#fun and angsty places I hope

[nostalgic-shamefest]

I know the girls are fighting and all but is anybody else super excited about a potentially messy, intertwined, complicated, non YA, hopefully maturely handled, with a side of self discovery, mlm love triangle with like some of the main characters of a big ass mainstream tv show???

[waterfallofspace]

All That Remains

So! I wrote a 'snzfic' that is like... 80-90% angst and whump. Though, there is snz in here, but uh... yeah I won't lie and sell this as a 'snzfic', think of it much more as an angst/whump fic that has snz featured too~

basically i had too many feelings about t/im s/toker and this is what happened

[CW: Swearing, Spoilers for M/agnus A/rchives, talk of heavy fevers and bad coughs, and a lot of emotional angst/anger]

Word Count: 7.3k Characters: Tim, Jon, Martin, mentions of others ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Go home, Tim.” 

Tim merely rolls his eyes, giving a pointed look to Martin over Jon’s shoulder. He does not meet Jon’s eye. Martin, for his part, looks petrified. Tim’s half convinced if it was up to him, they’d all be sitting around drinking tea. Yeah, like that’s gonna happen. 

“I’m not asking anymore,” Jon continues, voice firm in a way that sets Tim’s teeth on edge. “You’re quite clearly not well.” 

“None of us are ‘quite well’ lately, now are we,” Tim snaps back, a chill settling in his tone. “No ‘well’ person would be here. In this place.” 

Jon pauses, face tightening. It’s not what he meant and they both know it. They both also know that Tim’s not wrong. It’s a stalemate, one that’s been going on for the full three days Tim had been coming to work with this bloody cold that’s begun to nestle in his chest. No doubt one Jon passed on to him, lord knows that man comes into work sick more times than healthy. 

Fine, that might be a tad of exaggeration, but not all that much. Any time a cold, flu, hell- any time anything at all is going around the office? Jon will catch it. If something’s going around outside the office, Jon will catch that too, and bring it into the office. There was a time Elias himself had to step in and ban Jon from the office because he kept catching the same cold he’d just gotten over. Is that even possible? Who knows. In this line of work, ‘possible’ becomes a term applied loosely. 

“Tim?” 

The voice snaps him from his thoughts, Tim silently cursing the fever beginning to settle in his bones. Alright, maybe this is more than just a cold. Still, he’s not going- wait. Out loud. 

“I’m not going home,” Tim manages, this time avoiding Martin’s dripping with concern gaze. Those puppydog eyes lost their charm as the world began to turn on its head. For what it’s worth, before all this, he would’ve been living for the attention. But now? Just the thought of it makes him sick to his stomach, every nerve in his body on edge. 

“I told you,” Jon continues, mouth still pulled tight. “I’m not asking anymore.”

“Oh, so what, you’re ordering me?” Tim retorts, rising to his full height. He doesn’t miss the slight step backwards Jon takes, and fights the urge to feel pleasure at eliciting that response. 

Jon stammers a little before speaking, but clears his throat roughly and calms his tone, “If that’s what you’d like to call it, then yes.” 

“And what would you call it then? Pity? Care? Where was this… this care when I lost Sasha? Where was this pity when I was almost eaten by fucking worms for you?! I don’t need it now, and I won’t have it. Fuck your pity, and especially fuck your version of ‘care’.”

There’s a pause, and Tim could almost swear he sees… sadness in Jon’s eyes. It brings a new bout of rage rushing through his veins, blood beginning to boil. 

It’s Martin that speaks first, barely audible above the pounding in Tim’s chest.

“When we lost Sasha.” 

Tim sincerely considers telling him to fuck off. Maybe even throwing a chair at him.

We. When we lost her. Martin barely knew her, and Jon… No. No ‘they’ didn’t lose Sasha, he did. He lost her, it was him that knew her the best, it was him that talked to her every day, it was him that truly saw her, and it was him that should have seen that- 

But did he? Did he even truly see her? Can he say that he did? All of his memories, they aren’t of Sasha, they’re of… 

“Did any of us truly lose her?” 

It’s barely a whisper, and Tim jolts a little as he realizes the sound came from him. Jon doesn’t seem to have noticed, and if it wasn’t for everything that’s gone to hell, Tim might thank some form of god for that. Martin wears an expression that says he did, but his lips tighten. He won’t answer it. Even if he wanted to, what could he say? That… thing, it took everything they had of her. None of them can recall, none of them can remember her, can mourn her, can miss her. Can miss her. The real her. Whoever that may have been. 

This round of thoughts is interrupted by a deep cough, one Tim aims into his sweater. He pulls away as much as he can from the group, tucking into himself as he leans against the wall for support. 

Martin makes a move to step forward, but pauses as Tim casts him a dark glance. A very firm, and almost cruel, message to back off. The coughing finally subsides enough for Tim to get a real breath in, and he takes a moment to steady himself before maneuvering himself back to his chair. 

“You need to go home, Tim.” 

Tim casts Jon the same dark look, clearing his throat before attempting to retort. The clearing turns into another, and then a third, and then devolves into another round of throat scraping coughs. Tim braces himself with an arm over his chest, wincing as the coughing leaves his lungs and ribs aching. Each new breath leaves them screaming in harmony, and if it wasn’t for the fact that dying right here and now would prove Jon right, Tim might damn well consider stopping. 

“J-Jon’s right, Tim,” Martin stutters, pulling himself to his feet and beginning to busy himself with the kettle as he keeps talking. He’s muttering something or other about sickness, and wearing yourself to the bone. He’s gotten better about the rambling since… but it’s still Martin. Tim isn’t quite sure if he finds that comforting, or infuriating. 

It’s not until he feels the warmth of a mug set next to him that Tim realizes he’s practically laying on his desk. His arms are curled beneath him, supporting his head, and… for the life of him he cannot remember moving. He looks up, and notices Jon’s left the room. So it’s been more than just the few seconds it’s felt like. Delightful. 

A hand presses to his forehead, and Tim has to bite his own cheek to keep from crying out. He practically leaps backwards, or, as close as he can get with his body in such a state of exhaustion. All he really succeeds at doing is falling backwards out of his chair, eyes wide with panic. 

Martin stares at him, hand still outstretched, looking deeply apologetic. 

“Don’t do that again,” Tim snaps, quick to respond before Martin can get a word out. Masking his terror with anger, something he’s found comes pretty naturally to him these days. “I don’t need your fucking pity, or your fucking help.” 

He hopes Martin doesn’t notice the way his hands are trembling. Or that despite how harsh the words were, his voice cracked through them, dangerously close to tears.  

Every scar on his body throbs, and Tim can’t tell if it’s from the fever or the panic. Suddenly he feels the urge to scratch. To claw and tear and rip each one open, make sure there’s nothing crawling around inside him. He can still feel them, each wound… where they dug in… how they felt, crawling in and out of his aching flesh–  

And just as quickly as it began, it passes. He’d blame it on the fever, but this has been happening since the attack. In the beginning it was constant, and he found it hard to focus on anything but the scars. Over time it had faded, slowly but surely, until it was hardly noticeable. Then… Sasha. And it was back all over again. 

“Tim?” 

The voice is soft. Timid. Martin. 

Tim manages to open his eyes, though they feel heavier than they should. He tries to take stock of his surroundings, but the room begins to spin. 

“Yeah?” Is all he can manage, before his eyes crash shut again. He doesn’t remember closing them in the first place. 

“You need help walking, you can’t do it on your own, but I don’t uh… I d-don’t wanna…” it stammers a bit more, before Tim hears a deep breath, and the voice starts again. “You need help, I’m just gonna touch your arm, okay? And you grab onto me if you can, I’ll support your weight, you just lean on me.” 

Sure enough he feels a grip on his arm, but true to his word, Martin doesn’t do anything further. Tim can’t bring himself to feel anything. Surely he should be grateful that Martin’s being so considerate. Or maybe angry that he’s being treated like he’s fragile. 

Instead, he just stands. It’s slow, unsteady, and despite himself he leans into Martin’s grasp. Martin for his part is saying something, his voice low and steady. It’s probably meant to be comforting, but Tim just tunes it out.

“Storage room,” He mutters, refusing to meet Martin’s eyes.

“N-no, we need to get you home, you’re in no state-” Martin begins, but Tim cuts him off, pulling away with a move that almost sends him to the floor again. 

He manages to find his balance, glaring up at Martin with what even he knows is misplaced anger. “No. I am not going home. I am going to lay down on the couch in the storage room until this…” 

Martin doesn’t speak, clearly waiting for the end of the sentence. Tim wants to say… something. Anything. But he can’t seem to find words that fit. Till this sickness passes? Till this feeling goes away? Till he can stand to look at this office and not feel all the grief and anger and misery that this place seems to leak from every wall? 

“I’m just gonna go lay down,” Tim finally finishes. An unsatisfying end. Par for the course around here. 

There’s no argument, and despite Martin offering his arm again, Tim pushes past him and stumbles his way into the room alone. Collapsing onto the couch, he pulls his jacket tight around his shoulders. There’s some form of blanket around here somewhere, but he’s too warm anyway. Despite the fact he can’t stop shivering. Fucking fever. 

~~~~~

Even before Tim opens his eyes he can feel the heaviness spread over him. It’s gotta be more than just his coat and… for a minute he considers ripping the blankets off. He didn’t ask for their pity, he didn’t ask for their help, but… 

His eyes only open for a second before fluttering shut again. It’s more comfortable than he’d like to admit, and he soon finds himself drifting back off into another fitful sleep. This time instead of the things crawling in and out of him, his unconscious is greeted by eyes. Too many eyes. His body lays still, but his mind races. They all watch him. He can’t find it in himself to do anything but let them. 

~~~~~

This time Tim manages to keep his eyes open long enough to take stock of his surroundings. There’s a couple more blankets folded neatly on the end of the couch, and- yeah. He was right, someone had draped a few extra over him as he’d slept. There was also a pile of… what’s gotta be a scraped together ‘cold and flu kit’. A couple tissue boxes, a handful of pill packages, some- chapstick? Tim does find himself damn near chuckling at that one. No sound comes out, but it’s still the closest thing to real laughter he’s had in awhile. 

It’s sweet. The pile, the offerings, it’s kind of them, but Tim feels that pit in his stomach begin to deepen. It doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t fix anything. And he didn’t ask for their help. Their pity. He’s not some… some broken thing for them to take apart and put back together. 

But he knows that’s not the real reason. That lump in his aching throat reminds him every time he swallows. Almost as if he can hear it in each heartbeat. It should be Sasha. It should be Sasha. It should be Sasha. 

Still, despite it all, Tim can’t deny he needs some of the shit they’ve left him. This is made clear as the itch he’d been fighting for days rears its head, sending chills down his spine. He barely manages to grab a handful of tissues before the first sneeze breaks through, stifled painfully into near silence, followed by another double he manages to stifle silently too. 

Another thing he learned from her. Unless he didn’t. Who fucking knows anymore. 

Tim doesn’t have long to linger on the thoughts before the next sneeze breaks through his control, roughly stifled again. It leaves his ears ringing, his sinuses throbbing, and his head pounding, but… it’s better than being heard. And you know what? Maybe he wants to have a little control over a situation that’s almost entirely out of his control. Sue him. 

“huh’kNXgt– dNGT’iuh-! Fuck.” 

He takes the pause to blow his nose, wincing as it does almost nothing but leave him even more congested. Even just the effort of that seems to sap all the energy he has. It takes all he has to toss the tissues in the general vicinity of the trash, grabbing a new handful. Knowing his nose, he’s not done. 

“knNCh-uh-! eh’KNXgt-! ah’RZSHHH–oo!” 

The last breaks through his control, scraping against his throat. Well isn’t that just the whole point. No control, no matter how hard he tries. He curses under his breath, spending the last of his handful of tissues to blow his nose a few more times. Thankfully that seemed to satisfy the itch enough for now. It retreats back into a softer, yet still deeply irritating, buzzing. 

Tim finds his eyes closing before he can really stop them. His body collapses against the back of the couch, and his breath begins to even out into congested snores. In his last seconds of consciousness, Tim almost has the presence of mind to pull the blankets back over himself. Instead he settles for some half-assed wiggle into a more comfortable position, hands tucked beneath his chin as he falls back into the void of sleep. 

The people that he doesn’t know at all begin to surround him, each of them wearing a face that he can’t help but recognize. This time he cries out. No one comes. 

~~~~~

“Hey, hey, easy, don’t move too fast,” The voice says, Tim slowly peeling his eyes open. The world is blurry, the light making all the lines in the room start to swirl together. He blinks the sleep from his eyes, coughing roughly into a curled fist as the change in pressure just from sitting up leaves him breathless. 

“Wow you really don’t follow instructions, do you?” The voice is playful, teasing, but softens as his spasms continue. “Easy does it, you’ve been out for awhile, I was starting to get a bit worried you’d never wake up again.” 

Tim still can’t make out the figure, tears collecting in his lashes as the coughing spills out from his lungs. His whole body feels heavy, and he searches in vain for something to lean against. 

The voice speaks again, soft and caring. “Just lean back, the couch is behind you, it’ll catch- yeah, there you go. Just breathe, alright? It’ll be over soon. There’s a water bottle to your left, yeah right there, drink some of that, would ya? Easy though, don’t choke on it.” 

He does as he’s told, taking slow sips until the spasms ease enough for him to draw a full breath without coughing. There’s a light wheeze to his inhales, but as he continues his slow but steady breaths, it fades back into the mild congestion settling in his lungs. 

“Tha-ks,” Tim says, his voice coming out crackly and congested. He considers clearing his throat, but the itch in the back of his lungs warns him against it. Guess he’ll have to settle for sounding a bit like death until his chest calms itself. 

“You sound awful. What have I told you about coming into work sick?” The voice is calm, there’s no anger in it. It just sounds… playful. And… familiar in that way where Tim can’t place it. He can’t say he’s ever heard it before. But he instinctively leans into it, keeps his eyes shut as he waits for– something. He’s waiting for something, but he doesn’t know what. 

A cool touch breaks him from the trance, and he lets out a near moan at the sensation. “Tim… you’re burning up.” It’s not the same voice. This one is still soft, and caring, but it doesn’t feel as– it’s just not right. He can place it though, and he opens his eyes to find Martin’s general shape kneeling in front of him. As Tim’s eyes begin to focus a bit more through the haze, he can identify the knitted brows and tight mouth; concern written clearly across Martin’s face. 

He wants to tell Martin to leave him alone. He wants to ask where the other voice went. To ask who they were. To tell them to come back. He does none of this however, that damned itch deciding it’s been dormant for long enough. 

Tim barely has time to pull away from Martin, raising the collar of his sweater to cover his nose and mouth as the hitching begins. He sits there for a moment, frantic “hh– hUhh–!” coming out in fragments as his whole body begins to buzz. Finally it builds to a breathy, “hh’yshhiew! h’ZShhh–uh! tzsHhh-! ah’tSHH–iew!” 

They’re lighter than the others, his more natural airy sneeze, not the heady, throat scraping mess that comes after one too many stifles. Unfortunately they do still shift the congestion in his head, and he finds himself awkwardly reaching for the tissues, one hand pressed up under his nose. 

Thankfully Martin takes pity on him, and pushes the box within his reach. Tim grabs a handful and blows, then again, and then a third and final time. Martin, to his credit, doesn’t say anything about the whole spectacle. He settles instead for casting Tim that same worried glance, with a hint of a sympathetic smile. 

“So-rry,” Tim manages to croak out, coughing a little as the words pass through his throat. He takes a moment to drink some more of the water, relieved when it helps the next words come out audible, albeit quite congested. “That tends to happen when I wake up.” 

“It’s alright,” Martin replies instantly, rising from the floor to seat himself on the couch, a respectable distance away from Tim. “You have nothing to apologize for, you’re sick, you’re allowed to have symptoms. It kinda comes with the territory!” 

Martin chuckles a bit after that last part, clearly trying to lighten the mood a bit. Tim manages to give a weary smile. After all, it’s not Martin’s fault he feels like shit. And despite the anger he was aiming at him earlier… Martin’s just trying to help. He knows that. But more than that… this isn’t Martin’s fault. None of this. He’s just as caught up as Tim. Without Jon here, it’s easier to remember that. 

But still… Tim has to bite down the rising anger at the memories of what Martin had said. Jon’s going through it. Jon’s taking it hard. Jon needs their support. All the comments race around his head, spinning at dizzying rates until Tim feels a hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey, hey, you’ve gone really pale, do you need… c-can I do anything? Do you need anything?” 

Tim shrugs the hand off, pulling himself as upright as he can manage with the world shifting perspective each time he blinks. “No, I’m… I’m okay.” 

“Well we both know that isn’t true.” 

The comment seems to catch them both equally off guard, Martin’s eyes going wide as his mouth falls slack. “I- I don’t know why I said… I’m- I’m sorry, it just kinda-” 

“Hey,” Tim interrupts, putting on his best shit-eating grin. It’s halfhearted at best, but trying times and all that. “You were actually a bit of an ass for once, don’t ruin the moment with the whole apology thing.” 

“R-ruin the moment of me being an ass…?” 

That gets what would almost be called a genuine smile from Tim. “I prefer it to the crippling optimism and ‘let’s all be friends’ attitude.” 

There’s a pause as Martin seems to take this in, considering it with an unreadable expression. Tim continues, though whether it’s for his benefit or Martins, he isn’t sure. Blame it on the fever. “I mean, it’s never gonna be the same again, is it. Not that it was all that great to begin with, but… better to be a realistic ass, then pretend it could be that way again. Making fun of Jon with Sash, talking about how it should’ve been her, joking about taking him out so she could take over… and yet still helping him out, and laughing with him on the rare moments you catch him outside of his ‘I’m The Serious Bossman Now’ attitude-”

Martin laughs a bit at this, and even through the fevered haze, Tim can see the memories flashing behind Martin’s eyes too. Though for Martin, those memories might not be quite as treasured as they are for Tim. Jon was definitely more of an ass to Martin than he truly deserved back then. Not that he’s overflowing with nice now, but… he does seem to go easier on him. 

“Then again,” Tim finds himself saying, “can’t really be sure that was really her anyways, now can I. I mean, I have all these memories, these things we did, the fun we had, how she was… but all of it’s corrupted. Useless. None of it’s real, I don’t… I don’t even remember what she looked like. Or what her voice sounded like… I mean it’s so clear in my head, when I think of Sasha I remember her voice and her glasses and how she wore them kinda lopsided but- none of that was really her, was it?” 

There’s no response to this, not that he was expecting one. Honestly, Tim didn’t even mean to say that much. He looks up, noticing the same tears in Martin’s eyes that he can feel starting to well up in his own. Fuck all of this, honestly. Fuck Martin crying, as if he has any right to. As if Tim himself has any right to cry for… whoever it was that he might have known. He can’t even be sure they were close, but… the hole that he can’t quite place inside himself says there’s something he’s missing that he used to have. 

“Fever talking,” Tim finally utters, after a few minutes of unbearable emotionally-charged silence. “Don’t even really know what I’m saying. I’m gonna lay down again.” 

Martin stands, quickly maneuvering himself out of the way so Tim can stretch out. Not that he does. In fact Tim does quite the opposite, curling himself up into as small of a position as he can get. 

“You could stay, you know,” he finds himself whispering, the words coming out strangled and soft. There’s a moment of stillness as Martin pauses, one hand still on the door handle. He heard. They both know he heard. Now he has to decide if he’s gonna acknowledge that, or pretend he didn’t. 

“You know,” Martin finally speaks, Tim startling a little as his eyes snap back open from where they’d almost sunk shut. “Jon’s on a bit of a tangent about doors and spiders and whatnot at the moment. I could use a little peace and quiet.” 

“Well,” Tim says, the words rippling through his throat and leaving him struggling not to cough again. “Can’t really promise the quiet part.” He barely makes it to the end of the sentence before the cough breaks loose, a deep and rattling noise that leaves Martin wincing. 

Tim manages to grab the water bottle from where it had sunk between the couch cushions, and takes a few sips. After a couple more minutes of this back and forth, the coughing finally subsides, leaving him fully winded. 

“Case in point,” he manages to stammer out, swallowing with a grimace as the words burn against his aching throat. 

Martin says nothing at first, still standing awkwardly somewhere between the hall and the room. Finally, without a word, he closes the door behind him and walks over to the couch. There’s a brief pause, and Martin looks over to Tim. As if waiting for confirmation that this is really okay. Tim gives a small nod, curling back into himself, and Martin takes his seat on the edge of the couch. 

“That’s alright then,” Martin finally says, Tim not even bothering to open his eyes at the sound. “I never was a fan of quiet.” 

Sleep overtakes Tim as quick as before, that darkness enveloping him as fast as turning out the lights. The fog begins to roll over him, waves crashing against his feet, ready to consume him whole and drag him to the depths of nowhere. But it doesn’t. Instead, Tim looks up and sees- no one. There’s no one there, there never was, there never will be. 

Still… he can’t shake the comforting feeling that he’s not alone here. Not this time. A voice begins to hum to him. A voice he cannot possibly remember. A song he cannot possibly hear. But all the same, it soothes him into a deep and peaceful rest. 

~~~~~

This time Tim awakens to the sound of shushing, and hushed tones saying words just past his reach of consciousness. As the world begins to come into focus, he notes Martin standing at the door, speaking in hurried but quiet tones to an agitated looking Jon. 

Martin keeps casting glances back at Tim, and on what must be the fifth one, their eyes meet. Immediately Martin turns back to Jon, saying a few more words but this time in a much firmer tone than Tim’s used to hearing from him. Jon seems surprised as well, as he stops talking until Tim hears a faint murmur of… an apology? Followed by footsteps retreating down the hall away from the door. 

Turning around, Martin closes it behind him, giving Tim a soft smile. “Morning, sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“You di-dn’t,” Tim lies, leaning into his shoulder to cough a bit until the rough nature of his throat dwindles enough to sound legible. “I woke up on my own.” 

“That’s good then,” Martin replies, giving a soft smile.

“How long was I out?” Tim asks, swallowing roughly and beginning to search for the water. 

“Most of the day, it’s about mid-afternoon right now”, Martin says, turning towards a shelf, grabbing a cup and gesturing it towards Tim. “I made tea not too long ago, you want some?” 

Tim gives a nod, accepting the cup Martin passes him and letting the warm liquid soothe his throat. The taste is familiar, and he gives Martin a look. “Is this honey and lemon?” 

Martin blushes a little, hands fidgeting with his own mug. “W-well yeah, I figured if you did wake up th- that it might help,” he then pauses, giving Tim a once over. “How are you feeling?” 

“Right as rain,” comes the immediate response, Tim flashing Martin a forced grin. “Never felt better. Locked into a contract at the job from hell, where everyone either dies, goes mental, or gets eaten by worms! What could possibly be wrong, working at a place like the Magnus Institute!” 

It’s dripping with sarcasm, and that all consuming anger that Tim just can’t seem to be rid of. Not that he’s tried. Anger keeps him going. Anger gives him purpose. If it wasn’t for the anger… the depression would take over again. And he’s had damn well enough of that. 

Martin doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing really to say. They both know what he meant, and they both know pressing Tim for an actual answer won’t do anything but lead to a confrontation. Tim’s sure Martin’s well sick of those by now. Seems to be the only language Jon and him still have in common, and Martin never seemed one to take part. 

“hH’TSShh–iew!” The first sneeze catches him by surprise, but Tim has enough presence of mind to set down his cup and bring up his shirt to catch the next- “hihh– tsshhh-! tzSSHhhiew-! teh’ZShh’ew-! ah’tshh-! aH’TSHh–uh!” that follow. 

“Bless you,” Martin offers, setting down his tea and offering the tissue box instead. Tim accepts, taking a handful and pressing them to his nose, wincing as the light touch leaves his breath catching. 

“hh– hiEH!-hhh… hhhH!– hiEH’TSChhew-! aHTCHhh–oo! ah’tSChhho-! at’cHhoo-! nghh…” Tim can’t help the heady sigh that escaped at the end of that fit, the tissues all but useless now. Without a word, Martin offers the box again. Tim merely groans, taking another handful and blowing his nose a few times, until he can breathe again. 

“Bless you again,” Martin says, concern evident in his tone. 

“Thagks,” Comes Tim’s reply, dripping with congestion and sarcasm. 

“You sound awful,” Martin says, seemingly letting it slip before really considering the wording. He starts gearing up to an apology, but Tim holds up a hand, waving it off. 

“I dnow I do. Dod’t apologize, we both kdow it’s true.” With that said, Tim grabs another handful of tissues and attempts again to clear his sinuses. At least enough to make his words understandable. It seems to work, though it takes several blows to get there. “You really gotta work on that apologizing.” 

Martin stammers his way through something like seven near apologies before finally settling on, “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Tim just nods in reply, eyes beginning to flutter shut as he raises another wad of tissues to his nose. He can feel it twitching, nostrils flaring with each rise and fall of the tickle spreading deeper and deeper. 

There’s a beat of silence, Tim hitching mercilessly into the tissues as they both wait in anticipation for anything to happen. 

Finally after almost a full minute of the torture, Tim lets out an itchy moan. 

“Are you-” Martin starts, jumping a little when Tim whips to the side and lets out a desperately itchy sneeze. 

“hH’ATSChhiew-!” 

“Oh- bless you, I guess that was-” “aH’TSChhoo-! ah’TShh–oo! ATSCHh-shhoo!” 

Tim catches Martin wincing out of the corner of his eye as he comes up for air, before ducking back into his pile with “hH’tIEww-!” a few more “ahh!- hng… oh, hhhh– hH’TSChh–iew!” breathy and high pitched “hh’TZSHhiew-!” sneezes. 

Usually Tim would be feeling one of two things. One, enjoyment of the attention he’d get from such a desperate fit. Or two, mortified that people heard that version of his sneezing, how high pitched and dramatic it gets when his nose is really irritated. Admittedly it’s usually the first option, but amidst certain company it can be more humiliating than enjoyable to be reduced to such a display. 

Today, however, he feels neither. Instead he just feels drained. Completely and utterly drained. He uses his last bits of energy to blow his nose, barely able to produce enough willpower to get anything out, and then falls back against the couch. Martin looks on in concern, reaching down to the tray of supplies Tim had– frankly forgotten was there. 

“Look, I know you don’t want our… well I know you don’t want– um, I know-” Martin stammers, rustling through a few packages of pills and grabbing a few things Tim doesn’t even bother to attempt to read. 

“Just spit it out, Martin,” Tim snaps. The weariness in his voice softens the sting of his tone a little, but he doesn’t miss Martin flinch. He’d feel bad, if this was any other situation. He’d feel good if it was Jon. Instead he just ends up where he’s found himself more often than not lately. He doesn’t feel anything. 

“Sorry, uh… w-well,” Martin continues, and to the guy’s credit, he keeps his voice even and his tone soft. Despite the fact Tim knows he doesn’t deserve either. “I know you don’t want our help, or- or my help I suppose, as I’m the only one here right now, but uh– I really think you should take some of these meds. You just– you don’t sound well, and they could help, especially if you’re not gonna take Jon’s advice and…”

Tim feels his blood start to simmer again, despite how exhausted his whole body feels. No pick-me-up quite as good as a bit of rage to get you through the day. Martin knows he messed up. Tim can see it plain as day on his face, Martin’s words grinding to a halt and his eyes beginning to flicker back between the pills and Tim. 

He wants to feel bad for the man, truly he does, and he knows all this rage isn’t fair. All Martin did was state a fact. But… Jon’s advice. Jon’s advice. If he’s not gonna listen to their ‘boss’ who’s been too busy with his mental breakdown to give a fuck about how his employees– how his friends have been doing. If he’s not gonna follow the advice of the man who didn’t check up on him once after he got eaten by fucking worms. The man who stalked him, sat outside his house, took photos of where he went and what he did, but didn’t bother to ask if he was okay. 

“No, Martin,” Tim says, ice and sarcasm soaking through his words. “I am not going to follow Jon’s advice. And your contributions to the ‘Tim Can’t Take Care Of Himself’ club have been deeply appreciated, but now I think you should leave.” 

“Tim, I didn’t mean-”

Tim casts Martin a dark glare, pulling himself to his feet with considerable effort. “Get out.” 

Martin does as he’s told, rising to his feet and hurrying out of the room, though he does pause at the door and give Tim one last look. It’s clear what he’s saying, you aren’t alone. I can help you if you let me. 

It’s a look he remembers from Sasha. She used to say all the time, “I can’t help you unless you let me, and Timothy Stoker you are stubborn as anything, but god help me I will make you let me.” 

But even that is tainted. He wants to believe she really said that, he wants to believe they really had those moments, those looks, that bond, but… even if they did, the face he remembers, the look he remembers, it’s not her. It will never be her. She’s dead and he can’t even do her the small favour of remembering what she was like. 

A few tears begin to run down Tim’s face, and the feeling surprises him enough to snap him out of the anger. And as the anger fades, so does the strength he’d found from it, his legs giving out beneath him. Tim hits the floor hard, feeling his knees grind against the carpet as he sinks to the ground. 

Martin reacts quickly, jumping to action to help break Tim’s fall, strong arms, stronger than he’d expect from the man, gripping his shoulders and helping lean him against the wall. Martin’s speaking too, saying something Tim… just can’t make out above the crying. Why is– why is Martin crying? 

It takes him longer than he’d admit to realize the crying is coming from him. Once he catches on, so do his lungs, and it’s mere seconds before the heaving sobs turn into rattling coughs. Tim gasps for air, hands white-knuckled as he grips Martin’s arm. Martin’s still talking, and through the coughs he manages to understand “sit forward” and “deep breaths”. 

He does as he’s told, desperate to cling onto consciousness as everything begins fading into white. The world begins to spin, flashes of darkness and light taking turns blocking his vision. The worms are back, crawling in and out of his body, leaving his entire skin itching and burning. 

Amidst the chaos, he feels a hand on his back, and a bottle being pressed into his hand. A firm voice calls out to him above all the noise, “Drink this, Tim.”��

Tim manages to do so, identifying the liquid as water as he chokes it down. It’s cold too, the ice cubes giving him something to focus on besides the feeling of crawling and pain in each scar. He takes the time to chew each ice cube that makes it through the bottle, his lungs beginning to calm as his throat soothes at the cool touch. 

“There you go, just like that, now take these and blow,” The voice demands, and Tim feels tissues being pressed into his free hand. The hand on his back is rubbing slow circles, and too out of it to feel any embarrassment, Tim leans forward and blows his nose into the tissues. He blows again, and again, until he can feel some of the pressure in his head start to clear, and his breathing gets a touch less laboured. 

When his vision is cleared enough to look around, Tim glances up and sees Martin sitting beside him, rubbing soft circles on his back. He notes that he’s leaning against Martin’s chest, and makes the conscious choice not to move just yet. Tim then draws his eyes up further to the right to see Jon kneeling in front of him, still holding a handful of tissues. 

“You brought the ice water?” Tim asks, voice coming out surprisingly clear, though quite hoarse. Jon simply nods, suddenly very busy studying the floor beneath them. 

“I,” Jon starts, clearing his throat awkwardly before continuing, “I thought you might need it. I could hear you from my office, you didn’t– you didn’t sound well.” 

“And you just happened to have ice water and tissues sitting around casually on your desk,” Tim asks, doing his best in his foggy state to raise an eyebrow. 

Jon blushes a touch at this, casting an anxious glance over to Martin, before returning his gaze to the floor and answering noticeably quieter, “I may keep a certain set of… supplies in my office, as I’m not exactly unfamiliar with– this sort of condition.” 

“Is that your way of saying you’re sick more times than healthy?” Tim quips back, not unaware of the irony of their current situation. 

Jon doesn’t seem unaware of it either, and for the first time in… in a long time, Tim sees a smile creep over his face. A genuine one, not that professional civility bullshit he’d been putting up as a front lately. 

Jon clears his throat a little before speaking, casting Martin another embarrassed glance. “That statement is definitely not accurate, but… I do suppose you could say I’m–  more susceptible than most.” 

“Well it’s not like I’m immune,” Tim starts, pausing to duck into his shoulder with a rough, “ah’TZShh–oo!” 

“Bless,” Jon says, Martin echoing with a blessing of his own, never pausing his slow circles on Tim’s back. 

“Case in point,” Tim says, letting his eyes fall shut as he leans to the side, suddenly feeling the full weight of his fever begin to pull him back towards unconsciousness. 

He’s snapped out of it by something cold and wet being pressed to his face, managing to pry his eyes open to be met with the sight of Jon holding a washcloth soaked in icewater to his forehead. Despite everything, this sudden touch doesn’t leave him with the same crawling sensation most do. Maybe due to the fact he’s still half leaning against Martin, or maybe because… it’s Jon. And despite everything, he’s the one person that understands… 

“You really should go home, Tim,” Jon says, interrupting Tim’s thoughts as he sets down the washcloth. “I can feel the heat radiating off you from here, and while I don’t have a thermometer to check, I’m willing to bet you’re well past an acceptable fever to be working through.” 

Martin chimes in with his agreement. Tim takes note of the fact he’s stopped rubbing, and instead has one hand behind Tim’s head to keep him from hitting the wall, the other against the ground to keep his balance. 

“Weren’t you the one who came to work with a fever of 41° and fainted at your desk? I seem to remember Elias threatening to call an ambulance,” Tim retorts, tongue sharp as ever, even while fully leaning against Martin to keep himself upright. 

“Are you saying you need me to threaten to call an ambulance to get you to go home?” Jon responds, not without wit of his own. Tim gives him a look, weighing his intentions. He knows Jon won’t get Elias. After everything… he just wouldn’t. But an ambulance..? It’s not outside the realm of possibility he calls one. 

Tim mutters his response, barely audible over the sound of his own wheezing breath. 

“What was that?” Martin asks gently, using his free hand to brush back a bit of Tim’s hair from where it was clinging to his sweat-soaked forehead. Tim nearly melts at the touch, another thing he’s blaming on the fever. 

“I said I don’t think I can make it home like this.” 

Jon pauses, taking a step back and clearly evaluating Tim’s condition. Tim gives a winning smile, one laced to its core with sarcasm. Even in this state, he’s not forgotten what Jon did. How Jon acted. He can put on the concern all he wants, hell he can actually feel it, but it’s too late. He doesn’t need it now, not… not like he needed it then. 

“Fine,” Jon says, Tim nearly jumping at the sudden noise. Martin flinches too, and Tim could swear he sees a flash of guilt across Jon’s features. Still, Jon continues, voice even as ever. “You can stay here and sleep off the fever, it’s not like we’re using this room much anyways. Me and Martin will handle your caseload, between us, and with Melanie’s help, I’m sure we can work something out.” 

“Sounds like a plan boss, now maybe you can leave me to die in peace?” Tim quips in response, wincing a little as the room lurches violently when he rises to his feet. Martin’s still perched at the ready, clearly thinking Tim’s going to fall over again. To his credit, an entirely possible outcome. 

There’s a look in Jon’s eyes that Tim pretends he didn’t see. He knows what it means, after all, Jon used to be his friend. He knows the sadness all too well, he’s felt similar kinds of it himself while Jon was losing his mind right in front of their eyes. Or when Sasha… but no. Knowing the feeling doesn’t mean he has to empathize with Jon. 

Jon, for his part, just nods, gesturing for Martin to follow him as he leaves the room. The door closes behind them with a resounding thud. Tim winces as the sound echoes through his brain, pounding in time with his heartbeat. After they’ve both left, he stumbles over and turns the light off, before collapsing back onto the couch. 

He’ll sleep off the fever, then go home when he can travel on his own. And fuck, maybe he’ll just never come back. Maybe he’ll go on vacation, go somewhere far away, visit Rome, or Peru, or maybe Malaysia. 

Sure, maybe it was nice to have Martin stay with him but... it changes nothing. None of this changes anything. Sasha's still dead, Jon still left them all on their own, and Martin... he's still fighting for a future that's long dead. One that died with Sasha, even before any of them knew it. All that remains now is anger, lies, and whatever the fuck the Magnus Institute has in store for them.

So for now, all he can do is sleep until this fever goes away. Tim's eyes drift shut, and he falls back into the uneven sleep he’s grown so accustomed to. This time he’s back in those never-ending halls, turning corners that cannot possibly be there, walking past hundreds of lamps, paintings, photographs, and mirrors. This time, like many before, he does not scream. 

He’s far too aware, there’s no one to hear him.

[whysamwhy123]

HALLEJUAH!! I REMEMBERED HOW TO ACTUALLY FINISH WRITING SOMETHING FOR A CHANGE!!

Of course, it's not any of the fics I wanted to finish. I went back to what is essentially my bread-and-butter now and wrote a short-ish, random OrangeHook fluff. But considering how much writing's been a struggle as of late, I'm just glad that I successfully finished something. I was back in one of those stretches where I couldn't seem to write much of anything. And this fic isn't about their age difference or Hook being a cuddlebug, so...progress?

Unless I decide I completely hate it (which is always a possibility) expect something to drop on Valentine's Day, tis the season, after all.

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

no doubt ── s. jy

↳ summary ── struggling to balance a world tour, endless responsibilities, and...well, the sting of getting dumped by his girlfriend, jake finds peace & comfort confiding in you—one of his closest friends. what begins as lighthearted late-night phone calls while he's away on tour deepens into something more, quickly pulling you both into uncharted emotional territory. as your connection with jake intensifies, so does your inner turmoil—torn between the comfort of your easy relationship with him and the terrifying possibility of falling for someone you're not even sure you can have in the first place. but jake? jake has absolutely no doubt of what he wants—and spoiler alert? it's you.

↳ pairing ── jake x f!reader, [ft. childhoodbestfriend!jungwon, bestfriends!enha]

↳ genre ── idol!jake, friends to lovers!au || angstttt, fluff, crack

↳ ✎ᝰ. 23.7k [never beating the allegations of getting too attached to my works and having too much fun writing i fear...]

↳ contains ── angst! very angsty but only after a lot of fluff...the cheesy cringe type but then it goes downhill real quick...but happy ending i swear!, mentions of insecurities, maybe one or two curse words, fic starts with jake dating og character named jenn, the use of pet names, jungwon practically plays therapist, jake is absolutely whipped for reader but is terrible at communication and a certified idiot . also jungwon is reader's best friend so the beginning sets up the context for that lolz

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── she's DONEEE [do u hear me crying in the background]...so some backstory lore abt this fic—basically two years ago i had a dream about the ~angsty scene~ of this fic and ever since then, i've had this itch of putting it into words. and when i finally decided to do it, no doubt came out and i thought it was literal fate since the lyrics match the vibe so well...don't tell me it isn't fate guys :') anyways..this is a little different than my typical writing style even though of course i had to include summm crack..but i am still nervous abt how it came out so i really really hope you guys like it :') thank u for all the support and love always <3

↳ update .ᐟ ── check out the sequel series of this fic here!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

You and Yang Jungwon were literally born to be best friends.  

Like, there was no other option.  

Your mom? Their high school's poster child for academic perfection—top of her class, president of every club imaginable, a certified teacher's pet.  

Jungwon's mom? Their high school's unofficial social chair—life of the party, karaoke queen, probably responsible for half the faculty's headaches. 

Nothing alike. 

So naturally, of course, they were inseparable. By their junior year, they'd already started planning their futures together, including one very specific and totally realistic goal that all teenage girl best friends make when they're young:  

"We should have our first kids around the same time and force them to be best friends!"  

"Oh my gosh, yes," Jungwon's mom agreed enthusiastically. "Like, we'll make them share everything! Matching outfits, playdates, joint birthday parties!"  

But what your moms didn't realize as they were giggling over the playful promise that probably didn't hold any meaning to them at the age of 17? 

The universe was taking notes.  

So fast forward a couple decades later, and there you were, baby best friends from birth, fulfilling the shared dream of your mothers—the true puppeteers in this scenario.  

All your moms had to do was execute their promise as planned, but the rest of it? The rest of it was easy.  

You and Jungwon clicked before you even knew what words were, communicating in a series of shared giggles and unintelligible baby noises. By the time you turned two, you were finishing each other's sentences in your made-up gibberish language, and by preschool, the bond was unshakable. 

You two—just like your moms—were inseparable.  

By high school, everyone knew you were a package deal—where you went, Jungwon followed, and vice versa. So, when he announced your sophomore year that he was leaving to compete on a televised idol survival show, you were, understandably, skeptical.  

"Are you sure it's not a scam?" You had asked, rolling lazily around on his bed while he scrambled around his room, packing his bags.  

"It's not a scam," Jungwon laughed, carefully folding his clothes. 

"Did they ask for your social security number?"  

"Y/N."  

"Exactly. I'm just saying—if you end up on one of those exposé documentaries about fake talent shows, don't say I didn't warn you."  

Despite your teasing, you knew how much this meant to him. Jungwon had been dreaming about being in the music spotlight since he figured out how to work a karaoke machine at the age of six.  

So when he eventually did make his debut with his group, you weren't surprised at all—it was inevitable, written in the stars, just like how your friendship with him was.

What did surprise you, though, was how seamlessly you got roped into his new world.  

Sure, Jungwon's life got infinitely busier overnight, but there is no universe that exists in which he'd forget about you—his non-conjoined twin, ride-or-die, and ultimate life-long nuisance (his words, not yours).  

And so naturally, you became an honorary member of this new life of his. The boys' practice studio might as well be your new home—the endless days camping out on the floor of their dance studio with your head in your textbooks while they drilled their choreography for the hundredth time proved that. Or maybe how you crash on their dorm couch so often that Sunoo coined you your new nickname: their unofficial eighth member.  

Which brings you to now: a marketing major by day, unofficial idol by night, and, as always, a certified magnet to chaos.

Case in point? Whatever madness was happening around you at this exact moment.  

"Okay, but hear me out," Heeseung says, gesturing dramatically with his pizza slice—one of many scattered across the coffee table everyone was sitting around. "Pineapple is the perfect combination of sweet and savory—"  

"It's a crime against humanity," Sunghoon cuts in. 

Tomorrow? The boys leave for their five-month tour.  

Tonight? Tonight is tradition: the pre-tour pizza bash.  

Naturally, it's chaos, as no one has bothered with the last-minute packing they're supposed to be doing.  

Not a single bag is packed.  

"It's fruit on bread," you scrunch your nose, taking a bite of your own normal pepperoni pizza. "This isn't dessert, Hee."  

"Thank you!" Sunghoon reaches across the table to high-five you. 

From the couch behind you, Jake chuckles and nudges your back with his knee, "Big talk coming from someone who claims pickles belong on everything."  

"Uh, because they do," you whip your head around to glare at him. "Pickles are versatile."  

"Versatile my ass," Jungwon mumbles from his spot beside you. "I love you, but you're deranged."  

"Look who's talking, Mr. 'I-put-hot-sauce-on-everything'," you shoot back, eyes narrowing at your best friend. Everyone chuckles from around the table at your dramatic, yet endearing, overreaction. 

"Hot sauce is different," Jay chimes in without even looking up from his phone. "It's an enhancer."  

"Pickles enhance flavor too!"  

"By making everything taste like vinegar," Sunoo deadpans from your other side. "Gross."  

"Whatever," you roll your eyes. "You're all uncultured."  

"And you're a menace," Jake quips from behind you, his voice dripping with amusement. You don't even have to turn around to see the smirk on his face—you can hear it loud and clear. 

"Careful, Sim," you say with a sly glance over your shoulder. "Keep talking, and I'll start adding pickle juice to your coffee."  

The room fills with laughter, but before Jake can fire back, his phone buzzes aggressively against the couch. You watch him glance down at his screen before his playful smile instantly fades.  

"I'll be right back," Jake mutters, getting up and heading towards the kitchen without another word.  

You frown as you watch him disappear around the corner, the sudden shift in his mood gnawing at you, and you can't help but wonder what's gotten under his skin. 

After a few more minutes of heated debates over pizza toppings—and yet another round of everyone ganging up on your weird pickle obsession—you decide it was time for a drink refill.  

Excusing yourself, you step into the kitchen, only to find Jake leaning against the counter, his arms crossed and gaze fixed on the empty wall in front of him. His phone sits abandoned on the counter, screen dark.  

"Jake?" You call out softly, approaching slowly. 

Your voice breaks through his haze, his expression flickering as he registers you standing in the doorway, your brows furrowed in concern.  

"What's going on?" You ask, moving closer to stand in front of him.   

"Nothing," Jake says too quickly, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

You give him a look and he knows that you know he's lying, "Jake.."  

He exhales, his expression crumbling as he runs a hand through his hair, "Just...Jenn called."  

Ah. Of course. Jenn.  

You almost flinch at the sound of the name, the weight it carries instantly souring your stomach. Jake's on-again, off-again girlfriend of two years was a constant source of heartbreak—not just for the poor boy, but for the entire group who helped pick up the pieces of his broken heart after every messy break-up…and even messier make-up.  

"She broke up with me," Jake admits quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "For real this time. Something about me leaving for tour and how it wasn't going to work out."  

Your heart hurts at the sight of him in front of you—shoulders slumped, hands nervously twisting the hem of his shirt, as if trying to distract himself from the conversation.  

"Oh, Jake...," you murmur, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder as you lean against the counter next to him.  

"I'm fine," he insists, waving it off, but the expression on his face clearly betrays him.  

"No, you're not," you say, trying to catch his eyes. "And that's okay."  

Jake lets out a shaky breath, finally looking up from the ground to look at you, before shrugging, "I don't even know why I’m surprised. We've been...really off for a while now. Like, more than usual. But still, it sucks."  

“Of course, it sucks," you nod, agreeing softly. "You guys were together for a long time. You cared about her."  

For a moment, the two of you sit in a heavy silence with an unspoken understanding, the only sounds coming from the muffled chatter and laughter in the other room. You stay close, letting him process without pushing further.  

Still, you can't entirely suppress the annoying flare of emotions bubbling in your chest—a tangled knot of sympathy and…something else. Relief, maybe? Not that you would ever wish any sort of pain on Jake—but you hate the way Jenn always leaves him like this: drained, doubting himself, and trying to piece together what went wrong, where he went wrong. 

"Come back to the living room," you say finally, nudging his side gently. "Ni-ki is freaking out over which hoodies to pack. And I swear, they're all the same black hoodie."  

Jake lets out a small, tired laugh, "You don't need me for that. He's gonna end up packing all of them, just watch."  

"You don't know that," you tease. "Besides, I need someone's back up to help me convince him he's not actually going through an emo phase."  

His eyes carry a faint smile as he looks at you, the corners of his lips lifting just enough to remind you of the warmth he usually carries.  

"Okay," he says in a whisper, pushing himself off the counter.  

You start towards the doorway, forgetting about your drink refill entirely, but his voice stops you.  

"Y/N?"  

You turn to find him still standing there, his eyes filled with warmth and appreciation.  

"Thanks," he adds, a small smile on his face. It's such a simple statement, but the way he says it—soft, sincere, and maybe just a little desperate—makes something twist in your stomach. "For just...always being here."  

You smile back up at the boy, "Of course, Jake. I'll always be here for you. You know that."  

For a moment, he holds your gaze, as if taking a mental note of something. Then he nods, his shoulders relaxing.

"Okay," he says, exhaling as he gestures toward the doorway. "Let's go.”

You follow behind the boy back to the living room, silently hoping he knows just how much you mean your promise to him.  

Jake's body is on autopilot at this point.  

Another city, another show, another string of flashing lights and deafening cheers. It's a month into tour, and the endless loop of responsibilities has left him no room to just breathe.  

And he loves this life—he really does. But tonight, for reasons he can't explain, the adrenaline that usually keeps him afloat isn't enough. Pure exhaustion lingers in his bones, heavier than the applause and screams echoing in his memory, and he just can’t seem to shake it. 

When his head finally hits the stiff hotel pillow, Jake exhales with a heavy sigh. The city around him is alive, the neon lights brightly dancing against his windowpane, but he feels none of it. 

Instead? He just feels the weight of homesickness and the ache of being alone. 

Normally, he would push through, shove these thoughts into the back of his mind, call it a night. But tonight, the ache feels different—sharper, louder—and before he knows it, his phone is in his hand before he can talk himself out of it, his thumb hovering over your name on his screen. 

A familiar battle wages in his mind, one he’s been battling more recently ever since tour became a little heavier on him. Slowly, the quiet yearning has been creeping in, and he’s been missing home more and more, craving the feeling of familiarity. But it isn’t just the physical places or the comfort of his regular routine that he craves. 

It’s something else, something harder to name. 

And for some other reason he can’t seem to explain, he thinks it’s you. 

Jake doesn’t know when it started. Maybe it was hearing the sound of your voice through the phone whenever the guys called you to check in every now and then. Or maybe it was the way you would text in their shared group chat, your messages always tinged with humor or a sense of calm that somehow made everything feel a little less overwhelming. 

Whatever it was, it stuck with him. He finds himself craving that unexplainable comfort only you seem to bring. He tells himself it’s nothing special, just the natural pull of familiarity. You’re back at home, the place he misses the most, so obviously, through association, it makes sense. 

It’s logical. Nothing more. 

That’s what he tells himself as his thumb hovers over your name. It’s not about you specifically—it couldn’t be. It’s just the connection to home. The grounding warmth of your voice. The way you somehow make the distance feel a little less suffocating. 

Obviously. Nothing more. 

He presses call.  

Two rings. That's all it takes before your voice cuts through all the static in his head. Groggy, soft, and achingly familiar. Like home.  

"Jake? It's late, is everything okay?"  

Jake glances at the clock. 10:13PM where he is. Much later for you, he imagines. Guilt stirs, but...  

He doesn't want to hang up. 

Hearing your voice feels like the first breath of air after surfacing from deep water. He instantly feels more comfortable despite the heaviness in his chest.

"Hey," he mumbles, his voice quiet. "I'm okay. Just...needed to hear a friendly voice, I guess."  

"Wow, are the boys that bad that you need to call me?" You tease warmly, despite the sleepiness lingering in your words.  

Jake chuckles, the sound low and tired, "Nothing against them, really. It's just...sometimes you need someone who reminds you of home, you know?"  

The other end of the line goes quiet for a moment. He can hear you shuffle, and he braces himself for a teasing comment about him being sappy and sentimental. But instead, your voice softens.  

"Well, I'm glad I could be that for you," your voice telling him you're smiling brightly on the other side of the screen. "Though if I had a private jet, I'd send it right now. Bring you back instantly."  

"A private jet, huh?" Jake's eyes flutter close as he's engulfed into the usual, playful rhythm that's always there between the two of you. "You'd do that for me?"  

"Only if you bring back goodies, preferably snacks," you quip back, and the warmth in his chest grows.  

There's another pause, the kind that feels comfortable rather than awkward. Jake shifts in his spot and before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “How do you do that?”  

“Do what?” 

“Make everything feel...lighter. Like, I can’t explain it, but just hearing you makes me feel like I’m not carrying all this stuff by myself.” 

Your voice softens at his sudden vulnerability. 

“Because you don't have to carry it all on your own, Jake. You know that, right? That’s what friends are for."  

Jake hums in response, a low sound of acknowledgement as he keeps his phone pressed close, your voice instantly soothing the heavy emotions he's been carrying. 

"You sound exhausted," you say after a beat, your tone cautious but filled with genuine care. "How are you holding up? With everything—the tour, the...break-up, just...you?"  

Jake lets out a low groan, his fingers brushing through his hair. "You sound like my mom."  

"Well, someone has to," you tease lightly, a relieved laugh slipping into your voice, as if you'd been afraid you overstepped. "Seriously, Jake. Are you doing okay?"  

Jake hesitates, the question catching him off guard. He hadn't let himself think too much about Jenn or the breakup since leaving for tour a month ago. The boys knew better than to bring it up, and Jake had been grateful for that—for the distraction.  

But now, with you, it feels different. 

Safer, easier. Natural.  

“Honestly? I don’t know,” he sighs, the sound heavy through the phone. “Some days it feels like I’m fine, like I’ve moved on, and other days...it’s like I’m stuck in this loop of ‘what ifs.’ Like, what if I did something different? Or..."  

He trails off to a pause, his throat tight, before he finally admits to you, and himself, "...what if I just wasn't enough?"  

“Jake,” you say gentle but firm, cutting through his spiraling thoughts. “You are enough. You've always been enough. Jenn...she just wasn’t the right person for you. That doesn’t mean you did anything wrong.” 

He swallows hard, your words settling into the cracks he didn't even realize were there. 

"Thanks, Y/N. I mean it. It's just...hard, you know? Haven't really talked about it since it happened. But talking to you helps—a lot."  

“I’m glad." He can hear the quiet sincerity in your words. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing an amazing job. With tour, with...everything. You've got this, Jake. I’m really proud of you.”

Jake lets out a breathy laugh, the warmth in your words settling something in his chest—a knot he didn't even realize was there. 

“You always know what to say, don’t you?” 

“It’s a gift,” you easily reply, and he can hear the grin in your voice, the easy banter making him feel lighter.  

"I missed this," the words tumble out before he can stop himself. Then he quickly adds, as if to explain himself, "It's weird not having you around. The boys are great and all, but you give the best advice. Don't tell them that."  

You giggle on your end, the sound making Jake's lips curve into a small smile and his heart twists.  

In both a comforting and terrifying way. 

"I miss it too," your voice quieter now. "But I'm here. You know that, right? Even if you're on the other side of the world, or if you call me at four in the morning like you're doing right now."  

Jake lets out a chuckle followed by a sleepy groan, "Sorry about that. But...thank you, Y/N. For picking up."  

"Always," you reply, and he hopes you mean it.  

A beat passes. Jake knows he should hang up, that he should let you sleep. He tries to convince himself that you need the sleep more than he needs this call.  

But he can't help himself.  

"You'll yell at me if I don't sleep, won't you?"  

"Absolutely. Go to bed, Jake. Or at least try. Zombie mode doesn't suit you."  

"Fine," he sighs dramatically, but his eyes feel heavier and he knows he's falling asleep, the tension in his body from before easing away. "But only because you scare me sometimes."  

You laugh. "Good. Now get some rest. And call me whenever you need to, okay?"  

"Okay," he mumbles into his phone quietly, his mind already slipping into a deep sleep. 

"Goodnight, Y/N."  

"Goodnight, Jake."  

"Don't you have a bedtime, Sim Jaeyun?" You tease, answering the call. The clock reads 1:27AM, and you should be asleep—you really should—but you smile anyways when Jake's name appears on your screen.  

"Bedtime? I don't know her," his voice slightly groggy, but as usual, still warm. "Besides I knew you'd be awake. You don't sleep like a normal person either."  

You roll your eyes, knowing fully well he can't see it, "Yeah, well, I don't have to dance around a stage for two hours tomorrow."  

"True, but you do have to deal with my constant calls and keep me entertained. That's way harder."  

"Oh yeah, obviously," you say with mock seriousness. "Being your emotional support human is a full-time job." 

“Emotional support human,” Jake repeats, chuckling softly. “You’re right. I guess I really owe you, huh?”

“Oh, 100%,” you shoot back, a grin in your voice. “I want one of those tour hoodies you guys keep posting with.” 

“Done. What size?” 

"The oversized one."  

Jake pauses. “Let me guess—so you can sleep in it?"  

You hesitate, suddenly sheepish at how he knows you too well, “Hey, it's only cozy if it's oversized!"  

You hear his soft laugh on the other end of the line. 

“Cute. I’ll make sure to steal one for you.” 

You try not to overanalyze the way your stomach flips at the word cute, and the easy way he says it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.  

You shake the thought off immediately. This wasn't new, after all, Jake's always warm and easy to talk to. But lately—over the past month of phone calls—the way he says certain things, the tone he says them in, and the way they make you feel? It carried a weight you weren't sure how to hold.  

In both a comforting and terrifying way.  

“So, how was your day?” you suddenly bring up, trying to redirect your thoughts. 

"Tiring," Jake sighs, his voice muffled as he shifts around in bed. "And Jungwon keeps beating me at Mario Kart during our break time. My pride is in shambles, Y/N."  

"Let me guess," you smirk, repeating his words from earlier. "He picks Yoshi, and you keep picking Toad because you think he's underrated."  

"Excuse me," Jake scoffs. "Toad is underrated. But, for your information, I choose Toad because your go-to character is Toadette."  

Your heart does that stupid flip again. His words are light—I mean, you guys are talking about Mario Kart for god's sake—but it's stuff like that that keeps you questioning the true meaning behind his words.

You ignore the feeling, instead, a laugh bubbles up in response, an attempt to sound unaffected.

"You're so weird."  

“But you like it,” he quips, voice dipping just slightly, like he’s testing the waters. 

You're caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone, but you recover just as quickly. 

"Debatable."  

“Liar.”

His tone is teasing, but there's something softer behind it, “You wouldn’t still be on the phone with me if you didn’t like me at least a little.” 

“Maybe I’m just bored,” you shoot back, though your cheeks are burning at his sudden forwardness, questioning if he’s serious or just messing with you. 

You hear him hum in response, "Then I guess I'll have to work harder to keep you interested."  

“Oh yeah? How are you planning to do that?” You try to match his teasing tone, but internally, you feel unsteady under the implication of his words. 

“By being my usual charming self, duh,” he says, his voice dropping into a smooth tone. “And, you know, calling you every night so you don’t forget about me.” 

Your heart squeezes. "You already do that, stupid. You think I'd forget about you?"  

“Never,” Jake's reply is immediate, almost instinctive, leaving no room for doubt. “But just in case…I like hearing your voice. Makes me feel like I’m not a million miles away.” 

His words linger in the space between you, heavier than the playful banter from earlier. You swallow hard, trying your best to keep your voice steady. 

“You’re not a million miles away, Jake.” 

“Feels like it,” he murmurs. You hear a pause in his voice, as if he's thinking hard about his next words. “I miss home. I miss...you." 

Your chest tightens, and your hands grip the sheets beneath you, as if the fabric could somehow ground you. Your heart is doing that thing again—the erratic, terrifying thing that makes you want to believe in something you're not sure is even real.  

And at the same time, your thoughts are scrambling to say something lighthearted before the conversation steers into that dangerous, dangerous territory you were sure you weren't ready for.  

Not yet.  

"Well, you better win at least one round of Mario Kart for me while you're out there," you force a laugh, trying to mask the tremor in your voice.  

Jake laughs, the sound genuine, "I'll try. But if I lose, just know I'm dedicating every race to you."  

"Wow, I'm so honored," you try to deadpan, but he can sense the grin in your voice.  

"You should be," his voice softens again. "Thanks for picking up tonight, by the way. I know it's late."  

He never fails to thank you every night, as if you haven't been picking up every day for the past month and won't be picking up tomorrow, and the next day...and the day after that.  

And, somehow, the same, genuine appreciation makes it so hard for you to ignore that weird, warm, fluttering sensation growing inside you every time you talk to him.  

But, regardless, you always give him the same reply: 

"Always," your voice matching his softness. "Call me whenever, okay?"  

"Don’t say that," Jake warns, the teasing edge creeping back into his tone. "I'll actually do it."  

"Fine," you giggle. "But if you call me at four in the morning again, I'm putting my phone on Do Not Disturb." 

"Deal." He pauses, then adds, "Goodnight, Y/N."  

"Goodnight, Jake."  

As you hang up, you stare at your phone for a moment longer than you should have, your room feeling oddly quiet and too empty without his voice.  

It's just another call, Y/N. Just another call between two friends.  

But deep down, a part of you tells you it isn’t that simple anymore.  

And maybe—just maybe—he knows it too.  

“Are you busy?” Jake’s voice sounds more tired than usual, heavy with an overwhelming amount of tension. 

“Never too busy for our calls,” you easily reply without hesitation as you lay back in your bed, phone close to your ear. Your voice is light, a stark contrast to the weariness laced in his, and when he doesn’t respond with his typical chuckle, you immediately sense his mood. “Hard day?” 

He exhales slowly, the weary sound answering your question. Today was a lot. Hours of rehearsal followed by a concert, the adrenaline rush of performing, followed by the chaos of having the guys’ hotel information leaked. Crowds of paparazzi and fans swarmed the entrance, the relentless flashes of cameras breaking through whatever little pieces of calm he had left within him. The noise, the pressure, the endless cycle—all spiraled into a mental mess he doesn’t seem to shake. 

The second he settled into his hotel room, all Jake knew was that he needed to talk to you—the one person who could steady his racing thoughts. 

"I just...I didn't think this would get to me, you know? The cameras, the people, the flashes in my face—I'm just—it's like I'm never alone."  

Your heart twists at the vulnerability and rawness in his voice, as if he’s admitting something for the first time—not just to anyone else, but to himself. 

"I—I don't know. Sometimes I wish I could just disappear, just for a little while. Just to breathe, you know?"  

You close your eyes, your grip on the phone unconsciously tightening as if it could anchor him somehow.  

"I know it's not the same," your voice steady, even as you internally ached for him, "but...you can disappear with me, Jake. Even if it's just through the call. No cameras. No noise. Just...you and me."  

He lets out an exhale—shaky, but relieved.  

"You're really good at this. Making me feel like it's all gonna be okay."  

"Because it is going to be okay, Jake," you reply softly. "You're not alone, Jake. Not with me."  

"Yeah," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, and he wishes more than anything else in this moment that he actually was with you. “I know.” 

"Jake," you groan, sitting cross-legged on your bed, staring at the flustered boy through your laptop screen. "I'm begging you—just wear the black jacket. It's literally impossible to mess up black."  

"But what about the beanie?" He whines as he pops back into view, his face scrunched up in genuine distress. "Do you think I can pull it off, or will I look like I'm trying too hard? Be honest, Y/N."  

What started as a simple fashion-advice-question over the phone turned into a two-hour wardrobe emergency—all because Jake couldn’t figure out what to wear to the airport the next day (because, apparently, airport fits matter—his words, not yours).

"Jake, you could wear a literal trash bag to the airport and fans would still lose their minds," you tease, biting back a laugh. 

He rolls his eyes at you, but the smile tugging at his lips says otherwise.  

"Okay, but seriously, you’re trying too hard. Just go with the jacket, no beanie," you add on, just to end this two-hour long madness.  

"Hmm," Jake plops on his bed and turns towards his phone camera, and you swear you can see the pout forming on his lips. "But I already posted a preview of the jacket last week. Isn't that, like, repetitive?"  

"Jake,” you blink at him, "it's an airport. Not a fashion show."  

He stares at you for a beat, then lets out a dramatic sigh, "Fine! Jacket, no beanie. But if I see even one criticizing comment calling me basic, I'm blaming you."  

You laugh, shaking your head at his ridiculousness, "Deal. Now go to sleep, Sim Jaeyun."  

His grin softens as he adjusts the camera to fully look at you, pout gone, eyes glistening.

"Only because you said so."  

"Hey," you say softly, answering the call as you snuggle deeper into your blanket, letting it engulf you completely.

The familiar sound of Jake's quiet breathing fills the space between you, and before he even says a word, you already know.  

"Rough day?" You ask gently when he doesn’t say anything after a few seconds. 

"Yeah," he murmurs, his voice quieter than usual, almost drowned out by the low hum of background noise. "I just...I don't really feel like talking right now, if that's okay."  

"Of course," you reply without hesitation, your tone gentle, no questions asked.

On the other end, Jake presses the phone closer to this ear in an attempt to feel closer to you, instantly feeling better from your pure understanding of how he’s feeling, and he thinks—not for the first time—that you might be his favorite person in the world.  

The warm silence engulfs the both of you like a shared blanket, unspoken yet understood. You can hear the faint echoes of his surroundings: the muffled laughter of the boys somewhere nearby, the distant honk of traffic outside his hotel, and then the quiet shuffle of Jake shifting positions in his hotel bed. You catch his breath catching slightly, like he's finally allowing himself to relax—to just be.  

You don't try to fill the silence. You know that he needs this—a moment of peace in the chaos. Instead, you similarly press the phone closer to your ear, as if doing so can somehow bridge the miles between you, hoping he can sense your presence reaching out for him. 

Minutes pass like this, and for a moment, it’s so quiet you begin to wonder if he's falling asleep. But then, a deep exhale breaks the stillness.

"Thank you, Y/N," he says finally, his voice low but steady, carrying a weight of sincerity that makes your heart clench.  

"You don't have to thank me, Jake," your voice matches his softness. "You know that."  

"Still," his voice is low, so quiet, it feels like a secret meant only for you. "I appreciate you. More than you probably know."  

You smile to yourself, your heart aching in the best way possible, and you desperately try your best to ignore it, no matter how much excitement it brought you. 

"Always, Jake." 

“Tell me something about you that I don’t already know,” you challenge him, your voice carrying that light and endearing tone over the phone that Jake’s come to crave. 

“Hmm,” Jake hums thoughtfully as he lies in his bed, eyes closed, just simply treasuring the small moments, like this one, with you. 

Even though it’s definitely 3AM where he is right now. And he definitely has to be up in a few hours for rehearsal. 

Oh well, completely irrelevant. Talking about everything and anything with you just felt so right. 

“I don’t know,” he eventually exhales, his brain too foggy to think of anything logical right now. “I feel like you know me better than I know myself at this point, Y/N.” 

“You’re so corny it physically hurts, Jake,” you scoff, and Jake swears he can feel your exaggerated eye roll from thousands of miles away. 

“Oh—wait, wait! I have one,” he perks up, his eyes shooting open as he turns towards the phone in excitement. 

“Hit me,” you say, unconsciously smiling at how cute he sounds. 

“I’m allergic to flowers.” 

The line falls silent for a beat before you erupt into a storm of giggles so wild it makes Jake feel sick from how fast the butterflies in his stomach start fluttering. 

“That’s your fun fact? That’s so tragic, Jake,” you gasp through your giggles. “Like, depressingly tragic.” 

“Hey! It’s not that sad, it could be worse,” Jake hopes you can hear his pout over the phone (you can). 

“So you’re telling me you’ve never bought a girl flowers before?” You tease, smiling to yourself as you stare at your ceiling. 

“Guess not,” Jake lets out a laugh, which surprises himself. “Jenn used to always get mad at me for never getting her any, but what am I supposed to do? Show up with a bouquet and an epi-pen? I literally start tearing up whenever I’m around any kind.” 

You lose it all over again, your laughter spilling through Jake’s phone like sunshine, and Jake doesn’t even realize he’s smiling so widely until his cheeks start to ache. 

But what Jake does realize is something unexpected: for the first time in forever, he can talk about Jenn without a single pang of…anything. No weird tension, no lingering sadness—just a casual mention and then…nothing. 

It’s freeing, this feeling of lightness, like an invisible weight he didn’t know he was even carrying has suddenly lifted. He wonders if this is what moving on really feels like, if he’s found his emotional freedom. He wonders when it changed. 

He wonders maybe it’s not when—maybe it’s who.  

And he wonders if it’s you. 

Today was supposed to be Jake’s day off. The golden ticket to rest, recharge, and not think about anything.

Key term: supposed to be.

Instead, Jake found himself knee-deep in the trenches of emotional warfare—and losing spectacularly.

The morning started innocently enough. No alarm, no schedule, just the soft promise of freedom that was so close within his reach. But by noon, Jake came to a harsh realization.

Freedom was a lie.

Because every step, every sight, every breath, was haunted by one inescapable thought: You.

It started with a boutique. Him and the boys had wandered down a cobblestone street in a city that Jake had already forgotten the name of—city number ten or eleven of tour? He barely knew anymore. But then his gaze caught on a mannequin in the window.

Big mistake.

The outfit on display—similar to his mind—had you written all over it. Immediately, his brain spiraled.

Y/N would love that. She'd probably drag me and all the guys in and force me to hold her bag while she tried it on.

He had to physically stop himself from dragging the group inside to purchase it on the spot.

Next? A coffee shop. And there it was: a poster featuring some limited-edition iced peach latte. Jake froze, staring at it like it held the answers to life itself.

You’d love it. You would order it, (well, you'd make Jake order it, because you hate talking to cashiers), sip it, smile, and probably rant about how overpriced it was—even though Jake would pay for it—yet you’d still finish the entire thing.

And then, you'd steal half of his drink, too. 

Because you always did. 

And Jake always lets you.

The final straw? A cat. Just a random stray, peacefully lounging on a sunny part of sidewalk, looking like it had zero interest in the world around it. And even that didn't escape Jake's you-obsessed filter. Without even thinking, Jake whipped out his phone. 

It was instinctual at this point.

Jake [1:06PM]: (attached - one image) Jake [1:06PM]: thought you'd like this one :)

Because obviously, you needed to see that cat. Immediately.

By the time Jake collapses onto his hotel bed that evening, he feels like he’d run a mental marathon—except instead of a finish line, every road led back to you.

He flops onto his bed, hoping sleep would save him from the storm raging in his brain.

Spoiler alert: it doesn't.

Instead, it leads him to the complete opposite. He stares at your name on his phone, your contact picture, your last messages to him. 

You texted him two hours ago—a sweet goodnight message that ended with your usual, 'Don't hesitate to call if you need me.' 

Casual. Normal.

But it probably didn't mean, 'Hey, please interrupt my sleep from the other side of the world so we can discuss your ongoing emotional crisis over me.'

Don't do it, Jake. The remaining rational brain cells within him beg him to stop. You're being dramatic. She's not the air you need to breathe.

But at the same time, deep down, Jake really thinks you are.

The worst part? You two already had talked on the phone earlier—when Jake had another fashion crisis and couldn't decide what to wear for his day off exploring with the guys. Of course, you laughed at him, teased him, but then helped him pick something out anyways. Typical.

Personally, if it was up to him, he'd spent his whole day off on the phone with you. Talking about everything. Or nothing. Whatever you wanted, Jake would've done it, no hesitation.

Don't do it, Jake, his brain warns him again. What kind of obsessed-lunatic calls the same person twice in one day?

Answer: Jake.

But as Jake lies in his hotel bed, thoughts heavily clouded with the image of you and the sound of your voice, he realizes...this wasn't just a phone call thing. No, this was deeper, worse. And somewhere between staring at the same patch of ceiling and replaying every memory of you on a mental loop, Jake tries to rationalize it.

She’s just a good friend, Jake. A best friend, even! You think about her a lot because she’s cool and funny and…and she has the laugh of a Disney princess...But it’s normal to think about your friends, right? Right??

But the more he tries to downplay it, the clearer it becomes. This was something else.

And then it hits.

Like, really hits.

Oh my god. I like her.

Jake shoots upright, widened eyes filled with horror, as if the realization itself just physically smacked him across the face.

No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.

Jake buries his face in his hands, groaning. But the groan quickly turns into a muffled scream, because the more he thinks about it, the worse it gets.

Because he thinks you're going to be the death of him. He really, really likes you. Not in the vague, 'Oh, she’s cute' way, but in the write-her-name-in-a-heart-and-doodle-little-stars-around-it kind of way. The stare-at-her-texts-like-they’re-poetry kind of way. The imagine-her-laughing-at-your-dad’s-jokes-and-enjoying-your-mom’s-meals-forever kind of way.

And this feeling? It's new. It's terrifying. 

It's exhilarating.

Jake realizes in this very moment that he's never experienced this heart-pounding, face-flushing, breath-taking kind of feeling towards anyone. Sure, his past relationship had been meaningful in its own way, but now Jake is realizing that the foundation of his past relationship was tangled up in obligations and unspoken expectations. A tightrope act of Jake having to be the perfect boyfriend, the perfect idol, the perfect...everything. He never realized how suffocating it was until now—until you. Because this feeling with you?

This was pure. Simple, clear, and undeniable.

Your sheer existence proved that it's possible for someone to understand him better than he understands himself. Your laugh had a way of making everything feel lighter, like the weight of the world had been momentarily suspended. Just one look from you alone somehow always manages to make him feel like he was still worthy even on his worst days.

With you, Jake felt...himself, for once. Not Jake Sim, global popstar. Not Jake Sim, the boyfriend of so-and-so. Just...Jake.

Jake's heart pounds as the realization sinks in. He's now transitioned from screaming into his hands to his poor hotel pillow.

Because as clear and strong as this feeling is, the doubt is just as overwhelming. What if you don't feel the same? What if this ruins everything?

But at the same time...what if you do feel the same way?

What if this is his chance? The butterfly effect that changes everything? What if you're it? You have to be.

And so, like an idiot possessed, Jake's finger is one millimeter away from pressing call on your name again.

Because, obviously, the best way to deal with overwhelming feelings is to confess them from a hotel room five countries away.

Obviously. 

Because what if he didn't call? What if he spent the rest of his night spiraling into an endless pit of unspoken feelings and overthinking, arms flailing as he knows the only way out of the pit is with your help?

What if his brain explodes with the sheer amount of feelings he has for you and he never has the chance to tell you ever again?

He presses call.

The line rings twice before you answer.

"Jake?" Your voice is soft, laced with surprise and just the faintest trace of sleep. "It's late for you, is everything okay?"

Jake's brain short-circuits. What time even is it for him? He has no idea, and frankly, he doesn't care.

"Yeah," he blurts, far too quickly that he winces at himself. He clears his throat before trying again, "I mean, yeah. Everything's fine. I just...couldn't sleep."

"Oh," you hum softly and Jake swears the sound alone could single-handedly resolve global wars.

Yeah, he definitely likes you.

"Is something stressing you out?" The genuine concern in your voice makes his chest tighten.

"No—well, nothing like that," Jake rushes to assure you, sitting up straighter in bed now, as if you could see him. His voice lowers, almost shy, "I just...I was thinking about you."

Silence. Jake's heart pounds so loudly, he's sure you can hear it through the phone.

"About me?" You finally tease, light and playful, but there's something softer underneath. "What did I do to deserve such an honor?"

Jake lets out a nervous, breathy laugh, running a hand through his hair, “You exist. That’s what.”

Another pause. He hears you exhale softly, and the sound alone sends his heart into overdrive.

"That was smooth," your voice is quiet, soft, as if teetering on the line of teasing and nervousness at the same time. "Ten out of ten, Jake."

"I'm serious," Jake tries his best to keep his voice from cracking, the weight of his feelings pressing down on him. "I was lying here, thinking about everything, and I realized something."

"And what's that?"

Jake's throat goes dry. His heart is screaming at him to say it, but his brain begs him to reconsider.

But Jake's sure he's lost all his rational brain cells for sure at this point, so he swallows hard, and braces himself for impact.

"I like you, Y/N."

The words spill out, raw and unpolished, but so utterly true.

“I mean, I really like you," Jake continues, his voice barely above a whisper now. "More than a friend, more than anything.”

The line goes silent, and for a split second, a lifetime of pure awkwardness and torture of not having you in his life anymore flashes in his vision, and he rushes to fill the void.

"I know this is probably the worst timing ever, and probably really scary...and it's okay if you don't feel the same way," his voice definitely cracks this time, laying everything bare, but he doesn't care anymore. "But I had to tell you. I can't pretend around you, not when being around you feels like the only time I'm really me."

Then, you let out a soft exhale—a disbelieving, breathless sound that makes Jake's heart skip a beat.

"Jake..."

"You're...you're everything, Y/N. You make life better just by being in it. And I haven't even seen you in four months, but you're all I think about," Jake lets out a small laugh, swallowing the remainder of all his pride and dignity. "I promise, when I'm back...I'll prove it to you. I'll show you how much you mean to me. Anything it takes. "

For once in his life, Jake feels completely vulnerable—and yet, strangely, it feels right.

Because he means it, every word.

He's never meant anything more.

The line had gone quiet after Jake’s confession, his words echoing in your ears. 

“I like you, Y/N.” 

No, not like. Really, really like. 

You spent the last few days replaying his words over and over, dissecting every syllable, every tiny inflection in this voice. At first, it didn't even seem real.  

A part of you still thinks it isn't—that this is all a cruel dream and you're going to wake up any second now back in the real world. The one where Jake Sim, the boy who turns heads and steals hearts without even trying, didn't just confess his deepest, most vulnerable feelings for you in a single phone call. 

But no. He said it, alright. Clear as day.  

First, all you felt was pure happiness. Maybe it was hearing his voice everyday, or maybe it was seeing how his face lit up through the screen when you picked up his video calls—but somewhere along the way, you knew it was something deeper. 

Something that made your heart skip when his name lit up your phone, something that left you craving his voice to make your day feel complete. And now? Now the boy who’d effortlessly become your favorite part of every day was telling you you’d done the same for him. 

But then, came the fear. 

Because what if this was just a rebound? What if you were just a soft landing for him, a way to patch up the holes left behind by his past? Here you were, standing at the edge of something terrifyingly real, wondering if you were just a step in his recovery process—a way to fill the cracks, but not the kind of permanence you were beginning to crave. 

You weren’t naive enough to see Jake’s past relationship didn’t still linger in the corners of his mind. You’d seen him struggle with it before, how hard he’d tried to convince himself he was fine. What if you were just the next step in his healing, rather than something real—a Band-Aid for a wound that wasn’t even yours to heal? 

And worse—what if you let it happen? What if you let yourself fall, only to hit the ground at an alarming speed, and...splat. Not just a regular, embarrassing tumble, no. But the kind that leaves you flattened on the pavement like a cartoon character who ignored every warning sign. 

Because that’s exactly what it would feel like, wouldn’t it? Giving it, letting yourself hope—only to crash and burn spectacularly. 

Deep down, you knew you weren’t just risking a little heartache. Because Jake? Jake had quietly claimed a permanent spot in your heart at this point. 

You were risking everything. 

And the worst part? 

You were already halfway there. 

That was the reason why you told him you needed time. The reason why all you could manage to respond was a meek, 'I just...I need to think about this.' And to his credit, Jake hadn't pushed. Of course, not.  

But now, three days later, you were no closer to an answer. If anything, the time apart had made everything worse. 

Because as the days stretched on, with every passing hour, every text you didn’t send and every call you didn’t make, one thing became gut-wrenchingly, undeniably clear: 

You were already his. 

You miss Jake’s voice, his laugh, the way he rambles about the most random things late at night. You miss how, somehow, he made you fall asleep with a smile on your face from the other side of the world. You miss him, that even in his absence, he was still your first thought in your mind when you woke up and the last before you drifted to sleep. 

And no amount of overthinking or second-guessing could change the truth that finally settled in your chest like a secret you weren’t ready to admit to yourself:

You were his. Completely. 

The only question now was whether you’d let yourself believe he was yours too. 

"Y/N?"  

"Jungwon," you groan helplessly into your phone. "Help me."  

A pause. Then, "Are you sure you meant to call me? It's Jungwon, not Jake," he teases lightly. "I can go get Jake if you meant—" 

"Jungwon!" You cut him off, panicked. "I'm being serious. It's about Jake, dummy."  

"Oh," his tone shifts instantly as he senses the seriousness in your voice. "Did something happen? Because I swear, for the past three days, Jake's been moping around like a kicked puppy, and I was gonna ask you about it because I know you guys have been talking a lot more, but I didn't want to push, and—" 

"That's exactly it, Jungwon!" You wail into your pillow, your voice muffled. Great, now you feel even worse, knowing Jake is moping around, waiting for you.   

"What's exactly it?" Your best friend presses, voice curious. "I need specifics, Y/N."  

You hesitate, the words clinging to the back of your throat like they're too heavy to admit. Finally, you take a deep breath and force them out.  

"Jake told me he likes me, Jungwon. Like really, really likes me. He gave this whole monologue about how I'm all he can think about, and it was so cute, and it made me want to explode from joy and fear all at once, and I don't know what to do!"  

A beat of silence. 

Jungwon sucks in a dramatic breath and then, "Wait, wait, wait. Back up. First of all, this is not news to me."  

You blink, as if he can see your look of shock over the phone, "What?"  

"This was obvious, Y/N. The guy's been smitten with you for months. You guys literally have been talking every day since we left."  

Your jaw drops, "So what? You and I talk every day! How is this any different?"  

Jungwon snorts, "Y/N, we text every day. About minuscule things. Like me reminding you not to forget your keys and you ghosting my last text. But you and Jake? You guys talk for hours—into the illegal hours of the night, mind you. Trust me, I know. Hotel walls are thin."  

You feel your cheeks flushing, "That doesn't mean anything."  

"Doesn't it?" Jungwon's voice is laced with amusement. "When's the last time you called me just to hear my voice?"  

"Jungwon."  

"Exactly."  

You groan again, "But Jungwon, what if…what if he's not over Jenn? What if I'm just a rebound?"  

Jungwon goes quiet for a moment, his tone softening when he finally speaks, “Jake’s not like that, Y/N. You know that. He wouldn’t tell you he likes you unless he meant it.” 

“Yeah, but—” 

“Look," he interrupts. "Jake’s a lot of things—annoyingly loud, for one—but he’s not the kind of guy who’d use someone, especially you, as a rebound. If he said he likes you, he likes you.” 

You bite your lip, his words settling over you like a warm blanket—because you know they're true.  

“And for what it’s worth,” Jungwon continues, “I think you like him too.” 

“I..,” you falter, your heart hammering in your chest. “I do.” 

“Then what are you waiting for?” 

You sigh, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the nerves coiled in your stomach, “I don’t know. I guess I’m scared.” 

“That’s okay,” Jungwon says gently. “But don’t let fear stop you from something that could make you happy. You deserve that, Y/N. And so does Jake.” 

You close your eyes, letting Jungwon's words sink in. Deep down, you know he's right, he always is.  

"Thanks, Jungwon," you say, your voice softer now, tinged with gratitude.  

"Anytime," he replies, and then, with a teasing lilt, "But seriously—you should probably tell him soon. I can't stand watching him mope around like a sad, abandoned puppy. It's seriously tragic, like, to the point where I’m gonna have to start letting him win at Mario Kart."  

A small giggle escapes you, light and genuine for the first time in three days, "I know, I know. Eventually."  

"Y/N," his voice turns playfully stern, like a parent lecturing their toddler. "Eventually isn't a time. Just call him. You've been thinking about him nonstop, haven't you?" 

Unfortunately, Jungwon knows you too well. Your silent response betrays you, and Jungwon lets out a triumphant hum.  

"Thought so. Well, you should go. You have a call to make."  

You sigh, a mix of nerves and a new determination bubbling, "Okay, okay. But if this goes horribly wrong, I'm blaming you."  

"It won't. But deal," his tone is reassuring, confident, like he already knows how this story ends. "You got this, Y/N."  

The call ends, and the quiet still of your room taunts you. For a moment, you sit there, staring at your phone, the little icon of Jake's contact picture—a selfie the two of you took together many years ago—staring back at you like a challenge.  

Your fingers hover. Your heart races, your palms feel clammy, and your stomach twists.  

But then you remember Jungwon's words.  

You deserve this.  

And so does Jake.  

You take a deep breath, then you press down on his name.  

The phone doesn't even reach the second ring before he picks up.  

"Y/N," Jake’s voice is rushed, a little breathless.  

"Hey," you say softly, suddenly unsure where to start. "Um, were you busy?"  

"No, no," he quickly responds. "Not at all. You could call me at 3AM, and I still would’ve picked up."  

"That's unhealthy, you know," your lips twitch as you lay back in your bed, taking a deep inhale. You missed this—you missed him.  

"For you? Worth it," you can hear the smile in his voice, but along with the slight tension just beneath it—the faintest tremor that tells you he's been waiting for this call, maybe agonizing over it just as much as you have.  

You swallow hard, gripping the phone tight, "Jake, about...our last call..."  

"Take your time," he says gently, though you don't miss the way his voice wavers ever so slightly. "I mean it, Y/N. There's no pressure."  

You exhale shakily, closing your eyes, “I’ve been thinking a lot, too. About you. About…us.” 

Jake stays silent, but you could hear the faint sound of him shifting, like he was bracing himself. 

You squeeze your eyes hard, as you let the words finally come out, "I like you too, Jake. A lot. So much, honestly. It's just..."  

"It's just...?" Jake's voice repeats softly, as if that's all he can manage to let out in the midst of his nervousness.  

You hold your breath, scared of what you're about to admit—to Jake and to yourself. 

"It's just...I'm scared," your voice comes out barely above a whisper, "I'm scared that this is too good to be true. That you're saying all of this because...I don't know—you're trying to move on...from the past, or because you're lonely on tour, or—" 

"Y/N,” Jake's voice cuts through firm, but gentle.  

"You're not…a rebound, or a distraction, or anything like that," he starts quietly, each word deliberate. "And this isn't about...Jenn, or me being lonely, or whatever else you think. This is about you."  

Your breath hitches as you take in his words and open your eyes, hoping that staring at the ceiling above you could somehow ground you.  

“You’re the one who makes me laugh when I’ve had the worst day,” Jake continues. “You’re the one I want to talk to, even when I’m running on zero sleep. You’re the one I think about when I’m on stage and wish I could just look into the crowd and see you there. It’s you, Y/N."  

His words are overwhelming, too much, and you're unsure how to even process them. Your throat tightens, and you can feel the subconscious tears prickling at the corners of your eyes without even realizing they were forming.  

"Are you sure, Jake?"  

"More than anything else, Y/N," he says immediately, like the words have been waiting on the tip of his tongue. "And I want to do this right, Y/N. No rushing, no expectations. Just...tell me what you need from me, and I'll do it. Whatever it takes, I'll do it."  

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache. You can picture him on the other side of the line, sitting in some unfamiliar hotel room, his brows probably furrowed in that adorable way they always do whenever he tries to find the right words.  

You bite your lip, a small laugh escaping despite the tears sliding down your cheeks, “You’re so cheesy, you know that?” 

Jake lets out a small laugh, immediately easing from the tension that hung in the air.  

"Only for you," he mumbles, his voice soft but steady.  

You sigh, the sound reaching Jake on the other side. There's a pause, a moment of mutual understanding in silence, just listening to the quiet, peaceful hum of each other's breathing.  

“Jake?” You say finally, your voice trembling. 

“Yeah?” 

“I think…” You take a deep breath, and you think your heart is about to break out of your chest. “I think I want to try too.” 

The silence on the other end was electric, and for a moment, you think maybe the call dropped. Then, you hear the unmistakable sound of Jake’s laugh—soft, relieved, and filled with so much warmth that it instantly makes your own heart feel lighter. 

“You're driving me crazy, Y/N,” he says, his voice almost breathless, but tinged with humor.  

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he says, a smile clear in his tone.  

“I hope I am,” you quip, and it makes him chuckle, the sound warm and full of relief. “Guess I’m stuck with your cheesy lines now huh?” 

“Stuck with me?” Jake repeats, pretending to sound offended. “No way. I’m stuck with you, Y/N. And trust me, I’m not going anywhere.” 

His words are so simple, yet so full of promise, and it leaves you feeling a little breathless. 

“Good,” you whisper, your cheeks warm. “Because I don’t want you to.” 

“Hi Jake,” your voice bright as you immediately pick up his call and see his face appear on the screen, his expression softening when he sees you. 

“Hey pretty,” he replies, without missing a beat, his voice laced with a soft fondness that never fails to make your stomach flip. 

You roll your eyes, failing miserably to hide the blush rising to your cheeks, “Oh, so now I’m pretty, huh?”

Jake smirks at your words, leaning closer to his phone, “Nah, you’ve always been pretty. Just didn’t have the guts to say it to your face before.”  

You groan, dramatically planting your face into your pillow as an attempt to bury the smile on your face, your voice muffled, “You’re gonna be the death of me, Jake.”

“Stop that, don’t hide. Let me see your face,” his tone dips somewhere between playful and pleading, and you give in, lifting your head just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your red cheeks. 

“Cute,” he says with a knowing grin, leaning back against the headboard of his bed. 

“Whatever,” you murmur, but the smile on your face remains. “How was your day today?” 

“Mmm, it was good,” Jake says, running a hand through his messy hair. “Busy, but good. I forget how loud the fans get each time. But it’s nice. Makes it feel worth it, you know?” 

“I’m glad,” your smile grows as you watch him speak, feeling nothing but proud of him. “You deserve all of it, Jake.” 

“Stop,” now he’s groaning, throwing a hand over his face to cover his shy expression. “You’re going to make me blush.” 

“Mm, looks like you already are, Jakey,” you shake your head, laughing softly. 

“Maybe a little,” he admits as he peeks at you through his fingers, his grin boyish and infectious, and you can’t help but laugh again. 

The call falls quiet for a moment, but it’s not awkward—just comfortable, like a shared breath. Jake shifts, turning on his stomach and propping his phone up against some pillows to make sure you can still see him. 

“I miss you,” he says suddenly, and there’s something raw in his tone, something unguarded that catches you off guard. 

Your heart stutters.

“Jake, I literally called you this morning,” you tease, your tone light and sweet. But still, you can’t resist, “I miss you too.”  

“You don’t sound convincing enough,” his eyes narrow at you, the pout forming on his lips quickly turning into a small smirk. “Say it like you mean it.” 

“Fine,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “I miss you so, so much Sim Jaeyun, that it’s physically painful and I might conbust on the spot if I don’t see you soon. Happy?” 

“Very,” he grins into the camera, making your heart beat faster. Ugh. "But please don't combust for me. Who else am I supposed to call every day?"  

"Oh, please, you'd survive," you shoot back, smirking. "I'm sure anyone else would be more than happy to fill the spot."  

Jake clicks his tongue, shaking his head dramatically. "Nope, no one could keep with you, Y/N. You're a handful."  

"Excuse me?" You scoff, mock offense all over your face. "You're calling me a handful? Jake, who's the one that texts me random song lyrics at 3AM and expects me to interpret their deep meaning like it's poetry?"  

"Okay, first of all, they are deep," he argues, his grin widening into something boyish and utterly unfair. "And second of all, I know you secretly love it."  

You let out a laugh as you roll onto your side, propping your phone against the pillow next to you.  

"Maybe I do," you admit with a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant despite the smile on your face. "Or maybe I don't. That's up to you to find out."  

Jake shakes his head, laughing softly, his eyes twinkling as they linger on your face. 

"You really are a handful, Y/N," his voice teases while his eyes remain on you through the screen, as if studying you, and it makes your stomach flip.  

You glance away, suddenly feeling shy again under his unwavering gaze, "Stop looking at me like that."  

"Like what?" His voice is innocent, his eyebrows lifting in feign obliviousness.  

"I don't know—like you're trying to memorize my face or something," you mutter, your cheeks burning.  

"Maybe I am," his voice dips, low and soft. "Honestly wouldn't complain if that's the last thing I ever got to remember."  

His words hit you square in the chest, and despite how ridiculously corny they are, they manage to take your breath away. You don't know if you'll ever get used to this newly discovered side of Jake—the one that speaks so candidly, so sweetly—like you're the only person in his universe.  

But honestly? You love it. You love how he makes you feel, how his words wrap around you perfectly like they were tailor made just for you. But as much as you love it, you fear it too.  

Because the more you fall into this feeling, the more you wonder if there's anything solid beneath it. Despite all the soft words shared and sweet nothings exchanged, at the end of the day, deep down inside you can't help but ask yourself if his words, if he, is even yours to begin with. 

"Jake..."  

"Hmm?" His voice is gentle now, the teasing edge in his voice fading.  

"You really mean it, don't you?" You ask, your voice quieter now, the question laced with your vulnerability. "You're serious about...this? About us?"  

"Of course I am," he answers without hesitation. His soft eyes stay trained on you as he sits up in his spot in bed, as if to show just how serious he is. He lets out an exhale, as if mentally encouraging himself to continue, "I know we're not...whatever this is, officially yet. But I do know that I like what we have."  

He brings his phone closer, a small smile on his face, his expression earnest, "And that I like you. A lot."  

You swallow hard, his words settling in your chest in the best way possible. Because despite everything—the doubts, the undefined boundaries—you can't deny the truth of how you feel.  

"Me too," you admit, your voice steady and honest. "I like what we have too. And I like you."  

You pause, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you feel the remainders of your walls crumbling down, "You make me happy, Jake. Like annoyingly happy."  

"Good. Because you make me happy too," His smile spreads wide, the kind that is contagious and could light up an entire room. "Annoyingly happy, if we're being specific."  

You roll your eyes again, though you're smiling just as much, "We really are insufferable, aren't we?"  

"Oh, completely," Jake nods, his tone playful. He's more relaxed, back to leaning against his headboard as he looks at you with a softened gaze. "We'll figure it out, Y/N. I promise. Whatever this is, or whatever it becomes, I'm not going anywhere. And honestly? I just can't wait to see you. Finally."  

"Me too," you perk up, your eyes sparkling with excitement as you bring your phone closer, "It feels like it's been forever. This tour feels so much longer than the other ones for some reason."  

"It does," Jake hums in agreement, his eyes thoughtful. "But you know what? I think It's because, this time...I actually have something waiting for me. Something—or someone—I want to come home to. And that makes every day feel so much longer."  

You think, at this point, you should check yourself into the emergency department for the sheer amount of times you thought your heart was going to pound out of your body from Jake's words alone.  

“You're ridiculous," you laugh, the sound bubbling out so naturally you couldn't hold it back even if you tried. "It's getting kind of out of hand how cheesy you are, Jake."  

"And yet," he fires back with a smirk, "you love it. Admit it. I've cracked the code."  

"Maybe I do," you tease, repeating your words from earlier as the corners of your mouth tug up into a smile you can't suppress. "But don't let it get to your head."  

"Too late," he grins. "It's already there."  

Jake [2:15AM] : can I call you?   Y/N [2:16AM]: jake isnt it like 2AM for you?   Jake [2:16AM]: well…yea but I was thinking about you so… 

Your feet are kicking before you even realize, and before you can type up a response, your phone lights up with Jake's name and contact picture. 

“Hi,” you answer softly, trying not to let the giddy smile growing on your face take over. 

“Hey pretty,” he greets, voice warm and easy as he brings a hand through his messy hair. The lights in his room are off, and the dim glow of his phone screen casts a soft light over his features, making him look unfairly good for someone who should be fast asleep.  

“You have two seconds to give me a good reason why you’re here talking to me instead of getting a good night’s rest before your concert tomorrow,” your eyes narrow in mock disapproval as you give him a knowing look.  

Jake laughs lightly, “Hey! Okay, hear me out. I couldn’t sleep, so I did something.”  

You raise an eyebrow, “You did something? That sounds ominous, I’m scared.”  

“Yeah. For you,” he states plainly, leaving you even more confused for a second more before he continues. “I made you a playlist.”  

Your brain stalls at how simple he says it—so casual, as if not packed with so much meaning.  

“A playlist? You—wait, why?”  

Jake shrugs, “I don’t know—I guess I just wanted you to hear what I hear when I think about you. Which, by the way, is a lot. So..”  

You blink at the screen, your mouth slightly agape at the boy who's watching you with that lopsided grin that makes it practically impossible to function. You scramble to collect yourself, but the more you try, the worse it gets, and by now, you think he definitely took some secret class on how-to-make-Y/N-completely-flustered.  

And aced it.  

And of course, he notices—because Jake always notices.  

“You okay there?” His voice breaks you out of your overwhelming thoughts, his teasing tone laced with curiosity.  

“Define okay,” you mutter, rubbing a hand over your face in an attempt to cool down the warmth spreading like wildfire across your cheeks. “Because if it means not feeling like a complete fool over a guy who’s halfway across the world, then no, I’m absolutely not okay.”  

Jake lets out a low laugh, the sound affectionate as he leans closer to the camera, the light reflecting off his shining eyes, “If it helps, you’re not the only one losing your mind here.”  

“Oh yeah?” you arch an eyebrow, “What’s your excuse, Sim?”  

“My excuse?” He tilts his head with a small, exaggerated frown, pretending to think. “Hmm…let’s see…I’m hopelessly into this girl who somehow makes being teased fun, who makes me smile just by hearing my name come out her mouth, and who—“  

“Okay! Stop, stop, enough,” your voice strangled as you try to talk through the fit of giggles you couldn’t hold down. “You’re gonna kill me, Jake. Like, actually. I’m not strong enough for this.”  

Jake laughs at your flustered reaction, holding up a hand of surrender, “Fine, fine. But seriously, look.”  

You hear the sound of faint typing in the background before your phone buzzes with a text containing a link.  

“It’s called Songs That Remind Me of Y/N. Creative, right?”  

You open the link, and your thoughts are dazed at the sight of the endless playlist of songs. Some new to you, some you recognize—all of them feeling like little pieces of Jake's heart he's handing to you.  

"I think it's perfect," you murmur softly, scrolling through the titles, the warmth and appreciation for him now feeling almost too overwhelming.  

"Yeah?" Jake's eyes shine with a mixture of pride and hope as he watches your reaction.  

"Yeah," you repeat, switching your phone screen back to his face and giving him a genuine smile. "I love it. Thank you, Jake."  

Jake hums in response, the look on his eyes gentle as a beat of comfortable silence falls between you two.  

"Well, I should probably sleep for real now, but...listen to it when you miss me, okay? Because chances are, I'm probably doing the same."  

You pause, letting the weight of his words settle over you—vulnerable, yet undoubtedly honest. "Deal. I'll listen to it right now, then."  

"Good," his smile grows, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Because I am too. I miss you, too."  

You both linger for a moment, neither wanting to end the call just yet, simply enjoying each other's pure, raw presence.  

"Sweet dreams, Jake," you finally say, your voice gentle as you slowly let sleep take over. 

"Only if they’re about you," he quips, grinning.  

You roll your eyes, your chest feeling lighter, "Go to bed, Sim."  

"Yes, ma'am," he winks, and with one last fond look, he ends the call, leaving you smiling at your screen like the absolute fool he's turned you into.  

"I can't believe you're finally coming back tomorrow," you murmur into the phone, your voice soft but buzzing with excitement as you take in the sight of Jake sprawled out on his bed. The dim glow of his phone highlights just enough of his face to remind you how impossibly cute he is—even with the pillow creases on his cheek.  

"I know," Jake sighs dramatically, flopping onto his side. His head sinks into the pillow, and you hear a soft fwump as he shifts to find a comfortable spot. "I just wish I wasn't landing so late. If I could, I'd come see you the second I land. Like, bags in hand, running to your door."  

"You'd probably trip and knock yourself out with your carry-on, Jake," you snort but then smile, the imagine of Jake rushing to get to you playing in your head.  

"First of all, I'm very athletic," Jake raises an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. "Second, that's exactly what would happen, but at least I'd be unconscious on your doorstep, which is still closer to you than I've been in months."  

Your heart does a little flip at the sound of the sincerity in his voice as you try to keep your tone casual, "It's okay, Jake. I'm not going anywhere. We'll see each other the next day? If you're free, maybe."  

Jake's face softens in that stupidly adorable way he always does when he knows you're just trying to play it cool. "Free or not, I'll find a way. Nothing's stopping me from seeing you, Y/N. Not jet lag, not my schedule, not even my manager if he tries to barricade me in the building."  

A giggle escapes you, partly at his sheer determination and partly to cover up the butterflies constantly causing the havoc in your stomach when it comes to him. And Jake, of course, looks all smug, like he knows exactly what he's doing to you. Typical Jake—sweet, determined, and impossibly endearing.  

But as much as his words make your cheeks warm, there's another reason why you're holding back your smile.  

Because, despite what Jake thinks, you're going to see him much sooner than he expects. All thanks to a message you got earlier from the group's manager:  

Y/N! Hope you’re doing well! We all miss you and can’t wait to see you soon! As you know, the boys are returning tomorrow late at night, but the staff and I want to plan a little surprise party at their apartment, they have no idea. The team’s already prepping everything. We’d love for you to come—it wouldn’t be the same without you. 10 PM! See you! 

You're practically vibrating with excitement, each passing minute on the call with Jake making it harder and harder to not just blurt it out and tell him you'll be seeing him in less than 24 hours. And, somehow, hearing his sleepy voice on the other side of the call, completely oblivious, just makes it even harder to contain yourself.  

Jake's brows furrow as he watches you try (and fail) to suppress your grin, "What's up with you? You're smiling so much, and I'm pretty sure I didn't say anything that funny."  

"Me?" You blink innocently, even though your heart skips a beat. But you shrug casually, masking your smile with a feigned yawn. "Nothing's up, you've just been acting too cute tonight. That's all."  

"You're lucky you're cute," Jake narrows his eyes at you, but even you can see through the dim lighting the red creeping across his face, "And that I'm tired. Or else I'd call you out for how you're gaslighting me right now."  

"Gaslighting?!" You sputter out, breaking out into laughter. "How am I gaslighting you for calling you cute?"  

"Because I know you're hiding something—" Jake replies, his pout audible in the way his voice drags. He yawns mid-sentence, the soft sound and the image of his eyes fluttering closed making your heart melt. "—and you're using my sleep-deprived state against me. It's not fair."  

"I'm not hiding anything!" You protest, your face one second away from cracking into a guilty smile. "Go to sleep—you're barely holding it together over there."  

"Like I'd ever fall asleep on you," he mutters, his voice heavy with drowsiness. "You're way too important for that."  

His words hit you like a train, and you have to physically restrain yourself from squealing, burying your face in your pillow before you let out a strangled, "Okay, enough sap for one night, Romeo. Go to bed."  

"Mmhm, fine, fine," Jake hums before he yawns again. "Goodnight, pretty. Dream sweet dreams, okay?"  

You let out a breath, losing the last remaining bits of your composure at this point—but in the best way possible, of course.  

"Goodnight, Jakey. I'll see you soon."  

The day flies by in a whirlwind of anticipation and sheer chaos, the emotional hurricane brewing up inside you rooting from one source and one source only.  

Because ever since you woke up this morning, every step, every sight, every breath was haunted by one inescapable thought: 

Jake.  

The morning was a blur of pacing around your room like a Sims character who was glitching after being told to "Go Here", overthinking every possible scenario for how tonight—when you finally see Jake in person—could go down.  

Because, really—how exactly do you approach the boy you've been friends with for years, who you've fallen for, in a room filled with people, including yours and his closest friends, all while pretending your heart is trying its hardest to not control, alt, delete itself?  

Not exactly something you can Google.  

Like, do you hug him? Does he hug you? What if he doesn't hug you? (Unacceptable, you decide, before pacing faster.)  

By the time afternoon rolls around, you're about 78% sure you've developed three-and-a-half migraines from the sheer pressure of it all. Not to mention, the borderline illegal amount of caffeine coursing through your veins isn't helping—why did you think drinking four cups of coffee was a good idea? (You didn't. Your brain has officially gone rogue.)  

And now, here you are. The buzzing apartment of the boys is alive with the sounds of laughter, the crinkle of party streamers being hung up, and two staff members arguing about where to put the over-dramatically large "WELCOME HOME" banner. You, along with everyone else, await for the signal, passing time by keeping up small conversation with the friends and staff you've gotten to know over the years—all the while you desperately try to keep your nerves from causing a mental crash out right here and now.  

Eventually, one of the staff gets the alert that the group has landed and is minutes away, the energy immediately shifting, both in the apartment and mentally. You settle in place in the back of the crowd, near the door but not too near the door—because 1) you're 99.99% sure you're not emotionally stable enough to be front and center, and 2) the staff and camera crew are already hogging the entrance as if this was the world's greatest comeback (and spoiler alert—to you, it really is.)  

The lights dim, the chatter fades, and the room hums with anticipation. And meanwhile? Your heart won't. Stop. Pounding.  

Any second now.  

Your nerves bubble up even more than you thought is humanly healthy, and you're not sure if you're about to a) pass out, b) puke, c) or both.

Simultaneously.  

The sound of multiple footsteps echoes faintly in the hallway, followed with muffled voices—one of them the unmistakable sound of Jake's laughter. Your breath catches.  

And then the door swings open.  

"SURPRISE!"  

The boys freeze in the doorway, their suitcases still in hand, the looks of genuine, yet pleasant, confusion plastered on all their faces. Sunghoon's eyes dart to the snacks table, Jay looks like he's deciding whether to laugh or roll his eyes, Sunoo is on the verge of tears, and Jake—Jake looks beautifully, stupidly confused.  

Your eyes immediately find Jake's face, like some natural gravitational pull you can't fight, and suddenly it hits you: he's here. In front of you. No blurry video calls, no glitchy Wi-Fi interruptions—just Jake.  

It feels surreal, like you're living in a sugar-induced dream that you aren't sure of is real yet or not. Last time you saw him in person, he was merely just Jake, one of your best friends, your go-to guy for bad jokes and late-night rants about life. But now? Now he's Jake—the boy who's somehow become the main character of your life (and brain capacity) over the past five months.  

Every memory of your late-night calls, every teasing smile, every time his sweet, groggy voice promised he'd prove himself to you—it all comes rushing back. Like those cheesy montage scenes in a rom-com, except instead of a whimsical romantic song playing in the background, it's the sound of your brain, and heart, screaming WHAT NOW Y/N?! 

But then, finally, his eyes land on you.  

The moment your eyes meet, you think your lungs give up on life. Breathing? Never heard of it. It's like someone hit the pause button on the entire universe, and you're convinced that the only thing to ever exist is Jake looking at you with that soft, unreadable expression.  

But you manage half a second of calm—half a second—before that softness on his face disappears. Just as quickly as it appeared, it's replaced by...something else. Something you can't quite put your finger on. Something you've never thought could exist on his face. A flicker of...conflict? Hesitation? Like he's staring straight at you…but also from miles away at the same time.  

His jaw tightens slightly—so slightly only you would notice with how intently you're looking at him—and for a split second, his hands fidgets at his side before he quickly clasps it over the handle of his suitcase. And right as you process it, right as you're about to convince yourself it's just the million grams of caffeine rushing through your blood that's making you hallucinate and see things— 

He looks away.  

He looks away.  

He looks away. As if you're not even standing there, as if he didn't just short-circuit your entire brain. His attention shifts to the nearest staff member, greeting them with a quick nod, and suddenly he's smiling and laughing at something they're saying like nothing just happened.  

And just like that, the universe hits the play button again, and you're left standing there—staring, blinking, wondering if the last thirty seconds of your life was, indeed, a caffeine-induced hallucination after all. Surely. Right?  

Because Jake definitely didn't avoid you on purpose. Nope. Because that would be insane. Insane, you think to yourself, as the invisible angel on your shoulder continues to whisper into your ear the same sweet words Jake's been telling you the past five months about how much he cares for you, how much he likes you—remember all those times he said it?  

Right. Right. Of course, he does. But still, you stand there frozen, trying to ground yourself, even though your hands start fidgeting at your sides anyway. Great. Fantastic. Cool, cool, cool. This is fine. 

You mentally curse yourself for not being closer to the door after all, and then, you mentally curse every single person in this room for not magically gaining telepathic powers and knowing that you, personally, were trying to have a moment.  

It's fine. You'll find him again. He's just too preoccupied with all the staff members and people to greet. Busy Jake. Social Jake. You're just imagining things. Definitely.  

Trying to distract yourself, you glance around the apartment, everything suddenly feeling suffocating. Maybe a snack. Maybe a drink. Maybe a portal to another dimension. 

Shaking your head out of your spiraling thoughts, you bite the inside of your cheek to ground yourself and turn away from the crowd, quickly settling yourself near the beverage table, pouring yourself a cup of...whatever this is—your mind too cloudy to even bother looking at the sign on the table.

You don't know how much time passes, and frankly, you don't even know if you're fully conscious. Your mind is still living in the past, lingering in that moment where you locked eyes with Jake for the first time in five months, and despite all the overthinking you did this morning of all the possible scenarios that could happen—this was not one of them.  

You're about to pour yourself a second drink just to keep your thoughts busy when you feel a tap on your shoulder.  

"Y/N!"  

Before you can fully turn around, you're engulfed in a warm hug, the familiar scent of Jungwon's cologne immediately grounding you, "Oh god, I missed you. Took me forever to find you with all these people."  

"Jungwon!" You exclaim, a genuine smile lighting up your face despite the emotional tug-of-war in your chest, because, of course, leave it to your best friend to immediately ease your inner panic. You squeeze him back, playfully ruffling his hair as you pull away, "I can't believe they made you grow out your hair. Now you actually look older than me for once."  

He stares at you, blinking. "Y/N. I am older than you."  

"Literally by a week. We all know I'm mentally older," you deadpan, crossing your arms.  

"Okay, I take it back. I didn't miss you after all," he scoffs as you laugh, pulling him into another hug for good measure just to annoy him.  

"I'm so glad you guys are back," you say as Jungwon grabs the drink in your hand and takes a sip himself as he listens to you. "I was dying of boredom without you guys."  

Jungwon raises an eyebrow, "Uh-huh. Definitely didn't sound like boredom all those nights you called Jake at 2AM."  

You freeze. Oh. Great. The one topic you were trying to avoid (how you were going to avoid it—given you're at his literal apartment, with his literal group members, and literal staff members that all work for him—you're not sure. Avoidance was a doomed plan from the start, I fear).  

But before you could answer, Jungwon continues, "So...are you guys, like, a thing now? I know you guys were just talking this whole time, but now that we're back, are you guys gonna be in a relationship and all that stuff? Because if so, I need a heads-up. As much I love you both, I don't know if I can stand you two being all couple-y right in front of me—oh, and also—"  

"Jungwon." 

"—if he hurts you in any way, I swear to god I will not hesitate to—"  

"Jungwon!"  

He stops, wide-eyed, before flashing you a sheepish smile. "Sorry. But seriously, what's happening? You haven't given me any updates!"   

You open your mouth to respond, but the words get caught in your throat. Because if he had asked you yesterday—or even an hour ago—you would've been able to answer confidently. But now? After Jake's apparent Olympic-level avoidance of you? You're not so sure anymore.  

"I...I don't know," you mumble, the words barely audible. Jungwon tilts his head, leaning closer to catch them.  

"What do you mean, you don't know? You guys haven't talked about it?" His brows furrowing as he studies your face, clearly picking up on your hesitation in true best friend fashion.  

"I, uh, I haven't...seen him yet," you admit, hoping the crack in your voice doesn't reveal the real reason you haven't approached the boy in question. "Everyone's busy, and I didn't want to get in the way."  

Jungwon gives you a look like you just said the earth is flat.  

"Get in the way? Y/N, you're insane. This is the guy who's been counting down the days to see you. If anything, everyone else is in his way."  

You give him a helpless shrug, but Jungwon isn't having it. He grabs your shoulders and spins you around, pointing across the room to one of the other snack tables past the crowds of people.

"Look. He's right there. Alone. Perfectly free to talk to you. Go."  

Your eyes land on Jake, back facing you and Jungwon, casually scooping chips into a bowl. You hesitate, scanning his relaxed posture, and the knot in your stomach tightens. Because that's exactly the problem. He's perfectly free. And if he's so excited to see you, how come he hasn't spoken to you yet?  

But before you can voice your doubts, Jungwon gives you a not-so-gentle nudge forward, "Go talk to him before I carry you over there myself."  

And next thing you know, Jake's right there. In front of you. His back is to you still, his eyes scanning the various snacks lined on the table, completely unaware of the full-on mental breakdown occurring just behind him.  

This is your moment, you tell yourself, despite the endless alarms going off in your brain. Every single nerve in your body is on high alert, screaming at you to abort mission, abort! But before you can give in to your panic, your hand is already reaching out, lightly tapping his shoulder.  

"Jake!"  

Jake turns around, and for a moment—a fleeting, fragile moment—you catch it. The way his eyes widen slightly at the sight of you. The way his lips part as if they're about to break into that familiar smile you've missed for months. But just as quickly, similar to earlier, it vanishes, replaced by that flicker of hesitation, and it's enough to make your breath catch.  

"Y/N."  

Your name on his lips used to sound like a warm promise. Now?

Now it feels like an afterthought. 

His voice is calm, steady—too steady, stripped of every ounce of emotion, and not at all like someone who's been counting down the days to see you. He rubs the back of his neck, his gaze flickering to the crowd behind you before reluctantly meeting yours, "It's been so long."  

Your stomach sinks. That's all he had to say? You were completely wrong. You spent precisely 23 minutes of your morning debating if he was even going to give you a hug—but now? Screw the hug, he won't even give you a full sentence. Something's off, and your mind races to figure out what happened, as if you missed a major chapter of your own life.  

Trying to ignore the sharp pang of something lodging itself in your chest, you offer a small smile, hoping to break the tension.  

"Are you...okay? I thought...I don't know, I thought you'd be more excited to see me," the words spill out before you can stop them, and you want to crawl into a self-dug hole from how raw and vulnerable you feel.  

Jake shifts uncomfortably, glancing at the floor, then at you, "No, yeah, of course I am. I'm just...really tired. The flight, you know. And all this," he pauses to gesture at the environment around you two, "it's a lot."  

You stare at him in disbelief, waiting for him to crack—silently begging for some sign of the Jake you thought you knew. But all you get is a shrug.  

A shrug.  

Suddenly, his words feel like a punch to the gut, let alone the way he can't even fully look you in the eyes. In just those few seconds, the invisible angel on your shoulder—whose voice sounded just like Jake's—whispering those promises into your ears suddenly disappeared with no trace in sight, as if it was never there—as if it was never yours—in the first place. Every late-night call, every whispered promise, every shared laugh. 

As if they never belonged to you.  

You swallow hard, trying to keep the growing lump in your throat from choking you, hoping your emotional turmoil isn't blatantly obvious to the boy in front of you.  

"Right," you murmur, nodding as if his excuse makes perfect sense. But it doesn't. "That's...understandable."  

The silence that follows is suffocating. Not the comfortable kind of warm silence you two used to share, but the awkward, unbearable kind that makes you claw at your own skin and makes you wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole right then and there.  

Jake shifts again, and for a moment, his eyes meet yours. There's something there—but before you can grasp it, a voice from the crowd calls his name.  

"I—I should go," he mutters quickly, stepping back. His voice is quiet, his tone almost apologetic, but his words feel like he's hammering the nails to your coffin. "I'll...see you later though, yeah?"  

He doesn't wait for an answer. He's gone before you can say anything, before you can process his words, and for the second time that night, he leaves you standing there with your heart in pieces and your thoughts in chaos.  

For a moment, you swear you're paralyzed. You can't move. Can't breathe. Your vision blurs as every doubt you'd buried for months comes rushing back, screaming in your face louder and crueler than ever. You've never felt smaller, more foolish.  

Your heart beats erratically now, fighting against the realization of the truth settling in your chest—a  heaviness so suffocating it threatens to take you under. The Jake who stood in front of you just now—guarded, distant, a stranger—was so unlike the boy who had made you laugh until your sides ached, who'd stayed up with you on countless late nights, sharing secrets no one else knew.  

The Jake who made promises.  

Your mind spirals. Maybe...maybe those promises were never meant to be kept. Maybe they were just words to fill the time.  

Maybe you were just someone to fill the time.  

Your breath starts to pick up and you're frantically scanning the room, desperate for an escape from your thoughts through any familiar face. Your eyes finally land on Ni-ki and Heeseung casually sitting on one of the couches, their carefree laughter a stark contrast to your inner implosion. You beeline to them, forcing a smile on your face as you plop down beside them.  

"Y/N!" Ni-ki grins the moment he spots you, scooting over to make room. "Where've you been hiding? Thought you ditched us for good."  

"I've been here,“ you give the boys a small smile, praying they don't notice the way your hands tremble as you sit down, “just...mingling."  

Heeseung raises an eyebrow at the faint crack in your voice, but doesn't push further, "Well, we all missed you. Pizza pig-out sesh and games tomorrow? You can tell us everything we've been missing out on."  

You laugh, trying to keep the conversation light, but it comes out shaky, your voice tight under the weight of your hidden emotions, "I think it's you guys who need to catch me up."  

Ni-ki tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at you, "Are you okay? You look...off. What—did someone spill punch on you? Lemme guess, was it Jake?"  

At his name, the knife in your stomach twists even deeper, and you look away, hoping they don't notice the way your face falls.  

But Heeseung notices. Of course. His gaze sharpens, the playful teasing in his expression replaced with a softened concern, "Y/N...what's going on?"  

"I'm fine," you reply a little too quickly, your voice a little too high. You plaster a smile on your face, turning back towards the two boys, concern written all over their faces. "Just tired. Long day."  

Neither of them look convinced, but before Heeseung can say anything else, Ni-ki nudges him and gestures towards something across the room.  

"Hey...isn't that—"  

You follow Ni-ki's gaze, and you immediately wish you didn't. 

Because just like that, your world crumbles.  

There she is—Jenn.  

You're not even wondering when she got here, how she got here, or even why she's here in the first place. No, not even.  

Because all that's occupying your mind right now is the way she's there, perched comfortably on Jake's lap on one of the couches in the distance, her arm draped casually over his shoulder.  

The way she's laughing freely at something he says, her hand lightly brushing against his as if it's second nature, her fingers briefly pushing a strand of hair away from his face.  

The way Jake doesn't even flinch, the way he doesn't pull away.  

The way he smiles at her.  

That same smile—the one you've spent weeks convincing yourself was yours—now feels like a cruel joke.  

And that does it. For the first time that night, despite all you endured, you shatter.  

You force yourself to look away, but it's too late. Your chest hollows out deeper and deeper with every passing second, until all you're left with is a final realization:  

Maybe you never really had him at all. He was never yours in the first place.  

Ni-ki and Heeseung exchange glances before looking at the expression on your face—all the color drained, as if you were merely just a body, paralyzed. Both of them open their mouths, but nothing comes out, clearly unsure of what to say, but you don't give them the chance. You're already standing, grabbing your bag at your side with trembling hands.  

"Y/N, wait—" Heeseung starts as both him and Ni-ki stand up with you, but you shake your head, his voice distant and muffled as if he's speaking to you underwater.  

"I need some air," you mumble, but you're sure neither of them hear you, your voice barely above a whisper.  

Before they can stop you, you're already weaving through the crowd, your vision blurring as you fight the overwhelming urge to break down. You stop at the door, your eyes quickly scanning the cluttered floor for your shoes. For a moment, you think you've made it—escaped the suffocating air and heartbreak clawing at your throat—but a mistake you didn't mean to make stills you.  

You glance over your shoulder, and there he is.  

Jake's eyes meet yours, and the world comes to a stop. His easy smile slips from his face and is immediately replaced by a flicker of panic, his brows drawing together as if he's just realized something, but you don't stick around to analyze it.  

Not when your heart is already in pieces on the floor.  

You quickly look the opposite way, fighting the sting of burning tears threatening to spill over as your fingers fumble desperately with the zipper of your coat when you hear a concerned voice from behind you.  

"Y/N?" Jungwon's familiar voice cuts through your haze, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. "What—where are you going?"  

"Home," you whisper, avoiding his gaze as you finally manage to get your coat on, turning towards the door.  

Suddenly, Jungwon steps in front of you, a firm frown on his face, "Hey, hey, what's wrong? Talk to me—"  

"Jungwon, I need to go," you look up at him as your voice cracks for the nth time that night, feeling Jake's set of eyes on you still, "Please, Won."  

He hesitates, clearly confused but more worried over anything else, "Okay, but I'm driving you."  

You sigh, shaking your head, "No, it's fine—"  

"I'm driving you," Jungwon repeats, leaving no room for argument as he's already grabbing his coat and walking out the door.  

Not bothering to look behind you to see if Jake's still watching, you follow Jungwon out to the hallway, the chill of the air feeling like a fresh wave of emotions crashing over you all at once: embarrassment, anger, heartbreak.  

You're too caught up in your spinning thoughts to even notice the sound of frantic footsteps behind you until a voice cuts through the silence.  

"Y/N."  

His voice is quiet, almost drowned out by the muffled hum of music and laughter seeping from the party you should've escaped from a long time ago.  

But still, you hear it anyway—because of course you do. Because it's him. And no matter how much you wish you didn't, you'd silence the entire world just to hear that voice.  

And you hate it.  

You hate how your entire body freezes mid-step, you hate how every nerve within you comes alive at the sound of his voice, you hate how your heart stumbles, as if trying to root itself in the pain you've been trying so hard to outrun.  

You turn around slowly, against every ounce of logic telling you to keep walking. And when your eyes land on him—on the raw, desperate, almost broken look on his face—you hate yourself even more.  

Because even now, even after everything, your heart still sinks at the sight. And you hate how you give him the power to break you with just one look.  

“Can we talk?” Jake asks, his voice low and unsteady as he takes a small step towards you.  

From beside you, Jungwon hesitates, his gaze flickering between you and Jake. After a beat, he nods, "I'll get the car. Wait here."  

He spares Jake a final look of warning before nudging you for comfort and stepping into the elevator.  

The elevator doors close, leaving you and Jake alone in the hallway, the air thick with unspoken words and emotions.  

You swallow hard, your throat tight, but you steel yourself, "What do you want, Jake?"  

You shift your weight and instinctively cross your arms, a defensive barrier between you and the boy you spent too long letting into your heart. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the vulnerability in them makes your resolve falter. 

He takes a hesitant step towards you before exhaling shakily, running a hand through his hair.  

“I—I messed up tonight. I didn’t mean to...," he trails off, his words fumbling, his eyes searching yours in desperation, his heart breaking at the way your tears are a second away from falling over. 

"...to completely ignore me all night? Make me feel like nothing?" You finish for him, your quiet voice breaking despite your attempt to stay composed.  

"No. God, no. You're not nothing," he says quickly, his voice faltering on the last word. "Y/N, you matter so much to me."  

“Well it definitely didn't feel that way,” your voice is barely audible, but you finally look up at him, the hurt finally bubbling to the surface. “After everything you said—promised, everything we talked about…” 

"I know, I just—" he hesitates, his voice barely above a whisper. He takes a tentative step closer, his movements slow and careful, like he's afraid you'll break if he gets too close. "I was nervous." 

"It’s been so long, and I didn’t know what to say, how to act. I wanted to get it right—to make it perfect—but instead, I just—" he stops, dragging another frustrated hand through his hair. His eyebrows knit together in that familiar way that once made your heart flutter, but now only adds to the ache in your chest. 

You let out a hollow laugh, the bitter sound foreign even to your own ears, “Well, congratulations, Jake. You managed to mess it up anyway.” 

“Please,” he looks devastated, his hands trembling at his sides. “Y/N, please don’t think I don’t care about you. I do. More than you know. I just—I don't know how to do this. I panicked and I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear."  

"Then why was...," you look at him, your eyes still stinging from all the unshed tears as you take a shaky breath, “...why was she all over you tonight? Why didn’t you stop her?” 

He falters, his shoulders slumping under the weight of your question, “It wasn’t what it looked like. I didn’t—I couldn’t—” 

“You couldn’t,” you echo, the words spilling out in a rush now, each one cutting him deeper. “I should've known. Let me guess, she wants to get back together, right?"  

Jake's silence is deafening, and it immediately answers your question. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. The way he looks at you—eyes wide and filled with regret, lips trembling as if searching for the right words—confirms everything you were afraid of. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, a shaky breath escaping your lips—a sound caught somewhere between a scoff and a choked sob. No matter how hard you try, the wall holding back your emotions cracks under the weight of it all. The doubts you’ve tried so hard to bury suddenly resurface, crashing over you like waves, each one carrying the sting of every insecurity, every fear you’ve ever had about this moment. Your chest feels tight, your heart splintering under the realization that everything you were afraid of might be true. 

"Jake, I can't do this," you whisper, shaking your head. "I can't be the person you lean on while you try to figure out what you want."  

"No, no—Y/N, I do know what I want," he pleads, his voice cracking as he tries to step closer. "And it’s you. Always been you, Y/N. Everything I said—I meant it."  

His words hang heavy in the air, the faint echo of the party music filtering through the cracks in the door and into the quiet hallway. You look away, refusing to let him see the way your tears finally spill over.  

"You promised," you let out softly and slowly, through your sniffles. “You promised you wouldn't hurt me. You said you'd prove that I could trust you, that I didn't have to be scared. You knew I was worried, Jake. And you...you hurt me anyways."  

"And I swear I meant every word I said. I still do," Jake says, his voice desperate as he shakes his head. He steps even closer, his hand reaching out and brushing against yours, but you pull back before he can close the distance. "You have to believe me. Please, Y/N. You're the only one."  

You shake your head again, the tears now freely rushing down your cheeks despite your best efforts, "I—I don't know if I can believe that anymore, Jake. I want to, I really, really do. But tonight..."  

Jake’s face falls, the weight of your pain crashing into him all at once. His lips tremble as he struggles to hold himself together, his eyes turning glassy themselves. The sight of you—broken, because of him—cuts deeper than he thought was humanly ever possible. His voice is barely above a whisper, raw and pleading, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I—God, please. Please give me a chance.” 

You look at him—at the boy who became your safe space these past few months—and all you feel is the ache in your heart.  

"I can't do this right now, Jake," you finally let out through your broken voice as you take a step back. "I think I just need space."  

The words hang in the air like a death sentence. His breath hitches as if your words physically hit him in the face, "Y/N..." 

Your phone suddenly buzzes, a text from Jungwon letting you know he's outside. You glance down at it, then back at Jake. For a moment, you hesitate, your heart screaming at you to stay—to give him the chance he's yearning for. But your brain knows better. 

"I have to go," you murmur softly, as you take a final step back, turning away before more tears threaten to spill all over again. You force yourself to keep walking, fighting the overwhelming urge to look back—to let him pull you into his arms, where you wished so desperately you belonged.  

Frozen, Jake watches helplessly as you walk away, his chest tightening with every step you take. Everything feels like it's caving in, regret clawing at him the more he lets you walk further away. He opens his mouth to say something—anything—but the words fail him, silenced by the weight of his own mistakes.  

To Jake, the sounds of the party are now far in the distance, drowned out by the pounding in this ears. Instead, the hallway falls into a haunting silence, broken only by the faint echo of your retreating steps—a cruel reminder of what he's just let slip away.  

The car ride starts in complete silence, the only sound between you and Jungwon the soft hum of his engine and the faint sound of whatever playlist he was playing in the background. You stare out the window, watching the city lights blur together, your coat clutched tightly under your grasp as if it's the only thing keeping you sane.  

Jungwon glances at you out the corner of his eye, his hands steady on the steering wheel. He doesn't say anything at first, but you know him well enough to sense the storm brewing in his head.  

"Okay," he finally says, as if on cue, breaking the silence. "Spill."  

You don't respond, your eyes still fixed on the surrounding city breezing by you, as if the passing view could somehow erase the memory of him. Your fingers dig further into the fabric of your coat, your knuckles going numb.  

Jungwon gives you a few more moments of silence, but when you don't make any sign of responding, he speaks up again. 

"Y/N," his voice softens, but the edge of his concern cuts through. "Don't do that thing where you shut people out. Especially me, you know I hate that."  

"I'm not—" you start, but your voice wavers, and the lie dies on the tip of your tongue.  

“You are," he exhales sharply from beside you, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "Look, you don't have to tell me everything, but don't pretend you're fine when you're clearly not."  

The words sit heavy in the air as you swallow hard, your throat burning as you finally whisper, "It's stupid, Jungwon."  

He doesn't take his eyes off the road, but his tone is firm, "I'm sure if it's got you looking like this, it's not stupid."  

You want to argue, to tell him to just let it go, but the hurt pressing down on your chest is too much. The ache in your body threatens to take over again, and you hate it. You hate how the tears form again, how you can still see Jake looking at you like that, like you were breaking right in front of him and he didn't know how to stop it.  

Jungwon waits. He doesn't push, because he knows you. He knows you're just hurting, struggling to grasp your overwhelming emotions, so he gives you the time you need. But his quiet patience is unbearable, like he's peeling back every layer of your resolve just by being there, and eventually, you give in.  

"It's Jake," you finally choke out, the name tumbling from your lips like a curse.  

Jungwon doesn't respond immediately, but you can feel the shift in his demeanor. His jaw tightens, and his fingers flex against the wheel, "I figured as much honestly, after what I saw in the hallway, but what exactly happened, Y/N?"  

You shake your head, your voice shaky, "It doesn't matter. I—I just feel so stupid, Won. Like, how could I think..." 

You trail off, biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood. Jungwon gives you a softened glance, signaling you to continue whenever you're ready to.  

You take a deep breath before you speak up again, "How could I ever think I was good enough for him, you know?"  

There's a silence that follows after your words and you hear Jungwon take in a deep inhale.  

"This isn't on you, Y/N. This has nothing to do with whether you're enough or not," Jungwon's voice is steady, but there's a firm edge to it now. "Look, I don't want to overstep or anything...and I definitely don't want to vouch for him—especially right now but...are you sure he's not just freaking out?"  

You tilt your head over at the boy next to you, "Freaking out about what?"  

"You," Jungwon says simply like it's the most obvious thing in the world.  

"That doesn't make any sense," you start shaking your head. "Why would he—"  

"Because you're you," Jungwon interrupts, his tone matter-of-fact as he keeps his eyes trained on the road in front of him. "And Jake's a complete idiot, but even idiots get scared when they care about someone as much as he clearly cares about you."  

You blink, Jungwon's words sinking into all the cracks formed within you, "You really think he cares about me that much?"  

“Are you kidding?” Jungwon scoffs, his expression a mix of disbelief and exasperation. “Y/N, the guy looks at you like you hung his moon and stars. Trust me, I’ve seen it.” 

And you don't know what comes over you, but Jungwon's words hit you like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, the tears you've been holding back come rushing forward, hot and relentless. You cover your face with your hands, your body shaking as the sobs you've been swallowing all night finally make their way out.  

Jungwon quickly looks over at you and, without hesitation, glances over his shoulder to pull over to the side of the road, the soft clicking of the hazard lights mixing in with your cries. When he finally puts the car in park, he doesn't say anything and just leans back in his seat, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder—close enough to remind you he's there, but not too much to smother you.  

"I'm sorry," you manage to gasp out between sobs, your hands going up to wipe your face as all the overwhelming emotions finally take over you.  

"Don't," Jungwon says firmly, "Don't apologize for feeling like this."  

You take a shaky breath, trying to pull yourself together as your sobs eventually start to slow down, "I just don't understand. If he cares so much, why does this hurt so bad?"  

"I don't think it's about how much he cares," Jungwon sighs, as if carrying your pain alongside you. "Sometimes...sometimes people care so much that they don't know what to do with it. They panic. They overthink. And they mess up in the worst ways because they don't know how to handle what they're feeling."  

You look up at him, your face still wet with tears, "So you're saying it's an excuse."  

"No," Jungwon replies, quickly shaking his head fervently. "Definitely not an excuse. Jake screwed up, Y/N. Big time. And it's 100% on him to fix that, not you. But—"  

He pauses and thinks for a second, his words deliberate, "—it doesn't mean his feelings aren't real. Or that he doesn't care about you."  

You look away, glancing down at your hands in your lap, fiddling with the hem of your coat as you take in Jungwon's words.  

"It's just feels like...like I'm the only one who got hurt here, Won. Like I'm the only one who..," you trail off, unable to form your thoughts into a coherent sentence, but leave it up to Jungwon to always fully understand you.  

"You're not the only one," he says softly. "He's hurting too, Y/N. Maybe not in the same way, and maybe he doesn't deserve any sympathy, but I can see it. I've seen it. Jake...Jake isn't Jake without you. And honestly? That idiot is probably tearing himself apart right now."  

Your lips part, but the words don't find you. Instead, you let the weight of Jungwon's words sink in, unsure what to do with how true they may be.  

"You don't have to forgive him right now," Jungwon adds after a moment. "Hell, you don't even have to forgive him at all. Honestly, that might satisfy me just a bit. But maybe...maybe you owe it to yourself to hear him out. Not for him, but for you."  

You turn to Jungwon, your lips forming into the smallest pout, "But what if it just makes everything worse?"  

He gives you a faint, grounding smile, equal parts reassuring and honest.  

"Then you walk away knowing you did everything you could—for yourself. And if it does come to that," he shrugs lightly, "we'll figure it out together."  

You're quiet for a long moment, the thought of walking away from Jake and everything he means to you terrifying you…but you know Jungwon's right. You owe yourself the chance to try—even if the unknown outcome fails you.  

With a shaky breath, you nod, brushing away the last of your tears, "Thanks, Jungwon."  

"You're welcome," Jungwon hums in acknowledgement before his lips curve into a small grin, the atmosphere lightening slightly, "but, uh, could you at least use the tissues in the glove compartment before my seats turn into a snot rag?"  

You manage to let out a small scoff of disbelief as you roll your watery eyes, "You're the worst."  

"Nah," Jungwon replies with a cheeky grin as he shifts the car back into drive, but not before he reaches over to ruffle your hair playfully. "C'mon. Let's get you home."  

The knocking at Jungwon’s door comes at the worst possible moment. 

He’s halfway through organizing his desk—something he only attempts when he’s too frustrated to sit still—and the last thing he expects to see when he swings the door open is Jake, standing there looking like he hasn’t slept a millisecond all night. 

Jungwon makes no sign of saying anything or making a move, just staring at the older boy in question. Jakes shifts uncomfortably, running a hand through his messy hair, not used to seeing Jungwon in this sour, expressionless mood.  

"Hey," Jake finally says, his voice hesitant.  

“What do you want?” Jungwon deadpans, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He knows he sounds harsh, but, frankly, he doesn’t care.  

Jake falters for a moment, his gaze dropping to the ground, "I...I need your help."  

Jungwon's eyes narrow, "With what, exactly?"  

He knows what, but he's not letting Jake off that easily. Not after last night.  

"With Y/N," your name hangs in the air between them as Jake's voice cracks, and Jungwon clenches his jaw before he lets out a frustrated sigh.  

"I don't think you're in any position to be asking me for help right now."  

"I know," Jake says quickly, his hands raising in surrender. "I know, okay? I screwed up big time. I—God, I don't even know where to start, Jungwon. I just...I don't want to make things worse."  

Jungwon lets out a bitter, humorless laugh, stepping back and motioning his head to let Jake enter his room, "You've already got a good head start on that, I see."  

Jake steps inside, awkwardly hovering near the door as Jungwon moves to sit on the edge of his own bed. He doesn't offer Jake a seat, and Jake doesn't ask for one.  

"She cried, you know," Jungwon says after a few moments of silence, his voice stone cold. "I had to pull over because she couldn't even hold it together long enough for me to get her home. I've known her my entire life, and I don't think I've ever seen her cry that hard, Jake."  

Jake flinches, the words physically hurting him, "I didn't mean to—"  

"Yeah, I know," the younger boy cuts him off, his voice sharp, his anger rising on behalf of you. "You didn't mean to hurt her. But you did. And now you're asking me to help you fix it like it's that easy."  

"It's not easy," Jake mutters quietly, his hands fumbling with the edge of his hoodie. "Nothing about this...none of it is easy. But I know I messed up, and I—I can't just leave things like this, I can't lose her, Jungwon. I care about her too much."  

Jungwon deadpans at his friend, fighting back the urge to scoff in his face, "If you cared about her, you wouldn't have let her walk out of that party looking like her entire world was falling apart."  

Jake looks up, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with something Jungwon can't quite name...desperation, maybe. Or guilt. Or both.  

"I didn't know what to do," Jake finally admits, his voice still barely above a whisper, as if admitting to himself for the first time, too. "I saw her, and she looked so...broken. And I—I panicked, I didn't know what to do, and by the time I realized, she was gone."  

Jungwon leans back, groaning as he runs a hand over his face. The anger bubbling within him hasn't fully faded, but he knows there's something else now—something softer, something that makes it harder to keep his protective guard for you up.  

Because he knows Jake isn't lying.  

"You don't get to half-ass this, Jake," Jungwon finally says after he thinks to himself. "She's not some random girl you're trying to impress, she isn't Jenn. This is Y/N. If you want to fix things, you have to be ready to own up to everything. No excuses, no backing out. She deserves that much."  

Jake nods quickly, his eyes wide and hopeful at Jungwon's slight change in demeanor, “I will. I swear, I will.” 

"And don't think she's going to forgive you right away," Jungwon adds. "She's hurt. You have to give her time. This isn't about what you want—it's about what she needs."  

Jake swallows hard, nodding again, “I just want to talk to her. To explain. To tell her I’m sorry and—”  

His voice cracks, and he looks down, his hands trembling slightly. Jungwon lets out a sigh, his mixed feelings turning more into something closer to pity. Because as much as he wants to stay mad for your sake, he's known Jake long enough to know that he's a good guy—and that his heart is in the right place.  

But even more than that, he knows you. And he knows how much Jake means to you, even if you won't admit it, especially not now more than ever.  

"You're actually an idiot," Jungwon says after a few beats, his voice carrying a lighter tone now. "But for some godforsaken reason, knowing her, I think she might actually miss you."  

Jake looks up from his hands, his eyes searching Jungwon's face for any flicker of doubt, "You really think so?"  

Jungwon shrugs, standing up and moving towards his door, "I think you've got a lot of work to do if you want to earn her trust back. But...I think you still have a chance."  

Jake doesn't say anything as he follows Jungwon to the door, but the look on his face says enough—there's a new slight look of hope. It's small, but he's clutching onto it like it’s his lifeline.  

“You know," Jungwon says when he reaches the doorway. "Y/N’s not the type to let people in easily. She puts up walls—but with you…she let them down. You’re special to her, Jake, even if she doesn’t say it. Don’t throw that away. For her sake, and yours.” 

“I won’t,” Jake promises, his voice steady now. “Thank you, Jungwon.” 

Jungwon nods at the older boy before giving him a faint smile, "And just so you know, I defended you yesterday. So don't prove me wrong or I'm actually going to deck you."  

Jake lets out a weak laugh as he hangs outside Jungwon's door, "Noted. I promise I won't let her down again."  

Jungwon doesn’t respond, just closes the door with a soft click, and hopes—for all their sakes—that Jake means it.  

Jake [5:12PM]: hi Y/N   Jake [5:12PM]: i know I'm the last person you want to hear from right now. and i don’t blame you at all   Jake [5:13PM]: but i cant just stay silent and let this sit between us, and i value you too much to not respect you needing space and just show up at your door  Jake [5:14PM]: even though it’s killing me to stay away  Jake [5:14PM]: after you left the party last night, i went back inside. i told jenn that whatever we had in the past is exactly that, the past. and i swear to you, Y/N, there’s nothing between us. there hasn’t been for a long time. and it’s my fault for making it seem otherwise.   Jake [5:15PM]: and as for how i acted…i don’t even know where to start. i fucked up extremely. nothing will excuse my actions and i don’t expect you to forgive me. but i need to apologize properly, you deserve that much.   Jake [5:17PM]: please let me see you, Y/N. i don’t deserve it, and i don’t deserve you. but you mean everything to me, and i hate that i hurt you. and i promise, if you let me, i’ll do everything to make it up to you.  

You stare at the phone in your hand, the messages feeling like salt to an open wound. The words on the screen begin to blur together as tears prick your eyes, spilling over before you even realize it. You don't bother wiping them away—the sting in your chest too raw, too heavy. Each word feels like Jake is standing right there in front of you, his voice soft and broken, tangled with regret.  

You tell yourself to stop reading. You've already gone through the same messages at least a hundred times in the past ten minutes, overanalyzing each syllable as if they hold the answers to all of your questions.  

And yet, you can't stop.  

You want to be angry. You are angry. Or, at least, you think. Because beneath the flame of your anger that's already threatening to die out? There's an ache you can't ignore—a small, stubborn part of you that refuses to let go to the sincerity in his words, clinging onto the hope that he's telling you the truth.  

You mean everything to me, and I hate that I hurt you. I promise, if you let me, I'll do everything to make it up to you.  

The ache twists harder, curling into doubt. What if he means it? What if he's telling the truth?  

But of course, the fear rises just as quickly. Because what if he's not? What if you let him back in, and it all falls apart again? What if you let yourself believe in him, giving him the second chance he's asking for, only to have your heart shattered worse than before?  

And then, there's Jungwon's voice, soft but steady, cutting through the chaos brewing in your mind: "Even idiots get scared when they care about someone as much as he clearly cares about you."  

Your breath catches.  

Because that's the worst part. Knowing that maybe—just maybe—Jake really does care. Knowing that maybe he's telling the truth—and you're the one too afraid to take the risk, ready to build up the walls Jake's managed to get through.  

Your phone screen suddenly dims, pulling you out of your thoughts and back into the moment. You blink rapidly, wiping at your face, your mind a mess of emotions you can't untangle or describe.  

Fear. Hope. Doubt. 

And something else—something you're afraid to admit, but you know is unmistakably real.  

And it's stronger than the fear churning in your chest—it's something that's pulling you forward.  

Your heart pounds almost out of your rib cage as you let out a shaky breath, the weight on your shoulders pressing harder and harder with every second you hesitate. The ache doesn't let up, but neither does your hope.  

So you stop thinking altogether, letting your heart take control instead.  

You shut your eyes, as if bracing yourself for a crash, take a deep breath, unlock your phone, and let your fingers fly across the screen, each word feeling like a leap off a cliff.  

You hit send.  

Y/N [5:30PM]: hi jake  Y/N [5:30PM]: you can come over 

The soft knock at your door startles you, even though you know it’s coming.  

“Y/N?” 

His voice. Jake’s voice.  

Your heart clenches painfully, a conflicting mix of longing and hurt washing over you all at once. It hasn't even been a full day since the party, but the weight of his absence has already hollowed you out, leaving a hole you can't ignore. You know he's the one who caused it—that the cracks in your heart are his doing—but at the same time, the stubborn part of you whispers that he's also the only one who can mend them.  

You make your way to the door, your movements hesitant as you crack it open, peek out, and...there he is.  

"Hi," Jake says softly.  

He's a mess. A beautiful, saddened mess—his hair messy, like he's been running his hands through it all day, his eyes rimmed with the kind of exhaustion that isn't just physical. One hand is buried deep in his jacket, and in the other— 

"Flowers?" You ask, raising a brow in surprise.  

Jake's ears turn red. "Yeah. Uh, I didn't know if you had a favorite, so I got—"  

You open the door wider, revealing the full bouquet—daisies, tulips, roses, all wrapped together in crinkled tissue paper.  

"—a little bit of everything," he finishes awkwardly, his voice trailing off, pausing for a second before holding them out to you with a sheepish smile.  

Your lips twitch subconsciously, despite everything.  

"Jake, you're literally allergic."  

His mouth opens, then closes, the redness from his ears now spreading to his cheeks.  

"Well, yeah, but—," Jake mumbles, shifting on his feet. "—not, like, deadly or anything dramatic like that."  

He pauses, his voice dropping into something softer, more vulnerable, "I just wanted you to have them. That's all."  

You feel your insides tighten, the sincerity in his voice getting to you. For a moment, all you can manage to do is stare at him—at the way his eyes are silently pleading, wide and unsure.  

You hesitate for a second, then step back and open the door wider.  

"Thank you," you say quietly, your fingers brushing against his as you take the bouquet, sending a flicker of warmth through you. "Come in."  

Jake hesitates, his eyes searching yours like he's not sure if he's actually allowed to. When you turn away and walk towards your kitchen, he finally steps inside, kicking off his shoes quickly and hovering by the door like he doesn't know what to expect next.  

You set the flowers down on the counter, adjusting them carefully before turning back to him. He's still standing there, stiff and uncertain, the distance between you feeling larger than ever before.  

"So..." You say, crossing your arms tightly across yourself, shifting your weight as a way to ground yourself—though the lump in your throat makes it feel impossible.  

Jake exhales shakily, his hands fidgeting by his sides and gaze darting to the floor before finally landing on you, "I came to apologize. Properly."  

You blink at him, expression unreadable, "You already said sorry."  

Your voice comes out sharper than intended, surprising even yourself, but the words leave before you can stop them. Jake flinches, just slightly, but he nods, knowing he deserved that. 

"Not like I should have," he says, stepping closer, his voice low and careful, like he's afraid you'll run out of your own apartment. "I know I messed up. I hurt you, and I hate that I did. I hate that I made you feel like you weren't enough or that someone else could ever compare to you, Y/N."  

Your arms tighten around yourself as if the words might knock the breath out of you as look away, unsure if you can meet the rawness in his eyes.  

"Last night," Jake continues, his eyes filling with guilt, "I didn't handle last night right. And not just how I handled Jenn, but I let my own insecurities and stupid fears of being perfect for you get in the way. I let it happen and mess everything up. I let you think that you didn't matter to me, and I will never forgive myself, Y/N."  

His words hang in the air, heavy yet sincere, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him as you process his words slowly.  

"And I don't expect you to forgive me either, Y/N," Jake's voice wavers before he continues, "but I need you to know that I'm so, so sorry. No excuses. For all of it—for making you feel like anything less than everything, for making you feel like you weren't my first choice. Because you are. You're my only, Y/N." 

His words hit you with a force that crashes over the walls you tried so desperately to build. They're overwhelming yet tender, like rediscovering a piece of yourself you hadn't even realized you lost. And you want to let them comfort you, you do. But the pain from last night lingers deep down, reminding you of why you built those walls in the first place.  

For a moment, the silence stretches on longer than you intend, the weight of his words settling in the air between you. Jake doesn't look away though—his gaze unwavering, vulnerable, and raw.  

As though he's laid himself bare before you, giving you the power to either accept or shatter him completely.  

When you finally find your voice, it trembles despite your best efforts, "Jake...I don't know if I can just forget what happened."  

"I'm not asking you to forget," he says quickly, taking another step closer until there's only a few feet left between you. "I just want the chance to fix us. I can't lose you like this, Y/N."  

Your breath catches at the proximity, his presence pulling you in like gravity. The pain from last night tries to claw its way back into your heart—sharp and bitter—but his warmth reminds you of something else that refuses to be ignored.  

That flicker of hope that's demanding your attention, screaming at you to just let him in—not just for his sake, but for you. 

You take a deep breath, finally meeting his gaze. "Jake, I don't need you to...to be this perfect person. I don't need you to prove anything to me."  

You pause, pushing past the lump in your throat, "Because since the beginning, I always believed you. And...I think I still do. Even after last night, I still believe you, Jake. No matter how hard I try to."  

Jake lets out a breath he thinks he's been holding in for hours, "Really?"  

"Yeah," you nod slowly, as if reassuring yourself as much as him. "But I don't need any of your promises or proof or any of that. I just...I just need you as you."  

His eyes soften at you as he nods so quickly it's almost desperate.   

"And I need you to be honest with me, Jake," you continue before he can speak. "If we do this, I need to know I can trust you. Because I don't know if I can do this...this waiting game anymore."  

"You can," he says immediately, closing the distance between you two, making your breath hitch. You can see the way his hands are trembling, the slight quiver in his lips. "You can trust me. No more hesitation. I'm all in, Y/N. This is it for me, you're it."   

You search his face for any sign of doubt, any speck of hesitation. But all you find is his sincerity—so hopeful and so real—the kind that makes you want to let him in fully and let your walls crumble all over again.  

So you do.  

"Okay," you say softly, almost as if you're testing the word.  

Jake's eyes widen, the relief and hope flooding his features. Slowly, as if asking for permission, he reaches out, his fingers brushing against yours tentatively.  

"Okay?" He whispers, his voice barely audible to you as his eyes flicker between your hands and your face.  

You nod, your own hand turning over so your fingers curl around his in an instinctive gesture that feels so natural it makes you want to scream. The warmth of his touch feels like the first real comfort you've felt in forever, and it's enough to make your resolve slip.  

"But," you add softly, your eyes not leaving the way his hand wraps around yours so perfectly, "this doesn't mean everything's fine. We need to talk. We need to figure out where we stand, and where we go from there."  

Jake nods again, his grip on your hand tightening slightly, "We will. Whatever it takes, Y/N, I'll do it. I need you to know how much you mean to me and I'll never stop trying to show you that."  

You let out a shaky breath as you take in his words, finally looking up from your intertwined hands to meet his eyes, your own slowly filling with the tears you've been holding back. 

"You really hurt me, Jake," you say quietly, your voice breaking from the sheer weight of your vulnerability being laid bare.  

Jake's face crumbles instantly, guilt etched into every line of his expression. Without hesitation, his free hand comes up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb light brushing away the tears that fall, as if he's afraid you might pull away.  

Your eyes flutter closed at the warmth of his hand, and despite the emotions raging inside you, you let yourself lean into him. It feels both reckless, yet inevitable, like free-falling and trusting—knowing—he'll catch you.  

"I know," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion he can't swallow down. "And I'll spend as long as it takes to deserve you, Y/N. I'll never make you feel like that again."  

You nod weakly, and before you can think too much, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into the safety of his chest, his chin moving to rest on top of your head as his warmth envelops you completely.  

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself break, burying your face into his chest as the tears flow freely, the weight of everything finally breaking free as you let yourself melt into his tight embrace.  

It's not perfect. It's not a fix-all.  

But as Jake holds you close, whispering quiet reassurances into your hair, you know it's a start.  

And a start is all you need.  

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

epilogue:

“Hi, pretty.”  

“Hi, Jake.”

On the other end of the call, Jake lets out a playful scoff. Even with the slight lag, you can see his lips twitch into that familiar pout—the one that still gives you butterflies, no matter how many times you've see it now, even a year later.

“After all we’ve been through, you still won’t give me a cute pet name?” 

You roll your eyes, biting back a grin, “What do you want me to say? Hi, my handsome, perfect, kindest, funniest, boyfriend in the whole wide world?”  

Jake leans closer to the camera, his expression completely serious as if you should already know his answer, "...Yes." 

Giggles burst out of you, shaking your head at his antics. “You’re too cute to be doing all that, Jake. Pick a struggle.” 

He clutches his chest dramatically, “You know, what? You’re my struggle—I fly across time zones, run on three hours of sleep, and you still won’t give me a crumb of your affection?” 

“You’re exhausting.” 

“And yet…,” Jake trails off with a teasing smirk, his voice dropping into that playful, yet low lilt that still makes your stomach flip to this day. "Here you are, calling me at 1AM in the morning.”  

Your cheeks flush as you glance away from the screen, trying to ignore the way his teasing gaze makes you feel, "Don’t' get confused, it's not like I wanted to or anything. I just figured someone should remind you to go to bed or else you'll look like a zombie tomorrow at the fanmeet."  

Jake laughs softly, the sound grounding you in a certain way only he ever can. "You're so thoughtful, babe. My number-one hater and number-one fan, all at once. I'm so lucky."  

You send him an air kiss, the teasing grin on your face mirrored by the fond one tugging at his lips. He looks at you like he did in that first-ever call way back then—like you're his whole world, and he can't believe you're real.  

"How's the jet lag this time?" You ask, steering the conversation to safer ground.  

"It's not so bad," he shrugs, despite the clear exhaustion in his voice. "At least this trip is only for a few days. Then I can come back to the comfort of our bed."  

You raise an eyebrow, "My bed."  

Jake's eyes narrow, "Our bed. Just admit it—you miss me."  

You pause. "Maybe. Just a little."  

His grin widens, and for a moment, neither of you say anything, the conversation lulling into an easy silence—the kind of warmth that only comes with knowing someone so well.  

Finally, you shift under your blanket, getting comfortable as Jake watches you through this screen, his gaze tender, as though memorizing the curve of your smile, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear.  

"You should sleep," you murmur, holding your phone closer to your face. The glow of your phone reflecting off your soft features sends palpations to Jake's chest so loud he almost doesn't hear your words. 

"Mm, I really should," Jake sighs, though he doesn't move an inch. "I'll talk to you soon, yeah?" 

"Mmhm," you hum, your eyes closing at the softness of his voice.  

“Sleep tight. I love you,” his says, voice soft and deliberate, making sure you feel every word. 

“Goodnight, Jakey,” you tease, letting the smirk creep into your voice, peeking an eye open just to catch his reaction. 

Jake groans dramatically, running a hand down his face, “Y/N…not this again.”  

You giggle, the fondness within you growing tenfold as you take in his face—the slight pout of his lips, his messy hair, his eyes shining with unwavering adoration for you. 

“I said I love youuu,” he whines, dragging out the last word, his lips tugging into the tiniest of smiles, his entire universe reflecting from his eyes.  

Finally, you give in, smiling sweetly.  

“I love you, too, Jake. You already know.”  

And you’ve never meant anything more.  

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

Songs that Remind me of Y/N:

From the first call to forever—you've always been my favorite melody.   Yours, Jake <3

"As I Am" – Justin Bieber (ft. Khalid)  

"Daylight" – Taylor Swift 

"DIE 4 YOU" - Dean 

"Psycho, Pt. 2" – Russ 

"Heaven" – Bazzi 

"Every Kind of Way" – H.E.R. 

"Off My Face" – Justin Bieber 

"Before You" – Benson Boone 

"Sunflower" – Post Malone & Swae Lee 

"Pink + White" – Frank Ocean

"No Doubt" – Enhypen <3 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

update! if you enjoyed this and want more of no doubt!jake & y/n, check out my sequel series linked here for drabbles of their relationship <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

the end! if you made it all the way, this is for you:

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡♡♡♡♡♡

p.s. i wanted to leave the ending kinda up to interpretation—hence the time skip to a year later..but lowkey what if i wrote short drabbles/scenes of things jake does to gain Y/N's trust again, from small to big gestures etc etc..lmk if that's something anyone would wanna see !! (update — linked above now!)

<3, addie

m.list here!

tag list (love you all <3):

(i hope it let me tag everyone!)

@thesassy-mia @ikeulove @renaishun @xylatox @puma-riki @blackberryrains @dreamiestay @junislqve @lamin143 @dreamy-carat @etherealhan @vvenusoncasual @belovedsthings @somuchdard @sumzysworld @mirouie @almondtofu006 @fancypeacepersona @vivimura @hollxe1 @missthang600 @sugarikiz @sanasour @enhamonsterghoul @etherealriki

[unintentionalseductress]

My Beloved Boys

Warnings: MDNI, sex, virginity loss, threesome, oral (m rec), clit play, childhood friends to lovers trope. Liberties taken with the timeline, this is not the canon timeline, ages have been changed for story convenience. ANGSTY. A/n: Caleb got me ya'll. I tried, I tried really hard, I promise. And now this is what my ovulating brain has cooked up. Please enjoy it. I know this wasn't on my upcoming but I couldn't help it. Also please note, reader, Caleb, and Zayne are all the same age aka 18 here. Not proofread, expect raw text and descriptions.

It had been a few weeks since you’d joined UNICORNS and Tara invited you over to her place for a girls’ weekend. All of you were comfortably laid out in different parts of her living room, drinking wine and eating slices of pizza from the box.

The night had been fun, and with an entire bottle now empty, the women were loosening up and the topics were getting more and more risque. From complaining about exes to sex, to size measurements, they had finally arrived on the subject of virginity. 

“So, what was your first time like?” All eyes are suddenly fixed on you and you feel self-conscious. Taking a sip of your wine, you try not to flush as you vividly remember all the details like it was yesterday.

“Oh, you know. Awkward. Shy. The usual.” You try to act nonchalant but Tara leans forward with a gleam in her eye. 

“Oh come on! Tell us!”

Looking at the crowd of eager faces, you empty your glass before confessing, “My first time…was with two people.” You wait with bated breath, and slowly, one by one, everyone’s eyes widen with comprehension.

“Excuse me?” Tara squeals and sinks her fingers into your arm. You wince and pry her off.

“A threesome for your first time?” One of the other women joined in, a huge grin on her face. “Did it hurt?”

“Why a threesome? Was it something you fantasized about?”

You shake your head no at all the questions. “No. Growing up, I had two best friends and I loved them dearly. I just…couldn’t choose between them both.” 

“Tell us everything.” Tara sits down on the carpet and all the women gather in a tight circle looking eagerly at you. You sigh and extend your glass.

“Get me more wine.”

જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴

~Flashback~

It was the summer after graduating senior year. You were enjoying what would possibly be the last summer before everyone went their separate ways. Life had been rough for you, losing your family several years earlier. But now, you had a grandmother, and 2 best friends who had been through everything with you. Still, the memories brought back a sense of bittersweet nostalgia. Your nextdoor neighbor Zayne, and your grandmother’s other ward Caleb, were your inseparable companions since you had moved in with Josephine after the devastating wanderer attack that had destroyed most of Linkon City. 

Zayne and Caleb were alike, yet different. Both of them were tall and intelligent. Zayne was stoic and introverted, whereas Caleb was extroverted and easygoing. Somehow, the three of you became a unit, never seen without the other two in tow. Any escapades or shenanigans were always done together. You’d done homework together, fell asleep on the living room floor watching cartoons, and shared many meals in the last few years. The idea of being without them seemed unthinkable. Impossible in fact. You’d assumed you would all stay together in Linkon forever.

That had all changed last year, the summer before your senior year. You had been looking forward to spending the summer with Zayne and Caleb. But as the three of you had sat down at your usual boba tea spot, Zayne became very quiet as you started discussing plans for the summer. 

“What’s wrong with you? Is your tea not cold enough? You can just use your evol right?” Caleb had teased, sipping his drink. He gives Zayne a playful jab and Zayne glares at him, adjusting his glasses that had slipped down his nose. 

“Zayne?” You reach out and cover his hand with yours, hoping he’ll talk. There was a strange expression on his face. “Talk to us.”

“Yeah, Zayne. Talk to us.” Caleb widens his eyes and covers your hand with his. “We’re here for you boy,” he says with a tinge of mockery, making his voice sound high and feminine and you give him a withering look, pulling your hand out of the pile.

Zayne sips his milk tea, then quietly says, “I might not be here for most of the summer.” Caleb and you exchange a look before glancing back at Zayne. 

“What do you mean?”

Zayne looks apologetic like he regrets not sharing this news earlier. “I’ll be touring colleges most of the summer. And my parents decided to make it a road trip.”

“Colleges?” Caleb looked intrigued. “You already started applications?”

“I did. And…several of them have already sent in offers for next fall.” 

“What?!” You’re louder than you had intended to be. Zayne winces and you lower your voice. “You’ve already received acceptance letters and didn’t bother telling us?” 

“I’m sorry.” Zayne holds up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I just didn’t know how to bring it up. Neither of you had mentioned college and I didn’t want to talk about it if you weren’t ready.”

“But Zaynie!” Caleb puts a hand on his chest looking wounded. “We’re a family bro! Why wouldn’t you tell us?”

Zayne shakes his head and drinks his tea. You’re about to as well when realization washes over you. “Wait. You said you had several acceptance letters.”

“I do.”

“Well, where are they? You’re staying in Linkon right?” You ask, and for some reason, your heartbeat is increasing. You wait for Zayne to say, of course, one of them is in Linkon and that’s his first choice. 

“I did receive an offer from Linkon Medical University. However…there are better programs.”

“Really? So you might move for college?” Caleb regards Zayne passively. 

“It’s not out of the question.”

An unnatural silence falls at the table as the three of you drink your teas. This was wonderful news for Zayne. You were happy for him, but inside, it felt like your heart had been tied into a painful knot. You knew Zayne was the smartest of your group and that he was destined to be a doctor. But you hadn’t even thought it would mean Zayne might not be in Linkon City anymore. From a professional standpoint, it made sense. He deserved to go to the best college. But it left you feeling hollow like his impending departure had fractured the carefully crafted life you’d built since you’d been taken in by your grandmother. 

“When are you leaving?” Caleb breaks the silence and you’re relieved. 

“Sometime in July.”

“Oh, great! We still have a month then.”

“Well…”

Caleb’s eyebrows knit together in dismay. “What?”

“I have some extra classes I need to take. I’m hoping to get a head start on the pre-med requisites.”

“So, you’re going to be in school all of June?” You try to hide your disappointment. 

Zayne sighs. “Unfortunately. I’ll still be around. We can make time to hang out.” 

You nod unenthusiastically, then hiss as you feel Caleb step on your foot under the table. His purple eyes give you a sharp glance and he gestures towards Zayne and you realize this wasn’t about you; Zayne had shared news that he knew would affect your dynamic but had done so thinking he would have the support of his friends. Caleb reminding you of your manners was humbling and you lowered your gaze.

“I’m really happy for you Zayne.” You murmur, then rearrange your features into what you hoped was a pleasant look of approval. “Congratulations.”

Zayne’s eyes seem to lighten at your appreciation. “Thank you. It took me by surprise actually.”

“Seriously Zaynie. That’s really impressive. So we’re gonna have a doctor amongst us. Hey, you better give us the good drugs if we ever come to you.” Caleb pats Zayne on the shoulder in an acclamatory fashion. Zayne’s demeanor visibly relaxes and you try to keep up a happy face for the rest of the evening.

જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴

The sun was starting to set by the time you got home, the lazy streaks of tangerine painting the sky vivid shades of pink and orange. There was a feeling of uneasiness in your stomach as you changed into pajamas and brushed your teeth. It had taken years for you to get some semblance of a family, and now someone was going away. AGAIN.

You try to reassure yourself that this wasn’t the same thing. Zayne might be going away for college but it wasn’t until next year. You still had your senior year left to build some precious final memories. Somehow, he seemed older all of a sudden, like he had become an adult within a few hours of telling you about his acceptance letters. You knew you’d be going to college too but hadn’t given much thought about any of it. After the Linkon City disaster, you had decided you didn’t want to wander too far away. You didn’t want to leave Grandma Josephine all by herself. Although Zayne seemed to have made up his mind about attending a college somewhere else, you reminded yourself that you still had Caleb. 

Caleb hadn’t talked about college much, but you knew he wanted to attend. He didn’t know what he would major in, but he was naturally gifted in mechanics. You assumed he would be an engineer or something similar. He and Zayne had inherited the math skills, and you’d managed to get a decent grade by studying with them, or rather, getting bullied by them, with Zayne trying not to snap explaining how he got the answer versus Caleb taunting you saying you’d never graduate high school if you were this stupid. It was then you had decided perhaps a career in science wasn’t for you. But perhaps something in the arts, or communications. Perhaps languages. You wondered if maybe you were kidding yourself by not already sending out applications, or at the very least, making a list of where you’d like to attend.

Restless and unable to turn off your mind, you go next door to Caleb’s room and knock.

“Enter at your own risk!”

Rolling your eyes, you walk in and see Caleb sprawled out on his bed, holding his Switch over his head as he gamed.  “Oh, pipsqueak. It’s you.”

You sit on the edge of his bed, fiddling with the corner of the quilt as he continues to play. As you waited, you looked up at the ceiling, where little airplane models, all built by Caleb’s own hands, had been carefully strung up using fish wire and hooks. Little glow-in-the-dark stars littered the spaces in between. You sigh and draw your knees up to your chest, wondering what would happen to the models if he left for college.

Noticing your morose expression, Caleb exits the game and sits upright. “What’s the matter with you?” 

You shake your head and squeeze the bridge of your nose. “It’s Zayne. Did you know he had already applied to colleges?”

“No.” Caleb leans on his bed assessing you. “But I’m not surprised. And he has a point.”

“Which is?”

“Colleges are really competitive these days. Like even with excellent grades and extracurriculars, some people still have to take a gap year because they didn’t get in or they got put on a waiting list.”

You consider his words. “Do you think we should be applying too?”

“If we were smarter, we’d have already applied.” Caleb runs a hand over his face. “But it’s ok. We have the whole summer to plan. I think applications reopen sometime over winter break. We can apply then. You know, like normal students, and not nerds like Zayne.”

You laugh weakly, giving Caleb a reprimanding look. “That’s not a nice thing to say about our friend.”

“He’s not around is he? Anyway. Don’t fret pipsqueak. You’ll get in somewhere too.”

“You’ll stay close to Linkon right?” You lean closer to Caleb, your eyes boring into his. “We can’t leave grandma by herself.”

“Of course. Don’t worry.” Caleb puts an arm around your shoulders and pulls you towards him. Your head rests on his shoulder as he traces circles into your arm. The action is comforting and familiar, and a sense of calm washes over you. 

“I don’t like it when people leave.” You confess quietly and Caleb sighs.

“I know. You used to cry all the time when you first came here. You cried when grandma left to get groceries. You cried when I left for soccer practice. You cried when it was time for Zayne to go home. Honestly,” he smirks and pinches you, making you yip in surprise. “You’re such a crybaby that I’m surprised you want to attend college at all. You know you’re gonna have to live with strangers in the dorm right? Are you gonna cry into your little bear plushie?”

He grins and dodges a blow from you, a bark of laughter escaping him as you try to roughhouse. He indulges you for two missed attempts then leaps and pins you to the mattress. You squirm and shriek under him, trying to escape as he tickles you relentlessly.

“Caleb! Caleb stop!” There are tears in your eyes from the hilarity of the situation.

“Aw, are you gonna cry when you’re being tickled now too? Crybaby crybaby!” Caleb continues to mock you before you pull a dirty move; you angle your knee against his crotch and grin as you instantly feel him go still.

“You wouldn’t dare.” Caleb’s breathing has stilled, and he’s warily looking down at you as you prepare to play your trump card. 

“I’ve done it before and won’t hesitate to do it again.” Knowing you had him in the palm of your hand, you look him deadpan in the eye.

“Get off.” Caleb complies immediately and you sigh, trying to calm your unsteady heart.

“You’re really heartless sometimes ya know?” Caleb’s voice is heard near your head and you turn to face him.

“I had to learn.”

A moment of peace falls between you both and Caleb softly cups your cheek. “Everything will be ok. I promise. You won’t be left behind. You’ll always have a family. We’ll never be too far away from you.” 

“You’d better not.” You huff and suddenly feel exhausted. “Caleb?”

“You can stay here tonight.”

“I didn’t-”

“I already knew. I knew from the second Zayne said he’s not going to be around this summer.” Caleb shifts and pulls you under his quilt. You bury your nose into his chest and close your eyes.

“This doesn’t mean I’m not independent.” You quip and a rumble emanates from Caleb’s chest.

“Of course not pipsqueak. Miss independent.” He strokes your hair and your eyelids grow heavy. Caleb tucks your head under his chin. “But you can be as dependent on me as you want.” Those are the last words you hear before falling into a deep slumber.

જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴

You barely see Zayne for the next few weeks. His classes kept him busy and he always had homework. Caleb had suddenly become secretive after the night you’d spent in his room though he kept reassuring you that he was fine. You sulk as you watch TV by yourself, Caleb having locked himself in his room again. You wondered what had made him behave so differently. The last few times you’d tried to talk to him, he’d unceremoniously shoved you back out. 

“Boys need their privacy sometimes,” Grandma had reassured you, noticing the way you were glowering at the TV. “Would you like to help me run errands?” 

Josephine's list wasn’t terribly exciting, but you were still bitter from being snubbed by Caleb, so you went anyway. Several hours later, you return feeling accomplished. Just as you’re about to help Josephine put away the groceries, you hear footsteps on the stairs and Caleb finally makes an entrance. 

“Oh look at that! Our groundhog has made a rare appearance!” Josephine teases as Caleb grins sheepishly. 

“Ooh, apples!” He says zealously seeing you unbag the bright red fruits. As he’s about to grab one you smack his hand and he withdraws with a yelp. 

“What was that for?” He rubs his hand looking offended. 

“Only people who helped buy the groceries are entitled to eat them.” You put them away neatly into the fruit basket on the counter, refusing to look at Caleb. With Zayne being awol you had thought Caleb would be a little more sensitive towards you and you were still quite annoyed at his lack of consideration. Caleb huffs, then hoists himself onto the kitchen counter, his long legs dangling off the edge.

“What were you doing all this while anyway?” Josephine asks as she puts away more groceries. “Summer vacation usually means I can’t get a hold of you two even if I needed to. I thought you were planning to go to the beach? Play volleyball with some of your friends?”

“Yeah, and we will. Even if this little gremlin is mad at me.” Caleb hesitantly looks at you, hoping you’d simmered down but you shoot daggers at him and he shakes his head. “I need to talk to you both.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words. You turn to look at him but Caleb’s eyes are fixated on Josephine, who’s looking curious. 

“What is it? Nothing serious I hope?” The old woman sits down at the kitchen table. 

“No, it’s not serious. But. It’s kind of sudden.” Caleb’s refusal to make eye contact with you was now starting to scare you. “Grandma, we told you about Zayne and him already getting ready for college right?”

“You did. I always knew Zayne would excel at whatever he put his mind to. Clever boy that one.”

“Well, his news was sort of a wake-up call for me. What I was doing all these days was looking at colleges, and I think I know what I want to do.”

The evening summer sunlight falls charmingly on Caleb’s face, illuminating his smooth skin, the dark hair falling elegantly into his eyes and for a moment, you feel the same sensation you had felt after Zayne had told you about college. You heart was already twisting into nervous knots, and you waited with bated breath as Caleb continued. 

“I’ve decided I want to be a pilot.” His eyes are lit up with ambition as he says the words. Josephine cups her cheeks with her hands, a smile growing on her wrinkled face.

“That’s wonderful Caleb! I’m very happy for you.”

“Yeah. And. There’s something else I found out while doing my research.” Josephine immediately leans forward attentively. You listen quietly, but you can’t help but feel a slight sense of betrayal. Why would Caleb need to hide this from you? It wasn’t a secret that he wanted to go to college, and he loved talking about planes and jets. You felt like there was a piece he was hiding, saving it for fear of losing their attention. 

“The Deepspace Aviation Administration has an apprenticeship-based degree which guarantees I’d graduate as a pilot. It’s a degree in Aviation Engineering. Grandma.” Caleb’s voice has softened, and he looks at her beseechingly.“They’re offering a month-long crash camp this summer. A lot of the students that go have better chances of making it into the program. There’s one slot left. Can I please go?”

There it was. That’s what he’d been hiding. A month. Without Caleb. Silently, you resume unpacking the groceries, turning your back to Caleb as you do so. Josephine’s face was lined with delight. 

“Oh, Caleb! I’m so happy you’ve figured this out. Of course, you can go!” She rises from her seat and makes her way to Caleb who slips off the counter to hug her. She barely came up to his waist but she’s brimming with pride. 

“Go fill out the application before someone else gets it! Go!” She slapped him on the back and Caleb, looking like he’d just been told he’d won the lottery, sprinted back upstairs. Silence fills the small kitchen. Pretending to act normal, you start gathering ingredients to prepare dinner.

“Annoying loser.” You mutter under your breath. “He hasn’t even offered to help cook dinner the last few days.” You feel a hand on your shoulder and turn to see Josephine standing right behind you. 

“It’s ok to be upset.”

“I’m not upset.” You start washing the potatoes at the sink. Josephine sighs, then wraps her arms around your waist, giving you a gentle hug.

“Take your time. You know where to find me if you want to talk.” The woman hobbles out of the kitchen, and you put the washed potatoes on a cutting board. Your hand trembles as you pick up the knife, and the backs of your eyes feel hot and prickly. You didn’t understand why you felt like this. It was just a month. Caleb hadn’t applied for college yet. And even if he ended up at Deepspace Aviation it wasn’t too far away. But why did you feel like you were being left behind? Like everyone had their future planned but you? And none of their plans seemed to involve you at all?

You angle your knife to slice the potatoes, then let out a frustrated huff; memories of being a little girl, while Caleb held your hand in his as he taught you how to quickly dice your vegetables, patting your head with praise as he did so. You weren’t quite sure why potatoes were making you feel this way. Unbidden, a tear rolls down your cheek and you dash it away with your finger.

“Didn’t even offer to help with dinner.” More tears stream down your face and you let out a quiet sob. 

“There’s no one to help me make dinner.”

જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴

“C’mon pipsqueak, at least say goodbye to me!” 

Caleb was standing at the door, ready to leave for camp. You stood, arms crossed, refusing to speak to him. Josephine softly gives you a push.

“Go on now. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

“No, I won’t. Besides he’ll be back in a month. It’s not like he’s staying there forever. Like they’d let him. They’ll probably call us begging to to take him back within a week.” Your snarky attitude hadn’t improved since he’d announced his acceptance. 

Josephine looks at Caleb and shakes her head helplessly. She’d attempted to ameliorate your temper for the last 2 weeks and had gotten nowhere. You had avoided Caleb altogether, even when he’d come knocking on your door to talk. There was a vindictive satisfaction in knowing that your ignoring him was bothering him. A little taste of his own medicine. Didn’t feel so good to be shut off from your best friend now, did it? The thought made your lip curl even as your stomach churned from the knowledge that you would be by yourself for the next month. 

Caleb checks his watch and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m getting late. Pipsqueak please.” Caleb opens his arms, giving you the most apologetic look he could muster. “Come say goodbye.”

You stood firm, even though every fiber in your being was burning to leap into his arms and hug him tight. 

“The bus won’t wait forever.” Caleb quickly strides towards you and before you can step away he’s wrapped his arms around you, and you’re stuck in his embrace. Tears form in your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. Your arms remain stiff at your sides even as Caleb continues to hunch, silently bidding you farewell. When he finally lets go, he ruffles your hair. “I’ll see you next month. You can always reach me on my phone.” With a final wave, Caleb sprints out the door to board the bus.

You spend the day coming up with various ways to kill the time but nothing works. Video games felt lackluster and your mind refused to engage with the book you tried reading. For dinner, Josephine ordered burgers from your favorite restaurant to try and cheer you up. You sat quietly, unable to savor the food. Finally, before bedtime, you cave. Anything was better than this crushing, empty feeling in your stomach. You walk into Caleb’s room, and curl up under his quilt, inhaling the familiar scent. It was hard to believe he had been there just a few hours earlier, and you hugged his pillow, regretting your earlier actions. You pull out your phone and make a video call.

“Pipsqueak! Miss me already?” Caleb grins widely at you. The background is filled with activity, filled with high school students wandering around and acquainting themselves. 

“Shut up.” You say but your voice quivers. “Caleb I’m sorry.”

Caleb’s eyes soften. “It’s ok. You don’t have to be.”

“But I was so mean to you.”

“Yeah, you were. But what can I say? How can I be mad at my family?” His words break the shield you’d built around yourself and you sniffle, letting the tears fall. 

“Please don’t cry all over my pillow. It’ll get soggy.” Caleb tries to joke but your tears are eating away at him. He knew what this would do to you, which is why he hadn’t told you his plans before they were solid. “I’ll be back before you know it. Be good for grandma ok?”

You nod, a lump forming in your throat. “I miss you, Caleb.”

“I miss you too. Please don’t be miserable the whole time I’m gone. Try to focus on things important to you too. Maybe make your list of colleges.”

“Yeah. I will.” You wipe away your tears. “Will you make dumplings for me when you come back?”

“Is that all I was good for?” Caleb asks in an offended tone but he’s grinning. “Yeah I will. I promise. Now go to sleep.”

He hangs up and you find the knot in your heart has loosened slightly. Caleb was right. You needed to focus on you. You turn over and are about to go to sleep when a text lights up your screen.

“Ice cream tomorrow?”

It was from Zayne. You smile. They’d never really leave you all alone. You text him a yes and fall asleep contentedly.

જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴

“How are you feeling with Caleb gone?”

You’re seated across from Zayne with a huge banana split sitting on the table between you. You twirl the spoon between your fingers, thinking.

“It’s strange. I miss him of course. The house feels empty.” You sample some of the ice cream. “It’s even emptier without you.”

Zayne looks guilty as he also takes a bite of the sundae. “I’m sorry. I know it must seem strange given how much time we all spent together. Believe me, if I had known Caleb wasn’t going to be here I would have put in more effort to check in on you.”

“It’s not your fault.” You lay down your spoon, contemplating. Zayne cocks his head.

“Something on your mind?”

You twitch your mouth to the side and try to explain. “Well, I recently realized I seem to have a problem with being by myself. And I’m trying to change that.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because. It’s illogical for me to think I’ll always have you or Caleb or grandma around. I know a lot of it stems from losing my parents. But I can’t be this way every time I have to be away from you guys.” You stab the spoon into the mound of whipped cream at the top of the ice cream. “We’re all going to college next year, and we might go months without seeing each other. I’m trying to be more independent and in control of my feelings. Otherwise, how am I supposed to survive?”

Zayne nods emphatically as you speak. “That’s a very rational way of thinking. However, I don’t think I can fault you for not wanting any of us to move away.”

“Really?” You carefully fish out a cherry from the top of one of the ice cream scoops. 

“Of course. It’s natural to want to stay close to the people who have been a constant in your life.” Zayne glances away from you before continuing. “My parents are doctors. They’re busy most of the time. I work around their schedule. But I’m always more relaxed when one of them is at home. It’s natural to want to be around one’s family. Your feelings are completely natural.”

You let out a breath and laugh. “Well geez Dr. Zayne,” you tease. “Thank you for the psychological assessment.” 

“Anytime.” He offers you a wry smile. “But I think it’s good you’re taking the initiative to adapt. The most successful people aren’t the smartest, but the most adaptable.”

“Oh? So am I smarter than you?”

“Hardly,” Zayne smirks as you pout, “I happen to be both.”

જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴

Now here you were, senior year finished, the summer that you had hoped would take its time in arriving sitting at your doorstep like a lost puppy begging to be let in. You had opened a window and a cool breeze was blowing past your face. You look out at the neighborhood of Bloomshore, remembering how intimidating it had looked when you first moved here, and now how you could never imagine leaving.

Zayne had returned from his road trip the past summer with a million photos and tales from each city he had visited with his parents. He’d brought back snacks and small trinkets from each place, and every few days, you’d find a postcard from him in the mailbox. You’d saved each one and put them away into a little keepsake box. When he had finally come over after his trip, Josephine had almost giggled herself silly because Zayne had tanned so much during his absence; a lighter ring had formed around his eyes like a raccoon where the sunglasses had perched. You’d laughed when you saw him, and Zayne had merely shook his head in exasperation. 

Caleb had returned from camp with a whole new attitude towards his future. He seemed more confident, and couldn’t stop talking about engines and how being in a cockpit felt.  Being the extrovert he was, he’d also come back with many new friends, some of whom lived just a few blocks from your house. You had initially disliked these new friends because it intensified the feeling that you had been replaced. Until one of them had mentioned that Caleb always looked at your picture before he fell asleep at night. Caleb had acted nonchalant but a dusting of pink had appeared on his face at the remark. 

As you had predicted, Zayne had settled on and formally accepted an offer from one of the colleges. He had decided to attend a prestigious medical university at Snowcrest, a city that you knew was near the Arctic, frigidly cold, with short and mild summers. Although not impossibly far, it was still a long journey to reach Snowcrest, and you had felt some of the hope that was in your chest being crushed. Reminding yourself that you were trying to become a more assertive, independent woman, you had heartily congratulated Zayne while Caleb had teased that it was because Zayne would melt if he continued living in the temperate climate of Linkon City. 

Caleb had immediately applied for the program at Deepspace Aviation Administration after coming back and was accepted into their engineering program, news he had received over winter break. You could still remember him dancing around his pajamas early in the morning after reading the email on his phone. He’d barged into your room, startling you from your deep slumber, and scooped you out of bed, spinning you around in his arms as he exuberantly announced his acceptance. Josephine had woken up from the ruckus, making her way up the stairs to investigate, and when she had reached your room, Caleb had tossed you back on your bed before picking up Josephine too, giving a quick circle that lifted her off her feet before carefully putting her back down. They found him baking shortly after; Caleb baked when he was happy. 

Although you had applied to your fair share of colleges, you didn’t hear back until spring, and you had sighed in relief when you saw the acceptance letter from Linkon University. It was exactly as you’d hoped. Even though Caleb would need to move to Skyhaven, it was still closer than Snowcrest, meaning you could see him every month if you wanted to. 

There was still time before everyone went their separate ways. You knew that yet it felt like time had fallen into a strange vacuum where nothing was happening yet everything was happening all at once. Sometimes your pulse started to skyrocket for no reason at all. Thinking about college made you anxious just as it made you excited. New people, new challenges, the classes, getting lost on campus, all these thoughts swirled in your head like a snow globe being violently shaken. 

You knew you’d make friends but there was a pang at the thought of not seeing your best friends. Suddenly it felt like you had taken all these past years for granted. You found yourself reminiscing over small aspects of your friendships with both boys. Like the time you’d turned down Zayne to go to the movies because it was a documentary, or when Caleb had asked for help to paint a model airplane and you’d refused because it was the third model that week. These minor indiscretions now felt like heavy bags of guilt weighing on your conscious. 

Perhaps this is why you were all being separated now, you think self-deprecatingly. You had always thought you had forever with them and hadn’t spent enough time with them when they’d asked you. Now you didn’t know when you’d see them next. 

A knock on your door disrupts your thoughts and you turn to see Caleb standing there. 

“Ready to go?”

“Where?” you ask blankly.

Caleb gives you a questioning look. “To Zayne’s house. He got that new game and asked us to come over remember?”

It takes you a moment to recall, then you put a hand to your forehead. “Yeah, that’s right. I forgot.” You look down at your clothes and decide it’s not worth changing. It was hot outside, and it was Zayne’s house; he’d seen you in rattier things than the denim shorts and T-shirt you were currently wearing. You follow Caleb out of the house, the summer breeze whipping your faces as you walk. Caleb seemed content to walk in silence and after a few yards, you catch hold of his wrist, slowing down his pace.

“Everything ok?” He peers down at you and you nod yes. 

“Caleb. I’m sorry for all those times I refused to paint model airplanes with you.”

“What?” There’s levity in Caleb’s voice. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about those model airplanes you built. You asked me to paint them with you and I always found excuses to avoid it. And now I don’t know when we’ll do something like that again.”

Understanding fills Caleb’s expression and he frees his wrist so he can drape his arm over your shoulders. “You’re thinking too much again.”

“Am not.”

“Sure you are. We’re officially done with high school. You’ve been tweaking out about this since last year. How many times do I have to tell you, it’s going to be ok. And it’s not like we’re depending on carrier pigeons to communicate. Text me, call me, a million times a day if you want to. I’ll always reply.”

The feeling of his warm arm on the back of your neck makes you want to pull him into a hug right now. Caleb and Zayne were so different than most boys their age. Neither of them made you regret expressing vulnerability in front of them. You wondered if they would meet someone when they went to college. Zayne would probably get swept off his feet by another medical student. And Caleb…Caleb exuded such candid energy that girls were always drawn to him. The thought made you uncomfortable for some reason and you push it out of your head.

“If this apologizing thing is gonna continue, then please don’t apologize to Zayne for that day I used my evol to hurl snowballs at him through his window.” 

You burst out laughing at the memory, Caleb’s gravity control effortlessly pitching snowballs into Zayne’s room while you kept watch for the grown-ups. “We ended up drenching his sheets that day,” you say in a sober voice. “I do feel kind of bad now.”

“What’s a little prank between friends hmm pipsqueak? Like that time Zayne and I let that possum into your room.”

“That was you two?!” You jerk back and Caleb doubles over, cackling. “I screamed so loudly that the poor possum keeled over playing dead! But I thought it had really died and I had killed it! Grandma had to put it outside and then showed me how it got up before I stopped crying!” 

Caleb had tears in his eyes as you indignantly frowned at him. “I hate you,” you muttered and continued down the road towards Zayne’s house. Caleb jogs to catch up with you.

“You don’t hate us pipsqueak. You’re going to remember all of this and be reminded that, despite everything, you had a good childhood.” Caleb puts his hand on your head. “I know I will.”

You roll your eyes and keep quiet but know that he was right. 

જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴

Several rounds of Mario Kart later, the three of you are sprawled out on the floor in Zayne’s room. Both his parents were on-call that night and were working at the hospital. 

“There’s pizza for dinner,” Zayne says lazily as he gazes at the last few rays of the disappearing sun. Although it was well past dinner time, none of you felt hungry. There was something sweet about the calmness of this moment, and no one seemed willing to break it to go down to the kitchen. You’re in between both boys staring at the ceiling fan which was rotating in a hypnotizingly soothing way. The soft whir of the blades was making you drowsy. 

“When I was at camp, there were helicopters with blades like 50 times that size. The military choppers are huge.” Caleb says in a relaxed voice. “Can’t believe I’m going to be piloting those things in my third year.”

“Third year? Not after you graduate?” Zayne asks as the sunlight reflects in his amber-green eyes. 

“Nah. They start showing us flight basics in the third year. That way we can take the exam in the final year and we’re good to fly right after graduation.”

Zayne hums contemplatingly at the explanation.

“I’m guessing you won’t perform your first operation for another 10 years or so right?” you ask, enjoying the camaraderie. 

“They start you off with simple procedures that are low risk. But I want to be a cardiologist. Ten years might not be a bad estimate.” Zayne turns onto his side so that he can look at you. “Do you know what you want to do after graduating college?”

“I just graduated high school. I’ll figure it out along the way. Not everyone has answers about their long-term careers like you guys do.” Zayne gives you a small smile and you chuckle. 

“Do you guys remember the summer right after I first moved in?”

“Yeah. We were 6 years old. Why?” Zayne asks. 

“Remember I wanted it to snow because it was too hot at the time?”

“Oh yeah. Zayne and I came up with a little trick there didn’t we?” Caleb also rolls to his side and props himself on his elbow. Fondness is etched all over his face at the memory.

“I think I’ll tell that story everywhere I go.” You gaze nostalgically at the ceiling. “My two best friends literally made it snow for me.”

“It was the first time we tested our evols together,” Zayne says reminiscingly. He looks over at Caleb. “Want to do it again?”

“What do you think pipsqueak? Will it make you happy?”

You close your eyes. “It would. If you don’t mind snowflakes falling all over your carpet Zayne.”

“The heat should melt them before they touch the floor.”

The two boys look at each other, and then Zayne extends his palms toward the ceiling. Soft flakes of snow start to form on his palms, and then Caleb points a finger toward Zayne. The snowflakes lose their gravity, delicately floating into the air, and dancing near the ceiling. Both of them hold their evol until the air is filled with them.

“Ready?” Caleb asks, and you can feel joy radiating from him. 

“Ready!”

Caleb disengages his evol and the snowflakes make their way back to earth, melting away as they do so. Even at this age, it was still magical, and you feel a sudden constriction in your throat.

“I’ll miss you guys,” you murmur, then hold their hands as the remaining snow starts to fall around the three of you. 

“We’ll do this for you whenever we meet,” Zayne says solemnly, observing your expression. You sniff and smile, your eyes overbright. You turn and find yourself face-to-face with Zayne. You hadn’t realized he was so close, and you can see the surprise in his eyes. The world seems to stop spinning, frozen in the moment. In the blink of an eye, without thinking, you lean forward and clumsily press your lips to Zayne’s. 

You weren’t sure what you were thinking, but all you knew was that words weren’t enough to describe how much you’d miss him. When you lean back, Zayne’s eyes are wide but he doesn’t look displeased. You reach out to pat his cheek.

“I’ll miss you.”

You hear shuffling on the carpet and suddenly feel warmth against your back as Caleb presses his body against yours. This wasn’t an alien reaction to you; You and Caleb cuddled all the time, even slept in the same bed from time to time since you were kids. But somehow, his breath on the back of your neck was telling you this was different. You feel Caleb’s lips press a soft kiss to your nape and you jerk at the sensation, trying to look at him over your shoulder.

“I’ll miss you too my little one,” Caleb whispers, tipping your face to his by your chin. Enamored by the tenderness of his gaze, you allow him to give you a chaste kiss, your eyes fluttering closed at the feeling.

Your heart races as you become aware that you are sandwiched between Caleb and Zayne, and neither one is moving away. Instead, strong arms, one from each of them, come over your waist, effectively holding you into place.

“Are you ok with this?” Zayne murmurs into your ear. “Us showing you that we’ll miss you?” Your eyes squeeze closed as you realize you have just experienced your first kiss. Correction. Kisses. Your face turns red under their watchful gazes but right now, you were consumed with the idea of being in this moment for as long as you could.

“Yes.” You whisper the word out loud. 

Hearing your breathless consent, both of them move impossibly closer, and you gasp as you feel Caleb softly kiss your ear. “Tell us if you want to stop.” His warm breath tickles the sensitive skin and you squirm. 

 Zayne strokes your arm and it sends tingles down your spine. You feel yourself going light-headed at their touch. They feel safe, and your mind enters into a state of connection. You can hear their heartbeats, the low, masculine sighs welling up from their throats as their hands gently explore the contours of your body over your clothes. 

Your legs were the most exposed part of you, the shorts having ridden up from all the movement playing video games, and rolling around on the carpet. It’s Zayne who boldly touches your knee first, sending a jitter of electricity up into your core. The blood rushes to your ears, and you almost jump as Caleb chuckles before sinking his teeth into one of the lobes. The little nip was unfamiliar, but it felt good and your hand grips the front of Zayne’s T-shirt as the minor sting passes.

“Are you feeling hot?” Caleb moves some hair away from your shoulder to kiss and lick the crook of your neck. “Your ears are so red right now.” His words cause you to flush. Your skin felt uncomfortably warm, and your heart was pounding inside your chest as their hands stroked every inch of you. A strange throb was beginning to make itself present between your legs now; it was in time to your heartbeat, as though your sex had developed a rapid pulse of its own. You move to try and get comfortable and your panties chafe against your folds. 

“What is it? Zayne sneaks his hand over your waist and onto your back, his head leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I feel…” your voice trails as you struggle to find words to describe it. “Light. But also…strained? Like I’m hot everywhere. And tingly.” You knew you must have sounded ridiculous but Zayne gives a comforting pat on the small of your back. 

“Arousal,” he murmurs, pushing your hair away from your face. “All the signs point to that. According to my pre-med textbooks anyway.” 

“Oh…” 

Arousal. 

You’d learned that word in biology but you had never thought about what the implications of it would be in the real world. Zayne peppers your face with small kisses and your eyes flutter shut as they reach your cheeks, your chin, the tip of your nose, and then finally your lips. He hovers uncertainly for a second before he does so, and it feels like a little light has been ignited inside of you. His lips were soft, warm, and unparted. Gaining courage, and your curiosity getting the better of you, you open your mouth and hear a groan issue from Zayne. Experimentally you give him your tongue, exploring the crevices of his mouth, and feel a delicious, liquidy pull, in your lower abdomen. Excitement pulses through your body as Zayne’s tongue timidly touches yours, participating in the erotic dance as you kiss. 

Caleb has now left kisses all over your neck and shoulders, and you can feel his hands starting to grow mischievous and he walks them along the front of your collarbone, starting to stroke down on the swells of flesh under your Tshirt but not daring to cup them completely.

You and Zayne part and his eyes are smoldering, green embers growing in the irises. “I don’t want to continue this on the floor.” 

Your brain is in a haze and it takes a second for you to register what he had said, and you hasten to move, but are prevented from doing so as Caleb hooks his arms under your upper body, and Zayne gently cradles your legs from the knees below. They lovingly move you to the bed and resume their positions on either side of you.

The softness of the bed is alluring, and all of you sink into it, you feel their hands flirting with the edge of your T-shirt. Feeling shy, you glance up at them and raise your arms. Taking your cue, Zayne pulls off the garment, then he and Caleb follow suit, discarding their shirts with yours. You drink in the sight of their bare upper bodies. You had seen them half-naked before when you’d gone to the pool and the beach with them, seen their bodies wet with water and sweat. But the longing and hunger in their eyes as they looked at you made it feel like you were seeing them differently; now as men rather than childhood companions. 

Goosebumps form over your skin as your upper half is exposed to them, and you tentatively reach out to put a hand on each of their chests. They tremble at your touch, and the knowledge emboldens you, knowing they were as affected by you as you were by them. The direct skin-on-skin contact was soothing, their warm, firm bodies pressing up against your softness. Caleb traces a finger along the inner crease of your cleavage, then looks at you for permission. You nod, curving towards him so he can unhook your bra. A mixture of nervous excitement fills you as the small piece of fabric slips off your body and you quickly cling to Caleb, hiding your breasts from view. 

He strokes your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. “It’s ok my little one. I’m sure you’re beautiful.” 

You feel a persistent ache in your breasts and press up against Caleb’s hard chest, surprised at how the ache lessens as you do so. Caleb lets out a low, guttural groan, and at the same time, Zayne closes in to kiss down your back, licking random little lines on your skin that have you pressing deeper into Caleb’s body. You gasp and wriggle in surprise as Zayne bites down on the curve of your waist, then soothes the bite with his thumb.

“Won’t you let us see you?” Zayne’s deep voice requests you, and feeling like you’d burst into flames from the embarrassment, you finally let go of Caleb and lie back on the bed, covering your eyes with your hands as you do so. You hear their collective breaths being drawn as they take in the view of your soft breasts, the nipples hard from their affections. 

“How cute,” you hear Caleb growl. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel your breasts being cupped and squeezed, and then suddenly, light floods your vision as Caleb tugs your hand away from your eyes.

“Aw look at you. You’re blushing.” He teases but it’s said with gentleness. Zayne watches your expressions intently, and you let out a moan of pleasure as they continue to play with your breasts. 

“Are you enjoying it?” Zayne’s voice cuts through the buzz in your head and you nod, a heady twirl of sensation shooting up your spine. Your toes curl into the mattress as they mindfully pull your nipples, feeling your arousal grow as they do so. You nod breathlessly at Zayne’s question and feel an urgent pulsing between your legs. You’re desperate to touch and relieve yourself. You were no stranger to pleasuring yourself after all but could you do it with these two watching?

The thought sends an arrow of lust straight into the deepest depths of your core. You’re about to speak up but all that comes out is a noise of desire as Caleb licks your nipple, savoring the taste of your skin before suckling the little bud into his mouth. Zayne repeats the action on the other side and you feel like you can’t catch your breath, each soft suck sending you into a dizzying spiral. You feel like nothing is solid under you like you’re floating on a cloud, where the only thing that existed was the sweet stimulation of their mouths on your body. You try to discreetly rub your aching clit against your panties, the barely there friction making you feel like you might go insane. 

You shiver as Caleb releases your moistened peak, caressing your hair and kissing his way down to your navel. Both their large hands stroke the length of your legs, intensifying the need building inside your core. Your nails sink into the covers as you quiver under their touch. 

“Feeling ok?” Zayne cups your cheek as he notices your tension. You crack your eyes open and nod.

“I feel hot. I need…I need to…” You blush as you try to form the words.

“What?” Caleb prompts you and moves back up to take your hands, stroking your palms. “Tell us.”

I need…more…” you manage to say, then gasp as Zayne ghosts your belly button before his hand dips below the waistband of your shorts. Your breath hitches as he strokes the soaked gusset of your panties, just a few inches shy of your clit.

“Show us.” Caleb catches your lips in an unexpected kiss. 

Zayne’s hand withdraws and he slides down your shorts over your legs, little ripples of electricity running through your body as he does so. 

“You’re so wet.” Caleb’s voice is laced with arousal as he moves toward your feet and sees the patch of moisture on your panties.

“It’s natural,” Zayne reassures you and squeezes your hand and you nod, your embarrassment giving away to your instincts. Your hips raise slightly as Caleb removes your panties, displaying your swollen sex to their eyes. Zayne moves next to Caleb as you part your legs, and take a finger into your leaking core, drawing up the slick towards your clit. Whimpers leave you as you stroke light circles onto the swollen bud. 

“That’s so hot,” Caleb says as he watches the erotic view in front of him. Zayne quietly observes you for a few minutes, then you feel a jolt burst through you as he reaches his fingers into your drenched folds and copies your moves.

“Like this?” 

“Y-Yes…” you whisper breathlessly, your legs parting shamelessly to allow him better access. The pads of his fingertips were gentle, and the sensation of someone else touching you was so starkly different from when you did it. The air becomes balmy, and you writhe passionately under his gentle ministrations.

“Such a good girl for us.” Caleb strokes your thighs and you moan as your hips roll, trying to reap all the pleasure you can get. Your feet plant into the mattress and suddenly, you feel a different set of fingers, a little thicker than Zayne’s, softly probing at the wetness of your core. 

“Breathe for me baby girl.” You hear Caleb’s encouragement and breathe deeply as he inserts his fingers into you. It was done carefully but you were already lucidly wet and his fingers sink in with ease. Your moans start to keen as Caleb slowly strokes your inner walls, his movements uncertain but soft as he watches your face for discomfort. Zayne continues circling your clit and the sensations from both of them were driving you mad.

You feel yourself clench, your body tensing under their tender ministrations, pleasurable mewls filling the air as they work your body to the edge. The separate sensations were unlike anything you could have ever imagined in your wildest fantasies. Even when you’d touched yourself before, you’d imagined a faceless stranger. But now with these two, it was even more heady than you could imagine.

“Don’t stop.” You pant as you feel your body tip into the abyss. They don’t relent and keep up the pace and your eyes squeeze closed in ecstasy as an orgasm builds and explodes inside you. Your body quakes from the pulses of delight flowing through you and your sobs fill the quiet bedroom as you fall apart, a puddle of tangled, sensual desire.

“How was it?” Your chest rises and falls as you try to catch your breath and you see Caleb curiously lick at his fingers, tasting the fluid collected from your body. The sight was so lewd and yet arousing, and you can’t help but stare as he cleans up his digits.

“Good it was…good.” 

Caleb turns away and you see him fiddling with the fabric of his sweats and something clicks in your head. “Are you both…?”

You glance down and Zayne doesn’t try to hide it, but he averts his eyes shyly as you see the hard bulge in his shorts. Slowly, you roll over and crawl over to them. “Can I see?” you ask curiously, and a nervous glance flashes over their faces before they oblige. Your eyes widen as their cocks spring free of their confines, thick, veiny, and pulsing with heat. 

Your hands move automatically, reaching out to stroke them, and both of them hiss at your touch, your small, soft hands already pushing their inexperienced bodies toward the edge of bliss. You’re surprised at the firmness, and the velvety the skin was stretched over their arousals. Growing bold, you give a slight squeeze, and both of them groan, the noises heavy with want.

It emboldens you, hearing the desperation in their voices, seeing the way drops of pearlescent fluid start to form in their slits. Your mind craved to know what they tasted like, how their desire might feel on your tongue. Leaning forward, you cautiously taste Caleb first. His abdomen tightens, a low moan escaping from him and he grips the covers.

“Ca-careful…” he says in a trembling voice. You hear the thin restraint in his words and repeat the action on Zayne, tongue darting out to sample him. Zayne lets out a huff followed by what sounded like a snarl. 

Drunk with the power you held over them, you continued to test their boundaries, sampling, sucking, giving soft kitten licks, never taking more than a few inches of them into your mouth at a time. Their patience was wearing thin and their eyes had a primal haze to them when you dared to look up.

Caleb jerks you away from him, momentarily stunning you before you’re wrapped up in his strong arms, and he pins you underneath him, his erection grazing your thigh as he does so. His body was like a furnace and you nuzzle your face into his chest, his heart beating like a caged bird in his chest. He moans as he pushes his hips against you, trying to soothe the ache in his cock. 

Zayne shifts towards your head, his facade of control slipping as lust pours into his system. You reach out a hand to stroke him again and he bites his lip, eyes fluttering closed. 

“I think…I’m ready,” you say quietly and 2 pairs of eyes fixate on you.

“Are you sure?” Caleb’s tone is ragged as he tries to control himself from being selfish. 

You nod and stroke his hair with your free hand. “I’m positive. With you two…I’m not scared.”

Caleb laughs nervously. “Got us all wired up here baby girl. You think this is something I have practice with?”

You sense his insecurity and murmur, “It doesn’t really matter.” 

Caleb takes a deep breath, then moves, your legs spreading apart as he adjusts, grabbing his cock and probing around near your entrance. You tense slightly and feel Zayne move so that he can put your head on his lap. He strokes your face, then leans down to kiss you, easing your worries, and you feel your core flutter in anticipation.

Caleb finally notches in, and he pushes with care, pausing as he hears a muffled gasp escape from you, spilling into Zayne’s mouth. The sensation was strange, it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as you thought it would, but it wasn’t the most comfortable either. It felt like unused muscles were being stretched inside you, then suddenly…you were split apart and he was there, filling an unfamiliar cavern that had been untouched all these years.

“Fuck…” he hisses as he feels the tightness of your walls, the wet clench of them around his cock. Caleb’s movements are shaky as he soaks in the glorious feeling of your body, not daring to push too far in for fear of losing control. Your eyes are clouding over as you gaze up at Zayne’s face, your body rocking with each of Caleb’s thrusts. You moan loudly as he dares to bottom out once, then he quickly pulls out, his breathing shallow. 

“I can’t…Not in you…” he mumbles, then starts to pump himself in his hand. You cup Zayne’s cheek, and understanding, he moves carefully between your legs. He kisses your pubic bone, and like Caleb, strokes himself before using his hand to guide himself inside you. You were prepared for the sensation this time but marveled at how different Zayne felt inside you compared to Caleb. Your pussy stretches and accommodates him easily, the muscles relaxed and loose as he enters. 

Zayne brushes away hair from your face, his movements tender like Caleb’s and just as inexperienced. To you, however, they felt amazing, and you’re in awe of the human body, the way it could feel and bask in these sweet feelings and touches. Zayne’s breath grows ragged with each passing thrust and all too soon, he’s pulling out as well.

The sight of both them pumping their lengths, of knowing you put them in this frenzied sexual haze, stroked your ego. Caleb lets go first, his nose scrunching up in pleasure as he releases his load, the warm sticky fluid splattering on your belly as it happens. Zayne follows not too long after, jets of seed spilling out of his swollen tip to join Caleb’s.

The rest of the night was a blur. You remember being carried to the shower, by which one, you couldn't remember. They had washed you, murmuring how you’d be their girl forever. After helping you dry off, Zayne had lent you a change of clothes, and you fallen asleep wearing his hoodie and shorts, both of which were baggy and loose. It was past midnight when Caleb had roused you, reminding you that you needed to get back to Grandma’s house. He packed your clothes into a plastic bag, and after you had hugged and kissed Zayne goodnight one more time, he’d held your hand on the way home. Once back at your own home, Caleb had led you to his bed, and held you snugly against him as you fell asleep once more.

It was the perfect ending to the summer. You felt deeply content and sighed against Caleb’s chest. It was rare to find one person that loved you so wholly but two? That was nothing short of a miracle.

જ⁀➴જ⁀➴જ⁀➴

~End Flashback~

The group of women were gazing at you in wonder, their cheeks flushed as the wine they’d been sipping intoxicated their system. Tara’s eyes were as wide as dinner plates. 

“And?” she prompts in an awed hush as you conclude your story.

“And what?”

“Don’t play dumb!” Tara pouts. “Where are they? Are you guys…in a poly situation?” Shr grins slyly.

Her question makes your heart twist painfully. Trying to keep your composure, you finish the rest of your wine. Taking a deep breath, you say the final, painful, part of the story. 

“My grandma’s house was blown up during the attack on Bloomshore district last year.”

Tara’s eyes change from teasing to horrified. “I’m so sorry!” She covers her mouth as the rest of the group becomes somber at your admission. 

“My grandma and Caleb didn’t survive the blast.” Your voice trembles.

“And…Zayne?” Tara’s voice is hushed.

“Zayne and I lost touch. He used to send letters regularly then, his last one to me, stated that he’d been asked to be part of a research program for developing a cure for Protocore Syndrome. It was some sort of high-clearance project, privately funded. He stopped writing after that.”

“No!” Tara looks absolutely beside herself. “So Zayne is alive…but you don’t know where he is?”

You shake your head no and excuse yourself, escaping to the balcony. None of the women follow you and you’re grateful for the moment of privacy. The night wind whips your hair and you breathe it in, the air feeling fortifying despite the chill. 

The seasons might change, but to you, they’re all the same. In your mind, you’re stuck in a perpetual state of summer, the memories of your two lovers echoing through your mind. 

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

@tokyorevengersrin @brekkersgf @ladyparamount @otomegamesforlife @shddyboo @supernaturalbaesduh @sweets-kozume @theimmortalbuns @venussakura @prisjean @laddelulu30 @lethargiccryptid @ravenclaw-jojo @redactedbimbo @crypt-0rchid @fattybattysblog

[agentstarkid]

YOU'RE THE ONE (TO MAKE ME LOSE MY MIND) ✦ AZRIEL

✦ SUMMARY: Azriel prided himself on restraint—on silence, shadows, and secrets. But you, with your unshaken confidence and maddening obliviousness, were testing every last thread of his sanity. As chaos ensues, the Shadowsinger realizes one thing: he might be doomed.

✦ WORD COUNT: 1.2K

✦ WARNINGS: crack fic, archeron!sister (briefly mentioned), miscommunication, angsty fluff and humor (maybe??), obliviousness, azriel is stressed and about to have an aneurysm—azriel fanart by harleetattoos

✦ MAY'S RADIO: this was a fun little experiment 😅 azzie boy is a certified swiftie™ 😆 i hope this is somewhere close to what you had in mind, lili bestie! -> based on this post by @lili-of-the-wildfire 🖤

< back to general masterlist

Azriel was losing his damn mind.

He had spent centuries perfecting the art of self-control—of mastering his shadows, his emotions, his very existence. But this? This was unraveling him at the seams.

And he was at his limits.

Not the normal limit, like when Cassian got a little too rowdy or Rhysand smirked a little too much. No. This was a whole new brand of suffering.

Since the moment you were thrown into the Cauldron, he had kept his distance—watching, waiting, giving you space to adjust to your new life, to the Night Court, to him. Knowing how difficult it was for your sisters, knowing that maybe you needed time to grieve what you lost.

But you—you seemed fine.

You smiled, you laughed, you trained with Cassian and traded insults with Rhys, you asked Mor endless questions about the best places to visit in Velaris. You were fine.

Except Azriel knew that wasn’t true.

Because he felt it—the crackling in the air whenever he was near you, the way your emotions bled into his own, even when you weren’t looking at him. The bond—the one you were blissfully ignorant of—was there, thrumming between you.

And it was killing him.

Because you didn’t know.

You were testing him in ways he never thought possible.

Which was why you were currently sitting across from him at the dining table, casually eating a pastry, completely unbothered by the fact that every time you so much as breathed, the bond between you screamed at him.

“I was thinking,” you said, licking a crumb from your finger, completely unaware of the way Azriel’s eyes tracked the movement, “maybe I should go to the Winter Court for a while. Just to clear my head, see more of Prythian, you know?”

Azriel’s fork snapped in half.

You blinked at him. “You okay?”

No. No, he was not okay.

“You can’t,” he said, voice tight.

Your brows knitted together. “What do you mean, I can’t?”

“You can’t just—” He took a breath, ran a hand through his hair. “You can’t just leave. You belong here.”

You scoffed. “I belong nowhere, Azriel. That’s kind of the problem.”

He exhaled sharply. “You belong with me.”

“Excuse me?,” your expression twisted in confusion. “Why are you being so weird about this?”

Azriel exhaled sharply through his nose. He had planned to do this delicately, to ease you into it, to find the right words—

That plan was dead.

“You’re my mate.” he rasped, voice strained.

“…Okay?”

Silence.

Azriel just stared at you. His mind short-circuited so violently that his shadows actually stopped moving.

“…Okay?” he repeated, his voice an octave higher than usual.

You shifted on your seat. “Yeah? You seem really stressed about it, though.”

His eye twitched. His shadows twitched. Everything twitched.

Cauldron boil him, you had no idea what it meant.

He inhaled sharply, his wings flaring slightly. “Do you understand what that means?”

You folded your arms. “Is it, like, a fae kink? I mean, I don’t judg–” You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you look like you’re about to have an aneurysm?”

A FAE K—?

He had seen battle. He had been tortured. He had infiltrated enemy territory and survived things that would make even Cassian cry. But this? This was what was going to kill him.

“I—No,” he choked, rubbing his temples like he could physically press the stress out of his skull. “It’s not a kink. It’s a bond. The mating bond.”.

You hummed, swishing the tea in your cup thoughtfully. “Right. So, like… what does that mean, exactly?”

“You don’t know,” he whispered to himself. “You don’t know. No one told you.” He let out a breath that sounded like a mix between a groan and a whimper. “I’m going to kill Rhys.”

His shadows curled and twisted like they were also on the verge of a complete breakdown. “It means we’re soulmates. Destined. Bound by the Cauldron itself. You’re mine.”

You blinked. “I what?”

“You. Are. My. Mate,” he repeated, slower this time, as if you were a particularly dense trainee.

You tilted your head. “So… like an arranged marriage?”

Azriel made a sound that was somewhere between a snarl and a sob. His hands were shaking.

“No,” he gritted out. “It’s deeper than that.”

You frowned. “Like a super intense best friendship?”

“I—NO.”

You hear someone wheezing, barely holding their laughter in—then, moments later, a crash followed by a yelp.

You turned just in time to see a figure darting away, a blur of wings and siphons.

Cassian.

Azriel’s shadows had found him eavesdropping—and, judging by the way he stumbled, they had made sure he regretted it.

Azriel’s eye twitched. He’d deal with him later.

“Was that…? Is he okay?” you asked, glancing toward the door.

Azriel exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’ll live,” he muttered, clearly deciding that his brother’s suffering was not his current priority.

Instead, he turned back to you, inhaling deeply, speaking very slowly. “The bond ties our souls together. It means you’re meant to be with me. It’s why you feel drawn to me.”

Your face scrunched in thought. “Oh.” A pause. “I do feel really attracted to you.”

Azriel’s heart stopped. His wings tensed.

Finally. Finally, you were understanding—

“I thought it was just, you know… female hysteria.”

Azriel.exe stopped working.

You gestured vaguely. “Like, I figured I just had a stupidly big crush on you. Thought maybe it was the trauma or the near-death experience. But the mating bond? That makes so much sense.” You laughed, shaking your head. “Wow, I really thought I was just—”

Azriel inhaled sharply. Fine. If words weren’t getting through to you, maybe this would.

He reached deep into himself and gave the bond a firm tug.

You gasped. A shiver shot down your spine, warmth curling in your chest like liquid sunlight. Your breath hitched, and—Cauldron damn him—you gasped, eyes going huge and then giggled.

Azriel felt his soul crack in half.

You blinked at him, eyes wide with wonder. “Wait, what was that?!” Then, catching the look on his face—his pinched expression and the slight tension in his shoulders—, you gasped again, pointing at him accusingly. “Was that you?!”

Before he could respond, you beamed, wiggling excitedly in your seat. “Oh my gods—do that again. That tickled.”

Azriel was going to pass out. Or throw himself off a balcony. Maybe both.

“I—” He pinched the bridge of his nose so hard it nearly bruised. “You—You don’t just have a crush on me. That feeling? That’s the bond. The Cauldron literally forged us for each other.”

Your smile faltered and you squinted at him. “Are you sure?”

Azriel’s grip on reality was slipping.

“Yes.”

“…Huh.” You sipped your tea. “Neat.”

Azriel’s vision blurred. He was on the verge of blacking out.

Cassian’s laughter echoed from the hallway.

Azriel snarled. “Go away, Cassian.”

More laughter. Then a whispered, “I cannot wait to tell Rhys.”

Azriel inhaled so sharply his chest ached. He turned back to you, shadows writhing. “You do understand what this means, right?”

You smiled. “Of course I do.”

Azriel exhaled in relief.

Then—

“Anyway, as I was saying—I think I’d still like to visit the Winter Court and maybe then the beaches in Summer.” You smiled dreamily. “I could get a nice tan. A little vitamin D never hurt anyone, right?”

Azriel dropped his head onto the table so hard he thought he might develop a second brain injury to match the first one you’d unknowingly given him.

< back to general masterlist

[littlelamy]

Could you write a Rafe x reader fic where reader says she wants to spend more time with Rafe, but he gets upsets and says something mean in the heat of the moment. Reader is upset and stops "bothering" him and initially Rafe doesn't realise it, but he figures out you're ignoring him

Maybe with a fluffy HEA ending, but if you want to keep it angsty I'm also all for it (:

hope you like it! ⭐️ it was a quiet friday night when you finally found the courage to bring it up. things with rafe hadn’t been the same for a while. he was always out with friends or buried in work, his phone practically glued to his hand. you could see him drifting further and further away, and it left you feeling like an afterthought. you missed him, missed the little moments when he’d look at you like you were the only person in the world.

so, you decided to say something—softly, carefully—as the two of you sat on the couch with takeout boxes scattered around you.

“hey…baby,” you started, keeping your voice light. “i was thinking… it’d be nice if we could spend a little more time together, you know? just us.”

rafe barely looked up, shoveling food into his mouth. “what’re you talking about?” he mumbled through a bite. “we’re together now, aren’t we?”

you forced a smile. “yeah, but… i mean like actually spending time together. like doing something fun. or even just… talking.”

he let out an irritated sigh, setting his food down with a clatter. “are you serious right now? i’ve got so much shit to deal with, and you’re really gonna start whining about ‘spending time together’? Jesus, can you just not be so goddamn needy for once?”

the words hit you like a punch. you froze, staring at him, trying to process the fact that he’d actually said that. rafe’s face was already turned away, clearly oblivious to the way his words had cut through you.

you felt your throat tighten, but you managed to swallow back the hurt, forcing yourself not to react. the last thing you wanted was to give him more reason to see you as a burden. so, you nodded, blinking down at your food, even though you suddenly couldn’t eat a bite.

“sorry,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him. but rafe didn’t hear, or maybe he just didn’t care enough to ask you to repeat it. he’d already gone back to his phone, acting like the conversation had never even happened.

that night, you made a decision. if rafe wanted space, you’d give him space. you stopped asking him to go out with you, to spend time together, to do any of the little things you used to enjoy. when he came home late, you didn’t wait up. when he sat down on the couch, you found something else to do. if he wanted room, you’d make sure he had more than enough of it.

at first, rafe didn’t seem to notice the change. he thought you were just busy with work or hanging out with friends, maybe that you’d taken his words to heart. it wasn’t until a few days had passed that he started to feel the shift, the strange, nagging quiet in the air whenever you were around.

you were no longer the warm, lively presence you used to be, filling the silence with laughter, stories, and little gestures of affection. instead, you felt distant, almost guarded, your movements careful, like you were tiptoeing around him. you didn’t smile at him the way you used to; you didn’t light up when he came home. you’d become polite, restrained, keeping just enough distance that he felt it even when he didn’t want to.

one night, rafe came home late, expecting to see you in the living room with a book or a show. but the lights were dim, the place eerily silent, and when he checked the bedroom, you were already asleep. he stood there for a moment, feeling an odd pang of emptiness. he brushed it off, but as the days went by, the feeling gnawed at him more and more, leaving him with an ache he couldn’t ignore.

finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. one night, he found you alone in the kitchen, stirring a cup of tea with your gaze far away. he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as he watched you, his expression unreadable.

“are you avoiding me or something?” he asked, his tone sharper than he’d intended.

you looked up, a flicker of surprise in your eyes before you masked it with a tight smile. “no, i’m not avoiding you, rafe. i just… didn’t want to bother you.”

that word—bother—hit him hard, dredging up the memory of his own callous words. he felt something twist in his chest as he realized what he’d done, how his careless anger had made you feel so small, like you didn’t even deserve to be there.

“fuck,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “look, i’m sorry, alright? i was a complete asshole, princess. i was stressed, and i took it out on you, and i shouldn’t have done that.”

you shrugged, your face guarded, unreadable. “it’s fine. i get it. you’re busy, and i didn’t want to get in your way.”

“Jesus, stop saying that,” he mumbled, stepping closer, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “you’re not in my way. you’re the only person who… who makes all this shit bearable. i just didn’t see it until you started pulling away.”

for a long moment, you said nothing, just staring at him, weighing his words. finally, he took a tentative step forward, reaching for your hand. when you didn’t pull away, he felt a flicker of hope.

“let me make it up to you,” he whispered, his voice rough. “i’ll cancel my plans this weekend. we’ll do whatever you want, i swear. just… give me another chance.”

your gaze softened, and a small, hesitant smile crept onto your lips. “alright. one chance.”

he pulled you into his arms, wrapping you up in a tight embrace, his relief flooding through him. you relaxed into him, and for the first time in days, you felt the warmth return, that aching void in your chest slowly filling up again.

“i’m sorry, baby,” he murmured, his voice low, genuine. “i swear, i’ll never take you for granted again. you mean too fucking much to me.”

you let your head rest on his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath you, his arms strong and comforting. and as he held you there, you felt the hurt start to fade, replaced by a quiet, growing hope that maybe, just maybe, things would be different this time.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole

[motorsportbarbie13]

Hiiiii couldn’t help but see you do requests, could you do something where after a hard race reader placed on the podium but felt sick and Max catches her when she collapsed after getting out of the car? Maybe with the words "I can't... my legs... everything's tingling..." and him being super worried. Basically a little angsty with a fluffy end where he’s checking on her, can be established relationship or not.

OH ANON. this was so fun.

Enjoy!

Heatstroke In which, as it turns out, Max wasn't just 'Maxplaining' the difficulty of Singapore to you after all

Pairing: Max Verstappen X FerarriDriver!Reader Warnings: fainting, getting sick/weak, max being a knight in shining armor. Word count: 2.2k Masterlist

Max tried to warn you. Lando tried to warn you. Checo and Lewis had tried to warn you. Hell, the entire fucking grid had tried to warn you that Singapore was a different beast. You had thought they were just coddling you and being over dramatic, as the boys tended to be with you. It was a hazard of being the only woman on the grid, which frankly, drove you bat shit crazy because you had earned your way into the red Ferrari seat next to Charles on your own, thank you very much. You didn’t need to be coddled and you didn’t need to be warned off anything. 

But they were right. 

Singapore was a different beast. 

The heat during the day was oppressive but at night? There wasn’t any relief once the intense sun went down either. You were from Michigan though, that midwestern state being famous for its hot and sticky summers so you had thought you’d been prepared.

As you claimed into your sleek red car, lining up P3 behind Max and Lando though you knew you were in trouble before the green flag waved. The thing about sweating in the humidity like this is that there’s no where for the moisture on your skin to go, the air already too heavy so that slick sweat sticks to you, making you even hotter than before. 

“Fuck, this is going to be brutal.” You mumble, hoping that the braid you tied your hair in would stay for the entirety of the race. Suddenly, shaving your hair into a pixie cut like Fred had been suggesting (mostly jokingly) for weeks seemed like a good idea.  

The formation lap is fine. 

The first ten laps are fine, if not a little squirrely thanks to your car being wildly loose. 

The first fifteen laps are fine, if not a bit hot. 

But on lap 23? All hell breaks loose. 

First, your hydration system fails and you’re completely unable to get any water through the tiny straw that you usually flip into your mouth on the straightaway, just like Danny taught you. You’re sweating up a storm with no way to replenish those valuable electrolytes. 

Then, you’re so busy focusing on the fact that you’d give your first born child for a sip of water you nearly slam into the same exact wall that took George out on the last lap of last year’s race. You yank the steering wheel around so hard, you feel something in your wrist pop. The searing pain causes you to over correct and you nearly drive right into your own fucking teammate. 

“Fuck. Tell Charlie I’m sorry.” You groan over the radio, telling your engineer to pass on the message to Charles. 

“Focus on your race.” Your engineer tells you, voice obviously strained just as yours is. “Charles is fine.” 

Well, I sure as fuck am not fine. You think as you fight the car down towards the starting line. 

On lap 45, you’re granted a reprieve when a Sauber goes into the wall, bringing out a yellow flag. The leaders all duck into the pits, including yourself. There’s nothing anyone can do about your water situation and at this point, your instincts have kicked it. 

Max was right and you knew it. Singapore was hell. He had tried to tell you last night, as you had been snuggled up in bed with him, a ritual that you both had become dependent on this season. It seemed cliche, you falling for one of your rivals. You hated it but there was no denying that there was a magnetic chemistry between the two of you that had started the moment you had met last year while you were still driving in F2. 

You had resisted his charm for a while but things had taken a turn the night it was announced you’d be driving for Ferrari alongside Charles. Several of the drivers that lived in Monaco full time insisted on taking you to Jimmy Z’s to celebrate and who were you to say no to a bunch of handsome men paying for your drinks? 

The night ended just as you might expect it: Max drunkenly confessing his year-long crush on you and you drunkenly kissing him in a dark alleyway as you waited for your Uber. What had started off as a drunken confession and your reckless response that wasn’t supposed to mean anything had turned into one of the greatest things that has ever happened to you. Max and you? The pair of you were endgame. 

But none of that mattered now. Not here, in the raging heat and humidity of Singapore. You knew that Max was going to give you shit for not being better prepared the moment you got out of the car. You knew you were in for an ‘I told you so’ lecture on the plane ride back in the morning. You knew Max was right and you had been stupid to underestimate the power this track had over drivers. 

Looking back on your first race in Singapore years later, you don’t quite know how you managed to finish those last laps. Pure determination and stubbornness, Max would insist later on that night. But before you’re able to fully wrap your head around how dangerous of a situation you’d gotten yourself into, the checkered flag is waving and you’ve crossed the finish line in P3, right behind Lando and Max. 

Your third podium of the year. If you had been more coherent, you probably would have been elated. But all you could think about as you pulled your car into parc ferme, right behind that little cardboard 3 sign, was the ice bath you knew was waiting for you somewhere in the paddock. 

Your red racing suit is soaked through and through, you can feel it before you even get out of the car. It takes a mammoth effort to pull the steering wheel out of it’s dock and for a moment, you worry you’re so weak you can’t even do that. In front of you, you see Lando pop out of the car in the P1 spot, elated to have won with a healthy margin of over 20 seconds for the second time that season. 

Max is out of the car too, albeit a bit slower than Lando. There’s a distant buzzing in your ear that sounds eerily like your engineer’s voice asking if you’re okay. But you’re completely unable to focus on anything beyond the tingling sensation in your legs. This wasn’t something you’d ever felt inside a race car in all your years of driving. Everything stung, like a million little fire ants were making a meal out of your flesh. It took every ounce of strength, of which you didn’t have much, to hoist yourself up out of the car. 

Your head swims the moment you stand up straight, and you feel your legs collapse under you. Somewhere off in the distance, you hear Max calling your name but you can’t look up, your helmet suddenly feeling like it weighs 300 pounds. 

Crouching in your car, you desperately try to pull yourself together before anyone notices you’re struggling. You didn’t want to give the media the satisfaction of pulling another ‘look, another woman who thinks she can hang with the rest of the F1 drivers.’ Like they’ve been attempting to do all season. 

Your eyes are closed but you still hear the faint call of Max’s voice somewhere off in the distance. The entire world is reduced down to a singular pin prick of light while you fight to stay conscious, the heat and humidity wrapping their ugly little fingers tightly around your throat. 

Just as you’re about to surrender to the warm quiet of the darkness that seems to be calling out to you, a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist, hauling you out of the car like you weigh less than a bag of potatoes. You go limp in the arms of whoever has come to your rescue, collapsing under the strain of what you just put your body though. 

“Baby, please. Look at me.” 

Somehow, your helmet has been removed and you find yourself blinking up at Max. 

When did he get here? You wonder idly, not realizing it was him that pulled you out of the car. 

Max had gone practically feral when GP told him that you’d gone nearly 3/4 of the race without water. He knew how brutal this race was, and the humidity was unusually high tonight. He had gotten out of the car fairly quickly but had panicked when he saw your helmet tipped forward, resting on the halo device and you not moving. 

You lift your head, still wondering where your helmet was and instantly found yourself staring straight into the baby blue eyes of your boyfriend. “Maxie?” You croak, throat feeling like you just dined on a three course meal of sand and gravel. 

“Hey…” He coos, bringing you closer to his chest. “There’s my girl. You’re okay. I’ve got you.” He rubs soothing circles over your back, not caring that the press is having a field day with this. 

“I can’t…” You stutter, struggling to make the words in your head sound coherent when your mouth tries to form them. “My legs…everything is tingling.” 

If you had been a bit more coherent, you would’ve seen the look of absolute panic cross Max’s face. He frantically looks around as he lifts you into his arms, one arm under your knees, the other cradling your back against his chest. He knew you were going to absolutely murder him when you come around and see the pictures. You hated being coddled and hated showing affection on the grid even more. You and Max weren’t really hiding the fact that you were together, most fans knew and it was common knowledge around the paddock but the causal fan might be surprised to find out the lore between the two of you. So this outright show of concern, affection, and panic over the state of you that Max was showing right now? It was absolutely not a common occurrence 

“Interviews are going to have to wait.” Max barks at Jensen, this weeks post-race presenter. “She needs medical attention.” 

Jensen simply nods, allowing you to pass. 

Fred and Charles intercept you half way to the tent, insisting that getting you in the ice baths will be the thing to help you the most. Max, nearly delirious with worry because while your eyes were open and you were somewhat alert, follows their instructions and takes you back behind the garage area where the ice baths had been set up. 

It’s all you can do to stand upright as Max unzips your race suit. It’s so heavy with your sweat that it practically peels off of you with no effort, gravity doing the work for Max. And then your left in just your fireproofs. If you hadn’t been in the middle of the paddock with thousands of people and cameras around, Max would have stripped you down to just your underwear, but that wasn’t an option. 

WIth Max and Charles’ help, you’re able to hoist yourself into the waiting ice bath. The shock of the frigid water jolts some awareness back into you the moment your body is submerged in the glacial water. 

“Holy fuck.” You grit out, eyes closing in pain. 

“I know…I know, schatje. But it’ll get you feeling better so much quicker than anything else. 

You nod, still not fully aware of how you got here but thankful for Max’s steadying presence beside you. He’s crouched down so he’s eye level with you as you ball yourself up to get as much heated skin under the cold water and the worry etched all over his face is enough to steal your breath. 

“Max. Holy fuck. That was…you weren’t just Maxsplaining to me last night, were you?” 

A chuckle finds its way out of his lips, despite the state of panic Max is in. “No, I was not just ‘Maxsplaining’ anything last night, silly girl.” 

“Shut up.” 

“You’ve got your fire back, I see. I think you’ll live.” Max leans in to press a kiss to the crown of your head before dropping another kiss on your temple, then your cheek, and finally his lips find their home on yours. Right where they belong. It’s not a lingering kiss, or a passionate one. No. This kiss is filled with gratitude and relief and sheer dumb realization of how much this man loves you. 

Your eyes are open more now, a few minutes in the ice bath doing your heat stroke symptoms good. It takes you a few moments to really grasp the severity of what just happened. How close you came to passing out mid-race. How it was Max that got you out of that car and was at your side before anyone else. 

All around you, the paddock is bustling to life. The scene Max created by hauling you over to Ferrari’s garages has somewhat dissipated. Only a few onlookers are stopped still, but your team remains solidly around you, faces a mask of concern. But the only person you see is Max. 

“Thank you, baby.” You murmur when he leans in for another kiss. 

“Anything for you, schatje.” He rasps, emotion clawing at his throat. “Anything.” 

[gloomwitchwrites]

First of all, I 100% know this is an overused trope... but still....

What If 141 2 people 1 bed trope

Who cares that it's an overused trope? It's a classic for a reason!

I will never tire of a one bed trope. It can be steamy and sexy. It can be angsty. It can be tense. It can literally be so many things at once. It's also a wonderful canvas to play around, and I had a lot of fun with this one. I know you've waited for this one for a while. I hope you enjoy it! :)

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x TF141 Female Reader

Content & Warnings: swearing, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, multiple positions, rough kissing, vaginal fingering, oral sex (male & female receiving), admission of feelings, pretend sex, fake dating/married

Word Count: 6.3k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“Fuck,” mutters Price.

You glance over your shoulder. Captain Price stands near the hotel window, the gauzy blinds closed but the thicker ones bunched to the sides, allowing in natural light. He’s staring at something happening in the parking lot.

“What it is?” you ask, starting to walk over to him.

“They might have found us.”

Dread flares hot, clenching the muscles in your stomach until it hurts. “Are you sure?”

Price nods, and then backs away from the window. “There’s no way they saw our faces during the infiltration. We wore masks. Might have tracked the stolen car.”

“We need to leave,” you say, but Price shakes his head.

“There’s too many of them, and they’re likely watching all exits on the main floor.” He sighs. “We need to play this right.”

The two of you are freshly showered, and the clothes you wore for the infiltration have already been discarded. Burned—actually, somewhere in the deserts of Arizona. At the moment, the two of you look like civilians.

“They can’t search the building, John. Not without bloodshed.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his gaze darting across the room as his brain works something over. You fidget, picking at your nails. It’s a terrible habit. One you do when you’re nervous.

Price glances at you and your heart drops. “They look official, and that’s probably all that matters. The scrawny teenager at the front desk isn’t going to put up a fight if the credentials appear legitimate.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, striding toward the window to look for yourself.

Captain Price is right. They do look official. They also look fucking terrifying which would scare anyone into compliance if you don’t know what to look for.

“We’re on the bottom floor,” you say, stepping back.

“I know,” growls Price. He pivots, examining the entire room.

He goes for the car keys and shuts them inside the safe. The only other thing in the room is a duffle bag full of plain clothes and generic toiletries. Price pushes clothes aside and then draws out the pistol hiding beneath it all. He checks the clip and then preps the barrel.

“Take off your clothes.”

“What?” you ask, startled.

Price walks over to the singular bed in the room, tucking the gun beneath the pillows. “Do you trust me?”

“Absolutely,” you affirm.

“Then take off your clothes,” repeats Price, reaching behind his head with one hand to grab the collar of his shirt. He pulls it over and off, tossing it aside.

“Spread it around. Make a mess,” he instructs as he goes for the belt on his jeans.

For a moment, you’re stunned, staring at Captain Price’s bare chest. While he’s muscular, it isn’t from a life in the gym. He is thick in all the right places. A solid wall with a beautiful dusting of dark hair that travels downward.

The belt is gone, and that too is tossed aside.

Without removing your gaze, you tentatively discard your shirt, but keep your bra on. It’s a barrier. A safety net. Price isn’t even glancing at you, but you do notice some color at the tops of his cheeks. A soft pink that makes your thoughts spiral outward to imagine if this gentle blush is the same color as the head of his cock.

Price’s jeans go next, already discarded before you move on to the next article of clothing. He’s only in socks and black boxer briefs. There is so much of him on display that you’re starting to forget yourself.

He glances at you, and that color in his cheeks darken. “You’re still dressed.”

You open your mouth to answer but then you hear a shout from down the hall and sharp banging on a door. They’re far too close.

This urges you on, moving with faster intention, and once you’re down to just your bra and underwear, you finally glance at Price again.

Price—who is naked. Completely bare. And you have a full view of what he’s been packing underneath all that.

Fuck.

He approaches the bed, and tugs back the sheets. The muscles in his arms and back tense as he crumples the bedding to sexed perfection—as if the two of you have been going at it for hours.

Price sits down on the edge of the bed and slides underneath, his legs parting enough that you get a glimpse of everything. This man isn’t even fully hard but from what you can see, it would be a tight fit if you actually sat on him.

Lifting a pillow, Price checks for the pistol and then sets it back, settling into the sheets. He frowns slightly when his attention returns to you.

“All of that has to go.”

“Does it?” you counter, crossing your arms over your chest.

There’s another thunderous pounding on a nearby door followed by shouting.

“It does if we’re going to make it out of here alive.” Price shrugs, and then smirks. “Could help you.”

Sighing heavily and you reach behind your back, unclasping the bra. You hurl it at him and Price catches it out of the air. Crossing your arms over your chest, you hurry toward the bed. But you don’t make it beneath the sheets.

“Everything,” repeats Price.

Reaching out, Price snags the thin cotton fabric and pulls down, revealing you to him and the room. Instinct as you grasping for control, hands splayed over his large forearms as he gives the fabric another yank.

You cannot form a response. Words leave you as Price drags you into the bed with him.

“Sorry about this,” he grumbles, that color returning to his cheeks in full force. It’s cute actually—how sheepish he looks.

You swallow, and lick your lips. “It’s fine.”

Price leans back against the pillows, guiding you with him. “Get on top.”

Straddling his hips, you settle yourself over him. You try—and fail—to not notice the way the hard length of him nestles against your pussy. You keep one arm crossed over your breasts but all it does is hides your nipples from him. Your other hand is splayed wide and pressed against his chest.

“We’re married,” he says, staring into your eyes. “That’s the story. I’ll do the talking. You act like the scared wife when they come barging in.”

You nod, and Price releases a deep exhalation. His hands rest on your thighs. They’re a brand. Warm. All you can think about. They move upward to settle on your hips.

“Pretend you’re riding me,” he murmurs.

With a gentle hand, Price grasps your wrist, drawing your arm away from your breasts. You don’t resist, and he brings your other palm to rest against his chest.

“Pretend,” he reiterates, hands returning to your hips. Price creates the motion by dragging you back and forth, imitating a rocking motion. Though you’re stationary, your pussy still drags against the length of his cock.

You notice the tremor in his jaw as your bodies rub against each other. This is affecting him as much as it is you.

“Pretend,” you say back to him.

Price nods and then grabs for the television remote from the bedside table. He turns it on and then ups the volume. You imitate the motion he created, rocking back and forth, sliding yourself along his cock, pretending you don’t notice how wet you’ve become over the course of the last few minutes.

His hands return to your hips, and then Price sinks back completely into the pillows, his eyelids softening as he gazes up at you. It’s far too intimate of a stare, and it’s only compounded when one of his hands meander upward to slide over your stomach and then between your breasts. You gasp as his thumb traces the underside of your breast.

Head tilting back, you grind downward, finding yourself diving into the warmth that’s starting to pool low in your belly.

A sharp pounding at the door has you snapping to attention. Every muscle tenses. Seizes.

“You’re fine,” coos Price. “We’ll be fine.”

The pounding comes again and then a yell from behind it. The voice is muffled. Not only by the door but from the television.

Swallowing, you try to connect into it again, rolling your hips, imagining that Price is your husband—that you love him—and this is simply an exploration of that love.

When you roll your hips again, Price sits up slightly, his warm breath brushing against your breast. A tingle shudders through you, and Price groans before his tongue grazes over your nipple, bringing it to a point.

“Knew you’d taste sweet,” he says softly at the same moment the hotel door bursts open.

One second, you’re atop Price, and the next his arms are around you, turning you away from the door to hide you from sight. You’re not on your back but Price has shoved you toward the bed as he sits up, creating a barrier between you and the intruders.

The tactical-clad trio entering the room—with a hotel worker nervously trailing behind—

don’t even get a word in before Price starts going off on them.

“Get out! Get the fuck out!”

His accent is gone, replaced by an American one. It’s incredibly good, and his feigned anger even more so. The men entering faulter under Price’s tirade. They likely weren’t expecting this, and Price uses this opportunity to push the advance.

“We’re fucking busy in here. Fuck off!”

The man at the head of the trio clears his throat and holds up a hand, but Price chucks one of the water glasses at the man. The guy ducks and it shatters against the wall. The hotel worker at their back squeaks and pushes forward.

“We’re so sorry. Just a search for some prison escapees. We’re clearly in the wrong room.”

Prison escapees? You want to laugh but think better of it. Instead, you press your face against Price’s arm, feigning sheepishness.

Price’s lips turn into a snarl, and the hotel worker blanches.

“We’ll give you a complimentary stay for the inconvenience,” the man babbles before waving his arms to usher the other men out.

For a moment, you don’t think it’ll work, but they go.

You and Price don’t sigh with relief until the door shuts. His forehead presses against yours, chest heaving.

“Nice accent,” you whisper and this draws a smile from his lips.

“Like it more than this one?” he asks, his regular accent returning.

“Nope,” you say. “This one suits you fine.”

Price’s gaze draws over your exposed body and then lands on your face. It’s soft. Sensual. You’re frozen beneath it, breath catching as his fingers brush along the line of your jaw.

You’re not sure who moves first but his lips are on yours and then you’re moaning. Price rolls you onto your back, each kiss more demanding and fiercer than the last. He tastes of the mint toothpaste he used earlier and smells of soap.

Reaching between your bodies, you find him hard, and there is no other need within you but the one that craves for him to be inside. To fuck you ceaselessly.

You stroke him and Price groans into your mouth, his hand wrapping around your throat. Hooking your legs behind him, you guide him to your entrance. With a light press of your heels, Price takes your meaning.

There is no gentle pretense. No soft kisses or playful coaxing. Price goes all in, and you break the kiss to gasp aloud, nails digging into his back. Price is thick and having him inside you is a deliciously painful stretch.

It is all desperate the way he moves. Price isn’t gentle. It’s skin slapping against skin. It is sweat and groans. A savage hardness that borders on hysteria.

Your hand reaches behind you to press against the headboard as Price fucks you into the bed, but even that is shaking, banging loudly against the wall. It’s clear even over the drone from the television. The people next door will know exactly what the two of you are up to.

Price is relentless. A man starved. He nips at your bottom lip. Sucks it into his mouth. And when that isn’t enough, he goes for your neck and then your breasts, making your nipples smart and throb under his teeth and tongue.

The orgasm comes sharp and hot, bursting forth like a wave. And when you squeeze around him, Price is right there with you, his cum coating your insides as he too finds his end.

The two of you are all heavy breath. Sweaty limbs.

Price nuzzles the side of your neck, placing soft kisses there until he travels up to find your lips again. These are gentle. Not desperate like before.

When there’s a moment to speak, it is you that breaks the silence.

“So much for pretending.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It’s the middle of the day but you wouldn’t be able to tell.

A storm is raging—the rain thick and heavy. It falls from the sky in large drops that soak clothes and slick the skin. It’s a bit cold, too. A little chilly. The kind of wet chill that hardens the nipples and brings a shiver to your bones.

“Here. You’re soaked.”

Kyle presents a towel. It’s off-white and a bit frayed. But what can you expect from a motel in the middle of nowhere? Having a towel at all is nice. At least it isn’t threadbare.

“Thanks,” you reply softly, gently dapping the rough-textured material against your face.

Kyle strides over to the heating unit. It’s dirty and barely anchored to the wall. He hits a few buttons and then the thing turns on. It’s loud. Clunky. But heat starts to seep from the slats, warming the room.

After drying your face, you begin to remove outer pieces of clothing. Kyle might be your teammate, but there isn’t really anywhere to hide but the bathroom. Knowing the state of most motels, you don’t really want to find out either.

Kyle has the same idea. He dries off with his own towel, removing soaked articles of clothing as he goes. You try not to look—to be discreet—but it’s hard not to steal a peek. Kyle is all toned muscle and firmness. There’s a light dusting of hair on his chest. It’s a bit thicker around his navel. It trails downwards, and your mind wanders to a place it shouldn’t.

You glance away but not fast enough. His gaze roams upward, finding you, and there he pauses, observing you as you did him.

Pretending is best.

You attempt to act like you don’t notice him at all, turning your back like you’re incredibly interested with the wallpaper that likely hasn’t been replaced in years.

It’s his heat that draws your attention—that steals your breath, and makes every muscle in your body tense with anticipation.

“You’re shivering,” he murmurs.

Kyle is so close. Close enough that his breath brushes against your bare shoulder. You’re just in your bra and underwear, the only items that aren’t completely soaked from the rain.

He inhales, and that exhalation teases your flesh again. Giving in, you close your eyes, sinking into Kyle’s presence.

When you open them again, you notice a mirror hanging on the wall. It’s great if you were trying to plan an outfit, but that isn’t what you notice.

Instead, you see yourself. And Kyle.

The backs of his knuckles lightly caress the side of your arm. His head is tipped forward and turned inward like you’ll turn around any moment to kiss him.

The urge is there. Tugging. Wanting you to do just that.

The two of you are always walking around the other, seeking comfort and closeness but never seizing it. Maybe you should. Maybe—turning around is the best thing you can do for yourself.

“Kyle,” you breathe, and his little hum in answer tightens that string.

Without hesitation, you do turn.

Kyle’s lips are right there. They’re parted slightly. Inviting.

His arm drapes across your waist, hand splaying wide against your stomach, pressing until the two of you are sandwiched together.

It’s not like you don’t want this. You do. You want Kyle. Have since the moment he introduced himself to you. But the two of you have always remained professional in every space you occupy.

And now there is no one around.

No one to see.

No one to know.

Your head tips back in answer, and Kyle leans into it, pressing his lips to yours. It is sweet. Gentle. More of an ask than anything else.

And you reply, meeting him in equal measure. The pressure on your stomach increases just as Kyle’s other hand wraps around the front of your throat, holding you still. Each kiss is a claiming, one you freely submit to.

Kyle is all sugared-warmth, and you want to rot your teeth.

Draping your arm around the back of his neck, you pull him closer. Kyle nips. Bites. Sucks your bottom lip into his mouth before soothing the burn with a few tender kisses. Heat blossoms in your core before morphing into an aching slickness.

You’ve been putting him off—brushing him aside.

Why wait any longer when Kyle is all you crave?

“Fucking hell, love,” he groans against your mouth.

Your lips part, and Kyle slides his tongue inside. His taste is everything, but you want to know him everywhere.

Your hand seeks, brushing against his hardness through his boxer briefs. When you slip your hand beneath the elastic band, Kyle’s only response to kiss you harder.

Wrapping your fingers around him, you start to stroke what you can with the little room you have. Your thumb brushes over the head of his cock and Kyle draws back.

“I’ve wanted this since I met you,” he says, voice a bit rough.

Twisting in his grip, you turn to face him. “Can I show you how much I’ve wanted you, too?” you ask, pressing your breasts against his chest.

Kyle loosens his hold and you drop to your knees, taking his boxer briefs with you. His cock is gorgeous. It curves upward slightly, and a pearly bead of precum blooms in the slit.

He whispers your name, and then you have him in hand. Stroking once. Twice.

You lick off that bead. Savor his taste. Go back for more.

Kyle grabs the back of your head, drawing you to him. You open your mouth. Swallow him down. Throating him until you gag.

“Fuck,” he groans, elongating the vowel.

You work him with hand and mouth, keeping a steady rhythm that has him weak and wanton. You have all the control—until you don’t.

“Let me fuck your mouth, love. Please.”

The please is what does it. You release his cock, placing both hands on his thighs. With a pleased growl, Kyle keeps your head stationary. You anticipate the first thrust, and it is sinful. The movement goes straight to your pussy as you imagining him fucking you there like he fucks your mouth.

Fingers dig into muscled thigh. You want to touch yourself, to tease your clit while he does it. He is a god above you—Adonis.

“Can’t wait to taste your cunt, love,” rasps Kyle. “Can’t wait to make you drip for me.”

His desire fuels your own, and you urge him on, gently cupping him with one hand, thumb lightly rubbing the sensitive strip of flesh there.

Kyle’s hips stutter, and you relax your throat, humming around his cock as your lips meet the base. He holds you there, and you take it all, thighs chaffing from the friction of you rubbing them together in anticipation.

You blink up at him, and Kyle wipes away a tear with his thumb.

“My turn,” he murmurs.

You’re on your feet and then on your back in seconds. All the wind is knocked out of you, and then Kyle’s tongue is there, sliding through your slickness. Parting. Teasing the opening of your vagina before trailing upward to circle around your clit.

Gasping, your hands reach for him. Kyle grabs both wrists, keeps them planting on your stomach as he fucks you with his tongue. His shoulders dig into your thighs, keeping them wide. He’s stronger than you even as your thighs quiver, wanting to close, wanting to shut.

Kyle groans against your pussy, and then he’s on your clit, moving in such an easy, languid way that everything explodes outward. A shudder passes from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. Your pussy clenches. Unclenches. Clenches again.

Kyle doesn’t let up. He doesn’t cease. Every stroke strikes true and then your body betrays itself, overstimulation setting in, and the urge to wiggle away is paramount.

But just as you push at him—just as your body draws back. Kyle is releasing your wrists, pushing himself up and over you, spreading those legs even wider to slide inside.

The bed creaks beneath you, and then he’s thrusting.

Your moans of pleasure become one with the rain.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Single lamp. Lone bed.

Peeling paint. Dusty corners.

“Something’s on your mind.” Your voice is the only sound in the room other than the AC unit.

Soap’s sigh is soft and small as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

It’s the last night before the potential end. Before victory or failure. Just the two of you now with the plan to meet up with others later.

He nods, and you take a tentative step forward. “We attended the briefing. You know the details.”

“Aye.”

“Then what has you worried?” you ask, taking another step in Soap’s direction.

A warm, orange glow emits from the singular lamp on the bedside table. It’s not enough light to illuminate the cheap peeling paint or the dirt in the corners of the room. It only gives life to the bed and the side of Soap’s face.

It’s not like you have an unlimited budget. A motel room is the best the two of you could manage for some rest before moving on. The man at the desk didn’t even glance up when he asked if they only wanted a room for an hour.

You had asked for two beds. The man at the desk replied that no one who stops here asks for that.

One bed it is.

One bed.

Somehow, you’ll have to sleep beside Soap while simultaneously shoving down the urge to reach out to him.

Sighing, Soap leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. His gaze drifts slightly as if he’s not focusing on anything in particular. Running his fingers through his short mohawk, he tugs on the ends, mussing the freshly washed strands, creating a wavy mess.

Just that one movement as you leaning forward, nostrils flaring to inhale that clean scent.

“Adaptability,” he answers. Finally.

Instead of sitting on the bed beside him, you sink to your knees, resting your arm on the bed, and your chin on your arm.

The two of you have been on missions before but never together like this.

Never alone.

Keeping your gaze downward, you notice just how close you are to him—and how Soap leans in your direction, the edge of his knee brushing against the side of your hand.

It’s a small contact, but he’s warm, and that warmth is transferring into yourself, unspooling outward. It’s a difficult thing—because all this time you’ve harbored feelings for him, and yet have never acted on them.

“You’re quick on your feet, Soap,” you murmur, one finger absently extended to brush over the curve of his knee.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “You can call me Johnny.”

Johnny. You’ve never called him that. Soap, sure. Sergeant MacTavish? All the time.

“I thought Ghost only had that right.”

Only Ghost calls Soap ‘Johnny.’ That’s understood by everyone.

Soap shrugs. “He did.” He glances at you, his smile widening. “But I’d like to hear you say it.”

Something swirls in your stomach, twisting like a knife.

“How would you like to hear it?” you reply.

Johnny’s smile, which is so wide and teasing, softens into a sultry smirk. “I have options?”

“You do.”

Johnny’s usual playfulness emerges. “Say it like you’re angry with me.”

“Johnny,” you say, deepening your voice to sound like Ghost.

He bursts out laughing, falling back onto the bed, clutching his stomach. “Oh, aye. I’ll give you that.”

“What else?” you tease. “I demand more.”

“Say it like you’re annoyed with me.”

You do just that, and Johnny sits up, turning on his side.

“Again,” you prompt.

The middle of Johnny’s brow creases and then his hand cradles the side of your face. He closes the distance, kissing you deeply—as if you are his lover and not a friend.

But you don’t pull away. You indulge yourself, kissing him back just as sweetly.

You’re not sure how much time passes, just that it does, and his small retreat after it’s done is all you have in acknowledging its passing.

The withdrawal is short. Johnny doesn’t move away. He keeps his hand on your cheek. The tip of his nose nearly brushing yours.

“Say it now,” he breathes, voice raspy.

“Johnny,” but it’s not what you intended to say.

He sighs. “Again.”

“Johnny.”

This time he groans, and then your lips are fusing, becoming one. You’re dragged off the floor and into his arms, tangling in his heat, forgetting yourself completely.

“Johnny,” you repeat, and then your shirt is gone, followed by your bra.

He nips at the curve of your breasts before sucking your nipple into his mouth. His teeth graze flesh and you say his name again until it becomes a strangled moan.

The front of your jeans is open, and his hand is there, cupping your sex, fingers dragging through your wetness.

“Johnny,” but it’s to stop him, to remind him that this cannot go on.

“Fucking hell. Love the way you say my name.”

This melts your resolve. Makes your legs spread wider. Makes you shove at your pants and create plenty of space.

Johnny knows. He understands.

He yanks them down even as he peppers your breasts with little nips and kisses. Your fingers drags through his hair as he sucks the other nipple into his mouth, bringing it to perky attention.

One finger slides inside, and you groan loudly, legs falling wide as Johnny settles himself between.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, claiming your mouth and pumping his finger. You whimper as he inserts a second. “Wanted you so bad.”

Your pussy flutters, squeezing around him. It is Johnny that groans this time, and it is a primal sound.

“Can I fuck you?” he asks. “Please.”

“Johnny,” you breathe. “Johnny.”

“Need a yes or no. Tell me. Do you want me? I’ve wanted you.”

You answer by finding him—guiding him to the place you need him to.

With a low growl, Johnny pins your arms above your head, slotting his pelvis against yours, the head of his cock sinking in until you’re taking all of him.

“Johnny!”

“That’s what I want to hear,” he croons, starting to thrust.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“I can’t tell what blood is yours and what isn’t.”

“Can fucking do it myself.”

“Ghost—”

“It’s not a problem.”

“Simon,” you snap, and he stops fidgeting.

Behind the plain balaclava, you see the fire in Lieutenant Riley’s eyes. This man is your superior. At least, right now he is. But the mission is done. It’s over. Yet the two of you are stranded, and making contact with Price is going to take time.

Not to mention that Simon is injured, and you have no fucking idea where at.

“Let me help you,” you say as soothingly as possible.

You don’t want to fight with him. All you want is to help Simon, to clean him up, and get him into bed. Rest and healing are what he needs right now. Contacting Price can wait. Base can stew for a while longer.

The two of you are in a motel room in the middle of fucking nowhere America. It’s shit overall, but it will have to do. There’s no way anyone is searching for the two of you out here. You drove until you nearly ran out of gas, and then you refilled and drove some more. Simon was in the back of the car, covered in blood.

But he was awake. Moving. Not a head injury, and not enough to get him immediate medical treatment. Not like he would have allowed you to take him to a hospital anyway. Lieutenant Riley is fucking stubborn. Sometimes infuriatingly so.

Simon stares, hard, his dark eyes intense behind the balaclava. He blinks, and then pushes up from the chair, keeping his gaze trained on you.

“Lieutenant,” you mutter, annoyed.

As Simon stands and attempts to take a step forward, his left leg wobbles, and he nearly topples forward. Your arms go out to catch him, holding him steady. He’s a big guy, and he seems to know this because he tries to prop himself up using the chair.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” you snap.”

“Listen—”

“I’m not arguing with you Simon Riley.”

Using his full name shuts him up. It’ll likely earn you a reprimand later, but fuck it, you’re over this.

“Stay there.” You shove him back down into the chair and head into the bathroom.

There is a single overhead light. Flipping the switch turns it on and the fan. It’s a tight space, but thankfully the shower isn’t also a tub. That would be a nightmare getting him in. Instead, there is a sink, a toilet, and a dividing wall that cuts the room in half. It’s more like a locker shower but it’ll work.

Reaching in, you turn the handle. You jump back as cold water shoots out of the shower head. After waiting for a few seconds, steam starts to rise.

You take a deep breath, knowing what you have to do. “You got this,” you murmur, heading back into the room.

Simon leans forward in the chair, forearms resting on his knees.

You hold out your hand. “Let’s go.”

Lieutenant Riley’s head swivels in your direction. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” you reply, holding firm. “Come on.”

With a deep sigh, Simon reaches out and slides his hand into yours. It’s warm. Calloused. You squeeze it and step forward, extending your other arm to wrap around his torso. Simon stands. Wobbles. But you snake your arm around him, and then it’s a slow trek into the bathroom.

Simon is limping, but he’s showing no other signs that his injury hurts him. Might be minor, or he’s just good at covering up the pain.

Once the two of you are inside the bathroom, you realize just how small the space is. Maneuvering Simon to the shower is difficult, a weird dance to wiggle around the door and toilet to the opening of the shower.

You retreat slightly, and Simon leans against the wall, his eyelids closing as he takes a deep breath.

“You good?” you ask, concern creasing your brow.

Simon nods. “I’ll manage.” His eyelids open slowly and then he stares into the shower. “You want me in there?”

“You’ll need to remove a few things first,” you reply, gesturing toward his uniform.

Simon snorts. “Trying to get me naked?”

“You wish,” you retort, even as your cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Need help?”

At first, Simon doesn’t say anything. He just reaches for his belt, removing it slowly with one hand.

“I’ll leave you to it,” you mumble, starting to turn away.

“Wait.”

You freeze, and then glance over your shoulder. “What is it?”

Simon shrugs. “What if I slip? Might need you to catch me.”

This bastard.

“Then I’ll stay,” you reply cooly, pretending that this doesn’t affect you.

But it does. It’s reshaping you, and Simon’s slow undressing isn’t helping things. He keeps his gaze on you the entire time, and you purposefully keep your eyes averted, when really you want to look. You want to know what he’s like under all that.

The belt goes. So does his tactical gear and jacket. Next is his shirt followed by his balaclava. You sneak a peek then, and Simon grins at you like he knew you’d look eventually.

“I’ll need some help with these. Getting them down that is.” Simon gestures towards his pants and you feel your face grow so hot you fear it might explode.

“Sure.”

You reach for him, silently chastising your shaking fingers. This is too much, even though you like it, and want more from it. You undo the button and zipper. Sliding your hands beneath the band, you shimmy Simon’s pants to the floor. He kicks them away and all that’s left are his boxer briefs. They’re tight and you notice the massive bulge in front.

Fuck.

“You can do the rest,” you reply, glancing away.

Simon removes them, and then he starts forward, arms outstretched to balance himself as he enters the shower.

“Fucking hell,” moans Simon as the hot water hits his body.

The groan that comes after is deep, and so sultry you feel a bolt of pleasure spike from your pussy.

“Should join me.”

“No thanks,” you say, averting your gaze away from Simon’s muscled backside.

One moment you’re facing the wall, and the next you’re under the spray of water.

“What the fuck,” you shriek, stumbling backward as Simon chuckles. Muttering under your breath, you stare down at your soaked clothing. “Goddamn it.” You start removing articles of clothing, the wet fabric peeling away from your skin.

“Fucking fine, Simon.”

You shed everything and storm under the spray, only for Simon to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you against him. There is no pause between then and the moment his lips find yours. It is sweet, and warm. You instantly melt, enjoying every second.

But it’s fleeting.

You draw back, heart hammering in your chest.

“You’re covered in blood. Remember?”

Simon shrugs and then offers you the soap. “Clean me then.”

You do it, and when you’re done, he does the same for you. It’s far too intimate, and Simon’s gentleness is surprising. Once finished, you dry and bandage the wound on his leg. It’s not terrible—and will likely need stitches—but it’s not bleeding anymore.

The singular bed in the middle of the room is far too small. Not with Simon in at, spread out and naked under the sheets.

You slide in beside him, not knowing where you should settle. Simon is large, taking up most of the best. The only place is curled up next to his side.

Turning your resolve to steal, you settle in. You begin to turn away from Simon, but his arm shoots out, grasping your waist. You’re yanked across the bed, only to find yourself in Simon’s arms.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Stop pretending, love. We both know what’s going on. Don’t deny it.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Simon—”

“We’ve been making eyes at each other for fucking months. And now we’re alone. You think I don’t see the opportunity?”

Simon’s hand slides over the curve of your ass, and then dips beneath your shirt. You’re not wearing underwear, and when his fingers brush over your pussy, you gasp, pressing into him.

“You’re already wet for me,” growls Simon as he drags a finger through your folds. “So fucking wet.” He presses in, and your pussy parts for him.

“We can’t, Simon. You’re injured.”

“Not so much,” he coos. “Especially since I can do this.” On this, Simon drags the tips of his finger along the inside your pussy, hitting that sweet spot.

You moan, fingers digging into his chest as your back arches to press you further down on him.

“It’s just my leg that’s injured.” Simon’s lips brush against your cheek and then the edge of your ear. His breath is warm against your skin. “I can still fuck you. Have you on top. Bounce you on my cock.” Simon gives the curve of your ear the faintest kiss. “Would you like that, love? Do you want me to fuck you?”

“We—we—”

With his other hand, Simon grasps the back of your neck, drawing you against him, silencing whatever it is you’re trying to say. He seizes your mouth in a fierce kiss. You open for him, and his tongue slides inside. He tastes nice, and you want to sink into the feeling. Have him devour you completely.

“Let me in,” he murmurs against your lips.

You push up, doing exactly as he wants you to do. You settle on his lap, his hard cock pressed up against your thigh.

With a low growl, Simon removes your shirt, leaving you completely bare to his gaze.

“Much better,” he says, cupping your breasts as you lean on his chest, lifting your hips.

His cock slides through your folds, and then you start the descent, moaning as he splits you in two. The stretch is intense—nearly sharp with pain, but laced with pleasure. Simon’s eyelids flutter slightly, and his groan is pure sin.

Simon lightly squeezes your breasts one more time before his hands find your hips. He lifts you up, and then back down, bouncing you on his cock. You cling to him, allowing him to use you, to fuck you in whatever way he wants.

Each grunt and growl from him only makes you wetter. Hungrier.

“I’m gonna come inside you.”

It’s not a question. There is no other option, and you wouldn’t take anything else even if there was.

“Please,” you whimper.

Simon’s hands tighten, his hips thrusting upward to meet every downward movement. He sits up, his mouth clamping around a nipple to nip and suck. Your orgasm roars up from nowhere, and then you’re clenching around him, milking Simon’s cock as his own end greets him.

taglist:

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@enarien @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

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@gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @vrb8im

[monzabee]

prison for life - mv1

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where if anybody hurts you, Max is going to prison for life.

Pairing: max verstappen x pregnant!reader 

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: fluff, pregnancy, mentions of throwing up, cursing, kinda angsty in some places, jos verstappen

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! i’ve been in such a max mood recently that is actually shocking to me, but i just needed some fluffy anything after working on smutty pieces for weeks. i got this idea in my dream and honestly i think it turned out better than i could’ve imagined!! feedback is always appreciated, and my requests are currently open if you want to check that out, i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

If you would have to choose a word to describe Max, it would be ‘overprotective’, because that’s what he is. It’s not a bad thing, per say. He isn’t overbearing or controlling at all, but he is simply overprotective. And if you thought he was overprotective when the two of you were dating or when you first got married, you have to admit that you were not, at all, prepared for his protectiveness when you told him that you were pregnant. Apart from his initial meltdown over becoming a dad, or rather becoming like his own father, Max has been pretty chill about the whole thing – with the exception being your safety, of course. The underlying problem isn’t the fact that you’re some sort of daredevil because you’re not, the problem is the fact that Max believes that everything is out to get you. 

The olives you wanted to eat for breakfast? Choking hazard.  

The candles you bought for the living room (to be purely decorative, but still)? Fire hazard.  

The pool lounger Victoria thought would be a cute addition to the pool? Drowning hazard.  

The seatbelt in his car that is surprisingly tight? Could be all three, according to Max, given the right (or wrong) circumstances.  

So, yeah, maybe he wasn’t that scared of becoming a dad, but he was surely scared of you being in danger. That’s why you agreed to stay back for the most races this year – you knew he didn’t need to worry about you or your baby’s safety on top of the stress he had to deal with during the usual racing weekend. That was until you realised how much you would miss your boyfriend after almost a month of not seeing him due to a triple header. And so, you did the thing any person with a common sense would do – flying out to see him without telling him beforehand, because what’s the fun in that?  

The sheer look of shock on his face might be the funniest thing you’ve ever seen when you meet him in his driver’s room, but of course Max doesn’t share the same sentiment as you. Because all he chooses to focus is the fact that you were on a plane – a 0.23% risk out of very 7.7 million flights each year, but still. He spends at least half an hour, just checking you over and assuring himself that you and the baby are fine; at some point he decides that you need to go to the nearest hospital to get an ultrasound just to make sure the baby is okay, but you tell him to fuck off and calm his tits down in the kindest way possible. And that’s how the two of you end up on the small couch in his driver’s room, with his arms around you as you lay between his legs, his hands splayed on the swell of your stomach as he caresses the skin through the fabric of your dress. His voice is low as he tells you about his day, mostly media duties since it is only Thursday, and how he thinks putting a cat tree in the nursery is a bad idea (that was your idea initially, but you can see how having two rumbunctious cats hang out in the nursery could cause problems). 

“I also thought about something else,” he mumbles, suddenly busying himself with the flower pattern of your dress instead of looking at you.  

You raise your brows slightly, motioning him to continue, but let out a huff when he doesn’t do so right away. “Come on,” you whine softly, “tell me what it is Maxie.”  

“I don’t want him to get into karting.” His words are soft, mumbled, and most definitely final. You know how Max can be when he puts his mind into it, and this particular topic has been a discussion in your household ever since the two of you found out that you were having a boy. “I don’t want him to go through what I went through.” 

Letting out a soft exhale, you motion Max to six next to you on the couch. “He won’t,” you assure him, voice soft as you give pleading looks at him, “you’re not your father, Max.” He gives you a look that basically begs for you to not dwell on the topic, but you continue despite the look he gives you, “And what if he wants to get into karting? Are you going to tell him no?” 

Max tries his best to ignore the knowing look you give him, knowing very well that he won’t be able to ever say ‘no’ to his son, who already has him wrapped around his finger. “I might do that, you never know.” He grumbles, hiding his face in your hair – though the soft giggles coming from you manages to put a soft smile on his face. “You’re supposed to agree with me, you know, we have to be a united front.”   

“We’ll discuss it when the baby comes, until then, I’ll be the voice of reason.” You emphasise, poking him at his bicep to convey your point. “You feel better now?” 

“Kinda,” he murmurs, leaving small kisses onto the exposed skin of your shoulder as he keeps on murmuring against your skin, “I would feel better if I knew you stayed in bed all day, relaxing.” 

With that, you choke a loud laugh, and motion him to stand up as you try to do it yourself – though, of course, he has to help with the baby bump being in the way of you doing any sort of physical activity. “You’re funny, let’s go get me ice cream.”  

The only response you get back is a confused look from your husband, his head tilted to the side as he eyes you warily. “What does that have to do with anything?” 

“Um, excuse me?” You raise an eyebrow, “Your son,” pointing to your stomach, you emphasise your words, “is craving ice cream right now.”  

Max’s eyes soften instantly, and a smile creeps across his face. He nods, taking your hand gently as he helps you up. “Well, if my son wants ice cream, then ice cream he shall have.” 

You giggle as you both make your way out of the driver’s room, Max's hand never leaving yours. The paddock is bustling with activity, but for a moment, it feels like it's just the two of you, cocooned in your little world. As you approach the nearest concession stand, Max’s protective instincts kick in once again. “Is this ice cream stand safe? How long have they been here? Do they have the proper health certifications?” 

You roll your eyes playfully. “Max, it’s ice cream, not a five-course meal. I’m sure it’s fine.” He sighs but nods, deciding to trust your judgment. After all, you did manage to fly all the way here without incident and somehow alerting him. You both get a generous serving of your favourite flavours, and as you sit down to enjoy your treat, you feel a sense of normalcy and contentment wash over you. 

Max watches you with a tender expression, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and worry. “I know I can be overprotective,” he says softly, reaching out to brush a stray hair from your face, “but it’s only because I love you so much.” 

You smile, leaning into his touch. “I know, Max. And I love you too. But sometimes, you need to trust that everything will be okay. We’ll figure things out together, just like we always do.” 

He nods, his gaze shifting to your belly. “You’re right. I guess I need to talk to my mom.”  

“Why?” You ask, tilting your head to the side in curiosity.  

“Well, she promised me she’d look after you but you’re here, so I think we need to have a talk about not keeping secrets from each other.” He mumbles, dragging a hand down his face. 

You laugh, nudging him playfully. “Oh, Maxie, who do you think helped me with my bags at the airport? Your mom is unsurprisingly a strong woman.” 

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “I should’ve known better than to think you’d stay put for a whole month.” He sighs, but there’s a smile playing on his lips. “Alright, but next time, at least let me know you’re planning something. My heart can only take so much.” 

Max feels a lot better after tricking you with ice-cream into at least staying put withing the Red Bull hospitality for the day as he gets through his media duties. Max feels a lot better after tricking you with ice cream into at least staying put within the Red Bull hospitality for the day as he gets through his media duties. He periodically checks in, making sure you're comfortable and well-fed. Each time he sneaks a glance your way, you catch him with a knowing smile and a roll of your eyes, and he returns it with a wink. He knows that there is absolutely no reason for him to be checking on you as much as he does, because you’ll be fine in the cool hospitality suite with enough water to keep you hydrated for years, but he can’t help but worry about anything and everything going wrong. And his worries prove to be true when he sees the one person who he definitely doesn’t want around you.  

“What are you doing here?” He asks the approaching figure, “I thought you were not going to be coming to this race but the next one.”  

“Given the drop in your performance in the last few races I thought I should be here for... support.” His dad supplies, eyes finding you behind his son’s back on one of the couches in the hospitality, “And I can see the reason for why you’ve been distracted lately, what is she doing here?”  

Max scoffs, crossing his arms on his chest protectively, “She’s my wife, she is more than welcome to be here.” 

“She’s also a distraction, Max,” his father points out, “you’re going to lose your focus if you keep–” 

Since Max is faster than his father where it matters the most, he cuts him off before he can say anything further. “Leave, I don’t want you here.” 

Max’s father looks taken aback, his eyes widening momentarily before they narrow into a scowl. “Excuse me?” he says, his voice low and dangerous. 

“You heard me,” Max replies firmly, his stance unwavering. “I don’t want you here if you’re going to criticize my wife and stress me out, or worse, stress her out.” 

“You’re being irrational,” his father argues, taking a step closer. “I’m just trying to help you stay focused.” Seeing that his son is not going to back down anytime soon, he points a threatening finger towards him. “I’ll be back on race day, but you better be ready to put in a winning performance,” his father finishes, his voice laced with finality. He turns on his heel and walks away, leaving a tense silence in his wake. 

Max sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair as he watches his father disappear into the crowd. Looking back at you over his shoulder, talking to some interns from the social media team, he can’t help but feel the dread of you having to face his father – which gives him another reason to somehow stop the two of you from running into each other during the weekend.  

On Friday, Max’s luck decides to do him a favour as you tell him that you’re not feeling well enough to go to the track with him for the qualifying, and though it is true that he wants you to be with him, he also realises that this will give him one less thing to worry about. He knows how stressful it can be for you to navigate the bustling paddock and deal with the crowds, especially with the added pressure of possibly encountering his father. 

“You rest up, okay?” he says, his voice full of concern. “I'll be back as soon as I can. If you need anything, just call me.” 

You nod, giving him a reassuring smile. “I will, Max. Good luck today. We'll be cheering you on from here.” 

Max leans down to kiss your forehead gently as he mumbles into your skin, “I love you.”  

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice soft and comforting, “be careful out there, okay?” 

Max has one goal throughout qualifying, and to his team principal’s dismay, it is not being on pole. His one and only goal is to get the session done with as quickly as possible and get back to you as soon as he can. After the session ends, he barely waits for the car to come to a stop before jumping out and heading straight for the hospitality suite. His team notices his urgency but knows better than to question it once he tells them he’ll pay whatever fine the FIA will give him for missing his interviews. 

Bursting through the door, Max finds you resting comfortably on the couch, a cup of tea in your hands. The sight of you immediately calms his racing heart. “Hey,” he says softly, walking over to sit beside you. “How are you feeling?” 

You smile up at him, still in his team gear and the hat he almost never takes off, the warmth in your eyes easing his worries. “Better, now that you're here. How did it go?” 

“Starting on pole,” he replies, mostly in a mumble, taking your hand in his. “But all I could think about was getting back to both of you.” 

You squeeze his hand, your expression tender. “I'm proud of you, Max. You did great.” 

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “Thanks. Let's just relax for the rest of the day, hm? I want to hold you to make sure you’re not getting out of this bed until tomorrow.” 

“You know, I would be happier about this proposal if it was until different circumstances,” you sigh, earning a laugh from him as he pulls you towards his chest, being careful not to spill your tea, of course. Why? Because it is a safety hazard, of course. 

As you settle back into the bed together, Max feels a sense of relief wash over him. The stress of the day melts away in your presence, and he realizes how much he needs these quiet moments with you to forget all about the outside world and focus his energy on what actually matters instead. 

The next day, feeling much better, you prepare to join Max at the track for the race. He’s still concerned but reassured by your determination to support him. As you arrive at the paddock together, Max is more attentive than ever, keeping an eye out for his father in hopes of trying to prevent the two of you running into each other. Navigating through the bustling paddock, Max keeps a protective arm around your waist, and a hand on your bump whenever the two of you stand somewhere talking to someone, guiding you through the throngs of people. His eyes constantly scan the crowd, his jaw set in a determined line. The other drivers and team members greet you warmly, and you return their smiles, feeling the anticipation that surrounds you. 

“Max, relax a bit,” you whisper, squeezing his hand as you notice the tension in his posture. 

He glances down at you, his expression softening slightly. “I just want to make sure everything’s okay.” 

“I know,” you reply, reaching up to stroke his cheek, “but we’re here to enjoy the race and support you. Try to focus on that.” 

He nods, taking a deep breath as both of you make your way to the Red Bull hospitality area. The team welcomes you with open arms, and you settle into a comfortable spot where you can watch the preparations for the race. He asks one of the interns to keep an eye on you, which he thought he was being sly whilst doing it, but you of course catch him in the corner of your eye. That’s when you realise the man walking towards him, your eyes meeting in nothing short of disdain for each other.  

You stiffen slightly, your hand tightening around Max’s hand as he turns just in time to see his father approaching, his protective instincts kicking into high gear as he lets go of your hand and decides to wrap his arm around you protectively instead. 

“Max,” Jos says, his tone neutral but carrying an underlying condescension. “We need to talk before your race begins, walk with me.” 

Max's grip tightens around you for a moment before he reluctantly loosens his hold. “What is it, Dad?” he asks, his voice steady but tinged with irritation. 

Jos's eyes flicker to you before focusing back on Max. “I wanted to discuss strategy, but I can see this isn't a good time.” 

Max's jaw clenches, his protective instincts on high alert. “If it's important, we can talk here. I’m not leaving her side.”  

Jos sighs, clearly frustrated. “Fine, if that's how you want it.” 

Max’s arm remains firmly around you as his father steps closer. “Make it quick,” Max insists, his tone leaving no room for argument. If other people were to see your eyes moving from one Verstappen to the other, they’d probably think you are watching a tennis match, though the situation in front of you is certainly more tense than that. 

Jos glances at you once more before addressing Max. “I just wanted to remind you to stay focused. Pole position is a great start, but you need to keep your head in the race.” 

Max's eyes narrow, and he lets out a scoff, “I know how to do my job, no need for reminder. Anything else?” 

Jos shakes his head, his expression a mix of disappointment and resignation. “Just don’t let distractions cost you the win.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Max hisses, taking a step towards his father as he gently pushes you behind himself. You have to put a hand against his chest to slow him down, though that doesn’t prove to be a sufficient prevention method. “I already told you; she is my wife, and he is not going anywhere so you better get that into that damaged brain of yours.” 

“Max,” you try to plead with him, “please, not before your race.”  

He gives you a look over his shoulder for a short moment before turning back towards his father. His jaw is set as he looks at the man in front of him. “I’ll only tell you this one more time. When she’s here with me, you don’t show up. If you do show up, you don’t come near her, you don’t talk to her, you don’t even look at her.” Another step taken towards his father has you tightening your hold on him, but he still manages to convey his message. “Try something like this again, and you won’t be in my life anymore let alone my son’s.” 

Jos's lips press into a thin line, his eyes darting to you briefly before settling back on Max. “Fine,” he repeats, his tone colder. “Just remember what’s at stake every time you get behind the wheel.” 

Max stands his ground, his eyes locked onto his father's, unwavering. “I know exactly what's at stake, and I don't need you reminding me. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a race to focus on.” 

Max stands his ground, his eyes locked onto his father's, unwavering. “I know exactly what's at stake, and I don't need you reminding me. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a race to focus on.”

It’s not the first time Max has stood up to his father, not by any means. But you can tell that this time affects him in a different way. The weight of the words exchanged and the implications for their future relationship linger in the air. You can feel the tension radiating from Max as he watches his father walk away, and it takes a moment for him to relax his posture and turn back to you. “Please tell me something that will calm me down so I don’t somehow do something that would put me to jail.”

“Okay,” you singsong, quickly positioning yourself in front of him so that you can fix him with a strict look on your face. “You are not doing something that will put you into prison, period.”

“I’m going to need a very good reason because all I want to do right now is follow him to his car and punch him.” Unfortunately for you, the way his jaw is set is a telling sign that, no, Max would actually do something like this given the circumstances.

“There is no sim racing in prison.” You try to provide, giving him a weak smile.  

Max's lips twitch into a small, reluctant smile at your words, the tension in his jaw easing slightly. “No sim racing in prison, huh? Do you honestly think that would keep me from doing something stupid?” 

“I panicked!” You exclaim, hitting him on his chest lightly as he laughs at you silently. “How are you supposed to help me raise our son,” you point to your stomach to emphasise your point, “if you’re in prison, huh?”

Max's smile grows wider, the tension in his posture finally starting to melt away. “Okay, okay, you’ve got a point,” he says, placing his hands on your shoulders and looking into your eyes. “I need to be here for both of you. But it’s so damn hard to ignore him.” 

You reach up and cup his face in your hands, your eyes soft and filled with understanding. “I know, but you’re stronger than him. And you have more important things to focus on. Like winning this race and getting me more ice cream on our way back to the hotel.” 

He takes a deep breath, nodding slowly as he lets out a soft chuckle. “You’re right. I can’t let him get to me. Not today.” 

“Exactly,” you say, giving him a reassuring smile, “I usually am.” 

Max laughs, the sound lightening the mood even more. “Yes, you usually are,” he agrees, pulling you closer for a brief kiss. “Thank you for always knowing how to calm me down.” 

“That’s what I’m here for,” you say, resting your forehead against his. “Now, go out there and show everyone what you can do. We’ll celebrate with ice cream afterward.” 

“Deal,” he replies, his eyes twinkling with affection and determination. With one last squeeze, he lets you go and turns towards his team, his focus now fully on the race ahead. “But I feel like I need to let you know that I would definitely go to prison for life for you.” 

You laugh, shaking your head. “Don’t you have a race to win, Verstappen?” 

He grins, giving you one last kiss before heading off to prepare for the race, giving you a grin over his shoulder as he starts to move away, “So, I’ll get the rest of that kiss after the race, then?” 

“Yeah, Max,” you let out a breathy laugh, your eyes not leaving his for a moment, “after the race!” 

[lomltrentarnold]

someone — jude bellingham  ₊˚ෆ

contents: 1.6k words, fem!reader (she/her), fwb!bellingham is down bad, lil angsty but happy ending, they like each other so much SIGH

🍓 hana’s note: hi my loves!! hope u enjoy <33 i actually had fun writing this, please tell me what u think 🫶 sorry if nothing makes sense LOL

📞 main masterlist!

Jude was sure that the muscle on his wrist had gotten stronger in the span of three days. He moved to check his phone again for the hundredth time that day. The whole situation feels like a thirteen year old boy waiting for his girlfriend to reply to his text. 

The only difference is that he’s twenty one years old, and his ‘girlfriend’ is not actually his girlfriend. 

His gloomy mood attracted his assistant who was off clicking the keyboard computer.

“Whose text are you waiting for?” they asked, immediately bringing him out of his little pity party.

His heart stuttered, “No one.” he replies, shaking his head, before tucking the phone away into his pocket.

A skeptical look was thrown, “Yeah, sure.” 

Jude took a minute before he relented, “She’s…someone.” he sighed, not really in the mood to throw up his gut to his assistant.

He ran his hands through his hair down to his face, frustrated.

They were sure this ‘someone’ was not just anyone, “The same ‘someone’ who had you giggling and kicking your feet last week?” his assistant smirked, noticing the little smile that Jude always wears every single time he stares at his phone.

But not in the last few days.

Recently, he has been more sad when he stares at his phone.

Heat trailed from the back of his neck to his cheeks, “I was not giggling and kicking my feet.” tummy twisting with nerves.

“Oh, you so were. She has you wrapped around her fingers, Bellingham.” the keyboard clicking stopped, as a teasing smirk was sent his way.

Jude’s heart made a backflip–oh she definitely does– “She’s just.. special. And I really really like her.” his cheeks heating up more as your pretty face fresh flashes in his mind. 

“So? Why don't you ask her out on a date?”

He sighed, “I would, but she’s ghosting me.”

“Someone ghosted THE Jude Bellingham? Damn, your ego must be hurt.” they laughed.

Jude took a deep breath, “It's not about my ego, I just–” he paused, “I thought we were going somewhere, I like her and I thought that she liked me but I guess...” his voice trailing out as sadness coats his words.

His assistant noticed how Jude’s head dropped in disappointment, immediately feeling bad for him, and an idea lightbulb immediately went off, “Go to her place then.”

“What?”

The assistant shrugged their shoulders, “Go to her place. Ask her out.”

He coughed out, “She doesn’t wanna see me.”

“Ask her face to face, get confirmation. If she really doesn’t wanna see you then, fine. But try at least! Fight for her!” their encouragement send Jude into a full dedicated state. Already having a full plan in his head.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Screen lights from the tv illuminated your already dark room with a movie playing in the background. You really should be asleep right now. But your mind was too cloudy with a certain, seriously attractive, very sweet and nice footballer. 

What did you think was gonna happen?

Getting into a friends-with-benefits with someone you harboured a big fat crush on was not the brightest idea. 

Jude is a bigshot footballer, everyones’ starboy, all he needs to do is smile and all girls fall to his feet (including you). The strategy of pushing him away was pretty solid, considering that he might not even notice that you haven’t been replying to his texts. 

He probably has hundreds of girls on his phone anyways.

Not that you care, he can do whatever he wants, he’s not your boyfriend. 

Not your boyfriend. 

Then why does it still bother you?

A sudden knock, broke you out of your spiralling session, shooting your heart rate up. Who knocks at 2 in the morning?

A buzz from your phone alerted you.

—

bellingham :)

I’m outside your apartment

I need to talk to you

—

You contemplated opening the door, what do you even say to him? Another knock. 

Another buzz.

—

bellingham :)

Please.

—

The door swung open and Jude was met with the sight of you, with tired eyes and a scowl on your face. You don't look too happy seeing him, and he doesn't blame you.

“Are you insane?! What do you want, Jude? It’s two in the morning!” you huffed out, taking his wrist and pulling him inside. You do not want to get a complaint from your old cranky neighbours. 

Both of your hands tingle the second it touches, fingers twitching as you hope the other doesn't notice. You move to pause the movie, hands gravitating towards the blanket on your couch before draping it around your shoulders. Trying to cover up your well-loved worn pyjamas.

You look like a mess. 

Jude’s hand sweats in his pockets, his heart was pounding after finally being in your presence. With your messy hair, pretty droopy eyes, paired with your profile being highlighted by the tv. His heart rate shoots up when your eyes meet his. 

You look really pretty.

Focus, Bellingham!

He awkwardly coughs, trying to cut the thick tension in the room, “You still watching that show?” he voiced out, hand gesturing to the tv behind you. 

It was a show recommendation from him. You had made fun of it at first, but then the plot was too good to be ignored, you needed to know how it ends. 

You shrugged your shoulders, “Yeah, I was curious.” voice small as your hands tightened around the blanket, bringing comfort to you.

A beat of awkward silence went on.

And Jude has had enough of it and decided to go for it, head first, no thoughts.

"Why are you ignoring me?" he finally said, saddened brown eyes met yours. You can feel your defence chip away the more you look at him.

You avert your eyes immediately, trying to formulate words, "I'm busy."

"That you ghosted me for three days straight?" he scoffed.

"Jude-"

"I don't think you understand how much you’re in my head." his voice shook, heart trembling in his chest, “I wake up and my first thought is to check if you have texted me back and you know how embarrassing it is to not see anything?"

You scoffed, “So this is about your ego?”

“No! I didn’t say that–“

Another scoff, "Jude don’t lie, you get messages every single day. Your notifications are always flooded! Don’t act like I’m suddenly special!” you rolled your eyes, lungs burning with anger.

His face contorted into confusion before turning into hurt, “Did I give you that impression? That I don't care because you’re not special?” Jude’s voice cracked, maybe it was your head playing tricks but you swore his eyes were glossy with tears. 

Anymore second looking at him than you might just break. 

“Jude-” you started.

“Because I do! I’ll buy you more flowers, pick up your favourite coffee, watch those reality shows that you love so much, we can have a picnic or even a fancy dinner!” he rambled, hands animated as his feet started to move towards you, eyes pleading. “I really want this to work. I want to be in your life, as your boyfriend.” 

The distance between two got so small that you can feel his warm breath hitting your lips, sending a shiver down your spine.

He smells like mint.

Did he chew one before he got here?

The call of your name hits your ears, his voice soft and sweet. You really like how he says your name. You miss it. You like him. You miss him.

“Please say something.” Jude whispered, eyes involuntarily dropping to your lips, cheeks warming under his gaze.

“I really really like you.” you softly said, nothing but a whisper but it sends just into cloud nine.

His eyes shined, mouth already opening to say something before you cut him off.

“But-“

His heart dropped.

“But?”

“Jude, you can literally have anyone you want in the world!” you raised your voice. Tears pricking at the edge of your eyes. Why does he have to be so complicated? Why won’t he understand that you will never be enough for him?

By now, he can have a general sense on why you ghosted him. You have been insecure and worried ever since this little relationship started. Jude partly understands it, his popularity is intense and the media is poking at every nook and cranny of his life. Judging at the littlest things he does.

But he also doesn’t understand because-

“But, I want you! Don’t want anyone else!” he exclaimed, big calloused hands move to the sides of your face, thumb softly running on your cheeks. “I want you.” he added, softly pressing a kiss at the apple of both of your cheeks.

A lovesick smile broke out on your face before you can even control yourself. “I want you too.”

Jude eyes twinkled at the sight. His heart elevates in the process. Was this a dream?

“Pinch me.” he snickered.

Your hands move around his waist to pinch his skin, “Dork.” you giggled, his smile getting wider at the sound.

A comforting silence blankets over you both. Smitten eyes staring at each other with heavy yearning. Hearts fully enamoured with the other.

A soft kiss was planted on your lips, tender and gentle as his hands moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. He can’t get enough of you.

Your whole body was on fire. It has been so long since you both got together.

“Jude-“

“Mhm.” he hummed, lips still pressing against yours. His hands wander to wrap around your waist. It feels like he wants to eat you whole.

He definitely does.

You carefully pull away, chuckling at the small whine that leaves him as he chases you again, “It’s late.” you affectionately scolded.

“Let’s go to sleep then.”

“Together?” you teased.

“Yes, please.”

Well, how can you say no to that?

reblog for a kiss <3

[smartkookiee]

Vampire Boy || Ch.1 - jjk.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ 𓆩♱𓆪 pairing: vampire!Jungkook x human!Reader (afab, she/her) 𓆩♱𓆪 content: 18+ explicit content, established relationship au 𓆩♱𓆪 chapter warning/tags: golden retriever vampire boyfriend jk, "27"jk 26 reader, vampire activities, blood drinking, fluff, some angst, SMUT, blood kink?? Oh they are so in love its disgusting, so much domesticity in this chapter, I love them I'm sobbing, VAMPIRE NEW YEARS, big gatsby like party, this party is crazy extravagant, like blood and money galore, little bit of gore this chapter (nothing serious), drinking, swearing, intoxication, crying, reader is a librarian, vampire history and vampire war, angsty moment for yoongi and monique, yoongi history, Jungkook really likes your blood, my own vampire rules??, Jungkook is so whipped, y/n is a little bit of a brat, they are soooo down bad for each other, vampire!Jimin, vampire!Jin, vampire!Hoseok, vampire!Yoongi, other vampire characters (the girlies) unprotected sex (Jungkook literally cannot get y/n pregnant), cream pie, fingering, dick riding, so much kissing, hickies (sort of), blood drinking during sex, god they cannot stay off each other like CHILL (lmao), discussion of feeding on animals and people, this chapter is LOOONNGGG but so fun and I loved writing it 𓆩♱𓆪word count: 23.8K 𓆩♱𓆪Series Masterlist𓆩♱𓆪 𓆩♱𓆪 Next Chapter𓆩♱𓆪 𓆩♱𓆪 PLAYLIST 𓆩♱𓆪 𓆩♱𓆪If you want to be added to the tag list comment on this post!! fic crossposted to ao3 𓆩♱𓆪a/n: THANK YOU SO MUCH TO EVERYONE WHO WAITED SO PATIENTLY FOR THIS. I HOPE THIS FIRST CHAPTER IS TO YOUR LIKING IF YOU SEE ANY MISTAKES NO YO DIDN'T<3 ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Fumbling with your keys, you tried to wedge them between your fingers, your pocketknife a reassuring weight in your other pocket. It was late, dark, and winter had a way of making everything eerily silent.

Tonight, you were in charge of closing the library. Your coworkers lived in opposite directions, leaving you to navigate the cold streets alone. Two routes lay before you: the long way, well-lit but littered with rowdy bar-goers and men who were a little too comfortable getting a little too close, or the shortcut through the dimly lit alley but was a straight shot to the other side. One was safer but full of potential annoyances; the other was just outright stupid.

Cold nipped at your exposed skin, and you shivered. You could already hear the noise from up the street and you didn’t have the energy to fight anyone off tonight. Nope. Not worth it tonight. You turned up the street and ducked into the alley, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself.

Quick and easy. No stopping. Don’t look at anything.

The sound of rain dripping from pipes and rooftops was all you could hear. It masked everything else, which, in hindsight, made it even worse because now you couldn’t hear what you were actively trying to keep an ear out for. Until—

Clang.

Could have been an animal but you knew better though. You could tell, someone was definitely behind you. As light on their feet as they were, you could pick out the steps they took. 

You reach into your pocket. Pulling out the knife. Slipping it open and gripping it tight in your hand. Not your best self defense weapon it works for a good scare. 

“All right let’s get this over with.” You mutter under your breath twisting around on your heel, the person was obscured, the darkness surrounding them. “Might as well show yourself.” 

The dark figure stepped out into the alleyway. Taking a wide stance, placing their hands on their hips. Superhero. You cocked an eyebrow before they spoke in a low rumbling tone, “I’m Batman.” 

Realization settled over you and all of your nerves faded away instantly. 

“Jungkook!” You whined. Folding your knife back up looking down and putting it back in your pocket. His presence appears next to you with a push of the wind around you. 

“Hi baby.” Jungkook snaked his arms around your waist pulling you into him. Kissing you on the cheek. Nudging his nose into your neck and breathing in deeply. Taking in all of your scent. “God you smell good.” 

This is Jungkook, your boyfriend, and evidently a vampire. 

“You know you scared the shit out of me?” You hit him in the shoulder, trying to shove him away but failing. His eyes were wide and his red irises dilated with intent. He had a shit eating grin plastered across his face as well as he pulled his face away from you. 

“I’m sorry. I seem to recall you promising me you wouldn’t cut through dark sketchy alleyways anymore.” He pouts but his tone was serious, you roll your eyes. You manage to pull yourself away and continue down the alley, Jungkook right on your tail. 

“I seem to recall you saying you wouldn’t check up on me like this after work.” You cross your arms over yourself preserving the warmth you had.

 “I was out and I was going to walk with you as a surprise! Then I saw you duck into the alleyway.” His hand looped through one of your arms and around your elbow, pulling it free from its fold. “This century has phones baby, I may be old but I know how it all works. Just call me next time you don’t feel safe.” 

You let out an annoyed sigh, knowing he’s right. “I know I know. It was stupid and I was just trying to make it back quick tonight. I know it was stupid.” 

“I just want you to get home in one piece please.” Jungkook whined, sliding his hand down to wrap his hand in yours. Cold fingertips enveloping your fingers. “I’m also not the only vampire in these parts”

“You’re all cold.” Holding his cold fingers between both of your paths to warm them up. You tease trying to lighten the mood and it seems to work some. A small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Mmm, well I have you now to warm me up.” Not that Jungkook could tell the difference but you definitely could. 

Vampires weren’t just ice cold like in the movies. Their temperature adapted to their surroundings like bottles of water. Fresh blood warmed them up, heaters helped, but they couldn’t actually feel the temperature. Jungkook made an effort to stay warm for you, though. You were hot blooded and having a boyfriend that stayed roughly 20 degrees colder, he tried to warm himself up just enough for you. 

Because of that, that’s how you noticed it; his fingers trembled slightly, which was definitely not a reaction to the cold air outside.

“You’re shaky.” You frowned, the quivering clear.

"...Just a little hungry." Jungkook shook his head, rolling his shoulders, as if he could shake off the craving, bury it beneath sheer willpower.

You frowned, your gaze flicking to his hands. "You get the shakes when you push it too far. You should go get something to eat. I’m sure there are some drunk guys back there you could snack on."

He exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes. "It's fine. I'll eat when we get home."

But you knew better.

You knew the way his pupils dilated too wide the moment he saw you. How his gaze kept flickering to your throat, your wrist, anywhere he could hear it. Feel it. The steady, pulsing rhythm of your heartbeat drumming against his restraint.

Jungkook was careful, always careful. But hunger had a way of gnawing at even the most controlled instincts. You saw it in the way his jaw tensed, how his fingers flexed, how his breath stuttered just slightly every time you moved too close.

He was trying so hard to ignore it.

Trying not to listen to the blood rushing beneath your skin.

Trying not to stare.

“Just take some of mine tonight.” Your voice cut through the noise of your own blood. 

Jungkook perked up a little, eyes dilating further. “Really?” 

“Don’t get too excited, just a little bit. I still have to work tomorrow.” You smirked, dragging him along behind you.

Jungkook tilts his head, “You make it sound like I only see you as a blood bank or something.” He looks down to his feet and a pout on his lips. You stop his train of thought though and bring both of your hands to both of his cheeks.

“I’m teasing.” You rub his cheeks with your thumbs, the coldness seeping away with the warmth you present them. “Take what you need vampire boy. Are you going to sit here and act like you’re not excited about it?” 

He nods his head from side to side, chewing on his bottom lip. A hint of a fang peaking out. “Anything to do with you makes me excited.” 

“Don’t be gross.” You shove him again, but he doesn’t let you go. “Let’s get home and you can take what you need.” 

Jungkook hesitated but you had that determined look in your eyes. You weren’t going to let this go so easily, “Fine, but I’m having some other blood first!”

There was a certain giddiness in your steps now.“Oh I’m gonna sleep so good tonight.”

“That should not be the main reason to let me drink from you!” Jungkook protested and you dragged him along the streets swinging your connected hands. A small giggle falling from your lips.

You really didn’t mind when he drank off of you and you really did get the best sleep after since you would be literally drained. Jungkook never understood how you couldn’t really mind doing it but he didn’t find much he was surprised with you anymore. 

Your ability to just be so cool and casual about the vampire things sometimes still throws him off though. He also loved it that you were just so cool because a lot of people weren’t and have not been. You had a certain curiosity and willingness to learn. 

None of it scared you, it was actually cool to learn that vampires were real. Although you didn’t really initially believe it when Jungkook told you what he was. 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Two and a half years ago.

Jungkook was extremely nervous. 

This was a conversation he had meant to have for a long time. A year, maybe longer. He always found reasons to delay it, to avoid it. It wasn’t going to be a problem telling you; he had gotten the go-ahead from everyone. Actually, he’d had it for over a year now, but their approval didn’t matter. What mattered was what came after he told you.

Were you going to freak out? Would you believe him? Would you be mad? 

A million different scenarios had run through his head all week about how this could go. The possibilities gnawed at him so deeply that he had unintentionally been avoiding you. Not responding to texts or calls as quickly. Avoiding hanging out or dates. It was entirely out of character. The longest the two of you had ever gone without seeing each other was five days, and that was only because of a vacation. Now, over a week had passed, and his silence was suffocating you.

You didn’t think anything was wrong but this sudden distance and silence from Jungkook was freaking you out. Had you done something or said something to make Jungkook mad? Did you do something that was upsetting? Was he just not feeling it anymore? You had broached the topic of moving in together recently and you wondered if that had made Jungkook uneasy.  Everything seemed fine up until now. Almost perfect even, then suddenly Jungkook had completely closed himself off. 

You were jumping to the worst conclusions, the biggest one, a break up. Which is what you had been emotionally preparing for. Jungkook was going to dump you and you would just have to deal with that. Easily, you could already feel this would be the biggest break up of your life. The both of you had already shared and done so much together, you couldn’t imagine giving yourself to someone else the same way. 

That’s when Jungkook said he wanted to come over tonight to talk about something, you were doing everything in your power to keep yourself composed. You had been shaking and anxious since you got the text. 

Even worse when you get the knock on the door. 

With your hands still shaking and your heart pounding in your ears. You twist the knob and pull the door open, Jungkook standing with a soft smile on his face standing in front of you. The smile disarming you slightly. 

“Hi.” You said, forcing a smile back as you tried to hide the storm brewing inside you.

“Hi baby.” Jungkook hesitates a step forward, but can sense some unease coming from you. “Can I come in?” 

You hadn’t realized that you hadn’t opened the door enough that he could enter. You clear your throat, “Yes… obviously.” You open the door and step to the side so he can come in. The pet name was a good sign but you are still on edge. 

As he walked in, the silence in your studio apartment felt deafening. Every creak of the floorboards, every breath you took, seemed to echo. You closed the door, the sound reverberating through the small space, amplifying the tension. Jungkook paused in the middle of the room, uncharacteristically quiet, his steps heavy with unspoken words.

You moved around him, trying to read his face. He looked tired and conflicted, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip. He avoided your gaze. With your anxiety spiking, you retreated to the bed, the only real place to sit in your tiny space. Perched on the edge, you gripped the blanket beneath you like a lifeline.

“You wanted to talk?” Your voice was a little hoarse. Feeling like your entire body was about to start shaking. 

Jungkook nodded, his fingers fidgeting as if searching for something to anchor him. “I… I don’t really know how to say this.” He began, pacing back and forth. “I’ve been thinking about this for so long, and now that I’m here, I… I don’t know how.”

The growing sense of dread in your chest felt unbearable. You couldn’t take it anymore. “If…” You paused, swallowing the lump in your throat. “If you’re just going to dump me, please don’t drag it out. Just say it.”

Jungkook's eyes widened for a moment, “What?” 

You look at him, seeing the visible confusion on his face. “That’s what this is right? You wanted to talk… and that typically means you want to end things.” 

“Y/N.” Jungkook starts but with a wave of your hand you cut him off. 

“No, it’s okay. If that’s what this is, it's fine, just please don’t make me wait to hear it.” You hadn’t realised but you were digging your fingers into your mattress now. So hard your knuckles had gone white.

Jungkook paused for a second before he laughed, tilting his head. Eyes sympathetic.  “Oh baby.” He comes over and kneels on the ground in front of you. 

“Don’t laugh at me.” You whine, his smile felt almost mocking now. 

“I’m not laughing at you. I’m not breaking up with you.” Jungkook sighs, he reaches and takes your hands in yours. Lacing your fingers together, “I love you, I don’t want to break up.” 

You stay silent, his face has returned to its familiar soft nature versus the stressed one a moment ago. He wasn’t lying. “What?” 

“We aren’t breaking up.” Jungkook kisses both of your hands, soothingly. Holding them close. Watching your face morph from concern to relaxation as his words settle in. “Why would you think that?”

You let out a heavy sigh you didn’t realize you were holding in, “Oh… is asked about moving in. I thought I had freaked you out or something and you were going to bolt.” 

Jungkook laughed some more, just a quiet laugh under his breath. “You really think asking me to move in together freaked me out? We basically live together already.” 

Your mouth falls into a pout, “I don’t know! You were all quiet and weird! I didn’t see you at all this week and you were barely talking to me!” You lay back on your bed, covering your face with your hands. Maybe you did jump to too many conclusions, but all the behavior this week was weird. 

Jungkook gets to his feets but lays down next to you on your bed. “I do have something to tell you and it is serious. I just didn’t know how I wanted to tell you yet so I didn’t want to talk to you until I figured out how I wanted to do it.” He rested his hand on your stomach, wanting to pull you closer but letting you stay where you were. 

You peak between your fingers to look at him. Jungkook's eyes are full of love only for you and no malicious intent behind them. “Is it going to give me a heart attack? Like the one you almost just gave me?” 

Jungkook shakes his head. “Might be confusing but hopefully no heart attack.” 

“Well tell me. I can handle basically any news now.” You both sit back up on your bed. You pull your legs under you so your legs are crossed together. 

Jungkook paused. Now he really had to face the music. You could tell whatever it was really was serious and probably wasn’t going to be easy. He just needed to do it. He just needed to rip the bandaid off and say it. Get it off his chest. There was no easy way, and he would spend a lifetime explaining if he needed to. 

“Okay.” He stayed quiet for a moment, “I-... shit this is hard.” 

You watched as he figured this out in his mind. You could tell he was really jumping through hoops. You, trying to break the tension, say, “You’re not pregnant right? I’m not ready to be a dad.”

You laugh at your own joke but Jungkook just rolls his eyes with a smile. Knowing you aren’t serious and just trying to make this easier. Jungkook continues, “This is serious!”

“Sorry. Take your time. You know you can tell me anything.” You say with sincerity, reaching a hand to rub his arm. 

“I know.” He nodded, “Everything… will be different. Everything will change.” 

“Okay, now you are really making me nervous.” You shift uncomfortably on the bed, you really hoped something wasn’t wrong. Like he was sick or something.

He looks between your eyes for a moment, the whole nature of the relationship you two had may just crumble in a moment. Everything that you knew would suddenly be unknown. That terrified him. He couldn’t predict what would happen next. He can say everything perfect and could be just right and still not know what you would say next. 

Just say it.

“I’m… I’m a vampire.” Jungkook whispers.

Your eyebrows knit together not fully hearing him, “What?”

Jungkook takes in a long long deep breath, meeting your eyes. “I’m a vampire.”

Silence fell over the room. Neither of you said a thing, you were just staring between Jungkook's eyes. Trying to find a lie. Trying to find a reason? Because this surely had to be a joke. He had to be joking. 

“Honey.” Jungkook places a hand on your knee for a moment. You reflexively pull it back. 

“Wow.” You say, a small shake to your head. A certain mistiness to your eyes. “I’ve heard a lot of excuses but this really takes the cake.” You stand up from the bed back facing to Jungkook. His face contorted into concern watching you. 

“What? What are you talking about?” Jungkook moves so he’s sitting on the side of the bed now. 

You turn around, clear hurt in your eyes. “You know it actually would have been kinder to just dump me versus saying something insane to get me to dump you. If that’s what you want then—”

Jungkook stands for a moment, pausing your train of thought. “I’m-I’m not lying though.” 

“Yeah, right. I’m a vampire. That’s rich.” You start laughing at the ridiculousness of it. Trying to overwhelm the pain forming in your chest. 

“Have I ever given you a reason to think I’m lying? Have I ever given you any reason to doubt me?” Jungkook steps toward you and you stand your ground. You don’t answer him but just shake your head. You looked angry and so he was thinking of anything he could do. “Why would I suddenly make up a wild story to get you to break up with me?” 

You let out a noise of annoyance,“Because you wanted an easy way out, I don’t know!” A small huff trailing behind your words. 

Jungkook places both of his hands on your shoulders, “Y/N this is real. I’m telling you the truth. I love you, I would never lie to you about something like this. I am… a vampire. I’m not trying to make an excuse, this is real.” His grip was tight on you, tighter than you had ever felt before. Unnaturally so.

Nothing in the way he was speaking seemed like a lie. No malice or farce, which was the part that was confusing you the most. It was completely sincere. As far as you had known he had never lied to you. That little voice of self preservation was still ringing in your mind though, telling you to get out. To run. “If… Well… Then… Then prove it.” 

“What?”

“If you’re a vampire then there are surely ways to prove it… So prove it.” You look into his eyes now. If he had any chance of saving this it was now, he had to show you everything or else you would be done. Which he was more than ready to do.

Jungkook’s mouth did move but you very distinctly heard him say, Okay. Like an echo inside your mind you almost couldn’t convince yourself he hadn’t just said it.

He brought his hands up to his eyes, pinching something, contacts. He took them from both eyes, pulling out a contact lens case from a pocket and placing them back in respectively. Jungkook lifted his head again to reveal not the dark brown ones you were so used to but ones that were a deep crimson. Could almost look brown in certain lights, but they were definitely red. Then Jungkook opened his mouth and you watched as two sets of fangs detracted down over where his k9’s were. Two long and what you could only imagine were incredibly sharp fangs.

Jungkook just took in your reaction, you blinked a few times standing in silence. No change in expression to show what you were thinking or feeling. The sweet boy you had come to know and love had transformed in front of your eyes. Although his new features seemed to initiate a fight or flight response in you, Jungkook could sense it. He tried to reach out to you but you flinched, just enough for him to notice. 

He wanted desperately to bring you closer, but he needed to let you take it all in.

“I know. It’s… a lot. I just couldn’t keep it a secret anymore—” 

“This is so cool!” Your face morphed into a look of complete fascination. Voice shooting up and octave. Your sudden change in demeanor threw Jungkook off, you took quick steps toward him and suddenly you were pushing him to sit on the bed again. You fingers swiftly move into his mouth holding his lips up away from his gums, inspecting his teeth. 

Jungkook sat dumbfounded and eyes wide for a moment, he wasn’t prepared nor expecting this kind of outburst. You were gripping onto each side of his head, Moving it from side to side so you could get a good look at them. They were pretty big and seemed to just come out of nowhere from the roof of his mouth. Completely replaced where his regular teeth were. They were pretty and almost seemed to fit him more naturally than his regular teeth. Your thumbs were still pulling at his lips revealing his gums, viewing where the fangs hide. 

“So these just retract and detract? Do you do it on command? Does it hurt?” You say as your lean your eyes close into his mouth viewing the anatomy. Jungkook stifled a laugh because he wasn’t really able to get words out with your thumbs in his mouth. You traced one of them with your thumbs, but accidentally pricked yourself on the end of it. “Okay, sharper than I thought.” 

The smell of your blood being so close to Jungkook's nose made his pupils dilate instantly, you watched it happen but Jungkook kept himself still. It was always a natural reaction to blood. 

“Careful.” Jungkook pushed your hands away while holding your wrists in his hands. “They hide up inside of my skull and I can do it on command. It doesn’t hurt anymore though.” 

“Show me again.” You smile, a small hint of anticipation lacing your voice. “Please?” 

Jungkook nods, opening his mouth. He releases one of your hands so you can push back his lip again with your thumb. As Jungkook pushes his fangs in and out of their place and you can visibly see how they move up and down. You were completely mesmerized by the action. Just watching his fangs seems to take their rightful place in his mouth. It was so weird to watch but also extremely fascinating. You let his lip go at a certain point once your curiosity had been satisfied. Jungkook traced the inside of his lips with his tongue to comfort the muscle that had been forced back.

You found your fascination had moved from his teeth back to his eyes. “You wore color contacts this whole time?” Your hands found their way to his cheeks, looking between his eyes. Tracing, with your eyes, the new unfamiliar color that lined them. These were his real eyes. 

“Can’t exactly walk around with red eyes without some suspicion or stares.” Jungkook smiled, he could relax again, placing his hands on the side of your body as you just observed him. No, inspected him, like you were in a lab. He didn’t mind, you could ask him anything and he will tell you whatever you want. 

You were still stuck on his eyes. They were such a dark red, velvety. They suited him well. The same ones you had looked at so many times but now you were actually seeing them. “They’re beautiful.” 

“Really?” His heart felt like it skipped a beat in his chest, your first complement of his true appearance.

“I love them. They’re… I don’t even have the words. They’re… you. This is you.” Because this is the first time you really were seeing him, seeing him for everything. You thought you knew him before but it was all complete now. 

“This is me.” Jungkook whispered, a weight finally being taken away from him. No more hiding. 

You just stand there quietly staring at him, imprinting this moment in your memory. Taking in every detail. But you couldn’t help but have a million different things also running through your mind. A million different questions and a million thoughts about what this means now. 

Jungkook could see you running through every question in your mind, just waiting for you to ask. He had nothing in his head though, nothing he wanted to think about. You were here, and you weren’t mad. You were here and you were excited. You were still here and you weren’t sending him away. 

“I have just… so many things I want to ask.” You rock a little bit on your feet. Anticipation eating you from the inside out. 

“Ask anything. I’ll tell you whatever you want.” Jungkook jumped on the end of your sentence, eager, insistent. He wanted to give you every answer. He would give you everything.

“Well… uhh… I don’t know. Um.” Your mind flipped through every vampire story you had ever heard, sifting through myths and legends, trying to figure out where to start. “Okay. Speed? Strength? Is that real, or just a fairy tale?”

“That’s all real.” Jungkook said without hesitation. “I’ve actually been faking straining when I pick up heavy things for you. It doesn’t feel like anything.” He shrugged, as if admitting to a harmless prank.

“Really? Show me!” Excitement bubbled up in your chest, making you bounce slightly on your heels.

Jungkook grinned, standing from the bed with a casual ease. He turned, scanning your apartment, his sharp gaze flicking over every object. His eyes landed on your massive wooden dresser. The one that had nearly killed you when you first moved in, requiring the help of two friends and a ridiculous amount of cursing just to get it through the door.

Without hesitation, Jungkook strode toward it. He crouched slightly, slipping both hands beneath the base, but there was no visible effort. No tensed muscles, no grunt of exertion; just an easy, almost lazy movement as he lifted it clean off the floor. The dresser, heavy enough to crush a human, might as well have been a stack of pillows in his grip.

“See?” He turned his head toward you, lifting it up and down a few times as if he were curling a dumbbell at the gym. He even tossed it lightly into the air, barely an inch, just enough to make your stomach lurch with the thought of it crashing down, before catching it again.

Your mouth fell open.

"Holy shit.”

Jungkook grinned and set the dresser back in place with an almost exaggerated gentleness, as if it were made of glass. His hands lingered on it for a moment before he turned back to you, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

“This is so cool! I never have to lift anything ever again.” You said, your mind still struggling to process what you had just seen. “I’ll just have you do it.”

“Oh yeah?” He was suddenly in front of you, closing the space in an instant, his presence comforting despite what you thought vampires were supposed to be. “Am I your pack mule now?”

“Only for the really heavy stuff.” You teased, tilting your head up at him.

Jungkook chuckled, his fangs barely flashing as his smile grew. Then his hands came up, cupping your face with a gentleness that contradicted the sheer, terrifying strength you had just witnessed. His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones, grounding you in the moment.

“Ask me more.” He said, his voice softer now. “Please. I want to answer all of your questions. No matter how long it takes.” 

Your heart pounded against your ribs.

“This is just so insane. You really are… a vampire.” The words left your lips like an exhale, the weight of them heavy in the air.

Jungkook just smiled, his hands never leaving your face. “Yeah,” He murmured. “and you’re not scared.”

It wasn’t a question. It was an observation, one that made something deep inside you shift.

Because he was right. You weren’t scared. You were fascinated.

“For how long?” You asked, studying him carefully. “Are you actually twenty-seven?”

Jungkook’s lips pressed together for a moment. Then he shook his head, his eyes briefly flicking away before he forced himself to meet your gaze again. “I’m… much older.”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes. “How much older?”

“Five hundred and twenty-three.”

Silence.

Your mouth parted slightly, your mind struggling to wrap itself around the number. Five hundred. And twenty-three. Your eyes widened as the realization fully sank in, and before you could stop yourself, a small, disbelieving laugh bubbled out of you. You clapped your hands over your mouth.

“Oh my god.” Another breathy laugh. “You’re so old!”

Jungkook’s expression immediately twisted into one of betrayal, his brows knitting together. “Hey!”

You dropped your hands, grinning at his wounded look. “Cradle robber.”

“Stop.”

“Sorry, I just didn’t realize I was dating a man with both feet literally in the grave!”

“Y/N!” Jungkook groaned, his head dropping forward in exaggerated defeat. He pouted, lips forming the perfect shape of a complaint. You giggled, the sound light and unbothered, before reaching up to pull his face closer. You pressed small, playful kisses along his jaw, his cheekbones, the tip of his nose. Each one chasing away the wounded puppy look on his face. Replaced with a crooked smile. 

“I just needed to get it out! I promise it’s fine!” You laugh some more to Jungkook's dismay, but you settle for a moment and another thought creeps in. “Is that strange? You’ve seen the world change so many times.” You rub your hands up and down his arms in a soothing motion.

Jungkook’s hands found your waist, his thumbs brushing absentmindedly along your sides. “It’s funny… it’s just normal now.” His voice softened, more thoughtful. “I think I’ve liked this century the best so far. I miss certain things about the past, but I also don’t.” His dark eyes searched yours, as if debating whether to say more. “It’s exciting to see what will become of humans.”

A strange, quiet feeling settled over you. You couldn’t even begin to imagine it. Seeing wars begin and end. Cities rise and fall. Watching humanity evolve and adapt, century after century, while you remained unchanged.

You swallowed. “Are you the only one?”

Jungkook shakes his head, “No.”

You leaned in a little, your fingers tightening slightly on his arms. “How many are there?”

“In the world?” He tilted his head, considering the scope of your question.

“Sure.” You shrugged, though that wasn’t exactly what you meant.

He exhaled, brows furrowing as he thought. “Uhhh, maybe a few thousand? Not an exact number, but there are more than you’d think.”

“Huh. Anyone we know?” You narrow your eyes, already suspecting the answer. There’s no way Jungkook is the only one in your friend group.

He hesitates for a moment, then nods. “Yes.”

“Who?” You demand, your voice rising slightly.

“Jimin… and Jin… and Hobi.” Jungkook starts, then hesitates again, as if debating whether to continue.

“I knew it!” You leap to your feet, nearly toppling over in your excitement. Jungkook reaches out to steady you, his hands firm on your arms as you wobble on the uneven mattress. “The first time I met Jin, I was like, ‘If there’s anyone in this world who’s a vampire, it’s that guy!’”

Jungkook chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I think he told me about that.”

Your enthusiasm falters for a moment. “Wait, told you? I don’t think I told anyone that.”

“Yeah… He read your thoughts.”

“What!” You exclaim, your voice jumping an octave.

“Yeah… we can read thoughts.” Jungkook admits, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Oh my god.” You collapse back onto the bed, your hands covering your face. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Why?” Jungkook leans over you, his face hovering above yours, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

You sit up on your elbows, glaring at him. “I’ve… not exactly had the purest thoughts about you… in the presence of our friends…” Jungkook lets his head drop with a laugh, his shoulders shaking. You groan and push him away with your foot against his chest. “This is mortifying! If any of them read my thoughts, they know what a freak I am!”

“I don’t think they need to read your thoughts to know that.” Jungkook teases, dodging your half-hearted kick.

“Jungkook!” You shout, grabbing a pillow from on your bed, throwing it at him.

“What!” He laughs, catching the pillow effortlessly. Then let it fall to the floor. 

“This is the worst part about all of this!” You wail, flopping back onto the bed. Your melodrama filling the room but it seems to not phase Jungkook whatsoever.

“No one cares!” He reassures you, sitting down beside you.

“I do!” You insist, covering your face again.

“If anyone would care, it might be Monique.” Jungkook adds casually, as if he wasn’t dropping another bombshell.

“What?” You bolt upright again, your eyes wide.

“Yeah… uhh, that was the other thing. Monique is a vampire too.”

“What?”

“Oh and your friend Rehna… also a vampire. Young but she’s one too.” 

“I think this may literally be too much information.” You mutter, staring aimlessly up at your ceiling. Your voice quieter now. “So has everyone just been laughing at me for not knowing?” 

“Not at all.” Jungkook says quickly, his tone soft. He lays down next to you and reaches an arm over you, pulling you into him. “They all love you. It’s just in our nature to hide what we are. It doesn’t always go well when humans find out.”

“Am I going to get in trouble for knowing?” You ask, turning your head to face him. A sudden worry creeping into your voice.

“What do you mean?” Jungkook frowns.

“Well, okay, not to reference movie vampires, but typically there are rules for telling humans. You either have to turn me, or kill me, or something. I don’t know.”

Jungkook blinked. Then, to your surprise, he laughed—a soft, rich sound that made the knot in your chest loosen just a little. He shook his head, “No. There are no rules or laws for what we do or who we tell. We have traditions, but no laws.”

“Okay, so I’m not going to get hunted down by, like, a vampire government now?” you ask, only half-joking.

“No. Maybe by other vampires, but that’s for food. You probably stink like me anyways, so no one will touch you.” Jungkook said it so casual as if he didn’t need to explain what that meant.

“I stink?” You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, glaring at him.

“It’s more like a scent.” Jungkook explains, his voice softening. “Vampires have their own, and humans have their own.”

“Do I smell bad?” You ask, suddenly self-conscious.

“Not at all.” Jungkook says, his voice dropping to a low. “To me, you smell amazing.” He wiggles his eyebrows up and down and you shove his shoulder away from you in annoyance.

“Is that because I’m food? Technically?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes and no.” He admits. Rolling back your direction. “I’m in love with you, so I always want to be around you and near you. You also have the same blood type I did when I was human, so that draws me to you.”

“Well, at least I don’t smell bad.” You mutter, crossing your arms.

“Well, Hobi thinks you smell bad.” Jungkook adds with a grin. “You have his least favorite blood type.”

“Oh, well, that’s just great.” You reply dryly.

“It’s not a bad thing.” Jungkook reassures you. “It just means he’s less likely to snack on you.”

“Okay, wait.” You say, holding up a hand. “So you can smell blood, read minds, and have super strength and speed. Do you guys have other powers?”

“That’s where the differences start to come in.” Jungkook explains. “Every vampire has different skills beyond those. Some develop early, some with age and time, and some with practice.”

“What’s yours?” You ask, intrigued. He had to have something and you knew it had to be good.

“Mine is… sort of similar to a siren.” He says, his voice taking on a mysterious edge.

“Are sirens real too?” You press, leaning a bit too close, “Not the point, continue.” 

“I have to sing for it to work.” Jungkook hesitates for a moment but then explains. “It sort of casts a spell on the person I’m targeting. It’s mostly for luring in easy prey, but I can use it for other reasons too—alter memories, issue commands, or access knowledge about the person and their body. The person never remembers they’ve been affected by it afterward.”

You pause, a thought occurring to you. “Have you ever used it on me?”

Jungkook nods, his expression turning serious and he chewed on his lips for a moment.. “...Just once. It was on that trip we took months ago. I had to bring food for myself, and it was more than usual. More than would be easy to hide or explain. So I… used it to alter your memory of the food. Instead of blood bags, you remember regular food.”

You paused realizing the weight of what he was just telling you. Although a small occurrence, he had to alter a part of your memories. You think back on it and try to see if maybe you did remember anything different, the only other thing you really remember from that trip is Jungkook getting extreme food poisoning. 

“I wasn’t ready to tell you yet.” Jungkook continues, his voice tinged with guilt. “I wanted to stay… us a little longer because I was so afraid of how it would change things. I got so sick the night I did it because I felt so guilty. I promised when we started dating I would never use any of my powers on you…”

“How come?” You ask softly.

“Because… I knew whatever this was, it was… I don’t know. What we have is good… and is like one of the only good things I’ve found in a long time.” He says, his eyes locking onto yours. “I wanted it all to be real—no powers, no manipulation. Just me… and just you. No tricks.”

You both sit in silence looking at each other, before you completely breeze by his small moment of vulnerability. “You said you had food poisoning.” You recall, your voice barely above a whisper.

“It felt like it at the time.” Jungkook nods, thinking back on it. He really did get sick to his stomach. The guilt ade bringing all that blood almost a complete waste. “I felt so guilty because I never want to hide things from you. Ever.”

“I’m sorry you had to do that.” You say, reaching out to take his hand.

“No, you don’t need to apologize.” He squeezes your hand gently. “I just wish I’d told you sooner. If I’d known it would go this well, I probably would have told you in the first month.”

“I might have been scared in the first month.” You admit with a small laugh. “Might have run away out of self preservation.” 

“That’s why I waited.” He says, smiling softly. “But then I kept waiting and waiting for the right moment and I got more anxious.”

“Well… now I know.” You say, laying on your side next to him again. Your faces so close together, 

“Now you know.” He echoes, wrapping an arm around you.

“How do you eat? What do you eat? Human? Animal?” You ask after a moment, your curiosity resurfacing.

“Human blood and animal blood. Animal blood more often.” He explains. “Lots of vampires work at blood banks.”

“Wow, shocker.” you say dryly. “Vampires working with blood? Insane.”

“I know, news of the millennia.” Jungkook replies, his tone dripping with sarcasm as you both burst into laughter.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Present Day 

That felt like an entire lifetime ago now. 

Since then, you’d learned practically everything there was to know about vampires—the myths, the truths, the strange little quirks no one ever talked about. The things that were never written in books, never whispered in horror stories. Jungkook had been an open book from the moment he told you. Just the truth, plain and simple, dropped into conversation like he was telling you his favorite color.

At first, it had been surreal. The idea that vampires weren’t just creatures of fiction but real, living. Well, undead, beings who walked among humans undetected. That the man you had been falling in love with had walked through centuries, watched history unfold firsthand. It made your head spin. But never scary. Jungkook was still Jungkook. He still left wet towels on the bathroom floor. He still made the world’s worst coffee. He still held your hand in crowded places and kissed your forehead when you were too tired to function.

The only big difference in your relationship was that you couldn’t really eat together. For obvious reasons. 

Also the sun thing, not a huge problem like people think. They can be in the sun but if they don’t eat the same day they will die. They can be out longer the older they get. They don’t immediately disengage though.

You had barely scratched the surface even after all this time. 

After too long in the cold, the two of you finally reached your apartment. The moment you stepped onto your floor, you spotted something taped to the front door. Your name and Jungkook’s were written in elegant, swirling calligraphy, the gold ink shimmering under the hallway light.

“Already that time of year.” You plucked the envelope from the door, holding it up as Jungkook unlocked it.

He barely glanced at it before sighing. “We should ditch.”

You snorted. “Oh, I’m sure that’ll go over great. Centuries of tradition thrown out the window.”

“We could start our own tradition.” He offered, wiggling his eyebrows as he pushed the door open.

You shook your head, already slipping inside. “And when Jimin hunts us down and drags us there himself, then what?”

Jungkook grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, We run faster. More like he’ll run faster.

You ignored him, already peeling the envelope open. The paper was thick and luxurious—the kind that felt expensive—and it smelled faintly of pine, because of course Jimin thought of every last detail. The invitation itself was beautiful, decorated with intricate gold and green accents, the lettering impossibly flawless. Jimin never just sent invitations. He crafted them, turning them into little works of art.

Jimin’s Annual New Vampire Soirée.

The famed New Years party. 

You shrugged off your jacket, letting the day slip away with it, and—without needing to ask—Jungkook took it from you, hanging it neatly in the small coat closet by the door.

“I’ve attended just about every single one of these things.” He groaned, toeing off his shoes and trailing behind you. “I think he can live without us for one year.”

By every single one, he meant a few hundred.

“Oh, come on.” You teased, skimming the details. “It’s the only time we get to really dress up. I like you in a suit.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “That’s your main selling point?”

“Duh.” You smirk, it also gives you an excuse to wear something nice which is rare these days. “Because then I get to take it off after. Sounds like a pretty good deal to me.” 

Jungkook sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Fine. But if Jimin ropes me into another game of charades, I’m taking you down with me.”

“Deal.”

You both round your way to the kitchen. Your place together was very nice, mostly funded by Jungkook. You had two bedrooms that stretched up a hallway, one for the two of you and one for a small office the two of you curated. A large and beautiful kitchen that is really only used by you. In a high building with beautiful views. 

You pull out a stool at the island. Jungkook pulling out a few bags of blood. They were donation bags like you would see at a blood drive. Which means he had elected to have human blood tonight vs animal. Jungkook didn’t really mind eating in front of you anymore. The first few weeks you two lived together you couldn’t stomach it, but now it was normal. 

You’d asked him before what it was like. Vampires could still eat real food but it doesn’t fill them up or provide the same benefits it does for humans. They need blood or they won’t survive. It’s food, like anything you eat. They have cravings for it and some taste better than others. Sometimes they needed it more often and sometimes they could go without it. Jungkook had recently been trying to go longer and longer without it but it had been proving difficult. He could usually feed once a week and be okay, but he’s been trying to push for two weeks. 

Who would have thought that having a human partner would make that difficult? 

Jungkook opened one of the pouches and he just sucked on the dispensing tube like it was a fruit pouch of some kind. The way he reacted made him act like it was delicious, you were always curious but knew it would not have the same effect for you. Would probably be gross or your body would naturally make you throw it up. Still, your curiosity always lingered. 

Jungkook noticed you staring at him out of the corner of his vision as he was looking at his phone and eating his meal. “You’re next, be patient.” He teased. 

“That’s not!… that’s not why I was staring at you. Can’t I just look at my boyfriend?” You cross your arms, putting up your fake defenses. 

“Always. You just look like you want to ask me something.” He turns his focus to you, still drink from the pouch. 

You pause for a moment, “What was it like the first time…?” 

“Eating?” 

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever asked.” You lean on your elbows on the counter. 

It’s been quite some time but Jungkook does remember it. “It was warm… but sweet. Like candy but if the sugar high hit instantly. It was like I was taking my first breath.” 

“Was it weird?” 

“No… Strangely. It felt completely normal. Weird as it sounds. It was like my mind had completely rewired itself away from regular food. Blood was all I needed.” Jungkook shrugged, it really was night and day. One day he wanted human food and the next he couldn’t care less about it. 

“You weren’t afraid of it?” 

Jungkook nodded, “Of course… but unfortunately because of our nature you have to move past it quickly… You had to kill to eat. We didn’t have the convenience of having blood banks so we didn’t have to kill.” 

“I didn’t think about that… no preservation.” 

Jungkook eyed you for a moment. “What? Thinking about trying it?” He waved the pouch in your direction, the blood sloshing around in the bag making your stomach turn.

“Well most of the time you make it look good, so my mind wanders. I know it’ll be shit for me.” You rest your chin on one of your palms. Jungkook finished off one of the pouches. Teeth stained red and his pupils were no longer dilated like before. Which was the usual once his hunger had been satisfied.

Jungkook smiles, swiping his bottom lip to catch a drop of blood. He starts on the second one, drinking this one much faster than the first. You can tell he doesn’t like it very much from the face he makes. He rounds his way around the counter, to you. Behind you, resting his head on your shoulder as he drank. One of his arms snaking around you. Your back pressed into his chest. 

Although the packs were cold, Jungkook’s body heats up just a little bit when eating. Making him almost feel human. 

“Bad?” You ask as he sets down the second pack on the counter. His tongue poked out his cheeks as he wiped his teeth clean of the bitter taste. 

“Just bitter. Not great.” Jungkook’s sighs wrapping his other arm around you now. His nose is buried into your neck now. 

“You know where I know there will be really good blood?” You muse and Jungkook just rolls his eyes. “Jimin’s party.” 

“I’d still rather spend my time with you.” He places a kiss right on your jaw where your neck meets. “Alone.” 

“Hmm maybe next time.” You rest the side of your head against his. You both rocked from side to side slightly. “Plus you get to have me all the time.” 

“I know I know.” He places another kiss further down your neck. His grip is tightening around you. 

Jungkook was barely listening though, your steady heartbeat was pounding in his ear. Yes he had quenched his thirst quite a bit but he still needed yours. The fact that you had his same blood type made it incredibly difficult to resist on days when he was especially hungry because your blood is all he would want. If only he could feed off of you whenever he wanted and it wouldn't kill you quickly. Still, he could hear the pulsing vein in your neck calling out for him. He was usually pretty good about blocking out this kind of thing around you but tonight was especially difficult.  

“Just do it.” You whisper, you can feel him getting anxious and a little twitchy. You knew he wanted to eat. “Go ahead.” 

Jungkook shakes his head, “Not yet.” 

“Jungkook, you and I both know you haven’t eaten enough.” You pull out of his grip and twist around in your seat to look at him. “Free meal might as well be written on my forehead.” 

“Better not be. I’m the only one allowed to eat from you.” He smiled, both of his hands running up and down your thighs now. 

Before you could get a word in, his lips were on yours. One of his hands coming up to cup your jaw. The kiss has a certain intensity to it and you match Jungkook’s energy in kind. His tongue sliding into your mouth and your taste buds being met with a iron like flavor. A little off putting at first but you push past it. It wasn’t the first time you had tasted the aftermath of a feeding before. 

When you were first dating Jungkook would wash his mouth out pretty good before he would see you so that it wouldn’t happen. Not exactly easy to explain why he tastes like his mouth was bleeding when making out. 

Your hands found their way to the bottom of his shirt and your hands glided up his abdomen. Warm hands meeting cold skin. Your legs widen to let him stand between them. You were leaning back against the counter, the corner digging into your back some but you didn’t mind. Jungkook’s hand on your jaw moves it’s way to the back of your neck and into your hair. He gives it a light tug which elicits a small sound from you. A small whine which is exactly what he wanted 

You break away from him for a second, breathless. “Jungkook… You have to eat.”

Jungkook kisses you again, a little sloppier this time. Before pulling back, “Not yet my love.” He mumbles against your skin kissing his way down your throat, his other hand tracing the inside of your thigh.

You sigh in content leaning into him, “Y-You get a little intense when you’re like this though.”

 Jungkook pulls back away from you, kissing you again. Soft and sweet. Before breaking away. “I’m alright. I just missed you so I want to have my way with you now.” 

“Oh is that right?” You tilt your head to the side, a playful smile tugging at the corner of your lips, “You know you see me everyday?” 

“It’s not enough.” Jungkook whispers, and kisses you again. 

You bring your hands up to either side of his cheeks and drink him in. “You’re cheesy.” You mumble against his lips. 

Jungkook brings both of his hands down and tucks them underneath you to lift you from the stool. The sudden motion makes you yelp. “You love it.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” You say nonchalantly like you were trying to play it off. Jungkook just rolls his eyes, keeping a tight grip on you. 

Before you could think, your body was pressed into Jungkook's. As the kitchen and hall blurred past your vision as if you were in a car. Jungkook ran the both of you into your bedroom. Your hair instantaneously a mess around your face.

“Jungkook!” You whined, he let you fall from his grip onto the bed. You immediately smoothed your hair away from your face. “I hate when you do that.” 

Jungkook is standing at the end of your bed, pulling his shirt over the top of his head. “I have a few ways I can make it up to you.” 

“I hope so.” You bite down on your bottom lip but a huge smile still on your face. Jungkook couldn’t help but find you absolutely intoxicating. 

Jungkook kneels in front of the bed, “God you’re beautiful.”

His hands climbed their way up your thighs and under your shirt to help lift it over your head in a swift motion. Discarding it to the floor. Your hands come down to unbutton your pants and Jungook slides them off of your legs. Jungkook with ease, pulling your hips to the end of the bed. Although to Jungkook it felt like nothing. Anytime he moved you you could tell the strength he held. It was clear that he was intentionally holding back. 

Jungkook’s face came down between your legs, kissing his way up your left thigh. You watch him for a moment, you could see his eyes dilate for a second and a hint of his fangs grow from his mouth. In that instant one of his fangs punctured the skin of your thigh. 

You gasp in surprise. A little blood escaped before Jungkook licks over the wound, closing it again. Jungkook's eyes closed and his breath raged. Your blood is like ecstasy on his tongue.

“Honey, a little warning next time.” You pout.

“Sorry baby.” He looks up to you with this puppy dog expression. “I just needed a taste.” 

“Okay, it just hurts. Easier on the neck. I’m used to it.” You bring your hand down to rub his cheek. He turns his face to kiss your palm. 

“So you’re saying I need to bite you more places more often.” He smirks and you just hum. 

“Sounds good to me.” You giggle and Jungkook's face softens. A look more of adoration.

“Whatever you want, pretty.” His head dips back down between your legs. You lay back on the bed. Jungkook hooking your underwear in between his teeth and pulling it down your legs.

He presses a feather light kiss to your clit before kissing all the way up your stomach, then chest, and then kissing you on the mouth. Sliding his tongue into your mouth with ease. Jungkook's fingers were wasting no time before he was rubbing your clit with one of his hands. Slow and tantalizing circles. You bit down on Jungkook’s lip pulling it back before letting him fall back into place. 

“I’m supposed to do that.” Jungkook fake whined, his fingers tracing the outside of your entrance which was dripping. Waiting for him to touch you. 

“Whoops.” You bring your arm to rest above your head. “Instructions unclear.” 

He kisses you again, before pulling away to kiss and then suck on your neck. Not feeding, just sucking to give you a regular old hickey. Taking two of his fingers to and sliding them deep into your dripping pussy. Reaching and curling his fingers to touch that spongy spot inside you that can easily make you cum. 

“Fuck just like that.” You moan, your eyes screwing shut. Your knees coming up in reaction to the pleasure. Jungkook moved to a different spot on your neck and left another barely visible mark. He had seen you cum and had you exactly like this hundreds of times now but he still could not get enough. He pulled away from you to look down at you again.

But sex was always a little complicated. Your blood moving and your heart pounding is almost deafening. Especially today he was still hungry and his mind still reeled with needing your blood. Spinning as he could hear the blood in your body pumping quickly with every quickened breath you took because of every touch he gave you. He hadn’t even realised, his fangs had reappeared in his mouth. He was beginning to drool. 

You open your eyes again and you see it. He was dazed, eyes completely dilated again. “Jungkook.” You say, tracing in line down his face. “Come back here.” 

Jungkook closed his eyes,  shaking his head. His fangs returned back in his mouth. Eyes returning to normal. “Sorry baby.” 

He pulls his fingers out and begins to rub your clit from side to side. You were getting close quickly, but you needed a little more. 

“You didn’t eat enough.” You raise an eyebrow to him. 

“I thought I did.” He rests his forehead against your, your breathing mingling with your lips so close together. “Not enough I guess.” 

You give him a quick peck on the lips before pulling back slightly. “Just a little longer honey.” You moan. You both knew if he drank from you now, the night ends here because you will be too dizzy and too tired to continue. 

“I’m fine, my love. You just focus on cumming on my fingers just how I like.” Jungkook leans up and away from you, connecting his mouth with one of your nipples. Licking around the bud, sucking and slowly pushing you closer to the edge. 

“Jungkook.” You moan, and Jungkook dips his fingers back between your legs. Pumping them in and out of you relentlessly. Wanting to get you over the edge, and blocking anything else out. 

Jungkook pulls his mouth away from you. His teeth chatter from hunger instinctually and he has to shake his head back to a normal state. He was so hard inside of his pants he could have cum just like this. “Oh you’re doing so good.” 

“God I need you to fuck me.” You whine, grinding your hips into Jungkook’s hand. He follows along with your rhythm, and continues to fuck you with his fingers. It really was not enough for you.

“Oh yeah? How bad?” 

“I’m serious please fuck me Jungkook.” You bring your hands up under his shoulders and around his back, digging your nails into him. 

“Fuck.” He exhaled, “I really want to make you cum like this though.” 

“Please baby, I need it. Please please please.” Between each please you kiss him. Jungkook chasing after your mouth after every kiss. Both of your hearts pounding in his ears, dancing together as one. 

“Yes… Yes, whatever you want.” Jungkook, with some hesitation retreats from you. His hand pulls out of you and you let out a small moan but know it’ll be replaced soon. Jungkook stands and begins to discard his pants and then his boxers with little time.

You stand up and kiss him again, before spinning the both of you around and sitting him on the bed. He was fully erected and you honestly needed to fuck him badly. You wanted him to fill up every inch of you. Your eagerness surprises him a little as you rest your hands on each of his shoulders. Adjusting your hips on either side of his. 

Jungkook just watches you eyes wide. His red eyes were dilated almost to black. You waste no time lining up your entrance with his tip, sinking down onto it slowly. Letting him slowly fill you up. Jungkook takes in a sharp breath leaning back on his hands while you sink down onto him. The two of you had no need for protection, from what it sounded like from many accounts. Jungkook couldn’t get you pregnant no matter how hard you tried.

Jungkook's eyes close tight, and his grip on the blanket next to him was evident. One of his hands comes to grip on your hip forcing you to bottom out on him. His grip was too tight, “Ease up.” You place your hand on top of his like you need to pull him back to earth. 

“Sorry.” He moans, his head falling to the side. His dick tucked perfectly inside you and his head twitching slightly almost driving you insane. “God you feel so good, fuck.”

You hum, and lift your hips on top of him. A moan falling past your lips, “Oh yes.” 

You create a slow rhythm between the two of you. Your hips rising slowly up and down on his cock. His dick rubbing up against that same spot inside you and your high building all over again. Jungkook is now able to get some relief. He was still having a hard time though. He was still just focussing on your neck. 

You could see it all over his face, his fangs were slowly peeking out again. His mouth was slack and eyes all fucked out. He was hungry and you were mostly just teasing him at this point. A small punishment for not eating enough. 

“Oh are you hungry?” You lift yourself up and sit yourself back down onto him again. 

Jungkook let’s out a gasp as he nods, “Yes.” 

“Hmm,” You sit up, Jungkook's dick dragging inside you tantalizing. “You lied to me. Said you were fine, but look at you.” 

“I’m sorry baby. I… I just… please.” He begs, a cross between desire and ferality written on his face. You sit your hips back down onto him, a moan falling from the both of you. You needed to toe this line carefully, but it was always a little fun when you got too. 

You loved seeing Jungkook getting so desperate for you, in more ways than one. He did it to you all the time and so you reveled in the time you got to do it to him. 

You continue to tease, you tone playful, “I don’t think you deserve my blood now.”

“Oh god please no.” Jungkook’s hands come up to either side of your face, desperation in his voice. Trying to pull you closer but enough slack given so you can hold yourself away. “Beautiful that’s not funny, don’t play with me right now.” 

“No. You said you were fine and you’re about to lose it.. All over my blood.” You lift your hips up and sit back down onto him again. “Shame.” 

“Please let me drink from you. Please just a little bit.” Jungkook's voice became slightly hoarse and he was fidgeting under you in desperation. Making his dick move inside and you had to do your best to not just cum all over him right now.

You place your hands on top of his that are rested on either side of your face. Pulling them away. “Ask nicely.” 

“Please. Oh my love please let me taste you.” He conceded, he was totally out of it. You had gotten what you wanted and it was so hot. 

His eyes sparkling under the light that only creeps in through the window of your room. You don’t move anymore. You kiss both of his hands before  letting them go. You tilt your head to the left side to present your neck. Jungkook, although starving, takes gentle care of you. One hand coming back to hold your opposite cheek, the other around your back. Keeping you in place. You close your eyes waiting for him to make his move. 

Jungkook’s fangs were fully exposed, his senses were completely filled with you. He licks a line over the spot where he is going to puncture before he sinks both of his teeth into your neck. Straight into the vein. The pain is cold and needle-like before it is gone but the side of your face and neck feels completely numb. Then Jungkook starts to drink, you can feel your heart begin to quicken. As the blood seeps out from you through the new holes in your neck. Jungkook drinks slowly to make sure he can tell how much he is taking. 

You remember the first time it happened, it hurt a lot. You felt like you could feel life draining out of you. Now it no longer hurts and has become more of an intimate act for the two of  you. Jungkook was always endlessly careful about how much he took. Never more than a blood bag's worth. It was difficult because of how good you tasted, you weren’t only the love of his life but the best meal he had in his time of being a vampire. 

Jungkook’s grip on your head was tight so you couldn't easily slip away, but after a moment, Jungkook loosened his grip and you could tell he was done. You had kept your eyes closed. Usually you got pretty dizzy during this so you always closed your eyes.  Jungkook with some force pulled himself away from you. His face came into view. His mouth was covered in your blood and it was dripping down his chin, teeth also stained red once again. His fangs detract back into his mouth. He was out of breath. 

Your eyes were tired, as you leaned forward on his shoulder. “Fuck me. That never gets old.” Jungkook sigh. Jungkook leans back in to lick over the spot to close the wounds. A stray drop of blood had made its way down your neck and collarbone. Jungkook wasted no time in licking it’s trail back up your neck. Cleaning it away for you. 

You kiss his forehead because it didn’t really do it for you to taste your own blood. “It can’t be that good.” 

“Oh trust me, it is.” Jungkook shifts his hips under you, his dick nudges slightly inside you. You gasp and Jungkook is finally actually able to enjoy your pleasure instead of hearing your blood pound in your ears. 

You lift our hips up and down on top of him again, his cock bottoming out inside your again and you both moan. Before you can continue though, Jungkook lifts you off of him and flips the two of you back over so you’re on your back. He does this to your surprise. 

“Now I can fuck you like I want.” Jungkook leans away from you and strokes his cock a few times before pressing it to your entrance. Swirling it around. You widen you legs so that he can have better access, you needed him to fuck you bad. Before you got to tired to do so. 

Jungkook guides his dick inside of you again. 

“Yes!” You groan, wrapping your arms around his neck, as Jungkook picks up his speed and he rocks his hips into your. The slapping of your skin echoing in the room. 

“That’s right baby. Cream my cock.” Jungkook groans as he continues to rock into you. The dizziness was hitting you but you didn’t care, you could feel your climax coming. 

“Fuck I’m so close Jungkook.” You groan, grinding your hips into his each time he makes contact with yours. Jungkook was kissing all around your neck, encouraging your high. He wanted you to cum so bad, getting to eat from you and then make you cum. He couldn’t think of anything better. 

Jungkook's body had become warm again, eating straight from you had that effect. You loved it when it happened, made you wonder if he was this warm when he was human too. 

“Cum for me baby, please please cum all over me.” Jungkook begged into your ear. Jungkook thrusted a few more times, his tip dragging against your g spot and you were cumming undone. Walls squeezing his cock as your cum began to cover him. 

Your walls squeezing around him as he fucked himself into you. “Oh fuck yes. God you feel so good.” 

With a few more pumps Jungkook was coming undone and cumming inside you. His cum filling up your cunt as he continued to fuck into you. Your cum and his mixing together. Jungkook thrust a few more times before coming to a stop. He slid himself out of you and his cum spilling out of your throbbing pussy. He wanted to kiss you but he had your dried blood all around his mouth. 

You were pretty dizzy, having an orgasm in the midst of losing a pint of blood wasn’t a super easy combination. Jungkook slid into your bathroom, closing the door so he could flick the light on. You covered your face with with your arms anyways, not sure if you would really be able to sit up without difficulty. After a moment Jungkook returned, he had gotten a new pair of boxers and his face was all cleaned up now. With a blink of the eye he had zipped out of the room and then zipped back in, you could feel the air shift with the speed he was going. 

He removed one of your arms from your face. A smile on his face as you open your eyes to look at him. 

“Come on let’s get you cleaned up.” He kissed you, his skin was cold again. Taking one of your hands and helping you sit up. What you hadn’t noticed is he brought back with him some juice, and another towel that was warm to clean you up. What you didn’t really notice was how you were also covered in your own dried blood. Jungkook may have taken a bit too much since he was a little sloppy with it. 

“I’m really dizzy.” Which was mild but was almost headache inducing. 

Jungkook nods, grabbing the juice he has placed on the ground next to him. “I know. I got you this and you need to drink it.” 

He places the cup in your hand. You drink it all down pretty quickly, you probably should have also eaten something when you got home. Would have made this a little easier but whatever. Wasn’t your first rodeo but Jungkook worried every single time. He helped you clean up after you are comfortable moving. 

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Your next day at work was alright but you were,  in fact, exhausted. 

You were filing books away, running on two coffees, but you still felt like you were going to need another. You worked as a librarian with one of the largest Libraries in the city that had some of the oldest works, so this was your typical day in and out. You had spent a good part of your morning also restoring old books. Now you were doing some mundane tasks that needed to be finished. Luckily you would be leaving soon and early.

Your friend, Rehna, who was also your colleague, had rounded her way around the corner in your aisle to find you. She had roped you into an afternoon of shopping to find a new outfit for Jimin’s party. It was only two days away, the invite was fresh but Jimin had confirmed with you months ago that you and Jungkook would be in attendance. Much to Jungkook’s complaints. 

Rehna is also a vampire.

She was the youngest of the group. She was only turned 8 years ago. She’s technically 30 but she was 23 when she turned. She’s told you her story before, she was turned on accident. She was attacked by a vampire, she ended up biting him back and she swallowed enough blood to make her turn. Apparently it didn’t take much. You actually met her before you met any of the others. She was a vampire then but she was running around on her own. She only knew of Jungkook and the others through Jimin’s parties but never hung out with them until you and Jungkook started seeing each other. 

“Please tell me you’re almost done. I’m bored and I’m ready to find something perfect.”

“I would have thought you found something already.” You say, the theme was Bejeweled. Which was incredibly vague but you think you had the idea. “Honestly anything shimmery or shiny will probably work.” 

“Yeah but you know these parties are basically red carpet events.” 

“You just want to win the outfit contest this year.” She had entered and had yet to win the competition for the last few years you were in attendance. 

Her smirk turned wicked. "Damn right I do. This is my year." She lifted a finger in a dramatic flourish. "Now hurry up."

Before you could argue, the stack of books you were holding suddenly lifted out of your arms and flew onto the shelves, slotting themselves into place with eerie precision.

"Rehna." You groaned.

She grinned, brushing imaginary dust off her hands. "Oh, look at that, you’re done! Time to go!"

"Damn vampire powers." You muttered, crossing your arms.

You were annoyingly jealous that she could move things with her mind. Would make your life much easier as it certainly makes hers. She usually wouldn’t use it so openly but she really wanted to get out of here.

“I have a feeling you won’t have to complain about them for too much longer.” Rehna jokes but realizes her mouth was getting ahead of her mind. 

“What?” You say, luckily you were a bit distracted and didn’t hear what she said. 

You blinked, but before you could question her, she quickly threw an arm around your shoulders, steering you toward the employee room. "So, how’s Jungkook? Still annoying?"

You roll your eyes, “Jungkook is fine.” 

“He doesn’t come around here as much as he used too.” She sighs. She was actually glad. 

“He’s been busy lately, there’s always some new business with Jin these days. Today Jimin has roped him into something for the party.” You both enter the employee room and you both begin to gather your things. 

“Oh how exciting. To be honest I’m fine with him not coming around. He always leaves his stink all around here.” She shivers at the thought, Jungkook and Rehna weren’t enemies by any means. If anything they were basically like siblings at this point but if he was the annoying brother she only cared to see at family gatherings. 

“He can’t smell that bad.” You throw your bag over your shoulder. 

“Believe me. He does.” She groans, it was a vampire thing. From how Jimin has described it to you it’s not very strong, it’s just subtle but some vampires don’t like others smell. Rehna really did not care for Jungkook’s scent.

“Anyways, I’m assuming Jimin will have him roped into party prep all day. Makes it easy since it’s just at Jin’s manor and not like in a cave on the side of a mountain or something.” You explain, which is exactly what he had done last year. 

“Ugh but the best parties are always the ones he throws in some random obscure place.” She pouted. 

“I almost lost my toes because of the cold, and none of you produced any body heat so you were no help.” You moan, thinking about it. Most of the night was very fun but by the end of it you felt like your feet were going to fall off because the cold hurt them so badly. Evidently when vampires hold a party inside a mountain in the middle of winter, cold doesn’t factor into their plans.

As you grabbed your bag, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something she wasn’t telling you. But with Rehna, that wasn’t unusual.

And honestly? You were too tired to press her on it.

“Well it’ll still be grand no matter where it’s at. Jimin will make sure of that.”  

Because this party—this event—was the biggest night of the year.

Not just for vampires. For everyone.

Jimin’s soirée was a spectacle, something out of a gothic dream. It was more than a party—it was a gathering of the undead, an annual tradition that had carried on for centuries. Carried on because of Jimin. A night of indulgence and excess, of laughter and celebration. Vampires from all over the region attended, their grudges and rivalries put aside in favor of revelry. A silent truce held for one evening, upheld by nothing more than ancient tradition and the promise of a damn good time.

The venue changed every year, always extravagant, always hidden in plain sight. An old mansion, a repurposed cathedral, a secret ballroom tucked beneath the city. Chandeliers dripped with candlelight, casting golden glows against dark velvet walls. Music floated through the air; classical waltzes and modern remixes alike, played by musicians who had honed their craft for centuries. The scent of aged wine and fresh blood filled every corner, mingling with the faint traces of perfume and cologne.

But the real attraction, the thing that drew vampires from all over, was the blood.

It was a feast unlike any other.

Vampires brought their finest. Aged blood, stored in crystal decanters like fine whiskey. Fresh blood, bottled and sealed, each one labeled with its origin. Rare types, unique flavors, collected over years. Some brought exotic blends, infused with herbs and spices, creating something akin to mulled wine but richer, more intoxicating.

And it wasn’t just about drinking. It was about history. Vampires exchanged stories, sharing memories of the humans they once knew, the lives they once lived. They brought gifts, rare artifacts, and trinkets from centuries past. Some fought for sport, showcasing inhuman strength with friendly duels that blurred the line between violence and performance art. Others danced, moving with a grace that defied physics, their bodies fluid and weightless.

It was decadent. It was breathtaking.

And you got to witness all of it.

Human’s being in attendance wasn’t unusual. The situation that you and Jungkook had was not unusual. There were other vampires that had human partners and they would bring them along as well. Not all of them stayed human, the first year you went just about every human there you had met was either turned or had broken up with their vampire counterpart by the time the next party rolled around.

Human’s who weren’t the partners of vampires weren’t permitted though, or those who weren’t deeply entangled in their world. There is one man who is a sixth generation banker who is invited to these parties because he is in charge of the finances of a handful of wealthy vampires. His name is Larry. Nice guy.

Your continuation in being a human, although you and Jungkook had seemed to be attached by the hip, had brewed a curiosity in everyone. Although it wasn’t frowned upon or strange, it did feel like it to everyone else. Especially amongst Jungkook’s own coven. 

“Jungkook, to the left! How many times do I have to repeat myself?!”

Jimin’s voice rang through the grand ballroom, exasperation thick in his tone. The cavernous space was in chaos—drapes of deep sapphire, shimmering crystal fixtures, and layers upon layers of bejeweled decorations yet to be placed. At the center of it all, precariously balanced on a tall ladder, was Jungkook, attempting to hang a string of decorative jewels exactly where Jimin wanted.

Or, at least, close enough.

“I can’t go any more left!” Jungkook snapped, gripping the ladder with one hand and holding the jewels with the other. “If you want it so precise, why don’t you climb up here and do it yourself?”

“I’m busy!” Jimin shot back, crossing his arms as if he were personally burdened by the weight of this entire production. “I have a million things to oversee, and you’re up there messing around!”

Jungkook let out an aggravated sigh and simply hung the jewels where he stood, ignoring Jimin’s frantic gesturing.

Jimin flailed. “That is not where I told you to—”

“Too bad! I’m getting down.” Jungkook climbed down the ladder, dropping to the floor with ease. “If you care that much, do it yourself.”

Jimin threw his arms in the air. “I swear—”

“If you two are going to fight, at least take it to the living room.” Jin’s voice interrupted, smooth and composed as ever. He strolled into the ballroom with a book in one hand, scribbling notes with the other. “I don’t need you breaking another chandelier.”

“He’s ruining my vision.” Jimin huffed. Jungkook leaning against the ladder, annoyance all over his face.

Jin barely looked up. “Isn’t there an actual decorator running around here somewhere? I thought you hired someone?”

Jimin scoffed. “I did… But Jungkook’s here, so why not make him useful?”

Jin chuckled, thoroughly entertained, while Jungkook remained unimpressed. He had come here to talk to Jin about something else entirely, yet somehow, he had been roped into helping Jimin with decorations. The entire house was alive with movement—hired help rushing around, carefully placing extravagant decorations that now stretched through every corridor.

“I would’ve rather helped with literally anything else.” Jungkook muttered, stepping beside Jimin and bumping his shoulder.

Jimin huffed, shoving him back just slightly. “Well, too bad, because I needed you.”

Jin finally took a good look around the ballroom, his sharp eyes scanning the shimmering spectacle before him. It was hard to surprise Jin, but even he seemed impressed. “Damn, Jimin. You’ve seriously outdone yourself.”

Jungkook had to admit—the room was stunning. Sparkles in every corner, a perfect blend of opulence and elegance. Everything dripped with wealth, which, knowing Jimin, was always the plan. You were going to eat it up.

“Three hundred-plus of these gatherings, and you still manage to come up with new ideas.” Jungkook teased.

Jimin shot him a smug glance. “I’ve only gotten better at it over the years. Trust me, I’ve got plenty more party ideas left in me.”

Jungkook smirked. “Great. You can plan any party I ever throw.”

Jimin’s eyes lit up. “Promise?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “Yes. Not that that’ll happen anytime soon.”

Jin, who had been silently observing, suddenly looked intrigued. “Oh? That sounded like a hint at something.”

Jungkook frowned slightly, glancing between the two of them. “A hint at what?”

“Oh, please.” Jimin rolled his eyes. “We’re all counting down the days until you and Y/N finally get hitched.”

Getting married to a vampire was a little different. A vampire marrying another vampire was more about declaring a companion. Some vampires do have the traditional ceremony but it wasn’t like the celebration that a human marriage was because vampires who wed other vampires is more of a casual affair. “Getting Married” was usually a term for vampires with human partners. 

Jungkook choked on his own breath, “We aren’t getting married.” 

“Why not, it’s been years. I figured it would have happened after you told her about us. You basically kiss the ground she walks on anyways.” Jimin smirks, trying to poke fun but a tone of seriousness was behind the remark. 

“You’ve been together for five years now and you haven’t asked?” Jin asked, he couldn’t help himself. He too was curious when the two of you would be getting married. 

“We haven’t talked about it.” Jungkook admitted, quietly. Almost looking like a kicked puppy or that he was going to get in trouble.

Jin and Jimin both pause for a moment, Jin raises a brow to Jungkook. “Seriously?”

Jungkook shakes his head. It actually never really came up, Jungkook was actually quite nervous to broach the topic. It was very serious and it’s not that he hadn’t thought about it, in fact he did. Just not in the way everyone thinks he would be thinking about it. He was more waiting for you to bring it up.

Jimin suddenly grabbed Jungkook by the ear, dragging him down to his level. “I cannot believe you haven’t talked about it. How could you not?”

“Ow—Jimin!” Jungkook swatted him away, freeing himself from his grip. He rubbed his ear with a glare. “I have thought about it, but it’s not that simple! We’ve talked about, like… regular marriage, but not about this.”

Jin tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “What’s the big deal? It’s completely normal. Happens all the time.”

Jungkook clenched his jaw. “Because I have no idea if that’s what she even wants.”

Jimin sighed dramatically before smacking Jungkook’s shoulder. “Seems like something you should talk about!”

Jungkook shot him a look, but Jimin just grinned. Ever since you had come into their lives, Jimin had immediately taken to you—he adored you. And whenever Jungkook did anything that seemed remotely questionable, Jimin was always the first to go to bat for you.

Jungkook exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. The weight of their words settled uncomfortably in his chest. This wasn’t just a marriage proposal. This was forever. Asking you to marry him wasn’t just about rings and vows—it meant asking you to give up your humanity. 

To turn. To be like him.

The thought alone sent a storm of memories crashing through Jungkook’s mind, memories laced with pain, fear, and the irreversible consequences of a choice that could never be undone. He had buried them deep, locked them away where they couldn’t touch him. But now, under the scrutiny of his closest friends, the weight of it all pressed down on his chest like a boulder.

“The time isn’t right.” He muttered, voice tight.

Jimin stopped mid-step, turned on his heel, and without a second thought, kicked Jungkook square in the ass.

Jungkook stumbled forward, catching himself before he could completely lose balance. His glare shot daggers. “Hey!”

Jimin didn’t even flinch. “You deserved that.”

“I’m with him on that one.” Jin chimed in, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Right time? What kind of answer is that? You love her. I don’t even need to invade your thoughts to know that.”

A sly grin spread across Jimin’s face. I am invading your thoughts, his voice echoed smugly in Jungkook’s head. “And I know that’s a bullshit answer.”

Jungkook tensed, jaw clenching as he focused for a split second and then shut Jimin out of his mind. The vampire in front of him blinked, looking mildly offended before pouting.

Jungkook’s voice came out flat. “Come on. Is it really that hard to guess why I’m hesitant?”

Jin and Jimin exchanged glances before answering in unison. “Yes.”

Jungkook exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Unbelievable.”

The air in the room shifted. He glanced around at the staff still buzzing through the ballroom, adjusting final decorations, moving chairs into perfect alignment. Not here. Not where curious ears might overhear things that didn’t concern them.

So instead, he let his thoughts slip past the surface and invaded theirs.

A beat of silence.

Jin and Jimin went still as the realization settled in, Jungkook’s memories bleeding into their awareness like ink spilled across a pristine surface. Their postures changed and Jin’s amusement faded into something serious, Jimin’s cocky demeanor softened.

Jungkook. Jin projected, his mind brushing against his friend’s like a whisper in the dark.  There’s such a slim chance of that happening.

Jungkook’s gaze dropped to the polished floor beneath him. You can’t promise that. You remember how bad it got.

A flicker of something unreadable passed through Jin’s face.

Jimin cut in, his mind pressing against theirs like a sharp rod. That was a special case. This is different.

Jungkook shook his head, tension crawling up his spine. None of us know that. It would be my blood this time. It could have the same effect… or worse.

Jimin stepped forward, placing both hands firmly on Jungkook’s shoulders, his touch grounding, his presence warm despite the centuries he had spent as something cold. His voice was softer now, even in Jungkook’s head. Alright… I feel bad for giving you a hard time. But, Jungkook, everything is fine now. This could be something beautiful.

Jungkook swallowed thickly, flexing his fingers, trying to shake out the unease tightening in his chest.

Every time he let himself think about turning you, the same anxiety gripped him like a vice.

Jungkook's mind brushed past there's one more time, Or it could all be for nothing.

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It had been a few days since that conversation.

Jungkook had done everything in his power to shove the topic out of his mind, burying it beneath the routine of everyday life. He convinced himself there was no need to bring it up, not until you did first. It had to be something you wanted, so he saw no need for him to have that conversation until you wanted too. 

And Jungkook—true to his word—never invaded your thoughts. Never once slipped into your mind the way he so easily did with the others.

But right now? God, how he wished he could.

Because as he sat on the edge of the tub, watching you flit between the closet and bathroom, he had no idea what you thought about any of it.

It was New Year’s Eve.

The scent of your perfume lingered in the air, mixing with the faint traces of soap and fabric softener from your clothes. You were wearing nothing fancy yet, just sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. Your hair half-done, your makeup barely started because you kept getting distracted. One minute you were digging through your jewelry, the next you were redoing your eyebrows, and now you were standing in front of the mirror, testing two different pairs of earrings.

Jungkook hadn’t even started putting himself together. He sat there, in slacks and a button-up with the top few buttons left open. But he wasn’t thinking about the party.

He was thinking about you.

And apparently, he was staring too hard because you turned toward him, arching a brow.

“What’s going on inside there?” You took a step closer and poked his forehead, snapping him from his daze.

Jungkook blinked, tilting his head up at you with an easy smile. “I’m thinking about you.”

Your face lit up, playful and teasing. “Oh yeah? What about me?” Turning back to the mirror to continue what you were doing.

Jungkook leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched you through the mirror. “How much I love you.”

Your expression twisted into disgust. “Gross.”

Jungkook snorted, shaking his head as he stood up and closed the space between you. “You’re gross.”

Before you could retort, he draped himself over you, resting his chin on your shoulder. Watching as you meticulously filled in your brows. You let out a small huff of concentration, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you tried to finally get them right.

Jungkook’s hands found your waist, wrapping around you with ease, pulling you flush against him.

“Jungkook.” You warned as you reached for your mascara. Unable to reach it as Jungkook pulls you a step back. You hand pathetically waving in the air for it. He started to sway you side to side, his grip tightening just enough to throw you off balance. “Jungkook.”

“We can be a little late.” He murmured against your neck, pressing a slow kiss to the spot where your shoulder met your neck.

You exhaled sharply. “No, no, no. You do this every time.” Laughing, you pried his arms off of you and spun around, poking him in the chest. “I don’t want to miss anything! I like these parties, you know.”

Jungkook just grinned, all mischievous and smug, before leaning down and stealing a quick kiss from your lips. “You always fall for it, though.”

You turned back to the mirror, rolling your eyes as you reached for your brush. “Yeah, like a sucker! Not this time.”

Jungkook stepped in close again, this time pressing a kiss to the top of your head. His hands landed on your shoulders, thumbs rubbing slow circles as he watched you apply your mascara with careful precision.

“You’re just so cute.” He hummed, his voice a soft murmur against your ear. “I can’t help it.”

“How about you finish getting ready or something?” You quipped, flicking your gaze to him through the mirror. Waving your hand to shew him away.

You knew what he was trying to do. You also knew exactly what would happen if you gave in; your makeup smudged, your hair ruined, a twenty-minute delay at best. This year you were determined to get there at a reasonable time. 

“Fine. We both know it’s going to take me like five seconds to get ready though.” Jungkook strolls away from you, you could hear some frantic shuffling in the closet, before Jungkook appears seconds later. 

Dark green, nearly black, pinstripe three-piece suit hugged his frame perfectly, the crispness of his dress shirt stark against his inky tattoos. His hair somehow effortlessly tousled yet perfectly styled, made it seem as if he’d walked straight out of a magazine spread.

Jungkook threw his arms out with a smug grin. “See? All done.”

“Show off.” You pout, as you continue what you’re doing. 

Jungkook just chuckled, sauntering over and perching himself back down on the edge of the tub, legs spread, shoulders relaxed—taunting. He didn’t say anything, but the amusement in his eyes told you everything. Suddenly his voice invades and echoing through your mind. 

Am I distracting you yet?

You pointedly ignored him.

Though, you could still feel him watching you, and if you let yourself think about it too much, you knew you’d never finish getting ready. Because deep down, you knew he’d rather spend the night tangled up with you, alone, than go to this party at all.

After a little while, you finally finished your makeup and got dressed emerging in a similarly colored dark green silk gown that was beaded intricately with some beads that dangle off the gown like droplets. With some movement of the dress you sparkled under the light.  An off the shoulder classic, very old hollywood.

As you stepped out, Jungkook’s head snapped up.

His gaze slowly dragged over you, taking in every detail, his lips parting slightly before he let out a low whistle.

You grinned, twirling slightly to show off the full effect.

Jungkook stood again and crossed the space between you in a few strides. He leaned back against the bathroom sink, looking you up and down with something just shy of awe.

 “Hey you got something right here.” 

You look at him confused, then back in the mirror, “What? Where?” You frantically look over your face. 

He reached out, with his pointer finger and thumb, tilting your chin toward him. “Hmm… right here.”

Before you could react, he leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek. You let out a soft laugh, narrowing your eyes at him. “Wow.”

Jungkook merely shrugged, feigning innocence. “Oh—wait. One more.”

Before you could question him, he leaned in again, this time pressing an equally slow kiss to your other cheek.

“Had to get that one.” He murmured, lips brushing against your skin. “Or the whole outfit would’ve been ruined.”

“Oh I’m sure.” You nod, your eyes racking over him now.  A familiar glow filling your whole chest. Jungkook took your hand in his. Pulling you out of the bathroom.

“Come on, sucker, we’ve got a party to go to.”

“Awe come on. You’re the one who said we could be late.” You tease with a small laugh falling off your lips. 

The two of you wasted no more time leaving, knowing full well that if you lingered any longer, you wouldn’t be stepping foot outside the apartment for days.

Jin’s manor was a short drive out of the city, nestled beyond the reach of streetlights and skyscrapers, surrounded by acres of untouched wilderness. The grand estate stood like a relic of another time—imposing yet elegant, its dark stone exterior bathed in the silver glow of the moon.

Despite its remote location, the manor was alive with energy. As Jungkook pulled up the winding driveway, you could already hear the faint hum of music drifting from within, an undertone to the laughter and clinking of glasses.

Jin’s home was more than just a lavish estate; it was the heart of their coven, a sanctuary that housed centuries of history. Ancient relics, preserved documents, and books bound in timeworn leather lined the vast library that stretched across one wings of the house. Jin had graciously allowed you to explore it before, though even after countless hours buried in those tomes, you had barely made a dent in its secrets. Centuries of vampire lore lived here, and it was precisely that allure that had made Jimin so adamant about hosting the party at the manor this year.

When you and Jungkook arrived, the massive double doors were already open, held by two eerily still gentlemen dressed in midnight-black suits. Their expressions were unreadable, their gazes sharp but unmoving.

You barely spared them a glance before stepping inside, though a part of you wondered—were they vampires? Or just illusions, elegant puppets crafted by Jimin’s magic? It wouldn’t be the first time he had conjured something like this for dramatic effect.

The moment you crossed the threshold, you were swallowed by opulence.

The vast entrance hall was bathed in a dazzling glow, every inch of the ceiling and walls adorned with sparkling gemstones, strung together like constellations. The light from the grand chandelier refracted off the stones, casting glittering reflections across the marble floors, creating an illusion of stardust swirling through the air.

It was breathtaking.

The energy in the room was magnetic—guests, both vampire and human, dressed in the finest silks and velvets, mingled effortlessly. Laughter and music wove through the air like silk threads, wrapping around you as you took it all in.

You leaned into Jungkook, who had an iron glad grip on your waste since entering the house. “Remind me to tell Jimin there could have been more glitter.” 

Jungkook laughed, “I know he really over did it this time.” 

“No!” You wave your hand dismissing him, “It's fantastic this is stuff you really only read about.” 

And it was.

The sheer extravagance of the event was unlike anything you had ever seen. The caterers, gliding through the crowd, were dressed almost as exquisitely as the guests themselves, adorned in dark silks with golden accents, carrying trays of crystal glasses filled with deep, crimson liquid. Blood. Some trays held what you assumed was champagne, meant for the few humans—like yourself—who had been granted entry to this ethereal gathering.

The walls shimmered with illusions, flickering images of dazzling courtiers and celestial phenomena. The ceiling above transformed into a starry sky that seemed almost real, galaxies swirling and constellations twinkling in slow, mesmerizing motion.

Jungkook dragged you along as you basked in every intricate detail, his hand firm yet patient as he guided you toward the grand staircase that led up to the main ballroom.

At the foot of the stairs, Jin and Jimin stood poised like royalty, greeting each guest as they arrived. Jin was immaculate in a deep burgundy ensemble that complimented his yellow eyes, exuding effortless authority, while Jimin—never one to be outshined—was a vision in icy silver, his entire look designed to catch the light and demand attention. Jimin had also bleached his hair back to blonde to seemingly match his outfit. All making his red eyes shine brighter.

Guests arrived behind you in a steady stream, some carrying elegantly wrapped gifts, others presenting cases of unknown offerings—rare wines, expensive liquors, or perhaps something even more elusive.

“Oh a vision in green.”

Jimin’s voice was warm and teasing as he extended a hand toward you, taking yours with effortless grace and placing a chaste kiss to the back of it. His lips curled into a knowing smile as he straightened, eyes flickering with mischief.

“Jimin, this is truly something else.” Your gaze swept across the dazzling room once more, still in awe of how something so grand, so utterly enchanting, could exist completely hidden from the rest of the world.

“You flatter me.” He hummed, tilting his head slightly. “Jungkook helped a lot in getting some of these decorations, so he deserves some credit.”

Jimin shot a wink in Jungkook’s direction, though you caught the slight twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips—no doubt remembering the near disaster that had almost cost them an entire ballroom and possibly Jungkook’s head in the process.

“Well, I can’t wait to see what else you have planned for the night.” You bounced on your heels, excitement thrumming through you.

Jimin, ever the opportunist, wasted no time looping his arm through yours, effectively pulling you closer. He leaned slightly around you, peering at Jungkook, who was momentarily engaged in quiet conversation with Jin.

“Can I steal her away?”

Jungkook’s brows lifted, gaze flicking between the two of you with mild suspicion. “Already? We haven’t even gotten a drink.”

“I promise to bring her back before midnight!” Jimin didn’t even wait for a response before whisking you away, your shoes clicking against the marble steps as you struggled to match his pace.

You barely managed to wave at Jungkook, who remained at the foot of the stairs, watching you go with a mixture of exasperation and reluctant amusement. But the moment your eyes met, his softened, comforted by the unfiltered excitement on your face.

Jimin led you straight into the ballroom—an even grander spectacle than the entrance hall.

A massive Phantom of the Opera-style chandelier hung from the center of the vaulted ceiling, illuminated by shifting technicolor light that cast mesmerizing reflections onto the polished floor. Rhinestone streamers draped across the ceiling like cascading waterfalls, shimmering under the glow. The same illusionary night sky from the main hall continued here, except now, the constellations moved, twinkling and rearranging themselves in intricate patterns, like a cosmic dance only the stars understood.

The music was rich and full-bodied, played live by a band on a raised stage at the far end of the room. Couples twirled on the dance floor in elegant, sweeping motions, lost in the rhythm of the night. Along the walls, guests gathered in small clusters, glasses in hand, some already deep into their drinks, their laughter and whispered conversations filling the space like a carefully orchestrated melody.

“Monique! I got her!” Jimin called out suddenly, his voice cutting through the lively chatter.

A woman with cascading dark curls turned at the sound of his voice, her deep purple gown clinging to her frame as she pivoted effortlessly. The backless design of her dress only added to her commanding presence, and as she lifted a delicate crystal glass to her lips, the deep red stain left behind told you exactly what she’d been drinking. Her hair curly and draped around her in effortless elegance. Orange eyes shining under the lights.

Monique.

She was one of Jin’s closest confidantes and Yoongi’s wife—212 years old, sharp as a dagger, and the resident doctor who could mend almost any injury, supernatural or otherwise. She was a force of nature in her own right. You could only imagine what Yoongi was like if she was like this, you had never had the pleasure of meeting him. Just heard stories. 

At the sight of you, her face lit up. “Darling!” she cheered, her voice smooth as silk yet edged with a teasing warmth.

She closed the distance between you in an instant, placing affectionate kisses on both of your cheeks before pulling back to admire you fully.

“My God, you look gorgeous.” You gave her a once-over in return, a slow grin tugging at your lips.

“Right?” She lifted her arms and gave a twirl, letting the deep purple silk of her gown fan out elegantly before settling back into place. “Always ready to impress.”

“And I am.” Without hesitation, you linked your arm through hers, Jimin still holding onto your other side, the three of you now moving as an exclusive little trio through the glittering expanse of the ballroom. The energy in the room crackled—laughter, conversation, the clink of glasses, and the distant hum of the live band blending seamlessly together.

“So, what have I missed so far?” You asked, glancing between them.

Monique took a slow sip from her glass, the deep red liquid staining her lips like crushed roses. When she pulled back, her eyes twinkled with amusement.

“Nothing at all, darling. The party has just begun.”

There was something reassuring in her tone, but you didn’t miss the way her grip on you remained firm. Protective.

These gatherings were grand, extravagant, and, by all means, safe—but that never stopped the occasional stray vampire from giving in to temptation. You were painfully, unmistakably human, and your scent had already caught the attention of several guests. Their gazes lingered just a second too long, their smiles just a bit too sharp. Monique, ever perceptive, had already positioned herself between you and a few of the more curious onlookers, a subtle yet deliberate message—this one is not yours to touch.

“With you here, my dear, I can actually get things started.” Jimin mused, flashing you a grin before gracefully slipping out of your grasp.

Your eyes followed him as he moved through the ballroom like a phantom, effortless and commanding. Without a single spoken request, guests instinctively parted for him, creating space at the center of the grand hall. The shift was immediate, the energy in the room tightening like a drawn bowstring. A hushed murmur rippled through the crowd, and then, as if bewitched, the music began to die down.

Jimin turned on his heel, his expression slipping from playful to regal in an instant. When he spoke, his voice carried through the room, smooth as silk yet impossible to ignore.

“Undead and undesired.” He began, the corners of his lips curling mischievously. “Welcome to the greatest night of your lives.”

A round of applause echoed through the hall, accompanied by knowing laughter from those familiar with his theatrics. He soaked in the attention, allowing just the right amount of dramatic pause before continuing.

“I am your glorious host for this evening.” He declared, his arms spreading wide as if embracing the entire room. “You’ve heard me say it all before the universe made earth, then man, and then the vampire.” A rounding sound of hisses left everyone in the room, a large display of teeth and intimidation. “And we have many great things in store for you tonight—stories that will haunt your dreams, performances that will leave you breathless, and blood that will keep you satisfied until the end of time… or at least until my next party.”

More laughter, the atmosphere growing lighter, though the air remained charged with anticipation.

“Please, enjoy yourselves.” Jimin’s gaze flickered over the crowd, his smirk deepening. “Indulge as much as you wish. Tonight, we feast, we dance, and we are one with the night.” 

With a spin and swish of his finger, the illusion that was once on the ceiling dripped down to the floor. Making it appear as if instead of walking on marble everyone was walking on the night sky. The illusion also seemed to envelope Jimin and his hair turned black and his suit went from silver to a midnight blue. The chandelier above shimmered, the illusionary constellations shifting in a dazzling display. The band struck up a new tune, rich and decadent, and just like that, the night was set into motion once more.

Monique exhaled beside you, shaking her head with a fond chuckle. “That boy was born to put on a show.”

“He does it rather well if I do say so.” You say, grabbing a champagne off of a tray that passes by you. Taking a sip, and of course Jimin had gotten a very nice quality champagne for this affair. You would probably be responsible for drinking two of the bottles.

“Where’s your boy?” Monique glances around the room seeing if she can spot Jungkook herself. 

“Jimin dragged me away before he could follow. He’ll find us.” You said, taking another sip.

The music in the air swelled as a performance took center stage, dancers twirling in perfect synchrony, their movements almost hypnotic. The glittering lights overhead cast shifting patterns across the floor, and Jimin had once again disappeared, likely off to greet more guests.

“I have no doubt he’ll find us soon. You two start to implode when away from each other too long.” She teased, squeezing your arm. 

“That may be a little true.” You giggle, sipping your champagne. 

“It’s sweet. You’re really great for him. I’ve always thought that.” She hums, which was true. She has told you many times over the years how great she thinks the two of you are. She was the most encouraging of the relationship in the beginning before Jungook told everyone he was dating a human. 

“What about you?” You asked, tilting your head curiously. “Where is this mysterious Yoongi I’ve heard about for years?”

You’d expected a flippant response, maybe even an exasperated sigh, but instead, a flicker of something serious crossed Monique’s face. It was so quick, you almost missed it but not quite. She schooled her features almost instantly, her smirk returning as she glanced behind you.

“Speaking of your lovesick puppy.” She raises her glass to Jungkook who was coming in your direction. 

You turn to look at him, a smile on his face. “Five seconds in this place, and they steal you from me.” He said, immediately reaching for your free hand.

You shrugged, feigning innocence. “What can I say? I think they like me better than you.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I think you’re right.” Then, glancing toward Monique, he added, “Hey, Mon.” 

“Jungkook.” She tipped her glass in his direction. “Happy New Year. Get yourself a drink.” Without waiting for a response, she snagged a goblet off another passing tray and handed it to him.

He accepted it with a nod. “Happy New Year. Planning to steal her from me again?” He teased, resting his head lightly against yours.

“No I’ll let you have her back… for now.”  Monique’s smile remained in place, but something in her tone shifted slightly. You caught it again, that same momentary change in her expression. And then, just like that, she was stepping away, disappearing into the crowd.

Jungkook didn’t seem to notice.

“Where do you want to start?” Jungkook leaned in close to your ear. “Dancing, gambling, making out in the bathroom. I like the last one but that’s me.” 

You smile, hitting him in the chest, “We need at least two more drinks before we can do that.” 

“Boo, you’re no fun.” He clinks his glass against yours, “Guess I need to start.” 

You stop him before he takes a sip, “Hold on, one more kiss before you have iron mouth the rest of the mouth.”

He smiles, leaning in and giving you a lingering kiss. Wanting more but not really wanting to stick his tongue down your throat in front of all these people. 

With that, the night raged on, a whirlwind of movement and sound. You and Jungkook drifted from room to room, immersed in stories that spanned centuries. Some vampires were impossibly old, their gazes heavy with history, while others were younger, still burning with the reckless energy of newfound immortality. There were dazzling performances—some manipulating fire with a flick of their fingers, others bending shadows into eerie, shifting forms. Illusions warped reality before your eyes, grand halls transforming in an instant, blurring the line between what was real and what was merely a trick of power.

The night reached its peak with a fencing match and sleek steel flashing under candlelight, footwork so precise it looked more like choreography than combat. The duelists struck with deadly accuracy, piercing and slashing in ways that would have been fatal to any human. But here, wounds were shrugged off, blades pulled from chests without so much as a grimace before the fight resumed. Laughter and applause rippled through the crowd, the energy of the gathering growing wilder as midnight loomed. Blood flowed freely, whether in ornate goblets or from the eager mouths of those who had abandoned restraint.  

Jungkook and you got separated at some point. You had found Rehna amongst the chaos though. 

You both were now in a drawing room which was hosting the outfit competition. Waiting for the results to be read allowed. Rehna had her hands clamped tight around yours, almost painfully but you knew she was excited. Hoseok was the hosting vampire for this year’s competition.

“Second place goes too,” He opened up the small envelope, “The vampire Rehna.”

You let go of her hand and start clapping yours and join in cheers from other vampires as she walks on stage to accept her award. She was happy but you could tell she was a little bitter about not getting first. She rejoins you as the winner gets their prize. 

“Hey that was a tough call, I mean that girl who got first literally had made her dress in the 18th century… you can’t beat that.” You try to comfort her, but she picks herself up quickly. 

“Starting tomorrow we are planning my outfit for next year. That first place is mine.” She nods, gripping onto her small trophy so tight that it seemed to bend underneath her grip. 

“Hey, the top three get to take home some really nice bottles of blood. Why don’t we go pick yours out?” You say pulling her past other guests to leave the drawing room. 

You both make your way back into the heart of the house where you pass some tall French  doors that lead to a balcony area. Some vampires were smoking and other vampires leaning casually and others in deep discussion. You almost think nothing of it before you catch a glimpse of Monique standing outside alone. It makes you stop in your tracks. Rehna noticing your pause. 

“You alright?” She raises an eyebrow to you, trying to see what you see. 

You wave for her to continue on, “You go ahead. I’ll find you later.” 

She wants to pry but nods and continues as you turn to head out onto the balcony. The view of the estate just looked over the woods that spanned one side of the house. You could see the stars pretty clearly out here and it would be a lovely spot to sit and think. You understand why Monique may be finding solace here. You couldn’t help if you said something wrong to her earlier. She usually would be enjoying the festivities but was here… alone. Having that same look on her face that you saw earlier. 

The cold air bites against your skin, sharp and unwelcome, but you push past the discomfort and step closer to Monique. The moonlight catches in her dark eyes, and there’s something distant in her expression, a weight you can’t quite name.

"Care for some company?" You offer, your voice light despite the strange tension in the air.

She turns toward you with a soft, practiced smile. "Oh, darling. Having a good night?"

"So far, yes," You admit, swaying slightly as warmth buzzes through your limbs. "I’m a little tipsy, to be honest." You giggle, the edges of your amusement blurring under the influence, and Monique’s smile lingers, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

"Are you alright? You don’t seem as festive as you usually are at these things." You press, watching her closely.

She hums, a quiet acknowledgment, then exhales slowly. "I’m alright. Still having a good time, I promise. Just… some old memories getting kicked up."

"Was it something I said earlier? I’m sorry if I—"

She cuts you off with a small shake of her head. "No, not at all. I already knew I was going to feel this way tonight. It has nothing to do with you."

You study her, unconvinced. "Well, then what is it? I’m pretty good at listening. Even if I don’t always understand all the vampire stuff." You shrug, trying to offer levity.

A flicker of hesitation crosses her face, but then she sighs, her gaze flicking away. "It’s… Yoongi."

Your head tilts slightly. "The famous and elusive husband?"

The name lingers in the air between you. You’ve heard plenty about Yoongi. Whispers of a sharp mind, a man who seemed to exist only in the stories others told. You’d assumed he was simply away, a researcher, a traveler always chasing something beyond your reach. Whenever the subject arose, the conversation had a way of dissolving into something else, slipping through your fingers before you could grasp any real details. The way everyone spoke about him made it feel like he was still here.

Just hidden, just unseen.

"Yes…" Monique’s voice is quieter now, careful. "Has Jungkook talked about him much?"

"Here and there.” You admit. "The subject always seems to get dropped pretty quickly, though. I’ve heard plenty of stories from everyone else. I’ve always wanted to meet him, but it feels like… like he’s never around."

A pause. "Makes sense.” She murmurs, gaze flickering as if she’s choosing her words with precision. "Well, they were very close… Are close. Come with me."

She nods her head back inside and she takes your hand before you can ask anything else, fingers cool and firm as she pulls you through the party.

She grabs two more glasses which you assume is for herself. She leads you down two flights of stairs, away from the pulse of the party, the sounds fading into a distant echo. The air grows cooler, the flickering light from the sconces casting elongated shadows on the stone walls. You recognize this path and its one that leads to the cellars, a place you’ve rarely ventured. Few people come down here during these gatherings. It feels… separate, untouched by the revelry above.

“This feels like I'm being set up to be sacrificed or something.” You joke, trying to lighten the eerie atmosphere.

Monique lets out a laugh, her voice rich and amused. “Weird place to sacrifice you, considering there are over two hundred vampires upstairs.”

“True.” You admit, though the further she leads you, the less sure you are about anything. The air shifts, turning cooler, denser. The house above is lavish, but down here, it feels ancient. The stone walls, though well-lit, seem to close in the deeper you go.

There’s a shift in Monique’s expression, something amused yet knowing. “Oh, also, your boyfriend is trying to find you. He’s calling out.”

You groan. “How bad?”

“Pretty drunk.”

“Oh no.” You sigh, rubbing your temple. “He probably drank that mulled blood stuff. He waits all year for it.”

Monique smirks. “He’s going to be a handful when you get back.”

Great. You were already preparing for a very clingy, very intoxicated Jungkook draping himself over you the moment you surfaced from… whatever this was. But for now, Monique’s grip on your wrist is firm, leading you deeper into the underground corridors.

Eventually, you reach a narrow hallway lined with locked doors. Some have glass doors, showing carefully preserved artifacts displayed in temperature-controlled rooms and historical relics, no doubt, kept safe from time and age. Others bear plaques reading “Archives.” You recognize the setup from the old library you used to work at, except this was older, untouched by time in a way that made your stomach twist.

Monique stops at the last door. It’s heavier than the others, its dark wood carved with intricate patterns, a symbol you don’t recognize etched into the center. Without hesitation, she opens it.

The room inside is cold. Silent. The flickering lights barely reach the high ceilings, casting long shadows across the stone floor. The walls are lined with plaques, names etched in silver, and beneath them, urns carefully placed in recessed alcoves. It looks like a crypt, and the air feels thick with something unspoken.

But what catches your attention isn’t the room itself—it’s the statue at the very end.

It’s life-sized, eerily detailed. A man, frozen mid-motion, his body twisted as if recoiling from something unseen. His expression is caught between defiance and fear, lips slightly parted, eyes wide. He’s propped up with supports, standing atop a pedestal, carved in a military-style uniform.

You hesitate near the doorway, the weight of the space pressing down on you. Monique, however, steps forward, placing one of the glasses of blood on the pedestal’s edge with deliberate care. Then she turns to you, her gaze unreadable.

“Y/N,” She says softly, her voice carrying through the quiet, “meet Yoongi.”

You blink. Once. Twice.

Your gaze flicks between her and the statue, confusion settling into your bones. “What?”

She looks at the figure, then back at you. “This is Yoongi.” She lifts a hand toward the frozen man, as if introducing him formally.

You take a cautious step forward. “I’m confused.”

“There’s a long story here, but this…” Monique exhales, her expression tightening. “This is my husband. This is why you’ve never met him.”

A sharp chill slides down your spine. You glance at the room again, at the plaques, at the urns. Your stomach twists. “Did… D-Did he die?”

Monique shakes her head, her voice dropping to something nearly inaudible. “That would be easier.”

You step closer, standing beside her now. She’s staring at the statue like it might move, like it might suddenly exhale and return to her after years of silence. You don’t interrupt. After a long moment, she takes a deep breath. “How much has Jungkook told you about… vampire powers? Our history?”

You shake your head slightly. “Jungkook’s told me details here and there. I’ve asked a lot of questions, but honestly… it still feels like I’ve barely scratched the surface even after two years.”

Monique hums in acknowledgment. “It’s complicated.” She says, nodding. “As you know, we all have the speed, the strength, the mind reading… but beyond that, we each develop our own abilities. When a vampire has the power to manipulate something, and I mean truly change it, the only one who can undo that power is the one who cast it in the first place.”

A small pause echos between you. You watch as she seems to make a decision, deciding to tell a different story. 

She continues, voice distant. “I met Yoongi at the beginning of the 19th century. My sister and I had just moved to England, escaping a war that wasn’t ours. My father had connections and secured us a comfortable life through distant relatives. It was exciting but suddenly, we had titles, dowries, invitations to every ball. For a young woman, it was everything society told me I should want.” She lets out a quiet laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “Yoongi was a Viscount at the time.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “Really?”

“They were having fun with it.” A small smirk touches her lips, as if recalling something fond. “Anyway, Yoongi was highly sought after that season. He had wealth, he was gorgeous, and he had absolutely no intention of marrying.”

You can’t help but smile. “So how did you get his attention?”

Monique’s smirk widens, her gaze flicking to the statue. “It’s a classic story. Boy meets girl. Girl spills wine on him in front of everyone.”

You wince. “Oh no.”

“It was mortifying.” Monique shakes her head at the memory, a soft, wistful laugh escaping her lips. “I spent days trying to make it right, sending notes, trying to find a way to replace his coat. Apologizing over and over, but he didn’t care in the slightest. He actually found it amusing how much care I placed in a simple dress shirt.”

She falls silent then, her eyes locked onto Yoongi’s frozen form, as if trapped in the past alongside him. The weight of her grief settles over the room like a thick fog, making the air heavy, pressing against your chest. 

“So then what?” You ask gently, urging her on.

“He started coming around more often. We became fast friends, though he never officially courted me. It all just… fell into place. One day, I realized I couldn’t help how I felt. Except he beat me to it. Probably read my mind or something.” Shaking her head with pursed lips, “It was easy, natural… until he had to tell me about the vampire part.”

“How did he do it?”

“He just blurted it out.” She huffs a small laugh, the memory clearly amusing in hindsight. “He wasn’t dramatic about it, didn’t sugarcoat it,  just said it. Like it was the most normal thing in the world. He didn’t care if I knew. He was so sure I wouldn’t blink twice over it. And he was right. I didn’t.” She shrugs. “I had no idea before that. They were very good at keeping themselves hidden back then.”

You shift your weight slightly, glancing again at the statue, at the way Yoongi’s body is posed. “Then he asked you to marry him?”

Monique exhales a long breath, her fingers tightening around the glass she holds. “Yoongi was actually afraid to ask me to marry him. Vampires asking for a human’s hand in marriage is a big deal. You are asking this person to be with you for eternity. It meant Yoongi was asking to turn me, turn into a vampire. Now he had little hesitation about it, for a long time, but he was terrified of what it meant. Of taking something from me. My humanity, my chance at a ‘normal’ life. He worried about things like children, about whether I would resent the decision later.” She shakes her head. “But I never wanted children. I watched my mother have five boys and knew early on that that life wasn’t for me.”

“So what did you say when he finally asked?”

A soft, nostalgic smile curves her lips. “I told him there was nothing I wanted more. That the idea of forever with him didn’t scare me. That  it excited me.” Her gaze flickers with warmth, but only for a moment before the sadness creeps back in. “He was so surprised by my willingness. But for me, it was the easiest decision in the world. That I would willingly die for him.” 

Silence hangs between you for a beat before you press further. “So then… how… when did this happen?”

Monique’s expression shifts, her voice quieter now. “It happened during World War One. Humans weren’t the only ones at war. There was a war between vampires, too. A lot of vampire men were drafted into the human armies, fighting not just humans, but each other. And the women… we fought our own battles in the shadows, deep in the forests.” She lets out a humorless laugh. “No matter how powerful we think we are, war finds a way to break everyone.”

Your stomach knots at the implication.

“One night, Yoongi and Jin were on patrol for their unit when they were ambushed by a squad of enemy vampires. They had no idea what kind of abilities these vampires had, but they were outnumbered. Jin managed to take down two of them, but he got badly injured in the process. Yoongi, was trying to get Jin out, trying to protect him. And then…” She swallows hard, her eyes drifting back to the statue. “One of them petrified him.”

“Oh no.”

She nods. “Turned to stone instantly.” Her fingers clenched into fists. “Jungkook and Hoseok found Jin, barely alive, but by the time they got there, it was too late. The vampire who did this to him was gone. No trace. No way to track them.” She exhales sharply. “They brought Yoongi back like this… and he’s been this way ever since.”

A cold chill creeps up your spine as you stare at Yoongi’s statue. The idea that he isn’t dead but that he’s still in there, trapped, unable to move, unable to speak—makes your skin crawl.

“You haven’t found the vampire who did this? Even after all this time?” You whisper.

Monique’s jaw tightens, and when she speaks, her voice is edged with something far more dangerous than sadness.

“No.”

Her lips press together before she exhales sharply. “It’s possible they’re dead. But it doesn’t undo the effect.” Her voice wavers, frustration and grief laced together in a fragile thread. “It’s almost ironic. Yoongi spend most of his life dedicated to understanding vampires better. Yoongi spent centuries researching vampire abilities, collecting books, studying cases, trying to understand all the different powers we possess… and yet, even with all his research, we still don’t have an answer.” She lets out a humorless laugh. “So he’s just… like this. Until we find a way to undo it.”

Your throat tightens. “Mon… I’m so sorry.” A small tear escaping one of your eyes. The grief that escapes her overwhelming you.

She shakes her head. “No need to apologize.” She reaches over, wiping your tear away. “And no need for tears.” 

“But—I can’t even imagine how you feel.”

“It’s…” She hesitates. “It’s painful. I have to keep living in the hopes we find something… For the first few years, I wasn’t—I was just existing. A shell of myself, searching for answers, desperate for anything that could fix this. I hunted for that vampire for what felt like forever. We had leads, rumors about others with similar abilities, but they always led to dead ends.”

You swallow, glancing back at Yoongi’s unmoving figure. “You know… Can he hear us?”

Monique exhales slowly. “We don’t know. We all talk to him regardless, just in case. We tell him about the world, about what’s happening, about us. We try to keep him filled in… but honestly?” Her voice wavers. “A part of me hopes he can hear us. But another part of me hopes he can’t. That he hasn’t been sitting here, awake, for more than a hundred years, unable to move, unable to speak.”

Your eyes widen at the realization, he could be awake. “Oh my god. I hadn’t even thought about that.”

Monique’s eyes soften, but there’s an unbearable weight behind them. “Yeah… so today is hard. It’s supposed to be a celebration, but how do I celebrate without the person I want most? Sometimes it feels like he died. The grief comes and goes, like waves, crashing when I least expect it.”

“I don’t know… I’m sorry.” You murmur.

She meets your gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in her expression. “I hope we can find something.” She sighs, rolling the stem of her glass between her fingers. “But at least we live in a lasting age of peace now. Vampires have worked hard to bridge the gaps between us. We won’t have to fight like that again. We lost so many—so many were sacrificed.”

She pauses, then continues. “We’ve had vampires come from all over, trying to help. Some of them were Yoongi’s friends, people he helped in their time of need. But no matter how many have tried…” She gestures toward him, her voice barely above a whisper. “We’re still here.”

You hesitate, glancing around the dimly lit space. “Why is he down here? Why not up at the party, where people can pay their respects?”

Monique’s jaw tightens. “Because in the ‘90s, some drunk idiot broke off his left arm.”

Your eyes widen. “Shit.”

She nods, and now that you look closer, you can see the faint lines where the repair was made. Just below the shoulder.

“After that, we decided Yoongi couldn’t be displayed at the parties anymore. It was too dangerous. Too much risk.”

Your chest tightens at the thought. “That’s awful.”

She hums, staring at her glass before tipping it slightly in the direction of the other drink she brought down. “That’s why I bring this.” She  says softly. “It’s for him. So he can still celebrate. I always come down here on this night. I spend the New Year with him.”

Your heart aches at the quiet devotion in her voice. “That’s… so sad.”

Monique shakes her head, offering you the ghost of a smile. “No sadness tonight. It’s a night of celebration.” She reaches out, squeezing your hand gently. “You should go back up. I’ll be okay. Now that you’ve finally met Yoongi.”

“Well it was lovely to meet you Yoongi.” You nod towards him looking back to her, “I  don’t mind staying.”

“You have so much to celebrate.” She gives you a small, reassuring smile. “Go be with everyone. Celebrate into the night. It’s close to midnight, and I’ve kept you long enough.”

You open your mouth to protest, but at that moment—

Baby. Baby, where are you?

Jungkook’s voice echoes in your mind, petulant and needy. He sounds whiny, which means he’s definitely had a few too many drinks. If you don’t go find him, he’s liable to start running through the halls, searching for you like a lovesick idiot.

You sigh, amused. “I’ll come say goodbye before we leave.”

Monique nods, her expression warm but tired. “Okay.”

With one last glance at Yoongi’s frozen form, you turn and head back up to the party—leaving Monique to her vigil, her love for him unwavering even after a century of waiting.

With a heavy heart and a mind full of tangled thoughts, you ascend the stairs, leaving behind the weight of Monique and Yoongi’s story. Their tragedy lingers in your chest, an ache that refuses to settle. She’s been waiting, searching, for him, for a way to bring him back. The sorrow in her voice clings to you, and as much as you wish you could do something, anything, to help… you know there’s nothing.

The party is still in full swing as you step back into the throng of people. Laughter echoes through the grand halls, music thrums beneath your feet, and the faint scent of spilled champagne lingers in the air. You weave your way through the crowd, your mind distracted as you search for Jungkook.

He could be anywhere by now, lost in the sea of guests. You sigh, dodging a pair of unsteady dancers and taking note of the slight destruction left in the wake of too much drinking—Jimin is going to love that.

“Oh, Jungkook, where are you?” You murmur to yourself, scanning the faces around you.

If only you had some supernatural ability to read minds, to pull his thoughts from the noise and find him in an instant instead of aimlessly wandering.

You slip into a quieter hallway, peeking into rooms as you pass, hoping to spot him. Nothing. It’s almost comical—he’s likely looking for you too, both of you just barely missing each other in the chaos.

Meanwhile, Jungkook has been trapped for the past hour listening to Jimin’s annual rant about how he should have won a gold medal in the 1972 Winter Olympics. He tells the story every single year, growing more bitter with time. Jungkook, slouched on a couch with his head hanging over the back, has all but tuned him out, using what little cognitive function he has left to search for your mind instead.

It’s proving difficult.

He’s six—no, seven drinks in. His limbs feel heavy, his mind hazy.

His eyes are closed when he feels it, a soft press of lips against his forehead. His red eyes blink open, vision blurry before it sharpens, landing on you. You’re smiling down at him, hands braced on either side of his head, warmth radiating from your touch.

“My love.” You say and Jungkook hums. A drunken smile on his face. Unbeknownst to him you had left a lipstick march on his forehead. In his search for him, you took a pause to reapply it.

“You found me.” He sighs. You kiss hip lips, a little awkward since his head was upside down. Leaving another stain on his lips. Then another on both of his cheeks. Another on his nose. All leaving lipstick stains behind.

“Now you look perfect.” You laugh at your work, Jungkook still unaware of what you had done. You pull out your phone to take a picture. It would be a good one to show him later. 

“I need to tell you a secret.” He says staring up at you while you stare at the picture.

“Yeah?” You look at him and he curls his finger gesturing for you to come closer. You lean your head close to his mouth. 

“I’m a vampire.” He whispers. Then, with a chuckle, he giggles at himself.

You snort, pulling back to look at him properly. “Oh my god, I had no idea.”

He waves for you to come close again and you comply, “I also really want to rip that dress off with my teeth.” 

“Hot, maybe another time.” You whisper to him. Standing back up straight. Jungkook hoists himself off of the couch. Walking past you with a smug grin on his face as he leaves the room. 

Follow me. His voice calls back to you in your mind.

You trail after him as he just keeps on walking through the house, stumbling a little but mostly keeping himself up right. You stay close behind, he manages to swiftly grab another glass for himself and for you. He caught a quick glimpse of himself in a mirror and gave you a knowing look. You just shrug your shoulders like you had no idea what you had done. 

 Before he veers down another hallway, which was technically off limits to other party members. You knew this wing, this is where the library was. Which is exactly where Jungkook ducked into. Things that were old but could be safely kept out in the open for those to look at regularly were kept here. It was a beautiful collection that Jin had curated over the years. Some works you would never find in any parts of the world. It didn’t shield from the rest of the sounds of the party but it was much quieter. Only a lamp was left on so the light in here was dark. 

“No Jin will actually kill us if he sees we brought drinks in here!” You protest staying a foot outside the door while Jungkook stands inside. 

“He’ll never know, plus he likes you so he would never get mad at you.” 

“Jungkook it’s almost midnight, we'll miss the countdown.” 

“We can have our own.” 

“But-“

“Come here.” He grabs your hand pulling you into the room anyways. Closing the door behind the both of you. “I just want one moment just with you.” 

He sets the glasses down on one of the side tables. Taking your hand again. Pulling you into him. You don’t protest him letting yourself fall into his arms. 

It was just a comfortable silence between the two of you for a moment. The hum of the music outside filled in the void as your mind was flooded. Your chest was so full and so warm because you just loved Jungkook so much. Your mind still wandered. Thinking about something like what happened to Yoongi and Monique… you couldn’t imagine. How would you even handle that kind of thing if it was you two. She’s been waiting for over a hundred years now. 

They only got a small piece of forever together. 

You felt every word she said about Yoongi because it’s all the same things you felt for Jungkook. You would go searching the world for something to fix him. To bring him back to you. You would do anything. 

You would die for him. 

Your thoughts are interrupted. The sounds of people outside begin to countdown from 30. 

“So what do you want in the new year?” You ask him, your arms hugging tighter around Jungkook.

He thought for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip, “Never hear Jimin’s Olympic story ever again. I lived it… I already know what happened.” 

You laugh, “Be serious.” 

20.

“Fine. I don’t need anything. I have everything I want already.” 

“Everything? That’s a lot.” 

“I know.” 

15.

Jungkook leans close to your ear. “What about you? What do you want for the new year?” 

“I think I want to have everything… I don’t have it quite yet.” 

“What do you mean?” 

10.

“I just…” The words caught in your throat because you had wanted it for much longer than you were willing to voice. You had thought about it since the day he told you but you weren’t sure if you were ready.

“What is it?” 

“I want more than this Jungkook… I want forever.” 

5.

“What are you saying?” 

4.

“I want you. I want our life. I don’t think I was ready to talk about it before but I want it now…” 

“Y/N.”

2.

1.

“I want to be like you... I want you to turn me into a vampire.” 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

a/n: woof this is a long one, I hope you enjoyed!! Let me know your thoughts plssssssss... I will try to have the next part out as soon as possible but enjoy this for now <3

𓆩♱𓆪 Next Chapter

Taglist!: @lilacstellar @london-dreamer71 @pitchblack0309 @dna-black-and-blue @uniquesuitcasegothcop @fancypeacepersona @whoisnanda04 @starlight-1010 @yooniepot @myjungkookthighs @inkedkoos @rrosiitas @spideyjimin @ahgasegotarmy116 @destenyofficial @taekrve @agustverse @jungkookswifeeeeeee @superstarfishsandwich @kooeuphoria @bdlyanne @candyshin00 @littlegirlmin @jimineepaboya @rklve @https-mei @littlegirlmin @m00njinnie @yoongisgirl69 @adoresjjk @dieforkoo @kookoo-kachoo @ukndtwme @livi101ful @mimi1097 @mrsjohnnysuh @heebear @xsyruhh @somehowukook

[minhosimthings]

Silk and Pearls || SJY

Synopsis: He was the artist, and you were his muse. But what happens when his muse doesn't see herself like the way he sees her?

Pairings: fashiondesigner!Jake * Model!fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, fingering, mirror sex, anal sex, unprotected p in v (not for you), bondage, use of handcuffs, edging, degradation, praise, sorta angsty in the beginning, insecure reader, overall good ol bf Jake, lots of kissing cause these two are FREAKS

A/N: hello my babies 😚 So here is the promised fashion designer Jake fic this was kinda fun to write because I was extremely horny lol. Anywho ENJOY

"Did I really make a dress that pretty or is it just you, my love?" 

You felt your cheeks warm up drastically at the sound of your boyfriend's voice, along with his face appearing behind you. You saw his eyes light up as you stared at him in the mirror in front of you, his wandering pupils admiring how snug you looked in the dress you were wearing. With its brilliant outlay of white chiffon along with its minute details of chartreuse pearls highlighting everything Jake wanted to, it was by far the most beautiful thing he had ever breathed life into. 

Or perhaps it was only because of the person who was wearing it. 

"Don't go putting your hard work all over my shoulders again, babe." You laughed, turning your body to face him, "I'm just the model."

"The model is the muse, might I remind you." Jake corrected you, leaning in to place his forehead on yours, his love-struck eyes gazing longingly into yours, "How did I manage to capture the bouts of your affection hm, mon amour?" 

"You spend one week in Paris for Fashion Week and suddenly you're a romance novelist." You laugh, raising your arms and placing them on either of his shoulders, "As for your question—" you pretended to think, all while ghosting your glossy lips over his plump ones, "—I don't think you'll ever get the answer to that." 

"Shame, I was hoping you'd say something overly sweet about me." Jake laughed, before smudging his lips against yours. His ever so slender tongue moved in your mouth, as his hold on your waist tightened. Pulling away (after what had seemed like a very short amount of time to him) from the kiss, Jake took pride in the fact that you were quite breathless. 

"Jaeyun.” you spoke in a scolding voice, lowering your voice to a comedic level, “We are at work.”

“Your point is?” 

“My point is-” you looked into his beautiful eyes with nothing but love and admiration, “-there are about five people who know about our relationship, and you know you can't get into a scandal, it will positively ruin your reputation, the reputation you-” you poked his chest with your finger, “-worked so hard to achieve.”

“Let them write what they want.” Jake spoke to you in a honey coated voice, as if you were the very oxygen his lunds consumed in order to keep themselves alive, “You, my love, are practically impossible to resist.”

“You better give me your Paris lessons when we get home,” you smirked, eyes wandering down to his lush lips again, “lover boy.” The space between the both of you was practically non-existent now, and Jake could feel the pearls of your dress slightly pierce him through his thin button-up shirt. Perhaps he regretted making such a beautiful dress, especially to dress you up in it, because the way the touch of your thigh on his and felt, he could rip it off right there and then, wasting his months of hard work, and devour you against the mirror. He wished he could see your divine eyes roll to the back of your head, while he ravished your pussy with his tongue, all whilst leaving his personal signature on your thighs. After all, that was what he added the thigh-high slit in the dress for.

“Yeun,” you warned him, as his hand trailed higher up your thigh, only stopping at the sound of your voice and giving a tight squeeze to the flesh, “You can have me all you want when we get home.” The sight of the pout on his face, a stark contrast to the siren eyes he held five seconds ago, made your mouth twist into a gentle smile.

“Don’t blame me if you can’t walk tomorrow morning, love.” He smirked and went in for a kiss, as beautiful as the wavering skyline of the city, all the building lights flickering along with the stars to remind the earth of how alive it was. In the deepest parts of the kiss, where your lips danced to a tune which you had memorised, love reigned its gentle rule.

____________________________________

The sound of makeup palettes being tossed on tables and brushes full of powder and eyeshadow being dabbed against porcelain skin overwhelmed you. The world will always see the perfect last outcome, of straight eyeliner that could cut stone, legs that could send Gods to their knees begging for mercy, lips that anyone would want to press infinite kisses to, and bodies wrapped in artworks. But they would never see the background of it all, the painful ordeal of sitting in a chair for hours to manipulate the face of a doll. Your ass had already gone numb ten minutes ago. 

“Alright, spill it to me. You have transfiguration powers right?” you joked, looking at your hair-and-makeup artist, Sunoo, who was running his slender fingers through your hair, making sure every strand fell into its correct place.

 “I went through painful cosmetology courses, just for you to call me a witch?” Sunoo scoffed, surveying you with a satisfied look on his face, ”Gee thanks for the compliment Y/N.”

“I’m joking you asshole.” you rolled your eyes, taking his outstretched hand and helping yourself out of the chair. Your butt silently thanked you, as you stretched your limbs, “Well don't I look pretty today?”

“Yes hon, the show-stopper obviously has to look pretty.” Sunoo sassed, putting his hands on his hips, “Jake really outdid himself with this one though, I am loving the pearls.”

You tried to keep your smile to yourself at the sound of your boyfriend’s name. Jake had made some ‘structural’ changes to the dress a night before the show so that it would fit more alluringly on your body. That is to say, he made the changes after getting inspiration from an hour’s session in your bedroom. 

“I just hope everyone will like it!” you said with an air of happiness.

“Of course they will.” Sunoo reassured you, “because number 1, it's on you and number two, it is on you.” He spoke every word with force, giving you his foxy smile before disappearing, telling you to wait in the room until someone called you. 

Sighing to yourself for no particular reason, you went back to admiring yourself. You truly looked regal, like some badass assassin who was going to murder someone at her wedding, a gunshot wedding, would be the perfect theme for Jake's next show, you thought, taking a mental note to tell him. After all, he did love experimenting with his reds and his whites. The door to the room was slightly ajar, which allowed the sounds from outside to enter. You moved towards it to close it. Stopping at the handle, at the sound of your name. 

“...not like she even has much talent. She’s literally getting in because of her boyfriend.” one of the girls, dressed in mauve silk told the one next to her. 

‘Wait, her boyfriend?” You heard the other one say, now shielding yourself from view with the door whilst eavesdropping. “Yeah, I’ve heard rumours you know?” The mauve girl said, “that her boyfriend is Mr.Sim, the designer. It makes sense wouldn't it?” she let out a crude laugh, “She’s not even that pretty and suddenly she gets to be showstopper. Yep, she’s definitely whoring herself out.” She laughed again, along with the other girl.

You felt your stomach sink as you quietly closed the door, not wanting to hear anything else. Is that really what the other models thought of you? That you were only here because of Jake? That you were only using him for your own benefit? 

You stared at yourself in the mirror again, brushing back the slit to reveal your leg. Your eyes wandered down the length of your entire body. What you had once so happily admitted, now looked like an ugly piece of flesh to you. Each imperfection caught your eye and you could feel the tears brimming at your eyeline. 

“Y/N!” you heard Sunoo cry out. Quickly swallowing the lump in your throat, you called back out, feeling relieved to see his face appear in the doorway. “Come on hon, you’re on in two.” Sunoo smiled, “Ahh you look so pretty!” he smiled, extending his hand to help you walk outside in your heels, “They’re gonna love you.”

“Thanks Sun.” You managed a smile, stepping out onto the boundary of the runway, where the show manager would give you the cue to walk. Taking a deep breath, you took on an expression of calm, to represent the serene and elegant atmosphere of the dress. And with a wave of the manager’s hand, you walked.

One foot in front of the other, you stared at the imaginary dot in front of you, just like you had been taught, with your heels clacking perfectly to the beat of the background music. The walk to the end of the runway had always felt so long, and this time was no exception. But as you reached there, and struck your pose, smiling for the cameras to take their pictures, you couldn't help but think about what the girls were saying earlier. 

Not now Y/n, you thought to yourself, pushing that thought to the back of your head, and concentrating on your current position. Giving your signature grin to the cameras, you spun on your heel and walked back, stopping in the middle to reveal your leg from the slit. You could hear the excited murmur from the crowd, smiling to yourself at the satisfaction you got. You struck your final pose with all the other models assembled on the stage, and then the pandemonium of roses and applause broke out. The people clapped like never before, and you could hear someone calling out Jake's name. You remained in your position until you felt a warm presence next to you, skipping your hand into his and guiding you along with him down the runway again.

Jake had never looked so beautiful, you thought, with two spikes of his  hair framing his face perfectly, like a lion’s mane. You tried to not let your eyes linger down to his chest, which remained open against his suit. God damn did he look handsome. You couldn't remember much of anything that followed. All that you thought about was the warm feeling of Jake's hand against your skin, and the way he bragged to everyone about his showstopper. 

Yet, there was something at the back of your mind that kept biting you. 

____________________________________

“You’re quiet today, love.” Jake commented, as you silently put your washed plate back on the shelf. He had noticed how low you had been ever since coming back from the show. At first he brushed it off as you being tired, after all, modelling is no piece of cake. But the fact that you had spoken less than five words to him even after taking a nap was concerning. 

"Just...tired." You mumbled, giving him an unconvincing smile. Jake tilted his head to one side and motioned for you to sit down next to him on the couch. 

"And do tired people usually cook dinner for their boyfriends instead of ordering pizza?" He asked, making you chuckle, "What's wrong sweetheart?" Jake placed his hand gently on your thigh, leaning in closer to you. You took a shaky breath in. 

"Yeun, you love me right?" Jake's entire world seemed to pause at your question.

Whatever did he do to make you ask that ridiculous question?

"Baby what are you saying?" He asked, sending you a soft smile, "Of course I love you and if this is about me taking the last cookie, I swear I'll ask Jay to bake you more."

"No, it's not that." You laughed, bringing your head down, "It's stupid really, I shouldn't even be worried." You took another deep breath, "I just heard some of the girls talking to each other today, you know saying some crap about how I'm only the showstopper because I'm your girlfriend and everything." Before you knew it, you were rambling, "And I really do love you, you know. I'm not only in this relationship because I want to use you or something and i know I'm not really that pretty for you to love me but—"

"Y/N."

The sound of your name dropping from his lips silenced you. You stared down at your legs, fiddling with the edge of your (Jake's) shirt, until his fingers intertwined into yours. His touch was warm as always, comforting like the sea breeze on a beach day. 

"Baby, look at me." Jake said, prompting you to lift your head, "Properly, Y/N." He said again, when you avoided his eyes. Jake smiled when you finally looked him in the eye. 

"I don't want you to ever think even for a second that you're not the most beautiful human being I've ever met." Your eyes widened at his soft words, "Baby, you were the showstopper today, because you worked hard for it, not because you're my girlfriend and the love of my life." A smile twitched at the corner of your lips, "And I'm going to need the names of those girls right now, for extremely unrelated reasons."

You burst out laughing, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen from your right eye. "Are you going to murder them for me?" You asked, to which Jake put his finger to his temple and pretended to think, "I'm not going to bail you out Yeun." You said, slapping his chest playfully. 

"But seriously though—" Jake's eyes softened, as he took your hands in his, bringing your knuckles to his lips to kiss them, "—I love you so much, I'd go to the ends of the Earth if you asked me to." He brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, "And if anyone ever thinks that you didn't work your fine ass off to get where you are, they'll be very close to the 'Jake firing list'." 

A moment of silence followed before the both of you burst out laughing at his statement. Jake took the opportunity to pull you by your waist closer to you. 

"Well then—" Your eyes wandered from his eyes to his lips, "—can I perhaps see that list?" Your body was practically merged with Jake's, with his hands slapped on your waist, and your arms around his neck. 

"Well then we would have to go to my studio wouldn't we?" Jake said in a lower tone, biting his lip. His eyes stayed on yours, as he swiftly lifted you up, making you wrap your legs around his hips for support. Your breasts were extremely close to his face, a fact which Jake was relishing. A giggle erupted out of your mouth as his hands gave a squeeze to your buttcheek, his feet slowly leading the both of you into the bedroom. 

“I assume your studio is your bedroom then?” You laughed, as Jake entered the darkly lit bedroom, the only source of light being the faded night lamp that he kept for ‘the aesthetic’. Jake chuckled before going in for a kiss.

It started as a small kiss. A peck. A brush of the lips so gentle you barely felt it until he pressed his mouth to yours fully. There was no tongue, nor any breathlessness when he pulled away and looked at you again. But you could feel the shift in the air. The drop in your stomach and sudden stillness in the room while a white noise clouded your head. 

“The bed is right there, Yeun.” You said, eyeing him suspiciously as he carried you across the bed and towards the huge dressing mirror. Jake said nothing, choosing to set you down very close to the mirror, while his hands gripped your waist. He knew he had gotten you trapped in between his arms, just the way you liked it. You’re a little light-headed, blistered beneath the skin, needy and fidgeting. Maybe you want him to hold you still, to fit you tight against him, to fight against your struggle—something carnal deep down that gets off on his strength, the power you know he can wield over you.

“How about I show my beautiful princess how pretty she really is hm?” He whispered in your ear, his hot breath fanning your neck ever so slightly.

He manoeuvred you so you were facing the mirror. He was right behind you, his eyes hard. “The woman you're looking at right now is the prettiest one I've ever seen. How can you say she's ugly?” You opened your mouth to say something, but a moan escaped instead as he bit into your shoulder. 

 He began to press you flat against the mirror. The cool touch of glass on your cheeks combined with his hands reaching underneath your shirt to squeeze your breasts made you let out an unholy noise. Jake smirked as he heard you moan, his ego was filled to the brim as he realised how wet he made you just from his touch. 

“Ah fuck Yeun,” you moan to him as his palms knead your breasts through the bra. You barely had time to notice his hands leave your chest, as he grabbed the edges of your shirt and pulled it off of you in one swift motion, leaving you almost naked in your bra and panties. You felt his erection press through his pants to your ass, as his lips started trailing down your body, pressing heavenly kisses until your hips. You whined as his hands gripped your thighs, squeezing them as if they were stress toys. 

"You look away from the mirror even once…,” he said, his hands squeezing your thighs roughly, his legs now carrying him back up to place his chin on your shoulder, his face set in a smirk, “and you won't get to cum.”

 His hands squeeze your thighs harder, bordering on pain. “Shh princess,” he said, slowly yet firmly as if talking to a child. His hands move downwards, one moves to your hip, and for the other, his fingers slip inside your panties. You whimper when his fingertip touches your clit.

 At any other time, he would have been slow, and gentle when he was rubbing the bud but now? His touch was fast and unconcerned, his sole goal was to inflict punishment with pleasure. 

Jake's finger flicked out against your clit again, making you yelp and squeeze your thighs against his hand. Your hand pressed hard against the mirror, as you looked at Jake's smug face behind you, while yours was contorted into one of absolute pleasure. This time he ran his finger up to your clit and then back down and into you. You moaned, practically riding his fingers at this point. Jake laughed, digging his hands into your hips, uncaring if he broke skin.

"Yeun—Yeun ah fuck!" A string of broken moans escaped your lips, as you felt the knot in your stomach tightening. Your mind has forgotten all about the incident of the morning, your attention now only on the way his fingers fit inside your pussy, like a glove. The pace of his fingers fastened, as his middle finger drove across your clit, repeatedly assaulting the place Jake knew drove you crazy.

"Yeun!" You screamed, your tears staining the mirror, as you felt your pussy clench around nothing when Jake's fingers pulled out, “Wh-”

“Told you princess.” His mutter in that seductive australian accent of his drove you crazy, “Eyes away from the mirror means no cumming.” You silently seethed at him smirking behind your shoulder, as his lips latched onto your skin once more, pressing marks all over as if it were his personal signature. His fingers hooked underneath the waistband of your panties, as you easily moved them off of you, with you lifting your legs to give him better access. Jake chuckled silently with how obedient you were being. Soon, he was quickly unbuckling his pants to unveil his already hard twitching cock eager to pound into you. 

“gonna let me fuck you princess? gonna be a good girl for me?” he says, stroking his dick as he swipes his thumb over his slit wiping away his precum yet it still spews out, covering thumbs in the substance.

Your eyes widened and hurried, almost rushing gasps left your mouth in quick succession which, combined with the low guttural groans coming out of Jake’s throat created an almost perfect melody. His thick length was taking its sweet time in spilling your ass apart, completely tearing you open, until you were panting from just the entrance. Jake’s low, mocking chuckles left your mind empty, as his hands pulled your waist flush against him, trying to bury his cock in even deeper.

“Yeun-I can’t!” you cried out in desperation, although all you wanted was for the entirety of his length to be bruised deep inside you, “Slow down!”

Your whines resonated against the walls of the room, as light particles of fog started appearing on the surface of the mirror, gathering at the place where your mouth was repeatedly moaning both profanities and Jake’s name, turn by turn. The tip of his cock was practically hitting your cervix at this point, and you were on the verge of fainting, with your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Eyes on the mirror, princess.” Jake reminded you, smirking at your fucked out expression. He always did love making you feel like putty in his hands, and this was no exception. Your eyes snapped back to your reflection and they trailed over Jaeyun behind you. His handsome face was set like a painting, with two strands of his hair framing it in a delightfully sexy way.

His hips hit you harder, giving you every inch of him. “Fuckkk.. princess, you’re doing such a good job -- taking me so goddamn well,” he says, punctuating his words with another hard thrust.

His expression grows almost enamoured at how you're squeezing him-tense, as he thrusts into you, balls slapping against your ass at his relentless pace. Hot, searing pleasure makes its way up your spine-emitting a low, almost inaudible, squeal from you as he pinches your clit.

He fucks you in earnest, feeding you his cock like you haven’t had a meal in years. All you can do is watch, admire the look of his face, the perspiration that gathers on the edge of his hairline as his fingers grip your legs harder. 

You’re a babbling mess — crying out with every thrust. It’s mostly wordless, except for when his name leaves your lips like a prayer. The room is filled with the sound of his balls slapping your ass, that wanton sound of skin-on-skin.

“Fuck-gonna cum.” You hear him mutter in that same sultry voice that could get you cumming without him even touching you.

“Yeun, ah—ah,” you moan, but he cuts you off, the sound of skin-on-skin fills the air.

Jake groans as his balls draw up and begin to tighten. Now deep inside you, as the pressure finally breaks and he lets himself go, spilling every ounce of him into you. Heaven and hell collide in that moment, blurring into a world where only you exist—like nothing else matters but the two of you tangled together, lost in the alchemy of it all. You feel the hot liquid drip down your thighs as you lay your forehead against the mirror, your chest riding and falling periodically as you attempt to calm down. You were so caught up in your cock-drunk high that you didn't even notice Jake pulling out slowly, releasing more of his cum onto your skin.

"Good girl....took me so well." Jake praised you in muttered words from behind, making his own breathing steady, "Bed, baby?" 

"Thank you." You sighed, feeling sleepy as ever, completely oblivious of the fact that Jake was not about to put you to sleep. 

You couldn't comprehend what happened in the next few moments, just the fact that in what seemed like mere seconds, your back was pressed against the soft mattress, with Jake's face inches from yours as he loomed above you. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"Think you can take my cock again, pretty?" He asked you, with a lopsided smirk on his face, "Or is my baby too tired?" 

"N-No." You stuttered, the feeling of his breath on your skin made you shiver, no matter how warm it was. You must have been in this position at least a hundred times, but it always got you feeling like it was your first time when you were all nervous and shaking beneath him.  

Jake chuckled, pressing another one of the thousand kisses he had given you, and reached over (with some difficulty) to the bedside drawer. Pulling it open, he drew something out. 

"How about these for tonight hm?" He asked, dangling the handcuffs above your face, "Will you be a good girl for me?" 

You said nothing, dumbly nodding to his every word. Jake took your wrists in his hand and pinned them above your head. Your arms stretched properly, before he latched them up to the bed frame, you winced at the cold touch of the metal. You always had wondered why the frame was made up of twisting coils of iron, before you got your answer in the form of handcuffs.

Jake leaned in once more, this time, pressing a chaste kiss to your jaw, effectively silencing you. You tilted your head back, giving him better access to the crook of your neck. You sucked in a shaky breath as you felt the points of his teeth grazing feather light across the sensitive skin, goosebumps erupting on your skin and heat settling in your lower stomach. You could practically feel him smile against you at your reaction, ever so cocky to see you melting into his touch

Jake settles between your legs, sliding his hands under your thighs to gently manipulate you upwards. His bare cock slides through your slick folds, the head catching on your clit and making you groan in unrestrained want. You reach out to grab his body, dizzy with desire, but you can't. Your hands are bound with the cuffs so tightly, that you couldn't even reach the lock.

You can only cry into the dark night, feeling his throbbing cock stretching out your walls as he pounded you in so hard there was sure to be a dent in the mattress. Your walls would remember the stretch and think only of him. 

“Yeun—S-slow down…” You mewled, juices spraying out and coating your clit as it drips down, teardrop shapes sure to stain your face.

The back of your head presses as tight as it can against the pillow, you were stifling the guttural moan that rips from your throat. You could die like this suffocated and blissfully impaled on Jake’s cock and be happy. Your hands, bound tightly above you, itched to reach out and take his hair into your hands.

With a tight grip on your waist Jake fucks into you at his own pace, watching how easily you accept him, covering him with your essence. It feels fucking fantastic. 

His skin slaps against yours rhythmically. You swear you can cum at that moment but he knows all your tells and he slows his pace, pushing into you only when the tip remains. Long, slow strokes keep you from cumming.

“Yeun–Jaeyun~” You whine, already so close to cumming, “Please–let me cum,”

Jake responds with a harsh chuckle, almost a scoff, as if to ask how you even dared to say those words. His already slow movements slow down even more, practically stopping at the point, which only made you titchy and uncomfy. That boundary that was present at the pit of your stomach was ready to break, but Jake wasn't about to let it.

“Not until you say you’re my pretty girl.” He smirks, his cock still buried deep inside you, unmoving. You scoff at his words.

“I'm your pretty girl.” you say, in an almost bored voice, wanting nothing more than for him to get moving, “Now can you please–”

Your sentence faded into a deep groan, as Jake's cock swiftly pulled out from your pussy. It was painful, agonising even, to feel nothing but cool air at the tip of our labia.

“Nicer, baby.” Jake whispered, but just as you opened your mouth, you were stopped by the intrusion of his long finger into your gasping hole.He chuckles quietly, snaking a hand up over your stomach. the rough pad of his hand finds your breast, kneading it in his palm whilst his other hand holds you firm against him. His gaze is still trained on you, dragging over the lush sight of your flushed face, your lips parted in small pants, the dark look in your eyes. He loves watching you fall apart at his smallest ministrations. more than half of his pleasure comes just from working you up like this, pushing you to the brink without even trying. 

“Alright, I'll give you a little help.” Jake says, his free hand reaching cover to your hands. With a click sound, the handcuffs trottled off of you, leaving your hands free to finally reach out to him. But he wouldn't let you, not until you've done what he wanted you to do. 

“Did I cover your mouth?” his words echo as he pins your wrist over your head once more. “Answer me, princess.” 

“Yes!” You screamed out, unable to take his teasing anymore,”Yes–fuck I’m your pretty girl!” And that’s all he wants because he’s dropping you down, shoving his entire dick inside until your eyes burst with tears feeling his thick trimmed hair tickling your clit, completely bottoming out. 

“Yeun…I-I need you more please.” your eyes were filled with tears as you held his hair, fingers rubbing against his scalp, the other digging into his shoulders as you drooled. Such a mess in such a small time. Jake shuts his eyes and throws his head back.. 

���Oh—ohhhh—fuckin’—,” a string of pleasured sounds is leaving his open mouth and you follow him, reveling in the sensation of him pushing your walls apart, filling you nicely like no one has ever had.

You both are moaning, chasing your climaxes with increasing intensity. You tilt your hips a little to press your pulsating clit against the fluff of his pubic hair and grind your pussy over his lower belly. Jake’s cock moving deep inside you, your clit twitching in his coarse hair, all the sensations combined light up your body.

"I love you," you whimpered when his hips began to grind into you, giving your clit that extra stimulation you needed to feel your orgasm swell low in your belly, your jaw dropping and your breath quickening with each forceful thrust, “God–I love you so much!” Your last words faded out in a scream.

“Yeun, i’m close,” you sob, your voice shaking. You feel his hips snap against yours, skin slapping in the quiet night as he drills you into the mattress. The room smells of him, like cologne and something woody, and it drives you even closer to the edge. He’s taking over your senses; the sight of him hovering over you, muscles in his abdomen clenching and rippling as he fucks into you is enough to make you scream on its own. 

The bed sheets are fisted in your hands as you hold on. Your nipples brushing against the bed with each thrust. It doesn’t take long at all for you to titter over the edge. Your pussy squeezing tightly around him, milking him for all he’s worth.

 He’s not far behind, hips meeting yours with a force that is almost painful, though you’re far too distracted by the fireworks blooming behind your eyelids. You feel him spill into you, hot seed pouring into your soaked cunt and making your thighs shake. His groans are hoarse, a couple grunted curses and growls of your name joining your chorus of moans in the room. He sits up once you’ve both ridden out your high, heads swimming as he watches his cum spill from between your legs when he pulls out.

"fucking hell..." You hear him swear under his breath, wincing at the absence of your hole wrapped around him. Nevertheless, he swiftly moves towards the bathroom, to fetch you a towel. You didn't have even an ounce of energy in your body to lift your head, so you resorted to letting it stay on the pillow, whilst your legs stopped shaking from the wondrous orgasms that your body had experienced.

"Baby do you wanna take a b-" Jake froze, at the foot of the bed, towel clutched in hand, and eyes set on you. You looked so calm and serene, taking shallow breaths as you snuggled into the mattress and slept. Jake chuckled at the sight.

Not wanting to wake you up, he gently wiped your legs with the towel, and—after cleaning himself off, slipped into the bed next to you. You automatically adjusted to his warm body next to you, practically throwing yourself onto him and using him like a mattress, but he didn't mind. Jake pressed a kiss to the side of your head, and only squeezed you closer, as if you'd float away if he let go.

"I love you." He muttered with a lovesick smile on his face, before he eventually drifted off to sleep, "My pretty baby."

Fin.

Taglist: @onlyhyunjin @yvnempire @j-jinxee @kpopaussieline @candewlsy @heesingshoon @biancaness

[catiuskaa]

you asked me to stay. [Not yet].

PAIRING! idol!bangchan x reader

SUMMARY: even if idols 'don’t date fans', there are no rules against a little bit of teasing, and so it happens that Mr Bang Chan here really likes your kind of thinking.

WC: 4.1k

CW: starts off fluffy, then angsty if you squint?, but develops into a (short but still) spicy NSFW. lol, the triangle of (fan)fiction! not gonna say anything else cause I don’t want to spoil it, teehee. Have fun! (I did!)

REQUESTED! here by my sweet 'n spicy baby @sharonxdevi, hope you like my take on it! <3

A/N: wanted to pop down here as a reminder that just because the setting is a fan meeting and yada yada, this work is still unrelated to Channie as an idol. now, please keep reading! I really like how this one turned out 🤭

[♦️☆🔒☆♦️]

He's so sweet.

You kept giggling and blushing like an idiot, but how couldn't you? The Christopher Bang was right before you, smiling and laughing at the lame jokes you blabbered as a blush surely creeped out, your face a deep shade of a pinkish tone.

“Oh, and I wanted to mention that you look so amazing in your performances! You have me addicted, Chan.” You giggled.

He chuckled, blushing lightly, raising a hand to his mouth, half covering it. “Really?”

You could melt at the sight of him.

“Yeah! I’ve watched all your fancams.” You nodded with enthusiasm.

His laughs turned louder, his ears red. “I feel so shy knowing someone as pretty as you watches me dance so much.”

…

You blinked, your eyes wide.

As what?

He cheeked his tongue, eyeing at you sheepishly.

Oh. So he knew what he was doing.

You smirked softly. Your change in attitude made him raise his eyebrows slightly.

“One minute.”

You eyed at the suited man that came to talk to Chan and smiled. He left back to his position, and you leaned closer to the idol.

“Just have to say, that tongue of yours?” You chuckled, and to him, it was one fo the most enticing sounds he had heard in a while. “Keep it in your mouth if you don’t want STAY to act up.”

There was a bubbly feeling in your stomach that only heightened when you watched his face displaying raw surprise.

You were about to combust in spontaneous fire because, well, you just flirted with an idol, a real famous one, that is, but then, he smirked, leaning even closer to you. You could feel his breath on the shell of your ear. His hand softly took yours, and your breath hitched as he snickered playfuly, making you feel a shiver travel down your spine.

“I’m thinking there are far more interesting places where I could keep it.” He grinned in a teasing tone, staring at your lips for a second, licking his own. “But I’m obedient. I’ll keep my mouth shut if you say so.” He stated lowly, his eyes locked on yours. …

Oh.

OH.

MY GOD.

He squeezed your hand, sitting back again. His face was covered by a shade of red, and he couldn’t exactly place what had taken over him.

For a moment, he bit his lip, wary of your reaction, considering you hadn’t so much as muttered anything, frozen in your place.

But then you chuckled, struggling to grasp what had just happened, and his whole body relaxed when you squeezed his hand too.

“Bet. You won’t.” You snickered, standing up, siren eyes staring down at him as you moved away, allowing the next person’s turn.

He winked at you as you left.

W-What had just happened?

Your mind felt fuzzy.

Had Bang Chan just done the triangle method on you?

Chan stared at your back before facing the person in front of him.

He could’ve sworn he had seen you before.

[♦️☆🔒☆♦️]

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

Chan grimaced at Hyunjin, sinking his head back on the pillow in his hotel room.

“Leave him alone, Jinnie.” Yongbok frowned slightly. “But I have to say. Not the smartest move, mate.”

Chan sighed in frustration. “I know, I know.”

And it was because he knew that he didn’t dare to say, but just thinking about you, he also knew for a fact that he wouldn’t hesitate on doing it again. Had he had the opportunity, maybe even more.

But idols don’t do that.

Because it is for a reason that idols don’t date fans. Marketing? 100%. Sure. But it also protected them from scandals and such. Or that’s what Chan liked to say to himself.

Felix felt a bit guilty. Chan had gotten scolded by almost all the members now, some who went more ballistic than others —like Hyunjin, who still was fuming, claiming that if Chan was going to do something forbidden, he could’ve said something better than that—, but he looked at the fellow Australian and stood up, laying his small hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder.

The taller one stopped his rambling against Chan and his alleged lack of creativity regarding flirting, and his eyes softened, looking at Yongbok.

“Give the man a break.” Felix smiled softly. “He understands what he’s done. He’s a big boy. Right, Channie?”

The big boy lazily raised his hand from the bed, not moving his head from the pillow as he hummed and raised his thumb.

“This bitch—” Hyunjin started, threatening to throw a pillow at the older one, but Felix quickly pushed him away, taking him back to their room.

Finally alone after what seemed like a lifetime, Chan turned around, staring at the ceiling.

He covered his face with his hands.

Reckless. Stupid, reckless idiot.

It had to be past twelve when he got tired of waiting for sleep to get to him. That never happened anyways. So he stood up with a groan, yawning out of boredom, quickly fetching a jacket and heading to the elevators with slow steps.

He got in and slowly started to put on his beanie and his mask, which wouldn’t really make a difference if someone recognized him, still, it gave him some reassurance. But then, the elevator stopped barely two floors after he got in.

His whole body tensed up.

He recognized who stepped in, messy hair, funny slippers and padded jacket on.

He knew who that was, because he had been right.

He had seen you before.

“Oh.” You smiled, and he could tell by the small wrinkles in your eyes, because the bottom half of your face was hidden by the jacket’s high neck. “Good night.” You mumbled softly.

He nodded. He was afraid you’d recognize him. He was unsure of what to do himself —or if he should do anything—, he couldn’t even think of how you would react. And just the idea that you wouldn’t like seeing him there made him hide his face more in his dark mask, so instead, he fidgeted with his room card, not daring to look at you for too long.

“Trouble sleeping?” You pondered in a kind tone. He nodded again, and you smiled. He had to hold back the impulse of lowering your jacket just so he could see your bright features, the ones that had charmed him so much barely a couple of hours ago.

“Same here.” You muttered, and he could’ve sworn that your voice alone, warm and soothing, could singlehandedly lull him to sleep in a heartbeat. “Walking helps though, don’t you think?”

He, again, just managed to nod. But for some reason, your presence didn’t make him feel guilty for not talking. In the middle of the night nothing seemed to have any rules between you two and the four walls of the elevator.

“Sorry, am I bothering you?” You asked in a murmur.

It was the first time he shook his head no, vigorously so, and you blushed lightly, smiling.

“Good to know.” You grinned, chuckling softly. The elevator dinged, arriving to the last floor. Chan held back a frustrated groan, yearning to keep hearing your voice.

“Have a good night.” You smiled, but his hand softly took yours.

“Huh?” You muttered softly.

Chan struggled. Fuck, shit, fuck. He had done that completely out of reflex. He didn’t know what to say, and just scrathed the side of his face, staring at your linked hands.

He shook his head once more, asking you to stay.

To you, you already had the weird feeling that you knew him. But he touched your hand, and something from it felt shockingly familiar.

Now, you could’ve sworn you had seen him before.

“What is it?” You asked, your voice coated in something sweet, something that Chan suddenly wanted to taste. “Would you like to walk with me?”

He nodded eagerly. And you grinned sheepishly.

You two crossed through the hotel main’s hall nonchalantly, and Chan just followed you, intriegued that you hadn’t taken the main entrance door to exit.

“Trust me,” you muttered, smiling. He felt it was scary that he would, in a heartbeat. “The gardens are so much better.”

You took his hand. A motion completely out of reflex, that both of you only allowed yourselves to yearn for in silence.

You grinned at him, turning around, and his breath hitched, lips parted beneath his mask when he realized how close you were.

You opened a black door to your right with a soft push of your body.

The hotel gardens at night were like a dream. The moonlight turned everything into a soft, magical scene. Tall trees swayed quietly, and you could hear crickets and leaves rustling. There was a small lake below it, its water calm, that reflected the image above it like a mirror, moon and stars glistening on the clear surface.

Even if Chan was only looking at the glow through your eyes.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” You grinned.

You stared back at him. Something in his eyes reminded you of someone you knew. A peculiar someone, that is.

He hummed in agreement, and your smile widened.

“Shall we?” You giggled in a murmur, letting him step outside before you.

There was a warmth in the night that ushered Chan to take off his mask and hat.

But he didn’t dare to. Not yet.

You two walked alongside, hands and knuckles brushing against each other, and the idol allowed himself to grin as you smiled, looking at the flowers that decorated the place. It was the first time in his life that he had found solace in the shared silence of insomnia.

With a swift motion, he surrendered. He felt like it wasn’t fair to know who you where if you didn’t —or couldn’t— recognize him. To hell with it, he thought, taking his hat and mask off.

But, much to his surprise, you didn’t so much as glance at him. You just snickered when he sighed, sounding happier, breathing in the sudden cold breeze that swooshed in the garden.

“Better, huh?” You mumbled in light amusement.

He smiled, shoving his hidden identity in his pockets.

“Much.” Chan muttered.

His heart beat loudly on his ears. He could feel it pulsating rapidly, waiting for the moment where you would turn to face him.

But you weren’t, just strolling down the stone path, callously ignoring his nervous demeanour.

He was about to stop and move you, but instead, your hand took his again.

And then you squeezed it lightly. Much like he had done a couple of hourse ago.

His breath hitched. He stopped walking.

“Chan?” You smiled.

He felt chaos unravel inside him, his cheeks blushing, his palms getting sweaty, and his heart giddily beating in his chest.

Another rush of soft air crossed through the hotel’s gardens, making your hair move with it. He could smell your light scent, something that felt warm inside him, something that he felt could lull him asleep.

You grinned.

“Hi.”

He chuckled lowly. He hadn’t let go of your hand. A part of him didn’t want to. Not yet.

“Hi.”

He saw you blush under the moonlight, not knowing his red-tinted cheeks were more obvious than yours.

“What’s a boy as pretty as you doing in a place like this?”

…

He blinked, his eyes wide.

As what?

He saw you cheek your tongue, doe eyes looking at him teasingly.

Oh. So you knew what you were doing.

He chuckled, thinking that was going to be all your teasing.

“Judging by how long it took for you to talk, I guess you did mean to keep your end of the deal.”

“Huh?” He inquired softly.

“You know.” You bit your lip and blushed a bit more, making him more interested, taking a step towards you without realizing. “Keeping your mouth shut. Like the obedient boy you are.”

He started breathing heavily, a low laugh rolling off his tone.

“Oh, yeah?” His smirk was only powered by yours. “I must say, I can be quite rebellious.”

“Really?” You snickered, feeling his hand squeeze yours again.

“Very.” He gulped. His bravado only lasted for so much, and deep inside, he was equally scared as curious.

He wanted to keep going. He wanted you to stay.

“Are you trying to prove it?” You mocked cheekily.

He stared at your lips, his breath felt heavy. “Would you like me to prove it?”

His hand threatened to reach for your cheek, but it was you who finally held it and moved it towards your face.

“Bet.” You giggled. “You won’t.”

The night air was crisp as your eyes, deep and expressive, locked with his, inviting and enticing, a secret to be held in them. His hair, often styled with flair, rested curly and messy, but you couldn’t help but get lost in the untamed beauty that he portrayed. Not even his lips gently grazing yours could wipe either of your smiles under the moonlight.

And then, for a moment, it wasn’t gentle.

Maybe it was because he sighed against your lips, or maybe it was because you followed an impulse and bit his lower lip, but then it got twisted. Tongues danced with one another, fighting for dominance in a burst of sudden passion.

“C-chan,” you gulped, arms traveling to his nape, playing with his hair. It made him weak.

“Chris,” he sighed, yearning to taste your lips again. And again. He didn’t want to stop. Not yet. “Call me— call me Chris.”

You chuckled. “Only if you call me…”

You were going to tease him, but your ideas suddenly flew away form your mind when he started peppering kisses on your neck, grazing your skin with his teeth.

“What?” He snickered. “A pet name of sorts?” He was teasing you, and he was so enjoying it, tasting the weirdly sweet and enticing flavour of your skin in his lips. “Would you like that, princess?” God, he needed more.

You bit your lip, holding back sounds behind heavy breaths, and he patted your thighs, making you jump into his arms without hesitation. Quickly, he moved the both of you, pinning you against the wall closest to you.

“C-chan…” He bit your skin slightly harder. “Chris! Ah, Chris…!”

“F-fuck…” He muttered. “I… I can’t…” He leaned his head in the crook of your neck, now covered in small and red lovebites. “You smell so good.”

You pecked his forehead, trying to catch your breath, your hands stroking his soft hair.

“Not here, right?” You smiled, soothing, comprehensive. His heart softened.

He nodded, sighting against your neck. He let go of your legs, allowing you to stand back on your feet tenderly.

“I’m sorry….?” Chan mumbled shyly. You giggled, brushing it off.

You were about to say something, but then the gravel cracked under someone’s weight. One that wasn’t either of you.

He tensed up under your arms.

You sighed. “Move!” You ushered in a whisper.

He frowned, his eyes darting from you and from where the sound had come from.

“But you—”

“Chan!” You pushed him away, hiding him behind another wall, and quickly took your phone from the pocket of your jacket, zipping back up what Chris had lowered.

“Who’s in there?”

Chan’s breath haltered.

You had hid him just a wall more, meaning that if the security guard found any of you, chances were that he wouldn’t be caught. You would.

You both held your breathing, hands interlinked even if your bodies were as far away as they could to do so, your heartbeats quickening in sync.

And then, it was just silence for a minute, the gravel cracked below the security guard’s feet, and he left as sudden as he had arrived.

You legs felt like jelly, and you let your back fall down the wall, ending up sitting on the floor with a huff.

“You were going to get in trouble.” Chris muttered.

You looked at him from the floor. The moonlight highlightened his lean figure and charismatic features.

You nodded. “It wouldn’t be me who’d get in the worst of it.” You smiled softly.

He nodded with you.

“We should go before it gets too late.”

Just before heading back together to the elevators, you looked to the reception, and grinned softly.

The elevator back up felt more silent than usual. And for some reason that could speak and make him blush, Chan missed the sound of your voice.

“Good night, Chris.”

It wasn’t going to be a good night.

Not after that interruption, which not only scared the shit out of him, but also made him rethink everything he was doing with you.

Chan arrived back to his room. After half an hour of mindlessly staring at the nightsky through the window, someone knocked on the door.

Could it be you? Chris blushed at the thought.

He opened the door to find nothing. Then, he looked to the floor, and found a mug of hot chocolate and a small note.

may have taken a peek to your room card before. i had fun tonight! see you tomorrow? xoxo, your princess.

He grinned.

Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad night after all.

[♦️☆🔓☆♦️]

When he woke up the morning after, his mouth still tasted like chocolate.

There had been nothing that could wipe the silly grin on his face that day. Not his packed schedule, not the knowledge that they had to go back home and it would be his last night there, not the fact that Han had come into his room just to look for his missing sock —which, for obvious reasons, he never found there—, not the fact that Hyunjin was still bitter with him because of what he had named the ‘pretty girl disaster’ —which Chan intended to tell you just to see if you’d laugh like he had imagined.

His mind was filled to the brim with thoughts of you.

Your flavoured chapstick, your sweet scent, the way you mumbled his name —his real one, that is—, how your eyes glowed under the moonlight, how his hands fit perfectly in the curves of your waist.

He sighed happily for the upteenth time that day, coming out of the shower.

But then, Minho came in to his room.

“Hyung.” He started, and his low tone didn’t seem to bring good news.

Chan nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“I know I’m not really good at these things, but I think you should see this.”

The dancer handed him the phone, and Chan turned pale.

It was a picture taken from last night. Chan’s silhouette was fairly obvious, slightly pixelated and hidden by his beanie and his mask. And right in front of him, back facing the camera, was you, your hand holding his.

“So it is you. That’s what I thought,” Minho mumbled. “A random number sent it to Hyunjin. He saved the picture and blocked it, but we thought you should know.”

“Did they know it was me?” Chan stuttered.

The cat owner shook his head, and Chan was able to breathe normally again. “They thought it had been me with Jisung.”

It was there when Chan’s daydreaming faltered.

His thoughts started spinning, not knowing how or where to start.

Would you know about this?

What would you do?

“Hyung.” Minho sighed. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”

And Chan hadn’t been able to grasp that, but someone did.

The same someone who knocked on his door at night.

“Guys, you have your own cards.” Chan muttered, opening the door.

But it hadn’t been any of the guys.

“Hi.” You let out in a sight, panting.

Had you ran your way there?

“Hi.” He mumbled weakly.

“Can I…?” He opened the door for you, and quickly closed it back. He turned his back to you, his eyes wide and his heart going crazy.

“Chris.” You mumbled.

He turned around to face you.

“You asked me to stay last night and I went with you to the gardens.” You huffed. “But I want to stay here with you tonight.”

He blinked, passing a hand through his wavy hair. You were there. In front of him. Speaking. God, he had to concentrate.

“We’ll make a deal.” You breathed slowly, staring deeply into his eyes, yearning to know the secrets hidden behind them. “I’ll leave this here.”

You gently plopped your phone on the table near the door to his room. He was still standing there, as if frozen, pyjama pants on and only a bathrobe covering his lean and toned chest.

“A pretty man called Hyunjin came to me talking about some picture,” you started softly. “But yesterday didn’t happen so I’d ruin a man’s career.” His eyes followed how you raised your hands and smiled, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

“It’s off.” Your voice lowered, and he got slightly closer, as if wanting to hear you better. “The phone, I mean. Feel free to check it.”

Surprisingly, he just stared at it, then smiled cheekily, heading towards you.

Your eyebrows shot up and you felt deliciously small under his new-formed grin, and how his hands cradled your face.

He pecked your lips with a yearning sigh.

“I missed you.”

You blushed.

“You can have me all night.” Your smile made him feel butterflies on his stomach. “Just me and you.”

He kissed you again, longer this time.

His frame slowly caged you against the door, and he broke the kiss, stroking your cheeks. His body was pressed up against yours, his lips parted as he breathed softly, taking you in. He could feel heat running down his body just by the feeling of you back in his arms, and the only thought that he had clear is that he couldn't hold back anymore.

He needed to kiss you, again, and again, and again. He needed to figure out what you tasted like. He needed to have you. Your hands had gone back to where they had been the night before, and the way you stared at his lips threatened to make him fall to his knees.

His eyes were glued on your lips, and not long after, his mouth followed.

Chris’ heart was pounding against his chest, and he knew for a fact that he had never felt this way before. Never in his whole life. The more he tasted your lips, the kiss almost as passionate as your first one, the more you ruined him, claiming him as yours, making him addictied to the way you sighed and grinned as he moved your bodies to the bed, the hotter his body became.

He fell with you on the matress, and much to his surprise, you moved your bodies, sitting on his lap, taking a groan out of him.

“Such a beauty,” you mumbled, almost to yourself rather than him. “All for me, huh?” You smirked.

The whole world was hazy, the only thing that was clear was your body and your words. Just hearing your voice saying those words to him made him shiver, a shiver that he never experienced before.

He smirked too, and sighed when you untied his bathrobe, your hands roaming freely wherever you wanted to, stroking his chest, claiming him with kisses, the soft colour that they left behind, pink due to your lipstick, and the soft scratches of your nails, that made him bite his lip to keep his sounds hidden.

“Nuh-uh.” You tutted at him with a smile.

He snickered. “Oh, princess. Two can play that game.”

His hands pinned you down against the bed, his lips quickly going back to yours.

“You said I needed to keep my tongue to myself, and I promised that I would” He grinned, almost menacingly, lowering himself, trailing kisses down your body, discarding your underwear.

“I intend to break that promise.”

Maybe you and him would be difficult.

But he had asked you to stay, and you did. And he didn’t want to stop trying. Not yet.

[♦️☆🔒☆♦️]

~Kats, who did most of this in a hospital bed (‘m okay now dw) but fell asleep and didn’t publish it, lol. I LOVED THIS IDEA POOKIE TYSM !!

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch.2 you may now kiss the bride!!

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, mild love triangle(s), gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 2/x (probably 10)

ᰔ words. 16.8k (i be yappin)

a/n. AHHH thanks very much for 2k followers!! yippeee :”) i had a lot of fun writing this chapter of ihm i feel like there’s a lot of silly but a lot of angsty too and i got to set up a lot of secondary plot lines in this chapter which was fun. i really hope you enjoy!! see ya at the bottom!!

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“Can you chop down that stupid avocado tree of yours already? It keeps dropping its devilish spawn all over my herb garden.”

“Wow. Good afternoon to you too.”

Gojo scratches the back of his head from where he’s opened the front door of his house, standing in his pajamas and you briefly glance down at his bunny slippers before looking back up at him with a ridiculing face before pushing past him into his house.

Gojo’s house is almost the exact mirror of yours, as are most houses in the neighborhood, but it’s been a while since you’ve been inside of it and so you take an indulgent look. A cozy family room to the side, which you see he’s decorated with a coffee table and a loveseat, and the staircase is visible from the entrance. A modest dining table sits where the carpet turns into wood, and you’ve noticed he’s made the effort to place real hardwood on his floors contrary to the laminate in yours. Ok, show off. Your eyes take in the paintings on the wall, and you remember how his house almost looks fake, like in the way he sets up props in open houses he’s showing for clients, as if someone lives here and yet somehow there’s no real living proof of it.

And because it’s pretty much the exact same layout as your house, you know exactly where the pantry room is, and you grab a bunch of Doritos and Pocky from his secret snack drawer.

“Oh yes, go right ahead. Please,” he says sarcastically as he leans against a support pillar near the dining room and watches you stuff your face with his snacks.

“So,” you say, muffled, “did you grab the paperwork?”

“No, I didn’t.” He glances at his watch. “My friend’s a family law lawyer, and he’s gonna be here soon to help us out with the prenup.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god, you’re being serious about the prenup? You really think I’m trying to gold dig at the cobwebs of your bank account? How little self respect do you think I have?”

“...do you really want me to answer that questi–”

The doorbell ringing startles you, and you quickly wipe at your face to clear any crumbs before setting the wrappers in your hands onto a bookshelf as you watch Gojo head to the door and open it.

You hear another distinct masculine voice ring in the air as Gojo exchanges pleasantries with him in the form of a handshake and a familiar hug with a few pats on the back, and then the angle Gojo twists his body reveals the man standing outside the door. He’s a bit shorter than Gojo with a lean build, clad in a fiercely formal black suit and tie with polished shoes. His hair is well-kept, short and raven black, and his eyes are sunken with what you can only imagine is fatigue. And it’s kinda hot to you, unfortunately, after years of working the night shift, you’re starting to find dark circles under people’s eyes to be extremely attractive.

“Uh, y/n, this is my friend, Higurama. Hiromi Higurama,” Gojo says, gesturing between the two of you,  “and Hiromi, this is y/n. My obnoxious neighbor. Careful though, if you get too close she’ll bite off your fingers.”

“I’ll bite off a different appendage of yours if you don’t shut the fuck up,” you snarl at him, and Higurama takes a step inside the house to greet you with an outstretched hand. 

“Hi, it’s lovely to meet you,” he says, and you’re a little startled by the politeness, but aptly shake his hand and nod before squawking out a likewise!!

You look past Higurama at Gojo who’s got an eyebrow raised at you, and then your eyes are on Higurama again as you watch him set his briefcase down on the dining table. “Are we ready to discuss?” he asks, brown eyes darting between the two of you. You nod and take a seat across from him, and Gojo first grabs everyone some glasses of water before he takes a seat at the head.

“So,” Higurama starts, “I take it you two are madly in love and would like to enter a marital agreement to declare your affections for one another in the court of law under just circumstances?”

You blink at him. “Y-Yes. Very just circumstances. Nothing shady going on here, we are indeed very madly in love and would like to get married.”

“Why the fuck would you say it like that?” Gojo chirps in but not before sighing. 

“T-The way he asked was really nerve wracking!!” you counter. And then your eyes widen when you look at Higurama again, who has a slightly amused tug to his lips. “...oh, you already know this marriage is a fraud.”

“I was just testing you,” he casually says, “in case they mention any suspicions in court. Seems you should just let Satoru do the talking.”

You pout a little and sink further into your seat, then bring the glass of water up to your lips. 

“Well, in any case,” Higurama says, and then he goes on into the details of what to expect in the courtroom. He pulls out paperwork for the marriage license application and starts to walk the two of you through the prenuptial agreement. 

“It’s my understanding you’re both desiring a prenup for this marriage?” Hugurama asks, brow furrowed slightly as he rustles through the endless papers in front of him that he was drowning in.

You briefly glance at Gojo, who’s also looking through all the papers with a concentrated look on his face, his features tense and he’s slightly worrying his bottom lip through his teeth. He’s thinking way harder about this whole prenup thing than you would, and you realize he’s genuinely taking this very seriously. 

“Um, yes,” you acquiesce, suddenly feeling a little guilty. And you remember who’s the one in need of the favor here. “I’m okay with the prenup.”

Higurama tells you two about the implications of the prenup, what can and cannot be included under state laws, and stresses the importance of full financial disclosure and fairness in the agreement to ensure its enforceability in the event of a divorce. Basically, don’t fucking lie about anything or else you two could sue each other to hell for it should divorce occur. You both agree, and you’re feeling sick to your stomach with anticipation. 

“Alright,” Higurama interjects your thoughts, “I will begin to draft the document then. Let’s start with assets.”

Gojo drones on about his tangibles, intangibles, cash equivalents, stocks, yada yada and you open up with yours too, but you can barely hear anything you’re saying and you can hardly hear what anyone else is saying either because you’re just dreadfully awaiting for Higurama to finally bring up—

“How about debts?” he asks, mindlessly as he types away on his laptop, as if the question doesn’t make you want to throw up. 

Your breathing picks up in speed, and you’re nervously fidgeting your hands over the surface of the table. You glance over at Gojo again, this time startled to find his eyes are on you too. His gaze briefly flickers to the shuffling of your fingers, then it meets yours again as he tilts his head slightly in a silent ask of you good?

“Uh–” you start, when you feel Higurama’s eyes on you too now that the silence has stretched on for too long, “I’m…well, I’m in a bit of…debt. From nursing school, a little bit from undergrad still, actually…”

“Okay,” Higurama says, “how much would you approximate? I’ll need the official loan statements soon, though.”

“Well, I’m paying off slowly…but last month I have around seventy-thousand still to pay off.”

“Alright,” Higurama accepts, “and you, Satoru? Student loans?”

“Oh, I don’t have any,” he says, “I paid them off a while ago.”

You feel like you’re being opened apart at the seams, and suddenly feel ashamed.

“Alright, what about other debts? Credit card debts? Any loans to know about?”

You figured you just needed to rip the bandaid off.

“Um,” you say, “I’m about three hundred thousand dollars in medical debt from my mother’s treatment loans.”

The room goes quiet, there’s no more rustling of papers or the mechanical jumping of keys on a keyboard, hell, even the birds outside stopped chirping to display their disbelief. 

“Wha–” Gojo starts, like he can’t help it, before he catches himself out of politeness, but he’s still looking at you with concern and shock. “y/n…what happened?”

You look over at Higurama too, and he’s completely turned away from the document he was drafting on his laptop, full attention on you, and his brow is creased with the same amount of concern. And you feel like you’re in therapy. You also feel like you’re about to cry.

“Well…it’s just,” you start, throat feeling raw, “my mom couldn’t qualify for medical loans because of years of poor credit, and insufficient income, and her cancer treatments became really costly, and so–” you suck a breath in, because your voice cracks slightly at the end. You were not about to cry in front of them right now. “And so I decided to cosign on her loans so she could receive treatment, and stuff kept coming up, and I had to work reduced hours for a couple of years when she was first diagnosed, and…some payments got away from me, and so then…there was interest, and…it’s…I guess over five years, things just…accumulated.”

They both sit there in stunned silence, shifting uncomfortably in their seats, like they understand your situation is so fucked in its entirety that they can barely even bear to put themselves through the trouble of even imagining themselves in your shoes, let alone fathom that you’re living in them.

Higurama clears his throat and redirects his attention to the computer. “That’s… no problem for the prenup. Thank you for being honest.”

“Hey,” Gojo interjects, and his hand reaches out to lay over your fidgeting hands over the table. His eyes are serious. “Why didn’t you–” he starts, and his face softens slightly when you can’t help the small sheen of tears that reaches your eyes, “...why didn’t you say anything about this? I mean, anytime we’ve talked.”

It’s your turn to look at him with a tense expression, and you slowly withdraw your hands from the hold of his palm to place them in your lap under the table. “Uh, why would I share about my financial woes to my neighbor? Don’t most people just act like shit’s normal with their neighbors?”

“I guess, but I didn’t know it was that ba–”

Higurama’s phone starts to ring, and he glances at the Caller ID before sighing slightly. “Sorry, I have another client I need to see soon. We’ll have to wrap this up, but I’ll continue drafting this document. Please send me your relevant statements for any loans and–” he glances at you, “...associated debts.” He starts to gather his things at the table, then neatly tucks his papers into his briefcase before placing his laptop in there too. He reaches to shake Gojo’s hand first, then shakes yours, and holds onto your hand a second longer to gather your attention. His eyes are almost solemn.

“I truly hope your mother gets better soon,” he says to you, tone contrite. 

You slowly nod and thank him, and then Gojo goes to see him out the door.

The house feels quiet when Gojo closes the front entrance, and he stays facing the door for a few seconds before slowly turning around to face you, back leaning against it as he crosses his arms in front of his chest, and just when he opens his mouth to speak, you cut him off.

“I really–” you say, “...I really don’t want to talk about it.”

His face contorts into confusion, and it looks like he’s about to protest, but you allow yourself to show the slightest amount of the hurt and the worry on your face, and he realizes that means he shouldn’t try to push it.

“Okay,” he says, and quietly. 

Things are awkward in the air for a second, so you waltz over to the window and watch through it as Higurama gets into his car, some type of sleek old black Mercedes Benz but it’s polished to perfection, and you let out a content sigh.

“What?” Gojo asks you, tone a little short. 

“Ohhh, nothing,” you say, bringing your hands up to cup your cheeks to feel their warmth as you take in the image of Higurama’s slender legs in his business attire, “I just…” you sigh again, “I just loooove men in suits. I wish I knew more men that wore them often.”

A beat of silence. “Um. I wear them often?”

You turn on your heel to face him. “Yeah, but you wear them in, like, a slutty way. Higurama,” you say, pointing with your thumb facing the window, “wears them in the actually respectable workplace way. Hence why it’s hotter on him.”

He scoffs. “And yet you’re always staring at my ass from afar when I’m wearing my tailored trousers.” 

“I seriously wonder what it’s like to be so fucking delusional all the time,” you shake your head at him and he looks like he’s got a comeback on his tongue but you sshhhhhhhh him and walk back into the heart of the house. You look over your shoulder briefly, and see Gojo’s standing where you were standing at the window a few seconds ago, looking out onto the street, and he’s grumbling something under his breath you can’t quite hear. And then you hear the sound of Higurama’s car driving away. 

You circle around the dining table, and take a seat to look through the marriage paperwork Higurama left behind for the two of you to fill out.

“Bring the paperwork over to the kitchen island,” you hear Gojo say as he makes his way to the kitchen, “I’ll fix us some coffee.”

The island has a seated side to it with bar stools that raise high and turn in fully 360 degree fashion, so you swirl around in your seat to make yourself dizzy while Gojo brews some coffee with his espresso machine. 

“Mm…smells nice,” you comment, still swirling.

“Milk? Sugar?” he asks you, and you stop swirling to answer him.

It’s not the first time you’ve been to Gojo’s house. When he first moved in next door, you brought him a plate of cookies as a welcome to the neighborhood! gift and he had invited you inside and fixed you a cup of coffee then too. The house was mostly empty back then, he’s made a lot of good work in filling it with furniture in that sort of IKEA catalog fashion, and you can clown on him for it all you want, but it still looks nicer than most homes you’ve been in. Anyways, you only visited him in his house a couple times after that before you realized you hated him. Because he blasts loud music at the most random times, which you’re convinced he’s just trying to show off the sound system he probably spent an unnecessary amount of money on, not to mention an unnecessary amount of time installing. He also always forgets to mow his fucking lawn, and it drives you nuts because then the weeds spread over into your lawn, but it’s not like it matters because you hardly mow yours either, but still. And that fucking boat. That fucking boat he keeps right at the edge of your driveway that taunts you and your ability to pull into garages after every single one of your dreadful night shifts. One of these days, you might just steal it and drive it into the ocean so it drowns. Wait, boats don’t drown. That’s the point of boats. They’re buoyant. It’s okay, you’ll find another way to get rid of it. The boat, you mean. 

“Here you go,” he says, sliding a cup of coffee to you across the island. You peer inside at the brown liquid, and the scent alone awakens your senses.

“So, logistics,” you say.

“Logistics,” he repeats after you as he stirs a spoon in his mug. 

“We need to make this believable,” you say to him, “otherwise the marriage could be invalidated, and we could face criminal charges, and I could lose the insurance benefits for my mom, and potentially get sued by said insurance companies, and get thrown into jail for life, and—”

“And how much sleep have you lost thinking about this?” he asks you with a sigh as he brings his mug up to take a sip. 

“I’m being serious, Satoru,” you say to him, “I…would just rather err on the side of caution. It’s a small town, people talk. And sometimes those people know the law.” You shudder.

“Who the fuck is out there that would be so pissed about us getting married just so you can help out your sick mom?” he asks.

Your eyes flicker downwards slightly in consideration. You can think of one person, at least. And when you look up at him, you’re surprised to see there’s a similar look on his face, as if he could think of a particular one person too. But before you can dwell more on the expression on his face, he grabs the paperwork in front of you and looks through some of it. “You should get started on your paperwork. Higurama filled most of mine out for me already, so you’re the one he’s waiting on.”

You groan and stretch your arm out across the island counter, then lay your head on your upper arm. “Sigh, why couldn’t he have done that for meee tooooo.”

“Probably because he doesn’t know you?” Gojo snorts. He’s silent for a moment as he takes another sip. You can’t see his face. “So,” he starts, “I mean. If we’re going to make this believable, which, to be honest, I don’t think a single person in this neighborhood would find us getting married believable, but still, if we were to try making it believable, wouldn’t it make sense for us to, uh, I don’t know, live together? Like what regular married couples do.”

“I am appalled you would even suggest that.”

“It’s going to look like we’re just faking it if we don’t at least cohabitate together,” he tells you.

“We can’t do that,” you sigh, “I bet you’d try to touch me inappropriately.”

“What???” 

“Yeahhh, I don’t know, you just—...you just seem like a guy with very little self control.”

“...y’know what? This is over. I’m calling off this engagement,” he says, and he walks over to the dining table with his coffee cup in hand and you lift your head up off your arm in a panic.

“Wha–...no!! Wait!!” you say, grabbing all the paperwork off the island and bringing it to the dining table where he’s taken a seat. “Please marry me. I need it so bad.”

“Woah,” he says, looking up at you, and there’s a darker glint to his eyes. “You need it so bad? Can you say that again?”

You curl up the papers in your hands into a makeshift hollow pole and whack him across the head with it. “This is exactly why I think you would touch me inappropriately.”

He grumbles slightly as he nurses the spot you whacked him with two of his fingers rubbing the area, and then he fixes his hair with a comb of his hand through it. The sleeve of his shirt drops a little from the movement, and you can see the muscles of his arm flex, then your eyes are quickly darting away so he doesn’t catch the line of your gaze on him. What the fuck. That was weird. You blame ovulation. 

“Alright, fine,” he says, and he grabs the papers out of your hand, “also don’t bend these. It bothers me.” 

You circle back to the kitchen to grab your abandoned coffee cup, and then bring it to the dining table to sit down with him at it. He places your half of the papers in front of you. You glance down at the first few boxes to fill out, and you already feel like giving up.

You glance up at him for a distraction. “Aren’t you going to ask me how long I want you to be married to me for?” you ask him.

“Uh, how long do you want me to be married to you for?”

“Forever,” you say. To scare him.

“Yeah, right.” He waves his hand in the air dismissively. 

You sulk because it didn’t scare him. “Six months.”

“More plausible.”

“Really,” you say earnestly, “six months.”

He looks up at you now, a curious expression on his face. “Why specifically six months?”

Your eyes find the color of your coffee fascinating once again. “I don’t want to put my mother in hospice for too long. I’ll miss her,” you say, “it’s just…something I’m trying out for now. And to just get a bit of a caretaking break, and also so I can pick up more shifts at the hospital to work on paying off my debt. It’s just…temporary.”

His shoulders roll back once and he sits up a little straighter, holding up one of the pieces of paper to study it better while he clicks his pen. “Alright. Whatever works for you.”

You twiddle with your hands again, blinking a little in consideration as a few moments pass by. “Uh…about living together. That’s fine. I suppose.”

His eyes widen slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah. But no touching,” you point at him with a strict finger.

He tilts his head back up to the ceiling in annoyance. There’s a roll in the muscles of his throat as his jaw goes slack. You squirm in your chair a little. Ovulation, you think. 

“I’m not going to touch you, y/n,” he assures you when his chin tips back down. You just stare at him for a few seconds as he seems to be in thought about something, and then his eyes meet yours. “Whose house are we going to live in?”

“Mine,” you say, “yours looks like a shitty catalog. It’s lame.”

“True,” he says, “yours feels homey. I like that.”

You’re a little taken aback by his words, and then purse your lips together. Your sort of go-to thanks expression reserved for him. “So, are you gonna sell your house then?”

“Huh? No way,” he shakes his head, “I’ll just see if I can rent it out for now.” He shakes his head even more. “I mean, god no, I wouldn’t be caught dead selling a house. Not with these market conditions. You know how much it’s already risen in equity within just the past few months alone? In five years from now—”

While Gojo continues to drone on about the lunacy of not holding onto property in this housing market, your eyes widen slightly at his words, like your body realizes a truth to what he’s saying before your mind does.

And then that’s when it hits you.

How you can help pull yourself out of debt.

You slam your coffee mug down on the table with a little more fierceness than you probably should’ve.

“Hey,” he scolds you, “can you be careful with that?”

“We’re not going to live in my house,” you say, ignoring him, “we’re gonna live in yours.”

“Huh?” he responds, “...but I thought you said mine looks like a catalog.”

“A shitty catalog.”

“Did you need to specify?”

“We’re not going to live in my house,” you tell him, with resolve, “because I’m gonna sell my house.”

He sits up a little straighter at your words. “Like, the house next door?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

He sighs. “Were you even listening to me? It’s so much more worth it to–”

“I don’t care,” you cut him off, “I need the money now. Not five years from now.” Your eyes glance down at your hands, and your tone becomes quiet. “I…I don’t even know if my mom has five years left to live.”

A silence settles in the room, and you see in your periphery that Gojo’s stiff and still, like he’s barely allowing himself to breathe as if you’d find it abrasive, and when you look over at him, his expression is soft.

“I know,” he says. “It sounds like a plan.”

“Will you help me sell it?” you ask him. “I’d…need a realtor.”

“Sure,” he easily agrees.

“Okay…” you say, and take a sip of lukewarm coffee, as if you haven’t just decided on an extremely major life decision. “Um. I’ll go get the paperwork then. From my house.”

“Oh. Right now?” he asks you, and he leans forward in his seat a little to get a closer look at your face. “I mean, don’t you want some time to think about it before putting it on the market? We can wait for a little bit.”

“No. That’s okay,” you say, standing up from your chair, “I’ll…go get the paperwork.”

He nods at you slowly, but his eyes are observant, and you ignore it to keep up the momentum of this decision that was definitely the right decision by all means and one that you should not be hesitating on at all as it is such an epiphany that can help clear your debilitating financial burdens. 

“Drive safe,” he says to you when you grab your purse off the coffee table in the family room.

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

The outside air is breezy, it’s a nice day with the sun shining down and sparkling off of sprinkler dew drops on overgrown grass, and you hop across with a pep in your step as you make it to your house next door. You’re always quiet when opening the door, because you never know when your mom is sleeping or not, and since her bedroom is downstairs, she’s privy to noises. Once you’re inside, you check to make sure she’s sleeping with a small creak open of her door, only to find that she’s sitting on her rocking chair and looking through a box of paintings.

Your heart twists at the sight, and you gently knock the door with your knuckles.

She glances up at you, and you can always tell from just the look in her eyes if she recognizes you or not. Because they’re warm and gentle when she does, but they see right past you to the wall when she doesn’t.

“Hello,” she says, “can I help you?”

You come up to her and kneel down beside her, placing a hand up on the rocking chair arm rest while she looks down at you.

“Hi, mom. It’s me. Your daughter,” you gentle reintroduce yourself. It’s what her neurologist suggested you do anytime she can’t remember you, but it rips away a piece of your soul each time.

Her eyes still see past you, abstract, empty with no feeling as she wraps her head around your words. “I am no one’s mother,” she tells you, tone sounding sharp and like she’s a moment away from terror.

“That’s okay,” you quickly remediate, feeling hollow inside from her words but you always had to be the sane one, so you direct her attention to the box in her lap. “What are you looking at?”

“Oh, I just found these paintings!” she exclaims. “I thought they were wonderful. Do you know who drew them?”

You smile up at her. “You did.”

“Me?” she blinks at you. The wrinkles in her forehead crumple with surprise, “oh, no, dear, I could not paint such things with detail. Look at me!” She holds her hand up. “My hand is trembling!”

She’s getting weaker. You make a mental note to bring it up to her doctor.

“You used to hold a paint brush like it was just an extension of your hand,” you tell her, picking up one of the paintings out of the box, “you were an art teacher, mom.”

“Don’t call me mom,” she says to you, that sharp tone from earlier cutting through to your soul. “I am no one’s mother.” Her eyes shimmer with a light sheen of tears.

You stare at her, brow pinching together with hurt, but you bite back the part of you that wants to beg her to remember you, to take one close look at you, and see you with warmth and not emptiness. But she sees past you all the same.

“Can you do something for me?” you whisper to her.

“Yes?” she asks.

“Could you please lay down? You need some rest.”

“Are you my nurse?” she asks.

You breathe in deep. “Yes.”

“Am I…” she glances briefly at her reflection in the vanity mirror, her eyes flitting up to the head scarf on her head that covers the absence of hair, “am I sick?”

You exhale. “Yes. You need rest.”

“Oh…” she acknowledges, “why, yes. I do feel…a little frail.”

“I know,” you comment, and you put the box down on the floor then help her up onto her feet slowly by holding onto her arm, and you guide her to sit on the bed and take her medications. She then lays down, and you nod at her reassuringly before you head out the door and close it behind you.

Your lip trembles with the threat of a sob as you stare straight forward at the wall in the dimness of the hallway. But a harsh bite to the plush of it ceases the quiver.

You make your way up the stairs to go grab that binder you had with the mortgage and house information, plus some of your recent utility bills. Except the binder is hard to locate, and you’re rummaging through the cabinets in your closet, the drawer of your nightstand, you’re even looking underneath the bed. But when you lift your head up from under it, still kneeling on the carpet, and glance at the wall, you notice something.

48’’ eight yrs. what a big girl! 

46’’ seven yrs. big jump

41’’ six yrs.

37’’ five yrs. my little princess

…

..

–all written in graphite pencil, scribbled up the wall where you would stand tall against as a kid, your mom marking your height at every birthday. And your eyes start to well with tears. 

This was your childhood home. With magical corners tucked away where you used to play hide and seek with your dad, with your old bedroom you used to play in with dolls and have tea parties with all your stuffed animals. There’s still a stain of fruit juice on the carpet underneath the rug that you never told your mom about because you knew she would be mad at you and would scrub it out, but it was in the shape of a heart and when you were a kid, you thought that meant you would find your prince charming some day. This house holds so many memories, like birthday parties and Christmas Eve and the sunflower patch in the backyard where you laid Sniffles to rest.

And it holds the familiarity of you that seems to be slipping through your mother’s fingers with each passing day, all those memories you created with her now solely yours to keep and no longer to share. But you realize at this moment that you’re not alone. This house still holds those memories with you.

Your eyes flicker to the graphite pencil marks on the wall again, and the tears flow freely.

In the moments where she cannot remember that you are her baby, this house remembers for her.

Your sleeve wipes at the dampness on your cheeks.

But it’s never enough, is it? And it’s never that easy, either. Life was never that easy, and you don’t always have the choices you might think you do.

You find the binder, and grab all the utility bills too, and head downstairs. You pass by your mother’s room with softness and sleuth, and guilt in your heart when you realize what you’ve chosen to do. There’s no pep to your step when you make it back to Gojo’s.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“Sooo,” Gojo says, after about twenty minutes of looking through all the house paperwork in the binder at the dining table, “your mom transferred ownership of the house to you as a gift deed when she was diagnosed?”

“Mhm,” you say.

“She paid off quite a bit of it,” he comments as he looks through banking statements, “but still not enough to pay off your medical debt, unfortunately.”

You sigh. “I know. It was never really a house she could afford anyways. She just received it from the divorce, and I remember we were supposed to downsize, but…she didn’t want to.”

“I see,” Gojo comments, “well, it’s alright, it would still help you a lot for sure. How many years are left for your solar panel lease?” He has a pen in hand and a custom realtor notepad in front of him with his messy handwriting all over it. 

“It’s new,” you say, “still got thirty years left.”

“Jeez, okay. How much per month?”

You scavenge through the bills on your table. “Ummm um um ummm…….”

“You should really…get more organized.”

“You should really mind your fucking business.” You find the bill. “$285 per month.”

“Okay,” he scribbles it down, “does it offset your electricity bill?”

Your shoulders sulk. “A little bit.”

“Yeah, it might scare some buyers away.”

You sigh. “Oh and then the HOA too.”

“HOA?” he looks up at you with a puzzled expression on his face. “We don’t have an HOA in this neighborhood.”

“We don’t?” you blink at him. “Then who have I been sending $195 dollars to every month?”

“…….....you’ve seriously gotta be some special kind of stupid.”

After panicking for five minutes while checking your credit cards for fraudulent activity, Gojo gets done cutting up an apple for you. 

“Here,” he says, sliding the plate to you, “since you look like you’re about to faint. Knowing you, it’s probably just low blood sugar.”

You dramatically sigh and sink in your chair. “I can’t believe I spent the last three years paying an HOA that doesn’t even exist…”

“Hey, on the bright side, there’s some dude out there on an exotic vacation that’s very thrilled by your idiocracy right now.”

You shoot him a look. And then you hang your head low to drink your extremely cold coffee that you were still nursing, before downing it all in one go. Your eyes catch the marriage paperwork that Gojo was reviewing earlier, and you see Higurama’s pre-filled in information that he typed onto the papers before printing them for him. 

“Hm,” you hum, “it says here that you’ve been married before. You might want to get that fixed before we submit these.”

He stands up from the table, two of his fingers hooking onto the handle of his coffee cup, and he glances into yours to make sure it’s empty, briefly flicking his eyes to you and you shake your head for no, no more coffee, thanks before he wraps his other two fingers around the handle of your mug as well. The clink of the two porcelain mugs in his hand startles you a little as he walks past you to the kitchen sink. “There’s nothing to fix about that,” he says, his tone level and easy, “it’s true. I’ve been married before.”

Your eyes widen at his confession, and you quickly twist your torso in your chair to stare at him. Or at least, the back of him as he turns the faucet on and begins to rinse out coffee mugs. 

Married? Before? There are so many questions swimming through your head right now, ones that you desperately want answers to, biggest of all perhaps being now who the fuck would actually want to marry him??? for real??? you’re telling me this self obsessed dork proposed to a real life woman with a pulse and she actually said ‘yes’ to him??? who was this woman, and which psych ward did he find her from??? 

But he’s so quiet from where he stands, broad shoulders less pushed back like they usually are, and something tells you he wouldn’t entertain any of those questions from you right now. A glance at the paperwork, though, tells you the divorce was recent. Less than a year ago. Around the time he moved in next door. 

He still has his back facing you, and you try to sneakily catch a glimpse at more info under the Wife section on the prior marriages form. You can see the paper says maiden name: Inoue and you’re just about to sneak a peak at the first name when—

“You want to stay for dinner?” he asks when he turns around, leaning back against the sink counter. “I’m ordering pizza tonight.”

You’re surprised by the sudden invitation, and shuffle the papers over one another again. “Oh–that’s…that’s okay.” You glance at the clock he has hanging on the wall. “I’ve got work in a couple of hours, so…I should really get going. Have a few errands to run before then.”

“Okay, so, we’ll…talk later?”

“Yeah, later,” you stand up from your chair, and for some reason, the air feels a little heavier to you now. “Uh…” you start, awkwardly scoffing a little, “wow. Bachelor life again, then, huh? Probably just–...probably just beer and pizza every night?”

He purses his lips together, humoring you with a small laugh that comes out as a scoff through his nostrils. “No. Not really. I only order pizza when I close a sale on a house. My way of celebrating.”

“Oh,” you respond, “I see.”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he says.

“I live next door,” you remind him.

His eyes widen slightly. “Oh. Right.”

“H-Hope the traffic’s not too bad!” you joke.

His laugh comes more genuine now. “You’re stupid.”

You head towards the door, and when he opens it for you, there’s a chill of air outside and it’s darker now, hues of dark gray, purple and a slight orange still present on the horizon paint the sky and you step outside then turn on your heel to face him.

“Um. Congrats, by the way. On the sale,” you tell him, “enjoy your night. And I’ll see you this weekend?”

“Huh?” He raises an eyebrow. “What’s happening this weekend?”

“We–” you scoff, “we’re getting married this weekend?”

“Oh!” he exclaims, tense, “right, yes, see you this weekend. For marriage. Of us.”

You roll your eyes and make your way down the concrete pavement that leads its way to his house, and leads its way away from it too. And when you walk back to your house, it’s not with a sulk, but it’s not with a pep in your step either. You just feel…neutral.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“So, tell me about this fake husband of yours,” Hana says, leaning against your work-on-wheels as you attempt to catch up on charting notes with 4 hours and 15 minutes and 53 seconds left on your shift (it’s not like you were counting though).

“Yeah, in a sec,” you mumble as you punch in keys.

6/2/2024 0344: patient placed on 5150 hold on 5/31 at 1745, continually monitored by ED tech. all objects have been removed from pt’s room to prevent any danger to self or others. however patient accessed hand sanitizer dispenser on the wall at roughly 0320 and ingested all the hand sanitizer. notified MD of toxic ingestion, follow up plan is to coordinate care with poison control. no further orders at this time

“Okay, what were you saying?” you look up at Hana again and rub the tired out of your eye with a balled up hand, along with all the mascara. 

“Your fake husband!! Tell me about him!!” she chirps, shaking your work-on-wheels in excitement and the blur of your computer screen makes you feel dizzy.

“Shhhhh,” you hiss at her, “keep your voice down when we discuss illegal activities.”

She rolls her eyes. “Why are you always so paranoid? I’m already sick and tired of you charting incessantly every five seconds to save yourself from medical lawsuits that you haven’t even been accused of.”

“In a medical lawsuit, the chart is the law, Hana,” you say eerily with a shiver, and her words remind you to continue your detailed charting. “Never forget that.”

She sighs. Her gaze travels across to the other end of the emergency department, and you assume she’s staring at the asses of the EMT boys again, so you glance over your shoulder too. 

Except instead, you see the worst person on the planet.

Well, second worst as of right now.

The worst person title was reserved for someone else.

Approaching from down the hall is Yuna, your ex-best friend, a bounce in her step as she walks with a sort of allure as her hips rock side to side, her mile-high ponytail swaying in beat with the rhythm as well, and the ashy blond highlights in her hair hypnotize anyone she waltzes by. 

She was the kind of nurse that all the other nurses are jealous of. Always has cute little accessories and stickers on their badge, is wearing the fancy FIGS scrub sets that hug her sporty curves in all the right places, paired with those little shoes with the ankle socks, and she most definitely gets her water goal in for the day because she’s always sucking on the straw of her periwinkle Stanley cup around the ED all night just like she sucked the cum out of your boyfriend of seven years just twenty-four hours after the two of you had broken up–

“y/n,” she casually calls your name, leaning her elbow up on the cubicle divider of the nursing station. “It’s time for you to take your break. I’ll watch your patients.”

“I’m not taking my break,” you say, trying to relax the grit to your teeth which makes your eye twitch out of frustration instead. “Now get the fuck away from me before I call a Code Black.”

She sighs, rolling her eyes and smacking loudly on her gum. “Yaga said you have to take your thirty tonight. Something about how you haven’t clocked out for a break in more than two months and the hospital could get sued for that.”

“The hospital has way bigger cases they should be biting their nails about getting sued over,” Hana snorts just to butt in on conversation.

“C’mon,” Yuna says, her fingers reaching out to touch the handle of your work-on-wheels, purposefully stretched so that you can eye the perfect sparkly manicure to her nails. You curl your fingers into the skin of your palms to hide your gel polish that’s long started to scrape off. “Go clock out.”

“I’d rather die than listen to a single fucking thing you tell me to do,” you tell her, plain and simple.

“y/n!” a loud masculine voice calls from the other end of the Emergency Department, and all three of you visibly shrink a little in your stances out of fear. Head nurse Yaga. “Take your break, or I’ll be damned to let you set another foot in this hospital!!” he’s yelling at you all the way from the entrance to the CT scanner.

“But–”

“Now!!!!!”

Your eyes flicker to Yuna, who has an amused look on her face and a tilt to her head, and then you’re grumbling before logging out of your computer then stepping away from it. “Draw a CBC & chem on Beds 24 and 28 at 4 AM sharp,” you grumble to her, and she just gives you one of those tight-skinned smiles. 

The break room is empty, with shades of beige on the walls and even more depressing shades of gray on the lockers. There are all sorts of things pasted on the walls, like photos from staff Halloween and Christmas parties, drawings that pediatric patients have made in appreciation of their nurses, and employee information that Yaga’s constantly shoving in everyone’s faces. 

Okay, the backstory with Yuna. Pretty simple. You two had been best friends since high school, like inseparable best friends. Y’know, sneaking out late at night to use fake IDs at the bar, cover for the other when you’re busy losing your virginity to your high school boyfriend in the most dishonorable way possible, rooming together in college, sobbing and crying through all of nursing school together, ride or die type of friendship that you think you’d only find once in a lifetime. Except turns out your best friend, who you’d considered a sister, had eyes for your boyfriend since you started dating him in college, and the second that dickwad dumped you, you catch her sucking him off in the back of his Toyota Camry when you go to pick your stuff up from his place. Yeah, ouch. You lost the two closest people in your life, all in the matter of twenty-four hours, so pardon yourself for being a bit bitter about it. 

But being bitter is the coping mechanism. The real way you feel comes in the form of tears prickling in your eyes and the pain in your throat as you try to swallow away the knot that’s suffocating you from the inside out. A type of loneliness that leaves you stranded even in a room full of people. But at the very least, this room is empty, so no one has to see the crack in your resolve.

There’s no time on a thirty-minute lunch break to have a full mental breakdown, so you sparsely wipe at your tears and head back to your shift.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

If you want to know who actually holds the worst person on the planet title right now, well, you run into him on a Tuesday afternoon while on a grocery run after you just woke up from barely sufficient post night shift sleep. Bitter and drugged by Melatonin was not a state of being you needed to be in right now, but you’re out of orange juice and you’re having Vitamin C withdrawals which warrants a trip to the store. Unfortunately, the town only has one grocery store, which means you were bound to run into pestering ex-boyfriends at least once every full moon. 

“Get the fuck out of my way, Choso,” you snarl at the man who’s walking backwards ahead of your grocery cart, trying to stop you in your tracks so you’d just chill out and listen to him for a second.

“Can you just chill out and listen to me for a second?” he asks you, irritation evident in his voice like you’re being the difficult one here.

“I already told you that I quite literally never want to see your stupid ugly face ever again for as long as I live,” you say, and you ram your grocery cart forward with so much force the metal hits his knees and he doubles over the basket indignantly with a groan.

He seems like he’s had enough of you evading him, so he jams his foot under the wheel to keep you from moving forward, and you’re scowling at him and struggling against his foot-stop but to no avail. 

You briefly consider abandoning your cart all together and just bee-lining for the exit, but he’s a cop, so he’d easily be able to tackle you to the ground if you tried.

“What do you want?” you snarl, impatiently tapping your foot with every miserable passing second spent in his presence. 

“I just–” He sighs, “I just want to talk. And to know how you’re doing. You won’t pick up any of my calls.”

“Huh?” You blink at him. “I’ve had you blocked for the past two weeks. You shouldn’t even be able to call me.”

His eyebrows raise. “Really?...who have I been dialing then?” 

“Fuck if I know,” you shrug, and you use his moment of confusion to swerve your cart off to the side and make your way down the refrigerator aisle. Ohhh, dulce de leche gelato sounds nice, and it’s on sale. You grab a jar. 

Choso’s trailing behind you as you eye price tags and sale signs in the open chill of the yogurt section. “Babe–”

“Don’t–” you immediately cut him off, spinning fast on your heel and he stops himself just in time from crashing right into you. You hold your index finger up in the air between the two of you with a clench to your jaw so tight it feels sore, and through gritted teeth you say, “don’t call me babe.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry. It’s habit.”

Indeed, habit. Seven years of him calling you babe, or baby, or boobie (idk don’t ask). Your favorite though? Babydoll. He’d always call you that when he’d make sweet, sweet love to you while you were wearing his favorite flimsy little piece of lingerie–babydolls. Even now, the memories have your cheeks feeling hot. But he doesn’t get to call you babe anymore, and he doesn’t get to fuck you anymore, or talk to you anymore, or breathe in your general direction anymore, because he betrayed you. He wasted your time, and then he betrayed you.

Seven years of your sexual prime, where you could’ve been fucking hunky firefighters and bisexual Europeans, wasted on a man you weren’t even going to marry in the end anyways. Now you’re pushing thirty, and the idea of having to date again makes your skin crawl with anxiety that turns into fury because your doom is all caused by the man in front of you.

Whatever, forget about the sex and the impending loss of a woman’s novelty within society for a second. You loved him. A part of you still loves him. You wanted to marry this man. You thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with this man. Little sheriff deputy’s wife, Mrs. Kamo, the perfect number of letters to get on a bejeweled license plate. You had envisioned all the cute little quotes of adoration that would be imprinted on your wedding reception’s custom-made doily napkins with everyone that’s ever meant anything to you sitting at the table, ready to celebrate the love that you thought was real and true and brave and strong and one that would last forever.

But he abandoned you when you were at your lowest. And he fell into the arms of the one person you thought you could turn to crying when the relationship crashed and burned in the first place. And the problem with living in a small town is that everyone knows everybody’s business, so now you’re just the woman that wasted her youth on a man that played her like a broken fiddle. Utterly heartbroken, and humiliated. 

So, yeah, he doesn’t get to call you babe anymore.

“Listen here, asshole,” you say, stabbing him in the chest with your finger, so he can feel even a fraction of the pain you’ve felt in the past three weeks, “I couldn't care less if you live today, or die tomorrow. So if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave me alone. Or I’ll file for a restraining order.”

“Really?” he says, brows pulled tight together in disbelief, like he just can’t understand what he’s done to make you act this way, and quite frankly, that only makes it sting even worse, “after everything we’ve been through, you’re just going to throw away the past seven years?”

“What the fuck are you saying?!” you all but snap at him, and an elderly couple that’s passing by flinches a little from the noise and you wince in apology before glaring at Choso again. Your voice is hushed this time. “You’re the one that broke up with me, but I’m the one that’s throwing it all away??”

He purses his lips together, and you notice how dark the circles under his eyes are. He shuts them tightly and leans back away from you, which makes you realize how much he was leaning into your space just a second ago. “I know that we…aren’t dating anymore. But, I mean, c’mon, y/n, it’s me. Just because we’re not together anymore, doesn’t mean that I don’t still…care. I want to know how your mom’s doing, and how treatment has been for her, and–” he glances up at the ceiling briefly, as if to mislead you into thinking that the next thing he says is just as nonchalantly desired as the other things he listed, “and I want to know how you’re doing, too.”

“You don’t deserve to know how I’m doing. Continue to wallow in your pathetic self righteousness, or go run with your tail between your legs to that two-faced rat I used to call a best friend. Either way, I don’t give a damn,” you say, in a way that very much sounds like you give a damn unfortunately, and spin on your heel to continue pushing your cart down to the juice section.

“Yuna and I–” you hear him say behind you, and just the mention of her name on his tongue makes your heart ache in your chest, to the point you need to place a flat palm over it just to alleviate the pain, “I–...I broke things off with her yesterday.”

Fuck. Pretend like you’re not fazed by that info. Pretend like you’re not fazed by that info.

“Okay? Whatever,” you barely manage to say.

He’s silent for a moment behind you. The wheels of your cart squeak as they roll. 

“I mean, we’re not together anymore. I’m not seeing her anymore,” he clarifies, as if he didn’t believe you heard him right the first time.

“Cool,” you comment, tone colder this time, since you had the practice round. 

“You don’t–” Choso starts, a rattle of hurt and confusion in his voice, “you don’t care about that?”

“Nope.” 

He reaches out to grab your wrist, and the contact burns through your skin, like something so familiar yet so foreign. You turn your head to look at him. 

“I…” he starts, and you can see his chest rising and falling with more intensity. Oh god. Please. Please don’t say it. You’re not sure you can handle hearing it. “I really miss you.”

Damn it, he said it.

Your posture relaxes slightly when you take a long look at him. You finally notice his hair has gotten longer in just the three weeks you’ve been apart, layered locks curling at the end of his neck, and it’s the first time you’ve noticed such a small detail because you were so used to spending everyday with him. He spent most of the week at your house, since the two of you could never formally move in with one another after your mother was diagnosed and it was easier for him to come by to yours so you could continue to keep an eye on her. There’s no option to live on your own and start your own life when you’re taking care of someone sick. They become your priority, not yourself, but you’d still make every single sacrifice you’ve made for your mother over and over again in a heartbeat if you had to relive the past five years. 

But that meant that you never had a real and true chance to live the life that you wanted with Choso. A place just for the two of you, lived in intimate solitude and not with the cries of your mother down the hall when she feels too sick to get up out of bed or when she cannot remember her own name. But you had never been this far apart from him to where you notice his hair is an inch longer than it was the last time you saw him. He was never that far away, as he is now. And you’ve just now realized it.  

“I don’t,” you start, swallowing the lump in your throat and your voice quivers ever so slightly when you speak, “I don’t care that you miss me.” You take a deep breath. “I’m getting married this weekend.”

His face entirely relaxes, like a calm before the storm, before it twists with so much confusion and incredulity and shock and–was that horror on his face?

“What?” he practically spats out, “it’s only been three weeks since we broke up!”

“Uhh,” you glance up at the ceiling of the store, just in time for an employee to make an announcement on the overhead for a manager at checkout lane 2 please, and then you glance back down at him, “I was having an affair while we were dating.” An easy lie. 

He scowls. “Yeah fucking right. There’s no way you’d cheat on me.”

His words burn bitter. The fact that he couldn’t even fathom you hurting him the same way he hurt you makes you clench your teeth. Because he knew you were better than he was, and that you were too good for him, and yet he still wasted your honor.

His friends, who used to be yours too, have probably fed him lies since the breakup. Like it’s okay, man. You broke up with her before you got involved with someone else. You didn’t do anything wrong.

But you say bullshit to all of that. Because after seven years of being together, you can’t just cold turkey a relationship like that to sleep with someone else, and then claim it’s not cheating. Technicalities like that were no vindication if the betrayal hurt all the same in the end. Because it still felt like you got cheated on regardless.

“Whatever. I don’t need to explain myself to you,” you tell him, “I’m getting married this weekend, so I really don’t give a damn about anything between us anymore. It’s over.”

“Who are you marrying?” he asks, suddenly breaking a sweat over the news like he’s starting to suspect you’re actually being serious.

“My neighbor.”

His face twists with disgust. “Old man Jenkins? He’s eighty-four years old.”

You roll your eyes. “Not the one on my left, you idiot. My neighbor to my right.”

The corner of his mouth tugs up in a ridiculing smirk, and the sight of it makes your skin crawl. He scoffs. “There’s no way. You hate that guy.”

“It’s true. I’m marrying him.”

“Seriously??” He guffaws at you, leaning in closer to you and you lean away until your back is resting on the handle of your shopping cart. “The obnoxious realtor I once heard you talking in your sleep about how much you want to murder him and then dump him in a lake?”

“What?! I talk in my sleep?!” you gasp.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. You have for years.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that?!”

He looks annoyed. “Because you’re such a hypochondriac. You would’ve thought you had a brain tumor or something, and I’d have to deal with the paranoia that follows suit.”

“Choso,” you say to him with a strict tone, jutting your hip out to the side in preparation to scold, “my mother has Alzheimer’s, which is genetic, and I was having an abnormal neurological symptom for years which has studies to show is an early indication of dementia and you just chose not to tell me because you didn’t want to be annoyed?!”

“See?” he gestures to you, “you’re doing it right now. How did we go from just sleep talking to ‘I might have dementia’?” 

“We,” you point between you and him, “are never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever getting back together. If there’s one thing you can pull through that stupid skull of yours, make it that.”

“Excuse me,” you hear a tiny voice squeak out, and you turn to your right to see a little kid trying to push past the two of you to grab a box of GoGurt in the Yogurt section. You move your cart forward by bumping it with your butt to get out of the kid’s way, and Choso circles around to the front of your cart before you start moving forward again. Like he’s literally stopping you from moving on from him. 

“You’re lying about marrying this guy,” Choso says like it’s a fact. In typical cop gaslighting fashion. “You’re just saying that to make me jealous.”

You roll your eyes. “No. I’m just that hot and gorgeous that I made a man fall in love with me in three weeks.”

“He’s in love with you?” he asks.

“Duh, he wants to marry me. When you dumped me, I found comforting solace in my next-door-neighbor, and we fell into bed with one another, and now he feels the obligation to provide for me for the rest of my life. What’s so hard to believe about that? You didn’t find abrupt matrimony odd when we binged all three seasons of Bridgerton two months ago.”

“That show is set in the fuckin’ regency era,” he hisses at you, “look around. There’s plastic bags of Hot Cheetos with Red 40 in them everywhere. Does this look like the 1800s to you?”

You have to be careful with him. He’s a cop, who could arrest you for medical insurance fraud, and would also have a personal vendetta against your marriage because boo hoo he misses you. But yes, he was right, you did want to make him jealous, and you just can’t help it.

“Well, me and him have a love that no one else can understand, so suck it. I’m marrying him, and he’s super into me, and he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with me, and he desperately wants to put babies in me, and–”

“And where’s the ring he gave you, then?”

Fuck. You briefly flick your gaze down to your left hand and note the daunting absence of a shiny diamond on your ring finger. Note to self, Gojo needs to buy you a ring.

“I left it at home,” you mumble.

“Uh-huh, as all newly engaged women who have been waiting for a ring all their life would do.”

That pisses you off. Because you were waiting your whole life for him to put a ring on your finger, and he never did. 

“Go fuck a fleshlight,” you snarl at him, unfortunately in earshot of the GoGurt kid and his mom shoots you a nasty look, but you’re a jaded woman after everything you’ve been through and you ram your cart into Choso so hard you swear you could’ve cracked his knee caps, and he doubles over in enough pain for you to have the time to leave him stranded there as you push your cart all the way to the end of the store. 

You finally make it to the orange juice section, the one thing you needed, although your cart is filled with things you didn’t need, because that’s always how these grocery runs go. You try to take a few breaths to calm down the fast beating in your heart after that confrontation with Choso. You’re not good with confrontation, even though it might seem like you are, but you’re just putting on a face. Acting strong, when really all you want to do is curl up into a ball and cry. But there are bills to pay, and images to upkeep, and orange juice to replenish. 

Your hand reaches out for the handle on the refrigerator door, but just before you curl your fingers around it, another hand beats you to it. It’s a large and masculine hand, with veins disappearing into the cuffed felted fabric of a suit jacket, and the knuckles turn a shade lighter than the olive skin around them when the fingers flex around the handle. 

You glance up at the person standing next to you, who you register towers over you in height. He has long, sleek black hair that shimmers under fluorescent lighting, some of which is tied up and out of his face, while the rest cascades over his back. But there’s tendrils of hair falling over the left side of his face, barely distracting you through the intensity of purple in his eyes when he glances at you.

“Ah, apologies,” he says, and the way he speaks is so calm and gentle, different from the intimidating aura he holds himself with. He retreats his hand from the handle.

“Oh, that’s–” you find yourself stuttering, “...that’s okay.” You grab the handle and open it, the chill rush of the fridge hitting you as your eyes peruse the selection of orange juice cartons while his eyes remain on you. You awkwardly glance at him again. “Sorry, d-did you also need to get orange juice?”

He nods. “Yes, I did.”

Not a man of many words, you think to yourself. Or maybe just around people he’s just met.

Your eyes catch the familiar labeling of your go-to orange juice, the one with no pulp and has added Vitamins D and E (basically the one for children), but you realize there’s only one left. You grab it anyway and put it in your cart. When you glance up at the handsome stranger beside you, there’s a slight look of amusement on his face.

“Seems we both have the same taste in orange juice,” he comments. 

“Oh no,” you say with a small laugh, “I’m sorry. It’s the last one.” Your eyes widen. “You–…you can have it, if you want–”

“Oh, no, no,” he shakes his head, long hair swaying with the motion as he holds his hands up in front of himself, “please. I will just find a nearby store.”

You tilt your head. “Oh there’s no other stores nearby…unless you get on the highway for at least twenty minutes. It’s a…small town.”

His lax expression finally cracks into one of subtle surprise. “That’s interesting.”

“Are you…new to town?” you ask.

He nods with a small smile on his face. “Indeed. Well, just visiting. I’m from New York.”

“Oh! Wow, that’s a long way from here.” You briefly register that he does look like a city man. Upscale restaurants, skyline views, premium outlets. The subtle fragrance of his cologne smells expensive too. “What are you up to while visiting?” You mentally facepalm yourself for asking personal questions, but he seems mysterious and you like peeling the layers back on people like him.

His expression drops, turning almost solemn and his eye contact that was previously very direct is suddenly averted elsewhere, “Just…visiting some old friends.” There is no elaboration.

“Ahh…I see,” you say, picking up on the hint that he has no more words to give you. “Well…I’ll be taking the orange juice…maybe try one with pulp?” you suggest a little cheekily. 

His lips tug upwards in a lopsided smile, one you’d call a smirk if you weren’t so mesmerized to define it as one, “I’ll think about it.”

You hum slightly in polite acknowledgement of him, then push your cart back towards the heart of the store without a word of goodbye.

Odd stranger, who’s good at giving misleading answers. You wonder what life he’s come here to escape. 

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

It’s a bright, picturesque Sunday morning, with children laughing and squealing out on the streets in front of your house as they ride their scooters up hot pavement while their parents catch up on PTA drama on the lawns. You’re standing in front of your full length mirror, trying on dress #3 for your little meeting with the courthouse today. And by little meeting, you mean your wedding. You’re getting married today.

The dress you have on falls to below your knees and has buttons all the way from the hem right up to the base of your neck, where the collared neckline wraps around you like a noose. Suffocating, way too prim and proper, although it’d make your grandma very happy and adored to see you should you show up to church service in it. 

Your bed is cluttered with clothes you’ve thrown across it as you try to find a good dress. Your hands move with impatience as you skim through the rack of your closet for another dress to try on, since you’re starting to push the time a little too much. You’ve only got ten minutes before you need to leave. 

A dress tucked in the corner of your closet catches your eye and you pull it out. It’s a cream-colored milk maid dress with an underskirt to puff out the A-line silhouette, length down to your shins that would be oh-so-flattering with a cute pair of heels. There are small red flowers adorning the pattern, with tiny green leaf details as well. It was cute and sweet and feminine, something you haven’t worn in a long time unlike your usual monotonous hospital scrubs, stained sweatpants and adult onesies.

It was the dress your friend Sana convinced you to buy when you thought you were going to get engaged. In the first two years of your relationship with Choso, you two talked about marriage non-stop. You both had just graduated college when you first started dating, and it felt like your lives were finally starting. At the end of the second year you two had been together for, after Christmas dinner with your family, he pulled you into his arms and you squealed with glee as he spinned you around in your childhood bedroom upstairs and told you how much he wanted to marry you, and that he was going to propose in the new year.

Your mother was diagnosed with cancer in January, and he never brought up marriage ever again. 

He still stayed with you for five years after that though, and swiftly dodged every single question you ever asked him about his impending proposal. For five years, you were fed every excuse in the book. And in hindsight, you feel like an idiot for staying, and for still holding out hope, when what you were really holding onto was heartbreak. The feeling of not being enough, like someone was just tolerating you, and not loving you. It was easy to ignore at times, given how occupied you were with driving your mother to chemotherapy appointments and reading up on books about which diet works best to slow down the development of Alzheimer’s because your mother started showing signs of dementia just two months after the cancer diagnosis. But in those moments of freedom, where you had a moment to breathe, all you could breathe was a suffocating smoke. Because you stopped feeling wanted or loved in between all of it.

But there was a trip he planned for the two of you to Greece. It was after your mother had first successfully gotten into remission. A gasp of fresh air amongst all the pain and suffering, and you could only assume that he wanted to celebrate by taking you on a trip. Sana was convinced he was going to propose to you on this trip, and you wondered if maybe he was just waiting until your mother felt better before he proposed so that the two of you could enjoy being newly engaged without the pressure or worry. Sana took you shopping, and you bought this dress, one that clings to your form in a way that made you feel beautiful. Made you feel wanted. Made you feel worthy of being loved. Because all other parts of yourself had been overlooked and paid no attention, but you thought a dress could save you. 

He never proposed. You left Greece with an extra suitcase of souvenirs, but without a ring on your finger or even a compliment on how beautiful you should’ve looked to him standing there on that beach with this cream-colored dress on, arm wrapped around his. And it was at that point you became numb, and you existed in limbo for the remaining four years of your relationship. Until he finally did what you silently begged him to do, with every sullen look in your eyes when you glanced at him. Maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, what he did to you. Something you willed him into because you didn’t have the strength to leave, and so he had to.

You hold the dress up to your form in the mirror. It’d still fit you, and it’s far too pretty to have only worn once. But you’ve been numb for so long now, you don’t even remember what it’s like to feel pretty in a dress. You unbutton yourself out of dress #3 and step into failed proposal dress #4, and as you slowly zip up the back of the dress, you’re met with resistance. 

Fuck.

The last thing you need right now is a weight-related meltdown.

You tug up on the zipper even more, harshly, to the point you hear a stitch rip and you gasp and try to do it slowly so as not to completely tear the dress apart. But it’s not fitting. It should fit. You just assume the zip is stuck, or it’s too rigid after years of no wear.

You’re about to do another colossal yank upwards that could potentially dislocate your shoulder when you jump at the sound of your phone chiming with a notification. And then multiple.

“What...the hell…do you want…” you sigh to nobody, swiping your hands across the pile of dress fabric on your bed to find your phone, and when you do, you quickly tap on the screen to see the messages.

|| 11:32AM neighbor (avocado tree): Hey, are we still getting married today?

First of all, wild fucking thing to nonchalantly ask.

|| 11:32AM neighbor (avocado tree): Your car’s still parked out front, so I wasn’t sure if you’ve left yet. I was just about to leave, and then the thought occurred to me that we should probably carpool?

|| 11:35AM neighbor (avocado tree): But just wanted to verify, are you sure you want to go through with this? You’re not having cold feet? Won’t be a runaway bride? I’m not gonna be left at the altar, wondering where I went wrong?

You roll your eyes, breathing heavily still from the struggle of zipping up your dress.

|| 11:36AM You: yes, we are still getting married. I just can’t zip up my dress for the life of me 

It takes him a whole minute to respond.

|| 11:38AM neighbor (avocado tree): Do you need help?

You blink at your phone screen. Help? What kind of help? Helping you zip up your dress?

You look over your shoulder to the full length mirror, eyeing your back. The dress was zipped up to just above the small of your back, with the rest of it flayed open to reveal the expanse of your skin. Setting your phone down, you roll your shoulders back once and flex your fingers to try again in securing this dress, but to no avail. You curse yourself for not having the flexibility, and to be honest, you’re not even sure if you can take the dress off anymore to get into something else with the way the zipper won’t budge neither up nor down. Well. You’re just going to have to wear this dress for the rest of your life now. A scary predicament.

You pick your phone up again.

|| 11:41AM You: yes

It only takes about two minutes for him to text you that he’s at your front door, a surprisingly considerate gesture considering your mother is sleeping downstairs so it’s good he didn’t ring the doorbell, and you tiptoe your way down and over the creaky floorboards of the stairs to the front entrance. 

You slowly crack the door open only a couple inches, hiding yourself from him behind it as you peek at him. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he says, and he glances at his watch. “We’ve got to hurry.”

You nod, and take note of his appearance. He’s wearing a dark fitted navy suit over a white dress shirt, which to your surprise, doesn’t have the top two buttons sluttily undone for once. His suit pants are perfectly tailored to his ankles and you can barely see the exposed fabric of black socks before they disappear into his polished Oxfords. He looks like he’s going to a wedding. Oh wait, he is. 

He raises an eyebrow at you when you refuse to reveal yourself by stepping away from behind the door. Even his hair is particularly kept and proper, swept off to the side slightly in a way that makes him look younger and you feel nervous from the intensity of those eyes, which are usually somewhat hidden by the fringe of his snowy hair, now look at you unwaveringly with no obstruction. You feel like you’re seeing him in a completely new light, and for some reason, it makes you cower behind the door even more. 

“Uh, are you going to let me in?” he asks you, his foot tapping lightly on the welcome! mat. 

“Yes,” you say, but you make no movement to prove your word. 

“y/n,” he says, “we need to get going.”

You sigh, tapping your fingers against the stained glass window of your front door to release some nerves before hesitantly stepping to the side and pulling the door open all the way, then you’re standing in front of him in full view. You catch a glimpse of the black tie hanging from his neck that’s secured all the way up to the collar of his shirt, before you finally look at his face.

Those striking eyes of his round slowly until he’s looking at you wide-eyed, blinking in some sort of dazed surprise as his gaze eventually sweeps down your entire form to take in the sight of you standing barefoot on wooden floor in your cream-colored dress, and you swear you see the muscles in his jaw jump. His brow furrows like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“You–” he starts, that shocked blinking still taking place on his face, and you grasp the fabric of your dress in front of you from the anticipation of what he’ll say, “...you look beautiful.”

A silence settles between the two of you as he continues to roam his eyes all down you like there’s nothing that could stop him from doing it, and you feel heat in your cheeks from his compliment. It’s just a silly little cream-colored dress. One that didn’t look pretty on a beach in Greece, so why would it look beautiful on you  here right now? While you’re standing at the dusty front entrance of a decades old house? He’s bullshitting you.

“You know you don’t have to compliment me, you know that, right?” you squeak out, trying to keep your tone level and easy to fight back the raw feeling in your throat, “this isn’t a first look. There are no photographers around to capture your reaction. We’re not actually getting married.”

“But–” 

“Can you just help me with the dress?” you cut him off so he doesn’t say anything else that makes you feel pretty right now.

“...sure,” he agrees, and he steps inside your house. You start to walk upstairs, and he follows suit, and you suddenly feel his eyes on your back so you turn around and walk up the stairs backwards while facing him.

“I don’t understand the concept of first looks anyway,” he says out of nowhere to cut the silence, “isn’t it a bad omen to see your partner before getting married?”

“That’s such an outdated superstition,” you tell him as your feet finally press firmly flat at the top of the stairs. 

One of his feet is placed next to where you’re standing up straight at the top, while the other is still on the third step down. And it’s like he’s kneeling on one knee in front of you as he looks up at you. After a moment of deep breathing on your part, you finally step away from the top of the stairs so he can finish walking up them too.

“I don’t know what happened,” you say to him as you make it to the front of your full length mirror, “I was just trying to zip it up but it got stuck. And it’s not unzipping either.”

He comes up behind you, and you can see in the mirror that he’s put a decent amount of space between the two of you from the way his arms are reached out in front of him just to access the zipper. He tugs up on it.

“Hm. It…” he struggles with it, “it seems…” he yanks again, “jammed?”

“Fudge,” you mutter under your breath (more ladylike perhaps, as opposed to fuck) and you sulk your shoulders. “But will it close at all, do you think?”

He takes a step closer to you, and his cologne has the fragrance of woody oak with undertones of citrus, like something expensive and sophisticated. His hand sweeps your hair off to the side and over your shoulder to the front so he has a better view, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck from the motion and you try to fight the shiver. A glance to the mirror, and you see his eyes are set on the exposed skin. He tugs to pull your dress together, and is able to cross the fabrics. “Yeah, it should. I think just hold your breath for a second? I’m going to try to see if zipping it down helps unjam it.” 

“Okay,” you say softly, and he eyes you in the mirror at the sudden subservience. 

You try to hold your breath as he tugs down on the zipper, and you hear the metallic click when he succeeds in unjamming it before he zips it down just an inch. You can feel the small of your back exposed to cool air from the motion. 

He’s suddenly frozen entirely behind you, the knuckle of his index finger brushing against your skin as he continues to pinch the zipper between it and his thumb. You feel his slow exhale on the back of your neck. You’re too scared to look at his expression in the mirror.

“Sa–” you stutter through a gasp, “Satoru.”

“Sorry,” he says quietly, and then he’s shifting on his feet once before slowly attempting to zip the dress up. 

He’s met with a slight resistance just underneath your shoulder blades. “Hey. Just hold your breath.”

“I’m trying to,” you tell him, almost whining, because it’s hard to stop breathing when your heart is beating fast and it needs the oxygen supply.

“Do you want to try on a different dress?” he asks you.

“No,” you immediately answer him. You’re not sure why, but the idea of wearing this dress for the rest of your life doesn’t scare you anymore. In fact, you never want to take it off.

Your hands twiddle with the flimsy string at your collarbone that you tied to connect the fabric across your chest, and then you realize. “Oh…maybe I need to–” you tug at the end of the string, “undo this? That might make it looser?” You finally glance at the mirror to seek his approval of your suggestion.

His eyes meet yours, and when he sees what you’re referring to, his eyes widen. “But that would–”

“Just don’t look,” you say simply.

You two remain looking at one another in the mirror, and you see his chest heaving slightly through the tightening of his dress shirt against the expansion of his breathing. Like you’re asking the impossible of him.

“Or I’ll kill you,” you say.

He sighs, and his eyes flit down to your zipper again. You swear you feel his hand tremble slightly. “Alright.”

You pull on the end of the string, watching him in the mirror to make sure his eyes don’t wander, and the fabric covering your breasts falls open, but you use a hand to still sparsely cover your skin with the cloth where you can. In the reflection, you see his jaw clench but his eyes remain on the zipper, and only briefly flicker to the bed once. Then he’s zipping up your dress with ease. 

You quickly tie the string above your chest once more to cover yourself up, and then spin to face the mirror, petting down the fabric of your dress and throwing your hair back over your shoulder. It was a snug fit, but at least it still fit. 

He’s a step behind you with his hands shoved in his suit pockets, looking at your face with a slight tilt to his head like he’s studying you in the mirror just as much as you’re studying yourself. And then he pulls his hand out of his pocket to glance at his watch again. “It’s almost noon,” he says. 

“What?!” you bark at him. “We’re fucking late!!! Why didn’t you say anything?!?!”

“Huh??” he baffles. “I’ve been trying to tell you we need to rush this entire time.”

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you say, pacing your room to find your things in a scurry, picking your purse up and then grabbing your Manila folder of paperwork from your desk, and you try to walk past him to the door when you trip over the five pairs of shoes that you had been trying on earlier, almost twisting your ankle, and you gasp then grab onto his suit jacket for purchase before his arm attempts to reach out to hold you upright but to no avail since you tug on him as you fall straight backwards onto your bed and bring him down with you. 

His hands sink into the soft mattress on both sides of your head, wrists tickled by your hair, as he hovers over you, and your fingers quickly curl into little balls at your chest as you shrink underneath him, looking up at his surprised expression, likely from having to suddenly brace himself from falling right on top of you.

You both look at each other, blinking as you come down from the sudden chaos, and his tie that’s hanging from his neck brushes against your knuckle and falls over your hand to graze the skin above your breasts. His eyes briefly flicker to the sight, and he catches himself only to stare at your lips instead.

Even through thick layers of fabric, you can see the thick curves of the muscles in his arms, pulled taut from how he’s holding himself up over you. And for once, you wish the buttons of his shirt were undone, so you can see what he’s hiding underneath. The hair he had swept up above his eyes now falls freely with gravity, soft tufts that dangle above you and shadow over the blue of his eyes as he looks at you with a furrowed brow that–...that makes him look handsome. 

You must be ovulating.

No, wait, you finished ovulating a couple days ago.

Oh god.

Was your next door neighbor hot this entire time?

There was simply no way. 

You refuse to believe it.

You’re laying still like a deer in highlights, motionless underneath him, before he curls his arm around your waist to bring you up with him as he stands up straight, and you only spend a moment pressed up against him before you get yourself out of his grasp by pushing flat palms against his chest, and then the two of you are in proper distance from one another once again.

“D-Don’t ever do something like that ever again,” you stutter, shimmying your hips slightly to pull the snug fabric down your waist from where it had risen up.

“I didn’t do anything,” he grumbles, and he runs a hand through his hair. Now it looks like it always does, no longer prim in style.

“Whatever, let’s just go.” You slip your feet into one of the pairs of heels sprawled across on the floor, and then you head straight for the door. “You drive.”

You hear him sigh behind you. “Yes ma’am.”

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

The courthouse is bustling with people when you two arrive but Gojo’s pleasantly able to pull into an open curbside parking spot right in front of the entrance. You’re surprised when he comes around to the passenger side to open the door for you, and you swat his hand away when he offers it to you too, but you probably should’ve taken it, since you almost twist your ankle for the second time today as you step out onto the curb and get used to walking in heels again like a newborn fawn.

“Should’ve taken my hand,” he says to you, smile turned upwards into a smirk as he watches you struggle while he’s a few steps ahead of you.

“Give it to me then,” you grit through your teeth as you wobble, giving up your pride to avoid adding yet another medical bill to the list of debts in your name.

“Nah,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, “too late. Lost your chance.” You curse his entire lineage in your head.

You two make it inside the courtroom, and the first person you look for is Hana, whose head you catch at the front row much to your pleasant surprise since she is your sole witness to sign on the marriage certificate today. But in your study of the room to find her, you notice that there are a lot of other people in here as well.

“Don’t tell me…Did you invite people??” you ask Gojo, grabbing onto his sleeve to get his attention and also for balance, but he doesn’t need to know that latter part.

He glances down at you. “No? Why would I invite people to my fake wedding?”

Your eyes peruse the room once again, and you realize that most of them are just old retired people with nothing better to do on a Sunday than visit the courtroom. Some are elderly couples, eyeing you and Gojo as you two make your way down the aisle with sweetness in their eyes like awwwwwww to be a young couple in love once more <3 while they wait for the judge to call on their hundreds of unpaid parking tickets because they don’t know how to access an internet portal.

“D-Do you have the marriage license?” you squeak out to Gojo, who has now adjusted his walking speed to match yours.

“No, I left it at home,” he tells you in a flat tone. “Of course I brought the marriage license.”

“I was just checking, jeez…” you grumble.

Gojo hands the clerk the folder he was holding in his hand, and you hand in yours too.

Oh god. Your peripheral vision already recognizes him before your brain can, but you see an extremely familiar silhouette standing guard off to the side of the Judge’s bench, and your gaze immediately snaps in that direction.

Choso stands there, in his Sheriff Deputy’s uniform, his thumbs tucked into his vest as he puffs his chest out in assertion of his oh so important duty securing the courthouse on a Summer Sunday from any devastating danger, such as an elderly man not wanting to pay a parking ticket and then proceeding to charge towards the judge at 2 MPH, and you can’t help but roll your eyes from his attitude and scowl at him. Of course he pulled some strings and saw when you were getting allegedly married and decided to show up on that exact day. Whatever. You’ll pay him no mind. As long as he doesn’t speak now.

You and Gojo walk back to the lower desk in front of the Judge’s Bench.

“Ah! y/n, hello my dear, how are you?” the judge calls out to you.

“Hi Judge Jin,” you say meekly with a small wave, your voice echoing in the room, “good, and yourself?”

6/4/2024 1232: Judge Jin is a 72 y/o man with a past medical history of hypertension, hypercholesterolemia, hyperglycemia, GERD, liver cirrhosis and COPD, who endorses a social history of frequent tobacco usage and occasional alcohol consumption. Patient presents to the ED with chief complaint of chest pain, onset two hours ago after he drank three bottles of beer, and—

“Much better since you took care of me last week!” he humphs, patting his stomach.

You snap out of your automatic charting that was droning on in your head on reflex from how many times Judge Jin has shown up to the ED for acute chest pain which almost always ends up just being beer-induced GERD.

“At the hospital!” you clarify, “for taking care of you at the hospital!”

The man laughs heartily from where he sits up at the raised platform bench. “Yes! And Mr. Gojo! Nice to see you as well.”

You flit your eyes to Gojo, like you know him too? He only briefly spares you a sidewards glance before looking back at Judge Jin. “Likewise, sir.”

You postulate he scammed the fuck out of the man into signing a forty-year lease on a condo in the shady part of town, and you’ll leave it at that.

“I have to say, I am a little shocked by this matrimonial partnership!” Judge Jin chimes in. “But do you both swear to enter this marriage under just circumstances? I will need verbal affirmation from you both.”

Gojo raises his hand up in the air to swear on it, and you remember that he’s possibly done this before. Y’know how people have a courtroom wedding before a real wedding, something like that. And maybe that’s why he knows to raise his hand, because you didn’t even know you were supposed to raise your hand until now.

A real wedding. Something you’ve pictured a lot in your head, and so much more different than the arrangement you find yourself in right now. And because the pain of imagining yourself tying the knot with someone is too much right now, especially when the man you thought you were going to marry stands in uniform five feet away from you and probably doesn’t even recognize the dress you’re wearing right now, you glance over to Gojo and you try to imagine what a real wedding would’ve been like for him. Since he’s done it before.

He probably had a tacky wedding, like in a barn with barrels of beer used as tables with barely flickering string lights hung across wooden planks high on a triangular ceiling. The reception and the ceremony likely happened under the same roof, because he seems like the minimalist type, more focused on the feelings behind it and all, and not the grandeur.

Or maybe he was into the grandeur. Maybe he had a wedding on a skyline penthouse in the city, wearing expensive cologne like the one he’s wearing now, and a Dior suit he got custom made because it was a once in a lifetime occasion so why not? The image becomes a little too vivid in your head now, where you can picture this woman he’s marrying too. Pretty, tall just like him, wearing a ball gown white dress. He would’ve told her she looked beautiful, too. He would’ve told her he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with her. Vows uttered shakingly into the microphone at an altar while the sun is setting far into the sky, shimmering off of high building windows until the air is golden and it reflects off of his and his soon-to-be wife’s face. And when they’ve professed their love for one another, he grabs her by the waist and dips her in a kiss, for the perfect picture against the perfect backdrop in front of all the perfect little people because there probably was a photographer at that event, wanting to capture the moment.

You snap out of the dazed moment when a loud voice calls out your name, and in a shock, you glance back up at Judge Jin who’s looking at you with slight irritation.

“Huh?” you squeak out, and then turn to look at Gojo, who’s got a look of mild concern on his face as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Please swear that this marriage is under just circumstances,” Judge Jin states with a cadence that indicates he’s commanded this of you multiple times already.

“Oh!” you stand up straight, “I—…I’m sorry.” You hold your hand up. “Yes, I swear this marriage is under just circumstances.” Just like Higurama had you practice. He’d be proud. Phew, the hard part was over.

The rest of the ceremony goes by in a rather fast blur, and it’s a little awkward when you both have to tell Judge Jin that you don’t have any vows to exchange at the moment when he offers the time for them, but Gojo comes up with some lie about how the real vows will be at our formal ceremony, and Judge Jun seems entirely satisfied and a little too ecstatic by the answer before allowing you two and Hana to sign the marriage certificate.

“And rings?” Judge Jin asks as he peers down through his glasses to the paper he was holding at his desk. “We can now make time for the exchange of rings.”

You’re prepared for Gojo to come up with another lie about how the real rings will be at our formal ceremony, but you see him shuffling with something in his pocket in your periphery. Hm? You glance down at his hip, and you see him pull something shiny out.

He turns to face you, and he holds his hand out to you with an up-facing palm. You blink at him and then glance down at his hand. And then you look up and blink at him, and then glance down his hand. And then you look up and blink at him, and then gl—

“Give me your hand,” he says to you, a little hushed and rushed.

“Why???” you ask, baffled.

“So I can put a ring on your finger?” he says, like it’s the most casual thing. Like getting a ring slipped onto your fourth finger is the most casual Sunday for you, when it’s something you’ve dreamt of your whole entire life.

You finally take a long hard look at the ring he’s holding in his right hand. It shimmers with every glint of light in the courtroom off of every angle, no doubtedly precisely cut diamond from a jeweler who really cares about their craft, and you swear you’ve saved a similar looking ring to one of your Pinterest wedding boards before.

You hesitantly bring your hand up and hover it over his.

“Your left hand, silly,” he tells you.

“Oh, right,” you say, and hand him your left one instead.

He holds it in his hand that is much warmer than yours, and it’s so tender, the way he gently slips the ring onto your finger. It fits with ease, perfection actually, and you can’t help raising your hand up in the air, spreading your fingers weakly as you admire the stone now sitting above your knuckle. It’s pretty.

You feel Gojo’s eyes on you, as he’s halted in frame, and you glance past your hand to look at his face. You dislike him. You do. You should. He’s your annoying as fuck next-door-neighbor. So then why does your heart feel like it could burst right now?

A glimmer of silver catches your eye, and you look down at his hands as he slips a silver ring onto his left hand while facing you before he turns to face the front again, signaling the end of the ring exchange, except you didn’t get to put it on his hand. He didn’t give you the chance.

“Alright! Wonderful!” Judge Jin exclaims, whose eyesight is probably too poor to have seen that it wasn’t even a proper ring exchange. “With the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife!”

There is scattered applause across the courtroom, a few cheers as well, as you two stand in front of the court of law in holy matrimony.

Judge Jin glances at Gojo. “Well, young man, you may now kiss the bride!”

“Oh—…that—” you stutter, “that’s not necessa—”

“Okay,” Gojo says, more to affirm Judge Jin than in acknowledgement of your protest, and in a series of what feels like just one motion, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you two him and then he—

He kisses you.

He kisses you like it’s real, like there’s history, like it’s a pure thing meant to last and not something you quite literally put a time stamp on. The kiss muffles the small sound that comes from your throat, your hands held up in the air in some slight surrender before they slowly settle on his shoulders as he bends you backwards over his forearm to deepen the kiss and the cheers surrounding you grow with a fervor that has your cheeks burning red but for some reason you don’t want it to end—

And then he pulls away from you, eyes darting across the features of your face in close proximity as he exhales slowly, like a release, and it feels like the two of you are the only ones in this room before he glances at your lips one last time and then he releases his hold on you. You stand shocked, and briefly glance at Choso, who looks like he’s about to burst a fuse off the top of his head.

What.

What.

What?

And just like that, you were married to your insufferable next-door neighbor.

.

.

.

[end of chapter 2]

a/n. thank youuu soooo so much for reading this chapter of ihm!! i’m kinda liking the writing style i’ve adopted for this series, it’s kinda lax n lenient sort of like a stream of consciousness and i hope it doesn’t come of too crass of informal lol i’m just playing around w some writing styles rn. ANYWHO i hope you enjoyed!! btw i picture choso as long-hair choso in any modern au (and not pigtails choso) so if you see me describing his hair in the way that i do, that’s why lol. love you all so much, hope to see you in the next one <3

➸ take me to chapter three!

note: please do not ask me for updates or when i will next update (read rules)

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meme of the chapter:

[kookooluvr]

Teach Me How To Love - Part 6

jeon jungkook, a fellow professor at yonsei university, is your friend, co-worker, and secret bed buddy. you have rules set in place to make sure there are no misunderstandings in your little arrangement. the #1 rule is as clear as day; no catching feelings. simple, right? wrong. let's see how un-simple it gets when a certain economics professor falls for an emotionally unavailable political science professor.

pairing: professor!jungkook x (fem) professor!reader, fwb to lovers

genre: fluff, angst, smut, fwb au, economicsprofessor!jungkook, politicalscienceprofessor!reader, slow burn, some emotional constipation, some sappy moments, lots of sexy moments.

rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

w/c: 13.6k

warnings: namjoon and mai's wedding, mentions of anxiety and feelings of panic, oc blames herself for her past failed relationship, jk being jk, they slow dance, hana appearance (not the last), lots of feelings, explicit sexual content; soft romantic sex, looooots of kissing, brief nipple play, oral (f. receiving), he jerks it for two seconds, unprotected sex (she's on the pill, chill out) passionate missionary sex, domestic grocery shopping, angst angst angsty ending, lots of self doubt and tears 🫣

a/n: i apologize in advance 🫥😭😭 the angst has arrived LMAOOO y'all please don't hate my girl oc, she's doing her best, okay? anyway, i'd love to hear all of your thoughts on this one, your comments and asks always make my day !!!! lots of love my angels 🫂

taglist: @rpwprpwprpwprw @livinluvl @chxiosworld @mimi1097 @bumblebee-21s-blog @koosluvss @sou-17 @svnbangtansworld @junecat18 @shrek-the-destroyer @tastykookoonut @sturniolowrld @palomanazareth @chimmisbae @daskewl @ramyun-h @heyitsroshni @matryoshka-poetry @almatiarau @gukkie7 @ambiee3 @blueberriesm @milkk1400 @yuriouki @lovelovethebeatles @somehowukook @deedeeps @emily-hung @jkaxl @bhonbhon @bearchermer

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Jungkook has always been a fan of weddings. Some might call him a sap and make fun of him for getting excited about seeing the bride walk down the aisle, or for tearing up at the speeches, but he really doesn't care. He loves it. He especially loves that he gets to witness two of his closest friends tie the knot in just a couple of hours.

For you on the other hand, today is a bit less joyful. That's not to say you're not happy for Namjoon and Mai, because you are. You've grown to really like his friends and you hope their marriage is filled with nothing but happiness and endless love. You're just not a big lover of weddings in general. It could just be the resentment of your failed engagement that you've tucked away in your heart that seems to be clawing its way up to the surface. To you, weddings are just a reminder of everything you've lost.

"Why aren't you dressed yet?" Jihyo asks, her eyes wide as she takes in your pyjama-clad appearance through the screen of her phone. She's already dressed and ready to go in a navy floor-length gown, looking her very best to impress Taehyung, who asked her to be his plus-one.

The FaceTime call was intended for her to ask your opinion on her choice of earrings, but instead, she's caught you in the middle of an anxious spiral.

"I don't know if I can do this," you blurt out, letting out a deep sigh.

"What? Of course you can-"

"No, seriously. I haven't been to a wedding since my cousin's last year and I only stayed for an hour then left," you mutter, chewing on your bottom lip.

When you agreed to be Jungkook's date to the wedding, you were still on cloud-nine after Jeju, your rose coloured glasses still perched snugly on the bridge of your nose. Now? Now you're second guessing everything, your brain yelling at you to take ten steps back.

"Okay, just...breathe. Everything's gonna be fine," Jihyo reassures you. "I know this is out of your comfort zone, but I promise, you're gonna be okay. What happened with Sunghoon doesn't define you. You can do this. You're gonna go and you're gonna dance with Sexyboots and you're gonna have champagne and you'll look hot doing it. And I'll be there if you need me."

Her words bring your anxiety down from a 10 to a 5.

"What if I cry?"

"Then you cry, so what?" She shrugs, offering you a soft smile. "That's okay. It's a wedding, you'll just blend in with everyone else who's crying."

She's got a good point.

"What if I throw up? You know I throw up when I'm really anxious."

"Then I'll just say you had some bad Chinese food. ___, I'm not letting you back out of this."

"Why nooot?" you whine, plopping down on your bed with a huff and a roll of your eyes.

"Because I'm not going to this wedding without you. And a little itty-bitty wedding does not have the power over you to make you this stressed out. Now get your ass up and go get dressed before Jungkook gets there and sees you like this."

You know you can't argue with Jihyo when she speaks in that tone. And besides, she's right, it's just a wedding. So what if your fiancé slept with one of your friends a month before your wedding? No big deal. You just have to put on your big girl panties and go.

After another twenty minutes of trying to find an excuse not to go, and ultimately failing, you force yourself to get up and take a shower, scrubbing your skin until it hurts in an attempt to distract your brain from impending doom. You work almost robotically, doing your hair and makeup on autopilot. When you open your closet to get your dress, you catch a glimpse of that pesky white tulle peeking out from behind the rest of the clothes, as if it's mocking you.

You'll have to throw that thing away one of these days.

By the time you've zipped up your dress, there's a knock at the front door. It's him. You rush to give yourself one last glance in the mirror, making sure every hair is in place before going to get the door.

"Hey, you- woah..." Jungkook's jaw goes slack, his eyes growing in size as he drinks you in. He swallows thickly, his hands fidgeting at his sides. "You look...you're...wow..."

You'd think he was overreacting if you didn't feel the same about his attire. Seeing him in his tux, with his hair styled in that way that makes his face look extra chiselled, has your face flushing and your heart racing.

"You look...wow too," you chuckle, feeling a lot lighter than you did a minute ago. "I like your suit."

"I like your dress," he murmurs, his lungs feeling like he just ran up a flight of stairs. "You're gorgeous."

You want to tell him that he's gorgeous, but instead, you roll your eyes, grab your purse and kiss an unbothered Miso goodbye before making your way out. The short trip down to his car is silent, both of you feeling some nerves, both for very different reasons.

He opens the passenger side door for you and makes his way to the driver's seat, starting the route to the venue. He puts on some music while he drives, absentmindedly tapping his fingers along the steering wheel. He can sense how busy your brain is by the way you fidget with your hands in your lap, but he isn't quite sure how to approach the matter.

"Everything okay?" he asks, quickly glancing over at you before turning his eyes back to the road.

"Mhm," you nod, staring out the window. "Weddings just make me a bit emotional."

He wouldn't call the look on your face emotional, more so anxious, but he won't call you out for it. Instead he tries to lighten the mood, stepping around the obvious tension.

"Well, you can cry on my shoulder if you want," he smiles. "Thankfully my suit is black, so no one will ever notice if you get mascara on it."

You scoff, forcing a faint smile across your lips. "Right."

He keeps glancing your way, watching you intently. He looks as if he's trying to read your thoughts, but he's not Charles Xavier and he can't do that, so he settles on making lighthearted conversation until you reach the venue.

"Y'know, I'm not the best dancer but I do hope you'll save me a dance tonight," he murmurs, subtly glancing over at you.

"Please, I have two left feet," you scoff.

"Well, I happen to have two right feet, so I guess it works out then."

The smile that tugs at the corners of your lips is too strong to fight, so you give in and let it settle across your face.

When you arrive at the wedding venue, it looks like something out of a fairytale. It's a stunning outdoor ceremony, with rows of elegant chairs for guests to be seated and decorative flower arrangements, with a few violinists seated at the entrance, waiting for their cue to begin playing. The weather is warm with a slight breeze, the seasons slowly transitioning from summer to autumn, creating just the right temperature for a wedding.

Most of the other guests are already there when the two of you arrive. You spot his friends sitting in a row behind Namjoon and Mai's family members, everyone looking their best to celebrate the happy couple. You and Jungkook make your way over, sitting next to Jihyo and Taehyung, who have apparently been flirting like horny teenagers for the past thirty minutes, according to Yoongi.

"Hey, how're you feeling?" Jihyo whispers while Jungkook and his friends make their way to the front to talk to a nervous-looking Namjoon.

"I'm good," you nod, not wanting to take away from Namjoon and Mai's big day.

She can see the slight unease on your face, but this is neither the time nor the place to do a deep dive on your personal issues, so she nods and takes your word for it. She'll speak to you about it tomorrow over a pint of ice cream and some Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.

"You and Taehyung seem pretty cozy," you whisper, shooting her a little grin.

"He's so sweet," she sighs. "He brought me flowers when he came to pick me up at my apartment."

"You really like him, huh?"

She nods, smiling down at her lap. "I do, yeah...and that suit he's wearing makes me wanna suck his dick real bad."

"Jesus Christ," you mutter under your breath, looking around to make sure Namjoon and Mai's parents didn't hear that.

"What about you? Are things okay with...?" She gestures towards Jungkook with her eyes.

You look over at him, watching the way he laughs at something Hoseok said, the way his nose scrunches up and his eyes squeeze shut. He's beautiful in the late afternoon sunlight, his presence filling you with a warmth that overpowers the light autumn breeze.

"Yeah," you nod, feeling a smile start to tug at the corners of your lips as he makes his way over to take his seat next to you.

"Everything okay?" he asks, picking up on your stare.

You nod, leaning a bit closer to his side. Your smile reassures him that everything is more than okay. When you're with him, you're okay.

Jihyo watches the two of you with a soft smile on her face, picking up on the instant shift in your mood. You seem happier when he's near, your smile growing wider when he whispers in your ear to tell you that he likes your hair in this style, his fingers gently brushing a few stray strands behind your ear. Jihyo knows your feelings for him go way deeper than you'd like to admit, and when Taehyung makes a flirty comment about love being in the air, she can't agree more.

An announcement is made for everyone to take their seats, signaling that the ceremony is about to start. Everyone quiets down, the violinists getting their bows ready to begin playing the opening melody. Soon, the music starts and everyone watches as Mai's father leads her down the aisle, her dress trailing behind her with every step she takes. She looks like an angel draped in lace and tulle, her smile radiant as she walks towards the love of her life.

Your vision starts to blur with unshed tears as you glance over at the groom, watching as he struggles to keep his emotions at bay. He holds himself together as best he can when he shakes Mai's father's hand in a silent promise to take care of his daughter.

Namjoon takes one look at his bride and it's like everyone and everything else fades away. He takes her hands in his and vows to cherish her and protect her, to love her until they are both nothing but dust and bones. Mai reaches out to dry his tears, promising to love him through all of life's challenges, making a vow to be his wife now and forever.

There isn't a dry eye in sight, so you don't look out of place when the tears stream down your cheeks, putting up a good fight against the layers of setting spray plastered over your makeup. It's a hard moment for you, but you push through for Namjoon and Mai, and when the ceremony ends with a tearful kiss between the happy couple, you clap and cheer, and you wish them nothing but the best.

Everyone makes their way to the reception area after the ceremony. The marquee is breathtaking, draped in soft ivory fabrics that flutter gently in the early evening breeze, with twinkling fairy lights hanging overhead, casting a warm glow. Long tables are elegantly set throughout, each adorned with crisp white table linens, floral displays and flickering candles. As guests begin to gather inside, laughter and soft jazz music fill the air, creating a warm atmosphere that adds to the beauty of the surroundings.

You take your seat next to Jungkook, sitting at a table with Jihyo, Taehyung, Seokjin and Jisoo, and their two sons, Dohyun and Moonbin. Unfortunately, they had to leave their youngest at home with Jisoo's mom because he's a bit too young for such a long night out. Seated at the next table are Jimin, Hana, Yoongi and his date, Areum, and Hoseok and his date, Eunji, along with two of Namjoon's co-workers. Everyone mingles throughout dinner, enjoying the delicious spread of food and drinks.

"They grow up so fast," Seokjin teases. "It feels like just yesterday when Joon asked her to be his girlfriend."

"I remember him being so nervous to ask her out, spamming the group chat to let us know he was gonna do it," Jungkook chuckles.

"They make a beautiful couple," you muse quietly, looking over at Namjoon and Mai at the head table, Namjoon looking at his wife with stars in his eyes. It's the same look the man to your left gives you when you're not paying attention.

"They're gonna have the best sex on their honeymoon," Taehyung mutters, stuffing a huge wedge of roasted potato into his mouth.

"Language, Tae," Jisoo chides, trying to cover Dohyun and Moonbin's ears, even though the ten-year-old and seven-year-old have already heard and are now snickering amongst themselves.

"Honeymoon sex is the best sex," Seokjin grins smugly before taking a sip of his champagne, earning a swat from his wife.

"That's enough out of you," Jisoo grumbles, shaking her head.

"What?! It's true!" Seokjin chuckles, resting his arm over the back of her chair. "How do you think we made this little guy," he grins, reaching around her back to ruffle Dohyun's hair, earning a "Gross, dad!" from their eldest son.

"Where do you think we'll have our honeymoon?" Taehyung asks Jihyo. Normally, a woman would tell him he's crazy for making a joke like that after barely two months of flirty texts and a drunk hookup on the night they met. Jihyo, however, falls right into step alongside him.

"Maybe Italy. They have nice beaches," she smiles.

"I guess I should start practicing my Italian. All I know is ciao and spaghetti."

"Wow, you're an educator?" Seokjin scoffs.

"Hey, I teach English Lit, not Italian," he shrugs.

Jihyo laughs, making a comment about getting him into a speedo on an Italian beach, to which Taehyung responds with a joke about being The Rock's body double in Baywatch, earning a cackle from Seokjin.

"You're cute," Jihyo leans in to whisper, a smile breaking out on Taehyung's face.

"You're cute," he grins.

You watch from across the table as the two throw flirty words back and forth, clearly enjoying whatever it is the two of them have going on. They seem to pair well together. She laughs at his jokes, like, actually laughs. He seems to like making her laugh, cracking jokes just to see her reaction. It's sweet.

Dessert is served and speeches follow shortly after, some friends and family members saying a few heartfelt words. Mai's maid of honour, her sister, gives a speech about having an amazing older sister to look up to, and her father makes everyone tear up with his speech about letting go of his daughter and trusting another man to love and care for her. As the best man, Seokjin gives a particularly moving speech about watching his best friend, Namjoon, fall in love, pulling a few awww's from the guests. You hear a soft sniffle coming from your left, so you glance over at Jungkook to find him wiping his eye with his thumb, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

"Are you crying?" you whisper, forcing down a smile.

"No, I just...the flowers are irritating my allergies," he mumbles, avoiding eye contact.

You smile, finding it hard to resist leaning over to plant a kiss to his pouty lips. If it weren't for all these people, you probably would, but you can't risk letting everyone in on the feelings you harbour for him. Still, the risk of being caught doesn't stop you from reaching out for his hand under the table and absentmindedly playing with his fingers until they end up intertwined with yours.

Once the speeches are over, the live band starts back up, soft jazz music filling the marquee. A few guests even make their way onto the dance floor with their significant others while Namjoon and Mai start making their rounds to talk to their friends and family members. Jungkook gets up from his seat, taking the opportunity to stretch his legs a bit.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," he whispers. "I'll be right back, okay?"

You nod and watch as he walks off, occasionally greeting a few of Namjoon's relatives on the way to the bathroom. He seems to have a real way with people, Namjoon's grandmother greeting him like he's her own grandson. It's a strange feeling to see how people naturally gravitate towards him. He's charismatic in a soft-spoken, gentle kind of way. He's able to engage in conversation about basically anything. Dohyun and Moonbin call him Uncle Jungkook, the cool uncle who buys them Lego's and lets them take his cute dog on walks. He's kind, and polite, and he cries at weddings, and he radiates love. It's practically impossible not to love him, so you feel justified in your feelings when you see just how loved he is by everyone else around him.

Some of his friends make their way outside to get some fresh air, some going to get champagne at the bar area, while Jihyo gets spun around by Taehyung on the dance floor. Mai spots you sitting alone, so she makes her way over, trying not to mess up her dress when she sits down next to you.

"Hey, pretty lady," she smiles, looking even more radiant up close. "You having fun?"

"I am," you murmur, a soft smile gracing your face. "You make a beautiful bride, Mai."

Mai waves you off, playfully rolling her eyes. "Please, I cried all my makeup off."

"I think Namjoon might have cried more than you, so you're good," you tease.

She throws her head back in laughter, glancing over at her husband who seems to be having a heartfelt conversation with a few of his aunties. "Isn't it insane? I'm married to that guy."

You feel a pit start to grow in your stomach, but you smile and nod, and you make conversation to drown out the little voice in your head taunting you.

'It's all your own fault that you're not married.'

'Sunghoon was right, you prioritised your job and drove him away.'

'Jungkook won't want you when he realizes how much baggage you carry.'

"So," Mai lightly nudges your arm, pulling you out of your daze. "Where's your guy?"

The mention of Jungkook seems to soothe you. A smile threatens to break out across your face at her referring to him as your guy. Is he your guy? You want to deny it, but instead you indulge in the giddy feeling for a bit longer.

"He went to the bathroom. He should be back anytime now."

"What do you say, are you two next in line?" she teases, holding up her ring finger with a smirk on her face.

Please, as if you'd ever allow yourself to get as far as that again.

"Don't start that," you scoff, giving her a pointed look.

"Hey, I'm just saying. I saw the two of you earlier during dinner. He was practically drooling over you while you weren't looking."

"He was not."

"How long are we gonna keep doing this?" She chuckles, rolling her eyes. "You say you're just friends, then I say you're crazy because you're obviously-"

"We're obviously just two adults who get along," you shrug, feigning ignorance.

Mai watches the way you look down at your lap to avoid her eyes. She knows it's because you don't believe your own words, and she can see you clearly have more layers hiding beneath the surface.

"Look," she sighs, her tone turning softer. "I know we haven't known each other for very long, but I really like you and I think we're building a real friendship...and I can tell you might have some things holding you back from being honest with yourself."

You glance over at her, feeling naked under her gaze. She can see right through you, and you hate it. You hate that you can't run away from your baggage forever. You hate how right she is.

"___, I may not know everything and I don't mean to overstep, so feel free to correct me if I'm wrong...but I see the way you look at each other. Friends don't look at or treat one another the way you do."

You can't say that she's wrong, so you don't say anything at all. You don't know how to say what you really feel. You don't know how to explain that you're so scared of getting hurt, so you don't allow yourself to indulge in the things that could end up hurting you. You want to be honest and shout out loud that you love him, that you want to be loved by him, but you find that it's easier to love him from a distance than to risk getting your heart broken again.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped," she murmurs softly, offering you an apologetic smile.

You know she means well, and she hasn't said anything that isn't true. "No, no, it's, uhm...it's okay, Mai."

She excuses herself when Namjoon calls her over to join the conversation he's having with her parents, not leaving without a hug. She leans down and wraps her arms around your shoulders, whispering a soft, "Please, give him a chance," before walking off to join her husband.

You watch with a smile as Jihyo and Taehyung dance to an upbeat jazz song. He dips her as a grand finale, the song coming to an end with a saxophone and drum harmony. The band prepares for the next song as a female singer steps up to the mic, the opening melody of 'A love that will last' by Renee Olstead floating through the marquee. You're so caught up in watching the couples fill the dance floor, you almost don't notice the soft tap on your shoulder and the whisper of a velvety voice in your ear.

"I think you owe me a dance, Professor."

You glance up at Jungkook, your heart pounding in your ears. His hand is outstretched, palm up, waiting for yours.

"Jungkook," you breathe out a soft chuckle, as if he's crazy for even suggesting it.

"C'mon," he whispers, subtly cocking his head to the side. "One dance."

Your heart lurches at the thought of potentially embarrassing yourself. You haven't slow danced since your prom night, and even then, it was more of an awkward shuffle than anything remotely graceful, but the way he's looking at you has you nodding in resignation. "Okay...one dance..."

You hesitate for only a second before slipping your fingers into his. His grip is gentle, leading you to the dance floor with practiced ease. The music drifts through the marquee, a romantic melody wrapping around the two of you like a secret. His other hand finds the small of your back, and suddenly, you're closer than you expected. Jungkook sways with you, his movements effortless, like he's done this a million times in his head. His thumb brushes the back of your hand absentmindedly, a nervous habit or maybe something more. His gaze flickers down to you, dark eyes unreadable, but there's something tender about the way he looks at you, like you're more than just a habit he can't break, more than a friend. It's not the first time he's held you, not even the most intimate touch you've shared, but something about this moment feels so different.

"You really do look beautiful tonight," he murmurs, barely loud enough to hear over the music.

A warmth creeps up your spine. "You clean up pretty good yourself."

He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. Instead, there's something wistful in the way he looks at you, something unsaid lingering between you.

You let your head rest lightly against his chest, just for a moment, just long enough to feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath the layers of his suit. You breathe in his cologne, warm and familiar, a reminder of nights tangled in sheets and whispered confessions that never quite crossed the line.

Jungkook holds you like he's afraid to let go, like if he does, you'll slip through his fingers completely. There's a weight in his chest, a truth sitting heavy on his tongue, but he swallows it down.

"I remember dancing with you at that Christmas party four years ago," you muse, your voice soft, barely above a whisper.

His face breaks out into a grin. "God, we were so drunk that night."

The night everything came to be.

You breathe out a quiet chuckle before your face melts into something softer. "It didn't feel like this though."

Jungkook chuckles, a quiet, breathy sound against your ear. "No?"

You shake your head. "This is different. Feels like it actually…means something."

It slips out before you can stop it, and for a split second, neither of you move. The words hang between you. You feel Jungkook's hold tighten, just a fraction, before he exhales slowly.

"What if it always has?"

Your heart stutters.

Jungkook doesn't look at you when he says it, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder, like he's scared of what he might find in your eyes. But his hand at your waist lingers, his fingers flexing like he wants to pull you even closer, like he wants you to understand something he can't bring himself to say out loud.

You don't know how to respond, so you don't. Not yet. Instead, you let the music carry you, let yourself melt into the warmth of his embrace.

Your lack of reciprocation doesn't deter him. If anything, he holds you closer, his fingers curling into the fabric of your dress like he's memorizing the way it feels to hold you like this. Then he leans down, just enough that his lips brush your temple in the lightest of touches. He lingers for a second too long. A second that tells you everything his words can't.

And then, just like that, the song ends.

Jungkook steps back, forcing a small smile. "I should, uh, get us some drinks," he mutters, reluctantly putting space between you.

You nod, even though something inside you screams for him to stay, because for the first time, you realize that maybe you aren't the only one who's been pretending this whole time. Well, maybe he hasn't been pretending. Maybe you've just been too afraid to look a little closer, dig a little deeper. If you had, you would've noticed how brightly the truth shines in his big brown eyes.

You stand in the middle of the dance floor and watch as he walks off in the direction of the bar, disappearing into the sea of guests. You shouldn't be disappointed. You keep him at arm's length for a reason, yet that reason is starting to seem a bit hazy at the moment.

While he goes to get you some champagne and a water for himself—because he is ever the responsible driver—you take a moment to yourself, silently exiting the marquee to get some fresh air in a more secluded spot outside. The sky is illuminated by stars and twinkling lights draped throughout the garden outside, the music faintly drifting through the air in the background.

The night air is crisp against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the crowded reception. You inhale deeply, letting the coolness settle in your lungs, trying to still the racing thoughts in your head. The way Jungkook held you, the way his voice sounded, gentle and sincere.

You shake your head to clear it. This isn't new. You and Jungkook have always blurred the lines, dancing on the edge of something deeper without ever taking the plunge. He's your secret, your safe indulgence. But tonight...it's different.

You exhale, absentmindedly rubbing your hands over your arms as if that will do anything to settle the nervous energy buzzing beneath your skin. He said he'd get you a drink, and you wonder what's taking him so long. Maybe he got caught up in conversation with one of his friends or Namjoon's relatives, or maybe he's-

Your thoughts are cut off when you turn around and take a quick glance toward the marquee entrance, your stomach twisting. Jungkook stands near the bar, a glass of water in one hand, a flute of champagne in the other. But he's not alone.

Hana.

She leans in just a little too close, flashing that perfectly calculated smile of hers, the kind that makes your skin crawl. Her manicured fingers brush against his forearm as she laughs at something he said, which probably wasn't funny enough to warrant such a boisterous laugh.

You try to convince yourself it doesn't mean anything, that it's just Jungkook being Jungkook—too polite, too non-confrontational, too oblivious to the way women like Hana take an inch and twist it into a mile. But the longer you watch, the harder it gets to ignore the way she leans into him, the way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, the way she bats her lashes up at him. And the worst part is that he doesn't immediately pull away.

He doesn't flirt back. Surely not. But he doesn't shut her down either.

A bitter taste rises in your throat.

Maybe this is your fault. Maybe this is what happens when you pretend things don't matter when they do. When you are so incessant on keeping things casual, making sure nothing changes, that you take too long to acknowledge the truth staring right in your face.

Jungkook does mean something to you.

The idea of someone else wanting him makes something twist inside you, something hot and possessive and terrifyingly raw. You don’t even realize your fingers have curled into fists at your sides until Jungkook suddenly glances up, eyes sweeping the crowd as if searching for something. Or someone.

You.

The moment his gaze finds yours, something shifts. His expression softens, the corners of his lips turning up ever so slightly. Then, almost instinctively, he takes a step back from Hana, just enough to put space between them, to make his intentions clear.

Hana notices too. Her smile tightens as she follows his line of sight, her eyes narrowing when she spots you standing there. For a second, her lips part like she's about to say something, but Jungkook is already moving, leaving her behind without a second thought, heading straight for you.

Jungkook stops in front of you, holding out the flute of champagne with a faint smile. His eyes flicker over your face, searching, as if he can sense the storm brewing beneath your carefully crafted exterior.

"Thought I lost you for a second."

You force a small, hollow smile. "Well...you found me."

He studies you, eyes flickering across your face like he can see right through you. Maybe he can. So, you look away, pretending to sip your champagne even though your stomach is twisted in knots.

"Everything okay?" His voice is quiet, but it cuts through the noise in your head with ease.

You should say yes. Should flash him a smile, play it off like nothing's wrong, but the sight of Hana's hand on his arm is still burned into your mind, tangled up with memories you thought you buried long ago.

This isn't about Hana or Jungkook. It's about a different man who swore he loved you, who got down on one knee and asked you to spend forever with him, only to turn around and throw it all away.

Seven years.

You spent seven years with someone who once made you feel like the center of his world, until you weren't.

"You never made time for me."

Sunghoon's words had cut deeper than the betrayal itself, because in the end, he hadn't just broken your heart, he'd made you feel like it was your fault. Like if you had just been more for him, he wouldn't have strayed.

That is why you promised yourself that what you have with Jungkook is nothing more than convenience, that it doesn't matter if he ever falls for someone else, someone with fewer walls, someone who isn't afraid to love him the way he deserves. But standing here now, heart hammering in your chest as he watches you with quiet concern, you know with certainty that you've already broken that promise.

Jungkook stands before you, watching you with a quiet intensity. You know he's not Sunghoon, but that doesn't make it less terrifying.

You force a smile. "Yeah. Just needed some air, that's all."

Jungkook doesn't look convinced. His head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing. "You sure?"

You should deflect, should change the subject, but instead, the words slip out before you can stop them. "She likes you, you know."

Jungkook blinks, momentarily caught off guard. "Huh?"

You huff a quiet, humorless laugh, tilting your glass slightly in the direction Hana had been standing. "Hana."

Jungkook follows your gaze, then shakes his head with a scoff. "Hana likes attention."

You hum, taking a sip of champagne, but the uneasy feeling lingers. Not because you think he'd entertain her, but because you know there's nothing you can do if he ever decides to go for her instead. He's not your boyfriend. You made sure of that all by yourself.

"___, I hope you know that I'm not interested in her."

You weren't looking for reassurance, not really, but hearing him say it so plainly sends a warmth through your chest that you refuse to dwell on for too long.

You shrug, feigning indifference. "You don't have to explain yourself to me, Jungkook."

Jungkook scoffs, as if he expected the indifference. "Maybe not," he murmurs, looking over at you. "But I want to."

You let out a slow breath, trying to shake the weight of the moment, the way his words settle deep in your chest. When you glance at Jungkook, he's watching you, not with pity or expectation, just there, a steady presence.

So, you do what you always do when things get too real. You deflect.

"I don't know," you hum, tilting your head, playfully narrowing your eyes at him. "You seemed pretty into that conversation. Maybe I should let you get back to it."

Jungkook groans, tipping his head back dramatically. "Oh my God, stop."

You grin up at him. "What? I'm just saying, I don't wanna stand in the way."

"Please," he scoffs, rolling his eyes. "There's nothing to stand in the way of."

You hum, swirling the champagne in your glass. "I don't know, Jungkook. Hana's got great hair. Seems like a solid choice."

"You have great hair."

"She's pretty," you mutter, looking back at the marquee in the distance.

Jungkook scoffs. "You're gorgeous. Now what?"

You stare at him for a second, trying to fight the heat creeping up your neck. He's too good at this, throwing you off, slipping in little compliments like they mean nothing. But they mean everything and he knows it.

"You're so annoying," you murmur, taking a sip of your champagne.

Jungkook grins, shoving his hands in his pants pockets. "And yet, you keep me around."

You roll your eyes, but there's no real bite to it. "Unfortunately."

He chuckles, then nudges your arm lightly with his elbow. "C'mon, ___, admit it. You'd be lost without me."

You raise a brow. "Lost?"

"Hopeless," he teases with a shrug. "Completely, utterly hopeless."

You huff, feigning exasperation. "I survived just fine before you, y'know."

His expression softens, just a little.

"I know," he murmurs, quieter this time. "But I like it better this way."

Your fingers tighten around your glass, heart stuttering in your chest, because damn it, so do you.

A cool breeze sweeps past, and instinctively, you wrap your arms around yourself to keep warm. Jungkook notices immediately. Of course he does. Without a word, he shrugs off his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, his movements fluid, effortless, like it's second nature to him.

You glance up at him with wide eyes. "Aren't you going to get cold?"

"I'll survive," he shrugs, completely unfazed.

You pull the jacket tighter around yourself, the warmth of it sinking into your skin, carrying his signature scent. "You didn't have to do that."

Jungkook gives you a look. "You know I was never going to let you stand out here freezing."

Your lips twitch. "A gentleman, huh?"

"What, you didn't think I had it in me?"

"I mean… I have seen you trip over your own feet in the hallway at work."

Jungkook groans, biting back a smile. "Okay, first of all, that was years ago. Second of all, that floor was slippery, the janitor just mopped it."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Sure it was."

Jungkook lets out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

You grin, feeling lighter than you have all night. Maybe it's the warmth of his jacket, or the teasing glint in his eyes, or just the way that it's always been easy with him.

After a beat, Jungkook nudges your arm lightly. "You do look good in my jacket, though."

The comment is casual, offhanded, but there's something in his tone, something softer beneath the teasing that makes your stomach flip.

"Yeah?"

Jungkook hums, taking another sip of his water.

Your heart stumbles, but you roll your eyes, playing it cool. "Careful, Jeon. You almost sound like you're flirting with me."

"Would that be a bad thing?"

"Oh shush," you scoff, forcing down a smile.

The air feels different. The atmosphere is lighter, but charged with something else, something neither of you wants to name. Jungkook watches you, his gaze steady, thoughtful, like he's debating something in his head.

Another breeze sweeps past, and instinctively, you pull his jacket tighter around yourself. The movement makes him smile, just a little, like he finds it endearing. Then, without thinking, he reaches out. It's a small gesture, his fingers gently tugging at the lapel of his jacket, adjusting it over your shoulder, as if to make sure you're really warm enough. But the way he does it, the slow, deliberate movement, the way his fingers brush against your collarbone, sends a shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the cold.

You glance up at him, your breath hitching. He's closer than you had realized. Close enough that you can see the way his lashes frame his dark eyes, the soft curve of his lips, the intensity in his gaze. Before you can say something about it, Jungkook moves.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Giving you everything opportunity to pull away.

He lifts a hand, fingers ghosting along your jaw, barely there, like he's afraid to break the moment. His gaze flickers to your lips, just for a second, and your breath catches in your throat.

And then he kisses you.

It's not urgent or demanding. It's careful. Considerate. Barely more than a brush of lips. It's a question, rather than a statement.

And God help you—you answer.

You let yourself sink into the feeling, let yourself feel the warmth of his lips, the steadiness of his hand on your cheek, the way everything else fades away when his lips touch yours.

It's over before you can even process it, before your mind can catch up with your heart. The night air feels cooler against your heated skin, and when you open your eyes, Jungkook is already watching you. His expression is unreadable, his breathing just the slightest bit uneven.

You swallow, your voice barely above a whisper. "What was that for?"

"I don't know," he murmurs. "Felt like the right thing to do."

It felt quite right to you too.

The rest of the evening passes in a haze of laughter and music. You make it back inside just in time for the bouquet toss, though, to your relief, you don't catch it. Taehyung looks mildly disappointed, teasing you about how he was hoping for some 'divine intervention' before Jihyo drags him away to dance.

Eventually, the celebration winds down, guests filtering out into the night. You find yourself outside again, rubbing your arms against the chill before Jungkook appears beside you, keys in hand.

"Ready to go home?" he asks, his voice low, warm.

You nod, walking back to the car.

The drive home is quiet but comfortable. Jungkook keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift, fingers tapping absentmindedly. The streetlights cast golden streaks across his face, and every so often, you catch him glancing at you, like he wants to say something but keeps deciding against it.

When he pulls up in front of your apartment building, he shuts the engine off and looks over at you. It's silent, neither one of you making a move.

You hesitate for a second before reaching for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride-"

"Do you want me to walk you up?"

You meet his gaze, your heart racing. The weight of everything that happened tonight lingers between the two of you, something unspoken pressing at the edges.

"Yeah," you murmur. "I'd like that."

The elevator ride up is quiet, your pulse quickening with every passing second. When you reach your door, you fumble briefly with your keys before finally pushing it open, stepping inside. "You wanna come in for a bit?"

Jungkook leans against the doorframe, watching you. And then, after a beat, he nods and steps inside.

And just like that, you're alone together, away from the noise, away from the watchful eyes of friends and wedding guests, away from every excuse you could possibly use to avoid this moment.

You go to check on Miso, giving her some water and a treat, gently stroking her fur. She welcomes you home with a sleepy 'meow' before laying back down on her little bed in the corner of the living room. Jungkook stands in your dimly lit living room, his hands tucked into the pockets of his pants, watching you tend to Miso with an expression you can't quite decipher. There's something softer in his gaze, something almost reverent.

You swallow, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your heart is pounding. "Do you want something to drink?"

He shakes his head, lips tilting into a faint smirk. "No." He steps closer, gaze flickering over your face, then down to where his suit jacket hangs off your shoulders. "You gonna keep that?"

You clutch at the lapels instinctively. "I might."

His smirk widens. "Looks good on you."

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it's him, maybe it's you. All you know is that one second, there's space between you, and the next, he's cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin, his lips on yours in a slow, soft kiss. It's not driven by impulse or the heat of the moment, and when Jungkook sighs against your lips, and pulls your waist closer to him, you have to break the kiss to catch your breath and steady your heartbeat.

"Do you...wanna help me out of this dress?" Your voice is almost too quiet to hear, but the smile on his face lets you know he heard you.

"It would be my pleasure," he murmurs softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth.

It's as if time slows down as you lead him to your bedroom, shutting the door behind you. The dim glow from the city outside casts soft shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the warmth in his dark eyes. And then, without another word, he leans in and kisses your lips. His hands slide up to cup your face, tilting your head just how he wants it.

You sigh against his mouth, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, holding him close.

His lips move down, trailing soft kisses along your jaw, down to the sensitive spot just below your ear. You shiver, and he feels it, his smile evident against your skin.

"Still cold?" he murmurs, his breath warm against your neck.

You shake your head. "No."

Jungkook chuckles, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His hands slide down, fingertips brushing along the suit jacket around your shoulders. "Can I?"

You nod, letting him remove the jacket before his fingers find the zipper of your dress, dragging it down excruciatingly slowly. The fabric loosens, slipping down your frame, pooling at your feet in a whisper of silk.

He exhales sharply, eyes darkening as he drinks you in, your body wrapped in nothing but scraps of lace.

"God," he breathes out, subtly shaking his head. "You're..."

You look up at him with a soft smile. "I'm…?"

Jungkook chuckles, but it's low, almost breathless. "You know what you are."

"Say it anyway," you whisper.

His fingers brush against your jaw, tilting your face up to his. "So...so beautiful."

And then he kisses you again.

It's slow, deliberate, like he's savoring every second, every soft sigh that escapes you. His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you shiver at the feeling of his body pressed against yours.

Your fingers loosen his bow tie, then move onto the buttons of his dress shirt, opening them one by one. Jungkook watches you through hooded eyes, sighing as your lips move over his cheek, the corner of his mouth, his jaw. You push his shirt off shoulders, letting it drop to the floor, your lips moving down to his chest.

He gently slides his fingers into your hair and tilts your head back, kissing you once more. He sighs against your lips, his hands sliding down your sides to rest at your waist, his thumbs drawing slow circles against your skin. The feeling is intoxicating, he is intoxicating. The warmth of his body, the weight of his hands, the way he kisses you like he has all the time in the world.

You melt into him, your fingers splaying over his bare chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your palms. His lips move against yours in a way that makes your head spin, slow and deep and hypnotic.

Jungkook keeps his lips attached to yours as he leads you backwards towards your bed, gently laying you down on the mattress, his hands holding him up to hover over you. He trails kisses down the side of your neck, sucking on a few sensitive spots before reaching behind you, his hands sliding over the fabric of your bra.

"Can I?"

You nod, cupping his cheeks to pull him back in, needing him the same way you need air to breathe.

He unclasps your bra and slowly slides the lace down your shoulders, tossing it somewhere in your room for you to find tomorrow. He trails his kisses down to your collarbones and chest, his lips grazing the skin of your breasts.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, more to himself than to you.

You sigh, your fingers sliding into his hair as he swirls his tongue around a nipple, wrapping his lips around it to suck. He does the same thing to the other nipple, his lips pressing tender kisses to your breasts.

He kisses down your stomach, smiling against your skin as you spread your legs for him, your sighs growing needier.

He lets his fingers trail up your inner thighs, making their way up to your hips, pulling the soft lace away from your skin. He looks up at you, his eyes meeting yours, his fingers toying with the sides of your panties.

"Can I take these off?" he asks softly, pressing a gentle kiss right above the waistband, smiling as you whimper a breathy 'yes'.

He sits up and hooks a finger into either side of your panties, slowly dragging the fabric down your legs. His gaze is soft and appreciative as he takes in the sight of you bare and spread out for him.

His eyes move from your core to your face, his tongue peeking out to lick his lips as he looks into your eyes. He slowly trails a hand up your inner thigh, his fingers trailing through your wet folds. "God, you're so pretty," he sighs, his cock twitching in his pants.

You let out a soft gasp as he leans down to press a few feather-light kisses to your folds, the streetlights shining through the blinds, reflecting in his brown eyes.

He presses a kiss to your clit, his tongue peeking out to get a taste, and it's as if a switch goes off in his brain, his hands gripping your thighs to hold them open as his tongue traces along your pussy.

You moan, your back arching off the bed as he licks a wide stripe from your entrance to your clit, swirling his tongue to turn you into a moaning mess. You reach down to grab hold of his hair, not to tug, just to ground yourself. Your legs spread wider as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking gently before going back to long, determined licks.

"That feels...so good," you breathe out, glancing down at him to find his eyes on you, looking at you like he wants to make the most of this moment, the passion evident in his gaze.

He lets out a soft moan against you, his tongue and lips working in perfect rhythm to pleasure you. He can't get enough of your taste, looking like he's in a state of ecstasy. He can feel you trembling beneath his hands, your body responding to every lick and nibble.

He worships you with his mouth, taking his time, his tongue moving in circles, his hands holding you in place against his mouth. He can’t keep himself from grinding against the bed, feeling like he might explode from his pent up desire.

"Just like that," you moan, your body writhing beneath him, your back arching. "D-Don't stop..."

He can practically feel how close you are to your climax and it only spurs him on. His tongue laps through your folds before focusing solely on your clit, his fingers digging into your skin as he holds your thighs over his shoulders, preventing you from pulling away.

You hold his head in place, your muscles trembling, your moans growing louder as you get closer to the edge.

You gasp, your walls contracting repeatedly, your eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure starts to consume you whole. "'m gonna cum...!"

He keeps his pace, pushing your knees up to your chest to give him better access.

In a matter of seconds, your muscles completely tense up as you cum on his tongue, your moans bouncing off of your bedroom walls. He continues to slowly lick and kiss your clit until you can't take anymore.

His lips trail a slow path up your body, leaving a searing warmth in their wake. His breath is hot against your collarbone, his nose brushing against the side of your jaw before finally capturing your lips in a deep, unhurried kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

"You taste like heaven," he whispers against your lips.

A bashful smile finds its way onto your face, your cheeks flushed. Your breath is still shaky, your body thrumming with heat as he kisses you. Your fingers weave into his hair, tugging him closer, needing more. You can still feel the remnants of your high, but it's not enough.

Your hands trail down his body to start unbuttoning his pants. "Let me return the favour," you whisper in his ear, slowly pulling down his zipper.

He groans as your hand slides into the front of his boxers, gently massaging his cock, his body shuddering. His eyes close involuntarily at the feeling of your hand on him, his brain short-circuiting.

Jungkook catches your wrist before you can go any further. His grip is gentle, his dark eyes locking onto yours with something deep and unspoken. He shakes his head, a small, almost nervous smile playing at his lips.

"Not tonight."

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "Why not?"

Jungkook exhales slowly, his thumb brushing over the inside of your wrist. His gaze softens even more, and when he speaks, his voice is quieter, almost shy.

"Because I want to make love to you, ___."

Your breath catches in your chest. He wants to make love. The two of you have never done that before. You've never allowed it. You should correct him. You should remind him of the rules, of the boundaries you set.

But when he looks at you like that, with his heart in his eyes, the words die in your throat.

Your voice is a fragile whisper, your heart beating in your ears. "Okay."

He drags the tip of his nose along your cheek, lips brushing over your skin. "Are you sure?"

You nod, breathless.

"Need to hear you say it, baby."

The endearment sends heat through your body.

"I'm sure."

He kisses your lips for the hundredth time, pouring all of his feelings into you, like he's been waiting for this moment for far too long.

You help him out of his pants and boxers, letting out a soft giggle when his foot almost gets caught in the pant leg, his body moving before his brain can process what's happening.

He sits back to get a full view of your body laid out for him, his eyes trailing from your face, down to your breasts, and lastly, your sopping pussy. He groans as he wraps his hand around his cock, giving it some slow strokes, his fist squeezing harshly. The tip has already started leaking a pearl of precum, the shaft already fully erect.

He hovers over you, his lips curling against your skin as he reaches down, guiding the head to your entrance. He pushes in slowly, filling you inch by inch, stretching you in the most delicious way.

Sinking into you feels like coming home.

Jungkook's face twists in pleasure, his breath ragged, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He holds himself up on his forearm while his free hand slides down your body to hook your leg around his hip.

He groans, his forehead falling to your shoulder. "Fuck, you feel so good," he breathes.

You slide your hands around him to hold onto his back, pulling him closer, needing him as close as possible.

The sound of your moans send shivers down his spine. He moves slowly, deeply, his hips rolling into yours with deliberate, passionate strokes, sending fire up your spine. His fingers dig into the skin of your thigh, letting out a breathless whimper as he sinks in as deep as he can possibly go.

Your breath stutters, your fingers clutching at his back, feeling his muscles contract under his skin.

Jungkook kisses the junction between your neck and shoulder, his hips rolling at a practiced, steady pace. "You take me so well, baby...this pussy feels so good wrapped around me..." His voice is low, breathy. "You're so fucking perfect."

Your nails dig into his skin, your eyes squeezing shut as your emotions start welling up, a harsh lump growing in your throat.

Jungkook lifts his head, cupping your face, his eyes dark and tender as they search yours. "Look at me, ___."

You do, and it almost steals the air from your lungs, his eyes boring into yours, showing you all the feelings he's harboured for you since the day he met you.

Your hands slide up to cup his jaw, pulling his face closer. "Jungkook…"

"I know, baby," he whispers, pressing soft, tender pecks to your lips, his hips rolling with a fierce intensity. "I've got you. Always."

He presses his lips to your cheek, then your nose, then your forehead. "You're everything, ___."

The lump in your throat grows heavier, but you force it down, willing yourself not to break down completely. Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck and allow yourself to get lost in him, giving yourself over to him in a way you never have before.

You want to tell him you love him.

Those three words sit heavily on your tongue, but you can't get yourself to say them. Not now, when your emotions are this high, when you're still trembling beneath him.

It's too real, and if it's real, it has the power to ruin you.

You show him with your body instead of your words, looking up into his eyes, pulling him impossibly close. Your fingers tangle in his hair, your lips seeking his in a slow, lingering kiss. You pour everything into it, every unspoken word, every confession you long to make.

Jungkook kisses you back just as deeply, his hands framing your face, his touch gentle, like he already knows. Like he's willing to wait.

His thrusts grow sloppier as the pleasure builds. Your hands grip his shoulders, your chest heaving, every thrust of his hips pushing you closer to cumming. His cock throbs inside you, but he's determined to make you cum before he does.

"Come on," Jungkook whispers against your lips, his voice thick with lust. "Let go for me, baby. You can do it. I'm...I'm right here."

His words send a shiver down your spine, feeling the familiar coil start to tighten in your stomach.

"I...I can't..." you gasp, the intensity of it feeling overwhelming.

"Yes, you can, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. "Let it happen. I've got you, baby, I promise."

The pressure inside you finally bursts, and you're lost in the feeling of it, consumed by the overwhelming pleasure of it all. With a soft, breathless cry, your body finally gives in, your climax surging through you in waves, your entire body trembling as you cling to him.

Jungkook isn't far behind. He groans low in his chest, his cum painting your walls in thick white ropes, his face buried into the crook of your neck as he rides out his high.

He presses a soft kiss to your skin, his breath shallow. "I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs against your neck, his arms wrapping around you in a comforting embrace.

Your body shakes from the aftermath, your heart pounding in your chest, but for the first time in a long time, you don't feel empty. You don't feel alone. You just feel him all around you; all consuming.

He reluctantly parts from you to freshen up in the bathroom, coming back with a warm, wet washcloth to clean you off, making sure you're fully taken care of before making his way back to bed.

The room grows quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside and the sound of your slowed, steady breathing. The warmth of Jungkook's body lingers between your sheets, his arm draped across your waist as he holds you close, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns against your stomach.

Neither of you speaks for a while, simply existing in the comfort of each other's presence. Your legs are tangled beneath the sheets, your bare skin still pressed together, and there's an intimacy in it that feels deeper than anything words could convey.

Jungkook sighs, shifting slightly to press a lazy kiss to your shoulder. "Are you okay?" His voice is softer now, like he's afraid of breaking whatever fragile thing hangs between you.

You nod against the pillow, your fingers grazing along the length of his arm. "I'm okay."

He hums in contentment, pulling you even closer, his lips brushing against your temple. "Good."

You should probably say more, clarify what tonight was, what it meant, but you can't bring yourself to speak. You simply close your eyes and let yourself melt into his warmth as he spoons you.

Jungkook shifts, resting his chin atop your head, his voice thick with sleep when he murmurs, "Stay here."

You scoff faintly. "I live here."

He chuckles, his chest vibrating against your back. "You know what I mean."

Your fingers find his, lacing together beneath the sheets, and as sleep starts to pull you under, you feel the softest brush of his lips against your hair.

"Goodnight, baby..."

Before you can think twice about how un-casual all of this is, before you can let yourself spiral, you whisper back, "Goodnight, Jungkook."

You wake up tangled in soft sheets and him, his arm draped over your waist, his breath steady against the nape of your neck. The early light filters through your window, casting a golden glow over the room.

For a while, you don't move. You just listen to the birds chirping outside and the steady rhythm of his breathing. Then, as if sensing you're awake, Jungkook stirs. His arm tightens around you, his lips brushing lazily against your bare shoulder.

"Morning," he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.

You smile, stretching your limbs. "Morning."

He hums, nuzzling into your skin, his voice muffled. "What time is it?"

You glance at the alarm clock on your nightstand. "Almost nine."

Jungkook groans dramatically, tightening his hold on you. "Too early."

You laugh, trying—and failing—to wiggle away. "It's not that early."

"It is." His grip loosens just enough for you to turn and face him. His hair is a mess, his eyes still heavy with sleep, but he looks at you like you're the most interesting thing in the world.

"You're staring," you point out, raising an eyebrow.

Jungkook smiles sleepily. "Can you blame me?"

Your face heats, and you roll your eyes. "Shut up."

He grins, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Never."

The warmth between you lingers as you stay in bed a little longer, exchanging lazy kisses, stealing moments that feel dangerously intimate. It's only when your stomach growls loudly that Jungkook finally pulls away, letting out a huff of laughter.

"Is that your way of asking for breakfast in bed?" he teases.

"I wish," you mumble. "Unfortunately, my fridge is basically empty. I was supposed to go grocery shopping today."

Jungkook sits up, stretching his arms over his head before leaning back on his hands, the sheets pooling around his waist. "Then let's go grocery shopping."

You blink up at him. "You want to come with me to the grocery store?"

"Of course," he shrugs, grinning. "What kind of man would I be if I let you carry all those bags by yourself?"

Is going grocery shopping something you should do together if you want to maintain any remnants of boundaries? Probably not.

"What would you even wear? A tux?" you chuckle.

"I may or may not have a change of clothes in my trunk," he mumbles, giving you an almost guilty grin. "Y'know, just in case I end up spending the night at your place."

Oh well.

You laugh, shaking your head. "Fine. But you're driving."

The grocery store is surprisingly busy for a late Sunday morning, but Jungkook keeps your mood up. You watch, amused, as he inspects the produce with an intensity that makes it seem like he's solving a crime. He picks up a bell pepper and turns it over in his hands, then glances over at you.

"This is a good one," he declares.

You snort. "Oh, are you an expert?"

Jungkook nods solemnly. "Of course. I have a very refined eye for vegetables."

You shake your head, taking the pepper from him and tossing it into the cart. "Okay, vegetable connoisseur. What about fruit?"

His expression turns serious. "The fruit requires even greater precision." He steps toward the apples, picking one up and holding it to the light like a jeweler inspecting a diamond.

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh. "And? What's the verdict?"

He nods once. "Acceptable."

You chuckle as you grab a few more apples and place them in a bag. "You're ridiculous."

"Ridiculously helpful you mean,” he corrects, grinning.

It's easy, this whole thing. You browse the aisles while be pushes the cart, occasionally sneaking snacks into it when you're not looking. You catch him dropping a bag of chips in and you raise an eyebrow.

"I need those?"

"Absolutely," he nods, not missing a beat.

You roll your eyes but let him put the bag in the cart. It's for him, but you'll buy it as a way to have something that belongs to him in your apartment.

"Shit, I forgot to get my cereal," you sigh, already on the other side of the store. "Can you go and get it, please? It's in aisle six."

"Sure," he nods, handing you the cart.

"Thank you," you smile, watching him walk off.

You're still smiling when you turn the corner, your heart light from the previous few hours with Jungkook. Then a voice pulls you out of your little love bubble.

"Oh my god, ___?"

You barely have time to react before you're being pulled into a hug, the nostalgic scent of her floral perfume washing over you.

"Sian?" you gasp in surprise, pulling back to get a better look at your old high school friend.

"It's been forever!" she exclaims, her eyes wide as she takes you in. "I almost didn't recognize you, it's been so long. Look at you! You look good!”

You laugh, nodding along. "I could say the same about you. How have you been?"

"I'm doing well," she smiles, resting her hand on her hip. "I recently landed this great job at a new law firm. What about you?"

"I'm a professor at Yonsei University. I teach political science."

"I guess we're really grown ups now," she laughs.

You chuckle along, feeling the truth in her words. "How are things with Minho?"

Her smile falters for a fraction of a second, waving a dismissive hand. "Oh, Minho and I broke up. Turns out he's just like every other guy," she scoffs, "Couldn't keep it in his pants."

Your stomach twists. "Oh, Sian....I'm so sorry."

She sighs, crossing her arms. "Don't be. Honestly, I should've seen it coming. I guess all men are the same in the end, aren't they?"

The words hit you like a punch to the gut.

You don't know what to say, so you offer a small, noncommittal hum.

Sian doesn't seem to notice your discomfort. She keeps going, rolling her eyes. "It's whatever. At least I found out before we got engaged. We were close to it but I guess I dodged a bullet."

Then, almost as an afterthought, she adds, "Speaking of which, have you heard? Apparently Sunghoon got married a few months ago."

The words hit you like a slap to the face. Your chest tightens, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe.

Sian doesn't notice. She keeps talking, oblivious to the way your body has suddenly gone rigid.

"Yeah, crazy, right? I heard his wife is pregnant, too. Due in a few months, I think." She shakes her head. "Guess he finally got his act together. Good for them, I suppose."

Your fingers tighten around the shopping cart.

Your ex-fiancé, the man who cheated on you and then blamed you for it, is married. He has a wife. A baby on the way. And yet, here you are, still hesitating, still doubting.

He cheated on you. But he's faithful to her. Was it you? Were you the problem all along?

You force a small laugh at something Sian says, nodding absentmindedly, but your mind has already started spiraling.

Jungkook returns just as you wrap up your conversation, a box of your favourite cereal in hand. He gives Sian a polite nod before turning to you, grinning.

"Miss me?" he teases, but the moment he sees your face, his smile falters. "Hey...what's wrong?"

You shake your head, forcing a tight-lipped smile. "Nothing. Just caught up with an old friend."

Jungkook doesn't buy it. His gaze searches yours, his brows furrowing. "You sure? You seem-"

"I said it's nothing, Jungkook," you snap before you can stop yourself, feeling guilty almost instantly.

His lips press together, the hurt flickering across his face so quickly you almost miss it.

He doesn’t push. He never does. He just nods slowly, letting the silence settle between you like an invisible wall.

"We should go," you mutter softly, already turning the cart toward the checkout without looking back.

The drive home is silent.

Jungkook doesn't say anything, but you feel his eyes flicking over at you every so often, like he's waiting for you to speak. To tell him what's wrong.

You don't.

Your thoughts have started racing and they just won't stop. You think about your past, about the seven years you wasted on a man who made you believe you weren't enough for him to remain faithful. And now he has a wife. A baby on the way. A family.

And here you are, falling into the same pattern.

Falling for Jungkook.

He's not Sunghoon, you know that, but what happens when he gets tired of waiting for you to let him in? What happens when you eventually realize you can't give him what he deserves?

It would be easier to end it now.

Before either of you get hurt.

Before you lose yourself in him completely.

The silence stretches on when you get back to your apartment. Jungkook carefully sets the grocery bags on the counter, his movements slow and calculated. He glances at you, his brows knitting together in quiet concern, but he still doesn't push, not yet.

Instead, he tries a softer approach.

"Hey." His voice is gentle, coaxing. "Wanna help me put these away?"

You should. You should do something, say something, but you can't bring yourself to move. Your arms stay crossed over your chest, your body stiff, your mind in a haze.

Jungkook watches you for a moment before sighing lightly. "Alright then," he murmurs, unpacking the bags himself.

The tension is unbearable.

He packs your groceries away, waiting for you to speak. When the silence becomes too much for him, he takes the plunge.

Jungkook exhales slowly. "___."

Your stomach tightens at the sound of your name on his lips.

"Talk to me." His voice is gentle, patient. "Please."

"There's nothing to talk about." Your voice is flat.

Jungkook tilts his head, studying you carefully. "Really? Because you've been completely silent since we left the store, barely looked at me, haven't said a word." He pauses. "That doesn't seem like nothing to me."

You press your lips together, shifting on your feet. "I just have a lot on my mind."

"Okay." He nods slowly. "Then tell me and maybe I can help-"

You sigh. "Jungkook, just drop it."

He pauses.

"I just..." He pauses, looking for the right words to say. "I can tell you're upset and...I don't like seeing you like this."

The weight of his concern presses down on your chest, suffocating. You can't do this right now.

"I said I'm fine." Your voice comes out sharper than intended.

Jungkook lets out a short, humorless laugh. "You always say that."

"Why do you even care so much?"

The words hit him like a slap.

Jungkook blinks at you, taken aback by your sudden hostility. But then, something shifts in his expression, his heart physically breaking in his chest. His hands clench at his sides as he exhales through his nose.

And then, in a voice so quiet it almost doesn't reach you—

"Because I love you."

Your heart stops. Your breath stutters. Your pulse pounds violently in your ears.

Jungkook swallows, stepping closer, his gaze never leaving yours, practicing laying his entire soul at your feet. His eyes are glossy, his voice thick. "I love you, ___."

It's not loud. Not dramatic. Just honest.

And it terrifies you.

Jungkook takes a step closer, his eyes burning into yours. "I have loved you for such a long time...and I don't care if you try to push me away, or if you pretend like this is just sex, or if you act like what we have isn't real.” His voice wavers slightly, but his gaze doesn't. "Because I know it is."

Your heart pounds violently against your ribs.

You want to believe him. But the ugly, gnawing voice in your head tells you it's only a matter of time before he realizes you're not enough.

"You don’t love me," you whisper, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. "You think you do, but you don't."

His brows draw together, his face crumpling. "How can you say that?"

You swallow, blinking back the tears in your eyes. "Because you don't even know me, Jungkook."

His face twists, letting out a bitter scoff. "That's bullshit."

"Is it?" You laugh, but it's hollow and humourless. "You only know the parts of me I let you see! The nice parts. The parts that don't scare you away." Your voice wavers. "But the rest? The ugly, damaged parts? You don't know those. That's the real me, Jungkook. You don't love her."

Jungkook’s chest rises and falls unevenly.

"Then let me. Let me know you...all of you. Let me love the good parts and the bad and everything in between. Let me love you when you're messy and broken, and on the days when you feel like you can't get out of bed. Fuck, I wanna be with you, ___. I want all of you, not just the good parts. I want the pointless fights and the makeup sex after. I want the grocery runs when we run out of your favourite cereal. I wanna drive to work in the same car and then come home and have dinner together. I wanna slow dance with you in the middle of the night in the kitchen with the refrigerator light shining over us. I wanna cuddle and hold your hand in public and tell everyone that you're my girlfriend, because for fuck's sake, ___, I love you."

He's almost breathless by the time he gets it all out.

"Please...give me the chance to love you...please."

His words leave you utterly and completely speechless. You want to allow yourself to be loved by him, but your brain won't allow you to. The thought of experiencing all of that with him and then having it inevitably ripped away is what stops you from telling him you love him too.

"Jungkook...I can't...."

"Why not?"

Because you're terrified. Because Sunghoon made the same promises and still broke them. Because you know that once Jungkook sees the worst of you, he'll leave and it'll hurt, probably worse than it did with Sunghoon.

"I just can't, okay?!" Your voice grows softer. "I can't. You'll regret it."

Jungkook exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. "God, why won't you let yourself be loved?"

You've asked yourself that question about a million times before.

Your hands tremble at your sides, your eyes burning, your body screaming at you to run. Then you do the only thing you know how to. You push him away and hurt him before he can hurt you.

"This was never supposed to be anything more than sex," you whisper.

Jungkook stills.

"That's all this ever was, Jungkook."

Jungkook lets out a shaky scoff, but his voice cracks. "You don't mean that."

"I do." You force the words out, your voice shaking.

"Tell me you don't love me back." He lifts his gaze to meet yours, and your breath stutters at the sheer heartbreak in his eyes. "Tell me you feel nothing for me. That this," he gestures between you, "Was never more than just sex to you."

The words are on the tip of your tongue.

Tell him.

Make it easier for him to walk away.

But the truth is lodged so deep in your throat, it physically hurts. And Jungkook sees it.

His face hardens, his jaw clenching. "That's what I thought."

You have no defence, so all you can do is resort back to shutting him out. Literally.

"Just go, Jungkook. It'll just be better for both of us in the long run."

"So that's it? You're just gonna throw this all away?"

You don't respond, looking down at the ground.

His face remains strong, even as the tears begin to fall down his cheeks, and you know you're not strong enough to look at him.

He nods in resignation and silently takes a step back, his sadness written across his face. Then another step. And then he turns to get his phone and his keys and walk to the front door.

Your chest constricts. You should say something. Stop him. Tell him the truth.

But you don't. It'll just be easier this way.

It has to be.

Jungkook turns his head to look back at you, his hand on the door handle, waiting for you to stop him and tell him that you love him. But you don't.

His lips start to part, like he wants to argue, like he wants to fight for you. But he doesn't. He doesn't have it in him anymore.

"I hope one day you'll be able to love yourself the way I love you."

He walks out without another glance back, the door shutting behind him. The second he's gone, you shatter.

It's like your body has locked up, frozen in place as the weight of everything crashes down all at once. Your breath shudders, coming in uneven gasps, your chest rising and falling in jagged movements.

And then, your knees buckle. You sink to the floor, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes, as if that will somehow stop the flood of tears spilling down your cheeks.

Jungkook is gone.

You did this. You pushed him away. That's what you do. You get in your head and sabotage everything good in your life.

A sob rips through you, your shoulders shaking as you fold in on yourself. You don't know how long you stay like that, curled up on the floor, drowning in your own sorrow. Time feels meaningless when all you can hear is Jungkook's voice echoing in your head, over and over again.

He looked so wounded when he told you he loved you. So open and vulnerable. And what did you do? You shut him out. You let your own fear win. Because that's all you are now, a shell of the person you used to be. Afraid and untrusting.

Sunghoon made sure of that.

The memory of him slams into you with brutal force. His voice, his touch, the way he used to hold you at night and tell you he loved you, promising you a lifetime, only to go and stick his dick in another woman.

"I had no choice, ___. You were never around. You put everything and everyone before me."

"I needed someone who actually made me feel like a man."

"You did this to us."

His words haunt you. They never stopped haunting you, no matter how hard you try to run from them. And now, as you sit here, crying on your kitchen floor, you realize that you've been running ever since.

Every step you've taken since that night you caught him has been in fear of being that girl again. The one who gives too much of herself, the one who isn't enough, the one who ends up getting traded in.

That voice in your head tells you that Jungkook would do the same, eventually.

Maybe not today.

Maybe not tomorrow.

But one day.

One day, he'd wake up and realize you aren't worth it.

You thought that if you ended it before he got the chance to see how damaged you really are, that would make it hurt less. And yet, the look on his face will forever be engraved in your brain, taunting you, reminding you of the pain you've caused him.

The sobs come harder, your entire body shaking until you can barely breathe. You press your forehead to your knees, squeezing your eyes shut.

And then you feel it, a soft nudge against your leg.

You glance down to see Miso weaving between your ankles, her big eyes looking up at you with confusion and concern. She meows softly, rubbing her head against your shin, as if she can sense that something is wrong.

A broken sob escapes your lips as you scoop her up into your arms. She doesn’t resist, only tucks herself into your chest, her purring serving as a soothing vibration against your skin.

You bury your face into her fur, fresh tears spilling over. "I'm okay, baby," you whisper, though your voice cracks with the weight of the lie. She just stays curled against you, warm and steady, like she's determined to absorb every ounce of your sadness.

You carry her to the couch, curling up with her in your lap, absentmindedly running your fingers through her soft fur. The apartment still smells like Jungkook, his cologne, his warmth, and it only makes the ache in your chest worse.

You don't know how to fix this. You don't even know if you can. But one thing is painfully, devastatingly clear.

You broke two hearts today.

< Part 5 || Part 6.5 >