second longer, lips parted, eyes soft and disbelieving.

And then — without warning — he stepped forward and huggedyou.

Just like that. No hesitation. No awkward shuffle. His arms wrapped around you like he’d been waiting all night to do it, like something fragile inside him had finally let go. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the way he breathed in like he needed to memorize the shape of this moment. Your hands found their way to his back instinctively, curling into the fabric of his hoodie. He smelled like something warm, something clean. His lip ring was cool against your temple where he pressed his face into your hair, exhaling like he hadn’t realized he needed to.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice muffled in your hair. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to… to explain. I just— No one’s ever… not many treat me like that.”

You blinked, hands slowly rising to rest against his sides.

“I didn’t know I needed it.” he added, quieter.

Your heart ached in the best way. You tilted your head just slightly so your cheek could rest against his shoulder. Jungkook’s arms loosened gradually, his body lingering in the space between you. His hands slid down your sides with featherlight care, as though he wasn’t ready to let go — not really. When he leaned back just enough to look at you, his eyes were unreadable for a second. Then they dropped.

To your lips.

And stayed there.

The weight of his stare made it suddenly hard to breathe. You swallowed, heart stammering in your chest as you watched him try — and fail — to drag his gaze back up to your eyes. When he did, it was with effort, as if every fiber of him still wanted to be looking at your mouth instead. He licked his bottom lip slowly — not teasing, not calculated — just hungry, barely restrained. The silver of his lip ring caught on the light, glinting like a warning and a promise all at once.

Your breath hitched.

You couldn't look away. Not now. Especially not when he began leaning in, inch by cautious inch, until you were close enough to feel his breath ghost over your skin — warm and soft and tasting faintly of something sweet he’d eaten earlier.

And then his lips touched yours.

A soft, reverent press. Not hesitant exactly — more like he was savoring it. Like he’d imagined this and didn’t want to rush the real thing. The kiss was gentle at first — his lips pillowy and warm, fitting against yours so naturally it felt like falling into something you’d been meant to find. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, clinging to him without even realizing you’d moved, needing something to hold onto because your entire body felt too light, too giddy, too alive.

A flurry of butterflies erupted in your chest, trying to claw their way out of you.

His tongue flicked out — a slow, tentative kitten lick across your lower lip, as if asking, May I? And when your lips parted on a soft, involuntary sound — a whimper, a mewl, something needy and breathless — Jungkook’s breath caught against your skin.

That was all he needed.

The kiss deepened, hot and slow and aching. His tongue slid against yours, smooth and searching, tasting you like you were something precious. He kissed like he wanted to learn everything — the shape of your mouth, the way your breath stuttered, the soft sounds you made when his lips moved just so.

You trembled in his arms, overwhelmed.

One of his hands clenched gently at your hip, not hard but firm, anchoring you. The other drifted up to your neck, then into your hair near your hairline — fingers threading in softly and holding you still, keeping you close. He tilted your head just enough to fit better against him, to deepen the kiss just a little more, and everything about the way he touched you made you feel fragile and wanted all at once.

When he pulled back, he didn’t go far.

Just enough to let you breathe again. Your eyes fluttered open. You were trembling. Jungkook’s eyes were heavy-lidded, his lips slightly parted and kissed-red, a glint of wetness catching on the silver of his lip ring. His thumb brushed your jaw, and only then did you realize your whole body was buzzing. That you were flushed to the roots. That your knees felt like jelly.

That you might very well throw up your heart onto the floor.

He looked at you like you were art. And all you could do was stare back at him, still holding onto his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.  Jungkook didn’t step away after the kiss ended. His breath mingled with yours, warm and shallow between you. His eyes searched your face like he needed to see everything — the tremble in your lips, the flush on your cheeks, the way your chest rose and fell in shaky rhythm with his.

“Was that… okay?” he asked.

His voice was deeper now, rough around the edges — like gravel softened by velvet. You could see the tension in his jaw, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed hard as he swallowed, his thumb brushing gently along your cheekbone. He was touching you like he couldn’t help it — like he didn’t even realize he was doing it, just mapping your skin under his fingers.

Your voice caught in your throat.

You nodded, eyes wide, chest tight with everything you couldn’t put into words. It was more than okay — it felt like your entire body had been lit from within, nerves firing in every direction. But Jungkook didn’t accept just a nod.

“Words,” he said, low and hoarse, the demand wrapping around you like silk laced with fire.

Your breath hitched. “Y–Yeah.” It came out as more air than voice. You tried again, voice trembling with sincerity. “Yes. It’s… it’s really okay.”

A slow, satisfied smile curled on his lips — soft and sinful at the same time — and before you could even begin to catch your breath again, he was kissing you. This time it wasn’t tentative. This was deeper, hungrier — his mouth opening over yours like he meant to leave a mark on your soul. His hands gripped your waist as your breath stuttered, and your fingers dug into the soft cotton of his hoodie again. The kiss was slow and consuming, drawing you under like a tide pulling you out to sea.

Your knees buckled, and he noticed — instantly.

Without breaking the kiss, Jungkook moved you. His strong arms wrapped around you like it was effortless, and in a few guided steps, your back bumped softly against the edge of the kitchen counter. Then, with practiced strength and surprising gentleness, he lifted you — one smooth motion — and set you down on the surface.

A startled yelp slipped from your lips, swallowed almost immediately by his mouth returning to yours. Your thighs instinctively parted for him as he stepped between your legs, his chest brushing yours, his warmth enveloping you. His hand returned to your neck, fingers curling softly into the hair at your nape, tilting your head just how he liked it. You sighed into his mouth, long and low, surrendering completely to the feel of him.

He smiled against your lips — you felt it — and it made your heart twist.

You threaded your hands through his hair, fingertips brushing the undercut at the base of his skull. The strands were soft and thick, and he made a low sound at the contact — almost a groan, half-muffled by your lips. One of your hands lingered at the back of his neck, the other trailed across his shoulders, grounding yourself against the solid heat of him.

You locked your legs around his hips without thinking, drawing him in closer. You could feel everything — the tension in his body, the thrum of his heart against yours, the slow burn of something heavy and overwhelming settling low in your belly.

Jungkook’s lips never strayed far, brushing soft kisses across your jaw, down your neck, like he was committing you to memory one breath at a time. His hands began to explore more boldly now, firm but reverent — one anchoring at your hip, the other sliding slowly up your side. The heat of his touch burned through your clothes, every inch of your skin responding as if drawn by static, nerves flickering to life under his fingers.

When his palm swept along your spine, warm and purposeful, you arched into him instinctively — a soft whimper escaping your lips. It wasn’t dramatic or intentional, just pure reaction. A quiet sound of need you couldn’t hold back. Jungkook chuckled low against your throat, lips ghosting your skin.

"So sensitive," he murmured, voice rich with affection and something deeper — hunger laced with wonder. The way he said it made you shiver.

His hands moved again, slower now, more exploratory — like he was discovering a secret. One hand slid around, fingertips grazing the underside of your breast through the thin fabric of your top. He hesitated for a breath, as if waiting for you to stop him, to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, a small, pleased sound caught in your throat, your head falling slightly back, lips parted with your next shallow inhale.

Jungkook pulled back just enough to look at you, to really look — your lips kiss-swollen and pink, your cheeks flushed with heat, your chest rising and falling fast beneath your shirt.

"Still okay?" he asked, voice deeper now, strained at the edges.

You nodded. “Yeah.” You could barely speak. The word came out in a sigh, like it had to push through every beat of your racing heart. And Jungkook looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

His hand found the hem of your shirt, fingers slipping just beneath. His touch on your bare skin was devastating — warm and sure as he slowly skimmed up your sides. His eyes stayed on you the whole time, watching every reaction. When his hand spread over your ribs and moved inward, your breath hitched violently, your back arching again with a sharp, involuntary gasp.

He exhaled shakily. “Fuck…”

“Jungkook…” You said his name like it was a confession, like it was the only word your mouth could remember how to form.

His gaze flickered down.

His fingers had found the curve of your breast now, brushing just along the edge of your bra — testing boundaries, testing your reactions. His thumb slowly traced the line of skin exposed above the cup, and your whole body clenched in response. Your thighs tightened around him, and your hands clutched at his shoulders like you needed something to anchor you.

And still, he looked up at you. Not for permission anymore — for the sheer pleasure of watching the way you unraveled under his hands. You were dizzy. Melting. Your head swam with heat and need, everything in you drawn to the man between your legs.

Jungkook leaned in again, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, his voice barely more than breath: “You feel so good under my hands.”

You whimpered, knees falling wider, his hips slotting in deeper between your legs as you clung to him. He was hard now — you could feel it clearly against your center, even through your clothes, and the realization sent a rush of heat crashing through you.

Jungkook’s hand cupped your breast with more intention now, squeezing gently — just enough to draw a soft, breathy moan from your lips. The sound made him groan low in his throat, hips instinctively pressing forward against you, desperate for friction. His other hand slid down, gripping your hip and guiding you closer to the edge of the counter. The shift in position brought you flush against him, and you could feel the hard press of him right where you were aching — it was dizzying, maddening.

Your head dropped to his shoulder as your breath caught in your throat, and you instinctively pressed a kiss to the warm skin of his neck. His scent was intoxicating — clean, musky, something uniquely him — and when your lips brushed over the strong line of his throat, you felt him shudder against you.

He kept touching you, his thumb sliding beneath the edge of your bra, then gently dragging his nail over your nipple in a teasing, deliberate motion that made your body jerk in his arms. You gasped into his neck, breath trembling as you held onto him tighter, your hands fisting the fabric of his hoodie. It was too much and not enough at once — your chest heaved, lips parting in silent pleading as he kept up the slow, torturous rhythm.

The heat between your thighs pulsed in time with the friction of his hips pressed snugly between yours. The thick ridge of him, even through layers of clothing, made your breath catch again. You were soaked. Desperate. A throbbing need built between your legs that had your toes curling, your legs tightening around his hips to keep him there, to keep him close.

You kissed his neck again, slower this time, your lips lingering as you let your hand roam upward, over the hard plane of his chest. Every muscle under your palm felt tense— his heart hammering in time with yours. You wanted to touch more. All of him. But your hand hovered at the space between you, not quite daring to move lower. The friction where your bodies met was too good, too electric to disrupt.

Jungkook’s breath came hard against your ear now, his lips ghosting over your temple as he whispered, almost helplessly, “You’re driving me crazy…” He was losing control slowly — and loving it.

Your answer was a soft whimper, your hips shifting unconsciously against his. He grunted, a ragged sound low in his chest, as his hand moved to cup the fullness of your breast more fully now, thumbing your nipple in slow, aching circles that had you arching into him.

Your skin felt too tight. Your nerves were on fire. And all you could think about was how good his hands felt, how good he felt — everywhere. Jungkook didn’t stop. His hands roamed your body like he was learning it by heart — your curves, your gasps, the places that made you arch and whimper. He was reverent but hungry, like he wanted to devour and worship you in the same breath.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, every inch of you buzzing with anticipation and heat as his thumb grazed your nipple again, sending a ripple of pleasure straight through your core. Your hips rocked instinctively against him, and the friction made you dizzy.

Your hands clung to him, your mouth brushing his jaw as your voice came out barely louder than a whisper — raw and vulnerable and wrecked.

“Please… touch me.”

Jungkook froze for half a heartbeat. His pupils blew wide, his jaw clenched, and his throat worked as he swallowed hard. His voice came out deep, rough, already hoarse with need.

“Fuck… yeah. I—” he faltered, breath catching as he tried to anchor himself, “where?”

At first, you misunderstood. You reached down between you both, your hand shaking slightly — from nerves, from want, from the sheer surreal intimacy of the moment — and you guided his hand, bold and trembling, right between your legs. Over the heated fabric of your pants, pressing him there, where you ached for him most.

Jungkook let out a strangled groan, his head falling to your shoulder for a second like the sensation had physically knocked the breath from him. His fingers flexed instinctively, feeling the heat, even through the layers.

“Jesus,” he whispered, voice shredded with disbelief and need. He kissed you again, rougher this time, a little desperate, and then drew back just enough to stammer, “Bed?”

The word was simple. Hopeful. Because he could take you here — wanted to, ached to — but he didn’t want this to be a rushed, stolen thing. Not when it was your first time like this. Not when it was you. Your eyes went wide, and you suddenly looked flustered, realizing what he had meant.

“Oh… there,” you said softly, cheeks burning. You nodded toward the door to your room, utterly mortified at your mistake, your voice nearly swallowed by your own breathlessness. You shifted, meaning to slide off the counter and find your footing again, to lead him there — but Jungkook didn’t let you go.

He gripped your waist and pulled you in, grinding you against his hardness. Your thighs clenched around him, and the gasp you let out — broken and shameless — made him hiss through his teeth. You couldn’t even breathe, couldn’t think. He grinned against your throat, a cocky glint in his eyes that he didn’t even try to hide.

“God, you sound good,” he muttered, before lifting you into his arms like you weighed nothing.

Your arms locked around his neck as your nose buried against his skin, still dizzy with how fast this was spiraling. But it felt right. Real. Like something that had been waiting to happen for far too long. He carried you through the hallway, pushing your bedroom door open with his shoulder, never once letting you go. The world was muffled. It was just him. Just you.

He set you down onto the bed like you were precious, his, but he didn’t give you space — didn’t even move back an inch. His body hovered over yours, gaze burning down at you, and he let his hand settle low, palming you again through the fabric of your pants. Your hips lifted into his hand involuntarily, and the moan that slipped from your lips was downright filthy. He chuckled darkly, satisfied, eyes half-lidded and gleaming. “So,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, “where do you want me to touch you again?”

You wanted to answer. You meant to answer.

But his hand rubbed slow, teasing circles, and your head fell back into the pillows. All you could do was feel.

He didn’t stay teasing long. After one more slow press of his palm, he pulled back just enough to hook his fingers into the waistband of your pants, silently asking for more. You nodded frantically, lips parted, chest rising and falling as if you’d just run miles.

“Okay?” he asked again, that final, precious line of respect in his voice — even with his body trembling above you. You reached for him, cupping his jaw as you whispered, “Yes. Please, Jungkook.”

He kissed you like he needed to taste those words again.

Then he peeled your pants down with aching care — reverent and focused — revealing more of you to him, inch by inch, as the last threads of restraint started to unravel. His hand moved lower with deliberate slowness, fingers tracing the outline of your panties like he was drawing a boundary he intended to cross — a line of reverence and tension. His touch was warm, electric, his fingertips ghosting along the thin fabric as if memorizing the way it clung to you.

He licked his lips instinctively, then caught the edge of his lip ring between his teeth — his eyes catching the wet sheen of you through the fabric.

“Fuck,” he murmured under his breath, chest rising, voice strained. “You're soaked…wet…”

The wonder in his voice made your stomach flip. Not cocky — awed. Like he couldn’t believe this was real. Then his thumb pressed down, slowly, directly over your clit through the damp cloth. The pressure made you jolt, breath catching hard in your throat.

His other hand slid beneath your shirt, and you arched into him instinctively. The fabric pushed up around your ribs and you made quick work of it — pulling it over your head and tossing it blindly aside, leaving your hair tousled and wild. You barely had time to take another breath before your bra joined it, hands shaking slightly with how overwhelmed you already felt.

But Jungkook… Jungkook had stopped moving. His eyes were locked on your body now — unmoving, dark, devouring. His lips were parted, his expression torn between reverence and hunger.

“God,” he said, almost like it hurt. “You're… fuck, you're so beautiful.”

You barely had time to react before he shifted lower, pushing you back onto the bed and settling between your legs. His mouth descended, warm and wet, and he kissed the swell of your breast before taking one of your nipples between his lips — gently at first, sucking just enough to make you moan, and then his teeth grazed lightly. You gasped, your back arching off the bed as the sensation sparked down your spine.

And at the same time — god, at the same time — his hand didn’t stop.

His thumb flicked again over your clit through your underwear, a slow, maddening stroke, before he hooked his fingers around the side and pulled the soaked fabric aside. The sudden exposure made you shiver. His fingers dipped lower — warm, thick — and then, without warning, he slid one finger inside you.

You cried out his name.

It tore from you without shame, your hips bucking against his hand. Your legs shook immediately, the sensation too good, too much. He groaned above you, mouth still warm on your breast, his breath stuttering.

“You’re—fuck,” he swore again, licking his lips as he looked down at the way your body welcomed him. “You’re so wet.”

He worked that finger gently, then added a second with ease. The stretch made your knees jerk, your thighs instinctively trying to close — but Jungkook was already there, pressing one of his hands firmly to your thigh to hold you open.

His head tilted up, eyes locked to yours.

“Don’t look away,” he growled. “Look at me.”

The command in his voice made your breath catch again — and god, the way he stared at you, the way he looked at you, like he could read every twitch of your body and wanted to worship it — it only made the heat coiling in your stomach burn hotter.

You looked at him, lips parted, breath shallow. You could feel it — god, you could feel it — the wetness between your legs only growing with every slow, deliberate push of Jungkook’s fingers. Every time he slid into you, you felt how soaked you were, how easily he moved inside you, how thoroughly your body gave in to him. He had to feel it too — the way your slick coated his fingers, warm and eager.

But then, your thoughts blurred completely.

His thumb dragged down again, pressing more firmly over your clit this time, shifting the soaked fabric aside with a slick sound that made your breath stutter. His fingers inside you twisted slightly, working you open with a rhythm that wasn’t fast, but devastatingly effective — controlled, calculated. His other hand gripped the inside of your thigh, firm and steady, holding you open like you might squirm away if he let up for even a second.

And his eyes — god, those dark, fixed eyes — didn’t leave you.

He wasn’t just watching you fall apart — he was studying you, memorizing how you responded to every inch of pressure.

Then — there.

A rough, almost brutal thrust of his fingers hit something inside you that made your entire body jolt, a raw, uncontrolled moan tearing from your lips as your eyes rolled back. His grip on your thigh tightened instantly, fingers stalling deep inside you. “Eyes on me.”

You gasped, breath catching in your throat, and somehow managed to look back at him — only to find him already smiling. Not cocky. Not smug. But darkly satisfied. Like he’d just discovered your favorite sin.

“There it is,” he murmured, almost to himself. And then he pushed again. Same place. Same pace. Your legs trembled, your back arched. Your breath came in broken gasps, and your eyes fluttered shut—

His hand stopped again.

A soft, amused chuckle met your ears. “Look at me.”

It took everything you had, but you opened your eyes again. And the second you did, he rewarded you — with movement, with pressure, with maddening precision. It was too much. And not enough. And perfect.

You cried out his name, trembling underneath him, your hands scrambling for anything to ground yourself. One hand found your breast, gripping and pinching your nipple as the pleasure became too much to contain. The other clawed at the sheets beneath you.

Jungkook's gaze darkened even more — if that was possible. His eyes darted from your face to your hand on your chest, lips parted in pure, ruined hunger. The hand holding your thigh squeezed tighter, almost bruising — but the way it made you whimper only spurred him on.

He couldn’t help himself.

His fingers with a mind of their own move faster — still deliberate, but harder now, each thrust punching the air out of your lungs, and it hit again, that spot inside you, over and over, as he watched you touch yourself. You shattered with a sob, your body arching, legs trembling uncontrollably as you unraveled beneath him.

And then —as you came apart around his hand — Jungkook’s eyes snapped back up to yours.

He looked stunned. Like he’d surprised even himself.

You tried so hard to keep your gaze locked with his, obedient even through your climax, but it overwhelmed you. Still, the moment your vision cleared, you saw him watching — intensely, reverently — and he slowly pulled his fingers from your heat, making you flinch with the oversensitivity.

You let out a soft hiss, and he soothed it with a small kiss on your thigh.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you like he couldn’t believe what he’d done to you — what you’d let him do. His fingers — the ones that had just been buried deep inside you — rose to his lips, and with maddening slowness, he licked them clean. Every last bit. Tongue curling over the pads of his fingers, tasting you with a groan he barely held back.

And somehow, impossibly, you felt yourself getting wet all over again.

Your chest still heaving, you barely noticed him shift lower until you felt the first brush of his hand against your hips again. The one that had held your thigh open now moved with purpose to your panties — still pushed to the side, soaked beyond reason. He tugged them gently down, over your hips, down your thighs, peeling them from your skin like a gift being unwrapped.

His eyes flicked up, meeting yours again, and his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper.

“You want more?”

Like he didn’t already know.

“Yes,” you breathed out, the word little more than a gasp, heavy and desperate. Your hands reached for him, clumsy but determined, trying to push him out of his goddamn clothes. Jungkook let out a low, shaky laugh, letting you tug at his hoodie, your lips barely parting from his as your fingers slipped beneath the hem. The kiss was messy, heated, a collision of mouths and breath as clothes were stripped away.

By the time his jeans hit the floor with a thud, Jungkook was already reaching into his wallet, pulling out some foil packets. His fingers worked quickly to tear one open, but you had other plans. Your hands slid over his hips, under the waistband of his Calvin Kleins, and before he could fully comprehend what was happening, your mouth was on him.

“Shit—” he gasped, his whole body jolting at the feel of your lips wrapping around him, heat and wetness and pressure all at once. His head fell back slightly, one hand tangling in your hair while the other still fumbled with the condom. “Fuck—wait—wait—” His voice cracked, hoarse with restraint. “I—I don’t wanna cum yet—I want to be inside you.”

You slowed, torturously slow, your mouth dragging off of him with one final, sinful swirl of your tongue that made his thighs twitch beneath you. He groaned, deep and guttural, watching you with wild eyes—completely wrecked without even being inside you yet. You smiled, smug and playful, licking your lips as you sat back on your heels.

Jungkook barely took a second before rolling the condom on, his chest rising and falling sharply, eyes fixed on you like you were the only thing that existed.

Then, suddenly, his hand came up, gripping the back of your neck as he pulled you into a bruising kiss. His weight shifted back, and you yelped in surprise as he fell onto the bed, taking you with him, his mouth never leaving yours. You laughed breathlessly against his lips, adjusting, moving to straddle him—knees braced on either side of his hips, your soaked core brushing against the hard line of him through the condom.

The heat between you was unbearable.

You rolled your hips once, slowly, letting him feel exactly how ready you were. His hands gripped your ass, grounding you against him with a low moan. He gave one cheek a firm slap, just enough to make you jump slightly, and you reached down between your bodies to line him up.

With a deep breath, you sank down.

The stretch was delicious, making your eyes flutter closed as he filled you inch by inch. “Fuck…” he breathed, watching where your bodies joined, one hand sliding from your hip to your waist to your chest. He needed something else to look at—anything—because the sight of you sinking down on him so slowly was too much.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his head falling back into the pillow, but his eyes never left you—not as you took him all the way, not as your walls fluttered around him, struggling to adjust to his size.

You stilled when he was fully seated inside you, needing a moment to breathe, to steady yourself. Jungkook’s hands roamed your body—palming your breasts, caressing your thighs—his eyes dark and hungry as he waited for you to move.

Then, slowly, you began to roll your hips.

The sensation made your breath stutter, the friction deep and consuming. Jungkook’s hands gripped your waist, guiding your movement, but letting you take control. Each time you moved, you ground down just a little harder, your pace building gradually, as the room filled with the sounds of slick skin and shared moans.

“You feel so fucking good,” Jungkook groaned, his fingers digging into your hips like he was trying to hold himself together. “So tight… so wet—fuck—just like that.”

You leaned forward, one hand on his chest, the other in his hair, and kissed him again—open-mouthed and breathless—as you began to move faster. The pleasure mounted sharply, your name falling from his lips like a prayer, his eyes glued to the way you moved above him.

Every roll of your hips, every bounce, pulled another broken sound from his throat. He met you thrust for thrust, his hips lifting just slightly off the bed, pushing deeper, harder, chasing the high that was starting to spiral through both of you.

And still—those eyes. Always locked on you.

You could feel the pressure building in your core, heat coiling impossibly tight, threatening to snap. And judging by the way Jungkook’s jaw was clenched, his fingers bruising into your skin, he wasn’t far behind.

“Come for me,” he rasped. “I want to feel you fall apart around me.”

God, you wanted to. You wanted to come so badly it almost hurt. But your body wasn’t quite there yet—your orgasm from earlier still left you shaky, and now riding him, giving him everything you had, your thighs were trembling, legs burning with effort.

But you didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to deny Jungkook the same overwhelming pleasure he’d already given you. You tried to hold on, to keep going, hips rolling weakly as your mind fuzzed over. Your mouth opened, struggling to form the words—not yet, I want to, please—but you didn’t have to say it.

Jungkook saw it. He felt it.

He stilled you with one hard thrust that made you cry out, then suddenly gripped your waist and flipped you onto your back in one fluid movement. The world spun for a moment and you landed with a gasp, your hair fanned out beneath you and your body arching on instinct. Your lungs were already starved for air, but the moment he sank back into you, deep and fast, he stole what little breath you had left.

“Fuck—Jungkook—” You were a mess—sweat-slicked, flushed, clinging to the sheets and to him like a lifeline.

And Jungkook? He didn’t even look winded. Just gloriously wrecked in the most controlled way—his muscles flexing, his jaw set, his skin glowing with a sheen of sweat that only made him look more like a sin carved by hand.

You cursed him—his abs, his stamina, his goddamn focus.

He shifted slightly, lifting one of your legs and hooking it over his arm, pushing even deeper. You cried out, the new angle hitting something devastating. He growled low in his throat, watching where your bodies met, then reached between you—his fingers finding your clit and circling with maddening precision.

“Oh my god—” you gasped, back arching so hard your shoulder blades left the bed.

It was too much. He filled you completely, every thrust striking right against your most sensitive spots, and now—with the added stimulation of his fingers, you were unraveling embarrassingly fast.

Your hands scrambled at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you looked up at him, desperate. He was looking right back, dark eyes locked to yours, watching you come apart like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Jungkook—” his name ripped out of you like a plea, a prayer. “I’m—close—fuck, I—”

“I know,” he rasped, barely holding on himself. “I feel you—God, I feel you—don’t stop—just—”

He was losing it too, you could tell. His rhythm faltered for just a second, his thrusts growing messier, more frantic. Your walls fluttered around him, tightening, pulsing, and you saw it hit him—the way he froze, just slightly, jaw slack as he groaned deep from his chest.

And then—with a desperate, nearly bruising press of his thumb to your clit—he sent you over the edge. The orgasm crashed through you like a wave, ripping a cry from your throat as your body convulsed beneath him, thighs clenching, walls spasming around him. Your nails dug into him, anchoring yourself as your entire body shook.

That—that—was what undid him.

Jungkook let out a hoarse moan as he finally came, hips jerking once, twice, then burying himself as deep as he could go. You could feel it—the way his body tensed, every muscle locked tight as he spilled into the condom, forehead pressing against yours with a strained groan.

You both stayed like that, trembling, breathless. The room filled with the sound of ragged breathing, hearts pounding like drums in sync. Then, gently, he kissed you. Soft at first—barely a brush of lips. Then again, deeper, fuller, the kind of kiss that said stay here, I'm not done, I want this again.

You moaned into his mouth, your body still twitching in the aftermath, his cock still buried inside you and twitching with aftershocks. When he finally pulled out, you whimpered faintly at the loss. Jungkook moved quickly, slipping off the condom, tying it off and tossing it into the bin beside your bed before returning to you immediately.

He lay down next to you, pulled you close, wrapped an arm around your waist and pressed his lips to your temple. His skin was still warm, his breath evening out slowly against your cheek.

Ideally, he would’ve liked to pull you into the shower, maybe wash your hair while he kissed your shoulders, or coax a few more breathy laughs from you as you soaked together under the water. But he didn’t want to leave this—didn’t want to lose the way your body fit perfectly in his arms, how your fingers curled into his chest like you belonged there.

Instead, he stayed right there, legs tangled with yours, his nose brushing your hair, his thumb lazily tracing circles against your hip.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice low and a little hoarse.

You nodded against his chest, still a little dazed. “Yeah. You?”

He chuckled softly. “Better than okay.”

You weren’t sure how long you lay there—hearts slowing, bodies melting into one another—but it felt like time stopped existing entirely. The room was warm with the scent of sweat, skin, and something deeply personal that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the way Jungkook held you afterward.

He ran his fingers lazily over your back, the motion soft and aimless, and every now and then he kissed you or your shoulder like he didn’t want to be anywhere else. You thought maybe that was it—but then you felt it. The slow stir of him, pressing against your thigh, barely more than a twitch, but enough to make your breath catch.

You shifted slightly, lifting your head to look at him. He was already watching you, eyes darker again, but softer this time. Not the same edge from before. Something different.

“Too much?” he asked gently, brushing a knuckle along your cheek.

You shook your head. “Not enough.”

That did something to him—made his jaw flex, his hand press firmer into your waist. He leaned in and kissed you again, this time slow, deep, with none of the urgency from earlier. And you let yourself fall into it.

You let yourself be kissed, be held, be touched like you were something delicate—not fragile, just precious. Jungkook rolled you onto your back again, but slower now, giving you time to breathe, to look at him, to feel every inch of him against you. He kissed down your neck, across your chest, his tongue circling your nipple in lazy swirls until your breath hitched and your back arched again, even more sensitive now.

You whimpered softly, already throbbing. He made his way lower, his mouth moving down your stomach, trailing warmth in his wake until he was between your thighs again—his hands gripping the backs of them gently, spreading you open, worshiping you with his mouth like he had all the time in the world.

You gasped when he moaned into you—like he was the one receiving pleasure from tasting you. It was slow, steady, maddening. He didn’t let up until your thighs were trembling around his head again, your hands buried in his hair, your voice whispering his name like it meant something more than just please.

Only then did he crawl back up your body, kissing as he went, slotting himself between your legs.

This time, there was no rush to put the condom on. He reached for the packet on your nightstand, but the way he looked down at you—your flushed chest, your parted lips, the softness in your eyes—was anything but casual.

He kissed you again as he entered you, slow and deliberate, pressing in inch by inch until you were full of him again, and he was gasping into your mouth like the sensation of you was just as overwhelming the second time.

“God, you feel so good,” he murmured against your lips.

This round wasn’t fast. It was longing and worship, of hands exploring and hips moving in lazy, deep strokes that hit all the right spots without the rush. He held your gaze as he moved, his thumb stroking your cheek, your neck, your breast, like he needed to memorize every reaction.

You clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist, nails digging gently into his back. It was slower, but somehow even more intense. You moaned softly into his shoulder as the pleasure started building again, stronger than you expected, a warm coil tightening low in your belly.

“Jungkook…”

“Mm?” he whispered, not stopping, his pace still slow, devastating.

“I’m—already—again,” you whimpered, cheeks heating from how fast he had you there.

He looked down at you like he couldn’t believe it either. “You’re perfect,” he whispered. “So perfect around me.”

You clung tighter as he picked up just enough speed to push you toward the edge, his hand sneaking between you again, fingers finding your clit with ease. He didn’t need to do much—just a few soft circles, the press of his hips deep inside—and you were unraveling again.

Your orgasm this time came in slow, delicious waves—no sharp peaks, just a deep, rolling release that made your entire body tremble and your breath hitch in your throat. Jungkook wasn’t far behind.

The feeling of you pulsing around him, the way you gasped his name, how you looked up at him like he was the only thing in the world—all of it drove him over the edge again. He groaned deep, nearly a growl, and buried himself one final time, head falling to your shoulder as he came with a shudder, muscles tightening, breath stuttering out of him.

You lay there afterward tangled in sweat and warmth and soft kisses, Jungkook’s fingers tracing gentle lines on your skin. This time, Jungkook needed to clean up. You barely had it in you to open your eyes when he finally—carefully—pulled out of you, the sensitivity making you shudder. He soothed you with a kiss to your cheek and made quick, practiced work of disposing of the condom again.

You lay sprawled across your bed, boneless and warm, blinking at the ceiling like your soul had momentarily floated somewhere above the room. Jungkook chuckled, low and fond, his hand gliding over your side as he nudged you gently.

You murmured, “What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he slipped an arm under your knees and another behind your back. You barely registered it before he lifted you, bridal-style, out of the sheets.

“Jungkook—!” you squeaked.

He looked down at you with a playful smirk and a gleam in his eyes that wasn’t entirely sinful—just soft. “Shower,” he said. “Unless you want to sleep in… that.”

You caught a whiff of the shared sweat, sex, and faded perfume and made a face. “Okay, fair.”

The bathroom light was soft when he carried you in. The water ran warm while you both washed the night from your skin. And as easily as breathing, afterward, Jungkook towel-dried your hair with gentle hands, threw on one of your oversized shirts like it was his, and tugged you back into bed with him—like there’d never been any other plan.

You’d half-expected him to leave.

But instead, he stayed.

Tucked into your sheets like he belonged there.

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽

The next morning arrived slow and syrupy, early sunlight spilling in through the edges of your curtains. Your body ached in the best way, wrapped in a lingering warmth that wasn't just from the covers. You stirred only slightly until you felt a hand—warm, familiar, gentle—glide across your bare hip.

“Mmngh,” you groaned, voice thick with sleep, head buried into your pillow.

“Sorry,” Jungkook whispered, sounding almost… sheepish.

He kissed your shoulder, then your neck, the lazy kind of kisses that made you shiver rather than squirm. You turned your face slightly, meeting his lips with your own, soft and slow like the moment demanded. It was indulgent. A morning kind of kiss. And then, just as your brain was starting to register reality again, he spoke.

“Hey… uh…” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Could I, uh—get your number?”

You opened one eye.

Then the other.

“…Seriously?”

His ears went a little pink, but his grin was crooked and confident. “What?”

“You’re asking now?” you said, laughing—actually laughing. “After everything we did last night? Now you want my number?”

He leaned in like he had nothing to be ashamed of. “How else am I supposed to reach you? You know, when I want to… assure you that whatever the tabloids say about me is completely false. That I’m actually a very faithful boyfriend.”

Your laughter caught in your throat. “Boyfriend?” you echoed.

He paused. Then looked away like the sunlight had suddenly gotten too bright. “Well—I mean—I’d like to see you again? Take you out?”

It wasn’t a direct answer. But it was definitely not a no.

You blinked once. Twice. Then your brain caught up and short-circuited. “You… want me to be your girlfriend, girlfriend?”

Jungkook looked suddenly very boyish. Shy. He scratched the back of his neck and gave a lopsided shrug. “I mean… eventually? If you… if you want?”

The blush that bloomed across your face could’ve melted the snow off a mountaintop.

“If you ask that nicely,” you said, still a little stunned, “I guess I’ll give you my number.”

He smiled—really smiled. Soft and sweet and bright like he hadn’t expected you to say yes but had hoped with everything in him. Then something flickered in his eyes. A shadow. His smile faltered just slightly.

“There’s, uh… one thing,” he said, voice a little awkward again. “You’d have to sign an NDA.”

You didn’t even flinch.

“An NDA? Sure,” you replied easily. “When?”

Jungkook blinked at you.

“…You’re just okay with that?”

You shrugged, still curled under the blanket beside him, hair a mess, heart full. “Yeah. I mean, I want to see you again. If signing something lets me do that and helps protect you… why wouldn’t I?”

Something shifted in his expression. Something warm. Something deep. And then, like a dam breaking, he moved—rolling over, hovering above you, his eyes dark and wide and soft all at once.

“You…” he whispered, short of breath. “You’re just…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Just kissed you—hard. Like he couldn’t help himself. Like that answer made something in him snap in the best way. You gasped into the kiss, gripping his arms as he pressed you back into the mattress again. And honestly? You didn’t need words. Not right now.

Masterlist

Tags: @hecatesdescendant

A/N: Hi! Just wanted to mention that I use ChatGPT and DeepL to clean up grammar and spelling in my writing, after getting some rude anos. English is my second language, and this tools helps me share stories the way I imagine them, without spending hours double-checking every word. Writing is just a hobby I enjoy after a full workweek—I’m not trying to make money from it. If you’re curious or have thoughts on it, I’d love to have a friendly discussion!

[shyoko]

Chapter 1: 𝐘'𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐄

The Heiress Of Darkness

The morning cold seeped through the seams of your coat, chilling you to the bone even though the sky was clear. You had arrived early at the university and were taking refuge in your notes, rereading paragraphs without really processing them. Your eyes followed the written lines, but your mind… was elsewhere.

Then, the sound of an engine sliced through the air. A police car.

Your body tensed instantly, a shiver running down your spine. You forced your mind to calm down, even though panic was beginning to rise in your chest.

Your thoughts started to drift. “Don’t let them see me. Please, don’t let them see me,” you thought as your eyes followed the officer. The memory of the party rushed back into your mind, fast and cruel. The images flashed through your head as quickly as you tried to shut them down. Anxiety took hold of you, and you wished with all your strength for everything to go unnoticed.

The officer walked confidently toward the entrance, but before going in, his eyes met yours. For a moment, you felt the weight of his gaze, the direct contact that made your breathing grow slightly heavier. However, before your body could react, he turned to give an order to the young man accompanying him.

He was a tall guy, about twenty-five. Attractive, the kind of attractive you can’t help but notice, the kind that makes you want to look at him longer than is appropriate. He smiled at you—a sticky kind of smile that, for some reason, made you want to smile back, despite how uncomfortable you felt in that moment.

Eventually, they disappeared through the entrance, leaving you alone with the echo of their footsteps. The anxiety still churned in your stomach. That’s when you felt a warm hand rest on your shoulder. It was Jake, a good friend from university—not close enough to hang out outside of class, but always there to keep you company.

“Y/n!”—Jake’s voice pulled you out of your head. He approached quickly, brow furrowed, expression more serious than usual—“I was looking for you… Are you okay?”

You blinked, confused by his intensity. Jake rarely showed anything beyond his relaxed demeanor. But today there was something different about him. His eyes shone with a mix of tension and concern.

“What’s going on?” you asked, trying to sound natural.

Jake looked around, as if making sure no one was too close, then lowered his voice.

“I can’t believe what happened…”—he swallowed, visibly shaken—“At the party on Saturday… someone… someone died, Y/n. They found him on the terrace. A guy. I don’t know who discovered him, but it was after midnight. They say it was horrible.”

His words hit like heavy stones. Your stomach twisted.

“A… body?” you repeated, the word barely leaving your lips.

Jake nodded slowly, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah. The police are already here. They’re talking to everyone who was at the party. Asking questions… they want to know who saw him last, if anyone noticed anything weird. They’re not saying it officially, but… you can tell they suspect everyone.”

He was silent for a moment, then looked at you intently.

“You weren’t there, right?”—His voice dropped even lower—“I didn’t see you… but with so many people, I’m not sure.”

“No, I didn’t go,” you answered immediately. Your voice sounded distant. Forced.

Jake nodded, relieved for a second, but his face hardened again.

“I’m glad. Because… damn, Y/n, it was really messed up. I was there, I saw the guy before everything went to hell. He was alive. And a few hours later…”—he broke off, running a hand down his face—“I’ve never been so close to something like this.”

You noticed his breathing quicken. His usual facade was cracking.

“Are you okay?”— you asked, feeling panic creeping into your voice too.

“I don’t know. I haven’t slept. Nobody knows what happened. They don’t know if it was an accident, a fight, something else…”—He brought a hand to his chest, as if trying to steady himself—“Just… be careful, okay? Don’t say anything that could be misunderstood. Even if you weren’t there, you know how rumors are. And if they call you, cooperate, but… be cautious.”

You nodded slowly, unsure if you could trust your own voice. The scene felt more unreal by the second. The world spun too fast.

Jake took a deep breath and tried to offer a half-smile, but it didn’t work. This time, he didn’t even pretend.

“This is going to change everything.”

Class began, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t concentrate. The professor’s words bounced around in your head without leaving a mark. Your whole body was tense, your mind trapped in dark thoughts, memories that made your skin crawl, and emotions you didn’t know where to place.

Then, a sound broke the constant murmur of the classroom: the door opened with a soft creak. Two figures entered. The same officers you had seen that morning. The air seemed to freeze in the room. Eyes locked on them—some curious, others afraid. You simply… stopped breathing.

They started calling students, one by one, calmly, as if nothing strange were happening. But every name they said felt like a countdown speeding up your heartbeat.

Until they called yours.

“Y/n” a deep, firm voice pronounced.

You stood up quickly, trying to seem calm, though your hands trembled as you closed your backpack. You walked toward the door. And then you saw him. Him.

The guy from the car.

His eyes met yours, and for an instant, everything seemed to stop. His face was serene, calm, almost kind, in contrast to the tension you felt. He nodded for you to follow him.

“Have a seat,” he said, pointing to a chair across from his.

You did, trying to control your movements. He settled into his seat, pulled a notebook from the inner pocket of his jacket, and with a soft smile, added:

“Just a few questions, nothing complicated. Answer honestly, okay?”

His voice was firm, but there was a warm tone to it, almost comforting. His uniform fit him perfectly, and although you tried not to look, it was hard not to notice how well it suited him. He had soft features, but with a firm structure. You didn’t know how to describe it, but he made you feel… safe.

“Did you know the victim?”

You shook your head immediately.

“Not personally. I’ve seen him in class, but nothing more. I’m sorry,” you answered softly.

He nodded, taking notes.

“Did you attend the party?”

Again, you shook your head.

“No, I didn’t go. I stayed home.”

“I see,” he said, and for a moment seemed to study you more closely—“Alright, in case you remember anything that could help, or if someone says something strange…”—He pulled out a small piece of paper and handed it to you—“This is my number.”

You reached out to take it, and for a second, your fingers brushed against his. The contact was brief, but enough to send a shiver through your skin. He smiled—one of those smiles that didn’t seem forced, but reassuring.

“Call me for anything. Information, questions, or if you just need to talk to someone who’s not part of all this chaos.”

You hesitated for a second, surprised by the almost personal tone of his offer, and before you could say anything, he added with a half-smile:

“I promise I don’t bite… unless absolutely necessary.”

A nervous laugh escaped your lips. He smiled too, wider now.

“See you, Y/n,” he said finally, with a voice so calm it almost promised everything would be okay.

The bell rang throughout the university, marking the end of classes. Most students hurried out, whispering among themselves—some nervous, others as if nothing had happened. But you didn’t move. You stayed in your seat a few seconds longer, silent, eyes lost somewhere beyond the window.

You slowly gathered your things, carrying that invisible knot in your stomach that hadn’t left you all day. The classroom nearly emptied. You walked down the hallway as if it didn’t belong to you, as if the world felt a bit farther away than usual.

The afternoon cold crept through your coat as you made your way home, but you barely felt it. Your mind was elsewhere. On him.

Evan, or that's what it said on the card with his number.

His eyes had been the first thing. So calm, so… attentive. Not cold, like the other officer’s, nor empty like everyone else’s around you lately. He truly looked at you, as if you were more than just a line in a report.

And his voice. Serious, but not harsh. Almost warm. As if he didn’t want to scare you. As if, in some strange way, he already wanted to protect you.

You slipped a hand into your coat pocket and pulled out the paper he had given you. “In case you remember anything, or need to talk.”

You had read it over and over in your mind. There was no special phrase written on it—just his name—Evan—and his number. But for some reason, just having it made breathing a little easier.

You tucked it away again as if it were something fragile.

You walked the rest of the way with your heart beating strangely. As if something had been lit deep inside you without your realizing it.

When you got home, you let your body collapse onto the soft mattress in your room, allowing everything that troubled you to slowly fade from your mind, just as the tension left your muscles. The warmth of the blanket against your cold body, combined with the silent and calming atmosphere, made it easy to close your eyes and surrender to the kind of rest you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Night had already fallen when you woke up. For some reason, that day had felt different, calmer. A day in which the only sound was the whisper of small animals moving through the dark alleys of the deserted street, until a growl from your stomach broke the stillness, demanding you eat something. You got up and went to the kitchen in search of something to eat. You rummaged through every drawer, but nothing. There was nothing in the fridge either, and the same happened with the pantry.

A big sigh escaped your lips. Why did you have expired yogurts from two months ago in the fridge? Good question, but that didn’t matter now. Still tired, you decided that, even though it was the last thing you wanted to do, it was time to go buy something. It was eight o’clock in the evening, and you had to hurry before it got any later.

You put on something warm and comfortable, and quickly headed to the door. When your hand touched the cold knob, a chill ran down your spine, accompanied by a persistent thought: “Don’t go out.” You ignored it, and before leaving, you grabbed your small purse, where you kept your keys, wallet, and phone.

...

You walked through the deserted streets, where only the shadows of some stray cats watched you curiously. You took the usual path to the store, the one you had walked a thousand times. Once there, you picked up the essentials: food, paper, some cleaning products. Just enough not to feel too loaded.

With two bags in your hands, you left the store and said goodbye to the clerk. The cold had intensified, and a light fog had spread through the streets. You quickened your pace to get home as soon as possible, but after a few steps, you heard a noise behind you.

A tall figure was walking a few meters away, and your heart began to race. A chill ran through your body, not from the cold, but from fear. Your steps quickened, choosing a slightly different route than usual. The figure followed you, and the wind picked up, rustling the leaves of the trees violently.

Without thinking, you ran. You didn’t dare look back, afraid of slowing down. But the heavy footsteps of the man behind you were clearly audible. Your breathing became erratic, and your legs began to ache to the point of giving out. Suddenly, you felt a strong hand grabbing your wrist, pulling you back. A scream of desperation escaped your throat as you struggled to free yourself from his grip. With a strength you never imagined you had, you kicked him in the stomach. A groan of pain escaped his lips, and his grip loosened, giving you the chance to drop the bags and run.

After a few minutes, you saw your house in the distance. The streets were increasingly covered by fog, and the lights in the homes had already gone out, leaving you completely alone in the deserted street, with someone still chasing you. You sped up, pulled the keys from your purse, and upon reaching the entrance, tried to open the door with trembling hands. The door made a faint sound as it opened, but before you could step inside, you felt the same calloused hand that had grabbed you before holding you tightly.

Another scream escaped your lips. "L-LET ME GO!" You struggled with all your strength, fighting to free yourself from his grip, feeling his fingers tightening more and more around your wrist. With a final shove, you managed to get inside the house, but the man’s weight stayed firm, preventing you from closing the door. Desperate, you found yourself wrestling against the door with all your might, but you couldn’t shut it.

The man’s hand pushed harder, and the fear grew with each second. The sound of the wind and the creaking of the door under the struggle filled the air, while you desperately tried to make it give. Panic took hold of you, increasingly aware that if you couldn’t close it, he would be inside again.

Then, with superhuman effort, you stopped fighting the door and ran toward the living room, knowing it was your only chance. He followed you quickly, his steps pounding with fury as he approached aggressively. You turned, fear taking over your body, and before he could reach you, you grabbed the vase from the table. Its weight in your hands felt heavy, but you didn’t care. With a swift motion, you threw it with all the strength you could muster at his head.

The impact was brutal, and a dull sound filled the room as the vase struck him. The ceramic smashed against his face, leaving a mark of fresh blood. The man staggered, falling to the ground with a groan of pain.

Blood began to gush strongly, splattering the living room floor. Your body, trembling and overwhelmed, stopped functioning clearly. Your legs gave out, and you collapsed to the floor as tears began to stream from your eyes. Had you just killed him? What were you going to do now? Would they accuse you of murder?

The questions didn’t stop, but none could change the fact that there was a lifeless body in your house—and you were the one who killed him. Suddenly, your heart skipped a beat, and a small spark of hope ignited inside you. You ran to the bedroom, desperately searching through your backpack. There were books, a laptop, your pencil case, and… there it was, Evan’s number—the police officer from that morning.

Maybe it was crazy and you’d end up in jail for murder, but he was the only person who had shown any concern for you. You knew maybe he had only done it out of courtesy, but something deep inside you had made you feel safe when he was around. His protective gaze, his soft voice whispering that he’d take care of you, the gentleness of his fingers when you took the paper with his number… all of that made you feel safe.

You grabbed the paper, dialed his number with trembling fingers, barely able to see the screen through the tears blurring your vision. You pressed the phone to your ear, your ragged breathing betraying the panic you felt.

"Hello?" —Evan answered naturally, as if he were taking any routine call. But it only took a second.

“E-Evan…” —you stammered between sobs, your voice broken and barely audible.

The pause on the other end was brief, but it completely changed the tone of his voice.

"Y/n… what happened? Are you okay?"

“No… I’m not… Something horrible happened… Please, I need you to come, I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do…” —your voice shattered into a thousand pieces.

"Calm down. I’m on my way. Don’t move, okay? I’ll be there in a few minutes."

He hung up without waiting for a reply.

You didn’t know exactly how much time had passed. It could’ve been ten minutes or thirty. Time didn’t exist. Only the weight of the body on the floor, the blood spilled near your rug, and you, trembling by the wall, knees to your chest and the phone still in your hand.

A few firm knocks on the door pulled you out of your trance.

You went to open it with trembling hands and red eyes. Evan was there. His face, usually relaxed and warm, now showed a mix of alertness, concern, and something harder to decipher.

Seeing the state you were in, he didn’t ask questions. He stepped inside quickly, looked around, and then saw the body.

He turned to you and took a step forward. “Are you hurt?” You shook your head, but the tears kept streaming down your face. You threw yourself at him, speaking in broken, senseless fragments. “He followed me from the store… came in… I couldn’t close the door… I fought him… I didn’t want to kill him… I just wanted… wanted him to go away… I didn’t know what to do… I—” “Y/n,” —he interrupted gently, gripping your arms firmly— “Breathe. It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you, okay?”

Without thinking, he hugged you. His arm wrapped around you tightly, and for the first time that day, you felt like you could let your guard down. You rested your forehead on his shoulder and let the tears fall.

“We’re going to figure this out. You’re not alone. I’ve got this.”

You stayed like that for a few seconds. When you finally pulled away, your face still wet and your heart racing.

“Thank you…” —you whispered.

He nodded seriously, already turning his attention to the body. His expression hardened again as he crouched to observe it without touching anything. “Now we’re going to call my colleagues. But don’t worry, I’ll be with you the whole time.”

And so, amid the blood, fear, and adrenaline, something inside you clung to the warmth of his presence.

Not long after Evan radioed in, two patrols arrived. The officers entered the apartment with measured steps, serious faces, and routines carved by protocol. Tape, photographs, gloves. The body was removed, wrapped in a white sheet, and the apartment was left filled with low voices, footsteps, and forensic camera flashes.

You remained sitting on a corner of the couch, a blanket over your shoulders that Evan had found nearby. Your fingers toyed with the edge as if that fabric was the only thing anchoring you to the present.

One of the officers approached Evan, glancing at you. “Can we?” —he asked quietly. Evan looked at you and shook his head, firmly. “No. I’ve got this. She’s in shock.” The other nodded, no argument. They trusted him.

One by one, the officers finished and left, the apartment a little emptier, though no less heavy. When the door closed and silence returned, you realized how late it was.

You looked at the microwave clock. 11:04 PM.

“Have you eaten anything today?” —Evan asked, turning to you as he picked up some of the mess in the room. You shook your head faintly. “I’m not really hungry after all this…” —you whispered. He let out a soft but steady sigh. “Me neither, but it’s important that you eat something. It’ll help, even if it’s just a little.” “I don’t think I could swallow anything right now.” “Then we’ll eat together. Something quick. I’ll make you if I have to.” —he tried to lighten the moment with a smile that barely curved his lips— “Come on. I can make some decent scrambled eggs.”

You cooked in silence, side by side. It wasn’t an awkward silence, but a heavy one. You tried to appear calm, but inside, your thoughts raced.

Why had that man come? How did he find you? Was he really connected to… to that?

A knot formed in your stomach, not just from what had happened, but from the fear that everything was starting to fall apart.

What if Evan knew? What if he suspected something?

But his face showed nothing but calm and focus. His gaze told you everything: “You’re safe.”

You sat across from each other, both with simple plates, barely hungry but pretending it was normal. “Do you remember exactly what he said before attacking you?” —he asked softly, not pressing. You hesitated a moment before answering, your fork spinning in your fingers. “No… he just… followed me from the store. He didn’t say anything. Just… tried to get in. I tried to shut the door, but he was faster…” Evan nodded, not taking notes or recording you. He just listened. He trusted you. “You did what you had to do. It wasn’t your fault, Y/n.” You nodded slightly, though inside you knew it wasn’t that simple. You couldn’t tell him the truth. Not yet. You couldn’t tell him that part of you did know why that man had come after you.

But he didn’t know. Or so you wanted to believe.

All you could do now was stay calm… and wait.

The sound of the fork against the plate was the only thing filling the silence in the kitchen. You ate without much appetite, moving slowly, your thoughts coming and going like gusts of wind. Evan, however, seemed to have all the time in the world. He sat across from you, elbows on the table, a calm expression on his face. “You know you’re not allowed to leave the edges of the omelet on the plate, right?” —he said with a faint smile, tilting his head. You looked at him with a mix of exhaustion and confusion. “I’m not hungry…” “I know.” —he replied softly— “Me neither. But if we faint from weakness, we’ll look terrible in the investigation photos. Trust me, it’s not a good look.” You let out a low laugh, somewhere between exhaustion and surprise. It was a dumb joke… but a necessary one. He noticed it, and his smile grew a little more. “There it is. First smile of the night. If I get one more, I get a promotion.” “Is that how promotions work in the police?” —you asked, glancing at him. “Of course. Whoever makes traumatized victims smile the most gets a medal. And a free pizza. State-sponsored.” You shook your head, but something in your chest loosened. Evan’s presence had that strange ability to ease your burdens without you noticing. “Do you feel a little better?” “A little.” —you admitted quietly— “It still all feels… surreal.” “It is.” —he said sincerely, lowering his gaze for a moment— “But you survive the surreal too. And you’re doing well. Really well.” You looked back at the plate. You hesitated a few seconds… and finally took another bite. You felt him glance at you subtly, but he didn’t say anything.

After a while, while he set his cup down on the counter, you gathered your courage and asked: “Hey… how did you know where I live?” He turned, as if he had expected the question. He stepped closer again with a smile you weren’t sure was reassuring or unsettling. “Are you asking if I’m a professional stalker or just one with a police badge?” You shot him a look. “That’s not funny.” “I know, I know.” —he raised his hands— “I’ve got my methods. I guess I… wanted to make sure you were okay. And also, well… I’m a cop. Even if I’m not always the most by-the-book one, I promise tonight I used my powers for good.” You pursed your lips, still slightly frowning. But you said nothing more. He noticed you were withdrawing again and quickly changed his tone. “Hey, if it makes you uncomfortable that I show up like Batman in the night, I get it. I can make it up to you by cooking better next time. Do you like decent ramen or are you more of a frozen pizza kind of person?” “Are you… inviting me to dinner again?” “No. I’m warning you that if you don’t eat, I’m going to keep showing up with food until you chase me away with a broom. That’s an official threat.” Another smile. Lighter this time. More sincere. “Thank you.” —you finally said. “Don’t thank me just yet.” —he muttered as he slipped on his jacket— “You still have to survive the police interview I’m going to give you tomorrow with instant coffee and annoying questions. Get ready mentally.”

Just as Evan was putting on his jacket, something fell from his pocket and slid across the floor. A soft thud, barely noticeable, but it instantly caught your attention. You reached down to pick it up on instinct. It was an old ID card, with slightly worn edges. You turned it instinctively, but just as you were about to focus on the image, a warm hand gently wrapped around your wrist. “Give me that, please.” —Evan murmured, his voice lower, almost like it pained him to speak. You stopped. He took the card delicately before you could really see it. You only caught one name. Lee Heeseung. “Who is he?” —you asked quietly, your heart pounding. He put the card away silently, in the inner pocket of his jacket. He didn’t seem angry, but neither was he relaxed. His eyes, for a moment, lost their warmth. “Someone who… is no longer with us.” —he finally said, looking at you with a strange seriousness.

You didn’t know what to say. You just nodded very softly, though you couldn’t get that name out of your head. Then he stepped toward you, and his tone softened again. “Seriously, try to get some rest tonight. If you can’t sleep, call me, okay?” You could only nod again. Your mind was elsewhere. “See you, Y/n.” —he said at last, with a half-smile, before closing the door behind him.

Silence filled your apartment again. You stared at the door for a long time, unmoving, while a sharp feeling pierced your chest.

Lee Heeseung. Who was he? Why did he have that card? And why did something inside you say it wasn’t the first time you’d heard that name?

You felt like you knew him. Like there was more to it. And you knew you wouldn’t rest until you found out.

You stood still for a while behind the closed door, as if your mind needed time to process everything. “Lee Heeseung”… that name kept echoing in your head like an ancient memory you didn’t know the origin of, but it made your stomach twist.

You walked slowly to your room, sat in front of your desk, and turned on the laptop. You hesitated for a moment, but curiosity burned inside you. You opened the browser and started typing.

“Lee Heeseung.”

At first, nothing. Just outdated social media, empty profiles, scattered mentions without context. You kept searching. You put the name in quotes, added words like deceased, news, accident...

And then you saw it.

A headline. “Young man named Lee Heeseung found dead in his apartment. Authorities have yet to determine the cause.”

The date was just two months ago.

The news article was barely a couple of paragraphs. No photos. No explanations. Just one final line. “The case remains open, though without progress.”

You shut the laptop, not wanting to think about it any longer. You took a deep breath. You needed sleep.

But sleeping… wasn’t easy.

The moment you closed your eyes, memories began to seep in like smoke under a poorly shut door. A black car parked outside your old house. Shadows moving where they shouldn’t. A sinister face behind a window. A hand reaching for you through a crowd. The sound of heavy breathing behind you on an empty street. A scream you didn’t let out. A door shut just in time. Another one that wasn’t.

You woke with a start. Cold sweat running down your back. You looked at the clock: 3:17 AM. You hugged your knees to your chest.

It wasn’t the first time this happened. It wasn’t the first attempt. It wasn’t the first threat disguised as an accident. You knew it.

He wanted to find you.

You squeezed your eyes shut. Tried not to think about the blood, the blow, the body hitting the floor.

The alarm went off, but you were already awake. You didn’t remember sleeping, at least not really. Your eyes felt swollen, your head heavy like you were underwater, and the unease didn’t go away—it stayed, hidden but constant. The cold clung to you, even though the sun was already starting to peek in timidly.

You got out of bed with slow, almost automatic movements, as if something invisible weighed on your chest. It was that feeling of being trapped, of not being able to escape. Every step took more effort, but you kept going.

You showered without really feeling the water. The fatigue lingered in your bones, like you had been running for days without rest. You got dressed in whatever you found first, not caring to choose, just wanting to cover yourself. You didn’t want to think about anything. You just wanted the day to go by quickly.

With your headphones on, you tried to get lost in music, but soon realized you couldn’t hear anything. You just couldn’t. The heaviness stayed with you. It was like a shadow stalking you at every step, and no matter how many times you turned around, there was nothing there—just the cold morning wind brushing against your skin.

People surrounded you, laughing, talking, as if everything was normal, but you felt like you didn’t belong to that world. It was as if you were watching life from the outside. As if everything was out of focus, yet you knew you couldn’t escape that feeling of being trapped.

You reached the university without knowing how. You hadn’t noticed the walk, just moved forward like an automaton, passing among students who glanced at you out of the corner of their eyes, unaware of what was really happening inside you. Did they notice? Could they see it?

When you entered the classroom, the usual noise greeted you, but none of it made sense. It was all meaningless noise.

The rustling of paper, murmurs, footsteps on the floor—all of it felt distant, far away. Like it was part of a scene in a movie where you didn’t belong.

Your eyes searched for Jake. He was there, with his usual smile, chatting with others. He seemed unaware of what was going on in your mind. But he saw you, and his gaze paused on you, slightly puzzled.

The pain in your chest didn’t go away, but you kept it hidden, like you always had. You didn’t want anyone to notice. No one should know what you were really feeling.

All you could do was keep going.

You sat at your usual desk, your gaze lost on the board while the professor’s words barely reached your mind. Everything seemed so far away, as if nothing in the class really mattered. The noise of voices around you slowly faded, and all that remained was the weight in your chest you couldn’t ignore. The fear was still there, lurking, though you didn’t know exactly why.

Jake approached you, gently touching your shoulder. You turned to him, and without meaning to, managed a smile. You knew he was worried about you.

"Are you okay?" he asked, noticing your distraction.

You nodded automatically, without words, as if everything was under control. But it wasn’t. You couldn’t explain what you really felt. You couldn’t explain why you felt so... strange, why the air was heavy, and why you had that sense of being watched.

Jake, as always, tried to chat a little, but the conversation passed without you really engaging in it. It was clear you weren’t really there. Your mind was still trapped in something you couldn’t get out of your head.

Class ended, and as you left, you felt a brief moment of relief. But at the same time, a growing discomfort. The fear kept creeping into your thoughts, like someone was waiting around every corner. The quick pace you took when exiting the classroom was almost automatic, as if something was pushing you to get out of there fast.

The cold air hit you the moment you stepped outside. It surrounded you, but at the same time made you feel more alive. Still, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder from time to time. There was no one, but the unease lingered. You felt something was wrong, that something was following you, though you couldn’t put a face to it.

When you got to your apartment, you couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. Finally. You were home, where you could at least feel safe. Or so you thought.

You closed the door behind you, and for a moment, stood still. The air no longer felt as heavy, but the weight on your chest didn’t go away. Something was still circling in your mind, and though you tried to push it aside, you knew you couldn’t ignore it. Something wasn’t right, and the thought wouldn’t leave.

You shook off the fear with a sigh, but the knot in your stomach remained. What was it that you couldn’t see?

You walked to your room. Sat on the bed, breathing deeply, phone in your sweaty hands. Anxiety filled you, but you knew you couldn’t keep hiding everything. You needed to talk. Someone had to hear you, even just for a moment. And you knew it, even if you didn’t say it aloud: Evan was the one you had to go to.

The phone rang once, twice… until finally his voice came through, clear and calm. "Y/n." He said your name with a tone that gave you a bit of peace, as if he’d been expecting your call.

"Evan," you began, taking a deep breath, "I know what’s happening… and I know why they’re after me. It’s not the first time… I’ve been in this situation before." Your voice trembled a little, but you said it. Even if you weren’t revealing everything, what you felt was real. You knew what was happening, even if you weren’t ready to share it all yet.

There was a pause on the other end. He seemed to be processing what you had just said. "Y/n," he replied afterward, with a calmness that surprised you, "I promise you’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out, but we need to talk in person."

You felt relieved, even though the fear was still there, waiting to be uncovered. You didn’t want to talk about everything on the phone. Not yet. "I need to see you," you insisted. "I’ll tell you everything, but not over the phone. I can’t explain all this like that." "I completely understand," he said without hesitation. "Four o’clock? You can come to my apartment. We can talk there, no pressure."

You knew he had picked up on what you were trying to say, and his response made you feel a bit calmer. "Thank you," you said, relieved that you didn’t have to keep hiding so much of what you were feeling. "See you at four." "Alright… thanks," you murmured. "See you then."

For a second, you thought the conversation would end there, but his voice came again, this time with a much lighter tone, almost playful: "Oh, and be prepared. I got promoted this week, so the new work suit is way sexier than the old one. I don’t want to distract you too much while you talk."

Almost involuntarily, you let out a small laugh under your breath. It was silly. A dumb comment, probably meaningless, but in the middle of everything you were carrying… it felt like a small breath of air. "See you at four," you said, still with a half-hidden smile.

You hung up. And for the first time in days, the loneliness didn’t feel so dark.

You ate without appetite, the weight of each bite becoming harder to swallow. The fear was still there, and although you tried to distract yourself, you couldn’t. You decided to get up, grab what you needed, and head to Evan’s house.

The walk was long, and each step felt heavier. The sensation of being watched didn’t go away. When you arrived at his house, the fear took over again. Without thinking too much, you rang the doorbell. The door opened almost immediately, and there he was.

Evan was wearing his new police uniform, and although the uniform was typical, it looked incredibly good on him. The fitted jacket accentuated his figure, showing the line of his shoulders and torso. The pants, perfectly tailored, only emphasized his height and presence even more. His hair was a little more disheveled than usual, but it made him look even more attractive, almost as if he had spent the whole afternoon working.

“Y/n?” —his voice, deep yet warm, made you feel like you weren’t alone. Before you could respond, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you. The hug was brief but comforting, something about him calmed you.

“It’s okay,” —he said, as if everything you had been holding in was evident. “I’m here, calm down.” You felt fragile, but his embrace gave you some peace. When he pulled away, he looked at you expectantly, as if waiting for you to say something more.

“How do you feel?”

The fear was still there, but in that moment, being with him made it feel like everything would be more bearable. You entered Evan’s house, feeling the tension build in your chest. Even though the place was cozy, nothing could fully calm the unease that invaded you. The air smelled of coffee and something warmer, a scent that seemed to try to soothe you. Evan appeared from the kitchen with a kind smile, but he quickly noticed that you weren’t comfortable.

“Everything okay?” —he asked while offering you a steaming cup of tea that looked soothing.

“Relax, Y/n. You’re in a safe place.” You appreciated his gesture and took a sip of the tea. Although the warmth of the drink helped a little, your mind kept racing with everything that had happened. You couldn’t stay silent any longer, not after everything you had been through. You had to tell him what was really going on. But you didn’t know how to do it, or even where to begin.

“Evan…” —you started, trying to find the right words. “There’s something I need to tell you. I don’t know where to start, but I have to do it.”

He looked at you, his expression serious but calm. “Don’t rush, Y/n. Speak when you’re ready. There’s no hurry.”

That calmed you a little, and although the knot in your throat didn’t disappear, you felt that at least you were in a place where you could be heard. But then something caught your attention.

When Evan stood up to go to the kitchen, something shimmered on the table. It was a brief flash, but enough for you to notice. You got up and walked over to the table. There, almost hidden among some papers, was something you hadn’t seen before.

An ID card. Your pulse quickened as you recognized it. The logo. The organization. The mafia. It was the same one that had been behind everything that had happened to you. The same one that had tried to kill you several times. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. Was Evan involved in this? You quickly put it away, but the sound of Evan’s footsteps approaching made you turn, and his eyes locked onto you instantly.

“What are you doing?” —he said, with a note of surprise that quickly turned into something more serious.

“Nothing.” —you said, your voice trembling. Your heart was racing, and your hands were shaking slightly. You tried to hide the card, but it was too late.

He took a step toward you, approaching slowly but decisively. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to snoop around other people’s homes?” —he asked, but his tone was no longer friendly. The joke was gone, and in his gaze, there was something darker.

“Evan…” —you began to say, but he cut you off.

“You’re so naïve, Y/n.” —his words pierced you, and you noticed how his voice had lost its previous softness. Now there was a coldness that you hadn’t noticed until that moment.

You tried to take a step back, but you couldn’t. “This isn’t what it looks like…”

“Do you really believe that?” —he interrupted you, stepping closer.

“You can’t run from who you are.” You tensed up. He was so close that you could feel his presence like a threat.

“Evan, please… let me explain.”

At that moment, he moved faster than you could react. Before you could stop him, he held you and whispered in your ear, “You think you’re so smart, but you still don’t understand anything.”

Suddenly, you felt a strong dizziness, as if your strength was leaving you. Everything around you began to spin, and although you tried to pull away, your legs failed.

“What… did you do to me?” —you managed to say in a whisper. Reality faded before your eyes, and the last thing you could see before losing consciousness was his face, now completely serious, and his barely audible words: “Sleep, Y/n. It’s the best thing you can do right now.”

You passed out in his arms, knowing, deep down, that you had been kidnapped. But there was something else, something that lingered in your mind as everything faded:

That’s why he knew your name so perfectly. That’s why he recognized your voice so well. That’s why he knew where you lived… He always knew who you were.

And this is just the beginning of what’s to come, this has only just started…

A/N: I know it hasn’t been very long and that many questions might arise, but in the upcoming chapters, you’ll begin to understand that this is just the beginning of the chaos, the hatred, and everything that’s about to unfold.

I'm sure you're going to love what's coming in the next chapter. I can't wait to finish it and for you to read it. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Love you!

✦Investigative Team (Taglist - open): @wonnielov3 @yeonmuse @usuallyunlikelyfox @rustymoons @firstclassjaylee @isagistar @tunafishyfishylike @niyzu @imzhouxinyu

✦ Regular Taglist : @lezleeferguson-120 @nuki-riki @ijustwannareadstuff20 @vvenusoncasual @miellette @enhacolor @xxkatsusjinsux @somieverse @ourshin @han-to-my-minho @douqhnxtss @nuggets4lifers @mitmit01

[igotatasteforoldermendelrey]

Under the pale moon light.

A/N : hi guys, wrote this today so figured why not post it. Again, English is not my first language, there might be some mistakes in there. Always open about feedbacks!

Ship : dbf!Joel x reader

Summary : after getting fired by your boss with whom your boyfriend was cheating on you, you head back to Austin to your parent’s house. Having to face them with the undeniable failure of your life, you find support in Joel, your dad’s best friend and neighbour. Follows some flirting under the pale moon light.

Warnings : some feelings, reader got fired, age gap ( R is in her late twenties, J is forty-five), angst (a little bit with her parents), afab, flirting, smoking (cigarette), reader has a degree from an Ivy League (a girl can dream), brief mention of Sarah, asshole ex boyfriend.

I do not consent to any of my work to be translated or posted anywhere else without my permission.

Banner made on Pinterest.

You were back home for the summer. Scratch that, you were back home for an undetermined period.

Everything started great. You graduated from an Ivy League college, finding a job you loved and that paid well right away, met the perfect guy and move in together. You lived the city girl life until everything turned around. Your career stagnated, your perfect boyfriend turned out to be a serial cheater with non other than your boss whom you presented to him. Confronting the both of them led you to lose your job and your partner at the same time which meant moving out since you couldn’t afford the rend of your previous apartment. Let’s just resume by saying shit hit the fan and you had to get away.

So here you were, standing in front of your parent’s house, Texas heat dehydrating you the more you stayed under the sun. Taking a deep breath, you knock on the door, hoping your mother will be the one opening the door.

It’s not that you were scared of your father. It’s just that you weren’t sure that you, coming back home unannounced after losing everything, wouldn’t be questioned like you were a criminal. You didn’t feel ready to have this conversation since you weren’t out of the denial phase you pushed yourself into.

But the man that opened the door was neither of your parents but Joel, a neighbour and close friend of them. You met the man into your second year of college. Coming home for vacations your father presented him as the cool and grumpy neighbour. Sharing stories over a beer led them to link a friendship and the men were always together. Coming home from the grocery shop? The both of them helping you get the groceries inside. The garden needing a trim? The both of them taking care of it, one mowing the lawn the other pruning the trees. They were always together even with their ten year age gap.

So when the man opened the door you still find yourself surprised to see him standing in all his glory in front of you. You were the first one to talk, astonishment clear on his face.

Hi Joel. You started with a small smile not quite reaching your eyes.

Sweets? What the hell are you doing here?

That’s not the welcomed I thought I will get. You joked with a smirk.

Shit, yeah, sorry, come here. He said pulling you into a quick hug. Does your old man know-

Does who know what? The voice of your father interrupted your small talk. He came standing besides Joel, his mouth agape. Y/n?

Surprise? You tried with a smile.

What the hell are you doing here?

You had to choose between spilling everything right there on the porch with your father’s friend staring strangely at you or lying. You took the second option.

I wanted to surprise you! You falsely exclaimed.

Oh you’re so sweet come here honey. Your mother is going to be over the moon. He pulled you into a hug, kissing your forehead.

While in his arms you stared at Joel finding him already looking at you, a light frown on his face. Deciding you didn’t want to know if he knew you were full of shit, you looked away.

Come on in then, ain’t gonna let you stand there to burn down with this sun.

None of them asked why you had so many bags nor why your trunk was packed of boxes.

~~~

Standing in the middle of your childhood bedroom, the enormity of your shit life hit you. The pastel Color of the wallpaper covered of posters of music bands you were not sure still existed, books and notebooks on the shelves. You never thought it would make you feel that way. Like a huge failure, moving back to her parents without them even knowing about it.

You could still hear the two men downstairs in the living room where you left them with an excuse of a well needed shower. Putting your luggage on the floor and opening them, you took out clothes and left to take a shower.

Opening the door, you heard your mother voice and decided to say hello to her. Arriving in the kitchen where she was putting groceries away, she turned around with a smile on her face and opened her arms as you walked in.

Hi mom. You said against her shoulder.

Hi baby. How are you honey? She asked as you parted way, her hands still on your shoulders and her eyes fixated on your face.

I’m alright. What about you?

I’m always good you know that. Is Jackson here too?

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer so you just shook your head.

Perfect then, I wouldn’t have enough either for dinner since Joel is staying too.

~~~

The night was slowing falling on Austin, cicadas falling silent such as the temperature. The four of you were seated outside, dinner served and your parents and Joel talking. You keep quiet for the most part of the evening, trying not to draw too much attention on you that could lead to questions. Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear Joel asking you a question nor noticed everyone looking at you.

Sweets?

Hmm? Sorry what?

I asked you about Jeremy or Jack or… you know your accountant of a boyfriend. Joel asked again.

What about him? You answered looking at your plate, suddenly feeling hot.

Where is he?

In New York.

Why is he not with you? Is he coming later? Joel continued to push.

By the way how long are you staying?

Too many questions. You felt overwhelmed, you heart beating so fast you were sure they could all hear it.

Um… He won’t come here anymore because we are not together anymore and I don’t know how long I’m staying here, dad.

Don’t you have a job with people counting on you there? Don’t want you to get lost in your track because of some boy. Your father muttered, looking at you seriously.

You knew that look too well, he wasn’t understanding why you were not always talking about your job and he was starting to get disappointed. Having made a lot of sacrifices in order to send you to college, he wanted you to success and to work your ass off.

Dude, calm down, let her speak before you tried to speculate about things. Joel intervened.

No it’s fine Joel. You took a deep breath and start spilling out everything. My colleagues do not count on me because I do not have a job anymore. Yes I got fired because Jackson, who is by the way a music producer, cheated on me with my boss who didn’t have a hard choice between me and him. And no, dad, you do not need to speculate about my failure because it is true and I do not need a lecture either on men. If you’re done asking me questions, I’m going to go usptairs. You said, pushing back your chair and getting inside the house.

Going upstairs you locked yourself in your room, trying to gather your thoughts. Yes, storming out like that was not a reasonable reaction and you could already hear your father lecture you about how you needed to act like an adult. But you couldn’t. You just couldn’t stay there with how your parents and how Joel was looking at you. Like you were fucking crazy or something.

The truth is, saying everything that happened made it seems real. Too real for you, like you just realised how fucked up your life currently was.

Knowing your parents, they will wait for you to calm down and come to them on your own. Nothing good ever came out of them forcing a conversation with you. So you just laid down on your bed, staring at the roof trying to make it all make sense.

After a while you heard the both of them coming upstairs to their bedroom before closing the door, the sign they were off for the day. As you walked to your bag still on the floor, you phone pinged with a message. Taking it from the bedside table, you read the text coming from your mother.

I know you might not want to talk right now and we understand. Just know we love you no matter what and are really proud of you. Try to get some sleep.

Sighing with a mix of relief and sadness you put back your phone on the table and grabbed your bag. Taking out of it a pack of cigarettes before getting your lighter and leaving your room. You were not a smoker but in hard time came bad choices.

Closing the front door quietly behind you, you sat down on the stairs of the porch, Texas heat still high enough for you to be comfortable in T-shirt. Lighting a cigarette you stared at the sky, the absence of clouds allowed you to see the stars.

I didn’t take you for a smoker. A voice said besides you making you jump.

You turned around to face Joel, already staring at you with a strange look on his face.

Didn’t think I was a loser and here I am. You replied, exhaling the smoke.

Joel sighed before coming to sit besides you. You’re not a loser.

Go say that to my dad.

You really think that’s what he thinks? Nah. You’re old man is just worried for you but I’ve never seen a man so proud of his daughter. He tells everyone your this excellent lawyer who rules New York.

You snorted. I’m not a lawyer.

Yeah he knows, he just wants to make everyone jealous. But hey, he said lightly pushing you with his shoulder, I’m serious. You have nothing to be ashamed about. Hell you’ve got a degree from one of the most prestigious colleges. Got my kid wanting to do like you.

How is Sarah?

She’s doing good, first year of college, you know how it is.

What’s she studying?

History. Every time I get her on the phone she’s always talking about some stuff that happened centuries ago. Makes me feel fucking dumb.

You could tell how proud Joel was of his daughter but you could still see a part of him really missing her.

You’re not dumb. I mean maybe in historic stuff but in general you’re not dumb.

I know that. But I didn’t go to college, don’t know what it’s like.

Do you regret it? You asked making him turn to look at you.

I did for a while.

Well you could still go. You said with a smirk.

I’m way too old for that shit. He replied with a snort.

Dude you’re not that old. You’re what, forty-two?

Forty-five.

My bad you’re fucking almost dead. You deadpanned.

Shut up. He answered taking your cigarette and bringing it up to his mouth.

That move made you realised how handsome this man was. Sure you knew that already, just by the look he was getting from women in the street. But in the pale moon light, his profile stood out. Feeling your stare on him he looked over you with a brow raised forcing you to look in front of you.

Cat got your tongue?

Can’t I admire the work? You replied with a smirk.

Didn’t think you were trouble. He said, still staring at you.

What did you expect? I just got fired, apparently I’m a fucking tornado, according to some people. Your voice cracked on the last word, remembering what Jackson told you when you confronted him.

Come here. Joel said, pulling you in a side hug while killing the cigarette on the floor.

You let your head fall on his shoulder, hands resting on your laps. Fuck I’m a mess.

That’s okay. We’re all messed up at one point in our life. But I gotta tell you this asshole didn’t know what he had in his hands. Fucking idiot.

Maybe I should’ve called you to come with me to get my stuff. Maybe would have make him less arrogant.

You can. I’m serious. You need anything you just call me. I will be in the first plane.

You smiled at him, heart almost beating out of your chest. You might not need to take a plane anymore…

You won’t go back?

I’m not sure. Nothing is waiting for me there anymore. And it took me two days to drive home I’m sure as hell not ready to do that again yet.

Silence fall on the street, you’re head still resting on his shoulder.

I don’t think he would have done that. You broke the silence.

Do what? Joel asked.

Cross the country because I called him.

Fucking asshole. You’re better off without him, don’t a need an idiot with you. Plus, you will find someone as quick as you want it.

Is that so? You asked him with a smirk.

Yeah. I mean you look good, you’re intelligent and funny. No need to be a damn medium to know that.

Are you flirting with me Mr Miller? You joked, lightly tilting you head to get better look at him.

Wouldn’t dare even if I wanted to. You’re dad would fucking kill me. After torturing me. He replied, staring intensely at you.

You were going to answer him when the front door opened and your dad stepped out of the house. You took your head off his shoulder and he retreated his arm that was laying on yours.

The hell you two are doing?

Reassuring her that you’re not going to disinherit her because she got fired.

Of course I’m not gonna do that. Your dad replied, putting his hand on your head. Those New Yorkers don’t know what they lost. Now go home Joel or I’m gonna call the cops for trespassing. Don’t want you to get grumpier tomorrow.

Fine, hold your horse I’m going. He said to your father who sighed and went back inside.

Watching his back, you saw him turn around before adding. You look good too in the pale moon light sweets. And with that he left, going home, leaving you dumbfounded on the porch.

Well, this undetermined time here might be interesting after all….

[yoiisa]

LESSON LEARNED ⋆˙⟡ OLIVER AIKU

"I just wanna make sure, You understand perfectly, you're the kind of man who makes me sad, While she waits up, You chase down the newest thing and take for granted what you have." - "Girl at Home" by Taylor Swift Tags: womanizer! Oliver x maneater! Reader, reader puts Oliver in his place (It only turns him on more),suggestive since Oliver is shameless when it comes to women. TW for attempted cheating on Oliver's part!!

a/n: This is part of a little series I doing where I'm writing BLLK fics for each of my fav songs on all the T Swift albums. I already did Bachira's (Fearless), Kaiser's (Lover), and Rin's (Midnights). This is one is off of Red.

I am one of five stans of "Girl at Home" in the world. Same thing with Bachira's fic for "Untouchable". It's rough out here... (¬_¬) anyways, enjoy as always!

At first you'd thought this was a joke, or some trick your brain was playing on you. After all, they're showing highlights from the latest soccer match on the TV of the bar right now. What're the odds that the captain from that team, Oliver Aiku, happened to slide into the barstool right next to you?

All you can manage is a few bleary blinks at him as his mouth curves into a smirk that is meant to be charming. Still, something about it sends shivers up your spine, and you can't decide if it's in a good way or not. His hair is slightly mussed and his two-toned eyes twinkle in invitation, but a small voice in the back of your head is sending warnings radiating through your nervous system.

It would be the perfect time to just get up and bolt, but you'd come here to get some air from your stifling apartment . . . and to pick up some guy to bring back to your apartment. Maybe this was the universe smacking you in the face with a chance. Who knows, he's an athlete. He might be a good lay.

You lean forward a bit, and tilt your head as you asses him. Some of your hair falls into your face as your eyes flit up and down his body.

"Can I help?" you ask softly, keeping the apprehension out of your voice. You'd done this dance before, and walked the fine line between welcoming and prison guard.

"Mmm," he hums, leaning into your space a bit, "I was hoping you could give me a lil' bit of company tonight?"

"What kinda company?" you take a sip of your drink.

"Whatever kind you like," he replies without missing a beat.

"I didn't know you'd be so open minded to a rejection," you laugh.

"You sound so sure of yourself," he notes, seemingly not affected by your demeanor in the slightest. Oh, he's one of these guys. They think no means yes and get lost means take me I'm yours.

Oliver just rolls his shoulder, as if stretching for a game and hails a bartender. "Old fashioned," it takes everything in you not to roll your eyes, "and for the lady? You're really nursing that drink you got there."

You smirk and bat your lashes at him. "All the more reason to not order me one." You turn to the bartender and give him a soft smile. "I'm good thank you."

The bartender makes quick work of Oliver's drink, before he dips away to help other patrons. You run your finger along the rim of your glass as Oliver takes a sip of his drink.

"So you come here often?" He asks. He mocks being affronted when you snort at the cliche pick up line and says, "C'mon throw me a bone here. You're dryer than . . . than . . ."

"Big brain you got up in your head there," you muse, drowning the rest of your drink.

"Wow, figured me out that easy huh?"

"You're an open book, darling," your voice drips with derision.

"Pet names already?" Oliver leans even closer. From this vantage point, you can see the blend of hues in his eyes. You've never seen a human with heterochromia before. His eyes look like marbles. He smells like the whiskey from his drink, and pine. His shirt flexes along his shoulders and his back. An Apple watch glints on his wrist as he moves his hand closer to you along the bar counter top. "Take me home first, at least."

"To do what? I don't know if that's the kinda company I'm looking for tonight," you say innocently, but even as you do, your hand gravitates towards his as well. Your fingers come incredibly close to touching.

"But you're not looking for the other kind, that's for sure," you can feel his breath now, hot against his face. Your lips instinctively part ever so slight in anticipation of the kiss that's sure to come. His face is so close to yours now. "No one shows up in a dress like that, all dark and red and snug, and in heels like that just to chat."

"At least I put some effort into my appearance," your voice lilts flirtatiously. "You look like a hobo someone spruced up to go onto a reality dating show."

"If you don't like what I'm wearing, maybe you should take it off," he counters without missing a beat.

"In public?" you cover your mouth in mock shock. "Have some decorum, please."

The hand without the watch grips your hips and you gasp as he pushes himself flush against your body, crowding you against the bar counter. "Take me home with you."

The kiss should've been inevitable. His mouth was practically already touching yours, but even the smallest of milliseconds can make large differences.

His apple watch lights up and all you need to see is the contact name. Some other girl, with a white heart next to it. You eye it for a moment, before cupping a hand over his mouth and pushing him off.

"No."

"What?"

"No. You have a girl waiting for you already. Go to her and don't waste my time."

Oliver takes a step back, before his eyes move down to his watch. Seeing his girlfriend's name, he sighs. "Caught me did you?"

"And I'm glad," you huff and grab your bag. You take out a 20 and a five and leave it on the counter, hoping it's enough to cover your tab. You didn't drink that much, but still. You whirl around to Oliver, the tension now a completely different kind. "You must think I'm stupid or something. But I'm not. I know how boys like you work and I want no part in it."

You fist the collar of his shirt and pull him closer to you. You stare deep into his eyes. "Don't drive home, you drank. Message her first that you're going home now, and call a cab or walk."

"You don't even know her," he mutters.

"There're codes that exist in the world. This is one of them. Besides, I don't need to know her," you release him and walk out of the bar. "I was once her, and to know there are still men like you out there makes me sad."

You walk out into the ebbing nightlife and as Oliver watches you disappear from his sight and life forever, he can't help but groan as he feels his pants tighten. What a shame there's no one around to relieve it. Guess he'll have to go home after all.

a/n: Guys. Please. Don't cheat on your s/o. that's all. goodbye ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )

[scoupsakakitty]

Seonghwa friends to lovers?

Beneath the Stars | idol!seonghwa x Reader | fluff

It had been a long, exhausting day for the members of Ateez. They had just wrapped up a hectic round of promotions, interviews, and rehearsals, all while preparing for their upcoming tour. The members were scattered across the dorm, some settling down to rest, others still bustling around, trying to keep themselves occupied after such a grueling day. But Seonghwa couldn’t shake the exhaustion that weighed heavily on him.

It wasn’t just the physical fatigue — it was the mental exhaustion, the constant pressure to keep up appearances, and the quiet longing for something more. His gaze kept drifting to the small window in the living room, where the first flakes of snow began to fall from the dark sky.

Y/N, who had been one of his closest friends since trainee days, noticed his far-off expression. She stood by the doorway for a moment, watching him, unsure whether to leave him be or to approach. They had always been comfortable with silence around each other, but this felt different. She could tell something was on his mind.

Seonghwa looked up, catching her gaze. “I was thinking about taking a walk. Want to join me?” he asked, his voice soft but inviting.

Y/N smiled. “Of course, I could use a bit of fresh air.” The thought of walking through the snow with him, just the two of them, sounded perfect.

She grabbed her jacket, and Seonghwa pulled on his own. The two of them exited the dorm quietly, the cold night air hitting them immediately as they stepped into the street. The snow had begun to cover the ground, turning the world into a soft, white wonderland. The city lights reflected off the snowflakes, creating a magical atmosphere.

“First snow,” Y/N said with a small laugh, her breath visible in the cold air.

Seonghwa glanced at her, a soft smile playing on his lips. “It’s beautiful. It feels like everything is finally slowing down for a moment.”

They walked side by side, the silence between them peaceful rather than awkward. Y/N felt her body relax as the crisp air filled her lungs. It was the kind of moment she had always dreamed of — no cameras, no expectations, just the two of them, enjoying the simplicity of the night.

As they strolled through the empty streets, Y/N found herself sneaking glances at Seonghwa. He looked good in the cold, his sharp features softened by the gentle snowfall. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, but she could still see the occasional glint in his eyes as he looked up at the sky, lost in thought.

“You know,” Y/N began, breaking the silence, “I’ve always wanted to support you guys on tour. I know I’m not part of the group, but I could come along and help with whatever you need — behind the scenes stuff, anything.”

Seonghwa turned his head to look at her, his eyes lighting up slightly at the suggestion. “You’d want to do that?” he asked, a little surprised but pleased.

Y/N shrugged. “Of course. I mean, you’ve been my friend for so long, and I’ve always wanted to be there for you. Plus, I think it would be fun. I’ve never been on tour with you guys before.”

Seonghwa smiled, warmth spreading through his chest at her words. “That would be amazing. You’re always welcome, Y/N. I’d love to have you there.” He glanced over at her with a teasing smirk. “Just don’t make me look bad in front of the fans, okay?”

Y/N laughed, nudging him lightly with her shoulder. “I’ll do my best to keep your reputation intact, don’t worry.”

The two of them continued to walk, the playful banter easing the tension that had built up over the past few weeks. It had been a while since they had just hung out like this, without any distractions or pressures from the world around them.

As they passed under a streetlight, Y/N pulled out her phone. “Wait, hold on. Let me get a picture of you,” she said, pointing her camera at Seonghwa.

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. “A picture of me? At this hour? Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Y/N grinned mischievously. “You look good in the snow, Seonghwa. It’s the first snow of the year — I’m capturing the moment.”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes but obliged, standing still and letting Y/N snap a few pictures. The snow was falling more heavily now, and the soft light from the streetlamp cast a warm glow over his face. Y/N couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked, standing there with the snowflakes catching in his hair, the quiet smile he wore, and the way his eyes shone in the dim light. She quickly snapped another picture, this one with him laughing at something she had said, his expression relaxed and carefree.

“This one’s perfect,” she said as she reviewed the shot.

Seonghwa leaned over to look at it, his gaze lingering on her face for a moment. “You’re always so good with the camera, Y/N. Maybe you should come on tour as our photographer too.”

She smiled, tucking her phone away. “I’m more than happy to do whatever you need. I’m just glad to be part of this.”

They walked a little farther in silence, the cold wind picking up, but neither of them felt the need to rush back to the warmth of the dorm. Instead, they wandered aimlessly, each lost in their thoughts, enjoying the peaceful quiet of the snowy evening.

“I’m really looking forward to the tour,” Seonghwa said quietly, breaking the silence once again. “But, you know, it’s going to be hard being away from everyone for so long.”

Y/N nodded. “I get that. It’s going to be tough for all of you. But I’m sure it’ll be amazing. You’ve worked so hard for this.”

He smiled at her, his gaze softening. “Yeah… but I’m glad to have you around, Y/N. Even if you’re not officially part of the group, you’re always there for us. It means a lot.”

Y/N felt her heart flutter at his words, but she kept her expression neutral, not wanting to let on how much his support meant to her. They had been friends for years, but moments like this always made her wonder if it could be something more. She glanced up at the sky, trying to focus on the falling snowflakes rather than the quiet tension that lingered between them.

“Thanks, Seonghwa,” she said after a moment. “I’ll always be here for you. I mean it.”

They stopped walking, standing in the middle of the street with the snow falling gently around them. Seonghwa turned to face her, his eyes searching hers. “Y/N…”

She looked up at him, feeling her heart race as he took a step closer. The world around them seemed to slow, the only sound the soft whisper of the wind and the delicate sound of snowflakes landing on the ground.

“I… I’m glad you’re here,” Seonghwa said, his voice low but sincere.

Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat, her pulse quickening as she realized how close they were. There was a moment of stillness, an almost electric tension in the air. And then, without thinking, she reached out, lightly hooking her arm through his, pulling herself closer as they resumed walking.

Seonghwa’s heart skipped a beat, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he adjusted his stride to match hers, their arms brushing gently. Neither of them spoke for a while, the silence between them comfortable, yet filled with something unspoken.

They walked under the stars, with the snow continuing to fall around them. The moment felt timeless, like something out of a dream. And in that moment, with their hands brushing, with their hearts both racing, it was as if everything had finally fallen into place.

As they reached the end of the street, Y/N stopped and looked up at him. “I’m really glad we did this. I needed it,” she said softly, her gaze meeting his.

Seonghwa smiled, his eyes full of warmth. “Me too.”

Then, in a sudden, gentle motion, he leaned forward, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, tender kiss. The first kiss — not rushed, not forced, but as natural as breathing. It felt like everything had led to this moment, as if they were always meant to share this quiet, beautiful moment together.

When they pulled away, their foreheads resting against each other, neither of them spoke for a long time. The snow continued to fall, the stars twinkling above them, and for once, everything felt right.

[colossrat]

superbat?

It took me a while to think about them, sorry-- and at the moment I think I'm pretty influenced by the young Batman with eye makeup who still doesn't know how to deal with a crowd, plus Clark Kent, the Daily Planet intern who isn't Superman yet and has trouble dealing with the big city stuff

Clark, a young man who just joined the Daily Planet, and Bruce, who just returned to Gotham after years of barely interacting with another human being :D also clark is not superman yet and bruce is not brucie yet

Clark recently moved to Metropolis and, despite the challenges, remains optimistic. He’s working as an intern at the Daily Planet, and that’s a big achievement for him! But he wants more, he doesn’t want to just sort papers and serve coffee. So, he embraces every journalism opportunity he can to prove to his superiors that he’s good at what he does.

But that leads him to cover for Cat Grant at a gala and he was in no way ready for that.

His day overall had been terrible. Besides adjusting to the big city, it was hectic at the office and he hadn’t had time to eat anything. Even though he doesn’t need to eat to survive, it’s a way he deals with anxiety and helps him feel a little more human. But at this gala, there’s only rich-people food! Tiny portions of weird, expensive things. He doesn’t like that. he prefers homemade food, meals made with love or at least with fewer pesticides and edible paints.

Cat Grant made him wear a suit, which didn’t seem so bad at first. But inside the large ballroom full of local celebrities, he realized how faded and outdated his suit looked. He felt like everyone in the room knew his sock had a hole in it and was silently judging him.

He’s feeling pseudo-hungry, awkward, and of course it gets worse. He keeps tripping over people’s feet or bumping into shoulders. But come on! Can you blame him?! He’s a farm boy, he’s a big guy, and these people around him have zero spatial awareness. Not only do they keep bumping into him, they don’t even apologize, just look at him like he’s some dirty stray dog. And it doesn’t take long for him to start feeling that way too.

His super hearing, which he usually prides himself on being able to control, won’t stop expanding without his consent, catching snippets of conversations directed at him, about his clothes, his posture, how awkward and oversized he is, how he seems out of place, questioning who invited him, whether he’s even a real reporter or just crashed the event… Everything becomes too much when he hears some voices getting a little too personal about his body.

“He’s awkward, sure, but look at that tan! I’d pay triple whatever he makes just to have him work in my garden.”

“Haha, true. If you stripped off that boring suit, those glasses, and, well, if he stopped acting like such a droopy puppy, he’d be kind of cute.”

Enough!

Clark bolted from the ballroom as fast as he could. He couldn’t take it anymore. The cacophony of cruel, shrill voices mocking him overstimulated every sense. The fabric of his suit felt like it was burning his skin with embarrassment, and he wanted nothing more than to take off his glasses and throw them off the balcony where he found himself.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t afford a new pair. So he gently removed his glasses and buried his face in his hands, groaning as hot tears streamed from his eyes.

One moment, he was crying in frustration; the next, he spun around abruptly, startled by a calloused hand resting on his shoulder.

When he turned, he was surprised to see a man a little shorter than him, slimmer, and though the deep eye bags were hidden with makeup, he had a graceful, elegant look.

The man didn’t seem to know what to say, he simply offered Clark a handkerchief with a gentle gesture.

“No need to be ashamed. I know how suffocating these events can be,” was all the man said, his voice rough, like even speaking was something outside his daily routine.

Clark didn’t know why, but he chuckled softly at the interaction. He accepted the handkerchief and wiped his cheeks. Not that it helped much, as the tears kept falling.

He took a little more time to study the man. His suit was a deep black, though rumpled. He didn’t seem to have brought anything with him… Maybe he was a waiter?

“Did you come out here to hide from the rude old ladies too?” Clark asked, and that got a small smile from the man. Even though it was subtle, it felt like a lot coming from him, and so it made Clark happy.

They stayed out on that balcony for quite some time. The stranger tried to cheer Clark up in his own way, gossiping about the socialites inside, pointing out who had a fake purse, who was cheating on whom, and who was secretly broke.

They talked about how awful and noisy these parties were. Clark learned that the man was still adjusting to this lifestyle and often stepped outside for air, and even though he liked being alone, Clark was good company. Very polite, too! My god, how rude those other rich people were.

Eventually, Clark sighed and said he needed to head back in to get some quotes. He’d calmed down from the earlier panic but was hesitant to leave the man behind. Still, Cat would kill him if he didn’t get a quote from the guest of honor. Bruce Wayne, thought to be dead after his disappearance, was making a surprise appearance at tonight’s gala.

“I could give you a quote, if you want,” the man offered. If Clark dared to guess, he’d say the man was nervous about offering it.

Clark thought it was a joke and decided to play along, pulling out the little notebook he always carried and readying his pen. The man cleared his throat, straightened his posture, and began to speak seriously about business issues, local politics, and respecting loyal clients. He spoke so well and with such confidence that Clark actually wrote it all down. Felt like a waste of good words not to.

“And whose name should I put with this quote?” Clark asked, realizing that throughout their whole conversation, he hadn’t once asked the man’s name. How rude of him! But maybe the man would forgive the slip… Clark had really enjoyed their interaction, and after all the crying, he felt bold enough to add, “Do you think I could get your number too? To talk more later?”

Clark saw the man’s eyes light up with a glimmer, then shift to confusion, then realization, and finally red spread across his cheeks.

“You really don’t know who I am?” he asked softly. Clark felt shame hit him like a brick wall, he should have asked for this man’s name earlier!

“Bruce Wayne,” he added, and it made all of Clark’s thoughts freeze.

They looked at each other for a few seconds, the realization hitting Clark like a kryptonite rock, while Bruce looked more amused than he had all night.

Clark was so stunned he didn’t resist when Bruce took the notebook and pen from his hands, scribbling a number before handing them back.

“It’s nice to know the Daily Planet is hiring such polite people these days. For most of our conversation, I thought you were just being nice to me for the quote…” he explained like it was nothing.

Clark felt his cheeks heat up too. He let out a small laugh as he adjusted his glasses, trying to hide the giddy smile on his face while looking down at the phone number.

“You’re the first rich person who didn’t treat me like crap today too,” he said without thinking, nerves bubbling back up again. He quickly shut his mouth in embarrassment, while Bruce simply laughed, covering his mouth as he looked the reporter over again.

They exchanged a few more words, Clark feeling like a doofus and Bruce assuring him it was fine.

Eventually, they had to part ways, but after spending the whole evening talking so easily, neither of them could shake the feeling that the next time they talked, it was going to be the best conversation of all

[apollabarnes]

part one // part two // part three // part four // part five // part six // part seven // part eight // part nine // part ten // part eleven // part twelve // part thirteen // part fourteen // part fifteen // part sixteen // part seventeen // part eighteen

tommy and athena actually do go for coffee.

bobby wants to talk to evan in private, and tommy figures that by the time they get back hen, ravi and howie will have made their way over for a 118 confab.

tommy bites back the reflexive 'it doesn't mean anything yet' that wants to escape. it's hard not to say it, because bobby's team has a habit of being just a little bit bulletproof. tommy doesn't believe in jinxes, but he worries that saying it out loud will cancel out their luck.

he gets athena the kind of fancy coffee that she rarely indulges in and finds a table in the corner, angling his chair so she's mostly hidden from the rest of the shop.

"bobby has a terrible habit of not wanting to worry me," athena tells tommy, rubbing her temples. "i thought i broke him of that after the radiation scare."

"why does this keep happening to them," tommy asks rhetorically. it's not as if they didn't have crazy calls at the 118 before bobby came to los angeles. it just feels magnified because they're involved, now. "how are you doing?"

"i'm…" athena blows out a breath, sitting back in her chair, "no news is good news, right? i'm holding on to that right now."

"not a bad plan," tommy agrees. he's spent the last few months unbearably glad every time athena's stories about the 118 don't feature one of them in danger. tommy's considered asking her not to talk about them, but not hearing about them at all would have the opposite effect. he'd be constantly stressed out and coming up with reasons to run into them. tommy has first hand knowledge that running into evan isn't always the best thing. "what's the most unhelpful thing you want to say to bobby?"

athena rolls her eyes at him. "you're not trying to shrink me over here, are you?"

"i thought you might want to say it to someone that wasn't him. coming from a guy who famously says stupid shit to his…" tommy trails off, redirects, "cone of secrecy."

"putting a pin in that so we can come back to it," athena warns him. she takes a deep breath. "i want to tell him if he'd told anyone last night we could have started the tests right away, and if it is something serious those extra twelve hours might have helped."

"definitely a good thing you didn't say that to him. you basically called him an idiot."

athena laughs, dropping her head into her hands. "this might be the stupidest thing he's ever done," she continues, her voice muffled, "and it's a high bar to clear."

"so you're saying in the stupidity olympics, bobby's a pole vaulter," tommy jokes.

"did you see—" athena laughs harder.

"i did. i was impressed by his pole handling."

that sets athena off again. tommy's glad that they left the hospital, that they're somewhere unfamiliar. it's not that it's not funny, it's just… tommy can hear the strain in her voice. it's getting to her. he's not surprised. between the cruise and the fire and now this, bobby hasn't managed to go six months without being in life threatening danger. it's enough to make anyone crack, but there's no way athena would do that in front of bobby while they still don't know what's going on.

"do the rest of them," she says.

what the hell. tommy does. and because all of them run headfirst into danger and laugh while they do it, he picks equally dangerous sports.

"evan does the luge. hen and howie are two person bobsleigh. ravi's a speed cyclist. eddie is a speed skater," tommy grins at her.

"that's accurate," athena agrees after consideration. "i almost wish i had a shift today."

"can't think about all the stuff going wrong when you're busy serving and protecting," tommy agrees immediately. "let me guess, your captain said not to come in until bobby's out of the hospital."

"you've met her," athena says wryly.

"mine texted and told me to take the rest of the week. if you're looking for a buddy, well. call me."

athena raises an eyebrow. "where exactly are you spending that week?"

"don't ask me, i have no idea what i'm doing."

[what-if-i-like-my-mechs-older]

Somewhere in the far depths of space in the transformers animated universe.

Rodimus is currently snuggling up with the big bad ex Decepticon leader, talking about their future and just happy to be away from everything... that was until his private comm went off.

Rolling over he looked to see who it was, squinting at the screen, still hung over from last night.

He whined loudly as he saw Sentinels face.

Urgh what an awful thing to see.

Megatron being the big spoon , pulled him closer nuzzling against his neck

"What's the matter Firelight."

His voice more gravelly than usual as he was still half asleep (also back in his original Cybertronian body.)

"It's Sentinel Magnus, I don't want to answer it."

"But you must or he'll call another four hundred and twenty times."

Rodimus frowned , rolled his optics dramatically, when the big guy was right, he was right.

"Helllllooo this is Rodimus Prime of the Lost light, conjunx of the ex great leader Megatron, how may I help you this fine day?"

He said in an overly chipper voice.

"Must you remind me you bonded with that criminal!"

"Yes always, if you keep being snarky I'll send out a video of us saying you paid for live entertainment."

Rodimus snapped at him.

"You wouldn't!?"

Megatron leaned in closer

"We would."

"I, oh, I didn't realise you were there...anyway, we've been stuck on a project back here and... I hate to say it, need Megatron's help."

Sentinel grumbled , going through his files.

Now that piqued Megatrons interest aswell as Rodimus's

"Oh, with what exactly?"

The ex Con asked, plucking the device from Rodimus's much smaller hand.

"Well...Shockwave won't talk to us-"

"Oh, I can't think why, can you Firelight?"

Megatron feigned innocence and winked at his lover, making the Autobot snigger.

"This is not the time for your antics Decepticon. Optimus was in an accident and from Wheeljacks findings he was sent to another Universe at first we thought he'd perished in the explosion but-"

Now while Megatron and Roddy, deeply loved each other, they had gone over a list of five Decepticons and five Autobots they definitely would include in a threesome (-.w-. Come on I had to.) And Optimus was both Rodimus and his top choice...not only that the both of them held him in the highest respect as a warrior.

Megatron put it on speaker to make sure Rodimus could hear it to.

"When exactly did this accident happen? When did Optimus get sent to this other world?"

Sentinel , didn't answer that quickly , clearing his throat he finally said.

"Two years ago. We were hoping Shockwave would help is with the calculations to retrieve him after the first year, but he simply refuses unless you order him."

(But only a month for or so for Optimus, different worlds different time stuff.)

Ah yes I should mention maybe Megatron was Rodimus's prisoner who had been under his custody, things happened they fell in love and because Megatron is a warframe, Cybertron would not recognise their bond as binding because of that....and well it's Megatron, while them being together is definitely mtmte inspired , it's not well....that story.

"Did you even try to give him liberties, make his life more comfortable or did you simply try and beat it out of him, scan his processor, you won't find answers to things he has not worked on....wait, did you say two years?"

Megatron, glared at the calling device as if he could burn a hole through Sentinels helm.

Sentinel stretched and nonchalantly replied

"It's just Optimus, but you know people would not shut up about him and I can't even have a coffee without someone asking , when's Optimus coming back sir, he's the hero of Cybertron."

They heard him thump a hand down on his desk

"I'm the hero of Cybertron for Primus sake, I'm the Magnus that took over and yet they're hailing that dirty half breed as a hero , it sickens me!"

"A what sir?"

Rodimus answered this time, his voice stiff as this revelation came crashing over him.

Megatron was surprised, but now that explained A LOT....but to call Optimus a dirty half breed...this classist behaviour was exactly why he had started the war...that unfortunately twisted itself into something terrible.

"You disgust me."

"Like wise Con, but we need to get Optimus back just so they'll shut the frag up!"

Rodimus hung up the device.

So that's why Sentinel had always been so cruel to Optimus, it wasn't because Optimus was useless or pathetic as Sentinel had always bragged , but because he had warframe in him.

"Megs."

"Yes Rodimus."

"If we can ever get away with killing him, we should let Optimus have the privilege, now I think you'd better call Shockwave."

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Megatron nodded in response and called him.

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