#i have a... specific au fic planned out for them... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jakesimfromstatefarm · 6 months ago

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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. 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:

⸜(｡˃ �� ˂ )⸝♡♡♡♡♡♡

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

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heyheyhey-lover · 3 months ago

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NEW AU TIME <3

While Eggman is trying to steal The Ultimate Weapon from G.U.N., he realizes 2 things:

1. The Ultimate Weapon is just another stinking hedgehog

2. His long-lost cousin (who was assumed to be killed on the ARK) has been stuck in cryosleep alongside said stinking hedgehog

Eggman may be a dastardly villain but he’s not evil enough to leave 2 kids behind!

—

Neither Maria nor Shadow have aged over the past 50 years so they’re still teens

Eggdad can’t resist taking them in <3

This doesn’t follow any specific Sonic timeline or universe lmao it’s sort of an abomination of the things I like

It’s like kinda the same universe as SA2, but Stone has been thrown in from the movieverse and so has Sage from Frontiers, and I imagine them living in a more whimsical world like Mobius

Perhaps Eggman yoinked Maria and Shadow from Earth and brought them to Mobius

Also I like to think of Eggman’s relationship with Sonic and co. to be as cracked as it is in Sonic Boom, like he’s a villain but they’re chill

Will I write a fic about this AU?? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Kinda gotta work on the one I have now LMAO and also I don’t really have a specific plot line in mind

I do plan on posting a few other comic pages, so maybe u guys can give me suggestions?

But anyway I just had to get this idea out bc it’s been rattling around my brain for a bit hehe

#sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #maria robotnik #sth #eggman #eggdad #agent stone #stonebotnik #maria lives au #shadow and maria

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angelx · 1 month ago

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Get Even - Chapter 1

word count: 1.8 K

cw: frat prez!katsuki x fem art sudent!reader, college AU, frat culture, alcohol consumption, suggestive dialogue, reader panic response, katsuki being petty, foreshadowed angst, strong language/frat boy profanity, Mentions of drink spiking awareness (reader expresses fear of being drugged, no actual drugging occurs), this fic will have multiple chapters!

You didn’t wake up this morning planning to go to a frat party.

You woke up planning to cry over your art history paper and maybe eat a bowl of cereal straight from the box. But fate—or more specifically, your extroverted menace of a best friend—had other plans.

“YOU’RE COMING WITH ME,” she said, barging into your dorm room like the Kool-Aid Man with lashes. “No, I’m not,” you said, barely looking up from your sketchpad. “Yes, you are. Sigma Vex is throwing the party of the semester tonight and I scored us an invite.”“I don’t even know what that means,” you replied. “Is that a frat or a metal band?”

That’s when she hit you with the kicker: “Sigma Vex. As in, the frat. The one run by Katsuki Bakugou.”

You blinked. “The scary blond guy from the engineering major?”

“The hot scary blond guy. Yeah.”

She dangled the invite in front of your face like it was a golden ticket to Wonka’s chocolate factory. Only in this case, the factory was filled with alcohol, sweat, questionable decision-making, and people with abs.

So naturally, you said no. Then she hit you with the guilt trip combo pack: —You never go out. —You’re gonna die single in a cardigan. —You owe her for the time she covered for you when you ghosted class. —And “just come for an hour. You don’t even have to talk to anyone. You can wear black and stand in a corner like a sexy funeral ghost.”

And so now—it’s 8:27PM.

You’re standing in front of your mirror, wearing a bodycon dress that you already regret. Ribbed modal fabric. Soft as sin. Hugs your body like it has a vendetta. Not scandalous—nothing’s spilling out—but you’re not exactly blending in with the wallpaper either.

You pull at the hem. Tug at the neckline. Rethink every decision that led to this moment.

Your stomach is a war zone. You feel like you’re about to be thrown into an arena where hot, drunk gladiators flex for sport and girls get called “shawty” without warning.

Your friend, meanwhile, is in your room with her hair in curlers and a glitter highlighter in one hand. “It’s gonna be fine,” she says. “Sigma Vex isn’t like the creepy frats. They don’t even allow hard drugs. The president’s a total control freak. It’s practically a regulated orgy.”

You nearly drop your eyeliner. “I beg your what?”

She grins. “He has rules. The party ends exactly at 2AM. Pledges clean after. I swear he probably makes them mop in rows. But the house is hot, the guys are hotter, and the drinks are strong.”

You don’t trust this. Or her. But you go.

Because you’re tired of saying no. Tired of playing safe. Tired of wondering what it’s like to be the main character in someone’s story instead of the silent background artist in your own.

So you step into the Uber. Adjust your dress for the tenth time. Take a deep breath.

You’ll just hide in a corner. You’ll sip something fake and sugary. Watch your friend flirt. Go home in an hour. No one’s even going to notice you. At 10:32PM, you walk into the Sigma Vex house, and the party has just begun

The Sigma Vex house doesn’t smell like weed and piss like the other frats.

It smells like cedarwood, expensive cologne, and testosterone. The hallway lights are warm and moody, the alcohol’s not watered down, and the bass is so clean it feels like it’s massaging your organs. Everything is too coordinated. Too put together.

The house hums like a hive. Controlled chaos. All neon lighting, heavy bass, and clean floors that should absolutely not be this clean for a frat house. No drugs, no vomit-stained rugs, no weird stains on the couch (well… not until later). Pledges clean with military precision, and the house parties? Legendary.

This is a party run by a man with a schedule. A mission. A code of conduct.

You’re not supposed to be here. You're very sure of that.

Now, standing here in the corner of the living room clutching a soda in a death grip, you’re watching chaos unfold with terrifying precision. Shirtless guys shouting over pong. Music blasting. People dancing in the dark like they’re in a music video. And not a single illegal substance in sight.

You hug the red Solo cup tighter in your hands—not because you plan to drink it, but because it gives you something to hold. Something to do while you stand awkwardly in the corner of the Sigma Vex living room.

The music is loud. You can feel the bass in your chest like your ribs are its personal drum set. The lights are dim and tinted gold-red, bouncing off bottles and glitter eyeshadow. It smells like sweat, spilt vodka, and expensive cologne that’s fighting for its life.

People are dancing in the middle of the room—no, grinding. Writhing. Some are already pressed so close you wonder if their zippers are about to declare war. There’s a girl literally straddling a guy’s thigh to the beat of a Drake remix. Someone in the kitchen yells “CHUG!” followed by a violent round of coughing and cheering.

You see a game of beer pong in the back. Someone’s making out on the damn couch. Like heavy. His hand’s already under her top and nobody around them cares.

You feel… Like a deer in a frat-lit headlights. Like you accidentally walked into the wrong simulation.

Just you, standing awkwardly in a dress that hugs a little too tightly in all the right places, abandoned by your friend who disappeared somewhere upstairs to swap spit with a tall dude in a backwards cap who looks like he says “bro” unironically, who called her “shortcake” three minutes into meeting her.

You're alone, and you're ready to leave. And then—you feel it.

That static prickle across your skin like the air shifted. Like someone just flipped the tension dial in the atmosphere to oh no.

You glance up—and that’s when you see him.

Blond. Piercing, scarlet eyes. Broad-shouldered. Wearing a black fitted Sigma Vex shirt like it was custom-sewn to worship his muscles. He’s walking through the crowd like a lion who knows the other animals will move.

Katsuki Bakugou.

The legend. Sigma Vexes frat president. The reason half the campus has a gym membership they don’t use.

You’ve seen him before—at a distance, walking out of the engineering building like he owned the sidewalk—but you’ve never been this close. And now he’s looking at you. Like really looking. Your brain short circuits.

He steps up, casual like he wasn’t just stomping through the house like a general five seconds ago. Hands in his pockets. Piercing eyes trailing over your dress like a scan. Not lewd—calculating. Intrigued.

And then, that voice—low, scratchy, voice smooth like gravel and whiskey, way-too-good-for-this-world voice—slips out of his mouth like it’s got intentions:

“Didn’t think I’d see a pretty little thing like you at one of our parties.”

You swear your soda fizzes louder.

“Um,” you say. Your voice is already doing The Thing—that high-pitched, I-don’t-know-how-to-talk-to-hot-people thing. “Thanks?”

He smirks. “First time here?”

You nod, then stop, then try to explain. “Y-yeah. My friend dragged me. I wasn’t… planning to stay.”

His eyes flick toward the dance floor, like he’s clocking the friend you clearly came with. “Lemme guess. Ditched you?”

You blink. “How’d you—”

“You’ve been standin’ here for fifteen minutes,” he says. “Lookin’ like you’re tryin’ to mentally disassociate from the dubstep remix of ‘Seven Nation Army.’”

You let out a panicked laugh, because—he’s right. You are.

And now Katsuki Bakugou is standing way too close. Not crowding, but definitely not respecting standard “hot stranger” protocol. He leans just a bit toward you, glancing at your sad soda. His grin goes sideways. Ferally amused.

“Lemme get you a real drink,” he offers. “Don’t worry—I’ll pour it myself.”

Your heartbeat jumps. Not because it’s romantic. But because alarm bells go off. Every girl-in-college instinct yells: Stranger! Danger! Drink! Frat house! BAD!

You freeze. “Oh—no, thank you. I’m… good. This is fine.”

You gesture awkwardly to your soda like it’s an award-winning vintage instead of whatever off-brand cola someone handed you when you arrived.

He raises a brow. Just one. “You think I’m tryin’ to drug you?”

You panic. “N-NO! Not like that—I just—I mean I don’t know you and—uh—I’m sorry—”

He chuckles. It’s a low, rough sound, like gravel being dragged across velvet.

“You’re cute when you stammer.”

You squeak. Then—his tone dips, smooth and syrupy, casual but too sharp to be an accident. “Wanna go somewhere quieter? You look like you’re gonna combust if the bass drops again. We can go upstairs.”

Your eyes widen. He doesn’t touch you. Just watches. Calm. Patient. Too patient. Like he knows what he’s doing.

You swallow. The walls are closing in. The lights are too hot. His face is too much. “I-I actually… have a thing tomorrow. Early. So. I’m just—gonna go. Sorry.”

And then. You bolt. Turn and walk away.

Like a coward.

Like you just rejected Katsuki Bakugou.

You don’t look back. But Katsuki stands there, still. Jaw tight. Pledges laughing too close to his ear like they’ve just seen their invincible warlord get pantsed by a kitten.

“Yo—did you see that?” “She rejected him?” “Bro, the Prez got ghosted in real time!” “I didn’t know that could happen?!”

A few of them start clapping. The disrespect is palpable.

Katsuki takes a slow sip of his drink. Doesn’t react. Just locks eyes on your retreating form like he’s uploading your soul into a kill list. His silence only makes it worse.

That’s when Yamada—one of the newer pledges, all cocky smirk and zero brain cells—decides to grow a pair.

“Dude,” he calls out, grinning like an idiot, “if you can’t get in her pants and fuck her in the next three months, you’re officially stepping down from your heartthrob throne.”

Silence. Everyone freezes. You could hear a pong ball drop.

“And we get to take your precious baby for a spin,” he adds. “Two weeks. Full keys. No chaperone.”

A hush falls over the room like someone just mentioned Voldemort.

Sero drops his beer. “Bro. You did not just bring up the Porsche.”

Kirishima looks physically pained. “Yo, that’s—dude, that’s kinda too far.”

“Yeah, man,” Kaminari adds, eyes wide. “You tryna die or something? That car's his literal child.”

They’re talking about the car. The black 911 GT3 Porsche. Custom specs. His dad helped him import it from Germany for his 21st birthday. That thing growls like a beast and costs more than all of Sigma Vex’s pledges combined. Katsuki doesn’t even park it near other cars. He parks it under a cover and wipes down the tires like it's a deity.

Kirishima steps forward. “Kats, bro—come on. Don’t—don’t entertain this. She’s just a girl.”

“She’s just a girl,” Katsuki echoes quietly.

He downs the rest of his drink in one go.

Then he turns toward Yamada with the slow, sharp grin of a predator who was just handed a valid reason to destroy someone—emotionally, spiritually, academically.

“You’re on.”

Kirishima groans. “Bro—”

“She wants to play shy?” Katsuki says, voice cold now. “Fine. I’ll play too. But three months?”

He scoffs, already calculating.

“I’ll have her begging in two.”

And just like that, the game begins.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

PART 2 IS OUT NOW: Get Even - Chapter 2

Check the full series here: Get Even - MHA AU SERIES

check out my other works here!: MHA MASTERLIST

EMERGENCY WRITING COMMISSION OPEN

TAG LIST: @d4wnyjlk @lillyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy @greeeaaattt @oogieboogiesbugs0724 @dienamiight @urmom2bitch @kalulakunundrum @pastelbakugou @missdynamighttt @lotusstarr @bakug0uzb1thc @fr6giledoll @urfavangelss @witchy-karma @kelisewrites @gamblersdoll @cathnospam @wonubby @writeriguess @proburfavblonde @mrsbakuqo @xoxogospgirl

some of the people i tagged here are the writers i've been following for quite a while and i love so many of their works. and they have inspired me to write and start my own blog here. im hoping we can all be friends <3

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yoonia · 4 months ago

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Red Vibe (M)

— A lover who enjoys driving you crazy with his wicked plans, a feral need of pleasure that is uneasy to be tamed, and a lavish wedding that your man always finds himself getting bored in. When Yoongi says it’s playtime, you have no choice but to have him play with you the way he pleases.

— subtitle: Chance of Pleasure | pairings: min yoongi x f. reader | genre: pwp, established relationship!au, DBSM, Smut | word count: 11,510 words

— ratings & warnings: +18/Mature; explicit sex scene, dom!Yoongi, sub!reader, d/s dynamic, sexual tension, dirty talk (lots and lots of them), sex toys, anal plug, pet names, praise kink, double penetration, light bondage, panty stuffing, choking, humiliation, hand job, oral sex (male receiving), deepthroating, fingering, clit play, clothed sex, groping, grinding, breast play, public exposure, public sex, rough sex, exhibitionism/exhibition kink, teasing, begging, edging, orgasm denial, orgasm control, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, aftercare (minor), creampie.

— fic drop date: March 29th, 2025

— story note: while this fic is a part of a series, this story specifically can be read as a standalone. This was supposed to be posted on Yoongi’s birthday, but so many things happened and here we are. Roughly edited, but I hope you can still enjoy reading this one.

Yoongi enjoys placing you on the line of peril and exhilaration. To do as he pleases as he puts you on the edge of undeniable lust, no matter the time and place.

Just like what he is doing to you now.

You can sense the movements coming from all around you, yet you are unable to take heed of their presence. The clicking sounds of cutleries and plates and the chattering sounds of the people in the room all become white noise.

The only sounds that you can hear right now are the humming sound coming from below, as the constant vibration which has been going on for a while from between your legs continues—sometimes increasing its speed before slowing down again right when your body is beginning to tremble, unable to withstand the pressure and the sensations that it keeps bringing up on you.

Then comes the sound of your heartbeat, which is rapidly rising the more tense you feel at the thought of someone else in the room noticing what is happening underneath your dress. Followed by the sound of your breath, which keeps getting strained each time you are holding back from erupting while under the public’s eyes or quickens when the pleasure heightens.

Everything seems to mesh together as the coil in your stomach is threatening to unleash itself and push you right over the edge.

Looking across the dinner table, your gaze meets Yoongi’s dark ones. His wicked intention is written all over his face, shown also on his smile, while you see pure lust in his eyes that are also glowing with mirth and a sense of knowing as he knows what you are enduring.

Using one hand to raise his glass of wine, Yoongi keeps the other hidden under the napkin which is spread right next to his dinner plate. Beneath, he holds a dark secret from any perusing eyes that might be curious about the two of you.

The same dark secret which is now causing the vibration between your legs to grow more intense, its speed increasing the moment he notices how hard you are clenching at your cutleries while you find yourself unable to savour your fancy dinner.

“Do you not take the meal to your liking, princess? I’m not seeing you taking any bite of that pasta dish you craved so much,” Yoongi teases you with a low voice, feigning his innocence as he lifts his glass to his lips, covering the wicked grin he is giving you.

You lick your lips as you try to control your breath, trying your best not to let out any sound that may draw attention your way. Deep down, you are swamped with a mix of emotions: an urge to cry out, the desire to stab your fork onto the back of his hand in desperation, and the need to beg that he would give you permission to let go so you can end all of this.

But Yoongi always follows his own rules.

You are always given a chance to end playtime when you are feeling uncomfortable. But with the way you are being challenged now, with you already hanging on the precipice of your release, ending things will only mean you are denied the wonderful bliss that you were promised to when he first commanded you to wear this vicious thing so deep inside your pussy.

This was obviously not what you had in mind when you first asked him to be your plus one to tonight’s event.

While it wouldn’t be uncommon for Yoongi to have a crazy idea of starting a playtime whenever he would like, and you have grown used to him picking any random time and place for it—even if it means having fun with you in a public place until you fall apart in his hands—surely, you didn’t think he would do this during your close friend’s wedding reception.

You had expected that Yoongi might find it uncomfortable to be in this kind of setting. That’s why at first, you had expected that he would refuse when you asked him to come with you tonight. You should have probably expected that he had something up in his sleeves when he easily agreed, and had even promised to help you prepare for this night.

The first giveaway should have been the packages waiting for you on the bed when you got home from the hairdresser.

The first package contained the red wine strap dress that you are wearing tonight—with the kind of red that looks so sultry even from the first glance. It’s a lengthy dress which ends at your calves, elegant enough for a formal event, but with a split that reaches up your hips, allowing you to move fluidly around the outdoor wedding venue.

The straps hanging on your shoulders are thin. Judging from the way Yoongi kept playing on them each time you were sitting close to him, he had chosen the dress while having a dark intention which involves him pulling and snapping them off of you. While the rest of the dress covers your skin just enough, the front cleavage drops just enough to draw Yoongi’s attention all night long, despite knowing that you have been carrying a few other—and way more sinful—secrets hidden underneath the dress.

The second package he left you contained a specific tool that now has you squirming in your seat. No, not the one that is now coming alive with the press of a finger while Yoongi is watching you closely. But the one that is making you feel so full and your senses heightened from behind. Staying true to his pattern, the anal plug he gifted to you came in the colour red, matching the colour of the dress that he bought you.

If that had not been enough to let you know that he had every intention of having you wear the pair for tonight’s invitation, then the note that he left behind along with the packages would,

“Be a good girl and wear this pretty dress for me tonight. But right before you put on the dress, I want to see you waiting for me on your knees when I get home, and make sure that I can see you with this plug as the only accessory adorning your skin. I’m sure they would be a wonderful pair to make you shine tonight.”

You remember the way your heartbeat was racing so rapidly as you did what he asked of you, when you waited for his return with the dress laid down on the foot of the bed, with you on your knees, with not a single piece of clothing on your skin and the red plug buried deep inside your rear entrance.

Yoongi took his sweet time returning home, knowing that the more you wait, the more your body would grow sensitive and ready for him to do as he wishes. It wasn’t until much later when Yoongi finally arrived home—not until once your body and muscles were strained in wait and your anticipation had built up so intensely.

By the time he entered the room, the discomfort you felt from the presence of the anal plug inside you was starting to grow numb. It took only one look into his eyes to know that your torment was far from over. As he reached out to brush your hair back from your face, you noticed that he was carrying something else in his other hand—yet another mysterious package which was a bit smaller than the ones he left you with.

Curiosity washed over you the moment you saw it. A flutter rose in your chest, yet without his permission to speak, there was no way you could question him about it, nor was there a chance for you to prepare yourself for what was coming. Playtime had already started ever since the moment you put on the anal plug, so there was nothing you could do but wait.

“Look at you. Such a beautiful sub, all ready for me,” he praised you then while playing with the strands of hair which fell as a frame on the side of your face. “Were you waiting for me so I can dress you?”

“Yes, I did,” you answered with a sigh while instinctively tilting your head up to embrace his touch.

“Good girl,” he praised you once again. As always, his praises worked like a charm, making you feel good for following his instructions. It quickly brought out a wave of flutters which then travelled its way down, heading straight towards where the hot coil is forming in your belly before going further down south.

“But there’s still something missing,” he added as his sly grin widened. “I still have another thing for you that would make everything complete.”

You looked up at him then, ready to question what he meant when he stepped back and gave you another command, “Come to me and bend over at the foot of the bed for me.”

Hearing this, your eyes went to the box he was carrying while trying to guess what he was up to. Taking his hand, you allowed him to help you step down from the bed and turn you around to have your back facing him. Resting your hands and elbows on the bed, you bent down, taking the exact position he wanted to see you in. With your hips raised and your bare bottom pointed up towards him, your muscles tightened and pulsed around the plug, and your legs trembled when it almost seemed to extend inside you.

As if the sensation was not enough, Yoongi reached down and touched the end of the plug. He began pressing it down lightly until he drew the sound of your moans, to which he hummed in approval at how pleasant you were responding to him.

“So beautiful. So perfect. I knew this would be perfect for you,” you heard him say beyond the sounds you were making. Even the sound of your pulsing blood was slowly drowning his voice as the heat in your body began to increase when he started moving the plug in and out, stretching your muscles when he deliberately slowed each time the thickest part of the plug came past your tight rim.

But his praises came to you like an enchanting spell.

It gave you pleasure to be able to please him, and in return, it drew the same sensation rushing through your body that you felt the heat of your arousal slipping between your legs, building and flooding with each pulse you felt coming to wake inside your core. He pressed the plug down harder until it was settled nicely in place once again, leaving nothing else but the faint spasms that still remained after his wicked ministrations and the pulses between your folds. A few seconds passed before he slid his fingers lower, finding you already getting slick with your arousal.

“So wet,” he hummed, while you gasped when his fingers rubbed gently between your folds, spreading your slickness and stretching you as he slid his fingers into your pussy.

Yoongi slowed down for a bit, feeling the way your muscles pulsed around the digits. And then he bent down, kissing the back of your neck, distracting you from the faint clicking sound as he flipped the box open and took its content out with his other hand.

“And sadly so empty,” he said, the words almost slipping away from you when he pulled his fingers out of you, leaving you empty and bare from his touch.

His touch left you only for a brief moment, until you felt something pushing between your folds—something that felt shape solid and firm, but soft and slick on the surface. Before you had any chance to figure out what it was, Yoongi gave it a light push, and it slid past your slick entrance easily, replacing his missing fingers inside your heat.

Your body jolted and tensed as it inched deeper, a reaction which Yoongi immediately noticed. His free hand came down to your hips, caressing you gently to soothe you before he continued to push this atrocious thing he was trying to fit inside your throbbing pussy.

“Relax, baby. Don’t fight it. Let me in,” he continued coaxing you, slipping small praises in between when you slowly began to relax.

Your body trembled slightly as Yoongi continued by gently easing the object inside you, yet you simply took it with a low hum, softly moaning as your muscles began contracting around it. Without giving any restrictions this time.

“That’s it. Good girl. You’re doing a good job, I’m so proud of you.”

His praises almost got you to start tearing up. Warmth came fluttering inside your chest while you tried your best to follow his words until you felt the thing buried completely inside you. Your muscles tightened around it, pulsing against the girth as it settled within you, then Yoongi drew his hands back. Another click is heard beyond the sounds of your breathing, and suddenly, the mysterious invader inside you started humming, and it came alive with a steady vibration that had you crying out and almost stumbling down onto the bed.

Just when you felt like you were taken onto the next height, Yoongi put everything to a stop and helped you return to your position. He bent down, his chest pressing against your back as he gave a gentle kiss at your temple, rewarding you for staying strong and for not falling over. Then you felt him straightening himself back up. You could almost feel the heat of his gaze as he silently took the sight of you in, as if taking his time marvelling at his own work.

“I always love seeing you in red,” he whispered to you as he looked down, his gaze was fully on the red butt plug you were wearing, then on the red vibrator peeking out of your wet folds.

Your body twitched when he gently brushed your skin, rubbing gently on you starting from your hips and down to your bare bottom to soothe you to relax, even if he stayed clear from touching the toys he planted inside you.

“Wear them nicely for me tonight, and I’ll reward you immensely.”

A jolt comes through your body when Yoongi switches the speed of the vibration once again, bringing you back to the present.

A curious look appears on his face as he tilts his head, as if he is wondering just how you seem to be able to let your mind wander elsewhere, even while you are being stimulated by his actions. But not anymore, when the speed changes every few seconds, making you feel like you are being punished indirectly with continuous attacks. It is starting to take a lot from you just to stay still and keep your hips from rocking to ride the sensation you are being given.

“What is it, sweetheart? Is everything alright?” Yoongi’s voice breaks through your daze, drawing your attention back to him.

Back to the dinner party, the wedding venue and the happy new couple that are now celebrating with a dance on the open dance floor just right outside of the dining tent, and the vibrating toy that keeps rubbing against your pulsing walls and making you feel so full. With how long it has been lodged deep inside you and how constant the vibration has been going, the device has not only been pushing itself against your sweet spot, but it has also been pushing against the plug that is filling you from behind.

It almost feels as if you have two cocks penetrating you from front to back. The way the vibrator is shaking in rapid movements and speed—sometimes changing unpredictably—makes it seem like the plug is also moving in tune, that you keep coming close to losing your composure.

“Everything is just—”

A gasp cuts you off when Yoongi switches the control without a word or a warning, causing the device to rock inside you with an intense speed, spreading tremors through your body and stimulating your clitoris from within. But you catch yourself before a moan can slip out of your lips. You take a brief moment to control your breath—and your voice—to continue, “Everything is fine.”

“Is that so?” he asks, his gaze never wavering from you as he takes in every single reaction you are giving him. The gentle smile spreading on his face seems misleading—the perfect mask to cover the wicked scheme going through his head right now.

You can only guess what people around you might be seeing should they glance over to your table—a caring man who keeps paying close attention to his lover, as he continues to keep his eyes on you and inquires about your comfort.

None of these other guests would know the truth. That your sweet lover is just enjoying the show while you are hanging by a thread, struggling to hide the secret hidden in his hand, that he is slowly leading you towards your release without even the touch of his hands on your skin.

“Perhaps you need something—more, to please your palate?”

For a brief moment, you wonder what he is trying to ask you. You know for sure that he isn’t referring to the meal that you are having, as you’ve barely even touched your plate except for the first few bites you had when the toy hadn’t been activated. There is no need to confirm your thoughts so openly, however, when Yoongi does it himself as he switches the toy once again.

Instead of giving you a steady vibration, the toy moves in rapid pulses, making it seem as if it is moving back and forth, pressing left to right. The sensation is starting to feel overwhelming, and you can only clench your hands tightly to hold still while your thighs are quivering under your dress. When you squirm back on your seat, your hips begin rocking against the pressure you feel from the plug that seems to be moving in unison with the toy as your muscles are clenching around the girth.

The pulses coming from the front of your body to the back, the way the toy seems to be working its way deeper, thrusting against your sweet spot when your hips involuntarily move to meet each pulse you are receiving, everything becomes too much that you can no longer stop it when the waves of pleasure continue rising, increasing so rapidly that you can feel your orgasm coming so soon.

The fact that you are about to erupt in a pleasurable bliss right in front of these unsuspecting guests almost goes right over your head. It seems to be making the entire experience feel more intense than ever before.

A small moan escapes you when you feel the first spasm of your climax erupting within you. But before you can embrace it, Yoongi immediately lowers the speed, denying your release. Within seconds, everything comes to a halt, and your muscles are pressing against two solid trinkets embedded within you with nothing more but the ghost of the toy’s violating ministrations as Yoongi sets it to stop.

“Are you done with your meal? You look a bit warm. Why don’t we go out to take a walk in the garden so you can get a breath of fresh air before we join the other guests in a dance?” Yoongi says, feigning calmness. His offer seems innocent, yet you can see in his eyes that he may have other plans than helping you cool off right after he placed you near the edge of your climax.

Without waiting for your response, Yoongi slips out of his seat. Tugging the front lapels of his suit jacket, he walks over to your side and takes your hand in his as he helps you rise to your feet. With his palm pressing the small of your back, he helps you steady yourself on your feet. Once you manage to keep your balance without swaying, he presses his lips on your temple and begins leading both of you to the open garden, away from prying eyes.

The cold breeze that welcomes you outside of the dining tent feels heavenly.

The soft tune of music that you weren’t able to pay much attention to earlier comes clearer now that the haze in your mind is slowly fading. With the pace that Yoongi is going, he allows you a longer break from his torment. Only that it makes you desperate at the same time, as your entire body is still feeling the ghosts of your denied release.

As if it isn’t enough, Yoongi makes a few stops as he greets some other guests whom he is familiar with. He makes you join him to share a casual greeting to an old friend who is attending the party, then a small chat with a mutual friend of yours and his who is related to the bride.

The third time he stops is when you come across a couple who you haven’t met for a while. As Yoongi begins chatting with them, he pulls you close by your waist, keeping you to his side. Moments pass by, as the conversation flows and you are beginning to forget why he took you out here in the first place, he slips his other hand into his pocket, and the vibrator springs to life again.

Your muscles clench around it as if your body is desperately trying to prevent it from slipping out of your heat. Your legs tremble as it continues pressing against your walls, yet Yoongi acts like he isn’t aware of your struggles as he continues chatting with the couple in front of you.

The device shifts, changing its pace and causing your muscles to clench harder around it, only to trigger an intense shudder running through your body which is enough to make your knees grow weak.

In an instant, you rest your hand on his arm, clutching tightly for dear life while you keep yourself balanced against him. “Is everything okay, sweetheart?” he gently asks you with his lips pressing against your hair.

You bite your lip, knowing that the moment you open your mouth, a moan will slip out of you instead of an answer. “Hmmm, well?” he asks again, and you inwardly curse at him for being so cheeky.

“I’m…fine,” you finally answer him while forcing a smile on your face,

“Ah, that’s right. I promised to walk you around before sharing a dance with you, didn’t I?” Yoongi asks, teasing you while once again feigning innocence. He turns to the other guests and bids his goodbye, “Excuse me for cutting our reunion short, but a promise is a promise. I hope we’ll be able to talk soon.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you both. I hope we see each other again another time,” the other man says, though you can barely pay any mind to his words when your head is throbbing as violently as the rush of heat flowing through your body, all caused by the intruding device still vibrating inside you.

Yoongi continues to guide you through the open venue once you part ways with the other couple. But instead of taking you to the spot where some guests are dancing outside of the dining tent, he guides you to the side, towards the open garden that is slightly away from where the main event is being held.

Walking past a few sculptures adorning the garden and some properly trimmed rose bushes, the two of you arrive nearly at the edge of the garden. Tall green hedges lined up around you, serving almost like a green wall which creates a secluded space deep within the garden. There is a path leading between the hedges, off to the area illuminated only by recessed lighting coming from the ground, and this is where Yoongi takes you.

It’s a fairly clear night, with a full moon only occasionally buffeted by clouds. The moonlight makes it possible for this area to not seem at all too dark compared to the part of the garden where the wedding tents are put up. Yoongi stops behind one of the green hedges and rubs his hand down your hips as he turns you to face him.

“Has our short walk helped clear your head, sweetheart?”

A whimper escapes you as you lean against Yoongi. At this point, your entire body is shaking. You can barely remember the walk you had to get to this point when you couldn’t focus on anything else but the vibration happening between your legs. It was a miracle that you were even able to put one foot in front of the other, even if you had to rely solely on Yoongi to keep you from falling.

Now, once you no longer have to hide your reactions, you instantly fall into Yoongi’s arms. Your legs can no longer hold your weight with how much they are shaking beneath the dress. Your body is tense, drained by your continuous effort to hold yourself back while trying your best to keep the vibrator buried between your walls during the walk.

“Yoongi, I can’t—” you gasp, moaning softly as the rhythm changes again, the device inside you moving rapidly with a new speed as Yoongi once again controls it with a flick of a finger.

“What is it, sweetheart? Tell me,” Yoongi whispers against your lips, teasing you with a kiss. “What do you need?”

“I need…to cum. I can’t take it anymore. Please,” you beg him with a whisper, desperate for release.

Chuckling softly, Yoongi takes a step back and looks down. “Hike up your skirt, baby. Let me have a good look at you,” he says, his command coming out softly through his lips.

You know that he isn’t asking to look at you,but the part of you that he has been playing with all evening.

With trembling fingers, you pull up the front of your dress, pulling it up just enough for Yoongi to have a look at your shaking thighs, your soiled panties, and the slickness that has been flooding down your center as the toy continues to vibrate under your thin panties.

“What a beautiful sight to see,” he muses, and all so suddenly, the heat in your center rises intensely under the heat of his gaze. Having him looking straight at your covered pussy makes you feel hot, when you are already burning inside under the work of his little gifts inside you.

“Now let’s see,” you hear him murmuring as he reaches out, his hand coming between your legs, pressing down the vibrator from over your panties. A jolt of pleasure shoots right through you, causing you to cry out. “Sshh, you need to keep it down, baby. You don’t want anyone to find out what we’re doing, do you?”

Opening your eyes to see his wicked grin, you follow the flicker of his gaze to look over your shoulder and see the party still going on not too far away. Granted, he had taken you to a fair distance from the main venue, but you are still close enough to hear the sounds coming from the reception—the music, the chattering shared by the mingling guests, and the melody coming from the dancing couples filling the dance area.

You can almost breathe in the scents coming from the party—the scented candles, the flowers, the appetising dinner which you failed to savour.

“You see? Even if we’re hidden in the dark, we are still close enough for people to notice that something is amiss,” Yoongi whispers as he tips your chin to turn you back to him. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you nod, doing your best to keep your voice steady, “Understood.”

“Good girl,” Yoongi praises you with a kiss on your temple, which is both soothing and testing when it draws more reactions from your body. You bite your lips when you feel the brush of his fingers coming across your slit once again, holding back the moan that is threatening to escape.

“Do you want to cum?” he whispers to your ear. His deep voice alone nearly brings you to your knees. He makes it even harder for you to keep it together when he keeps touching your hot folds with the tips of his fingers through your thin panties, teasing you just enough to make you tremble.

“Yes, Sir. Please—”

“How badly do you want it?”

“I need it. I’m so close, Yoongi,” you whine and whimper and beg. You have been so close since earlier when you were sitting down to enjoy dinner. Slipping away from the party with Yoongi keeping you close has made you more aware of how close you have been to tipping over the edge. “I can’t hold back. Please.”

Your hips rock against his hand as he presses down on the vibrator, nearly sending you to the verge of climax. You can feel it as it begins to rise, your walls clenching around the device, which only heightens the sensation now running through your body. You know that he can feel it too, both from the way your body is reacting to his touch—as you arch back against his palm resting on the small of your back—and the way your fingers are digging into his arm.

He gently rubs against your clit with his thumb, drawing more and more gasping sounds coming out of your lips. And then he goes even further by spreading his palm across your center until you feel a nudge at the tail end of the plug buried in your rear entrance. He presses both toys at the same time, stimulating your muscles, which almost becomes your undoing.

Yet, the moment you are ready to fall over the edge, Yoongi sneakily pulls his fingers away, taking all the delightful pressure away with his touch.

“No, Yoongi—” you gasp, which earns a gentle kiss on your lips to keep you quiet—both from your words and your thoughts.

“Uh-uh, not yet,” he murmurs against your lips. You can almost feel his smirk in the kiss, even if your head is spinning with how intense your need for release feels right at this moment.

“But—”

Smiling, Yoongi lifts his hand and brushes his thumb across your lips. “Show me how badly you need it, sweetheart,” he says to you as he moves his other hand to the back of your neck, gently guiding you to lower yourself to your knees. “Show me how much you deserve it.”

It’s not hard to understand what he is insinuating as you slowly come to the ground. Quickly, you adjust the skirt of your dress and plant your knees on the dry paving below your feet, doing your best not to soil your dress as you follow Yoongi’s instruction.

You look up, hands reaching up to his belt and making a quick work to free his cock from his pants. It doesn’t take long before you have the length of his still semi-hard cock in your palm. With a few gentle strokes, he soon grows firm and ready for you.

With his palm on the back of your head, Yoongi guides you to lean closer to him. You keep your eyes on him as you plant a kiss on the tip of his cock, then your tongue comes out for a lick, tasting the pre-cum leaking out of his slit. Yoongi continues to watch you with his deep, dark gaze as you continue to kiss and lick his cock, never taking his eyes away. A sublte gasp comes out of his lips when you open your lips and take a few inches of his cock into your warm mouth.

Yoongi lets out a groan and stills, allowing you to manage your pace. Flattening your tongue under the length of his cock, you start gently, taking him inch by sweet inch into your mouth. Your head bobs back and forth, his cock going in and out of your mouth, and you continue until you feel him getting deeper, and deeper, the tip soon hitting the back of your mouth as you keep taking more of him.

“You look so hot tonight, baby. When you were trying to stop yourself from cumming in the middle of the dining area. It was a delightful sight to watch you trembling with the vibe, it was turning me on to see it.” Yoongi continues to coax and praise you with a few sighs slipping out of his lips as he savours the sensation building up in his body. He looks at you fondly, watching you as you continue to slide your mouth along the length of his cock, going from the tip and almost down to the base, and repeat.

“You’re taking my cock so well, baby,” he praises you with a deep grunt, “Like a good girl. Now, take me deeper. Let me fuck your throat.”

You take a deep breath through your nose and loosen your jaw so you can take more of him. Soon, you can feel his cock slipping through your throat, drawing a series of low grunts and moans coming out of his lips—a worthy reward to inspire you to keep going. Yoongi begins rocking his hips, thrusting and fucking your mouth in seek of pleasure.

“Oh, fuck. That’s it. Take me deep and swallow me,” he continues coaxing you, his hand giving you a gentle push to guide you to take him deeper. Holding back your gag reflex, you take another deep breath through your nose and sink further down his length, taking as much as you can until you reach the base, drawing a deep, pleasured groan from him.

Forming a circle with your thumb and forefinger, you wrap them around the base of his cock and continue bobbing your head down his length. Your mouth and jaw are beginning to feel sore, but the more you feel him tremble, the more you are eager to give him more.

Taking him as deep as you possibly can, you ignore the tightness in your throat as you swallow him and move your hand down to reach his sacks. You take him gently in your palm, giving him a nice brush and knead while you let him sink his cock in your throat to the point you feel like coughing, and that almost does him in.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunts, his hand pressing gently at the back of your head to keep you in position while he rides the surge of pleasure almost sending him to his release.

You are slowly losing your breath, yet the more he keeps you restrained, nearly choking on his rigid cock, the more your body heats up. As if pleasuring him this way and making him unravel will be enough to put you over the edge. It comes to you like a wave, causing your core to pulse around the vibrator that is still shaking gently inside you.

Yoongi slowly releases you at the sound of your whimper, giving you a chance to breathe. Your body shivers when Yoongi switches the vibrator once more, causing it to move at a different speed, sending you rocking back to feel the anal plug hitting deeper, reminding you of its presence.

“Touch yourself. Make sure not to let the toy fall out of you and don’t come until I allow you to,” Yoongi orders you gently, his voice straining with how much he is enjoying this. You can tell that he is also already on the edge, yet he still focuses on putting you in the same position, leaving you desperate when you can’t feel his touch.

With your hand still playing with his balls, you wrap your mouth around his cock once again, going up and down his length while lightly sucking him each time you go back up the tip. With your other hand, you reach down, slipping your fingers between your legs to find your center. Your fingers are slightly trembing as you slide them down your covered slit, finding your clit which has been throbbing and swelling.

You give yourself a nice, slow rub, pressing down lightly on your bud, following the rhythm of the vibrator still going on within. It feels exhilarating when the rush of pleasure washes over your body. The feeling intensifies further when a cold breeze flows across the garden, brushing against your exposed skin—a reminder that you are out in the open, with the chance of someone catching you acting so wantonly with your lover’s cock buried in your mouth.

Your entire body shudders as you picture seeing yourself through a stranger’s eyes. Strangely enough, it’s not out of shame, but more of an excitement and thrill. It quickly sends you near the edge. You can feel it coming, causing you to moan around his cock when the telltale of your climax forms like a tight coil at your center. Every warning he gave you about coming to your release without his permission flies out of your head.

You are so close.

Just one little rub and you are there. You can feel it.

With a deep moan, you give yourself another rub, pressing hard on your clit. It sends your hips rocking, riding the delightful rhythm going on inside you. From front to back, you feel every part of you pulsing and the toys inside you pressing all the right places.

And then, just as you are about to reach your climax, Yoongi gently pries you away from his cock, snapping you out of your haze.

“Were you trying to steal an orgasm from me?” he accuses you with a click of his tongue, and you immediately pull your hand away. Your clit pulses and throbs at the absence of your touch. The vibrator is still humming, keeping you at bay without pushing you enough to your release.

“N-no, I promise,” you immediately defend yourself, your face flushing with guilt. You know that Yoongi can see through your lies, but he chooses to say nothing about it.

“Get on your feet, sweetheart,” he gently orders you instead. Taking your hands in his, he helps you up, keeping you steady as you sway on your feet. He presses a gentle kiss on your lips and whispers, “You’ve done a great job.”

“T-thank you,” you whisper to him back, still feeling a bit warm on the cheeks.

“Should I reward you for being good tonight? Do you think you can handle it?”

Your eyes grow wide. “R-right here?”

The thought of having such intimate moment with him in a place so open and exposed seems unfathomable, yet thrilling at the same time. It won’t be the first time he offers such indecent manner in which he pleasures you while being in a place so open like this. But it would be the first time you are surrounded by people who may recognise you so easily, seeing that most of the guests are people you’ve both known for years.

Noticing your hesitance, Yoongi teases you with a smile, “Or maybe not? Should we return to the party instead and have that dance I promised you?”

“N-no, that’s not what I was thinking,” you immediately stop him, already too desperate to wait any longer that it doesn’t matter if he is going to fuck you right in front of everyone. “Yes, I can handle it.” You can take anything as long as you can finally get your needs satiated. “Take me, Yoongi. Please take me now.”

Pleased to hear your answer, Yoongi pulls you to him by the waist and kisses your lips. Mouth firmly capturing yours before his tongue slips inside, pressing against yours until he draws a few moans.

Gently, he pries himself off of you, leaving you standing hazily before he demands, “Give your hands to me.”

Blinking away the haze still making it hard for you to focus, you bring your wrists together and offer them to him. He takes your joined wrists in one hand and reaches up to grab his tie with the other. With a firm tug, Yoongi pulls his tie loose and slips it off of his collar. Then he guides your hands to your back, before he wraps his tie around your wrists to keep them together.

You are just about to test the bind when Yoongi slips a finger between the tie and your bound wrists, making sure that the bondage isn’t too tight. Once he is pleased with his work, he looks you in the eyes and smiles.

“Relax, sweetheart. Now turn around,” he orders when he feels you growing tense, his gentle hand rubbing on your hip until you begin to relax and do as he commands you.

Your legs are shaking when you turn on your heels, giving your back to him. Yoongi comes to your back, his chest pressing against your body as his lips descend. The first kiss he gives you on your bare shoulder draws a sigh out of your lips. It feels soothing, all while holding a promise that he still has more to come.

As he slowly traces his lips up your neck, your soft sighs begin to turn into moans.

He continues kissing your skin while his hand travels up from your waist to the front of your dress. He finds the tip of your breast through the thin fabric of your dress and covers your soft flesh with his palm, giving it a gentle rub. He rolls your covered peak between his thumb and index finger, sending shivers through your body as it grows hard and firm under his touch, while he runs his other hand down the skirt of your dress. He finds the slit of the dress and slips his hand under, quickly finding its way to your center.

“You’ve made such a complete mess of yourself, baby girl,” he hums softly, his fingers pressing against the wet spot on your panties, the fabric has evidently grown soaked by your arousal.

He gives a light pressure on your covered slit, pressing against the vibrator, bringing the rapid tremor deeper inside you. While pushing you back to him, Yoongi guides you until you are pressing your bottom against his thigh, stimulating the plug still lodged in your behind to join the vibrator’s maddening pace.

Once again, he places you right over the edge of your climax, only to stop at the right time and let go before you have the chance to fall into it.

You close your eyes to find some semblance of control in the absence of his rousing touches, which only works briefly until the moment Yoongi tugs your panties down your hips. He gives another push, and then allows gravity to take over as the fabric slides down your legs.

He has his arm wrapped around your waist as he helps you step out of your panties. Then you feel him bending down, picking your discarded underthings from the ground.

“Bend forward a little, sweetheart. Let me pull this thing out of you,” he mutters, his hand pushing at the back of your waist lightly until you are bent over with your ass facing him.

Yoongi carefully hikes up your dress to your hips, exposing your bare bottom and trembling legs to the chilling breeze and his attentive eyes. “Be still,” he says, even though his words don’t matter much when his touch quickly finds your center. Resting one hand on your waist, he holds you steady in position while he reaches between your legs.

You feel a slight push, as if he is giving you one last taste of his racy gift before he gently pulls the toy out of your heat. The vibration doesn’t stop until it slips out of the depth of your pussy, leaving behind the ghost of its tremors filling your pulsing walls while the humming noise of the device stops the moment Yoongi slips it into his pocket.

Moaning softly, you feel the desperate need to have something else to replace the void. To give something for your pussy walls to clench onto. You try to press your legs together to quiet down the constant pulsing still lingering in your heat. Yet Yoongi is having none of that. He gives you no chance to ease your needs on your own when his fingers slide in between your folds, replacing the device with his digits pressing against your throbbing walls.

A cry leaves your lips before you can stop it, causing Yoongi to click his tongue disapprovingly. “Do you think you can keep your voice down if we continue?”

“Yes, I—I can try,” you stutter, unable to think clearly with the way he is steadily moving his fingers in and out of your heat, much less to form words.

After spending all evening being constantly on the edge due to the device invading your pussy, his fingers feel gloriously delectable. Every brush they give against your walls, every slide and press you get in the depth of your heat keep bringing new waves of pleasure through your body. He keeps touching and pressing the right spots inside you, as if Yoongi knows exactly which buttons to push to put you right at your limit.

“I don’t think that’ll be good enough,” Yoongi hums as he can still hear the sound of your soft gasps and stifled moans when you keep doing so poorly in holding your voice down. Yoongi bends behind you, once again wrapping his arm around your waist as he pulls his hand out of your heat and says, “Take a deep breath and open your mouth, sweetheart.”

As much as you want to protest the loss of his touch, you obey his command and open your mouth for him. You turn your head slightly to the side so he can see it, earning a soft hum as a sign of his approval.

“That’s a good girl,” he hums, leaning down to press a gentle kiss on the corner of your lips. As he pulls back, Yoongi lifts his hand, and you cannot help but gasp the moment you see what he has between his fingers. “Open wider, love,” he says, before shoving your soiled panties between your lips. “Bite on it so we can stop your voice from coming out too loud.”

You follow his demand, biting down the panties and closing your mouth on the fabric before you let him guide you to face forward again. Soon, his hand returns to your heat, fingers teasing at your folds for a brief moment and then slipping between your slit.

“Now, that’s much better,” he murmurs, sounding pleased the moment he hears your moans completely muffled by your panties. He continues thrusting his fingers into your heat, steadily going in and out of you in scissors-like motions, while he moves his arm from your waist to hold the bind on your wrists to hold you up.

At first, you grow tense.

Stuck between the fear of getting caught, the fear of falling over—despite your trust in Yoongi to not let you go—and the gratifying pleasure you feel in your body, you almost find it hard to enjoy Yoongi’s sweet, tantalising touch. But then Yoongi pulls you back by the hold he has on your wrists, a reassuring move to show you that he is strong enough to keep you up.

Soon, every bit of unease that you are feeling begins to fade, leaving nothing else behind but the waves of pleasure taking over your senses. Your body begins to lax, hanging languidly above the ground with Yoongi’s hold anchoring you to him. And then you find enough confidence to start gently rocking your hips to meet the steady thrusts of his fingers. You soon fall into a steady pace, bringing the pleasure to a new height when you find your rhythm together with Yoongi’s ministrations.

But once again, Yoongi finds the right moment to deny your release, merely moments before you can reach it.

You wish you can say something and protest the moment you feel his fingers leaving your heat. But every sound you make is suppressed by the soiled fabric that is now stuck between your teeth, except for the stifled moans coming out of your throat.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he whispers against your skin as he bends down behind you and lays a few kisses on your neck.

His arm returns to your waist, wrapping around your body loosely to keep you steady. Next, you feel his drenched hand opening your folds, before something else starts poking at your opening.

It doesn’t take long to realise that he has the tip of his cock prying you open. A deep sigh of relief comes out of you at the thought of finally getting your sweet reward—to have your needs satiated before the night finally ends.

“Deep breaths through your nose, sweetheart. Do your best not to fall over,” he murmurs with a deep voice which turns into a low grunt when he pushes from behind, and his thick cock slowly enters your slick heat, filling up the emptiness that was briefly formed by the absence of his fingers.

“Mmhh!” The sound erupts from your throat when you feel him entering you with a firm thrust, pushing as deep as he can. You struggle to breathe, your mind going blank for a brief moment with how good it feels to have him inside you. A flutter builds up right down below, earning a soft disapproving hum coming from Yoongi. And then he goes still.

“I haven’t given you permission to come, sweetheart. Try to hold back until I say so,” he gently reminds you, his hand moving down to cup your trembling thigh to keep your legs spread open for him. “Do you understand? You can’t come until I let you.”

“Hmm—” you moan while nodding frantically, desperately hoping for him to start moving again.

“Good girl. Remember to breathe.”

You follow his order and breathe in through your nose, just in time for his cock to push deeper, forcing your pussy to stretch around him and let him in. You push back, hoping desperately to have him completely fill you up. Yoongi pushes and pulls for a few more times, sliding his cock in and out until he gets deeper and deeper—until you can feel the tip of his cock pressing at the hilt of your pussy.

It feels so good. You feel so full with him buried deep inside you. And the more he continues to move, the more pleasure you feel rising from within. Not only from the depth of your core—when it seems like his thrusts are pressing against your sweet spot—but also from behind. His steady thrusts are making it seem as if the anal plug is also moving in tune with his cock—as if you have another cock penetrating you from behind.

With each thrust he gives you, he goes deeper, harder, and as he starts going faster, he makes you feel like you are floating at the height of your pleasure.

With your hands still tied behind your back, and only his hands keeping you up with a tight hold of your waist, you feel like you are levitating. But instead of feeling like you are losing balance, you find yourself embracing the thrill, the pleasure increasing rapidly the more you give him complete control of your body.

You are once again close. Already hanging on the precipice of your climax.

Yoongi must be feeling it too, when he suddenly moves his hands down your sides, stopping at your hips and giving it a tight grip. The change of pace and gravity stops you from falling apart. And then comes his order, demanding you to hold back.

“Not yet, baby,” Yoongi groans, his thrusts growing erratic, letting you know that he is also feeling the same desperate need for release. Yet he seems to want to prolong this pleasure just a bit more, causing you to struggle even harder to hold back. “Just a bit more. Take it a bit more.”

His words are strained, coming out breathless as he suddenly picks up his pace. His thrusts now come with force, hitting you deeply without a hint of mercy.

You throw your head back, crying out at the overwhelming mixture of pain and pleasure. The panties are still there, swallowing any sound threatening to come out of your mouth. With a deep grunt of his own making, Yoongi claims what he desires, so impassioned, he’s unable to stop himself. You keep releasing stifled moans and writhe beneath him, enjoying the way he is taking complete control of your pleasure, and losing himself in the midst of it.

With his hands holding your hips in a punishing grip, he takes control over your body to move it in tune with his thrusts. Just as your body lurches forward as if you are about to fall over, he reaches out and wraps one hand around your throat to hold you up against his chest.

“I don’t want to ruin your hair, so this will have to do,” he groans sweetly into your ear. “Take shallow breaths through your nose, sweetheart. And take me in.”

Oh, God, you scream out in your head as he thrusts forward, burying himself deeper with a force that takes the air out of your chest.

You don’t know how much longer you can hold on. Yoongi knows how to control his pace. Each time he feels you getting closer to falling over the edge of your climax, he would slow down, pulling you back down from the rising pleasure. It happens a few times, always followed by a series of quick thrusts reaching as deep as he can reach the moment he feels your climbing orgasm winding down.

“Can you see the party from here, sweetheart?” he whispers between each hard thrust he is giving you.

You open your eyes, looking across the garden to where the lights are shining brightly around the wedding tents and the guests dancing with the bride and groom as they enjoy the rest of the party, completely oblivious to what is happening in the dark not too far away.

“Try to make sure no one sees you. I wonder what your friends would think if they see you acting like a slut when you’re supposed to be focusing on your friend’s wedding reception.”

Your heartbeat is racing. The thought of someone turning their heads in this direction brings a cold shiver down your spine. Oddly enough, it also makes you feel a deep thrill like you never felt before. It makes everything feel even more intense, everything is heightened that your pleasure rises up like a tidal wave.

“Ah, does the thought of getting caught excite you? You’re tightening around me,” Yoongi groans, chuckling softly in your ear while he continues to tease you, “You love it when someone watches you being treated like a slut, don’t you?”

Something in his words draws a reaction from your body. You can feel your walls fluttering around his cock, your desire growing stronger instead of feeling shame. “Oh, fuck. You feel so damn good,” Yoongi once again mutters with a groan, his thrusts growing even more erratic as he keeps rocking against your body.

“Hmmh—” Your cries calling for his name are muffled, swallowed by the panties in your mouth, and it wanes even further when Yoongi tightens his hold around your throat, just enough without completely cutting your breath. Within seconds, you are made to feel as if you are high in pleasure, your mind growing so hazy in the same way you would should you be drinking heavily right now.

You feel pure, carnal pleasure rushing through your body as he thrusts forward, hitting all the right spots with each stroke. When the spasms of your climax begin to return, and you seem to be losing the fight to hold it back, Yoongi moves his free hand down your front, finding your center through the slit of your dress.

“Ready to cum, sweetheart?”

The only answer you can give him is a muffled cry through the panties in your mouth, but still enough for Yoongi to know what you want. He slips his free hand down your center, moving under the skirt of your dress, which keeps flowing even without any wind breezing strongly around you.

Finding your heat, he brushes your swollen clit and gives it a light pinch while he pushes himself forward for one last defining thrust. “That’s it, baby. Come. Come for me.”

His command is your undoing. Immediately, you unravel. It almost feels like the dam just breaks apart the moment you let it happen. Your entire body trembles in your climax. Your muscles contract around his cock, clenching around him while he continues thrusting in and out, prolonging the pleasure for you while chasing his own release.

Your walls are now clenching tightly around his cock in your final release, which finally brings him to his climax. With a deep grunt out of his lips, Yoongi lets go. His cock pulses inside you before it pours his cum deep inside your heat.

The warm feeling of his cum filling you up nearly sends you over the edge once again. Perhaps you are having it, as smaller spasms of your orgasm come surging delicately, spreading all over your body like ripples forming on water.

You relish the feeling, riding your high and the pulses happening inside you with Yoongi still buried deep in your heat. Until Yoongi’s hand slips between your bodies, tugging the anal plug and pulling it out through your clenching muscles, setting you off to another, wild climax. Just like a ripple effect, your final release sets him off to another, when his whole body shudders violently behind you and more drops of his warm cum fills your heat.

Still riding the height of your climax, you can’t sense anything else happening around you.

The only thing you can take notice of is the slow and steady thrusts Yoongi is still giving you while you are both riding the height of your release and the way your body is slowly rocking to meet him. With his free hand, Yoongi reaches forward and pulls your panties out of your mouth. His palm is no longer on your throat, but instead on your chin, turning your face to look over your shoulder so he can kiss your lips.

The only sounds you can hear are the sound of your heartbeat and ragged breaths, the soft sighs he keeps making, the rustling sounds of the bushes and crunching leaves coming from around you, and the faint sound of music slowly returning to your senses.

“Beautiful. You are always a sight to see when you climax,” Yoongi murmurs against your lips. You return his kiss, noticing him slowing down until he finally stops moving, letting you feel nothing more but the pulses lingering in your core.

Once your bodies are calm, and you have both come down from your climax, Yoongi gently eases his cock out of your heat. Drops of cum follow his exit, flooding down the insides of your thighs. A tug is felt at your back, and the next thing you know, your hands are freed.

You are still in a daze that everything that happens next becomes nothing but blurry moments; the way he helps you straighten up; the way he turns you around until you are facing him so he can carefully inspect your reactions; the gentle way he takes your wrists to his lips so he can kiss the remnants of your restraints away from your skin, and how he plucks your panties into his pocket instead of returning them to you.

Finding balance on your feet, your mind clears up, and your skin flushes with warmth when you remember where you are. While you are still hidden behind the hedges, you are still outside, not far enough from the party still going on to avoid being noticed. The thought somehow excites you, causing your body to pulse with a newfound excitement.

More and more of your cum and release are dripping out of your center, falling down your thighs, though they are completely hidden by the skirt of your dress once Yoongi fixes everything back in place—except for your missing underthings.

“Do you have enough, sweetheart?”

Exhaling a deep breath, you let yourself fall into his embrace. “I—I do, but—”

Yoongi softly chuckles. “Should we continue back home, where I can clean you up?” he asks while running his gaze down your body with a pleased look on his face. “If you can keep my cum inside you and not let them spill to the last drop until we get home, I will spoil you for the rest of the night.”

You lick your lips. Your body is exhausted after the wild tryst you just shared, yet his promise ignites something new inside you. “Promise?”

With a grin, Yoongi kisses your lips gently. “When have I ever disappointed you, sweetheart?”

“Then hurry and take me home,” you whisper against his lips, eager to know what he has planned for you next.

It doesn’t take as much time making yourselves presentable enough to return to the party as it did for Yoongi to completely make you unravel in a wave of bliss.

Except for the cum dripping out of your center, your dress seems untouched. Not a sight of creases nor dirt is visible on its fabric. Your hair remains flawless, and Yoongi gives you a moment to carefully do a little touch-up on your makeup before you can finally step out of the dark.

Yoongi finishes fixing his suit jacket, leaving his crinkled tie hanging on the lapels of his suit as he straightens up beside you. He looks immaculate once he is done. As if he hadn’t been fucking you to a complete oblivion just moments ago. It makes you feel slightly insecure when you still feel slightly rattled.

Not to mention that you are hiding a dirty secret under your dress, the slickness from your release and his are spreading on your skin and dripping further down to your ankles each time you move.

Taking your hand in his, he brings it to his lips so he can kiss your knuckles. “Shall we go back to the party and say goodbye to the newlyweds so we can go home?”

Your body seems to be so sensitive to his touch still, as your face flushes at the touch of his lips on your skin. “Yes, let’s go,” you answer with a sigh, and let him place your hand around his elbow so you can lean on him as he takes you back to the venue.

Walking back to the party feels disorienting. The guest area is much brighter than the rest of the garden, and the guests are still lively—mostly—as it gets deeper into the night. Some are dancing, some are lounging near the open bar, enjoying the free drinks and gossips, while others are resting by the dining area.

Finding the bride and groom is quite easy, as they are still celebrating and keeping the party alive while dancing at the heart of the venue. Your friend, the bride, protests with a whine when you tell her that it’s time for you to go, before letting you go with a few drunken kisses on your cheeks.

You are just walking away from the newlyweds, clinging heavily against Yoongi, when someone else comes to your path.

“Leaving so soon?”

You lift your head, noticing the handsome, well-dressed man standing before you. His eyes sparkle under the lights around you as he greets Yoongi. A curious smile spreads on his face when he looks your way, and you can sense that there is something hidden in his gaze as his eyes linger on you a few seconds too long.

“Ah, Jungkook. I didn’t know you were here,” Yoongi greets the man with a handshake. “How have you been?”

“Good,” Jungkook says, and you finally remember him as one of Yoongi’s close friends who hasn’t been around for a while. The two of them talk for a moment, sharing quick updates about their lives before Yoongi feels you swaying against him, your legs slowly giving out when exhaustion finally rolls through your body. It is then when Yoongi finally tells Jungkook that it’s time for the two of you to leave the wedding party.

Jungkook nods. “That’s too bad. But I suppose your little stroll through the garden earlier had tired you enough to call it quits this early in the night,” he says, looking at you with a knowing smile. As he speaks, his eyes seem to show a glint of mirth. You have no idea why he is looking at you this way until he adds, “I also had a quick stroll out the garden earlier to sober myself up before I’m ready to head home.”

Your heart starts beating hard in your chest. “You did?”

Jungkook’s grin deepens. “I must say—the garden seems to have quite some interesting spectacles to admire, so I found myself enjoying the sights I saw. So many things to see and—watch.”

Hearing this, your head begins to spin. You start to remember all the tidbits that you may have ignored while you were being ravished by Yoongi between the green hedges; the rustling sound of leaves and bushes, the crunching sounds of dry leaves coming from the ground, and the faint sound of receding footsteps that you initially brushed off as something that may have come from the party.

Your breath is caught when you realise—he was there.

Feeling the way you grow tense beside him, Yoongi pulls you closer. The moment you hear the sound of his soft chuckle, you know that he can feel the way your body is reacting to the realisation that you had secretly gained an audience during your public exploit earlier. Instead of fear and shame, your body has grown warm. Your breathing is slow and heavy, and your heartbeat is thrumming wildly in your chest as you are filled with excitement.

Everything heightens further when Jungkook runs his gaze up and down your body, as if he can see right through you—right through your dress—to know your secret. It makes you feel naked under his eyes.

It makes you feel hot.

“Sounds like you truly enjoyed your time in the garden earlier,” Yoongi hums. His words are directed at Jungkook, yet he keeps glancing at you from the corner of his eyes with an amused smile on his face.

Jungkook laughs softly and easily admits, “I enjoyed it a little bit too much, actually, since I almost lost track of time.”

“I see,” Yoongi answers with a low hum before turning to look at you. Realising that Yoongi has noticed the change of mood you are showing, your skin flushes. But then he smiles, and something about the way he is looking at you seems suggestive, yet none of it makes you grow wary. Your past experience and playtimes with Yoongi have taught you enough of his wicked intentions to know what he may have planned now that he realised what Jungkook had witnessed moments ago.

But instead of deciding right away, he keeps his eyes on you, gauging your reaction while waiting for your approval.

You give a subtle nod at his silent question, and he instantly turns back to Jungkook. “Are you free this weekend? Why don’t you drop by at our place for dinner?” he offers, “We have quite a lot to catch up on.”

You know exactly what he has in mind when he invites his friend to your home. Your anticipation grows rapidly at all the possibilities that might be running through Yoongi’s thoughts right now, while you are wishing to know what Jungkook is thinking as his eyes grow darker. He seems to understand what the offer truly means, and you can tell that you are right about it when his grin widens.

“Sounds like a wonderful idea,” he says, shaking Yoongi’s hand. He turns to you next, taking your hand and bending down to kiss the back of it, saying, “I can’t wait to spend some time with the beautiful host.”

You smile at him in return.

Neither can you.

#yoongi smut #suga smut #kvanity #bangtanwhq #ksmutsociety #yoongi fanfic #yoongi scenario #yoongi fluff #suga scenario #suga fluff #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #bts fanfic #bts scenario #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #bts x reader

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crispyjenkins · 11 months ago

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@catamaranthenonnewtonianfluid

#every installment of this bops#if quin disappears after Obi-Wan nukes his identity i imagine that at least a couple jedi will realise where quinlan is headed#and having another padawan vamoose to mandalore (and with how concerning obi's whole *everything* has been) i imagine someone might go#after him which obvious one is tholme but if youre looking for a way to sneak lumi in maybe quin#successfully caused enough of a distraction that his disappearance isnt noted for a couple days#and luminara is on mission closer to mandalore when the realisation hits#maybe maybe?#vhonte being on side for the next chaos run (from everyone else's perspective) is very good that will be fun#she probably needs enrichment right#obi is the meat filled pumpkin they needed

vhonte vhonte vhonte vhonte vhonte vh

alright i'm good. we'll come back to vhonte in a minute tho

so as i said in the comments of this post, your tags inspired me to tiptap out a lil scene that wasn't really like. intended to end up in the final story, but it would have been okay if it did, and now it's sort of become a cornerstone of where the fic might end up. because y'all are enabling me on the Luminara front and my brain was on that world building kick after differentiating the Manda vs ka'ra vs Ka'ra, i then started world building the Unifying vs Cosmic vs Physical vs Living Force and decided Luminara gets to be a Lil Special, which incidentally helps keep Obi from being too OP, altho i love time travel as an excuse for OPness

so so so so. i mentioned in tags ages ago that Obi-Wan's crèchemates can feel something different from their Force bonds with him after he time hops. for this story, his crèche clanmates are Bant, Garen, Reeft, Bruck, Aalto, and four others that won't have enough bearing on the plot to name. and i like the idea of there being some variety of age in clans, because i sincerely think the Jedi would embrace the importance of learning from many different ages early, not just later in their training; "the padawan teaches the master" and all that. not too much variety, of course, since that would be detrimental to some aspects of learning. i will say i'm not big on some legends canon saying they put kids in clans based on like. their tendencies for certain aspects of learning, like heliost clan being for those with "deep insight", or kids put in katarn for being "stealthy". that just smacks of h*gwarts houses and i HATE the implication of predetermining a child's interests and strong suits.

BUT that's beside the point. I've decided Obi's clan was the Kamoradon or Saberjowl clan, partly because it's close to catamaran and is an aquatic creature, and also because it's from Kamino for ~Force shenanigans~ and ~destiny~ reasons. I love the head(?)canon that Quinlan is a few years older, so isn't even technically their agemate, but he's often grouped with them 'cause he's so close to all the Saberjowl initiates that ended up on the knighthood track (Bruck, of course, died, and I have Aalto as well as their other clanmates moving on to various corps instead. except maybe one of them? that doesn't stay close with the other Saberjowls. no bad blood or anything, just didn't reaffirm those Force bonds after they all went their separate ways for padawanship), and it's often forgotten that Quinlan isn't one of their old clanmates, especially because he isn't close with the clan he was inserted into since he came to the crèche so late and didn't stay for long. and he also often acts younger than he is.

for the purposes of this fic, Jedi (and Force users in general) typically find themselves "aligned" with one of the four different... facets of the Force. it's partly philosophy, and partly just what part of the Force they draw most strongly from. i've already made my opinions on h*gwarts houses clear, so this "alignment" is far more like Naruto's elemental chakra affinities: you can learn jutsu from those other elements, and even do them well, but they'll never be as easy to master or perform as your natural affinity. the way these different facets of the Force work in canon seem to be more philosophy-based, as in they're different ways of viewing the Force, but that doesn't hold up across even Lucas canon, so i'm taking it all and running with it

so, quickly:

Living Force = the parts of the Force that connect all living things, both sentient and not; "an all-encompassing and all-transcending energy field—present in and generated by all living beings, connecting all of life which fed into the Cosmic Force in death" (wookieepedia); Living Force users focus on the present, relying on instincts more than thinking; from my understanding, is directly related to and caused by midichlorians.

Cosmic = a "wellspring" for the Living Force, binding all things together in tandem with the Living, transcending space and time and dealing with "destiny"; connected to but not the same as the Living Force; this is what Jedi and Force users "listen to" in order to follow its "Will", sometimes viewed as semi-sentient; is what connects to the midichlorians??

Unifying = energy connecting everything non-living, such as stars and space; users focus on the future and prescience, on ensuring the Force's Will in the future, rather than the present like those of the Living Force; are focused on the flow of time as a whole rather than the immediate moment; from a theological standpoint, many that followed the Unifying often believed in there not being a Light and a Dark side (though I'm unclear just on who these "many" are, as they seem to be mainly in EU novels). this last aspect won't be dealth with in this fic.

Physical = the parts of the Force a user can manipulate directly, such as "manipulating objects, influencing other beings, and affecting the environment" (wookieepedia).

reiterating: all Force-sensitive beings can use any and/or all facets of the Force, and indeed do, but are naturally inclined to one of them, or can build a philosophy to one that makes it their primary.

how the philosophy aspect comes into play for this and future works of mine is how one's views affect their connection to the Force, and how some philosophies and views have fallen out of favour, in this case the Unifying and the Cosmic (due to lots of reasons, but mainly the spreading Darkside affecting the connection to the Unifying and Cosmic Forces, which we do actually see in canon with prescience being directly affected by the Sith's spreading influence). since the Cosmic is seen in tandem with the Living, I like to think most Jedi at this point in the timeline (c. 41 BBY) don't view them as separate facets to have a strength in, so really see the options as being stronger in the Living or Physical Forces, with the Unifying Force being a tool or area of study that gets some eye-rolls when brought into discussions. there are of course the very rare Jedi being stronger in the Unifying, but they are encouraged to make that a secondary focus at best and to pick the Living or the Physical. what does that mean for this fic??

obviously Sifo-Dyas' natural inclination is the Unifying, and he's a stubborn bastard who dug his feet in and never let the more common dogmas of the Temple make him focus on the Living or Physical (this is not a condemnation of the Order, btw; but we canonically [in EU and legends] see those who subscribe to more esoteric or less understood philosophies treated less than favourably by the Order at large). Jedi like Yoda (and those like Palpatine, canonically) use the philosophies of the Unifying more as a supplemental tool; I headcanon Yoda as aligned to the Physical Force, and that absolutely affects how he uses and views the Unifying and Cosmic Forces, such as his belief in destiny but maintaining the adage "always in motion, the future is". hmm many basically listen to the Cosmic Force about destiny and what the Will of the Force is, but then discredit those that go about it differently? tell those strong in the Unifying to not worry too much about the big picture in terms of time, but expect them to look at the big picture immediately around them? not everyone, obviously, but when the grandmaster is so firm in his ways of looking at the universe and the Force, well ¯\(°ᴥ°)/¯ the Jedi aren't perfect, as a whole or as individuals, and make mistakes. this reluctance to embrace all facets of the Force as equal is one of them, at least for my works

Obi-Wan is obviously also Unifying-aligned, and while at this point Qui-Gon is doing much better in understanding it as a physical difference in how they interact with the Force from each other, not just Obi-Wan's personal philosophies and anxieties, much of that damage is already done, especially with Yoda's influence. Obi-Wan did grow out of his clearer and more intense visions, but I haven't decided if that's directly at influence of the Sith, or just a natural consequence of learning to shield as Jedi do, or even just a normal part of growing up. he is, however, still repressing, so to speak, and channeling the Living Force which is not half as easy as channelling the Unifying would be for him. in this 'verse, future Obi would eventually learn better, ironically in large part due to his picking up of Soresu, which greatly improves with some level of prescience and using said prescience in battle.

okay okay all of that was so I get to talk about Luminara being a rare Jedi naturally aligned to the Cosmic Force. in the broader Temple, like with the Unifying, the Cosmic is seen as a skill or tool, one that every Jedi is supposed to have some skill with, but is not really seen as something one can be strong in or naturally aligned with, not a facet unto itself but as an aspect of the Living Force. some Jedi pursue a deeper connection to it, but aren't allowed to until after knighthood, largely because there's a worry of one falling (not Falling) too deep into the Force and losing themselves. There is some precedent for this, in my fanon, because i think the idea of Force Ghosts initially happening by accident is hilarious; then people learned to do it on purpose, like Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan and Yoda and Anakin, etc., but the first Force users that managed it just got too deep into the Cosmic to get back out again.

ANYWAY Luminara was initially seen as aligned with the Unifying while in the crèche (not in Obi-Wan's clan, but about the same age as them; maybe a year older? Clawmouse clan, maybe?), since her "visions" seemed really similar to Obi-Wan's when they were very little, and that's where they bonded and Luminara became a staple in their friend group, to the point she's also forgotten not to have been a part of Saberjowl clan. okay and here's where my fanon of the Cosmic really comes into play: the Living Force is a facet of the present, of the seen and immediate surroundings, while the Unifying is a facet of the future. the Cosmic is a facet of the unseen present. it isn't prescience if it's happening at that moment, and she "sees" things those aligned to the Living Force don't, she has even higher empathy than most, she sees what people are trying to hide, but also things she simply has no business knowing, often due to distance (like across-the-galaxy distance, sometimes), but not because she's seen the future. luckily her master (canonically another Mirialan, though unnamed) caught the difference between her and Obi-Wan, and encouraged strengthening her skill and connection to her natural alignment, despite many masters and much of the high council advising against it.

so she's the one that knows immediately when something with Obi-Wan changes. she feels it in the Force first, that something is different, and then feels it when Obi-Wan snaps a shield over all of his Force bonds with his friends. he's done it before, multiple times (he's years ahead of his agemates in shielding, but because he'd had to learn younger than most so he could manage his visions), but the way he shields them now is Masterful, with a capital M (Quinlan says this in the scene i have written lmao), and Luminara only notices the shielding going up because she's already paying attention. their friend group is all in a little study session together, Obi-Wan the only one out on a mission (i love love love @roosjem's trope across their fics of the Jedi trying their best to keep all of their crèche clan from being in-Temple at the same time to limit the Chaos™; that's not what's happening here, but i still wanted to shout that out. also just read all of roosjem's works, they're some of my all-time favorite in fandom), so Luminara pointing it out makes them all realise Obi-Wan is all but blocking them. again this isn't the first time he has, far from, but never this thoroughly, never this well. they can tell he's not dead and is physically well, but that's about it

this happens more or less right after he lands in the past, when he decides like. immediately that he's going to fix the future. like there's no hesitation, no waffling about preserving the timeline or about the ethics, or even considering he isn't back in time, that it's a vision or something. nope. just immediate "well a moment ago I was meditating on the Negotiator thinking about how much I would change how I handled Mandalore, and now I'm here back on Mandalore, so like. I'm gonna go change how I handled Mandalore."

i'm still working out the timeline, but i need it to be around a month of Obi-Wan making his way to Keldabe, though maybe even more, to really get the pot stirring. i really liked @catamaranthenonnewtonianfluid's idea of Luminara just being the closest to Mandalore when Obi-Wan fully cuts ties with the Jedi, so i'll be going that route somewhat, me thinks. so the events in sequence (so far) are:

Obi time hops, shields all his Force bonds and starts gunning for Keldabe; Luminara senses something in the Force, and then their friend group notices him shielding far more expertly than he should be able to; Obi-Wan drops Satine off with Qui-Gon, and Qui starts chasing after him; Obi-Wan bounces around the sector/system, taking out Death Watch where he can, protecting those that he can, helping everyone that doesn't ping negatively in the Force; Mandalorians start taking notice, start tracking his progress, clans start standing down at least for the moment wondering what Obi-Wan's existence and actions are going to do to the wars; knowingly and unknowingly, the people and the Manda align to "pick" him as a sort of candidate for Mand'alor;

at between a month and two months, Obi-Wan arrives in Keldabe and steals all Pre Vizsla's info on Jango, using that and his future knowledge/research to track Jango down; leaves the Mandalore system, alerting Qui-Gon by virtue of their bond growing weaker; Luminara sneaks out, knowing something Big is happening; Obi takes about a week to reach Outland Transit Station, where he confronts and fails to convince Jango to return to Mandalore; by internally acknowledging himself as dar'manda, Jango breaks his connection to the Ka'ra, and the Ka'ra pick Obi-Wan instead; Obi-Wan realises he can't half-ass his support of Mandalore, and starts erasing himself from the Order's systems as he makes his way back to Mandalore; just before he lands back on planet, a week later, he deletes himself from the Jedi, breaks his training bond with Qui-Gon, and sends out his last few messages (including to Luminara, since I didn't have her in the last update); he doesn't break his friendship bonds or anything, but shields them even more, until the only reason they know he's alive is that their bond hasn't been snapped; the Order only thinks to look in their data systems when Qui-Gon calls them in a panic about his broken bond, and everyone who got an anonymous message (though obviously from Obi-Wan [obvious to anyone but Feemor lmao]) comes forward, and the Order can only decide to let Obi-Wan go. No one is particularly happy about this, but what else can they do? They tell Qui-Gon his mission to protect Satine hasn't stopped, but he has to stop chasing Obi-Wan, whatever he's doing for Mandalore is out of their hands now. except, of course, Luminara is still in their purview, so obviously need to send someone to go get her.

now Luminara. she's the only one who got a message who wasn't in the Temple at the time, and is also the only one connected to the Cosmic Force. she can't decipher the Will of the Force better than others precisely, at least not on a grand scale, but she knows something big is going down, even bigger than when Obi-Wan first changed. so maybe she and her friends were following what little information the Order had had about Obi-Wan's movements after dropping Satine off, both from what they're being told in order to be kept in the loop, but also what Quinlan has been sneaking around eavesdopping about

("M'just practicing my Shadow skills, Lumi! Master Tholme even told me to!"

"I don't think that he did."

"He didn't not tell me to!")

when they hear that Obi-Wan left the Mandalore system (on his way to find Jango), Luminara knows this is another turning point. something in the Cosmic Force roils, like a riptide, and she sneaks out of the Temple without her master. something big is happening with Obi-Wan, with Mandalore, and Luminara feels like she's the only one that sees that. she isn't exactly wrong, either, since Qui-Gon and the Order are focusing on immediate repercussions, on consequences of Obi-Wan's actions immediately around him, instead of their consequences on and in the Force, in how they're affecting the future. the Jedi are so focused on trying to figure out what changed that they're not looking at what's changing.

Luminara knows she won't get away with it for long, but Sifo-Dyas unexpectedly (or maybe not so unexpectedly) covers for her, and she indeed gets a good few days' headstart. her master is Temple-bound due to injuries, and the High Council would have wanted to send Shadows anyway, so they send Quinlan and Tholme because they know Quinlan will find a way to follow Luminara, and would have found a way to Mandalore even if she hadn't done so first.

so so so when Obi-Wan's final letters go out, Luminara is already en route, and is even more convinced of her decision, though she isn't letting herself think about what consequences this will have for her future in the Order. Quinlan is the one to tell her over comm message that Obi-Wan has deleted himself from the Order, that he's officially unaffiliated now. Luminara meditates on her own position in the Order, and still finds her path leading towards knighthood, so that's a relief; she won't fault Obi-Wan for his decision to leave, but she's very glad the Force agrees that's still where she, at least, belongs

so she's about a week ahead of Tholme and Quinlan, but still a good few weeks away from Mandalore, and spends much of that time strengthening and reaffirming her bond to Obi-Wan, though she suspects he's shielding it on his end as well, so won't be able to tell what she's doing. that, more than anything, convinces her that Obi-Wan is expecting to deal with all of whatever this is on his own, and she refuses to let him. she isn't quite sure how she's going to find him when she gets there, but she trusts the Force will provide

i haven't done this before, but i think i'm going to have a separate fic for other povs as they come up. for some reason that format really speaks to me for this story in particular. the main fic will all be Obi's pov, while the side stories will be chronological and limited scenes, and will be posted as they come up in the main fic, me thinks. so far i have plans for povs from Qui-Gon, Satine, Quinlan, Luminara, and Mace, though Satine will be maybe two scenes at the very beginning, and Qui's will be quite limited as well. and i know i've been very Jedi-focused the last few "updates" of this idea, but the actual story will be significantly more Obi-Wan and Mando-centric, especially Vhonte Tervho, Silas, Wad’e Tay’haai, Rav Bralor, and maybe Cort Davin. i want to explore some of the lesser-utilised Mandos, particularly the women; depending on how i end up handling the Ka'ra and Obi's connection to it, I might also be playing with Tarre Vizsla and other Mand'alor'e too

(have a hilarious tiny scene idea of someone, Silas maybe, asking Obi if he's a reincarnation of Tarre like. to his face and Obi is like

"Am I what."

and they're like "Are you Tarre Vizsla reincarnated"

"No??"

"Well how do you know?"

"Because kaysh ghost is standing in the corner right now laughing at me??” and it makes some doubters realise that like. oh. he’s a Mand’alor, actually blessed by the Ka'ra. but i haven't decided on the whole ghosts thing yet, so who knows if this'll end up in the actual fic)

SO on that note, more Vhonte:

Obi-Wan leaves the lil Old Guard summit like "I can't stand around waiting for them to make a decision, especially when I know it won't be in my favour", he slips out as quietly as he'd entered so most don't notice, and Vhonte is the only one to follow. she won't swear to him, not yet, but she falls in behind and next to him as he's walking away with purpose like "alright, where do you need me" and Obi-Wan pauses like mid-step because... what? but he senses her mandokar, senses her loyalty, even senses how loyal she had been to Jango (enough to answer his Call to Kamino, in the future), and, well, he's even better planning around two people than he is around just himself (too many years at Qui-Gon's side, and then Anakin at his). and he'd spent much of the time coming back from Outland Station adjusting his Mandalore Plans (capital P) from those he had made with Jango in mind, so he already has an idea of what to do first. he also knows, without asking, that Vhonte is offering only herself for this mission, that this a test for him, and he's alright with the knowledge that even if he somehow fails that test, it won't change much from how he'd thought he'd have to deal with things

this is where he really starts talking about Death Watch, about how weak they are without Tor Vizsla but are still the main backing to keeping Satine out of power while all the other clans are squabbling. Vhonte hesitates just for a moment, wondering if Obi-Wan is even in his right mind, if maybe he's blinded by the revenge he's swearing in the gold on his armour, a revenge against Death Watch, but even though she isn't Manda-touched, she trusts in the Manda, that it would not pick Obi-Wan if he truly was off his rocker, nor lead her to him so directly and insistently if she wasn't meant to follow him. She also clocks his casual use of Satine's name, and she starts to wonder if he comes from a New Mandalorian clan and that's why he says he's clanless, that he'd declared them dar'buir and struck out on his own.

and then he starts laying out his Plans (capital P) and Vhonte realises "oh. not only is he serious, he's good at this". she's a little concerned how experienced he seems with guerrilla tactics (just looked up the origin of the word guerrilla, so i absolutely think Mando'a would have an equivalent. akaan'ika? or akalenedat'ika? anyway) but she doesn't question him, not yet, curious to see how well his plans will actually work, especially in the long run.

so first, Obi-Wan takes her to his offensively-small ship that he stole at Outland Station and she's immediately like "absolutely not" and they go to hers instead, and he gives her the specifics of step one of his Plan, and she sort of feels at loose ends, because Obi-Wan really seems to have it covered without her input.

their first target? the ruins of Keldabe.

mandalore the young cont.

original post/discussion here! it was just getting really long and i for one hate scrolling so far, so. here's this. have also added this au to my masterlist in my pinned post!

@malcontent-crow

#i had a whole wall of tags and it didnt save! lets try this again#i am loving this. the potential for world building and the consequences of knowing more than you should (literally)

#i had forgotten that DW wasnt in peoples thoughts as a threat during the Clan Wars#and the idea that Pre was so far underground with the movement is a very good thing to remember as well! #on one hand you have this driven and spirited young verd that is inspiring Clans to start reassessing who they are fighting and why#on the other you have this clanless outsider that knows waaaaay too much about all the potential major players and is saying#that this major threat isnt really as gone as everybody thought and hoped. sith parallels out the wahoo for ppor obi#and hes standing there watching them all argue over his head about this threat that he KNOWS needs to be dealt with#he is seeing himself as pretty on par or above with the Old Guard in terms of mental age or prowess or large scale battles#so he sees them doubt him maybe even to his face and knows he'll need to get things started on his own

#and becauae everything in the galaxay has at least one person watching it from the outside... how quickly does the news of a jedi padawan#going off the rails on this mission get out? whos keeping track and who points fingers at the jedi for attempting to control the outcome#of the war of their historical enemies in their favor? the senate (read sith) want mandalore defanged before their war but what does it look#like the jedi want? how does the council answer for his actions? do they condemn or condone him? do they try to stay out of it?

#the world building potential of the Manda and the Ka'ra is delicious.#what does it mean to be a mando or darmanda? can you walk around and have people look at you and know you have failed in your oaths?

#and ouch! Obi-Wan considering the fact that he has never been allowed to be his own person.#from padawan to knight/master and then a general and councilor and sheesh. hes really never had the chance to see who he is as a person#outside of his responsibilities to everybody around him and right now hes a war worn adult in a war worn teens body#hes always had somebody else there. as a battle companion a teacher a student as somebody to protect and guard and guide#and now he has this entire culture looking at him and waiting for his next move. and im guess it still feels like less than a burden than#the care and raising of an entire child on his own. sure he had the temple resources and other jedi to lean on but anakin always looked to#him first to solve any problem or teach him something new or cuddle him after nightmares as hes trying to hide his own dreams#and grief and flounding to find his footing as an independent adult

#so right now hes looking around at the entire mando population and realizing thats he might need to reshape himself again for somebody else#to make himself what others need and knowing he can and will do it if it means saving somebody else

#and when exactly did he come back from the war? did he have satine die in his arms and see the ruin that is madalore after a pacifist reign?#does he see the potential for that ruin to happen right now if he doesnt succeed? where does he see himself in regards to the jedi?#has he considered the consequences of stepping up to be the Mand'alor to this culture he has never seen as his own?#has he let himself think about the choices he needs to make and how some things you cant always come out the other side the same as before?

(following the trend of each of these getting longer, this has hit just under 5,000 words, so just a heads up lol? so much world building is happening in this one)

sorry you had to rewrite so much! that last exchange was cursed, it seems lmao

it's so easy to write Obi-Wan as prescient, or the route I'm going with in Dha Kar'ta, so i think it's a fun change-up to have him knowledgeable for completely different reasons! I'm actually going to avoid visions almost at all for this Obi, but everyone else certainly won't know the difference, and he doesn't tell them otherwise (though he won't encourage it either. I do actually have a Naruto time travel where Nart pretends to be psychic à la Shawn Spencer, so that isn't the route I wanna go for this Obi). the consequences of knowing too much, indeed

hmmm many of these questions depend on how deep into Jedi and galactic politics I wanna go, and I'm not sure it's very deep at all. or at least, not very dragged out. i'll explain in a mo

SO first: yes, this Obi is from after Satine dies, in 19 BBY, maybe a month or so after, but before the bombing of the Temple so before Ahsoka left the Order. He was back on the front, no time to properly mourn, though he was doing his best, and was meditating on the whole war, but especially the Sith and their hand in everything that happened on Mandalore. It went deeper than Maul, he knew, had been going on longer than Maul and even Dooku, and it occurred to Obi-Wan that the Sith either wanted a Mandalore that will side with them but not be too much a threat, or they wanted them not a threat at all. He realised his hand in that, in helping put the New Mandalorians on the throne that led to the demilitarisation of the entire sector. Obi-Wan had practically teed Mandalore up for Dooku and then Maul's interference, and if the Republic won the war, he could all too easily see them doing another excision. won't get too much into it to save it for the fic, but he is mediating with something beskar, and he gets a lil too deep into the Force, and of course this is post-Mortis so...... 👀

so this Obi-Wan, back in time, is helping Mandalore to prevent any more Sith machinations in the future, to change the future for the whole galaxy, but even before he's Chosen, he realises he's also doing all of this for Mandalore. for his own hand in its destruction, for the Jedi's hand in the Excision, for his personal connection to Satine drawing Maul to it. it's for atonement, for reparation, and also because Mandalore deserves to be saved, and Obi-Wan is in a place he can help do that. it isn't just about the health of the galaxy, anymore.

I usually shy away from having Obi-Wan leave the Order, no matter what AU I'm throwing him in because I believe in the fundamental goodness of the Order and the people in it, and Obi-Wan is fundamentally a Jedi, one of the best, one of the best. however, in this case, I don't think he can have his cake and eat it too. if Dooku had to leave the Order to accept his countship, then Obi-Wan would have to leave to become Mand'alor. Jedi are (supposed to be) politically neutral, and Obi-Wan is all too aware he'd nullified his own neutrality the moment he decided to go for Keldabe to find Jango.

one of my favorite... tropes? in time travel fic is Obi using his future fellow councilmembers' access codes to get into things he shouldn't, and he certainly knows how to work the Order's internal systems in his favor, so he

wait so i was gonna have him go in and tender his resignation from the Order directly into the systems, and backdate it for before the Mandalore mission, so that anything he's done on Mandalore so far cannot be blamed on the Jedi BUT WHAT IF he just. deletes himself. like completely. from admin to the Archives to the crèche's own internal systems to the Shadow's private servers, Obi-Wan Kenobi was never a Jedi, was never a Temple bastard, was never Qui-Gon Jinn's padawan. his mission records are all in Qui-Gon's name now, his medical file simply doesn't exist, his crècheling clan is listed as simply having been a person short compared to other clans that year. he goes so far as to delete comm histories with him or mentioning him, it's like Obi-Wan Kenobi just doesn't exist anymore.

he does this first thing after leaving Jango, he spends the entire week back to Mandalore ensuring he's been completely erased from absolutely anything relating to the Jedi, and then uses his future councilmember knowledge (and lessons from Quinlan) to erase himself from Republic systems, too. any planet he'd helped as a padawan will suddenly have no records of him as having been there with his master, so the senate or Order can't subpoena them for the info, though Obi-Wan knows he can't have gotten everything (such as any planet not in the Republic, or who don't have holonet access to their files, or both, like Melida/Daan), but he figures he's done enough to absolve the Order if anyone comes knocking about what he's doing.

he buries his lightsaber in the deserts of Mandalore, not knowing that in his old future, he'd have done the same on Tatooine.

so as far as the Jedi are aware: Obi-Wan went on a mission with Qui-Gon that (predictably) went to hell, got separated from his master for weeks to months, then suddenly changed, at the same time their Jedi with the highest prescience collapsed due to his visions, which have also changed. Obi-Wan left Qui-Gon behind to hightail it through the Mandalore sector, and Qui-Gon couldn't catch up or find him, and then Obi-Wan disappeared from anyone's radars for two weeks. then Qui-Gon senses him reenter the Mandalore system, right before breaking his training bond with him, and the Order wakes up to Obi-Wan completely erased from their systems like he never existed in the first place. everything is going so so wrong, and yet. and yet.

and yet the Force is telling them all that this is right, that this is the least Dark course of action, that whatever Obi-Wan is doing is indeed the Will of the Force

so the Order mourns one of their own, and tells Qui-Gon to let him go. and then the Order ups their cyber security because what.

i think he leaves an unsigned letter/comm message for a few people. Bant, Quinlan, Mace, Feemor, his old crèchemaster, Yoda, maybe Jocasta Nu. it's short, basically thanking them for their hand in his upbringing (Feemor hasn't even met him before so is very confused by this), apologising for leaving abruptly, but to follow the Will of the Force, he had to leave; the first part of the message is all the same, but ends with little individual notes. he apologises to Madam Nu for fucking with her archives and hopes she can one day forgive him; he asks her to keep her friends close and to mend the tension between her and Dooku, that Obi-Wan should not know about. He tells Yoda that the future is always in motion but they must move with it; he asks Yoda to meditate on his dwindling lineages and learn to accept all that he cannot control. He reminds Quinlan to wear his gloves and asks him to thank Tholme for looking out for him when Qui-Gon wouldn't or didn't; he thanks him for their years together, and asks him to check in on Feemor every now and then. He apologises to Mace for all the shatter-points he likely caused and will continue to cause, and suggests he put a permanent reminder in his comm to remember to refill his migraine prescription that sixteen year-old Obi should not know about. He asks Bant to look out for a young Togruta initiate that will join in seven years, and suggests Bant might like the healer track rather than the knight corps; he thanks her for being his longest and most dearly-held friend. He thanks his crèchemaster for realising his visions were more than dreams (which will inadvertently lend credence to that theory for why Obi-Wan changed so suddenly), for supporting him when Bruck was at his nastiest, and for always being someone he could turn to even after he became a padawan. For Feemor, Obi-Wan apologises that they hadn't had the chance to meet before then, and for the relationship they won't have anymore; Feemor has no idea who this message is from, until he starts hearing the gossip that Obi-Wan Kenobi has left the Order again. He too mourns never getting to know his padawan brother.

and Obi-Wan sends Qui-Gon a message, of course, thanking him for his teachings, apologising for "leading him on" as an apprentice, leaving and coming back so many times only to permanently leave this time. he reminds Qui to reach out to his friends and his support system, asks him to at least consider talking to a mind or soul healer about Xanatos (knowing that once it gets out that Obi-Wan is a planetary leader, it will likely badly trigger Qui-Gon), and asks him to at least try and mend his relationship with Dooku, though understands if that's not something Qui-Gon is willing to do. asks him to keep Satine safe, but to deeply think about why the Republic is so intent on helping her faction, and why Qui-Gon had questioned so little of the New Mandalorian ethos.

so by the time Obi-Wan finds the Old Guard, he's broken from the Order completely, has buried his saber, has broken his training bond, has cut his braid. I think he shaves his head entirely to let it grow out at the same rate, because the padawan cut is *Eliot Spencer voice* Very Distinctive. he paints his armour white for, yes, his men, his vod'e, but also for cin vhetin. he can't be the man he was before, nor the teen he was before, neither are who Mandalore needs, and as long as he can stay true to his morals and upbringing, he will be what Mandalore needs him to be.

okay now onto the Manda vs. the Ka'ra vs. the Force. the Force is a scientific concept of an energy connecting absolutely everything in the universe, and the Jedi have a religious view on the scientific concept. for both purposes, the Force just is. I really like the idea of other non-Jedi ideas just being different aspects of the Force, different religions and cultures based on the same scientific concepts. for Mandalorians, their "aspect" of the Force is the Manda, the collective souls of every Mando'ade that's ever marched on. just what it means to be Mando'ade has varied greatly through history, and is varied between different groups even now, but none of that changes what the Manda is, which is an aspect of the Force only Mando'ade can touch. sort of like their beliefs of it being separate from the Force have made it so?

now I haven't really talked about this before, but from the beginning of me writing Mandalorian related things, i've separated Ka'ra from ka'ra, which was a little bit me misremembering there was another term for "stars", and then it became it's own thing. kar, meaning "star", with it's plural kar'e or kare, to me, means physical stars, the way we'd call our sun a star. ka'ra, uncapitalised, is the more poetic and/or spiritual "stars", the way we might say something is "written in the stars", which actually aligns with how jate'kara is spelled; for my writing, i've used this form for Mandalorian Force-sensitives being Star-touched ka'ra-touched. Ka'ra, capitalised, is that "ruling council of fallen kings", the Mandalorian myth and it, the way I've always interpreted it, is a separate part of the Manda made up of specifically the souls of every Mand'alor already marched on. So, Tor Vizsla could have joined the Manda after death, but not the Ka'ra; make sense? all that ka'ra vs Ka'ra worldbuilding was done very early in my writing for star wars, and has since expanded to include the idea of the Manda as something separate, and I would now actually consider Manda-touched over Star-touched to describe Force sensitive Mando'ade, because that's really what I think Mandalorians would consider causes their supernatural powers: ancestors rather than the stars.

so what does that mean for this fic? the Manda is directly influenced by all those that consider themselves Mandalorian, Force-sensitive or not. it is, however, not affected by New Mandalorians, unless they worship the Manda in some facsimile, and I think many, many, many do not, not the way they were raised to. this worship looks different for every clan and every individual, and I've always interpreted it as more of a broad spiritual practice across the whole culture rather than a religion, per se, the way a real-world broader culture might pray at shrines at New Years even if individuals themselves or their family aren't religious. this is what I'm referencing when I say the Will of the People: the alive Mando'ade and their choices and emotions affecting and influencing the Manda, the collective amalgamation of every passed-on Mando'ade, and it's when these two are in tandem that they "pick" a Mand'alor. HOWEVER, such a pick is also up to the Ka'ra, the Mand'alor'e that have all marched on; to one day enter the Ka'ra themselves, a Mand'alor must be "picked" by both the People/the Manda, and the Ka'ra. Tor would be "picked" by a significant part of the People and the Manda, and so would Jaster have been, but (according to me, myself, and i, obviously), only Jaster had been chosen by the Ka'ra. Pre is "Mand'alor" only in name, only in a tenuous loyalty existing in House Vizsla and Death Watch, not even by the Manda; just simple human (et al) loyalty. Jango had a weaker "pick" from the Manda than Jaster did, but was picked by the Ka'ra, meaning if he did not declare himself dar'manda (even just internally; I don't think he's ever said it out loud), he would have joined the Ka'ra after death; if he ever reconnects with himself as a Mandalorian, I like to think he'd have that chance again. Canon Jango, though, who went on to make the clones? Absolutely not.

what does this all mean for Obi-Wan? he'd spent weeks inadvertently drumming up support in the people and therefore the Manda, and maybe most haven't really looked at him and thought "sure I'd follow him as Mand'alor", but they have looked at him and thought "that one has mandokar, that one wants what's best for Mandalore, that one is touched by destiny". I dunno, man, like. Obi-Wan is their hope before he is their leader. That will make all the difference when he does end up uniting them. His searching out Jango had made Jango finally confront that he feels dar'manda, until then he hadn't really lost the Ka'ra's support, but that severs that connection. and now the Ka'ra are without a Mand'alor, but look at that, there's a mandokar'la little idiot right there, already strong in the Manda, already rallying hope and purpose, already so invested in the nurturing and the future of Mandalore, how could the Ka'ra not choose him?

I posed the question previously whether or not Mando'ade can tell who has been chosen to be Mand'alor, and I think I've ironed out what that'll mean for this fic. non-Force sensitive Mando'ade will have this sense when near their Mand'alor, a subconscious and inherent trust in them, and indeed, some will be disturbed by this and fight it. that's alright, that's their right. Some never clock this extra sense, some are aware of it always, some just chalk it up to "gut feelings" and the like. The more spiritual or religious Mandos maybe put a little more stock in this feelings, I think especially goran'e and other spiritual leaders, but the fact that the Manda can technically pick more than one person at a time (like Tor and Jaster, and then Jango), this extra sense isn't a perfect indicator of a properly chosen Manda'lor.

now. what about Force sensitive Mando'ade? Well, the Manda is an aspect of the Force, and is in fact how said Force sensitive Mando'ade connect to the Force, by going through the Manda, first. their relationship with sensitivity is inherently different from others in the galaxy, at least those that connect to it directly. they are the ones that can sense or see if someone is chosen by the Ka'ra, depending on their sensitivity. Some see the ghostly line of previous Mand'alor'e stretched out behind them (like the Avatar cycle lmao), some see a wavering crown of stars around their head, some just sense there is a duplicity (/neutral) to their Force presence that doesn't exist in anyone else. how common is Force sensitivity in Mandalorian space? not fuckin very. Jaster had three in his entire faction of aprox. 2 million (fanon number), at least that were aware they were sensitive. Jango only had a few more, and only because he had gained a couple hundred thousand more followers before Galidraan. so i'll make the nearly-arbitrary number that Force sensitive Mandos are 1 in 1,000,000, across the entire sector. by some calculations, in the whole galaxy at around the time of the Clone Wars the number of Force sensitives is 1 in 5,000,000 but these calculations do not generally include societies and species with a near or 100% chance of Force sensitivity, because we simply don't have the data for it. does this all make Mandos slightly more likely to be Force sensitive than others, by my own numbers? sorta. which i'm making an issue of underreporting, based on Mandalore not being a part of the Republic, and also contention with the Jedi and Sith; they don't consider those Manda-touched to be Force sensitive, and with the way I've built this, they aren't exactly wrong.

for the purposes of this story, there are maybe eight Manda-touched Mando'ade in the Mandalore system at this time, and all but one are goran'e. that single non-armorer is part of the Old Guard. I have the roster for the Old Guard decided, so I'm debating whether the Manda-touched one is Cort Davin (a journeyman protector), or one of the women. Instinct wants Vhonte Tervho, but I have plans for her to be related to the goran Obi-Wan got his armour done by, who I wanted to be one of the seven Force sensitive armorers, soooo. lmao how fucked would it be if Isabet Reau is the Force sensitive one? I like the angst of that, since I definitely do not plan on redeeming her, but I kind of want the only Old Guard that can sense Obi-Wan is Chosen by the Ka'ra to be really quiet and accepting of it, while everyone else is arguing. hmmm I have an unnamed Wren as part of the Guard, that I haven't fleshed anything out for yet; perhaps them?

okay I think I've solidified what it makes a Mandalorian, at least for the function of this fic. it is tied to the Resol'nare, and following it, which does allow those who had Chosen Tor Vizsla as their Mand'alor to technically still be following the Resol'nare, and are therefore not dar'manda. at least not for that. but part of the reason the Resol'nare is even able to determine who has a Mandalorian soul, is because they believe it does. Those alive and those dead influence the functionality and reality of the Manda, which also allows for those pre-Resol'nare to still exist in the Manda. What causes someone to become dar'manda, if they are technically following the Resol'nare?

maybe it's reductive, or over-simplified, or maybe even too broad, but it makes sense to me and allows for many many different types of people to still fail, and this is obviously not the only way to become dar'manda, but one thing that will always strip someone of their Mando soul? treatment of children. caring for children. not harming children. this allows many of Death Watch to still maintain their Mando souls, but still be fucked up awful people in other ways. It allows even True Mandalorians to have lost their souls and not realised it because they otherwise adhered to the Resol'nare, because they'd chosen to interpret "defending oneself and family" and "raising your children as Mandalorians" to not include other peoeple's children. Or maybe they were abusive in the belief they were caring for their children. This would also make every single one of the Cuy'val Dar dar'manda, which I think is a fascinating concept.

to answer your question directly, no, one cannot look at someone and know they're dar'manda, even the Force/Manda sensitive ones. one will only know in death, whether or not they have a place in the Manda.

NOW what does this mean for New Mandalorians?? well, by technicality and the way I've set the Manda up, one can interpret the Resol'nare in ways that could align with New Mandos. Perhaps they interpret "armour" as more than specifically "beskar'gam", maybe they wear armourweave or other protective fabrics. Maybe they interpret "defending one's family" as putting down arms instead of raising them, in order to create a peaceful future for their children. I think there are plenty of New Mandos that technically tick off all the boxes, and believe in themselves and their fellows so much that the Manda is like "yeah sure why not, we'll make that count". I think some tenants are more easily... bent, like swearing to the duchy in place of the Mand'alor, but I think an easy one New Mandos miss, is "speak Mando'a." I think many New Mandos were all too quick to switch to Basic for everything except religious and spiritual ceremonies, and I think those already in the Manda would find that very hard to forgive. I actually get into this a little in Dha Kar'ta very soon, but for this fic, i'll have Satine not outright outlawing Mando'a, but it is socially heavily discouraged. you're not allowed to speak it in the palace unless in aforementioned ceremonies, you cannot fill out paperwork in anything but Basic, you're not allowed to use Mando'a titles (including Mand'alor), you're not allowed to teach it to your children. no outright like. punishments for speaking it in public, but if your kids are caught, there are repercussions, including investigation into how else you're raising your kids, and if you're found to be doing anything else, they can take your kids from you. not every New Mando agrees with this, of course, and go about adhering to the Resol'nare as best they can in secret, but so many do give up the language by convincing themselves it's not as important as the other tenants and, well, the duchy hasn't steered them all wrong yet, has it?

okay so on the subject of what the outside galaxy is seeing. I like the headcanon/trope/idea of like. the one thing all factions of Mandalorians agreeing on is fuck everyone else. oh, the New Mandos will emulate the Core and the Republic, but they aren't the Republic nor want to be, and this animosity extends to keeping as many internal Mandlorian issues just that: internal. no faction can keep news from leaving the system or the sector, obviously, but there also isn't a lot of interest in Mandalorian news? "oh look all the Mandos are fighting again", except that's been the standard for like. actual thousands of years. I like when fic have people outside the sector not evening knowing there are different factions, so I'll be doing that here, too, and I like the idea of non-Republic sectors having their own holonets, separate from the Republic one. so like, if Obi-Wan happens to go a little viral during his mad dash to Keldabe, that would be on the Mandalorian holonet, not the Republic one, so even if Obi-Wan was visibly still a Jedi (and he wasn't), actual news of him wouldn't reach the Mid and Inner Rims until like. possible years after it happens.

could this maybe be expedited by Sith machinations? absolutely, though I'm not sure I want to go that route, since I don't think the Sith are overmuch interested in Mandalore at this point, at least not in any hands-on capacity. I'm unclear on whether them funding Death Watch is fanon or not, but it is a headcanon I subscribe to, and I think they'd have stopped funding DW after Galidraan, to cause worse infighting and prevent DW from gaining enough power to actually restart their imperial conquering days. Palpatine has been senator for about ten years by this point, but has very little political power overall, and Demask would be looking basically anywhere but Mandalore at this point in time, both of them having written it off until they actively need something from the sector. if anyone had clocked Obi-Wan as a Jedi, this all would have gone very differently, news would have spread much further and quicker and I think undoubtedly would have reached Palpatine, but since I have Obi-Wan just... cutting ties to anything Jedi, news of him remains in-sector. is this perhaps unrealistic? maybe, but I kind of want to focus on Mandalore and not worry about galactic-wide politics for once, lmao, actually very much like Obi-Wan is doing. however, he will clock a lack of Sith interference and thinks That's Very Weird.

haven't decided how he finds Palpatine out yet, but I think it'll have to do with his Manda senses being different than his Force ones, maybe the Ka'ra even gives him a few tips or gifts to sense Sith since they've allied and fought with them so much in the past. regardless, that'll be after he's become Mand'alor and united the clans.

now to actual plot progression! Obi-Wan meets up with the Old Guard, they don't know what to make of him other than "he's kriffing weird. and young. and creepy. and probably Manda-touched." whatever other verd is Manda-touched will see him blessed by the Ka'ra, which causes them to look inwards more closely and realise they trust Obi-Wan inexplicably, which means they're blessed by the Manda and the Will of the People, too. they wonder if Obi-Wan has noticed, if any of the other Old Guard have noticed. they are one of a few that notice Obi-Wan sneaking back out while everyone is arguing.

Vhonte Tervho is another. She's at this lil summit to represent clan Tervho, tho isn't the clan head, because her ba'vodu, a Manda-touched goran, had sensed she needed to be at the summit. said ba'vodu is of course the armorer who reforged Obi-Wan's armour (need to find a name for them hmm), who had told their clan they were to cease fighting until their new Mand'alor called on them. Vhonte sees Obi-Wan, realises at the same time as everyone that he's the Kih'Manda, the Mand'ika that the entire system had been gossiping about for weeks, and she thinks of what her ba'vodu said. she looks inwards, like they had taught her to, and finds, yes, she trusts Obi-Wan, just like she used to trust Jango. And, well, her Mand'alor is obviously leaving to go do something, and she isn't going to let him go it alone.

the Manda-touched verd doesn't go with them, wanting to see what comes of this, but they already know Obi-wan is Ka'ra Chosen. they will come when he calls.

#had to consult the Sib about some plans and i'm still not confident in them but i now stand by Obi not going right for Pre even firmer #he'll lose any surprise he has but the ACT of disrupting DW is even more important than taking out the head #specifically in an effort to unite the clans against a common enemy #ANYWAY here's a shoutout for ghost whisperer by stephaniestephanie on ao3 for their idea of the Undying as a fifth facet of the Force #which i LOVE and want to play with but just not in this fic #prequel trilogy #time travel au #obi wan kenobi #vhonte tervho #luminara unduli #quinlan vos #have been thinking about ''obi is the meat filled pumpkin they needed'' nonstop #this is HEAVILY pro jedi just in case there's any confusion #but also have you ever met a bunch of academics with differing opinions about the same subjects?? fuckin nightmares the lot of them #jedi order #world building #meta #ish #need to stop finishing these responses between 1am and 4am #because i have no self control and will post them immediately #ANYWAY #thank y'all for all the love on this i'm havin a blast #anyone can ask questions or offer ideas!#catamaranthenonnewtonianfluid

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moon-ttokki-x · 4 months ago

Text

‧₊ a little bit sweeter - (roommate!han jisung x reader) ˚‧

pairing: college roommate!han jisung x reader

summary: jisung realises that he feels something more for his roommate who loves to bake.

genre: college!au, mentions of eating and drinking, slightly suggestive ? kissing, jisung being a whole simp for reader, one sus joke, making cookies (bc i'm craving them so bad rn)

a/n: hihi~ inspired by this post, so i'm tagging @butteredsushi and @jisunggy thanks for the fic inspo guys <3 div by @kodaswrld

skz masterlist

"Whatcha doing?"

You look up just as Jisung, your roommate, enters the kitchen, no doubt drawn by the clattering noises that you've filled the flat with. He hops up on the counter, peeking behind you in interest, where you've set a heap of bowls and pans onto the countertop.

"Just wanted to make something," you exhale, poking his cheek before moving to find the bowl you're looking for. Jisung hums and sits back on the counter, leaning on his hands as he watches you clumsily sift through the pile, muttering to yourself.

"Do I get to eat whatever it is that you're making?" He asks carefully, secretly crossing his fingers in a hope you'll say yes.

You huff and stand up from where you've been bending and peering into the cabinets. "Ji, we literally live together."

"Yeah, but like, were you planning to eat it all by yourself?"

You laugh, gesturing for him to open the cupboard directly below his feet, which he does. "Maybe, but we both know you would have eaten most of it. Do you want to eat something specific?"

"Cookies," he says instantly, not hesitating. His cheeks flush pink.

You roll your eyes, taking out a spoon. "Should've known."

Jisung throws his hands up defensively. "What? They're good for days like this, with the weather how it is right now. Be for real."

He has a point, you think as you look out the window.

It's drizzling in a fine swell over what you can see of the city, a heavy, almost blue fog casting itself like a blanket over the buildings. Classes ended early today, and you'd wanted nothing more to rush back to your dorm and rid yourself of the soaked, cold clothes you'd had to be in all morning.

To say the least, it had been extremely unpleasant weather, and it had taken at least an hour standing under the steaming water of the shower to try and bring your body's temperature up again.

You shiver as your eyes flicker over to the door, your still-wet shoes leaking droplets of storm water onto the plastic bag you'd set them upon in an attempt to keep the floor dry. Jisung was already back from his lecture by the time you got in, and he hadn't even looked up as you'd rushed into your room and slammed the door, soaking wet and chattering as you turned the water on.

At least, you think he hadn't looked up at you. In reality, he'd been waiting for the moment the door would open and you would come in.

But you didn't notice. You never do.

You set two more bowls onto the counter, missing the way Jisung's eyes follow yours as you move across the floor, gaze fixed on the way your hair is still drying, hanging in little damp clusters over your ears and nape. Your cheeks are flushed, most likely from the boiling water you shower in, and your figure is swamped in an oversized hoodie and a pair of grey sweats. His heart jolts as he looks you up and down, trying to fight that warm feeling that seems to rise in his chest every time he meets your gaze.

I have a hoodie that looks almost the same... it looks like you're wearing my clothes. That'd be so hot...

"...and then I had to rush all the way back here because it was so cold and rainy outside. You have a point, to be honest; I was thinking about eating something warm and delicious when I got back, but I wanted something a little bit sweeter- Ji. Ji, are you listening?"

"H-huh?" He shakes his head, thoughts of you in his clothes hastily evaporating. "Uh, yeah."

You point a measuring cup at him cheekily. "Liar. What's wrong? Are you too hot? I can turn the thermostat down if you want... I turned it up super high when I got back because it was so cold-"

"N-no, it's okay," he interrupts. "Sorry. Just a long morning. Classes and all that."

You shoot him a sympathetic look, opening a packet of self-raising flour. "Yeah, I get that. Poor you... And all this rain, too... not really ideal for all the walking we have to do nowadays."

Jisung can't help but smile softly at your rambling, holding the edge of the bowl as you almost knock it off the countertop. Your measuring spoon gets bumped in the process and a small puff of flour spills onto Jisung's knee, dusting the loose, black denim.

"Oops," you say sheepishly, setting the cup down. "Sorry."

He's about to reply and tell you it's okay before his gaze flits down to your hand, which is gently brushing off his knee. And suddenly, he can't seem to focus on anything but your touch. It's warm, even through the thick fabric, and he finds himself wishing you'd bumped the measuring cup a little harder so you could be brushing off all the flour for longer, your fingers gentle against his leg.

He doesn't even mind that there's a subtle white patch on the denim where it spilt.

You scratch the back of your head. "Hang on, let me get a paper towel-"

"No, don't worry," he blurts out. "I-it's fine."

You look up in surprise, tapping another cupful of flour into the bowl before adding a haphazard mix of baking soda, salt, and cornstarch over it. "Are you sure? I'm gonna make a mess in this place. I don't want your clothes to get dirty..."

"It's fine," he says again, a little more confidently. "I can just take them off."

You splutter, sending a puff of flour into the air, making both of you cough as Jisung waves his hands frantically, cheeks scarlet.

"I-i didn't mean it like that," he coughs, flustered. "I meant-"

"I know what you meant," you say, fighting a grin as you turn away to open the fridge. "Honestly, Ji."

He drops his face into his hands just as you crack two eggs into another bowl, heading back to the fridge for the stick of half-finished butter on the top shelf. You've learnt to buy more butter than you think you need; your roommate has a habit of using far too much butter than necessary on his toast. Not that your topping habits are much better; the Nutella jar is usually empty after a day.

Anyways.

Placing the rest of the butter in a small glass bowl, you set the microwave timer for 30 seconds before closing the door. Jisung's eyes follow the bowl spinning round and round inside, the butter seeping and melting into an oily mess against the glass edges.

His fingers tap against the countertop as you move your bowls over to where he's sitting, your shoulder brushing his arm as you busy yourself with tipping brown and granulated sugar into yet another bowl. Jisung cheekily dips his finger into the mixture and brings it to his mouth as you smack his hand away, relishing the raw, saccharine taste of the grains.

"You have to stop doing that.. Ew, Ji!"

He wipes his finger nonchalantly on your arm, much to your disgust. Ignoring your groans, he hums to himself as you take the melted butter from the microwave, slamming the door shut again.

"Stop doing what?" He says innocently.

"Dipping your little thieving paws into the bowls... you'll contaminate it. And wiping said paws on my arm..."

"So?" He says, grinning, ears still red from his earlier comment. "It's not like anyone else but you and me are eating the stuff you make."

You huff and tip the butter into the bowl, spilling half of it in the process. "I'm gonna put raisins in these if you keep provoking me."

"No!"

"Shut up and stop bothering me then," you huff, one hand coming up to matter-of-factly wipe a tiny speckle of sugar from the corner of his lip.

He's about to make a comment, but he goes silent; his face turns the colour of the cherry tomatoes in the fridge crisper as you whisk the butter into the sugar mixture. You don't even notice how quiet he's gone, and as a habit, begin to ramble.

"I can't believe the mixer broke," you say absentmindedly. "I had to search for ages and ages for a recipe that didn't need a mixer for the process. It's actually so much easier to melt the butter too... last time I did this, I didn't mix it all in properly so the cookies tasted horrible after- not that you cared, of course, because I came back to the glass dish where I put them in a day before and they were all gone- Ji, you're not listening again."

"Yes I am," he says, strained. His face is red.

"No you're not. Anyways, I had to find substitutes for most of the ingredients until I could get to the store last week.."

You run off on yet another tangent about the recipe and different methods of baking and flavours, but all Jisung can focus on is the fact that you just touched his lip, wiped away whatever it was that what on his mouth, without so much as blinking. Like it was nothing... He finds himself beginning to panic a little; his face still feels all hot and tingly.

They just wiped my mouth for me... Wait, isn't that what couples do in the movies?? Does that mean.. no, it doesn't, because they didn't even blink when they did it. There's no way they feel the way I do right now, like this- is it hot in here? My face feels so warm...

He's about to lift the neckline of his hoodie to try and fan some air into his body, but not before something sweet-smelling and textured lands on the apple of his cheekbone.

He freezes, watching as you dip a finger into a bowl full of white paste. Frosting.

You know Jisung likes frosting on his cookies; it's a fact he hasn't even told you, but you know from the way he always secretly opens the tub of ready-made icing in the fridge that he likes them to be eaten that way. You always make a bowl of it whenever you bake now, just for him. Currently, you can't get over the look on his face; shocked, and almost distant, like he was distracted by something.

You managed to crack the eggs, mix all the ingredients together, add chocolate chips to the mixture, form the dough into balls, and put it all into the oven without him making so much as a comment. And then slightly warm up the icing too. He's never been this quiet.

Like, ever.

"Are you okay?" You smile. "You look a million miles away."

He gulps and watches as you dip a different finger into the icing, some of it remaining on your lip as you lick your fingertip clean. He can feel the tiny dollop of frosting you've dotted on his cheek. It's probably melting with how hot his face feels.

His gaze never leaves your mouth, and his eyes flit to the mess you've made of the counter; there's not a single ingredient you haven't managed to spill a quantity of. Most of it is staining your clothes too, not that you seem to care.

Y/n...

"Ji?" You wave a hand in front of his face, trying to rid him of the glazed look in his eyes. "What's wrong?"

Silence. Then-

"You look so beautiful," he murmurs.

It slips out so unexpectedly that he can't even bring himself to be surprised or regretful about it; if he never tells you, you'll never know how stunning you look in the moment, all damp hair and flour-smeared cheeks.

And maybe you don't look lovely to anyone else, but to Jisung, he's never seen anything more beautiful. And in a moment of instant clarity, he knows he's regret it forever if he doesn't tell you how he's felt for so long. Or worse, if someone else decides to tell you the same thing, and he never gets his chance...

You blink at the unexpected sentiment, not thinking much of it. "Thanks."

Turning away, you pick up a bowl and deposit it in the sink before Jisung pulls you back by the shoulder, you tumbling between his legs from where he's still sitting on the counter.

You don't even get a moment to process what's happening before his mouth is pressed gently against yours, tasting of sweet icing and brown sugar.

You mold yourself immediately into his embrace as his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you a little closer as his head tilts to the left. You're pretty sure he's almost breaking his neck, kissing you like this, but you couldn't care less, and it seems, neither can he.

"Jisung," you exhale against his lips, almost gasping.

"Sorry," he whispers, though there's a hint of cheekiness behind it that he can't quite disguise. "Should've asked to kiss you..."

You giggle and pull him in again, your hands finding their way to his nape, playing with the tiny, soft hairs there before he pulls back to gaze at you. "It's okay."

He looks too far gone now; his hair is deliciously rumpled from you running your fingers every which way through it, his cheeks still stained pink. The frosting on his cheek is smeared, a long, pale streak against the perfect planes of his skin.

You're about to pull him in again, and his mouth eagerly moves towards yours, but he only gets a light brush against your lips before the oven timer rudely interrupts, beeping and echoing in the silence of the flat. He groans as you turn away and reach across to switch it off.

You hear Jisung laugh breathlessly behind you as you peer through the oven glass; the cookies, once round and perfect, have now spread into a chocolatey mess across the baking tray, and you can see several small bits of dough beginning to burn dark against the hot surface of the oven grilles.

"Shit," you mumble as Jisung pulls you back into him, peppering kisses over your face. "I forgot to chill the dough before I put them in..."

"Screw that," he sighs against you. "We should chill instead. Just us, hmm? Cancel whatever plans you had..."

"Done," you whisper. "But what about the cookies-"

Jisung pulls you impossibly closer, his breath a warm fan across your cheeks and neck.

"Forget that," he murmurs. "I have something sweeter."

a/n: i forgot how fun writing jisung is >< asks open !

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bunnis-monsters · 1 year ago

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saw your bull and cow hybrid fic and found out you were doing an event!! would you be willing to tell us more about this au, no specific request i just want to know more about this, also congratulations on 5k!!!

Cow/Bull Hybrid Lore

I’m planning on making an entire post about the cow/bull hybrids but I’ll give y’all some snippets for now.

Cow and bull hybrids were created using the newest technology, crossing humans with cows and bulls. This was done to create beings that could produce milk without needing to be impregnated.

Though there are female cows and bulls, the males are the ones used for milk production the most since they can produce “milk” all year long.

Make bull/cow hybrid semen acts as a milk alternative, and is lactose free! It’s very creamy and sweet, and is very popular with women specifically.

A female farmhand is required to tend to the males, since they dislike male human hormones and charge at any males getting too close to their territory. There are male cow/bull hybrids that will form mating bonds with each other, but they aren’t likely to mate with a human male.

Each male cow/bull hybrid can produce 1-4 gallons of cum milk a day, depending on their build and species. Bulls are more likely to produce on the higher end.

Female cow hybrids are highly sought after by both cow and bull hybrid males. A heifer is seen as a rare treat, and everyone is eager to be the first to put a calf in her belly.

They have a preference for fat, chubby women. The closer you look to a heifer, the more they’re attracted. Once they’ve chosen a mate you’re screwed. You’re their breeding cow now.

Once a cow/bull hybrid gets you pregnant, he becomes very clingy and extra territorial, guarding the area you’re nesting in with his life. The bulls are eager to impale anyone that gets near, while the cows will stomp on any poor soul that tries to bother you.

You’ll be milked as if you’re an actual cow, and your baby is expected to start walking within a few days. Though, babies between humans and hybrids are rarely as strong as their hybrid parents, and are closer to their human parents in terms of their growth.

I’ll post more about them later~

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NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @screaming-crying-screamingagain @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @j3llyphisching @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljr @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @buckoothecow @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68

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filmsbyun · 15 days ago

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Manacled Hands, Shared Sins || Choi Soobin

i. CHAPTER ONE

.☘︎ ݁˖ Back to story ml .☘︎ ݁˖ Event masterlist

Being a Slytherin was never about villainy – it was about survival. So when you stumble across Choi Soobin, Ravenclaw’s golden Head Boy, accidentally ripping a hole through reality itself, you do what any sensible person would: you make it his problem.

Unfortunately, you’re also a witness to the ritual. Which means if this whole mess comes to light, you’re just as screwed as he is.

⊹₊⟡⋆ 11.7k/ ?

Ravenclaw!Choi Soobin x Slytherin!afab!reader

[NOTE that: Specific warnings will be listed before every chapters || Check the story masterlist page to get the genre + whole warning section] chapter warnings: hogwarts college/uni au, characters are 20+, except for the first part of this chapter - the entirety is written in flashbacks, prejudiced system, reader and soobin starts with a rocky relationship (they're both emotionally constipated and just trying to survive), mild description of nosebleed and fainting, dual pov

MHSS is finally here oh my god this fuckass fic made me pull my hairs out and crash out on a daily basis. It's totally on me for making such a detailed plot back when I dropped the teaser I'm ngl don't even know what was going through my head when I came up with the storyline. I'd like thank my moa friends for this chance and allowing me to bring this story to life <3 ily all so much. The story will be updated weekly! Hoping you like this story as much as I hated writing it <3 Reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated! © filmsbyun ── please do not copy, translate, or repost my work without permission.

Tonight, everything had the chance to change.

After a failed heist of the Marauder's Map from the caretaker’s office, you were compelled to take an improvised detour.

It was supposed to be a perfectly well planned infiltration of the said office to get the magical tool before anyone even realized something was missing. It should have gone without a hitch.

But then Choi Yeonjun, in all his infuriating recklessness, knocked over a lamp with the crook of his elbow.

There was no time to think, let alone breathe. The fast approaching footsteps of the caretaker and his cat reverberated into your bones. You spun on your heel and cast one murderous glare in Yeonjun’s direction, one that said you’d personally transfigure his organs the next time you see him, and then darted into the hidden passage behind the filing cabinet. You didn’t need to tell him where to go — he knew. The two of you split, vanishing into separate secret tunnels that curved beneath the stone walls like veins.

It was an old maneuver in the textbooks — splinter the team to fracture pursuit. Let the enemy scramble. Let them guess which way you’d gone and lose time deciding.

You ducked beneath low beams, boots scraping against damp stones, and emerged somewhere near the third-floor Charms corridor. It was dead silent. You took a moment to press a palm against the wall, steadying your breath, your other hand clenched into a fist.

You felt the irritation bloom in your bloodstream. You hated disruptions to your perfectly constructed plans. More so if the plan promised you nothing but the desired result in your desired way. You despised the unpredictability of someone else’s incompetence.

The map should’ve been yours tonight. You could’ve had one of the greatest magical tools in your very hands if Choi fucking Yeonjun didn’t fuck up.

Hexing him in your mind wasn’t enough. You needed to see him writhe and squirm and regret every breath he took from the moment he decided to knock over that damned lamp. You wouldn’t stop until he begged. Until the arsenal of curses in your vocabulary bled dry.

Tonight, everything had the chance to change.

You didn’t know what it was exactly but suddenly you felt uncomfortable inside. If your senses weren’t keen, you would’ve almost missed it. The air felt uncharacteristically colder, a dip so slight it could’ve been passed off as a draft. Especially during this time of the year considering summer was fast approaching. Yet here, in this corridor, the air felt wrong. Not just cold, but cutting in a way that made your skin tighten beneath your robes. Your eyes narrowed as you stared ahead.

It was not safe to stay outside now considering the caretaker is well aware someone is breaching the curfew hours. You should’ve doubled back the moment you reached the junction. You should’ve taken the route back to the Slytherin dorm long ago.

But instead, you found yourself walking toward the far end of the corridor. It felt like something magnetic was pulling your being to it. It was as if a vicious voice in your mind telling you to see what you could find in there. You stood in front of the door, now feeling the chill biting into your skin through your robes.

Turn around. Leave.

Magic tainted the air and the darkness that surrounded you, but it was almost foul. It reeked of something utterly bestial.

Just before your hand gripped the doorknob, you paused. You stared at it, eyes slightly narrowed and one single thought planted itself in your mind: But what was the point of going in? There was no logic to this, and definitely no reward waiting on the other side. You didn't even know what was behind that door. If you had the map, perhaps you would’ve had some semblance of direction. Instead, all you had was this knot of frustration curdling in your stomach and a bitter aftertaste crawling up your throat reminding you of your failed heist.

Out of spite, your hand twisted the knob.

Locked.

Your head tilted slightly. There was a strange tension in the air that clung to your skin the moment you touched the door. Magically sealed.

Colloportus, probably.

Someone was inside. Now that tickled your curiosity.

“How useless,” you muttered under your breath before fishing out your wand as you stepped back half a pace, “Alohomora.”

The enchantment peeled away with a faint metallic creak. The door opened, spilling cold, stale air into the corridor like breath from a tomb. Your instincts made you grip your wand tighter, the tip barely alight, casting only a faint glow that brushed against the floor.

As you stepped inside the door shut softly behind you, muffling out the corridor. At first, the light seemed distorted, your vision struggling to orient itself to the strange hue tinting the air.

You didn’t know what you were expecting on the other side. An unused room with dust-slicked furniture, perhaps. Rows of forgotten bookshelves or peeling chalkboards — the leftovers of a classroom that no longer served a purpose. At worst, a Gryffindor huddled over some misguided prank, ready to bolt at the sight of whoever crossed them.

Anything, really. Anything but this.

Tonight, everything was going to change.

Anything but him.

You could've sworn your heart stopped beating for a moment. The hand holding the wand slowly dropped to your side as your eyes adjusted to the dark — hoping you were seeing things.

A rift in space, like a violent slash through the air itself. The air around it warped, sucked inwards and shuddered out, like the room was caught in a perpetual gasp. Blackness spilled outward from it in slow drips, thick tendrils of darkness stretching and recoiling, disappearing again, only to return seconds later with renewed intent. The edges shimmered faintly, like oil catching low light, and the space around it throbbed with unnatural pressure.

And standing before it, back to you, head tilted upward like he was staring into the maw of a god in utter defeat was—

"Soobin?" His name slipped out of you before you could help it. A bewildered recognition punched out of your chest.

Choi Soobin flinched like you’d hexed him.

His body twisted sharply as he turned to face you, eyes wild and trembling. There was a pale sheen on his forehead and a terror in his gaze that had nothing to do with being caught and everything to do with what stood — what moved behind him.

You stepped back instinctively, wand lifted a little higher now. Everything was supposed to change tonight but not like this. You were never supposed to find him, let alone come near him.

It had been a year already without exchanging more than what the corridors and shared classes required — brief flickers of coincidental glances, not even nods. It was meant to stay that way until you took your last breath, until you could forget what he’d asked of you with those eyes, what you gave in return without ever saying yes. But here you were, standing just a reach away from him, again.

“Soobin… what are you doing?”

A little over one summer ago, your world unexpectedly collided with Choi Soobin.

You always steered clear of situations that never concerned you. It wasn’t indifference; rather, it was a necessity. It was a rule you clung to with the kind of desperation only survival breeds.

From the moment you were sorted into Slytherin, your name had carried a shadow. You had no freedom to define yourself because everyone else decided who you were before you had a chance to be anyone.

Peers assumed the worst — that you were manipulative and power hungry. Even the smallest act of kindness from you was met with suspicion, as if it were part of a larger scheme. You still remembered a moment in second year — offering to help a Hufflepuff carry a stack of books, only to watch them recoil like you’d threatened them. You remembered thinking to yourself, what would a twelve year old possibly do?

In group projects, Slytherins were the ones no one wanted to be paired with. In duels, you were expected to go too far, and so you held back until it was dangerous to do so.

You learned fast that there was no benefit in trying to prove yourself otherwise. No matter what you did, your actions would always be dissected under the same poisoned lens. This prejudice, this reputation that Slytherins couldn’t escape sometimes baffled you. You had to learn to lean into the mask they gave you just so you could quietly survive. The unfairness you faced didn’t soften with time; it calcified. Hardened into something dense and cold in your chest. It was rage, maybe, but rage so familiar that it settled inside you like second skin.

Therefore, you began to adapt. If the world expected you to be dangerous, then at least you’d make sure they were right to be scared. You started giving them what they wanted. You built a shell so tight around you that you could breathe without fear of anyone getting too close. You developed a habit to always make sure you’re the one in control.

Because being in control meant being safe. Control was how you survived. In this twisted, prejudiced system that you’ve come to resent so deeply, you had to make sure you played the game cunningly. People always assumed Slytherins were power-hungry. They never realized that power was just another word for safety — one you were forced to cling to, because of how the world decided who you were before giving you a chance.

The House prejudice. The biased professors. The way people assumed light was good and dark was evil — you despised all of it. But instead of trying to break the system, you chose to play it better than anyone else. The only power you craved was the kind that let you live without compromise.

And maybe that’s why people like Choi Soobin made no sense to you.

He existed on the other end of the spectrum, where people assumed the best instead of the worst. Head Boy. Top of the class. House of blue and bronze. Teachers adored him. Students respected him. To them, he was the golden standard, someone whose light could not be touched by shadows. You’d always watched him from a distance, not out of envy, but as a way to study the architecture of privilege. The kind of boy who never had to prove he was good — people just believed he was.

You had always seen him as the perfect, pristine model of a student — without a hint of fault, always so thoroughly put together that it seemed almost unnatural. His uniform never bore a crease, his hair always neatly styled and his dimpled smile which was entirely too charming — was the sort that teachers favoured and classmates admired. His record gleamed with achievements, badges, merits, and praise. It was only natural, then, that you saw him as one might look upon an altar, some polished figure placed far above your reach, never faltering and never flawed.

He always looked so unbreakable.

Until that summer of your freshman year, when you pushed open an unused storage room’s door on the outskirts of the castle, you found him hiding away with tears running down his cheeks. And just like that, everything you thought you knew began to fray.

The summer sun flared behind you, casting a wide spill of golden light across the dusty floor, stopping just short of where he sat crumpled in the dark. That spill of light caught his face, and for the first time, you saw Choi Soobin — utterly shattered.

He was crouched down, knees pulled to his chest, shoulders trembling as though whatever composure he usually clung to had slipped completely from his grasp. His face was flushed and puffy, neat hair now askew and those lips — bitten and swollen — looked like he’d tried to hold the sobs in until it hurt.

Your eyes widened on instinct, mirroring his, except his were glassy and bloodshot, and the moment hung between you like glass waiting to hit the floor — your breath stuck in your throat, his faltering in his chest.

The tear tracks that streaked his cheeks glistened faintly in the scant light ought to have made your stomach twist with empathy. But that sight of him — this pathetic, crumpled version of Choi Soobin — sent a rush through your bloodstream so sharp and immediate you almost didn’t recognise it.

It slithered through your chest like a thrill you had no right to feel, a bitter sort of satisfaction rooted not in cruelty but in the cruel symmetry of it all. Because right in front of you was Choi Soobin with a crack in his polished shell. How lucky were you to catch it? Alone, and by sheer accident?

A strangled sound left his throat as he stumbled upwards, hands fumbling to steady himself against the wall. One arm reached out towards you as though bridging the space might undo what had just occurred.

"Why are you here — no, it doesn’t matter. You—!"

Your heart kicked to your stomach at the sight because of what it meant. He was going to plead. You could see it forming in his panicked eyes, in the way he was reaching out slightly, from the shadows he curled in, towards you who stood at the threshold in the light.

It was ironic, almost cruelly so. All this time, you had been the one forced into shadows while he basked under everyone’s approval. And now, here he was, desperate and cornered in the dark, with you holding the door. That image clung to your vision, tipped the balance of your thoughts.

"Please," he rasped, voice hoarse and shaky. "Don’t tell anyone. You didn’t see this. Alright? You didn’t see me. Please."

Because even as your heartbeat quickened, even as your mind raced through the possibilities this encounter had suddenly opened, a low, grim voice inside your head reminded you that this was someone breaking. You weren’t supposed to feel satisfaction watching it happen. It came with an edge of shame, twisting itself around your ribs. You weren’t cruel. You never had been. But the balance of power had always been something you fought to claim, and now that it lay squarely in your hands, warm and alive and real — you couldn’t pretend you didn’t want to close your fist around it.

He said it again, almost tripping over the repetition, each plea more frantic than the last. His tone was splintered with desperation, barely stitched together by what little dignity he had left to himself. He sounded as if the very idea of you walking away with this memory terrified him more than being found in this state by anyone else.

Because you were the one person who’d say nothing, and mean it. Unless you didn’t.

And oh, the way your heart picked up with each of his pleas. This wasn’t the sort of power you clawed tooth and nail for in the face of prejudice. This was power handed to you, freely, through the very act of witnessing. He had no clue what you might do with it — and that, more than anything, made him panic.

A part of you recoiled at the sensation and as much as that part of you that still remembered the sting of loneliness wanted to offer him mercy, the part that had learned to survive by staying three steps ahead… it could already see the leverage hanging between you.

For years, you’d learned how to hold your tongue, when to manipulate a conversation, how to survive being judged before anyone saw the green and silver snake emblem — after all the side glances, all the mistrust, and all the assumptions it was like the universe had thrown you a bone.

Golden, rule-bound, Head Boy Soobin, asking for your silence.

You didn’t need to think very hard. If he didn’t want this moment to exist, then you held the power to erase it — or hold it like a noose. You wondered, idly, what it would feel like to have him caught in your palm. What might he give for your silence? What could you make of that control if you truly chose to keep it?

"Why?" you asked, your tone cutting through the charged air. "What’s in it for me?"

Soobin froze, eyes widening, clearly taken aback by the question. His mouth parted, searching — no, scrambling for something, anything to say in return. But for a few seconds, he came up empty, lips working soundlessly until his gaze flickered to the floor. The apparent defeated breath which slipped past his trembling lips ruefully had you claiming your victory. You should’ve known better than to think you could easily seize up a Ravenclaw like him.

You watched the change wash over him like it was a spell. He straightened up fully, the trembling in his frame gradually pushed aside by the sharper angles as if remembering the role he was supposed to play. There it was again — that mask. Neatly pulled back into place, only this time you knew how easily it cracked.

"Forget it," he said sharply, though his voice cracked slightly around the edge, betraying the rush with which he reclaimed control. "Just go. If you’ve got what you wanted, then go on. Walk out. It won’t matter either way, will it?"

You blinked once, your brow twitching in surprise that slowly bled into caution. There was something in the way he said it, a calculated precision that felt as though it had been honed under pressure. It was meant to cut.

"No one’s going to believe you anyway."

With two long strides, his frame came close enough but still maintained a safe distance. He towered above you in height, his shoulder far above where yours stood, and you took in the way that if you had stood a little more close to him — his lips would have easily brushed your forehead if he so much as leaned in. Yet, your chin stayed level. Your feet didn’t budge.

But the meaning behind the words struck harder than you anticipated. You’d heard that before too many times, from too many people, in too many forms. Like he’d plucked it directly from the mouth of every person who'd instinctively blamed your house for bruised egos.

The implication that your voice held less weight simply because of the house you’d been sorted into. He meant it as a bluff, a wall of indifference to hide the very real fear he’d shown before. But those words scraped across old wounds, and the sting made your fingers twitch.

A breath caught in your throat, then left as something closer to a scoff. You've played this game too many times to lose your balance now. You gave him a look that teetered on the edge of disbelief and smiled, or rather, allowed your mouth to curl into something too restrained to be mirth.

"Are you sure about that, Head Boy?" The title left your lips like a mock coronation stripped bare. "Because not long ago, you looked frightened out of your skin over what I might do after seeing you like… this. Doesn’t seem like such a throwaway moment now, does it?"

You stepped forward slowly, one foot after another, until there was barely an arm’s length left between you both. Soobin didn’t move but his throat bobbed with a swallow, jaw clenched — and your gaze stayed level with his, unshaken.

"If you’re confident," you said quietly, laced with the barest edge of challenge, "then say it again. Tell me to leave, to walk out of here bearing witness to your pitiful state, trusting that blind hope of yours that I’ll just let it all vanish. Go on, Soobin. Tell me."

His jaw ticked, eyes flickering with too many thoughts at once, and for a long, stretched-out second he simply stood there, every inch of his tall frame taut with conflict. Then, lethargically he dragged a hand across his face. His fingers pressed hard into his brow, then down over the curve of his cheek, wiping off the exhaustion with those long drag of his fingers.

"What do you want?" he asked, finally.

This was him giving in — not to you personally, but to the situation. And that’s when you get to decide the terms of how this arrangement will proceed. You took a moment yourself to think over what you truly wanted.

You didn't hold any personal vendetta against him nor do you want to hurt him. You never wanted to hurt him in the first place, only sought to solidify the leverage he himself presented in front of you. Having the Head Boy tethered to you — even by circumstance — might one day tip the scales in your favour. And right now, you weren’t above playing the long game.

Your gaze flicked briefly to the scuffed floor beneath your shoes, your expression falling into one of mild, almost disinterested contemplation, though your mind raced through possibilities with exacting clarity. After a few moments, you let your lips curl into the faintest semblance of a smile.

"Hmm. I’ll think about it," you said at last, voice low but audible. Then, meeting his eyes again, you added, "Until then, our hands are manacled."

Your smile had barely faded, the echo of your words still hanging in the air —

"Until then, our hands are manacled."

— when you made the turn, prepared to let him go, to walk out and leave the silence to stitch him back together. You had no intention of dragging it further, no desire to bruise what dignity he still had, only to mark the moment, to keep the upper hand. But before your foot could land into a stride, his fingers closed around your wrist.

They weren’t rough or bruising, but they held just enough insistence to halt your step and to command your attention. Your head turned sharply. He was looking at you not with that frantic panic from earlier but with a kind of stillness that unsettled you. The flush had left his face, leaving behind a pallor that did not suit him, and his breath came shallower than it should have.

"I don’t like to be in anyone’s debt," Soobin said, and though the words came soft, there was nothing weak about them. They were steady enough to sound like a decision had been made. “So whatever it is you want — name it. Just say it, and you’ll have it. Then we’ll be done.”

You blinked at him, momentarily caught off-guard by the vehemence in his voice. You weren’t sure what surprised you more — that he still had it in him to bark terms, or that he thought this was a simple trade to finalise and forget. You studied his face, the stubborn tilt of his chin clashed with the dampness at his temples, the taut lines around his mouth, the sheen over his skin. Your eyes flicked to the point of contact between you — your wrist, small in his hand — and you gave it the faintest twist, more a signal than a struggle.

"Let go," you muttered.

But before you could follow through, before you could wrench your hand back fully, your gaze caught on a detail that hadn’t been there seconds ago. A line, red and stark, had begun its slow descent from his nose to the curve of his lip. You blinked once, processing it.

"Soo—"

Your attempt to speak his name fractured mid-syllable as his expression shifted — eyes unfocused and jaw slackening. His frame swayed alarmingly, head tilting forward but he looked at you mustering all of his might one last time.

“Please,” he managed to breathlessly croak out. His grip, which had held you fast only moments ago, tightened just once, a brief flare of strength as if trying to hold onto something, anything. Then it went slack completely.

In a heartbeat his knees buckled and the full weight of him collapsed forward.

Soobin woke with a start, lungs dragging in air that felt stale and far too cold against his damp skin. His chest heaved once before he shot up onto his elbows, eyes darting around with a vague urgency as though he couldn’t quite piece together where he was. The dimness of the room pressed in on him, shadows stretching long across the stone floor. It was only when he caught sight of the small, rectangular window near the ceiling — its glass tinged with the bruised hues of dusk that it clicked. He was still in the storage room. The sun had gone down. How long had he been unconscious this time?

He shifted slightly and saw a robe, folded neatly and placed beneath his head like a makeshift pillow. His own had been draped over him, now pooled in his lap where it slipped down when he sat up. His brows furrowed, and he was about to straighten up further when a voice made him flinch.

"You’re up?"

His gaze snapped across the room. You were sitting against the opposite wall, legs stretched out in front of you. There was nothing pointed about your tone, nor any warmth either.

At a loss he turned his head slightly, taking in the storage room with a fresh glance but the abrupt movement sent a sharp throb blooming behind his temples and he winced.

"Don’t move around too much," you said, uncrossing your arms and getting to your feet with minimal fuss. "You passed out from exhaustion."

You crossed the room in even strides before crouching down beside him — not too close, but near enough that he could see the faint sheen of sweat on your collarbone, likely from the stress of the situation rather than the air itself. His eyes tracked your movement before narrowing slightly.

"Why are you still here?" he asked, tone lower than usual, roughened by wear.

Your eyes rolled over to his with a sardonic tilt to your brow. "Surely you weren’t expecting me to lug you up to the Hospital Wing, were you?" There was a dry slant to your voice, and your gaze flicked once to his tall frame, your meaning crystal clear.

He had the decency to look slightly confused.

"I nicked a few healing potions," you added, pulling a small vial from your pocket and turning it over in your hand. "Didn’t use a Reviving Spell because you looked too comfortable knocked out cold."

But Soobin just blinked at you, frown deepening as he shook his head faintly, strands of hair brushing against his forehead. "No... that’s not what I meant. I meant—" he faltered, eyes narrowing again, "—why didn’t you leave?"

You stilled, the potion vial cooling in your palm. You looked at him squarely then, and a soft sigh pushed from your chest as if the answer, though simple, was too tangled to unpack in full. You let your gaze fall away for a moment, tracing the dull lines on the stone floor, before you leaned forward and offered the vial towards him.

"Why were you crying?"

The question came out quiet but not tentative, as though you already knew the answer — which you did — and were just daring him to name it aloud.

He didn’t take the vial nor did he answer, rather his eyes dropped to his fists, now limp against his lap. He stared at them for a moment, before murmuring, "I thought I said I don’t like to be in anyone’s debt."

You chuckled, the sound soft and lacking any real bite, though it made him glance up with mild surprise. It was clear then that he hadn’t expected that reaction. You, on the other hand, were beginning to see him more clearly with every passing minute.

The perfect version of Choi Soobin in your mind had long since shattered. And now, as he sat there frowning at his own hands like they’d betrayed him, you could finally admit that he was no different from you in the ways that mattered.

You gave the bottle a small shake and then dropped it into his lap, where he fumbled clumsily to catch it.

"You won’t be in my debt," you said evenly, and got to your feet again without waiting to see whether he drank it or not.

Soobin's fingers tightened slightly around the healing vial in his hand, knuckles paling as his eyes lifted slowly, gaze steady in that way of his — still somewhat guarded, but no longer openly confrontational.

"For what?" he asked, a rasp still clinging to the edge of it. "For your silence? Or the fact that you helped me?"

You paused in your step, then turned just enough to glance down at where he sat. The rigidity hadn’t left his posture, and you could see the way he was still watching you like he expected the other shoe to drop. It struck you then, how similar it looked to the way you’d spent half your life waiting, anticipating, calculating. It almost felt like staring at a mirror.

And for once, you couldn’t fault him for it.

"You’re still on guard," you observed, your tone level, not accusing. You turned back to face forward again, keeping your gaze on the opposite wall as you spoke. "Can’t blame you. I’d be, too."

Soobin didn’t respond straight away. But then his voice came, a little rough, the words spoken slowly like he wanted each one to land. "You asked what was in it for you. So how do I — why should I — trust that you’re not just doing all this because it benefits you somehow?"

You didn’t look at him right away. Your gaze flicked to the dim slit of the window, the last strips of sun thinning out like paint against the castle wall, and you exhaled slowly before finally meeting his eyes again.

"You’ve every right to be cautious," you murmured. Then, quietly, as though confessing it more to yourself than him, "I might’ve wanted a transaction earlier. I’d be stupid not to. But I’m not heartless. I couldn’t walk out and leave you there, knowing full well I could help."

The question in his eyes was still there, though fainter now, as though his certainty was beginning to wear thin. And maybe that’s why you said what you did next.

"I’m not what they make me out to be," you said. "Most times, I’m not even close. And you of all people should know what that’s like, shouldn’t you?"

That made his brows draw in, and the crease between them deepened just slightly. You knew he’d caught the implication.

"People see what they want, right? They call you perfect because it suits them. Just like they look at me and see trouble. A Slytherin must be scheming. I’m used to being doubted. But you—" Your voice softened just a notch, not in pity, but in recognition. "You get doubted for the opposite. No room to slip up because you’re the one everyone bets on."

"You don’t know anything about me," he muttered at last, gaze dropping and away from yours.

"I could say the same," you replied without hesitation. "Besides, I’ve seen plenty already."

You watched the storm gather behind his eyes again, but it wasn’t the same as before. There was less bite in it, more weariness. With a sigh, you stepped closer and crouched beside him again, retrieving the vial he still hadn’t opened. "Drink it," you said, holding it up in front of him. "It’ll help. You’re still half out of it, and it’s getting late. They’re probably already wondering where you are."

He hesitated, but finally took it and drank, his throat working through the bitter liquid. You waited, arms draped across your knees. When he lowered the bottle, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, you didn’t bother sugar-coating the next question.

"Why don’t you want people to see you like this?"

He didn’t look at you, just stared down at his hands. Then, almost like the words slipped out without meaning to, he said, "My worth only matters if I come out on top."

Your head tilted, just slightly. The pieces had been falling into place from the moment you found him, but now they were slotting in too perfectly. You didn’t say anything for a moment. Slowly, you exhaled.

You were beginning to think there wasn’t much point in keeping him leashed by some hollow agreement. He was just as misjudged as you. So you shifted back, sitting on your heels, and said, "Look, I know trust isn’t a word people use around Slytherins. I’m not asking for that. But if it’s fairness you want, then here’s my offer. You agree to help me out when I ask — and in return, I keep this between us. That’s it. Just an even trade."

You watched him closely, saw the flicker in his expression as he tried to process your offer, the way he was weighing the edges of your words. And maybe you should’ve been more idealistic, more kind-hearted, but that wasn’t how you’d learnt to survive.

You hoped he’d say yes — not just for your sake, but because it meant he’d started to see you as more than the house stitched on your robes. But even then, deep down, you knew better than to let your guard down. Because in your world, trust was a currency far more dangerous than gold, and if he ever turned on you, you’d have to do what you always did: survive.

“Alright.”

Soobin couldn’t recall the last time he’d slept properly. His days began far too early, long before the rest of the castle had stirred, trudging into duties that he never had the heart to refuse. The badge stitched into his robes caught the sunlight just right, glinting with every step, as though reminding him of what was expected. He ticked every box, filled every space that others left behind. It was never enough to simply do well; he had to do more. He had to be more.

By the time evening fell, Soobin had already run himself ragged. His nights were riddled with broken naps, eyes shut only to be startled awake by the persistent tug of responsibility. More often than not, he’d catch the sunrise from the dormitory window — bleary-eyed, blanket kicked to the floor, still in uniform from the day before. If he did sleep, it was never for long, and it was never uninterrupted. And yet, every single morning, he would rise and reapply the polish on the version of himself that the world had come to know. He’d fasten the buttons on his robe, draw his tie straight, and pull that mask on with both hands — the one that made people proud of him. The one that made them believe he had it all figured out. The one that hid the parts of him that no one cared to ask about.

He hadn’t even realised, until recently, just how long he’d been wearing it. It had grown into his face like a second skin. He often told himself that he was doing it all for his own sake. That the pursuit of perfection was something he wanted. But if he peeled back the layers, if he really sat down and looked the truth in the eye, he knew it wasn’t that simple. Since he was a child, affection and approval had come tethered to achievement. A good grade earned praise, a trophy won applause, an honour badge earned a pat on the head. It didn’t take long for the boy to understand: his value was conditional and was tied directly to success. And so he adapted. He became whatever was needed of him. The world taught him that love and worth were things to be earned.

So, every morning, he told himself again: this is for me. But behind that mask Soobin was already rotting.

The real him — the raw, tired, fallible boy that existed beneath the accolades and expectations had long been buried beneath a veneer of perfection polished so thoroughly that even he struggled to remember what lived underneath. It wasn’t that he wanted to fool anyone, but the thought of letting that image slip, even by a thread, left him dreading what might be left behind. The fear was always there, crouched at the back of his mind: if he stopped producing, if he slipped up, even once, would he still matter? Would he still be worthy of the praise he’d spent his entire youth collecting? Each day they asked more of him — more excellence, more responsibility, more poise and each day, Soobin gave them all of it with a smile that never reached his eyes. He gave until he had nothing left, and still, the asking never ceased.

No one had ever managed to break through the mask he wore — not classmates, not professors, not even his closest acquaintances who only ever saw the version of him that smiled at the right time, performed when needed, and never once faltered. The hollow part of him, the part hidden behind tired eyes and rehearsed words, had been left untouched. Until you appeared with a sledgehammer and hit it square on his face, cracking the mask in one go.

You, who were supposed to be a stranger.

Soobin hadn’t known what to make of you. He knew your name, of course. You’d both walked the same corridors for years. Sat in the same exam halls. Existed in the same world but it had never collided. He had always been far too consumed with perfecting himself to ever stop and consider the people around him. While yours seemed untouched by that particular strain of madness, carved from a quieter kind of resilience.

He thought you were the sort who liked to be alone, someone who kept to the shadows by choice. Maybe he hadn’t cared to look beyond the lines he’d drawn in his head. He had never paused to wonder what you might be like beyond the stories told in whispers between students, never thought your paths would cross in a way that mattered.

And now, in the wake of a single moment that had slipped past control, you were there, woven into the edges of his thoughts, tethered to a side of himself he’d worked desperately to conceal. You had seen a part of him that he hadn’t even let himself look at for too long. And Soobin, for all his cleverness, didn’t know how to untangle that without losing hold of the rest.

“Soobin?”

The voice cut clean through his thoughts, sharp enough to pull him back from wherever his mind had wandered. He blinked, turning his head toward the Ravenclaw prefect standing beside him with an expectant look. Right. They were in the middle of an inspection. A lost artefact, supposedly one of the older enchanted trinkets tucked away for display, had gone missing over the weekend, and somehow it had turned into a full-blown investigation. Not that the item held any real threat or value; if anything, Soobin thought the whole affair had been blown grossly out of proportion. He cleared his throat, mustering a faint smile as he straightened up.

“Sorry — what were you saying?”

The prefect, arms folded and brow creased, let out a sigh. “I said we ought to check the dungeons next. The Slytherin prefects have been acting shifty ever since we mentioned rounding up their lot for questioning.” Another groan followed, the boy’s voice carrying an exaggerated drawl. “Honestly, I’ve seen them slinking about corridors they’ve no business being in. Always somewhere they shouldn’t be. Isn’t it obvious who we ought to start with?”

Soobin listened, the words floating past him like smoke, leaving behind only irritation. It had been three days since that afternoon in the storage room — three long days filled with restless thoughts, unspoken questions, and your voice echoing in the corners of his mind: "I’m not what they make me out to be." — "You of all people should know what that’s like." And he did. Merlin help him, he did.

“No,” he said, voice clipped but not raised, the change in tone enough to make the prefect blink. “Leave the Slytherins out of it. Unless you’ve got solid proof, there’s no cause to single them out. You told me the last magic trace showed the artefact was by the lake, didn’t you?” He raised an eyebrow, the smile now gone from his face. “Then if you’re so eager, go dive in and see what you find.”

The prefect’s face coloured with disbelief. He opened his mouth to object, but Soobin cut him off before a single word could leave his lips.

“You’re dismissed.”

The prefect faltered then turned on his heel and stalked off. Soobin’s eyes drifted to the window at the far end of the corridor, to the grey skies outside. Three days, and yet your words still stirred something uncomfortably real in him.

Yes, this was what his mind had become in the aftermath; an utter disarray because of you.

To clear his mind, Soobin had taken to sorting potions in the classroom long before any of the junior students were due to arrive. The room was still and faintly lit by the slanted sunlight pouring through the narrow windows, and for a short while, that silence had granted him the illusion of peace. He busied himself sorting through labelled vials and rattling jars filled with potion ingredients, meticulously aligning them according to the Professor’s usual arrangement, hoping the orderliness would somehow impose itself upon the growing disorder in his mind.

Anything to stop his mind from drifting back to that moment three days ago. Anything to stop thinking about you. And of course, as if summoned by thought alone, the door creaked open.

He froze mid-reach, heart lurching with the sharp recognition that some part of him had known it would be you. You paused in the doorway, your own expression unreadable, but you masked your surprise more effectively than he did. Glancing around at the empty classroom, you ambled in and let a few vials drop onto the surface with a clink.

"You following me now?" you said, tone dry but teasing, your eyes flicking toward him with a faint quirk of your brow.

Soobin, throat dry, feigning a disinterested scoff and muttered, "Don’t flatter yourself."

You smirked faintly, then leaned back against one of the desks. "Word is, someone’s lost a trinket and now the castle’s having a meltdown over it."

He watched your face more than he listened to your words, wondering if you, too, had already been on the receiving end of those narrow-eyed stares and baseless suspicions like the rest of your house? He wouldn’t put it past them. Slytherin had always made for convenient scapegoats. He didn’t know if anyone had singled you out yet, and he wouldn’t ask — but the thought made his chest tighten regardless.

"I’m looking into it," he said at last, hands fiddling with a cork that didn’t need adjustment. "I’m doing what I can to stop people jumping to conclusions. But — well — I mean, I just hope —"

You snorted and held up a hand, cutting him off without needing to raise your voice. "Don’t pity us. Told you, we’re used to it by now. Frankly, it’s getting funny. Watching them scurry around like rats thinking they’ve uncovered something worthwhile. But I will say this — you’re wasting your time rounding us up."

You reached into your robe and pulled out another small vial, turning it over between your fingers before tossing it lightly to the desk beside him. He watched you cross the room with an unhurried gait before you leaned your side against another desk, tilting your head slightly as you continued. "One of your prefect lackeys cornered me yesterday, asked if I’d been out past curfew. Couldn’t lie — of course I had. Have you seen our dorm? Feels like a cupboard on the best of days. Sometimes I need air, that’s all."

His eyes widened, caught off guard by the ease with which you admitted to rule-breaking, and you laughed at the expression he wore.

"Lucky I was out, though. I had such a magnificent view of the Great Lake. You might want to check with the Gryffindor Quidditch lot."

He blinked, processing your words. "Are you sure you saw —"

You shrugged, straightening up, brushing past him with a careless grace. "Up to you, Head Boy. Whether you believe me or not, that’s your decision."

Just before stepping out, you gave him a languid wave over your shoulder. Just like that you were gone, leaving him standing there amidst the shelves and sunlight and questions.

Soobin stood unmoving for several long moments, your words echoing louder than he’d expected. There was no logic in doubting you — not when everything you’d done until now pointed away from manipulation. Besides, you had every reason not to help him. Perhaps it was your way of keeping the suspicion away from your house, now that you had him at a disadvantage. Or were you truly doing it because you simply could?

Either way, the more he thought of you, the less sense you made, and the more you occupied his thoughts.

But for now, he had to take a chance. A risk, yes — but one rooted in instinct. By mid-afternoon, he had assembled his group of prefects and approached the Gryffindor Quidditch team. What followed sent a ripple through the castle by sundown: sure enough, buried beneath spare brooms and scattered playbooks, the artefact was found, tucked into a leather duffle that bore the team’s crest.

The case, to the astonishment of many, was closed within hours.

In the Great Hall, under the enchanted ceiling dimming into evening stars, Soobin had been summoned to the front of the room and praised, his name ringing out across the four long tables amid applause and murmured admiration. He bowed his head politely, offered the required responses, accepted the accolades — but it felt hollow.

Because the truth sat heavily in his chest: the success wasn’t his. It all felt wrong because it wasn’t his doing.

As his eyes swept over the Slytherin table, he found you seated among the others, your chin propped on your palm, your expression as unreadable as ever. But you were watching him. He held your gaze, his shoulders slumped with the breath leaving him in a slow sigh. If his eyes could speak, he hoped they’d managed to say the words he couldn’t voice aloud, not here.

You did this.

You smiled faintly, a small twitch of your lips before you looked away.

The applause continued, but Soobin could no longer hear it properly over the ringing in his ears. The recognition refused to sit right. Praise meant nothing when it was built on someone else’s truth. If the system failed to acknowledge how to recognise the likes of you, someone had to.

Because he, at least, knew the full story — and he wasn’t about to forget it.

For as long as you could remember, sleep had never been something that came easily to you. It was a fickle guest at best, arriving uninvited and leaving without warning, more often absent than present. There were stretches of time where your nights blurred into each other, endless hours spent staring at the ceiling of your dormitory, thoughts circling like vultures over carrion, refusing to give you peace. On nights when the insomnia bit harder than you could handle, you would find yourself wandering beneath the stars, seeking calm in the open air and high arches of the Astronomy Tower. It had long since become your refuge, a haven away from the noise, both external and internal.

Draped in shadows and starlight, the tower had always felt like another world entirely, a secret space far removed from the buzz and bustle of daily life. Up there, it was just you and the sky, the stretch of it so vast it made your problems feel smaller, if only for a little while. Over time, the late hours had become sacred, a carved-out slice of the day that belonged solely to you. You knew the patrol schedule of the prefects by heart, memorised the patterns of their rounds and adjusted your movements accordingly, weaving yourself between the gaps they left behind. It was a routine that had served you well for years, earned and protected with vigilance.

So when you reached the floor just beneath the tower that night, bleary-eyed from another restless stretch and wrapped in your usual cloak of solitude, it came as a rude jolt to realise your calculations had, for once, failed you. The faint scuff of approaching footsteps told you someone else was near, and your brain kicked into high alert, racing to concoct a plausible diversion or escape plan that might buy you time. But your mind never had the opportunity to come up with a plan.

A strong hand caught your arm, and before you could so much as draw a breath, you were pulled into a narrow alcove, swallowed by shadows. Another hand came over your mouth firmly and you froze in alarm. Your heart thundered in your chest as your back hit the cool stone of an alcove wall. You blinked trying to restore your disoriented vision in the dark and when your vision steadied, you saw Soobin.

He was pressed close, his body angled between yours and the faint light spilling in from the corridor, and he looked at you with a warning glint in his eyes as he brought a finger to his lips, silently urging you not to make a sound. You stared at him, stunned into silence, and after a long beat, he slowly withdrew his hand from your mouth and stepped back. The sudden lack of contact made the air feel colder somehow, and you drew in a sharp breath as if recovering from a plunge underwater.

From where you stood, tucked away in the shadows, you listened to him speak with another prefect. His tone was levelled as he dismissed her presence with a few convincing words about being on patrol and already checking the area. Eventually, the sound of footsteps receded down the staircase.

You remained still until you were certain the coast was clear, then turned your head toward him. He leaned against the entrance of the alcove, arms crossed over his chest, and for a moment there was something almost rueful in the way he looked at you.

"Had a feeling you’d be here tonight," he said, voice softer than you expected.

You eyed him warily; instinct dictated your response. Your brow arched, tone dry as ever. "So you are following me."

To your surprise, he laughed — a proper one, soft but genuine, and you found yourself momentarily thrown. It wasn’t the reaction you’d expected, and as the sound settled, you noticed how it pulled deeper creases at the corners of his eyes. His dimple deepened, and though you’d never admit it aloud, your gaze lingered on it a moment too long.

He motioned his head toward the staircase. "Come on."

You hesitated for a heartbeat before following him up the remaining flight, steps silent against the worn stone. When you reached the top, he didn’t speak immediately, simply moved to one side to let you pass through the archway that opened into the Astronomy Tower. The wind tugged faintly at your hair, and above, the sky stretched wide and blinking with stars.

"I was wondering," he said eventually, glancing sidelong at you, "if you wanted to seal our transaction."

That caught your attention. You regarded him with narrowed eyes. "Oh? What do you propose?"

He exhaled slowly, as though choosing his words with care. "Top floors are part of my patrol area. I usually take the tower last, so it’s clear most nights. You could use it — whenever you like, really."

You tilted your head, assessing him, weighing the truth in his words against the instinct that had long since taught you to doubt everyone. He seemed to sense it because his voice softened, the bravado peeling back just slightly.

"It’s my way of saying thank you. And... I’m sorry. For the things I said back in the storage room. The way I looked at you then. If using the tower brings you any kind of peace, then maybe it’ll bring me some too. Knowing I could give you something in return."

You scoffed at his words, startled perhaps, but far too practised at hiding it to let the slip show for long, and as always, you reached for the oldest armour in your arsenal: deflection. “You do realize I didn’t do anything grand for you, right?”

Soobin didn’t so much as blink at your reply. If anything, he looked rather resigned to hearing it, offering a soft nod that seemed more of a confirmation to himself than a response meant for you. “Yep. Had a feeling you’d say that,” he murmured, then he held out a hand, as though proposing a treaty. "Truce?"

Your gaze dropped to his outstretched hand, studying it as though it were a foreign object before your expression twisted with incredulity, arms crossing in front of your chest in a motion that was part self-protection, part calculated provocation. “And access to the Restricted Section whenever I need it. You’ll cover for me,” you bargained smoothly.

One of his brows arched, and though his expression remained composed, there was the faintest flicker of exasperation in his eyes, perhaps even reluctant amusement at your audacity. “I don’t even have permission to enter that place myself,” he replied, the protest lacking any real conviction.

You only shrugged, unbothered. “Yes, but you’ll be let off the hook far more easily than I would, wouldn’t you? I’ll take advantage of that,” you said, voice light but the meaning underneath it anything but.

A long sigh escaped him, and he brought his fingers up to rub at his temples as though your very presence were both a headache and puzzle. You raised your hand with theatrical flair, interrupting him with a disarming smile that hinted at mischief rather than apology.

“I think that evens out the weight of our deals. I’m being so terribly generous by keeping your secret, after all. Surely you can manage this much for me in return. Unless —” You tilted your head, letting the smirk curl lazily across your lips. “Your saintliness is repulsed by my sins?”

That drew a comical snort out of him, and he shook his head, shoulders dropping a touch as though conceding the match, if only this round. He turned without answering, crossing the space to where a weathered satchel lay slumped against the stone wall of the tower. From it, he pulled a book bearing the tell-tale signs of having been plucked from the shelves no ordinary student was meant to touch.

When he held it out to you, you didn’t move to take it right away. Your brows drew together, gaze narrowing as it moved between the book and his face. “You don’t have permission to enter the Restricted Section, you say?” you asked slowly as the implication sank in.

Because it was obvious now — to get that book, he would have had to slip past more than one barrier, and likely break more than a few rules. The smile on his lips told you he hadn’t borrowed it under anyone’s good graces. He’d gone in himself, without approval and permission.

He didn’t look the least bit remorseful. If anything, there was a flicker of pride in the way he stepped closer, extending the book again, as though this too were part of the truce. “As you can see, I’m no saint,” he said with a soft laugh bordering on irony. “You already know that, don’t you?”

Then came the grin again, lopsided and strangely genuine in a way that didn’t suit the polished Head Boy the rest of the school had come to revere. “We’re sharing sins.”

You looked down at his hand again. The very hands that had been manacled to yours by shared sins and lighthearted transactions, as though the pair of you had sealed some farcical pact made in jest. Who could have predicted that those same hands would soon find themselves bound in matters far graver, knotted into secrets far more treacherous, tangled in deeds that could not be wiped clean with a simple curfew excuse or concealing secrets?

You shook his hand once, a simple act that now bore the full weight of a promise neither of you could have fully understood at the time. That was where it began — the point from which everything gradually, almost imperceptibly, began to shift. What started as necessity quickly became habit, and habit became familiarity, until even the strangeness of it began to fade into routine.

It surprised you, how quickly the pattern formed. The corridors would be vacant by the time you arrived, just as he had said, and you no longer had to move with the same guarded tread or cast furtive glances over your shoulder. He would appear after his patrol, and there would be a brief exchange of acknowledgement before you two went into your bubbles.

Most nights passed in that strange parallel silence, with the only sound being the occasional turning of a page. He studied a lot, not just schoolwork but obscure texts filled with difficult incantations, ancient theory, and dense paragraphs even the professors didn’t bother assigning. Sometimes he muttered to himself, testing wordless charms under his breath, barely more than a whisper of intent and flicks of his wand. Other times, he simply fell asleep.

You would watch, faintly incredulous, as his posture would slacken and his chin drop slowly to his chest. There were nights he barely lasted twenty minutes before nodding off, and you had to wonder if he really lacked that much awareness or if he was just that used to trusting no one would disturb him.

Or worse, if he thought you would be kind enough to rouse him when it was time to leave.

He’d be disappointed if he thought you’d be that nice. You weren’t his minder. Yet each time, as if on cue, you found yourself going back to your words; fingers tapping his shoulder or nudging his arm with a muttered, "It’s time."

The days rolled into weeks. There were nights when the silence gave way to words without preamble. One such night found you with your back resting against the cold surface of a column, head tilted back to peer up at the invisible sky beyond the high windows, while Soobin lay sprawled nearby on his back, his arms folded over his midriff. The silence between you transformed into something so harmless now that when he spoke, it didn't feel jarring.

"Mind if I talk?" he asked, not so much seeking permission as gauging whether your presence was receptive to it tonight.

You said nothing, only glanced down at him briefly before returning your gaze upwards, and by now, he knew you well enough to take that for a yes.

"I don’t reckon I’ve slept properly in weeks," he murmured after a moment, as though he didn’t expect an answer, and perhaps didn’t even want one.

You wanted to respond — your nights hadn’t been restful either, not for years now — but instead you stayed still, allowing him to continue.

"There’s always something more to revise, more to commit to memory, more to get just right. If I’m not top of the class, it’s like I’ve failed — like I’m squandering the whole bloody point of it, whatever 'it' is meant to be."

There was a note of distance in his voice now, like he was repeating something someone else had once said to him, or perhaps something he’d told himself so often it had begun to lose all meaning. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling, but they weren’t really seeing it, and when his hand came up to drag across his face, it was with a weariness that seemed to sit in his bones.

"I don’t even know what I’m chasing any longer," he said, pressing his fingertips beneath his eyes, as if he could force back the shadows clinging to them. His voice had lowered further still. He took in a breath, one that hitched slightly at the end. "I reckon most people think I enjoy it — the marks, the badges, the praise. That I live for it. I’ve never said otherwise, have I? That’s probably my own fault." He gave a shrug then, though it looked rather more like his shoulders were folding in on themselves than offering any real dismissal.

Maybe no one had ever asked. You didn’t reply, but you did shift slightly, sock-covered toes flexing beneath your robe as your thumb found the edge of a loose thread at your knee. You rolled it between your fingers, not to fidget, but to keep your hands occupied while your thoughts tangled around his words.

They weren’t revelations, not really — not anymore. Over the course of these late nights, in snatched looks and half-conversations, you had begun to fully piece together a version of Soobin that didn’t match the one paraded around the castle like some living trophy. He’d carried the image so well, you supposed people had stopped asking what lay beneath it. You weren’t even sure if he could see over it himself anymore.

You’d suspected as much weeks ago. Merlin, you’d known from the moment you found him in that cramped storage room, folded in on himself with tears slipping down his face like he was trying to shed everything that made him human.

He wasn’t held together by certainty or pride, but by the sheer pressure of never being allowed to fall behind. He lived in a world of ‘musts’ and ‘shoulds,’ where stepping out of line meant failing entirely. And you — well, you had come to see it far more clearly than you’d intended.

"If I stop," he said, voice thinner now, barely carrying across the distance between you, "it’ll look like I’ve given up. But if I keep going like this, I’ll fall apart." He said it as a truth he'd long since resigned himself to.

So you picked the option where no one notices. You didn’t say it out loud, but the thought crossed your mind anyway, bitter still not untrue.

You glanced at him though all you could really look at were his hands. One brushed a loose string on his sleeve, then curled into a fist. They were restless. He hadn’t looked your way once.

“You’re not very good at taking your own side,” you said eventually. Your voice wasn’t cruel.

He gave a brief snort, as though the truth of it didn’t surprise him. “I’ve not the faintest clue how,” he said, voice dry. “I think — I think I’ve only ever been taught how to win. No one ever mentioned what to do if I decided to lose on purpose. Or if I just lost.”

You shifted again, rolling your head to the side to look at him, your cheek pressed to your forearm, eyes sharp in the shadows. The air was beginning to bite more now somehow, the stone floor colder beneath your robes, but you didn’t move beyond that small adjustment.

"That sounds like a miserable way to live."

He remained silent, then softly, "It is."

No words were shared for a few minutes. You sat with everything he said, not sure whether to add anything, or whether adding anything would cheapen it. It felt like he took a part of his heart out and forced you to hold the bleeding piece. And now it sat in your hands, raw and uncomfortable, a truth so vulnerable you didn’t know if you had the right to hold it. Your hands were now tainted.

His titles and image walked into rooms before he did. His perfection gave people something to admire, but it never gave them a reason to look closer.

“I’ve got people saying they admire me,” he added eventually, the words shaped around a humourless laugh, “saying they’d always be there if I needed. But do I really have anyone I can rely on?”

He said it like a question, but you weren’t sure he wanted an answer. He was lonely. Far lonelier than you’d guessed.

“Is that why you were crying that day?” you asked carefully.

He smiled, if only faintly. “Had no one to talk to. So I tucked myself away till I couldn’t take it anymore.”

He turned then, rolling onto his side to face you properly, one hand folded beneath his head. That smile remained, though it didn’t touch his eyes. “What about you?”

You frowned. “What about me?”

“Why do you always seek control?”

“To survive,” you answered plainly.

But it was enough for soobin. Because he wasn’t a fool, and the truth had been clear to him for a while now. Ever since those strange, shared hours in the storage room brought your paths colliding, he’d had to confront a version of you that defied every assumption he’d once held. You, who always seemed self-possessed and untouched by opinion, had wormed your way into his orbit without propriety, and now, there you remained: fixed and constant and increasingly difficult to ignore. You were in his periphery in ways you hadn’t been before, cropping up in spaces he’d never registered you in, though now, he wondered how he could’ve possibly missed you.

His gaze had become trained on the people around you — he observed the way others spoke to you, the glances exchanged in corridors, the narrowed eyes in classrooms and he noted the subtleties most others overlooked. The treatment wasn’t always cruel, but it was pointed, and it was frequent. Soobin, who had lived much of his life under the soft glow of admiration and expectation, found it easy to see the difference. And in those differences, he understood you better than he expected to.

And you, though less willing to admit it, had started seeing him too. Not just in this shared nightly hour you had, but in your own time, when you caught yourself glancing up in the corridors to find him already there, or letting your gaze pause just a fraction too long when he passed by your table in the Great Hall. He seemed more present now than before, more noticeable, though you weren’t sure whether it was him changing or you. Your eyes knew to find him. And perhaps his had done the same.

You didn’t quite know how to feel about it all. The change wasn’t entirely uncomfortable but it made you wary. That was a more simple way to put it. You, who had learnt better than to give in to soft comforts, couldn’t help but question it. After years of distrust, of guarding yourself against shallow kindness and false smiles, how could you begin to allow anyone in? Even someone who had, bit by bit, begun to pull away at your corners without trying.

For Soobin, it was different. The change felt like breathing for the first time in too long. It confused him, yes, left him reeling in the early days, but it also peeled back that internal tautness he never quite realised he lived with. You with all your blunt remarks and unreadable silences had given him a kind of space he didn’t know he needed. You saw him when he didn’t have anything to offer. You didn’t praise him, didn’t expect him to prove himself, and didn’t look away when the cracks showed. And that had shaken him. Because it meant, for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t terrified of not being enough.

You were always being watched before you were known.

And he was always being looked at, but never really seen.

There was a sharp clarity in it now, the way you mirrored one another in temperament, in guardedness, in how you both wore your defence mechanisms like second skin. He had begun to see through yours, just as you had peeled back his. He knew you kept your heart barricaded not because there was nothing within, but because you had been given far too many reasons to lock it away. And yet, there it was, beating still.

He thought, perhaps selfishly, that if you'd let him, he could be someone you could rely on — just as he had slowly come to rely on you.

“Thank you for listening to me,” he said at length, and though his tone lacked embellishment, there was a sincerity to it that caught you off guard, not because you doubted its truth but because you rarely knew what to do with such honesty when it landed so plainly.

Your eyes snapped toward him, but by then he had turned away, flat on his back again, his face tilted towards the terrace and eyes closed as if he’d already begun to retreat from the moment. Your chest tightened, a discomfort blooming somewhere near your ribs. It wasn’t just his gratitude that disarmed you, but the fact that he meant it and it wasn’t something you were used to.

The air around you tightened. Though you rarely backed down from anything, your mind recoiled before you could think better of it.

“I’m heading back early tonight,” you said briskly, already rising on your feet. There was no sharpness to it, just a faint breathlessness. “Goodnight, Soobin.”

Soobin didn’t question it. He merely nodded once, eyes still closed, and let you go. Maybe he understood. Or maybe he didn’t care. You weren’t sure which would’ve unsettled you more.

Your steps echoed slightly as you made your way down the spiraling stairs, one hand pressed to the stone wall to keep balance, not that it mattered — it was your breath that threatened to slip, your thoughts that began to fray at the edges. You didn’t know what this meant or what tonight would become, if it became anything at all — but as you slipped down into the darkness, one thing had been made clear. Whatever had passed between you tonight, it was not the sort of thing that vanished come morning.

Whether you spoke of it again or not, you’d both remember.

To be continued.

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