#i named his highlighter hehe

[solacedeer]

i just found out that Genderbend ellie doesnt have to be fugly

[voyter]

STAGED FOR THE SEASON ⋆ ( 정국 / JJK ) !

pairing. jeon jungkook x fem!reader

going back home for the holidays meant facing his ex — the one he still couldn’t let go of. determined to win her back and spark a little jealousy, he brought you along… as his fake girlfriend.

⟡₊ ⊹ CHRISTMAS SPECIAL !

word count. 18.3k words warnings. fake dating au. angst. friends to lovers. jk not over his ex. FLIRTING !! TENSION !! jungkook comes to his senses a lot in this. angst. lots of teasing. smut. unprotected sex. oral (both!receiving). quiet sex hehe. munch jk again sorry i love an eater. a little male masturbation. he looks at her while he strokes it bites lip. dom!jk (still a sub enthusiast tho). oh did i mention angst ?

ana's notes. merry christmas in february !! im crying THIS IS SO EMBARRASSING. i swear this was originally supposed to be posted in december, but i ended scrapping after scrapping. that led to the writing taking much longer than i thought it would and i actually still hate this LMFAO but i did not spend all that time on this just to not post it. so here it is. just .. here JUST TAKE IT. next fic will make up for this mess, i promise x

Jungkook was a wild individual, his life practically a highlight reel of impulsive decisions and stories that somehow always ended with him escaping a war. From his childhood to his teenage years and everything in between, you’d heard your fair share of them — events so absurd that you sometimes questioned if they were even real.

But as wild and ridiculous as those stories were, nothing could have prepared you for what he was saying right now.

“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend for Christmas.”

You froze, staring at him in pure bewilderment. It was so random — like, literally, what the fuck?

The two of you had been lounging comfortably on your couch, a shared blanket draped across your laps as you caught up on each other's lives. The conversation had been perfectly ordinary. He’d just asked about your holiday plans, and you’d told him you were spending your holiday break from work in your apartment.  

And then he said this, like it was nothing.  

Now, judging by the way you were looking at him — eyes wide, utterly dumbfounded — Jungkook couldn’t tell if there was a ghost standing behind him or if his question was genuinely out of pocket.

Jungkook shrugged, his expression unreadable. “Well?”  

You blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of his words. Is he okay? “I’m sorry?”

“Look, I know it sounds crazy, but just hear me out,” he said, sitting upright in one swift motion, his previously slouched posture disappearing as if the words themselves had straightened his spine. “I’m going home for the holidays, and you know how my mom is close friends with my ex's mom, right?”  

“Mhm…” you hum slowly, even though you already know where this is headed.

“Well, my mom invited her over on Christmas… and Misa’s gonna be there,” he says, the words spilling out like a reluctant confession. His gaze shifts to the floor, as though the hardwood could offer him some kind of solace or escape from your reaction. There’s a slight edge to his voice, like he’s bracing himself for your judgment, and his fingers tug at the thread on his jeans.  

“Kook…” Your voice drops to a quieter tone, heavy with exasperation, before a sigh escapes your lips.  

Now, you’ve heard that name a few times. And each time you did, it felt like an unwanted stone hurled into calm waters, rippling outward until it disrupted everything.  

You didn’t dislike Misa herself — how could you, when you’d never even met her? What you couldn’t stand was the effect her name had on Jungkook. It wasn’t just sadness or nostalgia that overtook him; it was something deeper, something heavier. Like a wound that had never fully healed, her name had the power to knock the air out of him, leaving him raw and vulnerable every time.

The first time you heard of Misa was through Jimin and Taehyung. According to them, Jungkook and Misa had been childhood friends who started dating in high school. But that love didn’t survive graduation. They were heading to different universities — she to Ulsan, and him in Seoul — and while Jungkook had begged her to make it work, she never wanted to do long distance. It was practical, maybe even logical, but it had wrecked him.

Jungkook never pursued relationships after her; he didn’t see the point. Love, in his eyes, was a gamble he wasn’t willing to take again. Instead, he sought out fleeting connections with girls he found attractive, indulging in temporary pleasures without the weight of commitment. It wasn’t fair, and deep down, he knew it. But as messed up as it was, he couldn’t stop himself.  

Because he didn’t want to love anyone else.  

Love had burned him once — left him raw, scarred, and reluctant to open that part of himself again. It was easier this way, safer. No expectations, no vulnerability, no chance of heartbreak. Just meaningless hookups that kept the loneliness at bay for a little while.  

“You already know what I’m going to say,” he says quietly, his voice subdued yet heavy with expectation.  

“Yeah, I do,” you snap back, unable to hide the sharp edge in your tone. There’s a bite of attitude behind your words, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

And of course, you do. He wanted you to come with him, to play the part, to make her jealous. Everything Jungkook did seemed to circle back to her. Every action, every thought, every breath — it all revolved around Misa. She was an unshakable presence in his life, even in her absence, consuming his every waking second.  

And that’s what stung. Not for yourself, but for him. Because she wouldn’t have broken up with him in the first place if she thought about him the way he still thought about her. If she cared even a fraction as much as he still does.  

You could only stare at him, your expression a mixture of pity and quiet disappointment. He had so much to give, so much love that could be directed toward someone who might actually deserve it. Yet here he was, stuck in a loop, still thinking about someone who chose to let him go.  

“I know,” he says softly. And the worst part? He really does know. He knows exactly what you’re thinking because he’s heard it all before. And it frustrates you to no end because knowing and doing are two very different things.

You’ve never held back from telling him exactly how you feel. As one of his best friends, you had every right to be upset about it. Watching him go through girls like they’re disposable wasn’t just reckless; it was self destructive. You’d made it painfully clear how detrimental it was for him to still be hung up on his ex, and even more so to avoid meaningful connections altogether. But despite your blunt honesty, Jungkook has never made an effort to truly change.

He never takes the time to get to know the women he hooks up with — it’s always a simple fuck and go. It’s a vicious cycle that leaves no room for growth or healing. But Jungkook’s stubbornness is both his armor and his downfall.

Before you could scold him, you catch yourself. You take a breath, reminding yourself that emotions, especially Jungkook’s, aren’t something he can just flip on and off. Instead of letting your frustration bubble over, you pause, choosing empathy. You let yourself step into his shoes, imagining the weight he must carry, the way old memories cling like cobwebs in the corners of his mind.

Jungkook has always been there for you, through thick and thin.

Now, it was your turn to return the favor.

“I’ll do it,” you said, finally breaking the heavy silence.

His head snapped up so fast you flinched, half expecting him to pull a muscle. His hair bounced with the sudden movement, and his eyes were wide, shining with a mix of disbelief and cautious hope. “Really?”

“This is very stupid, Jungkook,” you replied, your tone firm but tinged with a resigned gentleness.  

“It is,” he agreed without hesitation, nodding like a chastised child. Because he knew you were right — it was stupid, immature even. The two of you were grown adults for crying out loud, and here he was asking you to fake being his girlfriend just to get under his ex’s skin.

You only sighed, the weight of your decision settling over you. “Then I guess we should lay down some boundaries,” you said, your voice steady, though your stomach churned with unease.  

His face lit up with a bright, almost childlike smile, his eyes sparkling with hope. He still couldn’t believe you were agreeing to this. “Right-”

“I’m not kissing you,” you interrupted, your tone firm.

The joy drained from his face in an instant, replaced by pure, unfiltered horror. “What? No one is going to believe us if you don’t let me kiss you!”  

“Then we’ll just say we aren’t comfortable with PDA,” you countered with a shrug, as if it were the simplest solution in the world.  

“I always kissed Misa in front of our parents!” he argued, a faint whine creeping into his voice.

“Then we’ll say I’m not comfortable with PDA,” you shot back, emphasizing your words. “Kook, I just don’t think it’d be appropriate.”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping as he reluctantly nodded. As much as he hated the idea of limiting the act, he understood where you were coming from. The last thing he wanted was to make you uncomfortable. “Fine. Can I at least kiss you on the cheek?”  

“Yeah,” you said, offering a small smile.  

“Great,” he replied, perking up slightly. “We must be touching at all times. I was always very clingy with Misa, so it needs to look natural…”  

You almost grimaced at the thought. You let out a long sigh, nodding reluctantly. “Fine. Touching at all times. But keep your hands where I can see them.”  

“Relax,” Jungkook said with a grin, leaning back smugly. “I’m not a perv. Maybe we should practice-”

“If you touch me, I will hit you,” you cut him off, glaring.

Days after your little agreement with Jungkook, you found yourself sitting in the passenger seat of his car, the heater humming softly as it worked to fight the cold winter air that seeped through the windows. The trunk was packed tightly with your bags, a visible reminder of the journey ahead, and the winding highway stretched endlessly before you under the dull gray sky.  

Initially, the plan was simple: head to Busan on Christmas day, just in time for dinner. But Jungkook’s mom insisted that you both arrive a day earlier to rest after the long drive. The suggestion didn’t bother you — in fact, it seemed practical. Yet, it also meant one extra day to brace yourself for the moment you’d stand beside Jungkook as he faced the girl who broke his heart.

With an acrylic nail caught between your teeth, you stared out the window, taking in the scenery as it changed around you. It didn’t snow here; the air was crisp, the breeze carried faint traces of salt from the sea. The bustling cityscape of Seoul was a stark contrast to the quieter, more laid back atmosphere of Busan. You found yourself admiring the differences, marveling at how a different part of Korea could feel so distinct yet familiar.

The person beside you was lost in thought, grappling with something entirely different.

In just about a day, Jungkook would come face to face with the girl he once swore was the love of his life — the one who had ruined love for him. Nine years ago. Almost an entire era of his existence had passed since they last saw each other, back when he was just a seventeen year old kid. She had been the center of his world once, and even after she broke up with him, she still lingered in his mind.

During the midst of the long drive, you’d fallen asleep. The steady hum of the car and the rhythm of the road had cradled you into a peaceful slumber. But as the journey came to an end, so did your nap, when you felt a gentle pressure on your arm.

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting the soft glow of the garage door in front of the driveway. You blinked a few times, your vision adjusting to the new surroundings, before pulling your headphones off your head.

“Sleep well?” Jungkook’s voice broke through the haze of sleep, his smirk evident even before you looked at him.

“Mmm, sitting up and with my neck bent? Slept so good,” you tease, a sarcastic smile pulling at the corners of your lips as you stretch your stiff limbs.

Jungkook rolls his eyes, but there’s a playful edge to his response. He presses the button to turn off the car. “Let’s go inside. I’m fucking beat,” he says, his voice casual, but the tiredness in his tone betrays how much he’s ready to be done with the drive.

You stretch one more time, a satisfying crack running down your spine as you unbuckle your seatbelt. You glance out the window, your eyes falling on Jungkook’s childhood home. It’s a beautiful house, its exterior glowing warmly under the lights, casting long shadows. 

It’s a home that likely holds countless memories for him. You can almost imagine the sound of laughter, of family dinners and the warmth of his parents’ love. The kind of place where so many moments, both small and monumental, are tucked away in corners.

“Coming?” Jungkook calls, his voice carrying a teasing edge. You snap your head toward him, catching the sight of him leaning down, his head poking just enough from the car door so he can see you clearly. His mischievous grin matches the playful tone in his voice. “Or you gonna sleep in here some more?”

You raise an eyebrow, your lips curving into a smirk. “Keep fucking with me, and I’ll drive your car back home and leave you here,” you warn, voice dripping with sarcasm.

He clicks his tongue in mock frustration, rolling his eyes dramatically, clearly amused by your threat. “Girl, hurry up,” he retorts, the playful irritation in his tone betraying how little he actually means it.

You chuckle before you grab your purse and swing the door open. The cold air rushes in, sharp and biting against your skin, but you barely notice as the playful tension between the two of you lingers in the space between the car and the house.

You shut the car door with a soft thud before making your way to the back of the car. Jungkook is already there, pulling out the suitcases like it’s second nature — his sleek black one in one hand and your unmistakeable pink one in the other.

“I could’ve got it myself, you know,” you say, reaching out to press the button that automatically closes the trunk.

“Sure you could’ve,” he quips without missing a beat, effortlessly balancing both suitcases as if they weigh nothing. “But I can’t have my girlfriend going around carrying her stuff. That’s what I’m here for.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head, though the smile tugging at the corners of your lips betrays your true feelings. You two weren’t even inside yet and he was already playing boyfriend. “You’re annoying.”

Jungkook merely smirks, adjusting his grip on the luggage with practiced ease. "Yet, here you are," he teases, his tone dripping with playful arrogance. Without waiting for a reply, he strides past you, carrying both suitcases as if they weighed nothing. Of course, he wasn't just dragging them by the wheels; Jungkook wouldn't dare let them get scratched up. He doesn't even glance back as he says over his shoulder, "And you can't say that to me. I'm your boyfriend, remember?"

You let out a soft laugh, biting back a retort, and simply trail after him, the cold breeze nips at your cheeks as the warmth of his playful energy draws you closer.

The sun had just dipped below the horizon not long before you woke up. The neighborhood was peaceful, a stark contrast to the buzz of the city you were used to. It felt like time moved slower here, as if everyone respected the rhythm of each other's lives. The only sound came from the faint crunch of pavement beneath your Uggs, a small echo that followed you as you walked behind Jungkook toward the front door.

Jungkook reached the door first, the suitcases set down on each side of him as he pressed the doorbell. The sound of the melodic chime was faint but clear, cutting through the stillness of the night. You barely had a second to process it before the door swung open.

The first thing that hit you wasn't the warmth of the house or the inviting scent of cinnamon, pumpkin spice candles, or the faint pine from the Christmas tree you could see in the distance.

No, it was her.

The woman who opened the door was stunning. She stood there, framed by the doorway, dressed elegantly in a red blouse that complemented her bold, perfectly applied red lipstick. Her silky, dark hair fell in long waves around her shoulders, each strand catching the soft glow of the porch light. Her skin was radiant, practically glowing, free of any signs of age or stress — you just knew her husband didn’t stress her out.

"Ah, finally! I was wondering when you'd be here," she exclaims, her voice warm and inviting as she immediately pulls Jungkook into a hug.

"Hi, Ma," he chuckles softly, his tone affectionate and familiar.

She pulls back slightly, just enough to plant a kiss on his cheek, her smile widening as she takes a moment to admire her youngest son. Her eyes then shift to you, and her expression brightens even more. It's as if she already knows you, her warmth extending effortlessly as she steps forward and wraps you in a hug without hesitation.

You glance up at Jungkook over her shoulder, and he's already mouthing a quick, sheepish apology behind her back. Caught off guard, you freeze for a moment, but the comforting scent of her home wafting from her brings you ease. You lean into the hug, letting her warmth envelop you.

She pulls back just enough to look at you, finding your hands and holding them. “Oh, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” she says softly, saying your name in a tone that feels so sweet, so genuine, that it tugs at your chest. Her gaze is filled with awe, as if she’s seeing someone she’s already heard so much about, and the kindness in her eyes makes you smile despite yourself.

"It's nice to meet you, too," you chuckle softly, your voice warm and genuine. Her kindness is infectious, and you can't help but feel at ease. "Thank you for having me over," you add, meaning every word.

"Oh, of course!" she exclaims, her excitement bubbling over as she grabs your hands tighter. "I'm so glad you could make it. It's been far too long since I've seen this one with someone."

"Mom," Jungkook says, his tone edged with a mixture of embarrassment and impatience, ready for her to end her swooning.

"Alright, alright," she relents, though the affectionate smile on her face doesn't waver. Releasing your hands, she gestures toward the doorway with a gentle nudge at your shoulder.

"You two must be tired. Let's get you inside."

You step forward as she guides you in, the warmth of her gesture matching the atmosphere inside. Jungkook stays a step behind, standing at the side of the doorway to let you and his mom enter first.

The moment you step inside, the welcoming heat of the house envelops you, melting away the lingering cold that clings stubbornly to your layers of sweaters. With a quiet sigh of relief, you slip off your shoes, letting the warmth of the carpet floors guide you further in. Each step feels like an invitation, the comforting atmosphere drawing you deeper into its embrace.

The living room greets you with a cozy glow, the Christmas tree taking center stage. It's adorned with ornaments, from handmade crafts to glimmering baubles, all illuminated by warm string lights that cast soft reflections onto the nearby walls.

The kitchen's dim lighting spills softly into the space, complementing the golden ambiance. Picture frames hang on the walls, each one a memory.

Mrs. Jeon dismisses you both, urging you two to go upstairs and wind down before dinner. You and Jungkook hum in acknowledgment before he starts up the stairs, his hands gripping the handles of the luggage. You follow closely behind, your pace matching his slower one as he hauls the bags up. The steps creak softly beneath your weight, and your eyes wander to the walls, taking in the baby pictures framed and lined up with care.  

“You were such a cute kid,” you tease, a fond smile curling your lips. “What happened?”  

Jungkook glances back at you, feigning offense. “Don’t act like I’m ugly now.”  

“I didn’t say you were,” you reply sweetly, trailing just behind him.

“So, I’m not ugly?” Jungkook asks, setting his suitcase on the ground before turning the knob and pushing open the door to his bedroom.  

“That’s also not what I said,” you reply, a hint of amusement in your tone.  

He picks up his suitcase again, carrying it into the room and placing it neatly beside your pink one. “Kind of is,” he teases, his words drawn out as if savoring the moment. “Keep it up, and I might start thinking you have a crush on me.”  

“Ugh,” you groan dramatically, scrunching your nose. “You wish.”  

He chuckles, the sound light and carefree, as he strides over to his nightstand and flicks on the lamp.  

The warm glow washes over the room, casting a nostalgic ambiance. Your eyes sweep across his childhood bedroom, taking in the details. Posters of anime characters and superheroes still cling to the blue-painted walls, a testament to the boy he once was. Shelves crammed with trophies, medals, and action figures line one side of the room, proudly showcasing his accomplishments and hobbies. In the corner by the window sits a desk, cluttered yet organized, as if it had been left untouched since his teenage years. It’s clear Jungkook’s mom hadn’t touched his room all these years, preserving it like a time capsule of his youth.  

"I guess one of us is taking the floor," you remark, breaking the silence as you shut the door behind you.

Your eyes flick to the bed in the center of the room, the blue-and-white striped comforter tucked neatly over the mattress. It's spacious — easily big enough for two.

Jungkook turns toward you, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. "Yeah, I'll take the floor," he says, his tone light but certain, as if he's already resigned himself to the discomfort.

Despite all the teasing and playful banter you two always fall into, moments like this remind you of who Jungkook truly is: thoughtful, selfless, and entirely too earnest for his own good.  

“Are you sure?” you ask, your voice quieter now, tinged with hesitation.  

He nods firmly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.  

You return his smile, stepping closer to the bed and carefully placing your purse on the neatly made comforter. Sharing a bed with Jungkook wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world, but it still felt like a line — one you weren’t entirely sure either of you wanted to cross.

The brief tension in the room dissolves as Jungkook clears his throat, shifting the atmosphere back to something more neutral. He moves to unpack his suitcase, crouching to place it on the floor, his hands working through the neatly folded clothes inside. You lower yourself onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly beneath your weight.  

Grabbing your own suitcase, you busy yourself as well, the sound of zippers and rustling fabric filling the space. The simplicity of it feels grounding, a quiet prelude to the whirlwind you both know is coming.  

The rest of the evening unfolds seamlessly.

After unpacking, you and Jungkook join his parents for dinner, the warm glow of the dining room making everything feel cozy and intimate. The food is delicious — homemade and hearty — and the conversation flows easily. You find yourself genuinely enjoying their company, feeling more at home than you expected.  

After dinner, you help clear the table despite Jungkook’s insistence that you relax, and his mother beams at you in gratitude. By the time you and Jungkook finally head upstairs, your stomach is full, your cheeks are sore from smiling, and a comfortable warmth lingers in your chest.  

While Jungkook was in the bathroom, unwinding for the night, you stood in his bedroom, slipping into something more comfortable for sleep.

Reaching behind your neck, you unclasped the last of your accessories, your fingers brushing over the familiar chain. And that's when you felt it — the delicate metal snapping apart in your hands.

Your breath hitched as you stared down at the broken necklace, your heart sinking. The piece that had been passed down to you, the one that meant so much, now lay in two fragile halves in your palm.

“No!” you exclaim, your voice sharp and panicked.

Jungkook appears in the doorway within seconds, his brows furrowed with concern, his hair falling into his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asks, scanning the room as if preparing for the worst. 

“Oh, nothing, sorry,” you pout, holding up the broken chain in your hand, the delicate locket dangling from your fingertips. “My necklace just broke.” Your tone is softer now, but the frustration and sadness are evident. 

Jungkook steps closer, his expression softening as his eyes fall on the piece of jewelry. “Let me see,” he says, his voice calm and steady. 

You hand him the chain, its links split cleanly apart, and the locket, small and aged, but clearly well-loved. His fingers brush yours as he takes it, inspecting the damage with a gentle touch. 

“I’ll get you a new one,” he offers without hesitation, his voice firm with intent. 

You shake your head, though you can’t help but smile at his kindness. “Thanks, but it’s okay,” you say, your voice carrying a bittersweet note. “It was my grandma’s. She gave it to me before she passed.”  

His gaze shifts from the broken chain to your face, his expression softening further. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice low and apologetic. 

“Don’t be,” you reply quickly, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. It’s a feeble attempt to deflect, and you know it. So does Jungkook. He’s perceptive like that — always has been. But instead of pressing the matter, he lets it slide, his silence a quiet mercy.

You walk toward your toiletry bag sitting on the dresser, rummaging through it in search of your lotion. Behind you, Jungkook sneakily pockets the broken necklace without a word.

Without hesitation, he heads for the closet, his movements fluid and unhurried as he retrieves a couple of comforters, draping them over his arm.  

He drops the bundle onto the floor beside the bed and crouches down, carefully arranging his makeshift sleeping area. The soft rustle of fabric fills the room as he spreads one comforter out as a base, smoothing over the creases with practiced ease.  

“You really don’t have to do that,” you murmur, your voice gentle as you settle onto the bed, watching him.  

Jungkook glances up at you, a small, reassuring smile tugging at his lips. “It’s fine,” he replies, the simplicity of his words carrying an unspoken certainty.  

You observe him as he finishes setting up, his movements unbothered, almost second nature. When he finally stretches out on the floor, arms folded behind his head, he looks far too relaxed for someone who willingly chose the hardwood over the comfort of the bed.  

“Comfortable?” you ask, raising a brow, your tone laced with amusement.

“As comfortable as the floor can get,” he jokes, running a hand through his hair with an easy grin.  

You shake your head, chuckling softly, but the warmth spreading through your chest lingers — a quiet appreciation for his effort.  

The room settles into a comfortable silence, the muffled hum of the night pressing in through the walls. The faint scent of fresh linens mingles with the soft sweetness of your lotion, wrapping around you like a gentle cocoon. You tug the covers higher, the warmth seeping into your skin as your gaze drifts downward.  

Jungkook lies sprawled out on the makeshift bed, his face partially illuminated by the dim glow of the bedside lamp. The golden light casts soft shadows along the sharp angles of his jaw, highlighting the quiet ease in his features. There’s something unreadable in his expression, but the calmness about him is infectious, settling over you like a lull.  

“Mom told me she likes you a lot,” he says suddenly, his voice low and steady, breaking the stillness.

You blink, momentarily caught off guard by his words. “Oh, really?” you ask, aiming for a casual tone, though the slight waver in your voice betrays your curiosity.  

He nods, resting his head on one hand, his dark eyes locked onto yours. "Yeah," he murmurs, his voice soft yet laced with amusement. "She said I should treat you well… so I don’t lose a good thing."  

His words linger between you, unexpected yet undeniably warm. A surprised smile tugs at your lips as heat creeps up your neck, spreading faster than you’d like. You glance away, attempting to play it cool. "That’s really sweet of her," you say, keeping your tone light despite the flutter in your chest. "But how exactly are we going to break it to her that your beautiful, amazing, perfect girlfriend… isn’t actually your girlfriend?"  

Jungkook huffs a small, disbelieving laugh, his eyes narrowing slightly. “We’ll figure that out soon,” he says, voice low and certain. “For now… don’t worry about it.”

You wake up abruptly, blinking against the morning light streaming through the curtains. Your mind feels hazy, and you can’t quite piece together the moments before you fell asleep. Sitting up, you glance toward the floor, only to find Jungkook’s makeshift bed empty and disheveled.

Right on cue, the door creaks open, and in walks Jungkook. Your breath catches in your throat. His hair is damp, droplets clinging to the strands and dripping onto his broad shoulders. A towel hangs precariously low on his hips, barely covering enough. His tattooed arm, ink running from his shoulder down to his fingers, flexes as he pushes the door shut behind him. Your gaze betrays you, trailing down the contours of his chest, his toned abs glistening with water droplets, and further down to the deep V-line teasing just above the towel’s edge.

“You’re awake,” he says, his voice casual as if he isn’t standing there half-naked and looking like a walking thirst trap.

“You’re naked,” you mock.

He glances down at himself, running a hand lazily down his abs, a motion that only emphasizes his physique. “Nope, I’ve got a towel on.” His lips curl into a smirk as he meets your gaze. “Why? You tryna see more?”

“Jungkook!” you exclaim, heat rushing to your face as you yank the blanket over your head, effectively shielding yourself from the sight.

“I’m kidding!” he laughs, his voice rich with amusement, and you can practically hear the grin on his face.

After a moment of muffled indignation, you peek out from the safety of your blanket. Jungkook has turned to his dresser, his back muscles shifting and flexing with every movement as he searches for clothes. You hesitate, your gaze lingering longer than it should, admiring the way the morning light outlines the definition of his shoulders and back.  

“Are you done staring, or should I pose for a picture?” he teases without turning around, his voice laced with playful smugness.

You groan, throwing yourself back against the pillows. ��Unbelievable.”  

He chuckles again, pulling out a sweater and jeans. “Relax. I’ll get dressed in the bathroom.” He tosses a wink over his shoulder before heading back out, leaving you alone to cool down your burning cheeks and racing heart.  

The room feels quieter once he’s gone, but his presence lingers in the charged air, heavy and undeniable. You throw the blanket off with a sigh, sitting up and running a hand through your hair, trying to push away the thoughts swirling in your mind. His teasing smirk, the droplets of water trailing down his skin, the way he stood there so casually — it was all too much.  

You stand abruptly, the need to escape the confined space overwhelming. The cool floor beneath your feet grounds you slightly as you make your way to the door. Heading downstairs feels like the only option, the only way to clear your head and put some distance between yourself and the overwhelming presence of Jungkook.  

The staircase creaks softly under your weight as you descend, the faint hum of morning activity filtering up from the kitchen. The smell of coffee drifts through the air, warm and inviting, a contrast to the storm of emotions brewing inside you.  

The open space of the living room feels like a relief, but the image of him lingers in your mind, unshakable. You take a deep breath, your steps slower now as you reach the kitchen, hoping the steady rhythm of the house will settle the tension knotting in your chest.  

But even as you move through the familiar space, you can’t help the way your thoughts betray you, replaying the moments upstairs. The sight of him, so effortless, so... distracting. You shake your head, trying to push it all away, determined to focus on anything else as the morning unfolds.

As you make your way to the kitchen, the sound of someone moving around greets you. Mrs. Jeon is already up, a warm smile on her face as she spots you. "Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?"

You hesitate for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, I did. Thank you."

Her smile widens, and she hands you a steaming mug of coffee. "Good. Jungkook's not giving you a hard time, is he?"

You laugh softly, shaking your head. "Not yet."

Oh, he definitely already was. But she didn’t need to know that.

She chuckles softly, the sound warm and familiar, as you take a sip of the coffee she brewed for you. You savor the drink, the warmth spreading through your chest, and just as you’re about to compliment her coffee making skills, Mrs. Jeon speaks first, her voice breaking the silence.  

"So, I assume you know who's coming over tonight?" she asks. Her gaze meets yours briefly, a knowing look flickering in her eyes.

The question catches you mid-sip, and you lower your mug slowly, nodding in quiet acknowledgment. You haven't fully unpacked the weight of what's to come tonight, but denying it feels pointless now.

Mrs. Jeon's expression softens, the corners of her lips curving into a kind, almost maternal smile. "I'm sorry, honey," she says, her tone gentle but sincere.

“No, there’s no need to apologize,” you reply, doing your best to sound steady, even as a flicker of unease gnaws at the edges of your composure. “It’s… really okay.”  

“Surely it isn’t,” she says softly. “If circumstances were different, I wouldn’t have put you in this situation in a heartbeat.”  

Her words hit you harder than you expect, stirring emotions you weren't prepared to confront. It's like a sudden weight pressing down on your chest, an ache that you can't quite place. You swallow hard, the once comforting warmth of your coffee now tasting bitter on your tongue.

"Thank you," you murmur, your voice soft and measured. Your gaze falls to your mug, fingers curling tighter around it, as though its warmth might quiet the unease swirling in your chest. After a pause, you add, "I really appreciate it, but as long as Jungkook’s okay, I’ll be okay."

Mrs. Jeon hums, the sound warm and heartfelt, a quiet acknowledgment of your sincerity. “You’re a good one,” she says, breaking the silence. “Jungkook’s been through a lot over the years. Seeing him happy like this... it makes me happy, too. So, thank you — for being there for him.”

The words strike a chord, and you feel a sudden, sharp pang of guilt twist in your stomach. You glance up at her, her kind eyes meeting yours, and it takes everything in you to keep your composure. She believes you’re the reason for Jungkook’s happiness, that your relationship with him is real, and the weight of that misunderstanding feels heavier than ever.

“It’s nothing, really,” you say, though your voice wavers ever so slightly. “I care about him a lot and he’s always been there for me, too.”  

She offers a genuine smile, her expression warm and inviting, but before she can say anything more, the soft creak of footsteps descending the stairs catches both your attention. You glance toward the staircase just as Jungkook comes into view, his presence commanding.  

He’s dressed casually yet somehow manages to look effortlessly put together in a beige knitted cardigan layered over a plain white tee, paired with light-washed baggy jeans that hang perfectly on his frame. His hair, still damp from his recent shower, clings to his forehead in soft strands.

The morning light streaming through the windows catches the subtle sheen of water in his hair, making him look... warm, almost domestic in a way that feels oddly intimate. He steps forward, sock-covered feet brushing against the floor, and suddenly, it feels like the air in the room has shifted.

"Speaking of the devil," Mrs. Jeon teases, her playful smile accompanied by a raised eyebrow in your direction.

You let out a soft giggle, as you lift the mug to your lips. The warmth of the coffee spreads through you, rich and comforting, a small distraction from the nervous flutter in your chest. It's delicious, just like everything else she's prepared since you arrived, a subtle testament to her care and hospitality.

"Oh, talking about me already?" Jungkook's voice pulls your attention as he strolls into the kitchen.

"Only the good things," Mrs. Jeon replies warmly, turning to grab a mug from the cabinet. She reaches for the coffee pot and fills the mug, steam curling into the air. "Good morning, sweetheart."

"Morning, Ma," he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly from sleep.

Then, without warning, Jungkook steps closer, wrapping his arm casually around your shoulders. Before you can react, he leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek, the soft warmth of his lips lingering far longer in your mind than on your skin.

If Mrs. Jeon weren't standing right there, you would've shoved him away playfully. Instead, you do the only thing you can — lean into the moment, letting the weight of his arm anchor you in this charade.

Mrs. Jeon's smile doesn't falter as she watches the two of you, her gaze warm and affectionate. She hands the coffee to Jungkook, who mutters a soft thank you before taking a sip, his arm still comfortably draped around your shoulders.

He’s good at this — too good. The way his smile comes so effortlessly, the way his body instinctively leans into yours as though it’s second nature, makes it almost impossible to remember that this is all just an act, a carefully crafted part of the plan.  

You thought this would be easy. After all, Jungkook had always been just Jungkook to you — a friend, a constant presence, someone familiar and safe. But now, with the memory of his bare torso lingering stubbornly in your mind, your cheeks flush at the worst moments, and your thighs press together involuntarily when the thought sneaks back in.  

Mrs. Jeon moves gracefully around the kitchen, her voice warm and full of life as she talks about plans for the day. You nod and hum in agreement, but your mind is far away. Guilt churns like a storm in your chest, heavy and unrelenting, rising anew every time Mrs. Jeon sends a kind, approving smile your way.  

When she looks at you, it’s with such pride, as though she’s thrilled her son has found someone like you. And for a fleeting second, you almost wish it were true. You wish you could live up to the image of the person she clearly thinks you are. But you’re not. You’re just playing a part in a story she doesn’t know is fake.  

Jungkook’s hand rests casually on the back of your chair, his fingers brushing against your shoulder lightly, as if to remind you that he’s there. The touch should be comforting — it is comforting — but it also sets your nerves on fire. The warmth of him, so close, so steady, only makes the tightness in your chest worse.

The room is suffocating despite its cozy charm. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling breakfast mingles in the air, but it’s not enough to drown out the heaviness in your heart. Still, you press forward, past the discomfort and the guilt. If nothing else, you remind yourself, you’re doing this for him.

What was once a quiet, serene home now buzzes with warmth, laughter, and conversation. The lively energy catches you off guard, and before you can fully take it in, a high-pitched voice squeals through the air.

"Kookie!"

Your attention snaps to the source just as Jungkook's face lights up, his entire demeanor shifting into something softer, more playful.

"Jihyun!" he calls back, crouching slightly and stretching his arms wide open in anticipation.

A little girl, no older than four, comes bounding into view. She's dressed in an adorable red blouse and a denim skirt, her two space buns bouncing as she sprints toward him. Without hesitation, she flings herself into his waiting arms, colliding with him in a way that makes him stumble back a step with a playful groan.

He lifts her effortlessly, holding her securely against him as she giggles wildly. "I missed you so much," he murmurs into her shoulder, his voice tender and full of adoration.

"Me too!" she replies, her small arms wrapping tightly around his neck. The pure joy in her voice makes your chest ache in the sweetest way.

You can't help but smile as you watch the interaction, warmth blooming in your chest at the sight of Jungkook so effortlessly in his element. The way he holds her, talks to her, and grins from ear to ear — it's a side of him you don't get to see often, and it's undeniably endearing.

She pulls back slightly, her tiny hands still gripping Jungkook's shoulders as she admires his face with a bright smile. You can't help but admire her in return — her big, glossy boba eyes are so reminiscent of Jungkook's that it makes your heart squeeze. She's adorable, with a lively sparkle in her gaze and a face that's impossible not to love.

Jungkook glances at you, catching your gaze as he tilts his head slightly, silently beckoning you closer. You step forward, your hand naturally resting on his bicep as you meet his gentle smile.

"Nini, say hi," Jungkook coaxes softly, bouncing her in his arms just enough to make her giggle.

The little girl turns her attention to you, her eyes wide and curious as they meet yours. For a moment, you're captivated by the way they seem to shine, full of wonder and mischief.

You give her a warm smile and a small wave. “Hi," you say softly, your tone as gentle as the moment feels.

Her lips curl into a shy grin, her eyes crinkling at the edges as she mimics your wave and chirps, "Hi." Her voice is small and sweet, and you feel your heart melt instantly.

"This is my Nini," Jungkook says, his tone affectionate as he presses a kiss to the top of her head. He then introduces you by name, emphasizing it just enough for her to catch on.

She tilts her head slightly, testing the sound of your name on her lips. Her tiny voice repeats it, and the way she says it with a soft lilt makes you smile even wider.

"Good job," you say gently, your voice full of encouragement. "You said it perfectly."

She beams at the praise, her little giggle filling the space as she snuggles into Jungkook's chest. He scrunches his nose, fingers lightly tickling her sides, drawing more laughter from her tiny frame. The sight is endearing — so much so that it disarms you completely. This isn't the Jungkook you're used to seeing. It's a domestic, almost paternal side of him that pulls at something deep within you, leaving your thoughts to wander places they shouldn't.

You know better, but your mind betrays you. There's something about the way he holds her so effortlessly, the way his smile reaches his eyes, that stirs a warmth low in your tummy. Whatever the reason, the thought of Jungkook as a father, with kids of his own — and worse, the intrusive idea of them being your kids — leaves your face getting all hot.

Still, the thought lingers in the back of your mind, unwanted and insistent. You try to focus on anything else — the hum of conversation in the other room, the clinking of plates — but all you can see is the way Jungkook glances down at her, his love for her so visible it practically glows.

"What's up, bro!" a man exclaims, striding up to Jungkook with an easy grin, pulling him into a tight hug. Jihyun squeals, sandwiched between the two of them.

"Hey," Jungkook greets, patting the man's back with a grin of his own.  

The man’s focus shifts to you, his demeanor softening into something more formal but equally welcoming. His eyes light up with a polite curiosity, and he steps forward, extending a hand. "Hi, I’m Junghyun, Jungkook’s brother."  

You take his hand, matching his smile with one of your own as you introduce yourself. His handshake is firm yet warm, the kind that immediately puts you at ease. There’s a quiet confidence in his manner, one that seems to run in the family.  

“It’s really nice to meet you,” he says, his smile lingering as if he’s sizing you up in the most good-natured way possible.  

“Likewise,” you reply, your voice steady, though there’s a faint flutter of nerves in your chest — meeting Jungkook’s family feels like crossing an invisible threshold.  

Jihyun squirms free from Jungkook's arms, her little body wriggling with determination until she finally escapes his grasp. The moment her feet hit the floor, she reaches for you, her tiny fingers slipping into yours. She tugs at your hand — gently at first, then more insistently — as if she has something very important to show you in the living room.

"Thief!" Jungkook calls after her, feigning offense.

Jihyun only giggles, her mischievous little laugh filling the room like music. She glances back at him with a playful grin before tightening her grip on you and pulling you forward, eager and excited.

She leads you to a cozy spot on the carpet where a toy tea set is laid out, its bright colors inviting. She sits, pointing to the space across from her. As you settle down, your gaze flickers to the woman seated near you. She cradles a baby in her arms, her beauty striking but softened by the warm smile she sends your way.  

“Would you like some tea?” Jihyun asks, her voice carrying the kind of serious charm only a child could muster. She holds up the tiny porcelain teapot with both hands, her expression adorably earnest.  

You play along, grabbing the delicate toy teacup and its matching saucer, holding them forward. “Why yes, I would love some,” you reply, your tone as playful as hers.  

Jihyun’s giggle is pure delight as she mimics pouring tea, her little hands moving with exaggerated precision. You both lift your cups and take pretend sips, the air between you filled with laughter and the sweetness of a make-believe moment.  

The woman beside you watches the scene unfold with a soft chuckle, her baby gurgling quietly in her arms, adding its own tiny contribution to the cheerful atmosphere.

“You’re really great with kids,” she says, her tone sincere and appreciative.  

You glance over, returning her smile with one of your own. “Thank you. I’ve had my fair share of babysitting over the years.” Your gaze flicks to Jihyun, who’s now meticulously arranging plastic pastries on the carpet. “She’s absolutely adorable.”  

“She is,” the woman agrees, a soft laugh escaping her. “Though she can definitely be a handful when she wants to be. But she gets away with it because she’s cute.”  

You chuckle at her playful tone, shifting your gaze to the little one nestled in her arms. “And what about this one?” you ask, nodding toward the baby.  

“Much calmer,” she replies, glancing down at the tiny bundle in her arms with obvious affection. “At least for now. Ask me again when he starts walking — then I might have a different answer.”  

You chuckle, the warmth of the moment settling around you like a cozy blanket. Your gaze drifts to Jihyun, who carefully lifts her teacup to her teddy bear's snout, her tiny hands steady with concentration. The sight tugs at your heart, a soft smile playing on your lips.

"I'm Yeona, Junghyun's wife," the woman says warmly, her smile reaching her eyes as she shifts the baby slightly in her arms.

You return her smile, introducing yourself as Jungkook's girlfriend. The words feel foreign on your tongue, but not entirely unnatural.

"I've known Jungkook since he was a teenager, and I haven't seen him with someone in a long time. I know you're probably tired of hearing this by now, but we're genuinely so happy to have you here."

You tilt your head slightly, a soft warmth spreading through your chest at her sincerity. "Thank you, I'm happy to be here," you reply, your voice gentle but genuine.

The baby in her arms suddenly coos, little arms flailing as his tiny face scrunches up with curiosity. Yeona glances down at him and then back at you. "Do you wanna hold him?"

You blink in surprise. "If it's alright?"

"Of course!" she says, carefully moving to hand him over.

You extend your arms, palms open, as she passes the baby to you. His tiny weight settles against you, warm and soft. He doesn't cry or fuss, his wide, innocent eyes locking onto yours. Instead, he lets out another coo, his small hands curling in the air as if reaching for something unseen.

“Do you want kids?” Yeona asks, her tone casual but curious.  

The question catches you off guard with its directness, especially since you’ve only just met her. Yet, there’s no malice or prying in her voice — just genuine curiosity. It’s a question you realize no one has ever bothered to ask you before. Oddly enough, you appreciate her candor.  

“I do,” you admit, your voice soft but certain.  

“Good,” she replies with a knowing smile. “Because I know he does too.”  

Before you can form a response — before you can explain that you and Jungkook aren’t quite what she thinks you are — Yeona rises gracefully from her spot on the carpet, heading toward the kitchen.  

You exhale, a mix of emotions swirling in your chest. That’s when you feel it: a familiar warmth pressing against your back, a weight that immediately grounds you. A chin rests lightly on your shoulder, and a hand — adorned with tattoos you’d recognize anywhere — reaches forward to gently touch the baby’s nose.  

Just then, the baby in your arms fusses, his tiny hands swatting at Jungkook’s fingers as if to protest the playful intrusion. Jungkook chuckles softly, his breath warm against your ear. You glance back at him, a playful glare in your eyes.  

“Stop it,” you whisper with mock sternness, shifting the baby slightly to soothe him. But Jungkook only grins, clearly enjoying the little moment.  

The thought of leaving this — leaving them — in a few months presses heavy on your chest. This family dynamic, this love and connection, feels so genuine. And yet, deep down, you know your place here isn’t meant to last.

But the warmth of Jungkook’s presence, the ease of the laughter surrounding you, makes it harder to remember that this is all an act. A role you’re playing, despite how genuine it feels. Despite how often they tell you how happy they are to have you here.

The sun goes down, and the Christmas lights strung all around the house cast a soft, warm glow that dances across the walls. Their gentle twinkle feels almost magical, a comforting contrast to the slight edge of tension creeping into the evening. The dinner hour is drawing near, and with it, Misa’s arrival looms closer.  

But despite the weight of anticipation in the air, Jungkook feels a surprising calmness wash over him — much calmer than he had been just days before. Maybe it’s his niece laughing her lungs away, a sweet distraction that tugs his focus away from the knot of worry in his chest. Or maybe it’s watching you, seamlessly blending into his family like you’ve belonged here all along. The sight of you laughing with his sister-in-law in the kitchen stirs something in him he hasn’t felt in a while — something warm, soft, and a little dizzying.  

His gaze follows you as you make your way toward him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. You settle onto the couch next to him, your closeness becomes all too apparent. Your knees are bent, legs resting lightly on his thigh. His arm stretches out along the back of the couch, hovering just behind your shoulders.  

The space between you is minimal — comfortable in a way that feels almost... intimate. It’s the kind of closeness that real couples share, a moment so effortlessly tender it catches him off guard.  

But he isn’t uncomfortable. Far from it. There’s a quiet ease in how natural this feels, and for a moment, he lets himself savor it. This — whatever this is — doesn’t feel like an act at all.

“Warming up quickly, aren’t you?” Jungkook teases, his big, round eyes glinting with amusement, the soft glow of the lights catching on his lip piercings.  

“Well, I’m considered family here, so I kind of have to,” you joke, giggling softly at the way his eyes widen in mock surprise. “No, but seriously,” you continue, your voice lighter now, “everyone is very nice and welcoming.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it here,” he says, his tone softer, sincerity threading through the words.  

“Me too,” you reply with a gentle smile, a warmth blooming in your chest that you try not to overthink.

Your gaze drops to Jihyun, who is engrossed in her dolls on the living room floor. Toys are scattered all around her, but she's focused on the one in her hand, turning it this way and that. You can't help but smile softly, your attention anchored to her every movement.

Jungkook doesn't look away. His eyes remain on you, not the child or the cluttered mess around her, but you. He watches the way your expression softens, the way a small, unspoken tenderness lights up your features as you watch Jihyun.

And for him, that's all there is. The conversations buzzing faintly in the kitchen, the faint tick of the clock on the wall, even the weight of the evening ahead — it all fades away.

But then your focus shifted. Your gaze lifted from Jihyun to the new arrivals at the door, and instinctively, his followed.  

And there she was.  

Misa.  

Her hair is different now. Gone is the bold cherry red that once defined her vibrant, carefree spirit, the color she wore like a crown in high school. Instead, her hair is sleek and black, the deep shade a striking contrast to the one he remembered so well. It gives her an air of elegance, of maturity, but there’s still something undeniably familiar about her — the subtle tilt of her head, the curve of her lips when she smiles.

She looks older, more refined, yet still unmistakably herself, as if time had simply smoothed out the edges of the girl he once knew so intimately. It’s like flipping through the pages of an old, beloved book, only to find that some of the words have changed. There’s nostalgia, yes, but also an overwhelming sense of uncertainty that settles in his chest, heavy and persistent.

That smile. The same one he loved for years. Those eyes, the ones that once held his world in their gaze. Her politeness, her grace — they’re all still there, but it’s as though everything else is different now. The way she moves, the way she carries herself. It’s familiar, yes, but also strangely foreign, like he’s looking at someone he used to know but hasn’t seen in far too long.

It confuses him. He should be excited. But he’s not. Because this isn’t the Misa he remembers. This is someone else entirely — someone he doesn’t know how to reach.

When she approaches, he stands from the couch, his hand instinctively reaching for yours. You take it, the gesture both reassuring and strange, and stand beside him as she makes her way toward them.

"Hi," she says, her voice soft, but with that unmistakable warmth he’s always known.

It’s a simple greeting, but it hits him like a wave. For a moment, he freezes. The words don’t come as easily as they once did. She’s standing there in front of him, and yet, it feels as if there’s an entire ocean between them.

"Hi," he responds, his voice a little breathless, as if his mind has been running a marathon trying to find the right words to say.

“It’s been a while,” she says, her smile warm, genuine.

He chuckles awkwardly, the sound forced but heartfelt. "It has. How’ve you been?"

“I’m doing good,” she replies, nodding slightly, her expression soft but sincere. There's a certain calmness about her now, an ease that shows in her eyes, and it hits him all at once — she’s doing well. Without him. Without ever needing him. "And you?"

He nods, but the smile doesn’t come. It’s a stiff, practiced motion, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "Me too."

Her smile doesn’t falter, but there’s a flicker of something in her gaze, something he can’t quite place. It’s fleeting, gone before he can analyze it. Her attention shifts to you then, and for the briefest of moments, he’s left to stand there, caught between the past and the present, unsure of which direction to take.

"Hi, I’m Misa," she says, her tone warmer now as she extends a hand towards you.

You take her hand with your free one, your smile genuine but soft, offering your name as you introduce yourself. Misa’s grip is firm but warm, and she smiles, the edges of her eyes crinkling in a way that reminds you of someone who’s seen the world and learned how to navigate it with grace.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” she says sincerely, her voice calm but warm, like a gentle breeze that carries a subtle weight.

“You too,” you smile, matching her warmth.

You take a moment to observe Misa as she stands before you, and it’s hard not to admit she’s undeniably beautiful. The way her features seem to fall into place so effortlessly, how her smile is radiant but reserved, just enough to pull you in without revealing everything. It’s easy to see why Jungkook was so captivated by her in the past.

Now, seeing her in person, it’s like the last piece of the puzzle has fallen into place. The woman behind the stories, behind the name that always seemed to linger in his conversations, now standing right in front of you.

It’s almost surreal, meeting her. There’s a strange satisfaction in finally putting a face to the name that you’ve heard so much about. The realization settles over you like a quiet understanding. She’s beautiful, yes, but there’s something else too — a softness, a strength, an elegance that feels like it has been built over years of lived experience.

“Well, I won’t keep you two,” she says with a smile, her voice warm but carrying a certain finality. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” you and Jungkook reply in unison, the words almost automatic, yet carrying their own weight as she turns to greet the others. Her presence lingers in the air, the faint scent of her perfume still hanging in the space where she stood.

Jungkook’s eyes follow Misa as she greets the others with that same effortless charm. But it’s different now. The girl he once knew, the one who filled his thoughts with reckless dreams and laughter, isn’t here anymore. The girl in front of him is someone else — someone more polished, more refined, and maybe a little bit distant. 

He feels it, that ache in his chest, a tug of something he can’t quite name. It’s like he’s mourning the loss of someone, of a version of Misa that only existed in the past. The way she used to laugh, how she would look at him with eyes full of mischief and warmth. That’s the girl he remembers, the one he never thought he’d lose touch with.

But now, the girl who used to be his best friend, the one he could confide in, is standing just a few feet away from him, and he doesn’t know her anymore. Not really. The way she’s carrying herself, the way her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes when she looks at him — he’s lost that closeness, that ease they once shared. It’s like she's become a stranger wrapped in familiarity.

And it hurts more than he thought it would. He feels it deep in his bones, this shift, this subtle but undeniable change. He thought he was ready for this moment, ready to see her again. But nothing prepares you for the feeling of watching someone you once knew inside and out transform into someone unrecognizable.

Jungkook’s grip on your hand tightens involuntarily, his eyes following Misa as she moves through the room, laughing with the others, her attention elsewhere. His chest feels tight, and the weight of the years spent apart suddenly hits him like a wave. He’s standing here, surrounded by people, but it’s like he’s alone in his own thoughts, trapped in the past he can’t quite shake off.

“You okay?” he hears your voice, soft and gentle. You’re looking at him with concern, and for a moment, it feels like you’re the only thing grounding him in the present.

He swallows, trying to push the tightness in his chest away, but it lingers. “Yeah, just…” He trails off, not sure how to explain it. How do you tell someone that seeing her again feels like losing her all over again? That the version of Misa he’s been holding onto for all these years is gone, and he doesn’t know how to navigate the space between them anymore?

“Just feels… different,” he admits quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as though saying the words out loud will make them too real. And maybe they already are.

The house grows livelier, the comforting scent of homemade food filling every corner.

Mrs. Jeon and Misa’s mom work side by side in the kitchen, their movements fluid and practiced. They bustle around, chopping, stirring, and laughing at the small jokes they share, not letting anyone near their territory. You, eager to lend a hand, tried multiple times to help, but Mrs. Jeon shooed you away with a gentle but firm hand, her eyes twinkling as she insisted you relax and enjoy yourself. 

Meanwhile, Jungkook, his brother, and their father are deep in conversation. Their voices rise and fall in a rhythm that feels so familiar, punctuated by bursts of laughter that echo through the house. Their father’s laughter is loud and boisterous, full of life, as he catches up with his grown sons — talking about everything from their childhood to what they’d been up to since the last time they’d all been together. It’s a rare moment, one that makes the room feel warm and full of love.

You, in contrast, are seated on the floor, a small toy in one hand as you help Jihyun build an impressive block tower. The little one giggles each time you manage to stack another piece, her tiny hands eager to mimic your movements.

Yeona and Misa sit across the room, talking softly between themselves, their conversation a quiet hum against the liveliness of the house. It’s clear they’re speaking about things you don’t fully understand — topics that feel far more mature than anything you’d normally discuss.

They carry themselves with a kind of quiet confidence, a level of poise you’ve always associated with people who’ve been through more than their fair share of life’s ups and downs. There’s a grace to how they both interact, almost as if they’ve mastered this whole adult thing without breaking a sweat.

You can’t help but feel a little out of place. There’s a maturity about them that you can’t quite match, one that makes you feel like you’re not quite there yet — like you’re still fumbling through things they’ve long since figured out. Their conversation, so natural and poised, makes you wonder how much you have yet to experience, how much you still have to learn before you can carry yourself with the same ease.

It’s not that you think they’re better, but there’s something undeniably different about how they present themselves. You wonder if you’ll ever feel as sure of yourself, as poised as they seem to be, or if you’re just going to keep stumbling along, trying to keep up.

"Auntie," Jihyun calls out, her small voice cutting through the noise in the room. You snap your head around, eyes wide, trying to process what you just heard. Did she really just call you that? The word lingers in the air like it doesn’t belong to you, like it's some unfamiliar title you’re not quite sure you deserve.

You stare at her for a moment, trying to make sense of it. Her innocent gaze is fixed on you, her small hand outstretched in an inviting gesture, as though it’s perfectly natural for her to call you that. She tilts her head slightly, her brown eyes full of trust, as she says it again, "Come with me."

A flicker of surprise crosses your face, but there's a warmth growing in your chest that you can’t ignore. Jihyun’s eager smile tugs at your heartstrings, the innocent way she looks at you, as if you’re exactly who she wanted.

You blink a few times, shaking off the surprise, and let a soft smile slip onto your lips. “Did you just call me Auntie?” you ask, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

She nods enthusiastically, oblivious to the impact of the word, her small face lighting up with joy. “Yes! Come with me, Auntie.”

For a moment, you just stand there, processing her innocent certainty. It’s unexpected, yet there’s something so pure about it. You can’t help but feel a twinge of warmth spreading through you, a connection forming in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Maybe it’s the way she looks at you, or how she’s trusting you in this simple, childlike way.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips. You glance around the room, half-expecting someone to laugh or correct her, but when nothing comes, you realize that, for Jihyun, this just makes sense. 

With a fond smile, you step forward, your heart lighter. “Okay,” you say, taking her small hand in yours, letting her lead you to whatever adventure she has planned.

Her tiny hands wrap around a few of your fingers, tugging you along with her insistent little grip. You let her lead, smiling softly at her enthusiasm as she weaves through the crowd in the living room and drags you toward the kitchen. When you reach the archway that frames the transition between the two spaces, she halts abruptly, turning to you with wide, innocent eyes.

"Stay here," she commands with all the authority a child her size can muster before darting off again.

Confused but amused, you lean against the archway, watching her scurry away. Moments later, she reappears, this time with Jungkook. He's laughing softly, his brow furrowed as he follows her like he doesn't have a choice.

"Nini, what are you doing?" he asks, his voice tinged with playful exasperation.

She doesn't answer, not until she's positioned him squarely in front of you. Then, she takes a step back, clapping her little hands together as though presenting her masterpiece.

"Mistletoe!" she exclaims triumphantly, pointing above you.

Your jaw drops, eyes immediately darting upward. Sure enough, hanging from the archway is a small sprig of mistletoe, placed there at some point in the evening's festivities.

Jungkook chuckles, his laughter low and rumbling. "You sneaky little-" He reaches out to grab her, but she squeals and darts away, her giggles echoing through the house. She runs straight to her grandfather, climbing onto his lap.

Jungkook's dad grins, his hand resting protectively on her head as she peeks out. "It's tradition, guys," he says with a laugh, his tone light and teasing.

"Come on, this isn't appropriate," Jungkook protests, rubbing the back of his neck. His ears are slightly pink, though he keeps his composure.

"Since when were you so shy?" Junghyun teases, his tone light and playful as he watches the scene unfold. There's a mischievous glint in his eyes, clearly amused by his daughter's antics and Jungkook's uncharacteristic hesitation.

"Hyung," Jungkook mutters, his jaw tightening as he throws his brother a sharp look. But it only fuels Junghyun's grin.

"She's just trying to spread some Christmas spirit," Junghyun continues, feigning innocence but failing to hide his amusement.

Jungkook is respecting your boundary, you know he is. He remembers what you said — no kissing.

But standing here, with his eyes flickering to yours, the laughter of his family around you, and the weight of his presence so close, the rule you set suddenly feels... unnecessary.

Your gaze drops to his lips, just for a second, and you realize the thought doesn't terrify you like it did before. Kissing him wouldn't be bad. In fact, it feels like the only thing that would make sense in this moment.

Jungkook clears his throat, his voice quieter when he speaks. "We don't have to-"

But before he can finish, you take a step closer, your arms instinctively finding their way around his neck. His words falter, replaced by a breath caught in his throat, as your lips press softly against his.

The living room erupts instantly — dramatic whoops and cheers filling the air. Jihyun squeals in delight, clapping her hands as if she's just orchestrated the most important moment of the year. Her giggles echo above the noise, the proud little culprit reveling in her success.

Jungkook freezes for the briefest of moments, his body tensing under your touch, as if unsure whether to let himself lean into this. But then, slowly, he softens, melting into the kiss. His lips are soft, warmer than you expected, and there's a gentle hesitance in the way he responds — like he's carefully toeing the line, wary of your boundaries but still allowing himself to savor the moment.

The world seems to narrow to just the two of you, the noise of the room fading into a distant hum. His hand slides to your waist, a light but steady anchor, as if he's holding himself back just a little.

You're the first to pull away, a sudden awareness creeping in as the cheers and playful jeers of the room remind you just how many people witnessed that moment. A kiss like that, even if innocent enough, feels a little too bold in front of his entire family. No one really wants to see their son or brother making out with their significant other.

Jungkook looks at you, his lips pink and slightly swollen, cheeks flushed with heat, and his dark eyes still locked on you like you'd just turned his entire world upside down. The intensity of his gaze sends a wave of warmth through you, but you brush it off with a soft laugh, breaking the tension as you glance toward Jihyun.

"You're a little drama starter, aren't you?" you tease, scrunching your nose playfully at her.

Jihyun, as proud of herself as ever, lets out a delighted squeal and climbs off her grandfather's lap, running away from you before you can reach her. You laugh, chasing after her for a moment, her giggles filling the room as she darts behind her dad for safety.

Jungkook stays where he is, still rooted in place, dazed and a little shell-shocked. He watches as you effortlessly transition from teasing his niece to chatting easily with his family, your warmth radiating in a way that fills the room. You blend in so naturally, as though you've been a part of his world forever.

And that's when it hits him — how easily you've warmed up to everyone, how seamlessly you've become a part of his family's dynamic. He can't help the soft smile tugging at his lips as he watches you, his heart full but uneasy, knowing moments like these are only temporary.

Then his eyes flicker to the reason why you're here. Misa sits quietly on the couch, her posture relaxed as she watches the scene unfold with a faint smile on her lips. Her gaze follows you as you playfully chase after Jihyun, your laughter filling the room. The sight of you, so at ease, so vibrant, draws everyone's attention — even hers.

For a moment, Jungkook feels a twinge of something familiar, something that once drove him to the edges of heartbreak. Seeing Misa here, so poised and serene, was supposed to reignite the ache, the longing for what he once had.

But it doesn’t. And he’s beginning to realize why.

The rest of the night flowed smoothly, a seamless blend of good food, warm laughter, and light-hearted conversations that filled the Jeon household.

Dinner was amazing, every dish perfectly cooked thanks to Mrs. Jeon and Misa’s mom. You sat next to Jungkook at the table, his arm brushing against yours occasionally, a quiet reassurance of his presence. Jihyun had insisted on sitting on your other side, her boundless energy keeping you entertained throughout the meal as she chattered away about everything and nothing.  

But like all good things, the evening eventually wound down. Plates were cleared, leftovers were packed, and the gentle hum of conversation turned into goodbyes. Tomorrow, you and Jungkook would be leaving, heading back to your lives where the pretense of being a couple wouldn’t follow.  

You crouched down to hug Jihyun for as long as you could, her small arms clutching you tightly. The thought of this being the only family event you’d attend, knowing you wouldn’t see her anymore, stung in a way you hadn’t anticipated. She burrowed into your embrace, her sleepy form warm and soft against you.  

Her dad gently took her from your arms, whispering for her to give you one last goodbye. Jihyun’s tiny voice murmured a goodbye before she rested her head on her father’s shoulder, her eyes already fluttering shut.  

You watched as their car pulled out of the driveway, the taillights fading into the darkness. A frown crept onto your face as a quiet sigh escaped your lips. Jungkook’s hand moved to your back, his touch steady and comforting, rubbing slow circles to ease the weight of your thoughts.  

A familiar voice broke the moment. “It was nice meeting you again, truly,” Misa said, stepping closer.  

You turned to her, offering a polite smile. “You too.”  

Her gaze shifted to Jungkook, a subtle hesitation flickering in her expression before she spoke. “Can I talk to you for a second?”  

Jungkook’s eyes immediately darted to you, as if seeking your approval or reassurance.  

“Take him,” you said lightly, flashing a small smile in Misa’s direction before meeting his gaze. “I’ll be upstairs.”  

As you disappeared into the house, the door clicked shut behind you, leaving Jungkook and Misa alone on the porch.  

The silence between them stretched uncomfortably, broken only by the rhythmic chirping of crickets. Jungkook shoved his hands into his coat pockets, his breath clouding in the chilly night air. Across from him, Misa crossed her arms, pulling her coat tighter around herself in a futile attempt to ward off the cold.  

“I knew this would be awkward, but I feel like… I owe you a conversation. After everything,” Misa starts, her voice tentative, as if she’s unsure whether she’s even allowed to say this.

Jungkook lets out a humorless laugh, his breath fogging in the cold air. “You didn’t think to do this… oh, I don’t know – nine years ago?”  

His tone is laced with sarcasm, but the hurt cuts through it unmistakably. Misa flinches at his words, and for a fleeting moment, guilt flashes across her face, making her look smaller than she usually does.  

“I loved you, Jungkook…” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “But we were so young. It was bound to happen.”  

“No, it wouldn’t have!” Jungkook snaps, his frustration bubbling over. “If you really loved me, you would’ve made it work!”  

Misa’s eyes glisten under the porch light, and her voice trembles as she responds, “You think I wanted to leave you? I couldn’t stop crying for years, Jungkook! But I was seventeen, and I was terrified! Walking away was the best thing for both of us!”  

“It destroyed me, Misa!” he fires back, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “You didn’t do what was best for us. You were just selfish.”  

“Selfish?” she retorts, her voice rising as she takes a step closer. “Jungkook… we were kids! We lived miles apart. How would that have worked? You think it was easy for me to make that choice? It wasn’t ideal for me either, but it was what would’ve made the most sense.”  

Jungkook shakes his head, his hands balled into fists in his pockets. He lowers his gaze to his shoes, his voice softening into a near whisper. “We could’ve made it work…”  

“I’m sorry,” Misa says, her tone laden with sincerity. “I really am.”  

For a moment, silence falls between them, the kind that feels both heavy and oddly freeing. Jungkook finally lifts his eyes to meet hers, searching her face for something he isn’t sure he’ll find.  

“Are you happy?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost gentle.  

Misa's lips curve into a small smile, one tinged with both pride and nostalgia. "I am. I recently finished my last year of med school," she says, her voice soft but steady. "It was... tough, but I did it." She pauses, as if letting herself truly feel the weight of her accomplishment before adding, "And... I'm engaged now, so yeah, I am really happy."

Jungkook smiles — a genuine, heartfelt smile that reaches his eyes, yet beneath it lingers something else, something quieter. A twinge of jealousy, not because he believes it should have been him, but because she has moved on while he remains tethered to the past. But despite it all, he is truly happy for her.

"That's amazing," he says, his voice genuine, though slightly hushed. "I'm... I'm proud of you."

“Thank you,” she says, her tone soft. “How about you?”  

His mind races through everything he’s endured since Misa left — the heartbreak, the years of questioning, and now, the realization that he’s no longer the person who once pined for her. “I don’t know…” he finally mutters, his voice distant.  

Misa tilts her head slightly, studying him. “Is she not making you happy?” she asks softly, referring to you.  

There’s no point in lying anymore.

His response is immediate, but it comes with a shake of his head. “We aren’t together.”  

Misa’s eyebrows raise in genuine surprise. “Really?” She crosses her arms, the disbelief clear in her voice. “Could’ve fooled me.”  

Jungkook exhales sharply, almost laughing at the absurdity of the situation. "I brought her here because I knew you would be here."

The weight of his confession lingers in the cold night air, his words a reluctant admission of vulnerability. Misa tilts her head slightly, her expression softening as the meaning behind his actions clicks into place.

"Well," she says, pulling her hand from her coat pocket with a subtle flourish, revealing the diamond ring on her finger, "I hate to break it to you, but it didn't work."

Jungkook chuckles under his breath, shaking his head at himself, at the situation, at how ridiculous it all feels now. Misa laughs with him, the tension breaking like the first crack of sunlight after a long storm.  

“She did warn me. I guess I should’ve known better,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.  

“Yeah, probably,” she teases lightly, her smile softening as she looks at him. “But hey… at least you tried.”  

Jungkook nods slowly, his gaze lingering on the door as a faint smile graces his lips. “Yeah… being with her didn’t seem all that bad, though,” he murmurs, more to himself than to Misa.  

Misa smiles knowingly, crossing her arms as she tilts her head. “Go for it,” she says softly. “You deserve happiness too, Jungkook.”  

He lets out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I just… I don’t want to ruin things between us. What if it’s too much, too fast? What if it’s not what she wants?”  

Misa raises an eyebrow, her tone light but firm. “Well, if rejection is what you’re scared of, I’ll tell you right now — that kiss was anything but friendly.”  

Jungkook chuckles nervously, his cheeks warming as he shakes his head. “You think so?”  

“I know so,” she replies confidently, her smile turning teasing. “Trust me, Jungkook. If you’re even half as obvious with her as you were with me, she knows. And honestly? She probably feels the same.”  

Her words hang in the air, filling him with equal parts hope and doubt. Jungkook glances at her, taking in the sincerity in her expression. For a moment, neither of them says anything, the quiet sounds of the night settling around them. Then, Misa steps forward and wraps her arms around him.  

He returns the embrace, his hands resting lightly on her back. “Thanks, Misa,” he says, his voice muffled against her shoulder.  

She pulls back just enough to look at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You don’t need my thanks,” she replies softly, her tone carrying the warmth of an old friend. Then, with a playful smirk, she adds, “Just don’t mess it up.”  

He huffs a quiet laugh, the corners of his mouth lifting. “I’ll try not to.”  

And then, with one last glance at him, Misa steps away. The sound of her heels clicking against the pavement echoes softly in the quiet night as she climbs into her car. The engine hums to life, and within moments, she's driving off into the darkness, her taillights disappearing down the street.

Jungkook exhales, watching as his breath dissipates into the cold night air. The weight he had carried for so long — the lingering feelings of the past, the questions left unanswered — fades, piece by piece. Misa's departure isn't a loss; it's a quiet closing of a door that had been left ajar for far too long.  

He turns back toward the house, the warm glow from the windows beckoning him inside. Jungkook steps through the door, closing it behind him, ready to run toward whatever comes next.

You were upstairs, unwinding from the day. Just as you were about to head to the shower, Jungkook makes his way into the room, closing the door behind him.

"How was it?" you ask, sitting on the edge of the bed, your gaze flicking toward him as he closes the door behind him.

"Good," he says simply, but his tone is distant, as though his mind is somewhere else.

Your brows knit together. "You sure?"

He doesn't answer immediately, his jaw working as if he's chewing over his next words. Finally, he speaks, but it's not what you expected. "Why did you do it?"

You blink, confused. "Do what?"

"Kiss me," he says, his voice steady.

You chuckle softly, trying to lighten the mood. "Everyone was watching us, Kook. And Misa. It would've been obvious if we didn't kiss."

He shakes his head, taking a step closer. "You didn't do it because of Misa, did you?" he says, his tone firm.

You tilt your head, looking up at him, and a small smile curves on your lips. It's playful, teasing, and it's enough to make his heart stutter. That smile tells him everything he needs to know, but still, you say it anyway. "It was just a kiss."

He narrows his eyes slightly, his lips twitching into a smirk. "You said no kissing," he reminds you, leaning in just enough to make the air between you crackle with tension.

"Well, I changed my mind," you reply, your voice light, though there's a hint of something more in it.

"Because?" he presses, tilting his head slightly, his smirk widening as he waits for your answer.

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. "Because it was easier than explaining why we weren't kissing under the mistletoe."

"Hmm," he hums, unconvinced, taking a step closer. He's so close now that you have to tilt your head further to meet his gaze. "That's the story you're going with?"

"That's the truth," you say, holding his gaze, though your lips betray you with a small, mischievous smile.

His tongue runs across his bottom lip as he chuckles softly. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

"I've nothing to lie about," you say, your voice steady, though the spark in your eyes betrays your composure.

"Yeah?" he asks, his tone low, challenging, as he steps even closer.

You nod, humming softly, your confidence unwavering.

And then, without warning, he crashes his lips onto yours. The kiss is sudden, stealing the breath right out of your lungs, catching you completely off guard. His hand rests behind your neck, pulling you into him.

For a moment, you freeze, your mind racing to process what just happened, but then instinct takes over. Your hands find his chest, gripping his shirt to steady yourself as you melt into the kiss. His lips are warm, insistent but not rough, like he's been waiting for this moment and isn't about to let it slip away.

When he finally pulls back, he's slightly breathless, his dark eyes locked on yours, a smirk tugging at the corners of his swollen lips. "There's no mistletoe. What's your excuse this time, huh?"

You narrow your eyes at him, your breath uneven as you glare at his teasing grin. "Just shut the fuck up already," you snap, grabbing his face with both hands and crashing your lips onto his again.

He barely has time to react, but when he does, his hands grip your waist, pulling you even closer. He smiles into the kiss, that cocky, boyish grin you've come to know so well. It only spurs you on, your fingers tangling in his hair as the kiss deepens, all the tension, teasing, and unspoken words melting away into something neither of you could deny anymore.

"God, you're bossy," he mumbles, his tone playful but laced with something much deeper.

"And you talk too much," you retort, your voice muffled as you kiss him again, determined to shut him up properly this time.

“Do I?” he asks, his voice a low, husky almost-moan against your lips.  

You hum in response, your breath hitching as his fingers trace a featherlight path down your spine. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, searching, teasing.  

“Yeah?” he asks again, tilting his head, that signature smirk tugging at his lips — the kind that tells you he’s up to no good.  

“Yes, Jungkook,” you breathe, the impatience laced in your voice only making his smirk widen.  

His fingers move to the buckle of your belt, unlooping the strap with agonizing slowness, his knuckles grazing the bare skin of your stomach as he works the metal free. The sound of it sliding through the loops is deliberate, a slow tease, a promise.  

“I should really stop talking then, shouldn’t I?” he murmurs, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your parted lips.  

“Yeah, you should,” you say with a knowing smile, rolling your hips forward slightly, urging him on.  

His fingers move with purpose now, popping open the button of your jeans before dragging the zipper down. His hands, warm and firm, press against your hips as he kneels slightly, hooking his fingers into the waistband and peeling the denim down your legs. The fabric pools at your ankles, leaving you in your underwear, the cool air against your skin a stark contrast to the heat radiating between you. 

Jungkook’s grip on your hips tightens as he pulls you effortlessly to the edge of the bed. A soft giggle escapes you, a playful attempt at resistance as you nudge him with your foot, but he catches your ankle with ease. His thumb traces over your skin, a slow, deliberate motion before he dips his head, pressing a featherlight kiss to your ankle.  

The warmth of his lips trails up your calf, each kiss slower than the last. His hands glide along your legs, fingers pressing into your thighs as he moves higher, his breath hot against your skin. A shiver runs through you, anticipation building with every unhurried touch.  

Pausing at the inside of your thigh, he lets his lips linger, the heat of his breath sending a ripple of want through your body. His fingers hook beneath the waistband of your underwear, dragging the fabric down inch by inch, his eyes fixed on you the entire time. The room feels smaller, the space between you charged, heavy with something unspoken but undeniably felt.  

He takes his time, savoring every inch of exposed skin, as if committing the moment to memory. Your body hums under his touch, muscles tensing in expectation. His hands, his lips — every movement feels intentional, like he’s unraveling you piece by piece, without a single word spoken between you.

He leans back in, his lips grazing your skin as he presses another lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh, the warmth of his breath ghosting over you and making your muscles tense in anticipation. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you firmly in place as his mouth finally descends, lips parting to taste you without hesitation. 

The first brush of his lips against your clit is teasing, and when he seals them around the sensitive bundle of nerves, the contrast of heat and the chill of his lip piercings sends a sharp jolt through you. A strangled gasp escapes, your back arching instinctively as pleasure pulses through you.

Your fingers weave into his hair, brushing the strands back to get a better view of him. His brows are furrowed in deep concentration, like a man savoring his favorite meal, every movement of his tongue precise, every suck deliberate. His grip on your thighs tightens as if he’s anchoring himself to you, determined to keep you right where he wants you.  

Your thumb traces over the scar on his cheek, a gentle contrast to the heat pooling in your core. “Much better,” you tease, your voice barely above a breath, though the playful lilt doesn’t go unnoticed.  

At that, his gaze flickers up to meet yours, dark and laced with something dangerous. His eyes lower in a silent warning — one you barely have time to process before he hums deeply against your clit, the vibrations sending a shockwave of pleasure straight through you. Your body jolts, fingers tightening in his hair, but he doesn’t let up. If anything, he redoubles his efforts, dragging you even deeper into the fire.

You push your hips further into his face, desperation guiding your movements, and he welcomes it — welcomes you. His mouth works you over with relentless hunger, tongue flicking and curling, lips sealing around your clit with dizzying precision. His nose presses into you, dragging against your cunt with each movement, and you know he probably can't breathe.

But Jungkook doesn't give a fuck.

If anything, he buries himself deeper, groaning as he drowns in you, hands gripping your thighs like he never wants to leave. He's proud, eager, insatiable — wholly unbothered by the thought of suffocating between your legs. If this is how he dies, he'll do it happily.

You throw your head back, biting down on your lip to stifle the moans threatening to spill from your mouth. The pleasure is overwhelming, your body trembling beneath his relentless tongue, but you can't risk being loud — not with Jungkook's parents somewhere in the house.

The walls are thin, far too thin, and the last thing you need is for them to hear what's happening behind this closed door. Your gasps come out shaky, uneven, each one catching in your throat as you fight to stay quiet. But Jungkook isn't making it easy. He hums against you again, the vibrations shooting through your core, and when your fingers tighten in his hair, he only doubles down, eating you like he doesn't care if you get caught.

Despite Jungkook's reckless determination to die between your thighs, his body betrays him. He suddenly pulls away, chest heaving as he gulps in deep, heavy breaths. His face glistens with your slick, flushed from the lack of air and the heat of the moment. His ears burn red, lips swollen and glossy, eyes dark with raw hunger. But he doesn't waste a second — he leans back in, stealing one more kiss from your throbbing core before standing.

His hands go straight to his belt, fumbling in his urgency, fingers nearly trembling as he rips it off. His pants and boxers are shoved down in one swift motion, and his cock springs free — thick, flushed, the pretty pink tip leaking evidence of his arousal. It stands tall, curved slightly, twitching as he wraps a firm hand around the base.

A groan of relief slips from his lips as he strokes himself, his head tipping back for a moment before his gaze locks onto you again, hungry and unashamed.

"That hard from eating some pussy?" you tease, smirking as you watch him.

Jungkook lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head as his grip tightens around his cock. "You should be honored. I nearly nutted in my fucking pants doing that." He steps closer, lips curling into a smirk of his own. "Take your shirt off."

You smirk, tilting your head slightly. "You first."

Jungkook huffs out a playful scoff, rolling his eyes, but he listens. With one swift motion, he reaches behind his back, gripping the fabric of his sweater before yanking it over his head and tossing it aside. His toned chest and arms flex with the movement, muscles rippling beneath his inked skin. The sight alone makes your stomach clench with anticipation.

But what really gets you is the way he immediately wraps his hand around his cock again, resuming his slow, deliberate strokes. He's getting harder, impossibly so, the veins along his shaft becoming more pronounced. His eyes stay locked on you, dark and hooded, drinking in every inch of your body like he's imagining all the ways he's about to ruin you.

"Your turn," he murmurs, voice thick with desire.

You take your time, dragging out the moment as you lift your sweater over your head, letting it drop to the floor. The cool air prickles against your skin, your bare shoulders exposed, but your bra still remains, teasing him just enough.

Jungkook's jaw flexes. His thumb swipes over the tip of his cock, spreading the precum leaking from his slit, but his patience is thinning.

"All of it," he commands, voice firm. There's no room for argument.

You reach behind your back, fingers deftly working the clasp of your bra. The moment it unhooks, the straps slip from your shoulders, the fabric going slack against your skin. With a slow, deliberate motion, you pull it off completely and let it drop to the floor, joining the rest of your discarded clothes.

Jungkook's breath stutters. His strokes slow for a moment as his eyes drink you in, dark and full of heat, pupils blown wide with unfiltered desire. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip, jaw tightening as he exhales sharply through his nose.

Feeling like a third wheel between Jungkook and his cock, you slip off the bed and onto your knees before him. His brows furrow slightly when you wrap your fingers around his wrist, guiding his hand away from his aching length. His cock twitches in the cool air, glistening with precum, and you don’t hesitate — leaning in, you drag your tongue slowly from the thick base of his shaft up to his flushed, leaking tip.  

A sharp breath escapes him, his chest rising and falling in anticipation. He lets you take control for a moment, but then, instead of letting you simply pull his wrist away, his fingers slide down to lace with yours, gripping your hand in a silent, desperate plea. Your lips part, taking him in, your tongue swirling over the sensitive head before pressing flat against the underside. 

“Fuck… gonna- make me fucking cum already, baby,” he groans, voice thick with pleasure, his grip tightening around your hand.  

But just as he teeters on the edge, you pull off with a wet pop, a teasing glint in your eyes as you look up at him. His cock twitches in protest, a string of spit connecting your lips to his flushed tip.  

“Want you to fuck me,” you murmur, voice laced with need.  

Jungkook exhales a shaky breath, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “Yeah?”  

You nod, biting your lip, heat simmering between you.  

His jaw flexes as his eyes darken. “God, you have no idea how many times I’ve thought about fucking you.” His grip on your hand tightens briefly before he lets go. “Get on the bed, baby.”  

Your heart pounds as you stand, climbing onto the mattress, anticipation thrumming through your veins. He doesn’t waste a second — his lips crash against yours, the force of his kiss sending you toppling onto the bed. His body presses flush against yours, a delicious heat radiating between you as he deepens the kiss.

Jungkook pulls away from the kiss, breathless, his forehead nearly touching yours as he looks down between your bodies. His hand wraps around his cock, stroking himself slowly, teasingly, as if grounding himself in the moment. But then, he stills.  

“Fuck, I don’t have a condom, baby,” he murmurs, voice tight with frustration.  

You reach up, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing over the flushed heat of his skin. “It’s fine,”  

His dark eyes flicker up to meet yours, searching. “You still sure?”  

You groan, your patience hanging by a thread. “Jungkook, if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m never talking to you again.”  

He chuckles, before finally giving in. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you open as he guides himself forward, the thick, swollen head of his cock pressing against your sopping entrance. He teases you first, dragging the tip through your slick folds, spreading your arousal before finally pushing in with a slow, deliberate thrust.  

A sharp gasp rips from your throat as he stretches you open, inch by inch, your walls clenching around him as they struggle to accommodate his sheer size. The delicious burn of fullness has your back arching, your thighs trembling around his waist as he buries himself deeper. Your nails bite into the inked skin of his shoulder, desperate for something to ground you.  

“Gosh, you’re so big,” you moan, voice breaking as pleasure swirls in your stomach.  

Jungkook groans, his head dropping for a moment before he lifts it, watching the way your body takes him in. His jaw clenches, restraint evident in the way his fingers tighten on your thighs.  

“You can take it,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. “I know you can.”  

He presses in further, inch by inch, until he bottoms out, the head of his cock nudging deep inside you. A deep, guttural moan escapes him as he stills, giving you a moment to adjust, his thumbs stroking over your skin in a silent praise.

"Okay, you can move," you whisper, your breath shaky with anticipation, giving him the green light.  

Without hesitation, Jungkook pulls back, the thick head of his cock dragging slowly out of you, the wetness between your bodies creating a squelchy sound that fills the room. He pauses for a breath, then pushes back in, the pressure of his thick shaft sliding into you with a deep, satisfying thrust.  

Your body trembles with each movement, the slickness between you amplifying the sound of him sinking into you, the heat building in your core as his rhythm deepens. His hands grip your thighs tighter, the tension in his muscles visible as he focuses on every inch of you, filling you completely with each stroke.  

He leans down, capturing your lips in a desperate, hungry kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours as his fingers dig into your hips. His lips trail lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, along the sensitive column of your throat, until he reaches your collarbone. He latches on, sucking at the delicate skin, leaving a mark that he knows will be there in the morning.

His thrusts grow quicker, rougher, his grip on your waist tightening as he pounds into you. The bedframe slams against the wall with each movement, the rhythmic banging growing louder, impossible to ignore.

"Fuck," Jungkook grits out, a mix of pleasure and panic flickering across his face. You feel too good — too warm, too tight, too perfect — but reality crashes in. His parents are near, and the thought of them hearing what's happening in the bed he used to sleep in as a kid sends a chill down his spine. Without hesitation, he pulls out, breathing heavily as he grabs your hand. His dark eyes flicker with urgency as he tugs you up. "Get up,"

Confused, you obey nonetheless, your legs still shaky as Jungkook leads you across the room. He drops down onto the chair by his desk, spreading his legs slightly, his dark, impatient gaze locking onto yours. He holds his hands out, palms open, a silent command.

"Come here," he murmurs, guiding you with a tilt of his head.

You hesitate, glancing between him and the chair. "You serious?"

Jungkook huffs, his jaw ticking. "You want my parents to know we're fucking in here?" His fingers flex, beckoning you closer. "Hurry up, babe. A few more bounces, and I got you."

You sigh, but the heat in his eyes makes it impossible to say no. Stepping between his legs, you plant your hands on his broad shoulders for support before straddling him.

His hands immediately find your lower back, one strong arm keeping you steady while the other wraps around the base of his cock, guiding himself against your entrance.

A shudder runs through you as you sink down onto him, inch by inch, until you're seated fully in his lap, his cock buried deep inside you. His grip tightens around your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he takes control, lifting you slightly before helping you bounce on him.

The familiar coil of pleasure tightens in your stomach, overriding everything else — the growing cramp in your leg, the sharp pressure of your knees pressing into the hard wooden chair. None of it matters. All you can focus on is chasing your high, the way his cock fills you so perfectly, the delicious friction driving you closer and closer to the edge.

But Jungkook's attention is elsewhere. His eyes are locked on your tits, mesmerized by the way they bounce with every movement. His tongue darts out to wet his lips before he leans in, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth. A sharp gasp escapes you as he sucks greedily, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud. His hands slide up your back, pressing you closer, desperate to feel as much of you as possible.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging at the dark strands, while your other hand grips his shoulder for support. His groan vibrates against your skin, sending a shiver straight through you. The heat between you is unbearable, all — consuming, and you know neither of you will last much longer.

Jungkook's hands roam lower, squeezing your ass before delivering a sharp slap that makes you jolt. He grips both cheeks, spreading them apart as he helps you move, guiding you up and down on his cock with a firm, steady hold.

His own breaths are ragged, his restraint hanging by a thread as he watches you unravel above him.

"Fuck- M'gonna cum!" you whine, your voice breaking, the desperation in your tone making his cock twitch inside you. The pleasure is too much, too overwhelming, and you can't contain your volume.

Jungkook reacts instantly, his mouth leaving your tit as his hand flies up to cover your mouth, muffling your cries before they can slip past the walls. You moan helplessly against his palm as your orgasm crashes over you, your walls clenching around his cock in tight, pulsing waves. Jungkook groans, his brows furrowing as he feels you squeeze around him, the sensation almost pushing him over the edge.

"Keep going for me, yeah?" he rasps, his voice thick with need as his fingers dig into the fat of your ass. He thrusts up to meet your movements, the rhythm growing more desperate, more frantic.

You nod, eyes fluttering shut as you hum against his palm, your muffled moans vibrating against his skin. The way he fills you, stretches you, has your entire body trembling.

"Yeah, make me cum, baby," he groans, his head falling back against the chair, jaw clenched tight as he teeters on the edge.

His hand slides from your mouth to your hip, his grip tightening, fingers digging into your skin as he takes control. He guides you faster, his thrusts growing more desperate, more erratic, chasing that final, dizzying high.

Your walls flutter around him, the sensation pushing him closer, pulling him under. His breathing turns ragged, his muscles tensing beneath you as pleasure coils tight in his core.

"Fuck- just like that," he grits out, his hips snapping up to meet yours in a final, desperate push.

A few more bounces, and he breaks, a deep but quiet groan spilling from his lips as he comes, his release shooting hot and deep inside you. His hands squeeze your waist, holding you down against him as he rides out his high, every pulse of pleasure leaving him breathless.

You push his damp hair back from his sweaty forehead, your fingers combing through the strands with gentle care. His chest rises and falls beneath you, still heaving from the intensity of it all.

Leaning down, you press a soft kiss to his lips, slow and lingering, a big difference to the desperation from moments ago. Jungkook hums against your mouth, his hands sliding up your back, holding you close as he melts into the kiss.

When you pull away, his eyes flutter open, laced with exhaustion and something softer — something tender. A lazy smile tugs at his lips as he exhales a satisfied sigh.

"All this over some mistletoe," he teases, his voice still slightly breathless.

"The drama," you drawl, rolling your eyes playfully as you tease him back.

Jungkook chuckles, the sound deep and warm, vibrating against your skin. His arms tighten around you, pulling you impossibly closer as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. His lips brush against your damp skin, pressing a lazy, lingering kiss there.

His cock softens inside you, but neither of you move just yet. The heat of the moment has faded, replaced by something quieter, something softer. 

“Oh!” Jungkook suddenly exclaims, his eyes lighting up as if he’s just remembered something. “I got you something.”  

You shift off of him, settling on the edge of the bed as he moves to one of the drawers. His movements are purposeful but unhurried, fingers sifting through its contents before he retrieves a long, slender gift box. He turns, extending it toward you with an expectant look.  

“You didn’t have to,” you murmur, meeting his gaze as you hesitantly take the box from his hands.  

“Just open it,” he insists, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.  

With a soft breath, you lift the lid, and your heart stutters. There, nestled inside, is your necklace — whole again. The delicate chain, once broken, gleams under the soft glow of the bedside lamp, looking as flawless as the day it was first given to you.  

Your breath catches, fingers hovering over the pendant before carefully picking it up. “Kook…” you whisper, eyes lifting to his.

“I know how much it meant to you, so I got it fixed this morning,” Jungkook says softly, his voice laced with warmth. “Merry Christmas, baby.”  

Your chest tightens, emotion welling up as you blink back the tears threatening to spill. His thoughtfulness, the effort he put into something so personal to you — it means more than words can express.  

A watery smile spreads across your lips as you rise to your feet, wrapping your arms around his neck. You kiss him, a soft press of your lips against his. Then again. And once more, lingering just a little longer this time.  

You were glad you came. Even if the initial plan to make Misa jealous had failed, it didn’t matter anymore. Because, in this moment, with Jungkook, this might just be the best Christmas of your life.

© voyter 2025, all rights reserved.

[witchywithwhiskey]

Hey, hehe. Flipped the coin to decide a character and it’s Ari, with bite me, please?🥺🥺

bite me, baby

pairing: ceo!ari levinson x female reader

summary: when your nightmare of a boss, the ceo of the company, insults your valentine's day plans, you're so fed up that you quit. and he has a reaction that you did not anticipate even a little bit.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cock warming, pool sex, biting/marking, edging via sensual massage (ari puts sunscreen on reader—never forget your sunscreen, friends!!), prone bone, some brattiness, light bd/sm, light power play dynamics, size kink, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (baby), aftercare, references to marathon sex, reader has a cat (idk if this needs to be a warning but just fyi!), enemies to lovers with a happy ending

word count: 6.0k

a/n: i love a coin flip because i hate making decisions 🤭 i'm so glad it landed on ari because he, and the "bite me" prompt, inspired this fun and dirty idea that i'm so so so happy with!! (i also think i managed to throw in some of the other stuff you requested because it ended up giving me a lot of inspiration.) thank you for playing my sweethearts game, i hope you enjoy!! ♡♡

sweethearts game masterlist

That was it. You had had enough of Ari Levinson. 

In fact, after months of working for the CEO, you’d had more than enough of the infuriatingly arrogant, wildly inconsiderate, exasperatingly entitled and frustratingly handsome man. 

Wait, no, forget that last one. Ari was the worst man you’d ever met—and you’d met plenty of awful men in your line of work as an executive assistant to high-ranking executives—so he certainly was not also the most attractive man you’d ever met. Absolutely not. 

You’d worked for Ari Levinson for a little less than a year, and even though you were one of the best damn EAs in all of New York City, he’d already driven you to fantasizing about quitting multiple times a day. It wasn’t a good sign that you also liked to imagine kicking him in the shin before storming out in all your righteous glory.

The problem wasn’t that Ari Levinson was a demanding and exacting boss. He was a CEO, after all, and most executives held their employees to incredibly high standards. No, the real problem was that Ari was prone to seemingly impulsive whims, which always made your already difficult job nearly impossible.

More times than you could count, you’d had to reschedule meetings with titans of the industry and heads of state, all because Ari had forgotten to tell you he’d gone to play pickleball. Or you’d had to completely rebook a board meeting because Ari had decided to take a spontaneous trip to Costa Rica or the Seychelles or some other warm and sunny place while winter ravaged the city.

The worst part about those trips in particular was that you were still expected to commute into the office. So while Ari was off enjoying a white sand beach and crystal blue ocean, soaking up the sun that would undoubtedly bring out the blond highlights in his perfectly shaggy brown hair and deepen his glorious golden tan, you would be bundled up in a ridiculous amount of layers and braving the subway in the city. 

When Ari was gone, you would spend most of your day sitting at your desk alone on the top floor the company’s building, twiddling your thumbs outside Ari’s empty office. Inevitably, your mind always strayed to Ari and began to wonder what he was doing at that very moment.

Since the CEO had you working 60-hour weeks, and you spent most of those hours by his side, you could very easily picture him standing on a beach. He’d be wearing a rakish smile on his bearded face, the clear blue of the ocean making the bright sapphire of his eyes pop while the shining sun would highlight the mischievous look that was, more often than not, sparkling in the depth of his gaze. 

You’d never seen Ari shirtless—only ever having seen him in the tailored suits he wore to the office—but you’d caught glimpses of dark hair on his chest on the late nights when he’d undone the top buttons of his shirt. You could just imagine how his broad shoulders would frame his barrel chest, dark hair dusting so much of his bare skin that would be on display, with a pair of shorts riding indecently low on his hips.

And if you let your mind wander further down that path, you began to wonder if Ari ever swam naked in the shimmering waters of the tropics. You wondered if he floated on his back, basking in the sun with his entire body bare, looking even more like the golden god you thought he resembled…

With a forceful shake of your head, you made yourself stop thinking about Ari swimming naked, and refocused on the present moment. 

You stood in Ari’s office, your back straight as a knife’s edge while you typed notes furiously into your phone about everything you’d have to reschedule to accommodate the last-minute, week-long trip to Belize he’d informed you he was taking. 

You’d bitten back a sigh, like the polite little EA you prided yourself on being, and tried to get more details from him about his availability while he was away. But instead of answering your extremely relevant questions, Ari had changed the subject and asked about your Valentine’s Day plans.

The words had taken you by so much surprise, you’d had to pause your typing and blink a few times before your mind could process them. It wasn’t until Ari had voiced the question that you even realized the holiday had snuck up on you. 

Not that it mattered, it wasn’t like you were seeing anyone, so you had no romantic partner to spend it with. As such, you’d given Ari a bland answer about catching up on the new season of The Traitors with a bottle of rosé and Freddie.

You didn’t expect Ari to remember that Freddie was your cat, and not a partner—though Freddie was, admittedly, your closest companion since you lived alone in a very nice one-bedroom apartment and had little time for other friends. 

You’d hoped Ari would’ve forgotten about Freddie and assumed you were just having a lowkey Valentine’s Day, thereby getting the hint to drop the subject. You’d wanted to refocus him on answering the questions you’d asked about his trip. 

But you’d had no such luck and, for the second time in five minutes, Ari had surprised you—and not in a good way. 

The CEO had scoffed at your Valentine’s Day plans, rolling his gorgeous blue eyes in a way that made you grind your molars in an effort not to snarl at him. He’d said you could find better company for the evening than a cheap bottle of wine, some trashy television and a flea-ridden furball. 

That last comment had been the final straw. The one that broke the proverbial camel’s back. 

You’d felt something inside you snap, and you realized you’d had enough of Ari Levinson. 

It was bad enough that Ari was the worst, most difficult and flighty boss you’d ever had, but you drew the line at anyone insulting Freddie. He was your precious little man, the one who greeted you every night with sweet chirps and warm affection when you got home to your otherwise empty apartment. 

You loved him more than anything else in the world, and had even used a good chunk of the generous salary you made working for Ari to splurge on a place with lots of natural light so Freddie could bask in the sun to his heart’s content. So you would absolutely not stand by and listen to Ari insult Freddie. 

“You know what, bite me, Levinson,” you hissed at the infuriatingly arrogant CEO, using a voice so filled with fury, you barely recognized it as your own. “I quit.”

You took a second to savor the slightly stunned look on Ari’s face—his normally sparkling blue eyes dulled with confusion and his perfectly plump lips, offset by his dark, well-groomed beard, parted in surprise like you’d slapped him—then you whirled around on your heel. 

You were determined to stalk out of the CEO’s office with your head held high, but Ari had other ideas.

Quick as lightning, Ari’s hand shot out and wrapped around the back of your neck. His grip was surprisingly gentle, even if it was still firm enough to spin you back around and reel you in until your body nearly collided with his broad chest. 

The astonished look on Ari’s face had already been replaced by a devastatingly arrogant grin, his bright blue eyes sparkling like the sun glinting off the ocean, a wicked kind of mischief in their depths. He held you close, so close that you had to tip your head back to look into his eyes.

Your hands had come up to brace against Ari’s chest when he’d tugged you into the cage of his arms, and you could tell, even through the thick wool coat he wore over his suit, that he was sturdy beneath his clothes. 

The only thing stopping you from trying to push him away was the sneaking suspicion that he was strong enough not to allow you to put any space between your bodies if he didn’t want it. If you did try to fight and he didn’t give you an inch, you knew it would turn you on more than his manhandling already had, and you couldn’t deal with that just yet.

So instead of fighting him, you stood there, letting Ari tower over you while your hands rested uselessly against the lapels of his coat, your phone still clutched tightly in your fingers. You tried to keep a glare fixed on your face, showing him all of the ire you felt, and none of the desire that was scorching through your body as you inhaled his warm, spicy scent.

“Bad move, baby,” Ari rumbled, his mouth curving into a wicked smirk that had your betrayer of a heart beating mortifyingly hard in your chest, the warmth between your legs turning into a disloyal dampness. “Now there’s no employee code of conduct stopping me from doing this.”

You didn’t even have a hope of processing Ari’s words before his mouth crashed down on yours.

If you ever thought about it—which you did, an embarrassing amount, in fact, though you’d never in your life admit it to anyone (except maybe Freddie)—you would’ve expected Ari Levinson to be a selfish kisser. You’d expected him to totally lack finesse, to plunge his tongue into your mouth right away and take what he thought he was owed.

But Ari’s kiss wasn’t like that at all.

Sure, there was a barely leashed hunger in the way his mouth worked against yours, like he was holding onto his restraint by the tips of his fingers. But his lips were more coaxing than demanding, his tongue more teasing and playful than plundering as he licked along the seam of your mouth.

Before you knew what was happening, you were falling under the spell of Ari Levinson’s kiss. Your lips were parting of their own accord, and you were letting out a contented little sigh as your body melted into his arms. 

You could taste the smirk on his lips as he readjusted his grip, one of his arms banding around your lower back to hold you securely against his chest while his other hand shifted from the back of your neck to cup your face. He held you exactly where he wanted you while he tempted you into giving yourself completely to him.

Then, Ari deepened the kiss, and you were lost to him. 

He smelled like expensive cologne, rich and spicy, but he tasted like bitter coffee and dark chocolate, and the contrast was driving you wild. You wanted to climb the tall, sturdy CEO like he was a tree, but you settled for curling your fingers around the lapels of his coat and pulling him closer, sucking on the tongue he’d slipped into your mouth and reveling in his groan of pleasure.

You could already feel the evidence of his arousal pressing into your stomach, and you desperately wanted to feel his bulge move lower, shoving between your thighs while Ari spread your legs wide open—preferably with no layers of clothing between your bodies. You wanted him to sink into your wet heat and pound into you until you forgot everything except his name.

But you wouldn’t beg Ari Levinson to fuck you. You refused to stoop to that level. 

Instead, you pressed your body more firmly against his hardness, nipping at his plump lower lip and stirring a low growl in his chest. Then you sucked on his lip hard enough that his arms crushed you to his chest, his hips thrusting instinctively against your soft curves and making you smirk against his mouth.

“Come to Belize with me,” Ari murmured when he’d pulled his lips from yours to press kisses to your cheek and jaw and neck. He kissed you anywhere he could reach without straying too far from your mouth, which he devoured with a hunger that had a pulsing need throbbing between your thighs. “Come with me, baby, and we can continue this for the whole week.”

A scornful laugh, light and frothy as the waves crashing on the shore, bubbled from your lips and you tipped your head back. Ari took the movement as permission to brush even more kisses to the underside of your jaw, a shiver racing down your spine when the softness of his mouth contrasted with the rasp of his beard.

But, though a part of you wanted to get even more lost in Ari Levinson and take him up on his request, you couldn’t forget everything he’d done and said. You certainly wouldn’t forget the slight against Freddie.

“Why on earth would I go anywhere with you?” you asked, your voice so breathy, it almost sounded like you were flirting with the arrogant CEO instead of scoffing at his offer. “I just quit, remember?”

“I remember,” Ari muttered into the fluttering pulse beneath your jaw. He kissed his way back to your mouth and licked inside, making you melt even further in his arms. 

By that point, your legs were so weak, you were certain Ari’s strong arms were the only thing holding you up. But if he’d been trying to persuade you with pure lust into relenting and giving in to his invitation, he must’ve realized quickly it would take more to sweep you off your feet.

“Let me put it this way—come to Belize with me and I’ll tell HR I fired you so you get your full severance package,” he rumbled in your ear, nipping at the lobe and dragging a reluctant gasp from your lips. “Otherwise you get nothing.”

Somewhere, in the deep recesses of your rational mind, you knew you should bristle at Ari’s threat. After all, he was toying with your financial future like it was nothing but a tool in his negotiation arsenal to get what he wanted. 

Except…you had been the one to quit without thinking about what it meant for your ability to pay rent and keep a roof over Freddie’s head. Ari wasn’t threatening to take away your severance, you’d thrown that away all on your own. Instead, he was offering to give it to you in exchange for a week-long vacation to one of the most beautiful places in the world. 

Later, you could chalk up your questionable decision-making to the drugging effect Ari’s mouth had on your body and mind, but in the moment, you were hard-pressed to remember why you shouldn’t go with him to Belize. Especially when your body seemed unwilling to do anything except press further into him, begging him without words for more.

You realized belatedly that you’d already made up your mind, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell the exasperating CEO just yet. So you slid a hand from the lapel of Ari’s jacket into his soft, brown hair, your fingers curling selfishly in the strands while you pulled his mouth back to yours. You shared a slow, decadent kiss that almost made you forget the conversation you’d been having.

“They’ll believe that?” you asked on a gasp, breaking away from Ari’s devastatingly perfect mouth to suck in the air your lungs were begging for. 

You pulled back enough to look up into Ari’s handsome face, finding him smirking knowingly down at you, and you realized he knew you’d already decided to go with him. You were prepared to seethe in fury and snap at him, but something in his expression made you pause—there was a hint of affection in his crystal blue eyes that you’d never seen before, and it rendered you speechless.

“Baby, I sign their paychecks,” Ari said, stroking a finger tenderly down your cheek, his words reminding you of the conversation you were still in the middle of. “They’ll believe what I tell them to believe.”

A derisive scoff burst from your lips as you rolled your eyes at the arrogance of Ari’s statement, but you held your tongue. You’d known the man long enough that there was no point in arguing with him, so you changed the subject to something that mattered more to you anyway.

“I’m still furious with you for what you said about my Valentine’s Day plans—and Freddie,” you said, giving Ari your best, most withering glare.

Unfortunately, you suspected it wasn’t all that scary, at least not to the CEO who still held you in his arms, because Ari just chuckled and ducked down to press a kiss to your lips. His laughter flickered teasingly into your mouth, making the warmth of desire bloom even more hotly in your body.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you,” Ari vowed before kissing you again, though it didn’t last long as his mouth tipped up into a smirk. “You’re going to enjoy Belize, baby.”

The sun that shone on Belize was better than the sun above New York City, you were convinced of it. If anyone tried to tell you that was simply because Belize was closer to the equator and it was February, you wouldn’t hear it. The sun was better in Belize.

It fell across your bare shoulders like the softest and comfiest of blankets, warming you down to the bones that you would’ve sworn had been permanently frozen by the city’s frigid winter. But even with the sun beating down on your body, you never got overheated thanks to the gentle breeze coming in off the water of the near-distant ocean, caressing your skin like a lover. 

For the millionth time since you’d arrived in Belize, you let out a sigh of contentment and reveled in the bright sunshine and the smell of salt on the air. The lapping of the waves was a constant soundtrack, lulling you into a state of near-sleep as you lay out on the deck of the private vacation home your former boss had booked for the week.

And, thanks to the privacy afforded by the high walls on either side of the pool and deck, which overlooked a strip of beach reserved entirely for you and the CEO, you were basking in the sun completely naked. Your body was stretched out on the soft cushion of a sun lounger, laying on your stomach with your arms folded beneath your chin. 

The only thing you wore was a pair pink heart-shaped sunglasses perched on the bridge of your nose, casting the world in shades of bubblegum and taffy while you watched the ocean. It felt deliciously wicked to be laying outside wearing nothing, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you reveled in the feeling of the sun warming your skin—all of your skin. 

The sound of the door to the deck opening and closing pulled you from your reverie, though you didn’t turn to see who it was. There was only one person it could be—Ari Levinson. 

“The beast’s been fed,” Ari said, no small amount of fondness in his tone. His heavy footsteps padded in your direction across the wooden deck, coming to a stop somewhere near the foot of your lounger. 

It surprised no one more than you to learn that Ari’s invitation to go to Belize for the week had included Freddie. The CEO had even accompanied you to your apartment, where he’d helped herd Freddie into his carrier before taking both of you to the airport where he kept his private jet. 

Freddie had been wary of the large intruder in your home, and was taking some time to warm up to Ari. In an effort to endear himself to your precious furball, Ari had insisted on being the one to feed him, which you’d only allowed once your former boss admitted he planned on keeping you in his life long after the trip to Belize ended—and was willing to do anything to make that happen. 

It turned out, Freddie was just as much of a traitor as your heart, because he’d warmed up to Ari just as fast as your the betrayer in your chest had, abandoning their initial hatred of the CEO for something much warmer and more affectionate. 

“I gave him some of that wet food he likes,” Ari went on, finally dragging your attention away from the ocean so you could look up at the man who was quickly becoming your second favorite person in the world—after Freddie, of course. 

You sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of Ari, standing on the deck with his hands propped on his hips, his face tipped up toward the sun and his eyes shaded in dark glasses—all while entirely naked. 

There was so much golden, tanned skin on display, you didn’t know where to look—at the dark hair blanketing his barrel chest, at the gentle taper of his waist and the hair trailing down from his navel, or at the thick cock hanging between his even thicker thighs. 

The two of you had barely made it into the vacation home in Belize and gotten Freddie settled before Ari had been pushing inside your entirely too willing pussy, finally finishing what you’d begun in the CEO’s office in New York. Since then, neither of you had been able to keep your hands to yourselves for longer than a few hours, and you’d learned, intimately, how it felt to have Ari’s cock buried in each one of your holes.

You’d also confessed to Ari, early on in the week, that you’d wondered whether he spent his vacations swimming naked in the ocean. In response, he’d pulled you into the ocean wearing not a stitch of clothing between the two of you; ever since, he’d taken to walking around naked all the time, so you’d done the same. 

Considering all the fucking you were doing, it was way more convenient anyway. 

“I think it’s about time you put on more sunscreen, isn’t it, baby?” Ari asked, dragging your focus back to the moment.  

His tone had dropped a little lower in that way that made your belly swoop and dampness begin to gather between your thighs. Your body warmed as arousal settled heavily in your center, your legs falling open just a tiny bit, as if the infuriating CEO had trained you to react instinctively to the barest hint of desire in his tone after just a few days.

Still, though your body might betray what you desperately wanted from Ari, you weren’t going to make it so easy for him. 

You tipped your head up toward him, finding he’d pulled off his sunglasses and dropped them on the lounger beside yours, leaving him able to pin you with a scorchingly heated look. You simply raised a brow at him.

“If you think so, you can go ahead and apply it for me,” you said primly, tossing your head and turning back to look out at the ocean. 

A smirk quirked the corners of your lips as you heard Ari chuckle behind you, and you could easily picture him picking up the bottle of sunscreen from the deck while he stepped closer to you. 

A moment later, you felt the slight shift of movement when Ari threw his leg over your lounger. Then he settled down on the cushion, planting his knees on either side of your hips. You took off your sunglasses and set them on the deck, pretending not to care about what Ari was doing.

But every spot where his bare skin touched yours tingled with awareness, excitement bubbling in your belly and mixing with your desire into the perfect kind of anticipation that had you squeezing your thighs together against the ache building in your core. 

Ari was quiet while he squeezed the sunscreen onto his hands and began massaging it into your shoulders, his strong fingers working methodically at the knots in your muscles—knots he’d created while he’d still been your boss—until they were entirely loose and unraveled. 

Then his hands were moving lower, his fingers brushing along the soft sides of your tits in such a teasing torture that you had to force yourself not to squirm beneath him. You were trying your hardest to keep up the appearance that you were unaffected by Ari’s touch, but the longer he deftly worked your body, the more effort it took to bite back your moans.

However, all hope of hiding your reactions from the arrogant CEO fled when he got to your ass. His big hands rubbed and kneaded the soft flesh in such a way that Ari kept spreading your pussy lips apart, the quiet sounds of your own wetness reaching your ears even over the near-distant hum of the ocean. 

Ari lingered over your ass and hips and thighs, groping your body shamelessly under the guise of working sunscreen into your skin, even as both of you knew exactly what he was doing. He worked you up until you were squirming beneath him, biting back little whimpers of desire, and then he stopped and you nearly growled in frustration.

Picking up the bottle of sunscreen, Ari laughed softly while he squeezed more into his hands, then made quick work of smoothing it down the rest of your legs, making sure you were entirely covered before resuming his previous position. 

His hands groped your ass again and his hard cock bobbed against the backs your thighs, but neither of you moved to take things further for a long moment. You simply enjoyed the feeling of being together, a sense of peace like none you’d ever known washing over you.

“How many times d’you think I’ve made you cum so far this week?” Ari asked, his tone light with an undercurrent of huskiness betraying his desire. 

The question broke whatever spell Ari had put on you and you stretched languidly beneath him, reaching your fingers out toward the ocean and pointing your toes while you tested your muscles. Your body was loose and relaxed, but you were despairingly empty, so you pushed your hips up, brushing your ass teasingly against Ari’s hard length while you hummed in thought.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, grumbling only a little when Ari pushed your hips back down on the lounger. He rebuffed your wordless offer, pinning you down while his knees shifted higher up your body and his calves kept your thighs closed together. “A lot, I guess.”

“And how many more until you forgive me for being the worst boss ever?” he asked, a playful smile in the warmth of his tone. 

You may have called him that—more than once—when he was edging you earlier in the week. But he’d earned the insult, and more, frankly, for how much you’d put up with in your months of working for him. He truly had been the worst boss ever, and you never intended on rescinding your resignation since he deserved it. 

Thankfully, Ari seemed determined to make it up to you, just like he’d promised. Mostly through orgasms, but you weren’t going to complain. Not yet, anyway. (Besides, you’d already gotten him to promise to give you the most glowing letter of recommendation he could write, and help you secure a position with a much less demanding company.)

“At least a hundred,” you murmured in a breathy tone, your hips lifting hungrily into Ari’s palms when he kneaded your ass, his thumbs brushing temptingly close to your dripping slit. 

That time, he took you up the wordless invitation, the tip of his hard cock pressing into your tight hole, which was more than eager to take his thick length. Ari’s cock met with no resistance from your body as he slid inside, burying himself to the hilt with one relentless stroke.

You were plenty wet from the massage he’d given you, and your body had long since grown accustomed to the feel of his fat cock stretching your tight pussy. It had taken some time to work his full length inside you that first night, but your body had come to know him, and you stretched to fit him perfectly, his hardness nestled deep in your cunt with his tip pressed against your cervix. 

A pleasured groan slipped from Ari’s lips as he felt your pussy squeezing around him. He fell forward, covering your body with his broad form until he was pressed flush to your back, pinning you into the soft cushion of the lounger.

The movement shifted his stiff length in your dripping hole, and it felt like he was pushing impossibly deeper, which wrung a shrill desperate, keening sound from the depths of your lungs. 

Ari shushed you softly, his palms skimming from your shoulders down your arms until his fingers tangled with yours. He held your hands in each of his, keeping you grounded in the moment while undeniable euphoria filled your body and mind, blotting out everything except Ari and the pleasure he offered. 

“And how many more until you forgive me for the comment about the beast?” Ari asked, his voice gravelly with his own barely leashed desire. He turned his head slightly, brushing a kiss to the apple of your cheek like he couldn’t help himself, and waited for your answer. 

It took you a moment to gather your thoughts enough to respond, knowing he wasn’t going to move, to fuck you, until you’d answered his question.

“It’s gonna take five hundred more,” you huffed, trying for a pert tone and failing miserably. Your voice was little more than a breathy moan, but that didn’t stop you from curtly adding, “That was my son you insulted.”

“By the end of this trip, he’s going to be our son,” Ari growled in your ear, pulling his hips back and thrusting inside you again, harder and rougher than before. 

You moaned loudly at the delicious drag of his cock in your tight hole, fighting back the warmth that wanted to curl around your heart at the determination in Ari’s tone when he talked about making Freddie his son too.

Thankfully, the way Ari was rocking into you, fucking your prone body while you were pinned beneath him, easily distracted you from the fact that the infuriating CEO was stealing his way deeper into your heart with very little resistance since you just couldn’t seem to muster it. Not when he felt so fucking good and said so many sweet things.

“And if I have to make you cum one thousand times to make you forgive me, I’ll do it,” Ari went on, pounding into you harder, his hips smacking against your ass with every thrust, wringing mindless moans from your lips while he kept spilling filth in your ear. “I’ll fuck your sweet little cunt until she’s so sensitive and swollen, you’ll be begging me to stop—but I won’t. I’ll make you cum on my cock so many times you’ll be forgiving me over and over and over again.”

Ari punctuated each of his words with a ruthless thrust, the clapping of his skin against yours loud in the quiet and otherwise peaceful afternoon. It was all you could do to mutter, “Oh god,” and cling on to Ari’s hands, holding him tightly while you took every inch of his cock and every single one of his rough thrusts. 

“And then, when you’re addicted to my cock and you’ve finally forgiven me—really, truly forgiven me—I’ll put a pretty little ring on this finger,” Ari rumbled, squeezing your left ring finger between two of his own, so you couldn’t possibly misunderstand what he was saying. “And I’m going to make you my wife. How does that sound, baby?” 

A sob of overwhelming bliss wrenched free from your lips, your mouth too busy wailing your pleasure to form words to respond. 

But it didn’t matter that you couldn’t answer Ari’s question with words because you knew from the way he chuckled in your ear that he’d felt the way your pussy had clenched down on him when he’d said he was going to make you his wife. Your body had answered for you, and it had been much more honest than your mouth would’ve been.

Ari kept fucking you, perfectly hard and perfectly fast, and the pleasure swirling through your body was reaching a fever pitch. It was almost too much for you to bear, so you turned your head and buried your face against Ari’s thick bicep. Mindless moans spilled from your lips as your teeth pressed instinctively into the hard, flexing muscle.

“That’s it—bite me, baby,” Ari cooed in your ear while he shoved his other arm under your body, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing the aching bundle of nerves in tight, ruthless circles. “Bite me while you’re cumming all over my fat cock like the good girl I know you are.” 

Ari’s words and his relentless determination to make you cum were your undoing. 

You came with a muffled scream, your teeth sinking so deep into Ari’s bicep, you knew you’d leave a mark behind. That thought only made you cum even harder, your body trembling and shaking with the force of the pleasure crashing over you. 

Ari followed right after you, his hips rutting into you for a few more thrusts before he came with a grunt, his cock twitching as he spilled his seed deep in your pussy. The two of you writhed together, eking out every last shred of pleasure before eventually collapsing on the sun lounger with exhaustion.

Maneuvering the two of you onto your sides, Ari held you in the cradle of his arms, his cock staying wedged deep inside you so you kept him warm as he gradually softened. You dozed off in the comfort of Ari’s hold, feeling his heart beating against your spine and listening to his soft breaths mingling with the gentle lapping of the ocean.  

After a time, Ari roused you from sleep, murmuring in your ear that the two of you should take a quick dip in the pool before deciding what to order for dinner. The sun had fallen low in the sky, ducking behind the house so that the deck was cast in shade, but the air was still pleasantly warm. 

The cool water of the pool helped to wake you up, and there was a pleasurable burn in your muscles as you swam and splashed and fooled around with Ari. 

Before you dragged yourselves from the pool, he fucked you again, using the gentle weightlessness of the water to lift you up and down on his cock while your head lolled against his shoulder and you moaned your pleasure into his neck.

When the two of you finally stumbled back inside, smelling like chlorine and sunshine, Freddie hopped up from the patch of light he’d been laying in at the front of the house. He chirped happily, twisting around your ankles and waiting for a brief pet before he pranced over to Ari. 

Freddie rubbed his furry body against Ari’s calves, staring up at the man like he’d hung the stars and moon in the sky. Your cat’s welcome made the infuriatingly handsome CEO chuckle affectionately while he bent down to scuff the creature under the chin, murmuring soft praises to the beast. 

It was too much for your heart—too sweet and pure and perfect—and you fell in love with Ari Levinson in that exact moment, though it would be many more months before you confessed those feelings to the man himself. 

By the time you did, Ari would have whispered his love into every inch of your body. When the words finally fell from your lips, he would chuckle, having known it before you’d voiced it, because he knew your heart better than anyone else in the world. Even Freddie. 

That first Valentine’s Day with Ari was much better than watching trashy TV with a bottle of rosé. In fact, it was the best you’d ever had. That is, until the next year’s Valentine’s Day, when Ari whisked you and Freddie off to another tropical location, and fulfilled the promise he’d made about putting a ring on your finger.

The Valentine’s Day after that, Ari Levinson made you his wife. And the two of you lived happily ever after.

sweethearts game masterlist

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

──── TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT . ↳ one shot // also part of the no doubt series !

✎ᝰ .ᐟ aka jake has been your boyfriend in his heart for months—he just needs to hear you say it.

── sim jaeyun x f!reader ౨ৎ 1.4k ⌗ fluff, jake is vulnerable, this one is longer than the other parts but it's a MONUMENTAL STEP in their relationship :')

↳ IMPORTANT NOTE .ᐟ ── this is part of my no doubt series ─ a sequel series of short drabbles that take place after the events of my fic no doubt, and show jake & reader's relationship throughout their first year together (& how jake wins her trust & love back hehe) ── THIS CAN BE READ AS A ONE-SHOT, however, there will be some easter eggs if you've read no doubt before!

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── everyone's favorite couple is OFFICIALLY a couple now,,,bc in case anyone didn’t noticed, i never actually established if they were officially official or not..whoops. but i think that's also kinda the entire premise of their relationship as of now─jake wanting to give y/n as much time as she needs to be ready and him proving that he's willing to wait however long it takes for her :')

“But…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 remembers your words.

Clear as day. Burned into his memory. His life mantra.

And since then, he’s had one and only one promise on repeat inside his head:

That he’ll do whatever it takes.

Whatever it takes to deserve you again.

To deserve being with you.

To deserve loving you, out loud—without holding back this time.

And if that meant patience—if that meant doing it all on your terms—then okay.

He’ll wait.

For you?

Yeah. He’ll wait forever if he has to.

Because it’s not up to him. It can’t be.

Everything’s in your hands now.

He’s in your hands.

So Jake follows your lead.

And at first, it was easy. To just…let things be.

To just keep this—whatever this is.

To keep staying by your side, unwavering, like some stupidly devoted golden retriever boyfriend who’s, technically, not a boyfriend but definitely does your dishes and rubs your back and makes out with you on the couch like he does.

To keep letting you steal his hoodies and never ask for them back. To keep ordering drinks for you at cafes because he knows you hate talking to cashiers.

To keep coming home to you, as if your place was his own.

To keep kissing you goodnight and good morning like you belong to him, even though he’s never actually asked.

To keep pretending he’s fine.

Completely. Totally. Definitely fine.

Fine with being in this maybe-kinda-sorta relationship.

Fine with never keeping any of his hoodies if it means he gets to keep you.

Fine with giving you his whole heart without knowing if he’ll ever get yours back.

Because he gets it. He really does.

You need time. You need space. You need to heal.

Because of him. 

So Jake—Jake doesn’t push.

Because if there’s one thing he has never doubted—

It’s that he wants you.

So he waits.

And waits.

Until—

“…You’re thinking out loud again,” you say suddenly, snapping him out of his spiraling thoughts.

Jake blinks, caught red-handed.

He turns to look at you, and for half a second—he forgets what he was stressing about.

Because you’re sitting on the hood of his car, legs dangling, your knees brushing his, swallowed up in one of his old hoodies. Your skin glows warm under the melting summer sky, orange and gold pouring all across you, highlighting the slope of your nose, your cheekbones, the way you tilt your head back and let the light hit you.

And you’re just. So. You.

Soft and comfortable and beautiful and his.

Jake clears this throat, rubbing the back of his neck, “Yeah?”

You hum, leaning back on your hands, your gaze going back toward the sunset, "Yeah.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

Jake inhales sharply, “Y/N.”

You turn to him, curious. “Jake.”

And god, he almost chickens out right then and there.

Because you’re so close, and all you did was simply say his name and he wants to crumble.

He’s in so, so deep.

And that’s how he knows he needs to do this.

“What…exactly are we?”

Jake’s voice comes out small—more so than he intended, as if afraid for the answer.

You blink, caught off guard.

Your expression shifts just slightly.

And Jake sees it—the tiny hitch in your breath, the way you blink one, two, three times.

And then panic floods his chest, because—

Oh god, he just ruined everything.

He shouldn’t have said anything.

He told himself he’d wait. That he wouldn’t push. That this—whatever this is—would unfold whenever you were ready.

But you?

You’re not surprised, per say.

You weren’t not expecting this conversation.

It’s been lingering in the air between you and Jake for a while now—soft and subtle.

Lingering in the way he holds you during movie nights, in the way he always brings you ‘and yet’ flowers (an inside joke you both refuse to explain to anyone else). In the way he stays over every night just a little longer than the last, in the way one of your drawers turned into a Jake drawer.

In the way he looks at you like he’s already in love.

And you noticed it.

You’ve known.

You’ve felt it, too.

But still.

Your heart tightens at his words.

Finally, you open your mouth, but before anything can come out—

“I mean, I—I don’t know, I was just thinking, you know, and I just..,” Jake rambles, brows furrowing, lips forming a worried, endearing, pout. “I know we act like—like this, and I really, really like where we are right now. But I—”

He exhales sharply. Runs a hand through his hair.

“I don’t want to assume anything without asking. Like, ever. And there’s no pressure, seriously. If you still want to take things slow, or just—keep doing what we’re doing, I’m fine with that. More than fine. It’s just—”

Your chest tightens.

Jake’s fully facing you now, eyes searching, voice lower—softer, vulnerable, “I just don’t know where we stand, I guess.”

He swallows hard. His entire body feels like it’s on fire, every nerve going haywire.

You glance away, your hands curling into your sleeves as if trying to ground yourself.

And then—you finally look back at him.

“…Do you?” You murmur. One of your hands reaches for his, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Do you want to know?”

Jake’s breath catches.

Because you’re looking at him now, all hesitant and soft and wide-eyed, and maybe just a little hopeful.

And nervous—in the same way he is.

Like you’re waiting for him to say the thing you’ve both been dancing around for months.

And he doesn’t even hesitate. Doesn’t even doubt it.

“Of course I do,” Jake says, voice low and certain. The words spill out like truth. Like instinct.

“I want to be with you,” he continues, voice unwavering, leaning in slightly. “I want to call you my girlfriend. I want to show up to dumb parties with you and watch everyone realize I’m the luckiest guy there. I want to buy you snacks you’ll forget to eat and make reservations at fancy restaurants we’re going to be late to.”

You blink, lip parting slightly at his words. Your brain is short-circuiting—you don’t even think you’re breathing anymore.

And Jake must’ve noticed your reaction, because the corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s trying not to smile. But his voice remains steady, “But most importantly, I just want you to be happy with whatever we decide. So if you need time, or if you don’t—”

“Yes.”

Jake freezes.

A blink.

“What?”

You swallow, ignoring the way your face is burning, “I mean—yes. I want that too. The parties and snacks and reservations. All of it.”

For a solid business second, Jake just stares at you. Like he almost doesn’t believe you. Like his brain is making this up out of sheer desperation.

But he takes one look at you—the way you’re looking at him all soft and sure—and he breaks.

Into the biggest grin of all time.

He grabs both your hands, clutching them close to him, looking at you like you just handed him the universe, “You’re being serious? Like, for real, for real?”

You raise a brow. 

“You don’t believe me? I must be doing a terrible job if you really thought I didn’t like you this whole time,” you giggle, the air around you immediately shifting into something lighter, something that feels like forever. “Of course, I do, Jake.” 

Jake softens instantly. His smile turns a little crooked, a little shy, “Well, yeah, I knew that. I just…I don’t know, I just wanted to hear you say it, you know?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you roll your eyes, nudging his shoulder lightly—but he tugs you closer, one arm winding easily around your waist while the other links your fingers together, his thumb immediately stroking the back of your hand.

And it’s so easy. So natural. Like you’ve been his forever.

“And you’re my girlfriend now,” he says, absolutely wanting to tattoo it on his forehead for the world to see.

You giggle to yourself, a little breathless now as you rest your head against his chest, “Mmhm. I’m your girlfriend, Sim Jaeyun. Officially.”

“Holy shit,” he groans from above you. “You’re gonna have to say that, like, five more times.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter into his hoodie, but you’re smiling.

“You’re mine,” Jake places a soft kiss into your hair, his words muffled against you, “Mine, mine, mine.”

You’re beaming under his hold, your heart full.

You tilt your head up, catching his gaze again—eyes full of wonder, like he still can’t believe you’re real.

“I’m yours, Jake. Completely.”

But that’s just the thing.

You were always his.

He just needed to know that he was yours, too.

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[kxsagi]

this MIGHT be the last request because of my exams or maybe i’ll drop by mid exam when the stress is too much, i dunno😞‼️

A bluelock x volleyball player reader please? (w/ isagi, rin, sae, kaiser and shidou)

i play volleyball and it seemed like such a cute trope, football x volleyball hehe. the scenario can play however you want, nothing specific in mind. you can even make this request a list of head cannons if you want or just a regular scenario 😼❤️

“𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫”

a/n: oooh, you play volleyball 🤭 that's hot

also i just did a football player gf one, so hopefully they don’t sound too similar (i tried my best to make it different!)

ft. itoshi rin, shidou ryusei, itoshi sae, isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, karasu tabito, otoya eita, yukimiya kenyu

itoshi rin

rin, as expected, shows up to your games looking like he’s attending a funeral. arms crossed, blank expression, and eyes narrowed like he’s analyzing a crime scene. but the second you spike the ball and score a point? his fingers tighten ever so slightly on the railing. and when your team wins a tough match, he waits until everyone’s cleared out before walking up to you and quietly slipping his jacket over your shoulders. “good game,” he mutters, pretending his ears aren’t pink. and yeah, he definitely re-watches your highlight reel later. 

shidou ryusei 

oh, this man is out of control. he’s wearing your jersey, painted your number on his cheek, and has a hand-painted sign that says, “SPIKE ME, BABY 😍❤️.” he’s heckling the other team like it’s his sport. when you land a perfect block, he stands up and full-on YELLS, “GET THAT WEAK SHIT OUTTA HERE!!!” security has asked him to calm down three times but he’s not stopping. when you run over post-game, he picks you up and spins you around, practically yelling in your ear, “i’m SO fucking proud of you. you’re insane. i wanna frame that spike and hang it over our bed.”

itoshi sae

sae acts like it’s no big deal that you’re a volleyball star. except he slips it into conversations constantly. someone mentions working out? “yeah, my girlfriend does conditioning drills every day. her vertical is insane.” someone talks about being competitive? “my girlfriend’s a volleyball player. she hates losing.” and if anyone dare mentions volleyball in passing? oh, he’s already showing them a clip of you absolutely dominating at the net, coolly saying, “isn’t she so good?” while his smirk gives him away. 

isagi yoichi

isagi knows everything about volleyball now. the positions, rotations, libero rules – you name it, he’s learned it. he even practices calling out signals with you, crouching low with his hands ready, even though he’s never played in his life. at your games, he’s leaning forward with his hands on his knees, laser-focused like he’s analyzing a world cup match. “watch her timing on the block,” he mutters under his breath, eyes glinting with pride. when you run over after the game, sweaty and tired, he grins and kisses your forehead. “you’re so amazing, love. seriously. i’m blown away every time.” 

bachira meguru 

bachira shows up to your game wearing a custom hoodie with your jersey number on it. and yes, he has one of those giant foam fingers. when you score, he’s up on his feet, waving the finger in the air, yelling, “WOOOO, THAT’S MY GIRL!!!” and after the game? oh, he’s sprinting over and sliding across the gym floor just to hug you. “you were SO COOL!” he whines dramatically, planting exaggerated kisses on your cheeks. “please spike me next time. PLEASE.” and yes, he absolutely asks you to practice with him later, even though he’s trash at volleyball. 

mikage reo

reo absolutely shows up to your games looking like he just came from a business meeting. designer coat, expensive watch, the whole deal. but when you hit a killer spike? the coat’s off, sleeves rolled up, and he’s standing and clapping slowly like he’s watching a masterpiece. “flawless execution,” he mutters with a proud smirk. he insists on treating you to a fancy post-game dinner, whether you win or lose. “it’s not a reward,” he says with a wink. “just my volleyball queen getting the five-star treatment she deserves.” 

nagi seishiro

nagi drags himself to your games, still half-asleep, hoodie pulled over his head. but the second you make a killer play? his eyes are wide open. he leans forward, resting his chin on his hand, eyes locked on you the entire time. he may not be the loudest, but you can feel his gaze following you everywhere. post-game, he just slouches over to you with that sleepy, boyish smile. “mmm… you were so cool,” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face into your shoulder. “watching you is better than napping. and that’s saying a lot.” 

karasu tabito

karasu treats your games like his personal performance. he’s in the stands, dramatically miming your movements like he’s giving a full-on TED Talk. “you see that? perfect approach. look at the form. textbook spike, right there. my girl’s a beast.” he’s pointing you out to strangers like they don’t already know who you are. when you glance his way mid-game? he blows you a kiss with a cocky wink. post-game, he slings an arm around your shoulders and grins, “sooo, do i get to be your personal towel boy now? or just your trophy husband?”

otoya eita

otoya is leaning against the railing, watching you warm up with a sly grin. “damn, babe. always knew you had great legs, but seeing you jump like that? whew.” he catcalls you mid-game – playfully, of course. “hey, number seven, you single?” when you land a powerful serve, he lets out a low whistle. “mmm, remind me to never piss you off.” post-game, he pulls you close by your jersey, voice low in your ear. “you keep playing like that, i might just have to become your personal rebound.” smirk and all. 

yukimiya kenyu

yukimiya watches you play with so much admiration it’s almost embarrassing. hands folded neatly in his lap, eyes soft and full of pride, just watching you move across the court like you’re the only person in the gym. he doesn’t cheer too loudly, just claps politely, but his smile says it all. post-game, he cups your face gently, brushing some stray hair from your forehead. “you were breathtaking out there,” he murmurs softly, kissing your temple. “i’m so proud of you.” and yeah, he absolutely keeps your game schedule saved on his phone so he never misses one. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[croworro]

Can you write a short schlatt fic in which the fem!reader confesses her feelings to him on stream or on the SDP -- but totally on accident? And of course he returns her feelings (either on off camera. You choose) Thanks boo!

Accidental Confessions

Pairing: Jschlatt x fem!reader

Word count: 1k

Warnings: none really

Summary: During a chaotic Phasmophobia stream, Schlatt’s relentless flirting leaves you flustered and questioning what’s real.

A/N: hope this is everything you were hoping for!! I’m actually so happy with how this turned out hehe

Your streaming sessions with Jschlatt had become a highlight of your week, and apparently, a highlight for thousands of viewers. What started as a one-off collaboration turned into a weekly tradition that fans clamored for. Schlatt’s relentless teasing, sharp wit, and surprisingly endearing moments always made for entertaining streams.

Tonight’s game was Phasmophobia, you reluctantly agreed to play after weeks of Schlatt goading you on Twitter.

“You ready to cry on stream?” Schlatt’s voice came through your headset as you joined the Discord call.

“More like ready to carry you,” you shot back, smirking as you adjusted your mic.

“Carry me?” Schlatt barked out a laugh. “Sweetheart, you couldn’t carry a flashlight without tripping over yourself.”

“Bold words from someone who hides in the van at the first sign of danger,” you retorted, rolling your eyes.

Out of the corner of your eye you could see that chat was already in chaos:

[Chat]:

• “Here we go again with the bickering couple.”

• “Schlatt’s flirting is so painfully obvious, omg.”

• “They’re gonna kill each other before the ghost does.”

The game loaded, and Schlatt’s teasing began almost immediately.

“Alright, chat,” he said, his tone smug. “Place your bets: How long before Y/N panics and accidentally gets me killed?”

“First of all, I don’t panic,” you said, grabbing the ghost detector. “Second, if you die, it’s probably because you’re too busy flirting with the chat to pay attention.”

“Oh, sweetheart, if I was flirting, you’d know it,” Schlatt said, his voice dropping into a playful drawl that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine.

Your face heated, but you forced a laugh. “Good thing I don’t have to worry about that, then.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” he replied, his smirk practically audible.

You busied yourself with the game, trying to ignore the way his voice lingered in your mind. The two of you explored the haunted house, with Schlatt cracking jokes and occasionally pretending to be scared just to make you jump.

“Y/N, the ghost’s name is Lisa. Think you can charm her into leaving us alone?” Schlatt asked as you stepped into the darkened kitchen.

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the one who keeps telling me I’m bad with women,” he said, grinning. “Let’s see you do better.”

“Fine,” you said, playing along. “Lisa, you’re a beautiful, independent ghost who doesn’t need to haunt this house anymore. Go find some peace, girl.”

Schlatt laughed so hard he almost dropped his flashlight. “Unbelievable. Chat, clip that. I need to save it for when Y/N tries to say she’s the serious one here.”

[Chat]:

• “I CAN’T WITH THESE TWO.”

• “Lisa’s shaking right now.”

• “Schlatt’s laugh gives me life.”

The game progressed, with Schlatt alternating between teasing you and pretending to be scared. When the ghost appeared out of nowhere, he let out a yell and ran, leaving you alone in the dark.

“Schlatt, you coward!” you screamed, clicking you keyboard keys frantically and fumbling for a hiding spot.

“Every man for himself!” he shouted from the safety of the van.

When the ghost finally disappeared, you stormed out of the house and into the van, glaring at Schlatt’s character.

“You are the worst teammate,” you said.

“And yet, you keep coming back,” he replied, his grin evident in his tone.

You groaned, but you couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Don’t act like you don’t love it, sweetheart,” he added, his voice softer now.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you ignored it, focusing back on the game.

By the time the ghost finally killed Schlatt, you were too frustrated to even pretend to feel bad.

“Maybe if you didn’t spend half the game messing around, you wouldn’t keep dying,” you said, your voice sharper than intended.

“Aw, is that your way of saying you care about me?” Schlatt asked, his tone teasing but his words making your stomach flip.

“Of course I care about you, but I care more about winning,” you said quickly, not even thinking about what you had said.

“What was that?” he asked, his tone shifting slightly. Your eyes widened quickly when you realized what you had said.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, feeling heat creep up your neck.

“Nah, nah, you said something,” he pressed. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging, sweetheart.”

The chat went wild:

[Chat]:

• “WAIT WHAT DID SHE SAY???”

• “CONFESS CONFESS CONFESS.”

• “Schlatt, stop bullying her, omg.”

You groaned, ending the game and pulling up your stream controls. “Alright, chat, that’s it for tonight. Goodnight, everyone.”

The protests from viewers were immediate, but you ignored them, ending the stream and ripping off your headset. Your phone buzzed almost immediately.

Schlatt: Call me.

You stared at the message, debating whether to respond. Finally, you sighed and hit the call button.

“Bit of an abrupt ending, don’t you think?” Schlatt said as soon as he picked up, his tone light but probing.

“You didn’t give me much of a choice,” you replied, crossing your arms.

“Alright, fair,” he admitted. “But seriously, what’s was that about?”

You hesitated, your heart pounding. Schlatt’s teasing was usually easy to brush off, but tonight felt different—more personal.

“It’s just… I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like you’re not joking, and I don’t know how to handle that.”

“What if I’m not joking?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

Your breath caught, your pulse racing. “Don’t mess with me, Schlatt.”

“I’m not,” he said firmly. “Y/N, I’m not joking. I flirt with you because I like you. Hell, everyone in chat sees it. I thought you did too.”

You swallowed hard, trying to process his words. “I didn’t want to assume,” you admitted.

“Well, you don’t have to,” he said, his tone softening. “I like you, sweetheart. I have for a while.”

A nervous laugh escaped you. “You sure know how to make a confession dramatic.”

“It’s what I do,” he replied, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “So… what do you say?”

“I think we should play another game,” you said, a smile spreading across your face.

“Another game?” he repeated, sounding surprised.

“Yeah,” you said. “But this time, you’re not leaving me to die.”

Schlatt laughed, his usual confidence returning. “Deal. But if you keep calling me a coward, I might have to change my mind about liking you.”

“Too late,” you teased. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“Good,” he said, his voice warm. “That’s exactly where I want to be.”

[jjjjeonww]

hong joshua - "Dear, Diary. Damn my academic rival."

genre - romance! ~~in which you've seen joshua as your academic rival for years, but lets see how he sees you in his perspective. (just wanted to switch it up a bit heh) a/n: this is a little thank you for 108 followers hehe<3!! also, this is a fic requested by the one and only, @hanniescookie! you keep coming up with amazing ideas and requests my angel, and im always happy and always honoured to complete them and be the person who receives them <3 ( @wonkierideul, here's your tag my lovie! you've had a tiring day, take a break and rest up. a junhui fic will be coming soon, just for you🤍)

(remember, this is all in joshua's pov!) 28th December 2024 Dear Diary, Today I felt so stupid. Why? I couldn't take my eyes off Y/n as she pored over the latest batch of data, her brows were furrowed in concentration. The flickering lamplight casted shadows across her face, it highlighted the curve of her cheekbones. Honestly, to me, Y/n was a vision of focus and intellect, a force to be reckoned with. And damn if she didn't look gorgeous in the process.

When she glanced up and caught me staring, a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. It was a rare sight, that smile... but it was all the more devastating for its infrequency. I felt my heart stutter in my chest, my breath hitched slightly as I drank in the sight of her.

"You've got that look again," I said. I have no idea how, or why my voice came out more huskily than I intended. I cleared my throat, trying to regain my composure. "Like when Tom thinks he can finally eat Jerry. What are you so smug about?"

I saw her smile widening, a glint of mischief appeared in her eyes. "I'm not smug," she said, and I know I heard the stupid note of false innocence in her tone. "I'm just...satisfied with my progress." Note by Joshua: (As if she could do any better than me. Well, she did do better than me this time. Won't let it happen the next!)

5th January 2025 Dear Diary, Today we got our test results. Obviously I looked around to find Y/n and to see her reaction to her grade, only to find her right next to me, holding up her test results, the paper rustled softly in her hand. I leaned forward to see, my glasses slipping down my nose as I squinted at the numbers. My jaw clenched as I took in the scores - hers were higher than mine, by a margin that made my gut twist with reluctant admiration.

"What?" I scoffed, pushing my glasses back up. "You've beaten me again?" I leaned back in my chair, and crossed my arms over my chest. "Damn you Y/n. Next time... don't get too comfortable. I'm not going to let you stay ahead for long." Her smile turned into a full-blown grin, those eyes... they sparkled with that familiar competitive fire. "I wouldn't expect anything less," she said, a note of challenge in her voice. "But don't worry, Joshua. I have no intention of making this easy for you. I want to see you push yourself, to reach for even greater heights."

I felt a surge of determination, a fierce need to prove myself and rise to her challenge. But beneath that, I felt something else, something softer and more intense. A longing to see that smile on her face again and to keep this fire alive. Note by Joshua: (I guess I got another longing; For her to stop calling me by my name and instead call me 'hers'. And I'm cringing at my own joke haha! until next time diary!) 13th January 2025 Dear Diary, The days have turned into weeks, and my isolation and forced collaboration with Y/n only seemed to intensify the charged atmosphere between us. We clashed over theories and methods, our voices raised in heated debate as we paced the confines of the cabin. The air grew thick with tension, but it was a different kind of tension than before. There was an undercurrent of something else, something that made my skin prickle and my heart race.

Note by Joshua: (Today's note of 'love' was a short one. Guess our isolation was bigger than our forced proximity.) 27th January 2025 Dear Diary, Something happened this evening. As I was reviewing our notes by the flickering fireplace, I glanced up to see Y/n staring at the flames, a distant look on her face. She looked gorgeous in the firefight, shadows dancing across her delicate features and highlighting the curve of her lips. I found myself wondering what she was thinking about, what dreams or fantasies played behind those captivating eyes.

"You know," I said softly, to me, my voice was barely audible over the crackling of the flames, "sometimes I wonder what goes on in that brilliant mind of yours."

And she turned to face me, a small smile played at the corners of her mouth. "Wouldn't you like to know?" she teased, a mischievous glint in her eye.

I felt a smirk tug at my own lips, a hint of playfulness entering my voice. "I think about it more than I should," I admitted, my gaze locked with hers. "Especially when you look at me like that."

Her smile widened, a soft blush coloured her cheeks. "Like what?" she asked, a note of innocence in her voice belied by the heat in her eyes.

I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees, my eyes never leaving hers. "Like you're trying to figure me out," I murmured. "Like you're seeing right through me, past all the bravado and the competition, to the heart of who I am."

I watched how her breath hitched, and how she swallowed hard. "Maybe I am," she whispered, her voice was barely audible. "Maybe I want to know what makes you tick, Joshua. What drives you, what you dream about, what you...want."

I felt my heart pound in my chest, a fierce longing surging through me. I wanted to tell her everything, to lay bare the secrets of my soul and hope that she would do the same. But I held back, I didn't want to scare her off. Note by Joshua: (Maybe next time, we'll see what'll unfold for me and Y/n. But hey, at least today's 'love' note was a long one right?)

[propertyofwicked]

heyyy!!!

could i request lando x reader angst with some fluff? where the reader is stressed with exams (exam season just started for me😰) and lando just helps her get through it and comforts her during the sleepless nights.

i absolutely love your work, especially the secrets series!🧡

exam szn is invading my personal space rn too i cannot think about it without wanting to cry hehe. hope this meets ur expectations and sorry it took so long to respond <3

warnings: none, just fluff :)

masterlist

TAKE A BREAK - LN

y/n was always going to be the most beautiful woman that lando had ever seen, even now, as she sat slumped over her laptop, pen tucked into her bun and dark circles under her eyes, highlighted by the dull orange of her desk lamp in an otherwise dark room.

this was not a new situation for lando to find his girlfriend in - he’d seen her at her worst when she had been revising for her final exams years ago, whilst he was busy with his driving career. but this past week, he’d barely spent time with her, besides seeing her setting up her desk before he left in the morning, and eating a rushed dinner before she went straight back to studying. y/n was bound to crash soon, her body and mind overworked and over tired, but her resistance was strong. lando missed his girlfriend. yes, she was physically in the same apartment as him, but mentally she was so far away, completely unreachable to the outside world.

“hey,” he announced, leaning against the door frame. she mumbled a quick hello in response, not even looking away from the glowing screen in front of her.

“y/n?” he tried to get her attention again, still with a mumbled response. he pushed his body from where he was leaning, walking slowly over to rest on the back of her desk chair, his head lowering to press a kiss to the top of her head, “come to bed, angel.”

“i will in a minute,” she said, finally breaking her stare at her computer, leaning back to look at him. he finally got a good look at her face. she was still beautiful, but she was tired. she was pale, her eyes red from the strain and constant fight against exhaustion.

“no baby, you said that last night and crawled into bed 3 hours later.”

“i said i was sorry for waking you up,” she said sadly, her shoulders tensing, the shift to her posture causing her muscles to move for the first time in hours.

“i don’t care about you waking me up, i care about you clearly struggling. you need to take a break, angel,” he said, his tone harsh even when he tried to be as nice as possible.

“im fine, lan, i promise. ill come to bed in 10 minutes.”

“y/n,” he warned, no longer caring about his tone, “when was the last time you showered?” he added, out of genuine concern, however she did not take it in that way.

“what? why? do i smell?” she asked, raising her arm to sniff herself, lando physically restrained himself from laughing. she didn’t smell, but her hair was slightly greasy, purely from the amount of times she ran her hands through her hair out of frustration, or kept her head propped up, using her arm as support.

“y/n,” he says, using her full name, “you are going to shut your computer down, have a shower, and then go to bed. you can keep studying tomorrow but tonight, i want to spend time with my girlfriend before i have to leave the country again.”

she was reluctant to oblige, but she knew she’d been neglecting him in favour of studying. she did this every time she had an important essay due, or upcoming exams - her brain became laser focused to the extent of forgetting to look after herself and those around her, the deadline approaching only adding to the pressure. she closed her laptop, and stood, stretching her legs out in the process, not realising they had gone numb from sitting down for hours.

lando took to standing behind her, hands on her waist as he guided her into their bathroom. as he switched on the light, her eyes squeezed shut and a groan fell from her lips at the shock of the brightness.

“has that light always been so fucking bright?” she groaned, as lando laughed quietly, moving around her to set the shower up.

“that’s what happens when you sit in a dark hole for hours angel. when was the last time you left that room,” he asked, his hand under the water testing the temperature.

“erm, when we had dinner?”

“babe that was 6 hours ago,” he replied with a sigh, checking the time on his watch, “the showers warm enough now. get in. i’ll be in the other room.”

“you’re not showering with me?” she asked sadly. his eyes perked up at the thought of spending intimate time with her.

5 minutes later, they were both stood under the water, his hands massaging shampoo on her scalp. the warm water has loosened her muscles, and the feeling of lando’s hands on her bringing her back to a full sense of reality. she turned to face him, looking in his eyes as the water cleared the shampoo from her hair.

“im sorry,” she told him.

“you don’t need to be, angel. i just wish you’d take better care of yourself. i hate seeing you like this.”

“i know i just..” she said, before taking a deep breath, “i just need to pass this exam and then i’ll be back to normal, i promise.”

“y/n, you are the most intelligent person i know. there is no way you need to destroy yourself for the sake of an exam,” he replied, his hands moving to cup her jaw. she hoped the shower would mask the tears welling in her eyes. she couldn’t tell if the tears were from the kind hearted words or from the sheer stress she’d been bottling up. either way, lando could read her like a book.

he lowered his head, pulling her face closer to his, before pressing a kiss to her forehead and each cheek, and then moving to press a short but sweet his to her lips.

“i just don’t want to mess this up,” she said through tears, “ive worked so hard to get to where i am right now, i can’t afford a set back. i can’t mess this up, and i can’t think about correlation coefficients any longer without wanting to rip my hair out.”

“and you won’t mess it up,” he replies, choosing to ignore the words he doesn’t understand, marvelling at her ignorance to her own intelligence, “taking a break every now and again, looking after yourself, is not going to set you back or destroy your progress. you can’t keep going like this - the stress and the way you overwork yourself is going to set you back further than taking the evening off will, angel.”

“i just need to pas-”

“no, you need to take a step back. give yourself a break.”

“i know, i jus-”

“stop arguing with me or i’ll throw that damn laptop out of the window,” he said, interrupting her and crossing his arms over his chest.

“please don’t, i can’t afford a new one,” she joked, and lando smiled at hearing her laughing for the first time in weeks.

“i’ll buy you a new one,” he replied, pressing another kiss to her lips, “right, turn around i need to do the conditioner now.”

lando didn’t let y/n move another finger all night. he had wrapped her in a towel and sat her down on the toilet lid whilst he brought her in a cup of tea. he helped her climb into her pyjamas, and then sat her down between his legs as he dried her hair. they had crawled into bed afterwards, his arms reaching out to pull her to lay on his chest.

“thank you,” she mumbled against his neck, her eyes already closed out of exhaustion.

“don’t thank me,” he replied, tilting his head to kiss her forehead, “just promise me you’ll start taking care of yourself.”

“i promise,” she said, raising her pinky finger to interlock with his.

“tomorrow, you start taking an hour break for every two hours of work you do. and please, go outside, get some fresh air,” he said, pleading with her.

“half an hour,” she debated with him.

“an hour. end of,” he said, his decision final, “or, that laptop really is going.”

“you would never,” she replied, jokingly gasping at him.

“you wanna bet?”

[crystallinesilk]

✧Sweet Relief: Welcome Home✧ (Part 1)

Synopsis: While waiting for your husband Nanami Kento to come home after a long mission, you prepare him an intimate bath and a loving dinner. You show him to the bath and you wash each other in mutual yearning and adoration. Pairings: husband!Nanami Kento x f!reader Content: Fluff & suggestive content { { MDNI } }, emotional connection, exhausted and docile Nanami Kento, established married relationship, shower fluff, slight-teasing, washing off a stressed out Kento in the bath you’ve prepared, pet names (my love, etc.). Word Count: 900+ Author's Note: Thanks for waiting for my Nanami Kento one shot. It has three parts since it’s a bit long that gradually amps up to some NSFW writings. I’ve divided it up into some domestic longing fluff (Part 1), shower nsfw teasing (Part 2), and some midnight delight (Part 3) hehe….

Your husband, Nanami Kento, had been on a grueling three-day mission, and his sparse texts were laced with exhaustion. You missed him terribly and knew he needed more than just rest upon his return. Determined to give him the welcome he deserved, you set about creating an evening of ease.

The rich aroma of the meal baking in the oven filled the clean apartment, a comforting blend of flavors you and Ken had perfected together. You set the table with care, making sure everything was just right before turning your attention to the bathroom. The bathwater was hot and inviting, steamy plumes rising in gentle curls. You added a generous amount of his favorite bath salts, infusing the room with a soothing aroma.

When the door finally opened, Ken was utterly exhausted, his clothes blood-stained and ripped, his fawn eyes heavy with fatigue. But the moment he saw you walk out and towards the door, a glimpse of light radiated from his eyes, and a tired smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Oh my love!," you worriedly reached for his face and gave him a tender longing kiss. He reciprocated, nuzzling his lips against yours. Your hands ghosted down his neck, reaching his miraculously still tightened tie and loosened it up. You pulled back from the kiss with a coy smile while he wrapped your waist in his arms for a warm embrace. He leaned into you, his tensed body easing with relief.

"You've been busy," he murmured, peering around, his voice rough from exhaustion.

"I have more…," you replied, taking his large but delicate hands in yours to lead him to the bathroom.

Ken followed you, curiosity flickering in his eyes as he took in the sight of the prepared bath. 

You helped him undress, your fingers brushing against his skin with a tenderness that made his breath hitch. As you stripped him down, you drank in the sight of his body—scarred, bruised, and scraped. Still beautifully chiseled, each mark telling a story of battles fought and survived. The beat of his worn heart, his hand in yours, was a testament to his strength, and despite the weariness, his body was still breathtaking.

You ran your fingers gently over a particularly prominent cut on his face, feeling the roughness of the slashed skin under your touch. "I worry about you, you know," you said softly, looking up into his eyes. Your eyes dawned with fear and relief.

"I know," he replied, his voice gentle. "But I always come back to you."

When he was finally bare and laying in the tub you grabbed a washcloth and began to clean him, your hands moving in slow, deliberate strokes.

The water from the cloth traced over the lines of his muscles, highlighting every scar and mark , along with the chiseled contour of his body. The warmth and scent of the bath salts filled the room, creating an intimate, soothing cocoon.

Ken's eyes never left yours, dark and intense, watching every movement. The feel of your hands, gentle and loving motions, eased the tension from his muscles. You took your time, each touch deliberate, washing away the grime, the dirt, the blood, the sweat and stress of his mission.

When you finished, you slipped out of your robe in a couple fell swoops. His breath caught at the sight, his gaze heated and appreciative. His docile, exhausted, yet tamed eyes dilated with a lovely greed.

His arms reached around you as you climbed into the tub, straddling his lap, your bodies pressed together in the warmth. His broad chest encased your shoulders within him delicately. The water enveloped you both and Ken’s hands ghosted to your hips.

"You look incredible," his lips slightly pressed to your ear, his voice effortlessly enamored.

You smiled, turning your head enough for a cheeky, gentle kiss.

This time, he began to wash you, his hands moving sensually over the soft dips and curves of your body. You get lost in his hands and the sound of water droplets falling. The clean echo of each other’s breaths and the warmth of each other.

“I’m supposed to be washing you, my love” you say entranced in his sweet touch. The water sloshed around, the tension in Ken's body entirely melted away as you turned around on his lap. He gave you an inquisitive expression, eye-lids half mooned, pupils as dilated as a black hole. 

You bubbled up his hair and massaged his scalp. He let out a low groan, his eyes softly closing as he sank deeper into the water and deeper into your loving saccharine-sweet rubbing. The scent of the bath filled the room. You took your time, each soapy touch: intentional. Behind his ears to the crown of his head, down the back of his neck, circling to the front of his chest…

When you finished, you turned on the shower. You both stood up as the water of the bath drained at your feet. The water cascaded over you both, your chest pressed to his as you massage the lathered bubbles out of your husband’s hair. He found your waist, holding himself in place as you rinsed his hair. The water ran in rivulets down his body, each drop tracing the lines of his muscles. The way the water highlighted his sculpted form, the way each muscle moved under your touch; unwavering and mesmerizing.

He returned the favor, his touch firm yet gentle as he cleaned you. His fingers lingered on your curves, the intimacy of the moment deepening with each caress.

The steam enveloped you, blurring the edges of the world until only the two of you existed.

Part 2 // Part 3

© crystallinesilk2025~

(dividers by @cafekitsune)

[jojaxcola]

So I, like a lot of people, love your mockumentary series. And this is a stretch and probably won't get done for ages but could I use your mockumentaries to write a fanfic? It won't be long or complex, more of an extension to the scenes you've drawn. I'll give credits, don't worry but yeah.

But if I do, I'd love if you answered a few characterisation questions.

I know the farmer filmed some but is any of it not farmer filmed?

Why is the farmer doing this?

Are there any fanon or hcs you used to create characters that I should use too?

Expect more soon + updates

Thank you so much!! I had this in my inbox for a while and I've been thinking for a while about how to answer, because I'm not sure how much I want to give away at this point in the series hehe 👀 but I hope these answers are helpful

I consider the farmer/producer to be the project lead and to be present for everything that's being filmed. While they take on some of their own filming, they have a small crew to handle things like camera work and sound. During the talking head segments, the farmer is the one prompting them with questions as needed

The farmer is still a Joja employee like in the beginning of the game, but not with the same office desk job. Their team has been tasked with filming a documentary series highlighting the happenings of a JojaMart location, and the farmer was the one to propose the relatively new Pelican Town location due to their grandfather's love of Stardew Valley. So they're still a newcomer to the town, but they don't have the farm. I might stay a bit quiet about the farmer's ultimate motivations for this project, though... :)

This one's a bit tricky since I'm not totally sure how to narrow it down hehe. One thing I'll say here is that I altered Sam's work schedule to have him appear in the store more often (since in the game he's only there like six hours a week). I'll also say a little bit about how I like to characterize the main players in the series:

Sam is someone whose cheeriness is partly genuine, but also partly because he needs to be the guy who keeps everyone positive in tough times. It's important to him to make sure everyone feels included and not forgotten. Sam isn't dumb—he's actually very creative and resourceful—but he does tend to rush his thinking and follow bizarre trains of logic. He doesn't like to slow himself down, and when he dwells too much on his thoughts he tends to reach uncomfortable conclusions.

Shane has an extremely low opinion of himself, but keeps himself going at work to provide for Jas and to not be a burden to Marnie. He's easily annoyed and has a tendency to push people away, but he's not completely shut off. He'll accept gifts and other gestures of kindness but doesn't totally understand why he's getting them, or why he even deserves them. He needs significant and repetitive convincing to believe any friendship with him is genuine. Shane believes that life is harsh, and he tends to fixate on difficult truths. Sam's optimism frustrates him, and he sees Sam as a naive little boy who will be eaten alive by the cruelty of reality.

I don't like depicting Morris as cartoonishly evil. I think it's more fun to make him "corporate evil", where his villainy comes from a "socially-acceptable" disregard for the little guy. He'll go on about how the JojaMart personnel are one big family, but he can't even call his employees by their names. He thinks he's above his staff, and he's satisfied by the idea of getting to look down on someone; he views higher-ups as having earned their power, and that looking down on others is just part of that package. Morris loves to project the image of human connection, not because he genuinely believes in it, but because that's what appeals to customers. And he'll do everything he can to convince Pelican Town that Joja is the answer to all of their problems.

I also like to pepper little personal headcanons into the different entries (I like to think Sam is left-handed, so I wrote his notes on his right wrist in no. 5) but I think listing them here would bloat this post :o

Please feel free to ask anything else about the series (or individual scenes), this was really fun to write up! And I can't wait to see what you come up with!! :D

===============

Follow ups to this post (I might make a separate FAQs post if needed):

What has become of the community center? (@happycomputertimetravel): It's still dilapidated. I consider the jojamart series to have the town in the same state as it is at the start of the game (so Kent is still overseas, the bus is still broken, etc.) unless depicted otherwise

[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

How about a stowaway reader (maybe chubby plsss) ?

Like zoro finds her ? Maybe she was running away from something, and my guy found her cute?

Ooooh, or maybe he tells her he'll keep her hidden and safe (I kinda wanna hear that in a yandere way....I'm obsessed with them :) hehe )

I love your work always!

😗🫶

-💤Anon

A week it's been a week since you sneaked onto this ship, and it was getting harder to survive and go unnoticed. The chilly air in the bilge nipped at your skin, and the blanket you found among the barrels of supplies and spare robes was unless. The material to thin.

You shivered as you bit into a single stale piece of bread. Your stomach growled, wanting, needing more than bread like it was used to. You just had to walk into the wrong place at the exact wrong time. Now, you were wanted by one of a deadly pirate crew or was deadly to you. The sounds of footsteps and a bright light growing more and more were enough of a warning to hide.

You decked behind a stack of boxes but just couldn't help yourself to look at the stranger..you never saw the people who owned the ship. He had a slim, muscular build, and the low-cut T-shirt showed off his tan chest and biceps as he hooked the candlelight case on a hook above him. His strong jawline, cheeks and his most peculiar green hair was highlighted. He was handsome.

As he turned to look at your direction, you hastily hide yourself.

Everything was quiet before the beautiful man spoke, his voice a gruffy rumble, "I know you're there."

Your breath hitched in fear.

"Come out. Now." He growled lowly like this was beneath him. He gave you a pause to reveal yourself when you didn't the sound of a sword being unsheathed entered your ears. "Don't make me come find you. You won't like how it ends. Trust me." He threatened. The gig was up.

Slowly you stood up and stepped out into the light. His gaze was so intense that you became insecure; most guys like him barely looked at girls like you, bigger than the normal petite. Different emotions flashed in his brown orbs. Hostility, surprise, confusion, and...awe? The black katana grew lax in his grip as he stepped forward but stopped as he noticed you stepped backward, your eyes locked on the steel blade.

The green-haired stranger quickly sheathed his weapon and carefully stepped closer. You didn't back away.

"What's your name?" He asked, and when you muttered your name, he smiled so beautifully for a second before he became serious. "My name is Zoro Roronoa." He said softly like you were a scared animal that would run away if he spoke louder. Soon after, you explained your situation to him, and through it all, his face remained stoic till the end when a small glint of emotion came as quickly as it left.

"From now on. I'll protect you. Nobody will hurt you, they will be sliced to pieces before they do." He vowed.

Your life was gonna be a lot more interesting from here on out.

@xxmaddhatter39xx

[platinumshawnn]

Sometimes (backwood) | jace velaryon x lannister!reader

Synopsis: “I'm forbidden to love you. I'm forbidden to be with you. So, what am I to do if not fall on my knees and beg for you to stay?"

A/N: posting this blurb from a potential wip that might happen soon while I work on my fics hehe

His gaze held yours as he slowly sank to his knees, one at a time until his eyes were levelled with your waist, looking up through dark lashes, his jaw clenching and restlessly grinding his teeth; the muscles in his jaw working as he maintained his silence. You knew it was a difficult task for him to open himself up to you in such a vulnerable way and could only ponder the internal battle currently raging within him between his pride and ego, his shoulders slumping as he let out a breath. You had only ever known Jace as a prideful man, hardened by the loss of his brothers and mother in a bloody war that left him with little to nothing more than memories that you knew haunted him every time he slept, shoving away any shred of vulnerability and locking it away like a traitor to the crown.

The sight of him before you, the light casting a shadow across the right side of his face that only highlighted the strong outline of his cheek and jaw — striking and beautiful, the sight stirred something within you.

“Jace, please…” you softly sighed, your gaze darting over his head towards where the door still remained open a crack. The dim orange glow from the corridor streamed in through the sliver of an opening, certain that if anyone was to pass by in that moment, you would surely be caught — in that case, it would only be a matter of time before your father would be notified and made aware of your whereabouts and what you had been doing. Surely, he would have noticed your absence and begun to question it by now at least, too. You knew he would come sweeping in as soon as he found out should that have been the case, swift in a flurry of red and gold, furious as he dragged you out of the room by your arm — he would grab you by the back of your head, clutching your hair in his fist and leaning close to growl at you about honour and grace. The responsible, dutiful thing would have been to leave right then and there, if only you could have willed your feet to move, but you were held in place by the intensity of his gaze as his right hand lifted to clutch onto the fabric of your dress as it rested against your hip.

“Have you no shame?” You could already hear your father’s voice, thick with disdain.

Your mouth pursed, your hands trembling as you reluctantly found yourself reaching out for him and cupping his cheeks, cradling him between your palms. He seemed to lean into your touch, his shoulders relaxing as he allowed his eyes to flutter shut, “I am completely and utterly yours, in both body and soul,” he quietly muttered, his head turning right to particular find rest in your palm, “I swear my heart to you again, as I did when we were children— it has always been yours…”

“Jacaerys,” you warned, attempting to put an end to the subject with his name coming out as a harsh whisper, “you cannot just go running around, proclaiming such things, do you understand me?”

You could see the subtle twitch of his brows, like he intended to frown but suppressed the urge, his face turning slightly until his lips brushed the palm of your right hand. His silence and disregard for your words caused a wash of anxiety and frustration to bubble up inside you, lapping at the space within your chest like the seas during storm. You attempted to pull his face back towards you, shaking him as his eyes opened finally to look up at you from his inclined position, “Do you hear me?” You repeated, your voice firmer while leaning forward by your waist, “You cannot speak like that. Ever. Do not utter such…such foolish words you do not mean.”

“I do not speak anything I do not mean,” He quietly, his expression unwavering as his eyes darted to scan your face, “when have you ever known me to be anything less than an honest man?”

You stilled, staring at him in sheer panic and desperation for him to take back his words, blinking rapidly. You were horrified by the realization that he was right and there was no sense arguing the fact, letting out a breath as your right thumb brushed across his cheek, your defensive walls coming down just enough that your face softened, “I am to be married to another,” you reminded.

“But you do not have to if you do not wish,” he replied. It startled you how quickly he was to pose the idea, implying that you truly had a choice in the matter, because deep down, you knew that if you said those very words and asked it of him, he would not hesitate to overrule it and object to the marriage. Jace would have it dissolved within a heartbeat, regardless of the potential repercussions it could have and that was almost as terrifying as his confession.

“It is not a matter of what I wish,” you softly said, “you are the king, you hold this very realm together in its fragile state— both you and I know that the realm could not survive another feud created by the crown. Any impulsivity and recklessness—especially now—at the hand of the king would tear it apart.”

You attempted to withdraw your hands, standing upright and beginning to pull away from him. Though the task proved much harder than intended as suddenly his hands caught your wrists and pulled you forward, his eyes showing gut-wrenching despair — the look of a heartbroken boy, reaching out for comfort, "I'm forbidden to love you. I'm forbidden to be with you. So, what am I to do if not fall on my knees and beg for you to stay?" He quietly spoke, “tell me.”

[guiltyasdave]

sweet nothing

pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

word count: exactly 700 words hehe

summary: An interesting man keeps coming back to the museum you work at.

tags/warnings: able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, angst all over the place babeeeeeyyyyy

a/n: my entry for @iamasaddie's zodiac sign au writing challenge. i got javi and a museum au and this is what i came up with. thank you for always hosting these challenges aly <3

once again thank you @sizzlingcloudmentality for pushing me to even participate and for letting me ramble about this <3 you’re an amazing friend!

dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

find my full masterlist here and follow @guiltyasdavenotifs to get notified when i post a new fic :)

You had noticed him the first time he came in. A little lost, a little out of place, not the kind of visitor that usually frequented your workplace in the middle of a weekday. 

It was a time that was usually reserved for the odd tourist couple, sometimes families, wandering the mostly empty halls, occasionally halting their steps to take a closer look at one of the historic paintings or sculptures. You preferred it to the weekend rush, liked to breathe in the cool air and relish in the quiet, peaceful atmosphere. 

He had wandered for a bit too, before seating himself on one of the benches in the middle of the room, eyes trained on the large painting on the wall in front of him. Your gaze had followed him, as was your job. Not a sign of your interest in this visitor in particular, you told yourself. 

When he came back two days later, it wasn’t a big deal. You hadn’t thought about him, hadn’t imagined running into him on the street, hadn’t wished to get a closer look at his face, weirdly intrigued, an almost magnetic pull to that man that you had seen for all of thirty minutes. 

Then he kept coming back. Always in the middle of the day, never sitting in the same spot, never staying longer than an hour.

Eventually, after weeks of your eyes trailing his movements, you decided to take the leap. 

“You must really like this type of art,” you say quietly, sitting down next to him, hoping that he’ll catch the joking undertone in your voice. 

His responding chuckle, a rich, deep sound from his throat, has a pleasant shiver running through you. 

“You want to know the truth?” 

You hum, not wanting to appear overly eager, but the entirety of your attention focused on him. 

“I just— It’s not really about the art. I just like coming here during my lunch break. My type of work is very… demanding.” He clears his throat, his voice stumbling over the word. “Coming here makes me feel further away from it. It’s—” He hesitates for a second, searching for the right expression.

“Quiet,” you finish for him. 

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips. You’re mesmerized, so close to him now, finally able to take in his deep brown eyes, to let your gaze linger on his plush lips for just a second. Just long enough that you’ll be able to remember. 

He heaves a sigh, standing up. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. Sorry.” One hand rubs over his face.

“No, don’t be. It was nice meeting you—?” 

“Javier,” he says. 

You provide your own name in return, smiling, trying to not think about how warm his hand is, how it’s dwarfing yours as he shakes it. 

You don’t always talk to him after that, not wanting to disturb the quiet and peacefulness that he’s seeking here. But you keep looking at him, keep thinking about him. Keep wishing for more, but are too shy to pursue it. 

He nods and smiles at you every time though, and it’s the highlight of your day every time. Sometimes he comes to you, chats with you. You start to notice the subtle differences in his demeanor, how when his shoulders seem particularly tense, he likes to keep to himself, how the smile he gives you then doesn’t reach his eyes. 

When two weeks pass by without a sign of him, you try your hardest not to worry. Maybe he had to travel somewhere for his work. Maybe he’s on vacation. Surely he’s fine. 

However, you promise yourself, that if— when he comes back, you’re gonna have to be braver. Ask for what you want. Ask to meet him, outside of these halls. 

He does come back. Looking tired, circles under his eyes and shoulders slumped like he’s carrying an enormous weight on them. Still, you ask him. Certain that if you don’t do it now, you never will.

His lips curl up in a weak smile, remorse painting his gaze. You know at this moment that you’re not gonna see him again.

“You don’t want that, sweetheart.”

thank you for reading! please consider leaving a comment or reblogging if you enjoyed this :)

[baekhyunsbestie]

𝟎𝟒 ⭑ ( LOVERBOY ) .ᐟ

𝟎𝟏. HEAVY HITTER ⤷ masterlist ⋆ ⟡ ࣪ ˖

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 18+ content / mdni ꒱ ˎˊ˗ 7.7k+ words. college athlete!baekhyun x f!reader. college au. reader's name is ‘bunny’ in place of ‘y/n.’ explicit language. jealousy. scenes with alcohol + weed. driving while high/tipsy (do not do this omg). eventual smut.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ a/n ꒱ ˎˊ˗ EEEEP!!! the first chapter's finally here :') sorry it took me so long lovers!! sooooo if u don’t know, exist era baekhyun tickles tf outta my cooter lmao so imagine that vers. of him when reading this series hehe <3333 hope ya like it! p.s. besides the exos, there are no other idols in this fic! the roommate’s name is aeri, but i didn’t imagine giselle from aespa or anyone specific when writing her. she’s just a regular character with a pretty name, so don’t overthink it 💘💗💓💖💖💞💘💞🩷

you've known baekhyun for as long as you can remember—two lives woven together by privilege, expectation, and an unspoken pull neither of you ever dared to name.

gala nights were spent slipping away from stiff conversations and clinking glasses, your fingers wrapped around the neck of a stolen champagne bottle as he pulled you toward the balcony, both of you laughing quietly at the thrill of getting away with it. summer meant sun-drenched afternoons at family vacation homes, barefoot races down private beaches, and stolen moments under the stars, whispering secrets neither of you would ever say in the daylight. and then there were the nights—long, stretching into morning, filled with phone calls that started with a teasing “couldn’t sleep without me?” and ended in easy silence, neither of you willing to hang up first.

you understood each other in a way no one else did. the endless teasing, the playful competitions that sometimes turned serious, the way neither of you ever backed down from a challenge. he was infuriating, cocky, a little too smug for his own good, but somehow, you never minded as much as you pretended to.

but feelings? real feelings? no. never. not between you two.

and no one knew about any of it. your history with him.

it was easier that way.

you already had your last name, your family’s legacy, the weight of expectation pressing down on you at every turn. you were already someone’s daughter, already whispered about, already attached to a name much bigger than your own. the last thing you needed was baekhyun tied to you, too.

so you never acknowledged him in public, not in the way that mattered. not in the way that gave away what he really was to you.

now, in college, baekhyun is exactly what everyone expected him to be—the golden boy, the it boy on campus, the captain of the baseball team. he commands the field like he was born for it, star pitcher, heavy hitter, the one everyone watches when the game is on the line. he's all smirks and sharp confidence, his jersey hugging his lean frame, his name chanted in the stands.

you, too, are thriving—balancing academic pressure with the weight of your last name, navigating social obligations with practiced ease. your world is polished, pristine, effortless on the surface.

and no one connects the two of you.

not the students, not the faculty, not even your closest friends.

not even your roommate, aeri.

sweet, wide-eyed, utterly oblivious to the history between you and baekhyun. she has a little thing for him—not that you notice at first. but it's there, in the way she wears his number at games, in the dreamy way she talks about his highlight reels, in the way her eyes follow him like he's something untouchable.

except, you know better.

baekhyun has never been untouchable.

not to you.

aeri had been talking about baseball season since the first day you moved in together.

it started small—casual mentions of past games, reminiscing on last season’s highlights, swooning over the golden boy himself, as she so dramatically called him. but as the weeks passed, her excitement only grew, reaching an unbearable peak as opening day approached. she had her schedule memorized, her outfits planned out, and a whole pinterest board dedicated to gameday looks.

“you don’t understand,” she gushed one evening, sprawled across her bed, scrolling through photos from last year’s games. “the energy, the crowd, the team. they’re all so close, and it shows when they play. it’s like watching a damn movie.”

she wasn’t wrong. your university’s baseball team was known for their synergy—every play seamless, every game intense. people always said it was because they lived together, their coach believing that shared space meant shared success. no cliques, no outsiders. just one unit, on and off the field.

aeri sighed dreamily, tapping on a candid shot of baekhyun from last season, uniform dirty with clay, cap pushed back just enough to reveal the sharp line of his jaw. “and baekhyun… he’s so hot. like, i don’t even care that he knows it. it just makes him hotter.”

you hummed, pretending to be half-interested as you focused on your laptop.

“you guys are kinda close, though, huh?” she mused, suddenly turning her attention to you. “i always see you talking to him at parties. he doesn’t really let people get close like that unless you’re on the team.”

your fingers hesitated over the keyboard for half a second before you recovered. “we had a class together last fall,” you said smoothly. “got paired for a group project and just… started talking.”

it was a lie. a simple, harmless lie.

but she frowned slightly, like she wasn’t sure if she believed you. “huh. weird. i just thought—i dunno… you two seem like you’ve known each other longer.”

you shrugged. “nope. just a semester.”

she didn’t say anything after that, but there was something in the way she pursed her lips, in the way her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her hoodie, that made you wonder if she wasn’t just obsessed with baekhyun—she was jealous.

not just of him.

but maybe… of you, too.

you could understand why. aeri had been going to every game, every afterparty, every team event since her freshman year, circling their world like a spectator with no real way in. meanwhile, you had spent the fall semester getting close to chanyeol—another core member of the team—because of your shared psychology class. between him and baekhyun, you had unintentionally placed yourself right in the middle of their circle.

and aeri noticed.

she noticed when chanyeol draped an arm over your shoulders like it was second nature. she noticed when baekhyun, despite his usual arrogance, always acknowledged you first when he walked into a room.

but she didn’t say anything.

she just watched. and waited.

the stadium was electric, buzzing with energy as dusk settled over the field, the sky streaked with deep purples and golds. the floodlights cast sharp, artificial brilliance over the diamond, illuminating the damp sheen on baekhyun’s forehead as he stepped up to the plate. the late autumn air was crisp, biting against his skin, but he barely felt it. his focus was razor-sharp, trained on the pitcher standing a few feet ahead, fingers flexing around the bat like it was an extension of himself.

the roar of the crowd was deafening, a pulsing mix of cheers and anticipation. students were packed into the bleachers, layered in team colors, wrapped in oversized hoodies and thick scarves as they braced against the evening chill. your roommate was among them, no doubt beaming, wearing baekhyun’s number on her back like a badge of honor. but you—you were somewhere else in the stands. he didn’t have to look to know that. he always knew where you were.

baekhyun had been here a thousand times before. he knew how this worked. the game slowed, the stadium dimmed, the only thing in focus was the ball leaving the pitcher’s fingers, the sharp snap of it cutting through the air.

but tonight?

tonight, something was off.

the first pitch came, perfectly lined up, a ball he would have normally crushed—but he didn’t swing.

“strike one!”

the announcer’s voice echoed over the speakers, and the stands murmured, confused.

baekhyun barely heard them.

his eyes had flickered to the crowd out of instinct, a habit as natural as breathing. just a glance. just to find you.

except this time, you weren’t just watching the game.

you were talking to someone.

some guy he didn’t recognize. some guy standing too close, leaning in, saying something that made you laugh.

baekhyun exhaled sharply, adjusting his stance, rolling his shoulders as he tore his gaze away. it didn’t matter. it didn’t.

the next pitch came. another clean shot, another perfectly timed throw. he swung—too early, too fast, his mind lagging just half a second behind his body.

“strike two!”

gasps rippled through the crowd.

he never missed twice.

on the sidelines, his teammates tensed. chanyeol shifted, brows furrowed, watching baekhyun closely.

he could hear the murmurs, the sharp buzz of the commentators scrambling to make sense of it.

“i—i don’t think anyone was expecting that. baekhyun hasn’t struck out in—”

“two years,” the other commentator finished, voice stunned. “not once. he always gets on base. always makes a play. something’s definitely off tonight.”

baekhyun clenched his jaw, shoulders rolling with frustration.

focus. focus.

the pitcher wound up. baekhyun gripped the bat tighter, the leather of his gloves creaking from the force.

and then—he looked again.

just for a second.

just long enough to see that you were still smiling.

his grip faltered.

the pitch flew.

he swung.

he missed.

“strike three.”

silence.

for the first time since his freshman year, baekhyun walked away from the plate without even getting on base.

he ripped his helmet off and tossed it onto the bench with more force than necessary, the sharp crack of plastic against wood barely audible over the sound of his pulse hammering in his ears. his jaw clenched as he ran a hand through his damp hair, strands sticking to his forehead from a mix of sweat and frustration. he was pissed. not just because he struck out, but because he had no fucking idea why it happened.

“what the fuck was that?” sehun, one of his teammates muttered, but baekhyun didn’t respond. he barely even registered the question.

his knee bounced restlessly as he gripped his thigh, fingers flexing, curling into a tight fist. this wasn’t just a bad swing or a miscalculated pitch—it was something deeper, something wrong. he never missed like that. he never left the plate without getting on base. if he wasn’t hitting, he was stealing. if he wasn’t stealing, he was setting up a play. he was baekhyun, team captain, star hitter, the one they all counted on.

but tonight? tonight, he fucking struck out.

he forced out a slow breath, trying to shake it off, but his hands still felt clammy, his grip on the bat from earlier lingering like a phantom sensation. his body knew what to do—it always had—but his head had gotten in the way.

and he knew exactly why.

before he could stop himself, his eyes flickered toward the stands. it was instinct at this point, a reflex he never questioned—searching for you.

and there you were.

still sitting next to that guy.

baekhyun didn’t even know his name, didn’t fucking care to, but the way he was leaning in, talking too damn close, smiling like he had a shot? yeah, that shit wasn’t sitting right.

and worse?

you were smiling back.

baekhyun inhaled sharply, forcing his gaze away as he rolled out his shoulders, shaking his hands like it would somehow dispel the irritation seeping into his muscles.

he didn’t care.

he didn’t.

he wasn’t jealous.

he wasn’t.

but when his next at-bat came, the tension in his chest hadn’t faded. the stadium was alive again, the crowd roaring, the dugout shouting his name, hyping him up, but he barely heard them. instead, as he stepped up to the plate, adjusting his stance, his eyes flicked up to the stands.

and this time, you were already looking at him.

his grip on the bat tightened, something sharp curling in his chest as he took in the scene before him.

the guy? the one who had been so fucking eager to talk to you? he was still there, still trying, but you weren’t even paying attention anymore.

you were focused on him.

your lips were parted slightly, brows just barely furrowed, your expression unreadable—but baekhyun saw the difference. you weren’t distracted. you weren’t whispering back. you weren’t even sparing that guy a single glance.

you were watching him.

cheering for him.

was that… concern?

his lips curled before he could stop them, a slow, smug smirk creeping onto his face.

oh?

for someone who never liked showing emotions around him, who always kept your expression cool and unreadable, who refused to give him the satisfaction of ever knowing what was on your mind—you were concerned?

he was eating that shit up.

rolling his shoulders back, he adjusted his stance, shifting his weight on the balls of his feet as he relaxed his grip on the bat. focus settled in, sharp and honed, but this time, it wasn’t just about the game.

the next pitch came.

and this time, when he swung, he fucking crushed it.

the ball shot off his bat with a sickeningly perfect crack, sailing into the night sky, disappearing over the outfield fence before the opposing team even had a chance to react.

he barely needed to look. he already knew—from the way it felt, from the sheer force of it, from the way the stadium exploded around him.

out of the park. gone.

but baekhyun wasn’t paying attention to the crowd.

as he jogged the bases, rounding first, then second, then third, his gaze flickered up again—just once, just enough to catch your reaction.

and fuck.

you were still watching him.

your focus had never wavered.

that guy next to you? he wasn’t even fucking talking anymore.

baekhyun’s smirk widened, slow and sharp, satisfaction curling deep in his chest.

not at the home run.

not at the crowd.

at you.

the campus was electric after the win, energy pulsing through the streets like a heartbeat. students spilled out of dorms and lecture halls, laughter echoing off brick walls, jerseys tied around waists and team flags fluttering in the crisp night breeze. the sky was inky and clear, the air sharp with autumn chill, but no one seemed to care—everyone was high off adrenaline and school spirit, riding the afterglow of victory.

aeri had practically dragged you to the afterparty, her fingers looped through your wrist as she pulled you down the sidewalk in heels too high and a smile too smug. “just one drink, please—just one, i swear.” you’d only rolled your eyes. you knew better. there was never just one drink with her, especially not after a win, especially not when half the baseball team was throwing the party at their shared house.

the place was already packed when you got there, the bass from the speakers thudding through the walls and into your bones. warm light spilled from every window, hazy and golden, casting silhouettes of moving bodies pressed together in the living room. the air inside was thick with heat and humidity, layered with the scent of cheap beer, sugary mixers, and something faintly floral—perfume maybe, or someone's body spray clinging to the corners of the room.

you ended up in the kitchen, drink in hand, leaning back against the counter while half-listening to the guy from your business class drone on about internship interviews and portfolio-building. same guy who’d tagged along with you and aeri to the game earlier, sitting a little too close in the stands, tossing you comments that were probably meant to be charming but barely registered over the noise.

it was fine. he was cute—tall, kind of soft around the edges, with a mop of dark hair that fell into his eyes when he laughed. he talked a lot, but you didn’t mind. it was easier to nod along and sip your drink than fight your way through the crowd to find aeri again. besides, his presence was harmless—background noise at best, a distraction at worst.

but still, as you tilted your glass to your lips and let the burn settle on your tongue, you couldn’t help but glance toward the doorway. and you weren’t sure what you were looking for. or who.

you smiled, nodding politely as he made some joke about late-night study sessions, your glass cool in your hand, condensation dripping lazily down your fingers. you even laughed a little when he leaned in closer, voice dropping slightly as he said something about how the real test of college was surviving group projects without committing murder. his cologne was too sharp, his proximity a little too eager, but you kept the polite grin on your face anyway.

you weren’t really listening. not fully.

and then—you felt it.

that slow, creeping shift in the air. the kind of heaviness that wrapped itself around you like static. a pressure. a pull.

you didn’t turn right away, letting the sensation simmer beneath your skin, letting it coil down your spine like a warning. the heat of the gaze settled over you like a slow burn, prickling at the back of your neck until it became impossible to ignore.

and then—finally—you looked.

baekhyun.

leaning lazily against the doorway like he owned the place, one hand shoved in the pocket of his grey sweatpants, the other wrapped around the neck of a half-empty beer bottle. his dark eyes were locked on you, unreadable, sharp, cutting straight through the noise around you.

his hair was still damp from his post-game shower, messy strands falling carelessly across his forehead. his black t-shirt clung to his chest just right, sleeves pushed slightly up his arms, veins in his forearm faintly visible beneath warm-toned skin. he looked effortlessly good. annoyingly good.

and annoyed.

he didn’t say anything at first. just looked. and then—his eyes shifted.

just once.

to the guy beside you.

and it wasn’t subtle.

a single glance—sharp, pointed, laced with that specific kind of territorial, fuck-off-before-i-make-you energy that didn’t need to be spoken aloud.

the guy next to you faltered mid-sentence, chuckled awkwardly, then glanced at baekhyun like he suddenly remembered somewhere else he needed to be. he mumbled something about finding his friends before excusing himself and disappearing into the crowd so fast it was almost impressive.

you blinked, watching him vanish, then turned back to baekhyun, brows raised. “wow,” you said dryly, lifting your glass in a small toast. “been tryna do that all night.”

baekhyun smirked, stepping in closer now, his presence cutting through the space the other guy had left behind.

“thought you weren’t coming,” he said, voice low and casual, but his gaze still lingered—on your face, on your lips, like he was trying to decide something.

“changed my mind,” you replied smoothly, taking a slow sip of your drink.

he tilted his head, eyes scanning you deliberately, like he was trying to read between your lines.

“must be my lucky night,” he said, voice curling around the words like a secret.

you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or the look in his eyes, but suddenly, the room felt a little too warm.

you scoffed. “don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“there she is.”

you turned just as chanyeol appeared, towering over both of you, a lopsided grin stretched across his face, his eyes flicking between you and baekhyun like he’d just walked into something interesting. something he wasn’t supposed to see—but definitely wanted to.

he reached past baekhyun to grab a drink off the counter, shoulder brushing his just a little too casually. “you left me hanging,” he said, flashing you a playful pout. “thought we were partners, but you didn’t even text me back after class.”

you laughed, the sound slipping out effortlessly, light and unbothered. chanyeol was fun. warm. easy to be around in a way that didn’t ask for anything more than you were willing to give.

“busy,” you replied breezily, swirling the ice in your cup. “but don’t worry, chanyeol. i wouldn’t abandon my partner.”

off to the side, baekhyun exhaled sharply through his nose.

you didn’t notice.

chanyeol leaned in a little more, clearly enjoying himself—maybe oblivious, maybe not. “good,” he said, tone playful but edged with something more. “because i was thinking… we should start testing our project theories this weekend.”

your lips curved at the corners, eyes narrowing just slightly in amusement. “yeah?”

you weren’t blind. chanyeol was attractive—tall, broad-shouldered, that boyish charm with just enough flirtation to keep you entertained. and you liked him. not in a deep, tangled way, but in a this could be fun kind of way.

you tilted your head, letting your gaze drag slowly over him. why not?

but then—

baekhyun’s grip on his beer bottle tightened, fingers curling around the neck until his knuckles paled.

his eyes darkened, gaze heavy and unreadable as he watched the way chanyeol leaned closer.

his jaw clenched—just subtly, just enough to shift the angles of his face from sharp to severe.

and you didn’t even see it.

because right now, all you were thinking about was how chanyeol’s voice dipped a little lower, how his smile was soft, how his eyes lingered on your mouth when you laughed.

“sounds good to me,” you said, voice smooth as satin, tipping your glass toward him with a lazy grin.

and baekhyun felt it like a punch to the chest.

baekhyun hated this.

he hated that in college, you chose to keep your history with him buried—tucked away behind careful deflections and vague answers, pretending like he was just a casual friend you met last semester in some random elective. he hated the way you downplayed everything you’d grown up sharing, like your lives hadn’t been intertwined since you were in diapers, like he hadn’t been the one pulling you away from boring gala speeches and sneaking you bites of cake at family events before you even had your baby teeth.

he understood it, in theory. you already had your last name—the legacy, the weight, the whispers that followed you into every room. he knew you didn’t want to be tied to him on top of that. not in the public way. not when everything about you was already watched, picked apart, dissected by people who didn’t even know you.

but it didn’t stop it from stinging.

it didn’t stop him from clenching his jaw every time he overheard some frat boy talking about you in the dining hall. didn’t stop the way his fists curled when he caught another guy lingering too long at your table, trying to make you laugh. it burned in his chest—the idea of anyone else thinking they had a shot, thinking they could get close to you like he did. like they could ever even understand you.

and what pissed him off the most was how it wasn’t just random guys. it was also chanyeol. his own fucking teammate.

he hated the way chanyeol talked about you—lighthearted, sure, but never innocent.

“bunny looked good at the game today,” he’d say with a grin, like he didn’t know exactly what kind of reaction that name would pull out of baekhyun. like he didn’t notice the way baekhyun’s entire expression would shift—eyes narrowing, jaw twitching, shoulders stiffening under his jersey.

bunny.

the name had started years ago. a nickname passed between your families, coined when you were little and soft-cheeked and bright-eyed, always clinging to baekhyun’s sleeve like a shadow. your mom called you that. his parents called you that. he called you that—whispered it teasingly when he tugged on your braids, called it out when he chased you down sandy beaches, murmured it low and sweet when you fell asleep on his shoulder in the back of your family’s vacation car.

now everyone used it. friends. classmates. even chanyeol.

and baekhyun hated how casually it rolled off their tongues, like it didn’t mean anything, like it wasn’t soaked in history—his history.

he was a year older than you, but sometimes it felt like he’d lived an entire lifetime with you already. and now he had to stand back, watch you pretend like you were nothing more than acquaintances, watch other people try to lay claim to a name, a smile, a softness that used to be just his.

and every time he saw you from across the quad, laughing with someone else, tossing your hair over your shoulder while some guy tried to flirt his way into your space, he’d feel it again.

that sharp, possessive ache in his chest.

that furious, burning thought he could never quite shake.

the backyard is buzzing—sun-drenched and loud, filled with the sound of music spilling from inside the house, the low hum of conversation, and the occasional clink of drinks being passed around. the grass beneath your feet is slightly overgrown, patchy in places from too many parties and not enough maintenance, but no one cares. string lights hang loosely overhead, swaying in the warm breeze, casting soft golden halos over the crowd. red solo cups litter the patio furniture, and someone’s bluetooth speaker keeps skipping, but the vibe is easy, carefree.

everywhere around you, people are laughing, talking, drinking under the sticky weight of the late-summer heat.

but baekhyun?

he’s a fucking storm cloud in the middle of a sunny day.

the tension starts in his jaw, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, then spreads down his neck to his shoulders—tight, rigid, all coiled frustration and poorly concealed irritation. the usual relaxed slouch in his posture is gone, replaced with barely-contained stiffness, like he’s holding himself back from saying or doing something he’ll regret.

he’s sitting near the fence line, perched on the edge of an old patio chair that creaks under his weight, sunglasses pushed low on the bridge of his nose. they do nothing to hide the growing scowl etched into his features, or the way his eyes keep flicking toward the other side of the yard. his fingers drum against the side of his cup, not in rhythm to the music, but like a nervous tic.

and across the yard—just a few steps too far away—you’re standing beside chanyeol, a drink in your hand, laughing at something he’s saying. you’re leaning in a little too close, eyes bright, your expression wide open and effortlessly captivated. chanyeol’s mid-story, gesturing wildly with his hands, all dramatic flair and exaggerated enthusiasm.

and you’re eating it up.

baekhyun watches you laugh again—head tilted back, mouth parted, the kind of laugh he hasn’t heard from you in weeks. something bitter and hot curls in his stomach. what the fuck is so funny? what could chanyeol possibly be saying that makes you smile like that?

his grip tightens around his drink until the cup creaks slightly under the pressure, knuckles pale beneath the condensation.

why don’t you ever look at him like that anymore?

kyungsoo watches it all unfold from a shaded lounger beneath a crooked patio umbrella, one leg crossed lazily over the other, his drink sweating in his hand. he brings the cup to his lips, eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses, trailing over to baekhyun with a slow, knowing look.

he doesn’t miss the way baekhyun’s knee bounces in agitation, or the way he hasn’t stopped staring at you and chanyeol since the moment you walked out into the yard together.

“you’re staring again,” kyungsoo says, his voice low, calm, but sharp enough to slice through the tension.

baekhyun jerks slightly, blinking like he’s been caught mid-crime. his glare cuts toward kyungsoo, biting and defensive. “fuck off,” he mutters, but it lands weakly, laced with a frustration he’s trying—and failing—to mask.

his ears are pink. his cheeks, flushed. the heat isn’t helping, but it’s not just the weather. kyungsoo’s lips twitch around the rim of his cup, because he knows exactly what that stupid flush means.

and then, just as baekhyun glances back toward you—again—chanyeol throws his head back laughing at his own punchline, hand brushing yours casually as he leans closer.

baekhyun’s entire body tenses.

he doesn’t say a word, but the look he shoots in chanyeol’s direction is searing—sharp, territorial, unmistakably clear: back the fuck off.

and of course, chanyeol doesn’t notice. or maybe he does, and he just doesn’t care.

baekhyun exhales through his nose, slow and controlled, trying to keep his cool. but it’s a losing battle.

because all he can think is that you’re his bunny. the nickname your families gave you when you were still too small to reach the counters, when you followed him around everywhere with wide eyes and soft giggles. now, everyone uses it—your friends, his teammates, even fucking chanyeol.

but baekhyun remembers what it really means. what it used to mean.

and watching you smile at someone else like that?

yeah. it’s fucking unbearable.

finally, unable to swallow it any longer, baekhyun snaps, his voice cutting through the conversation, sharp and biting. “hey, losers, you forget the rest of us are here, too?” his tone is more petulant than anything resembling maturity, like a child throwing a tantrum, and it hangs in the air like a challenge. 

chanyeol lets out a snort, turning just enough to shoot baekhyun a sly, amused glance. “aawww, what’s the matter, baekhyun? feelin’ left out?” his grin stretches impossibly wide, smug and infuriating, as if it were specifically designed to make baekhyun’s face flush an even deeper red.

kyungsoo, sitting to the side, doesn’t even try to mask his amusement. he’s barely holding it together, his drink spilling from his lips as he stifles a laugh at baekhyun’s visible discomfort, clearly enjoying the show as baekhyun digs himself deeper into the pit of his own jealousy.

chanyeol leans in just a little closer to you, nudging his shoulder against yours playfully. his grin widens, and his eyes gleam with mischief as he glances at baekhyun, then back at you. the spark of jealousy radiating from baekhyun is almost palpable. “sorry, but we’re not interested in adding another,” chanyeol teases, his voice light, but dripping with playful challenge. he shoots baekhyun another knowing glance before adding, “ever heard of 'three's a crowd'?”

baekhyun’s face, already flushed with frustration, is now on fire—blushing not just with anger, but with something else, something deeper. his entire face burns red, and it creeps down his neck, his ears turning a shade darker as his throat tightens. you can feel the tension building, thick in the air, and it’s impossible to ignore. baekhyun is caught in a storm of emotions, and he’s fighting to keep it all together. his usual scowl has evaporated, replaced by something raw and uncertain. it’s clear now: baekhyun doesn’t know how to navigate this—this feeling, this jealousy, whatever it is that’s eating at him.

but that’s not what finally sends baekhyun spiraling. no, it’s when chanyeol, with that smug grin that baekhyun already wants to slap off his face, casually reaches up to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. his fingertips graze your skin, featherlight and deliberate, and then—because of course he can’t just stop there—he leans in, whispering something that makes you laugh.

and it’s that laugh. that laugh. the one baekhyun has always claimed as his, the one that feels like sunlight piercing through storm clouds, the one that’s always made him feel like he’s the center of your universe. but now, it’s chanyeol—of all fucking people, his insufferable co-captain on their university’s baseball team—ripping it from your lips, and baekhyun feels like he’s unraveling.

no matter how many times he tells himself it’s nothing, that you're allowed to laugh at someone else’s joke, the knot in his chest only tightens. every time your eyes light up at chanyeol’s words, that rush of possessiveness cuts through him like a hot knife, burning at the back of his throat. it’s irrational, twisted, and completely unnecessary, but it doesn’t change how it feels. he can’t shake the raw sting of jealousy, the sharp, desperate urge to pull you back, to make that laugh his again.

he tells himself he’s overreacting, but the twist in his stomach, the way his hands flex with the need to do something, anything, tells him otherwise. it’s possessive, primal, and no matter how hard he tries to fight it, it’s completely consuming him. and he’s losing control.

kyungsoo notices it before anyone else—the way baekhyun's tension is reaching its breaking point. his clenched fists, the color draining from his face as frustration swirls in his eyes. he’s on the edge, and kyungsoo can practically feel the storm brewing. sehun, just emerging from the kitchen with a cooler packed with more beers and seltzers, plops down onto the lounger beside him, a grin tugging at his lips as he observes the scene unfolding.

“baekhyun’s finally losin’ it, huh?” sehun muses. with a slow, deliberate movement, he cracks open a can of beer, the hiss slicing through the thick summer air. lifting it to his lips, he takes a lazy sip before fanning his jersey, trying to cool off from the humidity clinging to everything like a second skin. his white baseball pants are still streaked with dirt from the game, but he’s far more interested in the mess unraveling across the yard.

kyungsoo, lounging in the chair beside him, doesn’t even bother looking up. he’s already noticed—already clocked the way baekhyun has been stiff and brooding ever since you and chanyeol started talking. he takes a slow sip of his drink, eyes still on the cup as he mutters, “he’s been losing it. this is just rock bottom.”

baekhyun hears them. he knows they’re watching him, knows exactly what they’re thinking, and yet, when kyungsoo finally calls him out—“bro your ears are turning red.”—his whole body stiffens.

baekhyun knows it too. he can feel the heat creeping up his neck, the telltale flush spreading over his skin. his jaw clenches even tighter, his lips pressing into a thin line, but it’s useless—there’s no hiding it. no covering up the pink dusting his cheeks, the way his entire body is betraying him in real-time.

he hates that kyungsoo can see right through him. hates it even more that sehun is watching with that smug, entertained grin, nodding along in agreement.

but what he really hates—what really eats at him—is that you haven’t even noticed.

too wrapped up in whatever chanyeol is saying, too busy laughing, too distracted to see that baekhyun is coming apart at the seams, jealousy gnawing at him like a wildfire he can’t put out.

kyungsoo glances at baekhyun before casually suggesting, “hey, i think we need to go on another beer run. we can take my car.” his voice is steady, but there’s a hint of urgency in it, a silent plea to get baekhyun out of there before things escalate with chanyeol.

baekhyun, already on the verge of snapping, opening his mouth to tell kyungsoo to fuck off  yet again and leave him to deal with it, but then you cut through the air with your voice, interrupting chanyeol mid-sentence. “ooh! can i come with? we could really use some chips and dip. these kinda parties never really have anything to snack on.”

baekhyun freezes for a moment, his attention snapping to you. without a second thought, his ears flick as if he’s been pulled out of a trance. he snatches the keys from kyungsoo’s hand with a decisive motion, his grip firm. without uttering another word, he grabs your hand, his fingers curling around yours as he tugs you toward the side gate, the tension in his body still palpable.

he doesn't even glance back.

the car ride is steeped in tension, the air thick with unspoken energy, but baekhyun and kyungsoo wear their sunglasses like armor—like it’s just another night, like they haven’t been passing a joint between them on the back balcony of the party not even an hour ago.

baekhyun looks effortlessly cool in the driver’s seat—one arm draped over the door, fingers tapping lightly against the leather, sunglasses still perched low on his nose despite the fact that it’s long past sunset. the passing streetlights cast shifting shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp cut of his jaw, the barely concealed irritation tightening his mouth. on the surface, he looks calm. collected. like nothing is getting to him.

but the signs are there.

the flex of his jaw. the death grip on the wheel. the way his foot presses just a little too hard on the gas with every turn, like he’s trying to outrun whatever’s clawing at the edges of his mind.

kyungsoo, on the other hand, is the picture of relaxation, stretched out in the passenger seat, arms crossed as he leans back against the black leather. his own dark-lensed sunglasses sit comfortably on the bridge of his nose, his expression unreadable, but there’s a smirk tugging faintly at the corner of his lips. he’s watching the night unfold like it’s a private screening of a film he’s already seen the ending to—one he finds mildly entertaining but has no plans of interfering with.

no one ever questioned the sunglasses. if anything, they only added to the aura—made them look untouchable, a little too cool, a little too self-assured. dangerous, even.

but the truth?

they just didn’t want anyone to clock how fucking high they still were.

because baekhyun’s eyes always gave him away—just slightly pink-rimmed, a little too glassy, the kind of look that made people notice. kyungsoo was better at hiding it, but even he wasn’t immune to the occasional slow blink, the slight heaviness in his limbs when he was feeling good.

so the sunglasses stayed on.

and as baekhyun navigates the quiet streets, frustration simmering beneath his skin, kyungsoo watching with quiet amusement, and you—completely oblivious in the backseat, stretching your legs out lazily—neither of them say a damn thing about it.

the weed might have worn off.

but the tension?

yeah, that was only getting worse.

you’re in the back, relaxed, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, scrolling through your phone, completely oblivious to the slow burn unraveling in the front seat. you toss your phone onto your lap with a sigh, then shift slightly—your knee brushing against baekhyun’s arm for half a second as you stretch forward.

his fingers twitch around the steering wheel. just that light contact, so casual and thoughtless on your end, short-circuits something in him.

“so,” you start, your voice lazy and light, unaware of the ticking time bomb beside you. “chanyeol’s actually kinda cute, huh?”

the silence that follows is instant and loud.

kyungsoo shifts in his seat, lips twitching as he shoots baekhyun a sidelong glance, like he’s been waiting for this moment to drop. he doesn’t say anything, just leans his elbow against the window and watches.

baekhyun doesn’t respond at first. his jaw ticks, his knuckles whitening around the steering wheel. his expression remains still, but the energy rolling off him is sharp enough to slice glass.

you blink at the silence. “what?”

he inhales slowly through his nose, the sound tight and clipped. “he flirts with everyone,” he mutters, voice low, controlled, but edged with a bitterness that you don’t quite catch.

you tilt your head, confused. “huh?”

“chanyeol,” baekhyun bites, voice harder this time as he suddenly yanks the wheel a little too sharply, turning into the convenience store parking lot with just a bit too much force. the car glides into an empty space, tires grinding slightly against the curb. “he flirts with everyone. it’s not special.”

you blink at him, surprised by the sudden edge in his tone. “i didn’t say it was special… just said he’s cute.”

he slams the gear shift into park, the movement sharp and impatient. his hands finally drop from the wheel, but his fingers tap restlessly against his thigh, twitchy and unsettled like he’s holding back something heavier.

kyungsoo, meanwhile, is living for it. he stretches lazily, arms lifting over his head, before reaching for his seatbelt and clicking it loose. “this is fun,” he drawls, amused, eyes flicking toward baekhyun with a knowing smirk. “we should go on beer runs more often.”

baekhyun shoots him a glare that could incinerate metal, but kyungsoo only shrugs and steps out, completely unfazed.

you glance over at him, brow slightly furrowed. “are you good?”

his jaw clenches harder, his gaze fixed on the dashboard like it might help him collect himself. there's a long pause—too long. and then he mutters, almost under his breath, “it’s nothing.”

but the words are laced with tension, so bitter and strained they barely sound like nothing at all.

from the passenger side, kyungsoo snorts quietly, already reaching for the door handle. “yeah,” he says dryly, pushing the door open, “sure it’s nothing.”

he climbs out, the door clicking shut behind him with finality.

baekhyun stays in his seat a moment longer, jaw locked, eyes dark, hand still resting on the gearshift like it’s grounding him. he doesn’t move. doesn’t speak.

you glance at him again, unsure. he looks wound tight, like something is coiled up beneath his skin just waiting to snap.

maybe it really was the game. maybe he’s just tired.

you have no idea it’s you.

the store is nearly empty, save for a tired-looking cashier scrolling through their phone behind the counter and a couple of college kids lingering by the candy aisle. the fluorescent lights hum softly, casting a slightly too-bright glow over the linoleum floors. the air smells faintly of stale coffee and artificial citrus from a mop bucket abandoned in the corner.

baekhyun is ahead of you, walking with purpose down the refrigerated aisle, scanning the selection of beer with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his gray sweats. kyungsoo, unbothered as ever, lags behind, still in his baseball uniform from earlier—jersey unbuttoned halfway, exposing the silver chain resting against his collarbones. his cap, flipped backward, sits snug on his head, a few strands of dark hair peeking out. his eyes are a little hazy, glazed over from the joint he and baekhyun smoked at the start of the party, but he’s still sharp, watching, always observing.

and, yeah. he looks good.

kyungsoo has always been attractive, in that effortless, brooding way that comes naturally to him. he’s quiet, but not shy—has this intimidating aura that makes people think twice before talking to him, only for them to realize he’s actually just dry as hell with the best one-liners you’ll ever hear.

if he wasn’t baekhyun’s best friend, if they hadn’t met during freshman year tryouts—baekhyun already on the team, of course, because of course he’d made it straight away, thick as thieves by the end of the first week and inseparable ever since—you might have tried your luck with him.

but baekhyun’s your best friend, too.

and crossing boundaries, even unspoken ones, has never been your style.

so you keep your mouth shut, trailing after them as baekhyun slows in front of the coolers, shoulders still tense, brows furrowed like he’s actually analyzing his beer selection instead of seething about something else entirely.

he’s been off ever since you got in the car.

and, yeah, you could ignore it—pretend like you don’t notice, let him sulk in whatever weird mood he’s in. but something about the way he’s so quiet tonight, the way he hasn’t thrown a single sarcastic remark your way, rubs you the wrong way.

so, instead of letting it go, you take a step closer, nudging your hip against his as you reach past him for a six-pack.

without thinking, you step closer, watching as he tosses the case into the basket resting in his other arm. “you okay?” you ask, keeping your tone casual as you lean against the edge of the cooler. “you’ve been so weird since we left the party.”

“i’m fine.”

you roll your eyes. “sure you are.”

baekhyun exhales through his nose, slow and controlled, before turning back to the fridge, grabbing the first case of beer he sees.

“why so grumpy, b?” you ask, brows furrowing slightly as you lean forward, your tone light but laced with genuine curiosity. there’s a playful tug at your lips, but you’re honestly a little confused by the way he’s been sulking all night, shoulders tense, eyes sharp.

“is it ‘cause you struck out during the game?” you tease, voice dipping into something softer—half-joking, half-wondering if that’s really what’s eating at him.

you pause, tilting your head. “you guys won anyway.”

you mean it, too—because they did. the scoreboard was still burned into your memory, the energy in the stadium electric, the crowd wild with celebration. baekhyun had more than made up for that strikeout with his later home run, and everyone knew it.

but still, he looks at you like you’ve just said the wrongest thing imaginable. his jaw flexes, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek, and he doesn’t say anything right away.

kyungsoo, who had been inspecting a shelf of overpriced trail mix a few feet away, glances over with mild amusement, eyes still half-lidded from the high. “damn,” he muses, popping a chip into his mouth. “she’s got a point, b. that was a pretty tragic at-bat, man.”

baekhyun pauses for half a second, his fingers tightening around the basket handle. but then he lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head as he finally turns toward you.

“wow,” he muses, voice light but edged with something you can’t quite place. “thanks for bringing that up. really appreciate it, bun.”

you blink, taken aback. “i wasn’t—”

he exhales sharply, cutting you off. “it’s not about the fucking game.”

“then what is it?”

his eyes flick to you, dark and unreadable under the harsh store lights. for a moment, it almost looks like he’s going to say something, like he’s teetering on the edge of admitting whatever is clawing at his chest.

but then—

he scoffs, shaking his head before brushing past you.

“nothing,” he mutters. “forget it.”

you watch as he moves toward the counter, placing the basket down with a little more force than necessary. kyungsoo appears beside you then, arms full of snacks, clearly having caught the tail end of the exchange.

he raises an eyebrow, glancing between you and baekhyun before nudging your arm with a bag of chips. “still don’t get it, huh?”

you huff, crossing your arms as you glance toward baekhyun’s back, irritation flickering in your chest. “no, and apparently, i’m not allowed to.”

kyungsoo just chuckles, shaking his head as he follows baekhyun to the counter.

you stand there for a second, staring at baekhyun’s tense posture, the way his fingers drum against the countertop impatiently as he waits for the cashier to ring everything up.

whatever this is, whatever’s been eating at him all night, it’s not the game.

but if it’s not that…then what the hell is it?

[ane-doodles]

Okay so, let's start with the goat, shall we? (Sorry, this is a long post!)

• In this dimension there is no prophecy to fulfill, there is no chosen one or a mission. On the other hand, there is an overpopulation of goats, which has led them to kill or hunt them without much remorse, considering them undesirable (for this reason, families usually separate in order to have a better chance of survival). While there is nothing illegal/wrong about interacting with goats, it is usually avoided most of the time.

• The goat's original name is Jonah, he used to be a kind of thief to earn a living since he was a child, since he was separated from his family at a young age. He ends up joining a ship as part of the crew for some time, but when he is caught stealing from the captain he ends up being thrown into the sea tied with weights to die.

• In this dimension it is assumed that after dying you are guided to the other world, to be added to the queue to reincarnate with a new life at least a century later. But Jonah is instead taken out of this line by Yuridia (the equivalent of Narinder in this world).

• Jonah is offered the opportunity to return to a new life, on the condition of "freeing the goddess who was unjustly imprisoned by her siblings", but he refuses, simply not interested. Yuridia ends up convincing him by striking a chord with him, acting affectionately and manipulating him with the idea that after she is freed he is going to marry the goddess (I want to highlight the fact that she did not say that they would both be married , but only him with her). And this is how the poor goat, already hungry for affection, ends up involved in the mess of the bishops and the goddess.

• Yuridia usually acts all loving and kind, presenting herself as someone sweet but with a strong character who constantly makes empty promises and flirts. She treats the goat - which she has renamed Kairos - as her knight who will come to save her. This ends up generating a kind of obsession/dependency in him to do what she tells him, in exchange for the goddess treating him well.

• Kairos' mission ends up being fulfilled in ten years in which several things happen:

+ The cultists hate the idea that the beloved ancient goddess Yuridia has chosen a goat as a vessel (which we already know was a not very beloved species), so they are not very respectful or kind to it. Furthermore, the fact that Yuridia possesses the goat during sermons and usually spouts aggressive doctrines has generated a rumor that probably part of the sermons are inventions of the leader.

+ During this period Kairos also learns that Yuridia's confinement was orchestrated by herself, and that in reality she only wanted to destroy the bishops so that she would be the only one with power over the lands of the old faith. Despite this he decides to continue.

+ Even though the order is to kill the Kairos bishops, he ends up just stealing their crowns and giving them to Yuridia, who disables them so that no one else can use them. The bishops are thrown out and returned to their lands as mortals.

+ Kairos also meets Yuridia's sons/guardians, who warn him that he should abandon the mission of helping the goddess for his own good and that of the world in which they live.

+ The goat also begins to know Yuridia's true intentions and behaviors as she witnesses the mistreatment of her children and various discussions about doctrines that usually end in discipline, but ends up downplaying it, blinded by the goddess's pampering and manipulations.

• After completing his mission, Kairos voluntarily gives his life, his heart being torn out by the goddess as a sacrifice. Yuridia takes back the crown as the sole goddess of the lands of the old faith and the goat is revived.

• The wedding takes place as a kind of private ceremony between the two, but ends up being somewhat one-sided since only Kairos marries Yuridia and not vice versa. This leads to him constantly asking her (maybe begging hehe) for the two to actually get married, but she just ends up postponing it or saying she'll think about it.

• Little by little Yuridia's affections turn into simple dominance, and the manipulation becomes more evident for Kairos who also little by little begins to distrust her. The goddess treats him as a kind of pretty trophy that she takes care of, although she doesn't really give him any more attention than necessary. [I think we could summarize their relationship as those people who have little purse dogs, all cute but who really take little care of them]

• After Yuridia's rise the former bishops try to steal their old crowns with the intention of making them work again, but the goat's job is to keep them away.

• As such Kairos is displaced, since he is no longer the leader of the cult and Yuridia does not need him by her side, so he dedicates himself to exploring. It is thanks to this that he stumbles upon a way to travel to the dimension of the lamb.

• Thanks to the latter, he runs into Yuridia's third son, who has ended up reincarnating in the wrong dimension. He decides to help him reunite with his brothers by bringing them to the dimension of the lamb where they will no longer suffer the mistreatment of their mother.

• Years go by and more things happen:

+ Kairos ends up falling out of love and begins to fear Yuridia's temperament, so being by her side at this point feels like being imprisoned.

+ He spends more time in the dimension of the lamb, things that the goddess does not like.

+ Kairos accidentally revives the lamb's sister (story for another post) and somehow ends up liking her, considering leaving his dimension.

+ The Lamb ends up giving him the final motivation to leave his dimension and finally get away from Yuridia.

• The day arrives and Kairos intends to leave Yuridia's cult, but she decides to prevent him by almost torturing him in order to stay since he belongs to her. However, by trying to kill her, the weight of the promises she made during her false imprisonment ends up killing her from within, allowing the goat to escape, thus condemning her old dimension to a world without gods (or so we believe).

• After recovering Kairos settles into the cult of the lamb where he can finally be at peace.

Aughhh here is the first loredump! It's a bit long, sorry!! I would have liked to add some doodles to make the reading easier, but I really have no ideas at the moment QwQ

[maplegracefour]

easier said than done [1]

Summary: you work in a bar and a man who feels like shadow surrounds him captures your attention

Warnings: you work in a bar, vomit mention, drunk people being assholes, smoking

Word Count: -1040

Author's Note: she's a slow burner but i am living for this version of schlatt hehe

”I sensed you before I saw you."

Hades to Persephone, Nikita Gill, 2019

You didn’t think you’d spend your twenties working in a bar, but school is expensive, and this job pays the bills.

Pour drinks. Fill the ice. Clean someone else’s vomit from the bathroom floor. Accept shitty tips from creepy men. Every little helps.

At least the place looks like something from an 80s movie, and that’s something you can get down with. The bright shine of neon signs illuminate the room, making it difficult to decipher what part of the floor has or hasn’t been stained from years of drink spillage and you hate to think what else. Years and years of old coasters, concert posters, knick-knacks adorn the walls.

There’s a shitty piece of graffiti sprayed along the wall behind the bar. One of your locals, an old man by the name of Bernie, has been trying to convince you it’s a real Banksy since you started. You’re not quite inclined to believe him, yet.

“Oi, you!” Your eyes snap to the lovely gentleman at the bar, waving a twenty-dollar note in your face. “Two whiskeys.”

“That’s twenty-two.” You respond, going to grab the house whiskey from the back bar.

The man’s face twists, anger laced through every inch of his features. “That’s daylight fuckin’ robbery! Twenty-two dollars!?” His wrinkles make him look like a caricature. Clearly he hasn’t had a drink in New York for a few years if he thinks that this is one of the expensive bars.

You roll your eyes. “More like nighttime robbery, it’s like eleven thirty. Do you want your drinks or not?”

The man opens his mouth to speak, let rip on how New York is a shit-hole these days. You prep yourself for a barrage of insults but another hand slaps down on the bar, pushing a matte black card across the bar. “Just add it to my tab.” The mystery man says as you turn your eyes to him instead. He’s dressed in all black, clothes all well-tailored. Dress pants, smart jacket, turtle neck. This guy had money. What on earth is a man like that doing in a place like this?

“You sure?” You ask him, a single eyebrow raised, unable to make many of his features out in the dim lighting of the bar but he simply nods.

You finish pouring the drinks and turn to your till to process the card. When you turn to face the customers again, only the smart-dressed man remains. Your eyebrows furrow in search of the one you served drinks to but he’s already lost in the sea of your many drunk patrons.

“Oh,” You murmur. “You scare him off?”

“Somethin’ like that.” The man responds. “I’ll take a whiskey. The good stuff.”

You smirk. “The good stuff, huh?”

His face doesn’t change, staring at you like you were reciting a phone book, instead of attempting playful banter. The kind that usually got you a good tip. You push down the foreboding feeling that washes over you as you reach up to the top shelf for the most expensive whiskey in the building and pour him a glass with ice. It smells good, not a whiskey drinker yourself but you know this is the good shit. Exactly what he asked for.

His face is barely highlighted in the red-tinted glow. His eyes looking almost entirely black. Probably just the lighting, sure. But there’s something about him. It’s like his presence is pulling light from the room. And yet, you couldn’t deny there is a certain attraction to it. The display of a closed book that in your mind you just need to pry open. But hey, you’re a professional. No flirting on the job.

You pass it over and he nods back at you, before taking his drink and walking away.

You spend the next hour or so trying to find the guy and catch his eye but he’s nowhere to be seen.

The music keeps booming and you keep working, your feet are burning and the lights are starting to give you a headache. You’re already dreaming of curling up in bed and sleeping until the sun rises. But alas, money doesn’t magically appear in your bank account every month, someone’s gotta make it happen. You sigh, wiping your brow after mopping up what feels like the millionth dropped beer of the night and announce to your boss you’re going for a break. Without waiting for a reply, you push open the door to the back and step into the cool late-winter air.

You pull a cigarette from your pocket and search for your light. You could have sworn you had it not even 10 minutes ago…

A scratching sound catches your attention and before you can piece it together, a small orange flame has appeared in front of you. And with it, the man from before, holding a lighter to the end of your cigarette. Where the fuck had he come from?

You accept the light, taking a drag before fully turning your attention to him. You thought you’d be able to see him better outside but the streetlight doesn’t help much to illuminate his features. “You’re not supposed to be back here, it’s staff only.” You tell him, though your voice lacks conviction.

“Don’t pretend you care.” He murmurs back at you, leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest. “Your mommy never tell you it’s unhealthy to smoke?”

“Don’t pretend you care.” You retort back at him. “How do you end up coming to a shithole like this?”

He thinks on it for a moment, the only noise being the occasional burn as you take a drag from your cigarette and the bass of the music inside. He looks you over, from the top of your head down to your shoes.

“I was asking myself the same thing.” He responds. “Let’s just say, I had a feeling I’d find something worth coming in for.”

Your eyebrows furrow again. “The fuck does that mean?” You scoff, stubbing out your cigarette on the wall and tossing it to the floor.

He shrugs, smirking. “I guess we’ll find out. See you around, toots.”

Before you have a chance to respond, he’s walking away.