#i think about this every time i read the confession scene | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wonryllis · 1 year ago

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watermelon sugar (m) | sim jaeyun.

﹙ 🎬 ﹚ ぃ ────𝗶𝗳 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗻 𝘀𝘂𝗴𝗮𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗼𝗼 𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗲𝘁?

preview. he’s the sweetest to you, one might confuse him for your boyfriend, but he’s not, he just your fuckboy of a roommate who treats you like a delicate candy, always looking out for you and never at you; or so you think.

or where, jake can't seem to get you off his mind no matter how hard he tries.

meet the cast. simp sim jaeyun(jake) with his obsession fem!reader

genre. and they were roommates trope, fuckboy soft for his girl trope, SMUT MDNI!!!, lots of toothrooting fluff, tiny speck of angst but not proper angst, drunk confessions?, only one who can control him/her trope, happy happy ending, crack/humor, domestic scenes(newly added) college fuckboy athelete roommate!jake with his candy!roommate girl. computer science & programming major!reader, exercise physiology major!jake, nonidol!au, soccer player!jake.

word count. 13,488 unedited! it's word vomit.

warnings. fingering, dry humping, dirty talkkk lots and lots of it, nasty freak jake with innocent(seems to be) girlie, experienced x inexperienced(virgin but has idea), pussy slapping, somewhat drunk sex but there's consent consent, oral (m rec.) different scenes, p in v (unprotected! but pls pls pls do not do this ever use protection!!!!!) multiple orgasms (f.rec), overstimuation(f.rec) and somewhat (m.rec), spitting? slight nipple play, jake is rough and filthy, with heavyyyyy corruption kink it's all throughout the story, strength kink, size difference “i worship the ground you walk on” energy but still dominant jake, jake has soooo many dirty inner thoughts about you it's innumerable. he's a simp for you so you're a slut for him— i guess that's them?

theme song. animals by maroon 5 (jake pov), into you by ariana grande (yn pov)

﹙★﹚ ࣪DRABBLES (find them here)

` author notes. im sorry for making you guys wait three extra weeks I hope y'all still want to read this,, what do i say it was so horrible before the revamp, thankfully it's so much better now and the smut god, it was so hard to write it i hope it's good enough. REBLOGS AND FEEDBACKS ARE HIGHLY ENCOURAGED AND APPRECIATED!!

“i don’t mind this feeling.”

YOU DONT KNOW WHAT TO CALL IT, WHATEVER IS HAPPENING BETWEEN YOU BOTH, BUT YOU LIKE IT. IT FEELS SILLY AND FRAGILE AND GOOD. perhaps a little too good.

god forbid what you had done in your past life to get a roommate like jake, a complete package; a concoction of all classic kinds of roommate one could possibly expect. you aren’t complaining though he takes care of you in every way he possibly could. making you feel like his entire world revolves around you, from his time home to the hours he spends on the field. one would ask anything of him and his answer would surely include you in one way or another, everyone knew it, everyone could see it, the way he feels.

he makes you breakfast, he helps with the cleaning- you both actually have it planned to have a cleaning day every week to polish the apartment. he cooks for you and he does the dishes more often than not, the only exception being the time when you insist deathly on doing it yourself because come on you gotta do at least some thing around the house.

to add to the perfect mixture of god gifted man, he video games in his room with the door shut so that the sound of him shouting at the screen doesn’t disturb you. does the laundry- even your bras and underwear, he’s just too used to those clothings to give a care to get embarrassed (outwardly). he would never admit the way they get him all hot and bothered when he thinks of all the places those fabrics have touched. how wild his imagination runs and all the things he wishes he could do to you. all the sounds he could get, out of you and all the things you'd taste of.

you are his candy (well not exactly ‘his’ but according to him this nickname of yours is only and I repeat only reserved for him) literally because you are all over sweets all the damn time and figureratively because he’d die to have a taste of you; the forbidden fruit of his life, too innocent for a person like him to ruin. but lord would he give up everything to land a chance to lay his hands on you not so innocently.

this man does not give a fuck about who is not you, and maybe occasionally spare a care for his two best friends who so far have only been blessed enough to know your name because jake has made it clear that you're off-limits and if they ever dare to do anything given the opportunity he'd rip off their balls and feed it to ducks (he's serious he swears)

getting to the real point of your dynamic: the only drawback— jake sim is a renowned fuckboy on campus, the heartbreak prince and you, his miss americana as they all like to call it. it is a daily routine, having to find a new girl in the house and ofttimes hearing them even with your door closed and your hands pressed on your ears. at first it felt disgusting, then you got used to it, and now very recently you’ve been feeling weirdly dejected. a certain kind of hatred towards the girls, something you can’t pin point exactly to why and what it is.

“candy, my laptop broke down again!” jake's raspy voice dances through the little cracks of the bathroom door as you prepare for a quick shower. you sigh, tightening the towel wrapped around you before stepping out. a short knock at his batman poster door left ajar, and he's whipping his head to have a look at you as if he knew you'd be in the middle of washing up. a little secret, yes he knew because everytime ahead of bathtime you make sure to have a sip of your watermelon slush stack from the fridge and the sound of it's door reaches his room just right to let him know.

he remains seated on his bed, a sheepish smile on his face. your eyes fall at his desk to see his laptop closed, he tricked you, and like always you fell for it,“maybe if you used your school laptop to study instead of playing games on it, this wouldn't happen all the time. but i assume you probably did it to get me here, it’s not gonna work everytime yun,” you click your tongue in feigned annoyance making him grin wider,“well it does work everytime though,” he knows how to have you on his tail just like you know how to have him wrapped around your finger. it only seems fair, you both know what gets the other going and you use it to your advantage.

“what is it?” asking in a sing song tone, you plop down on his desk chair. spinning in rounds with your legs out swinging, hands gripping onto the arms of the chair while looking up at the phosphorescent glow-in-the-dark stickers you had forcefully put up on the ceiling of his room. a funny memory of jake trying to stop you because it would defeat the whole image of his room only to fold when you gave him the puppy doe eyes, baby talking that you really wanted to do it. it doesn't take much to have jake cave in, just one look from you and the boy is a flatline. fuckboy? he is that to everyone but to you he's practically whatever you want him to be, though you have never really had a talk about it.

“actually eunsang, she-” there is a hesitation is his tone you are well aware of, having almost a clear idea of what he's about to say,“i told- no warned you not to get involved with her for a second time, didn’t i?” you scold, feeling that little twinge of hurt knowing he probably will keep on being involved with girls like this no matter what you say. it's the one thing where you don't have him under your spell. or that's you think, i mean you you have no idea do you of how much he wants you. just like how you have no idea how much you want him.

“yes but it happened and now she’s after me all the time, she even showed up to my soccer practice yesterday! please just this one time, please help me get rid of her,” clamping together his hands in a plea, jake pouts as best as he can, giving you his puppy eyes. but when you don’t show a reaction of any sort he resorts to the next best guaranteed thing: bribery,“i’ll buy you tons of watermelon lollipops! from your favorite brand that too!” eyes sparkling with hope and expections of having you fall for it, like you do every single time, he waits. albeit patterns break, in everything and everyone.

“no, i’m on a diet. i gave up on sweets, what if i get diabetes? will you,” you point at him dramatically,“take responsibility?” to which his stance morphs into one of stunned. he would gladly take responsibility for you at any given chance, but it's one of more gravity and significance than diabetes. and he's sure he's not one you should be in care of as more than anything that you are right now. he's too corrupted and you are too naive.

“yes of course i’ll help you take your meds and-” he mumbles in a quick, hurried note aware that you’ll not let him answer if he’s not fast enough. you still beat him to it though, speaking loud over and above his voice, to drown out his words despite hearing them quite clearly,“will you? NO you will not! so let me just shower peacefully before i get the urge to lock you in the bathroom when you’re in there later,” with a silence after, one that has jake grinning again at your cuteness, you take it as a que to rush out swiftly. trying to make it to the bathroom before he decides to use his strength against you and hold you down wherever he wants. which though hasn't been often, has always left you breathless and flustered to a point you refuse to admit.

training to become an athlete, a buff center forward in comparison to you who barely puts effort into doing even a little bit of yoga once a month. it’s obvious he’ll have you give in if he wants but he’s too sweet to force you. and of course it's obvious, the tension of the strength kink that looms over in the room.

it comes as a shock to you when the next day, the first thing you see waking up in the morning and walking into the living room: is eunsang standing by the kitchen counter. and important point: clad in one of jake’s dress shirts that you recognize from doing his laundry occasionally, pouring herself a glass of water. oh you had to see this coming, this is jake we're talking about will be really ever like ever not bring over girls? no matter if they're clingy or not. the answer is ambiguous and definitely not to your favor.

she’s shares a small smile upon noticing you, a friendly smile which you know is obviously fake. she’s doing it just to look good and polite in jake’s eyes. just to show that she's not bothered by you, because as said everyone knows if they don't like you then they automatically are on jake sim's blacklist. and being the star player of the team, his acquaintance is more or less influential to a large extent, so note to be taken be nice to candy to not be on the cross out list.

however as sad as it is to say it’s of no use. she’s not even there in his eyes to begin with. the moment the jake comes out of his room, his field of vision doesn’t include her. passing by her very visible figure like she’s a microscopic bug to ruffle your hair in a dotting manner, his morning voice coming out in an adoring essence,“good morning, candy,” he smiles and scrunches up his nose when he notices the baby cat you both adopted last month, curled up in the corner of the couch,“and mei,” he acknowledges your pet kitty but not the girl he brought home, that should speak volumes to you, jake thinks. treating you like candy of his world you are, shouldn't that be the ultimate giveaway of his feelings? like even his hookups can see how down bad he is for you why is it that you're the only one who can't? he wants you to know but at the same time he feels he's not right for you, a dilemma he handles by fucking up over and over again.

wishing him morning in response you give him a look which silently delivers your question of what is going on. you did hear them last night (more like her), but you didn’t know it was her her. you weren’t even expecting her to be the one. after the conversation with jake yesterday, she was the last person you would have ever assumed. he sends you a flying look that he’ll explain everything later, shushing you off before you speak out loud.

“yunie,” your ears perk up at her voice, eyes narrowing in a deadly stare at the nickname you exclusively call him with, leaving her crusty mouth. certainly, like jake you blossom a definite possession over names too. perhaps it's the effect of living with him 24/7 but you seem to have picked up a lot of his antics.

jake’s eyes shift to look at you for a moment and then he’s running a hand through his hair, dropping his sweet conduct to get back into his usual cold fuckboy self. he absolutely does not like the way your brows turn down and the pretty smile you were previously adorning for him falling off your pretty lips. he can tolerate anything but seeing you bothered in any way. “you’re still here? it's better if you leave soon, candy doesn’t like all this,” walking around her to the other side of the counter and into the kitchen to open the upper cabinets, jake ignores her like a plague as if he wasn't showing her heaven last night. but alas, nothing comes above you, she should have known that.

“what do you want for breakfast candy? should i make you some toast? or do you want your usual dose of sugar?” his palms rest on the granite countertop, leaning against it slightly while turning to fix his gaze on you. it makes eunsang rage with anger, throwing you a demeaning look before she disappears into jake's room.

the moment his bedroom door closes, you feel the unfamiliar weight on your shoulders relax a tad bit,“my watermelon slush please,” finding your cozy spot on the kitchen counter, you give him your most adorable pout feeling like you had to gain back his warmth after the hookup. your legs dangle over the height between, toes softly brushing against jake's calves every two seconds. watching him prepare your drink, you decide to voice out the thing that had been disturbing since the moment you walked out your room,”did you like make a friends with benefit kind of arrangement or something?” it comes out in a low whisper, afraid if you said it too loud it'd come true. the thought of it disturbs you for some reason, it’s not new for you to see random girls in your apartment; or to hear them while they’re at it. yet it still gives you a sort of uneasy feeling, something you do not like feeling.

“it was a last time kind of deal actually,” he stops briefly to give you a quilty smile. finishing your sweet slushy just as eunsang hastily steps out, wearing what you assume her clothes from the previous night. she slows down to observe as jake hands you the cup, repulsively watching you take a sip,“is it good?” hearing him speak in a tone way different than the one she’s acquainted with him using with her has stomp her way out in a grumpy fit.

looking up from the edge of your cup with hopes to give her a sly stare, your eyes follow her figure, flinching silently when she bangs the door close harshly,“bitch,” you comment, hooded orbs shifting back to jake who scowls in disapproval,”language candy,” he reminds, knowing very well it does nothing to stop you.

“sorry yunie but she's so agressive, and for what?” you whine.

“from what i’ve seen, you’re way more aggressive,” jake laughs softly, index finger coming to poke at your cheek tenderly.

with full cheeks, you grin like a cheshire cat and jake feels his heart rate speeding up, who gave you the permission to be the cutest person he's ever known? the urge to kiss you just keeps growing with each passing day and with with each little sneaky smile and doe eyes you give him.

“we need to get the groceries this week, i have after classes soccer practice for the next four days and we're not gonna last that long,” the thought of spending the next four evenings alone in the unit is gloomier than the half assed ham and cheese toast jake makes for himself. if only you said yes to some proper breakfast, his taste buds and stomach wouldn't be suffering so much.

you nod as if he has eyes on his back, knowing well he's gonna want you with him but not force you, if you'd say no. whatever you want, is whatever he does.

“‘m gonna go take a shower first then,” hopping down, you place your empty mug in the sink, and skip to your room to take your bath supplies.

“let’s shower together,” jake's friskiness thrives in the way he shouts with an undertone of mischief. watching you with a teasing gaze as you step out the threshold of your bedroom door. a tiny smirk spreading onto his lips when you scrunch your nose in a grimace. cute, he mouths thinking you wouldn't notice but god you do. he's clearly joking but you can’t help feeling flustered internally. keeping up with his flirty and touchy stunts and tricks should have made it easier for you by now, but over a year in and you're yet to find yourself getting used to it. he’s too attractive and hot to get used to; at least that’s what excuse your brain gives you, which honestly is true to some extent. his looks score a lot of points and you can't deny that.

“and if we get locked in there, who’s gonna get us out? you know the door lock has problems,” you complain in a soft groan which, in his eyes is more adorable with the little annoyance you show. if you think you could ever intimidate him, you probably will because he'll melt right away to even think of a counter back.

his stance straightens at that, a fleeting look of flabbergast clouding his face before he’s breaking out in a taunt of smile, eyes closing in on you in a brazen look,“so does that mean if the lock was fine you’d actually shower together with me,” he feels this triumph of emotions, a sudden rush of sugar at the realization that'd probably maybe perhaps someday let him get in the shower together with you. the sheer excitement he experiences through his veins is over the roof, just the possibility of something so intimate with you is a bite of golden spoon for him.

he purposely stops all he’s doing to stare at you, moving his eyebrows cheekily, trying to provoke you,“i never said that,” you stick your tongue out at him, closing the door in a soft slam and crying out a ‘you’re sick in the head!’

“only for you!” jake yells back, chuckling to himself as he leaves the room.

two hours later you’re both strolling through the isles of shelving, bright florescent lighting, end displays of popular products, sale signs, banners with store mottoes, isle signs with product locations, rows and rows of household products and everything you'd always spend lots of time looking through until jake has to drag you back home.

he pushes the cart while you look around for items to throw in and cross out one by one from your checklist. the way you both discuss and bicker over what to keep in the cart and what not to every two minutes will lead any sane person to conclude you as a couple. you both would also admit it feels as such. how he insists on taking what you like while you argue that you’re on a diet and need to cut down on the consumption and desires of your sweet tooth. it feels sweet, he feels sweet. and you make him want to coddle you so bad, like what do you mean you're on a diet? you're perfect already. too perfect for him.

“i’m taking the pop tarts!” you hear him shout from two or probably three Isles away while you look through some new make up launches,”…okay fine!” capturing the attention of an old couple who glance at your way and mutter something you don’t quite catch but you assume it’s probably about how annoying you both are, shouting at the mart.

“yunie look these are so pretty,” you point at the line of lipgloss as jake comes over with cart. he hums in agreement, watching you scan through the shades in an animated mood, mumbling over the names and speaking of how it'd look good for an everyday look or with summer dress you recently got. oh how smitten he feels, observing the way you seem so pumped up simply over gloss.

“there's no mirror— “

“try it on me,” oh he's bewitched under your spell.

jake stands still as you apply the mauve on him, staring at you through hooded eyes,”oh, this one’s really pretty on you!” you beam, looking up at him as if he could see it too.

“it'd look prettier on you,” he's hardly able to whisper out, gaze trained on the way you part your lips while you wipe it off his and apply another. if he didn't have a strong self control, by now he would have shoved his tongue down your throat in the dirtiest and messiest kiss you'd ever known. knocking your breath out, as well as his. he's already on the verge of losing it with every little touch you leave on his lips, wetting your own as a habit.

“which one should i take?” you ask something cutely, jake almost feels guilty for the thoughts swimming in his head.

“i’ll buy all of it for you, we can do something like a chapstick challenge you know. the one where you kiss and guess the flavor,” he teases loving the tiny exasperated glare you throw him. “yunn, be serious! which one?”

“these two?” he points to ones you commented were pretty feeling impatient at the conjured up image of you wearing the colors on with you tiny, sexy little sundresses you got hidden in your closet. please feel guilty man he thinks.

in the end jake (successfully) convinces you to continue your diet later over the summer break offering to help you with it. and grabs a bunch of packets of your favorite snacks, your favorite brand’s watermelon lollipops and not to forget the fruit itself. checking all out he insists on carrying everything himself, only handing you the little bag that held your lollies in case you'd want one on the way back.

the subway is more crowded than usual, scarcely any seat left. it takes you a whole minute to scan around for an empty one, immediately encouraging jake to take it. a silly game of rock paper scissors to decide who stands, insisting firmly that he sit when you end up winning. the grocery bags rest by his foot and you stand between his legs, holding onto the bar wobbling every now and then. it’s just one stop left when jake suddenly pulls you onto his lap, adjusting you comfortably on his thighs and placing his hands on your legs possessively. you turn to look at him, lashes brushing against his skin and lips parting in the slightest at the adrenaline you feel pumping into your fast beating heart. the muscles in his chest feel firm at the faint touch of your back against him, the thumping of his own heart similar to that of yours.

he leans closer to whisper in your ear,“that creep right there kept staring you up and down,” pointing with a discreet move of his eyes as he drills holes through his stern gaze fixed on the said guy. you on the other hand, grow hot with irritation, perhaps just as hot and bothered you are feeling jake pressed so close. an abrupt and sharp impulse of anger.

“i’ll show him the fuck he was staring at," you mutter out, teeth gritted, and hands almost forming into fists, expression as innocent as always. jake seems to catch on to what you’re about to do and before you can get up from lap, his hold on you gets tighter,"okay, i know you hate this candy, but i don’t want you getting hurt in any way, if he does anything i’ll make sure to set him right, for now i think he got it that he’s not gonna stare at you however he wants,” hand grabing yours in gentle caresses along the expanse of your arm. delicate and slow like a soothing rub. his touch just as enticing and stimulating it is, is also calming, knowing exactly how to pacify your hot headedness. jake finds that really hot about you, the way you look like you couldn't harm a bug but he's seen you throw kicks and punches (for the right reasons) ‘looks like a cinnamon roll, could kill you’ he never knew that's his type. sometimes and really only some rare times he wonders if you're not as innocent as he thinks you are, getting rock hard at the thought of it, dick twitching multiple times imagining you saying and doing things that an angel like you shouldn't be.

for the rest of the ride he manages to lull you back to your sweet candy mode, making you laugh at his lame pick up lines, and occasionally tickling your sides. head falling back into his shoulder in cute giggles and hips rolling on him, damn only he knows how bad he's holding back. as shameless as he is he'd probably jump your bones right infront of everyone to see. thankfully you bring the decency in your relationship.

when your stop comes, he intertwines his fingers you as you walk out the compartment, just in case you decide to give the dude a slap before leaving.

“'m gonna flatten out all your abs today, you'll need to gym again,” jake chuckles, feeling you roll over his body like mei’s lint roller as he lays on your favorite fluffy kuromi rug typing away on his laptop an essay deadlined for tomorrow. the weight of your body on and off and the touch of your hot skin he feels funsies,“you do this all the time, candy and my abs have never left. how can i let them? knowing how much you love it,” reaching behind to hold you still on his back. you are glad he can't see the way your cheeks warm up at that, a bashful look on your face remembering all the times he's caught you ogling at his body.

“why are you sulking?” he asks when you don't respond with a whine like you usually do. aware that you behave this way either when you’re over the top bathing in happiness or dissatisfied with something.

“’m gonna gain weight now because of you, i’ll see all the snacks and sweets in the pantry and not be able to resist binge eating,” you lightly punch at the curve of his shoulders, dropping your head into the crook of his neck in a pout. jake turns around swiftly to hold you in a hug, wanting nothing more than to cheer you up,“i love your belly anyhow, whether it’s visible or not,” giving the plump flesh of your stomach a zephyr-like pinch. you wince playfully drawing back inches to tease him only to drop down into his arms to hug him back seconds later,“yeah whatever,” his words make you feel butterflies, a turmoil of frenzy and fuzzy feelings, cheeks growing warm once again, and the warmth spreading all over your mind this time. why does he have to be so sweet to you?

you both stay like that for a while breathing slowly, and taking in the comfort of a hug, the room saturated with a restful and serene silence. you’re the first to pull away,“you should finish that essay, i have to prepare for my test next week,” jake groans at the loss of your touch, wailing out with his hands as you leave the room.

”i’m joining you as soon as i finish this!”

four days later on the weekend, you sit on the couch alone, wrapped in the thin lilac charmeuse blanket jake got for you (he said it the softness of it, reminded him of you.) waiting for your him to join you. eight in the morning with ‘tangled’ running on the tv, it's not something jake would ever want to do, but he gives in because you like it; bonus sometimes when you get a little sleepy, he grabs the chance to cuddle you as close as he can, leaving a few fluttering kisses on your temple and cheeks. he's grateful you never say anything about it and just let him be.

“yunie, can you pass me the watermelon in the fridge? the one from yesterday,” you spare a quick glance towards jake as he walks out his room. his headset rests loosely around his neck, half naked, wearing only a pair of sweatpants and his black hair all dishevelled: looking even more messier due to the perm he got last week. “yeah sure,” the rasp in his voice as he mumbles out softly gives away the fact that he probably stayed up all night again.

taking the half a piece of watermelon out and grabbing a spoon, jake scoops out a small little portion. going up to your slouched figure on the couch, and extending it out for you to eat,“here you go, candy,” he does it quite often, infact he loves to feed you. seeing your cheeks full and your eyes sparkling makes him feel fond as much as it turns him on. picturing you the same way on your knees between his legs with his dick stuffed in your mouth. choking and gagging on him, tears dropping down your pretty eyes while you stare up at him with this same doe look. it'd be heaven. even more so if he would have to teach you how to do it right, further fueling the massive corruption kink he seems to have harboured after meeting you.

he passes you melon after you take the bite, sitting beside you with his legs crossed. eyes trained on the way you fill in more in your mouth than you can handle, face all round and full,”eat slowly,” he flicks at your forehead.

“do you want to go buy a new sofa at ikea tomorrow? this one’s pretty small,” he adds a minute later, raising his brows subtly.

“well, first of all i didn’t plan to have a roommate and secon- i swear if it’s for your hook-ups i’m kicking you out!” it comes out in a yell, voice raising with every syllable before you spit a seed at him. one that due to your bad aiming skills instead of landing on his face, falls and sticks to the skin of his chest. damn those muscles they get you feelings things you probably shouldn't be.

putting away the watermelon on your tea table, you pick up mei and settle her on your lap, pulling back your blanket which had slipped off in a crackle of laughter,“this is public space have some decency before you have such thoughts!”

“stop making me appear like a horndog!” he laughs along, whinning at your false accusations in giggles and a look of faux disbelief.

“well that is exactly what you are!” you throw the closest cushion at his face. grinning with your signature cutesy doe eyes and jake is a goner. he always is.

“no don't do this me,”

“change the sheets then, it's your turn this week,” turning away from him, you fix your eyes on rapunzel climbing down the tower. trying to avoid the way he stares at you with betrayal, immediately scooting over to tickle you.

“you cheeky liar it's your turn,” his hands glossing over your ticklish areas.

“i love you,” in a fit of uncontrolled giggles, you shout. pushing against him to escape only to have your wrists pulled away, held together in a tight grasp and pinned above your head. “candy! i love you is not gonna get you out of chores come on i'll help you. we'll watch tangled later. together, i promise,” his laughter dies down with every word he utters, whispering out the last part as he becomes aware of the proximity between you two. so close you both think, breaths slowing down and heartbeats picking up the pace with each passing second.

“we're doing this okay?” jake whispers again, albeit, his tone a tad bit more heavy and bothered. an ambiguous daze clouding over, as if he is talking about something entirely different than just changing sheets. a twinge of lust bubbling inside. having you under him like this makes him realize just how desperately he wants you, and how bad his strength kink blooms for you. to have you whimpering and moaning, gaze all hazy as you let him do whatever he wants with you. damn he feels his dick twitch at that, gulping nervously hoping you wouldn't notice.

“you look like eugene,” you mumble out suddenly and jake feels his thirst rise off the roof, because the size difference between the characters? he wouldn't deny he thought of you the first time he saw the animation. wanting you have you in his arms the same way.

“then you must be my rapunzel,” you feel even more flustered if that's possible, your stomach twisting and twirling at his words until,”now come on we gotta keep the house clean for mother gothel,” jake let's his grip on you loosen, taking a moment to get off you.

“yunie!”

“i'll make you some sweet soy-glazed potatoes too later,” he voice drowns out as he enters you bedroom first.

“well i guess it's okay then,” you giggle following after him.

“candy that's not how you tuck in the corners,” jake scolds you for nth time, running after you to fix the edges you mess up deliberately time and again. “hey! candy! get down!” you make it a chaos for him, jumping onto the unmade bed and messing up the sheets all the way.

“oops,” there's a devilish grin on your face as jake pauses to watch you have your sugar rush episode.

“if you wanna wrestle again and end up under me, just say so,” he teases, inching closer and grabbing you by the waist. you both laugh again as if you weren't dripping with need for each other just moments ago. he picks you up and walks to the door putting you down by the sill,”i seriously need to get this done, you go and peel the potatoes for me,” you can't cook for the sake of god and letting you use knives is like a deathwish, jake can only hope peeling will keep you busy and safe enough to not end up with cuts anywhere.

the doorbell rings just as you step into the kitchen, walking back to the front in a sluggish sigh. feeling utter regret for answering the door, the instant you notice the figure outside. not wanting to reveal the presence to jake, you shut the door behind.

he peeps out your room at the sound of it, shrugging it off as nothing because you’ve done it lot many times: when your friends show up because you simply don’t want them to fall under his radar as prey.

you spare an indifferent glance at the way eunsang stands tall; hands folded with a cocky look on her rather gorgeous face. she's a beauty and you hate to admit that, a vibe so opposite of you it makes you insecure considering jake's hooked up with her more than a few times. “i’m here to see jake,” she states, tilting her head to point over at the closed door, all the sugary honeyed act she keeps up around him nowhere to be seen.

“and he doesn’t want to see you, didn’t he tell you it was the last time,” you counterattack, folding your arms and straightening up to look intimidating. your stare is one of taunt, carrying a gaze of boredom in hopes to establish that you're one to reckon with.

“are you jake? i said i want to talk to jake not you,” her heels click in impatience and underlying disgust in the tone she uses with you gets on your nerves.

you close your eyes for a moment trying to calm the annoyance in you before it turns into anger, tongue poking at the side of your cheek, “and are you deaf? i said he does not want to talk to you,” assert dominance, assert dominance you repeat over and over in your head.

but what she says next makes you lose your temper.

jake, the very epicenter of it all, on the other hand has no idea of what's going on outside until there's a scream that sounds too much like you, one turning into many more. it's frantic and inhumane, the speed at which he runs out. dropping everything and anything. there in broad daylight he finds you and eunsang trying to rip each other's hair out in the thankfully empty hallway. he doesn't know if he should be worried more about your scalp hurting or your throat tearing from how loudly you scream over eunsang. his hands flail as he contemplates on breaking the fight or letting you calm down, which you probably won't as he knows. he grabs onto eunsang's hands on your head trying to loosen her grip on your hair, concerned over the pain you must be feeling while you're there now trying to kick her between her legs. she's shocked to say the least, watching him latch you off her in a swift motion and throw you over his shoulder. he takes you back inside quickly, groaning at your fists pounding against his back in a protest,”fucking let go of me! i’m gonna give her a good piece of my mind!”

“candy language!” putting you down by the kitchen softly, he grasps the side of your arms and forces you to look into his eyes,“stop fighting all the time, stay here i’ll talk to her, okay?” he speaks slowly as an attempt to calm you. when you wiggle off in a scornful shrug, he asks again, this time moving to cup your face, a tender look in his eyes,“okay?” you nod in a defeated sigh and he's out the door before you can say anything else. you're upset, really upset, you know what you did outside was not decent yet you can't get over the fact that he left you in here to go back to talk to her. he was on your tail last week trying to beg you to help him get rid of her and even shooed her out the unit harshly, what more is there to talk about?

truth to be told, this was how he first met you, or should he say saw you. it was the move in day, he had all the necessities for the week packed in a travel suitcase, with the other stuff to be brought in later on. he was waiting for the elevator in the lobby, more tense and anxious than ever to meet the girl he was going to be living with a good four years of his college life. hoping she'd not treat him like some stranger, or be someone impossible to get close to hash live with. along with little bits of curiosity and hopes again, that she'd be a pretty and sweet girl maybe someone help could form some kind of benefits with.

however never in a million years did he ever expect it to be the cute yet fierce girl in the elevator. to say he was flabbergasted would be an understatement, he was literally blown off his feet, scared or impressed, his confusion was massive. when the doors of the elevator had opened he had found you slapping a middle aged man,”fun? you think groping my butt ‘s fun, you sicko,” kicking him in the balls next. hard. jake had gulped at that, hard. heart on a pause. the look of feigned innocence on your face as you did all that. damn jake swears it was that moment he fell. maybe not romantically but you definitely got his dick hard.

you looked super cute, and you knew how to fight, jake thought he hit the jackpot when you turned out to be his roommate. pretty you were, definitely, and sweet wasn't even a question; you were sweet to him and you are a lot of sweet. the only thing that remains a mystery till now is if you'd taste as sweet. jake hopes he can find that out.

he returns a few minutes later, lips pursed in a small smile as he shuts the front door. it grows even wider when his eyes find you,“so your soy glazed potatoes,” he chuckles walking over to the kitchen and getting other things out.

“she called me a slut for living with a guy like you and i was in the midst of giving her a lecture on actually how good of a person you are-” you bang on the counter with a thud and turn around to face him,“and you dragged me in!” whinning in a pout that looked as upset as your furrowed brows.

jake glances over in amusement, halting to give you another grin as he boops your nose gently,“my darling candy, i’m only good to you,” the glare you throw his way only makes him snicker with adoration. the little flicker of bashfulness you feel making you break out in a smile which (thankfully, for you) jake doesn't notice.

“whatever, i’m gonna take a long shower. do not disturb me!” you leave in a rush afraid if you stay too long he'd see it all on your face.

ten minutes later, as you tiptoe to get your favorite shower gel from the shelf above the mirror, luck decides to remind you why you shouldn't ever stay away from jake sim. feet slipping on the wet floor, body colliding against the cold tiles in a thud loud enough to have jake come running.

“candy, you're okay? what happened? should i open the door? ‘m coming in,” his voice is laced with worry, snapping open the door to find you laying flat down, though to his relief not unconscious. he picks you carefully, bringing you to your room and seating you on the edge of the bed to check for any injuries. hands delicately caressing all over and asking if it hurts any where,”you're so clumsy, always getting me worried like shit,”

“language,” you giggle, trying to make him laugh and it works.

“sorry, just please be careful, okay?” his fingers brush back your hair as you give him a small nod,“do you feel pain anywhere?” another nod, and this one ticks his alarms.

“where!” your fingers reach out to press against the brooding crease between his brows, attempting to remove the frown from his face. and jake melts at that, feeling his heart flutter at your cuteness, god he loves this side of you so much.

“you little demon, look what happens if you don't shower with me,” laughing out together, oh how he wishes it were like this forever. and jake sim has never thought of a forever ever before.

a month passes by in the blink of an eye, your routines and relationship staying the same as always, classes, his soccer practice and your weekly cleaning day. but what seems to have changed is his routine of bringing over girls, the number alarmingly cutting down day by day (which currently sits at zero) and what you haven’t noticed- his display of affection towards you growing more and more. yet you think nothing special of it, assuming that perhaps now he got a grip over himself. which is partially true. jake thought of you as deserving someone better, so it was only right that he became better. and what better way than to start with quitting the position of campus’ resident fuckboy.

after an all nighter the previous day, coming back from your classes you get straight to bed. changing you clothes and getting tucked under the blanket from around eight in the evening. jake returns from his soccer practice later, unaware of the fact that you're already passed out. opening your door to let you know of his night out plans,“candy, i’m gonna go out with jay and sunghoon! make sure to have your dinne- oh you were sleeping? i didn’t know i’m so sorry candy,” he mumbles out in a soft whisper towards the end, supressing a smile watching your sleepy figure under the covers. trying to rub out the drowsiness from your eyes; heavy blinking and a small pout, his cute girl.

“it’s okay no need to get up, go back to sleep, i’ll be back in the morning,” approaching the bed as you lay back down, he pats your head in a 'sleep well’ before leaving.

it's probably past midnight when you wake up to constant ringing of calls. fumbling around for your phone in a daze only to find a dozen calls from an unknown number and a bunch of texts from the same. it's jay, asking you to get jake from the bar they're at. saying the guy's refusing to go back with anyone that's not you: whining for your presence and making it hard for his two friends.

'where is my candy?’ jay and sunghoon are sick and tired of hearing it all night.

by the time you get him back to the apartment, it's three and your bones hurt from the weight of his body leaning all over you. it doesn't help that all he does is giggle and throw himself over you. there's been a lot of times you have seen him drunk, probably more than a dozen, but he's never looked as wasted as today. sunghoon told you it's because he drank way more than usual, and unbeknownst to you that you are the sole reason, you wonder of the things that plague his mind to the extent of drinking so much.

dragging him into his room you have him sit on his bed, going through his closet and getting him a pair of sweatpants and the first shirt you can grab. “come on yunie, get changed,” you hand him the clothes, turning away when he takes everything off nonchalantly. even though he likely would rather want you to look, from the many times he's said it before ‘why’re you looking away, candy it's all for you,’ his exact words. the bane of your existence.

after he's changed, you wipe the sweat off his body with a wet towel as much as you can. giving him a glass of water before leaving for your room when he grabs your wrist and stops you with his puppy eyes.

in the morning, around noon jake is the first one to wake up and having no memory of the previous night besides the fact that he was drunk. he sits at his desk chair, hands in his hair, watching you sleep on the other side of his bed, clad in his shirt. it’s like he feels everything is over and done from here. he did what he swore never to do, this was the very first thing he pinned on his mind as an important note: not using you even if he has very obvious feelings for you. he tugs on his hair in frustration, angry at himself for not staying in his lane when drunk. with his head hung in guilt, he doesn't notice you stirring awake, sitting up at the sight of his hunched figure.

“yun? are you okay? is the hangover severe? should i make you something for it?” startled at your soft voice, he flinches visibly. a thousand scenarios running through his mind and not one ends up good.

“you don’t even know any hangover recipes,” jake mumbles almost inaudibly.

“i can just search on the internet and try my best, it’s not like i’ll give you anything inedible,” you teaee, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere you feel in the air.

it takes him a moment to speak again, sounding as miserable as he has never before,“candy i’m,” he halts, gulping to hold back the lump in his throat,“i’m sorry, i really didn’t mean to, i don’t why i, it's all my fault,” he stops again, leaving you confused and dumbfounded,“what are you saying? what apology?” it is when his eyes shift to stare at what you’re clad in, staying there for a hard minute when you get a rough idea of what he could be thinking of. your cheeks grow hot at the realization, shaking your head when unholy images pop up in your subconscious.

but the butterflies fly away just as fast as they came as his words dawn uppn you. even if it didn’t happen the fact that he wouldn’t mean it, want it, regret it has something in you twisting in pain, are you so bad? or that he actually really thinks of you as his little sister? that you read his affections wrong, assumed his feelings differently? your heart breaks more than a little at that.

“why? is it because i’m not like the others you have been with? because i’m not like eunsang? or because i’m not her? the one you were smiling so hard after talking to? are you dating he-”

“that’s the problem! you’re not like her! you’re not like anyone i've known before! you’re special and i’m afraid i’ll lose you, things will change and just i’ll have to get over you without even getting a chance,” it's the first time he's ever raised his voice at you, and the first time ever he's sounded so desperate, weak and dejected. so vulnerable.

the split moment of sadness dissipates with every word that sinks in. the revelation of a(n after)drunk confession. the fact that you're a different kind of special to him, that he would want a chance to be with you, that he's afraid to lose you. you supres the urge to laugh when it all settles into your understanding. having a better grasp over the bigger picture. your steps are slow and calculated as you walk over to him, sitting across his lap and cupping his cheeks in a fleeting breath of courage. his eyes almost bulge out when you brush your lips lightly against his, mumbling softly,“nothing happened, but if you still want i can give you a chance, it’s going to be hard though tolerating me, think wisely,” you giggle and jake malfunctions for an instant before grabbing you in a tight hug, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“of course, of course i do want it, i’ve always wanted it,” chanting out in a trance.

“your lips tasted like watermelon,” he mutters out some time after, eyes locking with yours in an intense pull. still in a daze that out of all the bad things that could've happened it was none. literally none plus you perhaps wanting him just as much as he wants you.

“i had some in the morning before you woke up, anyhow yours taste like alcohol and your breath is horrible, go and freshen up,” you push at his shoulder, getting off him to leave the room to cook something. probably (as you said) a recipe searched up on the web, hopefully edible enough for a hungover person.

when he comes out later, all showered and back to the jake you know: the one who likes his hair slightly messy and almost never in a shirt. “why were- are you wearing my shirt then?”

“you practically begged me to last night while sobbing for i don’t know what reason,” he's a bit flustered at that, but hey, it's what got him here, you gotta do what you gotta do.

“candy, you wanna go out tonight? jay and sunghoon wanted to hang out but i don't wanna leave you so i said i’d bring you along,” jake asks, knocking at your door.

it takes you a little over a minute to open up but jake's does not mind it at all for obvious reasons, his jaw comically falling to the floor when you walk out in your tiny little blue sundress and the shade of lipgloss he was dying to see you in. you're unreal.

“yes! i heard you on call earlier,”

“oh my god candy, gimme a princess twirl,” the amount of desire he feels for you right now is unfathomable. biting his lips at the sight of your lace panties underneath that faintly flash him in the mini twirl you do. can you get any hotter?

“just fifteen minutes and i'll be ready,” he got ten minutes to do something about the boner he just popped, and it's more than enough to have him rub one out with what he just saw. maybe add a little hint of imagination and wondering what you'd sound like if he were to touch you down there. especially given the fact that the likelihood of it happening were through the roof now. you almost kissed last week, anything could happen at this point. and jake's dick gets impossibly sensitive at the odds of it.

at the restaurant, jay and sunghoon sit in an awkward silence, watching you both be all over each other. when they agreed for jake to bring his girl along, they didn't expect it to be so bad.

“um jake talks a lot about you,” sunghoon says trying to start a conversation that he knows probably wouldn't go anywhere.

“he does? that's so sweet,” you smile, giggling over something jake whispers in your ear, his hand palming over the plush of your exposed thighs,”what do you wanna eat?” sunghoon nerves feel boiled at the way jake completely skips over his attempt to talk to you. while jay sips at wine, agonizingly slow knowing this is how it's gonna be from now on. their friend is a changed man.

“i have this picture of jake from middle school, you'd love to see it i promise,” a little tipsy, sunghoon's persistence to put himself in the equation albeit admirable, annoys the fuck out of jake, scowling at the other well of aware of the so called picture he wants to share.

“jay man, take care of him. candy and i are going home,” jake gives them a tight lipped smile, holding your rather drunk self (it's just wine you had said)

“see you later ca- y/n,” at first jay leans in for a friendly hug but— nevermind. the way jake stares at him is scarily weird.

jake makes sure to have you sit on the couch before he leaves to get you water but you're sprawled out on the floor when he comes back. mumbling something about how cool the tiles feel against your skin,”come on you should drink some water,” jake pulls you up on your ass, sitting cross legged on the floor beside you. his hand softly holds the back of your head as he brings the glass to your mouth.

“alright say, what did you wanna say?”

“i wanna kiss you,” if jake thinks the pout on your lips is the cutest thing ever then the words you say must have to be the hottest thing ever. how can a simple word like kiss make his heart flutter so bad? and it's not even lust at this point.

he fulfils your wish without a thought, leaning in to capture your lips in a gentle kiss. sucking on your bottom lip a second long before he pulls away and boops your nose. no tongue and no other intentions. the after taste of your gloss lingering in his mouth.

“let me tell you a secret,” you whisper out, moving over to his lap, knees on the floor each side.

“i knew you stole my kuromi panties,” he's shocked you know about it, he made sure to be extra careful with it, though his nasty ass was internally hoping you'd catch him.

“mhm, i do have it with me but it's not really wearable now,” he did not see this becoming something sexual but the moment you brought up the panties, you might as well have brought up his dick. man practically re-lived every single time he used it to jerk off, all those orgasms coming to life at once.

“you need to punished!” you whine,

“what do you wanna do?” and jake feels his dick get harder at that.

“can we kiss again?” oh my god, you make him feel so fuzzy and horny at the same time, it's unbelievable. in the guide of jake sim: to make him horny is relatively easy, to get him all fuzzy is once in a lifetime and to get him both at the same time is impossible. yet you do it so effortlessly.

jake answers you with his lips against yours again, relishing in the feeling of them on his own. all those times he wondered of how it'd feel like to kiss you seemed so lame now that he actually did. no imagination could ever come close to way he feels right now. his hand comes up to cup the side of your neck, his grip firm as he pulls away for a moment,”i wanna love you so much and take you on cute little dates and buy you all the food you want and fuck you so hard you only remember my name,”he mumbles against your lips in a bit whisper, letting you take a breath before he dives right back in. this time he lets his tongue slide in, rubbing against your own for a short while only to pull back and go for another trying to keep your lips pressed together for as long as he could. finally pulling away when he feels you push against him a little too roughly, a crawl of shudders all over his skin at the roll of your hips against his bulge.

“wan’ you to fuck me too,” you whine, this time desperately.

“fuck candy, you're drunk we shouldn't be doing this,” he reminds, failing miserably to hold himself back. his hands keep twitching to just grab your hips and grind you down on his dick until you're both cumming together.

“i’m not, i swear. i just drank a little because i couldn't have done this all sober,” even through the layers of clothes, jake can feel your neediness dropping with the way you roll your hips harder against him. speeding up when you think he's pushing you away, but he's just grabbing you closer by the waist. he can't deny how wanted he feels right now, feeling like he'd explode any second. the fuck were you so horny for him?

“are you sure this is okay?” he asks again. no matter how bad he's dying to fuck you, he'll never do it if you don't to.

“‘s okay, please yunie,” you feel his hands slide along your thighs and in between your legs. fingers faintly brushing over the wet patch on your panties in a sharp inhale. he grazes two fingers against your clit, testing the waters. rubbing harder when he feels your breathing pick up it's pace, switching to spank your clit impossibly fast having lost control at the sound of your wanton whimpers.

“don’t move and take it baby,” jake growls, pushing you flush against his chest, making your back arch more and more into him. tits bouncing right up in his face as he bends down to nibble as the exposed skin between them.

he stops for a moment only to push your panties to the side and touch you raw. rubbing rougher and so intense, your legs feel number from pleasure,”has anyone touched you like before?” his jaw clenches hard, eyes dark with want as they remain fixated at the sight of his hands on your pussy. fuck he finally knows what touching you feels like.

“ngh— no, fuck!” and it boosts jake's ego through the roof, he doesn't think he's ever felt as horny as he feels right now. the thought of being the first to touch you in your princess parts, the first you have seen you putty like this, the first to be the one to get you like this. fuck, fuck, fuck! he feels so turned on it's literally inhumane. precum oozing out his tip with every twitch of his dick.

“mm, gonna put my fingers in you,” you feel one of jake's fingers press into you, sliding inside easily with how dripping wet you are. the pornographic moan you let out when he slowly slips in another and curves up has his dick twitch so damn hard he thinks he just came untouched. you sound so cute yet so fucking hot, his mind is in a spiral of everything he wants to do to have you moan like that again and again until you're so drunk on pleasure, you only want him all the time.

“shit you're so tight and warm, can't imagine how good you'd feel around my cock,” his eyes keenly hooked on the way you raise your hips to meet the thrusts halfway,”y-yun, ‘s feels too g-good ah,”

“fuck you're so hot and so perfect for me,” his words travel straight to your core having you clench tight around his fingers and all of a sudden you find your oragasm hitting you as violently as jake continues to run you through it, fast and painfully pleasurable. enamoured and obsessed with the way your doe eyes struggle to stay open, mouth parting in a loud whine, back arching and hips shooting up. god you're a piece of art and jake doesn't think he's ever gonna want anyone other than you.

he immediately stands up with you in his arms, walking over to the kitchen counter and placing you gently on the cold marble. his fingers run through your hair in a soft caress, tucking in the messy strands behind your ears,”you sure you want this? we can stop here if you want. just say the word and i’ll stop,”

“wan’ yun to be my first,” you whimper wearily, jake feels his heart skip a couple of beats. your first, he wants to be your last too and you to be his last.

”gonna make you cum so much harder on my cock,” he places his hands on your thighs in a tight grip and forces them apart fervently. he so damn wants to eat you out but he also wants to feel you cum around his cock, it's a hard choice to make but his cock feels so angry and heavy slick from all the precum he shot out each time you whimpered or moaned or whined, if he'd wait to get his dick wet he'd probably actually come untouched from your sounds and reactions alone. and only god knows(jay too oops) how bad jake sim wants the first time he cums with you to be deep inside you. so much so that he might develop a kink of getting you knocked up (nope you're too young for that!)

he takes his pants off in a snap, practically ripping his boxers along with it, grabbing his rock hard dick, throbbing and red at the tip and trusting into his fist a couple of times. breathing heavy at the way you watch him with your lips between your teeth. he wonders how good it'd feel to watch you touch yourself while he does the same, cumming together with your eyes locked. but he probably doesn't have that kind of self control to just watch you touch yourself, when he can do it himself?

he taps his tip against your clit for a hot minute sliding it along your folds in a strained groan. you're so embarrassing wet, it's like jake could shove himself inside immediately and your you'd hardly feel pain for a while. however, holding back his desires, he pushes into you slowly, holding your body close and stroking your back soothingly,”let me know when i can move,” a tender kiss at your forehead, trying to make sure you know you have the say it in.

jake groans as you give him the go seconds later,”mhmmm candy⁠— baby,” moaning soft and lustful as he pulls out till the tip and thrusts all the way in. your insides feel so warm and gummy, walls clenching around him crazy tight. he thinks he'll lose his mind and end up cumming embarrassingly fast like a teen getting pussy for the first time. the way he feels the pleasure throb in his veins so intense all over his body, it's almost numbing.

your hands loop around his neck, fingers scratching at his back as he pounds into you rough, his pace hard and fast pushing all his body weight against you.

“don't think i can ever get enough of you,”

the sight of the thin straps of your dress slipped to the sides, tits almost spilling out of the front gets jake going, fueling him to grab at you anywhere and everywhere his hands can possibly go,”tell me im dreaming fuckkk— i've wanted you for so long, can't count the number of times i've jerked off to the thought of having you like this, so pretty and dumb under me,” all those evenings when you roamed around the unit in the shortest shorts and the smallest crops, driving him mad shit insane, having to sneak off into the bathroom multiple times. fisting his cock hard, groaning and biting back his moans as he got off to the thought of you, while you sat all unaware and innocent on the other side of the wall.

he stops abruptly, pulling out in a frenzy and turning you around on your heels and pushing you by the back of your neck to lay against the cool granite. one hand going down to grab at your thigh and hook it up on the counter, drooling at the way your pussy glistens from the angle. he shoves his dick back in without a warning, feeling your ass collide against him harsh yet fervid.

you both pant in rasps when his cock hits a sensitive spot inside you. he shifts to angle himself just right to repeatedly brush against that spot and you mewl out loud at that, so loud your neighbours probably know what you're up to.

“fuck i can't stand not seeing your cute face,” jake bends over to grab you by your throat, pulling you up and flush against him, head resting back at his shoulders as he forces to look at him, fingers gripping your jaw softly,”eyes on me, okay baby?” grunting from deep within his chest, a wild grin on his face as he watches you get lost in ecstasy,”i’ll get you addicted to my cock,” just like how addicted he already is with your pussy and everything about you.

his other hand reaches up to tug the front of your dress down, groping up one of your tits, a silk touch to see your reaction. loving the way it's so obvious how sensitive you are there. mouth parting open with you in sensuous gasps as he twists your nipple harshly, rubbing the tip with his thumb. your walls clench a little too hard and your back arches off as you push your hips back into him, the tell tale signs of you getting close,”my baby's gonna cum for me?”

holding your jaw to have your eyes trained on him, he unexpectedly inserts his thumb in your mouth pressing against your wet tongue, your red swollen lips too tempting to resist,“fuck yes, show me how pretty you cum,” you mumble out a series of incoherent words in hazy chant.

the hand on your breast slips down to your lower abdomen pressing rashly against his bulge, feeling faint movement of his cock deep inside you. fuck you're so small and delicate. his hold on you tightening as his calloused fingers find your neglected bud, rolling it in quick, tight circles. it's so painful yet you feel so good, tears wailing down your cheeks as your orgasm crashes hard, overwhelming and violent, thighs trembling and pussy clenching uncontrollably. jake's continues to rub your clit, helping you ride out your high. eyes fluttering shut, and swallowing thickly at the sensation of you creaking over his sensitive length, cock throbbing impossibly hard.

jake refuses to stop even after you have come down,”one more candy, i know you can do one more for me,” hips hammering into you at full force, and lips finding yours in ragged breaths. and it dawns on you what exactly you have gotten yourself into when you feel the two of his fingers protruding at your entrance, trying to push in beside his cock,“if you try to close your legs i'm gonna punish you,” he warns making you whine into his mouth.

in a flash he turns your body to face his, quickly shoving his cock and fingers back into you. his other hand spanking the skin of your ass and kneading it a soft caress after. he eyes hypnotized at the view of you taking him in, a white ring of your cum adorning the base of his cock. he spits at your clit, once again toying with the engorged bud, pinching and flicking,”“gonna make you cum until you pass out, fuck i really wanna do that⁠—” your hand darts out to grip at jake's wrist, feeling too overwhelmed with hypersensitivity. wanting to shy away but the pleasure’s so good you can't bring yourself to push him away.

“but it's your first time,” jake mumbles between hoarse grunts.

before you can even realize it yourself your third orgasm courses through you vehemently. body jerking and twitching, almost falling over if not for jake's hold. jets of cum gushing out as you moan loud.

feeling you spill down his cock, all warm and tight, his brutal rhythm falters,”fuck- ‘m gonna cum,” eyes locking with yours as he thrusts once, twice and then stills, burying himself deep, streams of cum shooting out. hot spurt after spurt, swollen cock twitching against your walls. goosebumps all over, his legs quiver from how hard he came.

he stays quiet and motionless for a while, his arms wrapped around your shaking body. breathing in the scent of your shampoo, trying to calm his pounding heart and cock.

“you good candy? i’m sorry, i think i went a little rough on you,” you nuzzle into him in quiet,’its okay’ as he strokes your head, leaving fluttering kisses over your face. picking you up by the thighs he brings you to your bed, laying you down and gently pulling out. groaning at the way all your mixed cum oozes out, pretty little hole clenching around nothing.

exhausted, you let your mind drift, feeling the drowsiness kick in while jake bends between your legs with a wet towel. whining wearily, when his lips wrap around your nub in a suck, the wet sensation of his tongue against your clit like a shot of electricity,”sorry, baby just had to do that once,” he knew he didn't just call you candy for nothing and he was right. grining sheepishly as he wipes the rest of the cum off, cleaning you all up.

“you're nasty,” you manage to whisper out.

“only for you,” the touch of his body is hot and comforting, arms around your waist cuddling closely(and half naked).

“let's shower together in the morning, wanna eat you out so-”

“jake!”

“what? it's the truth!”

the following around four in the afternoon before jake has to leave for his soccer practice, you approach him on the couch, as always re-watching an episode of vincenzo. you haven't talked much about labels, but it's known to everyone that you're sorta together. more like jake is taken by you. his friends weren't too surprised to know about you both, it was obvious jake had the hots for you and from the little hangout at the restaurant they figured it all worked out for him.

“incoming, pocky!” you sit beside him with a banana flavored pocky stick between your teeth, leaning in teasingly.

“oh you want me so bad,” he plays along inch closer and biting it off in a snap, lips barely brushing against yours.

pulling you onto his lap with your back pressed into his chest, he locks you in place, chuckling at the way you attempt to escape. his fingers twirling the ends of your hair as you surrender in seconds, switching to watching the show absent-mindedly,”my parents wanted to meet you,” he drops the bomb, tracing random letters on your skin to distract of the fact that he just mention a meeting with parents.

“as my roommate, actually,” quickly adding the important point, fingers poking at your cheeks like jello.

“so suddenly though?” you think back on all the things you have ever done to him, for them to want to see you. perhaps they think of you as a snobby girl who’s indulging their son’s already unpleasant habits.

“they’ve actually been wanting to meet you for the past three months, i was putting it off but now summer break is starting next week and i have no more excuses to give,” hugging you, he rests his head on the curve of your neck, breathing in the smell of watermelon that surrounds you after you had basically devoured a whole at lunch. “if you don’t want to then you don’t have to, i’ll talk to them,” he assures, not wanting you to feel obligated to agree, or force yourself despite being uncomfortable.

“no it’s okay, we can go meet them. how long will the drive be?” fumbling with his red knuckles, your mind wanders off to when he fingered you, growing hot and embarrassed all of a sudden. hardly listening in on his answers.

when jake leaves for his soccer practice, you find time to complete the trivial chores around the house. watering the plants with a pout, missing jake more than ever. you have completely different majors and you are not in any clubs either to stay after classes. the only time you spend together being the one at the apartment which is also cut down by his frequent practice sessions, sometimes in the morning during weekends and normally most evenings on weekdays. it makes you ponder on whether you should try out for any club, after all these years doing something else besides studying. but you have no idea what you should consider, having no knowledge on which clubs you could be eligible to join.

it takes you two whole weeks and a bunch of outfit checks to find yourself on your way to meet jake's parents. feeling almost weird and exhilarating at how his parents and his older brother welcome you. treating you so well even though they recognize you as nothing more than just his college apartment roommate who helps fix his laptop and tolerates the boy knowing the kind of womanizer he is. appearing more as a meeting with in-laws when you jake and you are not even official yet, more so they have no idea of what's going between you two.

they try their best to make you feel at home. during the lunch as jake had told them beforehand, his mother had a few sweet dishes prepared for you, coddling you just as jake does back at your unit. they talk to you about casual things including your likes and dislikes, what major you are in, whether jake treats you well, if you have any complaints regarding his behavior. it doesn’t feel as awkward as you as thought it would and you didn't have to put on any act as you prepared yourself to do.

in the beginning of your roommate journey, his accent, his voice was the first thing to attract you but slowly as you explored his personality you came to like him for more than just what attracted you to him. now you as you spend time with people closest to him, you understand where he got it all from. the sweet person he is, which you never expected a fuckboy to be, you didn’t even have an ounce of hope that he’ll acknowledge your presence in the apartment when you got to know about his playing around conduct. yet he turned out to be the sweetest boy you’ve ever come around in your life ( and the nastiest perhaps, )

when you are sitting alone with his brother, while jake is away downstairs to bring you something sugary to eat, his brother takes it as a chance to share his thoughts,“you know until i heard him call you candy a while ago, i was under the impression that 'candy’,” he quotes it specially with a movement of his fingers,“is supposedly a cheerleader fling of his after i saw the contact name showing up when he got a call the last time he was here,” giving you a sly look as he catches sight of jake approaching,“turns out it’s you, i never knew he is the type to give such sweet, unique petnames,”

before you leave in the evening, jake makes sure to let them know that you’re toegther, and that he’s not playing around this time. he’s willing to give effort into it and change his usual ways of living, to be better for himself and as well as for you.

on your way there you had thought of a lot things, had a lot of assumptions and expectations. even prepared yourself to hear things that’ll stick to you not so positively. but what stays in your mind now is completely unexpected and opposite of what you had internally composed yourself for. it’s all you can think of in the car and after you’re back in the comfort of your familiar apartment.

cheerleader, not a bad idea—

“oh my god candy, you're gonna be the death of me!” jake pulls you away, dragging you to the back of the bleachers, his cock already rock hard and throbbing with need.

“don't you like it? i thought cheerleaders dressed like this,” you pout at him, fiddling with the ends of the literally shortest skirt of your closet.

“i love it baby, but you can't just show up to practice like that, how am i gonna be able to concentrate when all i can think of is fucking you,” he groans scanning over your figure again and again, it's like you brought out a hidden desire he didn't even know he had. he'd win every game for you if you were to cheer by the stands like this, the adrenaline of getting to ruin your perfect outfit and your perfect makeup after, putting him on a winning streak.

“teach me to suck you off,” jake loses his mind when you get down on your knees, pushing your hair out of the way and looking up at him through your lashes, doe eyes driving him crazy.

“shit baby, i will,” oh he's so going to corrupt you.

#( 🍉 ) 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫!#enhypen smut #enhypen imagines #JAKE IS NASTY IN THIS ONE...#k-labels #enhypen jake smut #jake smut #enhypen fluff #enhypen oneshots #enhypen jake imagines #enhypen x you #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x y/n #enhypen drabbles #enhypen au #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours

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goldenroutledge · 4 months ago

Text

kiss you soon

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

word count: 1.7k

prompt: ❛ if you’re tired of kissing me, i’d better go. ❜

summary: three times where lando can’t get enough of you.

masterlist || be my valentine blurb event 💌

the first time.

“Just one more, darling.” Lando bats his eyelashes from where he sits in his makeup chair, with you lounging on a plush couch nearby. He’s filming an interview with Hilton today, so he got some touch ups from a makeup artist. His eyes glance at the door every so often to make sure she won’t be here to scold him for messing anything up. “Come on, please?”

You stand up, granting his wishes by kissing him gently. His fingertips brush your cheek as he deepens the kiss, clearly craving more than just a peck.

He smirks when he pulls away to look in the mirror, checking out the gloss on your lips that has transferred onto his. The crew on set will surely put two and two together. “Look at that baby, you made me pretty for TV.”

You giggle, pinching his cheek. “You need no help with that.”

Lando shrugs. “Maybe not. At least it will send a message, though.”

“You want all of your fans to know that you were making out with someone before the shoot?”

“Yes, it will put those nasty Norizz rumors to rest, and maybe the camera guy who’s been eyeing you since we got here will take a fucking hint.” Lando gives you his signature cheeky grin as his eyes roam your features lovingly. “Not that I can blame him.”

Heat creeps up your cheeks, and for that, you peck his lips one last time. “No more flattery, you’re on the job. That sweet talk won’t get you very far right now.”

“It’s gotten me far enough.” He muses cockily, laughing as you take a throw pillow from the couch and aim it for his head.

A few knocks sound on the door and the production assistant tells him that Max and the crew are waiting for him in the next room. Lando gets up, but not without blowing you a kiss through the air first.

You pretend to catch it, blowing one back to him. “Go get ‘em.”

“I’ll try!” Lando shouts, making his way to the nearby room where the interview is being filmed with his best friend.

Upon finally seeing Lando arrive on set, Max stands up from his own chair that reads ‘TALENT’ on the back of it. “It took you long enough! What was the hold up?”

Lando doesn’t respond verbally; the grin that spreads across his face is better at revealing what exactly he’s been up to this time. “Oh, right.” Max acknowledges, remembering that you’ve been with Lando in his dressing room all morning. “Does that explain why your lips are so shiny then? They didn’t do that to my lips.”

Lando laughs when he notices the candid moment between them is being captured by a camera, coincidentally being filmed by the same guy that he knows has the hots for you. “Apparently there’s a kissing scene in this. Y/n and I were just practicing.”

Max pretends to gag, shaking his head in faux disgust. “Alright then, I’m leaving.”

Lando turns to the camera man who looks almost stunned at the confession. So much for his PR training, it’s gone out the window by now. Months have gone by since he was last inside a Formula 1 paddock and it didn’t take long to wear off at all. “Make sure to keep that in the final cut, okay?”

–

the second time.

“You’re tense, honey.” Lando murmurs while his hands massage your shoulders as gently as they can.

“Tell me about it. I think I slept wrong.” You wince but lean into his touch, telling him to massage harder because it hurts so good.

“Or you’ve just been stressed out lately? Trying to be everything to everyone without taking care of yourself.” Lando suggests as if it’s obvious. There’s nothing he’s more attuned to than your well being, he’s always quick to notice anything that might be going on with you. It’s truly a blessing and a curse.

“Thank you, Dr. Norris, but I just have a lot on my plate right now. It’ll pass.”

“But I can’t just sit back and let you forget about yourself in the process.” Lando adds, planting a kiss to your exposed neck. “You deserve to relax, it just so happens that I can help with that.”

Your fingers run through his curls, letting your eyes flutter shut as he focuses more on leaving trails of kisses on your skin and less on massaging the tension from your muscles. “I think I need one of your yoga classes. Remember when we did yoga on the beach in Miami?”

“How could I forget? Stretching you out happens to be my favorite pastime.”

You gasp, smacking at his hand lightly. “Lando!”

“What? I meant stretching you out for yoga. Don’t tell me your mind went other places...”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“-ly funny. I know I am, baby. And I got your mind off things already, didn’t I?”

“That you did. Maybe you’re not such a bad doctor after all.” You sigh contentedly, turning around to pepper his lips with kisses. “And it pains me to say this, but I still have so much more work to do that I should be getting back to.”

“When was the last time you took a break?”

You smile against his lips, breaking away for a moment. “Doesn’t this count as a break?”

“No, it does not. I’m talking something that lasts longer than a few kisses before you go back to spending hours staring a hole through your laptop.” Lando trails his hands across your shoulders and down your back, never pulling away too far from you. “These knots won’t work themselves out. Just let me take care of you. Please?”

“Well since you asked so nicely…” Your hands travel from tangling in his hair to resting on his chest. “How about in 30 minutes from now?”

Lando groans, you can feel the vibrations against your lips. He finally pulls away, putting some distance between you two. “Fine. If you’re tired of kissing me, I’d better go.”

“No! I’m never tired.” You whine more urgently than you mean to, surely boosting his ego more than it needs to be boosted. To prove it, you kiss him once more.

It’s short-lived as he pulls back with a smug grin. “I can tell, darling.”

“You’re a tease. I won’t even be able to focus now, thanks to you.”

Lando makes his way towards the door, deciding to leave you to your work. The sooner you finish, the sooner you’ll kiss him again. “Good. When you’re done trying to focus, you know where to find me.”

–

the third time.

It’s a McLaren 1-2 for Lando and Oscar to kick off the season.

Everyone in papaya rushes to parc ferme, ready to greet the drivers in an aggressively eager embrace, you included. From the moment Lando stood on top of his car, waving a fist in the air, you were cheering at the top of your lungs.

Lando hops down from his car and rushes to where you’re standing behind the barriers, passing by his team before he gets to you. He engulfs you into his arms, and neither of you care about the sweat that he’s accumulated during the race.

“You did it!” You shriek, and the sound is surely picked up by the nearby camera capturing your interaction. “I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

“What did I tell you?” Lando muses, reminding you of the confidence he’s had all weekend about winning today. The quiet promise your boyfriend made that he’d win this race for you, and he did. But the people didn’t need to know that. It was just fine being a kept secret between the two of you.

Neither of you had made it a point to confirm your relationship publicly, wanting to keep your romance under wraps for as long as you could. You can’t risk anyone trying to pop your love bubble. It was only because of Lando’s insistence that you were in parc ferme with everyone to begin with.

Lando proudly embraces his team and Oscar follows suit. The two drivers congratulate each other and the crowd roars once again. Lando hears you better than anyone else, though maybe he’s just acutely aware of the sound of your voice. He smiles at you, helmet off this time, and stops in his tracks.

“You coming? What are you waiting for?” Oscar questions, realizing that Lando isn’t keeping up alongside him on their way to the cooldown room.

“Give me one second!”

Before his teammate can ask why he’s rushing back to you, Lando’s lips are on yours and he’s kissing you for the world to see, surprising you both. You always knew Lando could be impulsive, but this was different. It doesn’t take long for you to melt into his hold, smiling against his lips with pride and it sends the crowd into a frenzy.

The look you give him is one of astonishment, as if to say, ‘I can’t believe you just did that!’. If nothing else, it’ll give you something to talk about later. Lando walks away cooly, receiving a nudge in the ribs from Oscar as they walk away.

“Looks like you have more than just the win to celebrate, eh?”

Lando smirks, shrugging to play off his public display, or declaration, of love for you as if it was meant to happen. And in many ways, it was. “Something like that.”

There’s nothing quite like standing on the top step of the podium, it’s a feeling that Lando could get used to. As long as you’re here cheering him, he plans on it. The Australian sun shines onto the podium and the trophies sparkle from its golden rays. ‘God Save the King’ plays throughout the paddock, and Lando spots you front and center in the crowd.

He winks, blowing a kiss in your direction as you beam with joy. The questions will be endless as to who Lando was kissing below the podium, but he doesn’t care. When this is over, he’ll be able to kiss you with the world watching, like nobody’s watching at all. Lando can say confidently that is by far his biggest win of the day.

💌: comments & reblogs are always appreciated! feel free to request more from the be my valentine blurb event!

taglist: @marjorieswrld @n3versatisfied @freyathehuntress

(add yourself here!)

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honeyhotteoks · 18 days ago

Text

in bloom - part one (j.yh + j.wy); section two

summary: one night, you and your boyfriend and your best friend are watching a movie, only you didn’t realize this movie would have a sex scene this long. or that they would notice how uncomfortable it made you. when you finally confess to them why, they take their time guiding you through every life experience you’ve always felt too late for, one kiss at a time. part one; section one | part one; section two | part two masterlist

note: this was inspired by my 🪻 anon who sent a suggestion about a yunwoo fic centered on loss of virginity. what was supposed to be an ask reply became a full fic. see under the cut for more detailed notes and disclaimers. part two coming soon.

warnings: virginity, late bloomer reader (she’s 26), demisexual!reader, complex relationships to sex, sexuality, and pleasure. fluff, angst, and emotional hurt/comfort, frank conversations about sexual experiences and norms including body hair and preferences, references to disassociation during sex but in the past, brief mention/question about sexual trauma (there is none), bisexual!wooyoung, bicurious!yunho, nervous / inexperienced reader, shy reader, embarrassed reader, slow and i mean SLOW sexual acts, lots of consent, kissing galore, nipple play, body worship, masturbation (f), fingering, oral sex (f receiving), oral sex (m receiving), hand jobs, yunwoo teaching how to and reader learning for basically ever sex act….. lots of soft pet names y'all know me, an extremely earned 'good girl'

pairings: boyfriend!yunho x best friend!wooyoung x fem!reader

genre: smut and more smut

word count: 18.9k

note! this part was too long for tumblr! be sure you read section one first! linked here

You and Yunho both watch him carefully as he guides your hand down between your thighs, his eyes darting back up to yours every few moments to be sure he isn’t crossing a boundary.

“I think you should touch yourself,” Wooyoung prompts softly, pressing your hand lower so that it settles over your sex, “Yunho’s right, you should teach us what you like,”

You swallow nervously, “How do I teach you?”

“Just let us watch,” Wooyoung murmurs, “pretend we’re not here if it helps, just… show us what your body likes,”

The tension is so thick you feel like you could cut it, but somehow their idea seems right. It makes sense, and more than that, it feels safe.

You glance between them, wetting your lips and nodding, “Yeah, yeah, okay,”

Yunho sucks in a breath but stays still.

“Can we,” You adjust in the bed, “can you not touch me for this? Can you just watch?”

Wooyoung’s hand slips off your thigh, “Yeah, we can do that.”

You push away from Yunho and he slides back to give you some room, still lying by your side but this time just propped up on his hand and watching.

With a sigh you settle onto your back in the familiar position you’ve always touched yourself in, flat to the mattress, legs spread open, knees slightly bent as you angle your hips up.

“Alright,” You let out a nervous breath, “I guess… I’ll just, yeah, I’ll just do this,”

With familiar movements, you reach between your legs with your left hand and settle the pads of your fingers over your clit, warm and firm under your touch from arousal.

Their eyes are trained on you, and you swallow again, nervous.

“Baby,” Yunho says softly, “close your eyes.”

You let them flutter shut.

“It’s just you in bed,” He murmurs, “let your mind go to wherever it normally does. Just feel.”

It takes you a moment, awareness thrumming through you as you hear their slow breathing, every shift in the sheets, but you focus. You clear your mind.

Alone, relaxing in bed.

You think of the last thing that turned you on, the book you were reading that tugged at the tight coil inside you, the faceless male lead who’s romantic tenderness to the heroine got you feeling indescribably restless.

You sink into the mattress, you let it all fade.

With a breath, you start to touch. Slow circles of your fingers over your clit, dipping down to gather more wetness from your dripping core, your free hand sliding down over your body from rib to hip.

Warmth pools in your belly, and you let out a soft breath, head relaxing to the side as you keep your eyes closed.

You slide your hand up and over your abdomen again, brushing against your thighs, and the faceless figure in your mind starts to shift.

You feel the ghost of Yunho’s hand on your skin, of Wooyoung’s kiss.

Staggered images filter through, little flashes in your mind’s eye as you start to roll your fingers a little faster.

Yunho’s full lips, parted and pink.

Wooyoung’s eyes, shaggy hair falling across his forehead.

Your mouth makes a soft pop as your tongue unsticks from the roof of your mouth, a gentle sound on your lips, and more floods through your mind.

Long fingers, veined forearms, taut abdomens, the straight cut of Wooyoung’s collarbones and the broad set of Yunho’s shoulders. Arms around you, warmth enveloping you, hands searching your body with soft curiosity, lips on your skin.

You make a tight sound, adjusting your hand, your legs straining a little wider.

Your mind tumbles over the thought of them.

Wooyoung’s smile, Yunho’s laugh. Tanned skin, freckles, their light dusting of body hair. Soft pressure, gentleness, tenderness, whispered breath on your skin.

You suck in a sharp breath, back arching a little, and you slide your other hand down to find your entrance, pushing two fingers deep inside yourself.

The weight of the mattress shifts and you hear a thready inhale that’s not your own, but it doesn’t matter.

Your head starts to rock back, pressing into the mattress as hot pleasure swirls in your gut, and your fingers find the pace that always makes you come. Fast, steady circles on your clit and a matched rhythm for the two fingers that pulse in and out. Your thighs spread wider, knees drawn up, hips rolling down to chase the feeling.

“Ah,” You stammer out, “ah,”

Eyes pressed tightly together, chasing the feeling.

Images continue to flash in your mind, a mix of sensations.

You’re chasing hard now, desperate, but you can’t reach it.

Jerking into the mattress you keep working your clit, but your other hand flies up to your breast, squeezing hard, tweaking your nipple with a tug and then a steady flick, but it’s not enough.

You need it all, suddenly, sharply, and you’ve never needed that before in your life.

A pained whine pulls from your lips, frustration laced in the tone, and your heel slips against the mattress, pushing the blankets down further in the bed.

You need more.

With a desperate sound, you reach out to the side where you know Yunho is, searching for his hand.

He takes it, silently, giving you a squeeze to tell you he’s here, he’s got you, but that’s not what you need.

Eyes still closed, you drag his hand forward with a sharp tug, drawing it to your breast.

His fingers close over your soft flesh, his body shifting closer, and he gives you a tentative squeeze to mimic the sensation of your own hand.

“Yes,” You shudder, “fuck,”

He doesn’t speak, but you hear his breath change, and feel his fingers roll over your painfully hardened nipple.

With a staggered breath you reach down, but instead of touching yourself, you leave your hand open, “W-Woo,” you’re begging, “please,”

“Fuck,” You hear his soft curse, his hand sliding into yours.

You direct it down, pushing it where you need it.

His fingers are thick, thicker than yours to be sure, and when he sinks two inside you the stretch is sinful.

You moan properly this time.

In tandem, they work your body while you rub your clit, your free hand flying up to grip the pillows above your head, your face pressing into the soft skin of your own bicep as you pant.

“God,” You manage, something hot curling in your gut.

Yunho makes a tight sound next to you, his fingers rolling and tugging at your nipples with precision, and Wooyoung curses again between your thighs, the sound of his fingers pulsing in and out of your dripping cunt a filthy wet mess.

It hits you without warning this time. Normally you work yourself up to a quiet, rolling pleasure that leaves you feeling comfortably satisfied, but this orgasm is sudden and intense. A crackle of heat sparks from your clit to your nipples, zinging through every part of you, and it’s like a pressure valve releasing.

Your legs snap shut around your hand and Wooyoung’s, body wrenching up in arched ecstasy, and you cry out against your own skin, body shuddering in fits and starts.

It takes a second for your body to come back online, but you feel it when Wooyoung’s fingers slowly slip out of you, and when Yunho’s hands change from stimulating to soothing.

Still trembling, chest rapidly rising and falling with your shallow breathing, your body finally slackens and your eyes start to open.

They’re quiet, afraid of unsettling the moment, and then the realization hits you.

No one in the world has ever watched you come before, no one’s ever seen you fall apart, but what’s more is that no one has ever been a part of the reason you did before. It’s more intimate than being naked, and more meaningful than any lost virginity.

Emotion builds up in your chest, throat thick with it, and you take an unsteady inhale.

Yunho’s hand on your chest stills.

You reach for him, pulling his arm, “Please,”

He’s unsure, you can feel that in the way he wraps his arms around you, but then you grab onto his shirt like a lifeline and his hand cups the back of your head protectively, tenderly. Wooyoung slides up to your other side, his hand ginger on your bare hip as he watches you recover.

“Are you here?” Yunho asks, his voice a whisper.

You nod, steadying your breathing.

He lets out a shuddering breath, and Wooyoung’s hand tightens on your waist.

“Are you okay?” Wooyoung finally asks, nervous energy in his tone.

You nod again, getting the emotional tidal wave under control, “Just hold me,” you manage, “please,”

“Right here,” Yunho’s hand brushes over your hair, “Woo,”

There’s a shift behind you, and then his body joins you, the three of you pressed tightly together.

Yunho rocks you slowly, lips against your forehead as he murmurs. Your best friend rubs soft circles into your skin, kissing your shoulder slowly, chastely.

You don’t need either of them to say it, you know with perfect clarity that they love you.

Time stretches with them tucked around your bare body, and eventually, your breathing slows and your sudden rush of emotion fades into the background.

You shift back, looking up at Yunho and to the side where Wooyoung leans over, “Hey,” you manage.

“Hey,” Yunho’s fingers brush over your cheek.

“You okay, babe?” Wooyoung asks gently.

You nod, exhaling slowly, “That was a lot for me,”

Wooyoung looks nervous, his expression pinched with concern.

You reach for him, smoothing his worried brow, “It was a lot because it was new,” you explain softly, “I’ve never done that in front of anyone.”

He softens, “How was it?”

“Incredible,” You whisper, “I’ve never… it was so intense,”

Wooyoung nods, kissing your palm, “It looked intense,”

“I fantasized,” You confess with a small smile.

Yunho returns your smile, but there’s a question in his expression, “About?”

“You,” Your smile stretches into a grin, “both of you,”

“Is that new too?” Yunho’s eyes flick over your face.

“I’ve never done that either,” You confess softly, “I’ve never thought about a real person, not like I did,”

“But you thought about us?” Wooyoung asks, his voice hesitant.

“Yeah,” It feels like a victory, and maybe they don’t understand it fully, but they’re smiling with you, “I did,”

“Come here,” Yunho cups your face, pulling you up into a kiss, sighing against your lips as he tenderly holds you.

Sensation stirs in your body again, the thrill of it lighting up your stomach, and you grip his shoulder, “Mm,” you nod, deepening in the kiss, “yes,”

Yunho pulls away, his breath a little ragged, “Wait, wait,”

“W-what is it?” You breathe.

“Are you,” He breathes, shaking his head, “should we-,”

Wooyoung laughs gently, “Do you want more, is what he’s trying to ask”

Yunho blushes, pink darkening in his cheeks.

“Oh,” Wooyoung nudges him, helping break the tension, “you are down so bad for her,”

“Shut up,” Yunho rolls his eyes, but you watch as his ears darken too, a scarlet warmth that tells you everything you need to know.

You interrupt them though, finding their hands and drawing them closer, “Yes, yes I want more.”

Yunho’s head snaps up, “You do,”

“I just needed a minute,” You confess, “but I’m not ready to stop,”

“That’s my girl,” Wooyoung surges up, kissing you hard and fast, and then slides down the bed again.

“Woo, what are you,-”

His fingers slip between your knees, pressing them apart until you’re following his touch and falling open again, “Do you still want slow?”

You nod, your breath fully caught in your throat.

“Okay,” He drops to his stomach again between your spread thighs, kissing the tender skin there just once before looking up at you, “If you want me to stop, say anything. Push me, tug my hair, however you need to tell me, tell me. I’ll stop.”

“Okay,” You whisper.

“Yunho,” Wooyoung directs, “hold her for me, if she gets too quiet, let me know,”

“Got it,” Yunho smiles, blinking at the sudden interaction. You gather that he’s not used to being told what to do by anyone in the bedroom, but when it comes to your comfort, he just nods.

“I’m gonna lift you up a bit,” Wooyoung explains, sliding his hands under your splayed thighs, “just get comfortable, okay? Just like that,”

Your legs settle over his shoulders.

He kisses your cunt and your head falls back with a gasp.

Yunho watches your face, curling close to your body, but all he sees is pleasure.

Wooyoung’s mouth is slow and warm, his lips soft against your center, his tongue firm as he starts to trace your skin. Your hand shoots out instinctively to grab the sheets, to ground yourself, but you find Yunho’s palm instead and he laces your fingers together, giving you a squeeze.

You’re wet, still dripping from your first orgasm, but you can hear it when he inhales, the sound almost pornographic despite the tenderness of his touch.

A soft sound pulls from your lips, your hips jerking, and when Wooyoung groans into your heat, the vibrations roll through you.

He presses into you slowly, working you open with every deliberate stroke of his tongue. There’s nothing frantic in the way he moves, only focus. Your hips twitch, a gentle jerk you can’t fight and he hums low into your skin, a ripple spreading out beneath your navel.

Your breathing changes first, growing shallow, tight, your hand growing more solid in Yunho’s group as the feeling starts to build and crest.

Wooyoung’s tongue circles your clit in patient, repeating spirals, a mimic of the way you rubbed yourself and something inside you starts to gather. It’s not like your orgasm before, the way it snapped suddenly with urgent pressure, this pleasure is quieter, gentler. It builds around you like a rising warm bath, carrying you into its sensations with ease.

Your thighs twitch again, feet flexing against the sheets, and you sigh.

Yunho nuzzles your temple, “Let it happen, baby,” he murmurs, “don’t rush it,”

Wooyoung’s mouth lifts, looking up to check you, “I got you, I promise,”

You exhale shakily, wetting your lips and nodding, and as Wooyoung sinks back down your hips rise to meet his mouth. He shifts with you, one hand pressing up under your thigh to hold you closer to his eager mouth, his other hand reaching around and settling over your lower belly.

This pleasure is new, not because it’s wholly unfamiliar, but because for the first time you’re able to sink into the feeling of someone’s hands on your skin. Someone’s body working to please yours, and you want it, you want to live in it.

Wooyoung gently sucks at your clit, sighing a breath of warm air against your slick skin, and your body warms. A tingling shifting down your fingertips, curling in your toes. A breathy sound catches in your throat.

“Hmm,” Yunho kisses your hair, “you’re doing so well,”

You sigh, a pleasured sound, your fingers pressing into his hand, your head starting to dig back into the mattress.

You’re close now, so close it almost scares you. Pleasure starts to catch again, full and steady, and Wooyoung pushes down more firmly with his mouth, his tongue thrusting into you, lapping up you, flicking steadily against your aching bud.

It’s too much, it’s overwhelming, but in a way that’s starting to make you feel alive.

You gasp, back arching off the mattress, and your free hand flutters like it doesn’t have a place to land.

“There she is,” Yunho says, his voice quiet and warm.

Slow and deep, the rush of pleasure that hits you this time is an undulating wave rocking through every nerve in your body. You fall into it, open to it, trembling against Wooyoung’s mouth as you moan and twitch.

Your voice shifts, not a cry like last time. It’s a long, low release, a bloom.

Your chest rises and falls in shallow breaths as you come down, your body easing back into Yunho’s waiting arms. His hand strokes up and down your side, steady and warm, the lightest pressure of his fingertips along your skin.

Slowly, Wooyoung lifts his head, his lips parted and face flushed, chin slick with your arousal.

You sigh, eyes drifting to the ceiling, “That,” you manage, your voice a bit hoarse, “felt so good,”

Wooyoung breathes out a shaky laugh, resting his forehead on your thigh, grounding himself there like he needs this contact just as much as you do.

Your pulse is still fluttering under your skin, and when you look down at him, he’s watching you with such an unguarded affection it tugs at a deep, quiet longing long dormant in your chest.

Reaching out, you brush your fingers through his damp hair, and Wooyoung leans his cheek into your palm without hesitation, his own eyes softly closing as he feels your warmth.

He cups your hand against his face, turning to kiss your palm, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” You promise him, “I really am,”

Wooyoung kisses your thigh once more, and then slides up your body to rest beside you, face level with yours. You smile as he shifts into your space, and you realize you’ve always been safe with him, comfortable with the way his skin feels on yours, his touch, always so freely given without expectation of anything in return.

It’s only natural you ended up here.

Wooyoung’s voice brings you out of your thoughts, “I’ve never seen you like that,” He comments softly.

“Like what?”

“So relaxed,” He smiles a little, “free,”

You soften, your body tucked into Yunho’s behind you.

Wooyoung smiles, just a little, “I love you,” he says it so simply, “you already know I do, but, God, I do love you,”

Emotion swells behind your ribs again, “I love you too,”

Wooyoung’s eyes flick up over your shoulder, but whatever he finds in Yunho’s expression must soothe his anxiety because he smiles, and dips to your mouth. He kisses you this time with affection, you feel it in the slow pull of his mouth, the way his hand slides up your arm before cupping your cheek.

“You’re so beautiful,” He murmurs as he leans back.

A little laugh escapes you, “You keep saying that,”

“It’s true,” Wooyoung grins.

Yunho’s body curls closer around you, his hand resting on your bare hip, “He’s right,”

Turning your head to find his eyes, something in your chest tugs loose at the sight of him.

Utter affection, the closest thing you’ve ever seen to devotion, heavy in his soft eyes. When you reach for him, he comes willingly, responding to your movements with his own like a dance he knows the steps to by heart.

Your lips meet, a catch of breath in his throat as he holds you close.

This time, you kiss him, your fingers on the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer as your mouths part, tongues connecting between breaths.

“Jagi,” He sighs.

Your lips part so you can look up at him, “Yunho?”

“Yes?” His voice is quiet, looking at you like he can read your every thought.

“Thank you,” You whisper.

His brows lift, expression clearing, “For what?”

“For being patient with me,” Your eyes flick down so you can get the rest of the words out, “for waiting for me, not pushing me. I didn’t know how much I needed that,”

His warm lips connect to your forehead, “You’re worth waiting for,” he murmurs, fingers stroking up and down your spine, “sweetheart, you’re more precious to me than I ever knew someone could be,”

Your eyes close as you let his words sink in, breathing quietly together, and you nod just a little, hopeful that he understands that you mean it too.

He leans back to see you after a beat, “I just want you to feel good, and feel safe,”

“I did,” You assure him, “I still do, which is a miracle,”

Wooyoung kisses your shoulder and nods, “It just means it feels right, babe,”

For a moment, his lips linger at your shoulder while Yunho’s hand cups your waist, his thumb stroking a soothing line into your skin.

The room is quiet again, another breath to let you get your bearings in this new territory, to understand the shape of the intimacy building between you. Your eyes are closed as you breathe in and out, body languid after your back to back orgasms, and you let your mind drift.

After a moment though, your senses shift. Your mind is so attuned to touch, typically preoccupied with the ways that it makes you feel discomfort or on edge, so you’re good at spotting the hidden meanings in people’s hands.

Wooyoung’s arm wrapped around you isn’t relaxed, there’s a subtle tension in his position, and in the sound of his tight exhales, every few breaths one just a bit deeper and laden with something urgent.

Your attention shifts, and you notice the way Yunho’s fingertips aren’t brushing softly, not anymore, there’s a press to it, a restraint of something more.

You blink your eyes open, level with Yunho’s chest, but when you shift backwards, sliding your leg just right, your body slots together with Wooyoung’s and you feel an unmistakable hardness.

He sucks in a soft breath, arching a little to guide his hips away from yours, but no one moves, no one mentions it. You watch as his hand tightens on the mattress, just a little, but enough.

From your position here, you can’t see Yunho’s face, but you study his body language. There’s a faint strain in his jaw, a tense cord of muscle in his neck, his breathing shallow and carefully controlled. When you readjust in the bed, he readjusts too, something clearly aching under his skin.

Glancing down to his hips, you nearly lose your breath when you see that he’s hard too, impossible to conceal in those sweatpants, despite his best efforts and careful positioning.

They’re both hard, and if you’re guessing, they’ve been like this for a while.

Your chest flutters, something quickening in your chest.

They wanted you.

They want you, still.

Your mind flicks through all of it, every touch, every word. Every second since you crossed the threshold of this bedroom has been about you – your comfort, your peace, your pleasure. Never once did they try to turn your attention or coax you into something further or faster.

The contrast of that slices through you.

Every guy you tried with, every single one, picked you for what they could take from you, not what they could give.

The decision is made in your mind before you even verbalize it to yourself, and you find yourself reaching, your hand settling on Yunho’s abdomen, “Yunho?”

He twitches at your touch, you feel his muscles quirk under your fingertips, but he answers you with his softest voice, “Yes?”

Your hand drifts a little lower, “You’re hard,”

His hips turn, trying to conceal that fact, and he leans back to see your expression, “Sorry,” he clears his throat, a flash of embarrassment moving across his face, “yeah,”

“Don’t apologize,” You smile a little, hand sliding back up to a safer spot on his chest, “you’re fine,”

Wooyoung snorts a little breath of air, “I’m pretty sure I’ve been hard since you kissed me,” he admits with a crooked grin.

You nudge him with your elbow, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Yunho brushes his hand against your jaw, “Baby, this wasn’t about us,”

“Exactly,” Wooyoung nods, “we’re fine, we’re more than fine.”

You study his eyes a moment, and you know he’s being truthful. You know if you said this was over then this would end right here.

You move then, extricating yourself from their arms and sliding up in the bed, the sheet slipping off you until your skin is bared again to them in the soft light. Their eyes track your movements, unsure why you needed to make space, but they wait, they watch.

“You’re both hard,” You say it funny by mistake, like you’re trying to get your facts straight.

Yunho’s eyes flick to Wooyoung, then back to you, “Yes,”

“You both want me?”

“Yes,” Their voices blend together, answering you without hesitation.

“So then,” Your teeth catch on your lip, “let me try and make you feel good too,”

Wooyoung’s brows lift high in surprise and he shakes his head, “You don’t have to do anything for us,”

Yunho’s nodding, opening his mouth to say more, but you get there first.

“Stop,” You shake your head, “I’m okay, I feel good,”

His face softens, but you still see his hesitation.

“This is a part of sex too, isn’t it?” You look to Yunho, “I don’t know what I’m doing, but you said you’d teach me.”

Yunho’s eyes darken with something more, a tense pulse in his jaw, but he nods.

“So, teach me,” You breathe, a smile on your lips.

The silence hangs, none of you breathing, and you look back and forth between them.

“Jesus,” Wooyoung finally cuts the tension, running a hand over his face, “you’re perfect,”

Yunho shifts in the bed, sitting up to meet your eyes, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” You nod, “I want to try,”

“Try what exactly?” Yunho’s hand against the bedding flexes, trying to keep his obvious need under control.

“Um,” You feel the heat rise again in your cheeks, and then you look too Wooyoung, “your mouth felt… would my mouth feel that good for you?”

Wooyoung groans, falling into the mattress face first, but he nods, “You’re going to kill me,”

“So, that’s a yes?” You grin.

“That’s a big fucking yes,” Wooyoung exhales, pushing himself up to a seat with you both, “if you’re comfortable, we can do that.”

“I want to do that,” You say, and you mean it.

Yunho takes a deep breath and then shifts off the bed, “Alright,” he swallows tightly, and as he stands you see the impressive tent in his sweatpants, “jagi, is it alright if we get undressed?”

“Yes,” You nod, a little too eager and he smiles at you, amused.

Wooyoung slides off the bed too, and you watch as they start to peel off layers.

Yunho starts to talk, but your eyes are locked on the way that his body looks when he shucks off his shirt, the way his fingers move when he pulls at the tie of his sweats. His lean, corded muscle tensing and relaxing as he moves.

“If you start to get uncomfortable,” Yunho says, and your eyes fly up to his, “tell us, I don’t care what we’re doing or what we’re saying to you,”

Wooyoung nods emphatically.

“I don’t care if Woo says he’ll die if you stop,” Yunho says, and it’s funny, but his voice is firm and clear, “if you need to stop, we fucking stop.”

“I got it,” You smile, “stop means stop.”

You take a breath, and realize they’re both almost stark naked in front of you. You take them in all at once, pupils dilating and head going fuzzy.

They’re both lean, the bodies of men who are endlessly active – running, biking, dancing, all movement and cardio and stamina, but every line of their muscles are well defined. Their cocks visibly strain against the cotton of their boxer briefs, and you feel a curl of heat in your belly just like before.

Wooyoung shoots a look at Yunho and rolls his eyes, “She’s okay,” he says as he reaches out a hand to you, “I’ll take very good care of your girl, Yunho-yah.” The teasing emphasis on Yunho’s name pulls a smile from your lips.

Yunho’s jaw tightens, but he exhales through his nose and nods, “I know,”

Taking Wooyoung’s hand, he pulls you forwards, “Come here, babe,”

You end up standing, and you let him guide you as he shifts your positions, sitting down onto the edge of the bed.

“Here?” You check, nodding, moving to get on your knees.

Yunho’s hand on your lower back stills you, and he reaches past both of you to grab one of the thick throw pillows, sliding it onto the floor between Wooyoung’s feet, “Don’t hurt your knees, baby,”

“Right,”

Slowly, you drop down, situating yourself with your hands on Wooyoung’s thighs.

It’s still for a moment, no one moving, but then Wooyoung drops back onto his elbows and lets his legs open wider, “Doing okay?”

“Mhm,” Your eyes are glued to his clothed cock.

Yunho’s hand brushes over the back of your head as he steps from one side of you and Wooyoung to the other, and then he crouches behind you at your side, one of his heavy, warm palms settling on your lower back.

“Okay,” You breathe.

Wooyoung’s eyes look hot, need unapologetic in his gaze, and as you reach for his waistband his hands tighten in the blankets under him.

“So,” You manage, hooking your fingers under his underwear, “I’ve never done this before, obviously,”

“Doing great so far,” Wooyoung exhales.

“This seems like a clear first step to sucking your cock, Woo,” The words roll off your tongue, an easy jab with your best friend.

Yunho laughs at your side, his lips pressing against your temple, “Quick study, baby,”

Wooyoung’s smiling too, but it fades into a completely new expression on his face when you pull his boxers down completely.

Your eyes flick over his cock immediately. He’s rock hard, cock flushed pink and leaking, a string of precum connected from the tip of his velvet head to his belly. It’s thick, that’s the first thing you think, and perfectly proportional for him.

“Jesus, fuck,” Wooyoung breathes, “you look so hot right now, babe,”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and he groans.

Yunho gives you a moment, and then his hand flexes on your back, “Start slow,” he urges you softly, “touch his thighs,”

You let your hands slide over his skin, over the dark loops of his thigh tattoo, strong quads rippled under your palms. He’s warm, soft, and his cock twitches the closer you get to his hips.

You catalogue that quietly.

“Just like that,” Yunho nods, “we like being teased too,”

Wooyoung swallows.

“It feels good?” You check with him, your nails gently brushing over his inner thighs, a mirror of how Yunho touched you earlier.

He sucks in a sharp breath, “Yeah,”

“You can press,” Yunho offers, “here,”

You look down, looking at the place he gestures to on his own thigh.

Your fingers travel there, on the tender skin of his inner thigh, close to the heavy weight of Wooyoung’s balls. You hear his breathing change, and when you press he groans.

“Kisses feel good there too,” Yunho murmurs, his voice low and tight as if you were touching him too, “anywhere close that’s not his cock,”

You nod, attentive, sliding closer to him between his splayed knees, and despite the curling nervousness in your gut you press a soft, featherlight kiss to his thigh.

“Ah,” Wooyoung hisses, hands tightening.

“There,” Yunho encourages, “that’s good,”

You kiss again, a little firmer this time, exploring him more, inching closer to his hips. With a flash of heat in your own chest, your tongue licks a slow stripe from the soft juncture of his groin back up to the straining tendon at the base of his cock.

Wooyoung sucks in a sharp breath and jerks, “Oh, fuck,” he pants, “what the fuck,”

“Bad?” You look up at him.

Yunho’s hand tightens on your back and Wooyoung shakes his head.

Wooyoung’s cock twitches by your cheek, and you smile, “This isn’t so hard,”

Wooyoung bites his lip, a laugh caught in his throat, “Yeah, well,” he says, “my cock is,”

You roll your eyes up at him.

“Baby,” Yunho shifts, positioned a little closer to your side, “do it again,”

You nod and repeat the hot line of your tongue.

“Good,” Yunho sounds breathy, and out of the corner of your eye you see his hand rest over his own cock, curling around the thick length through the fabric of his boxers, “same thing, but here,”

Yunho reaches around with his free hand and without touching Wooyoung’s cock, he draws a line from base to tip. His hand settles on Wooyoung’s thigh, and you hear Wooyoung groan.

You lean in, and with hesitant pressure, you lick a line up Wooyoung’s cock from base to tip just like he showed you.

Wooyoung pants, “You can, uh,” he gathers himself, “press more,”

Your eyes flick up at him, but you lean in to try again.

Wooyoung’s cock jerks away from the sensation though and you stop in the middle, a hesitant look in your eyes.

Yunho’s hand on your back gently slides up, cupping the back of your head with the most gentle pressure, and then uses his free hand to press flat to the front of Wooyoung’s cock, bracing it, “Again,” he encourages softly, “the pressure feels good, you’re not hurting him.”

This time, you press, really press, with the firm muscle of your tongue. The wall of Yunho’s hand gives Wooyoung’s cock room to shift away, and for the first time, you hear your best friend moan.

“Oh, Jesus,” Wooyoung sinks into the mattress, flat on his back now.

You repeat the motion, and again, and again.

“Focus here,” Yunho’s fingers curl around your best friend’s cock, softly brushing against the seam at the head of his cock, a heart shaped curve of velvety smooth skin.

You bring your tongue up, and focus your attention there. Kitten licks, heavy presses, doubling down on anything that makes Wooyoung pant, moan, grip the sheets.

“Still good?” Yunho’s fingers brush over your hair.

You almost forgot. For a very real moment, none of the fear existed, none of the nervousness.

“I’m great,” You smile, kissing the head of Wooyoung’s cock.

“Fuck, fuck,” Wooyoung’s hips jerk.

“Alright,” Yunho kisses your temple, “I think we can stop torturing him,”

“Please,” Wooyoung twitches, his body flushed pink with need.

“Come here,” Yunho presses between your shoulders to get you higher up on your knees, and then he stands, sitting on the edge of the bed next to Wooyoung so he can get a better vantage point.

“Baby,” Wooyoung makes a heady whine, and something low swoops in your belly, “please, if you’re good, if you, please, touch me,”

Yunho looks pleased, Wooyoung looks wrecked, and you’re pretty sure the rest of this is self explanatory.

Bracing yourself with one hand on his hip and the other at the base of his cock, you sink down over him, enveloping his cock in the wet heat of your mouth.

Wooyoung moans, deep from his chest as you sink down as far as you can go.

“Easy,” Yunho breathes, his hands gathering up your hair to move it out of your way, “easy, baby, you don’t have to take him all the way,”

You adjust, shifting focus to his cockhead.

“That’s right,” Yunho murmurs, and there’s an edge to his voice that makes your belly tighten.

This part feels instinctive, but you’re still a little fumbling. Getting the right amount of wetness, tightness to your mouth, you try to listen to his sounds as you pass your lips up and down.

“Ah, fuck,” Wooyoung jerks, a little, “use your tongue, press up with your – fuck, just like that,”

Your hand tightens on his thigh as you adjust.

You taste the salt on his skin, the start of his release on your tongue, but you don’t mind it. You think you’d drink him down just like this if he keeps talking to you this way.

“Suck me,” He begs, “just p-pull with your,”

You hum softly, and suck.

“I’m gonna come,” Wooyoung shakes, “I’m not gonna last,”

“Ease off,” Yunho instructs and you lift off.

“Fuck,” Wooyoung physically arches, his chest heaving, “what the f-fuck did you do that for?”

“Feels better if you wait for it,” Yunho explains, looking at you, “it’s the same for you. I’ll show you sometime,”

You don’t know what is shifting in the air between the three of you right now, but for the first time in your life the idea of a next time leaves you with the good kind of ache.

Wooyoung looks down at you both, pushing up on his elbows, “What are you?” Wooyoung says, a shocked smile on his face, “some kind of dom?”

Yunho grins, shaking his head, “No,” he keeps his eyes on Wooyoung, but he strokes the back of your head with his hand, “but she said teach her, I’m thorough,”

They’re flirting.

Something drops in your belly, and your lips part as you watch them.

“Edging is not lesson one material,” Wooyoung pants, “Jesus,”

Yunho shrugs, his hand smoothing over the back of your neck, “You don’t like that?”

“Not what I said,” Wooyoung chuckles, and then he sits up, “take those off,”

Yunho’s lips quirk into a half smile, his eyebrow raising just a tick.

You find your voice all of a sudden, “Take them off,”

Both of their heads snap to you.

“You heard her,” Wooyoung nods, taking in your expression, knowing exactly how much you want this from one look.

Yunho softens for one second, but you cut him off.

“Don’t ask me if I’m sure,” You tell him, hand sliding up his thigh, “I want this, let me want this.”

Yunho peels off his boxers without another word.

“Shit,” Wooyoung says as Yunho settles next to him.

His cock is so much bigger than you thought it would be. It’s the only way to say it, it’s big. Heavy, long and surprisingly straight.

Yunho clears his throat, “Yeah, well,”

You burst out a laugh, slapping a hand over your mouth.

“I wouldn’t recommend laughing the first time you see your boyfriend’s cock, babe,” Wooyoung just grins.

Yunho’s cheeks go pink.

“It’s just,” You shake your head, “I see what you mean about wanting to know I’ve never done this before,”

Yunho’s lips quirk, “Yeah,”

“Jesus,” You breathe, “we’re going back to slow when we get to the sex part,”

His hand slips into yours, “Of course we are,”

You give him a squeeze, silently letting him know you’re fine, and then look up to Wooyoung.

“Good?” He checks.

You nod.

“Alright,” Wooyoung trades a look between you and then reaches out, “edging is lesson one, my ass,”

You watch as Wooyoung’s hand closes around your boyfriend’s cock, and Yunho groans, his head falling back for a second as he lets himself feel it.

“Lesson one,” Wooyoung says, drawing his hand up and down over Yunho’s shaft, “is hand jobs,”

You shift closer on your knees.

“Yunho,” Wooyoung says, pressing a hand over his chest, “relax,”

He sinks back onto his forearms, eyes trained on Wooyoung.

“He explained teasing,” Wooyoung says, meeting your eyes, “same principles apply here,”

You slide your hand up Yunho’s thigh, sliding closer to him so you can find the spots he showed you.

“Yeah,” Yunho nods, swallowing tightly.

“Watch my hand,” Wooyoung says, “watch my wrist,”

Your eyes flick down from Yunho’s face and you watch with rapt attention. His hand bobs up and down, clear pressure around all sides, his wrist loose and rolling, making sure to connect over the head of Yunho’s cock with each stroke.

You nod.

“Not this,” Wooyoung shifts to a stiffer, less natural looking grip and drags his hand up and down twice.

Yunho hisses, “Alright,”

“Got it?” Wooyoung asks you, his hand lifting off.

“I think so,” You exhale, nerves bubbling inside you as you take Yunho’s heavy length in your hand.

Yunho jerks, his teeth tightening together, jawline tense, “Fuck, baby,”

“Tell me if I do it wrong,” You say to them both, “I want it to be good for you,”

Both of them groan.

With slow movements, you try to mimic Wooyoung’s strokes, keeping your hand tight and your wrist loose.

“Higher,” Wooyoung prompts softly and you comply, “yeah, good,”

You work him more, until he’s panting.

“Babe,” Wooyoung interrupts, “give me your hand,”

Yunho makes a tight sound when you lift your hand off him, but you follow instructions, offering Wooyoung your hand, palm up.

He spits in it, and you gasp, “Woo,”

“Trust me,” He nods, “watch,”

Yunho’s eyes are blown wide, and when you wrap your wet hand back around his cock, his hands turn into tight fists at his side.

“It’s good?” You look up at him.

All he can do is nod.

Wooyoung smiles, “Keep going, you can go a little faster,”

You work your hand, ignoring the start of an ache in your muscles.

When Yunho groans, you look up and watch as Wooyoung lays his hand across your boyfriends abs, “You have a really pretty cock, Yunho,”

“Fuck,” Yunho’s head falls back.

“And a pretty girlfriend,” He adds.

Yunho nods, “So pretty,”

Something stirs in you. You grip his cock a little tighter, working him faster.

“Christ, yes,” Yunho nods, his voice finally needy and breathy, “good girl,”

You suck in a sharp breath, lips parting at his words.

Wooyoung grins like the cat who got the cream, “You’ve got him, keep going,”

“Ah,” Yunho’s eyes roll, “mm,”

You watch as Wooyoung wraps a hand around his own cock and starts to pump it. With a little shake of his head, he silently tells you not to worry.

There’s a promise of next time in his eyes.

Whatever happens tonight, this isn’t the end, that you know for sure.

Yunho’s sharp groan brings you back.

“Want you to come,” You lean on his thigh, the words slipping out like you’ve said them a thousand times before.

Yunho moans, his eyes meeting yours, nodding.

“Please,” You manage.

Wooyoung curses softly next to you.

Yunho’s eyes widen hungrily when he sees the picture of you both, you perched on your knees between his thick thighs jerking him so perfectly, Wooyoung working himself over, too desperate to wait.

“I’m close,” Yunho’s chest starts to go dark red, sweat beading at his forehead, “please, don’t stop,”

“Not stopping,” You promise.

His hips jerk, like he wants to fuck himself into the tight ring of your hand, and Wooyoung’s hand presses him down.

Yunho groans, and then he shifts the energy, his hand wrapping around yours where you grip his cock, fingers slotting together around his length, “Yes, baby,”

You nod, both of your hands syncing in time until he takes over, desperate and needy, using your hand as a cocksleeve as he fucks himself hard and tight.

“Oh fuck,” Wooyoung groans.

“Yunho,” Your voice is close to a whine.

That undoes him.

His mouth drops, breath heavy, and he pumps himself hard until his cock erupts, hot ropes of pearl white cum shooting up onto his chest, covering your combined hands as he milks his pulsing cock.

Wooyoung groans, following him over the edge, his own release painting his abs.

It takes a moment, both of them shaking and recovering, but then Yunho reaches for you and wraps his hands around your arms, hauling you up onto his chest and kissing you breathless.

“You’re so fucking incredible,” He says between heady kisses, your bodies flush together, the mess of his release slick between you.

The bed shifts, Wooyoung falling onto his back next to you both, his hand giving your thigh a squeeze.

Gently, you slide off his chest to lie between them once again, warm bodies draped over soft, damp sheets.

Your breath is the only sound.

Yunho has your hand still wrapped in his, a grip that says he’s not letting go any time soon.

Your free hand settles in Wooyoung’s hair.

Yunho murmurs into the quiet, “Hey,” his voice low, careful, “you okay?”

You nod, a slow smile on your face, “Not okay,” you breathe, “I’m good.”

He gives your hand a squeeze.

“This is the best I’ve ever felt with anyone,” You confess.

Wooyoung kisses your arm, “You deserve that,” he says, “always.”

A warm ache settles inside you, sated, calm.

Yunho’s fingers brush along your skin, Wooyoung’s lips pepper kisses as the three of you stretch into the afterglow.

“Can we…,” You sigh, “can we just pause here for tonight?”

Wooyoung looks up at you, “Too much?”

“No,” You assure them, “but this was perfect, I want to have one perfect night,”

“Whenever you’re ready for more,” Yunho says, kissing your hair, “we’ll make sure it’s perfect too.”

“When you’re ready,” Wooyoung agrees, “whenever that happens.”

“Tomorrow,” You smile, “stay over, let’s keep going tomorrow,”

Yunho grins, “Tomorrow,” he nods.

“Hell yes, tomorrow,” Wooyoung kisses your arm.

“For now,” Yunho says, sitting up, “let’s get you cleaned up,”

Slipping from the bed, your body feels lighter. Your skin is still tingling, every nerve humming with awareness. Yunho guides you to the bathroom, Wooyoung padding softly behind you, and before you know it, you’re wrapped up in the steam of the shower with both of them.

Under the water, your eyes fall closed and you sink into the night, letting your forehead rest against the cool tiles.

They don’t push you, they don’t dig deeper. They give you a moment to breathe.

Yunho’s soft fingers work shampoo into your scalp while Wooyoung laters a loofah with your body wash. Their hands pass over you with equally tender care.

After, Yunho finds you soft clothes to wear and Wooyoung disappears into the kitchen to whip up something more substantial to eat.

You’ll talk later about what this means for your relationship, but for now the way Yunho looks at you tells you everything you need to know about where his head is.

On the couch, all three of you are wrapped up under the blankets just like a few hours ago.

This time though, their hands on you feel essential. Your head rests on Yunho’s chest, your legs stretch out over Wooyoung’s, one of their hands on each of your thighs.

Some game show plays on the television, but you’re focused on the steady, tender beat of Yunho’s heart under your cheek and the soothing stroke of Wooyoung’s hand along your skin.

You laugh, so soft, so content, “So…,” you murmur, “did we… did we just have sex? Did I dream that?”

Yunho smiles wide, his lips pressed to your hair, “Yeah,” he whispers, his voice warm and certain, “we did.”

“Wow,” You breathe.

“How do you feel?” Wooyoung nudges you.

Your hand tangles with his, “Here,” you tell them honestly, “whole.”

As the couch grows quiet again, you sink into them, into the knowledge that this wasn’t one time, one moment of impulse. It was the beginning of something new, of something honest.

Your skin on theirs, you’re right where you belong.

Ready to breathe it in again tomorrow.

#honeyhotteoks fics #honeyhotteoks updates #jeong yunho #yunho #ateez #jung wooyoung #wooyoung #yunho x reader #wooyoung x reader #yunho fic #yunho smut #wooyoung fic #wooyoung ff #yunwoo fic #yunwoo x reader #ateez fic #ateez series #ateez ff #ateez smut

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piastriprincess · 27 days ago

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under an april sky ⸻ oscar piastri x reader .

featuring oscar piastri , driver!reader , she fell first he fell harder , first kiss . word count 1.3k author’s note when the lovely @tsunodaradio requests extras i give them extras ! kae you are an angel and i’m endlessly grateful everytime i see your name in my dms or inbox <3 this scene was originally written as the last part of the birthday build - a - fic , but i liked the more ambiguous ending at the photoshoot . i was so sad to cut her originally so i’m glad i got to rework her a little and she’s finally seeing the light of day !! this can be read as a standalone but i recommend reading orange show speedway first for context . and because i can’t leave these two alone … another little blurb is in the works hopefully coming out this weekend heehee ! title is from apple pie , also by lizzy mcalpine !

You really shouldn’t be awake.

It’s just past midnight — the witching hour, your mother used to call it. The term makes the crisp desert air feel heavy with meaning and magic, even if it’s just another chilly April night in a city that’s not your own. The hotel pool is empty this late, steam rising off the water as the underwater lights cast rippling turquoise motifs over the concrete. You sit at the edge, slipping your bare legs into the balmy water, and trace absentminded patterns over the surface with your fingertips.

You have a race tomorrow. You have a curfew. You should be tucked soundly away in bed by now. But sleep has been elusive ever since the photoshoot, since Oscar’s words hung in the air between you like something fragile and precious you didn’t dare touch.

You didn’t even have to try, and it was hard not to look at you.

It’s hard to shut off your brain when the line runs through your mind approximately seven thousand times a day. Every time you manage to calm your restless thoughts enough to drift off, your dreams are still filled with blushing cheeks and phantom honey-brown eyes.

It’s been nearly six weeks since the sentence that turned your world on its axis, and things between you and Oscar have shifted in a way that you wouldn’t have believed if you weren’t living it. The crush you once thought was hopelessly one-sided suddenly has company. Where you once got polite smiles and friendly professionalism, now you get the kind of attention that makes you a little dizzy. He lingers by the Racing Bulls garage so much that your engineers have started jokingly speculating he’s trying to commit team espionage. Sometimes, you catch him looking for you in the crowds, like he’s not quite settled unless he knows where you are. Your text conversations have evolved from race talk to everything and anything else — late night debates about music, complaints about the paddock lunches, inside jokes that make your heart kick wildly in your chest.

Even with all the obvious affection, though, he hadn’t made a move. Not a real one. Sure, he’d let your knees knock together in driver’s briefings, brushed his hand over yours when he passed you things, smiled at you in that soft, boyish way of his. But there’d been no kiss, no confession. No moment you could point to as the stepping stone from almost to something more. It’s worse in a way, watching someone you’ve quietly pined over for months reciprocate at a careful distance, like he’s running the numbers in his head about whether or not it would ruin something to want you this much.

Still, you were trying very hard not to be greedy. Whatever you had with Oscar now was already more than you’d ever expected to get.

“Thought I might find you here,” someone says, and for a moment you think you’ve really gone off the deep end with the feelings and started hallucinating his voice in your head. But when you glance over your shoulder at the door, there’s Oscar in an oversized hoodie and shorts, hair damp and curling around his ears the way you like it best, eyes warm and familiar.

“How did you know?”

“You told me you like hotel pools,” he replies, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like it wasn’t something you mentioned offhandedly weeks ago when you first started texting, about how you used to sneak up with a book for peace and quiet while the boys you karted with drank warm beer and roughhoused in their hotel rooms. You never expected him to remember it. It makes something warm bloom in your chest. “Can I —”

“Stay,” you say a little too quickly. His eyes widen slightly, pleased, and you can feel your cheeks heat up under his gaze. “I-I mean, if you want,” you stammer. “You’re not bothering me.”

His smile is impossibly soft. “Okay.”

He sits next to you, feet in the water, close enough that you can smell the sweet scent of his deodorant. When his pinky brushes against yours, you don’t pull away, even when your heart beats so hard it feels like it’s chafing against your ribs. The silence between the two of you is comfortable, easy. The kind of quiet you could make a home in.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” you ask finally, watching the waves lap against the wall.

Oscar kicks at the water gently, sending ripples splashing over your legs. “Too wound up, I guess.”

“Big race tomorrow,” you say, swirling your foot in circles as you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “Chance for the championship lead.”

He sighs, ruffling a hand through his hair. And then his eyes dart unmistakably towards you, with an expression that looks almost longing. “That’s not what’s keeping me up.”

You try not to blush under his gaze, but it’s a losing battle. “Then what is?”

There’s silence, for a long moment. And then:

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Oscar says desperately, and his voice is so raw that it makes something in your chest twist and snap. “About this. About us. I mean, you hate the attention, and the media would have a field day, start dissecting every little interaction between us, and I don’t know how I could protect you from that. And there’s the team politics to consider. And what if I’m not good enough at striking the balance, what if I have to choose between being a good driver and being a good boyfriend —”

“Oscar —”

“— and I like you so much and I don’t want to do anything that would ruin it, and I keep thinking maybe it’s smarter to wait or keep things the way they are even if it kills me to pretend it doesn’t mean what it means to me, and —”

Enough is enough. You lean forward and press your lips to his.

The boldness shocks you, even as you do it. Apparently it surprises Oscar too, because he stills completely for a moment before he melts into the kiss, letting out a soft sigh against your mouth that has your pulse going haywire under your skin. His hand comes up to cradle your face, the other resting on your thigh like he’s trying to steady himself. It’s everything you imagined and nothing like it at all. No dream could have captured the way his lips move against yours, hesitant at first and then deeper, more certain, like he’s been waiting for it as long as you have.

When you finally pull away, he looks slightly dazed, cheeks pink even in the pale blue light. “Oh.”

You smile at him broad and sublimely happy, forehead pressed against his. “Oh?”

“I — That was —” Oscar blinks, hard, like he’s trying to reboot his brain. “Sorry — what was I saying?”

His eyes are wide, awed nearly, and he’s looking at you like you’re something incandescent. You giggle, the soft sound echoing off the tiles. “You were overthinking a little bit.”

He grins sheepishly at you, pink creeping up his neck as the last dregs of uncertainty in his eyes give way to something steady. “I’d say I’m sorry, but… kind of hard to be upset with the result,” he says, intertwining his fingers into yours.

You kind of forget how to form sentences at that. You’re sure you would blush or smile stupidly or say something terribly awkward, if he wasn’t leaning in to kiss you again, slow and sure like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of your mouth against his.

Much, much later, you sneak back to your room with Oscar’s sweatshirt draped around your shoulders and the taste of his smile still on your lips. You drift off easier than you have in months, sleep sound and untroubled.

There’s no need to dream anymore. Not when you have the real thing right in front of you.

#f1 #f1 x reader #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri fluff #f1 imagine #oscar piastri #f1 driver x reader #f1 driver x you #oscar piastri x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #❀ my work .

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cuntyji · 5 months ago

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THE FOOL’S GUIDE TO ROMANCE ౨ৎ GETO SUGURU X READER

synopsis: when a man loves a woman, he might bring her flowers or send a sweet text like 'i want you lol.' but if you’re suguru geto, you let a deck of tarot cards decide your destiny—and promptly shuffle your way into misery. hopelessly in love with you (and equally hopeless at expressing it), geto takes his shot which backfires spectacularly, leaving you heartbroken and him scrambling to fix it. now, armed with charm, determination, and way too many tarot cards, geto is ready to heal your heart. just watch your step—the floor’s basically a tarot card crime scene.

content warnings: female reader, suggestive content (alcohol consumption and mentions of weed), crack and romance, somewhat axed [happy] ending, college setting, geto is into tarot, strangers to lovers, he fell first she fell harder, frat parties and other college nonsense. other characters: choso, yuki, gojo, nanami, shiu, toji.

author's note: all my love to my darling @nkopurin who helped proofread this fic for me 💘💐 and to my lovely @norikuna and @baepsays, this is for you 🙂‍↕️ lovely themed dividers are courtesy of @thecutestgrotto <3

READ ON AO3

when a man loves a woman, he brings her flowers and confesses his love to her. or, if he’s born in the modern world, he might just text her something eloquent like, “hey, i want you lol.” but if you’re suguru geto, you let tarot cards take the wheel—literally.

allow one to explain.

see, geto isn’t exactly an atheist. he believes in higher powers, just unconventional ones. namely, the cheapest tarot deck he impulse-bought during a 2 a.m. existential crisis. initially, he thought it was all nonsense until he pulled a random card one day, and boom—it was the tower. later that week, his microwave exploded.

from then on, he never questioned the cards again.

fast-forward to now: geto has become a full-blown tarot enthusiast. not only does he offer readings for spare cash (because be so for real right now, enlightenment isn’t free), but he also uses the cards to make most of his decisions. thinking of switching shampoo brands? better pull a card. deciding between ramen or sushi for dinner? the hanged man says to wait and order nothing—oops, now he’s just hungry. naturally, he consults the cards for the big things too—like love. and this is where you come in.

he met you at the library. a rom-com-level meet-cute where you helped him pick up the stack of books he’d dropped because he was too busy arguing with a ten of swords card about whether his day was ruined or just mildly inconvenient. from that moment on, you became his muse, his star (literally, he pulled that card the next day and nearly fainted). but here’s the catch: geto doesn’t just pine over you in the normal way. no, no. every interaction with you has to be sanctioned by the cards first.

want to say hi? better shuffle the deck and see if the lovers comes up. want to ask you out? he needs at least the sun for good vibes and the two of cups for confirmation. unfortunately, his last reading told him to “embrace patience” because the hermit popped up—twice.

to his credit, geto is fully committed to this tarot lifestyle. he even gets creative with the interpretations. one time, the cards said he’d encounter a "pig," which he thought meant an actual pet pig was coming his way. turns out, it was just pork belly ramen. but let’s get back to you. every time he sees you, he tries to decipher what the cards are trying to tell him. are you his queen of cups, emotionally available and empathetic? or are you secretly the high priestess, hiding mysteries he’s yet to uncover? (spoiler: you’re just a normal person trying to borrow a book, but he doesn’t know that.)

but let’s take a moment to shift focus from our friendly neighborhood king of wands (that’s geto, by the way, for the tarot illiterate) and zero in on you. because, bless your heart, you’ve got no time for the mystical nonsense of divination.

it’s not that you hate tarot or people who swear by it. it’s just… it’s never worked for you. every time a flower-crown-wearing oracle pops up on your fyp, telling you to “like, comment, and share this reading so the universe will bless you with abundance and good fortune,” you do it. and guess what? the universe does not bless you. no windfall of cash, no twin flame reunion, and absolutely no lucky day on the horizon. instead, you’re stuck in a perpetual cycle of disappointment and thinking, am i cursed? or is this just capitalism?

so, when you bump into a guy muttering about the ten of swords in the college library, the sheer absurdity of the moment almost makes you laugh out loud. you help him pick up his books from the floor (because you’re not a monster), all while internally rolling your eyes. who even takes tarot this seriously? your brain whispers. but hey, it’s not like you’re ever going to see this weirdo again, right?

wrong.

enter the house party. directed by none other than the notorious gojo satoru, who probably pulled the fool for party planning and ran with it. naturally, the entire student body is there, including you, begrudgingly clutching a cup of what is probably alcohol but tastes like regret. you’re halfway through debating whether it’s worth sticking around when you spot him. yes, him. the library lad. and if you thought he was strange before, tonight he’s decked out in what can only be described as a “witchy” fit, complete with crystal necklaces and the kind of rings that scream don’t ask me about my birth chart unless you’re ready for a dissertation.

you’re just about to turn and flee when, of course, he spots you. he lights up like the sun card upright, and you can see the moment he decides to approach. fantastic. this is your life now. “hey,” he says, and you can tell he’s trying to act cool. “do you believe in fate?”

oh, for the love of—

“no,” you deadpan, taking a sip of your regret juice. “but i do believe in bad luck, which is what brought me here tonight.” he laughs, and to your horror, it’s kinda cute. “well, maybe that’s just the wheel of fortune turning. what goes down must come up.”

you raise an eyebrow. “is that tarot-speak for ‘this party sucks’?”

“more like, ‘the spirits sent me here for a reason,’” he replies, holding up a deck of tarot cards like they’re his personal VIP pass. you groan, wondering if this is punishment for every time you ignored those scammy fyp readings. the universe works in mysterious (and frankly annoying) ways.

first off, geto would like to dedicate this evening’s award for “biggest asshole” to his childhood friend and eternal tormentor, gojo satoru, who claimed this was a fancy dress party. yes, fancy dress. not a house party. and like an idiot, geto believed him. hence the ensemble: the crystal necklaces, the dramatic rings, the black turtleneck that screamed “mystical bachelor #1.” he looked like halloween and a witch convention had a messy breakup and he was the collateral damage. and the kicker? the tarot cards stuffed into his bag. because apparently, those were his ticket into this party. gojo had threatened—no, promised—that he’d bar geto from entering his own damn best friend’s party unless he showed up prepared to do discounted tarot readings. because nothing screams “good fortune” like drunken frat boys demanding to know their future while spilling beer on your king of pentacles.

but before geto can fully spiral into regret, he spots you. you, across the room, holding a red solo cup like it’s your last lifeline in a sea of chaos. suddenly, the LED strip lights above seem to beam down like the sun on its brightest spring day, and he’s pretty sure he hears birds chirping (which is actually just gojo’s bose speaker blasting some god-awful remix). in this moment, geto feels something he hasn’t felt in a while: hope.

then he opens his mouth.

“the spirits sent me here for a reason,” he blurts out, voice brimming with… what’s the opposite of confidence? panic? regret? whatever it is, it’s not working.

he sees your eyebrow twitch. not raise—twitch. your eyes dart everywhere but at him, and he feels the metaphorical ten of swords stab his pride, one blade at a time. internally, his brain is screaming: really? “the spirits”? you couldn’t think of anything cooler? oh my god, you’re a loser. loser, loser, loser.

before he can even try to recover from the self-inflicted verbal disaster, the karaoke mic crackles to life, and a familiar voice echoes through the room. “geto suguru, report to the center hall!” gojo’s voice booms, loud and obnoxious. “your clients are waiting, my guy!”

clients? oh no.

geto freezes. you glance at him, your expression hovering somewhere between pity and mild secondhand embarrassment. internally, he’s spiraling: clients!? oh great. perfect. now i get to embarrass myself in front of you and half the drunk population of campus.

“don’t keep us waiting, mr. magician!” gojo cackles, clearly delighted with himself. geto trudges toward the center of the room, tarot cards in hand, sending a silent prayer to the universe: dear spirits, if you’re real, strike gojo down with lightning. or at least make him choke on his stupid mic cord. please. but no lightning comes. only more LED lights and the weight of his own humiliation.

the music screeched to an abrupt halt, cutting off mid-beat to usher in what gojo dramatically called “the immersive experience.”

immersive, my ass, geto thought bitterly, sneaking a glare at his white-haired tormentor. to make matters worse, gojo was now skulking over by the speaker, queuing up redbone by childish gambino, apparently convinced it was the anthem for “spooky tarot vibes.” geto’s fingers itched to throw the nearest ashtray at gojo’s ridiculously smug face but, alas, violence would have to wait. he had a job to do, courtesy of said smug face.

as he settled at the glorified low-rise table-turned-“dias,” he noticed a mix of amused faces, skeptical stares, and outright curiosity from the crowd. and among them, there was you. hovering near the edge, arms crossed, your expression was a mix of intrigue and i’m too cool for this but let’s see what happens anyway. and because geto was both cursed and stupid, he immediately started overthinking: wait, why are you here? are you here to judge me? no, that’s dumb. maybe you’re into tarot. oh god, what if you’re into tarot? does that make us soulmates? focus, suguru.

“first victim—i mean guest, is… nanamiiinnn kenntoooo!” gojo’s voice boomed through the mic, dragging geto out of his internal spiral. and lo and behold, it was nanami himself.

nanami kento, aka mr. ‘i-wear-a-suit-to-class,’ the guy who looked like he’d walked straight out of a finance magazine and into a frat party by accident. the fact that nanami was even here was baffling, but rumor had it he helped budget this whole thing. (which explained the alcohol tasting suspiciously cheap, considering half the budget went into walnuts being served as snacks.) he approached the table like he was heading into a board meeting, eyes sharp, posture straighter than an arrow. the man looked ready to audit geto’s soul.

as nanami sat down for his reading, his usual stoic expression firmly in place, geto shuffled the deck with practiced ease. “to make this as accurate as possible,” geto began, trying to match nanami’s serious tone, “it’s best if you touch the deck briefly. it helps with energy transfer.”

nanami raised a skeptical eyebrow but reached out, his hand hovering over the cards for a moment before he placed two fingers lightly on the top of the deck. the touch was so precise and deliberate that it looked more like he was testing the temperature of a cup of tea than connecting with his fate. geto suppressed a grin. “wow, nanami, really channeling all that emotional investment.”

“i don’t make a habit of emotionally investing in cards,” nanami replied dryly, retracting his hand. “if this reading goes poorly, i’ll hold you accountable, not the deck.”

“well, if the spirits hear that,” geto quipped, starting to lay the cards out, “they’re going to make sure your future includes nothing but overripe bananas and missed train schedules.”

“you’re lucky i don’t believe in spirits,” nanami deadpanned, though his gaze flicked to the first card with the faintest hint of curiosity.

“alright,” geto said, forcing a grin as he shuffled his deck. “what can i do for you? career? love life? deep existential crisis?”

“career,” nanami replied crisply, sitting down on one of the pillows like it was a very uncomfortable chair.

“classic.” geto nodded, laying the deck out for nanami to cut. “alright, the cards are ready to speak. let’s see what the spirits have in store for you.” as he flipped the first card, geto’s brain scrambled to process the sight: three of pentacles. okay, teamwork, collaboration. he could work with this.

“looks like you’re about to enter a new partnership,” geto said, his voice smooth and confident. “something involving… hard work, shared goals… a passion project, maybe?” nanami raised an eyebrow, and for a moment, geto panicked. was this guy about to call him out as a fraud? but then, the second card came up: the empress. geto let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“ah, abundance,” he continued, leaning into his role. “this project? it’s going to bring a lot of growth. creativity, maybe even something related to… food?” he hesitated for a split second before committing. “yeah, i’m seeing something culinary. like a bakery or—”

“a bakery?” nanami interrupted, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly.

geto froze. oh no. did he just completely miss the mark?

“uh… yes, a bakery,” he repeated, trying to sound confident. “does that resonate?”

nanami stared at him for a moment, then nodded. slowly.

“i’ve just started working part-time at a french bakery near campus.”

the room exploded. people started laughing, cheering, and hollering like geto had just predicted the apocalypse. even you, standing at the edge of the crowd, cracked a smile. geto barely kept his jaw from dropping. internally, he was screaming: no fucking way. i pulled that out of my ass. oh my god. the spirits are real. nanami, ever composed, simply stood, nodded once in approval, and walked off like this was just another day in the life of kento “bakery boy” nanami.

as the crowd settled down, geto slumped in his seat, trying to recover. his mind raced: okay, that went better than expected. maybe i can survive this. maybe even impress you. wait, are you impressed? i need to see if you’re impressed. he glanced at you, and there it was—that little amused smile, like you couldn’t believe what you’d just witnessed. and for the first time all night, geto felt like maybe he wasn’t a total loser.

the next poor soul—or menace, really—was shiu kong. and shiu, being no better than any average man, sauntered up to the makeshift “dias” with a cigarette dangling from his lips and promptly dumped all the ash from it onto geto’s carefully shuffled deck. geto froze mid-shuffle, staring down at his now-defiled cards like they’d been personally insulted. internally, he was screaming: did you seriously just ashen my pentacles? oh my god, shiu, i hope the spirits tell you your house will get haunted.

“relax, geto,” shiu drawled, clearly enjoying himself. “it’s just a little ash. adds character.”

“yeah? well, let’s see what the spirits think about your ‘character,’” geto muttered, giving the cards a mournful dust-off before proceeding. the first card flipped: the devil. oh, the irony.

“so,” geto began, deadpan, “looks like you’ve got some… business ventures coming up. something a little… unconventional?” the crowd leaned in, murmuring in anticipation. shiu raised an eyebrow, amused but also intrigued.

geto flipped the second card: the seven of cups.

“choices,” he said, tapping the card for effect. “you’ve got a lot of options ahead of you. but, uh… not all of them are exactly moral. or legal.” the crowd erupted, half in laughter, half in knowing cheers. shiu smirked, leaning back like he was the main character in a crime drama. “huh,” he said, feigning innocence. “well, that’s interesting.”

but when geto flipped the third card—the ace of pentacles—the room lost it. “looks like this… uh, deal is going to be quite lucrative,” geto said, trying to keep a straight face.

the crowd howled, people slapping their knees and hollering like this was the best stand-up routine they’d ever seen. gojo, however, had to be physically restrained by nanami and two others as he lunged at shiu, shouting, “WHERE IS IT, SHIU? TELL ME WHERE THE GREEN GODDESS LIVES!”

shiu simply winked, flicked his cigarette butt into an ashtray (finally), and strolled off the dias like a kingpin leaving his empire.

next up was toji zenin, a man so laid-back and unbothered he might as well have been horizontal. he approached the table with all the grace of a lion stalking prey, cracking his neck as he dropped onto the pillow like he’d been asked to fight someone instead of getting his fortune read. “alright, zenin,” geto said, shuffling the cards. “what do you want to know? career? love life? existential dread?”

“future,” toji replied simply, his deep voice making it sound way cooler than it had any right to.

the first card: the lovers.

“interesting,” geto said, glancing up at toji. “looks like there’s a big relationship in your future. something life-changing.”

toji smirked. “yeah? tell me more.”

geto flipped the second card: the sun.

“oh wow,” geto muttered, mostly to himself. “this relationship is going to bring you a lot of joy. looks like… a family, maybe? marriage?”

the crowd oohed, leaning in closer.

and then came the third card: the tower.

“oh,” geto said, pausing. “uh, okay. so, there might be some… challenges along the way. upheaval. a few bumps in the road.”

toji just shrugged. “i’ll handle it.”

the crowd cheered, someone shouting, “family man!” as toji stood, looking oddly pleased with himself. geto sat back, shaking his head. spirits, give me strength.

just as the crowd began to settle, gojo, ever the dramatic shit-stirrer, snatched the mic again. “ladies and gentlemen, we’ve saved the best for last!” he boomed, pointing a very theatrical finger in your direction.

“YOU! come on down!”

the entire room turned to stare at you, and suddenly, you were the main character in your own personal nightmare. “uh, no thanks,” you called back, waving him off. but gojo was having none of it. “don’t be shy! the spirits are calling for you! geto, back me up here!” geto, caught off guard, looked at you and then back at gojo. “uh…” he started, scratching the back of his neck. you sighed, muttering a quiet curse under your breath as you made your way to the “dias,” your steps heavy with regret. this was going to be great.

as you made your way to the dias, geto felt his life flash before his eyes—not the whole thing, mind you, just the highlights: stumbling across the cheapest tarot deck at 2 a.m. during a sleep-deprived existential crisis, spiraling into a tarot obsession because he accidentally predicted his microwave exploding, and somehow ending up here, in this exact moment, facing you, the literal love of his life, thanks to gojo’s meddling. screw the power of friendship, he thought bitterly. his “friend” was the reason he was sitting cross-legged on a glorified coffee table, dressed like the head of a coven, with his dignity hanging by a single thread.

but then it hit him. wait… can i rig this reading?

the idea was tempting. he could just “interpret” the cards however he wanted. twist the results. make it seem like the spirits themselves were shipping the two of you.

except.

he winced, imagining the sheer karmic hell that would rain down upon him if he tried to scam the spirits. knowing his luck, they’d make him the next hanged man—literally. so, when you finally sat down across from him and asked, casually, for a love reading (a LOVE reading????), geto swallowed hard and prayed to every higher power he could think of that the cards would be merciful.

the first card flipped: the knight of cups.

okay, not bad.

“so,” geto began, trying to sound confident and not like he was screaming internally. “the knight of cups suggests a romantic figure in your life. someone… sensitive, charming, maybe a little dreamy. they could be coming towards you—or they’re already here.” he glanced up at you, hoping for some kind of reaction, but you were too busy looking over at…

wait a second.

you weren’t looking at him. you were looking at… choso.

his heart sank. oh, you have got to be kidding me.

to be fair, he sort of understood the confusion. both he and choso had long dark hair (his sleek and tied back, choso’s styled into two distinct buns that somehow worked), and they were both tall with a quiet, brooding vibe. but choso? really?

before he could process the betrayal, he flipped the second card: the star.

“ah,” he said, forcing himself to focus. “the star indicates hope and inspiration. this person might bring healing into your life. they’re someone who stands out, who you’re drawn to in a special way.” again, your gaze flicked to choso, who was sitting across the room with his arms crossed, looking like a goth prince brooding over an edgar allan poe poem.

dear spirits, are you messing with me on purpose?

and then came the third card: the two of cups.

geto’s hands nearly slipped. oh, come on.

“the two of cups,” he said, clearing his throat. “this is… uh… a card of partnership. mutual feelings. a connection that could grow into something deeper.”

your eyes lit up. “wow, that’s so accurate!”

his heart soared for half a second before you turned to your friend and whispered, not so quietly, “do you think he means choso?”

geto’s soul left his body.

what part of ‘sensitive and charming’ screams choso?! he wanted to yell. okay, sure, the guy had his moments, but choso’s idea of romantic charm was probably something like offering someone his last cup of ramen without saying a word. to make matters worse, choso, sensing the attention, looked up from where he was sitting. his head tilted slightly, a single brow raised in confusion, and—oh, god—he gave you a small nod.

no, no, no, don’t encourage this! geto thought, panicking.

“well,” he said, attempting to recover, “the cards are open to interpretation. sometimes they’re symbolic, pointing to qualities rather than an exact person…”

but you weren’t listening anymore, too busy whispering excitedly to your friend about how much sense this all made. meanwhile, geto sat there, defeated, mentally drafting a resignation letter to the spirits. dear divine forces, i quit. i can’t do this anymore. please find someone else to deal with my romantic disasters. sincerely, suguru geto.

the next morning felt like the world had been retextured to ultra-HD. the sun was shining like it got a promotion, the birds outside your window sounded like they’d formed a symphony orchestra, and even the butter on your toast tasted like it had been hand-churned by angels. why was everything so ridiculously perfect? simple: for once in your life, a tarot reading seemed to have gone your way. your love life, once a barren wasteland of missed connections and unrequited crushes, was now looking up—looking up directly at choso kamo, the brooding star of your medieval and renaissance literature class.

sure, you’d had what the kids these days call a “hallway crush” on choso for a while. the kind of harmless admiration where you’d see him across the hall, brooding next to a window like he was in a gothic novel, and think, huh, i wouldn’t mind being the mysterious backstory to his tragic antihero arc. but a relationship? oh no, that felt too bold. too ambitious.

and yet here you were, butter molecules dissolving on your tongue, entertaining the idea that maybe this could be something real. it’s fate, you thought, smiling to yourself. the cards said so. who am i to argue with the universe?

your mind briefly flickered to last night. specifically to geto, who had looked like someone had popped all four tires on his emotional vehicle. his expression after your reading had been a mix of “i just dropped my ice cream cone” and “my goldfish got flushed before i could say goodbye.”

but that wasn’t your problem, right? he probably just felt left out or jealous that your reading turned out so great. or maybe he was tired from all the readings he had to do. surely it had nothing to do with you personally, right?

…right?

right.

well, no matter. you couldn’t spend your morning thinking about someone you weren’t even going to see again. which is precisely when karma, fate, or the universe—take your pick—decided to slap you across the face with irony.

enter medieval and renaissance literature class.

you strolled into class, head high, already composing your imaginary meet-cute scenario with choso. maybe you’d bond over the syllabus. or he’d compliment your handwriting. or he’d drop a deeply intellectual comment about milton that you’d piggyback off of. but then you stopped dead in your tracks because sitting in your lecture hall, wearing the exact same hair tie he wore at last night’s party, was none other than suguru geto.

oh no.

you blinked a few times, hoping he was just a hallucination brought on by too much optimism at breakfast. but no, there he was, slumped into his seat, looking like a ghost of his usual self. his hair, usually neat and tucked behind his ear, was now lazily hanging in front of his face, and his eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion. he didn’t even bother pulling out his notebook—what was the point when he could barely stay conscious?

since when does he take this class?

you quickly scanned your mental archives. how did i not notice him all semester? was he new? was he a ghost? or worse—was he always here, and you were too busy daydreaming about choso to notice?

you slid into your seat, trying to shrink yourself into invisibility. maybe he wouldn’t see you. maybe he wouldn’t even recognize you. except, of course, the universe wasn’t done laughing at you.

“hey,” came his familiar voice.

you turned your head slowly, like a rusty robot, and there he was, smiling faintly at you like the human embodiment of the “this is fine” meme.

“fancy seeing you here,” he said, his tone a little too casual for someone who probably still wanted to jump out a window over last night.

“uh… yeah. small world,” you replied, giving a very forced, very awkward laugh. meanwhile, in your head: oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, why is he here, why is he smiling, why does he look like he knows something i don’t?

“enjoying the afterglow of your reading?” he asked, raising a tired eyebrow. “sure am,” you said quickly, pretending to scribble something in your notebook. anything to avoid prolonged eye contact. “good,” he said, leaning back.

“because i’ve been thinking about that reading a lot.”

you froze mid-scribble. “oh? really?” you asked, trying to sound casual. emphasis on trying. he sighed, rubbing his temple. “yeah. not your reading, though. all twelve of them. from the party. last night.” you blinked, caught off guard.

“...you did twelve readings?”

“yup.” he let his head fall onto his desk. “i think i aged five years in one night. and gojo was the worst. again.” you couldn’t help but snort at that, some of the awkwardness ebbing away. “what did he ask this time?”

geto turned his head just enough to side-eye you from the desk. “wanted the cards to tell him who’s going to steal his sunglasses next.” you pressed your lips together to suppress a laugh. “did they?”

“it’s nanami.”

that was enough to crack you, and you laughed, loud enough to earn a few curious glances from your classmates. geto’s lips twitched into a small, tired smile. you placed your pen down and tilted your head. “so, is this why you look like you got hit by a train today?”

he groaned, cracking open an energy drink from his bag. “it’s not just the readings. it’s this class, too. pop quiz vibes are strong in the air today.”

oh no. oh no no no.

the silence between you both started to feel heavier. your brain, helpful as ever, decided to go on overdrive again: what now? do i keep talking? does he think i’m weird? why haven’t i noticed him in class before? god i’m the worst—focus, focus, focus!

you glanced at him, and he glanced at you at the same time, which immediately triggered the universal law of awkward eye contact. you both darted your eyes away—him, to the blank notebook page in front of him; you, to the random doodle you’d been half-heartedly scribbling. “so,” he started, clearing his throat, his voice softer now, “what’s today’s lecture about?”

you stared at your notes like they might give you the answer, but all they offered was a series of lines that could maybe pass as a badly drawn cat. “uh… poetry analysis, i think?”

“right. poetry,” he said, nodding like he hadn’t just forgotten the subject of the class he was literally sitting in. he flipped open his notebook, which was suspiciously empty, save for a solitary doodle of a fat cat in the corner. the professor walked in then, saving you both from the growing, almost tangible awkwardness.

you turned forward, suddenly very interested in the lecture, clutching your pen like it was a lifeline. from the corner of your eye, you saw geto doing the same, pretending to focus, though his hand moved so slowly across the page that you were certain he wasn’t writing anything at all.

the silence stretched, and though you were no longer speaking, the air between you was thick with unspoken words and stolen glances. by the time the professor started droning on about rhyme schemes, you were convinced you could hear your own heartbeat echoing in your ears. and yet, there was something oddly comforting in the shared awkwardness. something almost warm. but you didn’t dare look at him again. not yet. not while your face still felt embarrassingly warm.

if the spirits were going to turn geto into the hanged man for tampering with the cards, maybe he should’ve gone ahead and done it. at least then he wouldn’t be sitting here feeling like the hanged man, every second of this medieval and renaissance literature class stretching on like a medieval torture session.

you were right next to him. close enough to tap on the shoulder, whisper a joke about the professor’s outdated slides, or just breathe the same air while he attempted to craft a coherent sentence to get your attention. but no—at this very moment, your eyes were glued to the door, scanning it like a hawk waiting for its prey.

or, in this case, waiting for choso.

oh, choso, with his eternal frown and hair that looked like he shampooed it in the tears of the damned. what was so special about him anyway? geto could brood too. hell, he could brood with tarot cards and deep existential questions about life.

as you continued to ignore him, geto ran through his increasingly desperate options:

act like a monkey and perform an interpretative dance of his love in front of you.

risk incurring the wrath of the spirits by doing some very questionable card tricks.

drop to his knees and just beg you to look at him.

...or—and this was a truly radical thought—he could just talk to you like a normal human being. with great effort, geto willed his hand to raise, aiming to gently tap your shoulder and finally say something. hey, what’s your favorite renaissance play? wanna talk about the tragic themes in marlowe’s works? wanna skip class and—

but before his hand could make contact, the door opened.

and in walked choso.

with yuki tsukumo.

geto’s hand froze mid-air, and his jaw dropped like a drawbridge at a medieval castle. he wasn’t the only one either—your reaction was just as dramatic, except yours was tinged with the sound of your heart shattering into tiny, pulverized shards. shards that were promptly scooped up, shoved into a blender, and liquefied by the sight before you.

because while you were looking at choso, choso was looking at yuki.

and geto? geto was looking at you.

this tragic little love triangle—or maybe square, if you factored in the spirits hovering over geto like disappointed parents—was the tragic renaissance play no one asked for but somehow everyone got.

as yuki giggled at something choso said (giggled??? choso kamo has a sense of humor?), you slumped back in your seat, the light in your eyes dimming faster than the candles in a poorly ventilated cathedral. meanwhile, geto stared at the side of your face, willing his brain to think of something, anything, to say that could somehow salvage this situation.

but all he could think was: what is love?

followed closely by: baby, don’t hurt me.

you wanted to die. not in the "clutching a vial of poison in a tragic shakespearean way" kind of die, but in the "husband went to battle and never came back" kind of die, except your so-called husband wasn’t even yours to begin with. you were in a one-sided relationship so intense it deserved its own jane austen adaptation, except instead of a romantic ending, it seemed like you’d just be crying into your embroidery hoop.

and honestly? you got it. you saw why choso was acting like that around yuki. the guy looked like he’d seen heaven for the first time, smiling at her like she’d just invented fire or something. for choso, whose default setting was somewhere between “terminally annoyed” and “what’s the point of existence,” this was monumental. so, like any reasonable, heartbroken woman, you didn’t turn to another potential suitor for comfort. no, no. you sought out something far more powerful. solace. clarity. divine intervention.

...in the form of tarot cards.

you turned to geto, sitting beside you in all his slightly disheveled glory, and the look in your eyes was nothing short of pleading. you didn’t need to say anything for him to understand. you wanted answers.

"do a reading for me. right now."

your voice was low, but it carried the weight of a thousand broken hearts and at least two adele songs. you probably sounded like a woman on the brink of asking to see the manager of the universe.

geto blinked at you, taken aback. he hadn’t even had a chance to process the spectacle unfolding before you two—choso cracking a smile at yuki, yuki leaning in closer—before you demanded spiritual insight like you were trying to summon the oracle of delphi.

"a reading?" he asked, cautiously, like you’d just asked him to perform surgery on a grape.

"yes, a reading. right now.” you punctuated your words with a look so intense it could’ve melted through the linoleum floors. "i need to know what the spirits have to say about my love life because clearly," you gestured dramatically towards choso and yuki, "i’ve been living in delusion."

you were not joking. in fact, you were about two seconds away from rummaging through geto’s bag yourself to pull out the cards.

geto, to his credit, did his best to keep a straight face, but internally he was screaming. this was not how he imagined getting your attention. where was the romantic small talk? the flirty banter? instead, he was being asked to summon metaphysical clarity in the middle of a lecture hall. “you realize we’re in class, right?” he asked, gesturing towards the professor, who was obliviously droning on about chaucer.

“what’s more important—canterbury tales or my rapidly deteriorating sense of self-worth?” you deadpanned, arms crossed.

he sighed, already regretting his life choices, but reached into his bag anyway. this was going to be a very, very long class. as he shuffled the cards, you leaned in closer, practically vibrating with desperation. geto thought for a second that maybe the spirits would smite him for doing this, but at least he could die knowing he was, in some absurd way, your chosen source of comfort.

the reading became, as irony would have it, your single biggest source of suffering. every time geto pulled out a card, it felt less like a reading for your love life and more like an unwelcome live commentary on choso and yuki’s blossoming connection.

“all right,” geto muttered, flipping over the first card, “three of pentacles. this suggests an opportunity to collaborate or share.”

you nodded eagerly, until your eyes betrayed you and drifted over to the sunlit corner where choso and yuki were seated. and oh, what was that? choso handing her his highlighter? a stabilo one, no less? lending stationery wasn’t just helpful; it was practically a love confession in academic circles.

your stomach dropped. “okay, that’s a fluke. what’s the next one?”

geto hesitated but drew the next card. “uh, ace of cups. could mean new opportunities for emotional connection. an offer, maybe.”

you turned back to look at choso just as yuki reached out and flicked a piece of lint off his sweater. his vintage, thrifted sweater.

your jaw tightened as your sharp eye for fashion immediately clocked every detail of the piece—the carefully worn texture, the faintly faded yet intentional color palette, the hand-stitched hem that was too perfect to be mass-produced. vintage. thrifted. possibly one-of-a-kind.

and there was yuki, just casually touching it like it was some department store clearance item. your fists clenched around your pen as you sat there, practically vibrating with indignation. next to you, geto raised a curious eyebrow. “you okay?” he whispered, leaning in slightly.

“i’m fine,” you replied through gritted teeth, though your gaze was still locked on yuki and the sweater. “it’s just…some people don’t understand the sanctity of vintage clothing.”

geto blinked at you, then at yuki and choso, his expression half-amused, half-confused. “right… the sanctity.” you ignored him, seething quietly as yuki smiled, entirely unaware of the silent judgment radiating in her direction. flicking lint off a thrifted piece? unforgivable.

“all right, one more card,” he said, trying to keep you from spiraling. “the sun. it’s a positive sign. it means there’s hope, clarity—happiness at the end of the road.” you weren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t to glance back at choso and yuki basking in literal daylight streaming through the classroom windows.

meanwhile, you and geto were shivering in the poorly heated corner of the room, shrouded in cold shadows, and probably misery.

"well," you muttered, shoving the cards away from you like they were personally responsible for ruining your day. "thanks for nothing, spirits."

“don’t blame the cards!” geto whispered, as if the spirits themselves were about to jump you in the hallway after class.

“oh, i will blame them. i’m blaming all of it—tarot, the universe, my horoscope. even you.” you jabbed a finger at geto. he raised his hands defensively. “me? i’m just the messenger!”

“yeah? well, tell your spirits to pick someone else next time,” you snapped. “preferably someone not already taken.”

you turned back to your notebook, seething quietly, while geto, to his credit, really did try to make it right. he wasn’t about to charge you for what was basically a tarot drive-by, especially not one that seemed to have single handedly ruined your faith in divination, fate, and possibly humanity. as class ended and you bolted for the door, he scrambled to follow, shoving his cards into his bag haphazardly as if they might somehow soften the mess he’d unknowingly made.

“hey, wait! i’m sorry!” he called out, weaving through the crowd of students like a man on a mission—or, more accurately, like a very apologetic cat chasing a laser pointer. you knew you should’ve stopped. you knew he wasn’t at fault—how could he be? he didn’t control the cards, and even if he did, it wasn’t like he made choso and yuki sit under a literal beam of sunshine together like a rom-com poster come to life. but pride is a tricky thing, and yours had dug its claws deep.

“it’s fine,” you muttered through gritted teeth, speeding up to create distance. but geto, persistent and well-meaning as ever, wasn’t giving up. “no, it’s not fine,” he said, keeping pace with you. “i didn’t mean for it to—look, it wasn’t about you. well, it kinda was, but not like—ugh, just let me explain!”

you stopped abruptly, and geto nearly tripped over his own feet to avoid crashing into you. your chest was tight, not from running, but from the mess of feelings swirling around: anger, hurt, and worst of all, embarrassment. you turned to him with a glare sharper than it had any right to be.

“i don’t need an explanation, okay? i get it. it was stupid of me to think it was about me in the first place,” you snapped, and the second the words left your mouth, you regretted them.

geto blinked, taken aback, and for a split second, you caught the way his expression shifted—like he’d been hit with a blow he hadn’t expected. his shoulders sagged slightly, his usual calm demeanor faltering. “that’s not what i meant at all,” he said softly, voice barely audible over the buzz of students passing by.

the pang in your chest deepened, but before you could give it more thought, you turned and hurried away, leaving him standing there in the hallway. you didn’t look back, even though something in you wanted to. pride won again, as it always seemed to. but as you walked off, the image of his expression stayed with you, burned into the back of your mind like a guilty little ghost you couldn’t shake.

later that evening, geto sat at his desk staring at his tarot cards like they were a cheat sheet for life that had suddenly decided to go blank. the spread in front of him was chaotic at best: the tower, the three of swords, the five of cups. if the cards were trying to scream “you fucked up,” they were doing a great job. he sighed, dragging a hand down his face as he considered reshuffling for the fifth time that hour.

but then it hit him—like a very literal sign from above. a chunk of plaster from his dorm ceiling detached and bounced right off his head, leaving him rubbing his scalp and glaring up at the offending crack. “perfect,” he muttered. “thanks, universe. really appreciate the symbolism.”

it was then, mid-reckoning with gravity, that geto realized something important: this was not how tarot worked. it wasn’t a tool for undoing mistakes or bending the will of fate. if higher forces played by human rules, they wouldn’t be higher forces; they’d be coworkers who ignore emails. so, he did what any reasonable person would do when their usual method of problem-solving failed—he decided to reach out to you. to check if you were okay. rejection, even one involving misplaced feelings and stabilo highlighters, was a bitter pill to swallow, and he wanted to make sure you weren’t stewing in it alone.

but then another realization hit him, thankfully not a physical one this time: he didn’t have your number. or your social media. or literally any way to contact you that didn’t involve smoke signals or breaking into your dorm like a lunatic. waiting until tomorrow felt wrong, so he did what any unhinged-but-earnest guy would do.

he opened his email.

geto scrolled through his inbox with the dedication of a scholar deciphering ancient texts. his literature professor had this habit of sending class-wide emails—updates, reminders, existential musings, you name it. surely, somewhere in that chaotic thread, your email address was lurking. “ah, here,” he whispered triumphantly when he found one, squinting at the long list of recipients. his finger hovered over your name as if clicking it would summon you like a genie.

now came the hard part: drafting an email that didn’t sound like a confession of a crime. he typed furiously, deleting sentences almost as fast as he wrote them.

Subject: just checking in hey, i hope this doesn’t come off as weird but i wanted to check if you’re okay after class today. i know things got kind of intense and i just wanted to make sure you’re doing all right. if you need someone to talk to or even rant at i’m here. seriously. sorry if this email is out of the blue but i couldn’t wait till tomorrow to say something. take care, s. geto

he stared at the draft like it might sprout fangs and bite him. “is this too much? not enough? why do i sound like an HR rep?” after a moment of panic and one deep breath, he hit send before he could overthink it further.

leaning back in his chair, he stared at the ceiling (or what was left of it) and muttered, “smooth, geto. real smooth.”

meanwhile, back in the academy award-worthy drama that was your life, you paced the length of your dorm room like the unhinged protagonist of a spy film—except instead of planning a heist, your master plan was not having an emotional breakdown. and frankly, it wasn’t going great.

why was this such a big deal anyway? choso wasn’t the love of your life. you didn’t have pictures of him taped to your wall like a deranged scrapbooker. sure, he had great bone structure and an aesthetic that could front a band no one’s ever heard of, but did he own your heart? no.

so why the hell was rejection stinging like you just got voted off a reality show? oh, right. because it wasn’t just choso. it was the whole concept.

the idea that maybe, just maybe, for once in your life, the stars or the cards or something might give you a break. but nope. no knight in shining armor, no grand declarations of love, just... lint-flicking and stabilo-sharing with someone who wasn’t you.

and, of course, because the universe has a sense of humor, guilt was there to crash the party, too. poor geto. you practically bit his head off in class, and for what? doing his job as the accidental harbinger of bad news? great job, you. what’s next—yelling at the weather? just as you were about to descend into yet another spiral, this time brought to you by regret and self-loathing, your phone pinged obnoxiously loud. you froze mid-pace. that sound? that horrible custom sound you set for college emails? you grabbed your phone like it was a live grenade and squinted at the screen.

from: [email protected] subject: just checking in

your mouth hung open as you stared at the preview. the email equivalent of puppy eyes. of course. because why let the guilt marinate quietly when it can now come with words? opening the email, you read through his message, and something in your chest twisted. he wasn’t even being dramatic. no passive-aggressive digs, no over-apologizing, just... concern. genuine, sweet concern. “ugh,” you muttered, flopping onto your bed as you thought about how to respond without sounding like you were unraveling emotionally. you began typing, deleting, retyping, then deleting again.

Subject: re: just checking in hi, thanks for reaching out. i’ve been better. today was a bit of a mess, but that’s not your fault. i shouldn’t have snapped at you earlier. it was unfair and i’m sorry for taking my frustration out on you. ig i just got caught up in the whole idea of things working out for once yk. and when it didn’t, it stung more than i expected. but seriously i appreciate you checking in. it means a lot. take care, [your name]

you hovered over the send button for a second before hitting it, then tossed your phone onto the bed like it had personally wronged you.

“great,” you muttered to yourself, staring at the ceiling. “now i just look emotionally unstable and like a bitch.” but deep down, there was a strange kind of relief. maybe, just maybe, you hadn’t completely burned the bridge with geto.

maybe life didn’t feel like dolphins and rainbows with symphony by zara larsson playing in the background, but at least you woke up without the overwhelming urge to set your entire life on fire. progress.

you had come to terms with the fact that you weren’t mad about choso being taken. honestly, good for him and yuki—they had the chemistry of two hot protagonists in a slow-burn drama anyway. and hey, you weren’t mad at yourself anymore either. growth, right? but of course, the universe always had one more plot twist up its sleeve.

you walked into the supervised study session later that day, fully expecting to slink into your seat, avoid eye contact with choso and yuki, and pretend you were a background character in your own life. instead, you were greeted with... a display. there, right in front of your usual spot, stood geto with what could only be described as a care package for someone emotionally devastated—or recovering from surgery. maybe both.

a soft, ridiculously fluffy blanket was folded neatly on your desk, next to a neck pillow that looked like it could cure insomnia. there were snacks—chips, cookies, even a little bag of trail mix because apparently, he cared about your protein intake. and drinks, plural, including tea, juice, and water, because hydration was key, obviously. oh, and let’s not forget the vitamin gummies.

vitamin. gummies.

“uh...” you managed, staring at the scene like it might morph into something less... earnest.

“good morning!” geto beamed at you, his expression the human equivalent of a golden retriever wagging its tail. “i, uh, thought you might need a little pick-me-up.”

you blinked. “a little? what, are you preparing me for the apocalypse?”

he laughed, a soft, sheepish sound as he scratched the back of his neck. “just thought it might help. you know, in case yesterday was still... lingering.”

you glanced at the pile of comfort on your desk, then back at geto, who looked so genuine it made your chest ache a little. sure, he could’ve just emailed back with a “glad you’re okay,” but no, he’d gone all in like he was running a wellness retreat. “this is... wow, geto,” you said, unsure whether to laugh or cry. “you really didn’t have to.”

“i know,” he said, his tone almost shy. “but i wanted to.”

and that’s when it hit you. as your eyes flickered to choso, who was scooting his chair closer to yuki with the subtlety of a rom-com lead, your gaze naturally found its way back to geto. the ridiculously awkward, long-haired boy in front of you, who apparently thought vitamin gummies were the solution to all of life’s problems, was now the one pulling at your focus.

ah, drat.

“well,” you said, sitting down and letting yourself sink into the cocoon of comfort he’d assembled, “you better not have used up your entire snack budget on me.”

“nah,” he said with a grin, pulling a pack of tarot cards out of his bag. “besides, i’m saving my budget for these bad boys.” you groaned, but it was accompanied by a smile. yeah, maybe life wasn’t all dolphins and rainbows, but it wasn’t so bad either.

respectfully speaking, geto was shit scared when he got in all that stuff for you. sure, in his mind it had seemed like a good idea—people liked snacks, right? and blankets were universally comforting. vitamin gummies? maybe a little overboard, but hey, health was wealth. but now, watching you actually use the stuff, munching on a strawberry-centered wafer like it was your job, he felt a wave of something dangerously close to relief. you didn’t think he was weird. or at least, not weird enough to ignore free snacks. small victories.

still, the nervous churn in his stomach hadn’t entirely gone away. because what was this, exactly? a gesture of kindness? a peace offering? a declaration of love wrapped in a fleece blanket and stuffed with gummy vitamins? he had no idea. but if this was what it took to see you look this relaxed around him, he’d happily bankrupt himself. and then, just as he was settling into the warm, fuzzy feeling of semi-success, you hit him with the question.

“so,” you said, pausing mid-bite of a wafer, “what got you into tarot in the first place?”

oh no. oh no no no.

he froze, a deer in the headlights of your curiosity. because what was he supposed to say? the truth—that he bought a deck at 2 a.m. because it was on sale and looked cool? that he’d learned most of it from random youtube videos and a couple of moderator banned reddit threads? or should he go full storyteller and spin a wild tale about a mysterious mentor who handed him a deck and told him his destiny was written in the cards? you tilted your head, waiting for an answer, and he realized he couldn’t bullshit this. you didn’t seem like the type to fall for theatrics, and even if you did, he couldn’t bring himself to lie to you.

“uh, okay, so, it’s not, like... that deep,” he began, scratching the back of his neck in the universal gesture of please don’t judge me. “basically, i was scrolling online one night, super late—like, 2 a.m. kinda late—and i saw this tarot deck on sale. it looked cool, so i bought it.”

you raised an eyebrow, and he scrambled to elaborate.

“and then i figured, y’know, i should probably learn how to use it, or else it’d just be, like, fancy cards lying around. so i watched some videos, read some guides... and, uh, here we are.” you stared at him for a moment, wafer halfway to your mouth.

“so, let me get this straight. you became the campus tarot guy because of a 2 a.m. impulse buy?”

“...pretty much, yeah.”

and then you laughed. not a polite chuckle or a restrained giggle, but a full-on laugh that made his chest feel like it was doing somersaults. “oh my god,” you said, shaking your head. “that’s so lame. like, impressively lame.” he grinned, the tension easing out of his shoulders. “yeah, well, lame seems to be working for me so far.” you smirked, popping the rest of the wafer into your mouth. “fair point.” and just like that, the awkwardness melted away. geto might not have had a mind-blowing origin story, but seeing you smile like that? yeah, he didn’t need one.

as time went on, you didn’t even notice how seamlessly geto had woven himself into your life. it wasn’t a dramatic shift—no grand confessions or pivotal moments—but more like the slow, steady filling of spaces you hadn’t realized were empty.

it started with sitting together in every class. at first, it was coincidence—his seat just happened to be free. but then it became routine. he’d drape his bag over the back of the chair next to him, a silent reservation just for you, and you’d slide into it without a second thought.

then came the library sessions. you told yourself it was practical; after all, two heads were better than one when it came to deciphering medieval metaphors. but somewhere along the way, practicality blurred into something else. the quiet companionship of those shared hours, the way you’d nudge his shoulder when he started to doze off, the small, secret smiles exchanged over the tops of textbooks—it all felt intimate. you thought about bringing it up, that the library was where you’d first met, but the idea felt too sentimental, too vulnerable. surely he didn’t remember that tiny detail.

little did you know, geto did remember. it was one of those memories he kept tucked away, revisiting it like a favorite line in a book.

of course, studying with geto came with its quirks. like the way he couldn’t resist pulling out his tarot deck every chance he got.

“do you really think the cards are gonna tell you if you’ll pass this exam?” you’d huff, grabbing the deck from his hands before he could shuffle it. “well, they’ve been right before,” he’d tease, leaning just a little too close as he reached for them.

“maybe if you spent half as much time studying as you do asking the cards, you wouldn’t need to worry about passing.”

he’d laugh, the kind of laugh that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” you’d swat his arm, and he’d pretend to be mortally wounded, clutching at the spot like you’d struck him with a sword. but secretly? that little bit of contact was enough to make his heart race. every single time.

and then there was the way you challenged him—gently, but firmly—to rely less on his cards.

“tarot’s supposed to guide you,” you’d say, flipping through his notes while he doodled idly in the margins. “not run your life.”

he didn’t argue, mostly because you were right. and slowly, he started to take your advice. he still used the cards, of course, but not for every little thing. he began to let the unpredictability of life happen, unfiltered by fate or forewarning. and you know what? it wasn’t all that bad. in fact, it was starting to grow on him—this strange, chaotic, beautiful mess of living. because somewhere in the middle of all the unpredictability was you, and that made it more than worth it.

you know that sinking feeling when you realize your phone is low-key betraying you? yeah, that’s the exact sensation creeping up your spine as you sit cross-legged on your dorm bed, thumb mindlessly scrolling through reels. your current mission: find the perfect meme or video to send to geto. because yes, somewhere between tarot readings and shared library snacks, you two finally exchanged instagram handles. a milestone, honestly. but of course, the universe has other plans.

as you scroll past a cat dancing to eurobeat, your screen flashes with a promoted ad: “astrotalk – find the answers to life here!”

right. because you were definitely talking about astrology out loud earlier. thank you, zuck. just as you’re about to swipe away, your phone does what it does best—it lags. your double tap, meant to like a reel, somehow registers as download app. the ding of success seals your fate.

“oh, for fuck’s sake,” you mutter, staring at the app’s cheerful icon now grinning at you from your home screen. you consider deleting it immediately but curiosity gets the better of you. besides, it’s not like anyone’s here to judge. so you open the app.

bright colors, cheesy taglines, and a cartoon moon with a winking face greet you. honestly, it’s a little cringe, but who cares? the app boasts a free love consultation for first-time users. after that? a steep $45 per reading. capitalism at its finest.

“might as well milk the freebie,” you mumble, tapping through the options.

it asks for your star sign first. easy. you enter it. then it asks for your potential match’s star sign. you blink.

why… why is geto’s sign the first one to pop into your head? you tell yourself it’s because his birthday came up recently, and you remember him casually mentioning he was an aquarius. totally not because you’ve been secretly keeping tabs.

you type it in and hit submit.

the screen takes a moment to load, suspense building as though the app is calculating the mysteries of the universe instead of running a basic algorithm. then, the results flash on the screen:

“YOU AND YOUR PARTNER ARE 90% COMPATIBLE! STRONG BOND POTENTIAL!”

“partner?” you scoff, a little too loudly for the empty room. “calm down, bro. we’re not even… ugh.” but you can’t help the heat creeping up your neck. because why does this feel so validating? like the app just confirmed something you weren’t ready to admit out loud. you toss your phone onto the bed, trying to ignore the way your heart flutters a little. “it’s just an app,” you mutter, flopping back onto your pillow. but as you stare at the ceiling, you can’t stop wondering. 90% compatible, huh? maybe the universe isn’t entirely out to get you.

the party was already in full swing by the time you and geto arrived, the unmistakable thrum of bass-heavy music vibrating through the walls and into your chest. the house, courtesy of everyone’s favorite socialite, gojo satoru, was packed wall to wall with students desperate to blow off steam after a particularly brutal exam season. the air was a heady mix of sweat, cheap booze, and cigarette smoke, oddly comforting in its chaos. fairy lights were strung haphazardly across the ceiling, casting a soft, golden glow over the sea of bodies swaying in time to the music.

as you stepped inside, your senses were immediately overwhelmed. the sticky heat of too many people crammed into one space hit you first, followed by the sharp tang of tequila and the smoky haze from a makeshift smoking area in the corner. the living room-turned-dancefloor was packed with a crowd that was equal parts gyrating and stumbling. “guess we’re really doing this,” you said, glancing at geto, who had already started scanning the room like he was bracing himself for impact.

his expression faltered for a moment before he shrugged. “it’s either this or another night of staring at my tarot cards, and they’re tired of me asking if i’ll pass my exams.” you laughed, shaking your head. “let’s get some drinks before this place gets even worse.”

before you could make it to the kitchen, a whirlwind of energy that could only be gojo grabbed geto by the arm. "hey, suguboo! come join the crew—nanami’s actually drinking tonight. it’s a miracle!" geto shot you a quick, apologetic look before being dragged off toward a cluster of familiar faces gathered near the makeshift DJ setup. you waved him off, muttering a quick "have fun" as you made your way toward the kitchen.

it was just as packed as the rest of the house, though marginally quieter. bottles of every cheap liquor imaginable lined the counters, accompanied by mismatched plastic cups and a suspiciously sticky floor. and that’s when you saw them—choso and yuki.

yuki’s bright smile was the first thing to catch your eye. she had that annoyingly magnetic energy, the kind that made it impossible to dislike her, even if she was spiking your drink to make it strong enough to knock out a small horse. “hey” she greeted, her voice cutting through the noise with ease. “you made it! here, have a drink—trust me, you need it after those exams.” you watched as she poured a generous amount of something clear and suspiciously strong into a cup, topping it off with a splash of what you hoped was juice.

choso stood next to her, his usual brooding aura softened just slightly by the festive atmosphere. he gave you a polite nod, but his attention was mostly on yuki as she handed you the drink. “uh, thanks,” you said, accepting the cup with a wary glance. it smelled potent, but the night was young, and if there was ever a time to throw caution to the wind, it was now.

as you took a sip—too strong, just as you’d expected—you couldn’t help but glance toward the living room, wondering how long it would take for geto to escape gojo’s clutches. something about the night felt charged, like the universe was waiting for something to happen. and for once, you weren’t entirely sure if you were ready for it.

you had barely processed yuki excusing herself to the ladies' room when half a cup of whatever unholy concoction she poured you started working its magic. stars were dancing in your vision, and your internal monologue was a mix of “am i drunk, or is this enlightenment?” and “what if i just lay down on this sticky floor and let the universe take me?” choso, ever the picture of stoic composure, stood by sipping his own drink, completely unaffected. in your infinite drunken wisdom, you decided now was the perfect time to recount the tarot reading debacle to him. because why not relive your most embarrassing moment at a house party with the person who unknowingly kickstarted it all?

“so, ya know,” you started, gesturing dramatically with your cup, “there was this thing that happened with geto's reading. you were there! nodding at me like i’d just won the love lottery or whatever. and i—oh my god, i thought you were into me.” choso blinked, unbothered as ever, though you noticed a faint crease of amusement in his brow. “uh-huh,” he said, taking another sip of his drink.

“yeah! and then i find out,” you continued, pointing at him accusatorily, “that you were actually into yuki, and i was out here thinking i was the main character in this tragic medieval romance novel! turns out, i wasn’t even in the prologue.” choso raised an eyebrow.

“to be fair, it was obvious you and geto would make a good match.”

the words hit you like a brick. you and geto?

“wait,” you said, staring at him like he’d just spoken in tongues. “me and geto? suguru? you’re telling me all that nodding and cryptic behavior was because you thought we’d be a good match?”

he nodded. “you both have this... thing. sensitive, charming, dreamy—”

“don’t,” you cut him off, holding up a finger, the fog in your brain clearing so fast it was dizzying. “don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

“healing,” choso finished anyway, unbothered by your rapidly spiraling state.

you stood there, frozen, the memory of that reading slamming into you like a wrecking ball.

was he sensitive? yes. charming? puppy-eyed charm for days. dreamy? don’t get me started. healing? in the most absurd ways possible. mutual feelings? please, universe, say yes.

“oh my god,” you muttered, dropping your drink on the counter with a thunk. “oh my god.” choso sighed, shaking his head. “you’re really dense, aren’t you? no offense.”

“offense taken!” you snapped, already spinning on your heels. “but also, thanks, i gotta go.”

“what are you—?”

“find him!” you yelled over your shoulder, already weaving through the sweaty bodies on the dance floor like a woman on a mission. behind you, choso sighed dramatically, swirling his drink like he was in a shakespearean tragedy. “'tis true, love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.’”

"stop quoting a midsummer night’s dream!" you shouted back, not even turning around.

you were a woman possessed as you weaved through the chaos of the party, dodging sweaty couples, discarded cups, and one guy inexplicably attempting to juggle shot glasses. where is he? you muttered under your breath, your eyes scanning every corner.

finally, you spotted geto sprawled on a couch in the corner of the room, looking like he was having an existential crisis at a house party—one leg thrown over the armrest, his hair half tied and half rebelliously escaping, his long legs stretched out like he owned the couch, and his expression screamed, "why am i here and how can i leave without offending anyone?" apparently, gojo and the gang had taken off to drunkenly compete in a swim-to-the-other-side-of-the-pool-without-drowning race, and geto, the only one with common sense, had respectfully declined.

your heart did a weird little flip-flop at the sight of him, though whether it was from nerves or the bacardi yuki had spiked your drink with, you couldn’t tell. however, had bigger problems. like the fact that your heart was about to stage a mutiny and jump right out of your chest. how were you even going to start this?

hey, i realized i love you the minute you showed up to class with vitamin gummies for me.or maybe it was when you emailed me, “just checking in” like a gentleman from the 1800s. or maybe it was every time you did something ridiculously thoughtful like it was nothing.

you took a deep breath, but all that came out was, "hey."

geto looked up, blinking at you like he wasn’t sure if you were real or just a figment of his daydreams. "oh. hey."

good start, you thought. very articulate.

you shuffled closer, ignoring the pounding in your chest. "uh, so... how’s the couch treating you?" he blinked again, a small smile tugging at his lips. "better than gojo’s swimming plans, i can tell you that much."

"right, yeah," you laughed awkwardly, standing there like a statue while your brain scrambled to form coherent thoughts. geto tilted his head, a soft chuckle escaping him. "you okay? you look like you’ve seen a ghost—or yuki with another drink for you."

"ha, funny," you said, before blurting out, "actually, i’ve been running around looking for you." his eyes widened slightly, and he sat up straighter, suddenly looking both amused and terrified. "oh? should i be worried?"

"no! no," you said quickly, waving your hands like you were fending off an accusation. "i just... there’s something i need to say, and, uh—look, i swear it’s not the bacardi talking." geto raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "you sure? because venus is in retrograde right now, and it’s messing with everyone’s feelings."

you froze. "wait, what?"

"venus. retrograde," he repeated, gesturing vaguely like that explained everything. "you know, the planet of love and all that? it’s doing its thing, so if this is about some cosmic realization—"

"no!" you interrupted, louder than intended, earning a few glances from nearby partygoers. "this isn’t about venus or renegades or whatever. this is about me. and you."

that got his attention. his smile faltered, and for a moment, he just stared at you, eyes wide, lips parted like he was afraid to speak.

"look," you continued, words tumbling out faster than your brain could process them. "i don’t care if mercury’s in gatorade or saturn’s doing cartwheels—i like you. no, wait, i love you. i love you because you care about things that no one else notices, because you do the kindest things without making a big deal out of it. because you..." you hesitated, your voice softening, "you make life feel... lighter. and if this ruins everything, then fine. but i needed you to know."

poor geto looked like he was experiencing every emotion known to man simultaneously. he let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair. "are you sure you’re not drunk?"

"i love you," you repeated, because apparently, one humiliating confession wasn’t enough. "i mean, who wouldn’t? you’re... you’re geto! you bring vitamin gummies to class, you email me just to check in, and you—you just do these little things like they’re nothing, but they mean everything to me. and i—god, this is so embarrassing. i probably sound insane, don’t i?"

"no," he said quickly, his voice soft but firm. "no, you don’t. i—"

"oh my god," you cut him off, suddenly burying your face in your hands. "this is the bacardi talking. forget i said anything. or—or don’t forget. i don’t know. i’m spiraling, suguru. help."

"hey, hey," he said, leaning forward, his hands hovering awkwardly near yours as if he wanted to comfort you but didn’t want to scare you off. "breathe, okay? it’s fine."

you peeked at him through your fingers. "it is?"

he didn’t say anything at first. instead, he reached out, gently taking your hand in his. "yeah," he said quietly.

"for the record," his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles, "venus retrograde has nothing to do with this. i’ve been in love with you since the first time you helped me with my books in the library."

you blinked. "wait, what?"

"yeah," he repeated, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "honestly, i’ve been in love with you for ages. i just—i didn’t think you’d feel the same way. you’re kind of out of my league, you know?"

"me? out of your league?" you laughed, the sound a little wobbly but genuine. "geto, you’re literally the human equivalent of a prince. you’re smart, you’re sweet, you’re ridiculously pretty—"

"okay, stop," he said, his face turning pink.

"no, seriously!" you insisted, a grin spreading across your face. "i’m half-convinced you’re not even real sometimes."

"well," he said, finally letting himself laugh, "if i’m not real, then who’s been buying you vitamin gummies and writing you sappy emails?"

"touché," you said, smiling back at him.

"love is a silly thing," he added, smiling softly. "but with you? it’s my favorite thing."

and just like that, your heart found its home.

thank you for reading till the end 🙂‍↕️ this is probably one of the shortest fics i've ever written LOL, the more i look at it the more unsatisfactory it gets.....but erm anyways blame that on the burnout 🕺!! i hope you liked reading this regardless, the concept has been on my mind for a while now ☆⌒(*＾-゜)v as usual, my "which reader are you" quiz has been updated with this fic as well, so be sure to take it and let me know if you got this fic or not! <3

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suiana · 6 months ago

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❝ I Reincarnated Into a Shitty Chirstmas Romance Movie and My Love Interest is a Yandere?! ❞

✎ featuring my creature, Ezra Valentine :3 this is just ezra being a weirdo, some lore for my game? idk blawg just read it and you'll find out

✎ special shoutout tags to these people @yandere-yearnings @forbidden-sunlight @moyazaika @bun3333s @yanderenightmare @cumtastiics @ozzgin

Your "childhood friend" is a bit of a weirdo, you think.

Staring at you for far too long, lingering touches that suggest that he's more than just a bit interested in you, and the weird random confessions about how he wants to get crushed under the heel of your right shoe...

It's just weird.

You've reincarnated into a shitty christmas romance movie. And your "childhood friend", aka the love interest, aka Ezra Valentine, has a crush on the main character, you. Obviously.

You don't even know why you watched this movie in the first place. Boredom, maybe? Yeah, probably was because you started dozing off after hour 1 of the movie. The movie was... 1 and a half hour long? It wasn't even rated that high. Like a... 6.9 at best.

And now you're stuck here all because you watched this shitty movie with an even shittier plot. Where the main character left the small town for a big city, came back home to celebrate christmas and meets childhood friend, decides to give up big city life because they both fall for one another.

Just like every other damn Mallhark movie. Predictable, boring, absolutely TRASH.

You don't even know why or how you got reincarnated into this damned movie in the first place! Did you fucking pass away in your sleep??? Actually just die from fucking boredom???

Well it's no use thinking about that now because you've been stuck in here for a while now. You think that you're maybe about halfway through the original plot, where Ezra and the old mc were supposed to have some bonding time together and shit. But that's not the case now, because you've changed the plot.

And you're realizing that this "childhood friend" of yours... Is acting a little bit differently.

You don't remember him being that much of a weirdo in the original movie. If you remember correctly,he was just like, a little bit of a shy loser boy who was infatuated with the MC and liked gaming. But now... Now he's, what, a masochist? Or did they just not add that fact into the movie? You couldn't have forgotten. If the love interest was openly a weirdo like he is to you, you wouldn't have dozed off in the first place. Just now, he literally asked to be crushed under your right shoe. Crushed. Under. Your. Shoe. How the hell is that boring? You'd be 101% AWAKE. You love freaks more than anything, damn!

Now that you think about it, he's more than just a bit of a weirdo.

He's been calling and acting like he's your boyfriend. Hell, he acts like a CLINGY boyfriend too. Asking where you're going, clinging to you, giving you those damned boba eyes everytime you talk to others, specifically dudes. Fun fact but you wish he'd stop abusing those eyes of his because fuck, how can you resist him when he's looking at you like that?

Worse of it all, you can't do anything. Not when your key out and helper, Ai, said to act cool and to not arouse any suspicion from him.

Ai's also another character in this movie by the way. His character trope: the hot side character that barely gets screentime and is also sentient. And right now, he's helping you find a way back to your world... Meanwhile you've been stuck in Ezra's apartment under the guise of a mandatory childhood bestie sleepover.

It's been days since you've actually last seen Ai in person because of how much Ezra, your "childhood friend", has been clinging to you. In just the past 3 days, he's made you watch the entire fnaf lore theory THRICE. And not once have you stepped outside his apartment. Not because you don't want to, but because he'd always find some bullshit excuse to keep you with him.

"O-oh but kitty you'd miss this very important scene... Where freddy goes hurhurhuhr"

"Kitty! Kitty you can't leave now! We have to watch it again! What? We watch it more times so it gets engrained into our brains! That's just common sense!"

"Keeping you h-hostage?! I'm not! All friend do this! It's just u-um, friend bonding time! We haven't been around each other in so long you know..."

It's weird. Just plain weird.

Thankfully you still have your phone so you could occassionally sneak a message or two to Ai, informing him of your current situation. As long as that black haired man baby doesn't see everything is fine...

y/n: currently watching a new video, thank gyatt for that

y/n: would actually jump if i have to watch more fnaf

y/n: erm... lowkey think this is worse though... its a video about danganronpa

Ai: don't worry, i'll be there to save you in a bit

Ai: i might have found a way to get you out of here

y/n: fr? ty for that silly goober :3 all while im chilling on the couch having some me time :333 ur so skibidi

"A-ahem! y/n who are you texting..?"

Shit. This damned guy! What does he think he's doing? Just popping up the second you finally have some alone time?! Wasn't he passed out from lunch just minutes ago???

"Erm... Just a friend?"

Ezra stares at you with wide round eyes, lps turning down into a frown before he sits uncomfortably close, pressing his long, lanky body against yours. Always the tall skinny guys that are the biggest weirdos man.

"Just a... friend?"

"Yeah, just a friend."

I mean, it wasn't wrong. Ai really was just a friend to you. Or at least that's what you think. To Ezra and his fucked up mind... Maybe you were abandoning him? And now he's jealous and might want to go batshit crazy on AI?

Haha! No way that would happen! Ezra, no matter how crazy he is, wouldn't go that far! He's just a loser who has an added interest in you now after all!

The look in his eyes say otherwise though.

"But I'm your friend, aren't I?"

Cold, dark, obsessive.

The way he stared at you sent literal chills down your spine. He had never looked at you in such a way before. Pathetic and needy, yes. But never this... Whatever the hell this was.

You back into the fabric of the seat, feeling a cold sweat line the skin of your forehead. All of a sudden, the room feels all too small and it's like you're trapped in his apartment with no way to escape.

It was suffocating.

"I'm the only friend you need. The only one you need, y/n."

You don't really recall a time where he's called you y/n so easily. It's always some stupid petname like kitty. And goddamn it, you wish he'd just say that instead. Hearing him call your name while he's staring into your very soul like this is making you feel like you're about to shit your pants.

"U-uh, okay dude chill out. You're my dearest friend, alright? Look let's jsut go back to watching that danganronpa analysis..."

And just like that, the terrifying aura IMMEDIATELY disappears and you're left with a sopping wet puppy of a man. You decide to make the first move, fiddling with the remote as you stand up and move close to the coffee table. Anythinng to gte away from this weird bipolar guy. How the hell did he develop this? A new character arc maybe?

In the midst of you trying to look anywhere but Ezra, you fail to realize that he had already taken your phone, leaving you with no way to contact Ai now.

"Now you'll never have another friend again..."

"What was that?"

"O-oh I said now you'll never be bored again! Haha!"

Right, totally what he said.

#yandere #tw yandere #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere concepts #yandere childhood friend #yandere childhood friend x reader #suiana rambling #suiana brainrotting #ezra valentine #The Time I Got Reincarnated Into a Shitty Chirstmas Romance Movie and My Love Interest is a Yandere!

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werezmastarbucks · 1 month ago

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best of luck! ~bangtan

silly!tormented!yoongi x clueless!f!MUA!reader

summary: years spent under your gentle, caring hand, make Yoongi realize he is in love with you. the problem is: how does he go about it? what if a confession, or a move, topples the fragile, curated, professional peace? his first mistake is going to his members for advice.

author's note: Yoongi is a bit stupid but you are outright dense lmao. i once wrote this story per a request and now the idea of Yoongi trying out the six different methods of hitting up on a girl visited me again and i found it funny. also: why do i mention excel in all my fics? is it a disorder?

warnings / tags: clueless reader, skinny love, mega sweet/flirty Yoongi, it's supposed to be comedy hopefully, swearing, lil bit of fuckboying, dramatic present, angst if you really search for it, fluff fluff FLUFF, shmexual tension, suggestive dialogues, bangtan boys demonstrate flirting techniques on each other?? Yoongi's pov mostly. my favourite genre of bangtan: slightly silly, good, overenergetic guys. Tom Cruise references throughout? bc i was a Tom Cruise fan even before BTS was even a thing

word count: 11500

Yoongi knows no other make up artist wears perfume on their wrist. The crew generally tries not to wear any strong scents when working because the dressing rooms are smallish, and the amount of people, each one with the distinctive smell, makes it bad enough as it is. Jimin smells like cotton candy all the time, and, as if it's not irritating on its own, he pours the fragrance on himself every morning or maybe even takes a shower of it. So one can imagine the sensory overload of it all; cramped in a small chair, swung and pulled in all directions, bright light hitting the eyes, someone's fingers pulling his eyelids apart and poking his eyeball with colour lenses. And in the middle of it - a small island of peace, streamlined concentration. Subtle, flowery, calm smell of the perfume on your wrist. Once you put your hand to his face, brushing over an eyebrow, Yoongi feels calm, enveloped in it like it's a hug. He had smelt it on you once, years ago, and mentioned it - and you didn't have to be told twice. Yoongi isn't sure, but he prefers to believe you started putting it on the gentle, sensitive spot on your wrist to keep him happy.

It's a small, caring, friendly gesture.

He realizes he is attuned to it because he is focused on you more than anybody. The discovery doesn't hit, or slap him; he finds it pretty well-expected. Spending so much time undone before you, putting his face up for you, maintaining eye contact, breathing in your flowers, he found it difficult to resist falling in love. You are, after all, incredibly funny, muttering under your nose as you work his birthmarks back into places, contouring his nose, retelling him the gossip from behind the scenes. You know his features intimately. You notice the changes in it. You're the first of all to say something when the dark circles under his eyes become prominent. You know his skin; what it needs; how it glows; what you do not realize, he is certain, is that all the while your eyes are concentrated on his face, he is watching you back. How your eyelashes flutter when you think, and how your brows draw together when you pinch one stray hair from his chin. It's sweet, unassuming intimacy that becomes almost unbearable. He looks around. Jimin always fucks with his make up artist Hana, turning his head, puffing cheeks, bobbing, laughing and making her laugh - because he is almost always bored. Namjoon tells his designated carer about everything he heard or read in the last 24 hours. Jungkook keeps flirting with them so they rotate all the time. At some point Yoongi can't even play around or feel completely relaxed anymore because he becomes hyper aware of your soft, warm, flower-scented hands. He catches himself once, leaning into your palm, when you put it on the side of his face to brush his hair. And he is thankful to no end when you take it as sleepiness.

Yoongi is a problem solver. He is a grabber. When he was little, every time he won a toy in the claw machine, he would grab it and press it to his chest and not let go for hours in the fear of someone taking it away. This attitude stayed with him. He likes to hold on to things, to people. He likes hugs and pressing something - someone - to himself to make sure it's not going away.

But before he can do that with you, completely sure he doesn't want to let go of you in the nearest future, he needs to solve this.

His shoulders slouch slightly when you whisper,

"Have you heard Hana got this hu-uge flower arrangement from Joon? So painfully cringe".

Your face is so close that now he can feel your fresh, warm breath on his cheek. Had it been anybody else, he'd be fine with it, maybe even look away.

"Joon? Namjoon?" he hoots, surprised. You shake your head,

"No, Joon the cameraman. He asked her out. Right at the office. With flowers", your mouth curls into an interesting shape, upper lip going up, "ugh".

Yoongi can't hold back a chuckle.

"Why do you hate love?"

"I don't hate love", you soften up a bit, then your hand tilts his head back slightly, gently, like it always does. He loves being handled by you; fingers attentive, never in a rush, always remembering he is a human first. Sometimes you even give him a tickle to raise his mood, and now, to his very vivid devastation, he starts taking it as signals.

"I just think it's kinda..."

"Cringe?"

"The cringe that makes me go uu-u-ghhh-ghhhaa", you explain. Yoongi bites his lip to stop his head from shaking with laughter. Your finger gets to it immediately and releases his lip from his teeth: tint already applied.

"How is it supposed to happen then, you think?" he is trying to sound ironic, maybe even a little challenging.

"I think..." you pause. For a second, you two look each other in the eye like partners in crime.

"I don't really know. But not that".

He nods. Sniffs. Takes a mental note. Not that. He picks up the flowers from the delivery guy that had been called up earlier, and passes them on to an assistant whose birthday was a week ago. She gives him a stink eye.

Yoongi can't escape the scrutiny because when he is preoccupied, his shoulders do the thing: they go forward, protecting the ribcage where the weakest part of him resides. He blinks several times at the computer, seeing lines, numbers, codes, but nothing of essence.

Hoseok raises his eyebrow, catching up on the silence that's just a different flavour of the usual one.

"Hyung, isn't it working out?"

Yoongi's fist is supporting his cheek and now he raises his head, looking around. The room is full of his boys, watching him like they are the expecting birdlings, mouths open, waiting for worms. He weighs everything. All the pros and cons. Hoba, Namjoon and Jin are the pros. Maknaes are the cons. It's unsolvable, because in situations where a final vote should decide the fate of the future, Yoongi is the one who chimes in and tips the balance. Now there's three for three, and he is paralyzed a little, wallowing just for a second in the weakness of undecidedness.

"I need to come clean", he says finally, before he can shut his mouth. What's done is done. He wouldn't be able to hide it for much longer anyway; with the boys, he is pretty open, not seeing any reason to clutter the mind with unnecessary secrets.

"About?" Jimin asks.

"Did you delete the cloud again?!" Namjoon heaves himself off the sofa with his strong arms, panicking.

"What? No", Yoongi grumbles, then scratches his head, "I'm not talking about the work".

"Ohh", Jungkook hums, "he is talking about Y/N".

"You're still hung up on her?" Seokjin wonders, changing his feet, crossing legs like he is about to give the best damn advice Yoongi's heard in his life.

"What do you mean still? It only happened recently", it's been three seconds, and he already hates talking about it. Should've kept everything to himself.

"Pretty sure it's been forever", Jin hammers, and there's an undertone to his voice, "why now?"

Yoongi groans. His hands cover his face instinctively, the fingers slide up and grab the hem of the hat to pull it down. Hoba's hands land on his shoulders from behind and give him a supportive squeeze.

"Any time is great. Love is beautiful. You deserve it".

Seokjin doesn't let go; grabbed into it like a shark. He continues:

"You've been flirting for a great while, and still nothing. You sure she feels the same?"

"Wehaventbeenflirting", Yoongi muffles from behind his hands, still refusing to peek out.

"Just say it", Namjoon helps. He sits back down on the sofa taking a half of it at once. The other half is occupied by Jungkook, and them two look at each other contemplatingly.

"There's nothing better than flowers and a date. Easy, classy, traditional-"

"What Joon did with Hana", Yoongi replies, finally looking up. He takes off his hat and crumples it in his hands, and Hoseok's flexible palm gets into his hair immediately to ruffle it. Even a simple touch like this reminds of you.

"See? All Joons think alike", the leader agrees with a satisfied dimple smile.

"Y/N told me it was the worst thing in the world", Yoongi retorts, "that it's cringe, and outdated, and lame, and awful, and he should go to jail".

Namjoon's face takes a pained expression and freezes. Jungkook chuckles.

"Y'all fools if you think you can lure her with your lame flowers".

"The best way is to let it happen naturally", Seokjin returns reinforced with pessimism, lecturing and fatalistic resolve. His hand slaps Taehyung's palm who is poking at something in his own pants. Keeps an eye on everybody's ticks. Severs everybody's dreams.

"If a girl doesn't react to you staring into her eyes every day, then you should think about it before embarrassing yourself. I advise you: do not chase the woman, make the woman chase you. Make sure your heart is safe".

Yoongi frowns at this.

"And how do you picture that? Run away when she wants to put foundation on me?"

Seokjin offers a charming grin.

"Sometimes I think you are slightly divergent".

There's a surprising round of approving hum going through the room.

"Don't take it so literally. Just... make her jealous. See where it takes you".

At first Yoongi thinks that he will never, ever engage in something as stupid as that. As he looks into his only hyung's face, illustrious as the moon, he thinks to himself, no. It's dumb. He's not a manipulator, he's a grabber.

But he can't just grab you out of nowhere.

Seokjin

Yoongi plops into the chair, tugging on the bottom of his wide shirt, and your hand immediately grabs his fingers.

"How are your thumbs?" you ask, a bit strict, observing. His mind is better nowadays. Your delicate fingers with glowing, neat nails wrap around his palm in the way that makes him think of hand holding. He jerks his hand away as per instruction. He is the chased, not the chaser.

"It's okay", he grumbles, crossing his arms on his chest. He sees your slightly surprised, a little amused expression in the mirror.

"Someone's in a bad mood?"

"No, just don't like it when you micromanage me".

He pouts unwillingly, drawing his eyebrows together. Watches you as you purse your lips to hide a smile. It's not working and it will not work, he can see it. But the phone screen already lights up with a call, and he has to pick up. As you turn him around in the chair and take the hairbrush, Yoongi answers the call.

"Oppa", Seokjin whines in a thin voice, "will you take me out for a coffee today?"

His teeth bite on the inside of his lip so hard that he almost hurts himself. The sensation of your light hand parting his hair is taking all the focus and he is torn between laughing and swearing.

"No, not..." what is he supposed to say? There's no script. It's just Jin. Pretending to be a girl.

He is twenty-six years old...

"Not today".

"Why oppa?" Seokjin stretches. It's clear he hates it as much as Yoongi does. But Jinnie always wanted to be an actor, like Tom Cruise. Let him act. This is his Swan Lake.

"I miss you. You promised to take me to the Namsan mountain and kiss me in the dusk under a wisteria tree!"

Yoongi puts his elbow on the armrest of the chair and covers his mouth. He has to employ the concert trick of squinting and hiding his face, pretending to cry, because he can't hold it in anymore. You are quiet, burshing his hair like he's in therapy. The first several minutes are always soft, relaxing, it's never a rush with you. He could've spent that time staring at you in the mirror, but instead he has to fight back the roar, sighing with his whole upper body.

"Can we talk about this when I'm not busy?" he chokes out. Suddenly, your hand taps on his shoulder. And he notices your eyes. Laughing. Attentive. Observing.

"You're not that busy".

"Who is there with you?" Seokjin shrieks. Has he forgotten he isn't the one who's supposed to be jealous?

"Oppa!"

"I am hanging up", Yoongi sighs, opening his mouth wider to let the air come in. Breathe, Min Yoongi. Just breathe.

"You can't just call me anytime you please", he continues, "we've broken up forever ago".

"Oppa, you will never get away from me!" Seokjin yells, "is she prettier than me? Tell me the truth!"

Yoongi puts the phone away from his ear carefully, like it's a rabid rat that's about to bite off his face, and finishes the call. Then places it back on the desk, his eyes dry like tree bark. He is afraid of looking in the mirror, where you slide the hair straightener in between his locks.

"God dammit. She is loud", you chuckle.

Yoongi gulps.

"Crazy ex".

"Can't blame her", your hand pats him on the cheek, almost like you own him, "you are so pretty. Dumped by Suga?" you suck the air through your teeth, "shit luck".

He can't believe it, searching for your eyes in the mirror.

"Do you want to keep the bangs curly, or straight?" you look at him with kindness. You always go with what he wants instead of what's in the stylist's lookbook.

Council

Yoongi is nibbling on his finger, staring into the computer like it can suck him inside and give him peace.

It was a tiny failure, really, but it feels like the abyss is opening up below him and taking him feet first. You are so nonchalant about it, so easy. Not a muscle twitching in the face.

You probably don't care about him. Maybe, after all these years of putting make up on him, covering his imperfections, correcting his features, you don't even see him as a man.

"What if we..." Seokjin is now shockingly invested. Went from fatalistic indifference to full plotting mode, but Jimin's hand stops him.

"No, you're out. Your plan didn't work, now it's my turn".

Yoongi raises his eyes at Jimin with horror.

"Is that how it's going to go?"

He nods.

"Show me how you flirt".

Yoongi blinks hard, as his hand lands on top of his head, and he feels the tip of his hat. He looks at himself in the mirror. Ears out, earrings dangling, he looks like a little gnome in sweatpants.

"Can I just die", he mutters. Jimin shakes it off.

"Come on. Let's see if what you've been doing even constitutes as flirting".

"No".

Jimin bulges his eyes.

"That's what you've been doing, right? Look at me. Like this?"

He stares at him, trying to do an impression.

"Simply ogling isn't flirting, hyung".

Jimin shakes his beautiful head full of cloud-white soft hair. A mane of pretty. His big eyes change with a pleasant shade of a hidden smirk, pupils concentrated. The air stops. Jimin lifts his chin, showing just a glimpse of shining, sharp teeth.

"That", he says, as his hand slides up, and the tip of the finger bothers the little silver hoop in Yoongi's ear, "is how you flirt".

Yoongi flinches, his lips baring his teeth. Just like you did, when talking about Joon and Hana. Jimin cocks his head, eyes grabbing at him; this gaze is choking, smothering. Jimin has a demonic skill of kissing from a distance.

"You seem a bit jumpy today", he utters, his voice like a sweet string, "anything happened? Yeppeuni?"

He does half a blink. I don't want to look away from you blink.

"I get it", Yoongi huffs, grouped like he is about to be ambushed. "I don't flirt like this".

"I'll teach you", Jimin snaps back to his normal self, and the painful, heavy mist of sensuality fades away from the room. Somewhere, Taehyung sighs with relief.

"No need. I think if I do it your way, she'll smack me on the nose".

Jimin nods.

"You have natural charm about you. Use it, hyung. Use your brain".

Jungkook hums like he doubts it.

2. Jimin

The wind keeps blowing the cut grass horizontally, the gusts so strong that all the hairdo comes undone in minutes. Other stylists panic. They run around, drop the products on the ground, chase the members. You. You are cool. You simply scoff at the wind and measure Yoongi with your eyes before leading him into the tent, away from the strom.

"I'll just fixate it up, what do you think?" you mutter, and he smiles.

"Ever gets tiring?" he muses.

"What?" you cover his face with your palm, ready to apply the spray, then start plucking the grass out of his hair.

"Being the best?"

"Dunno, you should answer that".

You fence off his jabs like a pro tennis player.

That's the problem.

Jimin thinks Yoongi is simply an idiot, but Jimin doesn't see how immune you are to flirting. Whatever Yoongi says, you always turn it around. You're like a vaccine against the toxicity. He tells you you look good, you turn it around, swinging him in his chair, and pointing to him in the mirror. Yoongi says you smell nice and you say it's the mist you apply on him. It's like you refuse to take it. Which is alarming.

You adjust his hair, not even a little nervous under his intense glance. He doesn't even blink. It's not I don't want to look away, it's the I want to look until by eyeballs dry out. You simply look back and smile, and he wobbles. Your finger rubs under his eyes to get the dust out.

"Tsk".

"All work in vain? We can do all over again".

"You in good mood now?"

You throw these little murmurs like a ball to each other, Yoongi clawing at the edge, but the edge refuses to come up sharp.

"I'm always in a good mood".

"Huh".

"When you're around".

"Aww".

Your hand tries to take the hoop out of his ear, and he bobs his head slightly.

"Sorry. Did it hurt?"

"No", he smirks. Then bobs again.

"Yoongi", his name comes out of your mouth with almost a moan, a bright shade of purple, a soft brush against his face. He grins. You have to grab and fixate his chin to take the earring off, and then you wrestle for the other one. Eventually, you push him into the chair and he crashes down but keeps messing around, so you are forced to hold his head with both your hands. Quite used to that: you must see the boys get bored all the time, and the only way to release it sometimes is to be unbearable.

You put in the other earrings and clasp them in his ears carefully, then he says,

"Scratch please".

Your fingers tickle behind his ear.

"Here?"

"Lower".

"The neck?"

"Yeah", he hums, deep, tilting his head forward. For a second, you oblige, then your fingers get stiff as you deliver a pinch on the back of his head.

"Don't get paid enough to be your masseuse as well".

"It could be a trade", he offers, face still down. He finds it easier like this, when nobody can see his expression. Why can't he take off his face completely and live unknown? It doesn't usually take so much stamina to simply flirt with someone - and yet, now, Yoongi is almost sweating.

You lift his head up and take the brush to fix the makeup. His curious eyes crawl up on you immediately.

"What do I get then?"

"...coffee".

All hope in the world in one little universal word.

It was you who told him once that "coffee" is the most consistent word across languages. It sounds the same in almost any country, any tongue. Wherever you are, if you ask for a coffee, you will most likely get it. He half-blinks, looking at you. And yet, you fence it again, like a sword master, grimacing.

"You bring me coffee all the time anyway. For free!"

He sighs.

"Thought you didn't notice".

"I appreciate it".

And just like that, it's over. You clean his face and release him back into the wild where the summer wind from the sea thrashes grass and sand around.

Council

He bangs his head against the wall, and Hobi, eyes full of concern, runs to him and puts his palm in between Yoongi and the hard wood.

"Maybe we should take a more classical approach", Namjoon tries again.

"There's no we in it", Yoongi mumbles.

"Oh, there is we alright", Hoseok protests, "we just aren't doing well enough".

Jungkook is chewing on his lip, his eyes huge like two plates. Every time Yoongi comes round to report, he gets more and more contemplative, and Yoongi isn't sure he likes that preoccupied expression on maknae's face. Jimin pouts; had offered to flirt with you instead of Yoongi, on his behalf, and almost got slapped.

"Yes", Taehyung erupts suddenly, "yes".

Sitting on the floor, he is staring at himself in the huge mirror, while stretching. Speaking to himself, too.

"Classic is good. To an extent. You know all that meet-cute? Put a twist on it".

Yoongi frowns. You've met years ago. Cute has always been there. So far, he isn't following. Taehyung lets his gaze travel throughout the room, loading the data, and for a second there Yoongi even thinks V might cook something. He is sophisticated. And he never got dumped in his life. At the very least, Taehyung is original.

"Extreme situations make people fall in love quicker", Taehyung says, "experiencing fear together bonds people", he looks at his hyung.

"You suggest we get mugged together?" he asks darkly.

Jungkook opens his mouth and gasps:

"That could work!"

Namjoon tries to cut it before Jungkook pulls his t-shirt onto his head with excitement. Of course he will volunteer to be the mugger.

"A bit too extreme? I meant like..."

Maknaes cut him off.

"Well, mugging might be a bit too basic. I meant something like... getting stuck somewhere together. Like during a storm... you know all doors are electronic", he motions towards the exit, "they did get jammed once, last year. And people got stuck together for hours".

He shrugs. Yoongi raises his eyes to the ceiling and looks at the lights to let them blind himself. Then, as the white burns his retina, he actually gets an idea. Dumb, infantile, but it's not dumber than Seokjin pretending to be an ex girlfriend.

"Okay".

The others are surprised. They turn heads to him, Taehyung's eyebrows and legs both up.

"Okay?"

"We'll be on Namsan on Friday, right?" he shrugs. Shrugs, trying to shake off this idea while he still can. But it doesn't come off.

"And you'll kiss Jin under the wisteria tree?" Jimin wonders. Seokjin snaps his head towards them.

"The cable road is old", Yoongi says. Taehyung's face is slowly lighting up in a smile. He looks at Jungkook who is getting the signal transmission straight into his brain, and also begins grinning.

"You got it".

He closes his eyes and pictures the slope of the hill where the cable cars start their ascent to the top. He prays his life won't be over on Friday, but if he ends up getting killed together with you, because Jungkook smashes the engine with a hammer, at least... at least... no, he got nothing.

3. Taehyung

The sky is cast, and he sees you are judging it silently. Your hands clutch the makeup kit, and Yoongi hooks the belt and tugs it away from you.

"Thanks".

He nods. Always the good boy. Jungkook got this habit from him: help out a little, to the people around. It won't hurt. Problem is, Yoongi is helping so much that it has become a norm, not a gesture.

"If it rains, we're screwed".

"We'll have to move very quickly", director says, heaving the huge camera into a car that's slowly crawling away, and jumping after it. You aren't convinced. There's an adorable wrinkle in between your brows.

"I'm not actually made of sugar, you know", he jokes, and you sniff half-heartedly. Yoongi looks above your shoulder where Jimin rolls his eyes as far as he can with disapproval.

Hana tugs you by the hand as the next car approaches, and you walk behind her to jump in. Jimin steps in front of you, unclasping your hands in one nonchalant motion.

"Sorry, Y/N, this is the star car. You're going in the next one", he smiles. You raise your eyebrows.

"Can't I ride with my stylist?" he whines. The car is coming. There's not much time to think. He pulls poor Hana after himself.

"I have ridden with you plenty!" Hana protests in shrill voice, and you chuckle. They get inside, and your friend shoots you a miserable glance. The flowers and asking out didn't work out after all. Joon should've known better.

Yoongi is at your shoulder, muttering,

"Is it 'ride with your make up artist' day?"

"Jimin's just feeling cunty again", you suppose. He catches the car with his strong hand and opens the door for you. You get inside and keep the door open, but, as Yoongi sits next to you, you are met with a bunch of blank faces, looking away. The door closes.

He looks outside. The sky is getting greyish. Maybe it will rain after all, and the whole shooting will have to be called off. Back an hour ago, when you all left the building, it was sunny.

"Are you cold?" he checks. You shake your head gently.

"Weather changed".

"Yeah".

If it goes on like that, Yoongi will simply jump out and crash on the ground. That surely will be better. Your knee brushes slightly against his as the car begins the painfully slow ascent, surrounded by the green of the hill and the grey of the world. Seoul is falling lower and lower, left behind. He is watching you: you look out every time, like you've never seen the view before. He thinks about what's going to happen if he just takes your hand. Just takes it, the pretty fingers, flowery wrist, carefully manicured nails, - and doesn't let go. Yoongi doesn't want it to turn sore. Feeling in love is amazing and inspiring, but he knows there will be a point in the future when it starts bringing him pain. You turn to him like there has been a conversation going, easy, ignoring the awkward pause.

"So, what's up?"

He hums instead of response. Pushes a gulp down his throat, then steadies himself. The car swings very slightly as the iron thread crawls above the roof, pulling you both up the mountain.

"Your lips are all eaten off".

Yoongi's teeth catch the lower one like it was a command. He is horrified. He should have known: you read him like a newspaper, off his face. You know his allergies because they come through on his skin. His bad habits. How he chews food. How he sleeps. Because his face is your job. He wonders then if he comes across as lovable at all - does he withstand such close observation?

"Album", he says.

"Album?"

"Yeah".

"You're doing all the mastering on your own again?"

"I'd rather not let anybody else do it".

You smirk and reach for him, and for a second Yoongi thinks a hug is coming. But your hand unzips the make up kit and plunges inside, shuffling through products. You pull out a small bottle.

"Take it home and do the eyes, you start looking tired again".

"Okay".

He takes it, fingers clashing. Then it comes: somewhere at the base, Jungkook 'accidentally sits his ass down on the lever', and the whole cable abruptly stops, sendind a shock wave through the array of cars.

As it happens, the kit slides off Yoongi's knees, open, and everything that was inside - is now outside. The serum is yanked from in between your hands, too, by acceleration still going in the air, and the noise of the clatter fills the car. You gasp, yelp, while Yoongi instinctively puts his arm across your chest to keep you in place. Well, almost instinctively: it's not like he hadn't calculated this moment. The swing is so powerful that the car jerks to and fro like a little bell on a thread. Someone shrieks in the next one.

"Shit- fuck! God dammit!" you yell once you gain your orientation back. There are slits below, under the doors, and the small things like eyebrow brushes roll over and fall down. You get to your knees and start gathering the products. Yoongi takes a second to squeeze his eyes shut and take a breath. Meet-cute in the most perverse form imaginable.

"Oh, I am getting nauseous", you grumble from the floor, and he slides after you, taking you by the shoulder.

"Then sit, I'll get it".

You tilt your head back and look out.

"What happened? Oh my god, are we going to die?"

He sniffs.

"Don't think so. It must have jammed".

It's still swinging, and he has to employ his cat balance skills to stay up while he is gathering every little thing scattered from the kit.

"I've seen a movie about it. I know if we jump, we will break our legs", you continue. Yoongi looks up at you.

"We won't have to jump. They will fix it in no time".

He even grins a little, thinking you're overreacting. That is good. He can just scoot over and comfort you a little.

Which he is trying. Putting the 90% complete kit on the seat across from himself, he sits back and rests his hand in between you.

Realizes he's never done this. Directly. He has never been in a situation where he had to chat someone up lowkey. All his life, Yoongi has been the chased. Even before he became Suga. Girls at school sent him notes. The invitations were sent through the whispers. Phone numbers written on a heart-shaped piece of paper were delivered to his desk. He has been spoiled by life, spared of the need to act on it. And now his hand rests on the faded blue plastic seat in between you, and he can picture your quick foot kicking him out of the car if he dares to touch you.

You finally snort with irritation. He understands why immediately. The first plop-plop of the rain rattles on the roof, and he looks up through the window.

"Wow".

"All coming together", you jeer, ironic-cheerful. He grins at that. You cross your arms on your chest. The moment drags.

Say it.

Just say it.

I like you. I like you a lot. I like you enough that it will get you kicked out of the company, probably. I like you so much I can't write songs that aren't about you anymore.

A song was his own plan number one. You listened to it. It flew right over your head. You barely heard into it, he bets. He is completely off your radar.

"You feeling okay?" he asks, recalling what you said a minute ago. You nod.

"Yeah, the swinging was a little too sudden at first, but I'm fine".

"If you need to throw up, we gotta lose all the makeup".

You laugh, wince, chuckle, all at the same time. Your hand taps his palm lying on the seat, and Yoongi seizes this moment to grab it. He is a grabber. Fingers catch yours and you give him a comforting look.

"Oh. You're afraid of heights, aren't you?"

It's like every time he makes a step closer to you, your brain finds a way to justify it.

Yoongi lies,

"Terrified".

Your thumb strokes the back of his hand. Now he has a reason not to look out the window and instead stare at you. The rain starts banging louder, and you frown. The sound is quite pleasing; hissing grows, summery whisper, and the car is getting filled with refreshing chill. You say the words he has been craving to hear.

"It is getting colder".

He nods, pulling you closer, and you let his arm wrap around your shoulder. Instead of giving him a look, or questioning it, you just press your shoulder into him, and settle down.

What if you are already dating, and somehow he isn't aware of it, Yoongi thinks, suddenly scared. Maybe he is so dumb that it somehow fell through the cracks. He doesn't know how to explain this otherwise. Your eyes are on the window, lashes moving slightly as you blink. His phone rings just when Yoongi is about to open his mouth, and you flinch, startled. His fingers squeeze your shoulder.

He sees it's the same number Jin called from, when acting out his prima moment.

"What?"

"This is Jenny, your ex-girlfriend", he says in his normal voice. Yoongi's knuckles go white around the phone.

"What?" he repeats, like a robot.

"How's it going? Do you need more time?"

"You're still down there?"

"Yes. We don't know how else to stall. Jungkook has been reprimanded twice. Get to kissing".

Seokjin finishes the call before Yoongi can say anything, and he loses all energy. This is utterly dumb. He isn't willing to move, mainly because this, here, is already good.

"Why are they still on the ground?" you ask.

"No idea. Something about Jungkook being afraid to go... or like..."

Visceral metal noise cuts him off as the car swings again. The cable begins turning again with a moan, and you sigh, almost with regret? Yoongi drinks the sound slowly.

"There we go", you murmur, your face at his shoulder. "No brushes, the rain, I guess we will just ride back down at once".

It makes him snort with laughter.

Council

"Taehyung is out".

"You didn't do it right", Taehyung hisses through his teeth.

"Taehyung is out", Namjoon presses. Agitated, enthusiastic to prove his classics might still work. Ever since the first shock of immediate rejection of flowers, he's been sore about it.

Now they have occupied a whole ass conference room. Hana is there, as well. Jimin's flirting worked on her from the first try, just like that. Heads clashed together, IQ loading. One more failure, and they will have to start an excel document.

It's becoming sport at this point. Hoseok's hands are on his shoulders again, massaging, like Yoongi is about to kick in someone's face. He is willing to quit the shenanigans at this point. No matter if you think it cringe, or stupid: maybe he should just come up and say it. Say it while your hand hovers above his nose. Or while it is in his hair. He closes his eyes painfully and rubs one with his fingers.

"Listen to me. It's the small things", Namjoon lectures, "they make someone fall in love with you. You are, in fact, very good at it. That's why we are all in love with you".

Jimin nods enthusiastically. Seokjin frowns but doesn't say anything.

"Problem with small things, they have become something regular", Yoongi weighs in. "I always bring her coffee. I carry her bag. I adjust her chair".

Hana produces a sound that resembles an "oh".

"What about The Book?" Namjoon asks, almost ignoring Yoongi completely. He stops in his tracks.

"The Book?"

"The Book?" Hoseok echoes.

Namjoon takes a moment to appreciate everyone's attention. He puts his elbows on the desk like a professor.

"You bring her a book you've been oiling her up about. You gotta gush over it first. Really sell it to her. Then you buy it for her and", he pretends to throw an invisible book on the desk in front of Taehyung, "just casually. But!" he raises one finger. Jungkook isn't even breathing. "You have written something in the middle. Just in between seventh and eighth chapter".

"What did I write?" Yoongi asks, breathlessly.

"I am in love with you". Namjoon utters, looking Taehyung deep in the eye. Taehyung tries to lean away.

"Would be great if the book isn't a postapocalyptic dystopia", the leader adds. Then rests his case.

"This is so lame!" Hoseok yells, "You think the girl who vomited at the flowers, will be ecstatic about this?"

"Yeah, it's pretty lame", Taehyung murmurs. Even Jin, unfortunately, nods.

"Hana?"

All heads turn to your friend. Hana is sore about something. Jimin tilts his head to catch her eye.

"Hana?"

"You never adjust my chair, Jimin oppa".

Yoongi feels a painful pang inside the vein in his right temple. Yes, it is pretty lame. Namjoon does have a point though. The little things are something he is an absolute champion in. Little things are Yoongi's profession. He remembers every movie you ever spoke about; he knows the food you are always ready to eat, and the food you will never try again. He remembers things you tell him, even when you say it just to fill the silence; he is attuned to you.

He will simply have to maximize it to make it stand out.

4. Namjoon

He does maximize it. Now Hana is a witness: she starts noticing things, and it only makes her more upset with Jimin who is an unwilling actor in this stupid play. He simply wanted a distraction, a light, non-invasive summer romance, so to say, and now he is berated every day by his make up artist, because he "doesn't adjust the seat; doesn't remember the kind of coffee she likes; doesn't comment on her new nails, doesn't send her monkey memes". Hana makes it sound loud and clear, implicated in their covert op; so that you hear it when she makes the comparison.

You tug on the hem of his shirt, big, plump brush tickling his collarbone and the base of the neck; you hum with approval.

Yoongi asks you only with his eyes, through the mirror.

"It's my favourite shirt!" you nod. He beams quietly. Jimin, on your left, throws his head back with a groan.

Yoongi replaces the lost brushes that fell through the slit in the cable car, before you manage to buy them yourself. He races against the time and wins.

He peels off all the stupid labels and barcodes you hate on your products, as well.

After the opening night of a movie you'd been waiting for, he brings you merch and you walk around in the hoodie, showing it off to everybody who has eyes.

Yoongi knows you always cut your finger in the same spot when working with scissors, and produces a bandaid quicker than you even let out a yelp of pain.

Yoongi brings you a keychain that's customized to look like your pet - and tells you he just so happened to see it accidentally somewhere in the, uh, in the city (cranks his brain to recall where normal people go to buy souvenirs, and the only word that comes up in there is Hongdae).

Yoongi brings up the relatives and friends you'd mentioned weeks ago, checking on them skilfully, letting the information steep before delivering the soft blow of love bombing that is supposed to shatter you and give you a glimpse into what his mind looks like. Full of you. Instead of getting nervous, suspicious, flustered, you sigh, kind of with sadness? And just reply to him. And he wonders how deep this friendship, this forced mental intimacy goes exactly, if you do not even react to the profound proof of his focus. Hana's jaw is unhinged; ever since she was pulled into it and gotten on the know, she has been noticing your nonchalance like it's a mountain of doom.

Yoongi becomes so proficient in this friendzone-stuck protoboyfriend shit, that even the other crew members, who know better than to hit on an idol, become his school time sighing suitors again. Phone numbers on the folded napkins. Anonymous messages from unknow numbers. Sweet drinks in the dressing room, brought especially for him.

You smirk with the weird dreamy look in your eyes. The thing Yoongi wants to hold on to is the way your hands tug on his hair today. Slightly more dramatic? A little rushed? Which is almost never the case with you. In between the hug in the cable car and now, it almost feels like a microscopic progress. You sniff through your nose when you place a note in front of him on the desk.

"Someone asked me to pass it to you".

It's another phone number. The way your voice sounds is one degree off the usual course, and he wants to think it's jealousy. Yoongi folds the note carefully and unhurriedly puts it into the garbage bin without making a big deal out of it. He thinks it's a great moment to sneak in a slow explosive. You even give him the opportunity. The way your hand lies on his forehead, almost like you're taking his temperature, feels like home.

"Not even a chance?" you chuckle. Softer than a second ago.

"I sort of... am unavailable".

You turn him with the chair and crank the pedal to lift him up a little. Put the pins in his hair to get the bangs away.

"Oh my god", your voice drops to a comfortable murmur. Finally, his favourite part of the day. Half an arm's length between your faces. You take the pad and start dabbing his face, cool, smelly toner enveloping his head. It mixes with the perfume on your wrist, and he wants to simply lean forward, fall off the chair and crash into you.

"I knew there was something up with you".

"Really?"

"You've been overly zealous the last weeks. The whole box of strawberries? You remember the last time you did it?"

Yoongi blinks. Instead of the fluffy pink of love, his chest gets infused with the black of horror. Oh. Oh no. Oh hell no.

"Three years ago, you also brought me a shit ton of strawberries, that was when", you continue, relentlessly, your smile like a sunspot on his face, cutting him, down to the throat, disfiguring, "when you had a crush on that script writer girl".

He wants to protest.

He wants to say that ridiculous box of strawberries that he paid for with three nights of eviscerating pain in his shoulder (it weighed a LOT), was for you, exclusively for you, because he is in love with you, and you should take it at a face value. He is this fucking close to snapping. Before kissing you, perhaps he wants to headbutt you.

"Yoongi, are you in love again?"

You brush away a stray hair from his forehead and throw the pad into the bin.

"Uh-huh", his heart stomps on his lungs. He senses failure like an animal. You tilt your head.

"Well, I won't push, but you gotta give me the tea sooner or later", you whisper.

Hana and Jimin aside are frozen like two statues, pretending to work, where in reality they are vibrating like ringing phones.

"It's you".

You bite on your lip.

"Tsk".

A gentle slap on his ear. Yoongi's breathing is stuck somewhere at the base of his throat. He shoots a glance at Jimin.

Do you see the shit I am working with?

Jimin's face is horrified in the funniest grimace Yoongi has seen in years. He would even laugh, had the circumstances been different.

"Chin up, funny guy", you order, and Yoongi obeys. Maybe he can even have babies with you, without you noticing.

Council

"The situation seems to be drastic", Jimin is marching in front of the wall full of Namjoon's relatives' pictures like they are assets, and he is a mission facilitator. Mission: impossible.

"Can I ask a question?" Taehyung raises his hand, his voice very soft. Yoongi hides his face behind his five left fingers.

"You don't have to raise your hand".

"Is she like... dumb or something?"

He is trying to soften it by speaking extra gently though. Seokjin chokes and coughs shortly.

"I think she just doesn't like him".

Hoseok brushes it off.

"That's not possible".

Yoongi is properly depressed. Jungkook pushes a cup of tea towards him across the coffee table and spills half of it on the go. Namjoon jumps up, grunting, and starts wiping.

"Maybe I am cursed because of you guys", Yoongi mumbles, "how are you that dysfunctional?"

"Why are you so afraid of talking to her directly?" Namjoon presses, his words, and the cloth onto the coffee table. Jimin hugs himself, lonely, against the wall.

"Because he knows what she'll say", Seokjin keeps poking the wound.

"Listen, Jenny", Jimin jumps in, "just cause you don't believe in love..."

"It's still cruel, she should just say it".

"You know she'll lose her job if anything like that comes up?" the eldest sharpens the knife before plunging it into Yoongi's ear canal, "You realize that? Many people already got kicked out that way. I mean, Joon the cameraman? Didn't he "resign" after the Hana incident? And she isn't one of us".

Yoongi blinks at his palm as if trying to read the truth off of it. You're good at that buffoonery. Read his palm a couple of times, after seeing the instruction on the internet. Told him he's going to have seventy-five kids and die at the age of fifteen.

"I just", he moans, again, mouth working before the brain. Was meaning to say it internally, not out loud. But everybody shuts up - now they do. Now they shut up, but not when he really needs them to. All eyes on him.

"What, hyung?" Jungkook urges.

"It just pisses me off every little fucking thing reminds me of her, that's all", he mutters, sore, chin down.

"He is in the twilight zone", Taehyung notes.

"He's in friendzone".

"Will you shut up?"

"He needs to move on and leave the poor dumb girl alone".

"What-do-girls-like!" Hobi yells suddenly, sensing the typhoon of nonsense coming again. Diffuses the chatter with his trademark funny, pointy voice. Cocks his head to the side, then walks over, pushing Jimin in the ribs.

"Please".

"This isn't really..."

He shushes Namjoon half-heartedly.

"What do girls like I ask you!"

"Bodily autonomy", Taehyung responds, swinging his fist in the air.

"Ghibli-style nature locations", Namjoon gives up. Hobi winces.

"Prada?" Jimin asks.

"Closer".

"Uh, when the... you know, steel-grey sky and rainbow against it, right after the storm? And you take their picture with it" Jungkook points his finger at Hobi. If Yoongi takes a very good swing, he could break the table with his head. He is starting to assume the position.

"Girls like bad boys", Seokjin says, "and Yoongi isn't bad, not even close".

"Wrong, wrong, wrong", Hoseok slaps away their words like they are butterflies - and butterflies are still insects.

"Girls like big, obvious, direct, lush gestures", he concludes, looking directly at Yoongi. "Her birthday is coming up. Buy her a fucking boat and take her to Jeju. You can confess half-way there, and push her out if she says no".

"Maybe not a boat, but..." Yoongi shifts on the couch, tucking his feet under. Jungkook is listening to him with his mouth open.

"Uh huh?"

"She always wears those", Yoongi gestures to his neck, "bead necklaces".

"Oh, I like them", Hobi responds.

"But I saw a version of that made by Bvlgari", Yoongi continues. There's energy in his voice although his brain is almost shut off. "I could, like, customize it or some shit. Put my damn initial on the underside".

Taehyung's face becomes long with an 'oooh'.

"Hyung, you are professionally romantic".

He falls back on the couch. It just fell out of his head; he has a million better ideas, but feels too tired to spell them out.

5. Hoseok

He wants to be angry with you. Can't help being angry with himself, instead. Skinny love. He is so scared of rejection it makes his butt numb. And at this point he is 79% sure rejection will be issued if he tries anything.

So instead he tilts his head back, as usual, taking what he can. The stroke of your hand. He holds up his phone as you both watch a Japanese baseball player explaining the beneficial power of bananas.

"Does it still hurt?" your finger brushes over his crooked scar on the ear, and he shakes his head.

"No. It wasn't a big cut to begin with".

"Your hair is growing out. I think it's time for Gang Signs Throwing Yoongi again", and you smile. Yoongi's eyes slide onto the clock on the wall. He prays you won't have scissors in your hands in the next four minutes, because the lights will go out.

You have a pencil instead, but do not poke him in the eye.

When the lamps die, you still have it on your tongue, licking the tip, giving away your old school roots. The last thing he sees is the line of your jaw.

You sigh in the darkness.

"Where are you?"

"Wow, it's pitch black", Yoongi hoots quietly. His hand searches for yours, and you clutch his palm.

"Where's the phone?" you chuckle.

"There will be light in a minute, don't worry about it".

You tug on his fingers.

"What... ah".

"You forgot it's your own birthday?"

Seven minutes in heaven. Yoongi stands up slowly from the chair, trying not to bump into you. It's a windowless room, full of mirrors that are useless now. He fantasizes about staying in this dark for longer, his hands feel around for your shoulders and find your waist instead.

"Turn around slowl... slowly... that's my foot".

You laugh, very close. He guides you further. You don't shiver. The universe isn't merciful to him, it doesn't like him. The door isn't locked, just like it is not supposed to be. And so it opens, too soon, before Yoongi grounds the feeling of your body under his palms, and the light returns in jumping orange splashes.

The makeup crew, together with Jimin and curious Hoseok, enter the dressing room, chanting. Yoongi manages a smile and takes a step back. He would like to :) take the cake out of Hana's hands :) and smash it into someone's face :) to be honest :) he is horny as hell :)

The cake drifts through the darkness, and Yoongi is ready to pay a lot of money to know what you wish for before blowing it out. You take things like these seriously, one of the reasons he loves you. The little silly things about life. Looking out the window while you are riding a cable car. Putting effort into the mock reading of his palm. Believing in wishes. Yoongi can't do that anymore, and he wants to know the secret. How to stay dreaming. His smile is growing more and more sincere as he watches, and finally, he is almost at peace by the time the big lights come back up again.

He still tries to move away his hips when you hug him after he gives you the present box.

Your eyes grow huge when you take off the wrapping paper, and Yoongi suddenly gets very curious about the cake, putting all his attention onto it. People say, it's nice seeing the expression of their face when someone opens up a gift. It isn't. It's awkward. He bites his lower lip. Hobi's breathing into his ear like a maniac behind his shoulder. His finger pokes into the cake and steals some icing, and Yoongi slaps him lightly.

"Oh shii-i-it", you say. Is it too much? It should be. The gem stones are heart-shaped for god's sake. The middle one, a pink sapphire, has a tiny Y engraved on the back of it, where the letter will kiss your skin once you put it on. Girls gasp. Jimin will get a beating, but at least he had been informed beforehand. You look a little alarmed, finally. Yoongi nods almost business-like as you hug him again, longer this time, and allows himself to wrap his hands around you properly.

"Yoongi... thank you?" you say.

"Happy birthday?"

"Yeah?"

Jimin and Hoseok exchange glances.

"Um..." you whisper into his neck, "isn't it a little expensive?"

People around disperse gradually, drawn by the cake that becomes smaller and smaller, fractured.

"I am rich", he whispers back, and you shake with a chuckle.

"Okay, I will switch to the good foundation..."

"And stop licking applicators?"

"No".

He laughs. He is still torn apart like his body is munched by a plane engine, but he is laughing.

Council

Jungkook is the dark horse. Always been, always will be. Yoongi feels his eyes go black as he watches maknae with silent expectation. The studio is almost empty, save for them three: the most hardworking one, the least hardworking one, and the one who likes seeing himself dance too much. Even Hobi is out for the weekend.

"You've been keeping it in for a long time", Yoongi says. Jungkook flashes him a white-toothed grin. He switches from an innocent bambi to a mafia boss au in a second.

"Dropped something at the very beginning and shut up".

Taehyung unscrews a bottle of water and pours it into his mouth.

"I was expecting you, hyung", Kookie utters, clasping his hands together.

Yoongi smirks darkly. He has no hope and no anger in him. He is dangerously close to serenity, in fact. If Jungkook's idea is to kidnap you and cuff you to a pipe in a basement, he will consider it.

"Do you want to hear it though?"

"Sure", Yoongi shrugs and wraps the towel around his neck, rubbing the sweat off. Then throws it on the floor and sits on top.

"What the hell. Go on".

"I shall demonstrate on Taehyung".

"Why me again?" Taehyung shrills. Maknae pulls his bestie closer, assuming a weirdly sexual position, popping his hip.

"You know, I drown in pussy", he begins. Yoongi closes his eyes solemnly.

"Strong lead-in".

"Ask me how".

Aftertrain Jungkook, with his bangs up, breathing through his mouth, young, blushing, is the sexiest thing one can see in the wild. Taehyung next to him, blonde, twitching, scared for his life, beating in his hands, unsure what's going to happen to him - the most poetic. Yoongi puts the hair behind his ears obediently.

"How?"

"The power", Jungkook puffs, "of proper - physical - touch".

The second time this assault happening among them, this time Taehyung being the victim. Jungkook takes his hand, fingers squeezing the palm not too tightly, gently enough. Like his thumb is sending the signals of pleasure straight into Jungkook's brain.

"Wow, your fingers... kinda tasty", he mutters, looking Taehyung in the eye. V clenches his jaws together.

"That's it?" Yoongi asks. "Your fingers tasty?"

"Wait, no-" maknae panics, "you can also go for the ear".

"Jimin did the ear already".

"And the inside of the kneecap. You're seated, right? It's easy to reach there when you sit. She walks around you, and you pretend to have forgotten something. Hey, Y/N, whoosh".

Jungkook bows and aims for Taehyung's knee, only to get pushed away by the face.

"Well, you get the idea, right? Arm, from elbow to her wrist. Also, you know what", Jungkook is working his brains real time, "she applies tint with her fingers? Kiss them?"

"You got a thing for fingers?" Taehyung looks at him from under the brow.

"Why don't I just-" Yoongi is having fun in the most morbid way, "say something like, sit on my face. Sit on my face? It's relevant enough, right? Cause it's my face she's working with".

Jungkook stoops a little.

"I tried it once, it didn't work".

"You didn't try it with a make up artist though", Taehyung helps, "it was a coffeeshop barista. It just didn't make any sense".

They start bickering. Two children, consumed by each other, the two attached at the hip, so attuned that they don't really need anybody else in the room to be entertained. After a little banter, Jungkook turns back to Yoongi:

"Feels like it's your last chance".

"I am also friends with a little band called Seventeen", he croaks, lifting himself off the floor. Taehyung snickers. Jungkook gives him two thumbs up as if he's done something here:

"Best of luck".

"Fighting!" Taehyung is happy again.

6. Jungkook

It comes up unexpectedly. You come up unexpectedly. The whole second floor of the rental is empty, hence Yoongi is there. While the others are releasing the pent up energy from the day outside, dragging staff into a game of football, he is having his quiet moment. Old man pains. Whatever they call it.

You're caught up in his glance like a mouse-thief, holding something to your chest, your mouth agape.

"I thought there was no one here".

Yoongi shakes his head. He can see the necklace. The 100 000$ necklace with heart-shaped gem stones hanging on your neck, contrasting with a 15$ grey Uniqlo shirt. You look atrociously stunning in it. Yoongi squints his eyes and sees six bottles of red bull in your hands.

"You..."

"I am making red bull ice".

He ponders for a second.

"Why?"

"Because I love red bull", you nod like it explains the ice part and march past him to the kitchen where a small freezer guards ice cream.

"You shouldn't..." he reaches out through the air, "put them in there in cans. They might explode. Better pour them in ice trays".

He has to get up and waddle after you because you don't seem to hear. He toddles into the smaller kitchen to help and opens all the cupboards as the search for ice trays begins.

Physical touch.

There's plenty of physical touch between you, so it's the same fucking issue as usual. How does one make it obvious. Yoongi is far from an unhinged fratboy, but what he wants to do now is exactly something like that. Every time they give him a strategy, he warps it to his own vision until it's unrecognizable. After all, he is a grabber, and it's his territory. Instead of taking your hand and admiring the edibility of the fingers, he pokes you in the rib.

"Ouch", you take it way calmer than he expects, and it tells him everything he needs to know.

"Your pancreas won't like this amount of red bull. Ice", he says.

"Says the functioning alcoholic?"

He sucks the air through his teeth, disarmed disgracefully. Since he has nothing to say, and his hands are itchy, he stares into your back and how your shoulder blade flexes as you open up the cans, and pokes you again.

"Yoongi, quit it".

The others were right. He is in the twilight zone. This monstrous crush is borderlining obsession, and he doesn't recognize himself anymore. He pokes again just to hear your voice. You turn around, a lock of hair on your eyes, and you put it away quickly.

"What's gotten into you?"

Your eyes search up his face as he pulls his cheeks apart in a non-smile. For some reason his eyes follow your index finger scratching your nose.

"Bored".

"Don't be bored", you jerk the ice tray on the table, "in three to five hours we will have red bull ice".

He likes the way you include him into this heartburn-inducing adventure. He likes the way you say "we".

"What shall we do meanwhile?"

Here, on the second floor of the three-storey house, it's easier to pretend you two have this whole place to yourselves. It's times bigger than the amount of people: them seven and the staff. There's even a good chance no one will come up here when the football is over.

"A... movie?" for a girl hating on the traditional 'cringe' things you suggest a very traditional pastime, and he is down.

He plops himself on the couch looking at the gems reflecting the blinding light in flashes. Yoongi even moves his shoulders trying to restrain himself from asking how you like it. If you found him in the necklace. He is trying to play it cool, encapsulating all the members' strategies in himself, all at once. Unreachable, nonchalant, spontaneous with exactly one tiny cube of Fruittella he shoots at you. You look up from your side of the couch.

"Strawberry".

When you are very happy about something, you say 'whoo' under your breath.

Your eyes slide onto his neck.

"You cut yourself again?"

Yoongi used to get irritated about how you treated everything above his shoulders as your own property. Now he simply loves it. As you launch across, your hands on his chin, tilting it to the side. The perfume from your wrist reaches his nostrils, and he loses his cool.

"Yoongi, you're not using moisturizer before shaving", it's a statement. His hand already snakes in between you, ready to attack. Tom Cruise appears on the screen and yanks your attention, just for a moment. You are like a squirrel, here and there, head snapping.

"I do use it", he lies.

"Don't lie to me".

"My hands shake because I am an alcoholic, and I cut myself".

You click your tongue and want to say something, but he pokes you again. Your pretty mouth catches air. Tom is battling with Min Yoongi for just a glimpse of you, and you are slowly pulled into the world of cinematography. You know he is bullshitting, but you are just too used to it.

"You're on your last warning", you mutter, sitting way closer to him than before. Yoongi realizes you put on... the Mummy? Out of all Tom Cruise movies you could have chosen, you put on the Mummy.

"And then what?" he pushes, his eyes on the TV as well.

"Then I kick you".

"You can't kick me, I'm an idol".

Your hand brushes him off. He has lost to the last great movie star, even if you're wearing his necklace.

"Who is more famous, me or Tom Cruise?"

"Tom Cruise", you say automatically, and Yoongi sinks deeper into the couch.

"He could be your father".

You gasp, dreamy.

"Imagine that. He'd be a lousy father, but still".

"I mean I'm..."

Your hand suddenly gets into his hair. And it's not the usual soft, professional touch that Yoongi is used to. It's a grab. You yank him like he's an insolent boy, and he tips over even before he realizes what you are doing. A second; and his head is on your lap, Yoongi himself still producing a moan of pain. He has to readjust, swinging his hips, bending legs to fit, as he lies down. Your hand presses on the side of his head and Yoongi has no idea what the fuck is going on.

"Shh".

Yoongi is turning, trying to fit his elbow under himself and not move his head lest you remove your hand.

"When Tom Cruise is on screen, we are what?" the fingers drum on the side of his skull.

"Uh..."

"Silent as a grave".

"It's not even a good one, can we watch T-"

You cover his mouth with your little palm, and he shuts up. If it weren't for Tom Cruise, sorry, 🌸🌷🌺Tom Cruise🌼🌻💐, now would be a great time to ask,

what are we??

Council

Namjoon is under the desk. His hand feeling around on the linoleum, his own body covering the light. He is in the shade of his own clumsiness, scrambling for pieces of his own life: all his credit and name cards are on the floor.

The door sounds like someone is trying to take it off hinges. Jammed last month again, so now the handle is half-broken. Namjoon twists his body to see, and recognizes your feet.

"Butt of Namjoon?"

"Hey".

Even though there's a joke in between your teeth, as always, you don't sound joyful.

Also it's weird that you came to speak to him at all. Your tone shows intention. Namjoon crawls backwards and sits himself on the floor comfortably, looking up.

You are sad. The necklace Yoongi gave you, a small, intricate and stylish piece of quiet luxury on your neck, almost completely hidden by the collar of your hoodie.

"I need to speak to you first".

He doesn't have any idea what it is, but his mind starts going places.

"Why?"

"Because you're the leader".

Namjoon grinds his jaws against each other, one hand covering his ear. You are a remarkable girl. You never shiver or anything like that, and never did. Guess this job makes you tough very quickly. Even now, displaying classical signs of distress - lowered head, inexpressive eyes - you do not fidget. It indicates deeper sadness, he thinks.

"I am going to quit", you say, simply. It doesn't have any intonation, any colour. Namjoon supports himself against the desk.

"Why?"

You look at him.

"Personal reasons", you pause. Your finger tortures the lower lip, "personal feelings".

He is quiet, stranding you alone in this. Namjoon blinks. He was moderately invested and now he is dying to hear this shit.

"I kind of... caught a crush on Yoongi", you sigh heavily, like you've been unloading something.

"Y/N-"

"Like a year ago".

Namjoon shuts up.

"Or maybe earlier. I don't know", your hands drop on the desk. "I've been doing alright, but I guess it's piling up, you know? Lately it's been difficult, I am getting sad. And I need to get away before I screw things up".

Namjoon puts a double security on his mouth: bites his lip and covers it with his hand. He wants to say something very funny but knows this, this thing unravelling in front of him, is incredibly human. Yeah, funny as hell. But human.

"I'll stop you right there", Namjoon puts out his hand and, after careful consideration, it crawls across the desk and covers your palm.

"You're a great make up artist".

"That's not the point..."

"And I am not the one you should be talking about it".

You finally close up:

"No, no, I don't wanna tell Yoongi anything. It's going to be so humiliating".

"You've known each other for three years..."

"I couldn't bear looking at him if..."

"...even if feelings weren't involved, he must know..."

"...and he will say not to go..."

"...oh my god!" Namjoon snaps. The disciplined, civilized, mannered Namjoon shrieks at you. "They are heart shaped!"

Your mouth freezes open.

"What?"

"The gems!" he is pointing at your necklace, desperate, completely miserable, disbelieving. He can't control his voice anymore. "Each little fucking gem is heart shaped, Y/N! And there's a Y on the inside!"

Your bewilderment is adorable. Namjoon sincerely gets it. Your hand flies up to your neck. Your tormented expression slowly relaxes as your eyes run over his face. He feels bad about screaming but it's a matter for shouting. Namjoon raises his hand.

"Sorry. I might have overreacted".

Your mouth is agape, and he wants to reach out again and tap it shut with his finger.

"But you get the idea, yeah?"

You nod several times in small motions.

"Have I... convinced you to stay for now?"

You nod again.

"Mm, mm-hm".

You sit in silence for a while, turned away from each other, room suddenly smothering stuffy. Then you push your chin down.

"I didn't see any letters", you mutter.

"It's very small", Namjoon responds tiredly. Your fingers feel along the necklace, and he softens up again.

"It's pretty, isn't it?"

"I never take it off", you confirm, "I even sleep in it".

He kind of melts.

7. Yoongi

He bites on the chocolate bar from your hand and moves his jaws. Eyes concentrated in the mirror. You are efficient: the bar disappears and the brush appears immediately. It's like you have ten hands. Then one of them lies on the side of his head - you can see he is nervous - and he leans in out of habit. Fingers rub on his scalp shortly, then the bar hovers around his mouth again. Yoongi bites.

Something tickles his nostrils.

The scent of is peace in the ocean of chaos of the dressing room has changed. It's sweeter. Like honey and apples. He frowns slightly and catches your smile in the reflection. Hums with question. You nod.

"What's that?"

"New".

To his right, Taehyung quietly gasps with pain. The new girl burned him with the curler. She starts apologizing profusely and Taehyung shakes his head, although still wincing. Yoongi returns to his haven of calm.

"When you go with your grin", you say, "turn like this", your hand moves his chin a little so that he sees the sharp, pearly line of highlighter on the edge of his jaw.

"Okay", he grins, "uh, what shade is it? Jimin's hair would go well with it, too".

You lift the small bottle to his eyes, and he reads: '78 deeply loved'.

"Only for you".

You boop it on his nose, and he is dumbfounded, transcended, dead. He sees himself looking like a hopeful pup, staring into your eyes. You look shy as you lick eye pencil. You blush for the first time.

#yoongi imagine #yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #suga x reader #bts imagine

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leejenowrld · 6 months ago

Text

back to you — two

pairing - lee jeno x reader

word count - 39k words

genre - smut, fluff, angst, enemies to lovers

synopsis — you can’t stop thinking about that heated night you shared with jeno. the memory clings to you, leaving you on edge, but when you realize you want him too badly to pretend otherwise, you strike a deal with him—opening the door to secret motel stays and late-night dates. the more time you spend wrapped up in each other, the heavier your guilt grows. every move feels risky, especially as you juggle the need for jeno with the need to keep everything hidden.

chapter warnings — college au, small town vibes, explicit language, explicit sexual content(18+), explicit themes, one tree hill inspired, early 2000s vibe, power play, dom reader/sub jeno dynamics (both switches tbh), rough sex, explicit language, deep-throating, nipple play, reader choked jeno, spitting, degradation, praise kink, fingering, intense grinding, overstimulation, unprotected sex, oral sex, different + softer side to both yn and jeno, creepy motel vibes, tension as always, push and pull dynamics, really cute date scene between yn and jeno, they move fast and if you think it’s too fast then please remember that it’s happening for a reason and that it’s for the plot!!! also jeno and yn may appear quite domestic in this but trust me <3 all will make sense. don’t expect it to last :)) hehe enjoy

listen to 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 whilst reading <3

𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐋

The campus thrums like a living heart, each breath of crisp autumn air a pulse, pushing life through its veins and leaving the world trembling with quiet anticipation. The pathway stretches ahead, lined with towering trees that are both beautiful and unsettling, their branches shedding leaves like silent confessions. You walk through a mosaic of amber, crimson, and ochre underfoot, each crunch a jarring reminder of time slipping away. Students mill about in small clusters, their laughter ringing out like echoes of a simpler life. A flyer for an upcoming party flutters loosely on a lamppost, its edges curling in the wind, barely holding on—much like you feel you are. Somewhere in the distance, the sharp rhythm of a basketball bouncing on concrete interrupts the morning stillness, grounding the scene in a reality that feels foreign to your own inner turmoil.

The campus moves like a living organism, its pulse in the scrape of sneakers, its breath in the faint rustle of wind through leaves. Beside you, Nahyun exists effortlessly within it, her voice threading into the currents of sound, each laugh she releases sparking against the energy around her. You walk in her orbit but feel adrift, the world sliding past like water you can’t touch. The wind stirs the leaves into fractured patterns, their sudden, frantic swirls echoing the chaos buried beneath your carefully guarded exterior. They don’t fall neatly—they spiral, scatter, catch, like control slipping through your fingers, too fleeting to grasp and too beautiful to ignore.

Nahyun’s words come effortlessly, her laughter easy as she weaves through a conversation about campus gossip. “So, rumor has it,” she begins, her tone conspiratorial, “Jeno’s been in bed after bed since Areum dumped him. Bet the breakup wasn’t as mutual as he made it out to be.”

You glance at her, surprised by how sharp the comment cuts through your thoughts. “Didn’t Areum dump him?” you ask, trying to sound indifferent, though your voice betrays a flicker of curiosity.

She shrugs, raising an eyebrow at you like she can’t quite believe you’re interested. You’re not the one for campus gossip or drama, and she knows it. “I don’t know,” she says with a smirk, as if the details don’t matter. To her, it’s just another piece of entertainment.

To you, it barely registers—just another fragment of his reputation folding neatly into place. Of course, he’s been fucking other girls; it’s what he does, a script he knows by heart. The sex you had wasn’t an exception, just another scene in a story he’s told a thousand times. You tell yourself this, repeat it until the words feel smooth, rehearsed, like armor against the truth. But your resolve falters for a split second, a crack in the facade you didn’t see coming. Why would it have meant anything? He’s Jeno—the kind of person who burns through moments like they’re endless, never pausing long enough to see what he’s left behind. You shake your head, not at the thought of him, but at the absurdity of how easily people let themselves get caught in his orbit. It didn’t mean anything, and yet it lingers, faint as smoke, stubborn as a bruise.

It comes back in flashes, unbidden—the rough drag of his hands over your hips, fingers curling with purpose, his breath hot and ragged against your skin like a secret you weren’t supposed to hear. His voice lingers in your ears, low and dark, the kind of sound that wraps itself around you and doesn’t let go. You feel the heat of him again, the way it burned through the careful walls you’d built, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. The taste of his kiss, the weight of his body, the way he pressed into you as if the world outside didn’t exist—it’s all still there, etched into you like a brand. Even now, a week later, it claws at you, a phantom ache you can’t shake, unraveling the threads of control you’d held so tightly.

It’s been a week, but the weight of that night hasn’t shifted—it sits heavy in your chest, unrelenting. You feel it in the way your hands tighten into fists when you’re alone, in the way your throat constricts whenever someone says his name. The bar flashes behind your eyes like a crime scene: the amber haze of the lights, the low thrum of bass in your ears, the taste of secrets spilling before you could stop them. You can still see the way his eyes burned through you, like they’d pulled something raw and unspoken straight out of your chest. The memory doesn’t leave; it hovers, pressing at the cracks in your resolve, clawing its way deeper every time you try to shake it off.

“Hey, Nahyun,” you ask suddenly, breaking the silence. “How do you know so much about everything?” The words are sharper than you intend, but she takes it in stride, her grin unfaltering. “Is it because Jeno has been in your bed too?” you add, your tone sarcastic, daring her to deny it.

Nahyun’s cheeks flush instantly, her reaction betraying the confidence she usually wears like armor. “I wish,” she says, deflecting with a laugh, though the way her gaze flickers away tells you there’s more to the story.

You arch a brow, unwilling to let her off that easily. “How’s it going with Shotaro?”

Her throat clears audibly, her composure visibly faltering. “It’s going fine,” she mutters, brushing the question aside with a wave of her hand. She turns the spotlight back on you, her eyes narrowing with curiosity.“What about you? You’ve been so… mysterious lately. Even more so than usual. Anything I should know?”

Her voice trails off, but the words don’t dissipate; they linger, needling at the edges of your composure. You track the subtle shifts in her tone, the way her gaze narrows just slightly, like she’s cataloging every micro-expression you might betray. The weight of her question settles into your chest like a slow drip, pooling in the spaces where you’ve kept everything carefully compartmentalized.

You feel the secrets pressing against their walls—the night with Jeno, the bar, every calculated decision that unraveled in a moment of heat and impulse. You can’t afford for her to see the cracks. So, you breathe evenly, straighten your shoulders, and let your mind dissect her words for any hidden implications. Mysterious. Even more than usual. You can hear the unspoken curiosity, the hunger for something salacious, and you know how quickly a misstep could fuel it. It’s not just a question to her—it’s a thread she wants to pull, and you can’t let her. Control is everything. You’ve stitched your exterior too tightly for her to unravel, no matter how heavy the seams feel under her scrutiny.

Your lips curve into a faint smirk, the kind that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “You know how busy I am with all my assignments and projects,” you say, the words slipping out smooth, light, a deliberate misdirection. Nahyun doesn’t press, but you catch the flicker of curiosity in her eyes. It’s enough to hold her off, to keep her on the surface where you need her to stay. Beneath it, though, your mind churns, restless and uneven, the cracks in your control spreading faster than you can patch them.

Your mind circles back to the inevitable: you’ll have to face him. Avoiding him for the past week had been easy enough, your schedules conveniently misaligned, but today, the fragile buffer is gone. It’s the first study session for the project, and there’s nowhere left to run. The thought lands heavily, an unwelcome weight pressing into your chest, growing heavier with every step. You feel the dread coiling tighter, sapping what little energy you have. There’s no way around it. No way out. Just the sharp, inescapable reality waiting for you on the other side.

You wave goodbye to Nahyun as she veers off toward Shotaro, who’s leaning against a low stone wall near the student union. His grin stretches wide when he sees you, and he calls out, “Y/N! Wait, I’ve got a question—important stuff.”

You stop, eyebrows raising slightly. “What’s on your mind, Shotaro? You look way too pleased with yourself.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “You remember that snack you wouldn’t stop talking about? The one that’s, like, ridiculously hard to find? All crunchy on the outside, creamy in the middle, and dipped in whatever magic they put in that chocolate coating?”

Your eyes widen. “Don’t tell me you forgot about it,” he teases, the corners of his mouth lifting like he already knows he has you hooked.

“Forgot about it?” you blurt, incredulous. “I’ve been thinking about it every day. It’s my white whale, Shotaro.”

His grin widens as he pulls something out of his pocket, and the sight of the familiar packaging hits you like a lightning bolt. “You mean this?” he asks, dangling it casually like it’s no big deal.

You gasp—an actual gasp, high-pitched and unrestrained, something you never do—and launch forward, practically tackling him. “Shotaro! No way! You’re a literal angel!” You wrap your arms around him without thinking, squeezing him tightly as he bursts into laughter.

“I had to,” he says, his voice light but warm. “You’ve been mourning it like you lost a family member. Figured it was time to step in.”

You pull back, still clutching the snack like it might vanish. “I love you. No, seriously. You’ve just saved me. Nahyun, he’s a hero!” you shout, glancing over at her as she rolls her eyes but smiles anyway.

“Glad I could do my good deed for the day,” he says, giving you a mock salute as Nahyun grabs his arm. “Now go enjoy it, Y/N. You’ve earned it.”

You wave goodbye, your hand brushing over the snack wrapper as you slip it into your pocket, smoothing the edges with precise folds until it lies flat. Your steps fall into an even rhythm, the soft click of your shoes against the pavement matching the steady beat of your thoughts. Shotaro’s words replay in fragments, fitting neatly into the quiet order of your mind, each one cataloged and stored without disrupting the pace you’ve set. The weight in your chest eases—not gone, but quieter, like the air after rain, leaving just enough clarity to focus on the path ahead.

The warmth from Shotaro’s easy kindness slips away as you move toward the quieter side of campus, the distant hum of laughter and footsteps fading like a song you’re no longer close enough to hear. The air feels heavier here, the stillness pressing against your skin as the study rooms come into view, tucked away like secrets waiting to be uncovered. When you step inside, the door clicks softly behind you, and the sterile hum of the air conditioning fills the space, its coldness sharp and precise, wrapping around you like an invisible boundary between the world outside and the one you’re about to face.

You lower your bag onto the table, movements precise and deliberate, each item placed with exact purpose. Your laptop sits perfectly parallel to your notebook, pens arranged in a neat line beside it. The sunlight filters through the blinds in sharp, angular beams, striping the table in a rigid pattern that mirrors the order you’ve imposed. The steady tick of the wall clock feels louder in the quiet room, marking time with a deliberate rhythm that matches the controlled cadence of your breathing. Everything is in its place—except for the restless churn beneath your calm exterior.

Your fingers brush over the edges of your notebook, flipping through the pages for the third time even though you already know their contents. This is just a project, you remind yourself, the thought slipping into place with the same deliberate care you give to everything else. Jeno’s presence, loud and untethered, is simply another disruption to neutralize. You’ve dealt with his kind before—the ones who thrive on dominance and disorder, who carry chaos like a second skin. But you’ve built yourself to withstand this. Each plan, every careful calculation, has been tailored to hold him at bay. He’s not a challenge; he’s a variable. And variables can be controlled.

The door swings open without warning, slamming against the wall with enough force to make you flinch. Jeno strides in, still in his basketball jersey, the fabric clinging to his chest, damp with sweat that gleams under the sunlight. His water bottle clunks onto the table, droplets scattering across your carefully arranged notes. He collapses into the chair opposite you, sprawling out with casual arrogance, legs spread wide, one hand drumming against the edge of the table.

“You’re late,” you say without looking up, your voice cool, clipped, refusing to give him the satisfaction of rattling you.

“Practice ran over,” he shrugs, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “We’ve got the first away game coming up.”

“And that’s my problem because?” you reply, your tone sharp enough to cut.

He smirks, leaning back in his chair, the damp fabric of his jersey clinging to the sharp lines of his torso. “Relax, princess. I didn’t say it was your problem.” His tone is casual, but the glint in his eyes is pure challenge as he sprawls further, every movement deliberately careless. “I’m here now. Isn’t that enough?”

Your jaw tightens as he casually knocks one of your pens off the table with the back of his hand, watching you tense as it rolls to the floor. You bend down to pick it up, forcing your movements to remain calm, even as the tension coils tighter in your chest.

“Can we just focus on the project?” you say, voice steady, though your gaze flickers—just for a second—to the bead of sweat trailing down his collarbone, catching in the hollow of his throat. The moment passes in an instant, but not quickly enough. When you glance back up, his smirk has sharpened, his dark eyes locked on you like he’s caught you in a game you didn’t agree to play.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says suddenly, leaning forward, his fingers brushing against your notebook as he shifts closer. The movement is deliberate, his thigh pressing against yours under the table. His voice drops lower, edged with something teasing, something dangerous.

“I haven’t,” you lie, the word coming out too quickly, too thin.

“You have,” he murmurs, his gaze steady, unwavering, pinning you in place. Before you can respond, his hand cups your jaw, his thumb brushing over the edge of your cheekbone with a deliberate slowness that sends a spark down your spine. He tilts your face toward him, and then his lips are on yours—no hesitation, no room to retreat. The kiss is hard, insistent, a collision of heat and intent that steals the air from your lungs. His tongue parts your lips with a boldness that leaves no room for doubt, claiming the space between you as his own.

A gasp breaks free from your throat, and your notebook slips from your grip, forgotten as your hands press against the solid plane of his chest. He’s impossibly warm, the damp fabric of his jersey clinging to the defined muscles beneath your palms. His scent wraps around you, woodsy and raw, intoxicating in its closeness, filling every inch of the quiet room until it feels as though nothing else exists. His hand slides down to grip the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, anchoring you to him as the kiss deepens. There’s a hunger to it, an urgency that seeps into your skin, making your body arch into his without thought, without restraint. It’s intoxicating, the way he moves, the deliberate press of his chest against yours, his lips trailing fire along the edges of your carefully guarded self-control.

Somehow, you’re in his lap, your thighs framing his as if you’ve always belonged there. His hands explore without hesitation, slipping beneath your top to grasp the warm skin of your back, his fingers pressing into you with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. The friction between you grows with every grind of your hips against his, his arousal pressing hard against you, undeniable and electric. His lips trail down your jaw, grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, and a low, gravelly sound rumbles in his throat as you move against him, each motion pulling you deeper into the heat pooling between you.

His hands shift, fingers hooking at the hem of your top, tugging it upward with intent. The fabric rises slowly, dragging against your skin, until the sharp chill of the room brushes over you, and reality crashes down like a bucket of ice water. Your heart pounds as you shove against his chest, harder than you mean to, the strength of it forcing him back. His hands drop away instantly, and you scramble off his lap, stumbling to your feet, your breaths ragged and uneven as the moment fractures around you.

“Come back,” he says, the words simple but heavy, his voice low and commanding.

“No,” you reply, firm despite the way your chest rises and falls unevenly.

He leans back in the chair, watching you for a beat too long, his gaze searing through your resolve. And then, before you can react, his hands are on your waist again, and with one smooth motion, he pulls you back into his lap. A startled yelp escapes you, your hands bracing against his shoulders as his grip tightens, holding you there. His smirk is sharp, deliberate, as his lips brush close to your ear.

“You don’t sound so convincing,” he murmurs, his voice dipping lower, the heat of it making your breath catch. His hands slide over your waist, firm and unyielding, as if daring you to move, to fight against what your body has already started to betray.

“Stop,” you manage, your voice trembling but firm. “We can’t do this.”

He doesn’t move, his dark eyes flashing with frustration as he runs a hand through his damp hair. “Why not?”

You square your shoulders, your voice steadier now. “Because the idea of us working is impossible. I’m Mark’s best friend.”

He lets out a dry laugh, leaning back in his chair, his smirk cutting. “Well then, I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, anger rising to the surface. “I could never be with someone like you, Jeno.”

His smirk sharpens, but there’s something darker behind it now, something challenging. “Oh, someone like me? Go on, tell me, Y/N. What am I like?”

Your composure hardens, your voice calm but cutting as you straighten. “You’re arrogant. You think everything revolves around you. You hurt people without even noticing because you’re too busy pretending to be someone you’re not. You’re cruel to Mark, to my Mark, and you don’t see how that affects the people around you.”

His smirk falters, but he doesn’t look away. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”

“You’ve been like this your whole life,” you press on, the words sharp and deliberate. “Even when we were kids, you were that spoiled boy who always had to win. And that one night—it doesn’t change anything, Jeno. It doesn’t change who you are, and it doesn’t change how I see you.”

His jaw tightens, and his voice drops, quieter but no less intense. “You think keeping people in boxes makes them easier to handle. But me? I’m not some puzzle you can solve. I’m not a neat little project you can file away once you’re done.”

Your breath catches, but you force yourself to recover. “And you think you’re so special, don’t you? That you’re worth breaking everything apart for? You’re not. You’re just… you’re just a mistake I won’t make twice.”

He leans closer, his voice dropping to a sharp whisper. “Keep telling yourself that, Y/N. But you don’t look at me like you think I’m a mistake. You look at me like you don’t know what to do with me. And that scares you.”

You rise slowly, his hands still firm on your waist, their grip neither tightening nor loosening, just holding—steady, deliberate, as if the act of letting go isn’t something he’s ready to entertain. The warmth of his touch seeps through you, a quiet defiance against the distance you’re trying to impose. The air feels thick, charged with something unspoken, his thumbs brushing lightly against your skin in a way that feels more like a question than an anchor. Your voice comes out low, restrained, trembling at the edges but layered with quiet resolve. “You’re right,” you say, each word deliberate, cutting through the silence. “I don’t know what to do with you. But I know what to do for myself and that’s forgetting this ever happened.” The weight of it hangs there, as heavy as his hands, daring either of you to move first.

The silence stretches, thick and charged, before you move back to your seat. The sound of your chair scraping the floor feels too loud, too abrupt against the tension still pulsing between you. Jeno leans back in his chair, his posture infuriatingly relaxed as he picks up a pen and tosses it at you, the slight arc deliberate, landing just shy of your notebook. It lands just slightly out of place, the disruption deliberate, his smirk daring you to react.

You exhale sharply, leaning forward to grab the pen, your fingers moving with precision as you set it neatly back in its place. His gaze doesn’t waver, watching every movement with that maddening, amused grin. “Can we get on with the project now?” you snap, the edge in your tone betraying the lingering frustration that still coils low in your stomach.

His smirk doesn’t falter; if anything, it sharpens. “You’re really trying to pretend we didn’t fuck?” he asks, the words cutting through the quiet like a blade.

You don’t look up, your voice icy and firm. “We didn’t because nothing happened.”

He chuckles low, leaning forward just enough for his next words to reach you, each one dripping with deliberate weight. “His smirk grows, his voice dropping as he leans closer, his breath brushing against your skin. “Didn’t sound like ‘nothing’ when you were moaning my name, when I was inside you all night long. Pretty sure your body had other ideas.”

The sharp scrape of your chair against the floor fills the room as you shift, refusing to let him see the way your pulse quickens. “If you spent half the energy you use trying to rile me up on this project, we’d actually have made progress by now,” you say, your tone clipped, pointed.

“And miss out on how cute you look when you’re mad?” He leans forward, his arm brushing yours, the proximity making the air feel heavier, his smirk daring you to push him away.

You sit straighter, your eyes narrowing as you try to pull the conversation back into focus. “You’re the one who claimed that a team’s success hinges on how well players adapt to shifting dynamics under pressure. So, why don’t you back it up— was that just another excuse to waste time?”

Jeno’s smirk falters slightly, his gaze dropping to your laptop. His fingers tap lazily against the edge of the table, but his eyes sharpen as he skims the notes and diagrams on your screen. A scatterplot of player movements during a key game flashes across the display, annotated with your meticulous notes on decision-making patterns and communication breakdowns. Your outline includes a dense analysis of leadership strategies and how positional shifts influence the outcome under pressure.

“You’re overthinking it,” he says finally, his voice casual, though his assessment cuts cleanly through the tension.

You bristle, snapping your head toward him. “I think. You don’t. That’s the difference.”

He doesn’t flinch, the corner of his mouth curling upward again. “I see the problem now,” he replies, pointing at the laptop screen. “You’re trying to force structure into something that works on instinct. Basketball isn’t about perfect lines and rigid rules; it’s about rhythm. You can’t analyze every second like it’s a chessboard and expect it to make sense. You’ve got to feel the game—not dissect it to death.”

His words linger, cutting through the air and planting an idea you hate to admit makes sense. Your fingers hover above the keys, frozen for a moment as your thoughts stutter and fall out of rhythm. You never falter like this—never let someone’s perspective shift the order in your mind. You never ask a question you don’t already know the answer to, never expose the cracks in your logic for someone else to see. But now, for some reason you can’t fully grasp, the structure you cling to feels… insufficient.

Your voice comes softer than you expect, almost hesitant. “How can I feel the game? It’s not like I’d ever play.” The words slip out before you can stop them, a crack in your usual analytical exterior. It feels foreign, exposing even this small piece of uncertainty, and you almost regret it the second it hangs in the air.

Jeno’s movements slow, his eyes sharpening as he takes you in, and for a moment, his teasing demeanor fades. He leans back slightly, his hand brushing against the table as if considering something. “I have an idea,” he says finally, his voice softer, carrying an edge of intrigue that feels entirely too dangerous.

Your brows furrow, instinctively returning to skepticism. “What is it?”

His smirk returns, sharp and infuriating, the tension diffusing as quickly as it had risen. “You’ll see,” he says, tilting his chair back with an infuriating nonchalance. “But only if you stop overthinking everything.”

Annoyance surges back, grounding you like a sharp inhale. “Do you even care about this?” you bite out, your tone sharper now, cutting through the strange vulnerability that had settled between you.

He leans in, his face hovering close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath, his grin widening with a deliberate slowness that makes your stomach tighten. “Care enough to spend time with you,” he murmurs, his voice low, teasing, but underpinned by something darker, something that sends a faint shiver through you.

The air between you thickens, every glance, every word, every movement a layer in the game neither of you is willing to admit you’re playing. He leans closer under the guise of looking at your notes, but the subtle shift brushes his arm against yours, the contact lingering just long enough to make your skin burn. The heat of him is palpable, invading the small space you’ve tried to maintain.

“Do you mind?” you say, your tone clipped, but the edge falters, betraying your effort to keep composure. “You’re in my space.”

His smirk curves wider, deliberate and slow, his voice dropping lower, his breath ghosting over your skin. “I thought we were past personal space.”

The words are like a spark to kindling, sending a shiver down your spine. His presence presses in on you, the sharpness of his gaze locking you in place. You try to resist, to pull your focus back to the project spread out in front of you, but Jeno has never been the type to let you ignore him. He moves closer, his frame dominating yours, his hand brushing against your papers in a move that feels far too intentional. It’s not just the way he towers over you—it’s the way he watches you, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

You shift back, but he doesn’t relent. He pretends to give you space, his hands moving to straighten the papers he just messed up, lining them up with a precision that mirrors your own. His fingers linger on the edges, the sharp, clean lines of the rearranged sheets tug at something deep within you, the kind of satisfaction that settles in your chest like a steadying breath. His movements are unhurried, precise, and you catch yourself watching too closely, a flicker of warmth blooming at how unexpectedly attentive he is.

“What?” he murmurs, catching the shift in your expression.

“Nothing,” you reply, returning to your notes. “At least now it looks decent.”

The highlighter sitting just out of reach catches your attention, and you lean forward to grab it, the movement fluid and unthinking. It’s a small gesture, one you’ve done countless times before, but Jeno’s gaze follows it, his attention snaring on your wrist like a hook catching on fabric.

His eyes narrow slightly, the shift subtle but there. It’s not suspicion—it’s curiosity, the kind that digs deeper the longer it lingers. The bracelet you’re wearing catches the light, its silver chain delicate, understated, and almost entirely bare. A charm bracelet, but one with hardly any charms. The sparseness of it seems to hold his attention, like it’s saying more about you than the silence between you ever could.

He doesn’t move or speak, but the weight of his observation feels palpable, hanging in the air. His gaze sharpens, deliberate in a way that feels out of place for someone so naturally impulsive. There’s something about the emptiness of the bracelet that sticks with him—something unspoken, a question without words.

You catch the flicker of his attention too late, and the realization makes you pull your sweater sleeve down instinctively, the fabric sliding over your wrist in a move meant to obscure. It’s automatic, almost defensive, but the brief glimpse of the bracelet lingers in his mind, unanswered.

He doesn’t react at first, still leaning back in his seat, but his posture shifts slightly, his gaze lingering on you longer than usual. When he finally speaks, his voice is lower, softer, the edge of curiosity still there but buried beneath something gentler.

“Are you hungry?” The question feels sudden, out of place, but the warmth in his tone keeps it from sounding abrupt.

You pause mid-sentence, blinking up at him. The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. “Kinda,” you admit, setting your pen down as you study him, unsure of where this is leading.

He nods once, as if that’s all he needed to hear, and then turns on his heel without another word. The quiet resolve in his movements leaves you momentarily stunned, your eyes following him as he strides toward the door. He doesn’t take his bag, doesn’t look back, and the simplicity of it—the lack of his usual teasing or smug comments—throws you.

Your gaze drifts back to your work, but your focus wavers. The room feels emptier in his absence, the air thinner, like it’s waiting for something. You try to push the moment aside, eyes scanning your notes, but the sound of the door opening again pulls you immediately. You glance up, heart skipping when you see him, his hands full—two coffees and a small paper bag that smells faintly of something sweet.

You reach for the coffee, the warmth of the cup grounding you as you take a tentative sip. The moment the hazelnut hits your tongue, mingling with the creamy smoothness of oat milk, your eyes flutter shut, rolling back slightly in unguarded bliss. The taste is so perfect, so unmistakably yours, that it makes your breath catch. How did he know what you liked?

Jeno sets the other cup down on the desk beside a paper bag, his movements unusually measured, almost careful. It’s such a contrast to his usual recklessness that it makes you pause, your gaze shifting to him. “Thought you might need fuel,” he says, the words casual, but the subtle curve of his lips and the glint in his eyes betray him. There’s something deliberate about the way he says it, like he’s gauging your reaction, daring you to read into it.

You glance at the spread in front of you, a thoughtful assortment of pastries spilling from the paper bag. Your lips twitch into a faint smile. “Thanks,” you say, the word soft but genuine as you reach for another sip of the coffee, savoring the unexpected gesture more than you’d care to admit.

You brush a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear again. It’s become a repetitive distraction, an absent motion, though you can’t seem to bring yourself to tie it back. Maybe it’s laziness, maybe it’s something else, but the loose strands keep falling, teasing against your cheek, pulling your focus away from the task in front of you.

Jeno moves without warning, his presence at your back catching you off guard. His hands reach for yours, brushing against your knuckles as he takes the hair tie from your wrist. The motion is deliberate, unhurried, as though he’s not just helping but laying a claim to the moment. You turn your head, your breath hitching slightly, and meet his gaze—steady, soft, and unreadable. The warmth of his touch lingers, spreading across your skin in waves that feel intimate, almost too intimate, as your furrowed brows betray the sudden shift in the air between you.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

He meets your gaze, his expression softer than usual, his eyes steady on yours. “Stay still,” he murmurs, his fingers gathering your hair with surprising gentleness. He ties it back, the motion slow and deliberate, and for a moment, you wonder if this is the same Jeno who thrives on chaos. The tenderness of it feels so foreign, so out of character, that you can’t help but stare at him as he finishes.

“You look so pretty with your hair up,” he says, his voice low, almost reverent.

Your breath catches. “It was in my face,” you reply, trying to sound dismissive, but the tremor in your voice betrays you.

“Fuck,” he breathes, your name slipping from his lips in a tone that sends a shiver straight down your spine. His voice is darker now, laden with something unspoken, something impossible to ignore. His hand slides to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin there, and before you can think, his lips crash into yours. The kiss is molten, pulling you under with its heat, his hands tangling in your hair as he draws you impossibly closer. A low, needy moan escapes him, vibrating against your mouth, and the sound alone makes your knees weaken. Every movement of his lips, every tilt of his head, carries a desperation that’s as heady as it is dangerous.

His hands are already tugging at your shirt, fingers brushing bare skin, when you shove him back with a strength you didn’t know you had. His groan is guttural, raw, his chest rising and falling as he stares at you, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark with want. “Y/N,” he growls, the sound of your name stretched out like a warning, or maybe a plea. The space between you feels electric, every breath shared hanging heavy, the kind of tension that feels like it’s seconds away from detonating.

You smile, sharp and teasing, and grab your ID card from the desk. Pressing it into his hand, you grip his fingers tightly around it, your eyes locking with his. “Go to the closest printer and print off everything on this card,” you say, your voice dripping with command. “Then I’ll think about kissing you.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he might argue. But instead, he nods, his eyes dark with determination as he turns and walks out the door without a second glance. The air feels heavier in his absence, the silence thrumming with the echo of what just happened. You can’t help but smile to yourself, knowing that you’ve won this round. For now.

The air is thick and electric when he returns shortly after. He doesn’t say a word, but you notice the stack of papers in his hand—stapled, collated, and arranged with a precision you hadn’t expected. He places them neatly on the table, his movements deliberate and uncharacteristically calm, like he’s presenting you with proof of something you can’t name. It shouldn’t affect you, but it does. There’s something about the way he moves, the quiet efficiency that makes your pulse quicken in a way you can’t explain, and it frustrates you that he can elicit this reaction without trying.

Before you can think to speak, his lips are on yours again, hot and insistent. He pulls you flush against him, his body radiating a heat that seeps into your skin. His hands are firm on your waist, his fingers digging in just enough to remind you who’s in control now, and you moan against his lips. The sound seems to spur him on, his grip tightening as he angles your face to deepen the kiss. But the haze doesn’t last long. You break away, gasping, your hands pressing against his chest as you try to create distance.

“Jeno,” you whisper, your tone heavy with breathlessness, your lips still tingling from the contact. “We can’t do this.”

His response is immediate, his hand sliding beneath your shirt with a deliberate slowness that makes your back arch. His thumb brushes over your nipple, the touch sending sparks through your body as a moan slips from your lips, unbidden. You bite your lip hard, your head falling back as your eyes flutter closed. It’s maddening how easily he breaks your resolve.

“Why do you care so much about what this looks like?” he murmurs, his voice softer now, but the words cut deeper, each one precise and unforgiving. His thumb moves again, circling, teasing, drawing another shaky sigh from your lips. “Afraid people might think you actually like being here with me?”

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a second, you can’t speak. The small hitch in your breathing betrays you, and you hate that he hears it, that he knows. But you recover quickly, your glare sharpening as you spit back, “What I care about is not letting you ruin this project—or my life.”

He laughs then, a low, intimate sound that makes the heat in your chest flare. “You’re so good at running away, Y/N,” he says, his tone laced with something almost tender. His fingers don’t stop, coaxing and persistent, and it’s impossible to think clearly. “Is that how you handle everything?”

Your glare sharpens. “Not everything is worth staying for.”

Before you can pull away, his hand slides to your waist, pulling you flush against the desk. The papers you had so carefully arranged scatter across the surface, forgotten, as his other hand grips the edge of the table behind you. His chest is so close you can feel the heat of him seeping into your skin, his presence consuming, his voice dropping to a low whisper that slices cleanly through the tension.

“You’re so used to controlling everything,” he murmurs, his breath grazing your lips, the words curling darkly between you. “What happens when you can’t control me?”

Your heart stutters, the weight of his words sinking into you, twisting your pulse into something erratic. His hand slides to the small of your back, pulling you even closer, the firm press of his body against yours making it impossible to think. Your hands move without permission, trailing up his chest, fingertips grazing the hard lines of muscle beneath his shirt before curling into the fabric, pulling him closer still. Your body betrays every ounce of resistance you’ve clung to, your hips brushing against his in a way that sends heat spiraling low in your stomach.

Your breaths are shallow, uneven, your chest rising and falling against his as you force out, “This doesn’t mean anything.” The tremor in your voice betrays you, cracking under the weight of the moment. His smirk sharpens, his grip on you tightening as he leans closer, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth in a way that makes the air between you feel unbearable.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he murmurs, his touch maddeningly light, like a dare.

The last threads of restraint snap, breaking in the heat of his proximity. You surge forward, closing the distance with a fervor that has nothing to do with logic and everything to do with release. His lips crash against yours, his grip on you tightening as he matches your intensity with his own. It’s hard, heated, the culmination of every sharp word and lingering stare between you, a clash that leaves no room for anything but this.

His hands glide firmly to your thighs, the heat of his touch searing through the fabric as he lifts you onto the desk with effortless strength. The sunlight cuts through the blinds in uneven slashes, casting fleeting shadows that dance over your skin, over the curve of your legs now bracketing his hips. The crumpled papers beneath you are a faint reminder of the order you once clung to, now buried under the weight of his body pressing into yours. Every shift of him is deliberate, the tension in his grip matched by the unrelenting push of his chest against you, each motion tightening the pull that coils low in your stomach.

“You gonna take charge this time,” he rasps against your neck, his voice rough and edged with heat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to make you gasp. His fingers grip your thighs harder, digging into the flesh as he drags you closer, the space between your bodies dissolving until every inch of him presses against you. “Or are you gonna let me ruin you?” The words land like a challenge, heavy and dripping with intent, his lips trailing along your jaw to punctuate it.

Your breath catches, and instead of answering, your hands dive into his hair, threading through the strands with a force that makes him groan low in his throat. The sound rumbles against your skin, shooting straight to your core as you pull him closer, tilting his head to give yourself control for just a moment. Your lips find his, hard and demanding, as you shift against him, arching into the solid press of his body like you’re daring him to follow through.

“You don’t ruin me,” you gasp between kisses, the words sharp and cutting as your nails rake down the back of his neck, leaving him breathless for a moment. “I let you.” The way your hips roll against him contradicts the defiance in your voice, but the flicker of something darker in his eyes tells you he doesn’t mind the contradiction—it only makes him want more.

His response begins as a low growl, vibrating against your skin as his lips trail lower, slow and deliberate, along the column of your neck. Each kiss lingers just a moment too long, his breath warm and heavy, his teeth grazing with just enough pressure to send a jolt through you. His hands tighten their hold on your thighs, fingers digging in as he shifts closer, the movement controlled yet rough, a silent demand for more.

Your back arches slightly against the hard edge of the desk, the papers beneath you crumpling further under the weight of your body pressing into them. His knee slides between your legs, forcing them apart, his body leaning into yours with an unrelenting heat that pins you firmly in place. One of his hands grips your hip, the other sliding under your top with a deliberate slowness that sets your skin alight. His thumbs brush over your sides, dragging upward until his grip borders on possessive, the fabric rising with him. Your breath catches as his lips find the curve of your shoulder, teeth scraping lightly before he bites down harder, pulling a broken gasp from you.

The weight of him presses you further back, pinning you to the desk with an intensity that makes the air between you feel suffocating. But as his hands move higher, fingers skimming dangerous territory, a cold blade of clarity slices through the haze, sharp and unrelenting.

Your palms flatten against his chest, the pressure hard and purposeful, shoving him back with enough force to break the spell. His movements still, the heat in his gaze flickering into something darker as he meets your eyes. “No,” you say, your voice cutting through the air with a cold finality, steady and sharp, even as your heart races and your skin burns from where he touched you.

His eyes flash with frustration, the tension in his jaw tightening as his hands stay rooted on your waist, firm and unrelenting, like he refuses to let you go. Instead of stepping back, he leans in again, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s rougher, more demanding, as if he’s trying to pull you under with him. His groan is low, guttural, vibrating through you as his fingers press harder into your sides, anchoring you against him. The kiss deepens, his tongue teasing yours with deliberate control, his breath hot and heavy as it fans across your skin.

Your fingers curl into his shirt, holding him close for just a second too long, the heat of his body searing through the thin barrier of fabric. His hands move, one sliding down to grip your thigh, pulling you closer until his arousal presses against you, unmistakable and deliberate. The pressure sends a jolt through you, sharp and electrifying, his lips devouring yours as if he knows exactly how close he’s bringing you to unraveling.

But clarity cuts through the haze like ice against fire, snapping you back. With a sharp shove, you push against his chest, breaking the kiss. The sound of his breath catching—half a groan, half a growl—lingers between you, the tension snapping taut again as he stumbles slightly, his hands still reaching as though unwilling to let the moment go.

“I said no,” you snap, your voice sharp and unwavering, even as your chest heaves and your skin burns from the memory of his touch.

He doesn’t step back, his gaze dark and fixed on yours, daring you to take the next move. His chest rises and falls, his breath uneven, but he stays rooted, his hands reluctantly falling away as you slide off the desk with deliberate precision. You take your time, smoothing your top, running your fingers over your hair as though every detail must be perfect before you turn away.

“Figure out how to handle that,” you say, your voice cool and cutting as your gaze drops briefly to the tension still evident in his body. Your lips twitch into the faintest smirk, sharp enough to sting, before you meet his eyes one last time.

You turn, walking away without a glance back, your steps unhurried, your head high as if the entire room doesn’t still hum with the heat of what just happened. The door clicks shut behind you, leaving him standing there, breathless, frustrated, and impossibly hard, his composure crumbling in the wake of your absence.

“Wait, so you have to work with Jeno?” Mark asks, his tone cautious but laced with curiosity. He leans forward slightly, his eyebrows pulling together in that familiar way that makes you feel like he’s already assessing the situation too deeply.

You hesitate, the weight of your answer catching in your throat. That’s why you told him about the project in the first place—because if Mark ever saw you with Jeno, it would be easier to explain it as purely academic. You’d decided it was better to let him know upfront, to control the narrative before it spun into something else. Something dangerous. Something that could lead to the truth about the night you and Jeno shared—a night you’ve sworn to bury in the deepest part of yourself. A night that will not happen again.

Finally, you nod, trying to keep your tone nonchalant. “Yeah,” you reply, letting out a breath. “Coach Suh wouldn’t let me pick anyone else.” You cross your arms, forcing an unimpressed edge into your voice. “Apparently, it’s because he’s the captain.”

Mark’s eyes narrow slightly, and you know that look. He’s analyzing you, trying to piece together whether you’re telling the full story. “How’s that going for you?” he asks, his voice light but probing.

“It’s not that bad,” you say quickly, waving him off. You know Mark. He worries—too much sometimes—and the last thing you want is for him to dig deeper. “He’s not the most helpful person to be around, honestly. But…” You pause, the faintest flicker of a smile brushing your lips before you catch yourself. “He kinda makes an alright assistant. He’s actually organized a few things for me. And—” you shrug, playing it off as casually as possible— “he brought coffee the other day.”

Mark’s expression shifts slightly, subtle enough that you almost miss it. He’s listening carefully, but there’s something else there, too. Something questioning.

“You’re spreading yourself too thin with this project thing,” he says suddenly, his tone soft but firm. It’s not a question, and that’s what makes it land heavier than you expect. “I mean, you’ve already got so much on your plate.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Jeno…” The words catch briefly, and you pause, not quite sure what to say. “He’s not great, but he’s trying. And that makes it easier.” There’s an unexpected shift in your tone as you speak, quieter, more thoughtful, though you don’t notice. It’s a subtle softness, slipping in without your permission, a calm that feels out of place amidst the usual edge in your voice.

Mark notices.

He doesn’t comment right away, but you can feel his eyes on you as you start talking about your next session with Jeno—how you plan to structure it, what you think might actually help. Your voice is patient in a way it rarely is, a quiet care slipping in as you outline your thoughts. You don’t even realize the change in tone, but Mark does.

Mark knows you. You’re firm, unyielding, the kind of person who doesn’t take anyone’s shit. Not from students panicking about deadlines, not from people asking for shortcuts. But with Jeno, there’s something different. Something quieter, more deliberate. Mark sees it in the way you’re willing to explain things to him, in how you talk about the work you’re doing together like it matters, like you want to help him.

And it’s not just about the project. There’s something more. Mark can’t place it yet, but it’s there.

Mark tilts his head slightly, his brows furrowing as he studies you, confusion flickering in his eyes. “You’re really patient with him,” he says, his tone careful, more curious than teasing. “More than I thought you’d be.”

You glance at him, your eyebrows knitting together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly, raising his hands in mock defense. But the look in his eyes lingers, a quiet understanding he doesn’t voice. Instead, he stores the thought away, filing it under the things he loves most about you—your sharpness, your strength, your ability to care in ways you don’t even realize.

And now, apparently, your willingness to be in Jeno’s corner, even when it surprises him.

The room had become quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning, but your mind drifted to the scenes playing out just beyond the walls. You could almost hear it: the campus alive with energy, footsteps pounding against concrete, voices raised in excitement. Students would be weaving through the pathways, duffle bags in tow, their laughter cutting through the crisp air as they prepared for the Seoul Ravens’ first away game of the season. It was easy to picture the buzz of it all, but it felt like another world entirely—a world you had no interest in stepping into. Basketball had always been background noise to you, something you tuned out unless it involved Mark. The only game you’d ever bothered to attend was his first, and even then, it wasn’t about the sport. It was about him.

But this time, you couldn’t escape it. The project had pulled you into the fold, tethering you to a world you didn’t belong in. You’d have to watch the matches, take notes, and analyze the dynamics on and off the court. You’d have to observe the players, the cheerleaders, the crowd—people you normally avoided without hesitation. Just the thought made your stomach twist, the weight of obligation settling heavy in your chest. You shifted uncomfortably, glancing at your suitcase, half-packed on the floor. The weekend stretched ahead like an endurance test, but at least Mark would be there. You’d endure it for him, like you always did, even if it meant sharing a motel with people you could barely stand.

You let out a small groan, leaning your head against Mark’s shoulder as you both sat perched on the edge of your bed. The faint scent of his cologne, familiar and grounding, filled the small space between you. Your eyes fluttered shut, and your voice came out muffled against the soft fabric of his hoodie. “I really don’t want to go,” you muttered, the words laced with resignation. “The thought of being stuck in the same motel as half these people makes me want to scream.”

His laugh rumbled softly under your cheek, a sound that made the corners of your mouth twitch upward despite yourself as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. You’ll survive.”

“I hope so,” you mumbled, but as your eyes opened, a sudden thought lit up in your mind. You jabbed his arm, sitting up straight. “Hey—”

“What?” he asked, feigning offense as he rubbed his arm. “What did I do now?”

“Have you submitted those documents I told you to submit an entire week ago?” you demanded, your tone sharp with authority. His silence was telling, and the sheepish look he gave you only confirmed your suspicion.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Mark Lee.”

“I was gonna do it,” he defended, though the guilty look on his face gave him away.

“Do it tonight, or I’ll move in with Shotaro,” you warned. “This apartment is a perfect contender—it’s in a great area, and the price is actually decent. But they’re not gonna wait around for us if you keep slacking on the documentation.”

He nodded quickly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, okay. I’ll do it tonight. Promise.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “I knew I’d lose my best friend to the shackles of college basketball and popularity.”

“Hey!” he exclaimed, sitting up straighter. “I’m still the same guy. Basketball hasn’t changed me.”

You let out a quiet laugh, but the sound lacked its usual lightness. The truth lingered unspoken between you. It wasn’t that Mark was slipping away—not exactly—but his world had expanded in ways yours hadn’t. His name seemed to echo everywhere now, woven into conversations you overheard on campus. It wasn’t just about his basketball skills, though those were undeniable; it was the way he carried himself. Mark had that unassuming charisma, the kind that made people orbit around him without him even realizing it. He wasn’t loud or flashy—he didn’t need to be. There was something magnetic in the way he smiled, the way he treated everyone like they mattered.

And yet, sitting here in the quiet of your room, he wasn’t the campus star. He wasn’t the guy everyone whispered about or cheered for. He was just Mark. The same boy who teased you relentlessly, who knew your favorite snacks, who’d always had your back no matter what. In moments like this, it was easy to forget how much he’d become to everyone else because, for you, he was still simply your best friend.

“I can’t believe you’re left packing until the last minute,” he teased, mock tutting as he gestured to the half-packed suitcase on your bed. “This is so unlike you.”

“I didn’t,” you argued, crossing your arms. “I didn’t even know I was coming on this trip until this morning. Coach Suh told me last-minute that there was space for me in the motel and on the coach.”

His laugh filled the room, warm and familiar, as the two of you got to work packing. There was an ease between you, a rhythm to your friendship that needed no explanation. He handed you a sweater, and you tucked it into the suitcase, glancing at him with a soft smile.

“I’m glad you’re coming,” he said suddenly, his voice quieter, more sincere. “It’ll be nice to see a familiar face in the audience. It always helps me feel grounded—makes it feel more like the river court.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you reached out to hug him, wrapping your arms around him tightly. “I’ll always support you,” you murmured. “I’m always so proud of you, you know that, right?”

Before Mark could respond, the door burst open, and Donghyuck groaned loudly, flopping onto the bed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “Can you two not?” he muttered, glaring at you both like you’d personally ruined his day.

You rolled your eyes, pulling away from Mark as you got back to packing. “Don’t you have your own packing to do?”

“I’m already packed,” Donghyuck announced proudly, stretching out like a cat. “I just came to see what you’re up to.”

Yangyang appeared in the doorway a moment later, grinning as he held up a neatly folded shirt. “Thought I’d come help too. I’m already packed, and, let’s be honest, you’re the most fun to hang out with.”

The room buzzed with an easy kind of chaos, the kind that came from familiarity and years of friendship. Donghyuck moved through your carefully arranged pile of clothes with a theatrical lack of care, pulling out random items and replacing them with things he deemed more “appropriate.” A ridiculous hat landed squarely on your bed, bright and obnoxious against the muted tones of your neatly folded sweaters. He didn’t bother to hide his smirk as he tossed it into the mix, his movements careless but full of intention. You shot him a pointed glance, shaking your head as you picked the hat up and flung it onto the floor, but your lips twitched despite yourself.

Yangyang lingered at the edge of the bed, his attention caught by something that had slipped through your usual meticulousness. The black lace thong and matching bra lay out in the open, striking against the practicality of the rest of your packing. His brow furrowed, his movements faltering as he caught sight of it. A flush crept up his neck as he glanced toward you, then quickly back to the lingerie. The moment stretched as Donghyuck’s eyes darted to the bed, his realization arriving a second later. His amusement bubbled to the surface, evident in the sharp rise of his shoulders and the quiet shake of his head.

You moved without a word, your face calm, betraying nothing. Folding the lace set with precise hands, you tucked it into your suitcase and resumed your packing, brushing away the moment as easily as you might smooth over a wrinkle in a shirt. The weight of their gazes lingered—Yangyang’s awkward but fond, Donghyuck’s teasing, and Mark’s quiet but steady—but you didn’t acknowledge it. Even as the room swirled with disarray—Donghyuck’s deliberate chaos, Yangyang’s awkward fidgeting, Mark’s steady presence—it all seemed to balance perfectly, as if each of you instinctively knew how to fill the space left by another. The warmth wasn’t in the words unsaid but in the way they didn’t need to be spoken, a kind of trust built over time, binding you all together in ways that felt effortless.

The door flew open with a sharp bang, and Chenle stormed in, his movements quick and frantic. His gaze darted to the scattered clothes across the bed and floor, eyebrows knitting together in visible disapproval. His sharp inhale filled the room as he threw his hands up, gesturing wildly at the chaos surrounding you. The tension in his posture was mirrored in his voice, which cut through the warm atmosphere with an exasperated edge.

“Unbelievable!” he barked, his eyes narrowing as he gestured at Donghyuck’s pile of discarded hats and Yangyang’s haphazardly folded clothes. He grabbed a crumpled sweater from the edge of your suitcase, shaking it like it offended him personally. His face twisted into a mix of frustration and disappointment as his hand flew to his hip, his stance the very picture of disapproval. Even his sigh felt heavy, weighted with the kind of authority that came naturally to him.

He didn’t need to say it, but he did anyway—his voice brimming with righteous indignation as he scolded the room like a parent catching their children misbehaving. “Just because we live on a budget,” he muttered, his tone biting as he surveyed the room with a dramatic sweep of his arm, “doesn’t mean we have to look like we’re off-brand!”

You bit back a grin as Chenle’s scolding reached its peak, his voice rising in mock outrage as he waved a shirt in Donghyuck’s direction. Donghyuck, unfazed, threw himself onto the bed with dramatic flair, claiming he was too exhausted to argue. Yangyang fiddled with the edge of his hoodie, pretending to listen while his eyes darted to you, amusement dancing in their depths. Even Mark, who rarely engaged in the theatrics, chuckled softly, his gaze lingering on the mess but betraying no intention of intervening. The chaos felt alive, wrapping itself around the room like an embrace, and you found yourself leaning into it, letting their voices and presence fill the space.

As you zipped up your suitcase, their attention shifted to you, casual but lingering, their expressions softening as the room quieted. They didn’t say anything, but their teasing, their fussing, and even their collective disarray spoke volumes. You could feel it—the way their focus settled on you like you were the thread that held the moment together. And you loved it, even if you’d never admit it outright. It was rare to feel this surrounded, this seen, even amid the chaos, and you let yourself bask in it for just a moment longer.

The early morning air felt colder than it should have, biting against your skin as you stepped onto the campus grounds. The golden light of dawn stretched long shadows across the pavement, softening the buzz of activity into something almost serene—if not for the way it all seemed so far away. You kept your distance, eyes flicking across the scene with an almost clinical precision. The basketball team was scattered across the lot, players moving in pairs or small groups, their laughter and energy bouncing off the concrete. Cheerleaders hovered nearby, bright and animated, their voices spilling over with chatter that didn’t concern you. It was all so performative, so obvious, as though everyone here knew their roles and leaned into them fully. You were only here because you had to be.

The trip wasn’t about camaraderie or excitement for you—it was about calculation. Observation. Jeno. He filled the edges of your mind, slipping into your thoughts despite how many times you tried to push him out. What would this weekend reveal? Would he try to take control, thinking he could have you the way he did before, or would he crack under the weight of knowing you wouldn’t let him? You weren’t interested in giving him anything, but the thought of watching him squirm, of seeing how far he’d go to try and get it, was enough to keep you curious, almost too curious for comfort.

Jeno wasn’t the type to handle rejection gracefully, and the thought of watching him navigate the boundaries you’d drawn intrigued you more than you wanted to admit. It wasn’t that you wanted to challenge him—it was more personal than that. You wanted to see him, understand him, even if it meant keeping yourself at a safe distance.

The sound of Yangyang and Donghyuck’s bickering pulled you from your thoughts. They were huddled together near the coach, their voices rising over something completely inconsequential—probably the seating arrangement or who got to bring what snacks for the ride. Yangyang’s face was a picture of exaggerated indignation, waving a packet of sour gummies like it was a weapon. Donghyuck countered with an equally dramatic point, gesturing to the coach and claiming that Yangyang’s choice of snacks was “unacceptable and borderline offensive.” It was the kind of chaos only they could create, and despite yourself, you felt the corners of your lips twitch into a faint smile.

“You good?” Donghyuck’s voice cut through, catching you off guard as he slung an arm around your shoulder. His tone was playful, but his glance lingered for a second longer than usual, a flicker of something more sincere in his eyes. Yangyang, now victorious in their snack debate, nudged your arm gently, his expression light but curious. “Yeah, you’ve been kinda quiet,” he added, leaning in just enough to study your face. They didn’t press further—never did—but their presence was grounding, pulling you back into the warm chaos of the group.

The moment settled, their laughter fading into the background as your focus shifted to Areum. She moved with a quiet kind of purpose, her steps measured but lacking the assertiveness of someone used to commanding attention. It wasn’t her presence that filled the space but the way she softened it, her gaze fixed solely on Mark like he was the only one there. Her shoulders were slightly drawn in, her movements careful, almost tentative, yet there was an undeniable intention in the way she approached. She passed by your group without so much as a glance, her voice low and steady as she called his name, “Mark,” a sound meant only for him, delicate but deliberate, like an offering.

Mark didn’t notice at first, lost in the steady rhythm of his music. He leaned casually against his car, arms crossed, his headphones still on. It wasn’t until Areum tapped him lightly on the shoulder that he startled, pulling one earbud out as he turned toward her. The moment their eyes met, you felt the shift. His usual guardedness melted away, replaced by something warmer, more open. His lips curved into a soft smile that reached his eyes, the kind of look you hadn’t seen him give to anyone in a while.

Areum handed him something—a mixtape. Even from a distance, you could see the care she’d put into it. His name was written across the case in looping script, surrounded by small doodles of guitars and basketballs. It wasn’t flashy, but it was intentional. Thoughtful. Mark’s fingers brushed hers as he took it, and though the moment was fleeting, it lingered in a way that made you pause.

Yangyang raised an eyebrow beside you, breaking your focus. “What’s going on over there?” he asked, his voice low enough to stay between the three of you.

Donghyuck leaned slightly forward, his expression somewhere between curious and annoyed. “Why does it look like they’re in some kind of rom-com moment?” he muttered, clearly unimpressed but equally unable to look away.

You didn’t answer, too focused on the small details: the way Areum tilted her head, her smile radiant and genuine; the way Mark’s thumb absently traced the edge of the tape as if committing it to memory. Their connection was private, unspoken, yet glaringly obvious. You fidgeted with your phone, pretending not to notice, but the tension in the air was impossible to ignore.

When Areum finally walked away, her expression content, Mark stayed by his car for a moment longer. His gaze lingered on the tape in his hands, his thumb brushing over one of the doodles as though it was something fragile. Then, as if nothing had happened, he pushed off the car and walked toward you, slipping the tape into his bag like it wasn’t a big deal.

Yangyang wasn’t letting it go. “Okay, what was that?” he asked, his tone playful but curious.

Mark shrugged, a grin tugging at his lips. “Nothing,” he said simply, though his eyes flicked toward Areum for just a second too long.

Donghyuck rolled his eyes dramatically. “Sure, nothing. Because mixtapes from pretty girls are totally casual.”

Mark laughed, his reaction too light, too natural, to be convincing. He didn’t say anything more, but the way his hand brushed the bag where he’d tucked the tape told you enough. Whatever it was, he wasn’t telling—but he wasn’t exactly hiding it either.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Nahyun’s expression as she stood with Shotaro and Chenle. Her gaze lingered on Mark, her lips pressed into a thin line as though she were trying to mask something. Shotaro noticed too, his eyes flicking between Nahyun and Mark briefly before he gave her a reassuring nudge. Chenle, meanwhile, was oblivious to the tension, busy ranting about how unprepared everyone was.

The energy of the group ebbed and flowed as always, but something about the way Mark stood, his easy laughter blending with Yangyang and Donghyuck’s teasing, left you unsettled. The tape hadn’t just been a gesture; it had been a message, one you weren’t sure you were meant to decipher.

The bus ride stretched endlessly, every bump and turn reminding you of how uncomfortable it was. You sat beside Mark, your notebook open in your lap, though your notes were barely touched. Your eyes kept drifting against your will to where Jeno sprawled out across the aisle, headphones on, his posture deceptively relaxed. His long legs stretched out into the walkway, his fingers drumming lazily against his thigh. He radiated an effortless arrogance, completely at ease in the cramped space that everyone else found unbearable.

Donghyuck and Yangyang’s voices rose in bickering tones nearby, pulling you into their trivial arguments now and then—something about snacks and music choices. You responded half-heartedly, your mind unable to pull fully away from the weight of Jeno’s presence just a few rows ahead. His confidence, his complete lack of concern, was maddening.

As the bus pulled into the motel parking lot, the team and cheer squad spilled out into the cool evening air. You hauled your bag from the luggage compartment, the atmosphere already tense. The cramped quarters and thin walls of the motel offered little privacy. You could hear teammates joking too loudly, cheerleaders laughing as they dragged their gear to their rooms, the occasional bark of Coach Suh reminding everyone to settle down.

Coach Suh’s voice boomed over the chatter, cutting through the noise like a siren. “Listen up! Opposite sexes in the same room? Not happening! This isn’t spring break—this is an away game, and I’m running a respectable program!”

A ripple of groans and snickers moved through the group, but Coach Suh pressed on, holding up a clipboard like it held the Ten Commandments. “I’ve already decided the rooming arrangements. No, you don’t get a say. No, you can’t switch. And no, Yangyang, bribery will not work this time!”

Yangyang raised his hands in mock surrender, his voice dripping with faux innocence. “What? I wasn’t even gonna try this time!”

Donghyuck snorted. “Yeah, sure. And I’m the starting point guard.”

“I should be the starting point guard!” Yangyang shot back, earning a chorus of laughs as Coach Suh glared at them.

The coach’s eyes narrowed. “You think this is funny? Let me remind you what happened the last time I trusted you all to sort it out. Jay and Sunghoon trying to fit five people in one room because they wanted ‘bonding time’ with the cheer squad? Yeah. Not on my watch!”

The laughter rose again, Mark shaking his head as he muttered, “We’re in college, for crying out loud.”

You couldn’t help but agree. Adults. All of you. Technically. Coach Suh’s micromanaging felt like an overreaction, bordering on parody. Were rooming arrangements really that serious? You thought about pointing this out but wisely stayed quiet, knowing full well the coach didn’t take well to being questioned.

Mark walked alongside you, your bag slung over his shoulder despite your insistence that you could handle it. “Thanks,” you murmured as you reached your assigned room.

“No problem,” Mark replied, his tone light, though his gaze lingered on you for a moment, as if sensing the unease you hadn’t quite managed to bury. “Catch you later.”

You nodded and stepped into the room, greeted by the soft click of the door closing behind you and Nahyun’s quiet presence already filling the space. She was perched on the edge of one of the twin beds, her bag unpacked but untouched, her expression unreadable as she stared out the window.

Her silence wasn’t unusual, but tonight it felt heavier, as though the long day and unfamiliar environment weighed on her more than she was willing to say. You set your bag down on the other bed, glancing her way briefly before pulling out your notebook and laptop. The absence of words between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t exactly warm either—more like a truce you’d both silently agreed upon without negotiation.

“I guess we’re stuck with thin walls and Coach Suh’s rules,” you said lightly, breaking the quiet as you unpacked your things. Nahyun turned her head slightly but didn’t respond, her focus still on the view outside.

You paused for a beat, debating whether to press her or let her be. Ultimately, you let the silence settle again, returning to your own task while the low hum of voices from the hallway seeped into the room.

The room was dim, the single overhead light flickering faintly as you shifted in bed. You hadn’t slept well, not even close. The motel’s walls were criminally thin, every sound from the hallway and neighboring rooms bleeding through. Laughter echoed faintly—teammates cracking jokes, their voices muffled but clear enough to keep you awake. Somewhere down the hall, the low murmur of a TV played, punctuated by bursts of canned laughter. You turned over for the third time, staring at the peeling wallpaper and trying to will yourself into rest, but the suffocating stillness of the room kept you tense, every creak and shuffle amplifying the unease that settled under your skin.

By the time morning came, you felt like you hadn’t slept at all. The pale light creeping through the thin curtains was an unwelcome reminder that the day had begun, and the tension of the previous night was now rolling into something new. At the gym, the energy was electric. The players moved across the court in synchronized warm-ups, their sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. Their movements were sharp and rehearsed, the rhythm of the drill almost hypnotic as the coaches barked orders. On the sidelines, the cheer squad practiced their routines, their shouts echoing through the gym. You sat on the bleachers, laptop open on your knees, pretending to focus on the project. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, aimlessly tapping as your thoughts drifted elsewhere.

No matter how hard you tried, your eyes kept being drawn back to Jeno. He moved with a calculated arrogance, each motion deliberate, his body language exuding a confidence that bordered on cocky. His smirk lingered at the edges of his lips, subtle but undeniable, as if he knew exactly the effect he had on the room. It annoyed you—how effortlessly he commanded attention, how even the smallest glance in his direction seemed to draw you in. You caught him looking at you more than once. Each time, his eyes locked with yours, holding your gaze for just a beat too long before that infuriating smirk tugged at his lips. It wasn’t subtle. He wanted you to notice him, and the worst part was that you did.

“You okay?” Mark’s voice broke through your thoughts. You blinked, startled, as he dropped onto the bleacher beside you. His energy was jittery, his movements restless as he bounced lightly on the balls of his feet. He leaned over slightly, peering at your screen. “How’s the project coming?”

You brushed him off lightly, closing the laptop with a snap. “It’s fine. Busy.” The tightness in your chest made it hard to sound convincing, and you knew he could sense it. His brows furrowed slightly, his concern palpable, but he didn’t push. Instead, he shifted back, offering a small, reassuring smile that you didn’t quite have the energy to return.

Karina stood nearby, her arms crossed as she chatted quietly with Areum. Her sharp gaze flicked between you and Jeno, narrowing slightly as if she were piecing together a puzzle you didn’t want her to solve. Her focus lingered on you, her expression thoughtful, the wheels in her head clearly turning. Areum, on the other hand, had her attention locked on Mark. Her soft, hopeful expression made something in your stomach twist uncomfortably. The contrast between her open affection and Karina’s analytical observation was jarring, but you couldn’t bring yourself to dwell on it. Instead, you adjusted your posture, forcing your shoulders back, trying to appear calm and unbothered even as you felt Karina’s gaze prickling against your skin.

The controlled rigidity of your movements must have given you away. Karina’s eyes lingered for a moment longer, as if filing her observations away for later, before she turned back to Areum. You exhaled slowly, shifting your attention back to the court, but the unease stayed with you. The energy in the gym was alive, pulsing with tension, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were a thread being pulled tighter with every glance, every observation, every unspoken question.

The Busan Titans’ gymnasium buzzed with a restless energy, a perfect storm of anticipation and chaos. Local fans packed the bleachers, their cheers echoing off the high ceilings, mixing with the rhythmic bounce of basketballs and the sharp commands of the coaches. The Seoul Ravens, clad in their navy and gold jerseys, moved across the court in warm-ups, their intensity matching the electric tension in the air. Cheerleaders lined the sidelines, practicing routines with synchronized precision, their voices cutting through the din. The fluorescent lights overhead gleamed harshly off the polished wood floor, magnifying every squeak of sneakers and every thud of the ball hitting the rim.

Emotionally, the stakes were sky-high. The rivalry between the Seoul Ravens and the Busan Titans was infamous, a clash that always promised drama both on and off the court. For you, the stakes felt even higher. Watching Mark navigate the game with his usual precision and focus should have been your only concern. But your eyes, drawn like a magnet, kept drifting to Jeno. Every move he made exuded a deliberate attractiveness, his confidence bordering on provocation. Even in the chaos of the game, he carried himself like the gym was his stage, every dribble, pass, and smirk calculated to command attention—and maybe, specifically, yours.

“Number 23, Lee Jeno, refusing to play nice with his own teammate,” Donghyuck’s voice echoed through the gym, his tone dry but tinged with amusement. His commentary was sharp and unforgiving, gripping the microphone tightly as he assessed the game. “And oh, what’s this? Another missed opportunity because someone’s too busy showing off. Shocker.”

You tried to focus, your pen hovering over the notebook in your lap as you attempted to analyze the game’s dynamics. Control, cohesion, and intent—words you had scrawled across the top of the page as a framework for your observations. You were meant to be dissecting how the team worked as a unit, identifying the subtleties of leadership on the court, and understanding how individual players synchronized their movements to achieve a collective goal. But it was all slipping through your fingers. Every time you tried to focus on the broader picture, your gaze veered back to Jeno, who disrupted every carefully laid thought you tried to construct.

He was chaos in motion, but not in a way that could be dismissed. His presence had weight, an unavoidable pull that drew eyes to him no matter where he was on the court. Jeno moved with the precision of someone who didn’t just understand the game but who thrived on bending it to his will. His screens were deliberate, his passes selective, his plays edged with an arrogance that was almost antagonistic. You knew you should be noting how he communicated with his teammates—or failed to—but instead, your focus narrowed on the way his body moved, the sharp power in his shoulders, the way his jersey clung to the curve of his back. There was something magnetic about how he dominated the space, a kind of raw, unrelenting energy that drew you in, leaving you too aware of him in a way that made your breath hitch.

The roar of the crowd swelled as Jeno drove toward the basket, his every step purposeful, his smirk unshaken even as defenders closed in. It wasn’t just skill—it was an unrelenting confidence that seemed to ripple outward, forcing everyone, including you, to look at him. Your pen remained poised, unmoving, as if the sheer force of his presence had rendered you incapable of action.

“And he scores!” Donghyuck’s voice rang out from the announcer’s booth, his tone dripping with exaggerated awe. “Would you look at that? Lee Jeno, number 23, proving once again that teamwork is optional when you’ve got an ego bigger than this gym.”

The crowd erupted, a mix of cheers and groans, and your grip on your pen tightened as you tried to block out Jeno’s audacious smirk. He didn’t even try to hide it, his eyes flicking in your direction briefly, like he knew exactly where your attention was.

“Someone should remind Mark that he’s sharing the court with a one-man highlight reel tonight,” Donghyuck quipped, earning a few laughs from the bleachers.

Your chest tightened as you forced yourself to look away, scribbling half-formed notes that barely made sense. Control. Cohesion. Intent. You wanted to apply those words to the team, but the reality was they fit Jeno alone. His control was absolute, his cohesion with the team irrelevant, and his intent—well, that was clear in the sharpness of his plays and the occasional flicker of his gaze toward you. It was maddening, and yet you couldn’t stop tracking him, your pen faltering every time he moved.

The first half played out like a storm brewing in slow motion. Mark’s movements were sharp and purposeful, his coordination with the team seamless. He kept the ball moving, setting up plays with precision, his focus unwavering. Jeno, by contrast, was all flair and aggression. He pushed harder, played faster, and showed off with an edge that felt more personal than professional. It didn’t take long for the tension between him and Mark to seep into the game. Jeno refused to pass to Mark, setting screens that felt less like strategy and more like subtle digs, edging him out of key plays. The crowd gasped at some of the near-misses, their excitement feeding the fire on the court.

Midway through the second half, the storm broke. It happened fast—too fast for anyone to fully register. Jeno went in for the rebound, his body colliding with Mark’s as they both jumped for the ball. The shove wasn’t blatant, but it was enough to send Mark stumbling, his footing faltering as he fought to regain balance. Gasps rippled through the crowd, followed by a wave of cheers from the home side, their energy feeding the already-tense atmosphere.

Mark froze for a split second, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable. But then he turned, stepping into Jeno’s space, and shoved him back. It wasn’t calculated; it was raw, reactive, and completely out of character. Whistles pierced the air, shrill and unrelenting, as the refs rushed in to separate the players. The court erupted into a whirlwind of shouting—coaches yelling, teammates pulling them apart, fans roaring from the stands.

“Are you kidding me, Lee?” Coach Suh’s voice thundered from the sidelines, his tone cutting through the chaos. “Get your head in the game or sit your ass down!”

“Can you believe this?” Donghyuck’s voice rang out from the announcer’s box, dripping with exaggerated disbelief. “The captain of the Seoul Ravens, ladies and gentlemen. Always keeping it classy.” There was a pause, and then, in a quieter tone meant to sound like a stage whisper: “Mark’s definitely gonna feel that in the morning.”

You gripped your notebook tighter, your heart pounding in your chest. Your pen hovered over the page, forgotten, as your gaze locked onto the court. Jeno’s smirk lingered, subtle but unmistakable, though his eyes carried something sharper—something unreadable. His body language betrayed nothing as he let himself be pulled back by a teammate, brushing off the ref’s warning with a curt nod.

Mark’s shoulders heaved as his teammates guided him toward the bench, his frustration evident in every tense movement. His jaw was set, the muscles twitching as he clenched it tighter, his expression caught somewhere between anger and disbelief. You had seen him frustrated before, but this was different—it was raw, unfiltered, and far too personal.

Your gaze shifted to Jeno, your mind racing to piece together what had unfolded. He stood at his position on the court, adjusting his jersey with a calculated nonchalance that didn’t match the chaos of moments before. His face was unreadable, but when his eyes flicked toward the stands, catching yours for a split second, a jolt shot through you. There was something deliberate in that glance, a silent acknowledgment that made your chest tighten. You wanted to believe it was coincidental, but the heat rising under your skin told another story.

You started toward Mark instinctively, but the sight of Areum and Karina reaching him first halted your steps. Areum crouched beside him, her hand hesitating near his ribs as she asked if he was okay. Her voice was soft, laced with concern, and her expression was painfully earnest. Karina stood beside her, her sharp eyes assessing the situation as she passed Mark a water bottle. Their closeness—the natural ease with which they moved around him—twisted something inside you. You clenched your fists, forcing yourself to stay back as a wave of frustration and helplessness built inside you.

Jeno was gone. You scanned the gym, searching for his figure, but the bench where he had been moments ago was now empty. The final buzzer sounded, but it felt insignificant, the win overshadowed by the tension crackling through the air. Mark was surrounded by worried teammates and Areum’s quiet fussing, her presence steady and reassuring in a way that only made your irritation flare. Karina, ever observant, glanced between you and the empty bench, her expression unreadable but cutting all the same.

You turned on your heel, the weight in your chest pushing you toward the gym doors. Your strides quickened as you moved through the quiet corridors, your thoughts a mess of anger and confusion. Locker rooms, supply closets, empty hallways—you searched them all, each moment intensifying your need to find him.

The moment you caught sight of Jeno slipping into the empty classroom, everything inside you boiled over. You didn’t hesitate. The door slammed shut, the sharp sound reverberating through the room like the strike of a match, igniting the charged air. Jeno’s head lifted, his gaze locking on you with an intensity that made everything else dissolve into the background. His movements were deliberate, each shift exuding a languid control, his stillness pulling you in like a force field you couldn’t escape. He leaned back against the desk, his frame deceptively at ease yet humming with latent energy, a storm simmering just beneath the surface. His jersey clung to him in damp folds, the fabric tracing every defined line of his chest and shoulders, the sheen of sweat catching the sterile light and accentuating the heat radiating off him. His hair was disheveled, damp strands falling haphazardly across his forehead, lending him a careless, untamed allure that only heightened the pull between you.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you hissed, your voice trembling as fury and something deeper tangled together in your chest. “Do you even realize what you’ve done? You—” You stopped short, your breath hitching as his gaze roamed over you, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring your anger.

“Well, you’re here now, aren’t you?” he interrupted, his tone low and unhurried, every word curling around you like smoke. He tilted his head, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Guess that means I did something right.”

The audacity of it made you snap. You crossed the room in two quick strides, shoving him back against the desk with more force than you intended. His breath hitched as his hips hit the edge, his hands automatically gripping the surface for balance. The closeness sent a shockwave through you; your chest brushed his, and the heat radiating from his body only fueled your spiraling emotions.

“You don’t get to pull shit like that and then act like it’s nothing,” you seethed, your voice low and razor-sharp. “Mark—my Mark—could’ve been seriously hurt. You think this is a fucking game, don’t you?”

Jeno’s smirk wavered, but only for a moment. He leaned closer, his lips so near yours that you could feel his breath, warm and unsteady. “Maybe,” he murmured, his voice dropping, rough and charged, his breath skimming your lips. “But look at you—right here.” His hands moved with purpose, gripping your ass and pulling you flush against him, your bodies colliding like a spark meeting gasoline. “Exactly where I wanted.”

Something snapped, a tidal wave of want crashing over you, too powerful to fight. The fire surged, drowning out every rational thought, and your lips slammed into his. The kiss was feral, raw, teeth grazing as desperation spilled between you. Your hands clawed at his jersey, the damp fabric clinging to your fingers as his body responded in perfect sync. His grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into your flesh with a force that made you gasp against his mouth. He groaned low in his throat, the sound reverberating through you like a second heartbeat, setting your veins alight.

Your voice fell to a whisper, dangerous and commanding. “I’m doing this because I want to. Not because of you. Not because of Mark. Me. Do you understand that?”

His eyes darkened, a flicker of something raw breaking through before his smirk returned, softer this time, edged with a vulnerability that was almost pleading. “Then prove it,” he rasped, his voice rough and thick with need.

You didn’t hesitate. Your lips crashed into his again, your kiss a collision of frustration, anger, and unspoken hunger. His hands gripped your waist like a lifeline, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe, but you didn’t care. Your hips ground into his with a deliberate, punishing rhythm that made him groan, low and ragged, a sound that shot straight through you. Nails digging into his shoulders, you kept him exactly where you wanted him, your body moving against his like it was made for this. The room blurred around you, every sensation sharpened to the edge of unbearable as you lost yourself in him.

“You think you can fuck with me?” you snarled against his lips, your teeth catching his bottom lip in a sharp tug. “Think you can play these little games and walk away unscathed?”

His grip on your hips tightened, his breath ragged as he leaned into you, the desk biting into his thighs as your bodies pressed together. “You think I’m walking away now?” he shot back, his voice hoarse, strained. “You started this, baby.”

Your nails scraped against his chest as you shoved him back again, just enough to glare at him. “I’m not your baby,” you spat, though your voice faltered as his hands slid up the curve of your waist, deliberate and slow, like he was trying to brand the sensation into his palms.

“Then what are you?” he whispered, his voice dipping into something darker, hungrier. “Because you sure as hell don’t act like you hate me.”

You didn’t respond—not with words. Instead, your body moved instinctively, your legs wrapping around his waist as you pressed yourself closer. The heat of him against you sent a shiver down your spine, your breath hitching as the tension between you snapped. His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, and you ground down onto him, the friction igniting a fire that burned through every rational thought.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his head falling back, exposing the curve of his neck, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. The sound was raw, guttural, and it only spurred you on. Your hips moved with deliberate, punishing precision, grinding against him, feeling every inch of him through the thin barriers of fabric still between you. The desk creaked beneath the weight of your movements, but neither of you cared, lost in the heat that surged between you.

His grip on your thighs tightened as he pulled you closer, his breath catching as you thrust down again, rubbing yourself against him in a rhythm that left him gasping. “You’re fucking killing me,” he groaned, his voice low and strained, his fingers digging into your skin like he couldn’t bear the space that still lingered between you.

But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. The intensity in his eyes, the way his body responded to every roll of your hips, every deliberate grind—it was intoxicating. Your lips hovered near his ear, your breath hot and uneven. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” you murmured, your voice dripping with challenge as you continued the relentless pace. His choked groan was all the answer you needed, and you smirked against his neck, your teeth grazing the skin there, knowing you had him exactly where you wanted.

He leaned in to kiss you, but you pulled back just enough, your breath scorching against his ear as you set the terms. “If this is going to work,” you murmured, your voice sharp and commanding, “then you’re all mine. Every inch of you. Your body, your time, your fucking focus—everything. No one else touches you, no one else gets this. Do you hear me?”

Jeno let out a choked gasp, his grip on your hips tightening as he looked up at you, his eyes blown wide with desperation. “Fuck—I hear you. I’m yours.”

A slow, satisfied smirk spread across your lips as you leaned in, your teeth grazing his bottom lip before pulling back. “Good,” you whispered, your voice dripping with dominance. “Because if you don’t keep up, I’ll find someone who can.”

His chest heaved, his gaze locked on yours like he couldn’t look away. “You won’t need to,” he growled, his voice thick with determination. “I’ll keep up. I’ll give you everything.”

Your lips brushed his again, softer this time, before pulling away just enough to murmur your final condition. “And you’re going to lay off Mark. That’s a given. If you fuck with him again, we’re done.”

Jeno nodded, his hands trembling slightly as they slid higher up your thighs. “I will,” he promised, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “You have my word.”

Your hips rolled against his, each movement deliberate, teasing, as you dragged a hand through his damp hair and forced his gaze back to yours. “Good boy,” you hissed, your voice thick with command. “Because if you fuck with Mark again—if you even think about it—I’m done with you.”

“I won’t, you have my word,” he groaned, his voice breaking as his restraint shattered. His hands slid higher, tracing the curve of your body with a reverence that only made the fire burn hotter. “I’ll do whatever you want, just—fuck—don’t stop.”

“Good,” you murmured, the command slipping from your lips like molten steel, as you captured his mouth again. The kiss was devastating, like a fuse igniting the storm between you—hot, consuming, dangerous.

Breaking away just enough to catch the desperation in his gaze, you whispered against his lips, “No one else will ever feel this. Say it—say you’re mine.”

“Yours,” he groaned, the word dragged from his chest like a confession.

“No one else touches you,” you hissed, nails dragging down his back as his hands dug into your thighs, pulling you flush against him. “No one else gets to feel you. Every single time you’re hard, it’s for me. Only me.”

“Only you,” he choked out, his voice wrecked, his head falling back as you rolled your hips against him with deliberate, punishing intent.

The tension snapped like a live wire, your resolve shifting into something darker, more primal. You slid down from his hold, your palms grazing the hard muscle of his thighs as you knelt before him. Jeno’s breath hitched, his hands instinctively tightening at his sides before one shot forward, gripping your hair with a force that made your scalp sting and your pulse race.

Your eyes locked with his, a wicked glint in your gaze as you leaned in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss over the hard length of him through his jersey shorts. His hips jerked involuntarily, a groan ripping from his chest, low and guttural. “Mine,” you whispered, the word dripping with possession, your tongue tracing the outline of him through the fabric, leaving a damp imprint of your claim.

Jeno’s grip on your hair tightened, forcing you to stay there, his voice hoarse as he rasped, “Fuck—stay right there. Don’t move.”

You smirked, your lips brushing against him again, slow and teasing. “This is all mine. My rules. Do you understand?”

“Fuck—yours,” he rasped, his fingers tightening their hold like he needed the anchor to stay grounded.

You rose slowly from your kneeling position, the dominance in your gaze never wavering as Jeno’s hands immediately found your hips, lifting you with an ease that made your breath hitch. The desk creaked under your weight as he set you down, his body flush against yours, your legs wrapping around him like a vice. The friction was unbearable, delicious, as you rolled your hips against him, pulling another ragged groan from his lips.

You tilted your head, brushing your lips against the shell of his ear, your voice a low, possessive purr. “Every. Last. Drop,” you whispered, each word punctuated with a deliberate, punishing grind of your hips, your core dragging against the hard length of him in a way that made his knees nearly buckle.

“Your cock belongs to me, Jeno. Say it,” you demanded, your teeth grazing his jaw as you grabbed his chin, forcing his dazed eyes to meet yours.

His breath was uneven, his restraint unraveling with every roll of your body against his. “It’s yours,” he choked out, his voice raw, desperate, as his hands moved lower, pulling you impossibly closer. “Only yours.”

Your breath hitched at his words, the raw desperation in his voice igniting something deep and primal within you. His confession wasn’t just submission—it was acknowledgment, a surrender that stoked the fire coursing through your veins. Your hands gripped his shoulders, nails biting into the firm muscle as you pulled back slightly to look at him. The heat in his gaze mirrored your own, and in that moment, the air between you shifted.

There was no need for spoken words; the silent realization passed like a spark, instantaneous and irrevocable. The intensity in his eyes reflected the control and possession in yours, a mutual understanding that surged like a tidal wave, consuming and absolute. You were claiming him, and he was letting you—more than that, he wanted it.

His lips quirked into a faint smirk, challenging even in his surrender. “Oh, you wanna be exclusive, baby?” His voice was low, testing, as if daring you to hesitate.

“Yes,” you answered without a beat, your voice sharp and unwavering, the word heavy with certainty. You could feel his breath catch as your grip tightened on his shoulders, your body pressing harder against his. This was yours—he was yours. And there was no doubt in your mind, no second-guessing. Your instincts had never failed you, and they screamed that this was right, that this was yours to take.

The realization locked into place, sharp and intense. His hands, possessive and firm, slid lower, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. You both moved as if tethered to the same electric current, a rhythm of dominance and surrender perfectly in sync. This wasn’t just about desire—it was about claiming something unshakable, something undeniable.

“You know,” he murmured, his tone teasing, almost lazy, “I didn’t take you for the type to get off on claiming things, but now I can’t stop thinking about it.” He shifted his hips just enough for you to feel the full length of him pressing against you, his eyes dark and unrelenting as they locked onto yours. “You like knowing you own me? That every time I’m hard, it’s because of you?” his grip tightened, pulling you impossibly closer, his voice dipping to a husky whisper, “I’m starting to think you like me desperate for you.”

“Shut up,” you growled, your voice a low snarl before crashing your lips into his. The kiss was brutal, a collision of teeth and tongues that left no room for softness. It was hunger and anger rolled into one, a firestorm consuming both of you with no thought of the wreckage left behind. His hands moved down, gripping your thighs with a force that promised bruises, hoisting you up effortlessly. You felt the edge of the desk against your lower back, but it barely registered as your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, locking him in place.

Clothes disappeared in a frenzy, fabric ripping and buttons scattering to the floor as neither of you cared for anything but the desperate need to feel skin against skin. Your nails raked down his back, eliciting a low growl from his throat, the sound vibrating through your chest as his cock pressed against your slick heat, thick and demanding.

“Fuck,” you breathed, your head falling back as he pushed into you slowly, the stretch exquisite and overwhelming. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he held you up effortlessly, your legs tightening around his waist. The first thrust was deliberate, a slow pull and push that had your toes curling and a moan spilling from your lips.

“Keep going,” you hissed, your voice laced with need as you began moving, fucking yourself onto him. The angle was perfect, every inch of him filling you as you rolled your hips with purpose, meeting his measured thrusts with equal desperation. His grip on your thighs tightened, his breath coming in ragged pants against your neck as he buried his face in your skin, groaning your name like a prayer.

The rhythm was maddening—deliberate, controlled, each thrust dragging against your walls in a way that made you see stars. The slick sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, each movement a testament to the tension that had been building for far too long. You clung to him, your nails biting into his shoulders as your lips found his, muffling the moans that poured from both of you.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growled, his voice rough and broken as he thrust deeper, the pace still agonizingly slow. “You’re perfect, every inch of you—fuck, I can’t get enough.”

You gasped, your nails raking down his chest as you leaned back, giving him a view of where your bodies joined. “You like that?” you taunted, your voice shaky and breathless as you ground against him. “You like watching me fuck myself on your cock?”

His response was a strangled groan, his hips snapping up instinctively as he buried himself deeper, holding you tighter as if afraid you’d slip away. His control was slipping, the deliberate rhythm giving way to something more desperate as your name spilled from his lips like a confession.

“Come on,” you urged, your voice dripping with command as you rocked harder against him, your body arching into his. “Give it to me—show me who I belong to.”

The words sent him spiraling, his grip on your hips tightening as he drove into you with a ferocity that left you breathless. His thrusts were relentless, deep and punishing, each one hitting a spot that made your body arch against him, your nails raking down his back as you gasped out his name. The wet slap of your bodies meeting echoed in the room, your moans mixing with his deep, guttural groans, filling the air like a charged storm. You were so close, the pressure inside you winding tight, ready to snap, your whole body trembling with the need for release.

But just as you reached the precipice, he stopped. Completely. His movements slowed to a maddening grind, deliberate and unhurried, his cock dragging torturously against your slick heat without giving you what you craved. Your breath hitched, frustration crashing through you as you tried to grind against him, seeking any friction, any relief. His hands gripped your hips like iron, stilling you with infuriating ease.

“Jeno,” you hissed, your voice sharp and laced with desperation, your eyes narrowing as you stared him down.

His lips curved into that infuriating smirk, his breath warm against your cheek as he leaned closer. “Come and meet me tonight,” he murmured, his voice low and dripping with command.

“What the hell?” you gasped, the haze of arousal battling the simmering anger that was quickly rising in you. “What are you talking about?”

“The old town center,” he said, his tone calm but charged with something darker, more deliberate. “Where the old gym and that creepy doctor’s office are.”

Your heart raced, both from the unrelenting tension in your body and the cryptic edge to his words. “Why there?” you demanded, your voice strained as you tried to move against his grip, but he held you steady, his smirk deepening.

“You’ll see,” he said, his dark eyes locked onto yours, the intensity in them enough to make your breath hitch. “Midnight.”

You glared at him, your nails biting into his shoulders as your frustration mounted. “You think I’m just going to drop everything and show up because you tell me to?”

His laughter was low, a rumble that made your body tighten further. “You will,” he said, his lips grazing your ear, his voice soft and taunting. “Because you want this just as much as I do.”

Your frustration boiled over, your body trembling from the denial and the unbearable pull of his words. “You’re not serious,” you managed, but the tension in your voice betrayed you.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his grip firm and unyielding. “Oh, I’m very serious,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. “But if you want more, you’ll meet me. Midnight.”

Your breath came in uneven pants, the ache of unfulfilled desire burning through you as he held you there, his body still pressed to yours. His cock, hard and unrelenting, made it impossible to think straight, his deliberate refusal to let you finish a clear message.

Before you could argue, he shifted his hips one last time, a deliberate drag of his cock against your sensitive core that made you gasp, your breath catching in a sharp inhale. His voice was low and rough, each word grazing your skin like a touch. “Don’t make me wait too long,” he murmured, his eyes dark with purpose as they locked onto yours.

Your pulse thundered, your response sharp and immediate, cutting through the thick air between you. “Don’t make me wait too long.” The words were bold, biting, but your voice trembled with something more—a heat you couldn’t suppress, a need you couldn’t hide.

The corner of his mouth quirked, and then it came—a smile so rare, so devastatingly beautiful, it left you unsteady. It wasn’t the smirk he used to challenge you, but something softer, something dangerous in its vulnerability. His boyish grin curled into a tease, his breath warm against your lips. “I wouldn’t ever dream of it,” he said, his tone laced with promise, every word dripping with a heat that settled low in your stomach.

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his hand trailing up to grip the back of your neck, his fingers curling into your hair, holding you firmly. His lips met yours in a kiss that was anything but soft. It was heated, consuming, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before his tongue pressed into your mouth, claiming you in a way that left you trembling. His body pressed against yours, solid and unyielding, his hand tightening in your hair to tilt your head and deepen the kiss.

When he finally pulled back, your chest heaved, your lips swollen and tingling from the intensity of it. His forehead rested against yours for a beat, his breath mingling with yours, hot and ragged. He pulled away slowly, his thumb brushing your jaw in a touch that felt almost tender, but the weight of his gaze was anything but soft.

And then he was gone, leaving the air heavy with his absence, your skin still burning where he’d touched you, your body thrumming with unspent tension. You were left wanting—aching—but the weight of his words, his kiss, and that damn smile lingered, igniting something inside you that refused to be extinguished.

Jeno was late.

The ache of unfulfilled desire still lingered in your veins as you stood in the abandoned town center, the cold air biting at your skin. The world around you felt eerie, as if the night itself was holding its breath, waiting. You arrived before the appointed time, every step deliberate, your need for precision etched into the way you scanned the empty streets, unwilling to let even the thought of being late cross your mind. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t just about preparation. A part of you, restless and hungry, thrummed at the thought of seeing Jeno again. The memory of his hands pressing into your hips, the rasp of his breath against your neck, the weight of his body pinning you exactly where he wanted—every sensation still lingered in your muscles, alive beneath your skin, pulling you back to him with an ache you couldn’t ignore.

The town center stretched around you, dark and lifeless, the dim streetlights casting elongated shadows across the cracked pavement. You shifted your weight, arms folded tightly, both against the cold and the creeping frustration bubbling in your chest. You checked your phone again—still no messages. Still no sign of him.

The silence was deafening, your thoughts racing. What if he wasn’t coming? What if this was some kind of game, another way for him to hold the reins, to leave you hanging in the balance? Just as anger began to churn in your gut, a sound broke through the stillness—footsteps. Relief hit you first, sharp and immediate, only to fizzle into annoyance. But when you turned, it wasn’t Jeno.

It was Areum and Karina.

“What are you doing here?” Areum asked, her voice tinged with suspicion as her narrowed eyes searched your face.

You tried to school your expression into something calm, neutral, as if this wasn’t the most bizarre coincidence of the night. “Oh, I was just… exploring the area,” you said, forcing a casual shrug.

Areum didn’t look convinced, her gaze sharp as it flicked over you. Before you could come up with a better excuse, you found yourself sitting alone in the backseat of Areum’s car. Karina, slumped in the passenger seat, was a mess—her head lolling against the window, her lips curling into lazy smirks as she mumbled incoherently. The scent of alcohol clung to her, heavy and sweet, drifting back to where you sat, caught between irritation and a flicker of relief that her state left little room for questions.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and your heart jolted, hope flaring to life so suddenly it almost hurt. Jeno. It had to be him. You fumbled for it, already imagining his name lighting up the screen, the explanation he’d give, the way he’d make this right. But when you pulled it out, the screen was blank. No messages. The sharp sting of disappointment cut through your chest, and you shoved the phone back into your pocket, your jaw tightening.

Your gaze drifted to the window, trying to shake the restless unease pooling in your stomach. That’s when you noticed it—a faint, shuffling movement in the distance, barely visible against the darkened road. You leaned forward, narrowing your eyes, the shapes slowly coming into focus.

“Do you see that?” you murmured, your voice low but tense.

Areum, already alert, slowed the car, her brow furrowing as she leaned closer to the windshield. The headlights swept over two figures on the roadside, trudging through the darkness, their steps slow and weary. It wasn’t until the light caught them fully that recognition hit you like a punch to the gut. Jeno and Mark.

They looked rough, their clothes rumpled and dirt-streaked, their faces marked with bruises. Your heart pounded, confusion and anger mixing into a volatile storm. Areum beeped the horn, pulling the car to the side as the boys looked up, their expressions flickering with relief.

Mark climbed into the backseat first, collapsing against the far side with a groan, his exhaustion evident in the way his head fell back against the seat. “Y/N?” he muttered, his confusion clear as his gaze settled on you, surprise flickering in his tired eyes.

You didn’t respond, your body already shifting instinctively when the door on your side opened again. Jeno stood there, his broad frame cutting an imposing figure against the dim streetlights. He glanced at you, his expression unreadable, and you quickly moved to the middle seat, your breath catching as he slid in beside you.

The air grew tighter, the space between the three of you suddenly feeling impossibly small. Mark leaned his head back, closing his eyes, while Jeno adjusted in his seat, his shoulder brushing yours as he settled. Jeno’s body was a furnace against yours, the heat of him sinking into your skin despite the layers of tension. He hadn’t looked at you, hadn’t said a word, but the energy radiating from him was impossible to ignore. You kept your face carefully neutral, determined not to let anything slip.

“What are you doing here?” Mark asked, his confusion evident as he glanced between you and Areum.

The flicker of confusion in his expression was fleeting, quickly masked, but you caught it anyway. And you understood why. It was unusual—you sitting here with Areum and Karina, the trio of you barely existing in the same circles. The sight of you in this context, in the backseat of Areum’s car, probably made no sense to him. But his confusion didn’t linger long. His gaze dropped to your legs brushing against his, the tension crackling like a live wire, and his breath hitched, almost imperceptibly.

Areum explained quickly, her voice brisk as she recounted how she’d found you wandering the town center. You nodded along, feigning calm even as your mind churned, desperately trying to process what was happening.

“What happened to you two?” Areum repeated, her gaze bouncing between the boys through the front mirror, sharp and insistent.

Mark sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “Coach Suh threw us off the bus,” he admitted, his tone begrudging.

Jeno’s voice was low, almost clipped as he added, “Got picked up by some guys from the other team. It didn’t exactly end well.”

The story spilled out slowly—a ride gone wrong, taunts from the opposing players, and a humiliating deal that had forced Mark and Jeno to fake a fight to escape. The details were absurd, almost laughable if it weren’t for the bruises and the tension still hanging in the air.

You listened silently, two realizations sinking in like weights: Jeno hadn’t stood you up. And somehow, against all odds, he and Mark had worked together.

As the car jolted forward, Jeno finally spoke, his voice quiet but direct, his eyes meeting yours for the first time. “I don’t have my phone,” he said simply. “It’s still on the coach.”

The admission was a quiet olive branch, but it did little to soothe the storm inside you. You turned your gaze forward, forcing yourself to focus on the road ahead, even as every nerve in your body buzzed from the weight of his presence beside you.

The car ride back to the motel was suffocating, the silence heavy with things unsaid. It pressed against your chest like an invisible weight, filling the space between words and glances. Areum sat at the wheel, her focus steady, her hands gripping the leather as if she needed something solid to hold onto. Karina was beside her, illuminated by the occasional flicker of streetlights. Her phone screen cast a dim glow over her face as she scrolled aimlessly, occasionally looking up to exchange low murmurs with Jeno. Their conversation was muffled, inconsequential words about post-game plans, a party, and something about tradition.

Each syllable grated on your nerves, the casualness of it all digging under your skin like a splinter. Jeno’s voice was low, almost lazy, carrying that same maddening charm that always seemed to linger around him. He wasn’t trying, but that only made it worse.

You sat in the middle of the backseat, pinned between Mark’s exhaustion and Jeno’s restlessness. Mark leaned heavily against the window, his eyes closed, his hand rubbing absently at his temple as if warding off a headache. On the other side, Jeno sat too close, his knee brushing yours each time the car hit a bump. It wasn’t deliberate—probably—but the contact burned all the same, an unwanted distraction that you couldn’t shake. His leg bounced with barely contained energy, the motion vibrating through the seat and into your skin.

Karina twisted in her seat, her voice cutting through the quiet. “So, what’s the plan? You hitting the club tonight?”

Her words hung in the air for a beat, and then Jeno grinned. Slow. Deliberate. The kind of grin that made you tighten your jaw even as your chest constricted with something you didn’t want to name. “Of course,” he said smoothly, as if it was obvious. “It’s tradition.”

Tradition. The word made you scoff inwardly. Of course, Jeno would throw out something so shallow, so expected. You stared at the back of Areum’s head, pretending to ignore the way Karina’s laugh bubbled up in response to him. Beside you, Mark sighed, low and tired. “I need to sleep,” he muttered under his breath. But his words barely registered.

You were too focused on Jeno—on the low timbre of his voice, on the way his easy conversation with Karina seemed to underline everything he wasn’t saying to you. The jealousy simmered low in your chest, surprising and unwelcome. Why did it matter what he said or didn’t say? Why did he matter?

When the car finally pulled into the motel’s parking lot, Areum killed the engine with a click that seemed to echo louder than it should have. No one moved at first, the stillness almost heavier than the tension on the drive. Then Karina broke the silence, practically bouncing in her seat. “We should go. It’s been ages since I hit a club after a game.”

Mark groaned as he shoved his door open, stepping out into the cool night air. “You guys have fun,” he said, already halfway to the motel entrance. “I’m done.”

Areum followed, her steps measured as she rounded the car. She glanced at Jeno, raising a brow. “You sure you don’t want to come?” he asked, his tone casual, almost teasing.

Areum shook her head, exhaustion flickering in her eyes. “No, I’m tired.” She turned to you briefly, her voice softer now. “Goodnight.”

You nodded, managing a small smile as you watched her and Mark disappear into the building together. The air shifted, growing sharper somehow. The parking lot felt too open, too exposed, leaving you, Karina, and Jeno standing in a loose triangle under the flickering glow of a streetlamp.

Jeno’s focus shifted then, his dark eyes locking on yours for the first time all night. “You coming too?” he asked, the question tossed out like an afterthought.

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat as irritation curled hot and fast in your stomach. It wasn’t a real invitation—it couldn’t be, not when it came after Areum, not when his gaze felt so indifferent. But despite yourself, you nodded, lips pressing into a thin line.

Karina brightened, already turning toward Jeno to ask something about the club. Their words blurred together, a dull hum in the background as you stayed rooted in place, watching them. You hated the pang of jealousy that tightened your chest, hated that you cared enough to feel it.

But then Jeno moved, breaking away from Karina with a deliberate slowness that caught your attention. She kept walking ahead, distracted by her phone and mumbling something about finding Winter, clearly assuming Jeno was following. But he wasn’t. He lingered, his steps slowing until you caught up, your body humming with awareness as you closed the distance. He didn’t look at you—not once—but the tension in his posture was unmistakable, his presence pulling at you like a magnetic force.

When you were finally close enough, his head tilted slightly, his voice a low whisper that barely reached you. “Go back to my room.” The words sent a jolt through you, his tone laced with something darker, more commanding than before. His hand moved, slipping into the small of your back before his fingers brushed the waistband of your jeans. The cold metal of his room key slid into your back pocket, but his hand lingered, firm and deliberate as it shifted lower, cupping your ass.

The breath hitched in your throat, your chest tightening as his grip held you there, his fingers pressing possessively. The heat from his hand seared through the fabric, branding you in a way that made it impossible to think clearly. “Wait for me,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “Twenty minutes. No more.” His other hand came up, grazing the curve of your waist, and then the soft slap of his palm against your ass made your knees lock, a gasp slipping from your lips despite your best efforts to contain it.

“Go now,” he said again, his voice low and resolute, but his hands betrayed him, still gripping your hips tightly, keeping you rooted in place. The firmness of his hold wasn’t just possessive; it was deliberate, as if he needed you to feel the weight of his control before he let you go. You tutted softly, the sound barely masking your frustration, but when you tried to pull away, his fingers tightened, digging into your hips just enough to stop you entirely.

“You’re telling me to leave,” you said, voice sharp and teasing, “but you’re the one holding me here.” His eyes darkened at your challenge, his jaw tightening, and the flicker of a smirk tugged at his lips—one that sent a jolt of heat straight through you.

“You’re lucky I have something to handle first,” he murmured, his tone rough, charged, every word dragging like fire across your skin. His thumbs traced maddeningly slow circles into your hips, his grip deliberate and unrelenting. “If I didn’t, we wouldn’t even make it to the room—I’d take you right here.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words igniting something feral inside you. He smirked, a flicker of triumph flashing in his dark eyes, but you weren’t about to let him have the upper hand—not ever. Without hesitation, you surged forward, crashing your lips into his with a force that left no room for doubt.

His response was instant, raw, and hungry. His grip shifted, pulling you flush against him as his teeth grazed your bottom lip, a low, guttural groan rumbling deep in his chest. The heat between you was suffocating, his body hard and unyielding as you pressed closer, demanding more. Your irritation twisted into something electric, every nerve in your body alive and humming with the undeniable pull of him. You kissed him harder, your nails digging into his shoulders as his hands tightened on your hips, holding you there like he couldn’t bear to let you go.

The twisted side of you didn’t care who saw, the thought of an audience only adding fuel to the fire burning between you. But when your gaze flicked to Jeno’s car and caught sight of Karina slumped in the passenger seat, head tilted back and completely knocked out, a rush of relief coursed through you. It left you breathless, unguarded, and you kissed him harder, your nails digging into his shoulders as his hands tightened possessively on your hips, holding you like he never intended to let go.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, your lips still grazing his, you couldn’t help the plea that slipped out, soft and desperate against the heat of his breath. “Come back to the room with me.” The words trembled between you, caught in the charged air before his hands moved lower, sliding over the curve of your ass. His grip tightened, firm and possessive, pressing you flush against him like he couldn’t let you go either, like leaving you now would physically hurt him. His dark gaze flickered with something primal, but he stayed silent, his body speaking louder than words as his fingers dug into your skin, keeping you tethered to him.

He sighed, his forehead pressing briefly against yours as his fingers tightened their hold. “I have to handle Karina first,” he rasped, his voice strained. “Make sure she’s not alone and that she’s safe. Then I'll come back to you.” He paused, his tone sharpening when your skeptical glare met his. “Don’t give me that look. Can you just trust me? Just wait for me in my room. I’ll be all yours. Tonight, tomorrow—whatever you want. Just go.”

His hands didn’t move even as he spoke, and you felt the weight of every word settle over you, tangible and undeniable. You hesitated, your pride and irritation warring with the pull of his voice, the heat of his body pressed to yours.

“Then let me go,” you said, voice low and teasing, but your breath hitched when his fingers dug in further, his smirk returning.

“I will.” He countered, his tone velvet and edged, fingers digging into the curve of your ass with maddening certainty. In a deliberate move, his hand slipped to your back pocket, grazing over the key already tucked there as if to remind you it was waiting, his touch branding you in a way that made your breath falter. Slowly, his palm trailed back to your ass, squeezing firmly, the pressure sending a ripple of heat up your spine that left you unsteady.

You gasped, but before you could react, his other hand came up to tilt your chin, his breath fanning over your lips. “Go,” he said again, his voice a low growl, and this time, you obeyed, your body humming with the echo of his touch as you walked away, the sting of his hand and the weight of his words leaving a mark you’d feel long after he was gone.

You stepped into his room, the heavy door clicking shut behind you, sealing you into a silence thick with unspoken tension. The air felt stifling, the quiet hum of the motel amplifying every restless thought circling in your head. You dropped onto the edge of the bed, the springs groaning under your weight as you pulled your knees to your chest. The knot of anticipation tangled with simmering anger, tightening with every second that crawled by. Twenty minutes felt like a lifetime, the ache of being kept waiting gnawing at your composure. The sting of earlier frustrations lingered, sharpened by the flicker of jealousy you couldn’t quite suppress.

The stillness shattered when the door swung open without warning. Jeno entered, shutting it with deliberate care, the soft click reverberating through the room like a starting gun. His eyes locked on you, dark and unreadable, and within moments, he crossed the space. Before you could speak, his hands were on you, firm and unrelenting, pushing you back against the mattress. His kiss was feral, bruising, unapologetically claiming.

Your fingers found his shoulders instinctively, nails biting into the muscle as you arched up against him. His weight pressed you into the bed, his lips moving against yours with a raw hunger that stole the breath from your lungs. His hands slid beneath your shirt, rough palms grazing your heated skin, each touch igniting a spark that burned through any lingering resentment. A muffled moan escaped you, swallowed by his mouth as the frustration and anticipation melted into a single, consuming need.

His hips pressed into yours with a slow, deliberate grind, the friction sparking through you like lightning in a storm. The heat between you was unbearable, and you gasped against his lips. His response was immediate—a guttural groan that rumbled through his chest, vibrating against your own. His grip tightened, his fingers digging into your sides as though anchoring himself to you, as though letting go was never an option.

He pulled back just enough for his lips to brush against yours, like he might say something, but you didn’t give him the chance. Your head tilted, and your mouth found the curve of his neck, your teeth grazing the skin before you sucked a mark into it. He cursed sharply, his hips snapping forward in response, the motion dragging a ragged gasp from you.

“Do you think I’m letting you go now?” you murmured, your voice low, raw, and possessive as your nails scraped up his back, leaving trails that would linger on his skin.

His head dipped, his lips hovering over your ear as his breath fanned hot against your skin. “Let me go?” he rasped, his tone dark and teasing. “Baby, I’m the one who’s got you pinned right where I want you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body arching into his as his mouth crashed back onto yours. This kiss was fiercer, every movement saturated with unspoken apologies and a desperation that mirrored your own. His hands roamed lower, gripping the curve of your waist, his fingers sinking into your flesh as his hips rolled forward, dragging you into him in slow, maddening strokes.

The kiss unraveled you, leaving no room for thought as your hands tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, refusing to give him even an inch of space. His lips left yours to blaze a path down your jaw, his mouth dragging along your throat and collarbone, each touch setting your nerves alight. Every frustration, every unresolved emotion, was drowned in the electric storm between you, the tension morphing into something dangerous, undeniable, and utterly consuming.

Jeno’s breath was warm against your skin, his voice low and ragged as he finally spoke. “I didn’t stand you up,” he murmured, his hands pressing into your hips as though trying to anchor you in place. “I swear. Coach Suh threw me and Mark off the bus, and I lost my phone… I wanted to come to you. I needed to.”

The rawness in his voice caught you off guard, each word wrapping around your chest and pulling tight. His lips hovered just above yours, his closeness both suffocating and electric. Before you could respond, his hands slid higher, his grip possessive, his desperation bleeding into every inch of space between you.

Your hands pushed against his chest, forcing some distance. “Shut up,” you muttered, sharp but not cruel, your frustration brimming over. “You talk too much.”

A shaky laugh escaped him, soft and low, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “The last thing I wanted was to get thrown off that coach,” he said, his tone dropping further, each word weighted with guilt. “And the whole time, all I could think about was getting back to you.” His jaw tightened, his breath hitching. “The thought of you waiting there… not knowing where I was… fuck, I felt like shit.”

The confession landed with a weight that you felt in your chest, like a stone thrown into still water, its ripples cracking the surface tension of your carefully held anger. Jeno wasn’t supposed to be like this—his edges were meant to be sharp, his fire untamed, a force that burned but never bent. Vulnerability didn’t suit the version of him you’d come to expect, yet here it was, raw and unguarded, shining through in the tremor of his voice and the way his dark eyes searched yours, not demanding but asking—pleading—for something unspoken.

It disarmed you. That honesty, unpolished and unexpected, melted through your defenses like heat seeping into ice. Your resolve fractured, splintering under the weight of his sincerity. And before your mind could catch up to the moment, your lips met his, a fleeting touch that felt less like a kiss and more like a bridge spanning the vast, unspoken chasm between you.

The kiss wasn’t what you meant it to be—softer, more intimate than you’d allowed yourself to imagine. It carried more weight than either of you were prepared for, an unspoken truth embedded in the way his breath hitched and the way your chest tightened. Time itself seemed to hold its breath, everything outside this fragile moment suspended, irrelevant.

When you pulled back, your forehead brushing his, the air between you shifted. The tension remained, but it had transformed—no longer jagged and cutting but heavy, like the calm after a storm when the world feels thick with promise, waiting for something new to take shape.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, though your voice wavered, your brow still furrowed as the question lingered. “But why act like you were so eager to party on the way back to the motel?”

The words barely left your mouth before you leaned in again, your lips capturing his with a need that felt impossible to contain. You felt his breath catch before he exhaled against you, a low, drawn-out moan spilling into your mouth. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, your own soft sigh mingling with his as the kiss deepened, tongues meeting with a hunger that was as raw as it was unrelenting.

Then he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a beat, his breath mingling with yours as if grounding himself before speaking. “It’s tradition,” he finally admitted, his voice edged with reluctance. His fingers raked through his hair, leaving it a tousled mess that only deepened the regret in his eyes. “After every away game, we all go out. If I skip, people will notice. They’ll start asking questions I can’t afford to answer.”

You swallowed, the logic stinging more than it should. “You should go then,” you murmured, kissing him softly, the bitterness of the words lingering on your tongue. Your nails curled into his shirt, betraying your own resolve even as you tried to sound firm. “If it’s tradition, you should go. I don’t want people asking questions or having suspicions.”

The moment felt foreign, like slipping into someone else’s skin. You weren’t the type to bend to how others felt, let alone offer concern for what they might endure. But something about Jeno—about the way his shoulders tensed at the weight of unspoken pressure, the way his eyes flickered with something fragile he rarely showed—made you catch yourself. It wasn’t just the situation; it was him. The thought of him dealing with whatever fallout came from skipping a tradition he had with the rest of his friends lingered in your chest like a dull ache you couldn’t ignore. You hated it, hated that you cared, but you couldn’t stop the wave of unfamiliar protectiveness from settling in your veins.

His hands slid down your back, pulling you closer. “I’d rather be with you,” he murmured, his voice quiet but resolute, his gaze locked on yours like he needed you to understand just how much he meant it. The weight of his words hung in the air, soft yet unrelenting, as if daring you to argue with him.

Your fingers tightened in his shirt, your brow furrowing as you tried to hold onto your frustration. “That’s not what I asked,” you countered, your voice sharper than you intended. “I asked if it’s okay. If people are going to start questioning where you are and putting two and two together.”

His smirk flickered—just for a second—before his hand trailed up to cradle your jaw. “I’m not stupid, you know,” he said, his voice tinged with exasperation. “Most of them will be too high or wasted to even notice I’m gone. And Karina’s with Jaemin. He’ll make sure she gets back to the motel safely, and he knows to cover for me. If anyone asks, I ‘crashed early.’” His gaze softened as he leaned in just slightly, his tone dipping lower. “I’ve got this handled.”

You narrowed your eyes, unconvinced, the analytical part of your mind still cataloging potential risks. “And if they do notice? If Jaemin slips, or Karina says something, or—?”

“Jesus,” he groaned, tipping his head back briefly before meeting your gaze again, his patience fraying at the edges. “Do you ever stop overthinking? You’re acting like I haven’t thought this through.”

“Because I know you haven’t,” you snapped back, your nails curling into his shirt again, frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’re impulsive. Reckless. You don’t think about the consequences until they’re staring you in the face.”

His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you hard against him, the heat of his body searing through the minimal space left between you. His lips grazed your ear, his breath hot and deliberate as he spoke, his voice low and dripping with amusement. “Reckless? Baby, the only thing I’m reckless about is how badly I want you. Every second I’m here, every risk I take, it’s all because I can’t get you out of my fucking head.”

His words sent a pulse of heat straight through you, undeniable and maddening. He shifted, pressing against you in a way that made your breath hitch, his smirk curling against your skin as he felt the reaction he pulled from you. “You think I care about their suspicions?” he continued, his tone dark and teasing, his hands sliding lower, thumbs stroking circles into your hips. “The only thing I care about is making sure you remember that you’re mine.”

A broken moan escaped you before you could stop it. “And you’re mine,” you murmured back, your voice trembling but laced with its own edge.

The words flipped something in you, a sudden need for control igniting as you pushed against him with just enough force to turn him onto his back. His breath hitched, his dark eyes narrowing in surprise and something deeper—arousal. The way his jaw clenched, his hands gripping your thighs to steady you as you straddled him, only fueled the fire building inside you.

You ground down onto him, your movements deliberate, your body working against his in a rhythm that was as maddening as it was desperate. His cock, hard and insistent even through the barrier of clothes, pressed perfectly into you, and the friction made your head spin. You could feel how turned on he was—how every shift, every bounce of your hips pulled a groan from deep in his chest.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his voice low and strained, his eyes locked on you with a mix of disbelief and raw hunger. His hands tightened their grip on your hips as though trying to steady both you and himself, the tension in his body palpable. He didn’t look away, his gaze drinking in every frantic roll of your hips, every desperate attempt to chase the friction that had you trembling against him.

There was a flicker of something deeper in his expression—shock, admiration, a realization that he’d never seen anyone unravel the way you did. The way you gave yourself over to the moment, unabashed and wild, was unlike anything he’d experienced. It caught him off guard, made his chest tighten and his jaw clench as though he couldn’t handle how much you consumed him. And yet, beneath the haze of lust, there was a quiet reverence in the way his hands guided your movements, as if claiming you with every breath, every touch, while silently marveling at the way you tore his control apart so effortlessly.

The heat in his voice made your movements falter for just a second, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. The way he looked at you, like you were the only thing in the world, sent a surge of power through you. But then his hands clamped onto your hips, holding you still, his strength unrelenting. You groaned in frustration, hissing as you pushed against his grip.

“Jeno,” you warned, your voice sharp as your teeth clenched in irritation.

He didn’t release you. Instead, he leaned up slightly, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth in a fleeting tease. “The reason I wanted to meet you earlier wasn’t just to fuck,” he said, his voice still thick with arousal but laced with something more deliberate. “I brought two tickets to something I think you’ll enjoy.”

Your movements stilled entirely, your annoyance melting into curiosity. “To what?” you asked, your brow furrowing. “Isn’t it too late for anything right now? It’s past midnight Jen.”

“Luckily,” he murmured, his lips curving into a smirk, “it’s a 24-hour exhibition.”

Your eyes widened, your mouth parting slightly in disbelief. “Exhibition?” The word was barely out before realization struck. You gasped, your hands flying to his chest, pressing against him as your body lit up with excitement. “No,” you breathed, almost squealing in disbelief, your emotions spilling over. “You didn’t? You got us tickets to the Neo Culture Archive?”

You weren’t the type to celebrate like this. Joy, for you, was a quiet, internal thing—measured, controlled, tucked away where no one could see. But this moment defied all of that. It poured out of you, raw and unrestrained, bubbling to the surface like an unstoppable tide. Before you could think, your arms were wrapped around his neck, and your lips found his in a breathless kiss that spoke of more than just happiness—it was gratitude, excitement, and something far more intimate. It was uncharacteristic, almost disorienting to feel so open, so vulnerable, but with him, it didn’t feel wrong. Against all odds, it felt inevitable, like he was the only person who could draw this side of you out and make it feel like it had always been there, waiting for him.

Jeno’s eyes traced over you, slow and deliberate, his smirk fading into something that held more weight, something far more intimate. His gaze drank you in, soaking up every flicker of excitement that radiated from you like sunlight breaking through a storm. The shift in his expression was subtle yet undeniable, the sharp edge of his usual cockiness softening into something rawer, something that made your stomach twist with heat.

“Smart girl,” he murmured, his voice low and honeyed, each word sinking into your skin and pooling somewhere deep. His praise wasn’t casual—it lingered, deliberate, like he wanted you to feel every ounce of it. The corner of his lip tugged upward as his eyes glinted with satisfaction, a spark of amusement flickering there. “How’d you figure it out so fast?” His tone dipped lower, teasing, as he leaned back against the headboard, his body relaxing into the space like he owned it. His teeth grazed his bottom lip, and the slow drag of it sent a shiver through you.

Your lips curved into a soft, knowing smile as you leaned in slightly, your thighs tightening around his lap, the friction deliberate and maddening. “It wasn’t hard,” you murmured, your voice smooth, carrying just the right amount of tease to match his. Your hands skimmed up his chest, the heat of his skin radiating through the fabric of his shirt as you traced lazy circles with your fingertips.

“The only reason I was excited to come to this city was the one-in-a-million chance I’d be able to visit it,” you continued, your voice dropping lower, softer, like you were sharing a secret meant only for him. “You couldn’t have picked a better surprise if you tried.”

He calls out your name, it spills from his lips in a way that sounded almost reverent, yet thick with something darker, heavier. His voice had dipped, huskier now, his breath catching as he spoke. “You’re turning me on.”

His hands slid over your thighs, palms warm and deliberate, the press of his fingers light enough to tease yet firm enough to leave a mark on your senses. You were straddling his lap, your knees bracketing his hips, your body so close to his that the tension in the air was palpable. His gaze wandered over you, slow and deliberate, tracing the curve of your waist, the line of your neck, like he was committing every inch of you to memory.

The way his hands moved was almost mesmerizing, stroking up and down the length of your thighs, his thumbs pressing into your skin just enough to make you shiver. He leaned back slightly against the headboard, his body a perfect contrast of tension and ease, his dark eyes glinting as they held yours. The restraint in his movements only amplified the electricity crackling between you, and the way his lips curved—just enough to show the faintest hint of teeth—set a fire low in your stomach.

The air between you felt heavier now, like the moment before a thunderstorm, and every small shift of your body against his sent heat spiraling through you. You could see the way his pupils darkened as he took in your reaction, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip, slow and deliberate, a subtle but devastating blow to your composure.

“Isn’t it so hard to get tickets to this?” you asked, your voice soft but tinged with curiosity.

He nodded, a flicker of pride flashing in his eyes. “Especially last minute.”

His words opened the floodgate of explanation, and he leaned closer, his voice low but steady. He described how stressful and spontaneous the plan had been, how it had consumed him. The Neo Culture Archive wasn’t something that could be bought with just money or dropped names—it was notoriously exclusive, especially for late-night entries. He told you about pacing his motel room for hours, the phone pressed to his ear, his eyes bloodshot and heavy with exhaustion. “I know my family connections always help,” he admitted, his tone tinged with something uncharacteristically self-aware, “but that only got me so far.”

He painted a picture of determination: scouring his network for a lead, calling in favors with old friends who could pull strings, and enduring the frantic back-and-forth that followed. Was your name officially on the registry? Had the staff signed off on after-hours access? Every time his phone buzzed, his chest tightened, bracing for rejection. By the time he finally secured the reservation, he hadn’t slept a wink—but the thought of surprising you made it worth every second.

Your breath caught, his confession hitting you harder than you expected, leaving a warmth in your chest that threatened to overflow. “You didn’t have to,” you murmured, your voice trembling with something between awe and desire, “but fuck—it’s so hot that you did.”

Without a second thought, you leaned down, your lips crashing into his with a hunger that bordered on desperation. His breath mingled with yours, sharp and intoxicating, as if the air between you had turned electric. The taste of him—somehow both sharp and sweet—was maddening, pulling you deeper into the storm building between you.

Your hands tangled in his hair as his palms slid up your back, pressing you closer, his grip possessive. The way he kissed you, like he’d been starving for this moment, made your chest tighten and your body burn. Every deliberate touch, every lingering caress, screamed one undeniable truth—he wanted you. Only you. And the thought made your head spin.

He’d done this, planned this for you, and the realization hit harder than it should have. It wasn’t just the way his hands roamed your body or how his kiss made you tremble—it was the thought behind it, the care he’d taken. It made your pulse race and your body melt into him, unable to resist the overwhelming need to feel closer, to take more.

The Neo Culture Archive radiated an understated elegance, nestled into the heart of a well established district. Its glass facade shimmered under the soft glow of outdoor lighting, the sleek marble pillars giving it the appearance of a sanctuary for both history and innovation. Even at this late hour, the energy around the building was alive—visitors quietly flowing in and out, the low hum of conversations blending into the sound of faint traffic in the distance. The scene felt like it belonged to another world, far removed from the chaos of the day.

You walked beside Jeno, the cool night air brushing against your skin, grounding you in the moment. He moved with his usual effortless confidence, his hand brushing yours occasionally as he grabbed the passes from his pocket. “Ready?” he murmured, his voice dipping just enough to send a small thrill through you.

Instead of answering, you glanced at him, a teasing grin tugging at your lips. “Hold on,” you said, taking his pass and looping it around his neck, the lanyard resting against his chest. You reached up, your fingers grazing his cheek as he leaned into your touch, his lips brushing against yours in a fleeting but tender kiss.

He straightened, reaching for your hand to lead you toward the entrance, but you tugged him back, shaking your head playfully. “Wait,” you said, lacing your fingers through his. “I need you right here for a second.”

Jeno quirked an eyebrow, letting out a soft chuckle as you pulled him into position. “What now?” he asked, though the faint curl of his lips betrayed his amusement.

“Just stand there,” you instructed, raising your phone to capture the glowing facade of the building, with him in the foreground. You snapped a few shots, grinning as you angled the camera just right, while he stood there pretending to hate every second of it. But the way his eyes crinkled at the corners and the slight shake of his head gave him away—he was enjoying this more than he’d ever admit.

“Happy now?” he teased, leaning closer as you put your phone away.

“For now,” you replied, slipping your hand back into his as he led you to the entrance. The security guard glanced at the passes Jeno handed over, nodding once before waving you both inside. The quiet relief in Jeno’s eyes didn’t escape you, though he covered it quickly with a soft smirk.

The moment you stepped inside, the grandeur of the archive stole your breath. The ceilings soared high above, crisscrossed with sleek beams that added a modern touch to the classical architecture. Polished floors gleamed under the warm, ambient lighting, reflecting the golden hues of the display cases scattered throughout the space. The atrium stretched before you like an intricate maze, with a sweeping staircase at its center leading to wings dedicated to various cultural influences. Everywhere you looked, there were glittering artifacts: Olympic medals, cultural texts bound in leather, interactive screens showcasing the evolution of sports.

“Wow,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper as you raised your phone again, snapping photos of the atrium and the glittering displays. You turned in a slow circle, trying to take it all in, while Jeno hung back, watching you with an expression that was impossible to read.

When you finally glanced at him, his lips quirked into a soft smile. He stepped forward, closing the distance between you, and cupped your face, pressing a light kiss to your lips. “You like it?” he murmured, his words brushing against your mouth.

You nodded, your eyes wide as you looked around again. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” you admitted, your voice tinged with awe. “You didn’t tell me it’d look like this.”

Jeno’s smile widened, his teeth catching the soft glow of the lights. “Thought I’d let you have the fun of discovering it yourself,” he said, his tone conspiratorial.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the grin spreading across your face as you reached for his hand again, tugging him toward the staircase. “Come on, I need to see everything,” you said, your excitement bubbling over, and for a moment, the tension of the day melted away, replaced by the quiet thrill of exploring this world together.

Jeno laughed softly, letting you pull him along but slowing your pace as you reached a nearby interactive screen glowing softly in the atrium. “Hold on,” he murmured, tapping the screen to bring up the floor map. “You don’t even know where we’re going yet.”

You paused reluctantly, watching as his finger traced over the different wings of the exhibition. The Neo Culture Archive wasn’t solely dedicated to sports. There were entire sections for music, architecture, food, and global culture that would take separate visits to explore fully. But tonight, you were in the sports section, a deliberate choice he’d made, knowing it tied into your project.

“I knew this would be helpful,” Jeno said after a moment, glancing at you with a soft smile. “Sports history, player strategies, and the cultural impact of it all. I knew it would make you happy.”

Your heart stuttered at his words, though you masked it quickly, leaning over the screen as if to check his selection. But the proximity did nothing to help, when you glanced at him, your eyes caught on the way his black hoodie stretched across his shoulders, the tousled state of his hair that made him look effortlessly hot. His casual confidence felt like a slow burn, a magnetism that was impossible to ignore. Your teeth grazed your bottom lip before you could stop yourself.

If he caught you staring, he didn’t let on—truthfully because he was checking you out just as much. His gaze flickered down, tracing the curve of your sweater that hugged you in just the right way before dipping lower to where your jeans sat snug on your hips. You were dressed for comfort, the soft knit fabric of your top slipping slightly off one shoulder and exposing just enough skin to keep his thoughts wandering. The low light caught on the faint gloss of your lips and the way the strap of your bag crossed your body, highlighting the subtle shape of you. You carried your iPad and phone, occasionally snapping photos or jotting notes for your project, the professional focus in your expression clashing deliciously with the casual ease of your outfit.

His eyebrows arched, a flicker of amusement dancing across his face as you took his hand and led him toward the chess wing. The quiet stillness of the museum made every footstep resonate softly, the faint echo weaving through the expansive halls like a whispered secret. The emptiness wrapped around you both, amplifying the intimacy of the moment, the secluded atmosphere making it feel as though this vast, glowing archive existed solely for the two of you.

Halfway through the wing, a display caught your eye: an antique chessboard from the 15th century, complete with a description detailing its historical significance. Your eyes practically lit up, and before Jeno could say a word, you launched into an enthusiastic explanation.

“This board,” you began, gesturing animatedly, “was used during some of the earliest recorded matches. Back then, the rules were so different—bishops could only move two squares at a time, and pawns couldn’t advance two squares on their first move. It completely changed the pace of the game.”

Jeno’s brows furrowed slightly, curious, as you continued. “In the 1800s, there was this famous match—Anderssen versus Kieseritzky—that’s still studied today for its strategy. It’s insane how much of modern chess theory comes from games like that.”

You barely paused for breath, delving into anecdotes about players adapting to rule changes, referencing a dusty old almanac you’d read cover to cover years ago. When you finally glanced up, your cheeks warmed. Jeno was staring, his mouth slightly open, a slow grin tugging at his lips.

“What?” you asked, suddenly self-conscious. “Did I lose you somewhere?”

Jeno coughed, masking the grin that threatened to spill. “It’s nothing, I’m just wondering how you manage to make chess sound so serious.”

You stopped, turning fully to face him, your eyes narrowing in disbelief. “It is serious. It’s a life-or-death situation, Jen. Do you even know the history of grandmaster matches in the ‘70s? Cold War politics, rivalries that lasted decades, careers ruined over a single move—”

“—You’re actually serious right now,” he interrupted, his smirk spreading into a full grin.

“I am,” you insisted, your tone firm, though the corner of your mouth betrayed you with a faint twitch of a smile. “Careers ended over a single wrong move, reputations destroyed forever. It’s the closest thing to battle without actual bloodshed.”

“Uh-huh,” he drawled, his smirk deepening as he leaned closer, eyes flicking over your face. “So, should I be worried you’re plotting my downfall next?”

You rolled your eyes, spinning back toward the exhibits. “You’re not even worth the effort,” you muttered, though the warmth creeping up your neck said otherwise.

“Good to know,” he teased, his voice low as he fell into step beside you, his shoulder brushing yours just enough to send a flicker of heat through your chest.

As the conversation ebbed, your steps naturally carried you toward the basketball wing, it glowed under soft spotlights that illuminated rows of vintage jerseys suspended in sleek glass cases. Overhead, projectors looped footage of classic buzzer-beaters, the sound faint yet electrifying as familiar highlights filled the space. You and Jeno exchanged excited glances each time a play you recognized flashed on screen, the shared energy sparking like a live wire between you.

Jeno’s steps quickened as his gaze locked onto a rare pair of signed sneakers in one of the displays. His eyes gleamed with boyish excitement, and his voice dropped, rich with familiarity, as he leaned closer. “These are Russell’s,” he murmured, pointing to the signature etched into the sole. “He wore these during the ‘93 playoffs—broke three records that year. And he wasn’t even supposed to play after that ankle injury. It was unreal.”

You didn’t even glance at the plaque beneath the case—his words held more weight, more intimacy than any printed description could. He wasn’t reciting facts; he was reliving them. The way his voice softened when he spoke of the player, the sheer admiration woven through his tone, made something in you tighten, warmth spreading through your chest.

You moved toward another exhibit, snapping a quick photo of a commemorative jersey before turning to your notes app. You jotted down a few thoughts about the cultural evolution of basketball, your fingers hesitating as a subtle realization hit you. Here, amidst the artifacts of the game’s history, Jeno felt different. Calmer, less performative. Like the version of him you saw now—the one who talked about players like they were old friends, his passion raw and unfiltered—was closer to the truth than the smirking bravado he so often leaned on. Your gut told you this was him, behind the armor, and you found yourself scribbling a fragmented thought before pausing, stuck on how to finish it.

“Hey,” Jeno’s voice cut through your thoughts, soft yet curious as he joined you near the interactive screen. He tilted his head, glancing at the incomplete note glowing on your phone. “Can I write something?”

You glanced up, mid-thought, your brows furrowing slightly as you handed him your phone. “Yeah, sure. I can’t seem to finish this.” You gestured to the half-written line. “I’m trying to figure out how rivalries shape the game. You know, the way they add drama, raise stakes—how they’re a story in themselves.”

Jeno nodded, his eyes flicking between your words and the screen in front of him. His thumb hovered over the keyboard for a moment before he began typing, the faint sound of clicks filling the quiet space. You watched his expression shift—focused, thoughtful—as he added to your note.

“Rivalries are the heart of basketball culture. They aren’t just about the players—they’re about the fans, the cities, the history. Each matchup tells a story of loyalty, ambition, and redemption. They turn ordinary games into moments that feel bigger than life, where every second on the clock becomes a testament to passion and perseverance.”

When he handed the phone back, you scanned the words, your chest tightening. He hadn’t just finished your thought—he’d elevated it, put into words the exact feeling you’d been struggling to articulate. You swallowed, the intimacy of the moment hitting harder than expected.

When he handed the phone back, your eyes skimmed over the words, the weight of them sinking in with every passing second. It was as though he’d reached into your mind and pulled out the exact meaning you’d been grasping for, threading it together with a clarity you hadn’t been able to find on your own. The way the sentences flowed felt seamless, natural, like they’d been waiting to be written all along.

Your throat tightened, and you pressed your lips together, a strange warmth blooming in your chest. You shifted on your feet, gripping the phone a little tighter, trying to process the quiet impact of it. There was a gravity in how perfectly he’d completed your thoughts, an unspoken connection that left the air between you charged and fragile, like glass teetering on the edge of shattering.

“Thank you,” you said finally, your lips curving into a soft smile. He shrugged, leaning slightly closer, his presence steadying, magnetic.

“Anytime,” he replied, his voice lower now, threaded with something that made your breath catch.

The two of you drifted further into the wing, the exhibits becoming sparser as the corridors stretched into quieter, dimly lit corners. Near a row of championship trophies, the museum seemed to exhale, its hum of distant voices and footsteps fading into an intimate hush. A digital highlight reel looped nearby, its golden light spilling over Jeno’s face, sharpening the angles of his jaw and casting his dark eyes in a warm, flickering glow.

Without a word, his arm slipped around your waist, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles against your hip—subtle but unmissable, like a whisper that demanded to be heard. You felt the faint press of his lips against your temple, soft and fleeting. Without thinking, you turned into him, your arms looping around his neck as your lips found his. The kiss was soft at first, a whisper of affection, but it deepened quickly, the late-night solitude making every movement feel bolder.

The two of you stayed hidden in the corner, your lips meeting in shorter, softer kisses that only seemed to pull you closer. His fingers tangled in your hair as you kissed him over and over, a quiet laugh escaping your lips between breaths. You barely noticed the sound of soft footsteps until Jeno’s gaze shifted, his eyes darting to something behind you.

You froze, turning slowly to find an elderly woman standing a few feet away, a warm smile lighting her face.

“Oh, don’t mind me, sweethearts,” the older woman said, her voice soft and laced with a teasing warmth that made it impossible to ignore her. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I couldn’t help noticing how the two of you can’t seem to keep your hands—or eyes—off each other.”

Your stomach tightened at her words, awkwardness prickling at the edges of your composure. You stepped back instinctively, almost shrinking under the weight of her observation, but Jeno’s hand stayed firm on your waist, grounding you. You glanced at him, half expecting him to share in your discomfort, but instead, he looked completely at ease—almost like he belonged in this moment.

The woman’s chuckle was indulgent, her eyes twinkling. “You’re far too adorable to pass up. Please, let me take a photo of you. You’re such a beautiful couple.”

Your heart lurched at the word couple, your mind scrambling for a polite way to decline. But before you could say anything, Jeno’s calm, steady voice cut in. “That’s so kind of you,” he said smoothly, his charm effortless as he glanced at you. His thumb brushed over your hip, a subtle reassurance you didn’t realize you needed.

Caught off guard, you nodded, forcing a small smile as you tried to bury the awkwardness simmering inside you. Jeno’s ease with the interaction only heightened your surprise—he had this quiet knack for making moments like this seem completely natural, like he’d done it a thousand times before.

The first photo was simple—both of you stood side by side, smiling politely for the camera as the woman fussed over how “perfect” you looked. For the second, she instructed you to look at each other, and despite the flutter of self-consciousness, you turned to meet Jeno’s gaze. The sight of him smiling at you, his features softened in the warm light, made something twist in your chest.

Then came the third photo. “Lean in a little, dear,” the woman encouraged, her tone coaxing. Jeno didn’t hesitate, dipping his head toward you and pressing a kiss to your lips. His lips lingered longer than necessary, the heat of his breath ghosting over your skin, and the closeness sent your heart stuttering.

You blinked, caught in the heady mix of intimacy and the woman’s amused laughter. “Ah, treasure these moments, won’t you?” she said, handing the phone back to Jeno. Her gaze lingered for a moment, kind but knowing, before she shuffled off with a small wave.

Jeno’s smirk reappeared as he looked down at the photos. “Not bad,” he murmured, his eyes flicking to yours. “Think she caught my good side?”

You rolled your eyes, your lips curving in a slow, teasing smile. “You look the same from all sides.”

The grin that spread across his face wasn’t sly anymore—it was dangerous, a dare. He tilted his head, eyes dragging over you like he was memorizing every inch. “Yeah? I guess I should show you all my angles then,” he murmured, stepping closer, his breath warm against your cheek. You leaned in before you could stop yourself, stealing a kiss that was supposed to be quick.

It wasn’t.

The moment your lips met his, you didn’t let him take the lead. Your fingers curled around his jaw, pulling him closer as your mouth moved against his with deliberate, teasing intent. Jeno responded instantly, his hands gripping your waist as if to steady himself, but you didn’t give him the chance to dictate the pace. You kissed him harder, more insistent, and when he tried to press closer, you pulled back just slightly, leaving him chasing you.

His groan was low and frustrated, his lips parting against yours as if to protest. His fingers flexed against your waist, the grip possessive, grounding. But even as he leaned into you, letting himself get lost in the heat of it, you kept control, your kisses commanding, pulling him apart piece by piece.

When you finally pulled back, your chest heaving, his lips chased yours for a moment, like he hadn’t quite gotten his fill. His hands stayed firm on your waist, keeping you tethered to him. He looked at you, jaw tight, eyes burning with something possessive. “If you keep kissing me like that I’m not gonna let you walk away.”

His words lingered, low and warning, but you straightened your cardigan with trembling fingers, ignoring the way his gaze seared into you. When you stepped out of the hidden corner, you created distance, pulling your hand away the moment his fingers brushed yours. His hand caught air, and he let out a quiet, frustrated exhale, trailing behind you as you stopped to examine a nearby display.

Jeno didn’t say anything at first, but his narrowed eyes followed every flicker of hesitation in your movements. His jaw ticked when you avoided meeting his gaze, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. His frustration simmered, evident in the way he crossed his arms and watched you with something between amusement and disbelief. Then, deliberately, he closed the space between you, his chest brushing your shoulder as he leaned down, his lips close to your ear.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” Jeno murmured, his voice cutting through the charged silence. It was low, rough, the kind of tone that slithered down your spine and coiled tight in your stomach. His breath was warm against your ear, close enough to make you tilt your head away instinctively, but he didn’t move back. Instead, his hand skimmed your arm, the light touch a deliberate tease, stopping just short of your wrist before retreating like a threat unfulfilled.

“You don’t want me to hold your hand because she saw us, right?” His lips curved into a smirk, humorless and sharp, his words heavy with unspoken challenge. He didn’t wait for you to confirm what he already knew, letting the pause stretch long enough for the tension to dig in deep, the weight of his presence pressing against you like a brand. “You think you’re being careful,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, more intimate, “but you’re killing me, baby.”

Your chest tightened at the sound of it, the raw frustration laced with something darker—something needy. But you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. You stepped forward, ignoring the magnetic pull of his fingers hovering too close to yours, and led the way into another section of the cultural archive.

The arcade-style room greeted you with a burst of neon brilliance, the colors refracting off sleek walls in dizzying patterns. Digital displays blinked and hummed in rhythmic syncopation, filling the space with an electric undercurrent that felt alive. The energy here was different—lighthearted, playful—making it easier to let the tight coil of tension in your chest loosen, if only slightly. You let your gaze wander, tracing the vibrant edges of the room, careful to keep your focus on the displays and not the figure trailing close behind you.

Jeno’s presence wasn’t overwhelming anymore—not because you had withdrawn, but because you’d chosen to compartmentalize it, pressing his proximity into a corner of your mind where it could sit without suffocating you. He wasn’t the gravitational force here. Not now. You moved through the space deliberately, your pace steady, your hands brushing along smooth surfaces as you paused at a glowing screen, drinking in the details with detached curiosity. He lingered behind, his silence palpable, like he was waiting for you to crack under the weight of his attention.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you guided the moment as if it were yours to control. Turning briefly, you gestured for him to join you at one of the displays. The light from the screen caught on his face, softening the sharpness of his features and muting the intensity of his gaze. His eyes flickered between you and the display, but you didn’t let the moment linger. With a fleeting, purposeful touch—your hand ghosting over his arm—you adjusted his position for the photo you intended to take. The gesture wasn’t careless; it was precise, a reminder that you dictated the boundaries right now.

Jeno’s lips quirked, faintly amused, but he didn’t say anything. The lights framed him perfectly, and for a moment, you studied the image of him through the lens rather than the man himself. The soft lines of his smirk, the way the colors danced over his skin—it all made your stomach twist, but you buried the feeling beneath the pretense of casual interest.

The photo was for your collection, but the smile it drew from you wasn’t for the camera—it was for him.

“Hey, wanna play?” His voice broke through the moment, drawing your attention to a miniature basketball hoop game in the corner. “Think you’ve got what it takes?”

You narrowed your eyes, the teasing note in his tone lighting a competitive spark. “What, to beat you? Obviously.”

Jeno’s laugh was deep and mocking, the sound rolling through you like thunder. “Awfully confident for someone who’s never even picked up a ball.”

You crossed your arms, lifting your chin. “I’ve watched Mark play enough to know it’s not that hard.”

That earned you a sharp bite of his lip, the sight making heat bloom low in your stomach. He stepped back, his hands raised in mock surrender, but the glint in his eyes was anything but yielding. “Alright, then. Show me what you’ve got. First to eight wins.”

“Fine,” you said sharply, stepping up to the arcade hoop with a confidence that bordered on defiance. The machine was neatly nestled into the corner, its polished metallic frame gleaming under the assault of flashing neon lights. The digital scoreboard hummed to life, its blank display almost mocking in its emptiness, daring you to leave it untouched.

You inhaled, steadying yourself as you squared your shoulders. Your hands flexed around the small, rubber ball, the texture oddly foreign against your palms. You narrowed your eyes at the hoop, focusing on the target as if sheer determination alone could will the ball in. But your stance betrayed you—too stiff, too controlled. You hesitated for half a second before releasing the ball, and it hit the rim with a loud, hollow clang that echoed louder in your head than in the room itself.

Jeno leaned lazily against the side of the machine, his arms crossed and his grin cutting like a blade. The tilt of his head, the glint in his eyes—they all screamed amusement, and not the kind that was kind. “Tough start,” he drawled, his voice infuriatingly casual, the mock sympathy dripping from his words like honey laced with poison.

Your jaw tightened as his tone grated against your resolve. Without sparing him another glance, you snatched another ball, adjusting your grip and stance. This time, you softened your movements, loosening your shoulders, but the result was no better. The ball ricocheted off the rim with a defiant bounce, rolling away as your frustration clawed its way to the surface.

You turned toward Jeno sharply, your glare sharp enough to cut through the pulsing neon light that surrounded you. His expression hadn’t changed; if anything, his grin deepened, that infuriating mix of smugness and amusement making your fingers itch to throw something far less playful than a basketball.

He met your eyes, his expression hovering between smug satisfaction and quiet amusement, but there was something simmering beneath the surface—something deliberate. Then he stepped closer, his frame cutting into your space, the faint hum of the arcade around you suddenly a distant murmur. The playful glint in his gaze sharpened, the warmth in his smirk dipping into something darker, something that made the air between you thrum with tension. “First to eight gets to dom tonight,” he murmured, his voice dropping low, the octave rich and heavy like a whispered confession meant only for you. “Loser has to buy lunch for the rest of the week.”

The words curled through you, molten and wicked, igniting something primal and consuming in their wake. But it wasn’t his promise that sent heat racing through your veins—it was the idea of reversing it. Of having him at your mercy. Your breath hitched, sharp and telling, as images flooded your mind unbidden—his body tense but yielding under your touch, his lips parting to plead for more even as you dictated the pace. The fantasy gripped you with the kind of visceral pull that left your resolve sharpening, your focus zeroing in on him with renewed intent. You nodded once, the movement sharp and deliberate, already imagining the way his name would sound falling from your lips—not in surrender, but in command.

But when you took your next shot, the ball betrayed you again, rolling off the rim and bouncing to the side with a cruel, mocking defiance. Your jaw clenched, the sting of failure biting harder now with the weight of his challenge hanging over you. Every missed shot felt like it was peeling away at the edges of your control, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of showing it.

From the corner of your eye, you could feel Jeno watching, his presence heavy and unrelenting, but you didn’t dare meet his gaze—not yet. The room felt tighter, warmer, the neon lights now blurring into a backdrop for the tension settling thick in the air between you. You reset your stance, but the echo of his words stayed with you, that dark promise replaying itself in your mind like a dare you couldn’t back down from.

Before the frustration could fully settle in your chest, you felt him step closer, his warmth at your back before his arms came around you. His hands found yours, his grip firm but deliberate as he guided your movements, his chest pressed flush against you. The solid weight of him was grounding, but the proximity sent a charge skittering across your skin, your pulse quickening in response.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice low and impossibly smooth, the kind of tone that seemed to slip beneath your defenses without effort. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, light and fleeting, but the touch left a trail of heat in its wake. You froze for a moment, not expecting the gentleness in his tone, the quiet reassurance layered beneath the teasing edge. “You’re too tense,” he said, his hands shifting yours into position with a measured patience that felt at odds with the intensity of his presence. “Shoulders down. Legs apart. Loosen up.”

His breath was steady, an anchor against the rising heat coursing through your body. His hands slid along yours, careful yet insistent, guiding you like you were something fragile but worth steadying. His chest was firm, his movements purposeful, and despite yourself, you followed his lead, letting the tension bleed out of your shoulders as his fingers adjusted your grip.

“Bend your knees a little,” he whispered, his voice softer now, dipping into something dangerously intimate. It wasn’t just instruction; it was layered with something more, a quiet pull meant just for you. “Let your body move with it. Stop trying so hard to control it.”

His lips grazed your cheek, lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch. The gentleness of the gesture caught you off guard, the contrast against his usual sharpness making it land deeper. You didn’t know why, but you hadn’t expected this side of him—the way he seemed to savor the process of steadying you, of teaching you with a patience that felt far more intimate than teasing.

“If you make this one,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, his breath brushing against your skin like a quiet promise, “I’ll reward you later.” The words were a slow burn, seeping into your chest and igniting something molten and unsteady at your core.

You exhaled, the tension in your body softening as you released the ball. It sailed cleanly through the hoop, and the sound of it swishing sent a surge of triumph rushing through you. You turned to him, your grin breaking through the heat still lingering in your chest, and without hesitation, you cupped his jaw, pulling him into a kiss that was hard, unapologetic, and filled with all the energy you’d been holding back.

He laughed against your lips, a rich, low sound that vibrated through you as his hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer. His response was instant, matching your fervor with his own, the kiss deepening into something that teetered on the edge of control. You broke away first, your breathing unsteady, but he didn’t let go, his fingers pressing into your hips like he wasn’t ready to relinquish the moment.

But when it was his turn, the shift was immediate. He stepped to the hoop, his confidence practically radiating off him, and he didn’t miss—not once. Each shot was accompanied by a cocky comment, his voice dripping with mockery as the scoreboard climbed higher in his favor. You could do nothing but glare, your earlier triumph dissolving under the weight of his growing smirk.

When the final ball sailed through the hoop, Jeno turned to you, his movements unhurried, his victory dripping from every line of his body. His smirk was slow, deliberate, and sinful, his eyes meeting yours with a heat that made the air between you feel heavier. He stepped closer, the proximity making it impossible to ignore the tension crackling between you.

His lips hovered just above yours, the heat of his breath brushing against your skin, each exhale deliberate, teasing, maddening. His gaze held yours, dark and unwavering, and the smirk that curled at the edges of his mouth was nothing short of predatory. “I’m gonna have fun tonight, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with triumph, but the glint in his eyes promised more than victory—it promised chaos. He let the moment hang, his head tilting slightly, his lips brushing yours so lightly it wasn’t even a kiss.

His fingers stayed at your chin, tilting your face just enough to keep you in his line of fire, his smirk deepening when he saw the challenge flicker behind your stare. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction he expected, not now, not later—not on his terms. He might have claimed the game, but the space between you was still up for grabs, and you had no intention of letting him think he’d won everything.

The sharpness in your gaze softened, just barely, as you reached for his hand. Your fingers slid against his deliberately, wrapping around his palm, guiding him through the crowd and away from the arcade’s glowing chaos. Jeno let you take the lead without a word, though you felt the quiet tension in the way his thumb brushed against your knuckles, slow and deliberate, like he was testing the limits of your touch.

The hallway outside the exhibit felt quieter, the hum of neon giving way to a more subdued rhythm, though the energy between you remained just as charged. You could feel his presence close behind you, the occasional brush of his shoulder against yours a silent reminder of the space you weren’t allowing him to close.

The idea of heading back to the motel crept into your mind, an unwelcome thought that made your steps falter for just a moment. You didn’t want the night to end—not yet. Everything about it had been perfect, from the playful banter to the electric pull that lingered between you both. It was the kind of night that felt rare, like holding onto a thread of magic that could slip away at any second. You weren’t ready to let it dissolve into something as ordinary as rest and silence.

That was when you noticed the sign. 24-Hour Gift Shop. The bold lettering stood out in the dim lighting, and before you could react, Jeno’s expression lit up, a flicker of boyish excitement breaking through his usual composed demeanor. “We’re going in,” he said simply, his voice resolute as he steered you toward the entrance.

The gift shop was a curated mess of basketball-themed treasures, gaudy trinkets, and charming absurdities. Shelves overflowed with novelty keychains, trading cards, and oversized bobbleheads that teetered on their bases. You found yourself laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of it all—a foam finger shaped like a basketball hoop, mugs emblazoned with cheesy slogans, and a glitter-covered snow globe with a miniature player frozen mid-dunk.

You caught Jeno watching you as you picked up a particularly hideous bobblehead, your laughter spilling out in soft waves. He didn’t say anything, just smiled, the kind of smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth like he couldn’t help himself. It lingered, warm and unguarded, and you felt it settle low in your chest, right alongside the bittersweet ache of knowing the night was slipping away too quickly.

Eventually, the two of you began to wander back toward the exit. Your phone buzzed in your hand, the battery icon flashing a warning, and you realized just how much you’d captured—the notes, the photos, the videos. The weight of the night lingered in every detail saved to your phone, but the memories etched themselves even deeper, impossible to forget.

As you passed the gift shop one last time, Jeno paused, his gaze flicking toward the entrance. “Hold on,” he said, already heading back inside. “I forgot something.”

You waited outside, arms crossed, your curiosity simmering as the seconds stretched into minutes. You glanced at the clock on your phone, then back toward the shop, the glass doors giving you only the faintest glimpse of his movements inside.

When he reemerged, his steps were purposeful but casual, a faint smirk playing on his lips. You didn’t press him, though the spark of suspicion in your gaze was impossible to hide. “Ready to go?” he asked, his tone light, but there was something else beneath it, a quiet undercurrent that made you tilt your head, studying him.

You nodded, falling into step beside him as you walked toward the parking lot. The air was cooler now, brushing against your skin like a reminder that the night was winding down. But just before you reached the car, Jeno stopped abruptly, turning to face you.

“Here,” he said, his voice quieter now, his hand slipping into his pocket.

When he handed you the small box, you hesitated, your brow furrowing as you turned it over in your hands. It was unassuming, light, and you glanced up at him, confused.

“Open it,” he murmured, his eyes steady on yours.

The lid lifted with a soft creak, and the sight inside stole the breath from your lungs. Nestled against the fabric was a tiny basketball charm, delicate and carefully crafted, its polished surface catching the faint light like a spark.

“For your bracelet,” he said, his voice softer still, the weight of the moment pressing into the quiet space between you.

Your gaze lifted to his, startled and unsteady, the weight of the moment pressing against you in ways you couldn’t quite name. The bracelet had been nothing more than a fixture, its emptiness a quiet, unnoticed echo of things you’d grown used to—spaces unfilled, gaps you stopped questioning. But here he was, standing in front of you, holding a piece so small yet so deliberate, it felt like he’d reached into the silence you carried and tried to give it shape. Something tightened in your chest, sharp and unfamiliar, as if his gesture had revealed just how long you’d been wearing something incomplete, and how you might never have realized it on your own.

“Jeno…” you started, your voice unsteady, but he cut you off with a small shake of his head.

“It’s okay,” he said simply, his fingers brushing yours as he reached for the bracelet. “I wanted to. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how empty it looked. I knew what I had to do.”

He worked in silence, the soft clink of the charm against the bracelet barely audible over the quiet rhythm of your breaths. His fingers moved with a careful precision that felt almost reverent, as though this small act demanded every ounce of his focus. His brow furrowed, his lips pressed in a subtle line of concentration, and you couldn’t look away. There was something unguarded about the way he approached this—so deliberate, so painstakingly unhurried—that it made your chest ache in a way you hadn’t prepared for. It wasn’t just the act itself, but what it meant, what it revealed.

When he finished, he didn’t say anything at first. His hand lingered at your wrist, his thumb brushing over the newly attached charm, and then his eyes met yours. The sincerity in his gaze hit you like a blow, unraveling something carefully stitched together inside you. It wasn’t just a charm, wasn’t just a thoughtful gift—it was him, offering you a piece of himself, quiet and unspoken, but there. It was the way he saw you, not as you pretended to be, but as you truly were. The realization both warmed and unsettled you, leaving you feeling laid bare in the softest, most excruciating way.

You reached for him before you could think better of it, your hand cupping his jaw, your thumb brushing the edge of his cheekbone. He stilled, his breath catching, but he didn’t pull away. When you kissed him, it wasn’t hurried or eager. It was soft, lingering, a kind of communion that words couldn’t reach. Beneath it was a current of gratitude, quiet and raw, and the unshakable knowledge that this moment was more than a gesture. It was a shift—subtle, seismic, and irreversible.

His hands found your waist, his touch steady and grounding, as though he needed to anchor himself to you in the same way you found yourself clinging to him. His grip was firm but gentle, his thumbs tracing over the fabric of your shirt like he was memorizing the feel of you. The space between you ceased to exist, and yet, the weight of what had just passed between you seemed to fill every corner.

The bracelet rested against your wrist, no longer just a hollow adornment. It felt heavier now, but not with emptiness—it carried meaning. A weight you hadn’t realized you’d been missing, one you hadn’t asked for but found yourself reluctant to let go of. It didn’t just fill the space; it transformed it, leaving something behind that you knew would linger long after this moment ended.

The second you shoved him onto the motel bed, Jeno knew he was done for. Not just because you had the upper hand, but because of the look in your eyes—wild, unyielding, and utterly determined. His cocky grin faltered for a split second, his usual confidence wavering as you towered over him. His back hit the mattress with a dull thud, and his lips parted, ready to retake control, to say something. But you didn’t give him the chance. The moment you climbed onto him, your movements calculated and deliberate, he realized he was no longer in charge.

It wasn’t just the weight of you pinning him down—it was the absurdity of the situation. You’d lost the bet. By all rights, this was supposed to be his moment of victory, his chance to bend you to his will. He should have been the one in control, making you squirm beneath him. Instead, you were on top, commanding every inch of him like you’d won, like it had been his loss, not yours. The irony of it hit him hard, but the thought dissolved into nothingness the second your hands moved to his waistband.

You stripped him of his pants and boxers in one smooth motion, and his cock sprang free, thick and flushed, standing stiff against his stomach. The sight of it, heavy and desperate, should’ve made you pause—but you didn’t. You wrapped your hand around him, gave him one hard, teasing stroke that left him gasping, and then lined yourself up and sank down without ceremony.

The stretch was overwhelming, your walls clenching around him with a tightness that ripped a groan from both of you. His hands flew to your hips instinctively, but you smacked them away, your nails dragging down his chest as you pressed him back against the mattress. “Stay,” you demanded, your voice sharp and commanding, leaving no room for argument.

He stared up at you, his pupils blown wide, his lips parted in disbelief. He wanted to say something, maybe even fight back, to remind you of the terms of the bet—but when your hips started to move, slow and deliberate, every thought in his head vanished. Every roll of your body was purposeful, your thighs flexing as you lifted yourself off him only to slam back down, the force of it sending his head tipping back against the pillows.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him, his knuckles white as he tried to keep himself in check. The sight of you above him, taking what you wanted with a confidence he hadn’t expected, had his mind spinning. “You don’t—fuck—you don’t fight fair.”

A wicked grin spread across your lips, your hands braced against his chest as you leaned forward, letting your nails leave faint trails in his skin. “I never said I would,” you shot back, your voice low and dripping with satisfaction. The angle shifted slightly, driving him deeper, and the sharp intake of his breath only spurred you on.

He couldn’t believe this was happening, couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he was here, pinned to the bed, completely at your mercy. He’d gone into this thinking he’d be the one in charge, the one to call the shots—but from the second you’d shoved him onto the bed, he’d known. He’d lost all control over you, and it wasn’t just the way your body moved against his, the way you commanded him. It was the confidence in your eyes, the way you held him down like he belonged to you.

His groan was guttural, his hands twitching at his sides, his entire body screaming for him to grab you, flip you over, and fuck you into the mattress. But he didn’t. He stayed exactly where you told him, his restraint hanging by a thread as you worked him over with precision.

The feral rhythm of your hips slamming down onto his cock was unrelenting, a raw, primal display of desire that left no space for control or reason. Each bounce sent a lewd, wet slap echoing through the room, the obscene sound underscoring the way your body moved with unrestrained abandon. You were riding him like you owned him, chasing your own pleasure with every brutal drop of your hips, and the way his cock twitched and pulsed inside you only pushed you further into the madness of it all.

Your ass was relentless, the soft curve of it clapping against his thighs with every downward thrust. His gaze was glued to the way it moved, hypnotized by the ripple of your flesh and the raw power in your movements. Each bounce made his thighs tighten beneath you, a reaction that drove a smug smirk to your lips even as your own breath caught. The force of your descent made the head of his cock hit that devastating spot inside you over and over again, leaving you gasping, moaning, completely undone. His hands flexed at his sides, fingers twitching like he was barely holding himself back from grabbing your ass and forcing you to move even harder.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his voice cracking as his hips jerked involuntarily, desperate to meet your movements. “Look at you. You don’t even need me to move. You’re—” His words died on his tongue, swallowed by a guttural moan as you sank onto him harder, faster, riding him with a wildness that left no room for anything else.

Your breasts moved with the same intensity as your hips, bouncing wildly with every thrust, catching his attention like a predator locked onto prey. He couldn’t stop staring, his mouth falling open as he groaned low in his chest. When his hands finally shot up, cupping them roughly, his fingers molded to your curves, squeezing hard enough to draw a gasp from your lips.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he muttered, his voice wrecked as his thumbs dragged across your nipples, rolling the stiff peaks under his fingers. The roughness of his touch made your back arch, your lips parting as a choked moan spilled out. He stared up at you, his dark eyes wild with want, before his lips parted again, his tone more desperate now. “Let me taste them.”

He didn’t wait for permission. His hands gripped your waist, dragging your chest down to meet his mouth. His tongue flicked against your nipple with an intensity that sent a jolt of heat straight to your core, your walls clamping tighter around his cock as you cried out. The wet pull of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth, the way his tongue circled and lapped at your sensitive skin—it was maddening.

“You like that, don’t you?” he growled against your skin, his teeth grazing the hardened bud before he sucked it deeper into his mouth. “Can’t stop making those pretty sounds when I do this.” He switched to the other breast, his tongue lashing against the peak as his hands held your hips in place, forcing you to keep moving, to keep riding him.

Your moans grew louder, more broken, as his mouth worked in perfect rhythm with your hips. The wet slide of his cock dragging against your walls combined with the heat of his tongue and the sting of his teeth sent you spiraling. Your hands flew to his hair, gripping hard, pulling him closer as you gasped out, “More. Fuck, don’t stop.”

He didn’t. His lips latched onto your nipple with more force, his tongue flicking faster, his teeth scraping just enough to make your thighs tremble. The way he worshiped your breasts—hungry, unrelenting, like he couldn’t get enough—left you wrecked. Your control faltered, your rhythm becoming erratic as you lost yourself in the overwhelming sensation of his mouth and the thick length of him stretching you open.

“You’re gonna make me lose it,” you panted, your voice trembling as your body arched into his touch. “Shit, Jeno, you feel so—” Your words dissolved into a desperate moan as his teeth caught your nipple, the sting sharp and electrifying before it melted into heat.

He pulled back for a moment, his lips shiny, his chest heaving as he stared up at you like he’d never seen anything so devastating. His hands slid down to grip your ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he guided you back down onto him, the force of his thrust meeting your descent. “Fuck, you’re killing me,” he groaned, his voice low and ragged, his grip tightening as he buried himself deeper.

The rhythm picked up again, rougher, harder, the sound of your ass clapping against his thighs filling the room. His lips returned to your chest, his mouth devouring you with renewed hunger, leaving marks that would linger on your skin like a brand. His tongue flicked and swirled, his teeth scraping just enough to leave you trembling, and the low, filthy sounds he made against your skin only pushed you closer to the edge.

“You’re mine tonight,” you gasped, your voice raw as you clutched his shoulders, your nails dragging down his chest. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” he rasped, his head tipping back as his body tightened beneath you. “Fuck, I’m all yours.”

Your grip on his shoulders tightened, your nails dragging down his chest hard enough to leave faint red lines. The sight of him beneath you, flushed and wrecked, his lips parted as he panted for air, made your stomach tighten with satisfaction. Jeno had always been the one in control, the one who dictated the pace, but tonight, you’d stripped him of every ounce of dominance, leaving him at your mercy.

He didn’t try to wrestle control back, didn’t even fight it; instead, he let you guide him, his eyes glazed over with lust as you worked him over with brutal precision. The slick slide of him inside you made your head spin, every thrust driving deeper, hitting spots that made your entire body tremble. His hands gripped your ass firmly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, helping you keep your rhythm steady despite the way your thighs burned with exertion.

“Look at you,” you whispered, your voice a mix of awe and mockery as you leaned down, your lips brushing against his ear. “So fucking pretty like this—completely under me.”

Jeno let out a choked groan, his hips bucking up into you, but you pushed him back down with a firm hand against his chest. His eyes widened slightly when your other hand slid up to his throat, your fingers wrapping around the column of his neck. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze flicking to yours, dark and wanting, but also laced with surprise. You squeezed gently, testing, and the low, guttural sound he made sent a shiver down your spine.

“Like that, huh?” you murmured, tightening your grip just enough to make his breath hitch. “I knew you’d let me do anything to you.”

He didn’t respond, couldn’t, the pressure of your hand cutting off his words and leaving him gasping. His lips parted, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath you, and the sight of him like this—submissive, needy, utterly at your mercy—made you clench around him, drawing a strangled curse from his lips.

You leaned down, your mouth hovering just above his, and spit, slow and deliberate, watching as it dripped past his parted lips and onto his tongue. He groaned loudly, his eyes fluttering shut as he swallowed without hesitation, the act sending a fresh wave of heat straight to your core.

“Good boy,” you purred, your voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you?”

“Fuck, yes,” he rasped, his voice raw as he strained against your hand on his throat, his hips jerking up desperately. “Anything. I’ll take it—please.”

His plea made your head spin, your control wavering for a moment as you slammed your hips down harder, faster. The wet, obscene sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, mingling with the broken moans spilling from both of you. His cock throbbed inside you, the stretch overwhelming, and the way he looked up at you—wide-eyed, desperate—left you teetering on the edge.

Your hand left his throat, sliding down his chest, and you dug your nails into his skin, making him hiss through his teeth. His hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers bruising as he pulled you down onto him with every thrust, matching your rhythm with a force that had you gasping.

“You’re gonna come for me,” you demanded, your voice shaking as you ground your hips against him, your walls tightening around his cock. “You don’t come until I say.”

“I—fuck—I’m so close,” he choked out, his head tipping back, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to hold himself together. “Please—let me—”

“Not yet,” you cut him off, leaning forward to nip at his bottom lip, your teeth dragging against the soft skin before you kissed him deeply. The kiss was messy, all tongue and teeth, your control slipping as his hands moved to your ass, pulling you down harder, deeper, until you couldn’t think straight.

His lips left yours, trailing down your neck to your chest, and he latched onto your nipple again, his tongue flicking and swirling with a desperation that made your thighs tremble. His teeth scraped against the sensitive skin, the sting sending shocks of pleasure through you, and you couldn’t stop the moan that tore from your throat.

“Fuck, Jeno,” you gasped, your head falling back as you lost yourself in the overwhelming sensation. “You’re gonna make me—oh, shit—”

“Do it,” he groaned against your skin, his voice low and wrecked. “Come on me. I want to feel it—want to feel you lose it on my cock.”

His words pushed you over the edge, your body tensing as waves of pleasure crashed over you, your walls clamping down around him tightly. You cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders as you rode out your orgasm, your movements erratic and frantic.

Jeno wasn’t far behind, his hands gripping your hips almost painfully as he thrust up into you one last time, his body trembling as he spilled inside you. His groan was deep, guttural, his head tipping back against the pillows as he let himself go completely.

You collapsed onto his chest, your breaths coming in short, uneven gasps as you both lay there, utterly spent. His hands moved up your back, his touch surprisingly gentle as he traced lazy circles against your skin.

You barely had a moment to catch your breath before Jeno moved, flipping you onto your back with a strength that stole whatever control you had left. The room spun, your legs tangled with his as he pressed you into the mattress, his body hovering over yours, heat radiating from every inch of him. His hand slid beneath your thigh, gripping it firmly and hooking your leg around his waist, his eyes burning as they locked onto yours.

“You really think you can wear me out?” he murmured, his voice low and wrecked, a faint smirk curling at the edges of his lips. Before you could answer, his hips rolled forward, the thick length of him sliding back into you in one unrelenting thrust.

Your gasp caught in your throat, your fingers scrambling for purchase against his damp skin as he set a rhythm that was slower now but no less consuming. His gaze never left yours, the intensity in his eyes pinning you in place as his body moved against yours, deliberate and devastating.

The weight of him, the heat of his body pressed so tightly to yours, made it impossible to think, impossible to do anything but feel. His hand found your wrist, pinning it above your head, his fingers lacing with yours as he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear.

“You think you’re in charge,” he breathed, his voice rough and teasing, his hips snapping harder, pulling a broken moan from your lips. “But look at you now. Look at how I have you.”

The words sent a shiver racing through you, your back arching as his free hand traveled down your body, his touch rough and possessive. His fingers dug into your hip, holding you in place as he drove deeper, his pace unwavering, his movements so precise it left you trembling beneath him.

“You’re not getting away from me tonight,” he continued, his tone shifting, darker now, filled with a raw, undeniable need. “You’re staying right here, under me, on me, wrapped around me, all night.”

The promise hung heavy in the air, wrapping around you as his lips crashed against yours, the kiss all-consuming, a clash of teeth and tongue and desperation. He kissed like he fucked—intense, unrelenting, like he wanted to take every last piece of you and leave nothing behind.

He pulled back just enough to stare down at you, his chest heaving, sweat slicking his skin as he shifted, grabbing your other leg and pushing your knees higher, opening you up further. The new angle sent a shockwave through your body, your nails biting into his forearm as your head tipped back, your lips parting on a gasp.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice tight as he moved with slow, grinding precision, the drag of him inside you overwhelming. His eyes drank in the sight of you—your flushed skin, your parted lips, the way your body moved beneath him like it was made for this, for him. “You have no idea how fucking good you look right now.”

Your hands slid to his shoulders, clutching him tightly as you pulled him closer, your lips grazing his jaw. “Jeno…” His name was a breathless plea, your voice trembling as he thrust harder, sharper, the intensity of it leaving you shaking.

He pressed his forehead to yours, his breath hot against your lips as he murmured, “I hope you know I’m not stopping. Not until I’ve had you in every way I want. Every way I can.”

Your body arched beneath him, the heat between you building again, the tension coiling tight in your stomach as he fucked you with a pace that was both punishing and purposeful. His mouth was everywhere—your neck, your jaw, your lips—leaving a trail of heat that only added to the heady, dizzying haze you were drowning in.

Time blurred, your senses overtaken by him: the strength of his hands on your body, the weight of him pressing you into the bed, the sound of his ragged breaths mixing with your moans. The room was heavy with heat and desperation, and you knew, without him saying a word, that he meant every promise he’d made.

There would be no rest, no reprieve. You weren’t getting out of that bed, not when he had you like this, not when he looked at you like he could devour you whole. And as his hand slipped behind your knee, hitching your leg higher, his pace relentless and unyielding, you surrendered completely.

This wasn’t a single moment; it was the entire night, a relentless give-and-take where neither of you held back. It wasn’t just him breaking you apart and piecing you back together—it was you doing the same to him, both of you locked in a desperate, all-consuming rhythm that blurred the lines between control and surrender. His thrusts were brutal, his grip unyielding, but the way your nails raked down his back, your legs wrapping tighter around his waist, left him just as wrecked.

Every time he pushed you closer to the edge, you dragged him down with you, your bodies moving in perfect sync as though you were made to unravel each other. The air between you was heavy with heat and need, the sounds of your shared moans and gasps filling the room as the motel bed creaked beneath you. You arched beneath him, your body meeting his with equal force, your fingers tangling in his hair to pull his lips back to yours. The kiss was messy, open-mouthed and desperate, your teeth clashing as you devoured each other, tasting sweat and sin.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your mouth, his hips stuttering for a moment as you clenched around him, your walls gripping him so tightly it stole the breath from his lungs. “You’re ruining me.”

“Good,” you panted, your voice trembling but firm as you ground your hips against his, dragging him deeper, harder. “Because you’re ruining me too.”

His forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot and uneven as he stared into your eyes, his expression caught between awe and disbelief. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmured, his voice low and wrecked, his hands roaming your body like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed to feel every inch of you to convince himself you were real.

You didn’t let him hold onto the moment for long. Your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him deeper, harder, forcing a broken curse from his lips. Then you flipped him, using his own momentum to pin him beneath you. His eyes widened briefly, but the grin that spread across his face was pure, dark delight as he watched you take control again, your nails dragging down his chest.

“You think I’m perfect?” you teased, rolling your hips as his hands flew to your thighs, squeezing tightly. “Prove it. Show me.”

And he did. Even from below, he took every opening to push you further, his fingers digging into your hips to guide your movements, his cock driving into you at a devastating angle that left you gasping. The two of you were locked in a battle for dominance, each of you giving as good as you got, neither willing to let up.

By the time you both collapsed back onto the bed, bodies trembling and slick with sweat, it wasn’t over—it couldn’t be. He pulled you back against him, his lips trailing down your spine as he pushed back inside you, a low groan rumbling in his chest. You twisted to face him, your fingers threading into his hair as you tugged him into another kiss, your bodies already moving together again, unstoppable.

This wasn’t about control. It was about destruction—mutual, beautiful destruction. You weren’t just losing yourself to him; you were taking him with you, pulling him into the same chaos that consumed you. Every moan, every gasp, every desperate touch left its mark, the line between where you ended and he began disappearing entirely.

And as the hours passed, as the night stretched on, there was no thought of rest, no thought of stopping. It was you and him, burning each other to the ground, only to rise again in the next moment, ruined and whole all at once.

It had been a few days since you returned from the motel, but the haze of that weekend hadn’t lifted. Campus life had swallowed you whole again—assignments piled on top of deadlines, projects competing for your attention, tutoring sessions eating into your free time. Even the collaborative project with Jeno, which you were determined to excel in, loomed over you like a silent predator. You thrived on being busy, juggling your responsibilities with practiced ease. But Lee Jeno, as he had proven time and time again, was amazing at derailing every plan you meticulously crafted.

He had spent every night at your apartment since you got back, always finding a way to pull you away from your work, from your thoughts, from everything but him. He spent more time inside you than anywhere else. The boundaries you had drawn between you had long since dissolved, leaving only raw want and insatiable need in their place. Case in point: his head buried between your thighs as you gasped and writhed against the pillows.

This morning, like every other, he’d woken you up before your alarm—not with a whisper, not with a soft touch, but with the shocking heat of his mouth between your thighs. You jolted awake at the first swipe of his tongue, a soft gasp escaping your lips as the sensation flooded your half-asleep mind. The duvet was heavy over your body, cocooning you in warmth, and you hadn’t even realized where he was until you felt his hands gripping your hips, pulling you further down the mattress to meet his mouth.

“Jeno,” you whispered, your voice still thick with sleep, but he didn’t answer. His grip tightened, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh of your hips as his tongue moved with maddening precision, flicking and circling in a rhythm that left your thighs trembling. The muffled hums he made against you sent shivers through your body, each one a reminder that he wasn’t stopping until you were fully awake—and thoroughly ruined.

You couldn’t see him beneath the covers, but you didn’t need to. You could feel the heat of his mouth, the deliberate way his tongue dragged against you, his teeth grazing lightly before soothing the sting with gentle, wet kisses. Your hands clutched at the sheets, twisting them as the pleasure built steadily, your body arching despite your best efforts to stay still.

“Good morning, baby,” he murmured, his voice muffled and teasing as he paused just long enough to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh. The sound of his voice, low and gravelly with sleep, made your chest tighten, and before you could respond, he was back at it, his tongue dipping into you with a groan that vibrated through your core.

“Jeno,” you gasped again, your head falling back against the pillow as the sensations overwhelmed you. “You’re—God, you keep on distracting me.”

He chuckled softly against you, his lips curling into a smirk you could feel. “You don’t seem to mind.”

And he was right. You didn’t mind—not one bit. The way his mouth worked against you, the way his hands gripped your thighs to keep you exactly where he wanted you, the way he seemed to know exactly how to undo you with nothing but his tongue—it was impossible to resist.

You were reaching for him, fingers itching to dive into the messy strands of his hair and tug him up, desperate to kiss away the smug grin that had been teasing you all morning. But the sharp knock at your door stopped you cold. The sound sliced through the hazy warmth of the moment, replacing it with a jolt of panic that spread through your chest like ice.

“Yo! Y/N! Open up. Are you decent?”

The knock was sharp, cutting through the charged air like a blade, and the voice that followed was unmistakable. Mark. Of course it was him. Hearing his name didn’t surprise you—Mark’s presence in your life was as constant as it was chaotic. What did surprise you, though, was when he chose to appear. He didn’t live here, but the spare key you’d given him months ago—a decision you regretted more often than not—meant he strolled into your apartment with the ease of someone who did. Mark was so comfortable in your space that he acted like it was his own, and right now, that particular habit made your stomach drop.

“Oh, my God,” you hissed, your voice low and panicked, your mind already racing.

Your heart dropped as you watched the door knob begin to turn in agonizing slow motion. Every nerve in your body fired off at once as you realized Jeno was still sprawled on top of you, his broad shoulders, tousled hair, and completely bare torso making it painfully obvious what had just been happening.

You didn’t have time to think, let alone properly hide him. Panic fueled your movements as you grabbed Jeno’s shoulders, shoving him down under the massive duvet with all the force you could muster. His muffled laugh against your skin made you glare, but he complied, slipping beneath the covers just as the door cracked open.

Your wide eyes met his under the thick, plush fabric, and you shot him a silent look—sharp, warning, do not fuck this up. He raised a brow in return, his lips curling into a faint smirk, but thankfully, he stayed still.

You glanced down at the bed. Thanks to your oversized duvet, the scene didn’t look suspicious. The blankets were big, fluffy, and completely swallowed Jeno’s frame beneath their layers. As long as he stayed quiet—didn’t shift, didn’t make a sound—Mark wouldn’t know a thing. All you had to do was keep him unsuspecting. You exhaled quietly, bracing yourself as the door opened wider.

You inhaled deeply, forcing the tension in your shoulders to loosen. If you didn’t play this right, everything would unravel in seconds. Jeno was still beneath the duvet, his mouth working relentlessly against you, his hands gripping your thighs with quiet insistence. You knew Mark didn’t suspect anything—how could he?—but the thought of even the slightest misstep made you clench with unease.

“Mark!” you called, pitching your voice higher, layering it with just enough grogginess to sound convincing. “What time is it? I’m still in bed. What do you want?”

You were banking on the early hour to sell your act, and from his exasperated sigh, it seemed to work. “You’ve been super weird and distant since the motel, and I’ve been really meaning to tell you something,” Mark replied, his voice insistent. “This can’t wait.”

Your fingers gripped the edge of the duvet, tugging it tighter over Jeno as your mind raced. You knew exactly what he was going to say, every word of it. That he’d hooked up with Areum at the motel. That it just happened. That he couldn’t stop thinking about it. You knew it all because you were his best friend and you knew everything about him even when he didn’t outwardly tell you.

But he couldn’t say it now. Not with Jeno right here, between your legs, his tongue dragging slow, devastating circles against your clit like he had all the time in the world. If Mark said it—if those words left his mouth—you were sure Jeno would lose it. He’d push himself out from under the duvet, his anger sharp and immediate, the tension snapping like a live wire. Jeno wouldn’t think rationally. And then Mark would see him. See you. Together.

It wasn’t just about Jeno’s reaction. It was about what would happen next. Mark knowing about you and Jeno would be a disaster, not just for you but for everything you’d carefully managed to keep in balance. The dynamic would shift; questions would spill out faster than you could answer them. Why Jeno? How long had this been going on? What did it mean? You hated the thought of losing control, of letting things spiral beyond your grasp. This wasn’t about jealousy, about Mark and Areum. It was about you—about maintaining the delicate, perfect equilibrium you’d worked so hard to build.

“Mark, seriously, can’t this wait?” you said, your voice tight but still playing at sleepy. “I really don’t have time right now.”

Mark groaned, clearly annoyed. “Y/N, come on. This is important. You won’t believe what happened—”

“I already know!” you blurted, desperate to cut him off before the words could leave his mouth. “You fought Jeno back at the motel, didn’t you? He totally deserved it—ow!”

The sharp sting of Jeno’s teeth on your folds sent a jolt through your entire body, making you yelp involuntarily. His bite wasn’t harsh, but it was pointed, deliberate, a silent reprimand for dragging him into your lie. Your thighs clenched around his head instinctively, but he didn’t stop, his tongue following immediately to soothe the bite, the sensation sending a wave of heat coursing through you.

“Y/N?” Mark’s voice sharpened with concern. “Are you okay? What’s happening in there?”

You swallowed hard, biting down on your bottom lip to stifle the moan threatening to escape as Jeno’s mouth moved with maddening precision. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking with a force that made your hips jerk against him, your fingers twisting the blanket in a desperate attempt to maintain composure.

“Nothing!” you squeaked, the strain in your voice obvious. “I—I just stubbed my toe or something. Seriously, Mark, this can wait.”

Jeno’s hands gripped your thighs tighter, spreading you wider beneath the duvet as he buried himself deeper, his groan vibrating against you. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, the dual sensations of pleasure and panic tangling in your chest as you tried to think straight.

“Y/N, you’re acting so weird,” Mark pressed, clearly unconvinced. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” you snapped, your frustration spilling over as you glared down at the lump under the covers. Jeno, the absolute menace, didn’t pause for a second, his tongue swirling and flicking in ways that made your breath hitch. “Just—just give me five minutes, okay? Wait downstairs. I’ll make us breakfast, and we’ll talk then. Just not now.”

There was a long, excruciating pause, the kind that made your heart hammer in your chest as you braced for Mark to say something else, to push further, to step inside despite your protests. You could feel the weight of his hesitation through the door, the way he lingered just long enough to let his suspicion settle into the room like a thick fog. Mark wasn’t stupid—he could sense something was off. Your clipped tone, the way your voice wavered, your refusal to let him in—it wasn’t like you, and you knew he’d noticed.

But Mark was your best friend, and that counted for something. Despite his doubts, despite the fact that he had every reason to question you, he didn’t. That unspoken trust, that bond forged over years of shared secrets and unwavering loyalty, held him back. He gave you the benefit of the doubt because that’s what you did for each other. It was the silent agreement between you: when one of you acted weird, the other let it slide, knowing there was always a reason, even if it wasn’t immediately clear.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you heard him sigh, the sound heavy with irritation and resignation. “Fine. But don’t keep me waiting, Y/N. I’m serious.”

You stayed frozen, every muscle in your body taut as his footsteps retreated down the hall. The sound of the front door closing echoed through the apartment, and you exhaled sharply, the tension draining from your shoulders all at once. Relief washed over you like a wave, the morning’s chaos finally giving way to a fleeting moment of calm.

Your head fell back against the pillow, your chest heaving as you tried to steady your breathing. But Jeno didn’t stop. He doubled down, his tongue dragging slow, deliberate strokes against you, his hands holding you in place as he worked with a single-minded focus that left you trembling.

“Jeno,” you hissed, his name spilling from your lips like a warning. You lift the blanket to glare down at him. He looked up, his lips glistening, his expression infuriatingly smug.

“What?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “You’re the one who shoved me down here.”

“You were supposed to behave,” you shot back, but your voice lacked bite, your body still humming with the lingering pleasure of his relentless attention.

“And yet,” he said, dragging his tongue slowly over you one last time, his grin widening as he felt you shudder, “you’re not complaining.”

You groaned, letting the blanket fall back over his head, resigned to the chaos of your life—and the man underneath it.

That moment of relief didn’t last long. You shoved the duvet back, grabbing Jeno by the arm and dragging him up with a mix of urgency and frustration. “You need to go,” you whispered harshly, glancing toward the closed door as if Mark might come back any second. Jeno didn’t argue, though the glint of amusement in his eyes made your blood boil. He moved slowly, deliberately, grabbing his clothes from the floor and pulling them on with maddening ease. When you motioned toward the window, he chuckled under his breath, leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, and slipped out quietly.

By the time you made it downstairs, Mark was already there, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed and his jaw tight. His posture screamed impatience, the subtle tap of his fingers against his arm only adding to the tension in the air. But when he saw you, the irritation melted away, replaced by something softer, almost nervous. You caught the shift immediately—it wasn’t like Mark to hesitate. He opened his mouth, the words spilling out before you even had a chance to settle into the kitchen.

“You won’t believe what happened at the motel,” he said finally, his voice tinged with both hesitation and a flicker of excitement—the kind that always preceded one of his big revelations. His eyes darted to yours briefly, gauging your reaction, before they flickered away again, the nervous energy rolling off him in waves.

“I mean… it’s kind of insane when I think about it,” he added, letting out a soft, uneasy laugh as he reached up to rub the back of his neck. That familiar habit, the one he always fell back on when he was working up to something big, told you this wasn’t just casual news—it was something significant, something he’d been holding onto for days, waiting for the right moment to spill. You could see it in the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his excitement barely contained beneath his lingering nerves.

“I’m seeing Areum,” he said, his voice quick, almost rushed, like he couldn’t hold it in any longer. “We fucked for the first time at the motel.”

You turned to the stove, cracking eggs into a bowl and whisking them as you forced a smile. “Wait—what?” you said, playing your part perfectly. “Areum? Seriously?” You made a show of being surprised, glancing over your shoulder at him with wide eyes as you heated the pan, adding a knob of butter that sizzled immediately. “You and Areum? I mean, wow, I didn’t see that coming.”

Mark laughed softly, his shoulders relaxing as he leaned against the counter, clearly relieved by your reaction. “Yeah,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “It just… happened. At the motel. I don’t even know how to explain it.”

You poured the eggs into the pan, watching them bubble as you stirred slowly, letting him take the lead. “You don’t have to explain,” you said gently, your tone warm and supportive. “If it makes you happy, then that’s all that matters.” And he was happy—so happy. It was written all over his face, in the way he couldn’t stop smiling, the way his voice picked up when he talked about her. You listened intently, asking questions at the right moments, your kindness and enthusiasm carefully measured.

“She’s just… different, you know?” he said, his voice softer now as he opened up. “I mean, Areum’s always been kind of quiet, you know? But spending time with her at the motel… she’s so shy, but it’s this cute kind of shy that makes you want to keep talking just to see her smile. She’s got this way about her—she’s so sweet, so caring. Like, she notices everything. She’ll remember the smallest things I’ve said, even when I forgot I mentioned them. And her heart…” He paused, his lips curving into a faint smile. “It’s so big. She’s one of those people who makes you feel like you’re the only one that matters when she’s looking at you.”

You smiled softly as you slid the plate toward him, the eggs perfectly scrambled and creamy, the toast golden with slices of sautéed mushrooms glistening on top. Mark reached out to take it, his fingers brushing yours for a moment in a gesture so familiar, it was second nature. You settled into the chair across from him, resting your elbows lightly on the table, your hands loosely clasped together as you tilted your head, studying him. “It sounds like you really like her,” you said, your voice warm, unhurried, like you were coaxing him to open up without him realizing it.

He looked down at the plate for a moment, almost like he needed the pause to collect himself. When he glanced back up, there was a faint flush climbing his neck, just enough to make you smile wider. “I do,” he admitted, his tone quieter, more reflective than you’d expected. His fork hovered over the food, but he didn’t eat yet, his focus fully on you. “I really, really do. But promise me you won’t say anything to anyone else. Areum doesn’t want people knowing yet.”

You leaned forward slightly, the sincerity in your voice unshakable. “Of course I won’t. You know I’d never do that.”

The relief that washed over his face was palpable, softening his features in a way that made him look younger, almost boyish. He let out a breath he must not have realized he was holding, and his smile widened as he relaxed into his chair. “Thanks,” he murmured, his eyes meeting yours in that quiet, grateful way that reminded you exactly why he was your best friend. “I couldn’t not tell you, though. I just… I had to. She’d probably kill me if she knew I was telling you, but…” He trailed off, shrugging with a quiet laugh that made you laugh, too, the sound filling the room in a way that felt like sunlight on an otherwise ordinary morning.

Mark started eating as he spoke, and you watched as he eased into the moment, the way his words came more freely now, like a floodgate had opened. He described her in pieces, in tiny details that painted a picture only someone who truly cared would notice. He talked about the way her voice softened when she spoke to him, the way her shyness made her stumble over her words sometimes, only to immediately apologize in that sweet, almost flustered way she had. He told you about how she touched his arm when she laughed, her fingers light, tentative, as though she wasn’t sure she could take up that space.

“She’s got this way of looking at me,” he said, his voice softening further as he spoke, almost like he was confessing a secret he hadn’t even admitted to himself yet. “Like… like I’m someone worth noticing, you know? Like she sees me—really sees me.” His fork clinked against the edge of his plate as he set it down, his hand rubbing the back of his neck in that familiar, nervous habit of his. “I don’t know how to explain it. She’s just… she’s so kind. So thoughtful. Like, she’s always paying attention, even to the smallest things. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like her before.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the way his voice softened as he spoke, the way his words carried this quiet wonder, like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. But beneath that smile, a pang of guilt twisted in your chest, sharp and heavy. He trusted you completely, enough to bare this part of himself without hesitation, and you were lying to him.

As he fell quiet for a moment, he leaned back in his chair, his head tilting slightly as he looked at you with a faint frown. “What about you?” he asked suddenly, his tone casual but his eyes sharper than you’d expected. “Is there anything going on with you that you want to tell me about?”

Your heart jumped in your chest, and for a split second, you froze. The thought flashed through your mind, quick and insistent—what if you told him? What if you told him about Jeno? About the nights you’d spent together, about the deal you’d made, the exclusivity, the date. What if you told him about the way Jeno made you laugh, made you feel light in a way you hadn’t expected? About how, against all odds, he made you happy.

But just as quickly, the thought vanished, and you shoved it down with practiced ease. No. You couldn’t tell him. Mark would never be able to forget something like that. He wouldn’t look at you—or Jeno—the same way again, and it would change everything. It wasn’t worth the risk. You recomposed yourself quickly, forcing a small, easy smile onto your face. “Nothing exciting,” you said lightly, waving a hand. “Just the usual.”

Mark studied you for a beat, and for a moment, you thought he might press further. But then he nodded, his frown easing into something softer. “Okay,” he said after a moment, his tone gentle. “But if there is something, you know you can tell me, right?”

“Of course,” you replied, the words coming out steady, even though the weight in your chest grew heavier with every syllable.

He smiled, that familiar, warm smile that had always been so easy for him. “Everything feels like it’s falling into place,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “Areum… basketball… even Jeno. I never expected him to start being nice to me, but he has. He’s starting to feel more like my brother. He’s actually been… decent. Maybe even more than decent.”

Your smile wavered for just a moment, but you caught it, nodding as you clasped your hands tighter in your lap. “I’m happy for you, Mark,” you said softly. You really were—but you also knew he’d never realize how much of this was because of you. Jeno’s promise to treat him better, to keep the peace—it all came back to you and the invisible strings you’d been pulling behind the scenes.

Mark leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he spoke, but you barely heard him. The guilt weighed heavier now, pressing against your chest, curling around your ribs. Lying to him felt like trying to hold sand in your hands, the truth slipping through the cracks no matter how tightly you tried to grasp it.

As Mark kept talking, his voice filled with hope and excitement, you couldn’t shake the guilt gnawing at your chest. You were lying to him. Every word you didn’t say was another thread unraveling between you, pulling the balance tighter and tighter. It was like building a house of cards, delicate and precarious, where even the softest breath could bring it all crashing down. But instead of stopping, instead of stepping back, you kept stacking higher, hoping against hope that it wouldn’t collapse under the weight of everything you were hiding.

taglist — @clblnz @flaminghotyourmom @haesluvr @revlada @kukkurookkoo @euphormiia @cookydream @hyuckshinee @alltimernctzen @hyuckieismine @fancypeacepersona @minkyuncutie @kiwiiess @outoforbit @lovetaroandtaemin @ungodlyjnz @remgeolli @sof1asdream7 @xuyiyang @tunafishyfishylike @lavnderluv @cheot-salang @second-floors @hyuckkklee @rbf-aceu @pradajaehyun

authors note — hi loves! if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! it truly means the world to me. i poured so much effort into this, so if you could take just a moment to send an ask or leave a message sharing your thoughts, it would mean everything. your interactions—whether it’s sending an ask, your feedback, a comment, or just saying hi—give me so much motivation to keep writing. i’m always so happy to respond to messages, asks and comments so don’t be shy! thank you from the bottom of my heart! <3

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spencereidluver · 1 month ago

Text

U is for Unraveled

april 29, 2009

summary: When a serial killer sends the BAU a murder on tape, the team is shaken. But no one more than Spencer, who slowly begins to emotionally spiral under the weight of the case. You try to steady him while the rest of the team starts to notice just how deep your connection runs.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: typical criminal minds content, teasing from morgan about the hickey that was left in the last part, and spencer is very affected by this case

The Big Wheel 04x22

When the video stopped playing in the briefing room, no one spoke.

The footage had been filmed from the killer’s point of view: watching the victim from behind, following her, moving closer and closer until the screen shook with her final scream. Garcia had frozen the final frame, a faint reflection of the killer in a mirror, one eye cloudy with partial albinism.

Spencer was silent. Still. The kind of still he only got when something disturbed him deeply.

JJ broke the silence with a glance in his direction. “You okay, Reid?”

His voice came quietly, almost dazed. “I think I know what this is. It’s not about showing off. It’s a confession.”

Your eyes stayed on him long after the others began gathering files. That look…that specific stillness, it meant he was already diving too deep.

_____

By the time the team landed in Buffalo, Spencer had watched the tape at least four more times. In the SUV, he said little, tapping his fingers against his thigh while his eyes stayed locked on the reflection captured in the mirror.

At the local PD, Garcia's voice came through the speakerphone with an update: the unsub was identified: Vincent, an adult man with obsessive-compulsive disorder and a pattern of deep emotional remorse after each kill.

“He doesn’t want to kill,” Spencer muttered, reading over Vincent’s journal entries. “He wants to be stopped.”

Hotch gave him a measured look. “Let’s be careful not to empathize too closely. It clouds judgment.”

Spencer didn’t reply. Just flipped to the next page.

Later that day, while you were posted with Morgan at a secondary crime scene, Spencer and Hotch visited Vincent’s mother. When they returned, Spencer looked drained. Not tired, hollow. You watched him approach with that familiar slight slump in his shoulders. The one that meant something inside was already splintering.

_____

You woke to emptiness. The motel room was still, dim with the soft glow of a parking lot streetlamp leaking in through the thin curtains. The sheets beside you were cool. The space where Spencer should’ve been was untouched; no warmth, no crumpled pillow, just blank linen.

You sat up, heart thudding, and scanned the small room.

“Spence?” you whispered.

No answer.

You slipped out of bed, pulling an oversized FBI sweatshirt over the sports-bra you’d been asleep in, and slowed to the bathroom. Empty. His phone was still charging on the nightstand. His go-bag is still zipped up at the foot of the bed. Which meant he hadn’t gone far.

You moved to the window and tugged the curtain back. That’s when you saw him. Out on the curb. In the cold.

He was sat alone, knees drawn to his chest, elbows resting on top of them. His hoodie was loose and wind-tossed, hair curling in every direction. He looked like he hadn’t moved in a while, his eyes locked on something invisible, far beyond the edge of the parking lot.

Something in your chest twisted.

Quietly, you grabbed your keycard, slipped on your shoes, and made your way outside.

The night air bit at your legs as you stepped down onto the sidewalk. Gravel crunched lightly under your feet. Spencer didn’t turn his head. Didn’t flinch.

You put a hand on his shoulder and sat beside him slowly, folding your legs and letting the silence settle between you before you broke it.

“He reminds you of yourself,” you said, your voice low, nearly lost in the hum of the vending machine and the wind.

Spencer didn’t answer at first. He just blinked slowly, jaw tight, shoulders tense.

Then, finally: “I used to think if I could just find the right pattern… just crack the code that made me wrong, I’d stop being… broken.”

Your breath caught at the weight in his voice, not bitterness, not self-pity. Just resignation. Familiar, ancient. The kind of pain worn in quiet moments no one else saw.

“Vincent thinks that too,” he went on. “That if he can record it, document it, measure it…he can make sense of it. But he’s still trapped. Still terrified of himself.”

You turned your head to look at him. “You’re not like him.”

Spencer let out a soft, dry laugh. “A few bad turns. No BAU. No Gideon. No Hotch. No you…” He trailed off.

You blinked. “You think you could’ve ended up like him?”

He didn’t say it. He didn’t have to.

He was still staring ahead when he whispered, “Sometimes I wonder if I was born on a knife edge. And all it would’ve taken was one push.”

Your hand found his, slow and steady. You linked your fingers with his, resting them on his knee. He gripped you like he didn’t know he needed to.

“Spencer,” you said gently, “you’re not broken.”

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “Sometimes it feels like I am.”

You squeezed his hand. “You’ve got a thousand pieces inside you, and you think the cracks mean you’re shattered. But I’ve seen inside that head of yours. The way you fight for people, for hope, for light. You’ve never stopped choosing to be good.”

He finally turned toward you, and in that moment, his eyes were glassy. Younger. Fragile in a way only you ever got to see.

“If I hadn’t met Gideon…or you…” he said, voice barely there, “I don’t know who I’d be. After Gideon left it got bad, and then after I was kidnapped…”

Your chest tightened.

“I thought I’d never come back, Y/N. And if I didn’t come back, I wouldn't have met you, and honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I would’ve found you anyway,” you said. “No matter what. No matter where.”

He blinked, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop tilting. Like your words were a lifeline pulling him back into gravity.

Then, with slow, careful movement, Spencer leaned sideways and laid his head on your shoulder. His hand never let go of yours.

The wind moved around you both, soft and cold. The parking lot was empty. The night, though heavy with the residue of the case, seemed quieter with him beside you.

“You’re not alone,” you whispered into his hair. “Not now. Not ever. I’m here for you. The team is here for you. Everyone.”

His voice was nearly a breath: “Thank you.”

Spencer didn’t say anything for a while, and you didn’t rush him. You just let him breathe, let him lean into you, let the weight of everything slowly bleed into the air. But after a few minutes, you felt him shiver It was slight, just a small tremble at first, barely there. But you noticed. His shoulders tensed. His fingers flexed in yours like he was grounding himself, holding back.

Without a word, you moved your hand to his arm, rubbing slow circles with your thumb.

“You’re freezing,” you said softly.

“I’m fine,” he murmured. “I just… needed air.”

“I know. But you’ve had enough of it now.” You shifted, untangling your legs as you stood. Then you bent slightly, holding your hand out to him, palm open. “Come back inside with me.”

He hesitated only a second before slipping his hand into yours. You helped him up gently. He moved slowly, like someone surfacing from deep water. No resistance, just tired. When you opened the door to your shared motel room, the warmth inside was a sharp contrast to the chill outside. You kicked the door shut quietly and guided him toward the bed.

Spencer stood near the edge, blinking like he wasn’t sure what to do next…so you helped.

“Sit,” you said softly.

He did.

You crouched in front of him and untied his shoes, pulling them off one at a time. He didn’t stop you. Just watched, quiet and still, as you set them beside the wall. Then you moved up, unzipping his hoodie and slipping it from his shoulders, leaving him shirtless. His arms fell to his sides easily, like he trusted you completely to carry him through this moment. You reached for the blanket and tugged it down, then lightly touched his chest.

“Lay down.”

He obeyed without a word, stretching out slowly, body heavy with exhaustion. You covered him up to his shoulders and leaned over to press a kiss to his temple.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered.

Spencer’s eyes fluttered shut, lashes brushing his cheeks. His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to speak, but didn’t have the words. You ran your fingers through his curls once, then again, slower. His breathing began to even out almost instantly.

“You’re safe,” you murmured, brushing his hair back again. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

A soft hum left his throat, a low, fragile sound like surrender.

You quickly slipped out of your hoodie before climbing into bed behind him, sliding close enough to wrap your arm around his waist and press your chest to his back.

He sank into you immediately. No more shaking. No more tension. You kissed the back of his shoulder and whispered into the dimness:

“You don’t have to hold everything in.”

This time, he whispered something back — so faint you almost missed it.

“Thank you… for coming to find me.”

“I always will.”

And in the quiet that followed, his breathing steadied, his body stilled, and you both finally slept.

In the morning, Spencer seemed more composed, but you could still see it, the way his fingers trembled slightly when he turned pages, the way he didn’t quite meet your eyes during team briefings.

You stood outside Vincent’s former neighborhood with Morgan while Spencer and Hotch canvassed again. It was bitter cold, and the wind kept whipping your hair into your eyes. Morgan cracked a joke about frostbite and walked up behind you to adjust your collar.

Spencer saw it as he stepped out of the car.

You didn’t catch his reaction right away. But later, in the hallway outside the PD’s interview rooms, he pulled you aside.

“You were laughing with Morgan,” he said, not quite looking at you.

“…Yeah? He said I looked like a frozen popsicle.”

“You touched his arm.”

You blinked. “Spence. he was helping me fix my jacket.”

Spencer’s jaw flexed.

“Are you… jealous?”

He shook his head, then immediately nodded. “I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

You reached up and gently took his chin. “Hey. Look at me.”

His eyes met yours, still full of doubt.

“You’re the only one I see. Always.”

He leaned into your hand and let out a breath. “Sorry. I know I’m being irrational.”

You stepped closer and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “It’s okay, love. I get it. But I love you and only you.”

His gaze darkened slightly. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

The next few hours passed in tension. Vincent’s final tape arrived, this time, showing a young blind boy named Stanley as the intended victim. The unsub was unraveling fast.

You were assigned to sit in the surveillance van with Garcia and Spencer while the rest of the team moved on the location.

Spencer’s knee bounced endlessly. You placed a hand on it to still him.

“He won’t kill the kid,” Spencer whispered. “He can’t.”

“Spence, you don’t know that…”

“I do. He left the camera again. He wants to be caught.”

On the screen, Hotch’s voice came through: “We’ve secured the subject. The child is safe.”

Spencer let out a shuddering breath and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. You slid your hand to his back and rubbed slow circles.

He leaned into it like gravity.

_____

The jet home was quiet, case closed, tension cooled, and the soft hum of engines filling the cabin. You were curled up next to Spencer, sharing a blanket as he read through a psychology journal he wasn’t really paying attention to. His hand was loosely laced with yours beneath the table.

You could feel Morgan’s stare before he even said anything.

“So,” he said slowly, a grin creeping across his face like a sunrise, “did it fade yet?”

You blinked at him. “What?”

“The mark,” he said, gesturing lazily toward your neck with his coffee cup. “Last I saw, it was lookin’ pretty deep.”

You narrowed your eyes and shrugged your shoulders up to your chin. “Derek—”

“Don’t try to hide it now,” he laughed. “You think I don’t notice when a perfectly nice turtleneck suddenly becomes your fashion statement for three straight days?”

Across from you, Prentiss snorted. “He’s got a point. You never wear high collars unless you’re about to profile a priest.”

Spencer stiffened beside you. “It’s not a big deal,” he muttered.

“Oh, it’s not?” Morgan raised an eyebrow. “You sure? ’Cause that thing looked like someone tried to autograph her with their teeth.”

Spencer cleared his throat. “It wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to?” Morgan leaned forward. “Reid, my man, it looked like you got possessed mid-kiss.”

“I was just... passionate,” Spencer mumbled, flushing all the way to the tips of his ears.

You couldn’t help laughing now, burying your face in your hand. “Oh my god.”

Morgan smirked, totally unbothered. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love seeing Baby Genius step up. I just didn’t expect him to go full Dracula.”

Spencer groaned, covering his face with the open journal. “I’m never showing my face again.”

Prentiss leaned over. “You’re lucky Hotch hasn’t said anything.”

“He has,” you said dryly. “He just coughed and said, ‘Keep your personal life discreet in the field,’ and walked away.” You gave a terrible impression of your supervisor.

“Oh, classic Hotch,” Morgan laughed.

Spencer peeked over his journal. “You’re all awful.”

“Hey,” Morgan grinned, “we’re just proud of you, pretty boy. You’ve officially made it to Stage Five: Public Claiming.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, fighting a smile.

Spencer sighed dramatically and leaned into your side, still pink. “Remind me never to kiss you anywhere visible again.”

Morgan raised his hands in surrender. “All I’m saying is, next time you want to brand your girlfriend like a bottle of wine, maybe use a part of her neck that doesn’t scream ‘Reid went feral’ to every local police department.”

Spencer groaned again, and you just laughed, curling closer into him as he mumbled something unintelligible into your shoulder.

JJ looked up from her crossword a few seats down. “Are we still talking about the hickey?”

“Yes,” the three of you chorused.

She just shook her head and smiled. “God, I love this team.”

The jet touched down just after midnight.

You and Spencer walked down the stairs last, your hands brushing but not quite holding, still recovering from Morgan’s relentless teasing about the mark.

He hadn't let it go the entire flight.

The wind was sharp. You pulled your coat tighter, trying to will the embarrassment off your face. Spencer walked beside you in silence, clearly hoping to blend in with the shadows.

That hope was crushed immediately.

Hotch was standing near the bottom of the steps, clipboard in hand, giving final nods of dismissal to the team. When his eyes landed on you and Spencer, he paused for a half-second too long.

You could feel Spencer’s breath hitch beside you.

Hotch didn’t speak right away. Just lifted an eyebrow in Spencer’s direction. Spencer opened his mouth, then promptly closed it. JJ passed behind you and barely held back a laugh.

Hotch glanced at your neck, then up at Spencer again, and finally gave a subtle, single nod, the kind that carried a lot of unspoken content.

Then, deadpan as ever, he said,“Dr. Reid. Try to be more mindful of visibility next time. The BAU prefers not to make an impression at crime scenes… for personal reasons.”

Spencer looked like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. “Y-Yes, sir,” he muttered.

“Have a good night,” Hotch added, already turning toward the SUV.

You waited until he was a few paces away before whispering, “You’re never going to live this down.”

From across the lot, Morgan shouted, “Get a scarf next time, Reid!”

You groaned. “I’m getting a turtleneck and you a muzzle.”

Spencer covered his face with both hands. “Please do.”

_____

next chapter: V is for Vegas

other parts: Spencer Reid A-Z Masterlist

view the masterlist in a calendar version!

_____ BUY ME A COFFEE _____

a/n: i don’t have much to say, just that i’ve been grinding these parts out like i have nothing else to do, i truly hope you guys are enjoying them.

_____

Have Recommendations? visit my recommendations page to submit your suggestion, no matter how big or small!

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marvelwitchergilmore · 8 months ago

Text

Sweetheart

Summary: Tyler Owens x Fe!Reader -> Times when you told Tyler to not call you 'Sweetheart' and the one time you did.

Disclaimer: This had been a w-i-p over the last couple of days so if it feels patchy, I apologise. Best friends to lovers, mutual pining, completely oblivious and scared idiots. Two almost kisses, one actual kiss, long love confession, little angst, lots of fluff, one bed trope, fake dating (sorta), lots of uses of the nickname 'Sweetheart', getting caught in a tornado, cowboy romance books mentioned. Not Proof Read.

You could remember the first time you told Tyler to stop calling you ‘Sweetheart’.

It had been when he had been fixing his truck outside the fifth motel of the season.

You’d both been friends for years. Ever since college. In fact, you were the first friend he made there. You’d been sitting under a tree since every bench either had a couple or a massive group of friends at each one. That was when he joined you.

“Hey, do you mind if I sit here? It looks like most places are taken.”

Moving your bag from the spare patch, you let him sit down. Then you noticed his text book.

You both got to talking and you found out your classes shared a building, and with a similar timetable for classes and a shared fear of student society nights, you both stuck together.

Tyler took you to a couple of rodeos, showing you round and explaining everything that went on behind the scenes. Which was also when you found out he was an ex-bull rider.

You showed him around campus and the best place to study, and when neither of you were working, you’d show him around your home town.

And the rest was history.

You’d both been together ever since.

However, it wasn’t until after you both experienced an EF-4 whilst ‘off duty’ that you found something out about yourself.

You were in love with Tyler.

Of course, you’d always loved him as a friend. He was your best-friend and had been for years. Except, until that moment, you didn’t realise how deeply. And you couldn’t remember when it had happened. Had it been right away and you just confused it with friendship love? Or was it long after you made friends with him?

You had a thousand and one questions about it, but something you didn’t question was how Tyler felt about you. Of course, he loved you, too. You were one of his best friends. But that was how he loved you. As a friend.

And you were happy with that. More so considering letting your new fact be known out-loud might not only cost you your job but also your long time friendship with someone who you considered family.

Except, as time went on, you picked up on more and more things. Like how you always leaned into him, or found yourself by his side at most times of the day. Or like how he threw his arm around you when everyone sat around the campfire, or how you’d fall asleep beside him only to wake up in your bed the next morning.

Or like how he’d always called you ‘Sweetheart’. Like he just did, when he asked you to hand him the socket wrench.

“You know, you gotta stop calling me that. People are gonna think we’re together.”

Tyler took the wrench from you with a small chuckle. “But I always call you that.”

“That’s my point. What if someone wants to chat you up but they think you’re with me?”

“But I am with you.” Tyler told you.

You scoffed and kicked the sole of his boot lightly. “I’m being serious. What if you miss out on meeting your wife? The mother of your children because she thinks you’re with me?”

From under his truck, Tyler rolled out. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. Why?”

Everything wasn’t fine, but the less he knew about it the better.

“You’ve never had a problem with me calling you Sweetheart before.”

You shrugged, trying your best to remain casual about it. “I was just thinking about it, s’all.”

Tyler hummed in confusion before disappearing back beneath his truck. “Okay, I’ll try not to call you Sweetheart in public anymore.”

Though he couldn’t see, you gave a small nod to thank him. You didn’t want to let him know that it was killing you asking that of him. You loved when he called you different nicknames, because that was him. If nothing else was right in the world, you knew he was.

But the more and more you became aware of who you were when you were with him, the more you started to think about how it would start to affect him, even if he didn’t realise it.

Except, for as much as he tried, he still slipped up every now and again.

But the second time you told him to stop calling you that, he’d fully done it with intent.

Another week, another motel. Only, this time there weren’t enough rooms to go around, with the rodeo in town. So, whilst you stood and listened to everyone fight over who had to share, you searched for some sticks before shoving them into the middle of the group circle.

“Lily, here. Whoever pulls the short straw shares. I need the bathroom.”

So, you disappeared.

However, when you came back, you found most of your family disappearing into their own rooms whilst Tyler was still standing inside of the motel office.

“I think he’s gonna need your help.” Lily told you as she grabbed her bag from her car.

A little confused, you followed her advice and headed for the office. Only when you opened the door…

“Ty, Lily said-”

“Sweetheart! There you are. Thought you’d gotten lost.” You were about to correct him and tell him to stop calling you when suddenly, you found yourself being dragged to his side. “Molly, this is my girlfriend.”

“She’s not your wife?”

Tyler seemed to panic for a moment.

What the hell was going on?

“Is everything-”

Tyler looked at you, but something in his eyes begged you not to ask.

“Well, no. Not exactly.”

“Well,” the owner drawled. “How long have you two been together?”

“Just a little over ten years.”

She almost exploded. “Ten years?! And you still haven’t put a ring on it yet? Oh, honey, what are you two doing?”

Tyler chuckled a little all the while your body became fully aware of his arm around your waist and his hand at your hip. “See, that’s the thing. We wanted to get married but-”

“Your parents don’t approve?”

You practically gave yourself whiplash for how quickly you turned to look at her, an offended look on your face. Okay, maybe you didn’t look your best but you’d all been on the road for six hours and you hadn’t slept the night before. And it wasn’t your fault Tyler looked good at any time of the day.

Tyler, a little shocked himself, shook his head.

“Her parents don’t approve?”

“Well,” Tyler seemed to be making it up as he went along. “Her parents don’t believe in marriage.”

You came back to earth. Lying, right.

You nodded your head. “I’d love to get married but I kinda want my folks to be there. But, we’re getting around them, aren’t we, honey?”

You tried your best to ignore how easily the pet name rolled off your tongue for Tyler.

Tyler smiled and you could have sworn he blushed. “That’s right.”

The owner looked between you both. “Well, I suppose…that’s okay. Here’s your key. I hope you two have a nice stay.”

“We will, thank you.”

Taking the key, Tyler took hold of your hand before opening the door for you and leading you outside. Once more, your hand was in his all the way towards the car, only having him let go when he climbed into the bed of his truck to grab his luggage and your own.

“Do you…” You looked to see if the owner was still watching. She wasn’t. “Do you wanna tell me what just happened?”

“She thinks we’re together.”

“That’s my point.” You told him. “Why?”

He hopped down from his truck. “Boone took the short straw and since you were in the bathroom, the others called their own rooms. But, since he’s eaten nothing but spicy tacos for the last three days, I offered to share with you.”

“What a gentleman.”

Tyler smiled. “You’re welcome.”

“That still doesn’t explain why she thinks we’re together.”

“Hey,” Tyler held his hands up. “I was gonna correct her but then she started talking about how nobody who wasn’t wed shouldn’t share a room. So, when you walked in, I just rolled with it. The next motel is an hour away, but the rodeo in town is probably booked up.”

And everyone was tired. Dragging everyone back on the road would just feel illegal.

So, taking your bag from him, you followed him up to your shared room. With just one bed.

Considering the owner didn’t like unmarried couples sharing a room, it shouldn’t have been as much of a shock as it was.

“Want me to take the floor? You already offered to share, seems fair.”

Tyler shook his head. “That bed could fit me, you, and probably a herd of cattle.”

You rolled your eyes before walking inside and dumping your bag on the small bench by the window.

“We can share.”

Remember; normal.

You and Tyler had shared a bed a hundred times before. This was no different. Other than your self-aware feelings for him and the fact that you’d been trying to complete less of them ever since.

“Okay.”

And like normal, you both took your registered sides. Tyler by the door, you by the window.

Barely an hour later, both yourself and Tyler were lying in bed staring at the ceiling.

“How many people do you think have lied about being married just to get a room here?”

You shrugged. “Considering there are like, a thousand romance books out there with the main couples doing that exact thing…I guess…a lot.”

Tyler turned to you with a shocked smile on his face.

“What?”

“You read romance books?”

You furrowed your brows a little. If you had been talking to anyone else, or talking to Tyler before you found yourself harbouring such a big secret from not only him but also yourself, you would have owned it.

But this was a man you had secretly been in love with for god only knows how long.

“I read other stuff, too.” You managed to stutter out.

“I’ve never once seen you read a book that isn’t a textbook.”

“And? Plenty of people read romance. That’s why it’s a genre.”

“So, what else happens in these romances of yours?”

“They’re not my romances.” You clarified. But nothing could wipe that shit-eating grin from his face.

“Are they all as cheesy as they used to be?”

You found yourself stumped at that question. “Used to be? Wait, you’ve read a romance book?”

Tyler nodded. “Just after I got stomped on by my second bull, I was waiting with the medic. I got bored and she gave me a book to read.”

“And how was it?”

“Cheesy,” Tyler said. “But the cover did have a half naked man on the cover. The doc tried to pass it off as her friends, but since she went bright red in the face, I knew it was her. So, what are yours?”

Then he started listing off different characters, revelling in the embarrassment it was causing you to admit it to him.

“A hot firefighter who saves kittens from trees? A…18th century Duke from London, England who just so happens to ‘hate’ his sister’s best friend? That was what the Doc’s book was. Oh my god, is it a Prince in disguise who falls in love with the local baker and they win a pie contest together?”

“You’re an asshole.” You told him before turning over.

“Oh, come on.” Tyler laughed. “Just tell me. If you don’t, I can always ask Boone to go through your goodreads. Maybe I want to buy you one for your birthday, but I don’t know which one you’ve already-”

“It’s cowboys.” You felt like you were shouting.

“What?” You could already hear the grin on his face, which made you only try and repress yours. But he heard it anyway.

“It’s cowboys. Bull riders, ranch owners, cowboys. Those are the romances I, mainly, read.”

You managed to build up enough courage to turn onto your back, only to look over and see Tyler’s smile still on his face.

“Go on, go ahead. Laugh at it.”

“Are any of them Tornado Wranglers?”

With a laugh behind your voice, you threw a pillow at his head. “Shut up and go to sleep.”

From behind you, you heard him laugh as he fixed his pillow. “Whatever you say, Sweetheart.”

You turned the lamp off. “Go to sleep.”

He was still smiling as he turned his own off. “Night, Sweetheart.”

By the time you woke up in the morning, you were scrambling to find out where you were.

In your head, you’d been in bed with Tyler. You’d all been sitting around the campfire, listening to Tyler finally agree to tell an actual spooky story. Of course, after scaring the crap out of you, Dexter told a nicer one which…you fell asleep to. Only, you’d woken to Tyler being in your bed. He’d carried you to bed. Again. But, just as you were laying in his arm, you felt the ground beneath you begin to shake before a cold draft came up the back of your neck.

By the time you turned to look at the window, you saw…

Flying cows.

Tuning back around, everything went from colourful to dim. Almost black and white. You could just about make Tyler out beneath the covers but each time you took a step, you found yourself unable to move.

But when you finally did move, a pair of arms reached for you and held you back to the window.

You woke up with a start, trying to figure out where you were.

You were in bed.

With a pair of arms around you.

You sat up.

You were in bed.

In a motel.

With Tyler.

You were in bed with Tyler.

For the second time in less than twenty four hours, you nearly gave yourself whiplash. The window was open a little. Tyler must have woken up in the night and opened it. But there were no flying cows. You made a mental note to not watch The Wizard of Oz, and have it be the last thing you watch, before bed.

Looking down at a sleeping Tyler, you noticed where his arms were around you. Around your back, and since you’d moved to sit up quickly, across your thighs with his hand closer to your hip.

Trying your best, you tried to ignore how attractive he looked even when he was asleep. You’d seen the same image many a hundred times in the last ten years, and yet it never got old. Of course, at the time you weren’t trying to bury feelings.

Slowly, you tried to peel yourself from him only to have him tighten his hold on you and pull you back towards him a little.

“S’everything okay, Sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. Morning voice. Looking like that.

“Every…” You swallowed and forced yourself to look away before he caught the heat on your cheeks. “Everything…everything’s fine.”

Having most of his face buried into his pillow, he opened up one eye and looked at you. “You’re looking a little flushed there, Sweetheart.”

The nickname rolled so easily off his tongue, you knew he didn’t notice how casually he used it with you.

If you weren’t awake before, you were when he spoke.

Almost throwing yourself from him, you scooted out of bed and stood up. “I’m fine. Promise. I’m gonna get some coffee.” It almost sounded like a question as you looked around for your jeans.

From behind you, you heard him shuffle around the bedsheets. When you looked back, you almost melted at the sight. Lay there in bed, watching you with that smile on his face that you could never quite pin a meaning to. One arm behind his head, the other out of the covers and by his side, white tee on, his pj pants that you’d gotten him almost seven christmases ago just visible from the flipped corner of the bed.

“Yeah. Coffee. You want one?”

“You sure you’re okay? You never usually have this much energy in the morning.” Tyler said. “Sure you don’t wanna wait. Don’t think the diner’s even open.”

“That’s okay.” You grabbed a random shirt from the chair by the small dining table.

Again, that smile was on Tyler’s face.

“I’ll be back soon.”

From their own rooms, the others watched as you left your shared room with Tyler, dressed in his shirt, looking like you’d just rolled out of bed.

Lily: Do you think something finally happened?

Dex: If something did, I don’t think she’d look so freaked.

Dani: Or be leaving their bed so early in the morning…

By the time Tyler had actually gotten out of bed, showered and had changed, you still weren’t back from your freaked coffee run.

“Hey, Boone!”

“Yeah, dude?”

“You seen Y/n?”

Boone shook his head. “No. Why?”

Tyler looked…sad. And confused. “Nothing. No reason.”

But rather than wait around, he went and looked for you. And it wasn’t long before he found you. Sat inside a mostly empty cafe-diner, you were waiting on another two coffee’s to go.

“Hey.”

Tyler could have sworn you’d jumped out of your skin.

“Oh, hey.”

“Was starting to get worried. Need some help.”

You looked at the two coffee holders. “Uh, sure.”

Tyler watched you. You couldn’t look him in the eye. And you still looked flushed. He was starting to get worried. For years, you’d both been attached at the hip. But in the last six months, you’d asked him to stop calling you ‘Sweetheart’, had stopped leaning into him or even standing by his side when in a group. You’d stopped fighting Boone for riding shotgun with him. You’d stopped falling asleep on his shoulder or even sitting beside him at night. And he was pretty sure if the owner of the motel didn’t make a point of the married couple sharing a room, you would have taken the flatbed of his truck over sharing a room with him.

“Are we okay?”

That got you to look him in the eye. “What?”

“I just mean…Are you sure you’re okay? In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never even been awake before a diner has opened unless you’ve had to be.”

You nodded and looked back at the drinks. “I just needed coffee, that’s all.”

“But if something was going on, you would tell me, right?”

You forced yourself to look at him, hoping he wouldn’t see through your lie. “Of course.”

Tyler nodded, but something in his gut told him you weren't telling him the full truth.

Either way, he kept his eye on you for the rest of the day. And the days that followed.

You’d always go to bed earlier than everyone else, or much later. He’d fall asleep watching you read over data and old textbooks but would wake up and catch a glimpse of you curled up either on the bench by the window or on the bed beside him reading a book he could only guess was a ‘Cowboy Romance’ considering a cowboy hat was just one of the small details designed into the cover.

He’d smile and close his eyes again, listening to you turn the pages every now and again, gasp quietly or let out a soft laugh every now and again.

Only, when the morning came round, if he woke up before you, he’d close his eyes, still holding you close because he knew the moment you woke up, you’d stay still for a moment but if he moved, you’d shoot right out of bed.

It was getting harder and harder each day to pretend you didn’t worry him. And it was getting even harder to ignore the feeling in his chest he got each time he looked at you, or heard your voice or even thought about you.

But all of that finally came to a head a few days after rolling into town when a tornado hit.

All the data had shown no tornado was meant to come into town and what with the rodeo on, everyone headed down to it. Walking down there, Tyler could remember when he first brought you to one of the circuits he used to run on. He’d loved to have you there. To have you know of his life before he met you, because in a way, it put you there. Like, even if you hadn’t met til college, you had a place in all aspects of his life.

And for the first time in months, you met his eye and smiled. Like you used to. Watching the bull riders, and the cowboys and him asking you if you remembered when you and him first attended a rodeo together.

But just as he looked back at you, your gaze matched his for a second too long and…you looked away. Flushed, embarrassed, then…annoyed.

Not at him. He knew that look off by heart.

You were annoyed at yourself.

But why?

Forcing himself to look back at the rodeo, he tried his best to not think too deeply into why you were annoyed with yourself. But it still worried him.

But then something else worried him.

Everyone’s alert on their phones.

“We weren’t picking up cells this way.”

One look shared between both yourself and Tyler let the other know what to do. People had to get to shelter there and then. And for the next fifteen minutes, everyone started running, staring up their engines to drive away or running to find shelter.

You and the rest of the team helped who you could before finding shelter for yourselves.

“Down here!”

Tyler pulled you closer and followed you down the steps inside the cramped underground shelter before you helped him shut the doors. Bolting it shut before the Tornado could whip them open again, you and him (like everyone else) huddled to the floor.

With his arm across your back, you turned into him, gripping onto his shirt for dear life. And despite the rattling of the doors, people’s nervous screams and the battered weather outside, you eventually only heard one thing.

“It’s okay. We’re okay.”

Tyler’s voice in your ear provided soothing words that eventually started to slow your heartbeat. He pressed a kiss into your hair, his other hand coming around your front, before holding onto your hand that was gripping onto his shirt.

“We’re okay. I promise. Just breathe, Sweetheart. Breathe with me.”

And you did.

You didn’t know when the tornado had passed or when everyone felt like they could breathe again. But you did know you’d just fallen so deeply in love with Tyler at the thought of losing him, even if he’d been wrapped around you the entire time, that you were almost paralysed in those moments.

Slowly, you looked back up and directly at him. Any closer and you both might have kissed. Tyler’s eyes were searching your face just as yours were searching his. He was okay. He wasn’t hurt. No scars. No bruises.

Instinctively, he let his hand from round your back come to your face, pushing the hair from it all the while letting his finger trace your cheekbone and your cheek.

If he didn’t fear losing you forever, he would have kissed you.

“I love you,” he said in his head.

“Tyler…”

He just nodded. “We’re okay.”

Leaning forward, you hugged him and he hugged you back.

It was slow getting back to the motel. It wasn’t until early hours. You took turns getting cleaned up and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t scoot to the end of the bed only to make your way over to him in your sleep.

As he climbed into bed, you turned towards him.

“Come here.”

That night, you fell asleep in his embrace, listening to his heartbeat inside of his chest. Feeling his lips press a kiss to your temple twice before he locked you inside his hold, warming your entire body.

And when a lighter morning rolled in, Tyler woke to his name being quietly called.

You were having a nightmare.

Holding you closer to his chest, he stroked the back of your head with one of his hands before his other hand took hold of yours. He pressed a kiss into your palm before pressing a similar one to your temple.

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay. I’m here, Sweetheart. I’m right here.”

You calmed after that. But you woke up not long after. However, before you could scoot away from him and launch yourself out of bed before your body was ready for it, he told you something.

“You were calling out for me. You were having a nightmare.”

Going off your previous track record, you were about to lie. Tell him you weren’t or that you weren’t even having a nightmare. That you’d been arguing with him or you’d been talking to him and the other Wranglers.

But you didn’t.

You told him the truth.

“You were hurt.”

Tyler was a little taken aback.

“You were hurt and I needed you to be okay.”

Tyler didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know if your nightmare had been frequent or if it was just a fluke after everything that had happened in the last twenty four hours.

So all he could do was say…

“Sweetheart.”

His voice soft, his touch even softer against your skin and yet secure in all the same aspects, he pulled you closer to him as he pressed a kiss to your head.

“I’m okay. I promise I’m okay. I’m right here.”

He kissed your hand. “I’m right here.”

All you could do was just…look at him.

The man you’d been best friends with for as long as you could remember, the man who’d shown and invited you into parts of his life, the man who had invited you to be apart for the rest of it, the man who you’d spent almost every single day with ever since, the man who you’d been and only fallen deeper in love with each day…was right by your side.

He was right in front of you.

He wasn’t a dream.

He wasn’t a nightmare.

There were no flying cows, there were no more tornadoes (for now at least), there were no elements of anything being fake.

And the longer you looked at him, the more you realised…

You would always be in love with him.

And there was nothing you could do about it.

It wouldn't matter how much you avoided him, or pushed yourself or even pushed him to find someone. You would always love him.

With his thumb caressing your cheek, Tyler watched you.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

He hadn’t meant to say it outloud. But he was glad he did.

Your other hand came to his chest…but you didn’t push him away. And you didn’t push yourself away, either.

“Tyler…”

All of a sudden, it was like the only thing either of you could hear was your heartbeats. Blood pumping faster and faster and you got closer and closer, if that was even possible.

Finally, Tyler made a decision.

Cupping your face, he moved until you were almost under him, placing the hand he kissed over his heart.

Suddenly, he was nervous.

He swallowed, gazing at you.

“C…Can I…” He swallowed again.

Except, just as he went to ask, and you would have replied, a booming knock came to the door making both of you jump out of your skin.

Neither you or Tyler moved, but when it came a second time, you looked at each other quickly before bolting out of bed. You didn’t know what to do. Your mind was still trying to process the last ten minutes.

Whilst you stood on your side of the bed, Tyler took a final look back at you. And when he opened the door, Boone thought Tyler looked like he was guilty of sin.

Boone had known Tyler long enough to know that look. Anybody who didn’t know him, well, they wouldn’t have noticed. But he did.

“Boone, man. We were asleep.”

“Shoot. Sorry, dude.” Boone apologised. “Well, we were all gonna get some food before we hit the road to help. Want something?”

“Where’s your phone?”

“Dude! We tried. Tried Y/n, too. I’ve got a charger if you need one.”

Tyler sighed. Right. Dead phone.

“No, that’s good. We’ll just…get us the usual?”

“And coffee!” You heard yourself add.

Tyler smiled at the sound of your voice. “And coffee. Wait, here.”

Handing Boone a twenty dollar bill, he thanked him before shutting the door.

“He’s gonna give someone a heart attack one day.” You said as Tyler finally shut the door.

Tyler scratched the back of his head with a nervous chuckle. “Almost gave me one.”

Then the silence hit.

“Well, I, uh…we better….bathroom. I’m just gonna…yep.”

In his heart, Tyler was elated at the thought of what almost happened. But in his gut, it was like a punch to his soul.

You couldn’t even meet his eye when you spoke and ran towards the bathroom. And when you left and he entered, it had never been more awkward between you both.

He could only hope he hadn’t lost you.

He loved you.

He was in love with you.

But he didn’t want that to be the reason he lost you.

For the rest of the day, he only felt worse.

And so did you.

You’d almost kissed him. Then Boone had knocked on. And suddenly him being the only other person in the room made you feel like the walls were closing in. No matter how much you wanted to go back to the bed and finish what had almost started…something inside you forced you away from it.

Being on the verge of telling your best friend who you’d been in love with for years was suddenly a much higher cliff than you’d originally thought.

Due to the wreckage of the tornado, you and the rest of the crew spent the day helping people, giving them food and water, making sure they were okay.

However, just a little after two, you looked around for him. And, like usual, you found him instantly.

By his truck, he was loading a toolbox back into the flatbed. And he turned. He’d seen you.

He’d been looking over at you all day. And for the first time, you met his gaze.

He would spend the rest of his life loving you. There wasn’t a single doubt in his mind or in his heart about that. And there never would be.

He could only hope that what had almost happened that morning wouldn’t make you hate him.

After a moment, you heard your name being called and you forced yourself to look away from Tyler.

“I love you,” you told him, in your head.

“I love you,” he told you, in his head.

Hours passed and every five minutes, Tyler’s gaze would find yours again before being forced away.

When he wasn’t looking at you, he was thinking about you. Thinking about the tornado, thinking about the rodeo, thinking about the motel room. And watching you from across the wreckage, he made a decision.

He could only hope it was the right one.

And getting back to the motel couldn’t come quick enough.

By the time everyone did get back, it was long after the sun had gone down. And entering your motel room, Tyler tried to get you to talk to him.

“We need some ice. I’ll go and get some.”

“Y/n.”

“I’ll be back in five minutes. Promise.”

Only, you weren’t. And when Tyler heard a crash, he practically ran out of his room and down the stairs.

“Y/n?”

Looking around, he saw you stood at the end of the building scooping ice into the bucket.

“You okay?”

You looked up. “Yeah, why?”

Tyler looked around. “I thought I heard something.”

You were confused. “I didn’t hear anything.”

But as the ice stopped, you both heard it. Trash cans.

“This way.”

“Tyler-”

Grabbing your hand, he pulled you round the corner. Neither of you were cast in the light from the motel but rather hid in the darkness beside it. You looked behind you and around the wall whilst Tyler stood in front of you.

“What was that?”

“I don’t know.”

It happened again and then…

Laughing.

You physically relaxed and turned back to Tyler with a relieved smile.

“It’s just people coming back from the bar. We’re safe.”

Only then did you realise how closely you stood together, or how you could feel his weight slowly pressing against you. Or maybe you were pulling him forward.

Softly, you pressed yourself into the wall as Tyler started towering over you, his hands slowly grazing over your hips as he looked at you.

It was like what had happened that morning only…more.

Slowly, your breath tangled with his, your heartbeat steadily rising as one of his hands ran up your body and pushed your hair from your face.

“Tyler…”

“We should get back inside. Before you get cold.”

You were anything but that, in the moment.

And when you both got back inside your room, having Tyler carefully take the ice bucket from you and place it on the table, only made you feel hotter.

“We need to talk about this morning.”

“Tyler…”

“Sweetheart, I mean it.”

“Didn’t I tell you to stop calling me that? There’s nothing to talk about.”

“We almost kissed.”

You closed the bathroom door in his face before reaching for your toothbrush and paste. Only, you forgot to lock it.

Opening it back up, Tyler stood by the door, one hand on his hip, the other on the handle.

“Y/n, will you please listen to me?”

“Tyler, please. Please, just…just stop. Before either of us say something we can’t take back.”

He stood tall. “What if I don’t wanna take it back? What if I want to say it out loud so we can both finally be finished with this…this…this weird awkward…thing between us. In ten years never once has it been awkward.”

You sighed, dropping your toothbrush under the tap before rinsing out your mouth. “Well, whatever it is, you can say it to an empty room.”

Pushing past him, you grabbed your jacket and headed for the door. You weren’t going to stick around to hear him tell you your friendship with him was over. That your worst fear was about to become your reality.

Only, as you reached for the handle and opened up the door, the next three words that came from Tyler’s mouth, as he stood, still in the opening of the bathroom, stopped you right in your tracks.

“I love you.”

He’d told you he loved you a thousand times over the years, but it had always been quickly and in the same way and same tone as he told anybody else who he loved. But those three words. They were different.

They meant something entirely different.

You could hear him slowly taking a few steps forward.

“I love you, Y/n. I’m in love with you.”

You physically couldn’t move. Everything inside of you wanted to do…something. Kiss him, tell him the same, tell him he was mistaken, that he didn’t love you, tell him to stop, tell him to keep going.

“And I think…” He took a breath. Not of fear, not of worry, but of relief. Like finally saying these words out loud was a weight off his chest. “I think you’re in love with me, too.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you just waited.

“Now, you can run out of here. You can leave, if you want. But know that I want you to stay. I want to talk about this. All day, the only thing I’ve been able to think about is you. About the rodeo, about the other morning. About all the other times I’ve wanted to kiss you and to have you be the one I share a room with. Not because we’ve drawn straws but because you would want it, too. Again, if you want to leave, you can. The door’s open. But I’m hoping you’ll stay.”

Tyler couldn’t comprehend what was going on inside your head as he watched you. He could have swore he saw your body move a little. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe you were going to leave after all. Maybe all of it was just in his head.

But then you let go of the handle.

The door shut in front of you and suddenly the white noise from outside floated away. You’d made your choice. But you were still scared.

“I…I don’t know what to do from here.”

“That’s okay.” Tyler moved closer to you until he was directly behind you. Carefully, he took your jacket from you and you let go of it willingly, allowing him to place it on the bed behind him. “We can figure it out together.”

Still behind you, Tyler’s hands lay gently by your sides. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.”

He took another step closer. You could already feel the heat from his body behind you, warming you from the cold draft that had wafted through when you’d opened the door.

“I’ve loved you since before I can remember. But I know the day I met you, you were gonna be in my life forever.”

Feeling brave, you turned in his arms to look at him. For a moment, he looked scared. Like it would be the last time you’d ever look at him and he’d never see you again. Scared that you’d leave.

But as your gaze landed on his, that smile came back.

“What?”

Still with that smile, he told you. “You look like you love me.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because you get this look in your eyes. Like something I’ve never seen before. And it’s new every time. Do you love me?”

You didn’t have to think about your answer, but the courage you had to build to tell him took a moment. “Yes. I-I don’t know when. But I think one day it just…clicked. But I was scared. I still am…scared. Tyler, what if…what if something goes wrong? What if we lose each other forever?”

“That’ll never happen.”

“How? How can you know that?”

“I just…do. It’s like a tornado. Part science; all the chemicals that go into loving someone. Part religion. I don’t have to physically see how something happens, but I like to believe it’s there. Maybe I don’t have all the answers, but I knew I had to listen to what my gut told me.”

“And what did your gut tell you?”

Tyler gave you that smile again. “It told me that; ‘that girl, right there, under that tree. You need to talk to her, because she is going to be the best part of your day for the rest of your life.’”

You felt the heat in your cheeks rise.

“You have always been, and always will be, the best part of my day, Sweetheart. No matter how many tornados, no matter how many sleepless nights on the road or how much data we collect. The best part of my day is talking to you. Is looking over at you and having you look back. The best part of my day has forever been, and always will be, you.”

“So, trust me when I say that,” he continued. “Nothing bad will ever happen to us. Because I don’t plan on letting you go just because of fear. I’m in love with you, Sweetheart. And I want to be in your life, for the rest of your life.”

You smiled, “Say that again. The ‘I’m in love with you,’ part.”

Tyler was a little confused, but he would say it as many times as you wanted.

“I’m in love with you, Sweetheart.”

Watching you blush and try and hide your smile made him realise why you’d asked him to say it again.

“I knew you liked it when I called you that.”

You looked back up at him. “You know, you’re lucky I love you.”

Tyler smiled. “That’s the first time you’re saying that outloud.”

“Does that mean you’re gonna kiss me now? Or are you just gonna keep talking, Cowboy?”

“No, ma’am.”

Pulling you in closer, Tyler finally kissed you.

And it was…

Everything.

Every moment he’d dreamed of finally kissing you, every moment you’d wished he’d do so, every moment you’d both shared, harbouring those feelings, wishing for something more and being too scared to reach for it…

It was a lot to put into a first kiss.

But it came out naturally.

Having waited years, you both had some catching up to do.

#tyler owens #tyler owens tornado wrangler #tyler owens x reader #tyler ownens x you #falling in love #mutual pining #oblivious idiots #tornado wrangler #tornado wranglers #fluff #angst #best friends to lovers #love confessions #glen powell tyler owens #twisters #twister tyler owens #twisters x you #xfe!reader

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rhaeverie · 28 days ago

Text

was not, were not, is (pt. 2) — ldh

alt title: anything, everything, always

pairing. haechan x reader genre. best friends to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff, angst if you squint, he fell first and harder wc. 4.8k summary. Donghyuck's stuck dwelling on your drunken confession from the night of the wedding. That is, until he finally puts his foot down and decides that he needs to do something about it (or else he'll go crazy); alternatively, a glimpse into Donghyuck’s feelings for you over the past few years warnings. nothing horrible, just hyuck yearning for 4.8k words if i'm being honest, a drawn out (!!) confession scene (but it's cute), winter cameo, hyuck’s love language is still very much acts of service, ?excessive use of italics and long sentences an. HAPPY EARLY HAECHAN DAY!! aint no way I just wrote a part 2 that’s longer than the first part LMAO—some people asked for part 2 so i said why not (this was so self-indulgent too),,, wrote this all while listening to yearning music (aka laufey and OPM) bc i needed to channel tht mindset ykwim? i think it worked ^‿^—pls enjoy!

read part one!

Donghyuck thinks that it’s utterly ridiculous that he’s losing sleep over this.

But he’s already replayed it a shameful number of times in his head, and he still isn’t sure how he’s supposed to approach it.

He can’t just act like you didn’t confess what could possibly be the confession he’s been waiting his whole life for.

But he can’t just bring it up to you so carelessly either.

Donghyuck’s afraid that if he casually pulls up to your house, drops that bomb that you drunkenly spilled your (maybe) feelings for him, that he’d be putting you in a vulnerable position that would harm your friendship (or worse, you).

And that’s the last thing he’d want to do.

But let’s say your feelings were real, and he doesn’t confront you about this? Then, what will happen? What if nothing else happens between the two of you and a game of waiting continues until you’d have to end up with a love you wouldn’t want and you both end up old and die of old age and—

Donghyuck gasps out loud, shooting upright in his bed as he shakes the overthinking out of his head.

No, he can’t let that happen. Not when he’s in the position to change something.

Donghyuck glances at the clock—3:28am—and he curses under his breath. It’s late, and he remembers you have work later this morning, but there’s no way he’s going to let another night pass without acting on this.

He has already fucked up letting a week pass so, no, another night can’t wait.

Pulling on the nearest sweater he could find, Donghyuck slips his glasses on, grabs his car keys and leaves the house in his house slippers without a second thought. There’s a little bug in his ear that’s telling him that if he were to pause for even a second, he’d change his mind and turn back.

Should he be warning you that he’s on the way to your place at fuckass o’clock to get things straight? Yes. But in Donghyuck’s mind, his priority is to get to you first and figure it out from there.

Besides, he knows you.

You’ll let him in, no questions asked.

A tune on the radio causes Donghyuck’s head to pulse, and he’s quick to push the button to turn it off. He refrains from playing music on the way there. And instead, his thoughts are plagued by the words you had confessed the night of the wedding.

“It’d be weird if it wasn’t your hand I was holding…”

Donghyuck is sure that his lip was bleeding.

He could taste it, something metallic mixing with the aftertaste of the fruit punch. But he couldn’t care any less when he’s busy watching you and what’s-his-face sway slowly to the cheesy Ed Sheeran song.

His eyes twitch at the way he’s gripping your hips, as if you’d run away if given the chance. But judging by the look on your face, you were far from uncomfortable, a pretty smile gracing your face.

Donghyuck wants to hate the sight with every single living cell of his being, but how could he hate a sight if you were a part of it?

“So, do you regret it?”

Minjeong’s voice cuts through the music, catching Donghyuck’s attention almost instantly. He feels grateful that his friend has come to distract him from his current fixation. He needed it, especially when he could feel that green monster fighting to break out of his chest.

“Regret what?” Donghyuck falls back to chewing his bottom lip, letting his gaze settle to the floor between his and Minjeong’s feet. He already knows where the conversation was going, but Donghyuck feels that choosing to avoid the topic as long as possible would save his heart from harm.

Minjeong turns to look at you and the other guy, “Oh, I don’t know… not asking her to the dance? Not asking her to dance?”

It’s funny because Minjeong doesn’t even feel the need to even ask Donghyuck. Though knowing him, having Donghyuck talk through the problem was the only way for him to process the situation.

“I’m scared to say that I do regret it,” Donghyuck almost winces, frowning.

Regret was the ugliest feeling that a person could feel—a close tie with frustration and nostalgia. They all remind you that time was a bitch and there was absolutely nothing you could do to go back and change the past.

Minjeong sighs, using her thumb and index fingers to pinch Donghyuck’s hand, “Then, why didn’t you?”

And although Donghyuck truly, genuinely wants to answer Minjeong’s question, understanding that she was just here to help him out, he couldn’t—there’s that frustration. He couldn’t answer even if he was held at gunpoint, not accurately, at least. He could chuck words at Minjeong and hope they’d make sense.

He figured you’d have more fun like this, anyway, going to prom with someone who wasn’t afraid to cross boundaries. He wanted you to live the night to the fullest, something you were droning on and on about for the past few weeks.

The way he pieced his thoughts together was odd, but it made sense in the moment. He wanted you to enjoy yourself, and in return, he could keep his own heart safe from jumping out of his chest throughout the entire night, which then means he wasn’t at risk of ruining your friendship.

It was a win-win.

Well, at least that’s how he wished he could confidently interpret it.

“I don’t know,” Donghyuck whispers, “But it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay if you look like you’ve been dragged through dirt, not once, but twice,” Minjeong points out, letting out a short snort. “You need to consider your own feelings, Hyuck. Be selfish for once. I say this for the sake of you and Y/N.”

Donghyuck takes one more glance at you, your hands now linked with this other boy. Then he blinks down at his own hands, Minjeong having taken the lead because Donghyuck had initially refused to even step foot on the dance floor.

He wonders how it feels to hold your hands like this. He was sure that it wasn’t the same as you taking his hand and dragging him through the halls, or him taking yours and guiding you through a busy street.

He wonders how it feels to hold your hands like this. When it feels like it’s just the two of you and the music nudging at you both to dance to its tune.

He wonders how it’d feel to intertwine his fingers with yours.

He wonders if they’d fit like puzzle pieces.

“It’s okay,” he repeats, “If she’s okay, then I am too.”

“If it wasn’t you I was waking up to…”

The first thing that plagues Donghyuck’s head the second he wakes up is the memories of last night’s sleepover and you.

Just you.

He hasn’t even opened his eyes, and all he could think about was you.

He quickly concludes that he’s certainly gone crazy.

Well, maybe not mentally crazy, but crazy over you.

He remembers falling asleep, missing your guys’ nightly sleepovers during the summer as kids. The games you’d play in an attempt to go to sleep, only failing because it’d lead you both to tears from trying to hold in your laughs. Midnight snacks tucked under his bed despite his mom’s disapproval. Parents sticking to check up on both, only to find you both wide awake…

He compares it to you guys now and how it’s been rare because of life and how busy it's gotten.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Donghyuck hears you giggle quietly, sun bleeding through the blinds soon covered by the shadow of your figure. He feels a tap on his nose. “I know you’re awake, sleepyhead.”

He draws his eyes open, though slowly, just so it isn’t too obvious that he was already awake. He suppresses a smile at your hyperfixation on his nose, the tip of it burning from making contact with your finger.

“Good morning, Hyuck,” you squat next to him at his bedside, bringing your face down to his level, “Well, it’s more like late-morning, but still.”

Donghyuck’s eyes flicker to his clock and reads that it was nearing noon. Then he settles his gaze back on you. You’re smiling down at him, eyes still a bit droopy and a bit puffy from waking up not too long before he did. He watches as they light up at a thought, and you settle comfortably on the floor. “I had a crazy dream last night…”

And that’s all Donghyuck manages to hear because soon he’s distracted by your messy hair, the way your eyes crinkle when you smile, your chapped lips, the sleeve of your shirt hanging loosely off your shoulder, your exposed collarbone, the way you’re somehow so talkative just minutes after you’ve woken up…

How could you be so perfect after waking up?

Donghyuck doesn’t notice the way his eyes soften, brows relaxing and sinking to a neutral state. His jaw lies slack, but the pillow underneath his cheek holds it closed. And then there’s a familiar flutter in his chest, one that he’s grown accustomed to every time he looks at you.

His mind leaps to a new thought: what would it be like to be able to wake up and see you? You being the first sight he sees when he’s just woken up from a dream or a nightmare or a dreamless sleep?

God, he would never get tired of that.

And Donghyuck was a lover of sleep. Knowing he could wake up and see you the second he did? He’d look forward to waking up if that was the case.

But that’s likely something he could only imagine.

“And it’s funny because Renjun… Hyuck?”

Donghyuck lies there, taking in your appearance.

One day, he’ll gather up the courage to tell you how beautiful you were—are—a genuine compliment that wasn’t followed by an affectionate insult.

“Hyuck? You okay?” You question. Holding a hand up, you wave it in front of his face and watch the way he blinks and shakes his head, almost as if you’ve taken him out of a trance. You frown, “Was it that boring?”

“No, sorry, Princess,” Donghyuck replies, the rarely used nickname slipping out, “I was just… processing everything.”

“Yeah… shouldn’t have bombarded you like that, huh?” You say sheepishly.

“You didn’t—you never bombard me. I like hearing your crazy dreams,” Donghyuck shakes his head, reassuring you, “I’ll cook us brunch and you tell me what happened? I’m hungry.”

“If the kisses I was getting weren't from your lips…”

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

The entire room chants, some wedding-goers use the nearest utensil to tap lightly on the wine glasses. The room was buzzing, and it was difficult not to get caught up in the excitement.

Donghyuck, himself, was cheering along, throwing a fist up as if he were protesting. He feels like it was appropriate at a time like this, the two newlyweds having just shared a heartfelt speech to sum up the day, and ending it with a kiss would tie it together.

You’re seated at his side, all danced out and far past tipsy. You’ve mentioned to him around once or twice that your head was spinning, your feet were hurting, and that you were thirsty. So he’s dragged you off the dance floor to let you rest and get you hydrated.

Now you’re clinging onto his arm so you don’t topple over, still aware enough of the situation to chant along with everyone else. You’re giggling, watching as your cousin and her now husband shyly turn to each other before leaning in.

Donghyuck’s heart swells. He’s known your cousin for so long, and has only been familiar with her partner for a fraction of that time, but he knows how long they’ve been together. He can’t help but admire the idea that two people can still be so in love after so long—he wonders if he can find love like that, too.

You squeal when the couple shares a kiss, the room erupting in whoops and cheers. They smile into the kiss, eyes lulling shut out of instinct. It was a cute kiss, not one you’d cringe and want to look away at, but one that could shake jealousy out of you.

Donghyuck turns to look at you amidst all that was happening, eyes melting when he sees you resting your head against his shoulder. You’re unaware that his attention has shifted to you, completely distracted by the stars of the day. The softest look occupies your face, as if you were in a dream state.

Out of curiosity, his attention stumbles down onto your lips, which look just as plush as he’s imagined.

Sure, Donghyck’s stolen glances of your lips before, and sometimes he lets his mind wander about what it would be like to press his own against yours. Then he lets his thoughts drift even further, knowing that it’s been long established that he could not for the life of him imagine himself kissing anyone else.

He’s a terrible friend for thinking this about you—at least that’s what he believes. But he can’t help it. Tonight, they look so tempting to just bring his head down and just…

“Donghyuck?”

Donghyuck turns to find your mom, “Hi, Auntie.” He fixes a smile on his face and gestures to you, “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop her from drinking too much.” His cheeks heat up, slightly embarrassed that he hadn’t fulfilled his promise to your mom.

Your mom shakes her head and laughs, “Sometimes it’s okay to let go like that. Besides, I trust you watching her. Thank you, by the way.”

Donghyuck nods his head before your mom takes his hand, “Can you please take her home? Knowing her, she'll pass out soon. I need to stay here and help the hosts clean up a bit.”

He doesn’t hesitate to say yes, gathering all your things before he carefully guides you out of the venue.

“I just feel like it’ll all be wrong if it wasn’t with you…”

“Hyuck? What the hell?!”

You tug Donghyuck into your apartment, brows furrowed because it was just shy of 4 AM and your best friend is standing in your living room, out of breath. Questions are racing through your mind, having absolutely no idea what could be happening.

“What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

Donghyuck cursed under his breath. He hadn’t gone that far into saying what he had to say. He’s still hung up on your confession, playing in his head like a broken record.

“Y/N…” There’s a lump in his throat and he feels as though he wants to cry, but he doesn’t know why. Maybe he was overwhelmed, or maybe because he’s scared that his spontaneous decision to show up here could ruin your friendship, and it’d be his fault. “Y/N I…”

Say words goddamnit.

Donghyuck squeezes his eyes shut, scouring the depths of his mind for the perfect thing to say, something that would work in his favour. His lips part, but only air comes out.

Then you yawn, simply because you’re tired. But you fight fatigue and wait patiently for Donghyuck to say something. The man has always been like this. His actions were always greater than his words. “Do you want tea, Hyuck? I’ll make us so—“

“No,” Donghyuck hastily refuses, “I mean, thank you… but I’m okay…”

Regret scratches at the nape of Donghyuck’s neck. How could he play out this scenario in his head millions of times but not run through what he was supposed to say to you? How could he bring the problem up without putting you on the spot about what you had said?

“You know what? I’m sorry for barging in like this, you’re tired and you need sleep and—“

“Lee Donghyuck, if you need help with something, then literally fuck sleep,” you scoff, smoothing your bed head out.

You begin moving to the kitchen, the idea of tea now sounding appealing, but Donghyuck is quick to stop you. “No, Y/N, I’m actually fine.”

“You’re not fine,” you counter, “It’s obviously bothering you if you came here at this hour.” You lean forward and squint at your best friend through the dim lighting of your apartment. It’s easy to make out his eye bags and his beaten-up bottom lip from all the chewing. You know damn well… “And it even looks like you’ve been going through it. You can tell me, you know that, right?”

Donghyuck nods, still at a loss for words. He’s afraid to make eye contact with you for too long, letting his eyes flicker between you and the floor.

“But,” you follow up, “It’s okay if you’re not ready, too. I’ll still be here to listen then.”

Silence dances in the air while you wait for Donghyuck to say something. He doesn’t know that you can see the way his eyes shift back and forth in deep thought, or the way his teeth cling onto his lip for comfort.

Then Donghyuck says, “Can I stay over?”

A tired smile rises onto your lips, “I wasn’t letting you out at this hour, anyway.”

“Are there blankets and pillows in the extra closet? I’ll grab them—“

“Hyuck, you can sleep in my bed like always.”

Shit.

Donghyuck nearly panics, eyes growing wide. Sure, it wasn’t the first time you’ve slept in the same bed, but sleeping with you in the same bed with his current state? When the only secret he’s kept from you was waiting to be hacked out after years of lingering in his chest?

“You have no choice,” you protest, reading his mind. Huffing out a loud sigh, you reach for Donghyuck’s hand, instinctively slipping your fingers in between his before you yank his taller figure to your room. Donghyuck can’t find it in him to protest, words stuffed down and trapped in his throat.

When you let go, Donghyuck almost reaches back out to keep your hand in his.

You’re quick to settle back into your bed, letting out another yawn as you watch Donghyuck expectantly. Almost like you were going to start throwing a fit if he didn’t fill the spot next to you.

And that’s how Donghyuck finds him laying right next to you, heart damn near breaking his ribcage and defeaning his ears. He’s thankful that you have your back turned to him, completely oblivious to his state. It feels like he’s going to implode if he doesn’t say anything.

It was kind of funny—maybe to an audience, but not to him.

“What would it take for you to stop being my friend?” Donghyuck blurts out. The mattress shifts underneath him, and he feels your body turn to face him, peering at him through the darkness.

You raise a brow, but it’s hidden in the darkness. You scoff, “What kind of question is that?”

Donghyuck sighs, “Please, just answer it.”

Sensing the tone in Donghyuck’s voice, you press your lips together and think, what would it take to stop being friends with Donghyuck?

“Everything,” you say simply, “But even then, I think I’d still forgive you.”

“I call bullshit,” he murmurs, “What if I killed someone and pinned the blame on you? What if I broke something special and irreplaceable to you? What if I purposely broke your leg or… or…”

“Those are all so stupidly unbelievable, Hyuck. You’d do none of that,” you chuckle, “At least make it believable.”

Donghyuck almost chokes, his heart fighting to escape his chest. It’s like it was pushing up his throat as if he were ready to throw it up. “Or what if… my feelings for you changed and yours didn’t change in the way mine did?”

“Hyuck… you’re scaring me… Did I do something wrong?” you frown, heart dropping to the pit of your stomach. “Fuck, it was when I was drunk wasn’t it? Did I say or do something wrong?”

“I want you to love me.”

Donghyuck panics. Now he wishes he had worded his last question differently, one that didn’t have you misinterpreting it.

“N-no!” He hurriedly answers, “No, never. I could never hate you.” Never.

He nervously swallows the spit pooling in his mouth because now he’s sure that he needs to be upfront about his feelings. There’s no other way he could go now. He’s taken the final path down whatever road this was.

“What if… I fell in love with you and you didn’t love me back?” He exhales a shaky breath, both out of relief and anxiousness, afraid that he’s ruined everything. There’s silence, and it scares Donghyuck. There really was no telling what you were thinking, whether you were thinking of ways to reject him or dodge the question. He doesn’t know and he doesn’t like it.

Then, through the darkness, he hears you laugh nervously, “Hyuck… Hyuck, I said you have to make it believable.” A pause. “You can’t love me… not like that at least.”

You finally sit up and go to turn the lamp on. Donghyuck finally sees your expression clearly in the yellow glow. Your brows are furrowed, a look of confusion stuck on your face. It looked as though you were processing what he had just said.

Donghyuck immediately sits up, almost mirroring you. He’s ready to reach out to you, but he holds back for now. He can’t take anything back now.

“But I do, Y/N.” His tone is sprinkled with desperation, hoping you’d hear it and understand that he’s being dead serious.

And when it’s your turn to lack words, Donghyuck quickly musters up what he can, piecing things together under pressure in his head. He doesn’t have much time before you overthink, and he knows it. “Do you remember what you told me the night of the wedding? When I was taking you home?”

You shake your head and your heart skips a beat. Your mind tries to reel back to that night, but all you remember is Donghyuck urging you onto his back. Everything after that was a mess, like a fever dream you’re trying so hard to grasp but can’t for the life of you remember.

“Well… I do.” Donghyuck isn’t sure if he feels dejected or relieved that you don’t remember your confession. Because if you did forget it, did it mean anything?

Still, he continues, keeping his head down to avoid your gaze, “You said that…” He’s unsure if he should tell you everything you said, or if he should be straight to the point. He doesn’t want to embarrass you, but it feels like finally bringing this up will help him get to his point. That he really, truly, loves you.

“You said a bunch of things, and I was reflecting on them and… and even though I’ve known my feelings for you this whole time.” Exhale. “I realized that I was pretty much thinking the same thing.”

Donghyuck lifts his view in the slightest, enough to put your fidgeting hands in view, before he gently grabs them. He takes them in his, rubbing his finger along the bumps of your knuckles. And though he feels like he’s mainly doing this for himself, he knows that he’s comforting you, too.

“I can’t imagine myself being with anyone but you,” Donghyuck says carefully, as if the words were fragile on his tongue, “In fact, I think I hate the idea of being with anyone but you.” He squeezes your fingers, chewing his bottom lip out of habit.

“You told me a bunch of things,” he repeats, “But you ended it all with how you wanted me to love you. How you feel like it’s too much to ask for me to love you back every day…” Donghyuck shakes his head, frustrated when he recalls that last part, “And I hate thinking that I’ve been making you feel like that this whole time.”

“And I’m cringing at what I’m about to say… it’s pretty fucking cheesy… but… you don’t even have to ask me to love you, Y/N,” Donghyuck concludes, nodding his head, “I love you so much and… I’d do anything just to make sure you know it.”

Donghyuck had not noticed that he was crying until a tear fell right onto his thigh. He looks up to keep more from dripping, but that’s when his eyes finally catch sight of you, eyes drowning in your own tears.

“Shit,” he’s quick to catch them before they fall off your face, letting your hands go and wiping your cheeks with the heels of his hands, “Shit, Princess, I didn’t mean to make you cry, I—”

“It’s okay, Hyuck,” you interrupt, shaking your head. Donghyuck continues to frantically wipe your cheeks, frowning. You can’t help but laugh, reaching for his hands and bringing them to your lap, “I’m okay.”

“Then, why are you crying?” Donghyuck is taken back to your conversation on the night of the wedding. If this wasn’t deja vu, he wonders if there’s another word for it.

“You’re so annoying,” you sniffle, dropping one hand and lightly hitting his knee, “You say all that and expect me not to cry?” You slip your hand back into his.

Donghyuck’s gaze drops to your hands, thumbs tracing over his knuckles, “I wasn’t sure what was going to happen. I didn’t know if your confession was real, but after I heard what you said, I couldn’t not do anything about it.”

There’s a brief pause as you process his response. Then, just above a whisper, cutting through the thick, but comfortable, air in the room, he hears you say, “I love you, too, you know.”

He feels his heart stutter, almost leaping right out of his chest and straight into your hands, where it belonged. But of course, now, he’d let it if it chose to do so.

“Hyuck, I—” You let go of his hands, and this time, Donghyuck lets himself reach out back for them, a subtle flash of panic in his eyes.

And as soon as it came, that frantic feeling dissipates when he feels your hands cup his face. You nudge his head up to look at you.

He’s confused, lips parting to say something in objection, but then he reads a look in your eyes that he’s never seen before. You’re peering at him through your lashes, and Donghyuck swears he sees the glow of your lamp dancing in swirls right in your irises. They grow big, melting into his own, and despite being unfamiliar with the emotion, he immediately understands what you’re trying to say.

Or, better yet, what you’re trying to do.

Donghyuck’s doe eyes, as red and puffy as yours, flicker to your lips and back to your eyes. A flutter in his chest confirms what he’s feeling. He wants this—he really does.

So he nods carefully, thoughts of finally kissing you making him dizzy as his hands instinctively travel up to your arms to draw you in… closer and closer and…

Donghyuck’s hands found their way up to cup your face, using his pinkies to angle your head so he could easily press his lips against yours. And then your arms instinctively slide up and around his neck before they fall limp and hang loosely around him.

The kiss wasn’t passionate.

But it was tender, and it was perfect.

It was a kiss that perfectly suited your relationship with Donghyuck, a love that’s gentle and comforting, one that didn’t hit you both like a truck.

Donghyuck’s head was spinning, lips moving against yours as if he wanted to memorize how they felt on his. And though he’s imagined—dreamed—about how it would be like to kiss you countless times, the raw feeling of having your lips pressed against his was nothing compared to all of that.

He nudges his nose against yours for one final push before you both finally come up for air. Your foreheads stay connected, eyes still drawn closed and basking in the feeling of finally getting what you wanted. Donghyuck’s hands have slipped down to your waist, forearms resting against your crossed legs. You both were out of breath. You could feel Donghyuck’s air tickling the skin under your nose.

“You don’t…” Donghyuck sighs, catching his breath, “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to do that.”

You giggle, eyes fluttering open before you steal a peck from his lips and pull away, “Was it worth the wait?”

Donghyuck quickly catches your wrists, tugging you back to repeat your actions. You can’t bite back a smile.

Of course it was, he thinks. It would have been worth it no matter how long he had to wait.

It was you, after all.

And as far as he knew, anything and everything that had to do with you would always be worth it.

But Donghyuck knows that he’s been cheesy enough for one night. And after noticing your tired, half-lidded eyes, though his mind floods with so many things he wants to tell you, for now, he settles for a simple answer.

“Always.”

an: ngl i think this was one of my fav fics tht ive written ever :(( i loved writing these two so much,, likes and reblogs and comments are soso appreciated, i wanna know if u guys found this as cute as i did! thank you for reading!

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factsilike · 10 months ago

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As hilarious as it is to read about WWX initially being unable to perceive his own attraction to Lwj as anything other than the typical reactions of a woman, I wish more people would realise that it was not due to obliviousness, but rather because of compulsory heterosexuality and him simply not being aware such things existed. The time period he grew up in speaks for itself, as well as his unsafe (because the Jiang household was anything but secure) environment.

It was funny when it was treated as a crack idea, but it's frustrating when it's treated as a canon trait of his, when it's not. This guy is highly intelligent, both emotionally and intellectually, and the conclusions he came to regarding his own feelings as well as Lwj's were based on the information he had at the time. I see people point it out most in that scene at the start of the novel where Lwj gets drunk and points to WWX saying 'Mine."

But I can't believe how obtuse those same people are when they don't realise that while it's obvious to the reader (because duh they're reading a danmei novel about romance between the two main leads, and they let themselves be blinded by their own perceptions) that he's referring to WWX, to him it's not. Because what was he supposed to think? When all Lwj had ever been towards him was tolerant at best, and outright hostile at worst, and with his previous cold behaviour, was WWX really supposed to think, oh he must mean for me to be his! Because that would have made no sense at that part of the story. It was only logical for him to try to find a rational explanation, and the only one WWX could come to was that LWJ was referring to his sword, because obviously WWX wasn't going to take him seriously even if he had confessed, he would have only thought that he was drunk rambling or something. He didn't have any reason to believe him at that point.

It's not until the rest of the events of his second life progress and give WWX many opportunities and chances to reflect on his own feelings and Lwj's (changed and more affectionate) behaviour, does he start to think, could it be that I like him? Because WWX is no idiot; he realises his own feelings for Lwj pretty early on. And he catches onto Lwj's love for him too! Which is what the whole getting drunk at the inn thing before Guanyin Temple was about; he was scared to find out whether or not Lwj's love for him was platonic or not. (Which is a valid thing literally every person who has ever had a crush can relate to; worrying over whether the person of your affections feels the same or not. And it's difficult enough navigating these things in heterosexual relationships, let alone same-sex ones)

I think the way MXTX wrote WWX's journey of discovering his sexuality as well as his budding love for Lwj is beautiful and deserves more praise and recognition, rather than just glossed over as tee hee 'obliviousness'.

#mxtx mdzs #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #the seeds of their love were planted in WWX's first life but really grow because of well everything that happened #and it's not until his second one that their given space and time to boom and grow beautifully #and I think that's wonderful #mdzs

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221bshrlocked · 7 months ago

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Defenses

Pairing: Captain Rex x Jedi AFAB!Reader

Words: 17,202 (apologies)

Warnings: Mutual Pining. Idiots in Love. Misunderstandings (that are addressed throughout). Overprotective Rex. Innocent touches turn Not-So-Innocent...Love Confessions. "Enthusiastic" Feelings. Dirty, Sweet Talk. Brief Oral (female receiving). Brief Hand Job. Pentrative, Unprotected Sex (wrap it up folks). Creampie. Cuddling.

Summary: Under the assumption that your friend's Captain cannot stand the sight of you, you steer clear of him throughout the Life Day Celebrations. But when the diplomatic visit takes an unexpected turn, you're forced to act as bait so Anakin and Rex capture the assassin chasing after the Prince of Dondri. An accidental encounter on the final night of the mission brings clarity to certain matters for you...and reveals some of your own secrets to Rex.

Prompts: The Christmas ornament is supposedly enchanted. // Scene inspired by the image of a boat decked out in Christmas lights. // After the blizzard hits, they’re stuck together for a while, and they have to stay warm.

A/N: Hope everyone is enjoying their holidays. This gift is for the lovely @loving-the-cambridges who's also taking part of the Life Day Gift Exchange by @cloneficgiftexchange . Your little prompts are fanfic heaven for me so I hope I incorporated them to your liking, albeit with the twists I made to them. And I am so so sorry for the slight delay friend!!! Happy Reading :D

P.S. It's overdue by a year but I'm also writing this for the @clonexreaderbingo challenge (which was about a year ago).

As the festivities continue, you look to the sky and find yourself meditating on the constellations twinkling high above the laughter and dancing. You wander along the edge of the celebrations, the sound of music and enthusiastic drinking fading into the background and pushing a smile onto your features. You watch as the 501st relax with the people of Dondri, and if you didn’t know better, you would think this was another normal rotation for them. But as all things, the joy goes as quickly as it comes when you look towards one particular member of the legion and find him standing near the Prince, his eyes scanning the crowd to ensure the safety of the royal family.

Maker, it truly was unfair how effortlessly attractive that man was. Whatever he was doing, even if he was merely lounging or standing quietly and doing nothing, he looked absolutely exquisite. And with every ounce of your being, you wished you were only physically attracted to him. But the opposite was true; the genuine dedication and care he upheld with everything that he did was what first caught your eye. Never have you met someone as tender and responsible as him. It would have been so much easier if you just found him objectively handsome, but like everything you’ve had to reevaluate recently, you knew whatever emotions stirring within you each time you are in his presence were based on more than his looks. It was such a dangerous thought process though, because for the first time since you were knighted, you genuinely debated ignoring the rules and confessing to him your feelings. He was everything you could ever want and so much more.

Too bad he couldn’t stand the sight of you.

It was so unfortunate, but perhaps it was for the best. Maybe if the feelings were mutual, things would have been more complicated, more so for him than for you. So much would have been at stake, the most important being his position and well-being. But a part of you secretly hoped that he, at least, tolerated working with you. And you would have thought he did, if it weren’t for the fact that he tended to leave every time you were in the same room. Each suggestion you made, he would meet with some bit of hostility, not disrespect, but just irritation at the prospect of carrying out your commands. It was horrible.

Yet it made you want him all the more. He had a sense of honor that he upheld more than most, a trait that was rare during these times. A characteristic that made you avoid him at every chance you could so as to not make him uncomfortable. You were not his General, but you were a General, one that he would have no choice but respect publicly. It made no sense to limit his whereabouts, certainly not during a time like this.

Which is how you found yourself walking away each time he joined your company. If you were discussing an issue or two with Anakin and he joined, you would excuse yourself, telling both men that they could handle whatever the problem was without your help. If you were playing sabbac with Fives and Kix, and he sat beside them, you would feign a headache and leave, letting them know that you would get some rest. And if you were hanging around the royal family, learning about the Life Day Celebrations on their planet and saw him walking towards you, you would let them know that you were to make rounds for the night and exit the room, not once looking back as you left him behind. Granted, it made things especially difficult since you needed to discuss much with the Prince and his sister, and he was, somehow, always around you when you were with them, but you didn’t want to accidentally offend him further.

Whatever grudge he held against you did not need to grow simply because of your ego.

No. It was best you watched him from afar. It had to be.

You make your way towards one particularly large tree, hiding behind it in order to look at the man without anyone noticing. Always putting his job before anything else, Rex stands firmly in his place, arms crossed in front of him and lips pouting in attention. You allow your eyes to move down his form, and silently curse yourself when you realize where your mind may be racing towards.

“Stare any harder and he might magically appear in front of you.” You shut your eyes and drop your face forward to hide the heated flush making its way towards your cheeks. Of course he knew where you’d be standing, and who you’d be daydreaming about.

“Shouldn’t you be talking to the Prince about his involvement in the war?” You begrudgingly hiss at him, knowing that your reaction will be adding fuel to the fire.

“Shouldn’t you?” Anakin retorts instantly, making you wish you weren’t chosen for this mission.

“I would, except everyone on this planet is currently into their third cup of Corellian whiskey so I highly doubt anyone will be paying attention.” You finally turn around and face Anakin, already hating the smirk on his face when he notices how flustered you are.

“Funny, that’s exactly why I’m not talking to him either.” He steps in front of you and rests his weight on the tree, throwing back a cup of maker knows what before handing it to you.

“No, thank you.”

“You need it more than I do,” he shoves it one last time into your hands, nodding in victory when you take it and drink the rest of it down. You wince at the bitter taste but silently thank him for handing it to you. Neither of you say anything for a while, more entertained by the shenanigans of your men as they made absolute fools of themselves in front of the Dondrians.

“You should really talk to him.” The sentiment irritates you more than it should. You know he means well, but given the circumstances, and who you were, you found the suggestion a little insensitive.

“I’ll keep that in mind, good night.” You hand him back the cup, hand ensuring that your weapon is still on your hip before moving across the crowds. You don’t dare make eye contact with anyone, afraid they’d drag you into whatever game they were playing and force you to stay longer.

But as you strut past your friends, something slowly pushes against the back of your mind, nagging you until you halt in your steps and study the forest. You stare across the groups of celebrations, turning around just in time to see Anakin running through his men. You push through the drunk masses, and only when you’re a few steps away from the royal family do you hear the high-pitched sound of a blaster going off.

Without thinking much of the consequences, you sprint towards the upper table and violently shove Rex out of the way, shutting your eyes in pain when the blaster hits your side and barely misses the Prince and his sister. The joyful laughter quickly turns into panicked cries, and you look down at the two members of the family you were meant to be watching closely, praying to the maker that neither of them are injured or else this diplomatic journey would turn into a political nightmare.

“Are you hurt?” You ask them both, sighing in relief when they pat each other down and realize that neither of them were hit.

“Stay down,” you order the two of them, standing to your full height and igniting your lightsaber, but not before glancing to the side to make sure that Rex was unharmed. You feel your heart skip a beat when you find his eyes and see the anger swimming in them.

“Don’t leave their side,” you tell Rex before taking off, already regretting the argument you will surely have with him when everything calms down. As if you needed to give him more reasons to dislike you. You will yourself to focus on finding the assassin, stopping in front of a group of clones to see which of them can follow you.

“If you haven’t been drinking, follow me. The rest of you look after these people.” Five men stand to their feet at your command, already putting their helmets on to try and see where they should head. A part of you knows that you may have already lost this hunter in the crowd but you try to find him regardless, knowing that the celebrations may come to a halt and cause even more unrest with the Dondrians if you don’t at least try to find anything about him.

You run towards the cluster of trees high on the hills, certain that it was the best vantage point where you can see everything unfolding within the crowds. But with each step you take, you feel the wound on your side burn in anger, begging you to take a moment of respite before resuming any movement.

“You’ve been hit,” you don’t mean to snap at him, but Anakin’s remark sends you in a fit of irritation and you smack his hand away when he tries to move your robe to the side to get a better look at the bleeding gash.

“No shit, genius.” His eyes narrow at your tone, but you know he isn’t taking any offense to your little outburst. You’re about to head to higher ground when you feel a hand grab at your arm and pull you back.

“Enough, you and I both know we won’t find him. Not now at least. Come on.” He motions for his men to stand down, and they all look between you and him before they head down the hill first. As much as you hate to admit it, you know Anakin’s right, and you reluctantly sheath your lightsaber again before following him towards the calming throngs of people surrounding the royal family. As you bump into the soldiers, you do your best to refrain from reacting to the searing pain beating at your side, knowing that Anakin will make sure Kix doesn’t allow you to so much as breathe the wrong way. You couldn’t afford getting his attention, not when you could feel the eyes of a certain clone staring daggers into the back of your head as you paused and stood in front of him to speak with the Prince. You see him engage in a conversation with Anakin, worried at the prospect of anyone in his family getting hurt due to his recent change in political stance.

“While I can appreciate the importance of this issue, we need to get you inside.” You turn between him and your old friend, waiting quietly until they acknowledge your suggestion before moving behind them towards the gate of the city. Making sure that each member of the inner circle is accompanied by a couple of your men, you stay back to rest your side, turning your eyes to the sky in an attempt to focus on anything but the excruciating burning beating at your skin. You’re almost distracted too when you feel a hand rest on your back while another holds your upper arm.

“You need to go to medbay.” The calm, soothing voice of none other than the man you’ve been doing your best to avoid signals a wave of heat to course across your body, and before you can try and argue with him, you feel lightheaded, the adrenaline finally leaving your body completely with nothing but a faint memory of what had happened. You brace yourself on his shoulders, shaking your head and furrowing your eyebrows at him when you look up and see the angry grimace from before returning with a vengeance.

“If it’s all the same to you Captain, I think it’s best I just go and rest. No need for medbay.” You try to let go of his shoulders but as soon as you take a step back, your body sways and nearly falls over. His arms brace against him, and had you been a little more present, maybe a little more mischievous, you would have asked him to buy you dinner first. But you weren’t too conscious of what was happening, so you accept the help quietly, not bothering to say anything even when Kix comes around and supports your weight as well.

“With all due respect sir, Rex may not outrank you, but I do…when it comes to your wellbeing at least. Come on.” You miss the way he looks at Rex, and you definitely don’t notice Rex’s clenched jaw as he reluctantly lets go and makes sure you won’t fall over. And you unfortunately don’t see the look Rex gives you, guilty that you felt the need to push him out of harm’s way and take the hit instead.

The three of you walk in silence back to the city, and when you get to base, you glance back at Rex and frown when you see how angry he is with you. Had you been more aware however, you would have realized that he was not upset with you, but at this whole situation. As soon as you enter medbay, you lay down in one of the beds, hissing in pain when your lightsaber accidentally brushes the open gash on your side.

“Let me take this,” Rex moves to your side and attempts to grab your weapon, but you flinch at the sudden movement, eyes panicked at the prospect of not having your lightsaber with you, even though you were perfectly safe here.

“You don’t have to, I-”

“General, don’t make this more difficult than it already is.” He sighs heavily, the reaction hurting you more than it should. Of course he thought you were a burden. He was probably supposed to be with Anakin but felt the need to remain by your side out of duty. You don’t mean to, but your hand falls back in defeat, eyes watering almost instantly at being such an inconvenience to him. If he notices the way you react to his words, he says nothing and approaches you slowly once more, as if he was walking towards a wounded, helpless animal. He says nothing as he unclips the lightsaber from your side and clasps it on his own belt.

“Rex, I need you to leave.” Kix interrupts as he walks towards you, pointing at the door so Rex could leave.

“Why?” You think he’s being a little defensive, but you brush the thought aside, knowing for a fact that there is no reason why the Captain of the 501st would want to stay behind just for you.

“Because it’s my job to take her armor off and treat her, not yours. Get out!” Kix is more assertive than before, and you shut your eyes to avoid looking at either of them as they continue to talk about you. Something shifts in the air but you choose to ignore it as well, barely managing to open your eyes and gaze at Rex when he whispers in return.

“I’ll be outside.” He looks at you as if the last thing he wishes to do is leave this room, and you’re not sure what prompts you to, but you nod in acknowledgement to let him know that you’re thankful for him, watching him exit the room, but not without looking back at you one last time. As the door slides shut behind him, Kix silently removes your armor and clothes, not bothering to say anything else as he begins cleansing the wound and suturing it.

You’re not sure how long you’re on that bed, but when the medic lets you know that he’s almost done, you realize that you’ve been clenching your hands the entire time. Relaxing your muscles completely, you thank him and sit up, waiting until he covers your side with a bacta patch before standing fully again.

“You know, if I have to stand around one more minute and watch the two of you act like…like fucking bantha, I might just shoot myself and be done with it.” Kix says with a smirk, not caring for your passive aggressive remark as he applies the patch and pushes a little too hard on the skin to get you to be quiet.

“You’re a medic Kix, not a therapist.”

“Yeah well, someone’s going to have to tell you both to get your heads out of your asses…respectfully sir.” Once again, you narrow your eyes at him and shake your head, not bothering to wait until he puts the armor back on before grabbing it and walking to the closest mirror to see what he’s done.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You say in passing, irritated and confused by his choice in words.

“Sure you don’t.” You’re about to respond when he opens the door to the room and calls for Rex to come back. Surprisingly, it takes a few seconds for Rex to come and stand beside you again, studying your features as you look at the covered wound and try to see which movements hurt and which don’t.

“The wound isn’t too deep but it is pretty large. It should heal in the next few hours, assuming you switch the bacta patch and put on a new one. In the meantime, I’d suggest you don’t partake in any serious, physical activity…unless of course you’re with-”

“Alright, that’s enough.” You turn around quickly and snap at him, mentally patting yourself on the back when you see his smile drop instantly at the realization that he may have gone just a little too far. You quickly glance at Rex and find him confused at your outburst, but he says nothing and instead unclips the lightsaber from his belt and returns it to you. For a brief second, your fingers pass against his softly, and you feel chills run down your spine at how calloused and warm they felt against your own.

“Thank you,” you whisper your gratitude to Kix one last time before practically sprinting out of the room, feeling the frustration rise deep within your chest when you notice Rex falling into step with you. You had hoped that he wouldn’t follow you back, mostly because you were planning on visiting the Prince to ensure that he understands not to be seen by anyone until you’ve resolved this rather problematic hiccup.

“I’m sure there is something more worth your time Captain…you can leave if you wish.” You say assertively, praying to the Force that he reads between the lines and leaves you to your devices.

“If it’s all the same to you General, I think it’s best I make sure you return to your quarters safely.” You expected his response, but hearing it irks you more than you initially thought and you speed up in an attempt to distract yourself.

“While I appreciate your concern, I am of help to no one if I return to my rooms. Where’s Anakin?”

“He is with the Prince. Sir, I strongly request for you to return to your room.” Ever the Captain, he doesn’t budge once in his stance and catches up to you, going as far as taking a few more steps until he stops ahead and forces you to slow down.

“Captain, please.”

“You'll be helpful to no one if you can’t keep up.” He crosses his arms and stares straight into your eyes, not once caring for how you could easily write him up for insubordination.

“I need to see Anakin, I think I have a plan to catch this assassin.” You take a deep breath and relay your intentions to him, preparing yourself for an onslaught of questions and push back to the plan you have in mind.

“How do you know it’s an assassin and not a bounty hunter?” You notice the way his body language shifts from defensive to a more curious, even docile manner.

“No one in their right mind would come to Dondri during the Life Day Celebrations just to kidnap a member of the royal family. Also, I’m fairly certain he was aiming straight at his head.”

“And how do you plan on catching him?” He furrows his eyebrows at you, making you wish he wasn’t standing so close to you so you’re affected by every little detail you keep observing about him. Shaking the thought aside, you take advantage of his distracted mind, walking around him and continuing towards the royal palace.

“By giving him exactly who he wants.”

“Sir, please.” He calls out to you one last time, this time with an exasperated sigh that you wish was out of care and not duty.

“Captain, your request is noted.” You turn around one last time against your better judgement, watching closely as Rex’s pout deepens before he switches his attention to the ground. You study him then, wondering why he was suddenly so intent on your well being. It’s not as if he never showed any concern before, but there was something strange now, something you chalked up to what you did earlier.

You almost tell him to accompany you to Anakin, but then remember what he might say when he finds out what you have in mind to catch this man. Footsteps echo in the hallway as you practically run to Anakin, and you’re glad when you find him standing alone outside the Prince’s quarters. He looks up when he hears the frantic stomps growing closer, his expression falling as soon as he realizes it’s you approaching him.

“Wow, you should be resting. What are you doing here?” He’s half-concerned, half-surprised, the faint lines of a smile betraying how irritated he is at seeing you.

“I think I know how to catch this guy.” You straighten up, gazing at your friend until his apprehensiveness gives way to genuine interest.

“I’m listening.” Anakin pushes away from the wall, eyes narrowing at you as he turns fully to face you.

“I highly doubt he will want to try again in such a crowded place so he will definitely wait till the Prince is by himself.” You step closer to him, anchoring your thoughts to the best of your abilities as the pain in your side begins to return once more.

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” He shakes his head strongly, frowning at whatever idea you had in store for him.

“Listen. We will give him what he wants, or at least, what he thinks he wants.” Anakin’s gaze shoots up then, and you watch the moment his confusion turns into a deep interest and desire to solve the issue.

“Elaborate.” His jaw is tight, and you brace yourself for whatever reaction he gives when you tell him about your idea.

“He knows how important his Celebration is, and he also knows that part of it involves the King-to-be going out into the lake and offering blessings to the gods on behalf of his subjects. So, we make him think the Prince is actually going out there.” Your voice is low but even, pausing in your explanation to gauge Anakin’s reaction.

“You’re suggesting a decoy?” His gaze is steady but you don’t budge, not wanting to give him any reason to think you are unready or reluctant to lead the mission.

“Yes, I am.” You nod confidently, glancing behind you and biting into your cheek when you see Rex walking toward the two of you.

“So the Prince will be safe in his quarters the whole time.”

“Yes,” you exhale through your nose, bracing yourself for the question you’re sure will be asked at any moment now.

“And who’s the lucky guy that will replace him?” He throws his hands up then, as if to say he doesn’t agree with the plan but has no choice.

“Me.” You don’t flinch as you respond immediately, shutting your eyes to calm yourself when you hear Rex’s outburst next to you.

“No.”

“Pardon me?” You turn to face him, not bothering to control your aggressive tone as you ask him to repeat himself. Rex can tell you don’t appreciate his response, passively shaking his head and glancing between you and Anakin to try and indirectly ask your friend for help.

“I…don’t think that’s wise.” He repeats again, and you miss the way Anakin hides his smile behind his hand.

“Don’t shoot me, but I think I agree with Rex on this one.” It’s Anakin’s turn to pitch in, his voice harder than before and making you wish you didn’t get easily rattled by such minimal details.

“Well, good thing I outrank the both of you.” You know better than to say something so superficial, and you shrug your shoulders when Anakin replies straight away with an annoyed lilt in his voice.

“You don’t outrank me!”

“Okay, yes but…you’re still healing. I’m all for taking risks-” You cut him off then, not appreciating the hypocrisy of his words and actions.

“But not when it’s someone else?” Standing your ground, you meet his gaze and search his face for any sign of hesitation, knowing that he has already agreed to your suggestion when he shifts his weight and pretends to still think about it.

“Why not me?” He asks quietly, the question meant less to argue and more to keep the peace.

“Because I’d rather we take this guy alive. Sorry Ani, but I don’t exactly guarantee the outcome with you.” You feel bad for critiquing his tactics but you don’t back down, wanting him to know that you prepared to see this to the end.

“Fair enough.”

“Good, you can tell the Prince our plan. Make him address the people in an hour, something along the lines of ‘he won’t be bullied out of his duty’ and then we can head down to the lake.” Stepping aside, you walk around both men while telling them what to do, wanting to deal with this hiccup as soon as possible so you can address the real reasons behind your visit to the planet.

“Where are you going?” Anakin asks, gesturing between himself and the room behind him.

“Get dressed. I need to look the part.”

Going back to your room, you do your best to think of the task at hand, but with every question you ask yourself, you find your thoughts shifting towards Rex. A part of you wishes he only objected because he doesn’t want to see you get hurt, but the more irrational side of your brain is convinced it’s only because he doesn’t trust your judgement. You’ve never given him any reason to doubt your abilities, so you aren’t sure why he still can’t accept your discernment.

As you step into the room, you strip down and walk towards your case, bringing out a new pair of robes and placing them on the bed. You make your way to the refresher and freshen up, doing your best to put the discomfort in your side out of your mind. When you hear the sound of the broadcasting, you forgo switching the bacta patch and get dressed quickly, afraid Anakin will move ahead without you. You return to the Prince’s quarters in record time, hood placed over your head to shield you from any prying eyes not meant to know it’s you. Stopping in front of Anakin, you make sure there are guards posted inside and outside the royal rooms, quickly letting him know that none of the servants know the plan to avoid anyone saying anything to the wrong person.

“You ready?” Anakin asks, leaning into your space to gauge your reaction while pretending to protect you as you walk towards the nearby lake.

“Let me get back to you on that.” You chuckle in response, pretending your attention isn’t on the annoyed Captain flanking your other side.

“Hey, it was your idea.” Anakin straightens up once more, eyes studying the slowly growing crowds seeing you to the lake

“It sure was.” Your answer is clipped, mostly because you can tell that Rex isn’t getting any calmer beside you.

“I hate this.” The three words are whispered, yet the way in which Rex says them makes you wish you could ask him here and now when he was so adamant on letting you know he doesn’t agree with your decision.

“You have something on your mind Captain?”

“Yes, loads as a matter of fact.” It’s the first time Rex answers in such an abrupt, curt manner. Before, he used to offer a silent apology if he spoke out of line, but seeing his anger sizzle deeper with each step you took towards the lake makes you all the more irritable.

“Well, don’t let me interrupt you.” You answer monotonously, not bothering to hide how vexed you feel from the constant bickering with him.

“Hey guys, as much as I appreciate your flirting, let’s focus here. You’ll be on the boat by yourself and we won’t be anywhere near until we see someone coming towards you. If things take a turn and you find yourself in a particularly awkward position, just push this button and we’ll come to you.” The two of you face Anakin, and while Rex looks away embarrassingly, you stare at your friend, silently telling him to watch himself and not test you.

“That won’t be necessary, I’m going with her on the boat.” The ease with which Rex replies grabs your attention right away, and it’s your turn to be at the receiving end of his sheepish expression. You wonder if he knows how uneasy he looks returning your gaze.

Or how unfairly handsome he is as he leaves no room for discussion.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.” He doesn’t blink once, meeting your adamance with a stubbornness you’ve never seen before.

“Captain, if he sees you coming on the boat, he will not come.” Anakin tries to alleviate the tension but neither of you back down, wanting the other to step away first.

“I’m not taking a chance with you. And…he won’t see me coming on the boat, not if I swim out to you and climb on.” The firmness with which he explains himself nearly makes you think there’s more to this offer than meets the eye, and you forgo proprietary to ask him what he means by not wanting to take a chance with you.

“Captain, you’re-”

“Why do you constantly make things difficult for me?” He cuts you off then, the swift question quiets you immediately and forces you to look ahead, away from the company surrounding you.

“I’ll take that as a yes then.” Anakin whispers and you hate how he always wants to get the final word in. You walk the rest of the way in absolute silence, your mind flickering with hope at the prospect of Rex feeling anything other than despise for you.

“We’re here.”

“Good luck.” Anakin snaps you out of your haze as he readies the boat, and you nod at him before stepping onto it. You undo the rope, and make your way to the front of the swaying sail, not bothering to turn around when you feel it moving softly through the water. You focus on the dark body of water ahead of you, looking up to the sky and marveling at the twinkling stars as they shine above you. Only when you hear faint scratching at the hull of the boat do you remember what you’re supposed to do. Waiting until the boat is angled ahead and away from the shore, you turn on the comm link and step forward to see where Rex is hanging on.

“Are we far enough from shore?” You ask Anakin, praying you receive an affirmative answer quickly so Rex can get out of the cold water.

“Yes,” Anakin gives you the go-ahead, and you pull the hood of your cloak higher before turning on the lights around the boat to offer a brief distraction.

“Permission to come on board, General?” Rex asks strenuously, and you wonder if this is his attempt at being civil.

“Granted, come up before you freeze to death.” He pulls himself up right away, and you point to the small room in the lower deck, not wanting him to be seen by anyone that may be watching you.

“Stay low.” You whisper to him, wishing you could take your cloak off and offer it to him so he can get warmer.

The slow rocking of the boat lulls you into a fake sense of peace, and you force yourself to remain passive to the presence of the man behind you. The lights flicker softly around you, and when you lean over to touch one of the ornaments hanging on the cords, a shooting pain coursing across your abdomen prevents you from moving so much as a muscle.

“How’s your side?” Rex notices you wincing and almost approaches you, but you shake your head to prevent him from coming up the deck.

“It’s fine.” You clench your fists tightly as you right yourself, not wanting to appear suspicious. It’s quiet for a few minutes before you decide to return whatever civility Rex was attempting to offer you.

“Hmm, it’s quite beautiful out here.” Your eyes are glued to the night sky, completely missing the way Rex longingly gazes at you when he agrees.

“Yes, it is.” A shiver runs down your spine at the low, whispered tone of his voice, and when you turn your attention towards him, you find him shaking from the cold air seeping through his armor.

“You’re cold.” There’s an apology at the tip of your tongue, and Rex must see how bad you feel about this because he shrugs his shoulders and tells you otherwise.

“I’ll manage.”

“You shouldn’t be here. I really don’t understand why you were adamant on coming with me.” It’s not what you want to say to Rex, far from it. But you know for a fact you can’t be straightforward and ask him why he didn’t back down and decided to join you.

“It is my job to protect you.” Again, you’re thrown off by how soft and docile he sounds, and it takes every ounce of control in your body to not turn around and stare into his eyes as you ask him the next question.

“Job? Is that the only reason why you’re here?”

“Y-yes. Why else would I turn down shore leave?” Had he not hesitated, you would have believed him and dropped the subject. But something about the way he becomes defensive makes you think there may be another reason he isn’t too keen on sharing.

“What I don’t understand is why you would turn down shore leave to serve with someone you can’t stand the sight of. That’s what I don’t understand.” You know better than to bring attention to the bantha in the room, but you figure if you addressed the animosity, he might finally tell you why he isn’t your biggest fan. The last thing you expect, though, is the defensive retaliation he exudes in response.

“Can’t stand? Who…who are you talking about?”

“Come on Captain, feigning ignorance doesn’t suit you.” You huff in frustration, not wanting to elaborate further and make this any more awkward.

“With all due respect sir, you are not making any sense.” He chuckles then, and as beautiful as the sound is, it sets your teeth on edge. How dare he see this as a laughing matter?

“It’s obvious to anyone with a pair of eyes that you find it barely tolerable to be in the same vicinity as me. So I ask again, why did you miss out on a much deserved break to be here?” Against your better judgment, you turn around and face him, not caring for anything happening outside this moment.

“What gave you the impression that I can’t stand you?” Rex stands up and takes a step up towards you, the smile on his face falling instantly when he realizes that you weren’t joking. You were being dead serious. And you definitely believed everything you just said to him.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that anytime we’re in the same room, you find it difficult to stay for more than a few minutes before leaving. Or…or how you constantly meet each one of my tactical suggestions with an unfavorable reaction. Or the fact that you treat me like a child when I’ve clearly proven myself capable of handling any tough situation with ease. Any of these ring a bell?” You’re breathing heavily, unable to look away from him even though you wish you could be anywhere else but in front of the man that has simultaneously inspired so many mixed emotions ever since he came into your life.

“I- I’m…” He hesitates, and you almost feel bad for throwing so much at him at such an inopportune time. When his frown deepens and his eyes shift to the ground, you shake your head and return to observing the lights all around the boats. You envy the little balls of light, wishing you were one of them as they continued to flicker and not give a single care to anything happening around them.

“I am sorry…for ever making you feel all those things when they are the farthest from the truth.” His words cut through you like a long, thin needle, and you find yourself reluctantly turning around to face him once more, wanting to make sure you weren’t imagining what he just admitted.

“I hold you in the highest regard General, and if I ever push back on your commands, it’s never out of respect, but concern. Pure concern.” He swallows nervously, waiting until he has your undivided attention before continuing to confess his own doubts.

“If anything, I feel as if you’ve been actively avoiding me this entire week. With each turn, you somehow find an excuse to leave before I can join your company.” The revelation is enough to set your heart racing, and you have to shut your eyes to focus on calming yourself as you address his impression.

“I- well I just thought that I was bothering you and I figured it wouldn’t make sense if you felt limited simply because I’m around. I wanted to give you the freedom to do whatever you desired, without me standing in the way.” It’s your turn to clear the ruminating misunderstanding, and only when Rex responds shyly do you realize that you’re the source of months and months of misjudgment.

“I see.” Rex is defeated, and you wish you hadn’t brought this up while you’re in the middle of the mission because you want nothing more than to join him down in the lower deck and tell him how sorry you are for causing him to question himself.

“It seems you have every right to think me unfit to lead after all. All these assumptions lead to months of misunderstandings, all because of me.” You break the silence, trying your best to not let either of your revelations bring tears to your eyes. You fist your hands tightly to hold yourself back from doing something that might make him uncomfortable.

“Never, I’d never think that of you.” He meets your eyes instantly, shaking his head and waiting until you accept his peace offering before moving back down to the lower deck.

“I guess it’s best if we just…start fresh.” You say with a faint smile, feeling your chest collapse slowly when Rex returns the smile and nods in agreement.

“As you wish, sir.”

The night air shifts following those four simple words, and you blink a few times at Rex before returning to your place. You’re not sure how long you’re on that boat, but when the wind picks up, you hope things don’t take a turn for the worse before you catch the assassin who, up until a few minutes ago, you were convinced would have already come to you. Rex is awfully quiet and when you glance behind you, you see him holding a small ornament in his hand, the shape of which is unclear until he looks up and notices you staring at him. He shyly shows it to you, and you smile at him when you note what it is.

“Gorgeous bird, isn’t it?”

“What is it?” He gazes at the delicate ornament, its red surface shimmering with flecks of gold and crimson under the soft glow of the night sky and the lights dusted all around the boat.

“It’s a phoenix, a legendary bird that captivates whoever comes across it in the wild with its vibrant colors and remarkable life cycle.” You watch as Rex marvels at how something so small could evoke such warmth, wondering if he knows that he inspires similar feelings in you.

“It’s particularly special to the Dondrians because it’s believed to have originated on their world. Its symbolism of renewal and immortality makes it the perfect representation of what Life Day means to them.”

“What do you mean?” Gently, he turns it in his hands, unwilling to let go of it as he hangs it back where he found it, completely enchanted by its quiet beauty and whom it reminds him of.

“Well, it lives for several hundred years until it reaches a point where it builds a nest of aromatic wood and sets itself ablaze.” You can tell your words surprise him because he looks from you to the small ornament of the bird, face falling at the thought of a bird practically ending its own life.

“It…it kills itself?”

“Yes, and no. As the flames consume it, it is reborn from its own ashes, emerging more radiant and young than before. This cycle of death and rebirth represents the very idea of Life Day…of destruction coming from new life, of the importance of transformation, resilience, and hope. The way it embraces its own death and resurrection encourages others to embrace change and look forward to new beginnings.” The way in which he seems to hold on to every single word you say lights a little blaze of hope deep in your soul, and you pray to the maker that whatever change in your relationship lasts long after tonight comes to an end. Rex nods in understanding, trailing his fingers across the glass bird before switching his attention to similar ornaments hanging all around the two of you.

“They say any representation of the phoenix is supposedly enchanted.” You don’t want the conversation to end, and your smile widens when you see how suddenly interested Rex is in the bird’s mythology.

“Enchanted?”

“Hmm. If you hold that ornament in your hand and wish for anything…anything in this universe, it will fall right into your lap soon after and mark the beginning of a new chapter.” Not even a second later, Rex is taking the phoenix in his hand once more, shutting his eyes and murmuring something to himself. You watch with fascination how utterly captivated he is by the sentiment, and you wonder what he could possibly wish for so quickly. When his eyes flutter open and he finds you already staring at him, he puts the ornament down and stands up, his facial expression turning a lot more serious than a moment ago.

“Sir, I-” “Heads up, someone’s coming.” Anakin cuts him off and you curse the timing of your guest’s arrival. You shut the comm link off completely, mouthing a quick apology to Rex as he moves out of sight while preparing his blaster. You face away from the sound of the approaching boat and pretend to flinch as soon as you hear a loud crashing sound signal the arrival of your wanted man.

“You’re dumber than they told me, more conceited too.” The accent is not lost on you, and you file that little bit of information for later. The wind howls across the water, and you begin to move but hear a warning that prevents you from facing the assassin.

“Ah ahh, turn around slowly.” You hold your hands up as you obey the command, no longer bothering to hide yourself as you fully face him. His breath, a lot calmer than now, comes in short, panicked bursts. His expression falls completely, and you can tell you were the last person he was expecting to see from the fearful air about him.

“You? Where…where is the Prince?” The smirk you could hear before no longer tugs at his lips, his tone more taunting than now that he knew his mission is not possible.

“Like you said, it would have been extremely absurd if we allowed him to come out here by himself.” His eyes widen in horror, and you tilt your head slightly, hesitating to say more when his figure trembles at the mere sight of you.

“You’re a Jedi! You’re the one who saved him.”

“Don’t try anything, you’re surrounded and it won’t be easy to escape.” You reply coolly, gaze sharp and unwavering as recognition flashes across his face.

“This doesn’t have to end badly. Tell me who hired you.” You raise your hand slightly, a subtle warning that you hope he would take to heart and not test. His shoulders sag at the dangerous lilt in your voice, his breathing growing more erratic at the thought of being your captive.

“I- I can’t.” Sweat glistens on his brow as you meet his aggression with an eerie calmness.

“We can help you, please.” Your voice is softer now, still firm but not as menacing as before. Taking a step closer to him, you try to impose some sense of tranquility, but his jaws only tighten, his gaze farting around the empty lake in an attempt to find an answer to his predicament.

“No, you can’t. No one can…if I don’t kill the Prince, he’ll kill me.” His voice cracks, and you watch as his eyes glisten with something between terror and acceptance of what will surely happen now that he failed in his mission.

“Who?” Your question is followed by a panicked raising of the blaster to your head, and before you can give him another warning glance, you hear Rex ascend behind you, blaster aimed at the man’s head and fingers ready to pull the trigger.

“Don’t even think about it.” Rex’s tone adds fuel to the fire, the tension rippling along with the waves hitting the hull of the ship.

“Stand down Captain.” You turn your gaze to Rex, not wanting him to make matters worse.

“I can’t do that sir.” Rex’s voice is tight, and he doesn’t bother meeting your eyes, knowing that if he were to look at you, the man in front of him might take the distraction as an advantage.

“He’ll kill me, he’ll kill all of us.” The words tumble out in a frenzy, making you fist your hands tightly in discomfort. You ignore Rex for the time being, slowly stepping towards the assailant to try and calm him down once more.

“Just tell me who he is and I will make sure you’re safe.” Your voice cuts through the hysteria for a second, and you think you can manage to make him put the blaster down without controlling him, but then he whisks the blaster away from you and towards Rex, the reaction instantly making you see red.

“No, you’re all dead. We’re all dead.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. This conversation is between you and me, not him.” Your tone drops, no longer friendly or soothing, but searing with displeasure at the sudden change of events.

“I’m warning you, this doesn’t have to turn ugly.” You try one last time to make him put the blaster down, but sensing the shift in his demeanor, you light your lightsaber just as he shakes his head in madness and readies the blaster. There’s something strange about the way he continues to look up at the lightning shining across the sky, and you follow his line of sight to see if someone is approaching. His panicked movement increases as the crashing sound of thunder increases, and you narrow your eyes at him, unsure of why he was reacting so drastically to the weather. You find yourself lacking sympathy for him, not because of what he’s done, but because of what you see he’s about to do.

“It’s done, we’re- we’re all d-”

You don’t let him finish, sending your lightsaber straight into his chest before dragging it back to your hands. Neither you nor Rex say anything for a moment, and only when you feel the boat rock violently do you finally snap out of the momentary haze you’re in and tell Rex to hold onto something.

“Pfassk, we need to get back to shore before this storm drowns us.” You’re afraid to look at Rex, unsure of what you’d find swimming in his eyes, if he’s disappointed, shocked or simply disturbed by how easily you took the man’s life. You reach out to the lake bank, focusing on bringing the sail closer to dry land as quickly as possible out of fear of putting Rex’s life and your own in any more danger. It takes longer than you like, but as soon as you reach Anakin, you exit the boat and remove your cloak, quickly handing it over to Rex before asking the others to drag the dead body away.

“What happened?”

“He was manic…violent.” Rex answers Anakin’s question when you remain quiet, and as Anakin tries to learn anything from the soulless body, you stop pacing behind him and apply pressure to your side, the lack of adrenaline making way for a familiar, stabbing pain.

“This fucking weather happened. He- maker, he would have listened to me. He would have, but the lightning terrified him. It was almost as if he thought it was after him.”

“So you killed him?” Anakin holds his hands up in question, not understanding why you changed your mind when you were the one who told him why you had to be on that boat, and not him.

“No, I killed him because he aimed his blaster the wrong way.” Your voice is almost unrecognizable to you, and you watch as your old friend shrugs his shoulders before telling his men to take away the body.

“We need to leave, or else we’ll get caught in this storm.” You remind them one last time, waiting until they start moving before turning around and looking to gauge Rex’s reaction to this whole ordeal.

“Tell the Prince they can resume their festivities tonight if they wish. Assuming this doesn’t turn into a blizzard.” You tell Anakin, who nods in agreement and sprints ahead, not wanting to waste any more time outside now that the problem was “solved.”

“You don’t think there’ll be another?” Rex asks and you shake your head instantly, elaborating on why you think there isn’t another assassin running around.

“No, whoever is behind this wouldn’t take the chance. One wouldn’t talk, two is too high a probability.” You meet his eyes for longer than you deem appropriate, and when he looks away first, you study your surroundings before heading behind Anakin, towards the royal palace.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to my room, I think diplomacy can wait till tomorrow. Good night Captain.” You don’t bother turning around as you respond to him, knowing that you won’t be able to hold back from apologizing for your actions if you see an unfavorable expression aimed at you.

An oddly familiar warmth engulfs you the farther you walk away from Rex, and it’s only when you’re back in your room that you realize what that sensation is. You’re confused as to how you could possibly be receptive to Rex’s feelings, but it occurs to you that you may be feeling a fraction of his own emotions simply because he’s allowing you to. Of course it may be unintentional on his side, but be that as it may, a part of him is so in tune with you that the Force decided to connect you to each other, or at least, make you respond to him on a much deeper level than you ever thought possible.

You stand in the middle of your quarters, recalling every single word you’ve exchanged with Rex during the past rotation. As upset as you are with how certain things turned out, you come to appreciate them all, especially the fact that the two of you were sent on this mission together. You were finding the Life Day Celebrations extremely difficult to enjoy because of your relationship with the Captain, but if anything was proven in the past few hours, it’s that the time of year was truly on your side.

You make your way to the refresher and find the bacta patch Kix gave you earlier, sighing irritatingly when you realize you forgot to change it. You strip off your clothes and stand in front of the mirror, biting into your cheek as you remove the bacta patch and throw it away. You find the wound almost healed, and you thank the maker you wouldn’t have to deal with it for a longer period. Letting it breathe for a few seconds, you walk around and turn on the hot water, wanting to bathe in a nice, warm bath before whatever you will have to do tomorrow. You move back to the mirror and unsheath the replacement patch, slowly applying it on your skin, and shivering when the cold chemicals make contact with the wound and the skin surrounding it.

Unbeknownst to you, Rex has debriefed with Anakin and was already heading your way, wanting to make sure that you made it back safely and weren’t in need of anything. He hesitates for a long moment before knocking softly on your door several times, and when he doesn’t hear a response, he unlocks the door and walks in, taking in the small space before calling out for you again. He frowns at the lack of response, knowing that you were in much need of a good night rest. The room is dim, illuminated only by the light filtering through the windows behind the bed. Thinking that you didn’t make it back yet, he’s about to exit when he hears your groans echo through the refresher.

“Sir?” Rex tries, and when your whines only grow louder, he takes out his blaster and readies himself for whatever threat is in the refresher with you. The muffled sounds only grow, and he’s alarmed at the prospect of what he might find when he barges in. Taking calculated steps across the room, he finds the door to the refresher slightly ajar, and as soon as the quiet moan of discomfort reverberates in his ears, he takes two quick strides and pushes the door open, scanning the room in an attempt to find the source of your pained grunts. When he sees you standing half-naked in the middle of the refresher, with your hands massaging the skin around the wound, he lowers his blaster and shuts his eyes, cursing at his lack of sensibility.

“Ahh kriffing hells. Oh maker, I- I’m sorry General. I thought that you were harmed and- pfassk.” Rex stammers through an apology, his face growing heated at catching you in such a vulnerable state. The tub beside you is half-full, and Rex feels his armor tightening around his crotch, images of you moaning in ecstasy as the water relieved all of your pain making him wish he was anywhere else but here.

“That’s okay Rex,” you cut him off when you see his face burning with embarrassment, and you do your best to not dwell on the heat from before suddenly wrapping around you like a tight, weighted blanket. It’s endearing how shy he is being with you, and you’re about to giggle at his overreaction when you turn around and find his eyes set on you. There’s a different expression on his handsome features now, and you tilt your head to the side in confusion, unsure of why he was looking at you in such an intimate way.

“What?” You decide to ask, knowing that things couldn’t possibly get any more awkward than they already have.

“I’ve never heard you say my name before.” The comment throws you off guard, and you look around the foggy room, hoping to find a response written somewhere. You meet his gaze again, and notice his body language relax, as if the sound of his name on your lips was all he needed to hear to grow more comfortable with you.

“That can’t be true.” You know he’s not wrong, but you are also aware that you’ve called his name about a thousand times in the privacy of your room. You’ve called his name more often than you care to admit, but he had no way of knowing that, not when, up until a few hours ago, he genuinely thought you disliked him.

“Believe me, I would remember it if you did.” He chuckles at you, the sound far from humorous and fully self-deprecating. There’s nothing comforting you can say to him, and you rub your temples to alleviate the sudden throbbing ache circling around your head. When he doesn’t move, you walk across the room to shut off the running water, distracting yourself from the predicament you now found yourself in.

“Is there something you needed, Captain? I’m not exactly dressed for a debriefing but we’ll have to make do.” You stand up and motion around the room, wanting to get this over with so you can drown in self-pity when you’re left alone.

“No General, I only wanted to- well, I came here to see if…” He’s tripping over his words, and it would be endearing if it weren’t for the fact that he just indirectly admitted to you what he felt when you called his name.

“I know I’m not exactly being professional here but, since when do you get so tongue-tied around me?” You test the waters against your better judgement, wanting to see how far you can take this before one of you cracks. Rex shakes his head in defeat, and you realize that there’s no point in taking this any further, not when the man in front of you refused to cross the professional boundaries setting you apart. You couldn’t blame him.

“Okay, here’s the thing Rex. I am freezing cold, and from what I’ve heard, the water won’t stay heated for a long time, especially during this weather. So until you decide what you want to do here, I will be getting in.” You take your slippers off and take a few steps around the tub, completely missing the puddle that collected from the flowing water.

“CAReful!” Rex is behind you in the blink of an eye, arms caging you against his chest to prevent you from slipping and hurting yourself. You grab onto his arms to right yourself but the floor is too wet, and you find yourself awfully closer to him than a second ago. You meet his gaze and are suddenly mesmerized by the hazel green of his eyes, the ones you can barely see around his dilated pupils.

“Kriff, that would have been a really bad fall. Thank you.” Your attempt at a joke is met with a serious expression, and you drop the smile when Rex slowly steps away from the slippery floor to help you stand up. He lets go of you as soon as you stand up, and you find yourself a little hurt at how quickly he wants to step away from you.

“For a Jedi, your reflexes sure are slow.” The comment is far from insulting, meant to diffuse the tension rising due to the circumstances, but for some reason, your mind decides to make things worse and respond with a statement that is far from harmless.

“I guess we’re even now.” Rex’s expression falls as he continues staring at you, and he doesn’t dare say anything in return as he walks around you and makes his way out of the refresher. Something in the way he seems to be genuinely hurt by your comment makes you run after him and pull his arm to prevent him from leaving. He stops but doesn’t face you, and you suspect it may be because he is angry with how you make light of such a crucial moment.

“I- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Please don’t- don’t be mad at me. I know we barely resolved our misunderstanding but I- I just… just don’t leave.” Your voice cracks as you practically beg him to stay, and only when he takes a deep breath and relaxes his shoulders slightly do you finally let go of him.

“You think I’m angry with you?” He turns around slowly and frowns at you, questioning your apology in a way that makes you think you were completely in the wrong.

“Aren’t you?” You nervously play with your fingers, looking away from him when you can’t bear the scrutiny of his hurt impression any longer.

“No, maker no. I have never once, in my life, felt anything other than respect for you.” He reaches out for you, placing both of his hands on your shoulders to make sure you are listening to every word he’s saying.

“Oh,” unfortunately for Rex, you misunderstand his confession and sag your shoulders in disappointment. Of course he wouldn’t feel anything more for you. Why would he? You’ve given him no reason to feel a fraction of what you’ve felt for him for so long.

“I am not angry with you, mesh’la. I am angry at the prospect of you thinking my life is more important than yours, at you forgoing your principles just to save me.” Rex sees the way you shift uncomfortably, the weight of his words settling heavily between you. His gaze is steady, and you can’t help but return it when you see the fierce protectiveness he’s exuding, one you had not expected to encounter in such an intimate setting.

“You- you jumped in harm’s way to save me, not even thinking of your own well-being. And later…on the boat, I saw the way you changed when he aimed his blaster at me.” He clarifies further, the revelation sending goosebumps down your arms and forcing you to step closer to him. You furrow your eyebrows at the implication behind his words, placing your hands on his chest without caring for any repercussions.

“Of course I did, what else would you expect me to do?”

“Not sacrifice yourself for someone like me.” His answer comes in heated, and the level of hurt you feel rising in your throat makes you push him away from you.

“What do you mean ‘someone like you’?” You snap at him, shaking your head in disbelief at what you’re hearing from him of all people.

“I’m not as important as you are. I’m replaceable.” Rex must not expect such a reaction because he steps towards you right away, grabbing both of your wrists to speak words that he doesn’t realize hurt you more than him.

“You- you think your life isn’t worth mine? Why…why would you even say that Rex? What makes you think you can even believe something so far from the truth?” Tears well up in your eyes as you look at him, voice trembling with emotion at the thought of Rex believing something absolutely false. He hesitates for a moment, struggling to find the right words as you melt into his arms.

“Because I’m that one that should protect you. I should be the one making sure you’re safe.” He finally replies, his voice barely louder than a whisper. Again, it must not be the right thing to say because you only get more annoyed, fisting your hands and slightly pushing on his chest to keep his attention.

“I hate to break it to you but that’s a two-way road, Rex. If I had to, I would do it again.” You say matter of factly, wanting him to fully understand that you don’t see yourself as any more important than him.

“Why?” He lets go of your shoulders and slides his hands down your arms, enveloping your fists in the palms of his hands.

“Because I- I’m your…” His grip tightens around you as you struggle to tell him what you feel for him. You avoid his eyes but he tugs you into his chest and makes sure you’re looking at him before he interrupts you.

“What? You’re my General? You want me to believe you’re willing to die for me, or even change your own rules because you’re my superior?”

“N-no…it’s not just that.” You shake your head, knowing that you should tell him the truth regardless of how difficult it can be for you.

“Then tell me.” He begs softly, leaning into you until he touches his forehead with your own. The warmth of his skin sets you on fire, making you wish you could just confess to him and deal with the consequences later.

“Tell me why you’d risk your life for mine.” Rex’s eyes soften as he shuts them completely, and if you weren’t so held up on whether his feelings were mutual or not, you would have understood what he was trying to tell you through the intimate gesture.

“I can’t.”

“Tell me cyar’ika.”

“Rex, I-”

“Tell me me’suum’ika…please.” He cuts you off then, his pleading storming your heart with waves of emotions so overwhelming that you have no choice but to give him what he wants.

“Because if anything were to happen to you, my life will be over.” You admit, voice shaking with fear and relief at finally letting go of the secret you’ve held onto for months.

“Mesh’la,” the word is whispered with a warmth and gentleness that shake you to your core, and you finally open your eyes to look at him, finding nothing but adoration and tenderness staring right back at you.

“Rex.”

“I can’t protect you tonight.” His gaze is…it’s more intense than you’ve ever seen, but it’s unwavering as it descends to your lips and refuses to attend to anything else.

“Hmm?” You’re confused by his choice in words, caught even more off guard by the weight of them as you try to make sense of what he wants to tell you.

“I said…I can’t protect you tonight.” His voice is low, almost strained, sending you spiraling down into an abyss of an unquenchable fire.

“W-why?” Your throat tightens, brows furrowing at the way Rex struggles with what to say in response.

“Because every second I spend near you, not being able to touch you, or kiss you, or whisper how kriffing badly I have it for you is torture. It’s absolute torture. And now that I am here, with you looking so lovely, so- so…irresistible, telling me what I am to you, I can’t hold back any longer.” He exhales sharply, hands moving from your hands to your neck for a brief moment before you feel them wrap around you and pull you flush against his chest.

“Then don’t.” The air between you cackles with tension, and Rex’s breath hitches at the raw, pleading tone you grace him with.

“If you let me taste your lips, know that I will never let you go.” He’s gathering the strength to speak, and when his eyes burn with an intensity that steals your breath away, it occurs to you that he’s barely holding himself back from you.

“Rex?” He looks at you then, committing every curve of your face to memory as you call for him again, his heart stuttering at the raw vulnerability mirrored in your own pupils.

“Please kiss me.” His answer doesn’t come in words, but in the way he shuts his eyes as he closes the distance between the two of you. His fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that feels like a breaking storm—wild, unrelenting, and long overdue. You had expected him to be timid, gentle even, but the untamed way in which he instantly swallows your moans makes your knees weak, and you have to wrap your arms around his neck to prevent yourself from falling to the ground.

You’re not sure who is more desperate, you or Rex, but as the kiss becomes more heated, you feel as if your lungs will collapse from the sheer need and surrender moving between the two of you. And as his hand cups the side of your face, you tremble at the sensation of his thumb as it traces your jaw until he tilts your head to the side.

“Ohh g-gods,” you break the kiss for a fraction of a second, but Rex is unrelenting, claiming your mouth fully and moving his lips over yours until every inch of your skin comes alive with fire. You’re urgent in your touches as well, afraid that he will let go any moment and you realize this is all just a dream. But the more he consumes your skin, the quicker your heartbeat thunders against your chest and you press yourself closer to him in an attempt to ground yourself.

When he does finally let go, your breath comes in short, shaky gasps, but there’s no time to collect yourself. His lips descend down your neck, and you throw your head back, pleasure coursing through your veins so quickly that you have to muffle your mouth to hold back from screaming his name. The small gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by Rex and he pulls back far enough to catch your attention, waiting until you’re blinking confusingly at him before he returns to your neck.

“No, you don’t hide your noises from me. You have no idea how many nights I spent imagining you in my arms…moaning for me, begging me to touch you and pull every ounce of pleasure from your body.” He leaves a searing trail of fire with each wet kiss, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin and biting down harshly when you moan in return.

“But what if Anakin-” He growls at the mention of his friend’s name, his chest tightening at the sound of another man’s name on your lips. His hand trails down your neck to your waist, squeezing you tightly as he slides his tongue down your sternum and coaxes more sounds from you the lower he goes. Rex looks up briefly, smirking with pride when he sees how disoriented you’ve become from such simple touches.

“I don’t care, let him hear. Let them all hear, I want everyone on this planet to know who’s making you feel good. Do you understand me…General?” His confession burns through you, and he zeroes in on the pulse thundering against your neck, biting down harshly as his heart tingles with each moan you sing to him. The way he says your title, so possessive and crazes, sends a fresh wave of desire through you, and you have to fight not to crumble entirely beneath his touches.

“F-fuck, yes…yes Captain. I- whatever you want.” You gasp, voice breaking as you feel yourself sinking against him. You grip at his shoulders for some semblance of stability, the cool edge of his armor digging into your arms and reminding you how naked you are.

“Come here,” his tone is commanding, full of raw desire, and you shiver at the power behind it, swearing beneath your breath when he leans down and slides his hands firmly around your lower back.

“But the water-” You giggle at how quickly he moves from the refresher to the bedroom, and you feel yourself growing wet at how easily he picks you up.

“You don’t need the water to keep you warm.” Rex shakes his head, leaning down and giving you a quick peck on the lips before settling you down on your sheets.

“No?” You tease, lower lip trapped between your teeth as you try to hold back from snickering at what he’s making you feel.

“No baby, that’s what I’m here for.” he murmurs, leaning in close until he cages you between his arms. The bed dips beneath him, and you feel your heart racing at finally having your dreams come true. His eyes barely have any color left in them, and you squeeze your thighs together, excited at being the reason behind such a visceral reaction.

“And exactly how will you w-warm me up?” You trail your hand down up his neck, tracing his cheeks softly and shivering when you feel the rough stubble of his jaw kiss your palms.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Rex chuckles, the sound vibrating through the quiet air of the room and making you even more nervous. He draws deliberate circles against your breasts, watching with bated breath as your eyes shut instantly.

“Yes…oh kriff, please Rex. Tell me…tell me.” The need you display to him nearly makes him choke. Never in his life did he think he’d have such an effect on you, but he doesn’t question it, instead giving you more so he can hear what he does to you.

“Let’s see,” Rex leans closer, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he speaks with a sinful whisper, “I’ll start off by kissing down your body.”

“Hmm,” the image alone leaves you breathless, and you tilt your head to the side to give him better access to your neck, not caring for how loud you’re getting as your moans turn into long sighs.

“And while you moan at feeling my hands trace your soft skin, I’ll…pull away.” His words trail off, and he suddenly pulls back completely, creating a rift between you that has you sitting up quickly and grabbing his kama to prevent him from getting off the bed.

“N-no don’t,” you plead desperately, refusing to let go of him as he returns to your side and kisses your forehead.

“Shhh, don’t worry mesh’la. I’m not going anywhere.” He catches your wrists, pressing them against his chest to still you before slowly standing up again. He doesn’t break your gaze, and he waits until you relax to begin taking off his armor. You swallow the lump in your throat when you finally register what he just called you, and your breathe trembles as you nod in agreement,

“But for me to show you how much I crave you, I need to remove all of this.” The promise in his voice makes you wish he could put you out of your misery and take you then and there. But you know better than to distract him.

“Rex,” you whine his name like a prayer, unable to hide how much you want him.

“I know sweetheart, I know. But it’s all part of the plan, how else will I keep you running…hot for me.”

“Force help me,” your head falls back as a groan slips past your lips, and you don’t notice where your hand descends until you feel Rex slipping his fingers around your wrist and shoving your arm away from your heated core.

“You can call out all you want, little Jedi, but the only one here is me…so you better put my name to good use.” Rex leans in close again, hovering just above your body as he taunts you with promises. His voice is a delicious growl, one that has you shaking with anticipation and pulling another moan from your throat.

“Rex…”

“Better,” the satisfaction in his eyes is unmistakable, and he brushes his lips against yours in a featherlight kiss that leaves you chasing after him when he pulls away to strip.

“Please Rex, I need you.” You beg sweetly, the words spilling out before you can stop them. You should be embarrassed by how wanton you sound, but you find that you couldn’t care any less, the need to have Rex settle between your thighs outgrowing any shame you have.

“I thought you needed to hear what I want to do to you?” His expression is dark and unreadable as he places his armor on the floor. He stands in nothing but the black body glove he wears beneath his armor, and you’re overwhelmed by how much you can see of him that you shut your eyes and throw your head back. Rex uses the momentary distraction to his advantage, sliding his eyes down your body to sketch a mental image of you in case he never gets to do this again. When he’s had his fair share of you, he removes the rest of his clothes until he’s not wearing anything.

“Look at me cyar’ika,” he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument. When you obey and open your eyes, the air leaves your lungs dramatically, your mind unable to accept the fact that he’s more naked than you are, that you’re finally, finally, seeing all of him.

“You- you’re torturing me.” You’re shaking with lust, praying to the Force that Rex decides to lose control and take what he wants.

“Is that right?” His lips curl into a knowing smirk, the ghost of a laugh escaping him and making you flush embarrassingly as he moves on top of you. “Oh…maker,” there is no hesitation in his movements, just a careful balance of control and desperate need. Rex holds you tightly in his arms and kisses you until neither of you can breathe. You think he might break you and for a brief moment, you want him to, if only so he could know how much you belong to him. You arch your back into him, trying to adjust to the overwhelming sensation of having his skin slide against yours.

“Am I pleasing to you?” Rex lets go and wraps his hand around your neck, not firmly, but just to have you look at him. The muscles of his jaw flexes as he watches you lose control, his voice reverent as he practically begs for you to answer him.

“You have no idea,” your fingers curl into his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you try to somehow bring him even closer to you.

“I think I have some id-” he smiles faintly, dipping down to kiss along your collarbone before moving further down your body. His words are cut off by a groan when he feels you scratch his head. He can feel every inch of you growing hotter beneath his touch, and he doesn’t hold back any longer, not caring for how aggressive he’s being as he slips two fingers beneath your panties and tugs violently until they rip in his hands. You squeal suddenly, partly shocked by the reaction, but mostly turned on by how much he craves you. Before you can even register what he’s doing, Rex is shoving your thighs apart and kissing your inner thighs, the scent of your cunt hitting his nostrils and making him growl, the sound rumbling from his chest and setting you on fire.

“Fuck mesh’la, you say I’m torturing you but the taste of you makes me…it- hmmm, kriff.” The gutteral sound sends heat pooling in your core, and you find yourself clinging to him even harder as you feel this lips ghost against the outer lips of your pussy.

“Rex,” you whimper, his name slipping from your lips as though it was the only word you knew.

“I know I begged you to call my name, but…if you keep moaning it so shamelessly, this night will come to an end a lot quicker.” Rex stills suddenly, looking up at you with wild eyes, his control hanging by an extremely thin thread.

“I- I don’t care Rex, I want you…I just want you, please.” You plead over and over again, trying your best to pull him up so he can forgo whatever he had in mind for you and just fuck you then and there.

“But I need to get you- oh, Force help me.” He moves up your body, pressing his forehead against yours and tripping over his words when he feels you wrap your hands around his hard cock.

“I’m already so wet for you baby, please…take me.” You whisper, desperation dripping from every word you pray to him. He’s heavy in the palm of your hand, hot and hard to the touch, and you wonder if this is how it will always be with him. You pray it is.

Maker, please.

“You should know, I need you so desperately that I- I may not be able to hold back.” His breathing grows ragged, the restraint unraveling rapidly the more you slide and squeeze his dick. He shuts his eyes and fists the sheets beneath you, and you can’t help but lean forward and kiss his jaw softly, licking down his throat and biting into the skin between his neck and his shoulder when he sinks against you.

Smiling at how easily you can bring his guards down, you pull him closer until your lips brush his ear, whispering the one sentiment you’ve thought of ever since you met him.

“Rex, I want you to fuck me like you hate me.”

“Oh, me’suum’ika, I don’t want to do that.” His head snaps up, eyes narrowing as he stares down at you with a tenderness that melts you. Rex presses his nose to your temple, sighing your name over and over again until you let go of him and bring him down for a kiss. He pushes you harder into the bed, slipping his hand behind your back to undo your chest band before throwing it behind him. You break the kiss to look at him, and Rex is sure he’s never seen a more beautiful sight in his entire life.

“I want to fuck you like I can’t breathe without you. I want to fuck you like I can’t get the thought of you out of my head…I want to fuck you like you’re mine, and I’m yours.”

Your heart swells at the raw, needy emotion in his words, and your hands slips into his hair, scratching it softly and smiling with tears in your eyes when he leans into the touch and groans in return.

“I am, I’ve been yours Rex. Only yours.”

“Shit, you’re going to be the death of me baby.” Rex exhales shakily, attacking your chest with more kisses and waiting until he hears you call for him again before taking a nipple in between his teeth. You arch your back against him, opening your thighs so he can settle better against you before crossing your legs behind his back. As soon as you feel his cock tease at your entrance, a wave of shameless desire seeps through your body and you feel your cunt throb in pain at having him so close.

“I- ohhh gods, I can’t wait any longer Rex.” You squirm beneath him, the action sliding his cock against you and making him bite your sensitive bud in return. “But…you deserve to be loved cyare. Slowly, deeply, passionately.” He wants nothing more than to push his cock into your pussy, but he waits, wanting to make sure that you’re ready for him so he doesn’t hurt you.

“We can d-do that later, however long you want…whenever you like. But I need to feel you inside me, now.” You shake your head, voice desperate and lust-filled. He studies you for a brief moment, and when he finds nothing but a needy truth swimming in your eyes, he pushes away and leans back to get a better look at you. His eyes zero in on your cunt, and his cock twitches at finally having you naked and willing beneath him.

“Spread your legs wide for me, and if it’s too much…if I’m too much, tell me.” Rex swallows hard, his eyes softening before darkening once more. You nod quickly, watching him as he takes hold of his cock and slides it across your cunt to spread your juices on him. The gesture is so filthy, and if it were any other man, you would have found it off-putting. But this was Rex, and you had only imagined him fucking you about a thousand times.

“R-rex,” you gasp as he slowly pushes into you, the sensation both overwhelming and mind-bending. Rex can’t take his eyes off of where you’re connected, and his breathing picks up when he begins to feel you clench around him, his cock sliding with ease from how wet you are. He can’t believe that he barely touched you and you were so ready for him, but he pushes the thought aside, wanting to relish every second he’s allowed to be inside you.

“Ah f-fuck, you’re…you’re so warm, so kriffing warm and tight.” He curses softly, his head falling back briefly before his eyes return to your cunt once more.

“I want to feel all of you Rex,” you run your hands over his arms, feeling the tense muscles shift with every movement. You silently wish that he falls against you so you can feel his body atop yours, and it must be evident in the way your eyes trail up and down his body because he slowly pushes himself on top of you, his cock sinking deeper into you as he shifts closer.

“Sweet girl, my beautiful jetii’ika.” Rex looks down at you, his eyes filled with awe and reverence, and something that should terrify you but instead makes you feel warm and cherished.

“You’re s-so deep inside me Rex, I feel…full.” Your voice hitches as he continues to push his dick inside you until he’s fully seated deep in your cunt. You bite into your fingers but Rex shakes his head, reminding you of his warning from earlier.

“Remember, your sounds are mine tonight. I want to hear everything that I do to you.” He grits his teeth, hands digging into your hips as he forces you to let go of your fingers and call his name.

“I love being this close to you... it’s perfect.” You confess, barely managing to string together a coherent thought as you feel him throbbing inside you.

“God, you feel so tight around me…” He wants to pull back and thrust inside you, but he holds back out of fear of hurting you. It’s only when he feels you wrap your legs around him and force him to move that he understands what you want from him. He pulls out until the crown of his cock is seated perfectly in between your pussy lips, and as soon as you moan for him, he thrusts back inside, the sensation sending his mind in a frenzy and nearly making him fuck you into oblivion. Rex stops for a moment, wanting to keep himself in check so he doesn’t terrify you by how much he craves you.

“Mmm, and you feel so big, so fucking hard and big. Move, Rex…please.” You throw your head to the side, biting into his wrist and whining in ecstasy when he obeys you and slowly snaps his hips against you.

“You’re so wet for me already and I haven’t even fucked you yet.” He mutters beneath his breath, licking and sucking on your neck as he continues to shove his cock inside you, suddenly feeling dizzy at how perfect you feel around him. What he doesn’t expect is for you to chuckle in response and meet his gaze in an intense gaze, parting your lips and answering him with another, lust-filled confession.

“That’s because I- hmmm, I’ve imagined you fucking me every night since we met, and- and now that I’m here, in your arms-” You gasp at a particularly hard thrust, digging your nails into Rex’s back and smiling when you see his features turn into a mixture of pain and pleasure.

“Tell me baby,” he coaxes, his voice rough with desire as he continues to fuck you passionately.

“Nothing compares to h-how you fill me up, Rex.” You confess, shaking at how perfectly Rex feels inside of you, cock hard and hot as it slides against your tight walls.

“You have no idea mesh’la,” you can tell his control is slipping further, and you wonder what it would take for him to lose all control and take you as you desire.

“I can- can feel how much you want this.” He leans down and swallows your moans, slipping his tongue inside of you and claiming your mouth while his cock claims your cunt.

“Yes... don’t stop. Go deeper, just like that.” You wrap your arms around him, breathing heavily against his ears as you feel him push into you with a pace that’s nearly blinding.

“You’re taking me so well, baby. This cunt was made for me, perfect fucking pussy. I can spend hours between your legs.” Rex’s voice comes out heavy, and he reaches down to place his arm around one of your thighs so he can push it higher and come closer against you.

“Please, harder…fuck me harder Captain.” You cry out, overwhelmed by the sensations Rex continues to rip from your body.

“Whatever you want to make you lose control, General.” Rex groans in return, his pace brutal and unrelenting as he feels his stomach begin to tighten. The sound of skin meeting skin echoes through the room, a frenzied beat that matches the pounding in his heart, he suspects, yours as well. He pulls back just enough to look at you, and when he finds you biting your lower lip to contain yourself, he slams harder into you until he has your attention.

“Look at me while I’m inside you... let me see how much you love this.” He demands assertively, eyes searching your own he feels sweat drip from his brow. There is a thick haze of lust clouding the room, and before you can even answer him, he thrusts harder, deeper, inside you, forcing your body to react in ways he only dreamt of. “Rex…I- I’m, I’m yours... all yours.” You acknowledge him without even thinking, the need dripping from your words matching the same one you can see storming in his eyes.

“You have all of me cyare, my heart, my soul…my everything.” Your confession drives him mad, and the look of pure ecstasy etching on your features sends him reeling, his body trembling as you cling on to him while he pushes you closer to the edge. You sob with pleasure as his movements pick up, his words igniting something primal inside of you.

“That’s it, baby. I can feel you getting closer. Don’t hold back—let go for me. Come for me. I want to feel you squeeze me..fall apart for me.” The possessiveness radiating off of him in waves should terrify you, but instead, you tighten your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer to you so you can feel every inch of him as he coats your walls with his seed. The tension in your body is palpable, every nerve lit up like a wildfire as you approach that inevitable release. Rex must feel it too because he sinks into the crook of your neck, breathing in the scent of your sweat and something sweet that he might never forget.

“I’m so close... oh fuck, I’m going to come!” You cry against him, voice breaking as your body teeters on the brink of bliss.

“Fuck- I…I can’t. I need to-” His rhythm begins to stutter, his breathing becoming heavier and more erratic as he fights to hold on until he feels you come on his cock. Rex’s grip on you tightens, his fingertips pressing into your skin as if he’s trying to anchor himself to reality, to the gift the universe has handed him after so long.

“Don’t hold back, Rex. I want you to come for me, come inside me. I want to feel you…want to take you so deep, fill me up. Please…p-please Rex,” you plead, clawing at his back as you show him that you need him just as desperately. Hearing you beg for him to fill you with his cum shatters the last of his resolve, his pace faltering as he buries himself inside you to the hilt. A guttural groan tears from his throat as he finally lets go, the pleasure crashing over him overtaking him just as it engulfs your body. He feels you tighten around him, your body convulsing so violently that he can’t figure out whether it’s you who’s crying in pleasure or him.

You’re completely spent, your pussy throbbing harshly as you feel Rex shoot long, hot spurts of his seed deep inside you. It shouldn’t please you so much, but knowing that you have him reach places inside you that no one else will make the pleasure all the more intense, and you twist your head until you can kiss along his neck, silently letting him know that you will never belong to anyone else but him.

He collapses over you then, supporting himself on his forearms so he doesn’t suffocate you. His head is still buried in your neck as you both gasp for air, body trembling slightly as he presses soft kisses to your skin in return. His lips linger over your pulse point where he can feel your heartbeat racing as quickly as his own. Rex lifts his head until he meets your eyes, his own brimming with affection as he smiles at you and nudges your nose with his.

“Baby, you’re everything to me.”

“Rex, I…I think I-” you start, voice quiet and uncertain, afraid that once you tell him what you feel, you will lose it all…lose him.

“I know. Cyare, I know.” He murmurs gently, his hand cradling your face as he leans down and kissing you slowly until you feel nothing but warmth and understanding.

And in that moment, you have no doubt that something deeper than words binds the two of you, something that no one will ever be able to take away from you.

Against his wishes, Rex pulls out of you with a groan, biting into his lower lip when he hears you whine with contention. You don’t let him go too far, sliding against his side and nuzzling into his chest as he pulls the covers above the two of you.

A comfortable silence fills the air and after a while, you look up to find Rex meditating deeply, his attention focused on the ceiling high above you.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask, fingers moving up and down his chest in a soothing way.

“I’m thinking of what will happen tomorrow now that you won’t be keeping your distance anymore.” He means it as a joke, but when he looks down and sees your hurt expression, he drops the smile and leans over to kiss you, letting you know that he meant no harm by the comment and was just teasing you.

“Rex, I’ll do whatever you want to do going forward. If you want me to act as if nothing has changed, I’ll do that. And if you want to tell your brothers, it would make me feel so happy…and- and if you want me to leave the Order, give up everything…I will gladly do so without a second thought.” Rex’s expression shifts, his brow furrowed beneath the shadow of his close-cropped hair. He looks at you like he’s trying to make sense of your words, trying to fit them into the reality he had come to know in the past rotation.

“You- you would leave the Jedi for me?” His voice is rough with disbelief, and for a moment, he is genuinely convinced he has misheard you. The idea that someone like you— strong, steadfast, bound by your sworn duty to the Jedi and the Republic—would ever consider leaving all of it…for him…maker, it seemed impossible. It had to be.

“I would do anything for you just to have you keep looking at me the way you are now.” You cut through his disbelief with the utmost sincerity, gaze never once wavering as you do your best to make him understand what he means to you. The silence that follows hangs heavy in the air, and Rex swallows hard as searches for the right words, for anything that could match the depth of what you just offered him. He reaches out, trailing his fingers over your cheeks as he leans down to meet your lips in a chaste kiss. The touch of his lips is reverent, as if he wants to assure himself that you are real, that you are in his arms, that you are willingly giving yourself to him without a second thought.

When he finally pulls away and sees tears pricking against your eyes, he smiles at you and nods in understanding.

“How about we go day by day, and when this war is over, we can reassess.” He finally says, his voice less anxious than before. He lays back down and pulls you into his arms, hands going to your waist to pull you flush against him. You cry out in pain and push yourself away from him, the reaction catching Rex by surprise and making him sit up to see what he’s done When he sees you grabbing at your wound and hissing in discomfort, dread settles in his chest as he realizes he forgot the wound and handled you a lot more aggressively that he should have.

“Kriff, your side…I- I completely forgot. Mesh’la, are you-” He leans over to assess the bacta patch, wanting to see the damage he’s done and already thinking of what to tell Kix when he asks him to come and inspect the wound. His panic rises as you push his hand away and look down to find the patch still in place, and only when you’re sure no blood has seeped through do you grab Rex’s hand and settle it against the wound.

“Rex, relax. I- to be honest with you, I’m not sure whether or not I felt any pain. I was so far gone in our…activities, that I didn’t really focus on anything else.” His eyes are less anxious as you allow him to massage the skin around the wound, and when he sees there are no lies in your words, he nods and studies the irritated skin one last time before settling back down, bringing you into his chest gently.

He smiles when he feels you kiss just above his heart, giggling softly when you pinch his side and tease him for being so cuddly.

“Can I ask you something?” It’s his turn to interrupt the silence filling the room, and tilt your head up to nod at him.

“Anything!” His lips twitch into the faintest of smiles at the earnestness in your voice, his heart skipping a beat at the prospect of giving him the answer he’s been seeking for months on end.

“At what point did your feelings switch from wanting to be with me physically to…to whatever they are now?” Rex hesitates, choosing his words carefully and refusing to look anywhere else out of fear of missing a change in your facial expressions. When your brow lifts and your hand returns to his stomach, you can’t help but smile at him and shift your gaze to a fixed point somewhere on the skin beneath your palm.

“You mean when did I know that I’m yours?” His face flushes with embarrassment, but he nods instantly, not wanting to turn this moment awkward by his boyish reaction to your rather honest sentiment.

“I don’t think I can pinpoint a day or an hour, it all happened so suddenly and I didn’t realize how deep my feelings ran for you until I was so far gone in them.” You exhale deeply, turning a little contemplative as you admit to him everything you’ve felt for the past year or so.

“If I were to pick a reason though, it would have to be the way you carry yourself with your brothers, with Anakin even.” He looks down at you then, his gaze unwavering as he feels his soul light with a fire that he’s sure no one will ever put out now that you’ve kindled it.

“Seeing you give up so much to ensure your brothers live for another day stirred something inside me. And knowing that you’d follow Anakin into a battlefield without a second thought is…it’s- maker Rex, you’re amazing. You’re the best man I’ve ever met.” Your voice cracks slightly with emotion, a few tears rolling down your cheeks as you let him know that you will never care for anyone more than you care for him. Rex blinks down at you, stunned into silence at the raw honesty behind your words.

“The loyalty, the courage—it speaks volumes.” His chest tightens as you speak those words, and he can’t help but turn to face you fully so he can focus on nothing else but the way you fit perfectly in his arms.

“Come here, me’suum’ika.” He wraps his arms around you and molds you into his chest, stealing the breath from your lungs with a kiss that you’re sure would rival all the others he’s gifted you with so far. You let him take whatever he wants from you, sliding your arm around his back to feel every inch of him as he makes you forget the universe outside of your room.

“What does that word mean?” You smile at him when he finally breaks the kiss and trails his lips across your cheeks and down your neck.

“It means ‘little moon.’” Rex murmurs gently, as if he was sharing a secret meant only for your ears. Your heart swells at the tender nickname, and you press yourself closer to him, wanting to stay in his embrace for as long as you’re allowed. You breathe his presence to anchor yourself to him, refusing to acknowledge the chaos of the war raging outside your existence, here in this moment.

“Stay with me tonight,” you whisper pleadingly, voice barely audible. “Please.”

Rex’s hands tighten around you, and he brushes his thumb over your skin as he pulls you back to meet your gaze.

“I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else, cyar’ika.”

The word sends a shiver down your spine, and you lose yourself in his arms, knowing that nothing will ever compare to what you now share with him.

And as you slowly succumb to sleep, Rex silently thanks the mythical bird for giving him what he’s wished for. The war may not be over, but it could wait. The galaxy, with all its heartbreak and evil, can be someone else’s concern. Tonight, Rex had you, and that was more than enough.

You were all he ever desired.

And he finally had you.

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