#i just want my baby to find peace | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nanamiskentos · 3 months ago

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(JUST MEET ME AT THE) APT! — gojo satoru minors dni. art by chitrartum on twt.

welcome to the christmas tour ! take a seat in section (a) and let the show begin !

prologue. → your ex, that sleazy and no-good scumbag won't stop posting tacky mirror selfies on instagram, arm around his fellow cheater-in-crime. so, christmas eve finds you morose in a dodgy dive bar. why not tumble back into bed with that random, gorgeous stranger you just met?

want to try sitting somewhere else ? take a look at the ticket chart again !

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. never drive, no matter how little alcohol is in you folks!!! never!!! making out, creampiè, hooking up with a stranger, ovèrstimulation, mildly rough sèx, gojo won't tell you what his job is

word count. 9.4k! song inspiration. apt — rosé & bruno mars

a/n. reader lowkey a hater, i love vanilla vodka eggnog </3 i said i was gonna post on 02/12 and i kept my word, literally rushed to finished this before my clinical exams in the cardiac ward 😭😭😭😭😭😭 hope y'all stay healthy. your future surgeons are writing gojo smut on tumblr.com

mp3. don't you want me like i want you, baby? don't you need me like i need you now? sleep tomorrow, but tonight, go crazy. all you gotta do is meet me at the apartment (아파트) !

you think your friends would kill you if they knew this was how you were spending christmas eve. not at some glittering holiday party, nor tucked away in a snow-dusted cabin. but here, holed up in a dimly lit bar with an atmosphere so questionable it should come with a warning label alongside a health and safety audit.

the place had charm, if your definition of charm included scuffed floors, a jukebox stuck on 'last christmas' and a string of blinking lights that looked like they'd been thrown at the walls rather than hung. still, you'd swiped a couple of minty candy canes from a jar near the door, which felt like a win.

your phone sat resolutely off in your bag. self-preservation. no instagram, and no tacky mirror selfies from your scumbag ex with the same smirk he'd worn a month ago when you caught him cheating. with someone who had always been 'just a friend, babe!' you weren't keen to let that ruin the rest of the night, though if you were being honest, you had already let it ruin a good chunk of the month.

"another christmas vodka...sour, please," you squint at the messy chalkboard above the bar, where the christmas specials were scrawled in what would barely pass for handwriting.

the bartender gave a single, surly nod. he looked as though he'd rather be anywhere but here, preferably somewhere free of customers nursing post-breakup bitterness like a fine wine.

and so, you found yourself staring at the tall glass now sitting in front of you, studying the rosemary sprig that swayed lazily in the translucent red liquid. a few cranberries bobbed among the ice cubes like they were on some tiny festive raft.

"woah, that one's way too strong for me."

the voice interrupts your private session of wallowing. you turn your head, slowly, to take in the culprit. he-who-hath-disturbed-the-peace. a man sitting close enough to be annoying, but not close enough to invade your personal space.

it takes you a moment to process the stranger, mostly because of the brain freeze from your ill-timed gulp.

"i mean, it's not bad," you shrug, hoping to sound neutral enough that he leaves you be. but then because you just can't leave well enough alone, you gesture at the specials board, "better than...that, at least."

you jab a finger at the chalk-scrawled abomination: vanilla & peppermint vodka eggnog.

the man frowns, a sharp but somehow charming movement that's overshadowed by the dim lights, "hey, i ordered that one."

you blink like a startled bovine, before breaking into a laugh, "my bad. i'm sure it's really fuckin' delicious."

the stranger chuckles too, a soft and low sound that seems more genuine that it has any right to be, "i hope so. otherwise, this is gonna be a long night."

the man finally shifts, casting aside the dim shadows that lay over him, into the blinking string lights. broad shoulders framed by a dark, tailored jacket that hugs him like a second skin. his hair, startlingly white, was pushed back by — wait, was that a blindfold?

you stare longer than you should have, trying to piece the odd sight together. a cosplay? a k-pop idol wannabe, hoping to get recruited for the next bts tour? perhaps, he was blind, hard of sight? you start to open your mouth, wondering how to phrase the intrusive and awkward questions, but he beats you to it.

"i can see you just fine, y'know," he says, his tone laced with amusement.

your cheeks burn at the realisation that he's caught you gawking shamelessly. so you quickly turn back to your drink, suddenly very interested in the cranberries floating in the glass.

the bartender returns, sliding the stranger's drink onto the counter with an audible clink. it was the most obnoxious cocktail that you'd ever seen. a martini glass filled with frothy, pale liquid and crowned with a cinnamon stick that jutted out like the mast of some ridiculous holiday ship.

you watch, mildly horrified, as the man picks up the glass and downs half of it in one confident gulp. he sets it down a satisfied sigh, and a smack of his glossy lips, and you wrinkle your nose involuntarily at the sight.

"i swear it's good," he says with a laugh, catching your expression. his grin is wide, playful. and you find yourself smiling back despite your sour, gloomy mood.

he has a nice smile, you note. not forced nor smug, but genuine. framed by pale pink lips that curl up in an easy, natural way. it was strange though, to look at someone without seeing their eyes.

"i'm gojo, by the way," he offers, his voice smooth and lightly amused once more, as if he'd caught you studying him again.

your gaze drops to his hands, long and slender, tracing the rim of the martini glass. something about the way they move — elegant and deliberate, hold your attention a moment too long for propriety. you quickly snap your focus back to his face, "what brings you here, gojo?"

gojo shrugs, and you can almost imagine him rolling his eyes beneath the blindfold, though you doubt his ire is directed at you, "work, i guess. or maybe i just got bored of going to work."

"they're working you hard, yeah?" you ask, trying for sympathy. employers loved squeezing their workers dry during the holidays. your own boss was proof enough of that, running the office like a sweatshop for santa's unpaid elf labour.

"something like that," gojo says with a scoff, the corners of his mouth quirking up again, "what about you? what brings you here? it's christmas eve, isn't it?"

you sigh, the weight of gauche embarrassment suddenly pressing down as the words spill out before you can stop them, "my ex-boyfriend cheated on me."

gojo's lip curls, the kind of expression that balances perfectly between pity and disgust, "that sucks," he offers. profound and wise, you have to agree as he continues, "you jus' find out or something?"

the question makes you cheeks heat, and you fiddle with the edge of your drink, "no, i've known all month." you gesture vaguely towards your purse, where your phone sat like an unsealed pandora's box, "but he posted...on instagram. and stuff. i'm still, y'know, getting over it."

gojo makes a thoughtful clicking noise with his tongue, "ah, see, i don't do social media. but that sounds rough."

you let out a weak huff, "yeah, well...now i just feel like a loser. my friends told me to go out and have fun, and here i am..." you trail off, downing the rest of your cranberry vodka in a single, decisive gulp. the sting hits your throat, sharp and sour, and you grimace at the burn.

gojo frowns slightly, leaning in just enough that you can hear how his voice softens, "i don't think you're a loser." the sincerity in his tone catches you off guard, pulling your gaze back to him, "it's fair to wallow."

his words hang in the air, and you find yourself smiling, albeit thinly, "that's...really nice of you to say."

gojo hums thoughtfully, "i meant it, i promise. but i can't exactly say i've been there, never really dated anyone."

you blink, openly gaping at the man, "really? you're joking."

it was hard to wrap your head around that. even with the odd blindfold, everything about him screamed 'pounce-worthy'. the broad frame, the charming smile, the striking white hair that looked like it belonged in a kérastase commercial.

gojo laughs at your incredulous expression, "same old work and stuff," he explains with a casual shrug. then his grin fades, tone shifting just enough for you wonder why that feels as though the clouds have covered the light of the moon outside, "always got in the way."

"at least you never had to deal with a breakup," you offer, trying to find some weak, silver lining.

gojo frowns, his pale complexion now tinged with a faint red flush that even the dim bar lights couldn't disguise. was he really that much of a lightweight, or was the eggnog's amaretto content deceptively boozy?

he sighs dramatically, "a friend once left me outside a kfc in shinjuku. then he became a murderer and a cult leader. that felt like a breakup."

"huh," you murmur, staring at the man with a mixture of amusement and faint alarm, wondering if you'd seen any cult leaders on the evening news lately. no, nothing save for the occasional incorrect weather report, a friendly good-looking priest running some scam association, and news reports about an octopus that could predict the lottery, "that's - well, okay..."

you couldn't quite tell if he was joking or not, but gojo seems to shake himself free of the odd reverie. he's running his hand through his shock of white hair, and his grin has returned, slower and a touch softer, "still, your ex must've been crazy. letting go of a pretty girl like you?"

the words land with surprising weight, considering they come from a stranger in a sleazy bar, but it leaves you momentarily stunned. you can feel a blush rising to your cheeks, your heart doing an embarrassing little flip before you manage to get a grip on yourself.

"wow," you laugh, feigning composure as you sip the last remnants of your drink, "smooth."

gojo's smile is wider now, "hah, i call it like i see it," and his lips now curl upwards as he leans in, "and i'm serious. if i had someone like you..."

you laugh again, but this time it's far more unsteady. you wonder if the cranberry vodka is playing with your head, "big words for someone who's never dated. should i be impressed, gojo?"

gojo's chuckle is a deep sound that vibrates in his chest, "i know a good thing when i see it. you don' need to date to know what you want. and i think i want you."

your stomach does a little flip, and you feel all rationality being pounded out of you just from staring at his unfairly gorgeous hands rest on sturdy thighs, "you do flattery well, i'll give you that."

"oh, i don't know about that," gojo says, fiddling with the stem of his glass, "but what'dya say we get out of here? how about my place?"

you blink slowly, and you're aware that your heart (and...nether regions) have already composed an answer before your mind has, "what if you're a serial killer? you're not about to silent night, deadly night me, are you? you haven't killed someone have you?"

for a moment, the man stills but then gojo leans back, "smart girl. asking the right questions. but no, i can at least promise that i'm not a criminal."

you hesitate just for a beat, the words lingering on your tongue, before you let out a breath and shrug, "fine. where's your place?"

"azabu," gojo replies without missing a beat, his tone smooth, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

you gape once more, blinking as you try to process the information. azabu? as in tokyo's ritziest neighbourhood, where a one-bedroom apartment could cost you more than most people's yearly salary? the kind of place where the floors are made of marble, and everyone's shoes are more expensive than your entire wardrobe?

gojo, ridiculously handsome despite looking like a circus runaway, too charming for his own good, and not the type you'd expect to find in a cheap downtown dive bar. definitely not on a christmas eve, at least.

for a split second, you wonder how a man like him even ended up in a place like this. maybe it's some kind of self-imposed penance. or he likes to keep things low-key when he's pretending not to be rich? maybe he's looking to cosplay a succession character?

whatever it is, it's working. not only does gojo have a face carved from marble, now you've got a solid ticket into seeing what a neighbourhood for the top one percent really looks like beyond it's wealthy exterior. maybe, you'll bring back a souvenir.

you wonder whether there's a group of small emotions standing around inside your head, inside-out style. glaring at you as if you're incapable of making good and rational decisions.

well fuck that, you gather yourself and shrug off the small wave of nerves, and loop your purse strap around your finger, "alright," you say, "let's get out of here then."

you don't miss at how the adam apple of gojo's throat bobs for a second, before he downs the rest of his drink in one go, "let's get outta here then."

you follow him out into the cold, your breath fogging in front of you as you try to focus, but the man is tall, like ridiculously so. but when you reach the curb, he turns to face you again, a frown marring his face.

"so, i have a small confession."

i changed my mind and i find you repulsive.

i was paid by your ex to do this, and now i've done enough to get my money.

i'm a serial killer.

you don't know which possibility is worse, "huh, a confession? what is it now?"

gojo chuckles, lifting a hand to the back of his neck, as though he's about to spill a dark secret into the night air, "i don't have a car."

"you've got to me kidding me. how'd you even get down here?"

gojo shrugs, a casual and almost lazy movement. and you feel your gaze lingering on his shoulders. broad, impossibly wide, the dark jacket hugging him in all the right places, like it was tailor-made to showcase just how much he filled it out.

"someone dropped me off. ages ago," like it was the most normal and rational explanation in the world.

your own laugh is short, a little disbelieving, but you pull your silver keys from your purse, "well, i guess i'll have to drive then. but what would you have done if i hadn't been here to save the day?"

gojo steps to the side, opening your own car door for you with a small flourish and exaggerated bow that makes your heart jolt again, "probably teleport back home. maybe fly, since the skies look clear."

what a weird guy. hot, but weird. he seems like the type to dress up with a fake beard and show up as gandalf at the next lord of the rings fan convention.

in the driver's seat beside him, you catch yourself staring too long. your gaze slipping over a model's jawline, the white of his hair being held up by the blindfold. even his vaguely expensive scent is disorienting, pleasant like pine and blackcurrant. but it's also hard not to be amused when he's furrowing teeth into plush pink lips out of concentration, pressing an address into your cracked gps screen.

well, merry christmas to you.

gojo's place is well...how do you say this? gorgeous doesn't quite begin to cover it. he leads you into the building with the ease of someone who knows every inch of it, tossing a casual smile over his shoulder as he swipes a key card to unlock the private elevator, "i tend to move around a bit. or stay in different places. keeps life exciting, don't you think?"

you step into the elevator alongside him, the polished mirrors reflecting the soft glow of gold accents and sleek, modern lines. his hand hovers over the control panel before he presses the button for the top floor. of course, it's the penthouse.

"you move around a lot?" you ask, arching an eyebrow, "what, like a restless billionaire or something?"

gojo smiles, leaning casually against the steel as the elevator begins its smooth ascent, "now you're exaggerating."

the elevator finally dings, and gojo steps aside, offering an exaggerated bow as he gestures for you to exit, "after you, my fair maiden."

you almost scoff at the ridiculousness of it, but there's something so endearing and charming about how he pulls it off, especially when paired with the unfair symmetry of his face.

floor to ceiling windows dominate the far wall, revealing a jaw dropping panorama of tokyo's skyline. the city stretches out in a glittering sea of lights, with the tokyo tower glowing a golden exclamation point against the velvet night sky. the interior is just as impressive, with polished wood floors that gleam in the warm light and a glass dining table that sits beneath a sculptural chandelier. that same faint scent of blackberry and pine lingers in the air, heady almost.

behind you, gojo strolls with an easy and languid grace, tossing his jacket onto an artisan leather armchair. beneath it, his sky blue dress shirt clings just right and rolled up to reveal forearms faintly dusted with pale hair. you think you've momentarily forgotten how words work, and you avert your gaze quickly. though not before catching the faint smile on his lips.

"not bad, huh?" gojo says, heading to the open kitchen as though he's unaware of the effect he's having on a rational and sensible mind such as yourself, "it's no dive bar, but i'll do."

you shake your head, bewildered. trying to process how someone you met in a dingy bar could live somewhere that looks like it belongs in architectural digest. even down to the odd, ancient looking pieces that scatter the wide living room. weird looking artifacts of some sort. maybe he's also a collector? go figure.

"not bad?" you repeat, incredulous, "gojo, this place is incredible."

the man laughs, opening a sleek fridge to grab a bottle of water, "i have good taste," he says with mock modesty, his tone teasing as long fingers twist off the cap, "and a thing for gorgeous views. though, between you and me, i'm not great with heights. ironic, i suppose. paying a fortune for a view i'd rather not get too close to."

he waves a hand vaguely towards the windows, the blindfold still firmly in place.

"so, what's the deal? did you win the lottery, or inherit a fortune. or are you some kinda secret agent who moonlights as a barfly?"

gojo lifts the bottle in mock toast, "let's just say i'm very good at what i do."

you arch a brow, crossing your arms and ignoring the warm flush creeping up your neck, "and what exactly is that?"

"oh, you know. standard stuff. international intrigue, thwarting evil creatures. i even saved a kitten from a tree the other day."

"right, because nothing screams the next member of the avengers like eggnog in a seedy bar."

gojo leans casually against the counter, "even the avengers need a holiday drink now and then. don't knock it." but then he gestures towards the sleek couch, "wait, you can make yourself comfortable, y'know. i'd hate for my guest to think i'm a terrible host."

"terrible host? no, but a mystery man —"

before you can finish, your foot catches on something hard, and you stumble forward with an undignified yelp. gojo reacts instantly, how does he move that fast, and his arm is shooting out to steady you. but glorious gravity and magnificent momentum has other plans.

both of you crash onto the couch, and you find yourself sprawled unceremoniously across his lap. gojo's laugh rumbles low in his chest, and you can feel the warmth of it underneath your palms as you steady yourself, "well, that's one way to get comfortable," he murmurs, voice teasing as his large hand lingers lightly on the curve of your waist.

you prop yourself up slightly, cheeks burning, and glance back at the offending object. your brows knit together when you spot what looks suspiciously like a katana gleaming under the soft light.

"did i just trip on a — hey, what the hell is that?"

gojo interrupts, smoothly extending a long leg to nudge that suspicious object under the nearby coffee table before you can finish, "nothing important," he says breezily, the motion so quick you almost think you imagined it.

his focus shifts back to you, almost guilty, but his fingers are pressing divots into the fabric of your top, "now, where were we? hi."

you blink, caught off guard by how strange it is to feel the searing heat of someone's gaze underneath a blindfold, impossibly intent, "hi yourself," you manage.

for a moment, neither you nor the gorgeous man under you move, and the world feels strangely airless.

but your fingers twitch against the fine linen of his shirt. and before you can second-guess yourself, you reach your hand up to the edge of the silk fabric over his face and you ask, "can i take this off?"

gojo tilts his head, like it's a genuine consideration and you catch the faintest flicker of hesitation. it's fleeting, replaced by a crooked smile as he nods, "go ahead, sweetheart."

your hand rests lightly on the silk, hesitant for only a second before tracing its way to the back of his head. your fingers brush through impossibly soft strands of white hair, and his breath hitches when you find the knot tied neatly to the base of his skull.

you wonder what manner of man gojo is, letting himself be stitched undone by a stranger. but with care, you undo the knot, working deftly and clutching the fabric as you pull the blindfold away.

the blindfold slips free, and for a moment, you're certain you've forgotten how to breathe. bright, piercing blue eyes. framed by thick white lashes blink up at you. the intensity of such an unearthly gaze is softened by something more vulnerable, almost shy. nervous even.

"wow," you murmur without thinking, the word spilling out as gojo's expression shifts, an unguarded openness replacing the playful smirk that you've seen all evening.

your earlier assessment echoes in your mind: k-pop reject wannabe. the recent memory now feels like quite the injustice, a careless slight against a face that defies easy description. each detail of his face is striking, as if some divine hand had taken special care to sculpt him from the fabric of time and space itself.

gojo seems to sense your analysis, and you're sure that he's parted his lips to speak, but whatever he was about to say falters. that faint flush, pale-red like vermillion watercolour bleeding across a canvas, blooms across his cheeks. gojo's hazy gaze flickers for a second, and it sends a thrill through you. he's affected by this, by you.

it's hard to resist the slow smile that curves your lips, light and playful if only to mask the way your own heart is racing, "are you seriously shy now, gojo?"

gojo's expression shifts again almost immediately, as if that subtle invulnerability has been replaced by something sharper, almost indignant. he sits up a little straighter, the movement making you acutely aware of how the hard planes of his body feel beneath you.

"shy? no," gojo says, his voice steady but edged with some need to defend his honour, "i just...don't usually do this. that's all."

there's a sincerity in his words, an almost begrudging honesty that takes you by surprise. you tilt your head, as your murmur, "i don't either."

before you can second-guess yourself, you tilt your head down. pressing your lips to gojo's in a featherlight kiss. his taste is intoxicating, honey and sweet grapes mingling with a hint of that ridiculous vanilla drink from earlier. you pull back almost as quickly as you leaned in, testing the waters.

but your breath catches when you see that the blue of his eyes has deepened, darkened. and his lips, pink-blush and slightly parted, form a quiet and stunned oh!

"cool," gojo manages, his voice rougher than you expected, and you bite back a laugh as you watch him swallow hard.

"huh, cool?" you echo, your amusement bubbling over, "that's it? that's all you've got?"

gojo's grip on your waist tightens, and his hands are now splayed over your spine. anchoring you to him, as his mouth curves into something sly, though his flushed cheeks betray his composure, "compliments to the chef?"

you shift slightly, pressing more of your weight firmly into his lap. though not yet close enough to situate yourself over his groin, delighting in the way gojo's blush spreads down his neck, staining his skin a shade reminiscent of ripe berries swirling in cream.

you can feel gojo's attention as much as you can see it, how his own gaze lingers, deliberate and unhurried. taking you like a masterpiece that deserves more than a cursory glance. the hand that had been steady on your back shifts, his fingers threading through your hair. he watches as the strands slip and fall beneath his touch.

"thought you said you wanted me, gojo," you tease, though you're certain your voice is betraying the way your pulse is doing its best impression of the macarena in your jugular, "are y'gonna do something or not?"

gojo's gaze snaps back to you, a flicker of something far more intense passing through those impossibly blue eyes. full of hunger, need even. the hand in your hair slides away, only to settle at your jaw. it's warm and steady, his thumb brushing slightly over the plush of your bottom lip.

"i do want you," gojo says, his voice low and steady and maddeningly genuine, "want you to kiss me again. and again. as many times as you want until i forget my own name."

"gojo —"

"satoru," he interrupts, his voice cracking slightly, stripped of any previous swagger. it's unsteady and raw, affected in a way that excites you. sends a dark heat curling low between your thighs, "you can call me that."

"satoru," you repeat softly, letting the syllables fall from your lips, unfurling in the most hazy way.

something within the man shifts. his hand tightens on your waist, dragging you closer in a way that punches the air from your lungs. right over -

oh. the thick, curve of his erection straining against slacks that probably cost more than your monthly salary. it's deliberate, almost desparate at how the invisible thread snapped inside him. unravelled the careful composure he's been clinging to until now.

"go on," gojo murmurs, his voice dark with need, "kiss me again, please."

you lean closer, eyes flickering to his lips, and your pulse roaring in your ears, "who would i be to deny you any wish, satoru?" the words come out more reverent that you'd expected, as if your entire world has been tilted off its axis.

and then you kiss him, hard. desparate. as if his lips are your birthright, a homeland to claim. and gojo's kissing you back, carrying a sweetness that seems both foreign and familiar. in an instant, the weight of another man, a dreary haze in your past, vanishes. gojo is suddenly everything you didn't know you needed, vibrant and electrifying.

"let me know if it's too much," gojo breathes against your lips, his voice shaky as if he's trying to tether himself to the earth. but your kiss deepens, frantic and unrestrained. his mouth moves against yours with a hunger that sends sparks down your spine, and you suddenly realise you quite like the taste of vanilla when it's dripping from his open kisses.

you pull away, for every human needs air. but the sight before you has you clenching your thighs desperately around the bulge where you sit atop. gojo's gaze is heavy, full of that desparate longing that makes your chest ache. his lips are swollen, a soft cherry hue from your kisses. and strands of white hair fall over his blue eyes.

"look what you've done to me, fuck. miss you already," gojo murmurs, and before you can respond, he surges forward, hands pressing against your face with the intensity of a storm. one hand reaches to find the nape of your neck, letting you surrender to the heat of this touch.

you crave more, so much more from gojo, who's taking you in like you're his last breath, his final indulgance. it's as if he's found a new devotion in you, ready to worship you at the alter of your false godhood. but before you can part your mouth to tell him exactly what you and where, gojo's hands are already sneaking under your top, brushing against the trembling skin of your torso.

his teeth are biting down on your lip, leaving you dizzy. and gasping, and so damp in your panties as the fabric of your top is peeled away, and you're left shivering, fighting against the cold of the december air. you find yourself pressing harder into the warmth of his chest, letting the swell of your chest press flat against him.

"shoulda' turned the heat on before we came in," gojo murmurs, breathless as his lips hover a mere centimetre away from yours, "got nothin' to worry about, sweetheart. i'll keep you warm."

"didn't t-think i'd spend christmas eve like this," you gasp, your head lolling to the side as gojo presses open-mouthed kisses to the soft arc of your neck, sensitive even to the cool air.

"no?" gojo's reply is breathy, almost frantic as if he's fumbling in the heat of the moment and has little grasp over the words tumbling out of his mouth, "neither did i. but this? b-better than any fuckin' mission they could've sent me on."

you cock your head, feeling the heat of his clothed cock underneath your thighs, "m-mission, huh? what are you talking about - mmph!" but the rest of the question never escapes your lips for it's swallowed up by another one of gojo's candied kisses.

his rough hands work deftly, finding the clasp of your bra with ease. a pretty crimson thing, almost sheer as it caught the light. and in the centre, a tiny satin bow sat like the final touch on a perfectly wrapped gift. you had only worn it half-heartedly earlier in the morning, some forced christmas cheer for your dreary day ahead.

the look on gojo's face was anything but composed, staring at your cupped tits like you'd knocked the air out of him and his chest rose and fall as though he were remembering how to breathe. in a single fluid motion, your bra is unhooked. the faint metallic click barely audible over the pounding in your chest and he's tossing it aside with a casual flick, his focus entirely on you.

you find yourself mesmerised by his eyes, those swirling pools of blue that seem to have stolen fragments of the sky itself, clouds brushed into cerulean depths with strokes of syrupy smoothness. they're breathtaking, but the thought shatters as gojo's canines graze the flesh of your breasts, a sharp and teasing nip that pulls a gasp from your lips. leaves you rocking sharply against his erection, making him throw his head back, ragged.

the playful string blooms into a flush of heat, and gojo's at it again, his mouth working to leave faint red marks in its wake. you squeal, half in surprise and half in helpless laughter (and entirely in a lusty haze) but gojo only pulls back enough to murmur, "what? can't help myself."

but then he peers at you abruptly, his lips parted as he catches his breath, "wait. do you wanna —?" and gojo tilts his snowy hair towards the shadowy doorway that leads out of the living room, the implication clear even through his panting.

you nod, breathless, "yeah, jus' help me up."

without hesitation, a strong arm slides around your waist, and before you know it, you're being swept into a semi-bridal carry, and your head is resting against the fabric of his dress shirt. not a bad feeling, one you could get used to.

at the doorway, gojo lets out a low 'shit!', nudging the door open with his foot. the faint sound of clattering follows as he kicks something out of the way. you glance down from your entirely too comfortable vantage point, spotting a smattering of cheap tinsel, all glittering in metallic silver and gold, tangled with round baubles that glisten faintly under the dim light.

some have little smears of glue, and uneven glitter patches, as if crafted by unsteady hands, but with earnest effort.

"you big on christmas or something?" you tease, delighting in how the tips of his ears light up like nose of a famous reindeer.

gojo freezes for a moment, almost sheepish as he clears a path, clearly trying to look as macho as possible as he gingerly pushes aside a string of green lights, "made those for my students," he mutters, "thought they'd like them in the classroom tomorrow."

your laugh grows louder, and gojo's brows furrow, his tone growing defensive, "it's a nice surprise for the classroom!"

"i'm not making fun of you!" you insist, leaning up to press a gentle, soothing kiss to the hollow of his collarbone, "it's sweet. i think it's really nice, actually. wait, you're a teacher?"

gojo's mouth quirks up in a faint smile, "something like that," he says cryptically, finally clearing a decent and hazard-free path into a sleek, and clean bedroom. it's all modern space, all clean lines in shades of cream and white, and navy.

gojo sets you down gently, and the plush fabric cradles you as your back lands on fresh linen. and for a quiet, tender moment, you're both caught in the stillness. gojo kneels at the edge of the bed, his hands resting lightly on each of your thighs as if he's anchoring himself there.

his gaze is steady, content, maybe even adoring in a way that feels too intimate for someone who you barely know. there's a warmth in his expression, like he's savouring the sight of you, searching for something — and he's found exactly what he's hoped for.

almost without thinking, you lift a hand, cupping the sides of his face. his skin is warm beneath your palm, soft with the faintest hint of pale stubble that seems to fade into his skin. the moment your hands makes contact, gojo leans into your touch instinctively, his white lashes fluttering closed.

"hey, 'toru," you murmur softly, "y'still with me?"

gojo's eyes snap open at the sound of that, sharp and bright, as if the nickname itself has sparked a challenge in him. a low and almost frustrated sound escapes from the back of his throat, and he presses a feather-light kiss to the inside of your knee.

you don't miss at how his teeth sink into his bottom lip again, worrying and working the plush flesh like he's trying to steady himself. spreading your weeping thighs aside, as his gaze is fixed on something. intense, unwavering. the sheer focus of it making heat creep up your neck.

at how he must be staring hungrily at damp, sheer red fabric that clings to the outline of your cunt. at how it must shimmer almost translucently now, the sticky slick of your arousal enhancing the gloss, making your panties glisten under the light.

you're feeling an unfamiliar kind of shy under the weight of his attention, at how he must see how the fabric clings closely to your puffy, swollen folds — the delicate weave exposing the shape of your taut pussy, practically weeping for his touch.

you needn't have asked, for gojo was already diving into deliver.

he's gliding his index finger over your dripping pussy, letting the tangy syrup sink onto his fingers, leaning in to press a sweet, almost innocent kiss to your clothed cunt, "she seems desperate for me, don'tcha think, heh?"

the sound of the fabric ripping is sharp and wet, a squelching and almost fleshy tone, a sound that's both soft and sharp to the blood rushing between your ears. a strained tear of your beautiful panties, leaving cool air to gently leave a kiss of its own upon your cunt.

you gape at him, a bit too stunned to find coherent words, "hey, what the f-fuck! those were like super expensive!"

gojo rolls his eyes, the kind of look that has a bit too much attitude for someone who's practically begging on his knees for a taste of you, "don't get all huffy on me, sweetheart. 'm gonna buy you more, is tha' alright?"

"i'll r-remember that, satoru," you murmur, giving a sharp tug at his white strands, "you gon' have to give me your number now."

gojo shudders, the muscles in his back rippling underneath his tight shirt, "was already gonna," and he's back to pressing soft, kitten licks to your now exposed folds, small circles over your throbbing clit.

you buck your canting hips closer to the heat of his mouth, to where the pink tip of his teasing tongue peeks out of a pretty mouth, "satoru, c'mon. can't you just, fuck—"

you sharply cry out as he presses his mouth forward, a sudden surge of heat jolting through you. burying himself deep, his nose brushing against the sweet, syrup that coats your pussy, and the rhythmic, wet movements of his tongue send shivers through your entire being.

"mhm, jus' as sweet as you look, baby," gojo gasps, swirling and flicking his tongue, teasing you with every deliberate patter of the muscle near your winking entrance. so messy, slick and you're not sure where he ends and you begin as it all glides together carnally.

gojo seems languidly tipsy, just from munching through the gloss of your cunt, far more intoxicated from your taste than any cheap christmas liquor. he alternates between pushing his tongue past the ring of your tight walls, and then wrapping his lips around the searing pulse of your clit, leaving your hips shaking and dragging over his mouth, smearing yourself over his chin.

you're fisting delicate white locks with fierce urgency, and he hisses and then chuckles into your pussy, "tch! ease up there for me, yeah? jus' move your hips like you were doin' before," and you comply, angling yourself better so he can flatten his tongue against your folds, jaw grinding deeper into you "hah, yeah, just like that."

"taking good care of you though, aren't i? wait, say it. say that 'm making you feel good," and he's bullying a long finger into your gummy walls, clingy and sopping, "say 'm making you feel better than a-anyone ever has," and you just mewl as your arousal must surely be dripping down his forearms, staining the cuffed sleeve of his shirt as he takes your sweet juices down his throat.

there's stars beginning to twinkle at the edge of your vision, and you know you must be close, for your heart is practically dancing a heavy beat against your ribcage, and you suddenly push his mouth away, watching as a clear strand of spit or your slick forms a taut bridge between his mouth and your folds.

"w-wait, satoru, s-stop."

gojo's head lifts, eyes blinking as if coming out of a faze. but then, like a switch, something sharp flickers behind his gaze and concern floods in. his thin brows furrow slightly, glossy lips parting as he reaches out, as if to steady your hips, "you okay, sweetheart? what's wrong?"

your heart stutters, pounding so loudly you're sure he can hear it. you try to steady your breathing, but the tremour in your fingertips betray you as they gently slide through your hair, the silky strands tangling around your hand.

"nothin' wrong, 'toru. but i was gonna cum," and gojo's face, still flushed and soft with arousal, splits into a shy, amused grin.

"hah, i know. that's what i wanted," he's close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath hitting your aching cunt, but you shake your head again.

"feels unfair, wanna see you too. wan' you to cum in me,"

you watch, almost in awe, as a low and guttural sound escapes gojo satoru, raw and unfiltered. gojo runs his tongue over his lips, his eyes dark with something dangerously close to hunger.

"you sure?" and his voice is hoarse, unsure despite his roaming gaze. you nod, your hands digging into his shoulder, tugging at the crisp fabric of his dress shirt, desparate to feel the warmth of his skin underneath.

his shaky laugh of disbelief only makes you more aroused, whining for him to hurry up, and before you know it, he's standing up, towering over your boneless form on the sheets.

"how could i deny you anything?" he murmurs, echoing your earlier words. gojo's hands reach for the hem, the fabric shifting as he pulls it over his head, revealing a milky expanse of toned skin, smooth and taut over a set of abs that should easily land him on a gq list.

his waist is slender, defined in all the right places, and the soft taper of muscles make your breath catch. but the soft white trail of hair that reaches under his waistband makes your cunt clench.

"y'seem happy with the view, don'tcha?" gojo's voice is teasing, the cocky smirk tugging at his lips, but you can hear the impatience threading his tone now too. he's not as in control as he lets on, his hands now making quick work of his belt, leaving your mouth dry when he finally pushes his black boxers down.

you should have known that his cock would be as pretty and unfairly gorgeous as the rest of him. he's circling the strawberry-red tip, glowering and throbbing, right over your gathered slick, coating it and smacking the mushroom head in a thwack! over your poor clit, leaving you jolting as he laughs and leans down to kiss you sweetly once more.

"jus' look at me, yeah?" his drawl is slow, lazy and so ruined. at the first inch of his throbbing cock that slips through your walls, he looks utterly undone. a mess of sharp edges softened by something far more primal and raw.

gojo's head tips back, exposing the elegant line of his neck as the moonlight cascades over you, "hey, sweetheart, 's not too much, yeah?"

hazy blue eyes bore into you, and for a brief moment, in the time it takes for the lightning to strike the earth, you swear that his eyes glow. almost radiant and jewel-like, with cerulean fractals shimmering as if they're emitting life of their own. perhaps its simply the electrifying stretch of inches that's rendering you to hallucinate, whining as your nails find purchase in milky skin and rippling shoulders.

"i-it's big, 'toru," you pant, feeling him almost shudder at the clipped name again, as he grips the base of his cock to bully the final inch in, sighing in contentment as he finally bottoms out, with a wet pop!

gojo looks feral like this, heaving a breath through his mouth as though the air is being taken from him from every second he spends stretching you out on his fat shaft, "hah, 'm glad, i'm so glad i met you tonight, sweetheart. fuck, fuck, y'feel i-incredible."

he's pushing your thighs further back, running his hands over the plush skin, leaving bruising red prints that won't disappear tomorrow as you moan, wanton into his open mouth, letting gojo run his lips down your jaw and into the curve of your neck.

you're practically now folded in half under the bulk of his weight, feeling stars collide in absolutely astrophysical ways, impaled further on the long and thick length of his cock, "in so deep, s-satoru."

seems that gojo is a man of little mercy, for he seems only all the more invigorated by your squeals, drawing his torso back to watch the hypnotic smack of skin on skin, of your slick and creamy froth creating fresh rings over his pistoning cock.

he's entirely out of control, as you feel your body go limp from the pleasure shooting through every nerve and pore.

depraved.

you don't realise you might have let that slip out loud, so dizzy in your cockdrunk haze because gojo's suddenly ramming himself roughly in you, as though he was desperate to have his cock kiss your cervix, to feel for every divot and nook of your cunt's walls.

"d-depraved, hah. people call me, fuck, p-people call me a lotta things, sweetheart," and gojo's so good with it, letting your pussy have not even one moment to take reprieve, having you feel each vein and bulge of his cock, "but depraved is n-new."

the hand that was dancing over your thighs flies to your swollen, aching clit. practically glistening for his attention, and his attention you did receive, "right, t-there! 'toru, mmph!" you're trying to splay your legs wider, giving his quick hand more room to swirl tight circles where you needed him most.

your double-vision gaze lingers on the ripple of his muscles, the way his arms flex and shift as he seems intent on angling you just right for him to drill his cock over and over, at some freakish and feverish pace, "y'so good, gojo," you purr, and your nails curl against his arms, pressing just enough to leave tiny crescents in his skin, the faint dampness of his exertion clinging to him, "s-so strong!"

something shifts. the glow is back, electric blue flooding his eyes like crackling storm clouds. it's almost unnerving, this unearthly brightness, as if he's some ancient god wrapped up in human skin, and you've just stumbled into a divine revelation.

gojo stills for the briefest moment, the thick head of his cock snagging on your puffy folds as he draws himself almost entirely out. the absence of motion makes you whine, an airy and impatient sound escaping your throat. that hesitation feels like a tease, like a string that's been pulled so taut, before he finally dives forward, capturing your mouth in a messy, heated kiss. sloppy in its disregard.

"s-so strong, huh?" gojo's voice is rough, shaky, as though he's trying to centre himself but your tight pussy holds him in hypnotic sway, "y-you think so? think i'm the strongest?" his lips brush yours as he speaks, and there's something almost boyish and charming in the way that he seems to be fishing for a compliment, despite the low heat in his voice.

you pull back from his wet, spit-stringed lips. just enough to wrap your hands around his neck and push him closer, deeper into you as he gutturally groans, "if i s-say yes, are y'gonna keep showing off?"

gojo's laugh is short, breathless, "y-yeah, wanna see?"

he makes quick work of pushing himself back into you, pumping himself so far in that your slick must be painting and sopping the white hairs at the base of his cock almost translucent, "o-oh my god, 'toru, fuck, oh my god!" the stretch has your head spinning, as if the skies are parting above you, and you're melodramatically left to see the light of divinity as gojo bucks his hips harshly into you. as if he's too far gone, needs to prove himself to you with a good fuck.

"you h-have to say it," gojo stutters, his words tumbling out so quickly, like rough gravel, "say it, fuck, c'mon. say i'm — say i'm the s-strongest. you have to, hnghh, god. please, jus' agree, okay?" his voice is cracking, that cocky veneer entirely shattered under the weight of his rambling desperation as he practically rummages through your sopping insides, "y-you feel it right, i mean, you can feel me — i mean."

a high whine escapes your throat as his pace becomes almost olympian, and you wonder faintly how you haven't managed to sprain a muscle or break a bone yet, how he hasn't managed to shatter something with the sheer pace and force of how gojo satoru fucks, "hah, 'toru. i'm —"

"close? g-god, i hope so. 's what i want. nothing, like n-nothing feels better than this right?" his words are falling out of him in a messy, pussydrunk rush, his eyes flickering between your face and down to where your pussy lips are bulged around his shaft, "so good, right? the b-best thing you've ever —"

you truthfully don't even hear the rest of his words, blood absolutely roaring and rearing in your ears, your ribcage as you feel the tight coil snap, letting out short, slurred snaps of his name when you cum. as he doesn't quite let up on smacking his hips right against your ass, "s-satoru, 's getting s-sensitive, oh, fuck. fuck!"

he's suddenly whining, with pleading and erratic blue eyes chasing after you, sloppily pushing down so he can gasp and pant into your open mouth, before capturing you in a heart-stopping kiss as he finally gets milked dry by your pulsing and fluttering walls. in awe of how creamy white is practically leaking out of you, dripping a stringy trail over the flesh of your thighs.

you're agape at how utterly fucked he looks right now, though you're certain you do not look much better as fat tears prick at your eyes, streaming past your ears from the overstimulation, "s-still fillin' me up, 'toru. god, do ya always cum this much?"

at first, you don't even get a response from gojo who just sinks his teeth into the juncture of your neck, almost as if he's trying not to cry out, but then he's back to circling your clit with a rough hand, "makin' me sound like some kinda whore, s-sweetheart. 'n and i told you. don't do this m-much."

and now he's slowing down, pleasurably painful bucks of his hips keeping glossy, white seed in you. ensuring that it coats your entire entrance, "an' it's not my fault that she," and here, he gives your clit a small smack! grinning like a madman, "n-not my fault that she's so, hah, addictive."

each tight circle of his hand on your clit sends you hurtling into yet another orgasm, one that has you begging gojo for mercy, repreive, for more. an orgasm that has him whispering the sweetest nothings into your ear, "d-don't worry, gotcha like this. gonna let you rest n-now, jus' gotta relax for me."

by the time he's slipping his still somehow hard cock out of your creamed cunt, you can feel exhaustions heavy and caring hands caress you, rendering your body limp and boneless. your eyes heavy and hazy, but you can feel a soft ghost of gojo's kiss over the shell of your ear, "h-hope y'still here in the morning, sweetheart. don't leave, yeah?"

the morning sunlight filters through the blinds, and despite the ache in your limbs that cricks your bones, you drag yourself out of bed. christmas day, after all. you've thrown on gojo's dress shirt from last night, snug enough to flutter around your hips, but oversized enough around the shoulders to let you drown in it.

it's cozy though, and even the chilly air feels refreshing against the warmth clinging to you. gojo is still sound asleep, and you had smiled at how he took little puffs of air as he was passed flat out in bed. but you always like to be up early on christmas, and there's something about the holiday that makes you feel like you need to earn the right to nap later.

you wander around the bedroom for a bit, stretching your legs as your muscle protest in earnest. eventually, you decide to make your way to that kitchen. breakfast, right.

it seems like a good idea, especially considering the last thing in your stomach was a questionably sour vodka. so you pull open the fridge, expecting something befitting of this apartment. perhaps a slab of wagyu beef, a tin of caviar, a thick block of pistachio-cream dubai chocolate. you'd even settle for sushi.

instead, you're left staring back at a stack of candy canes, some strawberry yoghurt, a carton of milk and some fast food wrappers. despite your protesting stomach, a deep amusement washes over you. it doesn't surprise you that gojo would have a fridge stocked with food you'd find at a child's birthday party and a greasy diner.

still, breakfast is in order and because you can't help it, you pull out a candy cane and start unwrapping it. you're just about take a bite when you hear the unmistakable pad of footsteps. you turn, face to face with someone who would clearly not be out of place on a vogue covershoot.

gojo hasn't tossed on a shirt, and the sunlight filters over his chiselled physique before your sight is stolen by the loose sheet wrapped around his waist. delicious. you try to snap your gaze back to his face, but it's hard to not track your gaze down his torso, like a cat eyeing a particularly irresistible sunbeam.

"good morning to you too," gojo says, a grin curling his lips, "what are you doing?" his voice is still thick with interrupted sleep, laced with a morning rasp that forces you to ground yourself and stop falling prey to the god, eros and his machinations.

"breakfast, 'm starving."

"don't bother," gojo says, shaking his head, "we can go somewhere nice for breakfast. like real, actual food. don't think you want half-eaten yoghurt."

you nod enthusiastically, mind turning back to the peeling seal of the strawberry yoghurt with a spoon sticking out of it. but then, something else catches your mind's attention. a little curiosity piques, one that you cannot help but ask him.

"wait," you begin, snapping your teeth around the saccharine mint of the candy cane, "y'know what's crazy. like, i swear your eyes glowed last night. not even in a silly compliment way, but like electricity. i thought i was like, losing it.'

you expect gojo to brush it off with a wink, or maybe laugh it off like you're just teasing him. but instead, the man's face shifts, that cocky smile faltering for the briefest moment. it's gone so fast that you think you almost imagined it. but why does he look...almost guilty?

before you can process that, you realised you've leaned yourself over the counter, and in your absent-mindedness, your elbow presses a button on the answering machine. a small beep, and suddenly, a voice blares through the room,

"hey, gojo-sensei!" comes a high-pitched, distinctly teenage voice, an excited boy who sounds a little crackly over the speaker, "so, we found this grade one curse yesterday...and uh, we totally got rid of it. we were gon' call you, but you didn't pick up. but i almost got my arm torn off. wait, no! that sounds dramatic, i got shoko to look at it anyway. so what we're all wondering right is that we don't have to hand in any homework now right? as like reparations?"

the voice crackles off, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. you stand there, absolutely dumbstruck, staring at the answering machine like it's about to burst into flames or start singing christmas carols.

gojo, meanwhile, has the most awkward look on his face, clearly caught between embarrassment...and what? panic, amusement?

"satoru, what the fuck?"

he looks at you for a moment, but instead of speaking, he lets out a long and exasperated sigh before pulling out one of the counter chairs, "you're gonna want to sit down for this one, sweetheart."

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honey-tongued-devil · 3 months ago

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[Arcane preference] reacting to someone flirting with their s/o + jealousness

I'll be honest, I had like four headcanons on jealousy (and five on pregnancy, curse on you and your baby fever), so making this headcanon became a priority. Plus, I tried to make it a bit longer. As usual, under the "read more" line, you'll find both my other project for Arcane (a series of vintage-style posters) and my other socials in case you want to follow me because you love me too much.

Jayce:

- He’s not the type to cause a scene, nor is he the aggressive kind.

- When someone flirts with you in front of him for the first time, he’s confused for a few seconds.

- The problem begins when the thought starts settling, stagnating, thickening like sediment at the bottom of a bottle. Was the person really hitting on you, or is he just being paranoid?

- Did they not realize you were together? Or did they do it on purpose?

- It doesn’t take long for him to start ignoring you, not even on purpose—he suddenly forgets he’s a scientist, a successful adult man, and spirals into a crisis.

- What if he’s not enough? What if that person realized before him that he wasn’t suited for you?

- You notice something’s off, but he doesn’t say a word. If it happens again, his fists clench, he feels like the world is collapsing on him, and if it persists, he leaves without even thinking.

- He doesn’t want to witness that scene; he’s terrified that you might accept the flirtation, that you’ll realize he’s not good enough for you.

- And if you’re going to leave him, he doesn’t want to see it with his own eyes.

- Eventually, he’ll be the one to bring up the subject, just to tell you that if you’re tired of him, he won’t hold it against you and that he understands.

- It’s not true, but he wants to seem mature. He wants to be a good partner until the end and almost breaks down when you reassure him that you don’t want to leave him, that he is enough.

Viktor:

- Pre-"Arcane s1-tamed" Viktor would snap at the person flirting with you or insult them under his breath.

- In the wrong moment, with enough alcohol in his system, his reaction could even turn violent.

- Viktor gets jealous with anger—a mix of fear of being mocked, the lack of control over the situation, and his sense of replaceability set him off.

- But he’s also an adult. He’ll try to make peace with himself before talking to you about it.

- Post-"Arcane-tamed" Viktor observes you, tries to read your signals. He’s irritated but keeps calm and even interrupts the situation, pointing out that the two of you have things to do.

- He doesn’t wait long to bring it up and is straightforward: “Do you like him?”

- His jealousy is laced with sadness. The thought of losing your warmth, intimacy, and everything he has with you makes him feel empty.

- He knows he’s often absent because of his research, that it’s hard to be with someone with “special needs” because it can be limiting at times. He’s aware of his unique personality and his background. His anger quickly shifts to resignation, becoming a quiet sorrow.

- When you try to reassure him, his response is even sadder: “I know I’m hard to love. I don’t blame you.”

- When someone hits on you, as soon as you’re alone, he holds you closer. During cuddles, he breathes in your scent deeply, as if trying to memorize you in case he will ever have to remember you.

Ekko:

- At the Tree, it’s pretty normal. They share everything, and everyone is just very friendly. If someone flirts with you at the Firelight hideout, he laughs, jokes, and stays calm.

- The problem arises outside of that safe space.

- When someone from outside flirts with you, he’s stunned for a moment, but if it continues, he leaves before you can even respond.

- He knows that if he stayed, things might escalate.

- “I didn’t like how that guy was talking to you,” he blurts out when you try to talk to him, but it’s obvious the issue cuts deeper than that. His tone and downcast eyes reveal that it’s more significant than it seems.

- Living at the Tree has taken your relationship to a deeper level. You take care of the kids together, share everything, and live as part of a big interconnected family.

- The idea of someone threatening the peace of his home, his family, makes him feel like those things he takes for granted could suddenly change.

- That tomorrow, you might no longer be his “married” partner but two strangers.

Vander:

- Vander is too old to be jealous, and has been in enough strange and ambiguous situations not to overreact.

- If someone flirts with you, maybe at the bar in front of him, he chuckles to himself, commenting only after the person leaves that you’re so attractive no one can resist you.

- He doesn’t like it, but it often makes him smile to see others recognize what he sees in you.

- On the night when someone is particularly persistent or you seem to laugh more than usual, he taps his finger on the bar, contemplating what to do. When he catches your eye, he simply mouths, “If you want to go, don’t worry—I’ll close the bar.”

- It’s not about being open to a polyamorous relationship, don’t misunderstand. He believes that a relationship should be based on the fact that you actively choose to be with him, not on obligation. That’s why he gives you the freedom to back out if you want.

- When you shake your head, refuse the other person, and stay with him—maybe touching his hand at the bar when he has a moment of peace—he looks at you with an indescribable tenderness.

- “I’m glad you’re here with me,” he whispers when you’re finally alone, holding you tightly in his arms.

Silco:

- On one hand, he’s too old to make a scene, but when he sees someone flirting with you right in front of him, something inside him falters.

- Being able, after so many years, to form such a deep bond with someone put him in a state of comfort he hadn’t realized might one day be taken away.

- Suddenly, that possibility becomes real, vivid. Outwardly, he shows no emotion and doesn’t lose his composure for even a moment—because if he did, he might lose control. But inside, he feels like he’s dying.

- If you laugh a little too much or don’t explicitly reject the person, the turmoil inside him intensifies rapidly.

- He’s been through too much, and his mind is wired to “strike before being struck,” which is why he immediately becomes colder, seeking emotional distance to avoid being vulnerable.

- He’s not the king of good communication. If you try to ask him what’s wrong, he’ll dodge the question. It’ll take a lot of effort on your part to understand what triggered his behavior, to talk to him and reassure him gently, never too directly.

- You’ll need to show him, through actions, that you haven’t left and don’t plan to before he starts acting normal again—becoming more physically affectionate when you’re alone.

Jinx:

- Jinx is possessive and jealous, living in constant fear of being both not enough and too much at the same time—of losing everything she has and being abandoned by anyone who can still leave her.

- It’s in those rare moments when the buzzing behind her eyes quiets, when she’s at rest, that for a single second, just one fleeting instant, she allows herself to forget that fear.

- And then, when you’re together, and someone pays you a compliment that makes you laugh, something snaps in her head.

- Do you know them? Why are they so friendly? Why don’t you say something? Why did you stop walking? Walk, dammit, walk. Why are they touching your shoulder? Why don’t you stop them? Why don’t you stop them? WHY DON’T YOU STOP THEM.

- The likelihood that the person who flirted with you ends up found the next day with a broken limb in a dumpster is extremely high.

- But even that doesn’t calm her. When you get home, she isolates herself, spiraling into thoughts that maybe, if you could, you’d have gone with that person or followed them.

- She’ll need lots of affirmation and both verbal and physical reassurance before she calms down.

Vi:

- Her jealousy exists, it’s there, but she expresses it in a very straightforward way.

- Having been forced to grow up too quickly and unable to throw tantrums because she was responsible for her siblings, her emotions have always been carefully bottled up and dealt with through questionable coping mechanisms.

- Sure, having someone by her side now means she can’t go brawling in the streets, especially when the reason feels so trivial.

- Usually, she doesn’t even pay much attention to it, but this time, exhaustion, stress, or a moment of vulnerability probably made the situation unbearable.

- And as always, if you have questions no one can answer, the solution is probably at the bottom of a glass.

- She doesn’t want to burden you with how she feels; it’s not even your fault, and she knows it’s stupid to feel this way. But when she’s forced to confront the idea that you may not a constant in her life, that maybe you want something better, something more—at that moment, she needs to get out, to scream, to punch something, with enough alcohol in her system to pass out in an alleyway.

- She struggles to talk about it, hates making you responsible for her emotions, and hates that she has to make you worry when it’s not your fault.

- When you bring it up and try to approach her with an attitude that makes her feel reassured, she has moments of being emotionally fragile, more vulnerable than usual.

Caitlyn:

- This woman is a lady killer—it’s sadly very normal for people to get jealous of her.

- At work, during conferences, or noble meetings, she’s used to people flirting with her. That’s why, when she sees someone flirting with you, her first thought is that they might be making you uncomfortable.

- If she sees you’re actually uncomfortable, she’ll personally step in to ensure the other person leaves.

- If she doesn’t see you uncomfortable, she’ll observe you for a few minutes, becoming distracted and absent from her own conversations, lost in analyzing what she’s seeing. -However, she dislikes waiting to address issues, so expect her to ask if something is wrong between the two of you as soon as you’re home.

- Caitlyn’s issue is that her thoughts ferment. If she doesn’t address the matter immediately, each day will make her mood worse, leading to unnecessary tension.

- She might not shake off that strange feeling immediately and could remain distant until the next day, but it’s not punitive. Her emotions catch her off guard and make her colder unintentionally.

- She’ll make up for it completely the following day.

- She’ll also ensure she gets matching rings for both of you, so they can serve as a signal to others.

Mel:

- For Mel, jealousy is just bitterness.

- She doesn’t show it. Her training in always appearing reliable and cordial means she’s adept at masking her feelings. So, when she sees someone flirting with you at a gala, her gaze lingers for just a few moments before she returns to smiling at her conversation partner.

- A little passive-aggressive, with comments like “I saw you had fun” or “So, tell me about…”—but not meant to provoke you.

- She’s the first to acknowledge that at meetings and galas, one must be adaptable, charming, smiley, and captivating. She knows that flirting is often part of the façade or just a small piece of a larger strategy, so what may sound like provocation is usually her way of asking what was on your mind.

- Her bitter jealousy becomes stronger and more genuine when there’s no strategy, no deeper game, but the person continues attending events and spends all their time trying to flirt with you. In these cases, she won’t hesitate to interrupt with a firm, “Excuse us,” and lead you to the balcony.

- No scene, no lecture—just a curt and slightly sad, “I only ask that you don’t make a fool of me.”

- When reassured that there was never even the intention of doing so, she becomes almost an accomplice. Have fun (within limits), gather amusing or trivial information, and tell her all about it later when you’re alone under the sheets.

Sevika:

- Sorry to disappoint, but she’s the least jealous character here.

- Her most stable relationships have all been at the brothel. If someone flirts with you, she’ll wait until the person leaves to comment on how slimy they were or how you seem to attract everyone without exception.

- Zaun is precarious; her job is precarious; even staying alive is extremely precarious. She doesn’t have time for jealousy. To her, it wouldn’t make sense to get angry or even cause a scene just because someone flirts with you when she can’t be around much or offer you stability herself.

- She knows perfectly well that her mechanical arm, her boss, her boss’s daughter, the drug use, and the dangerous work she does make her someone it’s hard to stay close to. But this doesn’t make her insecure—rather, it makes her grateful.

- It’s your choice to stay by her side, and if you ever want to leave, she believes you should feel free to do so without fearing any outburst from her.

- When you reassure her that you’d never betray, replace, or leave her, she pulls you close with one arm, kisses your forehead, and gives the faintest smile.

- That said, if someone flirts too much and you complain about their persistence, Sevika will handle it diplomatically—by picking them up and slamming them against the wall in front of you, making sure the point sinks in effectively.

3K notes · View notes

agxxb · 4 months ago

Text

Prettier Than a Star .𖥔 ݁ ˖

rafe cameron x f!reader

summary: when rafe finds you alone, you finally get to know one another.

warnings: smut. unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), oral (f!receiving). use of pet names (baby, sweetheart). praise. underage drinking. best friend’s brother. [5k]

read part two here!

“You’re not supposed to be out here. It’s off-limits to guests.” You turned around in surprise upon hearing a new voice, only relaxing after seeing the familiar face. “Ah, it’s just you.”

Rafe’s head cocked to the side, surprised to see you standing on one of Tanneyhill’s many balconies — but it was a pleasant surprise. He didn’t smile, but his expression softened just a little.

“Sorry, Rafe,” you apologised, a small yet sheepish smile on your face. You hadn’t expected anyone to find you, let alone your friend’s older brother. You just wanted peace and quiet away from the jamboree happening below.

Rafe walked over with a hand in his jeans’ pocket, the other holding a beer. He turned and leaned against the rails beside you. “Didn’t expect to see you at my party.”

“Sarah invited me,” you explained, a short shrug following as you took a deep breath through your nose. “She kinda left me alone as soon as she saw her boyfriend, and I got overwhelmed with the party. This was the only place I knew no one would be.”

Rafe chuckled lightly. “Sounds like Sarah.” He shook his head. He couldn’t lie and say he was surprised Sarah had ditched you. “What? Can’t handle a little party?” he asked, clearly teasing you.

“I can.” You shot him a look, but still grinned. “Just not when people I don’t know are shoving unknown drinks into my face.”

He smirked, taking a quick swig of beer from the bottle. “Hey, those are the best kind of drinks. Free alcohol is good alcohol.” He glanced over at you as he spoke. “You should’ve just come found me when Sarah ditched you.”

“Free drinks are the best, but not when there’s a possibility of them being spiked,” You gave him another small smile before shrugging. “And, in all honesty, I didn’t even think you liked me enough to talk to me. You’ve only ever spoken to me when Sarah’s been there.”

Rafe’s smirk faltered, and his expression softened ever-so-slightly. “Why wouldn’t I like you?” he asked, cocking his head to the side again, looking at you. “You’re one of the few people that Sarah hangs out with that I don’t want to throw into a wall the moment I see them,” he added, giving a scoff of a laugh.

You smiled at Rafe’s words, letting out a short chuckle. He kept his gaze on you for a moment more, something almost thoughtful crossing his face before he looked out to the front grounds of the house.

The night sky was vast, the stars glimmering above. The sea breeze was cool and fresh against your skin, and the sounds from the party down below were just low enough to be a distant rumble. It was nice and peaceful.

“I’ve always adored the island,” you said after a short while of silence, following his eye-line to admire the view: the sea in the far back, the beautiful sunset just above the sea line, and the houses in the close distance.

Rafe looked away from the view, to you, listening to you. He’d never really paid much attention to how beautiful the island really was. The night was nice, though; even he could admit that. He thought about making a snide comment about the view – that it’d be prettier with a joint or drug to enhance it – but didn’t. Instead, he just nodded.

“It is nice,” he agreed, taking another swig of the beer in his hand.

He turned to lean against the railing once more, his side now facing you. He raised the bottle to his lips, tilting his head back as he took a healthy sip, enjoying the taste of it. It went quiet again, and he glanced at you from the corner of his eye. He watched as you kept your gaze on the sky, and you looked almost mesmerised.

It was almost like you were in a trance, the way you just watched the stars above. The sight was honestly rather fascinating to Rafe; He’d never seen anyone just stare into space. He continued to watch you though, and found himself almost studying how captivated you were by the stars, like there was some sort of peace in that moment.

“You like the stars?” Rafe heard himself ask, his voice low and casual as he looked upwards as well.

“Oh, I adore them…” Your eyes twinkled whilst the stars blinked. You smiled, a small one, but it was filled with admiration and fascination.

Rafe listened intently, watching as the soft smile appeared on your face, and he found himself feeling a sense of curiosity. “Why?”

“Because it’s all unknown. It’s scary, but also so cool.”

Rafe hummed lowly, and he found he actually agreed a bit with what you said. The stars and sky were definitely a little scary, but the unknown always was. And yet, it was interesting, too.

He went silent for a few moments, the alcohol in his system making him more relaxed and a bit less guarded. He felt more open, like he could say things he wouldn’t normally say, and that was why he spoke again after a moment of silence. “Want some?”

You looked over at Rafe, seeing him tilting his beer in your direction. You accepted his offer with a smile, taking the glass bottle from his hold and bringing it up to your mouth, wrapping your lips around the top and tilting your head back.

Rafe watched your actions, licking his lips as his thoughts spiralled. He found his eyes trailing over your face, lingering on your eyes, and then your lips, which looked soft and full. The alcohol he had consumed had made his thoughts fuzzy, and he suddenly found himself imagining something else instead of the beer bottle.

The thoughts of how you looked and the soft tone of your voice made his mind wander, imagining what sounds you might make in other situations.

"What’re you doing?" you teased, biting your bottom lip and moving slightly closer to Rafe. You had noticed him staring, scanning your body and – possibly –admiring you.

Rafe knew he had been caught looking at you, and he didn't even know what to say when you moved closer. He tried to keep his composure, though he found his eyes straying once more as he noticed a glimpse of your collarbone.

"I'm enjoying the view.”

"Yeah?" You lightly blushed, cheeks turning a pink champagne, and smiled up at him. "Enjoying it, hm?"

Rafe was captivated as you smiled at him, and his breath hitched as he watched you take another sip of his beer. It was more than a little attractive, and he found his thoughts getting muddled again, his mind wandering to places it had no business going.

"Yeah," he answered simply, his voice coming out deep and rough as he shrugged.

He tried to look away, but he found himself looking at you again, eyes drifting from your collarbone and over the swell of your chest. He knew he was being obvious with his staring, but he couldn't help it. He found himself admiring you, the soft curves and slopes of your body, the shape of your hips. Even though you were still standing a few inches apart, he was suddenly aware of how close you were, and he wanted you to be closer.

“Just admiring?” you wondered aloud, almost hinting at the fact you wanted him to do more.

Rafe briefly wondered what would happen if he reached out and touched you, to feel his hands on your skin. It would probably be so soft, he bet. He could smell the sweet scent of your perfume, and it was like an invitation to him.

His eyes flicked back up to your lips when you bit your bottom one, and he found himself wondering what they would feel like against his own. He took a step forward, his boots thudding against the balcony floor, and reached out, his fingers hovering a few inches away from your skin, the tips of his fingers just barely touching your cheek.

Rafe slowly lowered his hand until it connected, gently resting his palm against the soft skin of your cheek. He gently caressed your skin, feeling the softness underneath his fingers as he stroked your cheek. He felt emboldened, and the alcohol in his system made him a more reckless.

“Your hand's warm," you told him, resting your cheek into his palm. You were aware of Rafe's history and his anger issues, but you weren’t scared of him... especially after the way he'd treated you that night. Rafe hummed in acknowledgement, trying to ignore the way his heart flipped at how you leaned into his touch.

He wanted this, wanted to touch you, and he wanted more than that, too... so much more.

"You're soft," Rafe mumbled, his voice rougher than usual, and he let his thumb gently brush against your jawline.

"I am?" you asked, almost shy after hearing him say you were soft. He hummed in response once again, unable to stop himself from gently rubbing his thumb along your skin, slowly, over and over again.

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice still sounding rough, and his thumb started to travel down the slope of your neck. "Soft everywhere."

“You haven’t even touched me everywhere.”

Rafe’s eyes snapped up to yours, trying to see if there were any hints of intoxication behind your words. He let his fingers press gently against the underside of your chin, just barely lifting it.

"You like when I touch you?" he asked quietly, the words just slipping from his mouth. You hummed a response, agreeing to his question silently, and a rush of heat flowed through him. “Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

The way you almost begged for a kiss made his lips twitch up. His hand slowly moved to the back of your neck as he gently pulled you forward, tilting your chin up. He looked into your eyes as his face hovered close to yours, wanting to make sure you really wanted this. His breath fanned over your face, and he slowly closed the remaining gap to press his lips against yours.

Rafe let himself just hold his lips against yours for a second, just the briefest moment, before he really kissed you. His lips moved against yours, molding themselves to your mouth in a shockingly gentle action.

You moaned softly as your lips moved together, never wanting to stop kissing now you had tasted him. Your hands lifted, placing the beer bottle on the balcony to your right before you touched him: one hand on his torso and the other on the back of his neck, fingers gently scratching at the nape.

At the sound of your soft moan, something inside Rafe snapped. He felt your hands on his skin, the feeling of your fingers scraping against his neck just made him want more, and so he took more by pressing his lips harder against yours.

Rafe quickly wrapped his other arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his front, and he let his tongue gently slide across your bottom lip. His mind was a chaotic mess of thoughts, filled with just need and want and you. He was vaguely aware of the party going on below, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Rafe groaned and pressed even closer against you, pinning you up against the railing. He let his tongue explore your mouth, tasting you before he raised a hand to your throat once again, tilting your head to the side and away from his. He started gently nibbling and sucking on the skin there, letting his lips travel down over your pulse.

“Fuck,” you moaned quietly, closing your eyes as you basked in the pleasure gained from him kissing your neck. “Rafe…”

He felt a rush of satisfaction at the way you gasped his name, the sound going straight to his already-hardening cock. His lips continued to move along the skin on your neck, sucking and then biting down gently, trying to get more of those sweet sounds out of you.

“You sound so sweet when you say my name like that,” Rafe muttered in a deep grumble against your skin as his free hand started to slowly lift up the edge of your shirt.

He felt another rush of heat flow through him, settling deep in the pit of his stomach, at the breathy sound you made in reply to his praise. He let his fingers slide across the newly-exposed skin of your hip, his warm touch sending shivers through you.

“You gonna let me take you to my room?” he asked huskily, pulling back from your neck to look into your eyes again.

“Is that what you want?” you asked him with a soft grin, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. You tilted his head to the side, littering kissing up and down the column of his neck.

Rafe groaned as he gave you more access to his neck, pressing lower-half against you, and his fingers dug into your hips. He was already so hard, just from the way you sounded and the feel of your lips. He felt like his brain was completely clouded over now, and he couldn’t think of anything except you.

You hummed, lightly nipping at his neck and smiling softly as you heard Rafe let out a sound, like a moan had been caught in his throat. You pulled the collar of his shirt to the side, sucking at the skin between his neck and shoulder, leaving a mark and soothing over it with your tongue.

“Fuuuuuuck,” Rafe groaned again, the feeling of your tongue making him shiver. He took a shuddering breath as he tried to force himself to think clearly, but all he could really think about was your mouth on his skin.

Feeling how hard he was against your lower stomach, you pulled back to bite your lower lip. “You wanna take me into your room, Rafe? Wanna have your way and do whatever you want to me? Make me feel good?”

The teasing tone of your voice had his lust-filled brain short-circuiting. He felt your hand press against his hard length and he gritted his teeth, your hand moving up to slide over his abs, feeling his muscles tense.

“You keep doing that, and I won’t be able to make it to my room,” his voice was low and gravelly as he spoke.

“Yeah, pretty boy?”

He grunted as he felt an unexpected rush of heat at the nickname, and length twitched against your stomach. “Keep it up, and you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

“What if that’s what I want?” you whispered into his ear, leaving another peck against his cheek.

Rafe quickly turned his face to capture your lips with his own, the kiss anything but slow or gentle. He tried to pour all of his need into it, pushing his tongue into your mouth and hungrily tasting you. He nipped at your bottom lip, his teeth scraping against your sensitive skin, and he began to move his mouth down over your jaw.

“Take me inside, Rafe. Please.”

He heard the hint of a moan in your voice, and the way you said his name, begging him to take you inside, was almost his undoing. He needed to get you alone, behind a locked door. Now.

Rafe pulled back, looking at you, his eyes dilated and filled with so much lust that it was like he’d completely lost himself in the need for you. “Come with me,” he said, voice raw, and he stepped away, just enough to grab your hand.

He wasted no time in pulling you along with him, hurrying through the balcony doors into the house, barely giving you a second to shut the door behind you before he was pulling you down a hallway and toward his room at the end. Rafe quickly opened his door and pulled you inside, shutting it behind you and locking it.

He pushed you up against the door, trapping you with his body. “Please fuck me,” you begged with a moan, fisting at the fabric of his button-up shirt.

The sound of your soft, pleading moan and your words made his head spin. At that exact moment, he was done trying to control himself. He felt his brain shut down, any higher thought completely gone, and he suddenly all he cared about was getting his hands on you.

He quickly unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it off and tossing it aside, before his hands almost immediately went to the shirt you were wearing. “Too many clothes,” he whispered thickly, his voice barely more than a rough grumble.

The moment he could see your skin, Rafe’s hands were on you again, touching you, feeling you. He couldn’t help but notice the little shivers you were making when he did. He brought his lips down to your neck once again, leaving more hot, wet kisses. His tongue traced the hollow of your jaw as his hands outlined your body, his touch rougher and greedier with each passing second.

Rafe let his lips move lower, down your neck and over your chest, sucking and kissing, his teeth gently scraping against your skin as he went. He stopped just above the line of your bra, taking it off before looking at you. You looked gorgeous: hair all tousled, marks already forming all over your skin, and breathing heavy.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” Rafe muttered almost gruffly, his eyes travelling over your face and down your body.

“Only for you, pretty boy,” you bit your bottom lip, running your fingers over his buzzed head as he knelt down in front of you, his hands on your hips.

He couldn’t help the way his breath hitched at the feeling of your fingers. He felt himself almost entranced by you, your sounds, words, and touch making it so that he didn’t care about anything other than you.

He continued his journey down your body, his lips on your stomach, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses and bites on your skin. His hands started to wander too, touching and exploring, sliding over your legs and moving up the inside of your thighs.

He looked up at you, watching your face as did so, the urge to mark you as his so primal and strong. He continued to kiss the tops of your thighs, leaving another mark behind before slowly making his way up again, closer and closer to the edge of your underwear.

“Fuck… Please.”

“Please what, Sweetheart?” He let his hands slide up your sides to your lower back, hooking his fingers on the edge of your underwear. He started to pull them down, his eyes still looking at you for your reaction. “C’mon… talk to me.”

“Please touch me.” Tears began to form in your’ eyes, but not from upset or pain; you were so turned on and impatient — you needed Rafe to touch you. “I’m so wet for you. Please.”

His own breathing was ragged now, his eyes dilated to the point the blue of them was almost completely gone, only a ring around the edge of his pupils visible. The way you sounded, so desperate and needy, almost had him fucking you against the door.

He brought his head closer to where you needed him, his lips hovering by the skin there for a moment. “How bad do you want me to touch you, baby?”

“So fucking bad, Rafe. Please,” you begged, running a hand over his short hair again. “Please.”

He leaned so that his cheek was resting on your hip, and he let out a low exhale, his breath warm and hot against your skin. “I’m gonna take my time with you,” he murmured, and then his lips were on your skin again, leaving kisses down your hip, towards your center.

It was like he’d suddenly lost all self-control, his need to touch you, to taste you, was so strong that it was pushing him past that edge of self-restraint. He pressed his lips against your core from over your lace panties, his tongue immediately tasting you through the fabric, and he let out a low moan.

“Fuck, you taste good.” He spoke directly against you, his voice gravelly and thick with lust, before slowly hooking his fingers under the lace of your underwear and pulling them down, needing to get them off you so that he could taste you properly.

Rafe’s hands were suddenly firm on your hip as he pushed your legs apart, keeping you open for him to put his mouth on you, his tongue licking and exploring. He was relentless, actions desperate. He felt the way you trembled under his touch, and he knew that he wasn’t going to be able to hold back for very long, not if he kept hearing those little sounds you were making.

You moaned loudly, eyes rolling back in pleasure and head titling back against his bedroom door. “Fuck! Feels so good, oh my god!”

Rafe loved the way you sounded, the way you reacted to him as he continued to suck on and lick at your clit. But he needed more. He pressed his hands against your hips as he continued with his attention, his tongue more demanding now. He was addicted to the taste of you, not wanting to ever touch another woman nor that he’s had you.

He continued his actions on your clit, finding what made you shiver and moan, what made you melt. He didn’t think he’d ever get enough of the sounds you made as he worked you with his mouth, pushing you higher and higher.

Rafe suddenly shifted, his tongue switching to a different angle. He could feel you shaking, getting closer and closer to the edge. He didn’t let up, his hands having moved to your thighs, keeping your legs open as he pressed himself closer, his tongue never slowing down, never stopping.

“Fuck!” you sobbed, the pleasure almost too much but so fucking good. “Please don’t stop, please don’t stop. Feels so fucking good.”

Rafe couldn’t possibly stop now, not when you sounded like that, not when you were so close. He could feel how your body was tightening, almost trembling as you got closer. He was so caught up in your sounds, in your taste. He kept his movements at the same speed, not wanting to change anything, and then you were there, falling over the edge. Your legs shook as you came, crying out his name as he lapped you up greedily, still wanting more after tasting you.

Only when you were starting to come down did he stop. Rafe slowly stood up, his mouth still wet and glistening, and looked at you, at the way you were leaning against the door and trying to get your breath back.

You immediately leaned forward to kiss Rafe, your lips meeting his instantly. He felt you melt against his body, and his arms encircled your waist, kissing you almost desperately, like he was starving and you were the only thing that could possibly satisfy him.

Rafe grabbed the back of your thighs and wrapped them around his waist, picking you up and moving you over to his bed, lightly dropping you onto the mattress before crawling over you. He loomed over you on the bed, his hands on either side of you. He could feel how you were looking at him, your eyes raking over his bare chest and the bulge in his pants, almost like you couldn't decide where to look first. It was driving him crazy. He felt like his skin was on fire, and he needed you to touch him, wanted to feel your hands on him.

“Please fuck me,” you quietly begged, looking up at him through your lashes. He leaned back, hands moving to his belt as he unbuckled it before sliding it through the loops of his jeans, taking them and his underwear off next.

“Yeah?” he asked breathlessly, raising an eyebrow. “You want that?” He looked down at you hungrily, his eyes taking in the way you looked beneath him. He suddenly grabbed your wrists and pinned them to either side of your head, trapping you beneath him. “You gonna be good for me if I give you that?” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly.

You nodded, silently pleading, begging, Rafe. You were soaked, and not just from when he ate you out moments prior. There was something about hearing him say those words, something about the way his voice sounded, so sweet and dominating, that made pleasure burn through you, making you want him even more.

He gently, almost reverently, released your wrists, his hands roaming over your body instead. “Good girl,” he murmured, voice rough. “That’s my good girl.”

Your hands lifted to rest on his bare back as Rafe smirked, reaching down and lining himself up before pushing forward into your sopping wet pussy. Your eyebrows furrowed together in pleasure, having him fill you to the brim.

"Oh, my god…” Rafe was hypnotised, his fingers grabbing at your hips. He could barely think, his mouth hanging open as his eyes glazed over.

The feeling of you beneath him, around him, was so intense he had to pause for a moment to collect himself. He felt like he was on fire, his body tense, his muscles coiled tight as he held himself above you. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this way, this intense, this desperate. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before he started to move, his hips rocking against yours, eyes locked on your face.

He could feel your hands on his back, your nails clawing at his skin, and it only turned him on more. “That feel good, baby?” Rafe asked, voice strained with how good you felt.

“S-So good,” you nodded, tears building up in your eyes once again from the pleasure. “So deep.”

“Fuck,” Rafe moaned deeply, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. Your lips parted as his hips slapped against the backs of your thighs. It left you feeling dumb, no thoughts left in your head apart from how pretty Rafe looked above you. “Pussy’s so good.

“Please, please, please,” you begged, tilting your head back to look up at him. His own lips parted as he reached his hands up, his thumbs brushing over your nipples as he stared as your tits in awe. “Just like that — keep fucking me like that.”

Rafe could feel every little gasp, every moan, every whimper you made, and it was driving him crazy. You were making him feel things he didn’t know he could feel, and he was lost in you. He could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, could feel himself losing control, and he knew he couldn’t hold back for much longer.

He suddenly leaned down, his face just inches away from yours, and pressed his forehead against yours. He was breathing heavy, his breath mingling with yours, his heart racing. He was hanging on by a thread, fighting the urge to let go, but he wanted to see you fall apart for him first.

Rafe suddenly slid his hand down your body, his thumb finding your clit and quickly rubbing it. You moaned loudly, nails scratching down his back and leaving red marks in their wake.

“F-fuck!” you cried, the pleasure consuming you. Rafe sped up, going harder and rougher, his own hand coming up to wrap around your neck, adding a little pressure — just the way you liked it. He loved the sound of your voice, the way it changed as he touched you, the way it got higher and more desperate as you got closer to the edge.

He couldn’t hold back a low moan of his own, keeping his hand on your neck as he sent harsh thrusts up into you, your pussy squelching with each one.

“That’s it,” he rasped. “Let me hear how good you feel.” He suddenly grabbed your hip, using it as leverage as he started to move rougher, his body tensing up. He was so close, so close to losing control, but he wasn’t ready for it to be over yet. He suddenly leaned down again, his mouth right next to your ear, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. “Cum for me, baby.”

“O-Oh, my God!” you moaned loudly, barely able to say anything other than that and his name.

He knew you were close, could feel it in your body, and he felt his own body tense up in response. ”That’s it, Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice thick and low. “That’s it. Let go for me.”

“Rafe!” you screamed his name as you came, legs shaking around his waist with your head thrown back against his bed. He felt you tighten around him, felt your nails digging into his skin, and he couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Gonna cum so fuckin' deep in you,” Rafe mumbled, letting go of your neck and running purely on primal instincts now. “Gonna take it all like my good girl, yeah?”

“Uh huh," you whined, tits bouncing as he continued to fuck himself deeper into you. “Please cum in me!”

“Prettier than any fucking star.” Rafe grabbed ahold of your hips, grinding his hips deep into yours a few more times, before coming to a stop. He came hard, his body tensing up as he buried his face into your neck, his breath coming out in ragged gasps as he rode out his orgasm.

You felt full as his cum filled you up, letting out a hum of content. Rafe couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but lay there, his body weighing you down, face pressed into your neck. He was breathing heavily, his body still shaking from the intensity of his release, and he couldn’t remember ever feeling this good, this wrecked, this satisfied.

He suddenly lifted his head up, eyes locking on yours immediately, his face flushed. “You… are amazing.”

4K notes · View notes

chastiefoul · 5 months ago

Text

jjk men coming home and finding you crying

ft. gojo, geto, nanami, toji fluff and comfort

gojo satoru

you wiped your eyes quickly as you heard the door opened. you took a deep breath, making sure your voice didn’t come as shaky as you said, “welcome home, toru.” with a big grin and the usual paper bag filled with sweets on his right hand he planted a kiss on your head. “i’m home baby.”

you were just about to let out a sigh of relief when satoru suddenly knelt in front of you who’s on the couch, blindfold off as his blue eyes stared as if seeing right through you. “what’s wrong?” he said softly, his knuckles brushing over your cheek with such a careful gesture. “what do you mean?” you tilted your head, cringing inside at the bad feign. “you can’t fool my six eyes, baby. also what kind of boyfriend i’ll be if i can’t even notice when my girl is sad?”

you tried to form a sentence to say as an excuse but the kisses he peppered across your face wasn’t really helping. you chuckled as you whine softly, “toruu.” the white-haired man cupped your face, a gorgeous smile on his face. “my favorite sound, baby,” he said, kissing your lips. “tell me? pleaseeee.” you laughed once more at his emphasis at the last word. “it’s really nothing, toru.”

“i love listening to nothing. we even have some sweets here as snacks,” he said, opening the paper bag excitedly. “i think you just want an excuse to eat it at 8 pm,” you raised an eyebrow, as he grinned. “nonsense, baby. now c’mere, let me hold you while you tell your story.” he put you between his legs, your back resting on his broad chest comfortably. you sighed out of wonderment, thinking how you could be so lucky, being this loved by the man.

“here, pick whatever. this one is my favorite,” he rummaged through the bag that’s on your lap. you looked at him with fondness as his face leaned in beside you to see better. “yeah? you’ll give me your favorite?”

“there’s nothing in the world that you can’t get, baby.” he kissed the side of your face. “now start from the very beginning.”

geto suguru

“if you thought you were doing a great job hiding those tears i have some news for you sweet girl,” geto’s voice was gentle on your ear as he wipe the wet residue underneath your eyes with the inner sleeve of his robe. “i wasn’t really hiding it,” you frowned, somehow not liking the fact that he noticed your little moment of weakness. “yeah? so you were just rubbing your eyes all rough like that for no reason?” he gave you a little smile.

yeah, it was a battle you had lost from start.

he put his arms around you, rubbing your back in a soothing pattern. “what’s wrong baby, everything okay?” you melted right into his touch, resting your head on his chest right on the calming beating of his heart. “yeah, it’s not really a big deal,” you mumbled, your low spirit was really affecting him more than he would ever let you know. his hand kept moving as he once again kissed the side of your head, a low chuckled escaped him. “you’re cute when you think you have a choice on telling me what had upset you.”

you laughed softly at his playfulness, knowing full well to you’ll end up telling your boyfriend everything. “you’re right. but can i tell you later?” you asked, wanting just this peaceful moment to last just a little longer as you held him tight.

“’course baby, got all the time in the world for you.”

nanami kento

nanami already knew that something was off when the house felt a little quiet as he arrived. and then he found you hunched over as you stood behind the kitchen counter. “honey?” you wiped your eyes with what you thought was the speed of sound but it was clear to both of you that you had been crying. “hi ken, how was work?” you replied with a small voice, a smile nanami didn’t particularly like plastered on your face; only because it seemed forced.

“oh no, we’re not breezing past it. come here my love.” and his embrace enveloped you like a dream, all warm and perfect. he stroke your hair ever so softly as he whispered sweet nothings. when you calmed down a little he sneaked a hand under your jaw, rubbing his thumb on your cheek gently, a gesture with amount of love you could only guess. “what’s wrong, hm?” he questioned you, his eyes shone with adoration; there’s only you in that moment.

“i’m okay, ken. more importantly aren’t you tired from work?” there’s a deep crease between the blond’s man eyebrows he heard you say this, as if that was the most offensive thing he had ever heard from you. “’more importantly?’ there could be nothing that’s more important than you, dear,” he said, knowing that concern was from a good place, like he was worrying over you, of course you would fuss over him who just came home from work.

“still…” you hesitated, but he kissed it out of you quickly. “want me to prepare you a bath, love? you know i can get the perfect temperature for you,” he whispered, coaxing you. and he was right, even sometimes he would get it right more often than you. before you could even mumble out another excuse he continued. “and while you do that i’ll prepare dinner, okay? i’m sure there’re still some ingredients left to make that nice meal you like.”

“no, i couldn’t possibly let you do all the work ken-“

“love, i’m here. you can relax, okay? you always do so much for me, let me do this for you,” he reassured you, cupping your face as he trailed your cheeks with soft kisses. you’re still not convinced, as he smiled over your great concern. “do this for me, please?” he tried once more and there’s no way you could refuse that. you nodded, feeling another wave of tears coming out of gratitude for your boyfriend., “thank you ken, i love you so much.”

“i love you too. and when you’re ready to talk, i’m here okay? always.”

toji fushiguro

he lifted you up, your leg instinctively wrapped themselves around his waist as he grabbed both of your thighs to support you. you tighten the hold of your arms around his neck, resting your head on your shoulder, nuzzling closer to his neck; not wanting him to see your post-crying face.

he sat you on the kitchen counter, putting both of his hands on the hard surface, on either side of your body practically refraining you to run away. “what’s wrong pretty girl?” he asked you who’s currently staring at the fingers on your lap as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. he kissed your shoulder blade, intentionally lingering a little long to hopefully calm your nerves. “nothing, i guess,” you answered nonchalantly, like detaching yourself. “you’re shit at lying babe, you know that right? look at the frown that you’re wearing right now, it’s almost touching the floor,” he said as he kissed your neck next. “mean,” you meant to frown, and you realized you were already doing that for the past hour. fine, maybe he had a point, so what?

“nah, what’s mean is when my girl won’t even tell me what made her upset,” he said, tilting his head confidently, his big hand on your waist as he rubbed your side. the look on his face was enough to make you relent. “fine… you’ll force it out of me sooner or later anyways,” you mumbled as he smiled, knowing that you needed a little push is all to sound your worries. “atta girl.”

“tell me all ‘bout it yeah? don’t leave out a single detail. then maybe if you’re up for it, i can show you that i got many ways to cheer you up,”

#jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #suguru fluff #suguru x reader #geto x reader #nanami fluff #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #jjk nanami #jjk toji #toji x you #toji x reader #toji fluff

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fictionalmenxyn · 3 months ago

Text

𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬

Pairing: frat!rafe x sorority!reader

Warnings: SMUT, language, fingering, p in v, no mentions of protection (wrap it!), breeding, self pleasure (Rafe)

꥟꥟꥟

You had come over to hang out with Rafe. You both haven’t seen each other since yesterday since college was busy for you both. Rafe needed his daily dose of you, so he spammed texted you to sleepover.

So here you were, lying in his bed. Wearing just his old football jersey and a pair of Calvin Kline underwear. You laid in his bed watching tv. Rafe was playing cod with the guys. His headset on but one ear off just in case you wanted to chat or needed anything. He sat in his gaming chair at his desk. His eyes glued to the monitor, but occasionally glanced over to you.

You watched the tv on his wall, enjoying the company and finding it funny how the boys talk in chat.

You felt drowsy, your eyelids felt heavier each blink. You moved your head into the pillow more, turning over to lay on your stomach as you went to sleep.

Rafe glanced over to you as he heard you shift around in bed. His eyes raked over you. Seeing the jersey had rode up resting on your kid back. Showing off one of his favourite things about you, your ass. He could stare at it all day if he could. His hands on it most of the time. But it was the fact that you laid in his bed. Tangled up in the covers, wearing his jersey. Looking peaceful and relaxed, that made him hard in his sweatpants.

He groaned as he looked down at his sweats, seeing the newly formed tent. He didn’t bother putting on boxers as he had only just got out of the shower and just wanted to throw something on. Besides he does it most of the time when he lounges around.

He turned his attention back to the game. Trying to calm down the hard on in his sweats. But he can’t help but look over to you every so often. He couldn’t do anything about it yet. You were asleep. And he wasn’t the type to do such things without you knowing. He knew better.

He moved his right hand over his bulge. His controller in his left hand. The guys and himself were in the lobby of the game. Some of the guys either going to the bathroom or getting snacks. He quickly muted himself.

Moving his hand into his boxers, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back. Stroking the long length of his as he thought about you sat on top of him on his gaming chair. Like you have many times.

He just couldn’t budge it. Not even his hand was helping anymore. He had enough. He was going to climb into bed and sleep it off. He quickly made an excuse for him to end the game with the guys. He logged off and turned his ps5 off.

He climbed into bed beside you. Pulling you close to him. Letting out a long sigh, he closed his eyes and tried to relax.

He soon fell asleep. Then to be only woken up at two in the morning. He groaned to himself when he felt his hips subconsciously grid against your side.

He was tried, so were you. But he had to get rid of it. And he’d know you’d most def would help him.

He brushed a few strands of hair out of your face. Then whispering in his deep husky tired voice “baby… need you to wake up f’me…”

You turned over, rubbing your eye “hm?”

He grinned softly “c’mon… I need some help… you looked so good in my jersey earlier… I couldn’t shift it…” he pressed his hard on against your hip to show you.

You resting your forehead against his lips “but ‘m tired, Rafey…” “I know, I know, could you just stay awake? I’ll do all the work… just relaxed and help me out, yeah?” God his voice did things to you no one could ever explain. His raspy along with the deep mess of the accent and his overall tone. Sent shivers down your spine.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your lips, then your neck. Gently turning you over and lifting your right thigh up more. He moved his hand along your side and down to your entrance.

His palm against you, already feeling your underwear to be damp. He smirked lazily “that’s my girl…” he moved his hand in slow, lazy circles.

You moaned softly, he pulled your underwear to the side. Moving his middle finger inside of you. He lazily pushed it in and out. Curling his finger every other time. You pushed your ass back into his hard on. Causing him to groan and rock his hips into you.

He slipped his ring finger into you next. Prepping you for him. Causing you to tiredly rock your hips against his hand.

He pulled his fingers away and move his hand into his sweats. He then tugged his sweats down just enough to let his cock out. He was hung. No doubt about it. All the girls in college would die to get what you got most nights. But you took it all the way each time. Nothing like the girls he had in the past. Nothing compares to you.

He ran his tip along your slit, gently pushing it inside. Causing you to moan softly. He went in, inch by inch.

He moved his hand to your jaw. Holding it and turn your head enough so he could kiss you. As he would lazily and slowly thrust in and out of you.

You liked this side of him. Most of the time you both were rough or loud. This was quiet and relaxing for a change.

He bit your bottom lip gently as he pulls away a little. He looked into your eyes with pure lust. His lips brushing against yours as he mumbled “so fucking tight f’me… best fucking pussy, all mine, baby, yeah? All mine…love it so much” you moaned softly. Looking into his eyes with tiredness and attraction. God the look you’re giving him right now drove him insane.

He kept moving his large length in you. He moved a little so he was on top of you more. Getting a better angle and also going deeper in you. Causing you to moan a little louder. He moved his left hand next to your head in the bed, stabilising himself. As his right went under the jersey and over your breast. Massaging your breast as he rest his forehead on the side of your head. He breathing heavy and ragged.

He felt you tighten around him, causing him to groan lowly “fuuuccckk…”

He picked up his pace, you were about to moan when he shoved his hand over your mouth gently. He whispered “gotta stay quiet, baby, I don’t want the guys hearing how good I make you feel… don’t wanna wake em up now, yeah?” You nodded.

As you feel your climax approaching, Rafe smirked. Knowing your body inside and out. He knew you were close. He picked up his pace more. The room filled with heavy breathing and cheek smacking.

Your jaw slackens as you tighten around him and finish. He groans “thaaatss it, come all over my cock, yeah? Mhm fuck, so hot…”

He moved his mouth to your ear “want me to come in ya? Want it, baby? I know you do, tell me, do you?” You nodded “yes, Rafey, want you too… so bad, please…” he smirked.

Feeling himself finishing in you was amazing. Knowing it was him that made you feel this good and him being the one to finish in you, was a dream to him.

He stayed there for a moment. Giving you a ‘thank you’ kiss. He mumbled against your cheek “thank you for helping, babe… did so good f’me… I’ll treat you in the morning, you don’t have class till the afternoon… I’ll eat you out all morning, hm? Wanna do it so bad, been craving you…”

You nodded eagerly, one of your favourite things he does was just that.

He gently pulled out, watching his seed go down your thigh. He grabbed some tissues on the side of his bed and wiped it. Knowing you’d probably not want to sleep with it all over you.

Tossing the tissue into the trash can. He laid back beside you. Pulling on his sweats again. And wrapping his arms around your waist. Whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you fall back asleep.

And best believe he kept his word for the next morning.

꥟꥟꥟

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jakesimfromstatefarm · 1 month ago

Text

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

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

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

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

the end! if you made it all the way, this is for you:

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡♡♡♡♡♡

p.s. i wanted to leave the ending kinda up to interpretation—hence the time skip to a year later..but lowkey what if i wrote short drabbles/scenes of things jake does to gain Y/N's trust again, from small to big gestures etc etc..lmk if that's something anyone would wanna see !!

<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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