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[beardedjoel]

honey, honey | one: for the low, low price of!

sugar daddy! joel x f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist

summary: you find yourself in a precarious situation financially, one that requires lying and risking the silver spoon you've grown up on. your father's oldest friend, joel, finds you in a compromising position but quickly becomes an unexpected solution to all your problems. 9.8k words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, sugar daddy worthy age gap (reader is 21, joel is 54), inherent power dynamic imbalance from a sugar daddy arrangement, reader has shit parents and comes from money, one (1) jerk off session, playing it a little fast and loose with pov, slow burn!

a/n: well, here she is. i actually started this over a year ago but sent it to the back burner for ages, so it feels like such a long time coming! i hope you enjoy, these two are going on a journey together and i really hope you stick along for the ride. so, so excited for it! i'm attempting a slower burn with eventual smut this time around. it’s not the focus from the get go but instead some chemistry, banter, and confusing pining are taking center stage for a bit before they get freak nasty.

You stare down at your phone, scowling at the message on screen as the van jostles you on a turn, pulling into a new neighborhood. Your coworkers, Alicia and Gladys chat in the front seats while you sulk in the back. You don’t mean to be so off putting, but you’re reflecting on how you ended up here, staring at a text from your father inquiring about your day at the firm. Guilt squeezes your insides at the fabrication you’ve concocted, the way you couldn’t be further from the false narrative you’ve given to your parents, and with hardly anything to show for it yet.

“Wait…” you mutter, your eyes focusing and scanning along the perfectly manicured street of gorgeous brownstones rising up, all crammed together. You know that despite the small, more humble outsides of these homes, the insides are immaculate, thousands of square feet renovated to perfection. “I know this street.”

Alicia turns from the passenger seat, raising her eyebrows at you. “This richie rich neighborhood? Who do you know here?”

You feel your cheeks warm up, too embarrassed to admit to them that your own parents’ luxury apartment is on a street not too dissimilar to this. In fact, you don’t even need this job in the slightest, but have been desperate to make your own money under the radar, away from your parents’ obsessive peering into every aspect of your life. Every day that has passed since you hatched your little plan that had felt like some kind of genius at the beginning has only proven how futile it was to jump into it so hastily.

“I… swear I’ve been here before…” you mutter, mostly thinking out loud to yourself, eyes staring out the window as you wrack your brain. 

When Gladys pulls into a drive, dipping below the house into a garage that opens for the van, your stomach tightens. It’s all too familiar, but you can’t quite place your finger on it. You haven’t been here for a few years, at the least. 

“W-who’s our client today?” you ask urgently, tightening your hands into fists. 

Gladys glances at her work tablet, filled with the itinerary for the entire week. “Mr. Miller, hon,” she replies before peering back down at the screen, confirming it. “Joel.”

You can tell you must look as shocked as you feel, eyes flashing with fear and going a little wider and your face dropping instantly.

“I-I know him,” you manage to stutter out. “Well, he knows my parents. Like, really well.”

Joel could not, under any circumstances, see you like this. What a disaster that would be - your rich daddy’s rich friend getting a house cleaning from said friend’s daughter. One who is supposed to be off interning somewhere. Instead, you’re plotting to live by scraping by, collecting money for what you hope could be an escape from this life, their life. 

Your parents are both insistent on you taking over the family business - some corporate bullshit you have no interest in - so you’d sated them by claiming you were off gaining experience in between classes with some interning hours at a firm. You’re lucky that a friend of yours from college actually does work there, hoping if it came down to it, they could vouch for you. If the truth got out, you know the possibility that you would be cut off is high. It’s the kind of massive fallout you’re not sure you’re prepared to deal with yet.

The lies you’ve had to concoct and the harsh reality of cramming your schedule full between class and this job - scrubbing floors, endless vacuuming and wiping surfaces, your body aching after each and every day of work - was starting to get to you, but you had to persevere.

“They’re hardly ever even home when we come anyways, especially this Mr. Miller,” Alicia suggests at your panic, and you swallow and nod. Gladys agrees with her, then they shoot each other a concerned, confused look. They’ve been a team for a while, but you’ve only just met them a few weeks ago, assigned to train with them. Both of them are older momma bear types, having clung to your young ass like glue, vowing to teach you all the ropes and take good care of you, which you’d appreciated. You’d been lucky enough to have gotten a job with this particular company, having no experience in the field, or nay field for that matter. The client base they worked with was high end, their homes millions of dollars, the service only known to the more wealthy side of Manhattan.

“Y-yeah, you’re right. It’s totally fine.” You’re not sure if you’re trying harder to convince yourself or Gladys and Alicia, the two women staring you down with their brows wrinkled in worry. 

It’s the last cleaning of the day, and all you need to do is get through it. It has to be fine, it just has to - you need the money. Desperately. You push out a small smile, moving to exit the van. “Let’s do this,” you add on a little more encouragingly after the two of them look less than convinced.

“There she is,” Gladys teases, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze as you all start to unload all your supplies. You’re let in by a middle aged woman with dark hair in a sleek bob answering the garage door with a polite smile. His house manager or assistant, you realize. Men like Joel Miller had assistants, you remind yourself, to help take care of everything - the house, grocery lists for the week, light cooking, or even his schedule. She likely did it all.

You take in Joel’s home with wandering eyes, recalling now that you’d come here for dinner before - a family outing that your parents had dragged you to, the details of the place coming back to you as you all move further inside. It feels strange to be here without his permission, without your parents knowing where you are right now. Your chest is tight at the thought, but once you three get to work, you feel your anxiety dissipate as you get lost in the monotony of it - the drone of the vacuum, the mindless scrubbing of sparkling surfaces, the fresh lemon scent as you clean the bathrooms. Joel’s house isn’t all that dirty to begin with, an easy job compared to some of them you’d seen since you started.

You’re feeling downright pleasant by the time you’re finishing up, a job well done filling you with satisfaction as you wipe a thin layer of sweat off your forehead. You’re heading back to the main living room, hoping to link back up with Gladys and Alicia when you spot him.

He’s walking down the hallway with purpose, eyes glued down on his phone, dark framed reading glasses shielding his eyes from you further. His black suit hugs his body like it was meant for him, and you suppose it likely was tailored to his exact measurements, right to the very centimeter. You stop dead in your tracks, head whipping from side to side, looking for an out, a door you can rush into, but you’re trapped, the nearest one at least several paces behind you. When Joel glances up, he’s silent, stopping as he’s close to crashing into you and giving you a range of emotions rushing across his features - quizzical brows turning into full on confusion as he just stares.

Your name finally leaves his lips, almost incredulously. “Now what’re you doin’ here?” He takes in your outfit with his dark eyes - the branded tee shirt, your working slacks, and plain black work shoes - possibly one of the least flattering ensembles you could be wearing. “What is all this?” 

“Not sure what you mean, Mr. Miller,” you spit out in a panic, keeping your voice professional, a high, sweet lilt as you hold your smile. 

“C’mon now,” Joel urges, his brows coming together further in concern. He steps towards you with his voice lowered, but you step back a little almost instinctively, keeping your distance. Like you can run from this, from this mess you’ve suddenly made of your life. You break a little, lips faltering as your smile starts to fall. Tears prick behind your eyes, embarrassment from being caught creeping its way up from your chest.

“Please don’t tell my parents…” you mumble, darting your gaze away from his intense stare. 

Joel pauses for a moment, adjusting the glasses up on his nose before deciding to take them off completely, tucking them into his jacket pocket.

“I don’t even know what I’d be tellin’ them, if I’m honest here,” he admits, rubbing a hand along his lips and chin, studying you. It’s starting to practically burn your skin, the way he stares, a man of confidence and command looking at you this way. Not something you were completely unaccustomed to, your father having plenty of business partners and associates with the same demeanor. But Joel felt different, like he was genuinely concerned for you.

“There you are,” Gladys huffs out, turning the corner behind Joel, her mouth forming a small "oh” when she sees who you’ve run into. 

“Mr. Miller, great to see you, sir,” she chirps immediately, giving him her professional grin, one you’ve seen plenty of times already in the few weeks you’ve worked with her.

Joel, not forgetting his manners, smiles back at her and greets her, turning his body to let Gladys into the conversation. Alicia follows close behind, and you’re starting to burn up with embarrassment at this clusterfuck of a gathering you’ve found yourself in now.

“Everythin’ looks great, ladies. Why don’t you two head on out and I’ll steal her for just a bit,” Joel says, charming and smooth, his accent thick. “Think my office needs some special attention.”

Alicia and Gladys shoot each other a glance, then you, then Joel, seeming to try to piece everything together. Your cheeks couldn't possibly be any hotter, white hot and spreading up to your ears, knowing that this looks bad. Like Joel is about to take you into his office and do unspeakable things to you. The classic maid trope, or whatever.

“It’s okay,” you mouth quietly to the both of them, giving them an encouraging smile even though you feel shaky, like your stomach is bottoming out.

“She’s an old family friend in need of some catching up. In fact, I’ll drive her home after. Don’t y’all worry about it, I know you’ve got places to be,” Joel adds to sweeten the deal. The two ladies exchange another look, but then turn back to Joel, their faces slightly strained but professional.

“Of course, Mr. Miller. We’ll see you for the next service, then,” Alicia says a bit robotically. They both nod curtly and then bow out, not before peeking one last look at where you stand like a kid caught stealing from the cookie jar.

“This way,” Joel says, turning back to face you with a steely expression, brushing past you to lead you towards where you already know he’s going - his office. You hadn’t been in there today - Gladys had tackled the office, so it’s all new territory to you as you pass the threshold, taking in the modern but cozy decor. It’s mostly black and dark wood furniture, dark gray chairs but contrasted with airy white walls, a high ceiling, and colorful art, making the room feel spacious despite the dark features.

Joel sighs softly, shutting the door behind him, even though nobody else is here, no reason to need the privacy. It serves to make you even more nervous, and you lick your quickly drying lips, standing near the doorway with your hands folded in front of you.

“Look, Mr. Miller -” you start, wanting to explain yourself. Joel moves closer, sending you backing up into the room, cutting off your train of thought as his large, imposing form closes in on you.

“You gonna tell me what’s really goin’ on here?” 

“W-what do you mean?” you ask innocently, knowing there are a myriad of very reasonable reasons for Joel to be questioning you right now. You’re not sure what charade you’re even trying to hold up at this point, it’s only pure panic. Another step closer, and another step backwards for you, he continues until the backs of your thighs hit the desk and you stop, surprised as you glance back at it behind you.

“Don’t play coy. Imagine my surprise when I see my one of my oldest buddies' daughters, knowing he takes care of his family, here cleanin’ my floors and toilets. Now don’t you think that’d strike me as odd?” His head cocks, and he looks at you seriously, brows raised. You can’t quite tell if he’s getting any satisfaction out of this, or if he actually seems angry.

“Mr. Miller, I - I can explain, okay?” you start nervously, and Joel waves a hand impatiently, as if to say go on then. “They, my parents, I mean, they want me to be in the family business, and I…” You sigh. “Don’t know what I want, but it’s not that.”

Joel stares at you for a long, quiet moment, flashing eyes studying your face, trying to read if you’re being truthful.

“And what’s this have to do with cleanin’ my house?” he asks curtly. 

“I… well, it doesn’t. I mean, it does. I just need to make my own money. If I don’t follow in his footsteps, I think they’ll… cut me off,” you reply, deciding to try to be as blunt as he is. Your voice falters on those last words, the reality of it painful, twisting in your gut. What kind of parent cuts their child off for something so frivolous, so selfish?

Joel looks amused suddenly, cocking his head a little further, and you can tell he definitely doesn’t believe you. He’s so close, so in your personal space, you’re finding it hard to breathe. “So you’re sayin’ your daddy ain’t takin’ care of you?”

You bite the inside of your lip and give him a small nod. The thing about your dad was if you acquiesced, if you followed exactly the plan he’d laid out for you, you’d have been riding high, walking on easy street for the rest of your life. And if not, well, he’d always made it perfectly clear he didn’t deal with traitors, because what was the point of having children if they couldn’t take over your business for you? Sure, it was tempting to take the easy route, but maybe you’d gotten tired of it all, found your rebellious streak a little later in life than most people. 

“Yes…” you say out loud, unable to believe you were sharing this with Joel of all people - someone more likely than anyone to feed this information straight back to your father. It’s not like you knew him well, despite him being one of your dad’s closest and oldest friends, one of his closest business partners and confidants. You’d spent a decent amount of time in the same room as Joel, but you only knew the surface level, just the polite, agreeable conversations you were expected to have. It typically was some kind of public function, or the holiday party at your parents’ place every year, maybe a dinner party sprinkled in here and there, but you’d certainly never been quite this close to Joel Miller. Or alone.

His face falls at the sincerity in your voice, seeming to feel the gravity of it weighing down on him. “Now what d’you mean, cut you off? Like, full on, ‘n everything?” He steps back a little, giving you some space, his brows scrunched together in concern and arms crossing over his chest.

“Er, with all due respect, Mr. Miller, I don’t think I should be talking to you about it all.” You slump back a little, pushing yourself off of where you lean back on his desk, glancing past him to look around his office. It’s tidy, bookshelves lining the far wall full of perfectly placed, perfectly organized books on all kinds of things - some practical and business related, some seeming more like guilty pleasures of fiction and nonfiction of various genres, but mostly mystery, it seems. 

“Y’made it my business when you stepped into my house today though, didn’t you?” he quips back, but you detect a hint of teasing there, feeling it start to disarm you.

“C’mon, sit,” Joel says, seeming to soften when he notices you stuttering to reply, gesturing to one of the chairs that sits near the large bay window in the room, a matching one set up across from it. “This’ll be… confidential.” He smiles, trying to convince you, and you don’t know if you believe him, but the twinkle in his eye almost makes you want to. You decide to sit, smoothing your scratchy work slacks, crossing one leg over the other, feeling like you look as stiff as you feel. 

Joel, on the other hand, looks relaxed as he sits back, legs spread wide, his large palms settling onto his thick thighs, fingers spread over them. 

“I… don’t believe you,” you finally tell him. “What’s to stop you from telling my dad everything I say right now, or even that I was here in the first place?” you ask before feeling your heart sink a little at the likely prospect of it. Your life as you know it could be over, starting from scratch with one phone call from Joel. 

Joel chuckles, the corner of one side of his mouth twitching upwards as he eyes you. “Look, I get it, I wouldn’t trust me either,” he replies, his hands lifting off of his legs to be thrown in the air before he fists his upturned palms and settles them on the arms of the chair. “I wanna hear you out, though. Your dad, he ain’t uh, without his faults, I know that.”

You try to hide your surprise, keeping your brows from twitching inward, your face showing the intrigue you feel. You breathe out, slow and steady. “My dad isn’t interested in anything but me being the next, well, him. And if I’m not interested in that, then I don’t think he’s interested in having me as his kid.”

Joel goes stone-like at your bare confession - so honest - and he seems to soak in the words quietly with serious consideration. “An’ where do they think you are right now, hm?” he finally questions, steady eyes on your anxious ones.

“An internship.” Your cheeks heat a little as you face your lie and how stupid it sounds when you say it out loud.

Joel chuckles again, this time looking a bit impressed by you. He shoots a handsome, devilish smirk your way and you avert his gaze. “Yeah? And they’re buyin’ it?”

You let out a small laugh of your own, releasing some tension, and shrug. “Seems like it.”

“Why… this? Why the, uh, cleaning?”

“Turns out the job market is pretty shit when you have no skills, no experience, and are trying to do things under the radar - y’know, name recognition around all the big places, and all of that.” Being spoiled for your entire life, never worrying about wanting anything, needing anything, had predictably led to you never having needed a job, even now into your early twenties. The only things you’d learned were with your dad, the days he’d dragged you up in his high rise to shadow him and start preparing you for the future. Your future, as directed by good ol’ dad.

Joel nods softly a few times, running a hand across his face. “Got it. An’ what exactly do you want to be doin’ if it ain’t workin’ for your daddy, fast trackin’ to CEO?”

“I…” you stutter, your eyes falling. That was the problem, wasn’t it? You hadn’t had the mindset, the freedom to wonder for so long, not realizing that you did have a choice in what you did with your life, that you could try to find a path you at least tolerated more than what your dad was going to have you do. You’d seen too much - the pressure, the stress, the kind of person it had made him into, and you wanted no part of that lifestyle. 

“I don’t know yet, honestly,” you admit, embarrassed that you’d started this whole plan without an end goal, all built on a frustrated whim you had one day. “Maybe something in education? Maybe fashion, interior design? Something more creative, I think. Or I could even be a lawyer, help people out, or something.”

“Thas’ quite a laundry list, sweetheart,” Joel says, and your heart thuds at the pet name. You hate it, hate how it makes him sound condescending even if he isn’t meaning to, like you aren’t smart enough to figure this out for yourself.

“I know, I know,” you acquiesce. It was all a pipe dream, you knew that deep down. “I just needed to get away from it. I hate business school - it just feels like a load of shit, honestly, Mr. Miller. I don’t want to become like my dad.”

“An’ what’s that, hm? What’s becomin’ like your dad?”

You shake your head. “I-I’m not answering that. It’s your friend, and clearly you see some merit in him to stay close all these years. I… don’t want to ruin that for him, too.” The thought makes you sad. Your dad is already about to lose his only child if he finds you out, and you don’t want to bring losing Mr. Miller into it, too. While it was by your dad’s own choices and shortcomings that he’d lose you, you still find your heart squeezing a little for him at the thought.

“Fair enough,” he says with a small smile, rubbing his hands together before putting them back on the armrests, gripping it. He pushes himself up, standing and walking over to his desk, opening one of the top drawers and pulling something out. You can’t see from this angle, and fight the urge to get up and go see what has so suddenly grabbed his attention. 

“How much?” he asks, grabbing a pen from a tiny box on the desk - a pen that likely costs more than what you’re making from this one job today. 

Your lips part, mouth hanging open slightly. “What?” you ask, shaking your head.

“How much do you make in a week? Here at this job? I’ll pay you five times just f’you to quit it.”

“Mr. Miller… n-no,” you spit out, hopping up from the chair in a hurry. You rush towards the desk, your non-slip work shoes clunking along the hardwood until you reach the plush rug that surrounds his desk. “No,” you say a little more firmly, planting your hands on the desk, standing opposite of him. 

“And why not?” He smirks now, like he’s somehow having fun here, and it irritates you. That would only make one of you having a nice time, because you are certainly fully out of your depth here. 

“B-because! It’s ridiculous, that’s why. I don’t need handouts,” you say indignantly, now moving both of your hands to your hips, standing taller. 

“Sounds like you might,” he half-teases, looking down at where he’s pulled out his checkbook onto the desk. His face falls suddenly and he rubs the back of his neck. “Jus’… I don’t like hearin’ what I’m hearin’. Could never imagine cuttin’ off Sarah, and if that’s true what you say about your dad, well, I…” he glances up to you with a more serious look in his eyes - pity.

Like your father, Mr. Miller also only has one daughter, Sarah, who as far as you’ve heard is well and thriving. Doing some kind of work in animal rescue, you think. You two had never been close given the over ten year age gap between you two - Joel had Sarah relatively young, and as long as you’ve known them, her mother hasn’t been fully in the picture. You’d always noticed how much Joel cared about her, how good of a father he was, remembering the pangs of jealousy you’d get as a kid when you saw how engaged he was with Sarah.

“You’re a good dad, that’s why,” you murmur in reply, eyes casting downwards. 

“I try t’be, I suppose,” he says, sounding more bashful. “C’mon, jus’ name it, sweetheart. No harm done, it’ll be our secret.”

“Wh- what am I even supposed to do? If you give me the money? What do I…” You swallow hard. “Owe? What do you get out of this?”

Joel’s energy turns a little lighter, his smirk returning. “Let’s just say I enjoy helping you. I want to. Nothin’ owed, except coming by same time next week for your next check. We can talk more then, give y’some time to think.”

Think? About what? You almost scoff, but reign it in at the last second, fighting your eyes from rolling on top of it. “Mr. Miller, this is…” 

“Ridiculous? Is it, really?” 

Oh, he’s good, so convincing when he wants to be. Suave and calculated yet warm at the same time. You understand how he got to be so successful, how so many people likely fall at their feet to just be a part of the air he breathes, the aura he fills a space with. He’s a giant, knowing how to command a room, take up just enough space, yet feel so relatable at the same time.

“I’d feel too guilty…” you say quietly, your shoulders sagging in defeat.

“More guilty than doing this job, droppin’ out of school behind your parents back?”

Your skin is burning up, your brain at war with itself. He’s too insistent, there has to be some angle here that you’re missing, some reason he’d be so kind to you. Leverage - blackmail, maybe - to your father, to be able to hold it over your head to get what he wants at some point.

“Hey, c’mon. I’m serious, sweetheart. Just the check, nothin’ more,” Joel says more urgently, seeing the way you’re starting to waver.

“How can I trust you?” you finally spit out, and Joel leans back in his office chair, just watching where you stand. “I’m sorry, it’s all very nice and everything, but no. I c-can’t. I shouldn’t. I need to do this for myself.”

You turn to leave, and you hear the creak of Joel’s chair as he sits forward, watching you throw the office door open and move with purpose, rushing to get yourself out of this situation as fast as possible. You feel the spell lift immediately now that you’re out of reach, whipping past his fine furnishings and art as you move through the hallway back to the foyer. You hear Joel, hot on your tail, his energy a little more frantic than he’s been as he follows you.

“At least let me drive you home,” he finally offers as he rushes to catch up. You keep moving, shaking your head.

“N-no, I’ll just get a ride or something. Call my driver,” you throw at him over your shoulder, and his hand on your wrist stops you in your path just as the front door is in sight. You fully turn your head to face him now, and his eyes look soft, like he does care.

“Offer’ll stay on the table, okay?” Joel says and you just let your lips part, meeting his gaze for a moment. It’s intense, the standoff between the two of you, his eyes searching for weakness, for any crack that indicates you’ll give in. You offer him a succinct nod, slipping out of his grip and not looking back as you step out into the bright sunlight of the evening, shielding your eyes before pulling out your phone to call Karl, the man who has been your personal driver for years. Your father hired him, but he’s been nothing but loyal to you - you know Karl has kept every secret of where you’ve been, overheard phone calls, arguments with your father. He never says a word, never spreads the information - he’s paid well, and that extra cash pays for his silence.

In the back of the car, your phone buzzes in your lap while you stare contemplatively out the window. You ignore it, letting your eyes glaze over as you watch the houses pass you by on the way out of Joel’s neighborhood and back towards downtown. 

What if this was your chance? Your only option to really get out from underneath your parents? It could be a huge cushion, much more than you’d make doing what you’re doing now. At this rate, it would take ages to get enough to push you through school, where you’d already have to start from scratch, leave Columbia and start an entirely new curriculum, most likely. Find a much cheaper school, then take care of housing, bills, everything on top of it that you’d never been prepared to have to worry about in your life, always promised the comforts of your parents money. You knew you were lucky, going around with your life spoon fed to you, but you wanted to feel something, the part of you that was excited about anything having died off completely when you realized the spoon had been fed to you through a cage. Live this way or we starve you, cut you off.

You sigh, dropping your head into your hand where it rests along the window of the car. The noise of Manhattan traffic goes in one ear and out the other, fading into oblivion as you realize you may have made a mistake by leaving so soon, not hearing Joel out. 

Did you have a choice?

Your phone buzzes again, a reminder of the message from your father you’d ignored and you tear your eyes off the passing landscape to peer down at your lap. Your face falls, brows pushing together when you see it’s an unknown number texting you.

Unknown: If you change your mind, let me know. - JM

How the hell? You stare down at the message, eyes scanning rapidly over the screen in disbelief. You scoff quietly, but find your lips turning into a smile before you can stop it, unconsciously putting your fingers over your them as if Karl seeing you grin like this could give it all away. 

You: How did you get this number?

Joel: I think you underestimate how persistent I can be.

You: Does it hurt your ego to take no for an answer? Is that what this is?

You eagerly lick your lips, smile growing as you find yourself so quick to banter with him. It’s always so much easier over text, you think to yourself, to be a little more bold, a little more careless. Joel had a warm, welcoming energy, but it doesn’t mean you’re immune to the way he charms, the way he seems to be a man who gets what he wants more often than not.

Joel: I think it’ll hurt you more than it does me sweetheart.

You: I’m thinking about it, okay?

Joel: Think away.

You tuck your phone away, flipping it over on your lap so you can’t see the screen anymore, drumming your fingers along the back of the case as you feel a surge of frustration wash over you. If Joel’s offer is genuine, if he really expects nothing in return, you’d be a complete fool to pass it up, right? Who passes up free money? You knew you were screwed either way, really - the job you had right now wasn’t getting you anywhere near achieving your dreams. You needed more, you needed support. Financially first of all, but if you were honest, someone like Joel with some life experience to help you figure out your next steps couldn’t hurt.

Fuck.

You wince and flip your phone back over, unlocking it to where the messages still sit on your screen, taunting you. Your fingers go flying before you can stop yourself, your heart starting to pick up in pace.

You: You’re serious? I wouldn’t owe you anything? Have to pay you back someday?

Joel: Serious as can be.

You: $800 a week. Without tips from lovely clients like you.

Joel is quiet on the other end for a while, slower than his usual response thus far, and your throat gets a little tight. You swear, if he was backing out now, or worse, sending screenshots of your conversation to your father, you were going to have it out with Joel Miller. And it wasn’t going to be pretty.

Instead, a few moments later, a text comes through, a photo. That same checkbook, the background the sleek black surface of his desk, with the top check filled out for four thousand dollars. Signed and everything, with the memo line reading ‘knew you’d make the right choice’. Your hand shakes a little, all of this feeling wrong suddenly now that it's gone this far. 

Joel: 9am tomorrow.

Joel sits back, satisfied as he smirks at his phone. The check lays in front of him, taunting him, his energy buzzing and satisfied picturing your pretty hands taking it from him tomorrow. He sighs heavily, a hand creeping up his thigh to where he’s started to bulge through his black dress slacks. 

“Fuck…” he murmurs quietly to himself as he palms it, his hard and wanting cock desperate for any relief. It would be wrong, should be wrong, if you’re the one involved in all of this. But he can’t care when he pictures your lips smiling with the check in hand, you depositing the money and buying yourself something pretty with it, taking care of bills, getting a nice meal. You spin in a new dress or top, showing it off to him, bought with that chunk of change he’d so willingly given to you. Just the tiniest of dents in his finances, so much more where that came from if you’d let him. He’s hardly realized it, the way his hand had undone his belt and zipper while he got lost in the fantasy, hard cock in his fist as he pictures it over and over. He tries to make it not you, not his friend's daughter as he immerses himself in the scenes, but he’d be remiss if he tried to deny that you’re a gorgeous young woman, that you’d look so good doing everything he’s picturing.

“Fuck, oh god…” Joel whimpers while his hand moves along his cock, slickened from the bit of precum leaking out the tip and the saliva he’d haphazardly spit down there when he started. He stares at the check, your hands on it over and over, your pretty lips and smile and the way he could give you more and more and more until you wanted for nothing. He grunts, hips stuttering forward as he fucks his fist quickly and finds himself coming faster than usual, his release taking him by surprise with a loud moan.

“Christ,” Joel murmurs as he breathes heavily, quickly cleaning himself up with a tissue before rushing to the powder room connected to his office, washing his hands of it all. He stares at himself in the mirror, such a bastard for what he’s doing, all the secrecy inlaid in his plan.

Your father… one of his oldest friends, and this is what he’s doing with that friendship? That empire of business savvy they built together? Years of trust, of advising one another, throwing it all away for a little gratification on his end? No, he knows this is about more than just him, this could really help you if what you said about your father was true. He knows your dad isn’t an easy man to live with - he’s got a short temper and is stubborn as hell, a black and white thinker if there ever was one. If he truly was saying he’d cut you off, then well, Joel was starting to think he’d believe that. 

And he wants to be the one to ease that burden for you.

You fuss with your appearance yet another time, anxiety pooling in your gut as you inspect your hair and complexion, searching for anything amiss. It’s not like Joel hadn’t seen you a complete mess yesterday, your bland outfit so far from what you were used to wearing, your appearance an afterthought as you went into work at an early hour.

But last night, as you tossed and turned, anticipating meeting back up with Joel today, you’d wondered what he expected out of you. Someone pretty to look at, someone deserving of the money? Would you get there and find Joel completely different, taunting the check in your face unless you decided to get on your knees and suck his cock? Let him get a quick fuck in for the money? There was no way he was that charitable, just willing to drop four grand because you’d given him your daddy issues sob story yesterday. 

So what was the catch?

There always was one - men with money didn’t just give it away for free unless it was to charity, wanting to look good. And you surely weren’t a charity case by any means. Sex for money seemed like the next logical option to your tired, frazzled brain as you laid awake in the dark. You didn’t know if he presented it like that, would you go along with it? Would you, this far in already, bring yourself to your knees for him?

Joel Miller is certainly handsome, nobody could deny that, but you’d never thought of him in that way, not really. Maybe noticing his broad, muscled shoulders stretching across his suits when you’d seen him, his cocky, warm smile that seemed to melt hearts everywhere he went. He’d always seemed kind, more amiable than your parents’ insufferable network of friends, which you’d taken notice of and respected Joel for over the years. But you’d never thought of yourself with someone older like him, despite seeing those young dates being toted on wealthy, older men’s arms to all kinds of charity events and parties over the years. Would you want that? To be seen like that?

You feel your skin tingle as the thought comes to you again this morning while you get dressed. Joel Miller in a lavish, designer suit, tailored perfectly to his body, you next to him in an equally gorgeous gown that he paid for, your hand slipped between his body and his thick bicep as he glides into a room full of people with you. And he’s proud of how good you look on his arm, how he can show the world just what he’s bought, what he’s paid for. Your head shakes violently as if to jolt the thought far away from you.

“No…” you whisper to yourself. It wouldn’t get that far, you wouldn’t let it. Maybe you’d just take the one check and run, tell Joel you couldn’t be what he was looking for. But that’s when you realize you don’t even know what it is that he may want to get out of this, the curiosity eating at you. 

That bastard. Such an enigma he’d painted himself as yesterday when he’d so cooly offered you the money like it was no bother, like he’d expected nothing back. There was always something, always a trade - if you learned anything from your father, it was that.

You can't shake that incessant thought, walking up the steps of Joel’s brownstone, hesitantly knocking on his door and swallowing down the lump in your throat. The assistant you’d met yesterday opens it with a polite smile, beaming at you.

“Welcome. Mr. Miller will be right out,” she says, guiding you to a plush daybed off to the side. You just nod, a little dumbfounded as you step back into his grand foyer. It’s a lavish room with tall ceilings, a skylight at the top pouring extra light in along with the floor to ceiling frosted windows on either side of the front door. Joel’s dress shoes click along the floor, the sound bouncing off the walls as you stiffen and then freeze where you sit. You see him come into view, the top button of his pale blue dress shirt unbuttoned, navy slacks adorning the bottom of his look. He looks a little frazzled himself, like he’d tossed and turned just as much as you had last night. You hadn’t considered the possibility that Joel could have reservations about this now, too, since he’d been the one so eager to offer it up yesterday. 

“Thanks, Clara,” Joel says kindly, giving her a nod before Clara skirts along the edge of the room, dismissing herself at Joel’s signal. You watch her go, confidently striding away before you skim your eyes up to Joel’s face, trying not to look too guilty.

“Back this way,” he says, holding out a hand in the direction of his office as if you weren’t here only yesterday. You stand, meeting him, and he quickly takes you in, noticing your complete change in style from yesterday - dressed much more like the businesswoman he knows you loath with a pencil skirt on. He tries not to laugh at the irony as you follow him back, taking that same path you’d just been on yesterday, a strange sense of deja vu washing over you. 

You’re silent, just trying to breathe, to remember to stand your ground, not do anything you don’t absolutely want to do. You haven’t signed a contract, you aren’t bound to this, you two are just… talking. Joel smirks as he eyes you, clearly trying to walk in with confidence, but he knows this look - you’re apprehensive about the arrangement, you have questions. They always have questions. 

He curves around his desk, pulling out his highback office chair and sinks into it, you doing the same in one of the sleek armchairs in front of his desk. It feels too much like a professional meeting, and your skin prickles with discomfort at how formal this all seems now. His fingers scratch along the checkbook on the desk, and you salivate as you keep widened eyes on it, knowing the number written on there, the promise of more of it to come. Your way out.

“So…” Joel says cooly, letting his hands link together and pulling them behind his head as he leans back a bit, the picture of relaxation. “Let’s talk.”

Is this some kind of sugar daddy situation, or what?

Joel laughs, a genuine smile across his face at your blunt question as he sits across from you. 

“Well, in a lot of ways, I ‘spose it is,” he answers casually and honestly. You don’t understand how he can maintain this cool facade, this relaxed attitude given the circumstances. You’d think something so awkward and uncomfortable could get anyone frazzled, but then again, you take it this isn’t Joel’s first go-around with this type of offer. He goes on. “I’ll try to be blunt for both our sakes. We’re busy people. I want to… go beyond jus’ the checks. I’d pay for your lifestyle - school, car, whatever you want. Treat you, too. Give you money for all the things your pretty little heart desires, see you enjoyin’ it.”

That was not what you’d expected him to say. You stare wordlessly, stunned, expecting him to go on, to tell you now what you have to do to earn all of it. He remains quiet though, finally looking the tiniest bit sheepish as the both of you size each other up. 

“…And you get?” you finally ask, your face screwed up in confusion as you shrug, throwing your hands up.

Joel smirks again, and you notice the dimple on the side of his face that he seems to prefer tilting his mouth upwards. “I get exactly that. What I said. You enjoyin’ it.”

Your mouth hangs open slightly, eyes narrowing in his direction. You give a tiny shake of your head. “No… there has to be something. One day you’ll turn it around on me, blackmail me or something.”

Joel laughs again, and you’re starting to get irritated at how blasé he seems about all of this. Your foot starts to tap anxiously on the rug underneath your feet, arms crossing over your chest. You try to remain unimpressed as you stare him down, but he’s not budging in the slightest, remaining cool as ever. 

“You really think that’s the kind of guy I am, do you now?” he asks with amusement. 

You scoff, pinching the inside of your lip between your teeth. “How should I know? You offer me a bunch of money and we hardly know each other, Mr. Miller.”

“First off, Joel, please, unless you’re into that, I ‘spose.” He gives you a suave smirk and your lips part a little, cheeks heating almost immediately at his words and their insinuation before you check yourself, turning back to the conversation. You’re determined not to let his charm get in the way of you walking out of here with your future secured.

“Okay, then, Joel. I just… you don’t want something from me in return? It’s not that I’m not grateful, I just can’t understand.” You tut and glance around the room for a moment to collect your thoughts. “I mean you get it, right? People with money always want something out of it. I’ve seen it my entire life.”

Joel gives you an understanding look. “I do, I get it, sweetheart. If you want me to want somethin’ out of it…” he trails off, pondering for a moment. “If that’d make you feel better about takin’ the money, then why don’t y’come spend some time with me. Let me take you out, or jus’ come by for a nice dinner, me ‘n you. Get to know each other a little, keep an old man company, hm?”

You roll your eyes with a breathy chuckle pushing out of you, feeling yourself relaxing the tiniest bit at his appeal. “Really trying to play the sympathy card calling yourself old, I see,” you say, quirking a teasing brow. You grow more serious with your next words, worrying that you’re signing yourself up for something you aren’t sure you want or even understand. “But uh, I… could do that… if that’s all you want.”

Joel’s gears are turning, and you see a flash of recognition across his face as it falls a little. He leans forward, propping his forearms on the desk, his brows knit tight and eyes narrowed while they watch you. “D’you think I expect you to sleep with me?”

You nearly choke on nothing, just the air that you’re now fighting to gasp in as you clear your throat. Your cheeks burn like something fierce, that notion you’d been so worried about as you tossed and turned last night now sounding so obscenely ridiculous when Joel says it out loud. 

“I - I thought maybe that was how this sort of arrangement worked, l-like an unspoken expectation or something. But if you’re saying no -“

“I’m saying no.” Joel is hard with the words, concise, and his gaze ices over. He was kidding himself if he thought he wasn’t even remotely attracted to you, but he was already putting himself in a precarious enough spot with the secrecy of giving you this money behind your father’s back, let alone deciding to bring something as complicated as sex into it. 

You didn’t need to know that just the thought of handing you this check made him start to get hard inside his slacks. You didn’t need to know that this wasn’t the first arrangement of this kind for him, the only difference being that most of them involved a relationship of some type, or at least something physical once and a while. There had been times it was just about the money, and sometimes that was enough to satisfy him without the women having to fall into his bed, too. He’d hated that he fell into such a cliche - wealthy older man toting around a younger, gorgeous woman on his arm - but he’d come to accept it by now that this was who he was, trying to come to terms with the shame of it.

“Right… right, good,” you confirm, trying to sound equally as sure. What was that you were feeling? Disappointment? Relief? All you could sense for certain was the way your stomach tightened with nerves as you delved into this conversation with Joel. 

“We got enough on our plate without all that, don’t you think?” he asks, a very roundabout way of putting it, you think. Maybe he’s too afraid to hurt your feelings or directly tell you that he’s not interested in sleeping with you, even if that’s what he’d normally do in a situation like this. Joel Miller was nothing if not direct, though, you’d noticed in the last two days. You aren’t even sure why you’re thinking this way - it’s not like you’d really shown much interest in Joel, never thinking of him as accessible in that way. It never went past him being an extended part of your family, one of your father’s inner circle. So if he didn’t want to have sex with you, fine, your ego could take the hit. 

“Jus’ the money, helpin’ out a family friend who needs it,” Joel adds, seeing the way you’re a bit lost in thought. You bring yourself back, meeting Joel’s eyes, noticing the rich color of them in the early daylight streaming into his office. They’re so warm despite the chilly facade he can put on. 

You nod, giving him a small smile. “Yeah, when you put it like that… I mean we go way back, right? You’re practically family.” You cringe at the words, kind of hating the implication when you’re half flirting with the man and then proceeding to call him your family. “Uh, well, you know what I mean…”

Joel chuckles again, and you return it a bit nervously. “I do, sweetheart. Known your daddy a long time, so I’m trying to be, as dumb as it sounds, respectful.”

Fuck my father, your mind churns out in a flash, not daring to mutter it under your breath. Fuck him for putting you in this position, pushing you to this point where you’ve ended up in Joel Miller’s office, about to become his latest sugar baby because your dad can’t figure out how to love his only child apart from what it could bring to his business.

“Yeah…” you say, putting on a grin that you fear may have started to turn a little diabolical.  “Respectful.” You’d be lying to yourself if you thought that this wasn’t starting to entice you more, the idea of such a big screw you to your father.

“So let’s talk terms…” Joel starts more pragmatically, picking up that same pen from the little box on his desk, tapping it on the hard surface a few times before he holds it over a blank page on an open black leather bound notebook. “I like t’start at five hundred for allowance. See how it goes. Then up to two thousand. An’ that’s just for you, and you alone. Your bills will come to me. Your apartment, tuition, your car, anything that’s a bill, I don’t want to see a cent of that allowance come out for it. Is that clear?”

Your mouth is slowly opening to gape at him, eyes tracking across his face as you try to follow what he’s saying, thinking it must be a joke. “S-sorry, but two thousand dollars? A… month?” you ask incredulously. That already sounds like too much to be going from Joel’s pocket to yours if he’s also taking care of your bills.

Joel goes completely smug, lips pressed tightly into a smirk. “You’re cute,” he deadpans. “Per week, sweetheart.” 

You almost gasp, shaking your head. “I- no, I just need money for school, to make sure I can do any major I want in school, I don’t n-“

“Shh,” Joel interrupts you. “You came here lookin’ for my help, and this is how I like to do things. You deserve to have fun, not just pay for classes and have no extra money f’yourself.”

“I have plent-“ you start, referring to the extensive funds you have access to thanks to your parents. Funds that you do realize could be ripped out from underneath you at any time, you realize all over again with a quick jolt of fear. 

“Enough,” Joel snips, raising a hand, palm facing you for further effect. “If what you tell me is true, I think your daddy ain’t gonna be too keen to pay for all your favorite things you’re used to gettin’ when he learns the truth, is he?”

You look down, ashamed. Were you really that shallow? Is that how you’d been raised to be? Joel sees through your facade right to your designer bag and clothes, all the expensive things you’d gotten accustomed to. But he doesn’t judge you for it - he understands it and he’s a part of that world, whether he likes it or not.

“No…” you murmur in defeat.

“And I’d like to keep seeing you in pretty things: nice clothes, shoes, gettin’ yourself pampered. So, two thousand dollars per week once you earn it.” He grins, setting the pen down and folding his hands together on his desk. You stay quiet, letting him go on, your heart steadily thrumming in your chest louder and louder with every word he says. 

“Weekly allowance is, of course, a suggestion. If you need somethin’ more, you ask me. And otherwise, I’ll set your bills, tuition, all of it, to be paid by me.”

“I mean, weekly allowances?” you sputter out, “This is a sugar daddy thing.”

Joel doesn’t waver, he just smiles a little at you, completely unfazed. “We can call it whatever you want, but I see you want it too. I’m gonna be straight w’you here - I want to do this. I like you. I think you’ve got spunk and deserve to carve out a place for yourself in this world. Doin’ something you want, not half heartedly runnin’ your dad’s company someday. So… Do you still want this?” he asks, picking up the check, holding it out towards you. “Don’t think you’d be here if you didn’t.”

Joel’s face is kind, like he’s listening, attentive, acting like he doesn’t have a plethora of meetings or things on his plate today, which you know he must. He’s content to hear you, if you have something to say. You feel your whole body sitting tense and rigid in his chair, your mind spinning. It’s all becoming too much, this idea you had to get out on your own seems to be poked with more holes every day you’ve been trying to work and save up. You don’t really have much of a concept of money, once again thanks to your parents who never thought to put in the effort of teaching you. Why bother when there’s so much of it to go around?

“I- I know… what I’m doing now, the house cleaning, isn’t going to cut it long term. Especially if my parents find out I’ve been bullshitting them before I can save up enough for school and stuff… I just don’t k-“ you clear your throat, holding back the way your voice wants to crack as you fight tears springing to your eyes. “I feel so out of my depth,” you sigh. “I have so much to learn about real life and it’s been so… overwhelming.” 

You breathe out a shaky breath, feeling your chest loosen a bit - you’d been holding this all in, doing it on your own for weeks now, not even able to trust your friends with the information even if just to vent about it because everyone in your world always has an angle. It’s exhausting. 

Joel hears your words and stands up, going the few paces around his desk to stand next to you. He lays a hand on your shoulder, and you look up from where you sit, seeing him through slightly watery eyes, but you refuse to cry and break down in front of Joel. It would be too embarrassing to recover from. But you’d be damned if you didn’t feel like you were about to snap in half, holding in your tears for weeks now as you navigated this foolish path you’d set yourself on.

He gives your shoulder a squeeze before moving to sit down next to you, turning the identical chair to face you more, settling himself down and crossing one ankle over his knee. He leans towards you, and you do the same, angling your body in the chair to face him. His gaze is so steady and clear, giving you that full sense of his presence once again.

“Y’know…” he starts, scratching a hand through his beard. “I think you’ve got more potential than you’re givin’ yourself credit for.”

You snort, a tiny scoffing sound. “Oh yeah?” you spit out sarcastically, “That I have no experience, no references, nothing to show for all the time I wasted doing what my dad wanted? Except for a last name and a family that people recognize.”

Joel tuts and bites the inside of his lip. “You’re smart and so young with all this potential. You know this kinda talk ain’t gonna get you anywhere. Neither is feelin’ sorry for yourself. All you can do is use the opportunities you’re given, like this one landing in your lap from me today. Right?”

“Y-yeah, I mean, I guess you’re right. This just feels… kind of wrong.”

“Well we ain’t a couple of saints for doing this behind your daddy’s back, that’s for sure.”

You find yourself chuckling softly amidst the seriousness of the situation weighing on your chest. You honestly don’t have a clue how your father would react if he found out about this - he’s unpredictable and stubborn, and you’ve seen his vindictive side more than a handful of times. It makes your stomach clench a little at the thought of him unleashing any of that in your direction. You strengthen your resolve, unwilling to let your father stop you from exploring new horizons any longer. It was your life to live, and it was about time you did what you wanted.

“A-alright,” you tell Joel, sighing out a calming breath and sitting up straighter. “Alright, I’m in, then. What’s next?”

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Home Time | Bucky Barnes x Reader | Drabble - 469 words

Spoilers for the ending of Thunderbolts* , not super plot spoilers, but still spoilers. This is you warned.

Seriously.

No other warnings apply (just swears ☺️) just couldn't contain my excitement at home much I loved it! Had to let it out via fanfic!

When the fight is over, how's everyone going to get home?

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

Bucky rubbed dirt from his forehead with the back of his hand and looked around at the assembled group.

Bob was chatting to Yelena while she picked rubble from her suit. Alexei was picking cement from Yelena's hair too and the blonde looked thoroughly overwhelmed.

Walker waved to the cameras while trying to suruptitiously bend his shield back.

Ava looked bored as she scanned the crowd. "Uh, what now? I'd like to go home now, maybe brush my hair."

"Ah, do not worry, I have my —ah — no. It is in the dessert " Alexei looked disappointed.

"I can get you guys to an airport or something," Bucky tapped his phone, "but you have to behave."

He looked around the assembled …mob.

"I am always on best behaviour, Red Guardian was role model—"

"Please shut up." Yelena snapped.

"Whoever your connection is, Bucky, we can behave okay just let's go home." Walker said waving his hand.

"It's not so much a connection…"

A black SUV pulled up among the rubble, tinted windows hiding the interior. It came to a slow stop and the drivers door opened.

"James, what the fuck?"

"James?" Bob whispered.

Bucky's face changed, the scowl gone, eyes wide, hands up in surrendor. "Doll, listen I —"

"Don't you 'doll' me Mr!" You put your hands on your hips. "Just the afternoon, be back soon, see you after the hearing." You raised an eyebrow. "Bullshit, you're in big trouble."

"And we had to behave." Bob whispered, perhaps a touch too loud.

Your head whipped to him, scowling, before returning to Bucky.

"I'm sorry, okay." He approached slowly, then cupped your cheeks in his dusty hands, "I promise it was for a really good reason."

You narrowed your eyes, "promise?"

"Of course, forgive me?"

Yelena thought she was going mad, was Bucky giving you puppy dog eyes?

Was it working?

"I've got a few new friends, couldn't give them a lift somewhere could you?" He gave you a charming smile, wrapping his arms around your waist and swaying you slowly.

You peeked around his back and scanned over Alexei, Bob, Yelena and Ava before narrowing your eyes at Walker.

"That guy?"

"I know, I promise I'll tell you everything later." Bucky kissed you gently.

"Later?"

"Hmm…" Bucky kissed you again, every reason for fighting through wrapped in his arms, safe, warm. He closed his eyes and soaked you in.

"James," you rubbed your hands down his chest, firm and real and back with you, "if your friends make a mess of my new car, you'll have worse things to worry about. Okay?"

You tapped his chest and he laughed, tucking you under his arm and turning to — he refused to say it, better to say friends than any stupid superhero name.

"You heard Mrs Barnes, don't make a fucking mess."

[jaeminvore]

I’ve checked telegram and babes, would you believe me if I say we've first talked about u working on this fic in 2023? (to be fair, it was around november so we'll round that off to very early 2024) CRAZY I KNOW which is why I'm extra extra excited about this:

First of all, I already expected Jeno to be sad but goddamn i was not expecting him to be that sad and jesus do i feel for the guy omfg 😭 i couldn't even imagine being constantly compared to my brother who I should have been looking up to thanks a lot Jeno's mom! Mother of the year everyone 😒😒 way to fuck up your kid so young KDGHFDKJG

"“Aren’t you supposed to kiss your professor’s feet, given that you’re in student council? And here I thought you’d be a good girl.” Jeno rasped, resting his arms on your table, leaning down to your level."

Girl. If i tell you I screamed? And the back and forth after that. Man. you could really tell he was so over it. I mean I get it though and Jeno hasn't really done anything to make his reputation less notorious so I understand MC's aversion lol because personally, I would like to stay away. Still, I also understand Jeno's frustration whew.

AND JAEHYUN REALLY HAS THE WORST TIMING PLEAKSFGSDFG kick a guy when he's already down and he just really had to see MC practically tripping on her own two feet to make nice with Jaehyun oh my godhghdfkghdfg I'd HATE to be him rn. Like everywhere he goes, he still finds himself in his step-brother's shadow GOD put me in the psych word atp.

“Y/n, I’m not fucking kidding, you should leave. Besides, the one you came for isn’t at home at the moment,” he muttered bitterly. That caught your attention, “oh? Busy with a job then?” You asked, looking around the exquisite paintings hung at the entrance of his place. “Are you gonna leave or do I have to call the guards to escort you out?”

Girl, oh my fucking GOD, read the room!! Well, that could have gone worse 😭😭 quite literally bracing myself for the hurt that's about to come in a couple of thousand of words but my goodness do I love the back and forth KFGHKDFG you should give yourself a pat on the back for executing it so well. I could feel the frustration from the screen fr.

“Fucking hell, you’re the girl he keeps on stalking and crying about?” He chuckled, “let me call him,” he turned away for a second.

Omg Jaemin, the gremlin, mention HIHIHI 🩷 okay but Jeno was a little funny for that JHSGJFDFGH lowkey a little shit too eye see it's giving friends who would tease you about your crush except this is MC dealing with a crazy ex that does not know when to give up LMAO getting back on track, THE TENSION HELLO smashing MC and Jeno's faces together like barbies rn they should kiss I think maybe that'll solve everything right now.

But them sharing a laugh after literally running away from eldritch horror Jaemin is so cute it's moments like this that has me giddy fr (I'm a hopeless romantic wbk) yeah they need to bone man. But hello?? WDYM Jaemin still has a pic of him and MC together on his insta FAWKKKK that guy's obsessed and not like in a hot way either. Jeno do something I'll give you ten bucks rn if you do.

Jeno’s heart was beating fast, he wasn’t sure if he had words to speak at this moment, so staring at you was all he could do. You spoke for him. You defended him. No one’s ever done that, no one cared enough to understand, moreover, it didn’t help how you looked angrier than him at the situation.

GIRL. ARIA. BABE. HESJFGHDKFHG JENOOOOOO GET BEHIND ME RN 😭😭😭😭 Jeno being vulnerable >>>>>>

“Jeno, you’re doing so well, you know that right?” You whispered, as genuine as possible, your fingers grabbing his own, which made him look up at you finally." ... “No one’s ever said that,” he spoke so silently, you almost missed it. You held his hand tight—being almost angrier than him while answering his mom back—he isn’t sure if he’ll ever be over that. 

and MC going out of her way to tell him that whatever his mom says, essentially conditioning at this point cos wtf man, isn’t true. Like it’s so nice omg sometimes we just really need one person on our side to make things better yk?? (add me to your side Jeno, my babygirl my bubblegum princess cutiepie) Just the thought that no matter what happens I know I could depend on that person CRYING RN.

Crashing out right now because Jeno's crashing out is definitely a first holy shit, but it's relieving that he finally let all that built up frustration out oh my you really can't help but feel for him poor guy :(

“Because you’re real, you don’t fake your emotions. You don’t smile at somebody who you don’t care about, you get angry, messy, you let yourself be shown how you are,” you lip twitched slightly as you said so, your own heartbeat rose at the sentences you so easily uttered, “that’s what makes you a human, Jeno, a human who’s trying his best, which is what matters.”

Like, I don't even need to say anything man. MC my GOAT!!!!

“Say it again,” he whispered.  “Say what?” You breathed.  “That you’re glad I’m not him.”

He could quite literally tell me to jump and I'd say, "how high?"

AND OF COURSE THEY GET INTERRUPTED JUST AS THEY WERE ABOUT TO KISS. Jaehyun meet me in the nearest 7/11 parking lot so I can kick your non-existent ass! AND THE AUDACITY OF JAEMIN TO COME SWINGING WITH WORDS TALKING SHIT ABOUT JENO now there's two people i have to fucking fight damn 😒😒 like this pmo bro:

“I just don’t get it,” he said, voice colder now. “He’s always angry, I was angry, I made you feel something, can he say the same?” Your head was hurting by now, as you mumbled yet another shut up, only to be stopped by Jaemin as he grabbed your arm.  “What? He’s the angry, tortured type. You’re into hopeless projects now?”

Jaemin going on and on and on gave me a visceral feeling of anger like shut up dude looool "I was angry" like that was a good thing to begin with KJGHDFJKG I gotta say though, he makes a great antagonist like im hating him so much rn LOL. On another note, Jeno asking MC to ask Jaemin to leave is lowkey hot LMAOOOOO.

e%$^%$$##$%#$^ nOOOOOOO JUST WHEN I THOUGHT EVERYHTING WAS GONNA GO SMOOTHLY (I say as if I haven't witnessed your progress in telegram) Two steps forward, one step back... man, I'm just gonna stick to the "it gets worse before it gets better" saying 🙂‍↕️ BUT I GET YOU JENO with the shit that he's been through, I can't blame him for thinking of the worst like his self-esteem got the brunt of his Mom's words over the years </3 I wanna give him a hug... aaaand the tension is back let's all live!! I'm ngl I love how MC doesn't take shit from anyone like look at her keeping Jeno on his toes YUM!

“No,” you stepped forward. “You don’t get it. You think everything is about being chosen or abandoned. But not everyone’s trying to leave you, Jeno. Sometimes people show up. But you keep slamming the door in their face.”

Damn. This shit is fire girl. My jaw-dropped like literally JSDRGFJDG CLOCK IT MC!!!! Everything is crashing and burning because of Jeno YES I SAID IT (i'm in tears).

“I ruin things,” he said, “I always have. I don’t know how to love something without fucking it up. But I wanted you anyway—I still do.” Your throat tightened. “And I’m supposed to what? Carry all of that? Be your exception?” “No,” he said, stepping closer. “I just need you to see that I’m trying. Even if it’s ugly. Even if I’m bleeding and loud and afraid. I need you to see me, and stay anyway.”

Absolute cinema. Jesus, maybe love is about being uncomfortable enough to let people see how rotten we can be from the inside, and yet be loved all the same. Something something about loving someone isn't always going to be easy, it takes one person to power through the hardships with you and stay anyways GODDDDDDDD 💔💔💔

“I hate that I hurt you,” he whispered. “But I’d rather burn with you than freeze without you.”

oh my god?????????? you're gonna have to pay for my therapy sessions girl. THIS SHIT IS FIRE!!! (part 2)

You broke the kiss first, panting, eyes wide. “You shouldn’t—” you tried to say, especially when his body was hurting.  “I have to,” he breathed, leaning in again. “Let me, just once. Please.”

SCREAMINGGGG OH MY FUGHK DSFG I could just imagine Jeno pleading with a broken voice I'm already burning hot from my country's fucked up climate and he just had to say all that FAWKKK and the sex... oh my god.. the emotion behind it, the absolute desperation these two have for each other is so visceral it feels like I shouldn't be here to witness such intimacy holy shit. Not to mention the possessive streak.. the teasing... the dirty talk... if this fic was a full course meal best believe I'd devour this entire thing and leave the damn plates clean omfg.

THE GAGGING MC WITH HER PANTIES BIT WAAAAHSFJKAHSDK UR CRAZY 😭😭😭 Jeno u control freak u r so sexy to me..

“You’re mine,” he mumbled, “say it.” “Yours—I’m yours,” you breathed as best as you could.  “Again.” “I’m yours, Jeno.” “Fuck—again.” “So so fucking yours, I’m all yours Jeno.” “Mine,” he whispered, so possessive. 

Oh I'm his already might as well write "Jeno" on my forehead in Sharpie KJSDFGHKDFG the aftercare dfjghdfg he's such a sweetheart bye he is really trying for both his and MC's sake that is also very lovely to me... my babies..

(this was me reading:)

Because this, the hand holding, the quiet teasing, the stares that didn’t matter anymore, this was normal. And for the first time in his life, Jeno finally understood: Normal didn’t mean boring. It meant chosen. It meant enough. It meant being yours.

Wow. What a wild ride honestly and I'm floored at the fact that you've managed to outdo yourself yet again 👏🏼👏🏼 The writing was amazing as always oh my fucking god you really had me eating from the palm of your hand with how much I enjoyed every second reading this while I sweat my ass off because it's still hot as fuck here LMFAOOO and I am very proud of how far you've come with your writing!

It gets better and better with time I swear and that's putting it lightly like I could go on and on, but I feel like this is already too long KSDHGDKFHG JUST KNOW THAT i'M YOUR NO.1 FAN AND I CAN'T WAIT TO DEVOUR THE NEXT FIC YOU HAVE IN STORE FOR US WEEEEEEE ily and ily for sharing this fic with us hehe it's a privilege I would never take for granted fr 💖💖

CALL ME WHEN YOU HATE ME LESS

PAIRING: lee jeno x fem!reader (ft. jaehyun and jaemin)

GENRE/CW: smut, angst, eventual fluff, porn with plot, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, fingering, choking, blowjob, using panties as a gag, spitting, edging, squirting, mentions of fighting, blood, usage of nicknames, slowburn if you squint, emotional trauma, lmk if i missed anything!

WORD COUNT: 18,321 words. (18.3k)

PLAYLIST: here.

SYNOPSIS: Jeno Lee was a walking academic hazard—hot, broody, and failing just about everything that wasn’t football. Enter you, his new tutor: organized, overachieving, and absolutely not here for his attitude or his annoyingly perfect jawline. But between late-night study sessions, petty insults, and one very inconvenient almost-kiss, things start spiraling—fast. He’s supposed to be you project. You are supposed to hate him. Instead, you both are one sarcastic comment away from either a breakdown or a makeout—and honestly, it could go either way.

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni (the full fic will include smut).

A/N: hihi, angels! i'm finally back with a jeno fic aaa thank you my girls @jaeminvore @hoondrop @gojosmojodojo for giving me ideas and listening to me losing my shit over this fic <333 i hope y’all enjoy reading it <33 all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <33

Chapter 1: Raised in Shadows, Told to Shine. 

Comparison. 

The core of all insecurities. The onset of overthinking. The path to self loathing. 

That’s what comparison does to a person—drive them to the edge of insanity in hopes of turning into something; into someone the others will look up to, compare themselves to. 

It was a bad thing per se, but it was motivation enough for Jeno to work harder in order to leave the country, to get away from his family. 

The reason? His mother ever so conveniently happened to have fallen in love with a rich guy, someone who never knew what struggle meant, and Jeno was just four back then. It didn’t take much time for him to settle into the lifestyle, however, no matter how much he could have prepared to face his step-brother, he simply couldn’t bother looking him in the eye. 

Why? Because he was known to be the epitome of perfection. Jung Jaehyun was the son every parent wanted, the student every teacher was fond of, the doctor every nurse wanted to work with. 

The sweet dimple on his cheek was a great asset in melting the hearts of everyone in his proximity or afar. 

Jeno on the other hand, wasn’t quite sure why he wasn’t considered to be enough, especially when he got decent grades throughout his school life, he wasn’t a bother, kind to those who were around them, but it changed. 

It changed when he got daily reminders of how he wasn’t even close to how amazing and successful his step brother was. 

That’s when things started looking down for Jeno. He stopped caring about the grades, he wasn’t sure why he was supposed to put up a I’m so good, so smart act in front of others when there was no reason for him to do that. 

Others didn’t bother doing the same for him. 

Rather, he tried to work upon the only thing he was passionate about, the only thing that mattered to him—football. 

Despite winning several trophies for playing the sport, his parents labelled it to be useless, which broke the last fragment of his heart, shattering it to the point of no return. 

Which would explain his current demeanor—moody, permanent scowl on his perfectly sculpted face and no care for the others around him. His sole focus being football, which is also the reason behind his current dilemma. 

“Being an excellent player in the sports team does not guarantee you your scholarship, Mr. Lee,” Jeno’s teacher incharge spoke up, taking off her specs right after reviewing his annual grade report, “you’re failing three out of five modules, and if you don’t start getting back on track soon, then I’m afraid you won’t be able to play in the team anymore.” 

Fuck. 

Jeno had been neglecting his studies, he admits, yet he never thought that he’d reach this point. It’s not that he wasn’t smart, he simply had no motivation to go on with his studies. His parents could easily pay the university to keep him around, however, he wanted nothing from them, which also explains why he got himself a scholarship in the first place. 

“I’m sorry if I’m late.” Jeno’s eyes snapped wide open, turning back to see his step brother entering the teacher’s cabin. 

“Why are you here?” Jeno asked, a muscle in his jaw twitching but Jaehyun only smiled. 

Jeno’s professor was equally stunned, probably even more with her jaw wide open at the appearance of such a handsome young man. 

“I called him in since your parents were busy,” his professor said, handling Jeno a letter, “go and find your tutor in the council room, she’ll be helping you with the upliftment of your grades, Mr. Lee, and now if you’ll excuse us, I’ve got to fill in your brother with your current situation,” she said the last part awfully sweetly as Jaehyun sat down in one of the vacant chairs, smiling at her kind tone. 

Jeno scoffed, the demeanor change around Jaehyun went crazy and he wasn’t a fan of it, especially when he was called in to complain about his mistakes. 

He simply wanted to leave the university and never come back. 

He waited, taking deep breaths before punching the wall, not being able to contain his anger. The impact did hurt, yet he paid no heed to it, the blood dripping as he walked towards the council room to get over with the day. 

The name written on the sheet wasn’t unfamiliar to him, rather it only wearied the already infuriated boy as he knocked on the door of the student council room, which was empty except for you sitting there, working on a few papers which appeared to be the newsletter for the month. 

“Come in,” you allowed, not looking up as Jeno made his way inside the room, observing the surroundings where he’s never been before. 

Then he looked your way, taking in your appearance. You looked cozy in your university varsity jacket, your specs sitting on your nose as you buried yourself in reading whatever it was that you were reading. He couldn’t deny you looked pretty in a way that’s comforting to eyes. 

With no words exchanged, he pushed the letter towards you, which finally made you look up at the source of disturbance, your eyebrows raising slightly as you most certainly did not expect the star football player to visit you in the council room, which he’s never been to before. 

He simply stood there, hands shoved into his pockets while still looking around, and you took a second to grab the letter, skimming over to read and understand that the letter was given by Mrs. Kim, the teacher in charge of your department, requesting you to take up the few teaching sessions you had applied for, Jeno being the student you’ll have to teach for the same. 

You clicked your tongue, folding the letter exactly as it was before pushing it his way, your arms folding across your chest as you finally spoke up, “I reject. I don’t wish to teach you.”

His eyes were quick to snap towards you, finally staring right into your own eyes, irritation clear as he pushed his tongue on his inner cheek, eyebrow raised. 

“Aren’t you supposed to kiss your professor’s feet, given that you’re in student council? And here I thought you’d be a good girl.” Jeno rasped, resting his arms on your table, leaning down to your level. 

You chuckled, expecting the exact response from him, “this is exactly why I don’t want to waste my time on you—you athletes don’t wish to study, you just require a passing grade, for which I don’t have time to spare.” 

“What the fuck do you mean waste your time?” 

“Lee Jeno, you’ve got more money with you than your bank account can handle, so I’m sure losing your scholarship won’t do you much harm,” you said with a sickening smile, “you’ve got no interest in studying, your attendance record states that oh so proudly.” 

“You don’t know shit about me,” Jeno seethed out, messy hair strands falling over his eyes. 

“I know everything I need to know about you. Now excuse me, unlike you, I actually have work to do,” you said, passing him a tight lipped smile, not letting the proximity faze you. 

“You—” 

Jeno’s sentence was cut short with two sharp knocks on the slightly ajar door, a head peeking in, successfully garnering your attention. You could feel your mood doing one eighty with the sudden intrusion of this stranger—whom you didn’t wish to be a stranger around anymore, your eyes softening, lips parting as you stared at him in awe. 

Meanwhile, if Jeno thought that the day was done being a bitch to him, then he was wrong because the level of irritation that bubbled up in him the moment he saw the change in your expressions. 

“Sorry to interrupt, may I get in?” Jaehyun asked, smiling his usual dimpled smile, which had you swooning in record time. 

You could practically see veins of frustration popping out on Jeno’s neck, “no. Your work is done, you should head back home,” he groaned, but Jaehyun only looked you way, continuing to get in, looking your way. 

“I’m Jaehyun, Jeno’s elder brother. I can’t thank you enough for agreeing on giving him tutoring lessons, especially with how busy you must be with council duties,” he spoke up, shaking your hand, which was smaller in his warm, big hands. 

Jeno scoffed, “she’s not—”

“Of course, Jaehyun! It’s my pleasure to help him out, and it’ll only help me better with my extracurricular credits! It’s no problem,” you nodded, a gentle smile on your face as your eyes practically twinkled with excitement, taking in the beauty that Jaehyun beheld. 

It was ridiculous. 

It was absurd how just two sentences; paired with a sweet smile from his brother, were enough for you to change your decision, in the span of two seconds at that. 

He tightened the hold he had on the strap of his black bag, “no fucking need. I’ll find another tutor,” Jeno deadpanned, walking out of the room, not paying attention to Jaehyun who called out his name in the background. 

He wouldn’t let you use him to get to his brother. 

With that thought, he decided to detour and make his way to the gym, trying to blow off steam by practicing punching, each one getting progressively stronger as his mind replayed the difference in your behaviour when it came to him and his brother. 

It didn’t bother him that his knuckles were bruising, he knew he needed this extrinsic pain to get rid of the obvious hurt he felt each day. 

And he couldn’t understand why he felt so affected by your actions, especially when it was the first time you had met. 

Jealousy was indeed a bitch. 

Chapter 2: Surrendered to the skirt. 

Two days passed by and Jeno’s mood showed no progress in terms of improving, rather, he felt worse each time the memory invaded his brain. He tried his best to sit down and open the first module of the unit he had to study. 

It’s not like he was bad at studying, he was just a bit out of practice, and well, his mental health wasn’t doing much to help him get any better. 

Just when he was about to actually get a hang of getting into the topic, the doorbell rang. His parents were out for business, as usual, and his step brother was busy doing morning shifts, which meant that he was alone at the mansion, minus the myriad of worker staff they had to take care of the place. 

Essentially, he had to get down to see who it was at the door, only to spot you leaning against the doorframe as one of the attendants had asked you to wait. He stopped, observing you from the staircase as you typed something on your phone. 

Why were you here after clearly rejecting him? Why were you here when he’s clearly told you he doesn’t want you to be his tutor?

Scoffing, he walked down the stairs and towards you, standing right in front of you, clearly invading your personal space as he decided to lean against the same side of the thick door frame with his brows raised.

You took a second to take in his appearance as he was clad in casual gray sweatpants with a black tank, which honestly did nothing to hide his muscles. 

“Why are you here?” Jeno asked with a bored tone. 

“I’m here to teach you, remember?” You gave him a pointed look. 

“And I clearly told you I don’t wish to study from you, it’s better if you leave now. I’ll just tell Mrs. Kim that you taught me,” he said, almost turning back to go inside. 

“And have them wondering how you failed even after getting tutored by me? Yeah, I don’t think so,” you shook your head, inviting yourself in without second thoughts. 

“Y/n, I’m not fucking kidding, you should leave. Besides, the one you came for isn’t at home at the moment,” he muttered bitterly. 

That caught your attention, “oh? Busy with a job then?” You asked, looking around the exquisite paintings hung at the entrance of his place. 

“Are you gonna leave or do I have to call the guards to escort you out?”

You chuckled, “you really don’t want the previous year questions I have? The council students get them each year you see, they’re bound to guarantee you good marks,” you explained with a smirk. 

Jeno groaned, his lip bitten as he tried to think if tolerating you would be worth the questions, but his football career was at stake and there was no better option but to accept it. 

“What’s the catch?” Jeno asked after a few seconds, sighing with defeat. 

“Nothing at all. We both know that you need these papers to get the grade that you wanna achieve and I’ll get my extra credits,” you reason. 

“You just wanna meet my brother,” he said dryly, “either way, you won’t get to see a lot of him, he’s always at the hospital, working and being the perfect son he is. Plus, he’s definitely not into uni students,” he looked you up and down, soon gulping and looking elsewhere. 

You were clad in a pretty skirt which showed off your legs—which you did wear in hopes of crossing paths with Jaehyun, but you completely missed how Jeno was staring at your body. 

He wasn’t sure if it was out of hatred that he stared at you, or it was admiration because you were one of those people he despised—overachievers.  

You were in the student council, got good grades and professors favoured you, it wouldn’t be a surprise if your parents loved you for being the ideal daughter. It most certainly didn’t help that your appearance seemed as if you were the sweetest, kindest angel on earth, which wasn’t the case when you were around Jeno though. 

“I’ll manage,” you shrugged, “so, I need your final word, Mr. Lee.”

“I am sure I can find better tutors than you,” he raised his brows, challenging you and you didn’t look fazed at all. 

“I am quite literally the best, professor Kim asked me to tutor you for a reason, besides, no one’s gonna agree to help you out with exams being only one month away,” you made your point, extending your hand for him to finalize his decision. 

Overconfidence. He sighed. 

Jeno stared at your extended hand, thinking of the bigger picture here. He’d get tutoring and would be able to score decent grades if he gets back to his usual routine of studying. 

Downside? He’d have to face you each day. 

Sighing and keeping his feelings in check, he simply nodded, taking your smaller hand into his as he accepted the offer, suddenly aware of the warmth of your palm and how it leaves a tingling feeling behind as you shake his hand firmly with a smirk. 

“So, where are we gonna study?” 

Chapter 3: Silent room, a loud mind. 

Turns out, it’s not that easy to sit down and just teach Jeno. 

Given the amount of classes he had missed, or rather, the amount of classes he had managed to attend, it was clear that he didn’t even have the basic idea of the syllabus for the semester modules. 

Moreover, you had already pissed him off by mentioning how you didn’t expect him to have such a clean and organized room, as if you had already decided that he was going to be a messy human. 

Moving forward, you both sat down next to each other with your laptop open in front of you as you made him write down all the topics he needed to cover for the next month, forming a sort of timetable of a kind. 

It was surprisingly peaceful between you two, as if you both wished to get over with it as soon as possible, behaving as civilly as you could but there was this one thing that Jeno couldn’t stop doing. 

Overthinking. 

It’s the way you looked his way with disappointed and concerned filled eyes whenever he messed up, the way his jaw clenched when you told him to do better, the way he couldn’t help but stare at your glossed up lips as you looked around his room, eyes settling on his childhood pictures which were framed. 

It was also new to him to actually interact with people outside of his football team, especially girls. He couldn’t remember the last time he had talked to one. He wondered what was going on in your mind, he wondered if you were silently judging him through it all.

That’s all what people in his life did anyway. 

“You were cute as a kid, what happened to you now?” You joked, chuckling as you looked his way, only to find his mouth slightly agape.

He hadn’t expected you to say that, and he certainly didn’t want to retort back with something that would ruin his mood, “I grew up to be hot is what happened to me,” he replied smoothly. 

“Oh, so you do know how to joke around,” you raised your brows in surprise. It was indeed the image he had formed over the years. The image of him being nothing more than a rude jock who wouldn’t even reply to someone nicely. 

Now that you were actually interacting with him, you were going to find out how many of the rumors were true about him. 

He only leaned closer at your statement, you could see his muscles flexing as he rested one arm on the table in front of you both, “it’s not a joke, love. I am hot.”

You scoffed at the term of endearment, suddenly aware of his scent now that he was so close to you, “and egoistic too,” you helpfully added. 

“Rightfully so.”

Your childish argument was interrupted that very second as the door to Jeno’s room swung open, revealing the exact man you came to see. 

Jaehyun was smiling, dressed in black slacks and a button up shirt as he welcomed you here, and you were quick to notice Jeno’s mood turning fowl that very second. 

“Thank you so much for coming here, Y/n. Let me send a few snacks and drinks for you both while you study,” he smiled, and you rushed up to stand, not even bothering about the pen that fell down as you did so. 

“Jaehyun,” you walked up to him, much to Jeno’s dismay, “oh, you don’t have to do anything,” you smiled sweetly, and he only shook his head softly, grabbing your arm. 

“Don’t worry about it, just sit and relax, okay?” He squeezed your arm, going downstairs and you sighed with a smile. Even his scent was perfect to you. 

“You done daydreaming?” Jeno asked, deadpanning once his brother had left. 

“You done solving the question?” You retorted. 

He sighed, as if his energy was drained already, “yeah, just check and get this over with,” he said, handing you the binder and looking elsewhere. 

It was probably the first time you actually paid attention to his dejected tone, as if he didn’t have the energy to fight back, and you obviously didn’t wish to irk him more, especially when he looked so frustrated right now. Thankfully, a lot of his answers were indeed correct, which was another surprise to you. 

He was smart, he just simply didn’t wish to study. 

“Something wrong?” He asked, cocking his brow and you blinked, “you’re actually not as dumb as you portray yourself to be,” you mumbled, checking everything thoroughly. 

It should’ve been insulting to Jeno per se, but even the slightest amount of approval was a big thing for him, causing the corner of his lips to curl up. He felt insane, the amount of emotions he felt in a single day was perhaps the reason for the same, courtesy of you. 

He was glad Jaehyun didn’t enter the room again, sending in a servant staff to give you the snacks instead, which maintained the peace throughout the session. 

You couldn’t help but notice how well he concentrated once there was silence in the room, your eyes focused on his hand gripping the pen, making it seem more veiny than it already was. 

Also, you didn’t miss the hint of a smile ghosting his face when you told him he did a good job right before leaving, which made you think of a few things, one being— 

He looked beautiful with a smile. 

Chapter 4: You can’t read my mind, so read my lips. 

As much as Jeno loved the comfort of his room, he really wanted to avoid you bumping into Jaehyun again.

Even the thought of your interactions, your fake sweet smiles, made him wanna punch the wall. Jaehyun really had it easy and Jeno never understood why, it was no joke that Jeno was decent looking as well, talented in his own way, and a kind hearted person who just happened to have a protective wall around him so as to not get hurt any further. 

Which is why you had been tutoring him in the library from the past ten sessions, his own personal request to avoid having privacy with you. 

Heck, even Jeno didn’t know it was his own mind trying to protect him, which is why he couldn’t let anyone in, anyone.  

Which made this situation far from ideal as he had you pressed against the library wall, no distance between you both as you closed your eyes in pure distress. 

“What the actual fuck is he doing here?” Your question was directed more to yourself, which confused Jeno further.

He poked his tongue into his cheek, annoyance creeping through, “what the fuck is going on?” He asked. 

“Shhh, not so loud,” you pressed your palm against his mouth, “just hide me.”

He rolled his eyes, grabbing your wrist effortlessly, pinning it above your head, “you don’t tell me what to do, yeah?” He mumbled, flustering you under his gaze before your eyes travelled back to where you were looking initially. 

He sighed in annoyance, looking back at the direction of your supposed fear. 

Na Jaemin. Another of Jeno’s football teammates. 

“Why are you hiding from Jaemin,” he asked, brow raised as he leaned into you. 

“Ugh,” you groaned, “he’s my ex, he shouldn’t even be in the library, he’s never here!” You were stressed and Jeno smirked devilishly. 

“Fucking hell, you’re the girl he keeps on stalking and crying about?” He chuckled, “let me call him,” he turned away for a second. 

You used your free hand to grab his nape, “don’t fucking move,” you mumbled. 

Perhaps you were too harsh with the grabbing, also not calculating the proximity enough, because Jeno’s nose was brushing against yours, lips close to the point of touching, and a low groan escaping his lips as your name rolls out his tongue in the most angry grunt ever, “what the actual fuck are you doing?” 

“J—just let him leave,” you mumbled, gulping and closing your eyes, his mint breath fanning your face as heat crept up your neck, up till your ears. 

“What will I get out of it,” he asked, his free hand resting on your waist now, “why should I help you?”

“I’m literally helping you study, Jeno,” you seethed out.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he groaned, making you open your eyes, staring into his deep ones now, suddenly feeling small under his gaze, and well, his body. 

“What?” you asked, looking away to check if Jaemin had left, pushing Jeno away the second you confirmed it. 

Jeno, however, wasn’t having any of it. 

With a scoff and the shake of his head, he grabbed your wrist again, twisting it behind your back, not putting too much pressure so it just hurt but still made it clear how he would not let you go so easily, “you can’t run from me.”

“Let go, I fucking swear—” you let out, squirming around and pushing him, he didn’t budge at all sadly. 

“You do realize I’m a lot stronger than you, right?” He chuckled. 

“Fuck—what do you want me to do?” You rolled your eyes, jaw clenching as you looked at him. 

Before he could answer, your eyes widened in fear yet again as you yanked his arm so forcefully, he had no chance to balance himself, a yelp leaving his mouth as you ran and he was following right after you. 

Jaemin was back and you could just not deal with his ass anymore, hence the overwhelming response. Fight or flight? Flight for sure. Dragging Jeno into it might be a stretch but hey, whatever helped you run away from the gremlin, right? 

“Y/N,” Jeno hissed yet again, once you stopped by your seat, gathering both yours and his belongings scattered across the table from when you were studying a few minutes back, before getting up to find a book, before seeing Jaemin roaming around the halls of the library. 

It was quite amusing to Jeno if he was being honest, a mix of feelings as you grabbed his wrist effortlessly yet again, your eyes set on the exit door leading to the parking lot where Jeno’s Ferrari Purosangue stood proudly. 

“Get in!” You screamed even though you were far from the threat (read: Jaemin) now. 

“That’s my car in case you forgot—”

“Now.” 

“So fucking annoying—” He grumbled, with a small smile playing on his lips. 

You looked so bothered as if you were chased by Ghostface and not Jaemin, even though you probably wouldn’t run away from the prior. It was comical regardless, the long breath you exhaled once you were comfortable on his premium quality car seat, head leaned back fully. 

You opened your eyes after a few seconds only to find Jeno’s eyes on you, face curved into an amused look. You stared at one another for a second, two seconds, three seconds—and he burst out laughing. 

It was probably the first time you saw him laugh like that—so freely, without any care in this world. It was loud but breathless, making his eyes crinkle with small crescents forming, his perfectly aligned pearly teeth showing as he went on, laughing at your disheveled state and crazy response to everything that happened the past twenty minutes. 

You were calm and composed for the most part, it was rare for you to look this frustrated over anything, which came as a surprise to Jeno, the whole situation seemingly pure comedy to him. 

You observed him so carefully, your own lips twitching into a smile and before you knew it, you were laughing alongside him so normally as if two friends were laughing over a joke. 

A weird sort of warmth spread over your body, it made no sense honestly, you were pinned to the wall just a few minutes back and Jeno looked as if he’d burst into flames with his anger, and now he’s laughing at your disheveled, non-composed state. 

Once Jeno caught you staring back at him with glittering eyes, and a little smile, he froze. It was easy for him to come back to his senses (read: put his walls back up) which only made your smile drop too. It was awkward, both of you looking elsewhere while clearing your throats, definitely not something you expected. 

“Uh—sorry about that, yeah,” you mumbled, playing with the loose threat of your sweater sleeve. 

“Yeah, no problem,” he retorted, turning the car engine on to start driving. 

Why was it awkward? Because you laughed together like two absolutely normal individuals? Because you had Jeno pinning you to the wall to avoid your ex? 

Or because you almost kissed. Almost. 

 The ride back to your apartment was silent, no songs playing in the car, just the small buzz of engine, and the nail tapping on the screen of your phone—to avoid any kind of conversation happening, also clearly missing out on how Jeno glanced at you every few seconds, the speed of his thoughts running faster than his own car. 

“I’ll—see you tomorrow then?” Your voice cracked as you said so, wincing slightly at your own tone. 

Jeno was about to chuckle again, yet he covered it with a low cough as he mumbled a yes, as you opened the door once he stopped in front of your apartment. 

That’s it, you were leaving, and his eyes didn’t leave you till you disappeared into the apartment. 

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, groaning as he banged his head into it, a low horn sound only frustrating him further. It was hard for him to drive after, the scene of you being so vulnerable yet glaring at him like a scared little vixen trying to look brave, replayed in his mind. 

No, he couldn’t drive, couldn’t focus on the road anymore, stopping the car at a random parking lot of a fast food chain, grabbing his phone to pull up Instagram, specifically Jaemin’s account. 

He didn’t have to scroll much to find the picture he was looking for—his teammate, Jaemin, standing right next to you with his arm resting on your waist. Jeno didn’t know why that picture left a bitter taste in his mouth all of a sudden, knowing well how badly Jaemin fucked up when he cheated on you. 

And now the asshole is running after you again. 

You didn’t deserve that, you deserve someone better—someone perfect like you. 

He went back, not having it in him to look at the picture again, instead, going to your account now. It looked professional, all your posts being highly calculative to make your feed look pleasing. Your highlights, however, had this one particular picture—a picture of you smiling without a care in the world, so raw, so genuine, so beautiful. 

Beautiful. 

Jeno thought you looked beautiful, and it made him angry. 

He was angry—because deep down, he desired to be the reason for your smile. 

Chapter 5: Pretty in pink, but my head’s in the dark. 

Jeno made you smile. 

You did know that laugh was contagious, however, you didn’t think you’d actually give in to Jeno’s sweet chuckles. 

Sleep didn’t come to you easy when the constant reminder of the study session poked the back of your mind, not to mention what happened in the library earlier, where you and Jeno almost kissed—

No. 

You shook your head. Such niche experiences never falter you, so why was this such a big deal? 

Another groan left your mouth, but alas, your body was relaxed enough to sleep so you woke up energetic the next day. It felt oddly friendly when you saw Jeno at the University, and he threw a two finger salute your way, you waved back before going your way. 

“You’re zoned out, again.” Karina, one of your classmates, pointed out and you sighed as she rambled about how you needed to let some guy in, quite literally, to blow off some steam, which you clearly weren’t doing, hence the stuck up energy. 

Being descriptive about it didn’t help either—yet another reminder of how Jeno’s body was pressed against yours this hour, yesterday. 

Heat crept up your neck, urging you to pack up and leave the room. It was hot, stuffy almost for you to do anything, which is why you found yourself studying at the empty seat of the University park. 

You had to face him again, of course, there was no escape to that, and as if the universe was testing you, the time passed by way too quickly for your liking and soon, you found yourself standing in front of the main door of Jeno’s place. 

Before you could even ring the bell, the door opened to a huffing Jeno, almost as if he ran downstairs, but how did he know—

“Hey,” he whispered, looking around. 

He didn’t wait for your reply, simply grabbing your wrist and dragging you inside, your skin burning at the unexpected touch, but you didn’t shake him off of you, only asking in a low tone, “what are you doing?” 

“Shh,” Jeno mumbled, as though he was trying to avoid someone, or rather, trying to hide you from someone. His efforts were futile, however, once he heard that stern voice of his mother booming through the walls of his mansion. 

Now you get why Jeno was in a hurry, the look on her face had a chill going down your spine. 

You felt Jeno stiffen alongside you, his hold on your wrist now tighter, uncontrollably so. 

“You must be the new tutor for Jeno,” she said, scrutinizing every bit of your existence, Jeno’s jaw clenched at her unwavering gaze. 

“Yes ma’am, It’s a pleasure meeting you,” you tried to say, only for her to cut you off. 

“Trust me, darling. There must be no pleasure in helping Jeno, but I do hope he learns a thing or two from you—you look like a smart young lady, hopefully, a positive influence on him.” 

You looked at her with your mouth open slightly, not believing the sight in front of you. No mother should look down on their children like that, ever. 

“Mrs. Jung, I hope we’re talking about the same Jeno because he is amazing at studies, he grasps concepts faster than I do, and then I believe I’m the one who’s learning from him right now!” You smiled, full of enthusiasm, feeling Jeno’s hand dropping down from your wrist. 

“In fact, I’ve never seen anyone play football so perfectly while also being so brilliantly academically smart, I firmly believe his grades will shock you this time. Now, if you’ll excuse us, it’s time for our tutoring session.”

You passed her a small smile, the shock clear on her face, before grabbing Jeno’s hand and taking him along with you—to his room. You didn’t look back, simply closing the door as you breathed out with a pissed expression. 

Jeno’s heart was beating fast, he wasn’t sure if he had words to speak at this moment, so staring at you was all he could do. 

You spoke for him. 

You defended him. 

No one’s ever done that, no one cared enough to understand, moreover, it didn’t help how you looked angrier than him at the situation. 

“W—Why?” Jeno couldn’t keep his voice in check, “you didn’t have to—say all that.”

That’s when you turned around, facing him. All your anger disappeared once you focused on his face, so vulnerable, so confused, so desperate to know your answer. 

“Jeno,” the gentleness in your voice only made him gulp and look down at the floor, “I hope you don’t believe a word she says, because that’s not true,” you spoke, inching closer. 

You were not one who was good at making people feel better, Jeno of all people at that, however, this gave you an insight of why Jeno is the way he is—closed off, hence the lack of words from your side, but you knew you had to say it. 

That’s the thing, we judge people too quickly, you always had snarky remarks for him, not knowing how deep they cut him. He looked shaken right now, traumatized, especially because you experienced a part of his life which he never wanted to share with anybody. 

“Jeno, you’re doing so well, you know that right?” You whispered, as genuine as possible, your fingers grabbing his own, which made him look up at you finally. 

He was shaken, not from his mother’s words—he was used to them—but from yours. 

“No one’s ever said that,” he spoke so silently, you almost missed it. You held his hand tight—being almost angrier than him while answering his mom back—he isn’t sure if he’ll ever be over that. 

Jeno didn’t realize his eyes were glistening. 

“What?” You breathed out. 

He gulped yet again, jaw clenched now as he struggled to get his words out, the floor being the most interesting thing to him, “defended me. No one’s done that.”

“I—is that why you hate Jaehyun? Because people only see him?” You asked, wincing at the question when you saw him stiffen again, a sharp pang in your chest once he brushed your hand off of his. 

“Don’t. Don’t fucking go there.”

“I didn’t mean—” 

“Oh I fucking know what you mean. Everyone sees him fuck—you see him, because he’s perfect, right? That’s what he is, perfect,” he seethed out, “you don’t know what it’s like—to live in someone’s shadow,” there was a flash of pain in his eyes. 

You stayed mum, letting him speak. 

“Every place, every room, every fucking person just sees him,” he muttered, “I need to better, but it’s never enough, because he already did it—Jaehyun did it better. You look at him the same way as others do, and me? The afterthought—the failure.”

Your heart broke a little, guilt settling in because unknowingly, you fueled the same anger and trauma for him. 

“Jeno,” you mumbled, “you’re not a failure.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I’m starting to,” you spoke, and he looked up, “and thank god you’re not Jaehyun,” you chuckled, fingers ghosting near his jaw, your touch featherlight, making him suck in a deep breath. 

“Why?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper, eyes hopeful, which scared him. 

“Because you’re real, you don’t fake your emotions. You don’t smile at somebody who you don’t care about, you get angry, messy, you let yourself be shown how you are,” you lip twitched slightly as you said so, your own heartbeat rose at the sentences you so easily uttered, “that’s what makes you a human, Jeno, a human who’s trying his best, which is what matters.”

He blinked. 

He wanted to speak, but he couldn’t, simply leaning into your touch with his eyes closed. 

“You’re you, the stupid jock who’s not scared of anything, yeah?” You tried to make him smile, which helped as you saw his lips curving up. 

Midway through your sentences, you genuinely questioned yourself about why you even like Jaehyun, it was honestly just your mind playing games with you. 

“You scare me,” he muttered. 

“Why?”

“Because you say things so convincingly, it makes me wanna believe you.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Just—don’t say it when you don’t mean it.”

“I do,” you said in a breath, his eyes on yours now, more intense than ever, “I mean every word.”

He stared a little longer, staring at you unamused as if you’d laugh in his face right this second. You didn’t. 

“You’re serious,” he said, voice hoarse. 

You nodded softly. 

Jeno took a single step forward, the air around you so tight, it felt like a rubber band stretched to its max, on the verge of snapping back. 

You inhaled sharply once Jeno’s cold hand brushed the hair on your shoulder, grazing against your bare skin, moving up your nape. 

“Do you have any idea what you just said to me?” He murmured, eyes locked on yours, turning you around easily to pin you against the wall—something he liked to do, apparently. 

“Tell me,” you mumbled. 

If someone told you two days back that you’d be in Jeno’s room, calming him down before getting into a compromising position with him, you would have laughed in their faces. It was reality for you now, something that made you feel so unconventionally flustered. 

The way he brushed his thumb along your jaw, slow and deliberate, made you shiver, “you’re making me forget that i’m supposed to hate this—feeling anything.” 

You were hanging on the last bit of your sanity, drowning in Jeno’s scent, his nose brushing against your cheek, hand gripping your waist, heat radiating off of your body. 

“Jeno—”

“Say it again,” he whispered. 

“Say what?” You breathed. 

“That you’re glad I’m not him.”

You chuckled under his hold, your voice still shaking, “I’m so glad—so fucking glad you’re not him.” 

His breath sounded like a curse, lips hovering a breath above yours, you could feel his hesitation against your skin. He wasn’t sure if he had the right to touch someone as perfect as you, yet you didn’t stop him, the space in between you was so tight, it might as well elicit electricity. 

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, only leaning into his touch, resting your hand over the top of his on your jaw. The touch was faint, yet you could feel it everywhere. 

You held your breath as he leaned in—

Knock. 

Jeno swore under his breath as you flinched, it physically hurt him to step back. 

“Jeno?” Of course, it was Jaehyun who had to interrupt you two. 

Your hands trembled as Jeno moved to the door, and you quickly turned towards the desk, rushing to sit down, pretending that nothing had happened—that you didn’t almost kiss Jeno a few seconds back. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, eyes furious with a hint of daze in them. “Yeah?” His voice came out strained as he asked Jaehyun through the door. 

“Mom wants to talk to you,” He said.

“Be right down,” he answered, shaking his head, staring at your way one last time, holding eye contact for a second, letting you see just how much he hated this situation, veins popping in his neck.

Then he opened the door, closing it behind him and disappearing from your eyesight. 

You stayed there, overwhelmed, lips tingling, pulse racing. 

A truth burned your skin in an excruciating pain. 

If he had kissed you, you wouldn’t have stopped him. 

Chapter 6: I can go from A to Z, but U is what I want. 

Jeno hadn’t texted you all night. 

Not that you waited, except, you did. 

He never came back to the room after Jaehyun called him out, you waited, till you couldn’t anymore and had to rush out before your mind drove you to the edge of insanity. 

So you grabbed your bag, rushing to the first place you thought of—the courtyard behind the Science block. It was calm, no student in sight, thankfully. 

Your five minutes of calm ended a second too quickly, a voice calling out your name in its full glory. You cursed the universe for treating you like this and you didn’t have to turn around to figure out who it was.

Jaemin. 

“I gotta admit, I didn’t peg you to fall for the broken type.” He stepped out smiling as insane as a villain who hasn’t moved on does. 

“Still stalking me?” You rolled your eyes, “get a fucking job.”

“I call it being invested,” he smirked, shoving hands in his pockets, “it’s honestly a downgrade, going from me to Jeno.”

“Not again,” you muttered, grabbing your book which you had just taken out. 

“I mean, trading me for Jeno?” Voice full of pity. 

“As if you were an option, Jaemin,” you turned sharply. 

That shut him up for half a second.

“I just don’t get it,” he said, voice colder now. “He’s always angry, I was angry, I made you feel something, can he say the same?”

Your head was hurting by now, as you mumbled yet another shut up, only to be stopped by Jaemin as he grabbed your arm. 

“What? He’s the angry, tortured type. You’re into hopeless projects now?”

“I’m into honesty,” you snapped, “something you don’t offer.”

“What does he have that I don’t?”

“Self awareness maybe,” a voice came from behind you, low, cold, almost lethal. 

Jeno was here. 

“Let go of her,” he said, dead-eyed, he was ready to snap. 

And Jaemin did, a scoff leaving his mouth before he smirked, “great, speak of the devil.”

Jeno raised his brow, “you done?”

Jaemin chuckled, “not even close.”

You sighed, “of course not,” this day couldn’t get worse. 

“You really think this is love or whatever?” He said, looking at Jeno but his words were directed to you instead, “he’s gonna burn you someday, and you’re gonna let him.” 

Oh god, you were not having any of this, why was this conversation even happening? It made absolutely no sense. 

Jeno moved faster this time, but you blocked his chest with your arms, “enough,” you said sharply. 

“Ask him to leave.” Jeno said, voice low. 

“Jaemin, just leave,” you said, turning to him. 

But he didn’t, and so Jeno did, shoving past you as you rolled your eyes, Jaemin’s sinister smile only widening, getting so close to him, he had to lean back slightly. 

“Don’t test me, and don’t come near her again, or else I won’t be this patient.” Jeno spoke. 

“Aw? You’re gonna hit me in front of her, Jeno?”

“I don’t need to, she already cut you deeper than I ever could.” 

Jaemin blinked, clenching his jaw, before turning to you, maintaining eye contact, “she’s not your girl, Jeno.”

“You don’t know that,” he gritted his teeth. 

“You’ll come back,” Jaemin’s jaw ticked as he said so. 

“Hold your breath until I do,” you replied.

That was it, he left. It wasn’t silent, nor dramatic, but with enough tension to let you know that he will be coming back. 

Once he was gone, you shoved Jeno, hard. 

“The fuck was that?”

“What? I came here trying to find you, only to witness you talking to him.”

“I didn’t want it to happen either, but the world hates me,” you mumbled, grabbing your bag and walking away with Jeno following you behind. 

“I fucking hate that he still gets to talk to you, why does he have access to you?” His voice rose and you prayed no one would hear him, thankfully this area was empty. 

“He doesn’t, and why do you even care?” You asked, with distress clear on your face, “pretending like I mean something to you in front of Jaemin is just as worse, Jeno.” 

“I—”

“No, you won’t even talk about last night, as if it didn’t happen,” you snapped and he froze, “you didn’t even come back to your room.”

His silence was your answer, and you knew this conversation wasn’t gonna go any further, Jeno couldn’t do that—he was scared of opening up, and he was scared of answering those questions, so even though you were hurting on the inside, you let him be. 

“Tomorrow, library, at five. Be on time.” You mumbled, leaving him behind you. 

“Fuck—fuck!” Jeno punched the wall next to him. He didn’t want you to go—the first person who ever tried to understand him, took his side, defended him. He was beyond scared of letting his guard down, so he groaned, sliding down the wall. 

“How do I even tell you I want you?”

Chapter 7: I stayed, even when it was easier to run.

The library was too quiet for how loud your mind was. The sound of your pen dragging across the paper felt almost intrusive as you tried to finish your assignment. 

It had been three nights since the library fiasco. 

Two nights since the almost kiss. 

One night since the blow up with Jaemin.

You almost didn’t wish to come here, yet here you were, with the sample test papers ready, clad in your little black skirt, a cardigan too loose for you, waiting for Jeno to show up—hoping he would. 

The clock ticked. He was a solid nineteen minutes late now, another minute and you’ll get up to leave. That’s when you heard the lazy footsteps approaching your side, the farthest corner of the library. You expected him to sit in front of you, yet he opted to sit right next to you, so close you could feel the fabric of his jeans brushing against your thigh. He took a seat without permission, like he had the right to be, like nothing had happened. 

He came in like guilt personified, shoulders hunched, hoodie loose, hair an unbrushed mess of indecision. And when he saw you?

He hesitated.

You didn’t look up, simply sliding him the sheet of questions to solve, the air around you turned weighted. His pen scratched, your leg bounced, you sipped water and he watched the corner of your mouth, practically burning holes into you. 

It was unbearable. 

This tension—it’s not a war but there’s rarely ever any peace. Catherine and Heathcliff reincarnated, except you weren’t on a moor, you were in a library, trying not to fall apart across the wooden study table. 

Just yesterday, he burned through Jaemin like jealousy was oxygen. 

He couldn’t stop staring, yet he solved the questions for forty minutes, sliding the sheet back to you for checking, expecting some sort of conversation now, anything, even a little hum of acknowledgement from your side, but none of it happened. 

He watched you scribble your pen over the margin, circling a few things, ticking the others, lip bitten in concentration. He observed you so intensely, how your eyes flicked across his answer sheet, but you didn’t look his way, not even once. 

“You won’t even talk to me now?” He asked, keeping his voice in check. 

“Four answers wrong, you did pretty well, can do better still,” you mumbled, passing him the paper. 

“Y/N,” he sighed, tired, he was afraid of this happening—letting you down, and that’s exactly what he did. Running away from his problems was what Jeno always did, he wasn’t perfect, he knows it, but he wants to try and be better, better for you. 

“You came late,” you said, still not looking up. 

“I didn’t sleep last night,” he exhaled, jaw clenched. 

“Not my problem,” you retorted. 

“I was thinking.”

“You should study instead.”

“You hate me now, huh?” Jeno leaned forward, voice flat. 

You blinked. The question hit out of nowhere.

“I don’t hate you,” you replied carefully. “But I don’t know how to deal with you either.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No, Jeno. It’s the truth. And that’s more than you’ve been giving me.”

He looked at you then, really looked—eyes narrowed, jaw tight, like he was keeping a war behind his teeth. His eyes were empty, yet so full of you. 

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said, quietly. “I don’t know how to be—good at this, with you.”

“And yet you’re good at disappearing. You’re good at leaving me hanging like none of it mattered.”

You weren’t yelling. You didn’t need to. Your disappointment was louder than any raised voice.

Jeno sat back in his chair, breathing shallow. “You kissed me back.”

Your throat tightened, “you didn’t kiss me at all.”

“Exactly,” he muttered. “Because I would’ve ruined it. Ruined you.”

You shook your head slowly. “No, Jeno. You didn’t kiss me because you’re scared of how much you want to.”

His hands balled into fists. “And you’re not?”

“We’re not talking about me.” You looked away. 

He scoffed, turning to look at you fully, leaning in with his hand now resting on your thigh, burning the skin with his touch. 

“You want honesty, huh? So here it is—I’ve been thinking about you, about everything that’s happened in the past few days, no one’s ever messed with my mind so much and it fucking scares me. You’re messing me up—”

You couldn’t hear more, not when he was so close, not when he poured his heart out to you. Nothing about you two was normal, even your heartbeat was synced with how abnormally high they were. 

“Shh,” you mumbled, covering his mouth with your palm, and even the rude gesture calmed him down—your touch calmed him down. 

“You have an exam tomorrow.” You said and he stared, “study, pass the exam, and we’ll talk, yeah?”

He blinked, almost as if you showed him mercy, and gave him a chance to do something, to prove that he’s worthy of being near you. His scholarship, football, future—everything was at stake, but did he care? No. He cared about not letting you down. He wanted to prove himself to you. 

“You—you promise?” He asked, gripping the extra sheets and notes you passed his way.

You nodded, eyes softer now. You didn’t wanna hurt Jeno, you could see just how hard he tried to fight with his demons, but this time, you wanted him to win.

“I’ll be waiting.” 

You turned to leave then, leaving Jeno with his thoughts as he watched you leave, eyes on your legs. He gulped, looking back to the paper to find a line scribbled in your handwriting. 

You already know the answer, you’re just afraid of getting it wrong. 

It wasn’t about the question, it was about him. 

He just wanted to be worthy enough to stand in front of you and say I didn’t fuck this up this time. So he started, he worked all night, solved as many sample problems as he could, everything felt like a punch in the gut but he couldn’t give up, not this time. 

Jeno couldn’t sleep at night, 

I’ll be waiting. 

That’s what you told him, and he was looking forward to it, because for the very first time in his life, someone wasn’t waiting for him to fail. 

He woke up before his alarm had the chance to ring, didn’t care about his mother’s remark on how he woke up on time for once, or how Jaehyun gave him a long, unreadable look. Jeno didn’t react, he had bigger problems to tackle today. 

You were just as restless as him if not more, checking your phone every few minutes as if you’d get any text from Jeno. He must be busy studying, you hope that was the case. 

He walked into the exam hall calm, focused, terrified. He didn’t skip questions. He didn’t zone out.

He solved the final problem two minutes before time and rechecked every line like his life was hidden in the margins.

When he walked out of that room, his shirt clinging to the back of his neck from sweat, his palms aching from gripping the pen too hard—he knew. He’d done it. Or at least, he hoped he did. 

Yet, he didn’t text you, he wouldn’t until he got the results. 

Chapter 8: Jealousy is but a red thread around my throat. 

You waited, not loud, but silently. 

Two whole days, you held your breath, even planned on visiting the football practice to just get a glimpse of Jeno, yet you couldn’t muster enough courage to do so. God, you were so affected by everything he did, and this felt so very suffocating, waiting on someone. You knew what you felt, there was no point in denying it, however, you couldn’t figure out how it happened, so quickly at that. 

Heck, even Jaemin was more present in your chat inbox, even though you never replied to him, it just made you wonder if your time with Jeno was just a hoax. 

Did you imagine it all? 

On the other hand, on the other side of the city, sitting in a dim room with sunlight pouring in, Jeno was drowning in darkness. 

The exam portal was open in front of him, he refreshed the page every two seconds, not being able to sit still. His hands were shaking, not from fear but from want.  From the feeling of your voice telling him that you’ll talk to him once he proves himself. 

He gave up the wait, the result wasn’t out the whole day. It was three in the morning when the notification woke him up like a jolt. 

Results were out. 

He rushed to check it, the numbers stunning him as his jaw hung open. 

83%

Not perfect. But more than enough.

Enough to pass. Enough to stay on the team.

Enough to say, Look. I did it. I’m not a fuck-up. The first thing he thought of was you. So he typed—just two words.

Jeno: I passed.

Because he didn’t know how to say what he really wanted to—I passed, and all I could think about was your voice. I passed, and I still don’t feel whole unless you tell me you’re proud. I passed, and it’s not enough if I can’t show you.

Your reply came back six minutes later.

You: I knew you would. 

It was soft, gentle. But was it enough for Jeno? No. It should’ve been enough, but it wasn’t. 

He didn’t reply, he didn’t text you again. He opted to skip the lectures for the day and stay in his room, blinds closed, only darkness consuming him. 

You knew it was hard for Jeno, you knew you shouldn’t wait for his reply or him approaching you—he was too scared to do that, which is exactly why you grabbed your bag and went to his place the first thing in the morning. Maybe Jeno needed time, but you had to check. 

You rang the bell, your heart pounding as you did so, expecting Jeno to open up and see you. Once the door opened, your pulse stuttered. 

Jaehyun. 

Of course, it had to be him. 

“Y/N,” he said your name smoothly, “didn’t know you were coming by.”

You hesitated with a small chuckle, exhaling the breath you were holding, “is Jeno home?” 

He nodded, stepping aside to let you in, “yeah, he’s in his room, didn’t come out this morning at all.”

“Oh,” you said softly, wondering if he was alright. 

There was a pause, an awkward silence after that, you felt heavy, wanting to go upstairs but you weren’t sure if you were allowed to. 

Jaehyun closed the door behind you. “He’s been off since the results,” he said, voice low. “I thought passing would help, but I don’t know. He kind of shut down again after telling us he passed.”

You gulped, chest tightened at the revelation. 

“I came to check up on him, I’m not sure if he wants to meet though.”

“He’d want to see you.” Jaehyun said, smiling sincerely, “you’re good for him.”

Your eyes widened at that, “I’m not sure he thinks that.” You tried to smile, “can I go to his room?”

“He locked the door, I think he’s sleeping,” Jaehyun said apologetically. 

“I don’t wanna bother him.” You smiled sadly, “those are good pictures,” you mumbled, looking at the wall full of frames, particularly the ones with Jeno in them.

“Yeah, I took most of those,” Jaehyun replied with another smile, he knew you wanted to talk to Jeno so he suggested something, “Maybe if you take him something to eat? I can give the breakfast he skipped—”

“Oh no, I can run to the bakery and get something—”

Then you noticed a movement in your peripheral vision, you turned around to find Jeno. He was standing down the hall, his fluffy hair a mess, eyes wide as if he didn’t expect you to be here—especially with Jaehyun. 

“Hey,” you breathed out. 

No reply. 

“Y—you didn’t reply, I came to see you,” you tried speaking again. 

However, his expression didn’t change and suddenly, you felt like you shouldn’t have come here at all. He was frozen even when you said you wanted to make sure he was okay. Then he came back to his senses, clearing his throat. 

Jaehyun left the room, letting you two be alone. 

“Why didn’t you ask for me?” He whispered, just sadness in his voice. 

“I did, that’s what I came for,” you tried to explain.

Jeno stared at you, he was so broken inside he couldn’t let himself believe it. You dressed up, all pretty, your eyes so soft, your lips turning into a pout of disappointment. You looked perfect, and you came here for Jeno? He just could not believe it. 

“You were talking to him,” Jeno said, referring to Jaehyun, his voice broken. 

“He opened the door, what can I do?” You shook your head, trying to explain, “you didn’t even text back, Jeno.”

“I don’t know what to say,” he replied, “I’ve never done this before. I’ve never had someone wait for me and mean it.”

Your lips parted to reply but he wasn’t done. 

“You said you’d talk to me after the exam,” he went on, voice sharper now, “but when you showed up, you let him open the door. You let him tell you how I was.”

“I didn’t—” your voice faltered, “I didn’t come for him.”

“Didn’t look that way.”

That hurt. You flinched. “Jeno, why are you doing this?” 

“Because I waited for you,” he snapped. “I sat in that room like a fucking idiot thinking you’d come to see me. Not make small talk with my brother or compliment his photography.”

“You heard that?” You froze, it wasn’t your intention to do any of that. 

“I heard everything, every second you spent without taking my name,” he said. 

Just like that—he hurt you. Every conversation was about Jeno, every single one. He just couldn’t see it. 

“I thought I was getting better,” he admitted, quieter now. “I thought passing the exam would mean something. That it would be enough.”

“It was,” you whispered. “Jeno, it is. I am proud of you.”

“Then why didn’t it feel like it?” His voice broke on that line. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a step away, then back, like his own body was a prison.

You stood frozen. Every word hit somewhere different.

“I wanted you to come,” he said, softer now. “Not to check in. Not to ask if I’d eaten. I wanted you to come for me. Just for me. You don’t get it, Y/N.”

“No,” you stepped forward. “You don’t get it. You think everything is about being chosen or abandoned. But not everyone’s trying to leave you, Jeno. Sometimes people show up. But you keep slamming the door in their face.”

He turned away. “Then go.”

“I came for you.” You said one last time, your eyes watering, not being able to contain the hurt you held in them. 

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have.”

That one landed like a punch.

Your mouth opened. Then closed. You nodded. Just once.

“Fine.”

You turned.

And you left.

And this time, he didn’t stop you.

Chapter 9: I know that I’m hard to read, but you got me here to stay 

You spent most of your morning crying alone in your student council room, but it just wasn’t enough, not when you were being wronged every second of the day, not when the person you wanted kept running away from you no matter how hard you tried. At least you did. 

You couldn’t run away though, you had an important meeting with your council at six in the evening, by that time, you had done everything to make yourself look normal again, but your mind was entirely elsewhere, in another realm, a realm where things were different. 

Jeno, on the other hand, left his room as soon as he realized how wrong everything had gone. All afternoon his own words replayed in his mind, how he asked you to leave and how you left a single tear drop on the floor before you turned around and left. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have.

It felt like biting into something rotten, saying that out loud to you. Like watching the one and the only thing he wanted turn and walk away. You didn’t yell back, you didn’t beg, you went still, and left. He saw you leave—he made you leave. 

And he let you go anyway. Because that’s what he did. Because pushing people away was easier than asking them to stay.

Until now.

Now he was pacing in his room like a caged animal, hoodie still damp, heart in his throat. He kept hearing your voice in the hallway. Kept seeing your face. Kept remembering the way you reached for him and he didn’t reach back.

His chest felt tight, his limbs tense. He couldn’t stay here, not in this house, not knowing you might never come back.

He had to find you.

So he ran. He ran to the courtyard, not caring about the rain pour, soaking him up from head to toe. You weren’t in the library, not in the council room, the classrooms were empty. He was panicking. 

That’s when he heard a voice, turning around the corner of the athletic department, he walked straight into one of his football teammates he couldn’t stand at all—Minjae, a loud-mouthed asshole, smiling like a madman. 

“Fucking hell, Lee Jeno, you look like shit.” He grinned. 

Jeno didn’t answer, he was in a hurry, he had to find you, to make things right with you, he was about to push past Minjae when—

“Oh, by the way,” he smirked, “Jaemin told us a lot about how you finally landed his ex, the pretty goody two shoes, Y/N.”

Jeno froze, jaw clenched at the mention of you and Jaemin in the same sentence, coming from an asshole at that. 

“Didn’t think you’d have a go at someone like her. She seems to like guys who have more brains than biceps.” He laughed at his own joke. 

“The fuck did you just say?” 

Minjae laughed. “Chill, man. I’m just saying—props to you, seriously. Girl like that? All polished and pretty and loyal? I mean, not that it’ll last. Girls like that don’t stay with guys like us. She’ll figure it out eventually.”

Jeno’s vision turned black.

“Say that again,” he said, voice like static.

Minjae raised his hands. “Relax. You don’t need to get all—”

The punch landed before he could finish.

Minjae hit the ground hard, water splashing up from the impact, the rain pouring down heavier now. He tried to shove Jeno back, but to no avail as he bent down, his fist colliding with Minjae’s jaw again.  

Jeno wasn’t fighting Minjae per se, he was fighting every single voice that told him he wasn’t enough, that he could never live up to his brother, that he could never be with someone as perfect as you. That’s what he believed too, till you actually became real for him. 

His mind was elsewhere when he took a blow to his jaw, lip bleeding now, Jeno stumbled but scoffed before punching him again, and again, till his knuckles were shredded, a throbbing in his jaw which almost felt like fire. 

It was only when someone pulled him off of Minjae, Jeno stopped, spitting out blood in the rain slick grass. Everything hurt, but not as much as his burning chest. 

“Are you insane?” Someone yelled his way, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Jeno didn’t bother answering, pulling out his phone and rushing away, typing out texts to you. 

Jeno: where are you? please say something i’m so fucking sorry Y/N i didn’t mean it  i didn’t mean any of it i swear Y/N please 

No response. His messages were just there, unread, and unanswered. He simply didn’t know why. 

He didn’t know how you had been in the private meeting room for the past hour, student council prep being a whole scheduling disaster, handling arguments about clubs and their out-of-the-worldly budget demands. 

You were half awake at best, distracted by the storm that brewed outside. Your phone vibrates once, then again, and when you finally pull it out to check the numerous missed calls—your screen goes dark. Perfect, just on the day you didn’t bring your charger or powerbank. 

The feeling in your gut—it wasn’t good, which is why you excused yourself mid meeting, something you never do, to rush back home. You were soaked as you ran to your apartment, close to the University, thankfully. You plugged your phone in to charge as you rushed to take a shower, hoping the hot water would soothe your nerves. It didn’t. 

You kept thinking about Jeno, about the fight at his place earlier, how he asked you to leave with the saddest look in his eyes, and how badly it hurt you. You were out of the shower in fifteen minutes, toweling your hair with one hand and rushing to check your phone with the other, not expecting a myriad of notifications. 

17 Missed calls. 

6 Voicemails. 

26 Unread texts. 

The last of which made your blood run cold. 

Jeno: Y/N please  i’m outside 

You rushed to the front door, and he was there—leaning against the wall beside your entrance, hoodie clinging to him, hair wet and plastered to his forehead, eyes closed and him wincing like he couldn’t hold himself up anymore. Like it hurts too much to exist. Hands bruised, lip split, and he opened his eyes—bloodshot, glassy. 

“Jeno,” you gasped out loud, “w—what happened?” You said, going close to him. 

“I tried to find you,” he said, voice wrecked, “I tried but I couldn’t, I thought that maybe you blocked me.”

“No—I was in a meeting and my phone died, god I’m so sorry—fuck, come inside.” You shook your head in distress.

“Y/N,” he groaned, and you gently helped him when he didn’t move, like he wasn’t allowed to, “I fucked up.”

“Shh, come inside, it’s cold,” you whispered and he nodded after a moment of hesitation. You tried to be calm, you tried to take control of the situation for once and he listened, this time he did when you took him to your room. 

You didn’t ask how this happened to him, only guiding him to the bathroom, “you’re soaked and bleeding, take a shower, i’ll put your clothes in the wash and dryer.”

He opened his mouth to say otherwise, but you didn’t let him, grabbing a fresh towel and handing it to him. 

“Are you sure you want me here?” He asked, vulnerable. 

“I wouldn’t have opened the door otherwise, Jeno, I do.”

He nodded, swallowing hard as he disappeared into the bathroom without another word and you worked your washing machine and dryer, sitting down right after, exhaling and letting your guard down, hands shaking with worry. 

You were glad Jeno was taking his sweet time inside, because you had no clue how to go on with this situation. Jeno stalling coming out simply because he was ashamed, also consumed in how good your shampoo smells. He was at your place, in your bathroom, all bloodied up, why? Because he couldn’t be normal for once and let you in. 

His walls came crashing down each time you came closer to him, but this time, he didn’t want them to go back up the second he touched you, this time, he wanted you inside with him. 

His clothes were dry very soon and you kept them in your room, waiting outside by the sofa, letting him come out all dressed up. The water stopped soon, the door creaking as he came out, and you were sitting on the sofa, hair still wet. 

Then Jeno opened the door, you stood up at the noise, and he looked your way in a silent plea to ask you if he could sit next to you, and you nodded. He held up the bloodied towel, “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and you smiled softly, taking it away from him. 

The silence was too loud after as you both sat next to each other, you waited for him to say something, waited for the reality of tonight to settle in—to make sense, to stop trembling beneath your skin. And then he spoke as you took out your medicine kit, gently grabbing his hand to take a look at his bruised knuckles. 

“Y/N,” he took your name as if it was the only thing he knew. 

He watched you kneel in front of him, your eyes not angry, just steady, quiet, and unbearably kind. His fingers trembled in yours, you gently pulled the sleeve back, pressing a warm damp cloth to the wounds, making him wince slightly at the contact. 

“Sorry,” you breathed out. 

“I deserve worse,” he breathed back. 

“No, you don’t,” you said, looking up at him. 

He laughed under his breath, “why are you so kind to me? I don’t deserve it, Y/N.”

“You don’t get to decide what I give you, Jeno,” you replied, “you’re bleeding, again.”

“Not my first time.”

You gripped him tighter, “and that’s supposed to make it better?”

“No,” he said, voice low, “just means I’m good at it by now.”

You didn’t answer. Just ripped the antiseptic packet open a little more forcefully than necessary and pressed it to the bruised line of his knuckles. He flinched.

“Good,” you muttered. “Means you still feel something.”

“God, Y/N—”

“No,” you snapped, trying your best to act normal but you both were far from that, “not yet.”

You cleaned the split in his skin with the kind of precision that only comes from anger—controlled, careful, but deeply furious.

“You don’t get to act like none of this mattered,” you said, eyes locked on his wounds. “You don’t get to disappear into your guilt and then show up bleeding and say I didn’t know where else to go. That’s not enough.”

His jaw clenched. “I didn’t come for a reward.”

“Good,” you said coldly. “Because you’re not getting one.” You wrapped gauze around his hand slowly, tight enough that it would sting.

He didn’t pull away.

“I came because I thought I’d lose you,” he said through his teeth, “I came because I’m fucking terrified that I already did.”

“Who’s fault is that?” You said, standing up, “you keep doing this thing, you pull me in, let me see you and then the very second it gets real, you shut the door in my face.”

“I know,” he said. Loud. Frustrated. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t see the way you look at me when I say the wrong thing? Like you’re trying so fucking hard not to walk away?”

“You told me to go!”

“I didn’t mean it!”

“Then don’t say it!” You shouted, “don’t look at me like I’m everything one second and then act like I mean nothing the next!”

“I didn’t think you’d stay.”

“I stayed!”

You were both breathing hard now. Staring at each other like you didn’t know whether to cry or kiss or throw something, You still stood in between Jeno’s legs, him looking up at you.  Jeno ran a hand through his damp hair, pacing a few feet before turning back to you, eyes wide and glassy.

“I ruin things,” he said, “I always have. I don’t know how to love something without fucking it up. But I wanted you anyway—I still do.”

Your throat tightened. “And I’m supposed to what? Carry all of that? Be your exception?”

“No,” he said, stepping closer. “I just need you to see that I’m trying. Even if it’s ugly. Even if I’m bleeding and loud and afraid. I need you to see me, and stay anyway.”

You stared at him.

He looked like someone who hadn’t slept in days. Someone who’d gone through hell and walked straight into another fire because you were at the center of it.

Your voice cracked, “you don’t make it easy.”

“I know.”

You looked down at your hands—his blood still faintly on your fingertips. He reached out slowly. You didn’t move. Not when his fingers curled around your wrist. Not when he pulled you in his lap, not when his forehead leaned into yours like he was holding on for dear life.

“I hate that I hurt you,” he whispered. “But I’d rather burn with you than freeze without you.”

“I wasn’t gonna leave, Jeno.”

“I know.”

“Then why—”

“Because I’m sick,” he said suddenly. “Sick of being the one who’s always too much. Too angry. Too wrong. I get one thing right—one fucking exam—and even then I screw it up by throwing a punch at someone who talks shit about you and then picking a fight with the only person who’s ever actually looked at me like I could be more.”

Your breath hitched. You grabbed the gauze, wrapped it around his hand. Tighter than needed.

“Then be more, Jeno.”

He stared at you.

“Be more,” you repeated, “because I’m tired of being in love with someone who’s so determined to hate himself.”

That silenced him. Fully. Until he spoke again.

“You’re in love with me?”

The words dropped like a bomb between you.

You froze. Swallowed. Refused to take it back, chuckling to yourself at how easily you let go and told him that, “yeah—god help me, I am.”

Then you tried to move back, only his arms wrapped around your waist tighter, holding you in place, “you don’t get to say that and walk away.” He growled. 

“Who said I’m walking away?” You mumbled, holding onto his shoulder for support. 

It was unreal, how close you guys were but still not close enough, it was never enough. 

“You’re mad at me,” Jeno stated. 

“I should be mad.” 

“I’m mad too,” he added. 

“Good,” you rolled your eyes, trying to move again.

But he didn’t let you, not this time, his thumb brushing your cheek. 

That was it. That was when Jeno finally let go. He couldn’t delay this anymore, not again, not when you were right in front of him, not when your soft lips brushed so tenderly against his bruised ones, not when you told him you were in love with him—not when he knew he had to have you. 

He surged up and into you—hands gripping your face, mouth pressing against yours like it was the only way to breathe. It wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t neat, it was everything you’d been holding back.

Lips slotted together, you could taste blood on your tongue from where he was hurt before, which only made you groan into the kiss, he was frustrated, so frustrated, not having it in him to let go for even a second. 

You gasped, arms flying up to clutch at his shoulders, pressed chest-to-chest, his body was warm—too warm—and you could feel his tension in every line.

You broke the kiss first, panting, eyes wide. “You shouldn’t—” you tried to say, especially when his body was hurting. 

“I have to,” he breathed, leaning in again. “Let me, just once. Please.”

You didn’t stop him, grabbing his nape and pulling him into you once again, because when Jeno kissed you again, it felt like pain, penance, and pleasure all in one. It was as if he was trying to earn your forgiveness with his mouth, trying to pour out everything he couldn’t say to you, groaning into your mouth when your hips shifted over his lap. 

“I fucking—” He said midway the kiss, “god I—”

You shushed him gently, “you don’t have to say it.”

“I love you,” he breathed out, forehead pressed against yours, eyes earnest and full of life for the first time since you saw him, “I don’t care if it’s too early, I can’t fucking not say it, I love you, I—”

Before he could ruin the moment with the spiral in his throat, before he could pull back in fear, you pressed your lips against his like it was the only thing anchoring you to the earth.

He responded like he’d been starving. Mouth hot, desperate, hands gripping your waist like the world was falling apart and he only had seconds left to memorize you. The kiss was brutal in the way it made you feel, there was no choreography to it, no elegance—just lips, teeth, breath, and aching hunger.

His mouth was swollen. Your lips, bruised from how much he kissed you like he didn’t know how to stop.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed.

You stared at him. “I don’t want you to.”

Then you grabbed his jaw once you heard him wince, “does it hurt?” You asked, pecking his jaw, trailing kisses all over. 

“It’s the only thing that doesn’t hurt,” he whispered, letting your lips take over, tracing every bit of his face and neck, his eyes closing with the fire that you ignited within him. 

“This feels like a dream,” he whispered.

“It’s not.”

“But it could be,” he added, almost to himself. “You—like this, in my lap, in your apartment, touching me like I’m not a monster.”

You cupped his face again, guiding his eyes to yours, “you’re not a monster, Jeno.”

“You don’t know the things I’ve thought.”

“Then tell me.”

His voice cracked, “I thought I’d die if I didn’t see you again. I thought that maybe I’m already ruined and maybe I don’t deserve you but I can’t stop loving you anyway. I thought—”

You kissed him again. Slow this time. Deep and aching, “then stop thinking,” you whispered, “just be here—with me.”

His fingers trembled as they curled into the hem of your shirt.

“Can I?”

You nodded.

He pulled the fabric up carefully, reverently, and you helped him, raising your arms until it was off. His breath hitched. Not because of how you looked—but because he was looking at you like that.

Like something sacred.

You grabbed the back of his hoodie, tugging. He hesitated for a split second before pulling it over his head. The sight made your breath catch.

His torso was littered with bruises, some dark purple, some fading yellow. His ribcage dipped where the muscle was taut with tension. You reached out, fingertips grazing over a particularly harsh mark near his side.

He flinched. “That one’s from earlier.”

Your jaw clenched, “you shouldn’t fight because of me.”

“I wasn’t,” he said, “I was fighting every voice in my head that said I wasn’t worth your love.”

You kissed the bruise.

He gasped.

“I hate that they ever made you feel like that.”

His hands slid back up to your sides, lips brushing your jaw. “You make it go quiet.”

“I want to,” you whispered.

Your kisses grew slow again, heavier with emotion than desire. You could feel his heartbeat where your chest pressed into his, your hands in his hair, his head tilted just enough to deepen the kiss. You rolled your hips slightly in his lap, and he groaned again, burying his face in your neck.

“Fuck, Y/N—”

“Jeno,” you murmured, your nails dragging softly along his back, “look at me.”

He lifted his head. His eyes—wild, glassy, full of everything he couldn’t say.

“I love you,” you said again. “I’m not afraid of it. So don’t be either.”

He leaned forward, pressing your foreheads together. 

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“You’re so fucking pretty, did I ever tell you that?” He mumbled against the skin of your neck, brushing his lips all over before placing open mouthed kisses over the expanse of your clavicle, “so fucking pretty.”

Jeno wasn’t gentle anymore, not when he’d been craving your presence, craving you. He couldn’t help but treat you like a reward, like he finally had won the only thing in life that actually mattered to him. 

He was quick to grab your waist and flip you over, getting on top of you on the couch that was too small for things he had planned in his mind. It was almost like a dam breaking the way his mouth was on your neck, biting, sucking, claiming you. 

“Jeno—” you mumbled, your back arching as you felt his body pressing into you, fingers wrapped around his wet locks as he marked your skin with every ounce of desperation he had, his fingers mapping out every inch of your body as if he’s afraid he’d forget it—as if he could ever forget anything about you. 

The warmth of his hands brushed over your bra clad nipples, a whimper leaving your mouth. Jeno wasn’t undressed yet you could feel him getting hard, and god you wondered just how big he was, grinding into you as if he was already inside your cunt. 

“I hurt you so fucking much,” Jeno mumbled, lips ghosting over your tit, “now I’ll hurt you in the way you want me to,” he said with dark eyes, yanking your bra down enough for your nipples to show, latching his mouth to you all in light speed. 

All his life Jeno couldn’t take control of anything, but seeing you shiver under him just made sense to Jeno, he had to take control—he had to make you feel so good, you wouldn’t ever look at anyone else. 

“You’re fucking crazy,” you whispered, already disheveled with how needy you were, wetness pooling in your panties, soiling the new pair you had put on not too long ago. 

“Yeah? You drive me crazy, baby,” he chuckled, and that sound went straight to your pussy. Jeno was hot, so fucking hot, but him using nicknames on you with his deep tone—only god knows how you would survive this. 

You bit your lip to conceal your moans, which only infuriated Jeno, biting your nipple harshly to make sure you scream, “don’t fucking hide your pretty voice,” he said. 

His hands went to your other breast and he gave it a tight squeeze, your eyes were on him as you watched his lips parting, letting his tongue make contact with the tip of your very hardened nub. He bites down on your nipple, making you cry out, but quickly soothes it with his tongue before switching to the other side, he wants to drive you wild with pleasure, to possess every inch of your body.

Lost in the haze of pleasure, you surrender yourself completely to Jeno’s possessive touches, letting him have his way with you. The room fills with the sounds of your moans and his desperate sucking, a symphony of carnal desire. In this moment, there is nothing but you and Jeno, and the burning hunger that consumes you both. 

Jeno’s hands roam across your body, his touch electric against your skin. He grabs your hips, pulling you flush against him as he claims your lips in yet another searing kiss, tongue delving into your mouth, hot and hungry, making you more hungry for his touch—for him. 

“I—can’t,” you whimpered, wanting more of him. 

Jeno chuckled, “can’t even speak now, hm? What happened to the feisty lil’ girl who couldn’t shut up?” 

“Fuck, shut up,” you mumbled, tugging on his hair harder, which only made him groan and squeeze your tits harder, coming up to brush his lips against yours, hot breaths intertwining as he smirks, hand travelling down your body, very close to the hem of your shorts. 

“Want me to shut up?” He asked, squeezing your neck with slight pressure, your mouth opening in a gasp—he took the opportunity to spit in your mouth, watching your eyes widen as watches you gulp it down, “good fucking girl,” he mumbles. 

You were too gone to function anymore and you had just started, but you knew one thing—whatever Jeno wanted, you’d let him do it to you. 

That man was no less than a Greek god with how sharp his features looked, especially in the dim light of the room, muscles flexing, abs on full display as he held himself up on top of you to press kisses all over. 

In a swift second, he pulled you up to unclasp your bra, throwing it away somewhere to continue pressing hot mouthed kisses down the valley of your breasts, and down your tummy, caressing it with the pad of his thumb, spending a good few seconds covering the expanse of your skin. 

You breathed harder once he reached the waistband of your shorts, his hooded eyes, almost drunk, looking up at you before he swiftly pulled them down, throwing them on the floor somewhere.

He couldn’t be gentle even if he tried, not when he was this thirsty, holding your legs open as he settled in the limited space that the couch held for him. Madman—that’s what he was and you couldn’t help but moan when he got closer to your panty clad cunt, burying his nose in the wet fabric, sniffing the scent of your arousal, groaning as he locked your thighs under his arms, which flexed harder now. 

You moaned his name as if a broken record repeating the same thing over and over again and he only mumbled things you couldn’t hear in your cunt, licking the already wet cloth, biting his lip at the first taste of you, “fuck—you’re so fucking perfect,” he says licking you harder, kissing your inner thighs alongside, leaving bites all over—he was feral. 

He slid your panties to the side, and the sight he had in front of him drove him to the edge. Jeno was an impatient man, yes, he was messy, he was not the softest, but seeing you like this just made him realize how much crazier he could be. 

That first taste emboldens him and he dives in like a man starved, lapping at your folds like he’s trying to consume you entirely. 

His desperate tongue delves deep inside, fucking you with rapid strokes and curling to hit your sweet spot. You cry out sharply at the intense sensation, fingers tangling in his tousled raven hair to hold him in place. He grips your thighs tightly, holding you down and open for his onslaught as he devours you. 

Jeno zeroes in on your clit, flicking and circling the sensitive bundle of nerves rapidly. Your back arches off the couch as he suckles hard on the throbbing bud, two fingers pumping inside your clenching hole.

“Fuck—Jeno, I’m gonna cum!” You wail, thighs trembling violently around his head as your climax approaches rapidly. He doubles his efforts, fucking you harder with his fingers and lashing your clit mercilessly with his tongue.

He curls his fingers to stroke your G-spot with every thrust, drawing out more of your copious arousal to lap up greedily. Your walls start to flutter and clench around him as the pressure builds unbearably.

 Jeno chuckled, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. “You like that, baby?” He practically purred, before sucking your clit into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. 

“Fuck—yes,” you gasped, your head falling back against the couch. Jeno was relentless, his tongue exploring every inch of you, driving you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded, your thighs trembling as you stared at the ceiling with your mouth open, desperate for air. 

Jeno pulled back for a moment, looking up at you with a wicked grin, “you want more, kitten?” He teased, running a finger along your slit, “go on then, beg for it.”

You groaned in frustration, but you were too far gone to care, “please, Jeno,” you begged, fueling his ego. 

“Shhh, be a good lil’ kitten for me, yeah?” He mumbled into your core mindlessly, sending shivers up your spine as your thighs shake. He didn’t stop, but just when your ecstasy was about to crash—

He stopped. 

You let out a frustrated groan and Jeno only got up with the essence of you sprawled over his chin, his hard on begging to be freed. 

“Fuck?” You asked, trying to get up on your elbows, looking at him incredulously. 

He only gave you a once over, tongue poking his cheek from inside before he came closer, swooping you up in his arms easily as you yelped, eyes wide as he carried you to the bedroom, “no patience, huh?” He asked. 

He was proud of himself for making you this weak, for cracking your high wall down so he could see you, so he could ruin you. Jeno was possessive, especially after knowing what you and Jaemin went through, he wanted you to have the best, and he was willing to be the best for you. 

“I—I was gonna cum!” You said, holding on to him for support.

“Did I say you could?” He replied smoothly. 

“What—Jeno what the fuck?” You whined and he only chuckled.

“Be patient, love, or else you won’t be coming all fucking night, yeah?” He said as he let you get down on the bed. 

You looked so innocent, eyes watery, hair messy, looking up at him like an angry little kitten trying to look tough. He climbed the bed and you moved back, till your back hit the headboard and he hovered above you, caressing your cheek as he cupped your jaw, tilting your head up to look him in his eye. Your heartbeat speeding up yet again, and good lord you loved being manhandled by Jeno. 

“What are you thinking?” He asked, thumb pushing on your lower lip. 

“Nothing.” You mumbled. 

He leaned in closer, “not thinking of my cock inside your pretty little cunt, hm?” He asks, watching you shiver at the thought, “by the time I'm done with you, you’ll be begging me to let you cum.”

Your jaw clenched as you slide your hand up Jeno’s torso, tracing all the way from his abs to his neck, his own body reacting to your touch, cock twitching inside his pants by the time your hand rested on his nape, pulling him even closer so your noses were touching. 

“You know, Jeno, you talk big game. Don’t make promises you can’t back up,” you mumbled to rile him up. 

Jeno’s eyes flashed with a mixture of lust and irritation at your challenge, “oh, you’re going to regret those words,” he whispered, his hands gripping your hips possessively. “I’m going to make you beg for my cock, baby.”

He punctuated his statement with a sharp thrust of his fingers, two of them plunging deep into your sopping wet pussy. You gasped, your back arching off the bed as he worked them in and out, stroking along your sensitive walls.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he panted, his thumb rubbing firm circles on your clit. “I can’t wait to feel this perfect little cunt wrapped around my cock.”

You moaned, your hips rolling to meet his hand as he fucked you with his fingers. “Then stop talking and do something about it,” you shot back, your voice breathy with desire.

Jeno chuckled darkly, withdrawing his fingers only to bring them to his mouth. He sucked them clean, his eyes never leaving yours as he savored your taste. “Mmh—delicious,” he purred, “but I’m not done playing with you yet.”

Before you could protest, he was pushing your thighs apart and settling between them. His tongue delved into your folds, lapping at your arousal like a man starved. You cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair as he devoured your pussy with single-minded intensity.

He worked you over mercilessly, his tongue and lips and teeth finding all the right spots to drive you wild. You bucked against his face, your thighs trembling as the pleasure built inside you. Just when you thought you might burst, Jeno would back off, leaving you desperate and aching for release.

“Jeno, please,” you whimpered, tugging on his hair in a futile attempt to guide him back to where you needed him most, “I need to cum. Please let me cum.”

He lifted his head, his chin glistening as he looked up at you. “Not yet,” he shook his head, his fingers continuing their maddeningly slow circles on your clit, “I want to hear you scream first.”

“I fucking can’t!” You breathed out, trying to control your moans again, “someone’s gonna hear and—ah—complain about it,” you said, which only made him scoff. 

“Is that it, hm? Have it your way then, princess,” he mumbled, yanking your soiled panties down all the way, balling it up in his first to make a gag out of it and shoving it down your mouth, “now you can scream all your want, Y/N.” He said, taking your name in his deep voice. 

And if you weren’t crazy before, now you had reached your limit of madness, even a poke from his side was like a pleasant burning wound to your skin, his actions also made you realize just how hungry Jeno was for being the one in control. 

You squirmed beneath Jeno, feeling utterly at his mercy as he continued his torturous teasing. The gag in your mouth muffled your moans but couldn’t silence them completely, much to Jeno’s enjoyment. Your body arched, yearning for more, desperate for release.

“Such a needy lil’ thing, aren’t you?” Jeno growled, his fingers still circling your sensitive bud, “I can feel how wet you are, taste how wet you are, dripping for me, hm?”

His words made you clench, fresh arousal coating his fingers. He gathered some of your slickness and slowly dragged it up to your throbbing clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. Your hips bucked up in hopes of seeking more contact.

“Hm—so responsive,” Jeno purred, looking pleased with himself, “I could do this all night—keep you on the edge, begging so desperately for me.”

“Please—” you tried to say around the gag, your eyes pleading, you were so close, teetering on the brink of an explosive climax. Just a little more.

But Jeno seemed determined to deny you that satisfaction, easing off right as you were about to fall over into your state of euphoria, frustration bubbled up inside you, mingling with the overwhelming lust coursing through your veins.

“You’re going to have to do better than that, baby,” Jeno taunted, nipping at your inner thigh, “I want to hear you scream my name—let everyone know who you belong to.”

His fingers circled, feather-light touches that drove you wild with need. You thrashed beneath him, incoherent noises of desperation spilling from your lips. Jeno just chuckled darkly, clearly enjoying your plight, removing your gag to hear you gasp loudly, his name on the tip of your tongue. 

Jeno was cruel, so cruel the way he denied your orgasm yet again with a smirk playing on his face, a whole one eighty from how he was an hour back and you were crying by now, something he seemed to enjoy too as he licked your face, tasting the salty teardrop you let out, “this makes me wanna ruin you more, y’know?” 

“Fuck—Jeno, let me cum please,” you sobbed as he took you in his arms. 

“You wanna cum, hm?” He asked as you settled on his lap, his hard on pressing against your thigh as you nodded, “fuck, you look so pretty crying like that for me, like a doll, a doll for me to use, hm?”

You couldn’t take it anymore, getting off and undoing his pant buttons as he watched you with amusement how you struggled to take off his pants and boxers, only to find his cock waiting for you, hard and proud. 

Jeno’s cock was throbbing, hard and ready to burst, as you took him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his tip in a teasing manner. You could taste the salty beads of precum leaking from his slit, the flavor sending a jolt of desire straight to your core.

“Fuck—baby,” Jeno groaned, his fingers threading through your hair as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper into your throat. “Your mouth feels so good. Keep going just like that, good girl.”

You moaned around his length, the vibrations making him shudder. Your own arousal was dripping down your thighs, coating them with your slick essence. The wet sounds of your slurping filled the room, mingling with Jeno’s heavy breaths and grunts of pleasure.

“Shit—fuck, take it easy, I won’t be able to hold back," he panted, his grip on your hair tightening, “I’m gonna fucking come down your throat if you keep sucking me like that.”

You redoubled your efforts, eager to taste his release. Your tongue flattened against the underside of his shaft as you sucked harder, determined to milk him of every last drop. Just as you felt him start to swell, signaling his impending orgasm, you pulled away with a pop.

Jeno’s eyes jolted open, a mix of confusion and frustration flashing across his face. “What the fuck, baby? Why the fuck did you stop?”

You just smiled coyly up at him, licking your lips. “Because I want you to come inside me. I want to feel you fill me up with your hot cum, or are you too much of a coward to fuck me?” You teased, your grin making him scoff. 

God he loved you. 

Jeno growled, a predatory gleam in his eyes. In a flash, he grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your side, your back pressed firmly against his torso. 

Before you could even process the sudden change in position, he was lined up at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging your slick folds.

“Teasing me will only get you punished,” he warned, his voice low and husky with desire. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk straight for a week.”

With that promise, he slammed into you, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful thrust. You cried out at the sudden intrusion, your back arching as he filled you completely. Jeno set a brutal pace, pounding into you with wild abandon.

You let out a sharp cry as Jeno’s thick cock stretched you open, filling you so deeply that you could feel him bulging through your lower abdomen. The feeling of his hard length pulsing inside you sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, making you arch your back and press your ass against him.

“Lord—ah yes,” you gasped, grinding against him, “you’re—so fucking big.”

Jeno grunted in response, his fingers digging into your hips as he continued to pound into you at a furious pace. The sounds of skin slapping against skin and your needy moans filled the room, mixing with the creaking of the bed frame beneath you.

“Shit, your cunt is so tight,” Jeno mumbled, his breath hot against your neck. “Squeezing my cock like a desperate doll—you were made for me, baby. Made to take my dick and milk me dry.”

His filthy words only heightened your arousal, making you clench even tighter around him. You could feel your orgasm building again, the tension coiling in your core as he hit that special spot deep inside you with each thrust.

“Please don’t stop, not this time,” you pleaded, your nails digging into his thighs. “Fuck me harder, Jeno. I’m so fucking close.”

He was quick to flip you over again so you were resting on your back, his hips settling in between you as he held your thighs up, your legs resting on both his shoulders with ease as he snapped into you harder, plunging his cock with more need, as if he was a monster hungry for lust and only lust.

Jeno snarled, his hips snapping forward with a newfound vigor. One hand moved around to rub firm circles around your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your body began to tremble, your breath coming out in short gasps as you found yourself on the brink of ecstasy.

“Cum for me,” Jeno demanded, pinching your clit hard, “I want to feel you cum all over my dick, baby.”

With a scream of his name, you practically exploded, your pussy clamping down around him like a vice as your orgasm crashed over you. Your body convulsed, your back bowing as wave after wave of intense pleasure washed through you, which shocked Jeno because you weren’t just having an orgasm. 

You were squirting all over his cock. 

Jeno followed shortly after, his cock pulsing as he spilled his release deep inside you, as he breathed hard, watching you with surprised eyes.

“Fuck,” he groaned, grinding against you to prolong your shared climax, “you’re so fucking hot, so fucking mine.”

You whimpered at the feeling of his hot cum painting your walls, the sensation making your pussy flutter around his shaft. Jeno held you close as you both rode out the aftershocks, his softening cock still buried inside you.

“You’re mine,” he mumbled, “say it.”

“Yours—I’m yours,” you breathed as best as you could. 

“Again.”

“I’m yours, Jeno.”

“Fuck—again.”

“So so fucking yours, I’m all yours Jeno.”

“Mine,” he whispered, so possessive. 

After a few moments, Jeno carefully pulled out and rolled you onto your back. He pressed gentle kisses along your jawline and down your neck, his touch soothing and tender in contrast to the rough passion from moments before.

“That was intense,” he murmured, nuzzling against your collarbone, “I don’t think i’ll ever get enough of you, baby. You’re fucking addictive.”

You smiled up at him, reaching up to cup his face. "I could say the same about you. The way you fuck me, it’s like you’re a fucking beast.”

“Was I too harsh?” He asked, placing soft kisses all over, “I’m sorry I just lost control—you have no idea how badly I need you, I don’t think I can stop,” he confessed. 

You kissed him again, “then don’t stop, just don’t.”

That’s all he needed to hear for the night, that you were finally his, and he was yours. He smirked, the night was just getting started. 

Chapter 10: Hate me less? You love me more. 

You don’t remember how the night ended, not when Jeno kept his promise of how you wouldn’t be able to walk anymore once he was done with you, and he was precise about it. He was far from done when he made you fall apart on his cock so many times, you lost count. 

It was a crazy switch up once you both were done, he took care of you, almost like he was made for it, helping you clean up in little bathtub which was definitely too small to fit the both of you, yet he helped you bath, a faint blush on his face as you laughed once he tried to act sly, touching you again when you were so sensitive and overstimulated. 

Turns out, Jeno can be super clingy when he has to be, also not letting you go once you get out of the tub, helping you dry your hair, helping you moisturize your body, helping you smile by kissing you every few seconds. 

He held you to sleep, not before hearing you say you actually want him and it’s not a dream. Jeno doesn’t remember if he ever felt this way before, this warmth called happiness that you provided him so easily. 

“I love you,” he mumbled to your sleeping figure, he was whipped, already thinking of your future together. Yeah, maybe it all happened too quickly, he still wouldn’t have it any other way. He wouldn’t mind getting through all the hurt again if it meant that he’d wake up to you sleeping next to him—to you loving him. 

It was perhaps the best day of Jeno’s life. 

The air felt different today.

Not because of the weather, which was finally warm and breezy after days of storm and stress, but because Jeno was walking beside you—not behind, not ahead—beside you. His fingers were laced with yours, his thumb brushing over your skin every few steps like he was still checking if this was real, he still couldn’t believe it. 

It was.

You passed the main quad slowly, in no rush. The two of you didn’t need to say much. Conversations dimmed as you walked through. You could feel the glances, the whispers.

Someone definitely said your name. Then his.

And then, clear as day, they whispered. 

“Wait—are they actually holding hands?”

Jeno didn’t flinch.

Not like he would’ve, weeks ago. Not like the boy who couldn’t stand being seen, being known. Instead, he just grabbed your hand a little tighter—casual, sure, and completely unbothered. His expression said it all—Yeah, and?

You chuckled. “Think they’re combusting?”

“Oh, definitely,” he said, tugging you closer with a smugness he barely bothered to hide anymore. “Especially that one girl who’s walking with me, who swore she’d never even look at me.”

“She wasn’t entirely wrong,” you teased. “You were kind of a menace.”

He groaned, tossing his head back, “were?”

You laughed, and it made him smile, soft and full, the kind of smile he used to hide and now gave you freely.

“You’re doing that look again,” he said, side-eyeing you. “Like you’re psychoanalyzing me.”

“Maybe I am. Can’t help it. You’re a walking dissertation, y’know?”

“Yeah? What’s the title?”

You looked up at him with a shrug. “How to fall for someone you’re supposed to hate.”

That made him stop walking.

You blinked, startled, but he was already turning to face you, his hoodie sleeves pushed up just enough to show the fading bruises on his knuckles—old reminders of the version of him you never gave up on.

“I’m glad you did,” he said. “Fall for me. Even when I made it so damn hard.”

You smiled slowly, the kind of smile that made his breath catch. “You still do.”

“Yeah, well,” he squeezed your hand, “at least I’m hot.”

You were too busy rolling your eyes to realize you’d just walked past Jaemin and his friends until the entire bench went awkwardly quiet. Jaemin looked up, eyes flicking from your joined hands to your face, and then to Jeno—who didn’t even spare him a glance.

He was too focused on you. Too content stealing a bite of your ice cream like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Let’s go,” you muttered, trying not to laugh as you nudged him forward.

Jeno followed. No hesitation.

Because this, the hand holding, the quiet teasing, the stares that didn’t matter anymore, this was normal.

And for the first time in his life, Jeno finally understood: Normal didn’t mean boring.

It meant chosen. It meant enough.

It meant being yours.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

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[dduane]

I was so thrilled to get to the end of the very long Star Trek food replicator discussion and see you there! Nothing else to say except I adore your writing and it was highly exciting, like being server an after-dinner mint from an Earth restaurant and reading a line of tiny print on the label identifying it as something that won't exist for another thousand years.

You're very welcome. I'm delighted you've enjoyed my stuff!

(And anyway, I'm a such a sucker for the small print, myself...)

Nita raised her eyebrows at the slug line of one [advertising] feature. "NASA's gonna be glad to hear we've got a ruthless and terrible space fleet." Carmela snickered. ..."Yeah, but 'Mela, you know as well as I do it's not true! Is putting something like this out there smart?" "Why not? If everybody thinks Earth has a big aggressive space fleet, no one'll bother turning up on our doorstep with one, will they." ...Nita squinted to read the block of tiny, tiny print at the bottom of the promotional feature, again displayed in English to ease the handling of some of the more obscure Rirhait idioms. “…Wait. ‘Earth’, ‘Mysterious Earth’ and ‘Mother Earth The Legendary Home Of Humankind’ are licensed trademarks of Gaia Protectorate CRLLC, terms and conditions apply, planetary descriptions may change from time to time without notice at management’s discretion—” And then in the tiniest print possible, “—battle fleet not included’??” “Legalese,” Carmela said, craning her neck to see ahead of them. “It’s not like the disclaimers actually have any force in law, really, once you’ve—” “I can’t believe this,” Nita said. “‘CRLLC?’ Did you incorporate the entire planet Earth somewhere?!” “Here, actually,” Carmela said. “The corporate tax rate here is reeeeeeeeallly low. Especially if you’ve saved the place from alien invasion. At which point it drops to zero. …If not lower.” Nita’s mouth dropped open. “And why're you looking so shocked? You cosigned the incorporation documents when we were here last.” Being reduced to speechlessness around Carmela was hardly a new experience for Nita, but this particular incidence was setting new records for the underlying implications...

—How Lovely Are Thy Branches

[sweetvoidstuff]

Just a Normal Night

Jungkook x Reader I Modern AU I Chance Encounter I Fluff I Romance

Summary: What begins as a chance encounter turns memorable when you help Jeon fucking Jungkook during an unexpected and chaotic night. Jungkook finds himself lingering in you world—sharing drinks, laughter, and lighthearted moments with your friends that feel more real than anything he’s known lately.

Word Count: 25K

Masterlist

A/N: Just a quick note on formatting: Bold text is used for dialogue spoken in Korean. Italic text represents internal thoughts or feelings. Normal text is used for dialogue spoken in English.

I hope this helps make things easier to follow while reading. Thanks so much for giving my story a chance!

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽

Jungkook had only wanted one thing tonight: a normal dinner. No hushed whispers trailing after him, no fans sneaking photos behind raised menus, no tight, tense feeling that he had to be ready to bolt at any second. Just one simple meal — that was all he was asking for.

Sometimes, he got lucky. Tonight, it seemed, luck wasn’t on his side.

He had chosen the place carefully: a traditional Korean restaurant tucked on a quieter street, not far from his hotel. It looked promising — cozy, with soft lighting and a small, not on any main roads. He figured he could at least have the comfort of ordering in his own language without fumbling through English. He'd even gone the extra mile to cover his hand tattoos, knowing how easily they gave him away. While he loved them, they were like a neon sign flashing BTS to anyone who glanced too closely.

At first, everything seemed fine. He ordered quickly and quietly, keeping his head down, then slipped off to the bathroom before his food could arrived. That was when things took a turn. On his way back to his table, two young women — early twenties, maybe — caught sight of him. He heard it before he fully understood it: a rush of excited chatter, the words tumbling out too fast. Still, a few things were unmistakable — his name. BTS. His stomach dropped.

Damn it.

He could already see it in their eyes — the disbelief, the beginning of hysteria, the desperate reach for phones. If he didn’t move fast, he’d have a scene on his hands. An entire evening ruined. Jungkook tensed, scanning for the fastest way out without making things worse. He adjusted the cap pulled low over his eyes, preparing to dodge past them—when suddenly, a hand landed firmly on his shoulder.

"Yah, Eun-woo," a voice said, warm and a little impatient. "You really left us sitting there alone forever?"

He froze. Eun-woo? Before he could react, a figure slipped smoothly between him and the two girls — you, stepping up like you belonged by his side. You didn’t even look at the strangers. Instead, you gave Jungkook an exasperated, playful glance, your hand still steady on his shoulder. "Come on, sit down. You’re not getting out of paying for the appetizer again."

The girls faltered. Confusion flickered across their faces. Jungkook, wide-eyed, caught the brief flash of uncertainty in their eyes — was he really Jungkook? Was this just some random guy who really looked like him?

Across the room, just minutes earlier, you had been minding your own business — more or less.

"Oh my god. Guys, don’t look — but I think my screensaver just walked in," you hissed across the table, eyes wide. Pascal barely looked up from his beer, snorting. "Ha! You say that about every hot Asian guy."

"No, listen," you insisted, trying not to move your head as you watched Jeon Jungkook slide into a booth like it was the most casual thing in the world. "I'm serious. I’m pretty sure that's the real one."

Pascal, skeptical but willing to humor you, turned slowly to peek. "The one with the cap?" You nodded, a little too quickly. Pascal grinned. "You wanna go over there? Get an autograph, a picture, maybe his firstborn child while you’re at it?"

"Shut the fuck up!" you hissed, smacking his arm lightly. "I'm not walking over there. He's human. He deserves to eat in peace — just like we do."

You stabbed at the grill, throwing a little more bulgogi onto the sizzling surface, but your eyes kept sneaking glances at Jeon fucking Jungkook sitting a few tables away, as casual as if he weasn’t the biggest star in the world. Pascal and Flora, your two best friends, were used to your dramatics — Flora being the towering but gentle giant of the group, and Pascal the sassy, slightly taller than you, but never impolite energy bomb.

"You’re really not gonna go over?" Flora asked, his deep voice low and amused.

"I want to," you admitted through gritted teeth, "but it’d just be...awkward."

"Why? You’ve been learning Korean with Eumi for months," Pascal chimed in. "You two can actually have conversations now. She said you were good. He'd understand you."

"Not the point!" you groaned, burying your face in your hands.

You peeked again just in time to see Jungkook stand up, making his way toward the back where the bathrooms were. Not long after, you heard the unmistakable chatter of two girls at a nearby table — rapid-fire excitement, the words BTS and Jungkook tumbling out clearly. You tensed.

Shit

You straightened up just as Jungkook reappeared, walking back from the bathroom — tense, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes flicking nervously as the two girls went to him chattering animatedly and making hearth eyes at him. He immediately looked tense and ready to bolt. You didn’t waste another second. You shot a quick look at Pascal and Flora.

"I’m gonna need you to fake it," you muttered under your breath, leaning in. "Pretend Jungkook’s part of our group."

Both of them froze for a second, then nodded sharply, understanding immediately — the chatter from the other table had tipped them off too. You grabbed Dong, your favorite waiter, as he passed by with a tray.

"Hey, can you bring whatever that guy ordered to our table if he sits with us?" you asked in a low voice, flashing your most pleading smile. Dong, ever the professional but also a secret gossip lover, glanced at Jungkook and then back at you. Without missing a beat, he nodded. "Got it."

Relieved, you made yourself ready to intervene, moving casually into his path like it was the most natural thing in the world. As you closed the distance and saw his shoulders with how close the girls approached, you acted on pure impulse — stepping up beside him, placing your hand firmly on his shoulder, and saying, loud enough for the girls to hear:

"Yah, Eun-woo, you really left us sitting there alone forever?" You gave him a playful, exasperated glance, ignoring the stunned look in his eyes. "You’re not getting out of paying for the appetizers again," you said, tugging lightly at his jacket like you'd done it a hundred times before.

The girls looked stunned for a second before one blurted out, "Wait—what are you doing with Jungkook?!" You let out a soft, easy laugh, glancing between them and Jungkook — well, Eun-woo for now.

"Jungkook?" you repeated, shaking your head fondly. "Ahh, you must be mistaken. Happens all the time. He does look a lot like him, right?" You gave a little laugh, warm and natural, and Jungkook — though still looking like a deer in headlights — caught the drift.

You quickly switched to Korean, low and hurried: "You looked uncomfortable. I help."

Your Korean wasn't perfect, but it was enough. Jungkook’s eyes widened, surprised, then softened with instant understanding. He nodded once — subtle, grateful. Unfortunately, the girls weren’t ready to let it go.

"Oh my god, you speak Korean?!" one squealed, inching closer. "Please tell him we’re his biggest fans!"

You turned back to them, switching back to English with the kind of casual patience that comes from telling a lie you’ve told a hundred times. "Sorry, but he really isn’t Jungkook," you said kindly. "You’re actually like the third group of people during his student exchange who think that."

You grinned in a way that invited them to laugh about it too — to feel a little silly, but not judged. For a moment, they wavered. But then one of them pointed sharply, "Yeah, sure. Look at his lip ring and his eyebrow piercing! It’s totally him!"

You could feel Jungkook tense up beside you, his body rigid, caught like an animal about to bolt. The girls were getting too close, practically in his personal space now. You stepped firmly between them and him, hands up in a calming, almost scolding gesture.

"Guys, guys," you said in a low, mock-conspiratorial voice. "I get it. It’s spooky, right? Crazy look-alike level. Even I freaked the first time."

You leaned in slightly, dropping your voice even more like you were sharing a juicy secret. "But trust me. If he were really Jungkook, he would have..." You grabbed his left hand gently, flipping it palm-up to show them his knuckles. Well it was his hand without tattoos. You hoped the girls didn’t know that.

"See? No tattoos," you said smoothly, smiling wide. "Eun-woo just likes to dress edgy sometimes. Doesn’t make him a K-pop idol.", trying to bluff your way through it. You didn’t really have any other way to try and convince them otherwise.

But the girls weren't buying it. "Yeah, right!" one of them snapped, jabbing a finger toward his hand. "On his left he wouldn’t have tattoos!"

Jungkook, still tense and quiet beside you, picked up enough of the fast English chatter to realize the situation was slipping. He glanced down at his own hand — the one you were still holding loosely — and seemed to understand instantly what was happening. Before you could stammer out some wild excuse —Jungkook moved.

He raised his other hand casually, briefly turning it up, then back down again, as if dismissing the whole thing. A quick, confident gesture — Look. Nothing there. You're imagining it. And because it was so natural, so matter-of-fact, the girls hesitated. Having showed them both his hands were tattoo free, for them to see, but not long enough to see one was covered in make-up.

You jumped right back in, "Trust me, we’ve been through this before. Poor guy can’t even go to a grocery store without someone asking for a selfie." You laughed like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world. Like it was all just a funny misunderstanding.

And finally — finally — the girls started to lose steam. They muttered something to each other, still suspicious, but not brave enough to cause a bigger scene.

"I mean, think about it," you added, tilting your head playfully. "If the Jungkook really came here, don’t you think there’d be like...bodyguards? Cameras?"

The girls exchanged a glance, suddenly unsure, their momentum stalling. You caught Jungkook’s eye and tilted your head slightly toward your table, (where Pascal was calling from, what took you so long) — Move now.

Jungkook blinked, then — catching on fast — nodded. You casually gripped his jacket and steered him away. Jungkook leaned in just slightly, his voice low and warm near your ear: "Thank you," he murmured in Korean.

You straightened, heart hammering hard. You hadn’t realized until now just how close you’d gotten to him. How much his presence seemed to settle over you like a heavy, comforting blanket. Only once you made it safely back to your friends, your heart pounding in your chest, did you let go of his jacket, sliding into your seat like nothing had happened.

You leaned in a little, keeping your voice low and soft so it wouldn't carry. "I’m sorry if I overstepped," you said in careful Korean, your nerves making you speak slower than usual. "You just looked... really uncomfortable. I thought maybe I could help."

Jungkook blinked at you — slow, processing — like he wasn't quite sure how he'd ended up here, surrounded by strangers who weren't trying to mob him. You rushed to add, "If you want to leave, you totally can. But..." You hesitated, glancing toward the girls. They were still peeking over, whispering behind their hands, but they didn’t seem nearly as sure of themselves anymore.

Jungkook followed your glance — having to lean slightly to the side around Flora’s massive frame to even see them. You had, very intentionally, placed him right beside Flora — your towering, gentle-giant of a friend — blocking most of the view and shielding Jungkook from wandering eyes. Meanwhile, Pascal, unfazed as always, continued grilling meat like nothing dramatic had just happened. With casual flair, he plopped a few sizzling slices onto Jungkook’s plate too, playing the part of a friend just sharing food — selling the image that Jungkook was simply part of your group.

Across the table, Pascal gave you a meaningful look, then asked slowly, deliberately, so Jungkook could follow the English easily, "So, what now?"

Jungkook’s gaze flickered between the three of you — you, Flora, and Pascal — something warm and amused beginning to spark behind his eyes. He turned toward you again, answering in low Korean, "Thank you... for helping. Really. But I don’t want to bother you."

You shook your head quickly, heart thudding. "No bother! Honestly..." You smiled, feeling a bit like a kettle about to boil over. "It’s kind of amazing to meet you here."

Jungkook’s brow quirked slightly — not out of arrogance, but like he was bracing for the onslaught of questions, of personal space invasions, of fans pretending to be casual. For a situation just like before. But nothing came. You didn’t start babbling questions hysterically about his music, his tour, his tattoos. You didn’t even ask for a selfie.

You just smiled across the table at him — and yeah, maybe your hands twitched a little like you were physically restraining yourself from peppering him with excitement — but you held it together.

And Jungkook noticed.

The way you were practically vibrating with curiosity, but still giving him space. The way your friends didn’t treat him like a trophy, but just another person at their table. He let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh through his nose. Then he gave a small nod, looking down at his plate — at the freshly grilled meat Pascal had thrown there without a second thought — and then back up at you.

"If... okay, then," he said lightly. "I’ll stay. If that’s alright?"

You grinned, feeling the warmth spread all the way to your fingertips. "Of course it’s alright. We have plenty of food. You can even steal Flora’s if you’re fast enough."

Flora, catching on without missing a beat, rumbled, "Not if I eat him first," flashing Jungkook a wide, toothy grin that was so over-the-top it made the idol chuckle out loud. And just like that Jungkook relaxed into his seat, picking up his chopsticks like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like for one evening, at least, he could just be a guy on holiday.

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You did what you always did when you came here: You overate. By a lot.

The two girls who had hovered and whispered about Jungkook had left ages ago — giving up when it became obvious that Jungkook wasn’t going to break away from your group. Now, the atmosphere was relaxed, warm, and a little sleepy, the grill cooling down after the last round of bulgogi. You groaned dramatically, leaning back against the booth.

"I’m dying. I can’t eat anymore," you announced, one hand cradling your stomach.

"Good," Flora rumbled immediately, grinning as he reached toward your plate. "Then I’ll just have your bulgogi, right?"

You shot forward like he’d just threatened your firstborn, jabbing your chopsticks at him defensively. "Don't you dare!" you cried, and before he could even try again, you grabbed the last sizzling piece of bulgogi and stuffed it into your mouth with a defiant groan of satisfaction.

Flora only laughed, and next to him, Jungkook chuckled too — a soft, genuine sound that made your heart squeeze a little.

It had been shockingly easy to eat with your group. No pressure, no weird tension — just easy laughter, messy chopsticks, and half-argued conversations. Pascal and Flora had made a real effort to slow their speech down, checking themselves so Jungkook could follow without feeling lost. You, meanwhile, translated where you could, your Korean a little clumsy but more than enough to get by. And when even that wasn’t enough, both you and Jungkook had your phones open with Google Translate, passing them across the table like some bizarre relay race.

It was fun — in a way that made Jungkook forget he was supposed to keep his head down.

In a way that felt... normal.

And the more Jungkook learned about your little trio, the more he found himself relaxing. Neither Flora nor Pascal had any real idea who he was. They didn’t listen to K-pop — hell, they barely listened to pop music at all, according to Flora, who proudly proclaimed over a plate of kimchi that "good music died with cassette tapes."

It was only you who had recognized him. You — who had quietly, almost shyly, admitted you were an ARMY, but not in an overwhelming way. You didn’t list off his accomplishments like a resume. You didn’t bombard him with facts you’d memorized from interviews. You didn’t even try to worm your way closer with desperate compliments or too-personal questions.

In fact, you hardly brought it up at all.

It had been Jungkook who pried the truth out — curious after you translated a complicated joke for him mid-conversation without missing a beat. When he’d asked if you were a fan, you had paused, ducking your head slightly, offering only small pieces in response. Guarded. Careful. Like you were trying not to make him uncomfortable, like you didn’t want to remind him of the distance between you.

You even whispered to Pascal and Flora at one point, firm but light-hearted, "No asking him to sing. No asking for autographs. Pretend he’s Flora, just smaller."

Pascal had snorted so hard he nearly dropped a piece of meat onto his lap. It made Jungkook laugh — real and open — because it was funny, yes, but also because it made him feel like he was with his Hyung’s again. It reminded him of the way the Hyung’s used to bicker and tease over late-night meals, eating until you were ready to burst.

He missed that.

He missed them.

And sitting here now, watching you argue half-heartedly with Pascal about how many scoops of matcha ice cream you deserved after dramatically declaring yourself "too full to move," something in Jungkook's chest slowly, quietly loosened.

Dinner was officially winding down. The plates were mostly empty now, only a few stubborn scraps of meat and side dishes clinging to the platters. The air was heavy with the warm smell of grilled beef and soy sauce, mixed with the lazy hum of a Friday night crowd. You’d been chatting casually with the server — Dong — a young man who clearly liked your table a little too much, lingering at every opportunity, refilling your water glasses three times when once would have sufficed.

Jungkook noticed it immediately. He noticed everything about you now.

It was strange.

Even after all this time at the table — after the way you had helped him out earlier, helped him laugh, helped him breathe without a weight on his shoulders — he still felt like he barely knew anything about you. Or your friends.

You were polite to the point of being overbearingly considerate. Every question you asked him was gentle, cautious — if you asked anything at all, that unsettled Jungkook more than if you had been the typical overeager fan.  He had braced for the usual flood of attention, the eagerness, the invasive questions. He almost wanted you to break and start peppering him with everything you were dying to know.

It would have been easier. Predictable.

But you didn’t.

You just smiled, careful and kind, carrying every conversation with a deliberate gentleness that made his chest ache a little. It made him want to know everything about you— needing — to know more. What made you laugh until you cried. What you thought about when you stared off into space. What songs you sang when you thought no one was listening.

And yet, Jungkook could feel you holding yourself back, watching him with bright, hesitant eyes whenever a new topic surfaced, like you were trying to calculate what was safe to say, what might be too much.

You wanted to ask him things. He could feel it — the questions trembling on the tip of your tongue. But you were afraid to step over some invisible line. Afraid to be another name on a long list of people who had only wanted pieces of him, not the whole person.

He couldn’t blame you. It wasn’t your fault. But somehow, that made him want to bridge the gap even more. It wasn’t just you protecting him tonight. Without realizing it, he wanted to protect this fragile thing between you, too — this warm, quiet, normal moment.

And maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to make you trust that it was okay to ask him things. That he wanted you to. And as luck would have it, Flora threw him the perfect opportunity.

"So, where are we going first?" Flora asked, stretching his arms wide like he was preparing for battle. You groaned faintly, looking about ready to surrender to your impending food coma. Still, you dutifully pulled out your phone, swiping through what looked like a list of names and places, rattling them off faster than Jungkook could even hope to follow.

He blinked at you, completely lost.

Pascal, noticing his confusion, leaned over and offered a translation — half in English, half through Google Translate — "It's art night in town," he said, flashing a thumbs up like it explained everything. "All the museums and galleries stay open until three a.m.! It’s awesome. You should totally come!"

You looked up at Jungkook instinctively — and the realization hit you both at the same time.

They were inviting him.

Your panic was immediate. Surely he didn’t really want to come? He was Jungkook — he had better things to do than stumble through art galleries with three random weirdos. He could be doing... literally anything else. But Jungkook just tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes pinning you with playful intent. "Can I?" he asked softly in Korean, his voice rich and teasing, like he already knew you wouldn’t dare say no.

And god, it was unfair — the way the restaurant lights caught the faint gleam of his lip ring as he dragged it thoughtfully between his teeth, the way a tiny, almost-shy smile flickered at the edges of his mouth as he watched you.

You huffed — a tiny, strangled sound — and nodded quickly, trying so hard not to burst into flames. Jungkook’s smile widened just a little, victorious, and you knew you had lost whatever silent battle was happening between you.

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When the check came, the server, Dong — who by now was basically auditioning for honorary fourth member of your little group — dropped it neatly at the center of the table with a cheery, "No rush!"

And then all hell broke loose.

Jungkook moved fast, reaching for it without hesitation. You, Pascal, and Flora all protested at once, insisting he was a guest and shouldn’t pay.

"No, no, you’re our guest!" Flora protested immediately, reaching for his bag.

"Absolutely not, man, you’re not paying," Pascal added, doing a frankly embarrassing full-body lunge across the table.

You had your wallet out too, fumbling with your card and a nervous glance at Jungkook.

But Jungkook just shook his head, his stubbornness absolute. He didn't even bother arguing properly — just stood and handed his card to Dong with a polite bow, cutting off all resistance. Pascal leaned over while Jungkook was distracted signing the receipt, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper. He spoke just loud enough for you to hear: "Damn... he's kinda hot when he gets bossy. No wonder you listen to K-pop."

You choked on your own spit, slapping a hand over your face as heat bloomed fiercely across your cheeks. Flora snorted his drink up his nose.

"PASCAL," you hissed under your breath, half mortified, half strangling on a laugh.

Unfortunately for you, Jungkook had impeccable timing. He turned back toward the table just in time to catch you covering your face and trying desperately to disappear into the floor. His brow quirked up, a devilish little gleam sparking to life in his eyes. "What - What did he say?" he asked in a mix of English and Korean, voice low and far too pleased, a grin already threatening the corners of his mouth.

You shook your head frantically, mouthing "nothing, it’s fine, please don’t" — but Pascal, grinning like the absolute traitor he was, had already shoved his phone into Jungkook’s hands, Google Translate glowing bright like a sword of betrayal.

Jungkook read the screen, blinked once, then grinned — a slow, lazy smirk that made your stomach do something wildly unfortunate. He chuckled — a low, warm sound that skated down your spine — and cocked his head at you, lip ring catching the light. "You like me bossy, huh?" he teased in Korean, clearly savoring every second of your visible suffering.

You made a strangled, dying noise into your hands as Flora and Pascal cackled at your expense. Even Dong, hanging around a suspiciously long time under the pretense of clearing plates, laughed quietly into his sleeve.

"I— That’s not—" you tried, but you were too flustered to form a coherent sentence. Jungkook just beamed at you, looking devastatingly pleased with himself, before tossing a playful wink your way that nearly finished you off completely.

You were going to perish right here, in the middle of this barbecue restaurant, at the hands of Jungkook’s teasing smile. And honestly, it would be a beautiful way to go.

Jungkook watched you quietly, his heart beating a little faster. You were... lovely like this — bright and real and flustered, your kindness and humor wrapping around him like a warm blanket.

And the best part?

He hadn't even really started yet.

Jungkook tucked his card back into his wallet with a satisfied air and turned to the table, clapping his hands once like a boss. "Let’s go," he said brightly. "Art night is waiting."

"You’re a tyrant," Pascal groaned with a smile, shoving his arms into his jacket sleeves. "You’re a saint," Flora said, with a deep chuckel.

You could only laugh, your heart buzzing in your chest, as you followed Jungkook out into the cool night air. He fell into step beside you almost naturally, his shoulder brushing yours just lightly enough to make you wonder if it was on purpose. When you dared glance up at him, he was already looking at you — smiling — like maybe he didn’t mind spending a little more time in your world after all.

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The city was alive tonight.

The streets buzzed with people, lit in gold and neon, the sidewalks thick with couples, families, groups of students laughing too loudly under the old streetlamps. It was the perfect kind of crowd — big enough, distracted enough, that Jungkook could move almost invisibly through it.

Especially with Flora at his side.

Flora, towering and broad-shouldered, was a natural shield — not even trying, really, but his sheer size meant Jungkook easily tucked into the space behind him whenever the street grew too crowded. It was funny, actually. Jungkook had spent years surrounded by professional bodyguards. But walking behind Flora, who cheerfully blocked people’s lines of sight without even noticing, felt easier somehow. More casual. More... normal.

You and Pascal, though, were another matter entirely.

You caught attention just by existing — a bright spark in the corner of Jungkook’s vision, laughing too easily, moving with that infectious kind of energy that made people glance over without even realizing they were doing it. And Pascal, tall and cocky in his easy, flippant way, was just as bad, tossing sly comments and grins over his shoulder that had strangers double-taking in amusement.

Together, you two were impossible to miss and draw even more attention away from Jungkook. And somehow, impossibly, Jungkook didn’t mind. It was... fun. Real. Messy and alive in a way he hadn’t realized he missed.

Your first stop was a tiny underground art exhibition tucked between two noodle shops. Only ten pieces total, displayed in a narrow, dimly lit space that smelled faintly of fresh paint and old stone.

The theme was "Nature Reclaimed."

Everything was green and rough around the edges — photographs of abandoned buildings overtaken by ivy, sculptures made of twisted roots and river glass. It was quiet inside, hushed in that reverent way art spaces sometimes were, the noise of the city outside muffled like a dream. As you made your way down the shallow stairs to the entrance, a man in a faded hoodie approached, murmuring something quickly.

Without missing a beat, you pulled out your phone, flashed a QR code from a ticket app, and then — smiling apologetically — pointed at Jungkook, indicating him as part of your group. The man nodded, satisfied, and waved you all in without further fuss.

Jungkook, lingering just half a step behind you, blinked in surprise. "What was that about?" he asked in Korean, his voice low enough not to carry.

"He just wanted to see our tickets," you said, switching languages. Your voice was soft, almost careful, but there was a lightness in your eyes that made him feel strangely at ease. Jungkook frowned slightly, processing — and then his eyes widened as the realization hit him. "But… I don’t have a ticket," he said, baffled.

You turned to him fully then, your smile gentle, almost teasing as you answered, "It’s fine. I got you one."

Jungkook stared at you. Like you had just sprouted wings or declared yourself king of Seoul. There was a strange little jolt in his chest — something between touched and ruffled — because he was the one who usually took care of things. He bought the tickets. He paid the bills. He made sure the people around him were comfortable.

He wasn’t used to... this. Someone quietly smoothing the way for him without making a big deal out of it.

"You didn’t have to..." he started, almost defensive without meaning to.

But you just shrugged easily, already drifting a few steps ahead toward the first sculpture — as if it really wasn’t a big deal at all. As if he wasn’t someone you needed anything from. As if he was just... your friend.

"It’s just a ticket." you said over your shoulder, voice warm and a little teasing. "Don’t be dramatic."

Behind him, Pascal snorted. "Oh no. He's learning your secret," he stage-whispered to Flora. "She pretends to be all nice and harmless, and then BAM — she pays for something and makes you feel like a useless piece of trash that’s forever in her debit."

"Happened to me last month at brunch," Flora added solemnly, adjusting his bag strap like he was remembering a war story. "Still not over it."

You turned back around, walking backward now, grinning wickedly. "Shut up, both of you," you said, voice bright with laughter. "I’m a delight."

Jungkook couldn’t help it — he laughed too. Something warm and full that he hadn’t heard from himself in longer than he liked to admit. He jogged a few steps to catch up to you, bumping his shoulder lightly against yours — playful.

"Next time," he murmured in Korean, just for you, "I’m buying your ticket."

You glanced up at him, surprised — and something flickered between you. Something bright and a little reckless.

"Next time?" you said softly.

Jungkook smiled — a real one, crooked and boyish and impossibly endearing — and followed you deeper into the exhibition, the city’s noise forgotten behind thick stone walls. One of the last exhibits at this place was a sculpture — simple at first glance — just a mass of twisted iron and polished driftwood. It looked almost like a bird caught mid-flight, wings half-formed, trapped in metal and wood.

You tilted your head, studying it thoughtfully. Jungkook drifted closer, hands shoved casually in the pockets of his jacket, watching your expression out of the corner of his eye more than he watched the art itself. There was a small part of him — quiet but insistent — that wanted to know what you thought of it. What you saw when you looked. What kinds of things stirred you.

Meanwhile, Pascal, in typical fashion, had already wandered closer to the next piece — a massive tangle of tree roots shaped vaguely like a crouching figure.

"Oh, hell yes," Pascal muttered mischievously, glancing back over his shoulder at you. "Come on, you have to!"

You turned, caught sight of what he was eyeing, and burst out laughing. Without hesitation, you moved over, and the two of you — grinning like fools — immediately contorted yourselves into a ridiculous reenactment of the sculpture: Pascal crouching dramatically, you draping yourself halfway over his back like a sagging vine.

"Hold still!" Flora said, laughing, pulling out his phone with a little huff of effort. He knelt slightly to get the right angle, his giant frame making the tiny gallery feel even smaller. Behind Flora, Jungkook chuckled low in his throat, bemused. He crossed his arms loosely and leaned in toward Flora.

"What are they doing?" he asked, amused but genuinely curious.

Flora shifted a little awkwardly, clearly searching for a way to explain it. "Uh... how to say..." He grimaced slightly, embarrassed, but soldiered on anyway. "Since I know them... there is no sculpture they don't — ehm — copy." He smiled sheepishly. "It's kind of their thing."

Jungkook blinked, then laughed out loud, nodding in understanding. "Tradition?" he teased.

Flora brightened. "Yes! Tradition."

Jungkook turned his gaze back to you and Pascal, who were dissolving into giggles as Pascal dramatically flopped to the floor, still committed to the ridiculous pose. You sat beside him, poking his shoulder, scolding him half-heartedly for "ruining the artistic integrity" of the piece.

They looked close, Jungkook thought. Comfortable. Easy in a way that spoke of long friendship, of thousands of shared jokes and late nights. He hadn’t gotten the vibe that you and Pascal were together — no overt flirting, no lingering glances — but still. Seeing you like this, smiling so freely, leaning on Pascal like it was the most natural thing in the world...

A tiny, unwelcome sting flickered through him.

Beside him, Flora shifted again, glancing down at Jungkook with a knowing twinkle in his eye. He leaned down, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper: "I have a pretty boyfriend, right?"

Jungkook startled slightly, his brows furrowing as he looked back and forth — from Pascal, still lying dramatically on the ground, to Flora, standing there with an easy, fond smile. It took him a beat. Two beats. And then it clicked.

"OH."

Understanding bloomed like a firework behind Jungkook's ribs — bright, stupidly bright — and he turned to Flora with a sudden, warm grin, nodding. Of course. Pascal and Flora were together. They were the couple. Not you and Pascal.

A soft, almost giddy sense of relief — of possibility — unfolded in his chest like a secret he didn’t even know he was hoping for. Without thinking too hard about it, Jungkook pulled out his phone and handed it to Flora.

"Take one more," he said, his voice low but sure. "Of me and her, yeah?"

Flora’s eyebrows jumped, but he grinned wide and took the phone eagerly. You, brushing dust off your knees, glanced up — saw Jungkook approaching — and blinked, startled.

"He wants to—?"

But Jungkook just smiled at you, easy and boyish and a little challenging, and dropped into a crouch beside you, mimicking the awkward, sprawled pose you and Pascal had struck earlier. He looked at you expectantly. "You’re not gonna leave me hanging, are you?"

Your heart did a weird, flipping thing inside your chest. Something fluttery and wild and wonderful. Because this was Jungkook choosing to be part of your chaos. This was him wanting to share a stupid, silly moment with you. Smiling so wide your cheeks hurt, you scooted closer, slinging an arm loosely around his shoulders, mimicking the sculpture’s pose with exaggerated drama. Flora laughed, snapping a few quick pictures while Pascal cheered you both on in the background.

"Artistic integrity!" Pascal declared. "Restored!"

Jungkook’s shoulder bumped yours lightly as you both tried (and failed) to hold the ridiculous position without laughing.

"You’re surprisingly good at this," he teased under his breath, his voice warm against your ear.

"I told you," you whispered back, smiling. "I'm a delight."

And as the flash clicked and Flora captured the moment — something unspoken settled between you and Jungkook, bright and sparking and full of possibility. You straightened up from the silly pose, cheeks warm from laughter. Flora grinned down at his phone, satisfied with the shot he had just taken of you, Pascal — and now, Jungkook — tangled together mid-laughter, perfectly recreating the odd sculpture’s awkward, balancing pose. Jungkook flashed you a quick, slightly breathless grin, and for a second, you let yourself just look at him — really look.

You peeked at Jungkooks’s screen. There it was — You and Jungkook, shoulder to shoulder, laughing like old friends, looking so natural. Like it was something you did all the time. Your heart gave a tiny, helpless flutter. You would have loved to have that photo. Loved to have that memory of you and Jungkook together, caught mid-laugh, tangled in a ridiculous re-creation of art. To have a little piece of this impossible evening, something to hold onto later when it felt like a dream.

But...

You hesitated. The thought of asking — of possibly making him uncomfortable, of seeming like some crazy fan who only wanted a trophy photo for social media — made your stomach twist up tight. No.

Better to let the moment pass quietly. Better to keep the memory for yourself.

You swallowed the wish and tucked it away. Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook watched it happen. Watched the way you bit your lip slightly, looked at the photo, then deliberately looked away.

He waited — giving you space — waited, thinking you might still ask.

But after a few seconds, when you said nothing and just smiled and adjusted your bag on your shoulder, he smiled softly to himself. Of course. He was already starting to understand you a little: you didn’t take — you never expected. You just quietly appreciated.

And somehow, that made him want to give you even more. He didn’t press. But he did make a little note in the back of his mind: to get that picture to you later.

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Pascal clapped his hands, dusting them dramatically as if he’d just completed a grand performance. "Alright, children. That’s enough culture inside walls. Let’s go outside and be sophisticated." he declared with a grandiose wave toward the exit. "There’s an installation out in the courtyard, and you must be seen with a glass of wine. It’s, like, mandatory. Très chic." He threw a dramatic arm toward the courtyard where twinkling lights were already coming on and food and wine stalls lined the edges. ”Let’s go be fancy art snobs outside."

You laughed, slipping easily back into the banter, and translated quickly for Jungkook, whose eyebrows lifted in amused confusion at Pascal's theatrical tone.

"Pascal says it’s mandatory to hold wine and look… pretentious," you added, grinning, having just checked the word for pretentious in Korean.

"Can’t argue with that," Jungkook said, lightly bumping his shoulder against yours, adjusting his cap. The subtle disguise doing surprisingly well so far. You didn’t even try to hide your smile.

Pascal was already striding ahead toward a charming little stand selling local wines and small plates, dragging Flora along with him. You and Jungkook followed at a more leisurely pace. Outside, the evening air had cooled just a little, and the courtyard looked like something from a storybook — soft golden light, the rich smells of roasting nuts, spices, and baked goods drifting on the breeze.

As you reached the stand, Pascal was already leaning against the counter, animatedly discussing the wine options with the poor vendor asking which wine would make him look the most "cultured."

You chose a light, fruity glass for yourself — something casual — and reached automatically for your wallet. Before you could even properly find your card, Jungkook was there, stepping in front of you, gently pushing you aside with a soft nudge of his arm.

"I got it," he said firmly.

"No, really, it’s fine," you protested quickly, heat rushing into your cheeks. "You don’t have to —"

But Jungkook just shook his head, looking down at you with that stubborn little smile you were already starting to recognize.

"I want to," he said simply, already tapping his card against the reader before you could argue more. You turned to the older man running the stand, hoping maybe he would help your case — but the man just chuckled, a twinkle in his eye, and said warmly, "Ah, let the gentleman pay, sweetheart. He is insisting."

You blushed harder, feeling the tips of your ears go hot, and Jungkook caught it instantly. He tilted his head slightly, absolutely delighted by your reaction.

"See?" he teased, voice low enough that only you could hear.

Behind you, Pascal — never one to miss a good opportunity for mischief — clutched his chest dramatically.

"She’s blushing! Flora! Flora!" Pascal stage-whispered loudly, grabbing Flora’s arm with faux urgency. "Call a medic! We’ve got a romantic casualty. Look at her blushing like a Victorian maiden! Flora, where’s my fainting couch?"

"Oh my god, Pascal, shut up," you hissed under your breath.

You buried your face in your hands for a second, groaning in embarrassment while Flora just laughed quietly and patted Pascal’s shoulder like he was an unruly child. Jungkook laughed too — not meanly, not mockingly — but warmly, like he was laughing with you, not at you. There was something soft and sincere in his eyes when you finally peeked up at him through your fingers. Pascal patted you patronizingly on the back, still dramatically gasping for breath like he might swoon at any moment.

"Cheers?" Jungkook offered, holding out your wine glass to you with a small, almost shy smile.

You took it carefully, your fingers brushing his just for a moment — enough to send a tiny, electric shiver racing up your spine.

"Cheers," you whispered back, your smile matching his.

You didn’t even notice Flora sneaking another candid photo of the moment — but Jungkook did. And he didn’t stop him.

The art installations out here were larger than life — strange metal trees twisting into the stars, mosaics glittering under fairy lights, even a giant abstract sculpture that looked suspiciously like a melted spoon.

"Clearly," Pascal said solemnly, swirling his wine glass like he was at a five-star auction, "this piece is about the futility of buying matching socks."

You burst out laughing, trying (and failing) to mimic his snooty voice while shaking your own glass dramatically. A tiny drop of wine sloshed out, and you gasped, wiping it quickly against your jacket.

"Careful," Jungkook chuckled, stepping closer, his eyes bright. "You're too fancy now. Gotta protect the image."

You grinned up at him, emboldened by the lightness of the evening. "Oh, absolutely," you said, twirling your glass again with a theatrical flourish. "I’m basically a... more than princess now."

You fumbled for a better word, realizing halfway through that your Korean wasn't good enough for this moment. Jungkook caught on instantly, his smile widening.

"You could say yeowang. Queen," he offered, voice warm.

"Ah, yeowang!" you repeated, beaming, and Jungkook gave an approving nod.

Pascal threw an arm around Flora’s waist and sighed dramatically.

"We are in the presence of royalty. Someone fetch me a fainting couch."

You snickered. "Pascal, what is it with you today and needing a fainting couch?"

"Art moves me," he declared, clutching at his chest. Jungkook shook his head in amusement and, swirling his own wine with a mock-serious air, leaned toward you. "In Korean, if you want to say someone’s showing off, you can say Pom jabn-da." He pronounced it slowly. You tried to repeat it — and immediately mangled the pronunciation. Jungkook burst out laughing, not unkindly. "Again, again," he encouraged, tapping the air like a metronome.

You tried again, slower. "Pom jabn-da...?"

"Much better!" he praised, his eyes crinkling. "Just casual. Like teasing a friend."

You practiced it under your breath a few more times, earning another bright thumbs-up from him. Your heart fluttered stupidly at how delighted he looked. A few installations later, you and Pascal spotted a new sculpture — a chaotic tangle of bronze limbs, like a group of dancers frozen mid-fall.

"This one's asking for it," Pascal declared.

Without even needing to speak, you both clambered into a half-recreation, Pascal sticking his leg straight up in the air and you pretending to trip over him, arms flailing. Flora chuckled and obediently pulled out his phone to take pictures. Jungkook laughed too — the sound bright and real — and watched you both with amused wonder. After a moment, he handed his phone to Flora.

"One more photo?" he asked you, offering his hand with an eager grin.

You took it without hesitation, your palm tingling in his. Together, you struck another ridiculous pose, trying to mimic the bronze chaos behind you. Jungkook leaned into it easily, copying your outstretched arm with exaggerated seriousness. Flora snapped the picture, snorting with laughter as you both tried to hold still.

When you finally broke apart, laughing, you brushed some dust off your coat, cheeks flushed from the cold and the silliness. Jungkook’s phone buzzed insistently in his hand, lighting up the space between you with a soft glow.

He glanced down, his mouth twitching into an automatic smile when he saw the stream of messages blowing up his group chat.

🐿️ (Hoseok): Where r u?? 🐨(Namjoon): You're still out? 😎 (Taehyung):  Send pics!!! 🐱 (Yoongi):  Did u get lost???

Jungkook huffed out a quiet laugh, fond and exasperated at the same time. His thumb moved quickly over the screen, tapping back a few replies. Then, almost shyly, he tilted the phone toward you, as if wanting you to be part of it too.

"They're checking on me," he said, amused. "I told them I’m out with some... cool new friends."

You smiled so brightly it almost hurt, something easing inside you — that tight, nervous coil you'd been carrying ever since you met him starting to finally loosen— and gathering your courage, you cleared your throat. Maybe it was the wine, or the night air, or just the way Jungkook looked at you— but for the first time, you didn’t overthink to much what you said next. You weren't triple-guessing if it would sound too much like a fan thing. You just... said it. Simple and honest.

"If it's not too weird... could you, um... tell them I said hi?"

Jungkook’s entire face lit up — not just with amusement, but with something warmer, softer. Like you'd handed him something precious without even realizing it. He nodded immediately, eyes bright. "Of course! They'll love that."

There was something a little new in the way he looked at you now — a quiet kind of delight. Like he was seeing you take a step closer toward him, and he liked it more than he probably should. He tapped out a quick message — [My friend says hi 👋🏻] — and sent it off without fuss, then tucked his phone back into his pocket without another glance. He wasn’t distracted. He wasn’t half-present. His attention was all on you.

You didn’t realize you were fidgeting slightly, smoothing the sleeve of your coat, until he chuckled lowly under his breath.

"Hey... random question. Who’s your favorite BT21 character?"

You blinked, caught off guard — and without thinking blurted, "Tata."

There was a beat of stunned silence. Jungkook recoiled dramatically, clutching his chest as if shot. "Not Cooky?! Betrayal!"

Pascal immediately gasped, clutching Flora for support. "Scandalous. How dare you!"

"I'm wounded," Jungkook said, lowering his head in mock despair.

"I didn’t realize there was a quiz," you teased, bumping his shoulder with yours. "And anyway, Tata’s a prince. I’m royalty, remember?"

"Excuses," Jungkook grumbled, though he couldn’t stop smiling.

"You can be my second favorite," you added magnanimously.

"Gee, thanks," he said with a dramatic sigh — but his eyes sparkled.

"And Pascal's favorite is Mang," you pointed out quickly, grinning. Pascal flipped you off over his wine glass, making you laugh harder. As you wandered toward the far side of the courtyard, Flora checked his watch.

"If we want good seats," he said, "we should head to the church soon."

Jungkook blinked. "Church?"

"There’s a little concert," you explained. "Local artists. It’s small, but cool. Flora found it."

He hesitated for just a breath — then smiled, resolute. "I'd love to."

The streets were quieter now as you made your way toward the old stone church, the evening mist curling around the narrow alleys like fingers. Jungkook walked close by your side, hands tucked deep into his jacket pockets, occasionally nudging a stray pebble along the cobblestones with his boot.

Warm yellow light spilled from the church's arched windows, casting long golden pools onto the street. From inside, you could already hear the soft hum of voices and the faint strum of a guitar being tuned.

"Wow," Jungkook murmured, tilting his head back to take it in. The church was small but beautiful, its ancient stones blackened by time, its steeple leaning just slightly, like an old man hunching over against the years.

You smiled. "Pascal said the acoustics here are insane. Like, even a whisper carries."

Jungkook grinned at that, bumping your shoulder playfully. "Guess we better not gossip too loudly, huh?"

You laughed, feeling light, warm. God, it was getting too easy to just be around him. Inside, the church smelled faintly of old wood, wax, and rain-soaked stone. The wooden pews were already filling up fast with people — a colorful, buzzing crowd of locals and a handful of tourists who had clearly stumbled upon the event by accident and decided to stay.

You hesitated, glancing around. You didn’t want to assume anything — maybe Jungkook would prefer some space? Maybe he didn't want you hovering— Before you could finish that worried thought, Pascal clapped a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder and gave him a not-so-gentle shove toward the pew where you were standing.

"Here! Plenty of room," Pascal declared with a grin, not noticing (or not caring) about the slight oomph noise Jungkook made as he was practically dumped beside you. Flora shot you a secret wink as he slid in next to Pascal.

Jungkook blinked once, surprised — then let out a soft, helpless laugh, shaking his head as he settled beside you. "Guess this is my spot," he said, throwing you a playful sideways glance.

You tucked a smile behind your hand, feeling giddy and weirdly shy all over again. The bells outside gave a soft, distant chime, and a low murmur of excitement buzzed through the church as more people filed in. The pews were old — carved from dark, heavy wood — and the space between each row was narrow. Cozy.

At first, you and Jungkook sat with a polite little buffer of air between you, your knees almost but not quite brushing. You kept your hands tucked carefully in your lap, too aware of how close he was. But then — fast — the church started filling. People squeezed into every row. An older man with a large coat tapped Pascal’s shoulder, gesturing to the crowd still trying to find seats.

Pascal looked around — then turned back to you with a big, sunny grin. "Hey — scoot up a little? Let's get cozy," he said cheerfully.

Before you could react, Pascal planted both his hands on Jungkook’s side and gave him a strong, enthusiastic shove. The force of it knocked Jungkook sideways — right against you. You gasped, instinctively catching yourself with a hand braced against the pew back. Jungkook let out a startled, embarrassed noise, his whole side pressing into yours for a heartbeat before he awkwardly tried to straighten himself — only to realize he couldn’t. There was no more room.

You were now squished between the cold stone wall and a very solid Jungkook. Your entire side was plastered against him — your coats and sleeves brushing, your knees bumping under the narrow pew rail. His warmth radiated through the layers of fabric, dizzying and so real.

Jungkook froze, obviously realizing the situation at the same moment you did. He turned his head toward you, cheeks visibly flushed even in the dim light, and managed a breathless, sheepish little laugh.

"Uh— sorry," he mumbled, voice low and rough. He tried to shift — to give you space — but there was none. Every inch of the pew was packed now, people squeezed shoulder-to-shoulder in every row. You shook your head quickly, fighting your own rising blush. "No, it's okay," you whispered back, and God, your voice sounded weirdly breathless to your own ears. Jungkook's gaze caught yours for a second — wide, surprised, a little shy — before he gave up, exhaling a soft, helpless little huff.

"I guess we're... stuck like this," he said under his breath, the corners of his mouth twitching like he couldn't quite decide whether to laugh or die of embarrassment. You nodded, biting your lip, pulse pounding. Neither of you moved again.

The rest of the pews were just as packed, a sea of strangers pressed elbow-to-elbow, the whole church buzzing with low chatter and the warm crackle of excitement. But all you could feel was Jungkook — warm, solid, steady — right there beside you, close enough that you could catch the faint, clean scent of his cologne every time you breathed.

It felt crazy. Exciting. A little dangerous, in a way that made your stomach flip. You stole a tiny glance at him — and caught him doing the same, his eyes darting away quickly, a guilty little smile tugging at his lips.

You weren’t imagining it. He felt it too.

The lights dimmed further as the musicians took their places, tuning their instruments with brief, fluttering notes that melted into a respectful silence. You felt the change instantly — the whole church seeming to hold its breath, waiting.

Then the music began. A soft, sweeping melody filled the stone chamber, rising up to the vaulted ceiling like smoke. It was beautiful — a delicate blend of classic orchestral pieces and haunting film scores that sent shivers down your spine. You exhaled slowly, letting your body relax for the first time in what felt like forever.

The concert would last about thirty minutes — not long, technically — but just long enough that sitting stiff and upright like a statue was impossible. Especially when you were packed so tightly in a crowded pew.

Next to you, Pascal was already adjusting — sliding down a little in his seat until his frame rested comfortably against Flora’s shoulder. Flora didn’t seem to mind in the slightest; he barely reacted beyond adjusting his posture slightly, offering a solid, comfortable place for Pascal to rest against. The two of them looked perfectly at ease, making a little more room for themselves without a second thought.

You shifted, too, almost without realizing it — leaning ever-so-slightly more into the narrow space you shared with Jungkook. It wasn’t much — just a subtle change — but it brought you even closer, until the line of your arm brushed his. And neither of you moved away.

Jungkook noticed immediately. He stiffened for half a second, some instinct in him flaring — but when he glanced sideways and saw your face, the tension melted almost instantly. You weren’t tense. You weren't looking around nervously or pulling away. You looked... content.

Happy, even.

Your eyes were half-lidded in peace, your body visibly trying to slump a little more comfortably — but there just wasn’t space to do it properly. Something inside Jungkook twisted sweetly at the sight. He wanted — badly — to just lift his arm and rest it along the back of the pew behind you, maybe even let it fall lightly around your shoulders. It would make it easier for both of you. Give you more space to lean, more room to relax. And... it would feel so natural, so right.

He could already imagine it: your head might lean into his side, both of you fitting together better, finding a little more space to breathe.

But he hesitated. If someone in the crowd recognized him — if a photo made it to the wrong hands — he could already imagine the tabloid headlines. "Jungkook Seen Cozy With Mystery Woman at Church Concert" "Romance Rumors Swirl After Late-Night Sighting"

It wouldn’t just be chaos for him — it would drag you into it too.

But you didn’t shift away. You didn’t stiffen or glance around anxiously. If anything, you looked even more comfortable as the music rose, the corners of your mouth softening in a small, private smile. So he stayed frozen, pulse racing, watching you out of the corner of his eye for any sign of unease. Anything at all. But you didn’t pull away.

If anything, you seemed to be relaxing more with every passing minute — your side melting unconsciously into his, your knee nudging lightly against his under the narrow pew rail. Jungkook’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. Very carefully, he allowed himself to relax — not dramatically, not enough to draw attention, but enough that his side pressed lightly against yours in a way that felt intentional. Enough that if you wanted to lean just a little bit more, you could.

The music swelled around you, rich and deep and almost cinematic in its beauty. Every pew was crammed full of people now, groups squeezing closer and closer to fit. In the row ahead, an older couple sat shoulder-to-shoulder, hands folded together. Farther down, teenagers bumped elbows and whispered with wide grins. Everyone was packed tight — no one would even blink at how closely you and Jungkook sat.

You lost yourself in it a little — the sweep of the strings, the low, steady pulse of the piano — but never entirely. Because you could still feel Jungkook, right there, pressed against your side. Every breath you took seemed somehow linked to him. You didn’t dare move too much, didn’t dare look at him, afraid you’d break whatever fragile, unspoken thing had started to stretch between you.

And Jungkook, for his part, was battling himself silently.

The longer he sat beside you, feeling the faint warmth of your body so close, the harder it became to stay still. The harder it became to pretend he didn’t want more.

Slowly — as casually as he could manage — he shifted. Not much. Just letting his hand fall, loose and heavy, onto his lap. An innocent movement to anyone watching. But he placed it carefully, precisely angled, so that when he next took a deep breath — deeper than necessary, maybe — the motion rocked his hand just enough that the back of it brushed lightly against yours.

It was feather-light. Accidental, surely.

You froze, heart thudding, half expecting him to immediately jerk away in embarrassment.

But he didn’t.

His hand stayed there, the faintest touch between you — just the back of his knuckles against the side of your hand. He didn’t grab you. He didn’t even really move. Only the tiniest twitch betrayed him, a small tremor that made his pinky bump gently against your skin.

Your breath hitched audibly — not loud enough to draw attention, but enough that you felt Jungkook go even more still, sensing it. You swallowed hard, pulse hammering in your ears, and allowed your own hand to twitch in response — a small, almost involuntary movement, nothing that could be called bold.

But it was enough.

Enough to tell Jungkook that you weren’t pulling away. He was tense beside you, vibrating like a tightly wound string about to snap. But emboldened by your tiny gesture, he shifted the smallest fraction, just enough to let his pinky curl — and hook lightly around yours.

It wasn’t hand-holding.

Not really.

But it also wasn’t nothing.

You felt it instantly — that almost imperceptible entwining of pinkies, the barest linking of skin. The smallest possible way to touch you more, without making a scene, without risking everything. And yet somehow, it felt monumental. It felt like the only thing in the world that mattered.

Your lungs burned slightly, your heart hammering harder than the crescendo of the music washing around you. You stared straight ahead, afraid that if you even glanced at him, the spell would shatter. Beside you, Jungkook shifted again — the tiniest adjustment — a breath that somehow pressed his side a little more firmly against yours. His pinky, still entwined with yours, twitched once, almost like a question.

You squeezed yours back — barely — the smallest answer you could give. But it was enough.

It was everything.

The music swelled higher, louder, grander — but you barely heard it anymore. Because Jungkook was there, his pinky tangled lightly with yours, his thigh warm against your leg, his presence swallowing up every breath you took. You had no idea how you would survive the next twenty minutes of this concert. And from the way Jungkook's breathing had subtly shifted — a little heavier, a little faster — he was wondering the exact same thing.

As the last note of the concert faded into the stone vaults of the old church, the first people began to rise from their tightly packed pews, voices low and murmuring as they shuffled toward the exits, eager for their next destination.

You and Jungkook didn’t move.

Neither of you wanted to.

And, realistically, you couldn’t, not yet — Flora and Pascal were still squeezed in on the other side, and the narrow rows left little room to maneuver without tripping over each other. But even without that excuse, you knew you wouldn’t have been ready to let go of him.

Not just yet.

Your pinkies were still lightly hooked together, the smallest bridge between you. You could feel Jungkook’s warmth through that tiny touch, a quiet heartbeat of connection neither of you seemed quite willing to break.

When you dared a glance at him, you found him already looking at you.

His eyes were soft — almost bashful — and a shy, almost sheepish smile curved his lips. You saw the faintest flush creep up his neck to his cheeks, the stage lighting doing nothing to hide it. And before you could say anything, before you could even breathe properly, he gave your pinky one last small squeeze. Your heart twisted almost painfully.

Slowly, regretfully, you both let your hands drift apart.

The group started to shift and rise, Flora stretching his long frame carefully to avoid knocking into the people in front of you. Pascal shuffled sideways, pulling the others with him, and finally you and Jungkook had enough space to stand without causing a scene.

Outside, the cool night air hit you like a balm, carrying away some of the dizzy warmth clinging to your skin. You regrouped under the streetlights, the tall, dark shape of the church behind you casting deep shadows. Jungkook stayed close. Closer than before. Close enough that his shoulder almost brushed yours whenever he moved, Jungkook stayed by your side as the group paused under the yellow pools of light spilling from the church’s old lanterns.

Pascal turned to the group, his voice casual but lively. "What now? We’ve got time for one or maybe two more stops before everything closes. What do you guys think?"

He was speaking fast again and you saw Jungkook's head tilt slightly, his expression attentive but a little hesitant. His English was good, but fast conversation could be tricky, especially when tired or excited. Instinctively, you stepped in, your voice a little softer, more private.

You translated with the help of google again at this point into Korean, glancing at him with a smile — hopefully not too goofily — and pulled out your phone to double-check the night's schedule. “Pascal is saying that there’s still some time, so we can go to one or maybe two more places. He’s asking where we’d like to go.”

Jungkook gave a small, grateful nod, his eyes flickering to you and lingering there for a heartbeat longer than strictly necessary. You could tell he was appreciating more than just the translation. You fumbled quickly with your phone, trying to act casual.

"Alright," you said, clearing your throat, partly for the group and partly for yourself. "We’ve got two options."

"First, bathroom break," you added firmly, shooting a quick grin around the group that made Pascal and Flora chuckle.

"After that, we have two options: There’s a movie museum exhibit — old horror films. Props from Nosferatu, Dracula, 28 Days Later..." You glanced up at Jungkook and saw his eyes light up a little at the mention and understanding. You tried not to let it distract you and continued.

"Or, there's a gallery nearby with a lot of acrylic-on-wood paintings. The theme is supposed to be 'Fever Dream'." You lifted your eyebrows at everyone, feeling their attention drift toward you, and shrugged.

"Vote?"

It wasn’t much of a contest. Flora immediately cast his vote for the horror exhibit — big guy, even bigger love for spooky stuff — Pascal nodded eagerly too, clearly into it. You watched Jungkook's eyes light up just a little at the idea of the horror props, and a small, almost mischievous smile touched his lips. He gave a little nod, confirming his choice without needing words.

You grinned, feeling a little giddy — but not just because of the decision.

“Movie museum it is," you announced, grinning.

You desperately needed that bathroom break. Because the way Jungkook was looking at you, now that you could see his face in the clear, open night — the way he hadn't really left your side even after all the people had spilled out around you — the memory of your pinkies tangled together, not just accidental, not just squished together — all of it made your heart thud against your ribs like it was trying to escape.

You were freaking out. —  Internally screaming while trying to look chill. — A classic.

You managed to give a casual little wave toward a nearby building. “Bathrooms that way,” you said, voice just a little too high-pitched to be completely natural. As the group started to wander in that direction, you pulled your phone closer to your chest, trying to hide your flushed cheeks behind it. You weren’t sure if you were overheating from the excitement of almost-hand-holding Jungkook, from the dizzy, half-panicked realization that he hadn’t pulled away — that he had wanted to stay close — or from the way he kept glancing at you now, like he was thinking about it too.

Either way, you were dangerously close to combusting.

And the night wasn’t even over yet.

You were the one who had begged for the bathroom break, but ironically, when you came out fresh-faced and trying to get your heart to beat normally again, it was Pascal who was still missing. The rest of you waited just outside the small public bathroom area, tucked against the side of the church. The cool night air wrapped around you, and without meaning to, you found yourself standing a little closer to Jungkook again.

He was quiet next to you, head slightly lowered, phone in hand. You glanced sideways, trying not to be obvious — but curiosity burned in you. Jungkook was texting, a small, shy smile playing on his lips as his thumbs flew across the screen. Every so often, he would type something, delete it, then retype it with more care.

If you could read Korean fast enough from that angle (which you couldn’t), you might have caught something like:

[🐰] : Hyungs… I’m so nervous I might die. Seriously.

[🐰] : I’ve spent the whole day with them and it’s so good it’s driving me crazy, haha.

[🐰] : It feels like butterflies are throwing a party in my stomach...

He quickly locked his phone when he noticed you looking in his direction, tucking it into his jacket pocket with a slightly embarrassed chuckle. You caught that chuckle and smiled to yourself, cheeks warming again. Finally, Pascal came jogging out, apologizing for the delay, and the four of you regrouped.

“Metro?” Pascal asked the group, glancing between you and Flora. It was just two stations — walkable, sure, but the metro would save time. You translated for Jungkook, and he nodded in agreement.

So the metro it was. The station wasn’t far, but the moment you descended underground, you realized the mistake: it was packed.

Way too many people. Way too little space.

You and Pascal cursed under your breath almost simultaneously — both of you being the smallest of the group and already hating cramped public transport situations. Flora, being tall and broad, carved a space around himself effortlessly, and Jungkook’s strong frame and solid build helped him stay upright even as people pushed and jostled around. But you?

You barely reached the overhead bars and had zero chance of grabbing onto anything. The sea of bodies swayed and pushed around you like a tide, and you knew immediately: this was going to be a nightmare.

When the metro car jolted with a hard start, you stumbled — and without even thinking, Jungkook caught you. His arm shot out, gripping the overhead pole running above the crowd. He positioned himself close to you, making sure if you were going to be squished against someone, it would be him. You leaned slightly on him, trying not to put your full weight against his side — but there wasn’t really a choice.

And then the metro braked hard at the first station.

You were sent flying — a small, helpless yelp leaving your lips — and instinctively you grabbed at Jungkook, fisting the front of his jacket. Even Jungkook had to plant his feet and shift his stance to keep steady, his muscles tensing under you. Without hesitation, he wrapped his free arm around your waist, firm and protective, pulling you flush against him.

He didn’t let go.

You were breathing fast, too aware of the way your hands clutched his hoodie and jacket, the way your cheek nearly brushed his chest, the faint scent of clean laundry and something distinctly Jungkook filling your nose.

You tried — once — to step back. To regain some polite distance.

But Jungkook bent slightly, lips brushing the shell of your ear, and whispered in Korean, voice low and rough: “Just hold onto me. I got you.”

His breath was hot against your ear, his words sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold night air.

Your knees wobbled. Your heart thudded so hard you wondered if he could hear it too.

You gave a small, helpless nod against his chest, too overwhelmed to meet his eyes, and instead, gripped the front of his jacket tighter — knuckles white, fingers trembling slightly.  Jungkook tightened his arm around you just a fraction more, anchoring you securely against him for the rest of the ride. He was your solid ground in that chaotic, moving sea of strangers. And somehow, it felt like the whole world had shrunk again.

Just you and him, heartbeat to heartbeat.

As your stop neared, everyone started pressing forward, trying to position themselves near the doors. It was a chaos of bodies, jostling and pushing. Jungkook stayed close. Too close for you to think properly — but it was necessary.

With this many people, if you lost each other now, finding each other again would be impossible. You could just call Flora or Pascal but you hadn’t exchanged phone numbers with Jungkook – you didn’t want to impose. Without a word, Jungkook slipped his hand gently to the small of your back, warm and steady, steering you through the crush of people like you were the most precious thing he needed to protect. His hand wasn’t pushy, wasn’t possessive — it was guiding, reassuring. Like he wanted you to know he had you. That he wasn’t letting go.

You clutched the strap of your bag with both hands to keep from reaching back for him, heart rattling inside your chest like a trapped bird. Finally, the heavy metro doors hissed open, and you both spilled out into the station — breathing again, laughing breathlessly as the cool air of the outside hit your faces.

If someone had asked Jungkook what you looked like right then, flushed cheeks, bright eyes, a soft smile playing on your lips — he would have said, without hesitation: beautiful.

Maybe the most beautiful thing he'd seen all day.

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽

The museum was only a short walk away, and the fresh air helped you all shake off the claustrophobic energy of the metro. You entered the exhibition hall, and soon you were wandering through corridors of dim lighting, eerie soundtracks playing faintly in the background.

Glass cases displayed old movie props, some beautifully preserved, some delightfully grotesque. Fake vampire fangs, latex severed limbs, crumbling Nosferatu prosthetics — pieces of horror history carefully presented under spotlights. Flora, who until now had been relatively quiet, suddenly turned out to be a bizarre fountain of random movie trivia.

“That arm," Flora pointed at a disturbingly realistic severed hand in one of the cases, "was made with real animal bones inside to make it look more authentic when it moved."

You blinked. Jungkook blinked.

You caught the confused furrow of Jungkook’s brow and leaned close to murmur a translation into his ear in Korean, your breath brushing his skin:

 "They used real animal bones inside to make it look real."

Jungkook widened his eyes slightly, letting out a soft, surprised laugh, and whispered back:

 "That's crazy..."

You grinned at him, feeling ridiculously giddy that you could be the one translating this strange world for him.

As you moved on, you came to a corner that had been redesigned especially for tonight's event. It was marked with low flickering lights and a small, crooked wooden sign:

"Horror Walk — Enter If You Dare."

Inside, black curtains obscured the view, and occasional flashes of light and small shrieks from earlier participants hinted at what awaited. It wasn’t a full haunted house — more like a cramped hallway with actors hidden inside, ready to jump scare anyone brave (or foolish) enough to walk through.

You all stopped in front of it.

Pascal groaned dramatically, already shaking his head. "No, no, not for me..."

You laughed and turned to Jungkook.

"He hates jump scares."

Jungkook smiled, clearly amused, but his eyes flickered back to the dark curtains with a gleam that made your stomach twist deliciously.

“And you?” he asked softly, tilting his head toward you.

You hesitated, chewing your bottom lip — horror walk with Jungkook? Half of you wanted to die of nerves. The other half wanted nothing more.

Flora, oblivious, was already striding forward to sign the little waiver the museum required. Pascal grumbled but followed. And Jungkook… well, Jungkook just watched you, waiting patiently for your answer.

You hesitated for a second before pushing through the thick black curtain, the material brushing heavily against your shoulders, swallowing you up into the dark.

Immediately, the world changed.

The hallway inside was nearly pitch black, save for faint, flickering lights far ahead. The floor creaked ominously beneath your feet. Somewhere deeper inside, you could hear recorded whispers, quiet footfalls, and the occasional high-pitched shriek that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

You swallowed hard, feeling your heart hammer against your ribs.

And then — a warm hand slipped into yours.

Properly, fully — Jungkook’s hand.

Strong, a little calloused, fitting into yours like it belonged there. You felt him step close behind you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his chest to your back. For a moment, you were too stunned to move.

He was just... holding your hand. Not by accident. Not by mistake. Deliberately.

You squeezed back, barely able to believe it was happening, and you felt the slight, quiet tremble of his fingers in yours. He was nervous too. The realization sent a bloom of something so sweet, so fragile through your chest, you thought you might actually float off the ground. Jungkook leaned down, mouth close to your ear.

 "Go ahead... I'll be right behind you."

You nodded mutely, and you started forward. Each cautious step you took echoed too loudly in the otherwise dead silence. Jungkook didn’t just walk behind you — he was guiding you, his hand sometimes sliding from your hand up lightly to your shoulder, to your waist, steadying you with feather-light touches whenever you flinched or hesitated. It was so subtle, so careful, like he was afraid to startle you more than the haunted hallway already was.

And then — something moved.

A figure — pale, twitching, all black eyes and sharp teeth — suddenly burst from a hidden panel in the wall beside you.

You shrieked, whipping around instinctively to run — but Jungkook was there, and you plowed straight into his chest. He laughed — a real, full laugh, delighted and breathless — and without thinking, he wrapped his arms around you.

Not just a safe hug — no, Jungkook hugged you properly, one arm strong across your back, the other sneaking under your open jacket, pulling you against him like you were something he couldn't bear to let go.

Your cheek was pressed to the warm cotton of his shirt, his heartbeat thundering in your ear. You whimpered — you couldn’t help it — the sound slipping out, high-pitched and soft and far too vulnerable. You prayed, prayed, that Jungkook thought it was from fear.

(And not because the feel of his fingers brushing lightly over your back, beneath your jacket, was making your knees buckle.)

But Jungkook stiffened for a fraction of a second against you — his breath catching sharply in his chest.

Like he heard it differently.

Like he loved it.

His hand flattened against the small of your back, feeling you, grounding you to him. His nose brushed your hair, and you could have sworn you felt him inhale deeply, a tiny shudder running through his body. You stayed like that — pressed together, hearts hammering, the haunted hallway forgotten — for a few infinite seconds.

In the dimness, only you and Jungkook existed. Only the way his thumb was rubbing slow, barely-there circles at the base of your spine. Only the way you gripped handfuls of his jacket, hiding your burning face against him.

He tilted his head down, whispering into your hair in Korean, voice rough and breathless:

"It's okay... I'm here."

You could only nod — your words were locked somewhere deep in your chest, strangled by the overwhelming way he was holding you like you were precious, real, and somehow already his.

And if you weren't careful... You might never want to let him go.

You finished the haunted hallway clinging lightly to Jungkook’s jacket, every loud noise and sudden shadow making you tighten your grip for a second longer than necessary. You could feel Jungkook's hand still hovering at your lower back, ready to catch you again if needed — though you both moved slowly now, hearts not quite back to normal. When you finally stumbled out through the heavy exit curtain and back into the dim light of the movie exhibit, it was like breaking through to the surface after being underwater.

You gasped a little laugh, immediately stepping a half step away, remembering where you were. Remembering yourself. Jungkook hated it. Hated the tiny, polite distance you carefully placed between you and him again. Because he couldn’t just pull you back. Because even now, there were a few people here, and a badly taken photo would be a nightmare for both of you — and worst of all, you would be the one most hurt by it. He knew it.

But still. His hands twitched at his sides. His heart screamed.

He licked his lips slowly without even realizing it, staring after you — dazed, helpless, and ready to follow you anywhere. And he would have — he was about to — until Pascal suddenly spoke up.

“Pfff… Okay, I’m done. Horror walk has officially killed me,” Pascal groaned, scrubbing a hand through his messy hair. “I need sugar. Then I’m out.”

You and Flora laughed, both nodding — though you covered a giant yawn behind your hand. It was nearly 2 a.m., after all. Even you, energized and excited, were visibly winding down now.

Jungkook’s heart stuttered in panic.

No. No, no, no. He didn’t have your number. He didn’t know where you lived. If you left now, you would just… be gone.

He could already feel it — that yawning space opening between you, the chance slipping away like sand between his fingers. While you and Flora casually debated which sweets stand was the best nearby, Jungkook frantically opened his group chat with his friends. His thumbs flew across his phone.

🐰: what do i do 🐰: i dont have her number 🐰: i cant lose her what do i do i cant just ask in front of everyone 🐰: HELP.

It took all of three seconds before his friends erupted in teasing.

😎 (Taehyung): lololol YOU'RE SCREWED 🐱 (Yoongi): Just ask her idiot. 🐿️ (Hoseok): Confess your undying love immediately. Go big or go home. 🐨 (Namjoon): Maybe just say you wanna text about the museum or something??? Chill bro.

Jungkook groaned under his breath, cheeks burning, still pretending to casually check his phone while you and Flora were oblivious. But Pascal was not oblivious.

🐰: i cant just SAY THAT. everyone is RIGHT HERE. 🐰: AND what if she says no 🐰: AND her friends will KNOW 🐰: AND then ill look like a desperate idiot

Taehyung was instantly bloodthirsty:

😎: you ARE a desperate idiot right now 😂

Hoseok added:

🐿️: Desperate and CUTE tho 🐿️: i believe in u soldier o7 🐿️: shoot your shot 🐿️: or steal her shoe and run so she HAS to find you later 🤡

Jungkook glared at his screen so hard he was sure the pixels would melt. Yoongi, the voice of (grumpy) reason, chimed in again:

🐱: just say you want to send her the museum address or something. 🐱: make it practical. not a confession, dumbass. 🐱: baby steps.

Jungkook thumbed back:

🐰: you make it sound easy hyung

Namjoon:

🐨: bc it IS easy 🐨: you’re just a lovesick mess rn

Jungkook ran a hand down his face, accidentally bumping shoulders with Flora, who glanced over in mild concern. He flinched and smiled a little too fast, tucking his phone behind his back as if he could read it.

Meanwhile, Taehyung was merciless:

😎: tell her you saw a ghost and the only way to be safe is to exchange numbers. spiritual protection reasons. 😎: very serious. 😎: for safety reasons

Jungkook huffed a tiny breathless laugh despite himself — and immediately bit it down when you turned slightly, giving him a small, questioning smile. He coughed into his fist and looked away.

He was losing it.

And then — Out of the corner of his eye, Jungkook caught Pascal watching him. Really watching him. Sharp, assessing — and then… almost kind. Pascal stepped close enough that Jungkook could see the screen of Pascal’s phone when he tilted it forward — a message typed out in clear, simple English with its translation into Korean next to it.

"Normally Flora and I bring her home if it’s this late. But if you want to take her home instead, we will leave you two alone?"

Jungkook froze. His mouth went dry. He blinked — once, twice — rereading it to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating from sleep deprivation or love-induced madness. When he finally looked up, wide-eyed, cheeks glowing bright red, Pascal just grinned at him — like a cat that had stolen the cream.

But Pascal’s smile turned serious in the next second.

He held Jungkook’s gaze firmly, and then, in slow, careful English that even he understood very clearly, he added:

"Just don’t hurt her."

The unspoken "or else" hung heavy between them.

Jungkook nodded immediately. Seriously. From the deepest part of himself. There wasn’t even a fraction of hesitation. He would rather cut off his own hand than hurt you.

Pascal seemed satisfied with that. He clapped Jungkook lightly on the shoulder, nodded once like a silent deal had been struck — and turned back toward Flora and you, who were laughing about how creepy some of the fake horror props had been.

Jungkook finally, finally allowed himself to breathe. He straightened, the panic in his chest easing just a little. He still didn’t know exactly how he was going to ask you — but now, at least, he had more time.

The four of you had gotten your sweet treats from Pascal’s favorite late-night stand — some homemade fudge and steaming paper cones of roasted almonds that perfumed the cool night air with caramel sugar.

You crunched your way through them peacefully, laughing with Flora about the terrible fake blood on one specific prop, while Pascal made dry commentary about how he’d seen scarier things at his tax office. Jungkook stayed close but quiet, occasionally smiling wide enough that the corners of his eyes crinkled, but he was still a little in his own head — winding down slowly from everything.

The walk to your designated tram stop was calm. Different from the chaotic crowd earlier — this station was just a little one, off the main roads. You stood together on the almost empty platform, idly chatting while waiting for your tram to rattle in. Jungkook couldn’t help but notice how the fluorescent lights made your skin look almost soft and glowing. He inched just a little closer, under the weak excuse of hearing you better, his hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets to stop himself from touching you again.

When the tram finally rolled in, it sighed and squealed against the tracks, and you all climbed inside together, still half-laughing over Pascal's bad jokes. It was quiet inside. Jungkook had just gotten used to the idea that he'd be sitting next to you for the rest of the ride — half-savoring, half-panicking about it — when it happened.

At the last possible second, just before the doors banged shut, Pascal and Flora jumped out. You both turned — mouths open, stunned — too late to follow. The doors slid closed with a harsh thump, locking the two of you in.

Alone.

The station outside slipped away into the darkness. You stared after them, frozen, and then muttered under your breath, a little stunned, "Fuckers."

Jungkook’s brows shot up — he didn't need any translation for that one. Even without knowing the word exactly, your tone said everything. He flushed immediately, dropping his gaze, rocking awkwardly on his heels.

"I... uh..." he started, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry... about... this situation," he said, clearly flustered, almost apologetic. His English was slow and careful, like he wanted to get it perfect for you. "I didn’t... mean to trap you?"

You blinked at him, heart twisting painfully at how sweet he was being about it — how he looked genuinely sorry, like he was afraid you’d be mad. Quickly, you smiled, trying to reassure him.

"I don’t mind," you said warmly, pulling out your phone. You tapped at the screen, pulling up the tram map, trying to figure out how he could get back to the Korean restaurant where you'd first met — it seemed like a million years ago already. You held it up to him, meaning to make it easy for him to jump ship if he needed. But Jungkook's face fell the second he understood.

He pointed at himself, then at you, his brows furrowing.

"You... don't want... me... to bring you?" he asked, his voice a little small, a little uncertain. His words were halting but sincere.

"If not... okay... I go. But—" He fumbled, gesturing at your phone and then back at you, urgent, "—I... pay taxi. So you get home safe."

You stared at him, completely blindsided.

"You..." You laughed, a little breathless, a little floored. "You want to take me home?"

Jungkook's ears burned visibly. He nodded so fast you were surprised his head didn’t snap off. "Yes," he said. "Yes... I want."

"But..." you faltered, still confused, feeling your heart race, "I don’t want to steal your time..."

He shook his head, frantic, taking half a step closer without realizing it.

"You don’t!" he insisted, voice low and urgent. "You don’t. I... I want... time with you."

He sucked in a shaky breath after that, eyes locked onto yours so fiercely you couldn't look away even if you wanted to.

"I choose." He had said it slower, firmer, so earnest it nearly knocked you off your feet. And you realized then — this was why Pascal and Flora had ditched you two at the last second. This was why Pascal had grinned like a madman. Jungkook had asked for it. He had flushed madly, panicked, but asked to be alone with you.

The tram clattered along the tracks under your feet, a quiet lullaby to the storm inside your chest. Your cheeks burned as you tucked your phone away again, pretending not to notice how Jungkook's hand hovered close to yours, not quite brave enough to touch yet.

He was still trying so hard — speaking English, clumsy but heartfelt, making it easier for you.

You smiled up at him shyly, and said, "We can keep talking in Korean."

Jungkook’s face lit up like a sunrise. He leaned in just slightly, like you had given him the best gift.

"I... want make easy for you, like you made it easy for me," he said, grinning wide, chest puffing up a little like he was proud of himself. "I want... you happy."

God. You felt like you were melting right there in the rattling subway car.

"I appreciate it," you said, voice soft but sure. The train rumbled to a stop a few moments later. You stepped out into the quiet coolness of the late night — your stop. The streets were empty, just the low hum of a far-off car or two, the golden glow of distant street lamps. You started walking, your footsteps echoing softly against the pavement.

Jungkook hovered close to your side, not touching, but close enough that you could feel his body heat seeping through the chilly night air. You risked a glance at him — the way his hands were tucked deep into his jacket pockets, the soft furrow between his brows like he was deep in thought.

Gathering your courage, you blurted out, "Can... can I ask you something personal, personal?"

You rushed to add, "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

Jungkook’s mouth curled into a wide, amused grin. He gave a little huff of a laugh, absolutely delighted with you. It wasn’t lost on him how careful you were — how, even now, after all the laughing, the horror walk, the sweets and jokes, you still treated him with so much respect. You hadn’t prodded or demanded like some people did, hadn’t poked at him like a shiny object.

Even now, you offered him the dignity of choice. And without hesitation, he nodded.

"Ask," he said warmly.

You bit your lip for a second, cheeks heating.

"Why are you here?" you asked finally. "I mean... here in this town? It’s not exactly... special."

For a moment, you worried you might have offended him. You searched his face for any sign of irritation. But Jungkook just smiled, slow and a little secret, like you had stumbled into something true.

"Holiday," he said. "Smaller cities... make it easier to blend. Easier to be..." He paused, tapping his chest lightly, "me."

Your eyes widened in understanding. You nodded quickly. "That... that makes sense."

It did. In a small city like this, he could just be Jungkook — not the star, not the phenomenon — just a guy eating sweets at 2am, laughing at terrible horror props, getting fake blood splashed on his shoes. The conversation loosened after that. He invited you to ask more.

You asked him his favorite food (which, predictably, made him light up and ramble about samgyeopsal and ramen), and he asked you about your work. He teased you gently about your horror movie squeamishness, and you teased him back for how much he liked it when you clung to him.

The walk to your apartment passed faster than you thought possible — fifteen minutes that felt like seconds. As your building came into view under the sleepy halo of the streetlights, you slowed to a stop — but your feet didn’t quite want to stay still.

You didn’t want to say goodbye to Jungkook.

Not with how warm the night still felt despite the chill in the air. Not with how close he was — real and quiet and nervously alive beside you.

You turned toward him, heart stumbling in your chest — and that’s when you noticed. He was fidgeting nervously on the spot, shifting from foot to foot like he couldn't settle. His hands curled and uncurled at his sides. He bit at his lip ring — hard — like it had personally offended him.

And he was looking at you.

No — he was looking at your lips.

It hit you like a freight train, how charged the air had become — how close you still were, how much he was holding himself back. Your heart pounded so loud you were sure he could hear it. And suddenly, you were excited all over again — and anxious, and dizzy, and so full of heat you could barely breathe.

Your fingers fumbled with your keys, looking between him and your building and him again, like you couldn’t decide which thing was more terrifying. And Jungkook just stood there, wrecked with nerves, looking like he desperately wanted something but didn’t know if he was allowed to take it.

And then, shy and barely above a whisper, you found your voice.

“Do you… um…” You cleared your throat, cheeks blazing. “Would you like to come up? Just for a bit?”

You gestured toward the building with a tilt of your chin, forcing yourself to keep eye contact. “I mean, the next tram won’t come for a while. Not that you couldn’t just get a taxi or something, obviously, but—”

“Yes.”

His voice cut through your ramble — soft but breathless. Like he’d been waiting. Like he couldn’t let you talk yourself out of it.

“Yes,” he repeated, and stepped just a little closer.

You blushed so hard you almost dropped your keys. Jungkook’s eyes flicked down to them, amused, but didn’t say anything. He just smiled — the kind that made your insides unravel — and waited while you got the door open, heart threatening to beat straight out of your chest.

You stepped inside and let him follow, suddenly hyper-aware of everything: the creak of the floorboards, the faint smell of the candle you’d blown out earlier, the slight mess in the sink you hadn’t quite tackled yet. It wasn’t bad — you’d cleaned yesterday, thankfully — but still, you couldn’t help the little twinge of embarrassment that bloomed in your chest.

Jungkook stepped inside gently, quiet and careful, like he didn’t want to disturb the air. He looked around slowly, eyes drifting over your space — the small bookshelf, the couch, the dish rack, the jacket tossed over a chair. The framed prints on your wall. The mug with the chipped rim on the counter.

Then his eyes caught on something else.

The wall of photos near your kitchen door.

He wandered a little closer after leaving his cap his shoes an jacket at your front door, expression softening as he scanned over them — a chaotic, joyful collage. There were pictures of you with friends, some clearly older and sun-faded. Others more recent, printed in glossy bursts of color. One where you and Flora were mid-laugh in a garden, holding fake knives from a Halloween display. Another where Pascal had his head in your lap while you looked mock-annoyed, eyes rolling but clearly fond.

Several photos showed you and Pascal together, reenacting sculptures — in museums, parks, once even a fountain. Jungkook paused in front of one where a much younger you stood frozen with Pascal beside you, both of you mimicking a classical marble pose with serious faces and ridiculous commitment.

He laughed, soft and surprised. “This really is … your thing?”

You hovered awkwardly behind him, feeling both warm and embarrassed. “We started doing them when we were, like, fifteen? It just… stuck.”

Jungkook smiled. “I like it.”

Then, shifting just a bit, his gaze flicked to the shelf next to the pictures — the one with your music collection. His eyes caught on the row of albums tucked to one side. Some of them were his. Not all, but a few. One of his solo projects. A BTS album with the spine worn from too many plays. Another still wrapped in its original plastic. Even an AgustD album between them all.

He blinked once — and then grinned.

Wide. Mischievous. Almost smug.

You groaned immediately, dragging a hand down your face. Jungkook laughed — really laughed this time — head tilting back slightly, hair falling into his eyes as his shoulders shook.

“You have… good taste,” he teased and pretended to examine the shelf like a judge at an art gallery. “And very supportive heart.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “You’re impossible.”

He looked at you over his shoulder, and smiled softer now — shy, like he couldn’t quite believe he was here either.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “but I’m glad you let me in.”

Your heart was doing ridiculous things in your chest and Jungkook's presence felt too big and too close in your tiny home, you managed to clear your throat and ask, “Do you want something to drink?”

Your voice was light — too light — and you didn’t wait for his answer before turning toward the fridge, using it as an excuse to collect yourself. Trying to be a good host. You needed something to do, anything to stop you from watching the way he leaned against the counter like he belonged there, sleeves shoved up to his forearms, lip ring catching the dim light whenever he bit at it.

Jungkook chuckled quietly behind you, following your movement. “Water’s fine,” he said.

You nodded, grabbing a glass and opening the fridge. The cool air hit your face, grounding, and you took an extra second longer than necessary, using the excuse to breathe. Just as you were closing the fridge door again, Jungkook’s voice broke the quiet.

“Can I ask you something personal?”

You turned around, confused — blinking at him over the rim of the glass. “You’ve kind of been doing that all evening.”

A crooked grin tugged at his mouth, but he looked a little sheepish, running a hand through his hair.

“No, I mean… something different.”

You hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

He looked at you for a moment — not scanning or judging, just looking, like trying to figure out how best to ask. Then: “Why are you like this?”

You blinked. Paused. Raised an eyebrow slowly.

“…Excuse me?”

The expression on your face made him huff at himself, rubbing the back of his neck, already regretting his wording.

“I didn’t mean it like— Not in a bad way,” he rushed, words tumbling now. “I mean… the way you’ve treated me all night. Like I’m not… you know—me.”

You stayed quiet, curious but cautious.

“You’ve barely mentioned anything about music,” he said, softer now. “You didn’t bring up BTS. You didn’t ask for a photo, or… anything like that. It’s like…” He shrugged helplessly. “You’re trying really hard not to.”

You exhaled, slowly. Set the glass down.

“Oh,” you said, a little caught off guard. “Well… yeah.”

He waited, head tilted, expression open.

You licked your lips, nervous. “I didn’t know if you’d want that. I mean… You’re a person. A really successful one, yeah, but… you seemed like you just wanted to have a normal dinner, a normal night. And I didn’t want to ruin that by acting weird or clingy or making you feel like I only saw you as this… brand.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything, so you kept going, fumbling your way through, but pacing yourself so he could understand you.

“I mean you are that brand but also aren’t. You’re a person first, right? I figured asking for pictures or autographs would be rude. Probably you’re not even allowed to talk about certain things? So I didn’t want to put you in a position where it got awkward or uncomfortable. I didn’t want to cross a line. Even if part of me…” You hesitated, smiled sheepishly. “Okay, yeah, part of me might curse myself later. When this ends and you go back to your world, to being that Jungkook again, is gonna hate myself later for not asking you for a picture or an autograph.”

That earned a small breath of laughter from him.

“But honestly? Just… being with you like this? Talking and laughing and walking around — it’s better than any signed album. Because you are way nicer than I ever imagined.”

You didn’t know what expression you expected from him. Maybe gratitude. Maybe amusement. But you didn’t expect him to look stunned. Utterly stunned — like you’d knocked the wind out of him. He stared for a second longer, lips parted, eyes soft and disbelieving.

And then — without warning — he stepped forward and huggedyou.

Just like that. No hesitation. No awkward shuffle. His arms wrapped around you like he’d been waiting all night to do it, like something fragile inside him had finally let go. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the way he breathed in like he needed to memorize the shape of this moment. Your hands found their way to his back instinctively, curling into the fabric of his hoodie. He smelled like something warm, something clean. His lip ring was cool against your temple where he pressed his face into your hair, exhaling like he hadn’t realized he needed to.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice muffled in your hair. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to… to explain. I just— No one’s ever… not many treat me like that.”

You blinked, hands slowly rising to rest against his sides.

“I didn’t know I needed it.” he added, quieter.

Your heart ached in the best way. You tilted your head just slightly so your cheek could rest against his shoulder. Jungkook’s arms loosened gradually, his body lingering in the space between you. His hands slid down your sides with featherlight care, as though he wasn’t ready to let go — not really. When he leaned back just enough to look at you, his eyes were unreadable for a second. Then they dropped.

To your lips.

And stayed there.

The weight of his stare made it suddenly hard to breathe. You swallowed, heart stammering in your chest as you watched him try — and fail — to drag his gaze back up to your eyes. When he did, it was with effort, as if every fiber of him still wanted to be looking at your mouth instead. He licked his bottom lip slowly — not teasing, not calculated — just hungry, barely restrained. The silver of his lip ring caught on the light, glinting like a warning and a promise all at once.

Your breath hitched.

You couldn't look away. Not now. Especially not when he began leaning in, inch by cautious inch, until you were close enough to feel his breath ghost over your skin — warm and soft and tasting faintly of something sweet he’d eaten earlier.

And then his lips touched yours.

A soft, reverent press. Not hesitant exactly — more like he was savoring it. Like he’d imagined this and didn’t want to rush the real thing. The kiss was gentle at first — his lips pillowy and warm, fitting against yours so naturally it felt like falling into something you’d been meant to find. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, clinging to him without even realizing you’d moved, needing something to hold onto because your entire body felt too light, too giddy, too alive.

A flurry of butterflies erupted in your chest, trying to claw their way out of you.

His tongue flicked out — a slow, tentative kitten lick across your lower lip, as if asking, May I? And when your lips parted on a soft, involuntary sound — a whimper, a mewl, something needy and breathless — Jungkook’s breath caught against your skin.

That was all he needed.

The kiss deepened, hot and slow and aching. His tongue slid against yours, smooth and searching, tasting you like you were something precious. He kissed like he wanted to learn everything — the shape of your mouth, the way your breath stuttered, the soft sounds you made when his lips moved just so.

You trembled in his arms, overwhelmed.

One of his hands clenched gently at your hip, not hard but firm, anchoring you. The other drifted up to your neck, then into your hair near your hairline — fingers threading in softly and holding you still, keeping you close. He tilted your head just enough to fit better against him, to deepen the kiss just a little more, and everything about the way he touched you made you feel fragile and wanted all at once.

When he pulled back, he didn’t go far.

Just enough to let you breathe again. Your eyes fluttered open. You were trembling. Jungkook’s eyes were heavy-lidded, his lips slightly parted and kissed-red, a glint of wetness catching on the silver of his lip ring. His thumb brushed your jaw, and only then did you realize your whole body was buzzing. That you were flushed to the roots. That your knees felt like jelly.

That you might very well throw up your heart onto the floor.

He looked at you like you were art. And all you could do was stare back at him, still holding onto his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.  Jungkook didn’t step away after the kiss ended. His breath mingled with yours, warm and shallow between you. His eyes searched your face like he needed to see everything — the tremble in your lips, the flush on your cheeks, the way your chest rose and fell in shaky rhythm with his.

“Was that… okay?” he asked.

His voice was deeper now, rough around the edges — like gravel softened by velvet. You could see the tension in his jaw, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed hard as he swallowed, his thumb brushing gently along your cheekbone. He was touching you like he couldn’t help it — like he didn’t even realize he was doing it, just mapping your skin under his fingers.

Your voice caught in your throat.

You nodded, eyes wide, chest tight with everything you couldn’t put into words. It was more than okay — it felt like your entire body had been lit from within, nerves firing in every direction. But Jungkook didn’t accept just a nod.

“Words,” he said, low and hoarse, the demand wrapping around you like silk laced with fire.

Your breath hitched. “Y–Yeah.” It came out as more air than voice. You tried again, voice trembling with sincerity. “Yes. It’s… it’s really okay.”

A slow, satisfied smile curled on his lips — soft and sinful at the same time — and before you could even begin to catch your breath again, he was kissing you. This time it wasn’t tentative. This was deeper, hungrier — his mouth opening over yours like he meant to leave a mark on your soul. His hands gripped your waist as your breath stuttered, and your fingers dug into the soft cotton of his hoodie again. The kiss was slow and consuming, drawing you under like a tide pulling you out to sea.

Your knees buckled, and he noticed — instantly.

Without breaking the kiss, Jungkook moved you. His strong arms wrapped around you like it was effortless, and in a few guided steps, your back bumped softly against the edge of the kitchen counter. Then, with practiced strength and surprising gentleness, he lifted you — one smooth motion — and set you down on the surface.

A startled yelp slipped from your lips, swallowed almost immediately by his mouth returning to yours. Your thighs instinctively parted for him as he stepped between your legs, his chest brushing yours, his warmth enveloping you. His hand returned to your neck, fingers curling softly into the hair at your nape, tilting your head just how he liked it. You sighed into his mouth, long and low, surrendering completely to the feel of him.

He smiled against your lips — you felt it — and it made your heart twist.

You threaded your hands through his hair, fingertips brushing the undercut at the base of his skull. The strands were soft and thick, and he made a low sound at the contact — almost a groan, half-muffled by your lips. One of your hands lingered at the back of his neck, the other trailed across his shoulders, grounding yourself against the solid heat of him.

You locked your legs around his hips without thinking, drawing him in closer. You could feel everything — the tension in his body, the thrum of his heart against yours, the slow burn of something heavy and overwhelming settling low in your belly.

Jungkook’s lips never strayed far, brushing soft kisses across your jaw, down your neck, like he was committing you to memory one breath at a time. His hands began to explore more boldly now, firm but reverent — one anchoring at your hip, the other sliding slowly up your side. The heat of his touch burned through your clothes, every inch of your skin responding as if drawn by static, nerves flickering to life under his fingers.

When his palm swept along your spine, warm and purposeful, you arched into him instinctively — a soft whimper escaping your lips. It wasn’t dramatic or intentional, just pure reaction. A quiet sound of need you couldn’t hold back. Jungkook chuckled low against your throat, lips ghosting your skin.

"So sensitive," he murmured, voice rich with affection and something deeper — hunger laced with wonder. The way he said it made you shiver.

His hands moved again, slower now, more exploratory — like he was discovering a secret. One hand slid around, fingertips grazing the underside of your breast through the thin fabric of your top. He hesitated for a breath, as if waiting for you to stop him, to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, a small, pleased sound caught in your throat, your head falling slightly back, lips parted with your next shallow inhale.

Jungkook pulled back just enough to look at you, to really look — your lips kiss-swollen and pink, your cheeks flushed with heat, your chest rising and falling fast beneath your shirt.

"Still okay?" he asked, voice deeper now, strained at the edges.

You nodded. “Yeah.” You could barely speak. The word came out in a sigh, like it had to push through every beat of your racing heart. And Jungkook looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

His hand found the hem of your shirt, fingers slipping just beneath. His touch on your bare skin was devastating — warm and sure as he slowly skimmed up your sides. His eyes stayed on you the whole time, watching every reaction. When his hand spread over your ribs and moved inward, your breath hitched violently, your back arching again with a sharp, involuntary gasp.

He exhaled shakily. “Fuck…”

“Jungkook…” You said his name like it was a confession, like it was the only word your mouth could remember how to form.

His gaze flickered down.

His fingers had found the curve of your breast now, brushing just along the edge of your bra — testing boundaries, testing your reactions. His thumb slowly traced the line of skin exposed above the cup, and your whole body clenched in response. Your thighs tightened around him, and your hands clutched at his shoulders like you needed something to anchor you.

And still, he looked up at you. Not for permission anymore — for the sheer pleasure of watching the way you unraveled under his hands. You were dizzy. Melting. Your head swam with heat and need, everything in you drawn to the man between your legs.

Jungkook leaned in again, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, his voice barely more than breath: “You feel so good under my hands.”

You whimpered, knees falling wider, his hips slotting in deeper between your legs as you clung to him. He was hard now — you could feel it clearly against your center, even through your clothes, and the realization sent a rush of heat crashing through you.

Jungkook’s hand cupped your breast with more intention now, squeezing gently — just enough to draw a soft, breathy moan from your lips. The sound made him groan low in his throat, hips instinctively pressing forward against you, desperate for friction. His other hand slid down, gripping your hip and guiding you closer to the edge of the counter. The shift in position brought you flush against him, and you could feel the hard press of him right where you were aching — it was dizzying, maddening.

Your head dropped to his shoulder as your breath caught in your throat, and you instinctively pressed a kiss to the warm skin of his neck. His scent was intoxicating — clean, musky, something uniquely him — and when your lips brushed over the strong line of his throat, you felt him shudder against you.

He kept touching you, his thumb sliding beneath the edge of your bra, then gently dragging his nail over your nipple in a teasing, deliberate motion that made your body jerk in his arms. You gasped into his neck, breath trembling as you held onto him tighter, your hands fisting the fabric of his hoodie. It was too much and not enough at once — your chest heaved, lips parting in silent pleading as he kept up the slow, torturous rhythm.

The heat between your thighs pulsed in time with the friction of his hips pressed snugly between yours. The thick ridge of him, even through layers of clothing, made your breath catch again. You were soaked. Desperate. A throbbing need built between your legs that had your toes curling, your legs tightening around his hips to keep him there, to keep him close.

You kissed his neck again, slower this time, your lips lingering as you let your hand roam upward, over the hard plane of his chest. Every muscle under your palm felt tense— his heart hammering in time with yours. You wanted to touch more. All of him. But your hand hovered at the space between you, not quite daring to move lower. The friction where your bodies met was too good, too electric to disrupt.

Jungkook’s breath came hard against your ear now, his lips ghosting over your temple as he whispered, almost helplessly, “You’re driving me crazy…” He was losing control slowly — and loving it.

Your answer was a soft whimper, your hips shifting unconsciously against his. He grunted, a ragged sound low in his chest, as his hand moved to cup the fullness of your breast more fully now, thumbing your nipple in slow, aching circles that had you arching into him.

Your skin felt too tight. Your nerves were on fire. And all you could think about was how good his hands felt, how good he felt — everywhere. Jungkook didn’t stop. His hands roamed your body like he was learning it by heart — your curves, your gasps, the places that made you arch and whimper. He was reverent but hungry, like he wanted to devour and worship you in the same breath.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, every inch of you buzzing with anticipation and heat as his thumb grazed your nipple again, sending a ripple of pleasure straight through your core. Your hips rocked instinctively against him, and the friction made you dizzy.

Your hands clung to him, your mouth brushing his jaw as your voice came out barely louder than a whisper — raw and vulnerable and wrecked.

“Please… touch me.”

Jungkook froze for half a heartbeat. His pupils blew wide, his jaw clenched, and his throat worked as he swallowed hard. His voice came out deep, rough, already hoarse with need.

“Fuck… yeah. I—” he faltered, breath catching as he tried to anchor himself, “where?”

At first, you misunderstood. You reached down between you both, your hand shaking slightly — from nerves, from want, from the sheer surreal intimacy of the moment — and you guided his hand, bold and trembling, right between your legs. Over the heated fabric of your pants, pressing him there, where you ached for him most.

Jungkook let out a strangled groan, his head falling to your shoulder for a second like the sensation had physically knocked the breath from him. His fingers flexed instinctively, feeling the heat, even through the layers.

“Jesus,” he whispered, voice shredded with disbelief and need. He kissed you again, rougher this time, a little desperate, and then drew back just enough to stammer, “Bed?”

The word was simple. Hopeful. Because he could take you here — wanted to, ached to — but he didn’t want this to be a rushed, stolen thing. Not when it was your first time like this. Not when it was you. Your eyes went wide, and you suddenly looked flustered, realizing what he had meant.

“Oh… there,” you said softly, cheeks burning. You nodded toward the door to your room, utterly mortified at your mistake, your voice nearly swallowed by your own breathlessness. You shifted, meaning to slide off the counter and find your footing again, to lead him there — but Jungkook didn’t let you go.

He gripped your waist and pulled you in, grinding you against his hardness. Your thighs clenched around him, and the gasp you let out — broken and shameless — made him hiss through his teeth. You couldn’t even breathe, couldn’t think. He grinned against your throat, a cocky glint in his eyes that he didn’t even try to hide.

“God, you sound good,” he muttered, before lifting you into his arms like you weighed nothing.

Your arms locked around his neck as your nose buried against his skin, still dizzy with how fast this was spiraling. But it felt right. Real. Like something that had been waiting to happen for far too long. He carried you through the hallway, pushing your bedroom door open with his shoulder, never once letting you go. The world was muffled. It was just him. Just you.

He set you down onto the bed like you were precious, his, but he didn’t give you space — didn’t even move back an inch. His body hovered over yours, gaze burning down at you, and he let his hand settle low, palming you again through the fabric of your pants. Your hips lifted into his hand involuntarily, and the moan that slipped from your lips was downright filthy. He chuckled darkly, satisfied, eyes half-lidded and gleaming. “So,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, “where do you want me to touch you again?”

You wanted to answer. You meant to answer.

But his hand rubbed slow, teasing circles, and your head fell back into the pillows. All you could do was feel.

He didn’t stay teasing long. After one more slow press of his palm, he pulled back just enough to hook his fingers into the waistband of your pants, silently asking for more. You nodded frantically, lips parted, chest rising and falling as if you’d just run miles.

“Okay?” he asked again, that final, precious line of respect in his voice — even with his body trembling above you. You reached for him, cupping his jaw as you whispered, “Yes. Please, Jungkook.”

He kissed you like he needed to taste those words again.

Then he peeled your pants down with aching care — reverent and focused — revealing more of you to him, inch by inch, as the last threads of restraint started to unravel. His hand moved lower with deliberate slowness, fingers tracing the outline of your panties like he was drawing a boundary he intended to cross — a line of reverence and tension. His touch was warm, electric, his fingertips ghosting along the thin fabric as if memorizing the way it clung to you.

He licked his lips instinctively, then caught the edge of his lip ring between his teeth — his eyes catching the wet sheen of you through the fabric.

“Fuck,” he murmured under his breath, chest rising, voice strained. “You're soaked…wet…”

The wonder in his voice made your stomach flip. Not cocky — awed. Like he couldn’t believe this was real. Then his thumb pressed down, slowly, directly over your clit through the damp cloth. The pressure made you jolt, breath catching hard in your throat.

His other hand slid beneath your shirt, and you arched into him instinctively. The fabric pushed up around your ribs and you made quick work of it — pulling it over your head and tossing it blindly aside, leaving your hair tousled and wild. You barely had time to take another breath before your bra joined it, hands shaking slightly with how overwhelmed you already felt.

But Jungkook… Jungkook had stopped moving. His eyes were locked on your body now — unmoving, dark, devouring. His lips were parted, his expression torn between reverence and hunger.

“God,” he said, almost like it hurt. “You're… fuck, you're so beautiful.”

You barely had time to react before he shifted lower, pushing you back onto the bed and settling between your legs. His mouth descended, warm and wet, and he kissed the swell of your breast before taking one of your nipples between his lips — gently at first, sucking just enough to make you moan, and then his teeth grazed lightly. You gasped, your back arching off the bed as the sensation sparked down your spine.

And at the same time — god, at the same time — his hand didn’t stop.

His thumb flicked again over your clit through your underwear, a slow, maddening stroke, before he hooked his fingers around the side and pulled the soaked fabric aside. The sudden exposure made you shiver. His fingers dipped lower — warm, thick — and then, without warning, he slid one finger inside you.

You cried out his name.

It tore from you without shame, your hips bucking against his hand. Your legs shook immediately, the sensation too good, too much. He groaned above you, mouth still warm on your breast, his breath stuttering.

“You’re—fuck,” he swore again, licking his lips as he looked down at the way your body welcomed him. “You’re so wet.”

He worked that finger gently, then added a second with ease. The stretch made your knees jerk, your thighs instinctively trying to close — but Jungkook was already there, pressing one of his hands firmly to your thigh to hold you open.

His head tilted up, eyes locked to yours.

“Don’t look away,” he growled. “Look at me.”

The command in his voice made your breath catch again — and god, the way he stared at you, the way he looked at you, like he could read every twitch of your body and wanted to worship it — it only made the heat coiling in your stomach burn hotter.

You looked at him, lips parted, breath shallow. You could feel it — god, you could feel it — the wetness between your legs only growing with every slow, deliberate push of Jungkook’s fingers. Every time he slid into you, you felt how soaked you were, how easily he moved inside you, how thoroughly your body gave in to him. He had to feel it too — the way your slick coated his fingers, warm and eager.

But then, your thoughts blurred completely.

His thumb dragged down again, pressing more firmly over your clit this time, shifting the soaked fabric aside with a slick sound that made your breath stutter. His fingers inside you twisted slightly, working you open with a rhythm that wasn’t fast, but devastatingly effective — controlled, calculated. His other hand gripped the inside of your thigh, firm and steady, holding you open like you might squirm away if he let up for even a second.

And his eyes — god, those dark, fixed eyes — didn’t leave you.

He wasn’t just watching you fall apart — he was studying you, memorizing how you responded to every inch of pressure.

Then — there.

A rough, almost brutal thrust of his fingers hit something inside you that made your entire body jolt, a raw, uncontrolled moan tearing from your lips as your eyes rolled back. His grip on your thigh tightened instantly, fingers stalling deep inside you. “Eyes on me.”

You gasped, breath catching in your throat, and somehow managed to look back at him — only to find him already smiling. Not cocky. Not smug. But darkly satisfied. Like he’d just discovered your favorite sin.

“There it is,” he murmured, almost to himself. And then he pushed again. Same place. Same pace. Your legs trembled, your back arched. Your breath came in broken gasps, and your eyes fluttered shut—

His hand stopped again.

A soft, amused chuckle met your ears. “Look at me.”

It took everything you had, but you opened your eyes again. And the second you did, he rewarded you — with movement, with pressure, with maddening precision. It was too much. And not enough. And perfect.

You cried out his name, trembling underneath him, your hands scrambling for anything to ground yourself. One hand found your breast, gripping and pinching your nipple as the pleasure became too much to contain. The other clawed at the sheets beneath you.

Jungkook's gaze darkened even more — if that was possible. His eyes darted from your face to your hand on your chest, lips parted in pure, ruined hunger. The hand holding your thigh squeezed tighter, almost bruising — but the way it made you whimper only spurred him on.

He couldn’t help himself.

His fingers with a mind of their own move faster — still deliberate, but harder now, each thrust punching the air out of your lungs, and it hit again, that spot inside you, over and over, as he watched you touch yourself. You shattered with a sob, your body arching, legs trembling uncontrollably as you unraveled beneath him.

And then —as you came apart around his hand — Jungkook’s eyes snapped back up to yours.

He looked stunned. Like he’d surprised even himself.

You tried so hard to keep your gaze locked with his, obedient even through your climax, but it overwhelmed you. Still, the moment your vision cleared, you saw him watching — intensely, reverently — and he slowly pulled his fingers from your heat, making you flinch with the oversensitivity.

You let out a soft hiss, and he soothed it with a small kiss on your thigh.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you like he couldn’t believe what he’d done to you — what you’d let him do. His fingers — the ones that had just been buried deep inside you — rose to his lips, and with maddening slowness, he licked them clean. Every last bit. Tongue curling over the pads of his fingers, tasting you with a groan he barely held back.

And somehow, impossibly, you felt yourself getting wet all over again.

Your chest still heaving, you barely noticed him shift lower until you felt the first brush of his hand against your hips again. The one that had held your thigh open now moved with purpose to your panties — still pushed to the side, soaked beyond reason. He tugged them gently down, over your hips, down your thighs, peeling them from your skin like a gift being unwrapped.

His eyes flicked up, meeting yours again, and his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper.

“You want more?”

Like he didn’t already know.

“Yes,” you breathed out, the word little more than a gasp, heavy and desperate. Your hands reached for him, clumsy but determined, trying to push him out of his goddamn clothes. Jungkook let out a low, shaky laugh, letting you tug at his hoodie, your lips barely parting from his as your fingers slipped beneath the hem. The kiss was messy, heated, a collision of mouths and breath as clothes were stripped away.

By the time his jeans hit the floor with a thud, Jungkook was already reaching into his wallet, pulling out some foil packets. His fingers worked quickly to tear one open, but you had other plans. Your hands slid over his hips, under the waistband of his Calvin Kleins, and before he could fully comprehend what was happening, your mouth was on him.

“Shit—” he gasped, his whole body jolting at the feel of your lips wrapping around him, heat and wetness and pressure all at once. His head fell back slightly, one hand tangling in your hair while the other still fumbled with the condom. “Fuck—wait—wait—” His voice cracked, hoarse with restraint. “I—I don’t wanna cum yet—I want to be inside you.”

You slowed, torturously slow, your mouth dragging off of him with one final, sinful swirl of your tongue that made his thighs twitch beneath you. He groaned, deep and guttural, watching you with wild eyes—completely wrecked without even being inside you yet. You smiled, smug and playful, licking your lips as you sat back on your heels.

Jungkook barely took a second before rolling the condom on, his chest rising and falling sharply, eyes fixed on you like you were the only thing that existed.

Then, suddenly, his hand came up, gripping the back of your neck as he pulled you into a bruising kiss. His weight shifted back, and you yelped in surprise as he fell onto the bed, taking you with him, his mouth never leaving yours. You laughed breathlessly against his lips, adjusting, moving to straddle him—knees braced on either side of his hips, your soaked core brushing against the hard line of him through the condom.

The heat between you was unbearable.

You rolled your hips once, slowly, letting him feel exactly how ready you were. His hands gripped your ass, grounding you against him with a low moan. He gave one cheek a firm slap, just enough to make you jump slightly, and you reached down between your bodies to line him up.

With a deep breath, you sank down.

The stretch was delicious, making your eyes flutter closed as he filled you inch by inch. “Fuck…” he breathed, watching where your bodies joined, one hand sliding from your hip to your waist to your chest. He needed something else to look at—anything—because the sight of you sinking down on him so slowly was too much.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his head falling back into the pillow, but his eyes never left you—not as you took him all the way, not as your walls fluttered around him, struggling to adjust to his size.

You stilled when he was fully seated inside you, needing a moment to breathe, to steady yourself. Jungkook’s hands roamed your body—palming your breasts, caressing your thighs—his eyes dark and hungry as he waited for you to move.

Then, slowly, you began to roll your hips.

The sensation made your breath stutter, the friction deep and consuming. Jungkook’s hands gripped your waist, guiding your movement, but letting you take control. Each time you moved, you ground down just a little harder, your pace building gradually, as the room filled with the sounds of slick skin and shared moans.

“You feel so fucking good,” Jungkook groaned, his fingers digging into your hips like he was trying to hold himself together. “So tight… so wet—fuck—just like that.”

You leaned forward, one hand on his chest, the other in his hair, and kissed him again—open-mouthed and breathless—as you began to move faster. The pleasure mounted sharply, your name falling from his lips like a prayer, his eyes glued to the way you moved above him.

Every roll of your hips, every bounce, pulled another broken sound from his throat. He met you thrust for thrust, his hips lifting just slightly off the bed, pushing deeper, harder, chasing the high that was starting to spiral through both of you.

And still—those eyes. Always locked on you.

You could feel the pressure building in your core, heat coiling impossibly tight, threatening to snap. And judging by the way Jungkook’s jaw was clenched, his fingers bruising into your skin, he wasn’t far behind.

“Come for me,” he rasped. “I want to feel you fall apart around me.”

God, you wanted to. You wanted to come so badly it almost hurt. But your body wasn’t quite there yet—your orgasm from earlier still left you shaky, and now riding him, giving him everything you had, your thighs were trembling, legs burning with effort.

But you didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to deny Jungkook the same overwhelming pleasure he’d already given you. You tried to hold on, to keep going, hips rolling weakly as your mind fuzzed over. Your mouth opened, struggling to form the words—not yet, I want to, please—but you didn’t have to say it.

Jungkook saw it. He felt it.

He stilled you with one hard thrust that made you cry out, then suddenly gripped your waist and flipped you onto your back in one fluid movement. The world spun for a moment and you landed with a gasp, your hair fanned out beneath you and your body arching on instinct. Your lungs were already starved for air, but the moment he sank back into you, deep and fast, he stole what little breath you had left.

“Fuck—Jungkook—” You were a mess—sweat-slicked, flushed, clinging to the sheets and to him like a lifeline.

And Jungkook? He didn’t even look winded. Just gloriously wrecked in the most controlled way—his muscles flexing, his jaw set, his skin glowing with a sheen of sweat that only made him look more like a sin carved by hand.

You cursed him—his abs, his stamina, his goddamn focus.

He shifted slightly, lifting one of your legs and hooking it over his arm, pushing even deeper. You cried out, the new angle hitting something devastating. He growled low in his throat, watching where your bodies met, then reached between you—his fingers finding your clit and circling with maddening precision.

“Oh my god—” you gasped, back arching so hard your shoulder blades left the bed.

It was too much. He filled you completely, every thrust striking right against your most sensitive spots, and now—with the added stimulation of his fingers, you were unraveling embarrassingly fast.

Your hands scrambled at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you looked up at him, desperate. He was looking right back, dark eyes locked to yours, watching you come apart like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Jungkook—” his name ripped out of you like a plea, a prayer. “I’m—close—fuck, I—”

“I know,” he rasped, barely holding on himself. “I feel you—God, I feel you—don’t stop—just—”

He was losing it too, you could tell. His rhythm faltered for just a second, his thrusts growing messier, more frantic. Your walls fluttered around him, tightening, pulsing, and you saw it hit him—the way he froze, just slightly, jaw slack as he groaned deep from his chest.

And then—with a desperate, nearly bruising press of his thumb to your clit—he sent you over the edge. The orgasm crashed through you like a wave, ripping a cry from your throat as your body convulsed beneath him, thighs clenching, walls spasming around him. Your nails dug into him, anchoring yourself as your entire body shook.

That—that—was what undid him.

Jungkook let out a hoarse moan as he finally came, hips jerking once, twice, then burying himself as deep as he could go. You could feel it—the way his body tensed, every muscle locked tight as he spilled into the condom, forehead pressing against yours with a strained groan.

You both stayed like that, trembling, breathless. The room filled with the sound of ragged breathing, hearts pounding like drums in sync. Then, gently, he kissed you. Soft at first—barely a brush of lips. Then again, deeper, fuller, the kind of kiss that said stay here, I'm not done, I want this again.

You moaned into his mouth, your body still twitching in the aftermath, his cock still buried inside you and twitching with aftershocks. When he finally pulled out, you whimpered faintly at the loss. Jungkook moved quickly, slipping off the condom, tying it off and tossing it into the bin beside your bed before returning to you immediately.

He lay down next to you, pulled you close, wrapped an arm around your waist and pressed his lips to your temple. His skin was still warm, his breath evening out slowly against your cheek.

Ideally, he would’ve liked to pull you into the shower, maybe wash your hair while he kissed your shoulders, or coax a few more breathy laughs from you as you soaked together under the water. But he didn’t want to leave this—didn’t want to lose the way your body fit perfectly in his arms, how your fingers curled into his chest like you belonged there.

Instead, he stayed right there, legs tangled with yours, his nose brushing your hair, his thumb lazily tracing circles against your hip.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice low and a little hoarse.

You nodded against his chest, still a little dazed. “Yeah. You?”

He chuckled softly. “Better than okay.”

You weren’t sure how long you lay there—hearts slowing, bodies melting into one another—but it felt like time stopped existing entirely. The room was warm with the scent of sweat, skin, and something deeply personal that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the way Jungkook held you afterward.

He ran his fingers lazily over your back, the motion soft and aimless, and every now and then he kissed you or your shoulder like he didn’t want to be anywhere else. You thought maybe that was it—but then you felt it. The slow stir of him, pressing against your thigh, barely more than a twitch, but enough to make your breath catch.

You shifted slightly, lifting your head to look at him. He was already watching you, eyes darker again, but softer this time. Not the same edge from before. Something different.

“Too much?” he asked gently, brushing a knuckle along your cheek.

You shook your head. “Not enough.”

That did something to him—made his jaw flex, his hand press firmer into your waist. He leaned in and kissed you again, this time slow, deep, with none of the urgency from earlier. And you let yourself fall into it.

You let yourself be kissed, be held, be touched like you were something delicate—not fragile, just precious. Jungkook rolled you onto your back again, but slower now, giving you time to breathe, to look at him, to feel every inch of him against you. He kissed down your neck, across your chest, his tongue circling your nipple in lazy swirls until your breath hitched and your back arched again, even more sensitive now.

You whimpered softly, already throbbing. He made his way lower, his mouth moving down your stomach, trailing warmth in his wake until he was between your thighs again—his hands gripping the backs of them gently, spreading you open, worshiping you with his mouth like he had all the time in the world.

You gasped when he moaned into you—like he was the one receiving pleasure from tasting you. It was slow, steady, maddening. He didn’t let up until your thighs were trembling around his head again, your hands buried in his hair, your voice whispering his name like it meant something more than just please.

Only then did he crawl back up your body, kissing as he went, slotting himself between your legs.

This time, there was no rush to put the condom on. He reached for the packet on your nightstand, but the way he looked down at you—your flushed chest, your parted lips, the softness in your eyes—was anything but casual.

He kissed you again as he entered you, slow and deliberate, pressing in inch by inch until you were full of him again, and he was gasping into your mouth like the sensation of you was just as overwhelming the second time.

“God, you feel so good,” he murmured against your lips.

This round wasn’t fast. It was longing and worship, of hands exploring and hips moving in lazy, deep strokes that hit all the right spots without the rush. He held your gaze as he moved, his thumb stroking your cheek, your neck, your breast, like he needed to memorize every reaction.

You clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist, nails digging gently into his back. It was slower, but somehow even more intense. You moaned softly into his shoulder as the pleasure started building again, stronger than you expected, a warm coil tightening low in your belly.

“Jungkook…”

“Mm?” he whispered, not stopping, his pace still slow, devastating.

“I’m—already—again,” you whimpered, cheeks heating from how fast he had you there.

He looked down at you like he couldn’t believe it either. “You’re perfect,” he whispered. “So perfect around me.”

You clung tighter as he picked up just enough speed to push you toward the edge, his hand sneaking between you again, fingers finding your clit with ease. He didn’t need to do much—just a few soft circles, the press of his hips deep inside—and you were unraveling again.

Your orgasm this time came in slow, delicious waves—no sharp peaks, just a deep, rolling release that made your entire body tremble and your breath hitch in your throat. Jungkook wasn’t far behind.

The feeling of you pulsing around him, the way you gasped his name, how you looked up at him like he was the only thing in the world—all of it drove him over the edge again. He groaned deep, nearly a growl, and buried himself one final time, head falling to your shoulder as he came with a shudder, muscles tightening, breath stuttering out of him.

You lay there afterward tangled in sweat and warmth and soft kisses, Jungkook’s fingers tracing gentle lines on your skin. This time, Jungkook needed to clean up. You barely had it in you to open your eyes when he finally—carefully—pulled out of you, the sensitivity making you shudder. He soothed you with a kiss to your cheek and made quick, practiced work of disposing of the condom again.

You lay sprawled across your bed, boneless and warm, blinking at the ceiling like your soul had momentarily floated somewhere above the room. Jungkook chuckled, low and fond, his hand gliding over your side as he nudged you gently.

You murmured, “What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he slipped an arm under your knees and another behind your back. You barely registered it before he lifted you, bridal-style, out of the sheets.

“Jungkook—!” you squeaked.

He looked down at you with a playful smirk and a gleam in his eyes that wasn’t entirely sinful—just soft. “Shower,” he said. “Unless you want to sleep in… that.”

You caught a whiff of the shared sweat, sex, and faded perfume and made a face. “Okay, fair.”

The bathroom light was soft when he carried you in. The water ran warm while you both washed the night from your skin. And as easily as breathing, afterward, Jungkook towel-dried your hair with gentle hands, threw on one of your oversized shirts like it was his, and tugged you back into bed with him—like there’d never been any other plan.

You’d half-expected him to leave.

But instead, he stayed.

Tucked into your sheets like he belonged there.

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽

The next morning arrived slow and syrupy, early sunlight spilling in through the edges of your curtains. Your body ached in the best way, wrapped in a lingering warmth that wasn't just from the covers. You stirred only slightly until you felt a hand—warm, familiar, gentle—glide across your bare hip.

“Mmngh,” you groaned, voice thick with sleep, head buried into your pillow.

“Sorry,” Jungkook whispered, sounding almost… sheepish.

He kissed your shoulder, then your neck, the lazy kind of kisses that made you shiver rather than squirm. You turned your face slightly, meeting his lips with your own, soft and slow like the moment demanded. It was indulgent. A morning kind of kiss. And then, just as your brain was starting to register reality again, he spoke.

“Hey… uh…” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Could I, uh—get your number?”

You opened one eye.

Then the other.

“…Seriously?”

His ears went a little pink, but his grin was crooked and confident. “What?”

“You’re asking now?” you said, laughing—actually laughing. “After everything we did last night? Now you want my number?”

He leaned in like he had nothing to be ashamed of. “How else am I supposed to reach you? You know, when I want to… assure you that whatever the tabloids say about me is completely false. That I’m actually a very faithful boyfriend.”

Your laughter caught in your throat. “Boyfriend?” you echoed.

He paused. Then looked away like the sunlight had suddenly gotten too bright. “Well—I mean—I’d like to see you again? Take you out?”

It wasn’t a direct answer. But it was definitely not a no.

You blinked once. Twice. Then your brain caught up and short-circuited. “You… want me to be your girlfriend, girlfriend?”

Jungkook looked suddenly very boyish. Shy. He scratched the back of his neck and gave a lopsided shrug. “I mean… eventually? If you… if you want?”

The blush that bloomed across your face could’ve melted the snow off a mountaintop.

“If you ask that nicely,” you said, still a little stunned, “I guess I’ll give you my number.”

He smiled—really smiled. Soft and sweet and bright like he hadn’t expected you to say yes but had hoped with everything in him. Then something flickered in his eyes. A shadow. His smile faltered just slightly.

“There’s, uh… one thing,” he said, voice a little awkward again. “You’d have to sign an NDA.”

You didn’t even flinch.

“An NDA? Sure,” you replied easily. “When?”

Jungkook blinked at you.

“…You’re just okay with that?”

You shrugged, still curled under the blanket beside him, hair a mess, heart full. “Yeah. I mean, I want to see you again. If signing something lets me do that and helps protect you… why wouldn’t I?”

Something shifted in his expression. Something warm. Something deep. And then, like a dam breaking, he moved—rolling over, hovering above you, his eyes dark and wide and soft all at once.

“You…” he whispered, short of breath. “You’re just…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Just kissed you—hard. Like he couldn’t help himself. Like that answer made something in him snap in the best way. You gasped into the kiss, gripping his arms as he pressed you back into the mattress again. And honestly? You didn’t need words. Not right now.

Masterlist

Tags: @hecatesdescendant

A/N: Hi! Just wanted to mention that I use ChatGPT and DeepL to clean up grammar and spelling in my writing, after getting some rude anos. English is my second language, and this tools helps me share stories the way I imagine them, without spending hours double-checking every word. Writing is just a hobby I enjoy after a full workweek—I’m not trying to make money from it. If you’re curious or have thoughts on it, I’d love to have a friendly discussion!

[babextoken]

Slow like Mold in the Vents in the Wall

✧・┈・chapter 1

pairing: vessel x fem!reader summary:  you're running from something (and your) and find yourself as the lone girl on staff at one of the few video rental stores left in the area. everyone sees you as good coworker, if not a bit of a wallflower, expect for one. Ves sees right through your mask. And you hate him for it. wc: 1.9k head's up: series, slowish burn, enemies to lovers, coworkers, plus size reader, nerd!vessel, rude!vessel, hitting on people at work, reader and ves are a bit unlikable, slightly jealous!vessel, gatekeeping, Taylor Swift slander (it was for the plot, I'm not interested in entertaining this), tragic reader backstory, idiots who aren't in love YET a/n: I am both terrified and excited to share this. it's a mix of requests, my own thoughts, and my own ways of working through things while keeping that boy in a situation ♡ 𓈒⟡₊⋆∘˚⊹ Situation Enjoyers™: @lifemod17 @glitterghost @inv3ga-sustenna @adenobabe  @jeriiicho @milk--bones  @myaudiocommentary  @horsebiologist @intake-of-breath @fruitsandcheese @killed-by-thegods @goosepond69 @friendly-neighborhood-ghoul @lynzeequitlollygagging @thatxxjiyong-ssi  @cloudy-soul @daddysaidbringthethunder  @evisnotok @cheomain @chaosandchaos @object-of-my-desire @dreamer-lost-in-wonderland @blvckmvgicwoman @canopies-of-gold-and-evergreen

recommended listening:

Vessel’s talking again. About nerd shit. Always with the nerd shit.

It started as a chat about video games. Sure, fine. Then it became video game soundtracks. Bit out there for some, ok. But then it veered to music. The question is posed, again, (because most zone out) about what kind of music Ves likes and makes on the side. But it only got worse. Everyone saw the change happen in slow motion; Vessel’s brows shot up, his dimples deepened, the normally soft spoken, stoic demeanor he had turned almost frantic. The music theory professor was in…and all because a sweet plump little thing beside him piped up saying, “An 11/8 time signature? That’s not even a real fraction!” 

Vessel didn’t know you yet. He saw you come in for your interview and onboarding but didn’t bother to approach you. Welcome you to the video store. At first he thinks you’re fucking with him. Busting his balls for the time signature thing, but you’re persistent. 

“No, seriously, how would that even sound? Come on, explain like we’re back in music class.”

The sheer glee radiating off this man could power a small country. He takes on a matter-of-fact but kind tone as he claps out the beats and explains what one could accomplish with such an interesting and complex and… It all fades out. You’re listening, yes, but you’re not retaining. The fact that you watched him go from a quiet participant in this little conversation you were cornered in to someone who was confident and expressive was, honestly, really hot. He’s tall enough that you have to lift your head a bit to look him in the eye, making you feel a bit like you’re being lectured. Guided. If the thought-police are real, they should put you away now because this is…really fucking hot. 

But Ves is none the wiser. He’s now moved on to name dropping bands that excel at weird time signatures and that even though math rock and progressive metal both utilize it they’re actually, in essence, quite different and that—

“You know, honestly,” you look around and whisper almost conspiratorially, “I don’t know any of the bands you just mentioned but—”

Vessel interrupts you, as nerdy boys on a roll are want to do. “Well, yes, that’s to be expected, but just because they—“

You raise your chin and your hand to stop him. “Hold on, I wasn’t done.” His face falls. Damnit. He’s done it again. He’s info-dumped too close to the sun to a new coworker, much less a GIRL. “I was going to say that maybe you could help me…expand my musical horizons,” you say with a tiny smirk. 

“Right! Right, yeah! Pull up your Spotify then and I’ll add some stuff for you.”

Years of being rejected allowed you to mask your disappointment. You shouldn’t be looking for a date at work and especially not at your brand new job. What you don’t realize is that Ves is masking, too. He won’t even give himself the chance to IMAGINE you’re dropping hints about a date. Instead of asking for clarification or, god forbid, explaining yourself further, you sheepishly take your phone out and let him start saving playlists and albums to your library. He hands your phone back, looking smug. 

“There we are…a much needed upgrade. Looks like you needed it…'This is Taylor Swift.’ Come now,” Vessel titters. “Listen to something that pushes the envelope.”

“Hah. Wow, alright.” You scoff with a humorless laugh. 

Oh. 

Cringe. 

Goddamnit. 

Vessel barely realizes now his sarcasm was NOT detected at all. He chuckles nervously and pats your shoulder. “Lighten up. Joking. I’m joking.”

“I actually meant we should spend some time together,” there’s a subtle emphasis on the phrase as your eyes roll back in exasperation, “and talk about it more. Get to know each other. Seems like we dodged a bullet then, hm?” 

Vessel stands there for a bit. Why did she want to wait until another time to talk about this?  Surely she’s just saying this because it’s like when you see an old friend and say “let’s get coffee” and then you never do and…wait. WAIT. “Do you…surely you don’t mean a…a date!” Vessel’s cheeks are stained maroon now from the sheer thought of a DATE. “This really did it for you? Hearing me drone on?”

Your face scrunches as if to say “dude, yes, obviously,” because to you it is obvious. Why not him? Yeah you just met him (and you’re at work. Please do not forget you’re at work) and he seemed fairly safe and nice, but maybe a bit of a gatekeeper-type? Or just a sarcastic jerk. All you know is that now you’re turned off a little. And Vessel’s just gawps at you. Thank god everyone else left to do closing duties when it was clear you two were having a one-on-one. No one needed to see you taking a joke too seriously and Vessel dropping the ball and probably missing out on one of those “for the plot” opportunities. It’s awkward now. Both of you had questionable dating history so no one really knows how to gracefully end the conversation (or have one, it seemed). And maybe you’ve got the right idea by just nodding and pursing your lips saying, “well…good talk,” and walking away to choose some tapes for your Staff Recommendations. 

Thus began the "Great Ignoring." It wasn’t to the point that you called in sick when you knew you were working with him, but you certainly felt a pit in your stomach. But you kept your head down and just worked. That’s why you were here. To start over. And do "The Work," as they say. 

It wasn’t like you wanted to be sent away last year when this big adventure started. Well, “sent away” was an overreaction (or at least that’s what you were told. Must be true then, yes?). You were “encouraged to seriously consider” taking time off and “enjoying a break.” And when paired with a queasy smile, it translated both literally and perfectly into “get yourself together, bitch, and do it far away. Come back when you’re normal.”

Fine. Like a child sent to her room, you huffed and pouted as you planned your mini vacation that instead turned into you completely upending your life a county over. No big deal! But beginnings are overrated. Finally getting some distance between a certain ex-boyfriend and a life you were comfortable with does not evoke feelings of “fresh starts.” It’s a death within and of itself. The physical move was easy. You didn’t own much. Such is the nature of breaking off an engagement that was over long before you even left. Long before the first emotional blow was struck. Family and friends offered more than you thought you deserved—money, secondhand furniture, food, the number of “a guy.” It was too much for you. The kindness didn’t cancel out any of the cruelty, and the small cruelties were magnified. 

Vessel gatekeeping “superior” music should have been the equivalent of a gnat in your general vicinity. You know it’s there, it’s not bothering you immediately, but when it does you can wave it off. No. For you it was worse. It was coming home knowing mom was mad at you. It was facing the tribunal. Or at least that’s how it felt. Normally he just ignored you, which gave you great comfort and dread. Comfort because “ok, he has no reason to bother me,” and dread because “ah shit the other shoe is about to drop and it’s gonna fucking suuuucckk.” 

“Hey are you listening?”

Fingers snapping drags you out of your haze. 

“Jesus. Come on, please tell me you actually sorted the new releases." Vessel, looking tired as usual, leans against the counter with his arms crossed and waits with bated breath for your answer. It was the dreaded closing shift with him. 

You return his tired gaze with a blank one, proffering your hand towards the fully stocked end cap boasting “New Releases? More like New Favourites!” 

The heaviest sigh comes out as he throws his head back, exposing his neck. You’d been here only a month but you were already keenly aware of Vessel’s body. You’d seen him do this multiple times a week. When a customer was difficult. When the regional manager had some asinine quota. When you…well…existed? But that got you acquainted with the delicate column of his throat. The strength of the sides sloping into his traps. Despite him icing you out, he was still hot.

“Yes, V. It’s stocked.”

“S’all you had to say. Taking my 15. Cheers.”

“Hey, on your way out can you take out th—“ but he’s already gone, “…trash?” You sigh heavily. “Fucker.” 

Not two minutes later, a lone guy comes in. He gives you a polite wave when you welcome him in, seems nice enough. Probably the kind of guy who knows exactly what he wants, he’ll pay, and that’s it. But he lingers for a bit at the Staff Recs with a big grin. He picks up one of yours, the third of a wacky but popular horror franchise. 

“This one yours?” He asks with a quirked up grin. 

You laugh softly and do a little bow. “That it is. And I’m not going to apologize for it.”

“Oh you shouldn’t.” He shakes the box as he refers to the movie saying, “this subverts tropes as much as it regurgitates. People should apologize for shitting on it!”

“Exxaaccccttttlllyyyy,” you exclaim. 

Finally. Someone who matches wits. You enjoy an animated conversation with about the franchise, the rumored reboots, other franchises…it’s refreshing. You barely realize Ves has come back from his break. He squeezes by you at the register mumbling, “lucky there isn’t a line right now.” But you ignore it. You have a handle on this. As you’re finally ringing up the guy, he mentions a series he thinks you might enjoy. And when you tell him you’d never heard about it before he gives you a smirk and leans forward as he takes his receipt.

“Maybe we should get together sometime…could get the box set. Takeaway even?” He winks. “Be seeing you.” He does a quick nod behind you, and you realize it was to Vessel, who was sulking in the corner of the little checkout boat.

“Oohhh let’s get together and talk about it…you’ll have to tell me all about it…I don’t know aaaannnnyythiing about anything,” he mocks. “You get off on that, don’t you?”

“What? Stimulating conversation about media? Yeah. It’s my kink.”

“Smart ass. No! Playing dumb.”

If looks could kill. But Vessel doesn’t care. He returns your icy gaze. “You’re just jealous.”

He scoffs and looks away, cheeks burning. “What’s there to be jealous of? You two aren’t actually going to meet up. Just like when you pulled that shit with me. Honestly…”

“Hah! No. You’re the one who fumbled that. You insulted my taste.”

“And you’re the one who took a joke wrong. And had the audacity to hit on me within your first two weeks here.” You swallow hard. He had a point. Here’s the other shoe dropping, but you weren’t going to run. Or fawn. 

“I deserve that. I’m sorry.” You nod and lower your eyes. 

“It’s…” Vessel seems shocked. Unbeknownst to you, Vessel has received maybe 3 genuine apologies in his whole life, each from family. “All’s forgiven.” 

A sheepish smile pulls at your lips.  “I’m going to take that trash out, yeah?” You say referring to the trash you had wanted him to take care of. He doesn’t protest and even thanks you. 

As you’re tossing the garbage in the alley, you realize immediately…you’re not alone. 

[justnatoka]

Can I pleaseeeee have some Lost Boysxafab reader where she’s friends with them and her shithead bf breaks up with her over the phone and they comfort her and she realizes she’s been missing the signals they’ve been giving her that they like her for like sooooo long? Thankies 🩷🩷

Wrong place, right time

Poly! Lost Boys x Fem! Reader

A/n: YES YES YES! I love this idea! Thank you for sending in this request! I had a bit of a hard time with writing it at first, not gonna lie. There was just so many directions I could have gone with it. But I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 3.6k

Warning: shithead manipulative ex-boyfriend, lots of fluff and hurt/comfort

Summary: After your boyfriend breaks up with you over the phone, you seek comfort in the company of your four close friends. And you realize that maybe you've been missing some signals this whole time.

You should have listened when people told you he was not a good guy, should have seen the warning signs. After all, he made it no secret when he found another girl attractive, his eyes wandering, sometimes his hands too. You should have left him earlier, were so close to it so many times. But he was able to sweettalk you back to him every time.

He was nothing if not attractive; a natural charmer with looks that many would kill for and the ability to wrap people around his finger with just a few words. His teachers in school loved him, his friends (and admirers) would do anything he said, and of course, girls would flock to him, excited with just the prospect of being in his orbit in the hopes of catching a glance or a smile from him. He took advantage of it too. Even before everything, you already knew that he was a player. He would date girls for a while, then toss them aside for another pretty face.

He could get anyone he wanted. And when he made the decision that he wanted you for some reason, you stood no chance. He weaved you into his web, fed into your delusion that it would be different with you, that you could change him, that you would matter more to him than all the others did.

After the two of you started dating, you accompanied him to every house party, every bonfire night on the beach, every hangout on the boardwalk. He walked around proudly with you hanging on his arm, showing you off. At the time you couldn't be happier. You though he really cared.

Turns out, you were nothing more than eyecandy, a pretty thing he can flaunt, drinking in all the praise of what a hot couple you were, how good you looked together. He enjoyed that you would run to him in a heartbeat when he called, reveled in your attention and affection. You would have done anything for him, and he knew that.

You only just now started to realize that it was always about control with him. You were a pretty pawn that he could boss around, use you as he pleased, and you would thank him for it. That was the level of hold he had on you. But the fact that you started to see it didn't mean that his words hurt any less.

They still echoed in your ears, that nonchalant "We're over". Your brain didn't even take it in at first, your hand gripping the house phone anxiously as you told him to repeat it.

"What are you not getting? I don't want to be with you anymore."

You felt like you've been slapped across the face.

"But why? Did I do something? Did I make you upset?" Your voice was growing slightly desperate. "If I did, then I'm so sorry."

He sighed, sounding more annoyed than anything.

"You didn't do anything. I'm just bored of you."

That was it. He ended it that easily. You had no idea if he said anything else, didn't register when he cut the line. For a long time, you just sat there in your kitchen, gripping the phone in your hand. All you felt was a great emptiness, like he hollowed you out before throwing you aside. In a manner of speaking, that's exactly what he did.

That's where the boys found you, after climbing through an open window no doubt. You flinched when there was knocking at the kitchen door, and turned to see all four of them standing there. As soon as they took in your state, their mood shifted.

Paul was the first to come over and kneel in front of you, his hands cupping your cheeks, his fingers wiping away the silent tears you didn't even realize started falling at some point.

"Ssh, what's wrong, pretty girl?" he cooed, his face full of concern.

"H-he broke up with me," you hiccupped, your eyes filling with fresh tears.

You heard cussing, and just as you looked up, Marko was on his way to turn around and leave, his fists clenching in anger. He would have left right then and there to hunt down your ex, had it not been for Dwayne's hand coming down on his shoulder. Marko whipped around to glare at him, but Dwayne's next words made him pause.

"She needs us."

They stared at each other for another long moment before Marko ended their little standoff, joining Paul on the floor in front of you. He took your hands in his, and with the most serious expression you've ever seen on him said,

"If you ever need me to knock his teeth out, just say the word."

Despite the burning ache you still felt in your chest, a watery chuckle escaped your lips.

"Thanks, Marko, I'll keep that in mind."

"I say good riddance," David added from his position leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed and a small smirk on his face. But you knew him enough to see the quietly simmering anger just under the surface. "You can do a lot better than him."

They didn't like the guy from the moment you started talking to him. They made no secret of it either, but they tolerated him enough not to scoff every time you talked to them about where you went and what you did together. That's one of the reasons why you never properly introduced them to each other. That, and the fact that you ex didn't like it when you talked to or about other boys. That should have been another red flag.

What you didn't know was how many times they talked about getting rid of the guy, how many times they were close to actually doing it. They held little brainstorming sessions sometimes when the mood got high, sitting by a bonfire or lounging around the cave, coming up with more and more creative ways to kill him off. It was so satisfying to imagine his lights go out while screaming in agony. Their favourite was kidnapping him and throwing him off Hudson's Bluff. A simple but great solution to their problems.

They've heard enough about the guy to know that this relationship could only end one way, with you getting hurt. And they didn't want that for their precious girl. It enraged them that you were with this piece of shit when you deserved so much better. Because there was something else behind their distaste for him, something they've only talked about in quiet moments between the four of them.

Even now, as you made tea for everyone in an effort to distract your mind and pull yourself together, there were things going on in the background that you didn't notice in your emotional state. You failed to see the glances they exchanged behind your back, eyes burning with words of an unspoken conversation. You didn't notice Paul's pleading, Marko's insistence, Dwayne's calm reasoning, nor David's stubborn resistance. It wasn't time yet, no matter how much the more impulsive members of the group tried to argue. You were too raw, too vulnerable. What you needed right now was their strength, their stable presence to hold onto amongst the chaotic waves of emotions. Their time will come.

So they jumped into action.

You let them guide you to the living room with gentle words and gentler hands, where they sat you down on the couch with a box of tissues and your tea. Then they searched through the house, grabbing every fluffy blanket and soft pillow they could find, piling them around you until you were comfortably snuggled into a colorful little nest.

Their hearts ached as they watched you curled in on yourself, nursing your mug between your hands as you quietly sniffled, your eyes red from crying. You looked so small and fragile, so unlike your usually happy and bright self.

So while they were working on setting everything up, they each offered you small signs of comfort in their own way. Dwayne giving you a gentle pat on the top of your head every time he passed you, Marko bursting out a joke after plopping down another armful of pillows on the floor, Paul arranging and rearranging everything around you to make sure you were snug and comfortable, David wiping away silent tears as they inevitable started falling again and again.

After the living room was filled with every soft fabric they could find, they made their way to the kitchen. After a few minutes, Marko reappeared, the delicious buttery smell of popcorn following him through the door as he handed you a fresh mug of tea, snatching the empty one from your hands with a fond smile. He was quick to come back, trailing after Paul who held up a big tub of ice cream with a triumphant grin.

"Lookie what I found!"

Despite your miserable state, your face brightened a little bit at the prospect of ice cream, and the two of them were practically glowing when they saw it. Paul plopped down next to you, handing you a spoon with a wink as he pulled off the lid, digging in eagerly with his own. While the two of you shared your sweet treat, Marko booted up the TV, pulling out the tape of your favourite horror movie from the pile with the casual familiarity of someone who's done this many times before. Dwayne and David walked in with the popcorn just as the opening credits started rolling, and they all settled down – Dwayne taking your other side on the couch, prompting Marko to throw himself sulking into one of the armchairs, David taking up the other one.

It wasn't long before movie watching turned into chaos, like everything did when it came to these boys. Paul was throwing popcorn into Marko's mouth with surprising accuracy, which quickly dissolved into the two of them throwing popcorn at each other. Sitting next to Paul, you got caught up in the shooting zone and you scooted closer to Dwayne, seeking escape in his arms, giggling while trying to evade any stray shots. David kept commenting on the movie, about the dumb decisions the characters were making, his sarcastic jibes making you chuckle.

Before you knew it, you completely forgot about everything: the breakup, your now ex-boyfriend, the anger, the hollowness that seemed so strong in those first few moments. The boys exchanged silent glances as they watched you slowly brightening up, the tear tracks drying on your face. They knew that this was temporary and that probably there will be moments when the sadness took hold of you again, but for now, they were satisfied to see your smile return.

At some point Dwayne stole Paul's spoon, and the tub of ice cream migrated from between you and Paul to between you and Dwayne, causing the blond to whine and complain.

"Here, you can have some," you replied playfully and swiped some on his face, bursting into giggles at his expression.

He grinned to himself as he wiped it down and licked it off his hand.

"You know, pretty girl, I could kiss you when you're teasing me like that."

"What?"

"What?"

Everyone froze. The movie continued playing in the background, forgotten as you stared at Paul, who stared right back at you, his expression equally as surprised as yours.

Something shifted then, the air in the living room charged with tension as you faintly registered all the boys glaring at Paul, like he said something he shouldn't have.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath.

You suddenly felt like your throat was closing up, but you forced the words out of your mouth.

"What did you mean by that?"

Now everyone's attention turned to you; the boys seizing you up cautiously, their gazes searching your face for any sign of how you felt about this sudden revelation.

Paul didn't dare say anything more, looking to David for guidance on what to do now. After a moment, their leader let out a long sigh, and as his eyes met yours, what you found there confused you even more. Hesitation, doubt, then resignation. You've never seen him like that, and frankly, it scared you a little bit.

Not being able to bear the tense anticipation anymore you blurted out again, this time directing your question at David.

"What did he mean by that?"

You could see him fighting with himself a moment longer, before he let out another sigh, and when he looked at you next, the intensity of his gaze knocked the breath out of you.

"He meant exactly what he said, sweetheart."

Your heartrate sped up at the new pet name, and also at how casually it rolled off his tongue, like he's been calling you that for a long time. Maybe in his head he has.

"I don't understand," you said, your voice quiet, hesitant to believe what you thought this all meant.

"We love you, sugar," Marko finally said it out loud.

It felt like a collective weight has been lifted from the room. Like these few words have been a burden they've been carrying for a long time, and now that they finally said it, they were suddenly light as a feather.

"You do?" you asked softly, looking from one boy to the next. "All of you?"

"We do. Have been for a long time," Dwayne's reply rumbled in his chest that you were still leaning against. Now you looked up at him, and what you found in his eyes was nothing but sincerity and fondness so deep it made your heart skip a beat.

For a long moment you just stared at nothing, your mind reeling, trying to take it all in. You thought back to all your previous interactions with the boys, to the years you've known each other. You saw everything in a new light now. All the little touches, the lingering looks, the compliments, the fact that they've always been there for you no matter what, always protecting you and doing everything they could to make you happy. They've been by your side not just physically, but emotionally in ways your ex has never done.

You thought back to the night you told them this popular boy asked you out and you said yes, how their eyes flashed, the disdain clear on their faces as they tried to talk you out of dating him. It wasn't just because they knew he would hurt you, it was because they were jealous, because they wanted it to be them who walked around the boardwalk with you on their arm, showing you off.

The reality of it all overwhelmed you.

"Wow," you whispered, "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, not right now," David replied, his voice steady and full of reassurance. "This isn't exactly how we wanted to tell you either," he sent a half-hearted glare Paul's way, who shrunk under his gaze.

Then he pulled himself together and tentatively took your hands in his.

"This doesn't have to change anything," he started, probably the most sober and serious you've ever seen him. "It's okay if you don't feel the same way, we can stay just as we are now. Whatever you want, sweet girl."

He tried to smile as he said it, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. You knew it pained him to get these words out, and it hurt you in return to see him like this. And not just that. It hurt to think about staying like this with them, to play friends and pretend there was nothing more in the background, like their feelings didn't exist. Like your feelings didn't exist.

You've never thought about the depth of your fondness and love for these boys. Or maybe you just didn't want to think about it, feeling so sure that nothing would come of it if you ever addressed it. So you buried it deep down. And in your haste to forget about it, you made a big mistake. You were so desperate for love that you've ran into the arms of the first boy who showed any interest in you.

The realization startled a surprised laugh from you. The boys stared at you confused and slightly apprehensive.

You looked Paul in the eye and with a sureness that was growing stronger by the second said, "I don't want that."

When it seemed like he didn't get it, you continued.

"I don't want to just stay friends. I couldn't hold myself back. Not when I want to kiss you too every time you tease me." You turned to look at each one of them, the emotions filling your chest threatening to overflow. "Not when I want to kiss all of you."

Paul was practically radiant with joy, and you laughed as Marko jumped up, hollering in triumph. Two strong arms circled around your waist and you were pulled back into Dwayne's chest. He held you tight, his hands on you possessive, and you felt him smile as he nuzzled your hair.

Your attention was brought back to Paul as he cupped your face and smashed his lips against yours. It was hungry and messy and desperate, like he wanted to satiate his long growing appetite for you with just this one kiss. You whimpered into his lips when you felt Dwayne's mouth on the sensitive skin of your neck. You felt like you were going lightheaded, your heart racing, your body melting into them.

Paul let out a low growl, your insides twisting at the sound, and the next moment he was pushed back, replaced by Marko, clearly not wanting to be left out of the fun. He chuckled against your mouth and kissed you with such fervor, you felt like he could devour you if you let him. The thought spread a new kind of heat through your whole body.

David's voice brought you back to reality.

"Slow down, boys, we don't want to overwhelm our sweetheart."

They reluctantly disentangled themselves from you, leaving you dizzy and trying to catch your breath.

"Besides," he continued, his voice taking on a dangerous tone, "I want to have some of her for myself too."

Your legs felt like jelly as you stood up, taking the few steps towards his armchair. You were feeling suddenly bashful as he guided you between his legs, your face flushed under the intensity of his gaze as it raked over you. A smirk grew on his face as he took in the state you were in, all thanks to his boys.

He tugged on your arm and you obeyed, climbing into his lap, his hands finding their place on your hips like it was where they belonged. And they did.

He kissed you slower than the others, but in no way with less passion. His movements were possessive, his lips claiming yours with a sureness and authority that left no question about who you belonged to. Not to that shithead who broke your heart, not to anyone else, but to him and his boys.

When he drew back, your head was still spinning. But when your eyes met his, you broke into the biggest, brightest smile they've seen on you all night.

"I love you," you sighed, your eyes growing misty once more.

"No more tears tonight, sweetheart," David said gently, kissing your knuckles before he pulled you into him, laying your head in his shoulder.

That's where you fell asleep not long after, snuggled into his embrace, exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster of the last few hours. The boys looked on with fondness, still not quite believing the turn of events that led to this moment where they could call you theirs. Maybe Paul's bit mouth wasn't such a pain in the ass after all.

Epilogue:

For your sake, they took mercy on your ex and didn't end his life. Simply because they didn't want you to be questioned if he disappeared under suspicious circumstances. Or your name to be associated with anything in case someone found his horribly mangled body. They also couldn't really come to a conclusion on what to do with him; the possibilities were endless, and they all wanted to put their own unique and scarily creative spin on it.

That was certainly an interesting conversation to listen to – the boys casually chatting about how to brutally murder your ex like they were talking about the weather.

So in the end he got to live. That doesn't mean they didn't do any damage though.

For a few weeks, they paid him a visit every night, terrorizing him until he was close to a nervous breakdown. They showed up at odd hours, bikes revving and light flashing, screaming and howling like a pack of wolves. On other nights, they took a more subtle approach, knocking on his upper floor window and whispering to him through the walls.

By the time they stopped, the guy was a paranoid wreck.

And of course they told you all about it, making you laugh as Paul and Marko recalled and acted out in detail how he cried like a little girl, hiding under his blanket. Yeah, karma's a bitch. Especially when it comes in the form of four pissed off vampires.

Tags: @stinkydove @pandemoniavenus @000-colby @lunarwhitewolf7 @notalwaysa @binightowl @darlingnikkisixxxx @skrimblo-blumpkgo @wpdarlingpan @gibzzsworld @thelostboysforeva @vxncevis @thelostsimp @sireanmagne @acotar-lover @unwhollywater @fanofgunsnroses @swagfancroissantpizza2

Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

[leechqnsgirl]

🎧ྀི♪⋆.✮ too much

notes: based off of this ask

-- you've been feeling a bit insecure because of your recent weight gain, but your boyfriend seems to be obsessed with it.

18+ | nicholas x fem!reader | wc: 1.8k | asks are open | masterlist

warnings: talk about weight gain and insecurities, piv, cumming inside

****

you haven't seen your boyfriend for a few weeks since he was currently in korea and you were still in japan.

to say you were just missing him is a massive understatement. since you two started dating, the most you went without seeing each other was just a few days. but now? 

it's been about two months. 

you'd been eating a bit more just to distract yourself from your boyfriend's absence.

cooking and baking new recipes, buying new snacks and going out with friends for some comfort. 

you hadn't really taken notice of it until you were trying on some dresses, seeing how a bit of extra chub on your body was visible on some ends. 

in all honesty, it wasn't much but to you it was noticeable enough. 

you know that nicholas would never hate you, or degrade you. but there was still that voice in the back of your head. the one that makes you sit in front of the mirror for minutes into hours, making you question if you're even good enough for him. 

in your logic, nicholas is always working out, he's always in shape but what about you? yeah maybe he has the pressure of being an idol, but you’re an idols girlfriend. 

--

you got a text from nicho saying he'd just landed and he'll be at your place soon. 

you were beyond happy, it's been so long and factimes between you two weren't cutting it anymore. you were so excited that it felt like your mind temporarily numbed that little insecure corner of your brain. 

knock knock. 

"coming!!" you chirped out, rushing over towards the door. you didn't even need to ask if it was nicho. you just knew. 

as soon as you opened the door and he stepped in, he pulled your body against his, digging his face into your neck. 

"god, I missed you so much, y/n." was the first thing he told you, when you tried to step back to get a look at him, he pulled you right back in. "please...let's just stay like this for a bit." he pleaded, making it seem as though those two months away from you drained him, and you were his battery. 

soon enough, the two of you got settled in. you were working on a simple dinner while he went to take a shower. 

he came out, standing by the entrance of the kitchen watching you. 

you hadn't noticed him at first, too busy with the food. and it wasn't until you turned around for something when you saw him. startled at first, but you smiled. 

"hi, babe. just a few more minutes and we can sit down together." you were expecting to hear some sort of a response from behind you. something like an oh okay or alright, honey. but you got nothing. 

you thought he walked away at first, but when you turned to look for a second, you saw him in the same position. leaned against the kitchen entrance. 

and he was looking at you. but not looking at you. 

his eyes were trailing along your body. 

and that's when that unsettling feeling set in, that feeling where you just feel...unattractive. 

you also became aware of what you were wearing. it was a tight tank top and some mid thigh shorts. 

you didn't know exactly why he was staring at you, you just knew that he was. 

"baby..." he said quietly, walking towards you. when he reached you, he lifted your face up by your chin. "why do you look nervous?" his eyes traced your face, but couldn't help to sneak a look a bit below at times. 

"i-i'm not nervous. it's just," you sighed, "its nothing, nicho." 

if there was one thing that nicholas hated about you, it was definitely that you would tend to undermine yourself at times. 

and he could tell you were doing it now. 

he reached behind you, turning the stove off. leading your body to the side a bit, he hooked his hands under your thighs, and out of instinct you held onto his shoulders as he lifted you onto the counter. 

his hands rested atop your thighs, gliding them up and down in a soothing motion. 

"you know, when I first arrived here," he brought his head over to your neck, leaving kisses in between his words. "and I hugged you...I could almost tell something was different about you." he continued on, switching the opposite side of your neck now. you let out a sigh. 

"I shrugged it off though, because maybe I was thinking that since it's been a while. but fuck," he lifts his head up, his eyes meeting yours. "when I saw you in here, in this outfit. I knew what it was." he never said the words out loud but you knew what he was talking about. 

his hands moved to hold onto your hips, a place that had been a victim of your slight weight gain. "and you look so fucking sexy." he practically groaned out the words, looking deep into your eyes before he smashed his lips against yours. 

you gave a small gasp, slightly stunned but soon enough you felt yourself melt into the kiss, lightly tugging on the hairs on the back of his neck. 

you felt his hands travel all over your body. going from your face to your arms to your waist, then your hips and thighs once again. it was like he was getting a feel for it all. it was all new to him. and god, did he love it. 

he thinks you're glowing, you look beautiful, and so the moment he saw you hide into yourself, he knew he couldn't hold his words back anymore. he couldn't hold back anymore.

he broke away from the kiss, tugging his shirt off doing the same with yours.

his eyes were glued to your chest, snaking an arm around you to unhook your bra.

god, and when it fell? he felt crazy. it'd been too long since he even touched you, and given how you look now...he doesn't think he'll last an hour with you.

the breath he let out was audible, and strained, you could practically feel his neediness radiating off him. and the sweats he was wearing did no job at hiding his hard on.

he had to have you bare before he did anything. he had to see you. he wanted to be able to kiss and touch down your body with no restrictions. and with that, he slid down your shorts and panties. leaving you completely bare for him.

he lifted you up, carrying and placing you down so you were laying back onto the kitchen tiles. the cold floors causing a shiver to run up your spine.

"I'm sorry, y/n, I just can't, i-i need you now, baby. I need you here." he felt the room get too hot, beginning to wonder why he had some of his own clothing still on.

it wasn't long before he lined himself up to your entrance. slowly inching inside you, he kept his hands on your hips, squeezing at them. his eyes never left your face, not until he bottomed out completely. kicking his head back with a long moan.

"you're so perfect, baby." he praised, "so fucking perfect."

you could feel him going faster, having you let out loud moans of his name.

he leaned his head down, latching his lips onto one of your nipples. he heard you whimper, moving his hips faster. "bigger for me now, hm?" he mumbled against your tit, he lifted his head, trailing kisses from your tits to your stomach now.

"fuck," he muttered, everything felt too much for him, “you’re so tight.” he moaned, “you didn’t play with yourself while i was gone?” he teased against your ear, biting the lobe gently. 

he didn't expect you to reply, so when you shook your head, saying how nothing felt like him, he felt a shudder go through his body. because, god he couldn't agree more. nothing felt like you either.

he would spend nights awake sexually frustrated because he just couldn't get off. tugging at his cock for what felt like hours, and he wanted to call you so bad but he was always afraid. afraid he’d be bothering you all because he couldn't keep it in his pants. 

“n-nicho,” you whimpered out. he knew you were close, he could feel you tighten around him over and over again. “i know, baby.” he reassured you, doing his best to keep his pace and rhythm up. 

“nicho,” you said, voice heavy, “a-are you wearing a condom?” 

his eyes widened, he’d been so caught up with you that he completely forgot to wear a fucking condom. 

“no…” he said, voiced laced with guilt and shame. “i’ll pull out, okay? don't worry your head baby.” he felt himself right at the edge. 

but fuck, you felt so warm and tight and soft and-

he didn't even trust himself to pull out anymore, everything was just too much. 

you laced your fingers in his hair, pulling his head down to above yours. “don’t nicho...god, i don’t care if you fucking knock me up. i just need you.” 

and how was he supposed to say no? he couldn't even bring up the thought of saying no to you. 

and when he finally cums, hips flush against yours, spilling his seed deep in you...he feels like he should’ve denied, should’ve said no but, fuck, he doesnt think he cares. he waited too long for this, for you.

he’s still panting into your neck long after you both finished, and you keep him there, playing with his hair and whispering sweet nothings into his ear. 

your heart aches a bit, realizing that over the last few weeks, he didn’t just miss you. but he missed everything that came with you. 

your hugs, your scent, your hands, your love. 

you could tell he wasn’t himself during sex, he seemed so much more touchy, more hasty and just more desperate. 

you feel him lift his head, rolling over so he's on his side facing you. 

“you’re so beautiful.” he pressed a feather light kiss on your cheek. “and i need you to know that nothing could change that. nothing could ever make me find you anything but.” he looks at you, placing a hand over your thigh, squeezing it. “would you hate me if i said that you look hotter this way?” he teased, biting his tongue. 

you raised an eyebrow, “so what, are you saying i wasn't hot before?” he rolled his eyes playfully at you. “i said hotter, meaning i always found you hot, babe.” 

you snuggled into him, smiling at his response. 

“do you realize we’re cuddling on the kitchen floor...?” 

he shrugged his shoulders, “we’ll get up, i just wanna hold you a bit more, baby.” 

[0viraptoraskblog]

Hello, I hope you're doing well, I love the things you write!

This is probably going to be a long one. It turns out that ever since I discovered btd 1 and 2, and tpof, I've always been really curious about Ren's character. I imagine that just like me, people must have been surprised to see how he had become in Tpof. I'm SO excited for Ykmet! I know this game is mainly focused on Strade, because of course his name is there! XD

I love him too, but I'm particularly looking forward to seeing the parts with Ren. I know about the changes that Gato has prepared for him, and I hope they're positive, I trust what she's doing.

Anyway! I think I've gone on too long. The thing is, since I finished Tpof, I haven't found many people who give analysis to the older Ren character. I don't know if I'm looking in the wrong place, but I always thought tumblr was the best place to look, because the fandom seems more active here.

There were many things I didn't understand, because I'm terrible at analyzing, I try, but I constantly feel like I end up overthinking, my head always tries to provide several explanations like A, B, C, D, and it goes beyond that.

From your perspective, opinions and thoughts on the DLC, what do you think people often miss about Fox? Something you noticed that some people probably didn't. I would particularly like to know about your interpretation of the ending. Yes, I know it's straightforward and clear, he saves us. But I've always wondered about his motivations. I think that conversation we have with him in the bunker affects him, but in what way? What are his thoughts? And what are his thoughts about us after that?

I constantly noticed that he was also always adjusting his posture in his streams, and in the third one when he bites and then licks the wound on Mc's neck, then he looks almost embarrassed. Was it just because he got too excited or was it something else that i didn't catch because im too stupid? lmao

I'll end the ask here or it will be too long, I apologize for that, and if I didn't manage to express my questions very well

(although, if you answer this, I hope it's okay if I ask a bit more)

I think Fox has built this new version of himself based on being in control. He used to be a captive, always weary of Strade, and then trying and failing to be in control of MC in btd2 (who either died or escaped, given that this is Ren’s darker path). After that, he wanted to be in control for once.

He runs the entire auction system, he has his own show, and he’s incredibly good at what he does. That security not only makes him confident in what he does now, but it makes him finally like who he is (at least, he thinks.)

Young Ren was struggling a lot with his image and self worth, in terms of being treated as a pet/property, being abused, and then convincing himself that it was all because Strade loved him. Those years affected his mind so much. When his plan with MC went wrong after the second game, I think he realized that he should have been following Strade’s advice more. He fell back into that mental state of idolizing Strade and his way of doing things, his way of thinking. Why would Ren try anything else? Of course Strade was right. (This is the wrong idea, sadly, but it must have been the conclusion he turned to.)

It started as him trying to follow the footsteps of the only person he’d ever had to look up to— Strade. That’s why he started doing shows, because Strade was successful and Ren wanted to follow his example. He was also swayed a lot by emotion, the loneliness he felt and the emptiness he has after Strade’s death. Continuing his legacy was a way to fill the void, at least a little. He also needed money sooner or later.

Over time, he started to make it his own. He started to think less about Strade and more about himself. By the time we see Fox, he’s pretty much moved on from Strade. He does it as his own show, in his own name, his own life.

He is a great showman, naturally. That’s where the posture, gestures, and lively way he talks comes from. He knows how to entertain an audience, and he’s spent years perfecting that skill. He does enjoy the shows, to an extent. But remember, when MC asks him why he does this? Because he’s good at it.

He does like the feeling of being in the spotlight, and entertaining an audience— but his answer wasn’t because it’s his passion, not because he likes being in power, but because he’s good at it.

He’s accustomed to it.

The thing I think people miss is that Fox still has that unsure feeling inside. Deep down, he likes you. And he wants to keep you. But the show must go on! He likes who he is now, and he has to perform for chat. Like I said, it started out as ‘that’s what Strade would have done’ when he was younger, but now he’s moved on from Strade and just become so conditioned to it that he doesn’t know how to break the cycle. It’s how the show goes: he tortures someone, does what chat wants, gets paid, and they die in the end. That’s how it’s always gone. But what about when he grows attached?

An Easter egg to prove my point:

Middle picture, third row down He literally hurts himself for letting you go, because he’s realized he likes you, but he doesn’t know how to deny chat. (this happens when you make all the wrong choices when he visits you in the bunker before show 3. Making all the right choices will result in the survival ending.)

That’s why the survival ending is so critical to his character— he did something for himself. Because he wanted to. It’s a sign of him breaking free, and realizing that he can be in charge.

MC’s dialogue choices are important there too. When he tells MC their fate is up to chat, and you say “I thought you were in charge?” It makes him stop and think. You set things in motion for him. That leads you to the ending where he saves you.

As for when he licks the blood on your neck, I think he got a little flustered because he let his animal side show/let his composure fall a bit. A big part of these shows is the power imbalance between him and the victim, and he always puts on a front of being more put together than they are.

But yeah, that’s my mini analysis on Fox. There’s so much more to his character, but that’s for a later date ;) You’re always welcome to ask more!

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Bearing Gifts

Fandom: Star Wars

Pairing: Poe Dameron x F!Reader

Summary: Poe made a stop on Batuu to hide from the First Order for a few days. Then he met you and he kept coming back whenever he could.

A/N: IT'S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I'VE WRITTEN FOR POE. I MISS HIM SO MUCH!

Poe Dameron Masterlist

You and B2-GP3 work together unloading the speeder from scraps that you brought back.

Ever since your mother died, it's just been you, your dad, and B2. Your dad did the best that he could raising you. There have been some setbacks, but, overall, you couldn't complain. He loves you and raised you to be the best and strongest person you could be.

As a result, when he had an accident at the scrapyard and hurt his back, you've been caring for your father. While he's still able to do some minor work, it's mainly you that has been doing the heavy lifting, and making sure there's food on the table.

A ship flies overhead, but you don't spare a glance at it as you lift a heavy scrap off the speeder.

"Poe is back." B2 states which causes you to immediately drop the spare part, nearly missing your feet.

You turn your head and watch as the familiar black and orange X-wing lowers on the landing pad near the outpost. You immediately feel that fluttering sensation in your stomach.

You clear your throat and pick the scrap back up again, "Let's finish this and we'll head to the outpost."

_____________________

Poe and BB-8 stroll through the outpost. Poe stops by at every vendor, checking out their wares, occasionally buying a little trinket or some food.

Distracted by a necklace a Rodian vendor is showing him, he doesn't see BB roll away from him.

After paying, he stuffs the necklace in his satchel, "Alright, Beebs, where should-" he stops and looks around, "Beebs?" He sighs, "He always does this!" He looks around at other stalls and little shopfronts until he hears a loud squeal of binary.

He turns the corner and sees the little orange and white droid circling around you and B2. Your giggles reach Poe's ears and he's already smiling.

He approaches you with a grin, "I should charge you for kidnapping my droid."

You're crouched down speaking to Beebee. You look up and stand, a playful smirk on your lips, "Is it really kidnapping if he comes to me willingly?"

"Suppose not."

You and he stare at each other for a moment, just gathering everything in. It's been some time since he last saw you. The missions he's been sent on haven't been in the area of Batuu. But, finally, he was meeting up with an informant in Bakura, which meant he'd be able to visit you.

You finally break the silence by lightly shoving Poe back, "It's about time you've visited me, Fly Boy."

He chuckles, "Yeah, sorry about that. Been busy-"

"Yeah, yeah, saving the galaxy and all that. The usual."

He puts his hands on his hips and cocks a brow at you, "You keep mouthing me off, I won't give you your gift."

"Okay! Okay! I'm sorry! What is it?!" you're bouncing on your feet like an excited child and Poe finds it adorable.

He opens his satchel and pulls out some fruits, "I had to go to Bakura and I stopped by their outpost there."

"Oh stars! I heard their fruit are super sweet!" you kiss his cheek, "Thank you!"

Poe blushes and his clears his throat, "I-Oh. Um, y-you're welcome!" He didn't expect the kiss from you and he inwardly cringes at how awkward he just became.

"That's not all," he takes out the necklace he just bought and he holds it out to you, "Just got this. Saw it and thought of you," the necklace is simple but still beautiful. Hanging off a black cord is a flower pendant carved out of wood. The carvings and details are so intricate despite it being smaller than a spira credit.

"It's beautiful," you state breathlessly, your thumb grazing over the pendant.

"May I?" Poe gestures to the necklace and you hand it back to him. He takes it and unties the knot. You turn your back to him and circles the necklace around your neck, tying a knot at the back of your neck. The flower pendant falls perfectly in the middle of your chest.

You turn back to Poe smiling, "Thank you, for the necklace and the fruit. You know I never expect anything whenever you visit."

Poe stuffs his hands in his pockets, "I know. It's just...I can't help but think of you when I'm out there. You can't explore the galaxy, so I bring parts of the galaxy to you."

And there's that fluttering again.

You softly smile at him, "I appreciate it," and then you sigh, your mood souring at the thought of why you're unable to leave.

"How's your dad?"

You loop your arm around Poe's and you two continue to stroll through the outpost while B2 and BB follow you, "Still the same. But he's getting older and, soon enough, he won't even be able to join me in the market to sell scraps. It's-It's hard seeing him in the state that he is. Makes me feel guilty for having thoughts about leaving."

Poe nods, "I understand. Felt the same way back on Yavin Four with my dad. But he understood that my purpose wasn't there. I'm sure your dad knows the same for you as well."

You dryly laugh, "You know, he said the next time you come visit, I should leave with you. He said I shouldn't waste my time taking care of him, when I could be exploring the galaxy and helping the Resistance."

Poe stops walking to stand in front of you, "Then come with me," he links his fingers with yours, "not now, but next time. I'll bring a bigger ship and I can take you and Bee Two with me." He stares at you with hopeful eyes.

You sigh as you stare back at him, "I don't know if I'm ready to leave my dad yet, Poe."

He looks slightly disappointed, "I understand. But you let me know when you are and I'll get you right away."

You chuckle and kiss his cheek, "Sounds like a plan."

You continue your walk, fingers intertwined with each other's, the feeling of a hopeful future together looming above you.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 182 (A Pleasant Surprise)

Following the meeting with the Bankses, Felix and Emit soon received confirmation that the judge had recused herself from Ash's custody trial, handing it off to her colleague, Judge Morrison, in Brindleton Bay. Just as she'd promised. While Felix took care of informing Heather and Conrad of the good news, Emit headed to Britechester.

He hadn't seen or spoken to Angela since the wedding, but while he was in her time he couldn't avoid her. He didn't want to. But he was still unprepared to see her growing belly - confirmation that life, as he knew it, would never be the same. He'd been avoiding this feeling.

"How did it go with the time thief?"

"It went well," he said. "I think it's over."

Angela smiled. "That's great," she said, but she wasn't really interested in the time thief. "Did Felix tell you it's twins?"

He nodded. He didn't know what to say.

"The doctor says everything's good. We're all healthy."

"That's good."

She waited for him to say more. "Why are you here?" she asked.

"Angela, I'm in love with you and I don't know what to do about it. I haven't slept in months. The night you told me you were pregnant, I went for a walk through the glen and sat outside an old pub. This woman walked out like she came straight from the 1920s and sat down next to me. Talked my ear off for an hour about her husband - 'the Admiral', she called him - and their daughter. Finally, I told her you were expecting and she knew I wasn't happy about it. 'Maybe you shouldn't have been such a gigolo,' she said."

"What are you talking about? What woman?"

"I don't know who she was, but she made me think about things I've done, and rules I've broken...Ange, you're not the first woman I've slept with...on the job. There was only one other woman, six hundred years ago, but I looked into her genealogy because I got scared. I don't even know how this works, but I'm my own 22nd great-grandfather!"

"You're what?"

"I don't even want to know, and it scares me. But being a time traveler is all I know. As soon as I turned thirteen I left home to start my training. I don't think I can quit."

Angela looked at him with earnest green eyes. "Is there something you want me to say? I told you I would never force you to stay."

"I just...I wanted to see you. And I want to come back. I don't know when..."

Angela sighed, placing a hand on her growing stomach. "I'm not going anywhere, Emit, but if you have to ask me if you should stay, I think you already know what you want to do."

While Emit left Angela with an awkward goodbye, loner Lilith was getting acclimated to life at the chateau, feeding a burgeoning interest in tarot with a deck she'd found. Felix' boss was yet to open an office in Ravenwood, so he was commuting to work every few weeks and scoping out potential new clients when he was home.

But the loved up newlyweds still managed to spend as much time as they could together, and while Felix was out of town for Ash Landgraab's new custody hearing in Brindleton Bay, Lilith took a pregnancy test. Positive! She grinned with excitement.

From the minute Lilith met Felix, she knew she'd be happy to have a child with him, and she couldn't wait to tell him the great news. The chateau's pet crow, Rowena, came with the house, and Lilith entertained herself watching the mysterious black corvid while she waited patiently for her husband to return.

It was dark when he came home, exhausted and complaining about the flight from Brindleton Bay, but he couldn't hide the smile on his face as he tucked into dinner. "Did Judge Morrison give custody back to Heather and Conrad?"

"Of course he did. Nancy didn't even show up - just Malcolm and his wife. Judge Morrison didn't believe Malcolm when he said they had no knowledge of what Landgraab Engineering had been working on, and Ash will be home by the weekend."

"That's the second best news I've had all day," she said, standing next to him at the picnic table outside. He raised an expectant brow. "Felix, I'm pregnant."

(She told him this herself. He came home and I tried to queue up her telling him, but the option wasn't there because she did it just as I was looking for the option in her menu!)

The former ghost's eyes bulged as he registered the news, a wide grin pulling from one cheek to the other. "You are? We weren't trying yet. Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I've been nauseous for days and my period was late, so I took a test this afternoon."

"Lilith, this is the greatest news I've ever had in any of my lives." He struggled to find the words to express the warmth exploding from his skin, standing from the bench to caress her small belly. "We're going to have a baby? Our baby!"

The newlyweds shared a romantic embrace as they celebrated their impending parenthood, and Felix ran a hand through his beloved's red hair. "What else did you get up to while I was away?"

"I've almost got my podcast schedule set for the new season, and I called a local adoption agency about a cat. They're bringing a black kitten over tomorrow to see if he suits us. He's called Patches."

"What will Rowena think about a cat?"

"My friend Cassandra says her mother has a crow and two cats, and the cats never bother Obsidian."

Felix smiled, reaching for her hand to kiss the soft tips of her fingers. "We'll hope Rowena and Obsidian have the same disposition, then."

Their friends would finally be reunited with their son in Brindleton Bay, and Patches joined the growing Psyded clan as the newlyweds began prepping for the arrival of their first child. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: Rowena won second place in the official poll to name Grimbella's crow, Obsidian, so she was automatically bestowed the name when I first loaded up the lot in-game.

NOTE 2: Baby boom incoming. It's not just the Pleasant twins...Also Emit definitely saw Lady Ravendancer('s ghost?), but she knows enough magic to make herself look completely alive to anyone she wants, probably. Emit didn't jump back far enough in time to run into her in 1920, and the Landgraab curse has nothing to do with the time thief. (That's why he didn't recognize her, in case you did!)

NOTE 3: We're skipping the second custody hearing. It's summarized, we won! But we knew they would win because the Landgraabs were being shady with biometric time travel and Felix could prove it. Ash is coming home!!

[fallloverfic]

Thoughts on To Be Hero X Episode 5: One Actor

What a wonderful and surprising episode. Wow.

The story was lovely! Had lots of fun superhero tropes (character who starts in entertainment as a non-hero is a common one, very beloved), even with the you know, parental murder a la Batman and various other heroes and then the prolonged beating to near-death and child endangerment. I'm sorry for the people who thought the kid was a little Lin Ling. Like I imagined, it's just a common hair style.

It was an interesting exploration of how much of a difference even one trust can make. I also really liked the cast (really loved Yang Cheng's uncle's design). I did wonder why Yang Cheng didn't call the cops, but it's typical in superhero media. At least a bystander did! Eventually! That's what you need to do! Just call someone! Few people do!

I was seriously worried Shang Chao would abuse the contest info knowledge about Yang Cheng that he maybe had (where he potentially learned Yang Cheng's identity as the third place guy, given the contest had that info)... I ADMIT I WAS NOT EXPECTING THAT ENDING

Also that little eye dart and smirk???? What????

This feels like the Sakeru Gummy vs. Long Sakeru Gummy commercial saga, where the Long Long Man goes for the male partner of the female lead he's been sort of allegedly pursuing.

When that end scene started and Shang Chao just appears out of nowhere to be like HEY I was like "NOT THIS GUY AGAIN" and THEN... HE TURNED?? AND????

That is a dude who is Down for it. Happy for him. And them. I am. Wow. Just wow. I'm excited to see where this leads :D

Curious who hired the two guys for the kidnapping, and why. It sounded like the Fear guy. Is it someone who predicted this could produce a hero somehow, and they were trying to manipulate Yang Cheng? Or do Pomelo and his sister have enemies? Love how the driver was initially averse to kidnapping and then immediately chill with beating a man to death. To be fair, once you've decided kidnapping and then maybe knocking out a child to keep them quiet is fine, I guess the descent makes sense.

I hope Shang Chao isn't the one who hired them aldkjalj It'd be a fun mess, though!

Anyway, absolutely loved the episode. Looking forward to Episode 6!

More thoughts:

Episode 1, Episode 2, Episode 3, Episode 4, Episode 5 (You are here)

[flowery-mess]

Different Anon, but ever since you brought up nerd!Noah, I can't stop thinking about Noah asking you to do a couple's cosplay with him to an anime convention 🥺 he's so nervous to ask you! What if you think it's weird and cringe? What if u leave him because if it?

Finally he get the courage to ask you. He's so nervous and and stumbling over his words with a huge red blush on his face.

"Hey... y/n... so um... I wanted to ask you s-something..."

You look up at him, confused. What could he possibly be asking you that has him so nervous?

"S-so the con this weekend... um... people like to dress up as their favorite character to these things, its called cosplay a-and um... I-I was wondering if m-maybe you'd want to dress up as Sasuke and Sakura from Naurto with me." Noah looks away, scared of your answer. You smile at him, that's what he was nervous about? He's such a dork. You use your hand to gently turn his head towards you. His face is warm from how hard he's blushing. You give him a a kiss on the cheek.

"I'd love too." You say before smiling up at him. Noah almost jumped out of his skin cuz of excitement. He quickly jumps on his phone and starts looking for the cosplays.

hey anon, thank you for sending your ask and i'm sorry it took me so long to get to it💕

Oh Imagine the nerves, this poor boy is sweating hours before he gets to see you at work and ask you.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d write down what he wants to say, practice it at home so he knows what to say when he’s talking with you.

He already has the idea of characters he’d like to go as in his head, thinking of what clothes and accessories you could wear so you don’t have to have too much work with it, it will be enough if you go, he’ll get everything else solved.

The convention is happening on Saturday, so he has to ask you on Monday, the earliest the better.

He parks his car and before he gets out he repeats what he wants to say one more time.

He leaves his things in his office and then goes to make coffee for both of you, but instead of bringing to your desk he texts you to meet him outside (because he’s shy to ask in front of others).

“Good morning.” you say cheerfully when you approach him.

“Good morning.” he says back and hands you your coffee.

“Thank you.” you kiss his cheek and sit down on the bench, enjoying the warm spring morning. “Why are we here? Did you need anything?”

“I, well, yes. I-” he tries to hide behind his mug, already feeling the warmth in his cheeks.

You look at him, but he’s avoiding eye contact with you. Your eyes soften a bit when you see him struggle with whatever he wants to say, so you sit closer to him and put your hand on his bouncing leg.

“What is it baby? It’s just me.” but that’s exactly the problem, it’s you.

“Remember how I told you about the convention?” he asks and meets your eyes for a brief moment, then looks away again.

“Yes.” how could you forget, he was talking about it for an hour.

“So I was wondering, I’m going with my friend and he’s taking his girlfriend, so I, uhm, wanted to ask, maybe, if you’d like to go with us?” his eyes meet yours for a second again, but he doesn’t have a chance to see your face and reaction to his question properly. “But you can say no! You can say no. I know you’re not really into anime so it’s fine if you don-”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Of course Noah. I’m not really into anime, but it’s your interest that I want to explore more, it’s part of you. And I’m excited to finally meet some of your friends.”

“Okay.” he doesn’t know what else to say, because he was sure you’re going to say no, he’s not prepared for this scenario.

“Are we going to dress up?” you ask, because he spent at least 30 minutes talking about the costumes and showing you pictures of his old ones from previous years. You see his cheeks turn red again after you ask your question.

“I was thinking that we could, if you want to. You don’t have to, it’s not required.” he’s looking at his feet, too shy to look at you, thinking that you’re going to find it funny and change your mind about going, change your mind about him.

So you reach out to grab his chin and turn his head to face you, his eyes still avoiding you.

“Hey, look at me.” you lean to the side a little so you can meet him halfway. “I want to, okay? I just hope you’ll come up with the characters and tell me what clothes to get, because I don’t think I know anything about it.”

And in that moment Noah is sure that he’s the happiest man alive.

He gives you kisses and tells you that he loves you and that he already thought about the characters and costumes, showing you pictures from the anime and then costume inspiration. He’s telling you that you don’t need to dress up too much, it’s your first time and he wants you to be comfortable.

You spend the night at his place, thinking about your costumes and also watching the anime, which you asked him to, because you want to get to know the characters more.

The convention is more fun than you thought it would be. His friend and his girlfriend are so nice to you, everyone at the event is, complimenting each other’s costumes and stuff.

You end up having the best time and with full gallery of pictures of Noah staring at someone with cool costume or something that caught his attention, and of you two together, looking cute in your costumes.

[cupcakewebkinz]

Napping in the kitchen~

✿ After Sprout had kidnapped- erm- saved Cosmo, he spent most of the night tending to him. This is the morning after, full of gay shenanigans and fluff, only good vibes :] ✿

✮ Caretaker Shanon au- and now caretaker Sam fr- is mine! ✮

❀ @soupiestzilla look it's more undoomed yaoi, and fruitcake shenanigans (ik you love my Sprout hehe) ❀

❀•°•═════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ═════•°•❀

Cosmo sat up slowly, gently grabbing the soft blanket that now covered him in pure drowsy confusion, blinking a few times as he slowly gathered his bearings and tried to understand everything. He then yawned as he rubbed one of his eyes, then looked over at his side. Sprout was there, barely awake, his eyes mostly closed as he shivered. He had a wet rag in his hand, his long leafy hair in a ponytail, and a sleepy content smile on his face.

"Mornin sugar cookie." He said quietly, making Cosmo blink a few more times. He hasn't heard that nickname in years... He blushed as he smiled.

"Good morning, uh, where are we again? I'm certain the walls of Gardenview weren't... Pastel pink.." Cosmo pointed out quietly, watching as Sprout got up from the floor and stretched.

"Sam's house. Sorry I kidnapped you." Came the casual reply from the berry as he strolled to the closet, acting like this was a normal day. Cosmo couldn't blame him though, it was pretty cozy, everything felt safe for the first time in years, and he couldn't help but soon smile a bit himself.

"It's alright, I love you, Sprout." He called out from the bed as he slowly pulled off the fuzzy light green blanket and started to get out of bed, watching his boyfriend as his overgrown leafy tail started wagging.

"I love you too, my sweetie pie~" Sprout happily replied, sounding a bit more excited as he turned around, looking right back at the now standing swissroll. Cosmo couldn't help but smile wide at that, his own lil tail wagging a little bit as he looked at his sleepily happy partner. He missed this- they missed this- they missed each other so much.

"Wanna go make breakfast with me?" Cosmo asked quietly, getting a laugh and nod from Sprout, who was way too hyper for his own good from just seeing his favorite person back up and acting normal.

"Hell yeah! I'd always want to make breakfast with you!" Sprout cheered, acting uncharacteristically cheerful and full of life. Cosmo couldn't lie, it was fucking precious, even though his tiredness was pretty obvious. He wondered if Sprout got any sleep last night... He was certain he didn't, he looked rough. Though he didn't ask as he walked over, offering his hand to the tired Berry man, and once he took it, the two were off... Until Cosmo realized he had NO idea where he was going and was just standing in the hallway. Sprout just chuckled a little before he took the lead, leading him right to the pretty massive kitchen for the small house they were in.

"Woah... This is such a nice kitchen!" Cosmo complimented, looking over all the modern appliances and lots of cabinets, even running over and looking over the island in the middle of the huge kitchen area. Sprout just watched quietly, giggling at the overly enthusiastic swissroll as he looked over everything.

"Sam's a baker, so they have quite a lot of stuff, I actually help them run their bakery when I'm not with Shells and Vee." Sprout explained as he went over and sat on one of the barstools around the island, putting the rag he was holding the entire time down on it. He then rubbed his eyes a little, but Cosmo didn't notice that one bit as he was on a counter, looking at all of the various mixing bowls Sam had.

"Really?! That's so cool! I'm so happy for you! How are they doing, anyways? I haven't talked to either Vee or Shelly in... I think a year now?" Cosmo asked, getting a snort of surprise from Sprout.

"Cosmo... It's been... Over ten... They're... They're pretty happy though, they call each other wife now and Vee went from being scared of acting outside of the whole annoying "arrogant tv host" act to being herself around everyone though. Dude she really likes dogs... And dinosaurs... Oh and glitter, Vee coats everything in glitter now, except Shelly. Shelly's pretty much the same though, always happy and giving those dinosaur hugs to everyone she sees. It's been pretty nice honestly." Sprout explained, watching Cosmo as he got everything out for pancake making, though he did notice the other was starting to give him an odd look.

"Hey what happened to always scolding me for standing on the counters?" Cosmo teased, making Sprout snort and giggle.

"I've been watching you, dummy. I know you're not being stupid... Keep it that way or I'll ban you from the counters here too." Sprout teased right back, then yawned as he rubbed his eyes again. Cosmo squinted, soon sitting on the counter, mixing bowl plopped on his lap.

"Did you sleep AT ALL last night?" Cosmo asked, getting a defeated sigh in reply.

"I was scared if I fell asleep, it would've been a dream I would've woken up from and you wouldn't be there anymore..." Sprout confessed quietly, getting a worried sigh from Cosmo as he slid off the counter, then put the bowl on there before he went right to Sprout's side. He just gently gave him a hug, letting the exhausted Berry snuggle up against him.

"Sprout... I'm here now, I'm real, I won't leave here without you I promise. None of this is a dream, I swear." Cosmo softly reassured, reaching up and gently flicking one of Sprout's bangs out of his face afterwards. Sprout just chuckled at that, blowing a raspberry at him afterwards.

"I will once we eat breakfast, it's the most important meal of the day. Is that fair?"

"Only if we cuddle." Cosmo demanded, sticking out his own tongue at him afterwards. Sprout just poked it, making Cosmo cringe a bit before he was a giggling disaster.

"Obviously we'll cuddle, what nap is good without cuddles?!" Sprout replied as he patted Cosmo's head, then yawned yet again. Cosmo just nodded, though before he left to actually start making breakfast, he ruffled Sprout's ponytail with a chaotic little giggle. Sprout faked being offended while Cosmo ran off, now laughing.

"Your hair is so fun now!"

"You and Vee both agree on that one... I have been debating keeping it long, it's kinda fun having it up." Sprout said as he fixed his ponytail a bit, then he put his head back in his hands, watching Cosmo as he happily started making the pancake batter he always made in the mornings back in Gardenview- just much less since he's only feeding three people now.

"I think it looks nice no matter what you do with it, though I can't lie, it's really funny seeing you out of all toons with a ponytail. I'm guessing it's keeping it out of your face?" Cosmo asked as he quickly yet quietly started to get the pan ready for the pancakes, just giving Sam a quick wave when they came in.

"Yeah, it goes right in my face if it's not up, I actually woke up thinking I was blind twice because of it. Good morning by the way, Sam." Sprout explained, getting just a simple nod from the two.

"Morning idiots, don't burn my house down please." Sam stated as they just made themselves a cup of iced coffee, getting nods from the two before Sprout yawned and stretched, while Cosmo just started on the first pancake.

"Don't worry, I won't burn a thing!" Cosmo reassured, making Sprout raise an eyebrow.

"Not even your fingers?"

"Nope, I won't burn a thing." Cosmo reassured yet again, getting a sleepy yet amused grin from Sprout as he sat up again.

"You better be telling the truth, I don't want to fight the pancakes for hurting you. I'll even bash it with a chair." Sprout teased, making Cosmo burst out laughing while Sam just held back a laugh and sighed, shaking their head.

"You two are so stupid." Sam simply commented before leaving again, getting a shrug from Sprout. He knew they loved them, though he knew they also never really said that. Cosmo just focused on making breakfast, humming to himself and being in his own little world, and Sprout couldn't help but admire that. Well, he did until he fell asleep, having fallen asleep as he sat at the island. Cosmo had absolutely no idea, just having his fun as he did one of his favorite things to do.

"We should see if the other two want to come over sometime, maybe we all can make cookies together again, wouldn't that be fun?" Cosmo asked, oblivious. Though after getting no reply for a minute, he got concerned and tuned to look at the other, who was very much asleep and using his arms as a pillow, his face buried deep in the fuzzy sleeves of his sweater. Cosmo blinked at the sight, then chuckled and shook his head, going right back to cooking quietly since he knew he would be fine napping there for now. Though once breakfast was made, Cosmo went over and very gently woke him up again.

"Hey, come on, you need to lay down." Cosmo softly ushered, getting just a drowsy little "m'kay" in response, and soon the cakeroll was leading a very sleepy strawberry to the living room. Once Sprout was comfortable on the couch though, he was out yet again, being way too tired to function. Sam just covered him up with a blanket and patted his head, looking at Cosmo afterwards.

"He still worries about everyone way too much, huh? Didn't sleep at all last night because he was worrying about you again?" They asked, and he just nodded.

"He was worried I wasn't real, or something like that. With everything that apparently happened though, I can't blame him, especially if it really has been ten years." Cosmo explained, making Sam nod in understanding as they patted his sweet little cake head.

"Yeah it has been ten years since Gardenview closed, that's true. However, how do we know you're not a fake, huh?" Sam teased, though Cosmo just grinned innocently.

"You said "fuck you you little shit" to the oven after Sprout forgot to turn it off right in front of Delilah and she forever teased you about swearing at work so you never did it again." Cosmo stated, making Sam sigh as they looked away, now blushing from complete embarrassment.

"You win little buddy, you're definitely the real one. Welcome home."

"Thank you... Uh... Could you tell me everything I missed though? It seems like a lot happened..."

"Of course, come over here and sit down with me, it's going to take a while." Sam replied, patting the chair they were on. Soon the two were just catching up on everything, both just quietly chatting away as Sprout finally got some much needed sleep... Just... Without waking up coated in glitter this time.

Fortunately.

[dandysworld-meh-imagines]

I'm all of a sudden really interested in spiders. Might I have one about a Spider-Toon reader x either Connie or Shelly? Connie, because I can imagine the reader being released around Halloween and put in an episode with Connie, cuz they're both spooky themed. Shelly, because I'm pretty sure a spider toon won't sit well with parents. Leading to them making stuff up about them and telling their children.

(probably just gonna be "the giant spider is will bite you and spiders are dangerous, remember?")

This will eventually lead to spider reader being avoided by children, some running away. Slowly being forgotten, only being remembered as some monster.

I think at this point, Shelly might notice and might relate a bit? not the "being seen as some monster" (yet), just "being slowly forgotten," at which point they can both comfort each other or smt.

Spider Reader With Connie And Shelly!

Hey, dear!! I did both, since I did say you can request up to 4 characters in my pinned, haha, while this took longer, I wrote for those two! I hope I did this right? I got kinda motivated for this one too sksks- here you go, thank you for requesting! <3

I remember reading a theory on Twitter about Shelly potentially scaring kids with scary dinosaur/prehistoric life facts (like with Toodles and kinda Scraps) and also maybe the way she explains it might make kids bored or make them uninterested even though she is so passionate about it all and it hurt sksksksk

-Anna

-You still remember how excited you got when Halloween came around, it was the time where you would be introduced to the kids and the special episodes would come out where it included you as well! You really hoped the kids would find it fun, would you gain any fans? Would some kids think that you are cool? You could only hope and wait as those episodes released and Gardenview had gotten special decorations and your own floor with the rest of the Halloween toons! You couldn't wait to greet the kids or even see them having fun with various activities on the special floor!

-But once it opened and the kids came flooding in, you noticed that.. you didn't particularly have any fans. They would swarm around Connie or your other Halloween friends instead, it.. really hurt. Did you do something wrong? You acted normally and kind during the episode.. you didn't know, you were confused which turned to you being very upset as you would watch as kids visibly feared you if they happen to pass by you or anything. They would cheer at the others or even at Connie about how cool she looked and her ability to turn invisible while you just watched. Safe to say that you isolated yourself to not witness any more of that.

-You hid and just.. wished this day would just end already and of course all the other days, this whole thing would be for a whole month before you and the others would have to be put somewhere for a whole year, until the next Halloween. It wasn't like many noticed, Connie and your friends did but they needed to tend to the overly excited kids for now before they come find you, especially if it was the first day and you know how kids get excited for this stuff, even being dressed for the special floor with so many activities. You really wished kids didn't fear you or thought you looked so creepy, wasn't that the point of this event? To look scary? Were you too much? Was it your fangs..? Your eyes..? Was it the floor's lighting making you look creepy?? You didn't know.

-Once the day was over and the Halloween toons went to their rooms, Connie tried.. er.. kinda entered your room to check up on you. What? You didn't get up to answer her or anything when she knocked! She gently poked your back as she asked if you are okay and sat besides you, hands on her face as she rested them on her lap. Eventually you told her all about it, no one really approached, they were actually creeped out by you, was it because you were a bug? Were bugs that disgusting to kids..? She thought about it and just sat besides you, gently patting your back. She listened to you talk about it all, watching as you cried. While she didn't have the best advice, she did told you that she has an idea for tomorrow. You trusted her even if you didn't feel confident about it at all.

-The next day you watched as other different kids would come visit though it wasn't until Connie randomly appeared besides you and placed an arm around your neck and just hunched forward, floating in the air. Her arm felt cold around you as you slightly shivered though she just waved with a sneaky smile at the kids coming to see her. Many swarmed around you, others hesitated before walking up towards you both. It got you holding your breath, as you couldn't really read their expressions.. at least they didn't look so.. scared. Concerned? Might be the right word?? Connie just looked like her confident self as usual.

-Connie just introduced you to the kids so they aren't so afraid of you. She said that you are the best spooky Halloween toon as you creeped them out which made the kids slowly agree, you couldn't help but shyly smile at them and watch as they warmed up to you. You figured that either their parents said anything to them, maybe thinking that.. you are going to do harm?? But no? Or it could be that some kids didn't manage to see the episodes and just came running here in Gardenview whenever they could. In the background, you saw Delilah with her crossed arms as she looked around, observing, her eyes landed on you and Connie as she noticed the amount of kids around. She seemed relieved before turning to say something to Arthur, who nodded with a smile.

-After that, you would even have your own fans! Some kids legit thought you were a really cool looking toon and a few even expressed how they really wanted to meet you after seeing the episodes, it genuinely made you feel happy. Some kids that visited even were fans of bugs and thought your fangs look so cool and fitting for Halloween, keeping the spookiness high around here. Thankfully, a lot of parents calmed down and allowed their kids to even visit you and interact with you, seeing how you interacted with the kids nicely and seemed fun. You didn't look dangerous or anything, even if it seemed that way, it was all a misunderstanding!

-Connie just kept an eye out for you as she smiled. She was glad to help you out and you have this new respect for her. She still likes to check up on you after the days, even if she enters in the most unhinged ways, though you clearly learned to expect her to come. You two chat and just catch up and just have fun together doing random things or even just wishing each other goodnight. (Does she even sleep..?) You are eager to thank her properly once the Halloween event ends in Gardenview and none of you are tired every single day from kids visiting, always wanting to make sure everyone has a fun time here.

-It really did made you happy, watching as kids come up to you with these cute costumes, it made you smile. You would even walk around, watching as many of them participated in lots of activities around, having laughs or even getting spooked by some decorations or hidden pranks. You liked to visit your other friends and even interact with the kids together with them, making sure they have fun or even take a picture as you try to pose as best as you can for the kids to keep these memories with them. Some kids even has the courage to hug you, it really melted your heart as you pat their heads with a smile.

-After this, you tried your best to come with a gift for Connie, since she helped you so much and made sure you felt okay after a tiring day. She likes to keep it in her room, even if it has like.. nothing much. She likes to keep it safe there and pats your head as she thanks you for the gift, finding it adorable. You and her definitely grow even more closer after this whole experience and she has fun whenever you are around. It has become a daily thing of you two just hanging out and doing all sorts of things together to pass the time, until the next Halloween event.

-You definitely were not the most popular, having very little to no fans at all, you would watch as kids went to other toons, excited to see them and be fine interacting with them while they didn't even dare approach you. Kids are brutal, staring constantly with fear in their eyes or even straight up crying, you always went away to hide from them when they acted like this towards you, upset that your appearance always caused them to act like this, it wasn't like you could change your appearance or anything nor your features. It affected you greatly.

-The mains were always the most popular out of everyone, they would almost always get all the attention from the other toons, well.. could you really blame them? They were so much cooler and interacted with the kids like it was nothing. It's like they knew exactly what to do or say, even comforting those that weren't feeling the best too, always making sure they had fun and had a smile on their little faces. Even if they had so many fans, they would handle it so well, you kept wondering if you could ever do the same for the little fans.

-There was someone.. who wasn't as popular like the rest, someone who still had fans yet her floor would be often empty. Someone who was a main too. It was Shelly. Shelly would always be kind and supportive, she would teach about dinosaurs and prehistoric life in a passionate way, her floor having a few fun activities you find yourself liking. You.. couldn't really say the same to the children, though. You watch as they would get bored or want to see other "better, more fun" mains. You know the smile she forced way too well, it was painful to witness.

-When the time for Gardenview to almost close for the day came closer, Shelly would actually have already started taking care of her floor as no visitors were there, next to her toon handler. Funnily enough, it was either her floor or your room where you hid from everyone else, even the toons. Shelly's floor would be your usual pick as you don't like to hear the toons being called out of their rooms because a kid wanted to meet them, no one really picked you. At least her floor, you could hide somewhere and you would listen to Shelly's soft and passionate voice as she talked about dinosaurs or anything else, while not aware to the kids, you definitely would catch the way her voice got a little lower or slower as she tried to stay positive about everything if the reactions weren't the best.

-Once, you managed to fall asleep in the corner you stay at, behind some boxes with plastic fossils inside for the kids to dig out of. A small high pitched scream woke you up once as Shelly found you and totally didn't expect you to hide there. Her toon handler came rushing before relaxing at the sight of another fellow toon, her handler went back to work as Shelly gently asked why you are hiding there. She remembers your name and isn't really afraid of you, she saw you as another friend of hers like the rest of the toons. You.. hesitated to answer, you felt like telling her but at the same time you didn't want pity. You just told her that you are fine and you just wanted to sleep. Before she could question you with concern, you made your way out of there, saying that you will get some sleep in your own bed now and apologized for scaring her. Shelly could only watch with worry.

-This interaction stayed with her, she knew you weren't the most popular at all, it wasn't like Shelly really watched you interact with a fan or anything now that she recalled it. That made her frown instantly, she had a lot of questions too but she knew it would be too much to ask you everything. Like.. why were you on her floor? Why not on your room? Was something on her floor she missed or anything? She felt worried that you were also hiding from everyone.. is that why you didn't go to your room? The poor girl overthinks instantly, she even talks about to her toon handler when no one is around, knowing she can rely on her.

-The next time she spots you around, she waits until the day is over before slowly heading to your hiding spot, only to not find you there. She looked around and found you in another hidden spot. You notice her but don't have the energy to get up or anything, everything just hurt you at this point, watching as everyone else had fans and kids were disgusted by you no matter what you did. She walked closer slowly as she had a worried expression but you just looked away a bit annoyed, you hated being pitied. Even though Shelly wanted to ask you things, she slowly sat next to you and just waited in silence. The more she looked at the place and felt the floor, she must have realized just how uncomfortable it is for you sitting here for so many hours, even the whole day.

-Shelly feels like she knows you will avoid her if she asks about you so she offers if you want to hear some facts instead. She then immediately froze as she looked away, thinking that it's probably not the time at all and was about to apologize to you, though, you saying a quiet yes made her pause before giving you a small smile. She really is passionate for this sort of thing and you find yourself listening to her, you find that it's easy to digest and understand, she probably did it that way so the kids can understand better. You really find yourself wondering about why Shelly isn't more popular with the kids yet you just sit and listen, finding yourself being distracted from all those negative thoughts for a good while.

-As time went on, you found yourself always on her floor and she would always go to your spot to talk and chat with you, even bringing you food if you don't want to interact with anyone else. You didn't dislike them but you didn't have the energy to eat with them or anything. You found comfort in her presence and you open up to her one day about everything, making some of Shelly's thoughts and questions finally have an answer. She felt so sad for you and it showed in her expression. Shelly.. opens up to you about how similar it feels to her as well, finding herself relating to you a lot. Yes, she had few fans but even they got fewer and fewer as they gain an interest in other cooler or more interesting toons.

-You and her definitely grow closer as time goes on, she invites you to do activities with her, away from everyone else if you want. Whether it's teaching you fossil digging or reading books along with you, getting you a matching pair of a dino costume or anything else, you find yourself joining and going along with her. It takes a while but you finally have a smile on your face, it makes Shelly smile as well and feel proud. She really finds comfort in your presence and company too and she hopes to spend more time with you in the future as well. She always makes sure you feel okay and taken care of and she is very happy she got to know you better and better. Shelly really hopes you have future fans and she hopes she can help you and support you as much as she can.

Thank you for reading! <3

[uniquevoidflowers]

The moon was falling. Even though the townspeople of Clocktown insisted it was a ruse. Maybe just a rumour that spread too far. Cremia wondered idly if they just ignored the close moon right above their heads. She couldn’t ignore its menacing eyes glaring down at the world it was about to destroy.

Today, it was the morning of her and her sister’s last day. It was everyone’s. With that realization, a memory fell over her tired, lidded eyes.

“What’s that?” Romani inquired curiously.

Cremia had a glass of special milk in her hands. She had turned recently of age and found she liked the taste. She set it down, “It’s milk.”

“Can I have a sip?!”

“No. This kind of milk is only for adults, okay? When you’re older, you can have some.”

Romani pouted but relented, and ran off towards the barn. Cremia sipped her drink contently.

Tears welled in her eyes. Romani still had so much life to live, so much to experience. It was so unfair. She wanted to listen to her ramble about seeing aliens in the evening tomorrow morning, she wanted to go back to town and shop in the market with Anju and Kafei when all the sales were said to drop tomorrow.

One more day. I need at least one more day, she willed the gods but the moon just seemed to come closer.

Something tugged on her sleeve. "Cremia?"

She looked down at her little sister and wiped her tears quickly. She was going to spend her last hours here, with her sister, and do everything she could in the time they had left. She'd ought to find that little boy from earlier too--Link was it? That would make Romani incredibly happy. She realized a belatedly she hadn't responded as Romani repeated her name. She smiled wetly, and asked, "Do you know where Grasshopper might be?"

Grasshopper was Romani's adorable name for the boy. Maybe those two could've grown up together in another life, hand in hand. She had to stop this line of thinking, she realized as she felt her eyes sting. Romani brightened at her words, "Why? What are we doing?"

"I thought maybe he could spend the day with us. Would you like to go into town with me to go and find him?"

Romani blinked, wide-eyed for a moment. She rocked back and forth on her heels in excitement. "You're really going to take me to town with you? You never do!"

"I know, but today's different. There's no one to watch you."

That was far from the truth but the thought of Romani spending the rest of her short-lived life in agitation and dread made her heart ache fiercely. She didn't bother to lock up the ranch, instead grabbing her sister's hand and guiding her to town.

When they reached the inside, Cremia kept a tight grip on her sister's hand to keep her from running away. She looked around, but spotted no green clothing. She started to ask around and there were mostly none until she reached the inn. Anju leaned at the desk, and smiled widely at seeing her. "Cremia! Oh, and Romani! How have you been?"

"Great!" Romani exclaimed.

"Hello, Anju. Romani, can you go upstairs and search for Grasshopper there?"

The little girl squinted her eyes, skeptical, but complied, rushing up the stairs. Anju asked, "Is everything alright?"

"We're going to die, Ju," The words came spilling out of her mouth, hoarse and rough. "How can everything be okay?"

Anju stilled and then she hugged herself. "It isn't. I can't help but pretend it is though. That Kafei'll come back any moment and assure me I'm being silly and the moon isn't crashing down."

"Oh, Anju," Cremia hugged her friend. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that he hasn't turned up yet."

"It's not your fault, 'mia. Besides, I have a feeling that he's still out there. You see, there was this little boy in green garb that's told me he can find Kafei. And it might be stupid to entrust a child was a task like this but...he's already given me a letter from Kafei himself."

"Oh! I've been looking for him. He came by the ranch and him and Romani get along so well. Do you know where he went?"

Anju shrugged helplessly. "He never stays in one place for a long time. Maybe he'll stop by soon though?"

Cremia breathed deeply. "I hope so."

Then in Anju's warm, tender embrace a sob tore out of Cremia's throat. Then quickly, warm tears were streaming down her face and sobs wracked her body. Her best friend didn't say a word, merely held her and waved a concerned Romani away when she came down the stairs.

_________

When she couldn't cry anymore, Cremia watched Link enter, looking frustrated and then surprised at seeing her. She said, "There you are! How would you like to spend the day with Romani and I at the ranch? I know you're probably a very busy young man but I promise cookies and fresh milk."

The boy opened his mouth, then hesitated. He looked at the little girl peeking over the corner and then nodded. Relief swept over her and she ushered them out to wait for her. Then she hugged her friend for the last time and when they let go she resisted the urge to sob again. "This is goodbye, isn't it? I'm so sorry--"

"Go and spend today with them. Don't worry about me," Anju said softly. "We'll see each other again someday, 'mia. I know it."

"Yeah, we will. Just in case, if you see Kafei today, can you tell him I said goodbye?"

"Of course."

"Then goodbye Ju, I love you," Cremia whispered.

"I love you too," Anju smiled, and wiped her own eyes.

Guilt and grief simmered in her gut as she turned and guided the impatient children back to the ranch.

_______

The day seemed to go by so fast. Too fast. Cremia didn't bother taking care of the animals, just making sure the two kids were having as much fun as they could. They did races, told stories to each other and Link taught Romani how to play music on a small, peculiar instrument he called the ocarina. Then she ushered them inside when evening was nearing. She expected to feel more grief, more anguish but instead she felt almost numb and hollow.

"What's for supper?" Romani asked loudly. "I'm hungry!"

Oh, she hadn't thought of that. Romani's favorite food was a special stew with Cucco meat and other various ingredients. It had to be cooked early morning 'til evening though. She should've thought of that. "I can't make your favorite tonight, I'm sorry. How about some leftovers?"

"Okaaay," Romani pouted a little.

"I have a surprise for you though," She told her. "And Link if he wants some too."

"Oooooh!" Romani bounced up and down enthusiastically. Then she turned to the boy. "Let's eat real quick so we can see what the surprise is!"

"Don't choke on your meal though," She warned and heated up the leftover food.

Link looked out, and he looked pale and incredibly nervous. She wondered if he knew for a moment, but called herself ridiculous. After they ate she pulled out some Chateau Romani, and poured three glasses. She set them on the table and couldn't even smile. "Chateau Romani for you both. That's my surprise."

Romani gasped but then frowned, confused. "You said it was for adults though? I'm not an adult yet!"

Cremia took a large sip and answered, "I now acknowledge you two as an adult for all the hard work you've done on the ranch. I'll make the mask this evening, okay?"

"Okay!" Romani took the glass in her hands, though Link just shook his head.

In truth, she just wanted Romani to be fast asleep in these final moments. Unaware of the tragedy and cruelty of the world...and happy. Fulfilled as much as she could be.

Cremia gulped down her drink, even as it burned her throat and she poured out Link's full glass. Then she said, "Off to bed now, it's been a long day. Link, if you want, you can take Romani's bed."

"Not going to sleep," He told her, not in a whiny or angry voice but in a quiet and dismayed one. "Can't. Not tonight."

She wasn't his parent or guardian. She couldn't keep him here. She urged, "I can't make you, but it's not good for you to be awake all night. Try to sleep, and if you can't then you don't have to."

He obliged, and Romani yawned sleepily. She coughed a bit and mumbled, "The drink needs to be sweeter."

"That would change the drink," Cremia replied half-heartedly and tucked them both in.

Romani was out like a light and Cremia stared up at the roof, anticipating the inevitable. Distant flashes of people like her mother and her father, her friends Anju and Kafei and people she hadn’t thought of in years were in front of her. She let the tears fall when eventually, the ground begun to quake and a bright fiery light lit up the room. Romani was out cold, smiling sleepily even as the world ended. And Cremia was able to feel a little relief even as a scream tore out of her throat and everything went black.

—��—————————

In just a few days the moon would destroy everything. Cremia could see its looming presence as she milked the cows.