#like high school teacher grade style

[alliumdykes]

Its so fun to see mcytblr go off the fucking rails in excitement about Tommy’s video. Like not only did he diss the green guy but he also made a BANGER song in the same video (and dissed him a tad in that song as well)

[girlygguk]

NOT IN THAT WAY | JJK (m)

summary in which you're hopelessly in love with your best friend, min yoongi. meanwhile, your other best friend, jeon jungkook, is hopelessly in love with you.

★ based on this request ★

pairing non idol!jk x fem!reader (slightly ft. min yoongi)

wordcount 30k (20k main post, 10k reblog due to block limit)

genre childhood bffs2l, fluff, angst, smut

rating 18+ minors do not interact

content jk&oc 21 | yoongi&jia 22, unrequited love everywhere, yoongi is kind of villainized 😞, toxic friendships, jk and oc are v touchy n lovey friends, pining, pushover & lowk naive oc, protective jk, simp jk, a touch of he hates everyone but her trope, a lot of clichés, a lot of flashbacks, heated-ish arguments, panic/anxiety attack, alcohol consumption, a lil bitta jealousy, kissing under the influence, smoking (ciggies), cursing, non-detailed sex scene w yoongi, happy ending because it's me 😭 explicit content; dirty talk, nipple play, clit play, cunnilingus, condomless p in v sex (oc on pill), toy usage during sex (vibrator), multiple orgasms, creampie, lots of pillow talk

author's note this fic was basically built entirely in my old writing style, & while i did a fuckktonnn of editing, i'm still not 100% happy with the final product. but it's either post it now or i'll never post it! also... during said edits.. i think i took out most of the angst? 😭 i'm sorry angst luvvers, this is like 60% pure fluff and filth 😭

don't forget to read part 2! link at the end 🩷 (or don't, i wouldn't blame u xx)

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The rain drums against the windows of Jungkook’s Jeep as you cradle a six-pack of strawberry soju on your lap, the bottles clinking slightly with each bump in the road.

Jungkook hums softly to an old Linkin Park track from the mixtape he's played a hundred times before, the nostalgia pulling you in until you find yourself humming along without even realizing it.

He’d picked you up from your place not long ago, with a quick stop at the liquor store for beer and snacks, and now the two of you were about ten minutes away from Yoongi and Jia’s apartment.

You’ve been best friends with them for as long as you can remember—Jungkook, Yoongi, and Jia. Jungkook, just a little longer than the others. Growing up on the same street, realizing that the boy with the big bunny smile from your second-grade class lived right next door—it almost felt like fate.

‹ ‹ ‹

“How was school, honey?” Your mom leaned down to wrap you in a hug, her soft bangs brushing against your cheek.

Eight-year-old you giggled at the ticklish feeling before grabbing her hand and tugging her excitedly toward the school gates, eager to begin the walk home. “It was so fun, eomma! My teacher let us watch a movie since we finished all our work early!”

“Oooh, that’s nice, sweetie.” Your mom smiled warmly, easily keeping pace with you, her strides leisurely next to your quick, hurried steps.

The two of you chatted happily about your day, your little hand swinging in hers, when something up ahead caught your attention.

“Oh? Jeongguk-ssi!” you called out, your voice high with excitement.

Your mom followed your gaze and saw a young boy, about your age, walking just ahead of you. He turned at the sound of his name, curiosity lighting up his big eyes.

“Y/N-ssi? Hey!” Jungkook waved with that trademark bunny smile, and without missing a beat, you pulled your mom along as you ran up to him.

“I didn’t know you walked home!” you exclaimed, beaming. “This is my eomma!” You introduced her proudly while your mom greeted both Jungkook and his mother. “We’re walking home too!” you added with a grin.

“Cool,” Jungkook beamed before patting his mom on the arm. “This is my eomma! We live just down there.” His little hand reached out to point at a street just within view.

“No way!” you screeched, eyes wide in disbelief as you whipped around to look at your mom for confirmation. “That’s our street!” you shouted, practically buzzing with excitement.

“Wow… and we’re in the same class? This is getting weird,” Jungkook muttered, equally amazed. You both stood there, nodding at each other with wide, stunned eyes.

Your moms laughed at your expressions before yours turned to his. “Should we walk together?”

“Yes!” you cried, bouncing on your toes. “I want to talk to Jeongguk-ssi about the movie we watched today!”

You didn’t even wait for an answer, slipping out of your mom’s grasp to walk beside Jungkook, chattering away as if you’d known each other for thirty years already.

Jungkook’s mom chuckled, falling into step with yours as they followed closely behind, chatting about mom things while you and Jungkook walked ahead, engrossed in your conversation about 'Robots'. You were so caught up that you didn’t even realize you’d arrived home until your mom gently pulled you to a stop.

“We’re home, sweetie. Time to go in and start your homework before dinner. You’ll see Jungkook tomorrow, okay?” Your mom’s soft voice pulled you from your excitement, and you looked up at her with a pout.

“Okay…” you sighed, turning back to Jungkook, who was still smiling at you. His expression confused you. He wasn’t sad to leave like you were… Why wasn’t he upset? You thought the conversation was going great…

“Y/N-ssi, I live right there!” Jungkook exclaimed suddenly, bouncing on his toes as he pointed toward the house directly next to yours.

Your eyes followed where he pointed before snapping back to him in an instant, your pigtails flying. “Wow! We can walk to school together and-and walk home together and talk about movies! And you’re wearing a Superman t-shirt, and I’ve seen half of the Superman movie! This is so cool!”

Jungkook didn’t correct you—his shirt wasn’t Superman, it was Iron Man, his favorite hero of all-time. But he didn’t care. He just grinned, matching your excitement with a big nod.

Jungkook’s mom chuckled again, tapping him on the shoulder. “Okay, Gukkie, we better go start your homework, too.” She turned to your mom with a warm smile. “I’ll give you a call later to talk about what we mentioned before, Bora?”

“Yeah, absolutely. Thanks, Hyomin.” Your mom gave her arm a quick squeeze before gently guiding you inside.

“Bye, Gukkie! See you tomorrow!” you called out, using the nickname you heard his mom call him as he walked up his driveway with her.

“Bye, Y/N-ssi! See you tomorrow!” he grinned before disappearing inside with Hyomin.

The next day, your moms walked you both to school, chatting as they went, and when they left, they seemed to head off in the same direction.

That evening, you found out they’d gone for coffee to get to know each other better, and it turned out they got along incredibly well. At the time, their husbands were the ones working while they stayed home to care for the kids and the house. It wasn't long before they were exchanging recipes, enjoying wine nights together, and becoming each other’s go-to babysitters whenever one had an appointment. Soon, they were inseparable.

Just like you and Jungkook.

› › ›

You first met Jia and Yoongi about six months later, when you and Jungkook moved up to third grade. It was a combined class of third and fourth-graders, with Jia and Yoongi a year older than you both. Since the activities were separated by gender, you and Jia naturally grew close, always being paired up or placed in the same groups for subjects. It was the same for Jungkook and Yoongi.

Jia was beautiful. From the day you met her, you knew she was in a league of her own with her looks— naturally wavy raven hair, long lashes, and starry eyes that made her stand out in any crowd.

As you all grew older, Jia only became more stunning, her confidence blossoming with age. By high school, she had every boy wrapped around her finger. And she knew it.

What you didn’t expect, though, was for Yoongi to be one of those boys.

Jungkook was the first to know about your insatiable crush on Yoongi. Of course he was. He was your best friend, the peanut butter to your jelly, the moon to your light. You’d confided in him when you first realized around middle school that your feelings for Yoongi had shifted, that you didn't just like him as a friend anymore.

You told Jia, too. But she seemed to brush it off as just an innocent childhood crush, something that would fade with time. When she and Yoongi only grew closer, eventually making it official during your senior year of high school, you felt like you were going to die.

You love Jia. She's an incredible friend, and she deserves all the good things the boy you were in love with had to offer.

But no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself that you weren’t a jealous person, the ache in your chest was impossible to ignore. And every time you visit their shared apartment, which they moved into not long after their second anniversary, you can’t stop that very ache from resurfacing as soon as you step through the threshold.

“Hey. We’re-o—”

Jungkook’s words die on his lips as soon as he steps into the doorway of Yoongi and Jia’s apartment, his body freezing in place. You don’t have time to stop, bumping into his back, the soju in your arms rattling with the impact. Jungkook turns around to steady you before Jia's voice rips through the room.

“You always fucking do this! I’m so sick of it, Yoongi! Seriously! I can’t fucking take it anymore!” She storms toward the kitchen counter, snatching up her jacket and keys. Her eyes pass right over you and Jungkook as if you weren’t there, and she shoves past you both in her rush to leave.

“Yeah, walk away like you always do, Jia.” Yoongi’s laughter is bitter as he follows her to the door. “I’ll see you at, what, 10 o’clock when you come crying back, saying that you’re sorry and you overreacted again?”

You exchange a glance with Jungkook, both of you fidgeting uncomfortably with the drinks in your hands. This was just supposed to be one of your usual Friday hangouts… but instead, you’ve walked straight into a war zone.

Jia’s already halfway down the hall when she whirls around, her eyes blazing with venom. “No, I won’t.” Her voice is sharp, her tone final. “I’m done, Yoongi. We’re done.”

Yoongi’s face falters immediately, and in all the years you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him look this lost. “What?” His voice softens, a note of desperation creeping in as he steps toward her. She shakes her head, holding up a hand to stop him.

“I’m serious, Yoongi. I can’t do this anymore. We need a break… some time apart.”

Even though they fight often, the look on Yoongi’s face tells you that this is different. That maybe she’s never called it quits like this before.

“Wh—jagi? No, don’t—no… just get some air? Please? We’ll talk later, okay?” Yoongi’s voice cracks, and you feel your brows furrow, your heart aching at his tone.

Jungkook silently sets his beer on the counter, gently taking the soju from your arms and placing it beside his. He returns to your side, his arm slipping around yours. The warmth of his touch grounds you, but your eyes stay fixed on the man you love, who looks like he’s about to fall apart right in front of you.

“This is toxic. We’re toxic, Yoongi. We fight every single day. This isn’t love… this is—I don’t even know what this is.” Jia’s voice trembles, her grip tightening around her keys as she struggles to keep her tears at bay.

Your instinct is to step forward, to offer your best friend comfort, but she rejects your gesture, wiping away the tears that have just started streaming down her face. Her face contorts in pain, causing your lips to purse as you itch to pull her into a hug. Jungkook moves close behind you, his presence reassuring, but you aren’t the one who needs comforting right now—Jia and Yoongi are. Jungkook doesn’t move, just leans against the wall next to you, his gaze fixed on the ground.

“Jia, please.” Yoongi’s voice is raw, a pleading tone you’ve never heard from him before. You glance at him, your chest tightening as you see his eyes all glossy and red.

You have witnessed plenty of arguments between Jia and Yoongi over the years. Whether it was when you were all just friends in school and they disagreed on something, or when they’d suddenly break out into a heated fight during a night out at your favorite bar. But this one feels so different, and you don't know what to do.

You shift a little, moving to stand properly beside Jungkook, your head tilting up to meet his gaze. He glances down at you, about to ask if you're okay right as you’re about to suggest you guys go back inside, but Jia’s voice cuts through the air again.

“I’m gonna go stay with my mom. I’ll get my brother to come pick up my things… I need space, Yoongi.”

You swear you see the exact moment his heart snaps in two. His knees almost buckle when Jia turns around without another word, taking the stairs instead of the elevator, desperate to get out of the building as fast as she can.

Immediately, you and Jungkook rush to Yoongi, enveloping him in a tight hug. The dam breaks, and he begins sobbing in your embrace, his body trembling between the two of you. His breath carries the faint, bitter scent of alcohol as he struggles to catch his breath. You sigh, realizing the argument probably escalated because they’d both been drinking.

After a moment of rubbing his back soothingly, you suddenly glance up at Jungkook in alarm, which he returns with a puzzled look.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, tilting your head back to search his tear-streaked face, gently wiping away the streams flowing down his cheeks. “Honey, has Jia been drinking too?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer, still too distraught to process your question. His sobs only deepen, his body shaking with every breath.

Jungkook immediately understands, his hand lightly rubbing the back of Yoongi’s neck before he pulls away, quickly disappearing down the staircase that Jia had descended.

“Come on, hun, let’s go inside,” you murmur, guiding the broken boy toward the couch. His legs are heavy, dragging as you help him into the apartment with an arm around his waist.

Once inside, you manage to coax him onto the couch, gently urging him to sit down. His face is flushed, streaked with tears, and your heart wrenches at the sight. You pull the throw blanket from the back of the couch, draping it carefully over his lap.

The sheer amount of tears pouring from his eyes leaves your brows furrowed almost permanently. You’ve never seen Yoongi like this before—so utterly broken. Whether it’s the alcohol or the depth of this fight with Jia, you don’t know, but you feel sick to your fucking stomach.

You head to the kitchen, filling a glass of water before returning to Yoongi’s side. Sitting down next to him, you adjust the blanket so it covers both your legs and his. “Here, Yoongi. Drink some water, please?” you offer, gently wiping away the moisture clinging to his cheeks.

With a sniffle and a hiccup, Yoongi glances at you, then wraps his trembling hand around the cup. He takes a few gulps, finishing about half before you gently set it back on the coffee table. Then, you rest your head on his shoulder.

The room feels unbearably quiet now, and you don’t know what to say, how to make any of this better. “I’m so sorry, Yoongi.”

“I can’t believe it’s over.” His tears have stopped, but his voice is hoarse. His sad, dilated eyes lock onto yours, making your heart ache even more. “She’s all I’ve ever known, Y/N. I don’t know what to fucking do. What—what do I do?” His voice cracks.

“I…” You hesitate, your mind scrambling for something, anything that could comfort him. But for once, you don’t have an answer. “I have no idea, hun…”

You’re no stranger to giving Yoongi advice about Jia, and vice versa. You’ve practically become an expert over the years. But right now, you’re absolutely clueless.

Your best friend nods, his lips pursing to the side as he tries not to cry again. You exhale, your breath shaky as you shift to face him when he turns away. The blanket slips slightly, and your hands instinctively reach out to adjust it over his lap. But then, his trembling hand lands on yours, stopping you.

Your gaze lifts to his face, brows furrowing in concern. There’s a look in his eyes—something you've never quite seen before.

“Yoongi? Are you—mmf—”

His lips are warm, tasting faintly of Laphroaig—his favorite whiskey. The smoky sweetness floods your senses, dazing you as if you’d taken the bottle and downed the entire thing yourself. Suddenly, you're letting him guide you onto his lap, his hands gripping your waist as the blanket slips to the floor, forgotten.

Your mind blanks as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping past your lips in a desperate, feverish attempt to lose himself. His grip tightens, and he swallows your surprised gasp, pulling you closer, as if trying to drown out his heartache in the heat of you.

The realization hits you like a fucking truck.

You immediately jerk away, gasping for breath, your body trembling as you quickly scramble off his lap. Your legs feel weak as you collapse back onto the couch beside him, your wide eyes staring blankly at the wall above the TV.

Their TV.

A tense, painful silence fills the room, and you think you’re gonna puke.

Your lips still tingle with the memory of his, your heart pounding so hard you’re sure he can hear it. That was everything you’ve ever fucking wanted—but for all the wrong fucking reasons.

Your phone buzzes in your back pocket, yanking you out of your spiral. Clearing your throat awkwardly, you pull the device from your jeans and push yourself off the couch, stepping toward the kitchenette as you answer the call with shaky hands.

“Hey, bug. I’ve got Jia.” Jungkook’s voice soothes the crease in your brow before you even realize it. “She’s sleeping in the back. I’m going to drop her at her mom’s, and then I’ll come back to get you. Is Yoongi okay?”

You glance back at Yoongi, who's still sitting in stunned silence on the couch. “Ye—kkkhmm—yes, he’s fine. Okay, I’ll see you when you get back.”

Yep. Of course your voice broke. He won’t ignore that.

“Bug?” His tone softens, laced with concern. You close your eyes, trying to hold back the tears that spring to your eyes. “Y/N, are you okay?”

“Mhm,” you choke back the cry building in your throat, glancing over your shoulder at Yoongi. His head is buried in his hands, elbows pressed hard into his knees. “I’m okay, Gukkie. Just get Jia to her mom’s, and I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Jungkook goes quiet for a long second at your quivering voice. “No, bug. I’m gonna come get you first. Tell me why you’re crying, please.”

Your chest tightens, and when you try to speak, your voice cracks again. You roll your teary eyes, swiping your free hand roughly over your face. “‘ll tell you later, Gukkie. Please, just… please take Jia to her mom’s.”

He goes quiet again, and if it weren’t for the sound of his windshield wipers squeaking against the glass, you would have thought he hung up.

Jungkook’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel as he fights the urge to turn the car around right now and drive back to get you. If Yoongi is the reason you’re crying... Fuck, he can’t even finish the thought.

“I’ll be back to get you in thirty minutes, okay?” he manages to say, his pulse pounding.

“Thank you, Gukkie. I love you, please drive safe.”

“I love you too, bug,” he sighs before letting you disconnect the call.

Jungkook glances up at his rearview mirror to see a sleeping Jia sprawled out on his backseat, soft snores escaping her lips. He doesn’t entirely hate Jia, but he can’t ignore how poorly she treats you, no matter how much you try to convince him otherwise.

What kind of person feels the need to one-up their friend in every aspect of life? What kind of person knows about the insecurities that their beautiful, amazing friend has, but discredits them and forces them outside of their comfort zone anyway? What kind of person learns about the feelings their friend harbors for someone, and shortly after, goes for that person just to prove they can?

Whether Jia does it subconsciously or not, whether her intentions are ill or not, whether you notice or not, Jungkook sees everything.

At the end of the day, it’s you he cares about. You are his best friend. You are the love of his life. You are the one he will protect at all costs when it comes down to it. You are the one he will choose.

You will not get hurt in the crossfire of Yoongi and Jia’s fucked-up relationship. Jungkook will make sure of that.

“Are you okay?” Your voice is quiet—the quietest Yoongi has ever heard, and his heart splinters.

His head lifts from his hands, eyes searching for you. You’re standing a few feet away, the distance between you obvious, and he almost cringes. “Don't, bug. Are you okay? I’m so fucking sorry.”

It’s still strange to hear Yoongi call you the nickname Jungkook gave you what feels like a hundred years ago, but you can’t ignore the warmth it stirs in your chest when he does.

“Of course I’m okay,” you say carefully. “You’re hurting... People do silly things when they’re hurting.”

Yoongi’s breath hitches, his hands running through his hair in frustration. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable, bug, I—”

“You didn’t.” You’re quiet again, and he freezes, confusion knitting his brows. “Make me, um, uncomfortable.”

He scoffs under his breath, hands rubbing at his temples. “Sure seems like I did.”

“No, you could never make—”

“Y/N, don’t say that. I kissed you. I pulled you on top of me—”

“I let you—”

“I took advantage of you—”

“You didn’t—”

“Stop fucking defending me! Stop thinking the best of me—”

“I’m not—”

“You are! You always do! Even when I act like a complete piece of shi—”

“I love you.”

The room falls into a suffocating silence. Yeah, you’re definitely going to puke now.

Yoongi’s hands slowly fall away from his face, his eyes desperate to meet yours. But you refuse to look at him. Your gaze stays fixed on the rug you helped Jia pick out from your favorite vintage home decor store. You’re going to get vomit all over such a pretty rug.

“Bug…” His voice is soft, pleading. You don’t look up. You don’t move. You can’t.

You’ve said “I love you” to Yoongi plenty of times before. But you know that you can’t possibly play this off as another friendly declaration. You know he caught what you really meant.

Over a decade of hiding and suppressing your feelings for him, just for you to suddenly blurt it out because you couldn’t bear to hear him talk badly about himself? And to think your stupid therapist said your chronic people-pleasing tendencies were getting better.

“Y/N. Please.” You didn’t even realize he’d stood from the couch, didn’t notice him moving closer. But you feel it when his shaky hand gently lifts your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“You don’t mean that,” he murmurs, shaking his head slowly, his eyes filled with sadness as he takes in your expression.

“Okay.” You nod, tears slipping down your cheeks despite your efforts to hold them back. “I didn’t mean it. Let’s just forget it happened—”

“You can’t love me, bug.” He looks like he’s in so much pain, and your stomach clenches. He’s repulsed by the idea of you loving him in that way. God, you wished that you’d just stayed home tonight and watched movies with Jungkook like he had suggested.

Who were you even kidding? Yoongi is in—well, was in—a relationship with one of the most gorgeous, fierce, and confident women you’ve ever met. Jia is everything a man could want. He loves her. Obviously, he loves her. How pathetic could you be?

“Yoongi, I’m sorry. I-I don’t know why I even said that. I’m so stupid.” You sniffle, and Yoongi sighs deeply, his thumb brushing away the tear that spills down your cheek. “Please forget it. Please, let’s just forge—”

But he cuts you off, his lips crashing into yours again, more intense this time. His kiss pulls you under before you can even think to resist, and it's not long before your body completely surrenders. Your lips part, letting him in, stifling the urge to moan as his tongue meets yours. Yoongi’s hands move from your jaw to thread through your hair, pulling you closer, and suddenly, everything—right, wrong, loyalty, friendship—fades. It’s just him.

A deep groan vibrates from his throat, and you capture it, drinking it in as your head spins. Your hands unfreeze and find their way to his chest, feeling the warmth beneath the fabric of his shirt. You grip the material, tugging him even closer, satisfaction surging through you as he presses himself against you.

Yoongi pulls back, just for a moment, and you force yourself not to chase his lips. Your eyes flutter open, taking in the sight of his swollen pout and reddened cheeks. “I didn’t know, Y/N…”

You shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I know. It’s okay, really. You don’t have to—”

“I didn’t know that you had feelings for me, too.”

Your hands jerk back, the fabric slipping from your fingers as you stumble away. What?

“What?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

No? That’s not. No.

“Of course I love you, bug.” Yoongi’s eyes soften, and his words spill out like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “What’s not to love? You’re smart, funny, pretty, sweet… Anybody would be lucky to have you.”

Your head starts shaking furiously, your brain scrambling to process what he’s saying. “You’re—a-are you drunk? You don’t mean that. You can’t just say something like that to me if you don’t mean it—”

“You know me, Y/N. You know my tolerance, and I’ve barely had much to drink. I’m just really emotional tonight. But I mean it, I do love you.”

You stare at him, the boy you’ve loved in secret for years, the one you’ve cried over, wishing for this exact moment. And now, the words you’ve always dreamed of are tumbling from his lips.

But… where are the fireworks?

There’s no rainbow-colored burst in your head, no magical release of all the pain you’ve carried, no sense of it washing down a metaphorical drain. You pout at the thought.

You feel happy, yes. Relieved, yes. Confused… yes.

A soft thudding noise furrows Jungkook’s brows as he twists the handle to Yoongi’s apartment door.

The lights in the living room are on. There’s a blanket sprawled across the rug you really wanted from your favorite vintage home decor store—the one Jia bought because she said it would look cute in her new apartment. Your sandals are neatly placed next to the doormat, but you’re nowhere in sight.

Jungkook peeks into the nearby rooms, checking the main bathroom and laundry, both empty. His steps slow as he reaches Yoongi and Jia’s bedroom, where a sliver of light spills from beneath the door. His hand hovers over the knob before it freezes, his blood running cold.

“Oh! Fuck!” Your sweet voice rings in his ears, rendering him immobile.

No.

No, bug… Fuck.

The thudding noise he heard when he entered the apartment returns, now registering loud and clear as the headboard of Yoongi’s bed slamming harshly into the wall. Jungkook tries to move, tries to turn around and leave, but he can’t.

“Shit, bug! You like that?”

Jungkook’s fist tightens around the doorknob as he hears his best friend call you by his nickname while he fucks you. He’s got some fucking nerve.

“Mhmm, I-I love ittt.”

Jungkook stumbles back from the door as he feels the bile rising in his throat. He heads to the kitchen, chest tightening painfully with every step. He grabs a glass, fills it with water, and downs it in three gulps. Then he fills it again, downs it again. And again. And again.

He repeats the action until his eyes are watering and he can’t force himself to swallow another mouthful. The sick feeling clawing at his throat remains unaffected. He's gonna fucking pass out.

He’s shaking now as he carefully sets the glass in the dishwasher. Then, he walks to the door and removes his shoes, lining them up perfectly alongside yours. After turning off the light, Jungkook walks to the couch and bends down to pick up the ugly blanket draped across your pretty little rug.

Your body clock wakes you as it does every morning. Groggily, your hand reaches out, searching for your phone on your bedside table. But instead of the familiar hard surface, your fingers only encounter more mattress instead.

‹ ‹ ‹

“Okay, can you pass me two screw C’s, please, Gukkie?” you asked, eyes bouncing between the half-built table you were trying your best to put together.

Jungkook stayed quiet for a moment, his hand hovering over the screw C’s even though he knew it was actually screw B’s you needed for that part. He glanced over, catching sight of your little pout, and grabbed two screw B’s, plopping them into your hand.

“Thank you—” you started, pausing when you noticed the bolts weren’t what you thought. “Gukkie, no, I need screw C’s.”

“No, bug, you need screw B’s.” He rubbed your leg, which was bumping against his as you both sat cross-legged on the floor of your new apartment.

“What—I… huh?” you mumbled in confusion, glancing from the manual to the table, then back to the manual. “Ohhhh, fuuuckk!”

You dropped the screws and manual with a whine, pulling your knees up and burying your face in them. “I’ve gotten the last three steps backward! I’ll have to basically unassemble it and—ugh!” you groaned, grumbling into Jungkook’s shoulder when he laughed, catching you as you flopped against him. “Should’ve just let you build it like you wanted to,” you muttered.

Jungkook just shrugged, glancing at the table. “S’okay. Won’t take me long. Want to order our dinner?”

You glanced up at your best friend, hands reaching to grab his cheeks and squeeze them. “Yes. Thank you. I love you.” He turned his face to give your hand a quick kiss, nodding as he reached for the table pieces. “I love you more. My phone’s over there,” he gestured to the couch behind you, a silent invitation to use his delivery app.

You nodded, grabbing his phone and angling away just enough so he wouldn’t see you switch to your own device instead. He never let you pay, but he was building your furniture...

You’d happily take the scolding once your bellies were full and your cute new table was standing next to your bed.

› › ›

Confused, you open your eyes, only to be met with the sight of a blank beige wall. But… your walls aren't beige?

And then it hits you.

Yoongi.

You and Yoongi.

The arm wrapped firmly around your waist tugs you closer as Yoongi nuzzles into your back, still half-asleep. You freeze, your heart skipping a beat, before gently trying to pull the blanket up over your exposed chest. But even in his sleep, his grip on you remains strong. You’re about to tug a little harder when you suddenly remember.

Jungkook.

Holy fuck, Jungkook. He was supposed to come back for you. He must have, but you weren’t out there waiting for him. Panic surges through you as you scramble out of the bed, not even thinking as you leap for your jeans discarded on the bedroom floor.

Yoongi stirs, a confused grunt escaping him as his eyes slowly open, watching you frantically search your pants. “I would say I’m hurt you’re rushing to get dressed so quickly,” he drawls, voice husky with sleep, “but your ass looks fantastic from here, so I’ll let it slide…”

You roll your eyes with a little smile, still focused on finding your phone. Climbing back into bed once you have it in hand, he watches with a twinkly smirk, the bruise he left above your left nipple making his morning wood throb a little. His head tilts up to capture your lips, and you almost drop your phone at the feeling, but you don’t let it last too long before flopping back next to him, finally opening your messages app.

[7:36 AM] To: Gukkie good morning, gukkie. i’m soooo sorry i didn’t call you last night. i have so much to tell you. please text me back when you wake up, okay? i love you 💗

You scroll back to the last message, a photo from Jungkook of an anime figurine he found at the gas station yesterday on his way to pick you up. He said it reminded him of you.

You’ve never been much into anime—only knowing what you do from when you go over to his place and finish the episode he’s currently watching with him—but the character was so cute. Maybe you’ll ask him to show you the series later.

You’re just about to ask Yoongi if you can borrow his charger because your phone’s at 5%, but his phone rings, interrupting your question. He presses a soft kiss to your shoulder before leaning over to grab his phone from the bedside table. As he glances at the screen, a sigh slips from his lips, his hand running through his hair in a familiar gesture that tells you exactly who’s calling. A knot forms in your stomach as you focus back on your phone, pretending to be preoccupied with the screen.

Clad only in his boxers, Yoongi gets up and quietly slips into the ensuite, shutting the door behind him. His voice is low, muffled by the walls, but you don’t try to listen. Instead, you lean over to his bedside table, searching for a charger amongst the clutter, but come up empty. After a quick check of the drawers and still finding nothing, you sigh.

Just as you’re about to get up and search the rest of the room, you glance back at your phone in your lap. The messages app is still open, and your heart stutters when you notice the read receipt on the last text you sent.

Read 7:37 AM.

Jungkook’s awake? Maybe he’s just in the bathroom and will reply soon. Or maybe you woke him up, and he was too tired to respond. Or maybe he’s mad at you for ditching him yesterday. Guilt twists in your chest, and you bite hard on your inner lip, knowing you’ve just earned yourself a spot in the Shitty Friend Hall of Fame after last night.

You're typing another message to Jungkook when the ensuite door opens. You glance up, only to find Yoongi stepping back into the room with a somber expression. His movements are slow, careful. Your stomach drops.

Suddenly, you’re all too aware of how underdressed you are. Your phone slips from your fingers into the blankets without a thought as you scramble back up to grab your shirt from the floor. Your throat feels scratchy, and you clear it awkwardly, desperate to fill the silence as you tug the fabric over your head. Yoongi watches your frantic movements and sighs as he reaches out to you, but you pull away, avoiding his touch.

His voice is strained. “Bug…” 

God, you’re so fucking stupid. Of course, this was nothing to him. You were nothing but a momentary distraction, a warm body to offer comfort while he was hurting. Of course it takes one five-minute call from your beautiful best friend to have him regretting everything that happened between you.

Holy fuck. Jia.

She’s going to be furious. She's going to kill you. She’s going to hate you.

Panic rises in your chest, and your vision blurs as tears well up in your eyes. You stumble back slightly, grabbing for your jeans again, but your hands are shaking too much to pull them on. Yoongi steps closer, taking the jeans from your hands, his fingers brushing against your skin, warm and gentle.

And that’s when you break.

He pulls you into his arms as you lose it, sobbing uncontrollably, ugly and snotty. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. Jia and I… we’re gonna try to work on things… There’s just so much history, and we weren’t thinking clearly last night. I’m so—”

“No, I’m…” you choke out between hiccups, wrenching free from his arms, hurriedly wiping your eyes and nose. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Oh my god, she’s going to hate me. What have I done? I-I—”

Your words falter as a wave of dizziness hits you, and your vision begins to blur at the edges. Your heart is pounding so loudly in your ears that it drowns out everything else. The tightness in your chest makes it hard to breathe, each breath becoming shallower, more frantic. “Yoong—”

The room is closing in on you, suffocating. The panic seizes your lungs, and even the minimal clothing you’re wearing feels too heavy, too much.

It’s been two years since your last episode and you'd almost forgotten how they felt like. But right now, but the feeling is all too fucking familiar.

Yoongi’s eyes widen in alarm. He’s saying your name, you think, but all you can hear is the deafening thud of your own heartbeat. Your hands tremble uncontrollably, and before you know it, you collapse to the floor, curling into yourself.

Head on your knees. Deep breaths. In and out. In and out. Just like your nurse taught you. Just like your best friend practiced with you for hours until you both experts in the method.

But it’s not working. It’s not fucking working.

“Y/N?” Yoongi’s voice rises in panic, his eyes wide and helpless. “Y/N, please. What’s happening? What do I do? I-I’m going to call an ambu—”

The door to Yoongi’s room slams open, hitting the wall with a thud at the force it was thrown open. Within seconds, Yoongi is shoved aside, and the warmth of strong arms wraps around you. You don’t even have to look up; you’d recognize his touch and scent anywhere. The most comforting, familiar presence in your life surrounds you, and while it barely steadies your racing pulse, it feels like everything.

Your body shudders with a fresh wave of tears as Jungkook pulls you into him, his arms cradling you while he gently rocks you back and forth. His lips press softly against the top of your head. “‘S’ok, bug,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm. “Just focus on your breathing. In and out, remember? I’m here. I’m with you. We’re here together. We’re okay.”

“Kook…” Yoongi’s strained voice cuts through, watching helplessly as you cling desperately to Jungkook’s shirt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to—”

“Yoongi,” Jungkook interrupts, his voice low, firm, almost dangerous as he speaks without taking his eyes off of you. “When she’s okay, we’re going to leave.”

Yoongi immediately agrees, his expression growing more concerned as he watches you fall apart in Jungkook’s arms, “Y-yeah-uh, yeah, I can drive you guys if—”

“If you or Jia ever drag her into your fucked-up situation again,” Jungkook finally lifts his gaze from you, staring coldly into Yoongi’s eyes as he continues, “you will both regret it.”

You’re slowly regaining control, your breathing evening out, but you’re still too drained to form words. You want to tell Jungkook that it’s not Yoongi’s fault. That you were just as much to blame. That you made this mess, too. But the words won’t come. You’re too spent, too weak to defend him.

Jungkook watches as you struggle to speak, your breath still uneven but slowly regulating. His focus is entirely on you, not caring about whatever unreadable expression Yoongi is wearing. Anger, regret—whatever the fuck, Jungkook couldn’t care less. All that matters to him is that your sobs have finally stopped and your breathing is settling.

You’re still trying to speak, no doubt in an attempt to defend your other best friend. The other best friend who’s standing a foot away from you looking like he was going to have a panic attack. Fucking pathetic, Jungkook thinks.

His gaze softens as he brushes his thumbs gently across your cheeks, wiping away the lingering tears. You pull back slightly, clearing your throat to try and gather your strength.

He raises an eyebrow in disapproval, silently telling you to stop straining yourself, but he lets it slide without comment. Your hand hastily moves to wipe your nose, your chest tightening in embarrassment by the state you’re in.

Jungkook moves your hand away, lifting the bottom of his t-shirt to gently wipe under your nose, the way someone would for a baby when they couldn't blow their own.

A raspy laugh escapes your lips before you can stop it and Jungkook’s lips quirk up at the sound, a little weight lifting from his heart as he finally sees you smile. He finishes wiping your face and lets the t-shirt fall back down, his hands resting on yours where they’ve settled on his leg.

“First one in a while,” he murmurs softly, still ignoring Yoongi’s presence across the room, allowing you to play absentmindedly with his hand.

“Yeah,” you nod, sniffing one last time. “Thought they were gone… Thank you for helping m—” Your voice falters, confusion clouding your expression as you look up at him. “Wait, how are you here? Where did you—when did you—”

“He slept here. On the couch.”

Yoongi’s voice interrupts, and your gaze snaps to him, brows knitting further in confusion. What? He knew Jungkook was here? And didn’t tell you? “Wha—”

“Saw him when I went to grab water in the middle of the night,” Yoongi adds, resting casually against his dresser.

Annoyance flickers inside you, and you don’t even know why. Maybe it’s the fact that Yoongi didn’t tell you Jungkook was sleeping out there, alone on the couch. Or maybe it’s the sudden wave of nausea rising in your throat at the realization that Jungkook might have heard everything.

“You ready to go?” Jungkook’s gentle voice pulls you back to the present, his thumb grazing over your knuckles. He leans forward and grabs your jeans from the floor, handing them to you without a word. You give a quick nod, accepting them and walking to the ensuite to put them on.

A few minutes later, you emerge from the bathroom, looking a little more put together. Your face is rinsed, and your hair is tied back into a ponytail, but the redness around your eyes remains, making Jungkook’s stomach churn. He doesn’t say anything, just watches you cross the room silently.

You step forward, hugging Yoongi tightly, your voice small. “I’m really sorry, Yoongi. I just—”

“Don’t,” Yoongi cuts you off, shaking his head. “You don’t need to apologize, bug.”

Jungkook, who had been waiting near the doorway, catches the end of your conversation. His jaw clenches when he hears Yoongi say, “I won’t mention anything to Jia.”

You nod, assuming he means that he’ll let you break the news to her yourself. “Thanks, Yoongi. I’ll come see her later toni—”

“No, bug.” Yoongi interrupts again, his tone a little firmer this time. “I won’t say anything at all...”

You blink, confused. Your brows knit together as you search his face, trying to understand. He wanted to keep this a secret? From Jia, one of your best friends? The woman he’s in love with?

When it seems like you can’t find the words to say, Jungkook approaches quietly, your sandals in hand, nudging them toward you. You break your gaze from Yoongi to slip into them, but your eyes flick back to him, silently begging for more explanation. He offers none.

Jungkook stands close and quietly behind you, waiting for you to finish up, and he hopes you do it soon because he really doesn’t want to be in this house anymore. You finally avert your gaze from Yoongi, still confused and dazed, but suddenly desperate to leave. Jungkook reads the look instantly, repressing back what he really wants to say to Yoongi for the sake of your presence, slipping his hand into yours before leading you out of the apartment.

“Damn it,” Jungkook mutters, clicking his tongue in frustration, the sound echoing in the roomy cabin of his Jeep.

You glance over at him after fiddling with the knob of his car heater, noting his annoyed features. “Hm? You okay?”

“We left our drinks there.” A borderline adorable pout coats his lips as he sighs, and despite the heaviness in your chest, you can’t help but smile.

“It’s okay.” You shrug, looking down at your lap. “Don’t want them anymore.”

Jungkook glances at you, and the moment his eyes catch your expression, his heart twists. He wants to cup your face in his hands, massage your frown away, and tell you everything will be fine. But at the same time, all he can think about is driving back to Yoongi’s apartment after he drops you off at home and beating the ever-loving shit out of him.

He’s so fucking angry.

Angry at how Yoongi would claim such a priceless fucking gift from the sweetest fucking girl and leave her hurt in the process. Angry at how he knows you’re blaming yourself for everything that happened last night when he would bet every cent to his name that you have nothing to be truly sorry for. Angry at the thought of how Jia will react, and how devastated you’re going to be. He knows Jia’s history well enough to predict that she will somehow make this all your fault.

Jungkook's grip on the steering wheel tightens, his knuckles turning white as he takes a shaky breath. “It’s not your fault, bug,” he says as softly as he can in his vexed state.

Your eyes fill with tears again, and a sad laugh escapes you. “Of course it is.”

Jungkook shakes his head, his jaw tightening as he signals right and pulls over to the side of the road. As soon as the engine cuts off, his hand finds yours, and he turns to face you. “Bug—”

“I told him, you know,” you sniffle through a short chuckle, cringing at what a shit-show this whole ordeal is. “I told him I loved him. And-and he said he loved me too.”

Jungkook’s heart stops. “He what?” He doesn’t know if you heard his words; he barely heard them himself. But when you purse your lips and nod sarcastically, he knows that you did.

“Yup. Said that I’m pretty and sweet and funny and that anyone would be lucky to have me.” You scoff bitterfly, using the hand not in the grasp of Jungkook’s to wipe your tears. “Apparently not anyone because he clearly didn’t want me. God, I’m so pathetic. This is all just so pathetic.”

You finish wiping your face and dry your hand on your jeans, your thumb gently rubbing over Jungkook’s knuckles. “Sorry, Gukkie,” you croak, sensing the way he tensed up and went quiet, probably due to all of your whining. “I’m done, promise. No more crying.”

Jungkook remains still, his brows furrowed as his gaze is fixed on nothing in particular, lost in thought. “Gukkie?” you ask softly, nudging his hand with your finger to snap him out of it. Nothing.

You squint at him playfully, deciding to poke his cheek this time. It works, though the reaction is faint—a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth, but you catch it.

Your head tilts as you move your finger from his cheek down to his lips, ready to poke again, but your focus wavers. His lips. They’re so pink. So plump. So pretty.

“You are the furthest thing from pathetic, bug.” His voice is soft, drawing your attention back to his words, but your eyes remain on his lips. You smile at the way they shape each letter, his slight lisp curling around certain syllables.

A quiet sigh leaves you, and your hand drops to the buckle of his seatbelt, releasing it with a click. You unfasten your own as well before leaning over the center console. Jungkook’s hands move instinctively, helping guide you as you crawl into his lap, melting into his embrace.

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer and making sure you’re comfortable in his lap. One hand plays gently with your ponytail while the other traces soothing circles on your back. You bury your face in the curve of his neck, inhaling his familiar scent—a blend of his cologne that defied the night and the comforting aroma of soft linen that always reminds you of him.

“Don’t deserve you,” you mumble, your breath tickling his skin. His muscles relax instantly, his body turning to mush under your weight.

Cuddling like this isn’t anything new for the two of you. It’s become your go-to after a rough day at work, or at uni. Whenever you meet him at his car after class, you more often than not end up in this exact position.

Jungkook remembers that one time a classmate walked past and saw you in his lap, assuming you were doing more than just seeking comfort from your best friend. You got so embarrassed that you stopped cuddling him in his car for a while. Jungkook hadn’t cared at all, but he realized it really bothered you. So, maybe he booked his Jeep in for window tinting that night.

But even though this is routine, it doesn’t stop Jungkook from from turning into a lovesick puppy when you do end up snuggling him. Because he does. Every single time.

“If anyone deserves me, it’s you, bug,” he responds quietly.

Your hand strokes through his tousled hair, your fingers occasionally scratching his scalp the way he likes, and Jungkook has to bite back a pathetic whine. The way you hold him, the way your nose brushes against his neck, it’s too much and not enough at the same time. “I love you, Gukkie. I’m sorry for being such a bad friend.”

“I love you too, bug,” he replies easily, tugging your shirt down as it rides up when you snuggle deeper into him. “But if you say one more untrue, negative thing about yourself, you’re walking to uni tomorrow.” The half-hearted threat is followed by a gentle nudge of his head.

You pull back slightly, observing him quietly. His eyes are closed, his head resting peacefully against the seat. He looks so content, so at ease, and you wish he could stay like this forever.

Jungkook senses your gaze and squints his eyes open, a single brow raising in question. He adjusts your ponytail with a soft touch, waiting for you to say something. But you just shake your head and give him a sweet smile before climbing off his lap and settling back into your seat.

“Can we go watch that anime with the girl you said reminds you of me?”

It’s been eight days since that night. Yoongi and Jia have reunited like nothing ever happened, and it’s driving you fucking crazy. He still hasn’t told her.

You’ve seen them at university during the weekdays since then, and everything is normal. Jia has been normal, Yoongi has been normal. It’s like nothing ever happened.

Three days ago, at the peak of your anxiety from keeping the secret, you caved.

The second you got home, you collapsed onto your bed, phone gripped tightly in your shaky hands. After six long rings, Yoongi finally picked up.

“Hey, Y/N—”

“I feel fucking sick, Yoongi. Please tell her. The longer we wait, the worse it’s going to be. This isn’t okay.”

Yoongi’s sigh came low through the receiver, already giving you that sinking feeling in your chest. He's not going to tell her.

“She doesn’t need to know. It doesn’t concern her. It was just a simple mistake, and we weren’t even together at the time, bug. It's fine.”

It was just a simple mistake.

If you didn’t already feel pathetic, you sure as hell do now.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe she doesn’t need to know.

You’ve tried convincing yourself of that ever since your phone call. But deep down, you know that if the situation were reversed, you’d want to know.

Not that you ever would be, because Jia would never do something as horrible as this to you.

Over the past week, three things have been haunting you: hurting Jia, being a shitty friend, and not feeling as heartbroken as you thought you would be when, in the span of twelve hours, Yoongi:

Told you he loved you (nice).

Slept with you (nice).

Said he was getting back with his ex-girlfriend (not so nice).

You’ve been in love with Yoongi for your entire adult life and so much of your childhood that you can’t even pinpoint when it all truly started.

When you think of Min Yoongi, you think of that warm, fuzzy feeling that swirls in your chest whenever someone you like walks into a room. The excitement of scanning the crowd at a party, hoping to catch a glimpse of their figure. That extra spark of joy when it was your joke that made them laugh.

Or, at least, that’s what you used to think.

Now when you think of Min Yoongi, you think of a friend. Someone you care about. Someone you appreciate. Someone you love… but aren’t in love with.

The events of last Friday night might very well be the reason for the sudden, drastic change in your heart. Maybe you’ve finally developed enough self-respect to stop chasing after someone who clearly doesn’t want you in that way.

You ignore the voice in the back of your mind that snarkily whispers, “Yeah, just… like… ten years late, honey.”

But, still. You aren’t 100% sure. And it’s driving you fucking mad.

Sure, you could just chalk it up to you being so hurt that the pain, you don’t know, numbed itself out?

But that wouldn’t be honest.

You know yourself. You’re an over-planner, an overthinker, and maybe (most definitely) an overreactor.

Over the years, you’d curated a long, arduous list of ways you thought you’d handle Yoongi’s rejection when the time inevitably came, hoping to better prepare yourself for it.

But not caring? Yeah, that wasn’t on the list. It wasn’t even in the fucking notebook.

You aren’t going to say that you’re unhappy about not being a weepy ball of tears and snot for an entire month, (which was on the list—quite high on it, in fact) but you just can’t help but be completely puzzled.

This isn’t you. You don’t… not care.

If there’s one thing you’ve always done, it’s care.

So, you can’t, for the life of you, figure out why you don’t.

"Caramel coffee frappé for Jeon Jung—huh?" you pause mid-callout, glancing up as the name on the cup registers in your brain. Your eyes land on your best friend, standing close on the other side of the pick-up counter.

"Hi, bug." Jungkook smiles softly, his hand already reaching for the drink that’s frozen in midair as you blink at him in surprise.

"Hi, Gukkie," you grin, the surprise melting into delight as you grab a paper straw from beside you and unwrap it for him. "What are you doing here? I don’t finish until four."

He shrugs, taking the straw from your outstretched hand and popping it into the cup. "Bored at home," he says, taking a long sip. "Thought I’d come early and—mmm, shit, bug, this is nice."

Your eyes crinkle in satisfaction as you watch him down almost a quarter of the frappé in one go. "I told you it’s the best drink we have," you nod knowingly, before a small frown starts to form. "But it’s not your usual, so I didn’t know it was yours… Should’ve told me you were here so I could’ve added my discount, Gukkie."

Jungkook just keeps drinking, hoping the brain freeze would distract him from the urge to reach across the counter and wipe the pretty little pout from your lips. "They gave it to me anyway," he mumbles around the straw. "Didn’t even ask."

And he wouldn’t have. Jungkook has money—and plenty of it. More than he’ll ever actually need. But it’s mostly blood money from his guilty father, which he has no problem in taking it without so much as a thank you. You know all this, yet you still badger him to use your 25% staff discount whenever he visits you at work. Cute.

You smile at that, glancing over at the register where Bella’s back from her break. She knows Jungkook’s with you, so it must’ve been her who added the discount. "Good. I’m glad," you hum, leaning against the counter, chin resting on your hand as you look at him. "What are you going to do? It’s only two-thirty."

Jungkook grabs a complimentary caramel drizzle bottle, aiming it over his cup. He probably doesn’t mean to be so rough—it’s just that he’s naturally strong—and you watch as nearly half the bottle spurts into his drink with one squeeze. “I’ll just hang out here until you’re done. Got any breaks left?”

You laugh, reaching over and grabbing the bottle from him. "You’re gonna get a stomachache, Gukkie." Shaking your head, you roll your eyes. "But yeah. One left. I’ll take it now?"

Jungkook scoops up some of the caramel with his straw, a slight smirk on his lips as he shoves it in his mouth. "Okay," he nods, gesturing toward the door with his head. "Come out for a smoke?"

The cool breeze is a gorgeous contrast to the warm, stuffy air behind the coffee bar as you burst through the door of the campus café. Jungkook holds it open for you, and as your shoe hits the pavement, you instinctively grab his hand, pulling him along with you.

It’s only another twenty seconds before you reach the secluded smoker’s spot near the outdoor stock corral. Leaning against the wall, you plop to the ground and giggle when Jungkook pretends to get yanked down with you, falling beside you with exaggerated force.

You shift into a criss-cross legged position, letting go of his hand so he can dig his lighter from his hoodie pocket. His shoulder becomes your makeshift pillow as you curl your right arm with his left, watching as he sparks the cigarette that dangles from his lips. Once the cherry glows red, he shoves the lighter away and rests his hand gently on your knee.

“How’s your shift going?” Jungkook asks, smoke curling from his mouth as he tilts his head away from you to blow it out of your direction.

“Good, it’s kinda quiet today,” you hum softly, eyes drifting shut. The mix of tobacco and Hermès cologne definitely shouldn’t make you feel so peaceful. But on him, it does.

“Good.” He nods, his gaze raking over you properly now that you’ve shrugged off your apron. Light-washed jeans, a little white singlet, black cotton cardi. He takes a deep drag of the cigarette, letting the smoke linger in his lungs before he comments, “Look so pretty today, bug.”

Your eyes flutter open as you blink up at him, beaming. “Really?”

He nods, holding the cigarette away with his right hand as he reaches over to tug gently at the cardigan with his left. “This new? S’nice.”

"It is," you nod happily, leaning back and twisting a little to show it off to him. He bites back a smile. “Just came yesterday. It's from my online Polly order. Remember?”

“Mhm,” he says, slipping an arm around you as you settle back into his side. A comfy silence stretches until you break it.

“Don’t wanna go to Yoongi and Jia’s tonight,” you murmur, your voice low, strained. The calm on your face shifts into something more pained, and Jungkook doesn't like that.

“Then we won’t,” he responds easily, tilting his chin up to exhale the smoke away from your face. “Movie night?”

You let out a sad sigh, head tilting up in time to catch the way the muscle in his jaw moves as he exhales. “Already canceled yesterday. If we do it again today, Jia will know something’s up.”

“So?” Jungkook turns to you, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he looks down at your glossy eyes. “I’ll call them. Tell them I’m sick and you need to take care of me or something,” he shrugs, flicking the ash off the cigarette.

“You think that’ll work?” You speak with a slight muffle as your cheek presses against his bicep.

“Don’t care if it doesn’t,” he replies honestly, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watches you melt further into his hold.

You shake your head, amused, the motion shifting against his arm. “They’re our best friends, Gukkie—”

“You’re my best friend,” he cuts you off simply, finishing the cigarette and tossing the stub into the makeshift ashtray nearby.

Your eyebrows scrunch at his stubbornness. “And you’re mine.” You roll your eyes, trying to keep the smile pulling at your lips under control. “But you know what I mean…”

Jungkook sniffs, the chill finally settling in now that the cigarette's heat is gone. “Yeah, I know, bug. But you shouldn’t have to feel like this about going over there. Yoongi put you in an awkward fucking position, even if he doesn’t think so.”

You sigh again. “I feel like I’m overreacting about all of this. He says she doesn’t need to know, and maybe—”

“Such a pussy,” Jungkook mutters, annoyance evident as his thumb continues rubbing slow circles on your knee.

You snort at his bluntness, leaning into his arm. “I won’t say anything as long as he doesn’t want me to. But I can’t face her. Not outside of school. If I do, I might just word vomit everything the second I see her.”

Jungkook rests his head against yours, crooning. “Yeah, you do word vomit a lot.”

You close your eyes through a snicker, squeezing his arm teasingly. “Hm, thanks, Gukkie.”

A few quiet moments pass. Jungkook nudges his nose gently against the top of your head, his voice low when he speaks again. “You know you’re not ‘overreacting’ at all, right? Yoongi is a piece of shit for what he did. And even someone like Jia deserves the whole truth.”

You ignore his jab at Jia, having tried—and failed—many times to convince him that she’s actually a good person. “You keep acting like Yoongi did this all by himself, Gukkie. I’m just as guilty as he is.”

Jungkook scoffs, shaking his head. “Not really.”

“Yes, really,” you insist, poking his side gently. “It was completely consensual—”

“I’m not just talking about the sex, bug,” Jungkook swallows hard, more than unenthusiastic about delving into the specifics of your night with Yoongi. One run-through was enough—and even then, he barely held back the contents of his stomach.

“It’s everything else. Before and after. Telling you he loved you like it was some obligation when you admitted your feelings? Dropping the news about getting back with Jia how he did? You’d been awake for five fucking minutes, bug. You were naked and vulnerable in his fucking bed.”

Jungkook pauses roughly to regain his composure, and you instinctively move closer, feeling his anger on your behalf. You’re about to tell him he’s right, that you understand, but he isn’t done.

“And then for him to not even give his girlfriend the bare fucking minimum of being able to make an informed decision about their relationship? Fucking coward. What if she doesn’t want to stay with him after finding out? He’ll have already taken months of her life from her. Yoongi is prolonging the pain for everyone involved. And I don’t know how long he intends to keep this shit going, but if Jia catches on, and she takes it out on you? Bug, I’ll fucking kill him—”

“Gukkie,” you gently interrupt, shifting your arms from around his bicep to wrap around his waist instead.

As you hug him close, your legs shift to tangle with his because you know he likes the contact. His rigid muscles gradually begin to ease, and you settle against him with a soft sigh. “I’m so sorry, Gukkie. I should’ve thought about what this might bring up for you.”

Although not an exact replica, the situation had similarities to what Jungkook witnessed in his childhood; his father being an unfaithful piece of shit to his mom.

It began with small actions like working late, claiming extra shifts on weekends... withholding the whole truth from his partner.

Jungkook’s mom, an amaing woman and a second to your own, stayed in the marriage for as long as she could—for Jungkook and his older brother, Jisung. But eventually, she realized leaving was the best thing she could do for them.

You were in your early teens when the Jeons temporarily moved in with your family until his parents settled their divorce and his mom found a new place for them to go.

Jungkook’s father, a powerful and successful proprietor, was his role model during his entire childhood, and when he lost that bond, it broke him.

Even though some of your best memories together came from that period—sleepovers, movie marathons, him teaching you how to sing—you knew the divorce had a greater impact on Jungkook than he liked to let on.

However, he still likes to joke darkly that if he could relive those days with you, he’d go through the divorce all over again without hesitation. That always results in a wack in the arm from you.

Jungkook shakes his head and his lips part, no doubt to tell you not to apologize, you butt in again. “You’re right, Gukkie. What Yoongi did, what he’s doing, it’s wrong.” His hand moves from your knees to curl around your shoulder, pulling you closer to his chest.

“Okay, this won’t just go away. Jia deserves to know.” You glance up at him to find his eyes already on you. “Tonight?”

Jungkook’s gaze softens. He nods, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head, careful not to disturb your tidy bun. As you trace slow circles on his waist with your fingertips, he pulls out his phone and shows you the time—2:58pm. You gasp, scrambling to your feet.

Jungkook laughs, standing up and letting you drag him back toward the café, ready to take the blame from your shift manager, Jimin, for you being back fifteen minutes late. Park Jimin loves him, after all.

“Bug! Kookie!” Jia’s excited voice rings out from the room she shares with Yoongi as you and Jungkook step into the oh-so-familiar apartment.

Yoongi closes the door quietly behind you both, the hug he usually greets you with noticeably absent. Instead, he reaches out to clasp Jungkook’s hand in a brief bro-shake, which Jungkook returns half-heartedly, before Yoongi heads straight for the kitchen.

Jungkook watches Yoongi’s retreat with a slight furrow in his brow, his jaw tightening as he registers Yoongi’s failure to acknowledge you at all. When he looks over to you, you just shrug, not as bothered by his childish antics as you thought you would be.

After your shift ended, Jungkook drove you back to your place to grab a change of clothes. Then, you headed to his apartment so you could use his shower—the one with the best fucking water pressure ever.

Your lease is up at the end of the year, and then you'll finally be moving into Jungkook's place.

Living on your own for senior year seemed like a good idea when you decided to move out of the dorms, but that novelty wore off real fucking fast. Being away from Jungkook was not ideal and you hated not being able to see him whenever you wanted. His dorm wasn’t too far, but it was still on the other side of campus, and overnight visits to dorms of the opposite gender were prohibited.

Jungkook didn’t care, of course—he snuck over anyway, stacking up a few too many strikes from student monitors and professors who caught him.

So, when you moved from the dorms into a your cute little flat, Jungkook did the same, finding one just a few minutes away. There were no free spaces at your building for him to take, so he told you to move into his instead—that plenty of apartments were available. But when you saw the rent price, you just laughed. You knew he had every intention of covering it anyway, but you couldn't do that to him, no matter how much you wanted to live together.

That’s why you’ve been working more lately. Shifts at the campus café during the week and extra hours at Seoul Cinema on weekends. With what you’ve saved, plus a little help from your mom, you’ll soon be moving in with your best friend and gaining 24/7 access to him and that gorgeous fucking shower.

Earlier, when you were about to step into the bathroom, you called Jia to confirm what time she wanted you guys over. That’s when she casually revealed that the plan for tonight had changed—that everyone was heading to Joonie’s, your friend group’s favorite club, instead.

Panic flared in your chest and you almost blurted everything to her right there on the phone. Sensing it, Jungkook took the phone from your hand, calmly telling Jia that you’d be there at nine before hanging up.

You poked at him for ending the call without letting her respond, but deep down, you were relieved. You knew you had to tell her everything in person. If not for the respect of your thirteen-year-long friendship, but because doing it over the phone just felt so cowardly.

You know telling her tonight, before you all head out to drink, is risky. She could blow up, scream, and tell you to fuck off—which you’re fully expecting—but at least it’ll be in the privacy of her own home.

So now, here you are, standing awkwardly in the apartment that’s haunted your dreams for the past eight straight nights. Gone are your comfy pants and Jungkook’s warm hoodie. Instead, you’re squeezed into a black mini-skirt and a tight little top, wishing you were anywhere else in the world.

Deflated, you let Jungkook take the bottle of tequila from your arms as you make your way toward the room where Jia's still getting ready. The door is slightly ajar, and you give it a gentle knock.

“Ji?” Your voice comes out quieter than you intended, so you clear your throat and take a cautious step inside when she tells you to come in. As soon as you catch sight of your beautiful best friend, a smile automatically paints your lips.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“Buggy!” Jia grins, snapping the cap onto her eyeliner before tossing it aside and striding over to you. When the long-legged girl extends her arms for a hug, you embrace her tightly.

“Hey, Ji. You look so good."

“You too, babe. You wore red like I asked! God, we look so hot matching.” Jia smirks as she pulls away, letting her eyes roam over your outfit before tilting her head in thought.

You swallow, waiting patiently for her assessment. Usually, she finds one or two minor things that could be improved for your clubbing outfits, and you pray she doesn’t find anything, because it’s a thirty-minute drive back to your place to make the adjustments.

Not that you think that tonight's plans will still go ahead after what you’re about to say.

To your surprise and relief, she nods in approval before turning back to her floor-length mirror. Jack Harlow plays lowly from her phone that rests on her dresser, and she hums along to it, fixing a few pieces of hair that have fallen out of place.

When you’re quiet for a long moment, something usually very out of the ordinary for you, Jia catches your eye in the mirror and her head tilts. “What’s wrong?”

You swallow. Your mouth opens. Then closes.

Jia’s brows knit together as she turns away from the mirror to face you directly. “What is it, bug? Is it Yoongi?”

Your heart plummets. “Wh-what?”

“He told me you stayed over last Friday? After Kookie took me to my mom’s?” Jia continues, her tone curious but confused. “Said you thought you could handle his whiskey, and he didn’t want to leave you on the couch, so you slept in our room. I almost didn’t believe it…”

“I—” you stammer.

“As if you’d ever willingly touch that disgusting whiskey he drinks. You can barely handle soju.” Jia chuckles.

“HAH! Yeah, you know me! Can’t handle my hard liquor… Would-would put me right on my ass!”

Jia’s amused squint deepens as she eyes you closely. “You’re acting weird.” She tilts her head with a teasing smile. “Did you have one of Kookie’s special cigarettes again? Because you know those are—”

“Jia.” Fuck. Word vomit. It’s happening. “I need to—”

“Change those shoes? I know, I was going to say something before, but you looked kinda sad… Hold on, I’ll—”

“No, Jia. I have to tell—”

The bedroom door swings open before you can finish. The words die in your throat as you whip your head toward the entrance. Tears well in your eyes as you turn to see who it is. Out of the two most likely options it could’ve been, unfortunately, it is not the one you hoped it was.

Yoongi stands in the doorway, his expression unreadable as his gaze flickers between you and Jia. The tension in the room rises dramatically, but Jia remains unfazed.

“Jagi,” Jia greets him with a bright, oblivious smile. “Just telling buggy how cute she looks in red. Doesn’t she look amazing?”

Yoongi nods at Jia, but his eyes are locked on you. There’s guilt swimming in his gaze, but it’s overpowered by something stronger. Desperation.

Earlier today, after talking to Jia, you called Yoongi to confess that you couldn’t keep it hidden anymore. That you were going to tell her tonight.

His reaction was beyond unhappy. After five minutes of him practically begging you to keep quiet, he abruptly ended the call when he realized you wouldn’t change your mind.

“Jagiya, can I borrow Y/N for a sec—”

“No.” The words leave your lips so firmly that you’re almost surprised.

Behind Yoongi, you catch sight of Jungkook’s approaching figure. His head tilts slightly—his nonverbal way of asking if you’re okay in situations where you guys can’t speak. Ignoring Yoongi’s dejected look, you give Jungkook a small nod before turning back to Jia.

“What’s going on?” Jia’s eyes dart between you and Yoongi. “Why are you both acting so weird?”

“I’m so sorry, Jia—” You begin, your voice shaking.

“Y/N,” Yoongi pleads, but you refuse to look at him.

“Yoongi, just give them some space, man—”

“Don’t tell me what to fucking do, Kook,” Yoongi spits back, taking a further step into the bedroom.

Your brows furrow as your head snaps toward Yoongi. “Don’t talk to him like that. I’m telling her—”

“Tell me what?” Jia huffs as she steps forward, and soon the couple are both staring at you with two very different strands of frustrated expressions.

Your heart pounds at both the lack of distance and the looks you’re receiving, but you push through. You can do this. “Ji, on Friday—”

“Jagiya, wait, don’t liste—”

Jungkook’s scoff cuts Yoongi off, and you can see both men getting more and more heated by the second. He doesn’t take his eyes off Yoongi when he speaks to you. “Bug, take Jia into the living room. I need to talk to Yoongi.”

Yoongi turns to glare at Jungkook. “Stay the fuck out of this, Jeongguk.”

“Or what?” Jungkook’s reply is immediate, his brows raising as if he genuinely wanted to know the answer.

“Y/N, just spit it out. What are you saying?” Jia demands, her voice rising with frustration.

“I—”

“Don’t, Y/N,” Yoongi warns, stepping forward, but Jungkook stops him.

“Stop fucking walking closer to her, Yoongi—”

“You have no fucking right, Y/N—”

“Y/N, just tell me—”

“No, Jagi, stop—”

“Yoongi, fuck off! Just let her tell me—”

“I slept with him.”

All the noise in the room dies out at your words. Jungkook is standing beside you now, his arm brushing lightly against yours, but you can barely feel it. All you can feel is Jia’s eyes on you, her expression completely unreadable.

Tears well up in your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. “I slept with Yoongi when Jeongguk was taking you to your mom’s. Jia, you need to know how fucking sorry I am. I wasn’t thinking straight, and-and it just happened—”

“It just happened?” Jia’s voice cuts through your apology with a pitying laugh. Her eyes never leave yours, not even to glance at her boyfriend, who’s running his hand through his hair roughly, his eyes red-rimmed. For someone who said it was so unimportant and didn’t matter, he sure isn’t acting like it.

“No, I—no. It didn’t just happen. I did it. And I can’t explain how fucking sorry I am—”

“Yeah, you said that already,” Jia interrupts, her tone dismissive. Her gaze rakes over your body as though she’s bored.

You stand there, struggling to find the right words. “I know I broke your trust, Jia, and I’m so s—”

“If you say you’re sorry one more time, bug…” Jia rolls her eyes, brushing her hair back over her shoulder before turning to check her reflection in the mirror.

Your mouth snaps shut.

Where’s the screaming? Where’s the kicking you out of her apartment? Where’s the—

“Who initiated it?” Jia’s tone is uninterested as she runs a finger gently around the edge of her slightly smudged lip liner.

You glance at Yoongi, but his eyes are glued to the floor. “I don’t remember,” you admit quietly. The moment was a blur—his confession had thrown you off balance. It could’ve been him, but maybe it was you.

Jia gives you a skeptical look through the mirror, as if she doesn’t believe you, but then she turns to Yoongi. “Who initiated it, Jagi?”

As Yoongi hesitates, you feel Jungkook’s eyes on you again. You glance up at him, the boy who had been seething with anger just minutes ago, only to find him looking at you in concern. Blinking away the tears, you reach out to brush the back of his hand with your pinky finger.

“I did, Jagiya. I’m sorry. I was hurt that you left me, and I needed to forget,” Yoongi finally says.

His explanation seems to bring some relief to Jia’s face, and you brace yourself for the inevitable ache in your chest at his words. But it doesn’t come. If anything, Jungkook is more affected by what he had to say, judging by the way his jaw tightens and his hand clenches into a fist beneath your pinky.

“Okay,” Jia nods at Yoongi before reaching for her clutch on the dresser. As she casually tucks her phone and keys inside, you glance over at Jungkook, your confusion evident, but the look he returns is calm—like he expected this.

With a roll of her eyes, Jia glances back at the three of you. “Did you bring the tequila like I asked?”

When her eyes meet yours, you nod instinctively, trying your best to mask your unease. “Yes. It’s, um, in the kitchen. Jia, is everything—”

“We weren’t together, Y/N. It’s not like you’re still fucking… are you?”

“No.” You choke instantly, almost shuddering at the thought.

“Okay, then. Let’s start pres and then go.” With that, Jia walks out of the room, leaving you standing there, completely dumbfounded.

This isn’t what you were expecting.

You’ve never experienced Jia’s anger firsthand, but you’ve witnessed it many times before, and this is the last reaction you could’ve ever expected.

Maybe she’s in shock, and it’ll come ot later. Or maybe… maybe she really doesn’t think it’s a big deal? She’s so incredible like that, so understanding.

The room stays quiet as Jungkook remains rooted beside you. Yoongi lets out a short sniffle before trailing after Jia without glancing at either of you. The door slams shut behind him, leaving you and Jungkook alone in his bedroom.

As soon as Yoongi’s gone, Jungkook turns to face you, the warmth of his body washing a sense of comfort over you that you don’t deserve in the slightest.

“Are you alright, bug?” he asks carefully, his hand lifting to adjust the strap of your top that had shifted slightly across your shoulder.

“Of course I’m okay. I just… I don’t understand, she’s not even mad at me—”

“Good. She shouldn’t be—”

“What? Yes, she should, Jeongguk.” His brows furrow. “Please, stop acting like I did nothing wrong—”

“You think I didn’t notice how you took all the blame when you were telling her?”

“It doesn’t matter how it came off, Jeongguk.” His expression tenses further.  “It doesn’t matter how I sugar coat it. The fact is, we messed up. And she’s so fucking nice that she didn’t even—”

“Nice?” He almost scoffs, his lips twisting into a wry smile. “Bug, did you really not see that response for what it truly was? Come on…”

“What are you talking about?” You try to keep your voice down despite the door being closed and a random Drake song pounding through the walls. “You saw the same thing I did! She barely even said anything—”

“Exactly. She barely said anything. We’ve known her for how many years? And when has Seong Jia ever not said something? Think about it, bug. She’s going to hold onto this and use it against you—”

“Why do you always think the worst? Why do you think so poorly of her—”

“Because I see the way she fucking treats you, Y/N!” Jungkook takes a step back, his voice rising as frustration pulses through him. “Even if you don’t see it, I see it.”

Your eyes well up with tears, and you blink rapidly, trying to keep them at bay. In the fifteen years you’ve known Jungkook, you’ve only had two heated arguments—this being the third. And, though you push the thought aside, you can’t ignore that all three fights were about Jia.

“This—this blind loyalty you have for me is flattering,” you mutter bitterly through your tears, “but you’re wrong. She’s a good friend.”

“Blind loyalty?” He forces a laugh, incredulous. “The only thing blind is you for not being able to tell when someone’s treating you like shit!”

“Yeah?” you scoff.

“Yeah.” He nods mockingly, taking a step closer. “You think you haven’t earned my fucking loyalty?”

“Oh, I know I have.” You cross your arms defensively. “If I’ve earned anything, it’s your fucking loyalty! But you need to acknowledge that I can make mistakes too—”

“I do acknowledge when you make mistakes.”

“No, you don’t, Jeongguk!” Your hands fly out in a frustrated gesture as he closes the distance between you even more. “You didn’t when I overfed your goldfish and it died from bloating! You didn’t when I signed up for that People Magazine free trial using your card, and you got charged for an entire year! And now you’re doing it again—”

“That shit doesn’t matter, bug!”

“You’re saying this doesn’t matter?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“How could it possibly not matter—”

“Because I know what it feels like to be so in love with somebody that it consumes you.”

Your mouth snaps shut. As Jungkook continues, his gaze remains fixed on you, but his eyes are distant. “That any sign of that feeling truly being reciprocated would make you do unspeakable fucking things.”

The frustration coursing through your veins fizzles out, replaced by a sudden, painful wave of pure jeal—confusion.

“What?” It comes out as a whisper.

Jungkook doesn’t answer, his eyes just continuing to trace the lines of your face.

“You love somebody?” The bitterness in your tone is obvious, but you don’t can't stop. “We tell each other everything… and you didn’t care to tell me that you’re in love with someone?”

His silence is so unsettling that it prompts a painful laugh from you. “Oh, okay.” You give a sharp nod, “if that’s how you want to be. Fine. I’ll just start keeping fucking secrets from you too, then.”

The lack of response from him only fuels the fire inside you, and before you can stop yourself, the words keep pouring out. “Why aren’t you saying anything? Why wouldn’t you tell me? Is it someone from uni? What the fuck, Jeongguk—”

“It’s nobody you know.”

“I—” You stare at him, your eyes wide, disbelief flooding your system as your arms drop to your sides. “I know everyone you know!”

This time, you don’t even try to stop the tears that are building behind your lashes from spilling over. But the fiery, sour feeling burning a hole in your gut is too strong, too raw, and you’re not ready to acknowledge what it might mean.

“If you don’t want to tell me, fine. But don’t lie to me.” Your voice trembles at the end as you lift a shaky hand to wipe under your nose, choking back a sob as tears slip into your breath.

Jungkook’s expression softens as he takes a step forward, cautiously reaching out his hand to touch your arm.

He tries not to think that your reaction is anything but a best friend being upset that their best friend didn’t tell them about an important part of their life.

He tries not to think that your reaction is because you can’t stand to think of him being in love with someone else.

He tries not to think about how much every cell in his body has ignited at the thought of you being possessive of him. Jealous of the person he’s in love with.

But it’s hard. So fucking hard. Because all he can see is the pain in your eyes, the hurt etched across your face.

Such a sight would usually bring him to his knees and have him doing anything to make the pain go away. But now, as fucked up as it is, all he feels is hope. Hope that maybe the reason you’re so upset is because you feel the same way he does.

“I’ve never lied to you, bug.” His voice is soft as he rubs up and down your bare arms gently.

“Hm,” you croak, wiping more tears away. “Until now.”

“Until now,” Jungkook echoes quietly, lifting his hand to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears that won't fucking stop.

You don’t know why you’re crying harder than you have in God knows how long. Why you don’t push Jungkook’s hand away even though you’re mad at him. Why you’re even mad in the first place.

Well, like you said earlier: you are an overreactor.

But it’s not like you and Jungkook haven’t had lovers in the past.

You had your first boyfriend last year, a sweet senior named Kim Taehyung. He was a great guy—kind, easygoing, gorgeous. He got along with most of your friends, and you were especially glad Jungkook liked him as his approval was the toughest to earn.

But something about Jungkook must have rubbed Taehyung the wrong way.

Before you and Tae officially started dating, you’d first met at a frat party that you attended with Jungkook as Yoongi and Jia had stayed in that night. The two of them got on super well, and you guys had even teamed up for beer pong together.

But after a few dates, and you eventually saying yes when he asked to go steady, things began to change.

Taehyung started asking you to sleep over at his frat more often, something you didn't really like to do (and something Jungkook certainly didn't like you doing either).

Soon, he was asking for details on which friends you were with whenever you hung out with someone. He even began to ask to switch to FaceTime calls when you’d mention specific names and leave out others.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. You’re a naturally clingy person too, so maybe it was just his way of showing he cared. But when he requested that you spend less time with just one friend in particular, that was where you drew the line.

It confused you, especially since you’d already cut back from spending all of your free time with Jungkook to about 40%, but he still wanted more. You’d told Taehyung from the start that Jungkook was your best friend and a huge part of your life, that you guys have always been close. He had no problem with that. Well, in the beginning, at least.

Naturally, you told Jungkook about Taehyung’s request, and you’d never seen him so angry. You reassured him not to worry, that it all wasn't sitting well with you, that you'd be ending things soon.

Jungkook relaxed at that.

He also dropped to his knees that night and sent up a prayer to the Goddess that it was finally fucking over. But you didn’t need to know that part.

As for Jungkook, he’s never been in relationship. He has been with two girls, though. Park Iseul and Cho Jiwon.

Iseul was great. You and her shared an Economics lecture, and you even used to sit next to her during classes.

She’d usually ask about Jungkook, and you’d give her updates, letting her know he was doing well. But whenever you’d try to pass on her messages to Jungkook, he would just refuse to hear them, asking you to stop sitting near her.

It seemed like Iseul picked up on the hint since she gradually found other seats during class, and so did you. You didn’t mind; she was still super nice, but you did scold Jungkook for his behavior. He apologized, but only to you, not to her.

Your encounter with Cho Jiwon, however, was… different.

‹ ‹ ‹

“Uhhh…”

The voice caught you off guard, making you turn from shutting the door behind you. Sitting at Jungkook’s kitchen island with a bowl of muesli, was a female around your age. You glanced at your surroundings, then the key in your hand to make sure this was indeed your best friend's apartment. It was.

“Oh, hello.” You greeted the pretty girl with a nod, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

“Hello?” she responded, confused. Her eyes roamed over your Seoul Cinema uniform before narrowing slightly. “Who are you?”

“I’m Y/N,” you responded quietly. Unsure of what to say or do, you hesitated. “And… um, you?”

“Jiwon,” she replied, squinting a little. “Are you his girlfriend or something? Because he said he was single, but I should’ve known; he literally stopped in the middle of sex last night to answer a text…” Her voice trailed off as she tilted her head, “Wait, what was your name again?”

You blinked, a frown edging onto your face for her. You opened your mouth to repeat yourself when Jungkook stumbled out of his bedroom, rubbing a sleepy hand over his face.

“Bug?" He croaked, making his way toward you. "You okay? I was gonna come get you in a bit.” His bare chest was still warm as he wrapped his arms around you.

You pulled back from the hug with a quick apology. “Sorry, I got ready early and just walked over,” you said, gesturing toward Jiwon, still munching on her cereal. “Didn’t know you had someone over, though. I should’ve texted. I can ask Taehyung to drop me off at work and we can reschedule?”

Jungkook looked down at you, confused, then followed your gaze to Jiwon, who was still seated at his kitchen counter. He blinked in surprise, as though he had only just registered her presence. “Uh…are you okay?”

Your gaze snapped to his in surprise, and Jiwon’s expression turned sour. “What?”

“I thought you were leaving…” Jungkook’s brows knitted in confusion, eyeing her attire, which consisted only of his t-shirt. He hated that you were seeing this. “Did you need money for an Uber?”

“Jeongguk,” you frowned, shifting your bag on your shoulder as you glared at him. But Jiwon just rolled her eyes and scoffed.

“You could do so much better, girl,” she sneered at you, tugging off Jungkook’s t-shirt and tossing it at him as she got up. He caught it with little reaction, watching indifferently as she headed toward his room in her bra and underwear.

You were about to nudge him to apologize when she reemerged in her dress a moment later, throwing a glare over her shoulder. “Way better than a lying cheater, anyway.”

You opened your mouth to clarify. “No, Jiwon, we’re not—”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks, Jihyo,” Jungkook cut in boredly. “So, did you need money for that Uber?”

Your jaw dropped as you stared at him in utter disbelief while Jiwon just shook her head with a scoff. She angrily brushed past him and left, slamming the door behind her.

“Jeongguk, that was so rude.”

Jungkook just shrugged, tipping her cereal down the disposal and rinsing the bowl. “Bug, I already told her I had something to do in the morning and I’d need her to leave by 8 if she wanted to stay over.”

“I wish you would've told me. I wouldn’t have just barged in without calling first. That was so awkward.”

“You never need to call when you’re coming over,” he gave you a look. “And it wasn’t awkward.” He shrugged again, opening his dishwasher and putting the singular bowl and spoon in before starting a cycle.

“It was a little awkward,” you murmured, sighing. “You could have at least offered her a ride home.”

“Okay, okay, bug. I’ll repent for my sins later,” he nodded, walking over to slip your bag off your shoulder and set it on the couch. “You okay, though? Why’d you come over so early? I thought we were seeing the 10 o'clock movie since your shift starts at 1?”

You just shrugged, eyes shifting to the floor. Jungkook’s big hands cupped your face, gently tilting it up so you were looking at him. "Hm?" he prompted, squishing your cheeks slightly, coaxing your lips into a cute little pout.

When he let go enough for you to speak, you mumbled, “Dunno…haven’t seen you in a few days. Missed you.”

His brows knitted together, and his arms slid down to your waist, pulling you closer. “I missed you more, bug. What’s up, though? Did something happen?”

You exhaled, leaning into his chest as your arms wrapped around him. “No, just…feels weird not seeing you every day. I don't like it.”

His heart thumped at your words, and his fingers traced small circles along your back. “I get it. It's weird for me too. But your boyfriend probably doesn't like it very much, hm?”

You pulled back slightly to frown, “Gukkie—”

“Kidding,” he murmured with a soft chuckle, resting his head in the nape of your neck. He was most certainly not kidding. “I’m gonna shower, and then we can have some breakfast before we go, okay?”

You nodded, scratching his back a little as he pulled away, heading toward the bathroom while you settled on the couch to wait.

Breakfast was yummy. The movie was great. You and Taehyung broke up a week later.

› › ›

“Can you please tell me who it is?” you ask, looking up at him with a sniffle, feeling utterly defeated. You need to know.

Jungkook has never denied you when you ask him for something. Ever.

You would usually never take advantage of such a gift, but right now, you’re desperate. You know that this feeling won’t go away until he tells you. You need to know.

“I can.” His hand still rests on your cheek, his thumb pausing its soft caress as your tears finally stop. But even then, he doesn’t meet your gaze, his eyes fixed somewhere on the lower part of your face.

“Will you?” you ask, trying to catch his eye, but his gaze remains fixed on the bottom half of your face.

“I will,” he confirms tensely, reluctantly lifting his eyes to meet yours. His irises are a little darker than usual. “But I won’t tell you their name... I want you to guess for me, bug.”

Your brows furrow harshly, and you take a step back, not in the mood for games. But Jungkook immediately follows suit, as if he expected your movements. He easily closes the distance between you without losing the contact between your face and his hand.

“You’re really playing with me right now? Seriously, Jeong—”

“She’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

Well, okay then.

You stop yourself from flinching, eyes snapping up to his to find them already locked on yours.

“She’s so fucking funny. Makes me laugh harder than anyone else in the world. And she doesn't even try.”

Yep. You’ve heard enough.

You swallow hard and raise your hand in an attempt to stop him, your mind racing for words. The fingers of his free hand wrap easily around your risen palm, bringing it to rest flat against his chest.

“All she has to do is walk in the room, and my heart beats so fucking hard that I’m scared she’s gonna hear it one day.”

You feel it—the rapid thump of his heartbeat beneath your palm. Your breath catches in your throat, and when your eyes meet his, you try to look away from the intensity, but you can’t.

No matter how foggy your vision becomes with tears, no matter how badly your hand trembles against his chest, no matter how hard it is to breathe with him looking at you like that—you can’t look away.

“I check my phone every five fucking minutes when we’re apart, just to see if she’s thinking about me like I’m thinking about her.”

Jungkook’s figure becomes a watery, blurry blob because you refuse to blink, as if the millisecond that your eyes are closed will somehow cause you to miss something crucial.

“She’s the first person I think of when I open my eyes in the morning,” he says quietly, “and the last when I fall asleep. I’m reminded of her by every single fucking thing. Even a stupid little toy figurine that looks nothing like her.”

At that, something inside you snaps, and without a second thought, you shove his hands away from you. Before he can react, your hands slide up to the back of his neck, pulling him down and pressing his mouth firmly against yours. Your eyes fall shut at the warmth of his lips, and then it happens.

Bursts of color explode behind your closed eyelids, vibrant and electric, filling every corner of your mind.

A surge of relief sweeps through your veins, washing away every single thing that came before this moment in a wave of perfect clarity.

Your fingers tighten their grip on the back of his neck, feeling his surprise blend into pure pleasure. His hands slip to your sides as he pulls you closer, every muscle in his body loosening as he melts into the kiss. It’s warm, soft, sweet. Your mouths are closed, eyes shut, simply savoring the feeling of being with the person you care about most in the entire world.

You’re happy. You’re relieved. And for the first time in the last eight days, you’re not confused in the slightest.

"Any guesses?" Jungkook murmurs against your lips as you pull back slightly for air.

You laugh through the tears that had spilled out before you kissed, as his hands lift from your hips to brush them away. "Hmm," you hum, leaning into his hand on your face, "Jia?"

“Ooh, close…” He squints teasingly with a smirk, his thumb swiping away a tear that had fallen to your pouty lip. “Just think, like, five times less bitchy and ten times hotter.”

A watery laugh escapes you, and you fall forward, resting your forehead against his chest. You sniffle and shake your head. “I can’t believe you just confessed your love for me in Yoongi and Jia’s bedroom.” Jungkook’s soft chuckle fills the room, making your heart flutter. “That’s such a you thing to do,” you add as you pull back to look up at him.

“You’re not wrong,” he replies, his smile softening as he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead.

His hand finds yours, and he glances toward the door, a faint awareness in his eyes. He’s not sure how many songs have played while you’ve been holed up together, but it’s been long enough to raise suspicion. “C’mon, bug,” he murmurs, gently tugging you toward the door.

But your brows knit together as he tries to lead you out. “What?”

Jungkook turns back, his expression relaxed and a little curious. “Hm?”

“I—” You pause, caught off guard by how casually he seems ready to move on. “You don’t want to talk about… things?”

His eyes glimmer with amusement as he steps closer. “Things?”

“You just told me you’re in love with me, and kissed me, and—"

“You kissed me,” he teases softly, his lips quirking up when you glare at him with the cutest, slightly swollen pout.

“You don’t want me to… say anything? To say it back?” you ask quietly, letting him take your other hand into his hold so he has both of them, tugging you a little closer.

Jungkook’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, and your eyes track the movement, unable to forget the way they felt against yours. He’s so close now that the heat of his body warms the space between you, the scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering smell of the cigarette he had on the drive over swirling around you.

“I didn’t tell you for something in return, bug,” he says gently, his thumbs tracing slow circles over your knuckles. “I told you because you wanted to know,” he adds with a slight shrug, “and because I wanted you to know.”

The simplicity of his words takes you by surprise. There’s no pressure in his gaze, no expectation. Your heart aches in a way you’ve never felt before.

“And if I want to say it back?” you whisper, eyes looking between his.

Jungkook does the same, looking for any trace of uncertainty in yours before asking quietly, "Do you mean it?"

“More than I think I even understand,” the words tumble out before you can second-guess them.

"Then say it."

“I’m so in love with you, Gukkie,” you whisper instantly, as if it were a command, “I thought I knew what love was, but… you’re love. Everything about you, everything you do is love.” Jungkook swallows hard, his thumbs still tracing softly over your knuckles. “We’re still so young, and there’s so much more to do… But I want to do it all with you.”

“Fucking hell, bug,” he mutters under his breath before his lips crash back into yours.

This kiss is deep, urgent, like he’s trying to tell you something through it.

And, god, Jungkook had always been a good storyteller.

Your hands slip free from his, finding the sides of his neck, grasping for balance as his hands slide to the small of your back, steadying you when you almost stumble.

Your fingers curl into the warm, strong muscles of his shoulders, and you return his kiss with the same intensity, the taste of him filling all of your senses. His lips feel warmer, smokier, like everything about him is more intense now. And in that moment, everything else just fades away.

When you part your lips, an ache for more already tugging at you, his tongue slips in like it’s been waiting the whole time. A soft, satisfied hum escapes you, and he mirrors it, his sound a little throatier as his tongue intertwines with yours.

Jungkook’s hands slide over you—your sides, your hips, your back—as if he’s committing the feel of you to memory, like he’s afraid this is the only time he’ll ever have the chance. The soft, wet sounds of your tongues moving together fill your ears, and you know that if you have any say in it, this will be far from the last time.

A low groan bubbles in Jungkook’s throat when you press yourself closer to him and his fingers instinctively tighten around your sides.

Then he hears it.

Jungkook pulls back quickly but carefully, his gaze lingering on yours as his hands smooth over your hair, fixing where his fingers had tousled it. His thumb brushes over your shoulder, adjusting the strap of your top that had slipped down again, while his other hand runs along the edge of your lips to fix your smudged lip gloss He licks his own lips to remove any residue and you pout, about to ask if he’s okay when the door swings open.

“Hellooo? What's taking so long? The Uber’s here and the guys are already at Joonie's.” Jia bellows, raising her brows as she glances between the two of you. “Come on, you can pregame in the car.”

Jungkook looks at you, waiting. You nod at her, your fingers brushing against his as you step back, clearing your throat and tucking your hair behind your ear. “Okay, Ji, sorry. We’re coming.”

She just nods, leaving the door open as she turns back to Yoongi, who’s waiting with her jacket. He hands it over wordlessly before leading her outside.

Jungkook’s gaze lingers on you, quiet and searching. “You sure you still want to go?”

You take a breath, nodding. “Yeah, if Jia still wants me to come, it’s the least I can do. Do you still want to go?”

His lips press together for a second, but he nods, his hand sliding down to interlock with yours as you both walk out of the bedroom. He grabs his car keys from the counter on the way, but as you approach the door, a frown creases your forehead.

“You’re not driving us, right, Gukkie?” you ask, eyeing the keys in his hand.

He glances down at you, a faintly amused smile touching his lips. “Yeah, I am, bug. Why? Did you want to take the Uber with them?”

You shake your head, but the frown doesn’t leave. “No, but... you’re not gonna drink tonight?”

Jungkook shrugs lightly, giving your hand a gentle squeeze before he lets it go so you can grab your mini purse from the counter and slip it over your shoulder. He reclaims your hand when you’re done, guiding you out of the apartment. “Not tonight, bug.”

The sadness in your eyes makes him pause, and you glance up at him. “Why? Is everything okay? I don’t like drinking when you don't drink.” Your voice softens, lips forming a small pout as he presses the down arrow for the elevator.

He smiles at the sight, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “I just wanted to drive you home, that’s all, bug.” His smile turns slightly amused. “But I’ll drink if you want to. You know I’m always down to drink with you.”

Your face brightens, leaning into his side to give him a soft thank you. As the elevator dings open, your phone vibrates in your clutch. You pull it out and giggle at the screen, tilting it toward Jungkook. He rolls his eyes, his lips twitching as he ushers you inside the elevator when it reaches your floor.

[9:57pm] From: Ji HELLOOO???? oh my god get down here. this fucking freak is trying to charge us twice for making him wait like two minutes

The crisp night air envelopes you as soon as you and Jungkook step outside the apartment complex, refreshing your skin and helping to calm your racing mind.

When you had both arrived at Yoongi and Jia's earlier in the night, you received a very quizzical look from your best friend as you climbed out of his Jeep.

‹ ‹ ‹

You extended your hand, waiting for him to come around to your side of the car before intertwining your fingers. Instead of locking the car, he paused, glancing back through the windows as if searching for something.

“Gukkie? You okay?” you asked, tilting your head at his hesitation. “I have your phone in my purse, remember?”

“Bug, where’s your jacket?” he asked, his brows furrowing as he looked over your outfit. He gave the Jeep’s seats another quick scan, hoping you’d just forgotten to grab it.

You shook your head, giving his hand a little tug to urge him forward. “I didn’t bring one. Couldn't find one that worked with my outfit. It’s okay, Gukkie, I'm not cold.”

But he didn’t budge. “Bug…” he said with a sigh, eyes scanning the backseat to see if he had left one of his jackets in there that you could wear. Nothing.

“Gukkie,” you laughed at the way his frown deepened, tugging his hand again. “You don’t have a jacket either, hm. Besides, there’s a small chance we’re even going out tonight anyway...”

Your voice softened, and Jungkook paused, sighing as the urge to drive home and grab you a jacket waned a bit. He pressed the lock button on his key fob with reluctance and let you pull him along up the path to the building.

His free hand slid up your arm as you walked, checking that your skin was still warm. It was, luckily for you, or he would've been plopping you back in the passenger seat to go back and get you a coat no matter how much you complained.

Jungkook knew Jia’s firm stance against jackets and outerwear—always “ruining the aesthetic" or something of the sort. He didn’t really pay much attention to what she said unless it involved you, if he was being honest.

And the thought of you borrowing one of Yoongi’s didn’t even get a chance to settle in his mind before he forced it far, far away.

› › ›

The scene with Jungkook in Jia’s room replays over and over in your head, but there’s a new lightness to it now—a weight lifted, even though you know the lines between you have definitely blurred. There’s more to think about, maybe more to figure out, but as you glance up at Jungkook’s peaceful expression, you find that you don’t mind it right now.

Reaching the end of the path, Yoongi hops out of the car and pulls the seat forward to let you into the back. “Hi, sorry for the wait,” you apologize softly to the driver, offering a polite smile as Jungkook takes your purse. His hand settles warmly on your back, guiding you in as you climb into the backseat.

The driver just mutters something under his breath and waits as Jungkook slides in next to you. Yoongi settles back beside Jia, who’s typing something on her phone, closing the door as the driver pulls out onto the road.

In the quiet hum of the car, you lean back, stealing a quick glance at Jungkook. He catches it, his lips quirking up as he shifts just a little closer, one hand slipping over yours where it rests on your lap. You turn your hand over and intertwine it with his, using your free hand to play with his fingers, tracing over the lines of his pretty tattoos. You rest your head on his shoulder, your eyes fluttering closed.

You can’t wait to drink.

It’s about twenty-five minutes later when you arrive at Joonie’s nightclub.

Jia had managed to convince the Uber driver to let you guys drink a little with the promise of a 50% tip, and as soon as he agreed, she swiftly pulled the bottle of tequila up from beneath her seat. She took a sip and handed it to Yoongi, who did the same before passing it to the back. Jungkook let you take a mouthful before he did, and you each took one more, his shots a little bigger than yours.

As you step inside, the music is loud, vibrating the ground as colored lights flicker across the floor. You spot the rest of your friends by a table in the corner, already clinking shot glasses together and throwing them back. When they see the four of you, their faces light up, and soon they’re stumbling over for hugs and half-drunk hellos.

Jimin is the first to reach you, a bright grin spreading across his face as he wraps you in a tight hug, swaying you from side to side. “Hi, angel! Gah, y'always look so pretty without an apron on! Good to see you—ah, hey, Kook! Get over here, you big thing,” he beams, pulling away from you to bring Jungkook down into an equally enthusiastic hug.

“Hey, Jimin-ah,” Jungkook responds, returning the hug and then straightening to stand by your side again.

Jimin stands there, his eyes raking over both of you for a moment before he lets out a sigh and gives something similar to a nod of approval.

You shake your head, laughing as you adjust your purse. “How much have you had to drink already, Jiminie?”

“Not nearly enough,” he quips instantly, glancing back at the group where the others are ushering Jia and Yoongi over to their table. “And judging by the fact you’re not red as a tomato yet… neither have you. Come on,” he grins, grabbing both your arms and pulling you and Jungkook toward the rest of the group.

When you guys reach the circle, you exchange hugs and little hiii, I missed you's until you reach the last person at the table.

"Hey, Y/N," Taehyung greets, pulling you into a warm hug.

Blinking in surprise as you pull back, you smile. "Hey, Tae? I didn’t know you were coming tonight. How are you?”

Taehyung nods, his hand resting casually on his beer. “Yeah, been okay. You?”

“Good, thanks Tae,” you reply with a soft smile, stepping back beside Jungkook.

“Oh, hey, Jungkook-ah, how are you, man?” Taehyung continues, extending a hand.

Jungkook takes it, and they do a little bro shake before he settles next to you again. “Really good, man, thanks,” he nods, glancing over the table before turning to you. “I’m gonna go get our drinks. Did y'want a long Island?”

Your eyes light up, and you nod, starting to walk with him to the bar when Valerie calls out, “Y/N! Babe, come take a photo! The lighting is soo cute over here.”

You turn back around, “One sec, Val, I’m just going to grab—”

“It’s okay, bug. I won’t be long,” Jungkook says quietly, running his hand down your arm as you glance over at him.

“Oh, okay.” You nod, looking up at him.

He raises his brows with an amused look when you don't move for a while. “Go on,” he nudges his head toward your friends, watching as you nod again with a cute smile and head over to Jia, Valerie, and Jimin. His gaze lingers as Yoongi takes the phone from Jia, and you all get ready to pose for the photos.

Sliding in next to Jia feels like second nature as your arm wraps around her waist, but as realization dawns, you quickly move to pull back, unsure if that's okay anymore.

Jia just rolls her eyes, grabbing your arm and placing it firmly back around her waist before leaning into you. The two of you settle in for the shot, and you smile, resting your head on her shoulder as the flash goes off, Yoongi snapping a bunch of photos of the four of you.

Once Jia finally deems the hundred pictures her boyfriend has taken as enough, your little group breaks away, with Jimin and Valerie immediately rushing over to review the results.

You start to follow them but pause when you catch sight of Taehyung at the end of the table, sitting alone and staring at his beer. You frown, looking around for Hoseok and Jin, but they seem to have wandered off, leaving him by himself.

You slide into the seat beside him. “Hey,” you greet, and Taehyung looks up, returning a small smile. "You okay?"

“Hey,” he chuckles lightly. “Yeah, why, do I look all depressed and lonely right now?”

With a grin, you pick up the tiny umbrella from an empty glass nearby, twirling it in your fingers. “No. Just a little alone,” you hum. “Where did Jin and Hobi go?”

“Out for a smoke,” Taehyung answers, his eyes lingering on you for a second before glancing back at his drink. Just as you’re about to ask if he wants another beer since his looks low, Jungkook arrives back at the table.

He sets your drink in front of you, still holding his own glass, and pulls up a chair beside you. “Thanks, Gukkie,” you smile, pulling the cup toward you to take a sip.

Jungkook gives you a little nod, resting a hand on your leg. His gaze shifts, noticing how Taehyung’s eyes follow the movement of your mouth as you wrap your lips around the straw. Jungkook’s tongue flicks over his lips before he takes a silent mouthful of his drink, watching as the two of you chat.

It's not long before Jimin brings over a large tray to the table, all your friends cheering in excitement as he sets it down with a grin.

"Shots!"

“Shit, bug, wait, watch your step, I just—”

Jungkook’s warning doesn’t reach your inebriated brain in time, and you stumble over the step he nearly tripped on himself, letting out a little curse. Before you can fall forward, his arms are already around you, pulling you back upright.

“Gukkie,” you whine, “why did you push me?” you grumble, your cheeks rosy from the endless shots Jimin kept feeding you and the lingering heat of the dance floor you two had been on all night.

Not that you’ll remember most of this tomorrow, considering you went over your limit about two Long Island iced teas ago, but tonight was one of the best nights you’ve had in a very long time.

Jia mostly clung to Valerie for the night, but that didn’t matter—you and Jungkook had more than enough fun on your own. Jimin even took Taehyung under his wing, and the four of you ended up spinning around on the dance floor after you convinced Jungkook to join in too. He’s so good at it, you’ve never understood why he doesn’t dance more often, but he indulged you tonight. And it was so fucking amazing.

“I didn’t push you, bug,” he grumbles back, holding you steady as he blinks, trying to get his own hazy vision under control.

If you went past your limit, Jungkook went double down. He can handle his alcohol—much better than you, at least—but you guys were having so much fun, and he loves drinking with you, so he went all out. When you took a shot, he took two. When you stood in front of him, lifting a cup to his lips with a sweet, urging little smile, who the fuck was he to say no?

“Gukkie, where’s your car?” you ask, squinting up the street, arm looping through his as you both stagger down the sidewalk. The chilly night air nips at your bare legs, but the warmth of the alcohol keeps it at bay as you rest your head lazily on his bicep.

“Uhh,” Jungkook mutters, scanning the line of parked cars as he tries to spot his Jeep. “I dunno, baby. Let’s just walk home.”

You nod in agreement, too tipsy to consider that the walk back to either of your apartments would take at least an hour—probably more, but you don’t care. Right now, it feels like you could walk for miles, just like this.

“Okay, but—” you trail off, eyes drifting as he stops running his hand over the one of yours clinging to his bicep. He turns to you with a little frown. “But what? D'you want to take your heels off?”

You blink up at him, the blur of alcohol softening everything but his face, his features as clear and pretty as ever. “You called me baby,” you say, a wide, drunk grin lighting up your face as you gaze up at him, utterly enchanted.

Jungkook’s brows knit together in confusion. He glances forward to ensure you both don’t veer into anything, then looks back down at you. “What, bug?”

“You called me baby,” you repeat, leaning your head against his arm with a happy squeeze. “Gosh, Gukkie, I hope I remember this when I wake up.”

Jungkook blinks a little at that, turning his head to face the path in front of him as you both keep walking. Did he call you baby? It must’ve just slipped out. He’s never called anyone that—not even while drunk, as far as he knows. The thought lingers for a moment, but when Jungkook feels you shiver slightly and yawn against his arm, that’s all it takes for him to have his first sober thought since his umpteenth vodka shot.

“Bug,” he says, pulling you to a gentle stop, his gaze drifting over your goosebump-covered legs and sleepy eyes. You blink up at him, a soft, confused smile lifting your lips as you glance around, wondering why you’ve stopped. “I need to get us an Uber,” Jungkook murmurs, rubbing his hands over your cold arms to warm you. “Come sit with me. Gonna order it.”

He looks around for a seat, but there isn’t one in sight, so he guides you to the curb and sits down, holding his arms open as you step in front of him and plop between his legs. Making sure you're settled, he pulls out his phone, blinking hard to try and get the numbers on the screen to stay still enough to punch in his passcode.

You lean back into his hold, his free arm wrapping around your stomach as your eyes flutter shut, your fingers tracing softly over the inked patterns on his arm. “So warm,” you mumble, lost in the feel of his skin against yours.

Jungkook tilts his head a little as you lean further into him, the tip of your nose brushing against his neck. He swallows, his pulse quickening as he tries to focus on ordering the Uber to your place.

“How are you so warm everywhere?” you sigh dreamily, letting your nose drift up the length of his neck, fingers still tracing along his arm. Jungkook’s breath catches, but he manages to confirm the ride and lock his phone, his other arm wrapping around you, quietly pulling you snug against his chest.

"Can I kiss your neck, Gukkie?"

Jungkook’s eyes shut at your words, every fiber in him reacting to you as he swallows hard. “Just a little, bug. Our uber isn’t far.”

The slight tilt of his head is all the encouragement you need, and you press a gentle, lingering kiss to his nape, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows again. Drawn in by the pretty sight, your mouth latches onto his neck, tasting the warmth of his skin.

“Bug,” he croaks, his voice shaky as your lips press more purposefully, your soft touch just a bit more intentional. “Bug, c’mon, baby, not too much. You’re drunk, I—” His breathing deepens as your tongue traces a warm, wet line over his skin, his hands tightening on your sides as he exhales shakily.

Your lips find a soft spot at the base of his neck, and he lets out another unsteady breath, his body responding without his consent. Humming happily, you let yourself sink into the feeling a little longer before pulling back and admiring your handiwork. It’s not enough to leave a mark, just a faint warmth that’ll fade, but it’s still so pretty. You press one last gentle kiss to the spot before turning back around, leaning contentedly back against his chest.

“Thanks, Gukkie. I like the way your skin tastes,” you smile with your eyes closed, settling your hands over his arms around you, the honesty in your words amplified by the haze of the alcohol.

“God, bug,” Jungkook mumbles once he catches his breath, his fingers running lightly up and down your waist as he adjusts the hem of your top, covering you when it rides up a little. “So cute.”

He watches as a soft, pretty smile curves your lips, eyes still closed as you practically purr into him at his comment.

So. Fucking. Cute.

Jungkook rests his head in the crook of your neck, which is bared just for him. Your head lolls back as you sleepily begin to curl into his embrace. “So pretty,” he breathes into your skin, pressing a light little kiss as he inhales as much of your scent as possible.

He’s kissed you plenty of times—on your forehead, your cheeks, even twice on your fucking lips earlier tonight. But he’s never kissed your neck before.

And it’s addicting.

The aroma of your vanilla-creme body wash mixed with the Miss Dior perfume he buys you for your birthdays—fuck. He could lick it off every inch of your body if you’d let him.

But not tonight.

He knows you get extra touchy with him when you’re drunk, and, yeah, he does with you too. That’s just how you two have always been. But it’s usually just longer cuddles, sitting closer than normal, not leaving each other's side for more than a few minutes.

You’ve never done that to him before.

Maybe it’s because, however intoxicated you may be, your brain recognizes the shift between the two of you from earlier at Yoongi and Jia’s.

God, he fucking hopes so.

Jungkook prays that you’ll remember kissing him tomorrow, even if you’re dazed from the alcohol. Because he is too. But, somehow, he'll make sure he remembers every single second.

i hit the fucking block limit >:( sooo nasty of tumblr 😔 the rest of the fic is available in this reblog 🩷

[mssishipi]

my boyfriend's in a band - pjs

PAIRING: guitarist jay x cheerleader reader

SYNOPSIS: One second, you were telling a little lie to impress the cheerleaders, and the next, the whole school thought you were dating Park Jongseong—the cold, untouchable, and ridiculously hot guitarist. What started as a desperate move to boost your reputation took a wild turn when Jay decided to go along with it. Now, you’re caught up in nonstop gossip, awkward moments, and a fake relationship that feels a little too real—especially with Jay showing a surprisingly sweet side that no one, including you, saw coming.

contains: fake dating, lots of fluffs, comedy, slight angst, strangers to lovers, reader is in 11th grade while jay is in 12th, (but both of them are over the age of 18) reader is short, jay smokes vape in the middle of the story, jay hates everyone lol warning: profanities, mentions of sex, mild smut. WC: 14.7k

song used: same ground by kitchie nadal

A/N: thank you for the 95 followers!

You were a simple girl.

Simple, average, ordinary. Not the type to snag straight A's in every class, but not failing either. You were the kind of girl teachers barely noticed—just another name on the roll call, another face in the crowd.

You liked pink—just enough to keep it cute, but not the over-the-top glittery kind.

You didn't obsess over fandoms or have bags covered in pins and but you have figurines. Your style wasn't edgy or pastel chic or anything that made you stand out. You were... balanced. Plain. Normal.

Your high school life reflected that. Simple. Average. No exciting detours.

You weren't a sports star who got their name chanted in the bleachers. You weren't a science geek impressing everyone with your brainpower. You weren't a mean girl, a party kid, or a cheerleader.

Oh, but you wanted to be a cheerleader.

You wanted to wear that uniform, flip through the air, feel the rush of the crowd. You wanted the applause, the way everyone's eyes followed them when they walked the halls.

But no one cared about a normal girl trying out.

Reputation was everything in high school, and yours? Too simple. Too... forgettable.

You could cheer. You could dance. You could pull off a backflip, a split, the whole routine. You had the skills. What you didn't have was the image.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" one of the cheerleaders asked, her voice dismissive as you landed your final jump during tryouts. You stood there, panting, sweat dripping down your face after nailing the routine.

"A boyfriend?" you repeated, blinking, stunned. What did that have to do with anything?

"From football? Hockey? Maybe Math Olympiad?" she continued, her smirk curling like she already knew the answer.

You froze. Of course you didn't have a boyfriend. You were an NBSB—No Boyfriend Since Birth kind of girl. But how was that even relevant? You were here to cheer, not audition for a dating show.

"We'll let you know if you're accepted... or not," another cheerleader chimed in, her voice dripping with boredom. She wasn't even pretending to care about your performance.

You stood there for a moment, trying to steady your breathing, gripping your bag so tight your knuckles turned white. The sting of their indifference burned in your chest as you turned and walked out of the gym, sweaty and defeated.

Reputation doesn't matter, they always said. What a joke. High school was all about reputation—who you dated, who you were seen with, who you weren't.

And being a simple, average, normal girl? That just wasn't good enough.

It was a warm afternoon when you found yourself face-to-face with them again—the cheerleader tryouts.

So, before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out:

"My boyfriend is Park Jongseong."

The world seemed to stop for a second. All the cheerleaders froze, wide-eyed, jaws dropping like a scene from a poorly-scripted teen drama.

"Wait—Park Jongseong?!" one of them shrieked, her voice climbing several octaves. "The hot guitarist in the band?"

You nodded, keeping your expression sweet and innocent, careful not to let your fabricated lie crumble.

"Oh my god!" Another cheerleader nearly jumped out of her skin. "He's, like, the hottest guy in school! And so... mysterious."

"He's so cold, though," another chimed in, tilting her head suspiciously. "How did you even—"

You cut her off, spinning your web of lies before she could unravel it. "Oh, it just... happened," you said with a casual shrug, as if it were no big deal.

"We met at this café off campus. He asked me about my drink order, and, well..." You let out a dreamy sigh, painting a picture so vivid you could almost convince yourself it was real.

"He's so sweet. He cares about me so much. Like, he cooks for me when I'm tired, aftercare after sex, kisses me goodbye every morning, and—" You leaned in conspiratorially, lowering your voice to a whisper. "He even lets me touch his guitar."

The gasps that followed were almost deafening.

"No way!" one of them shrieked, clutching her chest in disbelief. "Park Jongseong doesn't let anyone touch his guitar!"

You nodded solemnly, as if sharing a sacred truth. "Well, he lets me."

For a moment, you thought you'd pulled it off. You were a star in their eyes, a girl who'd managed to capture the unattainable Park Jongseong's heart.

But deep down, you knew the truth.

Park Jongseong hate everyone, especially you. And honestly? You didn't blame him.

The first time you'd crossed paths, it had been a disaster.

You'd been drinking water at your locker when he appeared out of nowhere, walking right past you. Startled by his sudden presence, you'd choked, spraying water directly into his face.

His jaw had clenched, his eyes shutting as he took a deep breath, clearly fighting the urge to lose his temper.

"Sorry!" you'd squeaked, your face burning with humiliation.

And then, like the socially awkward creature you were, you'd bolted down the hallway, leaving him dripping and furious.

Then there was the incident in the music room.

You'd been poking around the instruments out of boredom, your fingers grazing the strings of a random guitar when—CRASH. Your foot caught on something, and the stand holding his prized guitar tipped over, sending it sprawling to the floor.

Right at that moment, the door swung open, and in walked Park Jongseong.

You froze like a deer in headlights, your heart dropping to your stomach as his gaze landed on his guitar, then on you. His face was unreadable, but the tightness in his jaw told you everything you needed to know.

"Uh... sorry?" you muttered, holding up your hands in a weak peace sign. Before he could say anything, you darted out of the room. You ran away, again.

And who could forget the volleyball incident?

You'd been practicing serves in the gym when he and his friends walked in. Your focus wavered for a split second, and the ball sailed in the wrong direction—straight into his face.

You gasped as blood began dripping from his nose. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" you stammered, panicking as he grabbed his face, clearly in pain.

Without thinking (or, honestly, with too much thinking), you did what you always did. You ran, again.

And now, standing here, spinning lies about a romance that didn't exist, you had to fight to keep your composure.

"Wow," one of the cheerleaders gushed. "I can't believe you and Jongseong are, like... a thing!"

"Yeah," you said with a forced laugh, clutching your bag tightly to hide how sweaty your palms were. "He's... amazing."

But in the back of your mind, all you could think about was how Park Jongseong would react if he ever found out about this.

And...The story spread faster than you could have ever imagined.

One second, you were fabricating a harmless little lie to impress the cheerleaders, and the next, the entire school seemed to think you and Park Jongseong were soulmates—or worse, a thing.

And not just any kind of "thing." No. The rumors had grown legs, arms, and a whole personality.

"Is it true that Park Jongseong is... like, huge in bed?" one girl whispered as you passed her in the hallway, her eyes wide with curiosity.

You choked on absolutely nothing, gripping your bag as if it might save you from spontaneously combusting.

Another girl caught up to you, practically skipping alongside you. "Oh my God, how was it? You know, with him? Is he all intense and broody like he looks, or does he have a soft side?"

You stared at her, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"He's... uh... great?" you stammered, mentally slapping yourself for sounding so unconvincing.

Her jaw dropped, and before you knew it, a crowd of girls—yes, the famous girls—was swarming you, each one louder and more persistent than the last.

"I can't believe you got him to date you!"

"Wait, wait, wait—did he really let you touch his guitar? Because I heard he doesn't even let his bandmates touch it."

"What's his favorite food? Does he let you steal his hoodies? Is he ticklish?"

"Is he actually the silent-in-public, wild-in-private type? Tell us everything!"

Your head was spinning. They were everywhere, and you couldn't escape. You tried smiling naturally, nodding here and there, but the panic bubbling inside you was threatening to explode.

"Oh my God, you're not even in the cheerleading pep squad yet? How dare they still not accept you!" one girl exclaimed dramatically. She flipped her hair with a loud scoff. "I mean, I saw your audition, and it was fucking amazing."

You blinked. She definitely had not seen your audition.

"Y-yeah, um... thanks," you muttered, clutching your bag tighter and taking a deep breath to steady yourself.

It was still early, but the hallway was packed. The questions kept coming, the voices growing louder, and you were just about ready to melt into the floor.

And then it happened.

You let out a tiny squeak as someone grabbed your arm, yanking you out of the circle of girls. You stumbled, blinking in shock, and turned to see who your savior—or captor—was.

Your heart nearly stopped.

It was him.

Park Jongseong!

Jaw sharp enough to cut glass, eyes darker than your worst nightmares, and hair falling messily across his forehead like he just stepped out of a photoshoot.

Except he didn't look like a model. No. He looked angry.

Like, furious.

Oh, you were so, so dead.

"S-see you later, girls!" you called out, your voice cracking as you tried to sound cheerful. You gripped his arm like your life depended on it, forcing a smile as he dragged you through the hallway.

The crowd erupted behind you.

"Oh my God, they're really together!"

"I knew it!"

"They're so cute! Look at how she holds onto him!"

Your face felt like it was on fire. You could feel every pair of eyes in the hallway locked on you as Jongseong stormed forward, his grip firm but not painful. You tried to match his pace, but his legs were longer, and you were practically jogging to keep up.

You tried to focus on breathing, but the more they talked, the more you wanted to just curl up and disappear.

Meanwhile, Jongseong hadn't said a single word. His jaw clenched, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

"Uh, Jongseong—"

Before you could finish, he yanked open the door to a small storage room, pulling you inside and shutting the door behind you with a loud click.

"Hey—what are you—"

"Shut up," he muttered, his voice low and sharp.

You blinked, startled. The room was small, cramped, and dimly lit by a single flickering bulb. Shelves stacked with cleaning supplies and dusty boxes surrounded you, and the air smelled faintly of bleach.

Jongseong leaned against the door, running a hand through his messy hair and letting out a frustrated sigh.

"What the hell?" he said finally, his voice laced with irritation.

You swallowed hard, gripping your bag like a shield. "I... I can explain?"

"Yeah, you'd better," he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes locked onto yours, and the intensity of his gaze made your knees feel like jelly.

"Why is everyone in this school convinced we're dating? And why," his voice dropped lower, "did I just hear someone asking if I'm good in bed?"

You winced. "Okay, so... it might've gotten a little out of hand."

He let out a bitter laugh, raising an eyebrow. "A little?"

You hesitated, trying to find the right words. "Look, I was just trying to impress the cheerleaders! They don't think I'm cool enough to make the squad, so I might've... um... made up a story."

His jaw tightened. "A story? About me?"

You gave him a weak, apologetic smile. "I didn't think it would blow up like this! I thought they'd just forget about it after tryouts!"

"Oh, yeah, because rumors about me always disappear quietly," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You bit your lip, your embarrassment growing by the second. "I'm really sorry. I'll fix it. I promise."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "How exactly do you plan to fix this? Everyone already thinks we're a couple. You should've thought about that before you opened your mouth."

"I know, I know!" you said, your voice rising slightly. "But I didn't think people would actually believe me! I mean, look at you! You're, like... you, and I'm just... me."

He stared at you, one eyebrow twitching. "What does that even mean?"

"It means no one would ever think you would date someone like me!" you blurted out.

There was a brief silence, Jongseong blinked, his expression unreadable.

"Wow," he said finally, his tone flat. "That's... depressing."

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. "I'm making this worse, aren't I?"

"Yeah," he said bluntly.

You peeked at him through your fingers, your voice small. "Can you... just not kill me, though?"

He rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath. For a moment, he looked like he was considering throwing you out the door, but instead, he leaned back against it, running a hand down his face.

"Here's what's going to happen," he said finally. "You're going to go out there, tell everyone you lied, and make sure my name is out of their mouths by the end of the day."

Your eyes widened. "I can't do that! If I tell them the truth, I'll look like a total loser! They'll never let me on the squad!"

"Not my problem," he shot back.

"Please!" you pleaded, grabbing his arm in desperation. "Just... let me ride this out a little longer. I'll figure out a way to fix it without dragging your name through the mud, I promise!"

He stared at you for a long moment. He let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Do whatever you want," he said finally.

Your eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Don't make me regret this," he added,

"I'll do anything!" you said quickly, your relief overwhelming your sense of pride.

His eyes flicked back to yours, and you swore you saw a flicker of amusement in his expression. "Anything?"

You hesitated. "Uh... within reason?"

He smirked, shaking his head. "Unbelievable," he muttered, pushing off the door and opening it.

"Wait, where are you going?" you asked, panicked.

"Class," he said simply, walking out and leaving you standing there, still clutching your bag like it might protect you from the fallout.

"Oh my God, they just came out of the storage room together!" someone squealed.

Your blood froze as a wave of gasps and murmurs rippled down the hallway.

"No way! They're so freaky!"

"They couldn't even wait until after school? A quickie in the storage room?!"

"That's so wild!"

You bolted out of the storage room, your face burning so hot it was probably visible from space. "It's not what you think!" you stammered, waving your hands frantically. "Nothing happened! I swear!"

But your protests only seemed to make things worse.

"Did you see her face? She's totally guilty!"

"God, no wonder he's so obsessed with her. She's probably insane in bed."

"Wait, so does this mean she's, like, not lying about them being a couple?"

The crowd erupted into a chorus of giggles, whispers, and scandalized gasps, and you felt your soul leave your body.

At the end of the day, you got the news: you were officially part of the cheerleading pep squad.

This wasn't exactly how you pictured it, but hey, you'd finally made it. You thought practice would be all about jumps, flips, and cheers, but instead, it was questions. Endless questions.

All about your "boyfriend."

By the time practice ended, you were convinced the squad cared more about Park Jongseong than they cared about cheerleading. It was exhausting. They made him your whole personality.

Now, you stood outside the music room, foot tapping nervously as you psyched yourself up. You needed to talk to him. Jongseong—Jay—walked out with his guitar slung over his back, his expression colder than a freezer. His eyes landed on you, sharp and annoyed.

"Why are you here?" he asked, as blunt as ever.

You forced an awkward smile. "Hi! Because... you're my boyfriend?"

Jay scoffed, walking past you like you didn't exist. Panicked, you scrambled to catch up, nearly tripping over your own feet.

"H-hey! Wait!" you called, gripping the edge of his jacket. "I'm Y/N! Please, for the second time, just hear me out!"

He stopped, turned, and stared at you with the kind of look that could burn holes in concrete. "What do you want now?"

You fumbled with your bag, your cheeks burning. "I just... I wanted to talk about—"

"Fuck off," he snapped, making you flinch and throw your hands up like you were bracing for impact.

"I'm sorry!" you squeaked, your voice small.

Jay sighed, running a hand through his hair as he shifted his weight. For a second, his eyes softened—but not enough to let you relax.

"I already let you use my name. What else do you want from me?" he asked, voice low and sharp.

You bit your lip, tapping your foot nervously. You'd practiced this speech in your head a hundred times, but the words suddenly felt scrambled.

"I just... I got into the cheerleading squad, but they keep asking me questions about you, and—"

His glare deepened. "After you spilled water on me, crashed my guitar, and hit me in the face with a volleyball, what more do you want?"

You gasped, offended. "E-excuse me?! Those were accidents!" you said, emphasizing the word with dramatic hand gestures.

"I didn't spill water on you on purpose! And I didn't crash your guitar—it fell! And your nose? Total accident!"

Jay's expression didn't budge. "Right. Keep telling yourself that."

He turned to leave, but you panicked again, grabbing his arm and walking beside him as fast as your shorter legs could go.

"Please, just help me for a little while longer!" you pleaded.

He glanced at your hand on his arm, then at you, looking like he wanted to throw himself into the nearest trash can. "You got what you wanted. Tell them we broke up or something."

You shook your head frantically. "No, no, no! I know I'm a loser for using your name, but I need to keep this up for a few more months!"

Jay's jaw tightened. "What now?"

"I just... need some information about you," you said, your voice small. "Like, your favorite color, or your hobbies, or—"

He cut you off with a groan. "Just make something up. You're good at that."

"But it sounds fake!" you whined, stomping a little like a frustrated child.

Jay stopped walking and turned to glare at you again. "And the story about the café and me being good in bed doesn't sound fake?"

Your cheeks turned crimson. "I-I didn't say anything about you being good in bed!" you squeaked, waving your hands defensively. "I just said you were good at, uh, aftercare! They're the ones who assumed the rest!"

Jay stared at you, his face unreadable, but the way his lips twitched told you he was this close to laughing.

"So, you want more information about me so you can answer their next stupid questions?" he asked.

You nodded eagerly. "Yes! Exactly!"

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Like if I'm huge?"

Your brain short-circuited. "N-no!" you squealed, stepping back as your cheeks burned even hotter. "It's not like that!"

Jay smirked, adjusting the strap of his guitar as he stood up straight again. "Right," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Good luck with your cheerleading squad, girlfriend."

And with that, he totally walked away, leaving you standing there, red-faced and humiliated. But you weren't about to give up.

No way. You'd come too far and sacrificed too much pride to back down now. If groveling got you this far, then maybe going lower would get you what you needed.

So, you became... everywhere.

After his chemistry class, there you were, waiting outside the door with a bright smile and an awkward wave. "Hi! How was class? Did you learn anything interesting?"

He barely looked at you as he walked past, muttering, "I don't know, did you?"

At his band practice, you somehow sweet-talked your way in. His bandmates, thinking you were his girlfriend, welcomed you with open arms.

"Jay never told us you were so supportive," one of them said, grinning.

"Y-yeah! That's me! Super supportive!" you laughed nervously, while Jay sat in the corner, tuning his guitar, looking like he was plotting your demise.

But you stayed anyway, sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching him play with stars in your eyes. He was good—like, really good—and for a second, you almost forgot how much he hated you.

After practice, you walked out with him, chatting non-stop about your cheerleading routine. "So then Karina said I should try a - "

Jay, walking ahead of you, sighed heavily. "Do you ever stop talking?"

You froze for half a second before jogging to catch up. "Not really!" you said cheerfully, ignoring the withering glare he shot you.

During break time, you plopped down beside him in the cafeteria, chatting away about your practice. You didn't even realize you were rambling until he looked at you, his expression blank.

"Do you ever run out of words?" he asked, deadpan.

You blinked. "Uh... no?"

He groaned, rubbing his temples.

It wasn't long before your cheer squad started noticing things, too.

During one break, Yunjin leaned over, lazily plucking at her nails. "Your relationship seems so... one-sided," she said casually, enough to make your stomach drop.

"Eh?" you squeaked, your chest tightening with nerves. "W-what do you mean?"

Yunjin shrugged. "We never see you guys together. And when we do, he looks like he's about murdering someone."

You forced a laugh, your hands sweaty. "W-well, he's just... had a lot of bad days lately!"

"Jay's always having bad days when he's with you?" she shot back, raising an eyebrow.

"And you two don't even kiss in public," Karina added, leaning her chin on her hand.

Your throat went dry. "Uh, well, he doesn't like PDA," you said quickly.

The two of them exchanged looks but eventually shrugged, letting it go. You let out a quiet breath of relief, only to freeze when Karina clapped her hands.

"Y/N, you said you can do back handsprings, right?"

You nodded eagerly. "Yes! Do you need me to—"

"Great!" Karina stood, surveying the gym with a critical eye. "We need you to cover the entire formation during lifting. Can you do five in a row?"

Your eyes widened. "F-five?"

"Yeah, starting from over there." Karina gestured to the far side of the gym.

You forced a smile and walked to the starting position, nerves rattling in your chest. Everyone's eyes were on you.

You took a deep breath and started your back handsprings, nailing five in a row. When you landed, slightly dizzy, you raised your arms triumphantly.

"Hmm... it doesn't cover the right side," Karina said, tapping her chin. "Y/N, try seven this time."

Your smile faltered. "S-seven?"

They nodded.

You did as they asked, pushing through the dizziness, only to hear them call for more.

By the fourth round, you were practically collapsing mid-air. Ten was far too much, and by the end, your knees hit the floor hard, sending pain shooting up your legs.

"Oh, perfect!" Karina said, clapping her hands. "That covered the whole area. Great job, Y/N! But you need to work on your posture."

You winced, clutching your bruised knee as you shuffled to sit beside the others. The pain was sharp, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you forced a smile, trying to keep it together.

"I'm kind of craving boba tea," Karina said suddenly, standing up. "Who wants some?"

"Oh, me too!" Giselle chimed in, followed by the rest of the squad eagerly raising their hands.

"Perfect!" Karina said, pulling out a notepad. "Let's make a list."

A moment later, she shoved the list into your hands. "Here. And here's the money. You can go get it for us."

You stared at the list, dumbfounded. "Wait... me?"

"Yeah! Thanks, Y/N!" she said brightly, already turning to talk to Giselle about something else.

You blinked, standing stiffly as pain radiated from your knees. You didn't even have the energy to argue. Instead, you hobbled to the restroom first, tears spilling over as you washed your knees.

Violet bruises were already forming, and the cold water stung as it ran over the tender skin.

This wasn't what you'd imagined when you dreamed of joining the cheer squad.

You thought it would be glamorous—flipping in the air, cheering under bright lights, and finally belonging to something cool.

Instead, here you were, limping to a nearby boba shop with bruised knees and teary eyes.

Still, you told yourself it was okay. You were part of them now. You weren't just a simple girl anymore—you were a cheerleader. Their friend. It was normal to run errands and do things for your friends, right?

So why did it feel so awful?

As you stood in line, you checked the money Karina had handed you earlier, only to realize it was short. Way short.

You panicked for a moment, but what could you do? You had no choice but to pay for the rest out of your own pocket, all while swallowing the lump in your throat.

By the time you were walking back to school, holding a bunch of boba cups in flimsy plastic bags, you were crying. Pathetically.

Tears streaked your face, and your lips wobbled as you sniffled, trying not to let the world see how pitiful you looked.

But it wasn't their fault, you told yourself. They weren't bullying you. You were just having a sensitive day. Your knees hurt from all that back handspring practice, and the money situation had just been bad luck.

That's all.

You furiously wiped at your cheeks, determined to look normal before you made it back to the gym. But then, a voice startled you out of your thoughts.

"What happened to you?"

You nearly dropped the boba.

"Jay!" you yelped, turning to see him standing there with his guitar case slung over his back, his sharp gaze flicking from your tear-streaked face to the plastic bags in your hands—and then to your bruised, purple knees.

"I—uh—hi!" you stammered, forcing an awkward smile.

He didn't return it. "You didn't visit the music room today."

"Oh!" you exclaimed, caught off guard. "I was busy with practice. I completely forgot! I'm sorry!"

He didn't respond, just reached over and took the plastic boba bags from your hands.

You blinked at him, muttering a quiet "thank you" as he carried them down the hallway beside you.

"What happened to you?" he asked again, his tone firmer this time.

You scratched the back of your head, feigning cluelessness. "Uh, what do you mean?"

He gave you a look, and his voice dropped. "Why were you crying? And why do you have bruises all over your knees?"

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. He was staring at you like he could see right through every lie you'd prepared.

"Uh, just... girl stuff!" you blurted, laughing awkwardly. "You know, sensitive day!"

"And your knees?" he asked flatly.

"Oh, that?" You waved a hand as if it were nothing. "They made me practice back handsprings today. I just, uh, had a bad landing. But I'm totally fine! See?" You gave him a shaky thumbs-up, forcing another smile.

Jay didn't look convinced. His gaze flickered back to your knees, then to your face.

"Why? Do you care about me?" you teased, lightly bumping his shoulder with yours.

He rolled his eyes, but you swore you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Without a word, he gestured toward the gym door.

"You first."

You laughed nervously, pushing the door open and walking inside.

"Oh, Y/N," Karina called out from across the gym. "Coach said we're not allowed to have boba anymore since she's strict about our diet. Did you already buy it?"

Your face fell. "Yes..."

"Oh crap!" Giselle smacked her forehead. "I texted you, but I guess it didn't go through!"

"But the boba? The money?" one of the girls asked, holding out her hand expectantly.

You hesitated, your voice caught in your throat. "I already bought it," you said quietly, glancing nervously at Jay.

Before you could say anything else, he walked past you, heading toward the bleachers. Without a word, he dropped the bags of boba onto the bench—hard. The cups jostled, some of the liquid spilling over the edges.

"J-Jongseong?!" Karina stammered, her confident tone faltering as she gulped nervously.

Jay stood there, his sharp glare slicing through the room. "Are you serious right now?" he said, his voice calm but dangerous.

Karina shifted uncomfortably, swallowing a lump in her throat. "W-we didn't mean for her to actually buy them—"

"Yeah?" he cut her off. "Because it looks like you had her running errands like your personal delivery service."

"Jay, it's not like that!" you blurted, defending them instinctively, though your voice wavered.

The room went silent. None of the girls dared to speak as Jay's gaze swept over them, so sharp.

"Is your practice over or something?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because none of you look like you're doing any cheers anymore."

Giselle quickly nodded, her voice high and nervous. "W-we're on a break!"

Jay's eyes narrowed slightly, making Giselle shrink under his gaze.

Finally, he turned to you, and his expression softened just enough to make your chest feel weird—like relief, or maybe something you couldn't quite place.

"Come on," he said, nodding toward the door.

"H-huh?" you stammered, blinking up at him.

"Let's go," he repeated, already turning away.

Before you could argue, he noticed the way you hesitated, the way you winced with every step. His eyes flicked down to your knees, bruised and swollen, and without a word, he leaned down and effortlessly scooped you up into his arms.

"W-what are you doing?!" you gasped, your face burning red as you scrambled to hold onto him.

The squad collectively let out a series of audible gasps behind you.

"Oh my God, she's not like, totally lying," Karina whispered, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Jay didn't acknowledge them. His jaw was tight, his gaze fixed ahead as he carried you out of the gym.

"Jay, I can walk!" you protested weakly, even though your knees were very much not in walking condition.

"Yeah, you're doing a great job of that," he muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he adjusted his grip on you.

You clung to him in stunned silence, trying to ignore the burning stares from the squad still watching as the door swung shut behind you.

Your heart raced, and whether it was from embarrassment or something else entirely, you didn't want to think about it.

"You're going to stop running around like this," Jay said firmly as he walked. "If they want boba, they can get it themselves."

"But I'm part of the team now," you mumbled, your voice small.

"You're not their errand girl," he shot back, his eyes flicking down to you.

You shut your mouth, letting him carry you to the clinic as the nurse tended to your bruised knees.

He leaned casually against the wall, watching the whole process like he was supervising. Every time you dared to glance his way, he raised an eyebrow, silently daring you to say something stupid. You wisely kept quiet.

The next day at practice, things hadn't gotten much better.

The girls were still bombarding you with questions—except now, Jay had inadvertently raised your popularity to new heights.

"He's sweet but terrifying," one of them whispered, watching you stretch. "Maybe you should get him to smile for once. He's always glaring."

"Yeah, but it's kind of hot," another one added, fanning herself dramatically. "It's like he hates everyone except her."

You snorted at that, almost choking on your own air. If only they knew the truth. But you couldn't even laugh properly because someone tapped your shoulder, pointing toward the gym doors.

"Y/N, look!"

You turned and nearly choked on your own spit. There he was—Jay—walking toward you.

The girls squealed, whispering loudly as they quickly backed away to give you "privacy."

Your stomach flipped as he approached, his dark eyes scanning the gym before locking on you. "What are you doing here?" you whispered, gripping the edge of the bleachers.

He ignored your question, dropping his bag and kneeling in front of you.

"How's your knee?" he asked, his tone softer this time as his eyes flicked to your legs.

"I'm fine! What are you doing here?" you repeated, feeling heat crawl up your neck as the gym filled with the sound of squeals and whispers.

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he rummaged through his bag and pulled out something.

"I bought you knee pads," he said simply, holding them up.

Your jaw dropped. "What—why?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he gently took your leg, his hands warm as he began securing the knee pad in place.

"He's so sweet!" one of the girls whispered loudly.

You tried to ignore the growing crowd of gossipers, your face burning as you stared down at him. "You really didn't have to—"

"Stop moving," he interrupted, his focus entirely on your knee as he adjusted the strap.

You sighed, crossing your arms. "Jay, seriously, what are you doing here?"

"I'll watch your routine," he said casually, moving to your other knee.

"What? No!" you exclaimed, flailing slightly. "What do you mean, you'll watch?"

He glanced up at you, a small, almost mischievous smile tugging at his lips. "You watch me practice at the music room. It's only fair I watch yours."

"That's different!" you sputtered, your face heating further.

"How is it different?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because—because I'm not good at this yet!" you said, flustered. "What's your deal?"

"What do you mean?" he said, his voice light with amusement. "I just want to support my girlfriend."

You froze. Your brain short-circuited. Did he just—

"W-what did you just say?" you stammered, your voice cracking.

"Girlfriend," he repeated smoothly, standing up and slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Isn't that what you keep telling everyone I am?"

You wanted to crawl into a hole and die. The giggles and gasps around you didn't help, either.

"You can't just—" you started, but he cut you off.

"Relax," he said, smirking as he turned to walk away. "Good luck with practice, babe. I'll be watching."

You watched him head toward the bleachers, still reeling from the fact that Park Jongseong, the untouchable cold Jay, just called you his girlfriend in front of everyone.

If you hadn't been blushing before, you were definitely on fire now.

The routine begins with a burst of synchronized cheers, the squad moving in perfect unison. You jump, spin, and dance, throwing in a split and a clean back handspring. When the lifting section comes, you step onto their hands with, you stick the landing, holding your pose as they lower you carefully.

You finish the routine without letting your bruised knees slow you down, your chest heaving as sweat drips down your temples.

The coach claps, giving feedback to the squad, but all you can think about is sitting down and catching your breath.

Unconsciously, you find yourself collapsing onto the bleachers—right next to Jay. He doesn't say anything, just pulls a water bottle and towel out of his bag, as if he'd been expecting you to need them.

"Here," he mutters, handing them over.

"Thanks," you say, too exhausted to overthink it. You take a long sip of water before draping the towel over your shoulders.

"How's the performance?" you ask him, still catching your breath.

"You're good," he replies simply.

You pause, blinking at him. "No, like... us. The cheering squad. How did we look?"

Jay shrugs, leaning back slightly on the bleachers, his gaze fixed ahead. "I don't know," he says, his tone casual. "I only had my eyes on you."

The water bottle in your hand almost slips from your grasp.

"W-what?" you stammer, turning to look at him.

He doesn't meet your gaze, his expression cool and indifferent, but there's a small twitch at the corner of his lips. "You heard me," he says, his voice even.

Your face heats up, and you're not sure if it's from the workout or his words. Before you can respond, one of your squadmates calls your name, pulling you back to reality.

"I—uh, thanks," you mumble, scrambling to stand.

"Don't fall," Jay says, glancing at your knees briefly before leaning back and pulling out his phone, as if he hadn't just dropped a bomb on you.

Your heart races as you jog back to the squad, Jay's words replaying in your mind. "I only had my eyes on you."

What was that supposed to mean?

Over the following weeks, something shifted. Jay did seem to like you—no, that would be too strong—but he definitely didn't hate you anymore. If anything, it felt like he had resigned himself to your presence.

Your schedules matched perfectly: you'd stop by the music room before your cheer practice, watching him play with quiet awe. After his practice ended, you'd walk together to the gym, where he'd drop you off with a gruff nod.

And during those walks, you talked. A lot.

Jay didn't interrupt or roll his eyes at your endless stream of words, but he didn't say much either. He'd let you ramble about random things—your favorite stories, songs, foods, or some obscure fact you'd read online.

One day, while rifling through your bag in frustration, you whined, "Crap, I always forget to bring an extra shirt!"

Jay didn't respond, just kept walking. You assumed he wasn't even listening.

But the next day, when you showed up for your routine walk to the gym, he handed you a neatly folded shirt.

"Here," he said, his tone flat, as though it wasn't a big deal.

You blinked, staring at it. "Wait, is this for me?"

"No, it's for the bench," he replied dryly. Then, seeing your expression, added, "You said you forget yours. Just take it."

Your heart skipped as you took the shirt, muttering a soft "thank you."

On another day, after practice, you grinned at him. "I really want a spicy ramen—like, with crab sticks and shrimp! Let's go get some!"

He raised an eyebrow. "That's a one-way ticket to high blood pressure," he deadpanned.

You pouted, whining dramatically. "Come on, Jay!"

Yet not long after, you found yourselves seated at a small ramen shop. You happily slurped your noodles, your feet swinging slightly under the table. Jay glanced down at your feet before looking up at you, finding you smiling as you focused on your bowl.

"What?" you asked, catching his gaze.

"Nothing," he muttered, shaking his head as he went back to his own noodles.

Spending time with Jay made you lose your guard in the best way.

You weren't as self-conscious anymore, and little things just felt... natural. Like the time you were walking together, mid-laugh, and he suddenly pulled your arm to stop you.

"Look both ways," he mumbled, his hand lingering on your arm as you gripped it instinctively.

You giggled, wrapping your hand around his. "Okay, Dad."

He didn't respond, but his lips twitched ever so slightly.

Another habit of his? Waiting for you after practice, leaning against his motorcycle with his usual nonchalant expression. He'd nod for you to hop on, offering you his spare helmet.

It felt normal now—holding onto him as he drove, the wind whipping around you as the city lights blurred by.

Sometimes, Jay and you didn't even talk. Like when you'd share a cup of ice cream on a bench after practice, the two of you just staring at nothing. He'd sit beside you, watching as you bit down on your spoon absentmindedly.

"You look dumb," he'd say eventually, breaking the silence.

You'd laugh and stick your tongue out at him. "Thanks, Jay. Love the confidence boost."

Jay's attention to small things surprised you most when it came to your ketchup obsession.

It started when you were both sitting at your usual fast-food joint—a chain with a bright red logo and the smell of fries and fried chicken wafting through the air.

You'd always order the same thing: chicken nuggets and fries. But what made you stand out (to Jay, at least) was how you hoarded ketchup packets.

You never even used them at the restaurant. Instead, you'd stuff them into your bag, mumbling something about "saving them for later." Jay didn't ask at first, but the mystery was solved when he saw you in their practice one day, pulling out one of those packets.

You ripped it open quietly, then tipped the packet to your mouth and slurped the ketchup straight out of it.

A week later, during a break, Jay casually handed you a small stack of ketchup packets.

"Where did you get these?" you squealed, your eyes sparkling as you grabbed them from his hand.

"My bandmates ordered fries," he said with a shrug. "They don't like ketchup, so I took them."

You stared at him, your heart doing an annoying little flip. "Jay, you get me," you said dramatically, clutching the packets to your chest like they were a bouquet of roses.

"Don't make this weird," he muttered, already turning away.

You ripped one open immediately, slurping the sweet and tangy ketchup with a grin. "Thanks, Jay!"

He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched again—his almost-smile.

Then there was the time in the cafeteria when he handed you a tissue.

You stared at him, confused. "What's this for?"

"Your lip gloss," he said simply, his tone so casual it made your brain short-circuit.

You blinked, dumbfounded, as heat rose to your cheeks. How did he even notice that you always wiped off your lip gloss before eating?

You muttered a shy "thanks," taking the tissue as your heart thumped in your chest.

And then there were even smaller things.

Like how he bent down to tie your shoelaces without a word when they came undone during your walk.

Or how he fixed your hair once, brushing a stray strand behind your ear with a quick, almost annoyed motion.

Or how he straightened your uniform when it got wrinkled after a particularly rough practice, muttering something about how you looked like "a mess."

They weren't grand gestures. Jay wasn't the type for big declarations or sweeping acts of romance. But it was always the small things that left you breathless—the way he noticed you, the way he cared without saying much.

And maybe, just maybe, the cold, untouchable guitarist didn't hate you as much as he let on.

"That's Park Jongseong's girlfriend!"

"Park Jongseong's girl is so pretty!"

"I didn't know Park Jongseong's girlfriend is so good at dancing!"

But honestly? You weren't sure how to feel about it anymore.

People didn't want to know you. They wanted to know him. Even when someone started a conversation with you, it always led back to Jay.

"How did you two meet?"

"What does he do when he's bored?"

"Does he even smile around you?"

You started noticing how Jay wasn't immune, either. People would corner him in the halls, asking invasive questions about your "relationship," and he'd glare at them in that trademark way of his until they got the hint and left. He never complained, never said anything about it to you, but you could see it in the way his jaw clenched tighter these days.

You weren't cool. You weren't special.

You were just someone who had made a stupid, selfish decision to drag his name into your mess. And now? You weren't sure if you could keep it up any longer.

It was a quiet afternoon in the music room. Jay sat across from you, strumming his guitar in the golden light of sunset. Normally, this was when you'd ramble on about whatever random topic popped into your head, but today, the words felt too heavy to come out.

Instead, you pulled your knees to your chest, hugging them as you stared at the floor.

"I'm sorry if I always bother you," you said suddenly, your voice barely audible.

Jay's fingers stilled on the strings, his head tilting slightly as he glanced at you.

"I... I really don't have any friends," you admitted, resting your chin on your knees. "I think I'm too crazy for the good girls in my class, too dumb for the nerds, and way too soft for the mean girls."

He didn't say anything, but you felt his eyes on you.

"But, you know," you continued, your voice shaky, "you're the first person who's ever... tolerated me. And I really appreciate that."

You laughed weakly, even though it wasn't funny. "Thank you, Park Jongseong, for listening to me go on and on about dystopian movies. For putting up with me when I get loud and excited. For not judging my weird ketchup obsession."

Jay leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable, as you let out a long sigh.

"I thought dragging your name into the cheer squad thing would make me feel like I belonged somewhere," you said, your voice breaking. "But it hasn't. If anything, it's just made me feel worse. Like I'm not enough for them. Like I'll never be enough."

Your chest tightened as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt, unable to meet his gaze. "And... I feel like I've dumped all these responsibilities on you because of one stupid little lie I told. It's not fair to you."

Jay stayed silent, but you could feel his presence, heavy and quiet.

You swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "I think... I think it's time we break up."

Jay's hands froze on the guitar, his entire body going still. His gaze sharpened.

"Break up?" he repeated, his tone even but taut, like he was holding something back.

You nodded, your throat closing up. "Yeah. I've caused you enough trouble already. I think... I think it's better if we just end it. It'll be easier for you."

Jay's jaw tightened, his fingers gripping the edge of the guitar as he stared at you. "Is that what you want?" he asked, his tone calm but laced with something you couldn't place.

Your chest felt like it was caving in. You couldn't look at him, couldn't bring yourself to say what you really wanted to say. So instead, you nodded.

"Yes," you whispered, barely audible.

The silence that followed was unbearable. You expected him to agree, to maybe sigh in relief or tell you that you were right. But instead, he just stared at you, his gaze unreadable.

Finally, he exhaled through his nose, his voice low. "Alright."

Your heart sank at the word, even though it was what you'd asked for. You forced yourself to stand, forcing a shaky "thank you" past your lips as you made your way toward the door.

But just as you reached it, his voice stopped you in your tracks.

"But you should know," he said, "that if you think you're not enough, you're wrong."

You froze, your breath hitching. Slowly, you turned to face him.

He wasn't looking at you anymore. His gaze was fixed on his guitar, his fingers idly plucking at the strings, but there was a softness in his voice that you weren't used to.

"You don't have to try so hard to fit into their world," he said quietly. "You already stand out. You don't see it, but you do."

Your throat tightened as tears pricked at your eyes. "Jay..."

He looked up at you then, his dark eyes piercing but calm. "If you want to end it, I'll let you go," he said, his voice steady. "But don't do it because you think you're causing me trouble. That's just you overthinking, as usual."

The ache in your chest grew unbearable, and for a moment, you thought about staying. 

But the weight of your emotions felt too heavy, and you bolted, muttering a weak "thanks" as you ran out of the room, tears already spilling down your cheeks.

You didn't look back, but as you closed the door behind you, you swore you heard the faint sound of his guitar strings—soft, steady, and full of something you didn't quite understand.

By the time you reached the bathroom, you were a mess.

You locked yourself in a stall and let it all out, tears streaming down your cheeks as you tried—and failed—to convince yourself this was what you wanted.

"It's not even real," you muttered, your voice cracking. "We're not a thing. We were never a thing. Why am I crying like an idiot?"

But no amount of reasoning stopped the ugly sobs from wracking your chest. You clutched some toilet paper, blowing your nose dramatically and telling yourself to get it together.

When you showed up to practice later, your eyes were swollen and red, your nose a little too pink to hide what had happened.

"Y/N, are you okay?" Karina asked, looking concerned.

You forced a shaky smile. "I'm fine! Totally fine! Oh, by the way..." You paused, sniffling slightly. "Jay and I broke up."

The words felt like ripping off a Band-Aid, but you didn't have time to process them before the room erupted.

"What?!" Giselle gasped, clutching her water bottle.

"No way!" Yunjin exclaimed, already pulling out her phone.

Within hours, the news spread across the school faster than you thought possible. Everywhere you went, you could hear whispers and murmurs about the "breakup."

And Park Jongseong?

He was still Park Jongseong.

You spotted him in the hallway, his face set in stone, his jaw tight, his eyes sharp as ever.

He walked like he was on his way to commit murder, every step filled with tension. People gave him a wide berth, whispering things like, "He's even scarier than usual," and, "God, she must've really broken his heart."

But when your eyes met his for a split second, he looked away, his expression you can't read.

Your chest ached painfully every time you passed him. And when you were finally alone at night, you curled up in bed and cried yourself to sleep, the pain in your chest refusing to fade.

By the time your classmates dragged you to karaoke, you were on emotional autopilot. You didn't want to be there, but they'd insisted.

"It'll help you get over him!" Sunoo had said, practically shoving you into the room.

It wasn't helping. At all.

Sunoo grabbed the mic, singing passionately as the lyrics flashed across the screen. "That's why I don't understand... why I'm feeling so bad now, when I know it was my idea."

You froze, staring at the lyrics like they'd personally attacked you. Your lips twitched, but you refused to let the tears fall.

Ni-ki leaned forward, grabbing the mic dramatically. "I could've just denied the truth and lied... why am I the only one, standing, stranded on the same ground?!"

You let out a choked laugh, trying to brush off your growing emotions, but then Sunoo turned to you with wide, knowing eyes. "Oh my God, what happened to you?!"

"Shut up," you muttered, pulling your cardigan over your face to hide the tears forming in your eyes.

The room erupted as Ni-ki wrestled the mic away from Sunoo. "My love, it's been a long time since I cried and left you out of the blue." Ni-ki sang into the microphone.

You couldn't help it—the tears started spilling as you wiped them furiously with your sleeve, hoping no one would notice.

"It's hard leaving you that way... when I never wanted to!"

Your classmates were belting out the lyrics, screaming into the mic with way too much passion. And somehow, the chaos made it worse.

"Self-denial is a game!" Ni-ki shouted, practically falling to his knees. "It's strange, I never would've wanted it until there was you!"

You sniffled, wiping your cheeks again, but the tears wouldn't stop.

"Y/N, are you crying?!" Sunoo gasped dramatically, leaning closer, his voice high-pitched enough to rival a whistle.

"No!" you wailed, burying your face deeper into your cardigan. "It's just—the lyrics are so stupid!"

Jungwon, ever the responsible one, grabbed the remote and immediately switched the song. "Okay, we need a vibe shift. No more heartbreak songs."

The opening beat of Apple Bottom Jeans blasted through the room, and everyone burst into cheers and laughter.

You couldn't help but laugh, sniffing back the last of your tears as Ni-ki grabbed the mic and jumped onto the couch.

You felt a little lighter. Sure, your heart was still aching, but at least now, you now had friends who made it a little easier to breathe.

The next day, you were required to attend the university baseball game. Every student was, but as part of the cheerleading pep squad, you had absolutely no excuse to skip.

The stadium was packed with thousands of students from your university and the rival school, the energy buzzing in the air. You tugged at the hem of your uniform skirt, your face burning with embarrassment. "Is it really this short?!" you whined, glaring at Giselle.

She shushed you with a wave of her pom-poms. "Relax. It's normal!"

"You don't have to be awkward about it," Karina added, flipping her hair. "Your legs look great!"

Your coach, however, was far less delicate. "We're making it look longer because your legs are short," she said bluntly, not even looking up from her clipboard.

You gasped, utterly dumbfounded. "I—should I be offended, or...?"

The coach just shrugged, moving on with her notes.

Before the game officially began, your squad performed a short routine to hype up the crowd. The music blared through the speakers as you stepped forward, executing a clean front handspring. The crowd roared with approval, but your face burned as your skirt rode up mid-flip.

When the routine ended, you cringed, tugging your skirt back down as you returned to your seat at the front. You waved your pom-poms enthusiastically, shouting the university yell every time your team scored, even if you were still mortified from earlier.

When the game finally ended and the crowd began to thin out, you found yourself standing near the bleachers, clutching your pom-poms and phone. The cheer squad was preparing to take pictures, but you hung back for a moment, trying to catch your breath.

That's when someone approached you.

"Hi," a voice said, warm and slightly out of breath.

You turned to see a guy standing in front of you, wearing his baseball uniform. His dark hair was damp with sweat, his cheeks flushed from the game, and his smile was boyish and shy.

"I'm Heeseung," he introduced himself, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I just wanted to say your routine was really cool. And, uh... I was wondering if I could get your number?"

You blinked, your brain stalling. Wait, what?

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything, a loud voice called out from across the field.

"Y/N! Hurry up!" Sunoo waved his arms dramatically, yelling over the crowd. "We're taking pictures!"

Your face turned even redder as you looked between Heeseung and Sunoo. Panicking, you muttered a quick, "Sorry, I've gotta go!" before rushing off toward your squad, clutching your pom-poms.

By the time you reached your squad, you were out of breath and flustered, feeling like the world's biggest idiot.

You grabbed your bag, rummaging through it in search of a shirt to change into. The crowd had mostly cleared out, and the stadium lights were dimming, but you were too busy muttering to yourself to notice.

Of course, you didn't have a spare shirt. Why would you?

You sighed heavily, dropping your pom-poms into the bag and staring at the empty space inside. Without thinking, you mumbled, "I miss Jay."

The words hung in the air, surprising even you. You froze for a second, realizing what you'd just said out loud.

It had been months since you'd ended things—or whatever it was you'd had—with Jay. And somehow, instead of feeling lighter, you felt worse.

The more you saw him in passing, the more you missed him. The more you craved him. The ache in your chest refused to fade, no matter how much time passed.

Sometimes, you still cried yourself to sleep, clutching your pillow as memories of him flooded your mind.

You hated how much you missed him.

And then there were moments when your body moved on its own, as if drawn to him.

You'd find yourself standing outside the music room, staring at the door like you were waiting for something—or someone—to pull you inside.

But you never went in. You just stood there, your heart heavy, before walking away again.

Or you'd sit at your favorite bench, the one where you used to share ice cream with him after practice. You'd sit there alone, biting the spoon absentmindedly and staring at nothing, replaying old conversations in your head.

It was during one of those quiet moments, as you sat with a half-melted scoop of vanilla in your hand, that the truth finally hit you.

You liked Jay.

No, you more than liked him. You missed him so much it hurt. And the worst part? You had no idea if he missed you, too.

You bit down harder on your spoon, frustration bubbling in your chest.

Why had you been so stupid? Why had you pushed him away when, deep down, he'd been the only one who ever made you feel seen?

Maybe you were too late. Maybe you'd ruined whatever connection you had with him.

But one thought kept circling in your mind, no matter how much you tried to shake it off.

What if you weren't too late?

"Do you party?" Sunoo asked casually, flopping onto your bed like it was his own.

You raised an eyebrow, not bothering to hide your skepticism. "Not really. I mean, I've been to a few, but it's not my thing. Why?"

"Let's go to a party this weekend! You know Sunghoon, right? The baseball player? He's hosting!"

You laughed, waving him off. "I'll think about it, but probably not."

Sunoo narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but you brushed him off, fully intending to stay home.

But when the weekend came, your plans to stay curled up in bed went out the window.

Sunoo, Jungwon, and Ni-ki just barged into your house.

"Why aren't you dressed?!" Sunoo exclaimed, throwing open your closet as Jungwon inspected your makeup drawer.

"What are you doing?!" you shrieked, clutching a pillow like it was a weapon.

"You are going to this party," Ni-ki said, arms crossed like he was your older brother instead of one year younger. "Get ready. Now."

With no way out, you reluctantly threw on a simple crop top and shorts, tying your hair into a ponytail and doing clean, light makeup.

When you arrived at the party, the atmosphere immediately overwhelmed you. The music was loud enough to shake the walls, the smell of sweat, alcohol, and something smoky lingering in the air.

You stuck close to Sunoo as he handed you a red cup with some drink you didn't recognize.

"Just take a sip!" he shouted over the music.

"Excuse me for a second," you said, escaping to the balcony.

The moment you stepped outside, you exhaled deeply, the fresh air calming your nerves. The cool night breeze felt like a blessing after the suffocating heat inside.

But then, you stiffened.

Sitting in one of the chairs was someone you hadn't expected to see—someone you hadn't seen up close in months.

Jay.

He sat with one foot tapping rhythmically against the ground, a vape in his hand. The dim light from the balcony highlighted his sharp jawline, his pointed nose, and the effortless way his hair slicked back. He wore a simple white shirt under a blue Nike jacket, but somehow, he looked stunning.

Your chest tightened painfully as his head turned, his dark eyes meeting yours.

"Oh," you said awkwardly, frozen in place.

He stared at you for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, taking a long drag from his vape.

Without knowing why, you found yourself walking over to him and sitting quietly beside him, your gaze fixed on the stars above.

"I didn't know you actually smoked," you said softly, breaking the silence.

He hummed, his head tilting slightly as he exhaled the smoke in the opposite direction, making a point to avoid letting any of it near you.

"I don't. Not usually. I don't smoke at school."

He shifted in his seat, sliding the vape into his pocket and straightening his posture.

"Why'd you stop just now?" you asked, glancing at him.

He didn't hesitate. "Your nose is sensitive to strong smells."

Your breath caught, his simple answer hitting you harder than you expected. That was Jay—always quiet, always watching, always knowing without making a big deal of it.

The ache in your chest grew unbearable.

"I'm sorry," the words came out from your mouth.

Jay's gaze snapped to yours, his expression neutral.

"For what?" he asked evenly.

"For just leaving," you said, your voice shaky. "For everything you've done for me, and then me just... walking away. I didn't know what I was feeling back then. I was hurt and scared because... you're you, and I'm just me. I'm not good enough for you—"

Jay didn't respond immediately. His gaze softened, though his expression remained guarded. "And what are you feeling now?"

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest.

"I... I miss you, Jay," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I miss everything about you. The small things, the way you cared, even if you acted like you didn't. I'm sorry for leaving you. I'm sorry for being stupid."

Jay looked at you for a long moment, his dark eyes searching yours.

"You're really stupid, aren't you?" he said, his voice calm but laced with a faint humor that made your heart ache.

You managed a weak laugh, wiping at the corner of your eye. "Yeah, I am."

Jay exhaled slowly, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile.

"I thought you'd like me and never break it off because that's what happens in those books you always talk about, right?" he said, his voice softening. "But somehow, I fell harder than I ever expected."

Your breath hitched as he let out a quiet laugh—so rare, so warm, it made your chest ache. He finally looked at you, his eyes glinting with something vulnerable.

"I've always waited for you," he admitted, his voice low. "Waited for you to stop standing outside the music room and just walk in. But you never did."

Your eyes widened, surprise flickering across your face.

"I saw you," he continued. "Every time you sat on that bench, on our place... I saw you at a distance, sitting there, staring at nothing. And I waited. I always waited for your eyes to look at me the way I was looking at you."

Tears began to swell in your eyes as you took in his words.

Jay leaned closer, his movements gentle.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "For being such a coward. For not walking up to you when I wanted to. I told myself I'd wait, but waiting just hurt more because all I could do was think about you. About us."

He reached out hesitantly, brushing his fingers against your cheek, his hand warm and grounding. "I'm hurting. I've been hurting since you left. Do you feel the same way?"

The tears spilled over, warm and slow, streaking down your cheeks. You placed your hand over his, leaning into his touch as you nodded. "I do, Jay. I've been hurting, too."

He watched you closely, his eyes softening as you smiled at him through your tears.

"You're crying," he murmured, brushing a stray tear away with his thumb.

"Yeah, well, that's your fault," you whispered, laughing through the tears.

Jay shook his head, his lips tugging into the faintest smile. "You're impossible," he muttered, his voice affectionate.

"And you're annoying," you shot back, your voice trembling with emotion.

But neither of you moved away.

The balcony felt smaller, quieter, as Jay's hand lingered on your cheek. His gaze flickered to your lips for a brief second, and your heart jumped, but he didn't move, waiting instead for you to close the gap.

So you did.

You leaned forward, pressing your lips softly to his, your heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it. His lips were warm and hesitant at first, but then he shifted, tilting his head slightly as he kissed you back.

His hand slid into your hair, his fingers brushing lightly against your scalp as he pulled you closer. The kiss deepened, your lips moving in perfect sync.

When you pulled back just slightly to catch your breath, his forehead rested against yours, and his lips hovered mere inches away.

His voice was low, and soft as he whispered against your lips, "Don't ever think of yourself like that. You're more than enough."

His words struck you deep, and your eyes fluttered open to meet his. "But... you're you, and I'm just me," you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Jay didn't let you finish. His lips captured yours again, silencing your insecurities. When he pulled back, he looked at you with a gaze so intense it made your breath hitch.

"I like you for being you," he said simply.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening with emotion. "But you're like a big star," you said, holding up your fingers to make the shape of a small star, "and I'm just... a little star."

Jay's lips curved into the softest smile before he leaned forward again, kissing you gently.

His voice was tender when he murmured against your lips, "A little star that shines brightest in my eyes."

Your cheeks burned, and you couldn't help but let out a flustered laugh, lightly hitting his chest. "How come you always know how to get my heart?!"

Jay chuckled, kissing your forehead as he hugs you.

Jay just wanted to play guitar. That was all. He didn't ask for the reputation, the attention, or the corny nickname the school had slapped on him—the "cold, untouchable hot guitarist." God, how he hated that.

Every day felt the same: girls cornering him in the halls, asking for his number or accidentally brushing their hands against his arms or guitar case. His eyes would glare like knives as he gritted out, "Don't touch me."

He hated it—the fake admiration, the empty attention. Everyone seemed to care about him for all the wrong reasons. And when they annoyed him too much?

"Fuck off," he'd mutter, his tone so cold it practically froze people in their tracks.

But you? You were different.

Jay remembered the school festival three years ago. He'd been sitting in Jake's booth, tuning his guitar lazily while Jake served spicy noodles to an occasional brave (or dumb) soul willing to risk their stomach for the thrill.

It was supposed to be a chill afternoon, but then you showed up.

You were the only person who kept coming back to Jake's booth. Every hour.

"I swear, you're going to burn a hole in your stomach," Jake had told you, half-laughing as he handed you yet another bowl of his stupidly spicy noodles.

"Totally worth it," you'd chirped, your voice high-pitched and cheerful. "Do you have a permanent shop? I'd eat there every day!"

Jay had glanced up from his guitar, staring at you through the slits of the tent. You were completely oblivious to his presence, happily slurping noodles as Jake made small talk with you.

Later, Jake stormed into the tent, tossing his apron onto the chair. "We're sold out," he'd announced. "And it's her fault."

Jay had raised an eyebrow. "Her?"

Jake pointed outside. "The spicy noodle girl. She's been coming back all day. We sold out because of her."

Jay hadn't said anything, but his lips had twitched, the smallest hint of a smile forming before he went back to tuning his guitar.

Jay hated everyone. He hated how they tugged at him, how they fawned over him for no reason. But somehow, he couldn't bring himself to hate you.

He remembered the little things—moments that no one else seemed to notice.

Like the time you walked down the hallway with that cute little bag, the kind of bag that didn't really suit a high schooler but looked perfect on you.

It had a figurine hanging from it, neatly wrapped in a plastic pouch, and you carried it like it was your most prized possession.

Then, just days later, he'd found you outside the lost and found office, whining and crying. You'd lost the figurine, and you'd spent an entire lunch period pacing back and forth in front of the office, waiting for someone to turn it in.

Or the time he saw you clapping and cheering during a cheerleading pep squad performance, smiling so brightly that it felt contagious. You weren't even part of the squad back then, just a spectator, but you looked so genuinely happy that even he couldn't look away.

Then there was your PathFit (PE) class. Jay hadn't meant to stop by, but he'd found himself standing near the open door, his guitar case slung over his shoulder, as his eyes drifted toward you. You were on the floor, legs stretched into a perfect split, your forehead pressed to the ground as you stretched.

Jay once again noticed you searching frantically for a notebook you'd dropped in the hallway. You were crouched on the floor, mumbling to yourself, "This is why I can't have nice things."

He'd spotted the notebook a few feet away, picked it up, and placed it on the bench beside him.

When you found it moments later, you gasped, "Oh my God, it's a miracle!"

You always said you were just a simple girl. That no one really noticed you or cared about someone like you.

But in Jay's eyes, you were the opposite of invisible.

And every time he thought about you, he realized the same thing.

You stood out more than anyone else ever could.

When you'd spilled water all over his face.

His first reaction wasn't anger or annoyance, but something that surprised even him—he noticed how beautiful you looked up close.

Your wide eyes stared at him in shock, your pouty lips forming a small gasp as you muttered incoherent apologies. The faint, sweet floral scent of your perfume hit him, and for a second, he forgot the cold water dripping down his face.

Jay closed his eyes, his jaw clenching as he tried to take in more of that intoxicating scent, grounding himself. But before he could say anything, you bolted, muttering a quick "Sorry!" as you sprinted down the hallway.

He almost laughed when you tripped on your knees, scrambling awkwardly to escape. He stood there for a moment, wiping the water off his face with his sleeve.

The second interaction was you crashing out his guitar. He almost didn't notice his guitar on the floor because his eyes were locked on you.

Slowly, you raised two fingers in a peace sign, your expression a mix of guilt and panic.

"Uh... sorry?" you muttered before immediately backing out of the room.

Jay stood there, staring at the empty doorway, blinking in disbelief. He opened his mouth to say something, maybe even laugh, but the sound never left his throat. You were gone before he could even start a conversation.

And then there was the volleyball incident.

Jay didn't even see the ball coming. One second he was walking into the gym with his friends, and the next, a sharp pain hit him square on the nose.

"Shit," he hissed, dropping to the ground and clutching his face.

When he opened his eyes, you were hovering over him, your face inches from his. Your hair framed your face like a curtain, and there it was again—that scent. Sweet, light, floral.

He blinked up at you, stunned into silence. For a split second, he forgot about the pain, about the blood dripping from his nose. He was too focused on you—your soft features, your panicked expression, the way your lips trembled as you tried to form words.

Before he could open his mouth to tell you he was fine, the blood started pouring out of his nose.

"Crap!" you yelped, standing up quickly, flailing in panic. "I—I'll get help! I'm so sorry!"

And then you ran. Again.

Jay lay there, groaning as Jake handed him a tissue, snickering the entire time.

"Shut up," Jay muttered, even though Jake don't even say anything.

The breaking point came when Jay heard about the rumor that he was in a relationship.

He was furious. Annoyed didn't even begin to describe it. He hated how his name was constantly dragged into things, but this? A fake relationship? With some girl he didn't even know?

Storming through the hallways, he cornered one of the guys he'd overheard spreading the rumor. Grabbing the boy by the collar, he slammed him against the lockers.

"Tell me who started it," Jay demanded, his voice low and sharp. His jaw was clenched, his dark eyes boring into the boy's.

"I-I don't know! I swear!" the boy stammered, flinching under Jay's glare. "They said it was some girl—Y/N! Y/N told the cheerleaders about it!"

At the mention of your name, Jay froze. His grip loosened slightly.

For a moment, he couldn't believe it. Of all people, it was you.

Releasing the boy with a shove, Jay stepped back, his emotions in a whirlwind. He should've been angrier—should've been ready to confront you and demand answers. But instead, he found himself... curious.

He should've been irritated. He should've hated you for dragging his name into a mess.

But somehow, he didn't.

Instead, he felt something he couldn't quite place. And he wasn't sure what annoyed him more—the rumor itself or the fact that the thought of being tied to you didn't bother him as much as it should have.

“Oh my God, are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Did they just come back together?!”

Whispers followed the two of you as you walked hand in hand down the hallway. 

Jay’s tall frame dressed in his usual all-black outfit. His guitar case was slung over his back, the strap resting effortlessly against his shoulder, and his hand held yours with an ease that made your heart race.

Every head turned to look at you. It wasn’t just the sight of Jay—cold, untouchable, and intimidating—but the sight of him with you, a cheerful and bubbly cheerleader.

You leaned closer to him, lowering your voice as you whispered, “Do you think a guitarist and a cheerleader is a weird combination?”

Jay glanced down at you, one eyebrow raised, his expression softening. “No,” he said without hesitation, his voice steady. “You and me? We’re a perfect combination.”

You let out a laugh, lightly bumping your shoulder against his arm. “God, you’re so cheesy.”

He smirked faintly but didn’t respond, the corners of his lips tugging upward in amusement.

Park Jongseong as a fake boyfriend was good.

But Park Jongseong as a real boyfriend? He was so much better.

You used to think of him as just the guy with the sharp jawline, the deadpan expression, and those sharp, eagle-like eyes that seemed to shoot lasers at anyone who got too close. He was the “fuck off” and “shut up” guy, the untouchable guitarist who kept everyone at arm’s length.

But now, as you walked hand in hand with him, you realized how wrong you’d been.

Jay wasn’t just sweet—he was unbelievably sweet.

You remembered all the little lies you’d told about him when you were trying to fit in with the cheer squad.

“He’s so sweet,” you’d said back then, fabricating stories about how he’d treat you like a princess.

But now? Those stories felt laughable because the reality of being with Jay was so much better.

When you were tired, he’d carry your bag without a word.

“Let me take it,” he’d say simply, slipping the strap off your shoulder.

He opened doors for you—every single time. If you walked through a doorway together, you didn’t even have to reach for the handle because Jay would already be holding it open, waiting patiently for you to step through.

Once, when you were getting into a car, you’d bumped your head against the roof. From that moment on, Jay always, always put a hand over your head to make sure it didn’t happen again.

“Careful,” he’d murmur, voice low but gentle.

You’d joked about him cooking for you once, completely unaware of how true it would become.

One evening, after a particularly long practice, Jay had brought you to his house. “You’re tired,” he’d said. “Let me make you something.”

You hadn’t expected much—maybe instant ramen or a sandwich at most. But then you’d watched, wide-eyed, as he moved around the kitchen with surprising ease, chopping vegetables, seasoning meat, and sautéing everything.

“Do you cook often?” you’d asked, leaning against the counter as the delicious aroma filled the room.

“Sometimes,” he replied, glancing at you briefly. “Jake says my food is too good for him, though.”

You laughed, resting your chin on your hand as you watched him. Jay, the sharp-tongued guitarist, was making you a home-cooked meal. And it wasn’t just good—it was amazing. 

Then there were the kisses.

You’d made up a story once, saying, “He kisses me goodbye every morning.” You thought it was the perfect romantic lie to impress the cheerleaders.

But now? Jay had made it a reality.

Every morning before he left for his own class, he’d touch your cheek lightly, his fingers brushing against your skin.

Then, he’d lean in, his lips meeting yours in the gentlest, softest kiss.

“See you later,” he’d say, before turning and walking away.

Each time, your heart would flutter uncontrollably, your fingers brushing against your lips as you watched him go. 

"Aftercare after sex"

Except now, the real thing had turned out to be even better.

“Jay!” you whined, your hand gripping his hair as your hips moved uncontrollably against his mouth.

His tongue worked magic against your clit, circling and sucking gently while his long fingers moved inside you. His fingers curled just right, hitting your sweet spot effortlessly, and you gasped, your jaw going slack from the overwhelming sensation.

Your stomach tightened as the heat pooled low in your belly, and you felt yourself getting closer with each passing second.

Jay let out a low hum, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. His free hand moved up to intertwine with yours, grounding you even as you felt like you might fall apart.

“Feel so good,” you sobbed, your eyebrows furrowing together in pleasure. “Don’t want to stop.”

Jay pulled back just slightly, his lips glistening as he murmured, “Are you close, baby?”

You nodded frantically, your breathing erratic.

He leaned up, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. You tasted yourself on him, your tongue meeting his as the kiss grew messy and desperate. His fingers didn’t slow for a second, pumping relentlessly inside you as you gasped against his mouth.

When you broke the kiss, your eyes were teary, your chest heaving. Jay looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, his own breathing labored as he took in your flushed cheeks and swollen lips.

“Fuck,” he muttered, biting his lip as he moved back down between your legs. Without hesitation, he latched onto your clit again, sucking hard.

Your body jolted, your hands clutching at the sheets as you screamed his name. “Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum—”

Jay hummed in approval, his tongue working in perfect sync with his fingers, coaxing you to the edge. His free hand squeezed yours gently, the small gesture making your heart flutter even as your hips bucked uncontrollably against his face.

“I love you,” you gasped, your voice breaking. “I love you, I love you—”

Your back arched as the tension inside you snapped, and your vision blurred with stars. You cried out, your body shaking as you came, the overwhelming pleasure leaving you breathless.

Jay stayed with you through it all, his tongue and fingers slowing to help you ride out the waves. When you finally slumped back against the bed, exhausted and trembling, he moved up beside you, brushing the hair from your face.

He kissed you softly, murmuring sweet nothings against your lips as he fixed your shirt and wiped you down with gentle care.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, soothing. “You did so good.”

Jay was definitely good at aftercare.

“Is it true that Park Jongseong is… like, huge in bed?”

You flushed instantly, your thoughts flashing to the one time you’d seen him fully exposed, when he’d let you take him in your hand.

Yeah, he was definitely huge.

"Did he really let you touch his guitar?"

You stared down at the sleek Stratocaster electric guitar now resting gently in your lap. Jay handed you a white marker, his eyes soft as he watched your expression shift from confusion to awe.

Your fingers lightly brushed over the strings and the smooth, glossy surface of the guitar’s body. “What’s this for?” you asked, holding up the white marker he had placed in your hand.

“I need you to sign your name on my guitar,” he said casually.

Your eyes widened as you looked between the guitar and Jay, who was now sitting beside you. “W-wait,” you stammered, your voice rising slightly. “Are you sure? I don’t want to ruin it—”

“Baby,” he interrupted, “you’re not ruining it.” He leaned closer, gently pointing at a spot near the edge of the guitar’s body. “Right there. That’s where I want it. Sign it for me, hmm?”

You swallowed hard, this wasn’t just any guitar—it was his guitar. The one he cherished.

“Okay,” you whispered, nodding as you carefully uncapped the marker.

You hovered the pen above the guitar for a moment, practicing your signature in the air as your nerves fluttered.

Jay chuckled softly beside you, his voice warm. “You’re acting like you’re signing a million-dollar contract.”

“This is more serious than that,” you shot back, your lips curving into a nervous smile.

Finally, with a deep breath, you pressed the tip of the marker to the glossy surface, your hand moving carefully as you signed your name. The white ink glided smoothly across the black body, and when you pulled the marker away, you stared at the result with wide eyes.

“Perfect,” Jay murmured.

You turned to look at him, your heart skipping a beat at the way his gaze lingered on the guitar. His usual sharp, stoic expression was replaced with something softer, his eyes shining as he traced your signature with his finger.

He looked up at you, his lips curving into a rare, genuine smile. “Thank you,” he said, his voice full of warmth. Then, leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder.

Your cheeks burned as you gripped the marker tightly, unsure of what to say.

Jay pulled back slightly, his smile still in place. “Now it’s perfect,” he said simply, taking the guitar from your lap and standing up.

You watched as he adjusted the strap and slung it over his shoulder. His fingers moved instinctively to the strings, testing a few chords, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes kept flickering to your signature.

“Looks good, doesn’t it?” he asked, his voice casual, but you could hear the pride beneath it.

“It does,” you said softly, your chest feeling warm and full.

It was the school festival again, and you couldn’t contain your excitement. Still wearing your cheerleading uniform from your earlier routine, you tugged at your cousin’s arm, practically dragging her through the bustling crowd. The stadium was alive with energy—students cheering, music blasting from nearby booths, and the smell of snacks wafting through the air.

“Come on, we’re going to miss it!” you squealed, your ponytail bouncing as you hurried forward, your pom-poms tucked under your arm.

Your cousin groaned dramatically, trailing behind you. “You’ve been talking about this all day. Who are we even going to see?”

“My boyfriend!” you said, grinning from ear to ear. “My boyfriend's in a band!”

“Boyfriend?” she repeated, narrowing her eyes. “Since when do you have a boyfriend?”

You turned to her with a mock gasp, clutching your chest like she’d insulted you. “Excuse you. I’ve had one for months now.”

Your cousin raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Alright, then. Let’s see this mysterious boyfriend of yours.”

The two of you found seats near the front, and you craned your neck, scanning the stage as the band members set up. The noise of the crowd grew louder, students and visitors alike cheering as the festival program officially began.

And then he appeared.

Jay stepped onto the stage, standing out against the bright festival decorations. The strap of his guitar rested comfortably on his shoulder, the instrument gleaming under the stage lights—and there it was, your signature on its glossy surface.

Your heart thudded wildly in your chest, a giddy smile tugging at your lips as you clapped your hands together in excitement.

“Okay, but which one is your boyfriend?” your cousin asked, squinting at the stage as if trying to piece it together.

You didn’t even hesitate. Pointing toward Jay, you said proudly, “The guitarist. His name is Park Jongseong. That’s my boyfriend.”

Your attention was locked on Jay as he adjusted his guitar strap and tested a few chords. His sharp, eagle-like eyes scanned the crowd, his usual stoic expression giving him an air of effortless cool. But then, something changed.

His gaze stopped on you.

Jay’s piercing eyes softened, his lips curving into the faintest smile, the kind of smile he rarely let anyone see. It was small, barely noticeable to most, but you knew it was for you.

Your hand flew to your mouth, trying to hide the giddy grin that threatened to take over your face. Your cheeks burned, and your heart raced as he looked at you.

After a brief moment, Jay’s gaze dropped to his guitar. He adjusted the tuning, his fingers moving skillfully over the strings, but you could tell his mind wasn’t entirely on the music. He stole one last glance at you before focusing on his task, a quiet confidence radiating from him as he prepared to play. 

Your cousin, still in shock, nudged you. “Okay, he’s hot. How did you—like, how did you—end up with him?”

You laughed, brushing her off as you continued to watch Jay. “It’s a long story,” you said, your voice dreamy.

As the band began their set, the crowd’s cheers grew louder, and Jay’s fingers danced effortlessly over the strings. The sound was mesmerizing, and your chest swelled with pride as you watched him command the stage.

And as you sat there, smiling like an idiot, you realized once again how lucky you were to call him yours.

perm taglist: @fancypeacepersona, @immelissaaa

[endearng]

Firsts

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: You and Spencer navigate through your firsts throughout your life as childhood friends.

WC: 6k

Warnings: death, grief, use of drugs to cope with grief, uhhhh i guess that's it

A/N: HELLO!!! It's been so so long and I'm sorry I took forever to update �� uni's kicking my ass but now I'll try to write a bit more during holidays season. I hope you guys enjoy this one <3 Feedbacks are highly appreciated!

| masterlist

"Do you think we'll stay friends?"

"I'm sure we'll stay friends."

For a genius, your best friend, Spencer Reid, never seemed to notice some of his speech patterns — he would echo you sometimes, which you honestly found adorably funny, and he also had a tendency for rambling, even if it wasn't that appropriate at times. When you two were alone, you didn't mind; in fact, you encouraged him and let him talk to you all the way. When there was someone else, like either of your parents or a teacher (these were your regular companions), you would try to tap him on the arm subtly so he would know when to stop. Although it broke your heart, he said himself once that he appreciated when you helped him look more normal.

Right now, things are everything but normal. Spencer had graduated high school at the age of 12 while you were still in seventh grade and he was leaving to study at Caltech. You didn't dare to compare yourself to him, but you would definitely miss him around, since he was the first person you saw everyday (besides your parents, of course) and the one who walked you to school and then went on the way to his. Right now, you are sitting on the floor of your front porch, while Spencer is laying his head on your lap and you have your hands on his hair. You always said to him that he's got nice hair, no matter how he styled or decided to cut it. He blushed every single time.

"You know… I'm gonna miss you, Spencer."

"I'm gonna miss you. But you'll still be in my life."

"Will I?"

"I'm leaving, but I'll try my best to keep in touch. We can call each other. I'll spare a couple hours of my week so you can talk to me." A small grin stretched on his lips when he mentioned talking to you. A crease made its way between your brows when you thought you'd only talk to him weekly.

Trying to play it cool, you asked, just to be sure, just to check if the pang in your heart felt less intense, less hurtful. "Will you?"

"Yes, I will."

Despite having him in your lap, you couldn't see his eyes, for they were closed in delight from your gentle touch. You saw him smile softly and you could see just how relaxed he seemed with this big change — honestly, if you were him, you'd be terrified. Quickly trying to get rid of your sad and fearful thoughts, as you ran your hands through his hair, you poorly fought the urge to chuckle when you thought about braiding his hair. He felt the air that left your lungs hit his face when you did.

Curious, as he always had been, he inquired, "What is it?"

"You'd look good with braids."

"I'm not letting you braid my hair," even if his tone was one of mock offense, a chuckle made its way out of him.

"I didn't ask to."

You saw as he bit back a grin. Little did you know, but he's is heaven, here in your presence. In dire need of some place safe to just be, without the expectations and the big things that are expected from him and to happen to him. As you unknowingly soothed his thoughts with your gentle touch, he thought about how strange it is having someone touch him and not being utterly opposed to the idea. He also thought about how, for one time in his life, he didn't know something, which was the feeling spreading on his chest. Nevertheless, there was a ghost of a small, shy smile on his face as his shoulders relaxed.

He was happy.

—

As you made your way home from your sixteenth birthday dinner, something felt odd. Looking out the window, the city lights seemed to run from how fast your dad is driving. In the backseat, all alone, you tried to figure out what made you feel so empty all night long. As the car went over a bump, you instinctively looked to the side, and then everything made sense. Spencer wasn't there. Usually, after whatever family celebration you'd go to, he would be there (because you'd insist on taking him with you), by your side in the backseat of your dad's car, laughing at whatever funny thing had happened during the event. He was your company to every single thing you did, and you had been missing him quite more often as the contact between you two became more and more scarce.

Turning to look out the window again, your mom saw the frown on your face and sighed quietly, knowing precisely why you weren't chatting like you normally did. The specific pair of ears that you wanted to be listened by were not here. And she didn't blame you one bit.

As you got home, your frown was quickly replaced by a hopeful feeling on your chest and in your features when you found a voicemail addressed to you.

Hey! I hope you get home before midnight so that you won't think, not even for a minute, that I have forgotten about you. I'm so sorry I couldn't make it! I'm really stressed right now because there are too many things happening at the same time and I'm here all by myself, so... I guess you know, better than myself, how I feel. You… You know me so well. It is nice to be known by you. Anyway... Um... I'd like to wish you a happy birthday and, ah, I also would like you to know that I wish I could have been with you today. I'm really sorry because I know how much you love your birthdays. I'm sending you a gift, but I'm not sure if it will arrive on time. I miss you. I miss you and whatever Taylor Swift song you were always humming when we were walking back from school.

Anyway, er... I miss you—hah—I don't think I'll ever be able to tell you how much I miss you. And how much I miss our time together. Uh, happy birthday!

You didn't know when, but you had teared up at some point listening to him. You didn't know whether the cause was hearing his voice again or because he remembered you or because he told you he missed your time together or that he remembered the silly songs you'd sing when you were walking back home together. Before going to bed, you let your bedside table lamp on, as you always did before so Spencer knew, from the house beside yours, that you were up or you didn't care if he called you in the middle of the night. Either way...

You were happy.

—

Underneath the Christmas tree, the glow of the warm white fairy lights you and your mom had picked out was almost blinding. Yet, you and Spencer couldn't care less. You were both too infatuated by the blinding brightness that punished your eyes to care about having problems later. Closing your eyes, you smiled to yourself, happy to be doing something so ordinary, so dumb, with your best friend. Behind your eyelids, the light was not as relentless and it granted some relief from the current sight, which sort of looked like a kaleidoscope of... white. You heard when Spencer turned his head to look at you, but you missed his soft grin.

"It was overwhelming me," you explained.

"I know." He replied, still looking at you.

Your profile, under the yellowish glow, looked almost ethereal. The slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, everything was forever ingrained into his memory. By now, Spencer could map out every single freckle on your face — especially the particular one on your lower lip. He sighed at the sheer thought of your lips. You were now seventeen and so was Spencer. Puberty had been way gentler on you than it was on him and he noticed with a blush that you were growing up, just as he was. You were a little taller, for sure, and you had put on some weight in all the right places, not to mention your style that matched your personality. As for him, he had that voice pitch swing that he hated greatly, still wore thick glasses and overall went with the nerdy stereotype that everyone picked on him for… while you looked like you were glowing.

You opened your eyes and turned to look at him. You were so close that it almost hurt. Inches separated Spencer from what he thought would be the best feeling of his life. From the person that had him lying awake for hours, tossing and turning on his bed until the sun began to rise. "I can't wait to give you your gift. I think you'll love it!"

He grinned. "I'll be happy with anything." From you, he meant to say, but he didn't finish.

You closed your eyes again, a grin of your own on your face. He wondered... What if he got closer? What if he kissed you? What if you pulled away? What if you didn't pull away? What if you cut him off?

Almost unconsciously, he inched closer and closer to the point your breaths mingled together. You didn't pull away, not even for a second. Instead, you leaned in, getting ever closer to him than you ever had been before. The fairy lights made you look even prettier than before. You looked like a dream.

"I was thinking..."

"About what?" He asked. Despite his gaze being lost in you, he was acutely aware of the words coming out of your mouth.

God, your mouth.

"It's stupid..." You muttered, looking away from his eyes.

"You know you can talk to me." It's not stupid if it's you.

"Okay... okay." You breathed in. "Me and the girls were talking about first kisses. And I felt so, so embarrassed because I haven't had mine yet."

Spencer felt dizzy. Even if he wasn't the best at social cues, if he was reading this right, you wanted him to kiss you too. He exhaled softly, trying to clear his thoughts. His voice was weak when he asked, "And?"

"Have you had yours yet? I know we talk about everything and all that, but... have you?"

He chuckled at your question. How could he, the scrawny little nerdy boy have had his kiss and you hadn't? "You're joking right?"

"I'm not! I'm genuinely curious."

He didn't know, but your heart was in your throat, too scared of a positive answer.

"I haven't had my first kiss yet."

Somehow, that did nothing to calm your racing heart. Inching even closer, you muttered, "we could have it together."

If Spencer didn't pass out with your words, he was sure he would be unshakable for the rest of his life. Whatever life threw at him, it wouldn't matter as much as this moment of sheer strength and self-control, because he didn't pull you in immediately. "Are you sure?"

"I'd be fine with kissing you. You're my best friend. I—I know you won't judge me and you know I won't judge you either. And—and... even if things are... embarrassing... i—it will still be a good memory in the… future." As your soft voice reached his ears, he felt like he was in heaven.

Your arguments for kissing him made him wonder if you had spent that much time considering it as he did. "Okay, you've got a few points. I'm—I'm not... opposed to the idea."

Your heart burned. You both inched closer and closer, a hair width separating your lips. As your eyes fluttered closed and you placed one of your hands on the back of his neck, both hesitantly and surely, Spencer mimicked you and pressed his lips to yours with the lightest pressure as his hand found your waist tentatively. Your lips felt so soft and sweet. He knew he would feel you for days — and hoped you'd feel him for days, too.

Encouraged by him, you pressed your lips a bit harder against him. He gasped softly and you took the opportunity to capture his lower lip between yours and kiss it gently. Spencer could feel his heartbeat drumming on his ears and he tightened his hold on your waist the tiniest bit. Internally, he thought he died and went to heaven and that's how he was welcomed there. Your lips fit together so nicely and he felt his heart burning for you and he knew back then that he would do anything you asked him to in a heartbeat.

You pulled back to lick your lips and fitted them into his again. He sighed, again, moving to your accord as he tried focusing on how good it felt to be kissed by you rather than how you could regret it later. Distancing yourself, your eyes slowly fluttered open, finding his dazed ones already looking back at you. You grinned at him. Another secret between the two of you; but this time, it wasn't an embarrassing one.

He smiled back.

Later that day, Spencer sat on his bed, touching his lips, feeling the tingle yours had left behind. Smiling like an idiot, he wrote that date on the wood of his nightstand, black marker holding the evidence that tonight had actually happened, if he were to ever forget. If anyone asked, well, he would have to come up with something to hide the fact that he was relentlessly in love with you, but he would replay the best memory of his life in the back of his mind as his mouth stuttered out a little white lie.

He was so confused. And screwed. And so utterly happy.

—

At Caltech, at the ripe age of eighteen, on a working day, as usual, Spencer typed aggressively on his keyboard, writing an academic paper on a topic that had come to his mind during one of his classes and later inspired fully by a conversation with this one professor. Looking at the time on his computer screen, he cursed. It was already time he was supposed to be on his way to class, which was unlike him. There was a reason, though.

Last night, he had gotten home late. He had lost track of time talking to a girl whose name was Alex. They were both at the university library, and they hit it off immediately talking about Literature and then more mundane things — he had found out that she was a high schooler having classes with grad students, just like himself a few years back. Getting home late, his entire schedule for the day ahead had been ruined, so everything felt odd as he tried to navigate through his last obligations. He had gone to bed later than usual and overslept for some reason unknown to him.

As he got up abruptly, he knocked his knee on the desk, which was now getting very small for the size he had grown into. Shutting his eyes and suppressing a whine, he breathed in. As he opened his eyes, his line of sight caught glance of one of the two only photos he had hung up on his wall. The first was him and his mother, Diana. The second was you and him.

It was short after your fifteenth birthday, and he finally had had the time to go visit. You had greeted him with a very warm hug. That very same day, you had dragged him to your bedroom, which now didn't have the pink walls and the posters of the bands you liked so much anymore. Now, the walls were a cool tone of sage green and your walls were cleaner, the posters being replaced by photos of you and your friends from school. He had felt a tinge of jealousy, noticing just how much he was missing out on your life. Despite the lingering feeling, he tried to not let it get to him.

You thanked him so much for the gift he had given you, one of those polaroid cameras. He had spent so much time saving money to get you that present. The excited, happy tone in your voice during the phone call you had made to thank him made him feel like it had been worth it to spend that much.

"Hey, here she is! I named her Marie. From Marie Curie, of course." You explained, holding your camera carefully as you both entered your bedroom

"You named 'her' Marie?"

"She has a special place on my heart."

He chuckled. "You're so material, sometimes."

"You gave it to me!"

"I gave it to you." He whispered, a hint of a smile dancing around his features.

You smiled. "Come on, let's take a picture. It's her first. I waited a whole month so you'd be here to take this photo with me. It's only fair you're the first person to be photographed with me by Marie."

"Oh... okay..."

Holding the camera with both of your hands, you held it out so that it would capture the two of you. "Smile." You said, and, without checking his pose, you pressed the button, a big grin on your face, for the photo, of course, but also from being so madly happy that you were with him again. Spencer didn't know what do to, frozen on the spot because you were so, so close. He just looked at you, dumbstruck gaze on him as he watched you smile so beautifully at the camera.

His heart was doing somersaults.

After the flash in your face, you blinked rapidly, chuckling to yourself. "Oooh. That's uncomfortable, heh." You open your eyes and the first thing you see are his beautiful hazel ones, looking straight at you, as if he didn't even blink upon the bothering aftermath of the light on your faces. You nearly had to gulp under the intensity of his gaze. Then, you quickly regained consciousness and started fanning the small piece so that the picture would appear faster.

The result was the one now stuck to his wall: you, with the biggest smile on your face and he, lovestruck, dumb, lost gaze as he looked at you.

Sigh.

Spencer quickly shook his head, not meaning to be later and even more stressed than he already was. He missed you, though. And he let himself relish in that feeling of longing for a minute. Glancing at the photo, he couldn't help but think you were already eighteen. And that he had loved you from the first time he saw you — when he was twelve.

He sat on his bed, having removed the photo from the wall. As he held it delicately between his fingers, he thought of you. He always did. In spite of being late, in spite of everything telling him he had to go through his days, he felt something tugging at his heartstrings, a longing feeling that he should be somewhere else, something that told him something, so he knew.

It was time to go.

—

Back in his hometown, even the air felt different, despite exuding an aroma that reminded him of his younger days. It had been some time since he had visited, and the distance between you and him only grew further. Driving past your house — the state of California had finally issued his license —, he saw a somewhat big crowd of people, all dressed in black.

He felt like the noise around him didn't fully reach his brain. Like he was under water.

Robotically stepping out of his car, he approached the house cautiously. Almost as instantly as your mom welcomed him, he saw you across the room, dressed in black. Bloodshot eyes found him instantly, and a flicker of relief passed your expression — unable to muster up a smile, but oh so willing to show him that you were grateful for his presence. You felt frozen to the spot and had been standing in that corner for hours. A man placed his hand on your shoulder and that's when you looked away from Spencer. He noticed it, of course, and was obliged to acknowledge the blonde man by your side. You didn't smile at him either.

Spencer approached, somewhat relieved that you were okay, but so confused and overwhelmed by the entire situation. Almost unwilling to believe whatever bad thing had happened, because he had been so happy with you in that house.

Once he was within your earshot, you greeted weakly, "Hi."

"Hi."

Silence.

"Can we talk?"

Something about the look in your eyes told him that you desperately wanted, no, needed, craved it from him, his presence. With a subtle nod, you excused yourself from the man and lead him to the backyard. Sitting on the same bench you did when it was too late and you talked about the stars together, you reveal softly as you stare into the distance, "Dad's gone."

Spencer felt like he had been punched and all the air had left his lungs after your confirmation of something he was suspecting already. Finally, he blurted out, sitting down by yourself, "W—what?"

"He didn't wake up."

"He didn't wake up?"

"No... Last night, Spencer..." You begun, your voice thick with emotion, "he said that everything was alright." You frowned, tears streaming down your face, "That he... loves... loved me and mom... and that... that had been his role on Earth."

He stood quiet, waiting for the rest of what you had to say, still shaken by the news. Your broken voice and distant gaze were enough to skyrocket the pain he felt. Spencer absolutely adored your dad, and he was one of the few that Spencer confided in wholeheartedly when things got too rough for him to bear by himself. Even though your dad was the quiet type, Spencer would go as far as saying that he was somehow his dad as well.

With your silence, he had a little time to see past the pain. Analyzing your figure, he knew. He knew you had to leave. If you decided to stay, you'd be rooted to the spot and you wouldn't be able to grow any further, forever stuck into the never ending, relentless force of grief. Spencer knew that because, besides knowing you better than anyone else, he had left in hopes to escape the person he thought he was doomed to become. Your voice brought him out of his reverie. "I laughed. I thought he was joking."

"Maybe he was joking."

"Maybe he knew he was leaving."

Silence.

You look up at him. Asking for answers. For something. For comfort.

Sitting down beside you, he held your shaking shoulders as you let tears fall freely and you lost your breath and you choked on your own saliva. An ugly, guttural, desolate crying. Spencer held you through it all — he was ready to scream at anyone on the garden if they had the nerve to go there, but, actually, in that moment, you didn't care that somebody could see or hear you. The effect of the pills your mother had given you had started to wear off and you felt things way more intensely than when she first broke the news.

Dad's gone, was all that you could hear her voice say as Spencer turned his body to fully embrace you, placing your head on his shoulder and sobbing your pain as an effort to quell the ache of your loss.

It took every single ounce of self-control for Spencer not to break down with you, because in that moment, he preferred to swallow his own pain so that he could be your safe space instead. As your sobs slowly subsided, you sighed, squeezing your eyes shut as if that would make the pain that invaded your whole body go away.

"I think..." you started, but never finished.

Silence.

"I think you should move away."

You looked at him, baffled, puzzled, hopeful.

"What?" You whispered softly.

"I think staying won't do you any good. And you know I'm right." His gaze never faltered.

You took a deep breath. "M-my mom... Spencer... she doesn't have anyone else. I-I can't do that... to her..." You gulped. The meer thought of leaving felt exhilarating, but you had to stay. You were rooted.

"Your brothers are always around." He replied.

"Not anymore. Much has changed since… since you... left."

"I didn't leave." He said, defensively.

"I didn't accuse you. At least I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."

He pressed his lips into a thin line. "Would you consider it? Leaving, I mean?" Please, say yes. Please, say yes. Come with me.

"I would... I don't know, Spencer." Your voice was broken. "Too... too much is going on. I can't just... go."

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"There's dad. And now mom. And that stupid college... I don't know where I fit." You fit next to me, he wanted to scream at you, but he realized it wasn't fair of him to demand anything from you at that moment. "I don't know what path to take without my dad here to guide me." A wet chuckle made its way out of you. He hugged you again.

On a sudden wave of boldness, he stated, "If you stay, this will be your life. If you go, you'll have somewhere to come back to if things go wrong. I—I… I know, um, that I sound very insensitive right now, but that's the truth. Why do you think I went away?"

"I can't." And your tears began again, even harder this time.

He sighed, holding you against his chest once again. Despite the unbearable pain of not being able to help, to persuade you, he decided to respect your decision.

“My father's in a casket. I have got no plans.” You muttered softly. His heart broke for you all over again.

“You've got me. And I've got you.”

Looking up at him, your eyes glimmered with hope. Desperate to believe him, desperate to leave. With him, if he'd have you.

But that wasn't how it worked.

You buried your face on his chest again, willing the tears to stop, to have some control over yourself again.

He held you through it all. He was there for you.

Spencer's stay didn't last long, even though it was filled with an unspoken, desperate beg for you to come with him, even if he didn't quite know how things would work once you accepted. After some thinking, he realized he was asking too much of you for the sake of trying to protect you from what he knew was going to happen. Losing his own father, albeit for a different reason, had changed him permanently and he was scared that you, losing yours, would turn into a different person too. The mere thought of losing you to grief was too much to handle, even if he understood that his pleas were unfair to you, not to mention absurd.

Spencer's brain was turned into a whirlwind of thoughts, all of them desperate to find a way out of this situation, to find a way out to get you out of that place — both physically and mentally. As he stood by your side during your dad's burial, he let you squeeze his hand as if that would somehow make the pain less intense for you. It didn't, but it felt nice to have someone to carry the weight with you.

—

Spencer had joined the FBI at the age of 23, when you were graduating from college. The difference was staggering and it made you laugh the same as it had when he was going to college and you were going to seventh grade. It had been years since you had last met in person, after all, Diana was the main reason he'd go to Vegas, and he didn't go there much because he was often too busy with his studies and his career. Once, he had confided in you, saying that he secretly wished that it would be enough of a good excuse to avoid seeing his mother in a facility and saving them both from the pain. Tonight, though, that would change. You were visiting him in Virginia.

A little nervous, you knocked on his door. Once he answered, you took in his appearance and your heart swelled at the sight. In your eyes, he'd always looked the prettiest, but now… It's like something had shifted: Spencer was all that you saw. And you didn't want to look at anything else anymore.

“Hi,” you greeted in a weak voice. Perhaps the intensity of your smile stole away your will to speak properly.

“You're here.” Spencer muttered, eyes filled with many emotions, but that you decided to read as relief.

“I am.”

“God, it's been so long,” he says, closing the gap between you and him, wrapping his arms around your torso, resting his head on your shoulder, not so subtly trying to smell your perfume. And failing to hide the overdrive when he noticed it was the same from all those years ago, from when you had first kissed.

Pulling away slightly, you cupped his cheeks with both hands and took in his shiny eyes, the ones that you adored so much and now met yours with a new perspective on everything. Once entering his apartment, you found that the place screamed his name, from the scattered books and the endless piles all over his living room. His TV had a documentary in a foreign language on, and you smiled to yourself. Spencer had never changed and, at his core, was still the boy you were once close friends with.

Spencer filled you in on the things you missed. You knew they were mostly about his job because he wasn't one to step out of his comfort zone — not that you'd judge him for it. “I miss having you around, tapping my arm so I know when to stop,” he revealed softly as you two shared a tub of ice cream.

Forget germs, forget pathogens, forget viruses, forget everything. She is here.

You giggled. It set his heart on fire. “Ah, Spencer… You know I only did it when other people were around. Other people are just other people. You're you. And rambling is part of who you are. Don't let that disappear.”

He smiled. You were still you.

“In fact, I have something to tell you.”

His heartbeat fastened, thinking of every possible scenario, reliving every single one of your experiences in the back of his mind. “You… you have something to tell me?” He echoed. He was still him.

Chuckling softly, “I'm glad you're still you, Spencer. I still say your name when people ask me who's my best friend. It's an excuse to relive our favorite stories as I tell them all about you.”

Spencer was left speechless, bashfully looking away from you as he resumed to talk about his days at the FBI. He told you all about his team, the people and what they found on a daily basis. “Do you think it's weird that I study what I do study?”

“No, Spence. You've always had a curious mind. Why do you ask?” You inquired back.

“I don't know… sometimes I think that people find me weird.”

“You're not,” you said, simply. “Your interests are very diverse, and anyone who talks to you will find that out. Being a profiler is not weird.”

He grinned. Your words or arguments about his insecurities throughout your friendship weren't always the most complex, but he always felt better by talking to you. He was never ashamed, never too scared of admitting something or voicing his needs. You made him feel like it was okay to speak, to want, to be. Whatever his limitations were and whatever words he left unspoken, they were never your fault. You'd never frowned at him, not once.

As the night progressed, he filled you in on what he had been doing for fun, mentioning his current readings — one of them on his nightstand. Giddily, you went over to his bedroom to find the novel that he was talking about, so that you could hear him talk about it and recite, by heart, quotes that illustrated his points and interpretation from the book. Upon entering his bedroom, you smiled to yourself. So Spencer. The sand-colored walls, the neat and clean floor, his slightly wrinkled bedsheets, a pile of laundry on top of his bed, a few scattered items on his nightstand — which, by the way, was the same in his mother's house. You had always found it amazingly pretty, the light wood and the black paint that covered the iron of the drawer pulls.

As you reached the piece of furniture and removed the book, you found something scribbled right under where the object had been lying. You were ready to give him a piece of your mind and you opened your mouth, ready to tell him not to ruin the perfect nightstand, but as you turned on the lamp to try and find out what was written there, the writing in black ink made you shiver. You fell silent. It was the date of your first kiss.

Time stopped. Why was that date written there? And why did the possibilities both scared and thrilled you so damn much? You felt someone behind you. “So, you found the book or what?” The question made its way out of his lips in a teasing tone. But, as you turned around softly, the book still clutched tightly in your hands, your eyes questioned him back. Not accusingly, only… curiously.

When he realized what you had discovered, the air left his lungs and he tried desperately to come up with an excuse. It turns out that he hadn't been asked by many people about the meaning of that date — and it's not like he had many visitors, anyway. “I… You… You… Did you… see it?” You managed to nod, weakly.

“What does it mean?” You asked, eyes never leaving his.

Looking away, he replied, “I was scared to forget.”

“Forget?” You inquired, shifting your weight.

“About it…. That night, I mean. about… us.” You gazed at him understandingly once he answered.

“About us?” Funnily enough, now you were the one parroting him. It would have made you chuckle if the situation wasn't that serious.

He breathes out, “Yeah, us.”

A beat of silence. You take a step towards him, and his breath hitches. “Have you forgotten?”

He searches your face. Upon finding nothing but support, he reveals, “There's not a single day I don't remember that moment.” You gulp and he takes a step closer, which makes your grip on the book tighten even more. You closed your eyes — a silent invitation, but it makes him falter once he doesn't have your eyes to navigate him through what he's supposed to do.

I'm glad you're still you, Spencer.

Encouraged by the memory of your words from moments ago and the presence of you, he closes the distance between you, once and for all. There's nothing that could hold him back from loving you once your lips touch and press together in a kiss that makes the book fall to your feet as your hands find their place on the back of his neck.

On any other day, Spencer Reid would be pissed upon seeing someone drop a book, let alone a considerably heavy one, on his feet — that's absurd. That moment, though, he couldn't care less as he squeezed your waist, as if trying to convince himself that you were there, that it was real, and that he finally got to do what he has always wanted.

Spencer and you had been through many firsts during the time you've known each other; some good firsts and some pretty bad firsts. But, there was a quote, from ‘Doctor Who’, that you always reminded him and yourself whenever things got too tough:

"The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice versa, the bad things don’t always spoil the good things and make them unimportant."

As long as he had you to soften the bad things and had your company during the good things, Spencer figured that life would be a pile of more good than bad things.

[ankol-heap]

» in a room full of art, he'd rather look at you; itoshi rin x gn!reader

synopsis; itoshi rin is failing his art class. in order to graduate his senior year of high school, he needs to pass the class with at least a b grade. you're assigned to tutor the hot-headed soccer athlete—kind and eccentric, you throw rin's entire world off axis.

a/n; my first post on here! this is set after sae abandons rin, but he still goes to school. enter stage left, front and center—asshole, but very much in need of some love, itoshi rin!

word count: 5.0 k words | now playing every breath you take, by the police

itoshi rin didn't have any friends. it's a fact all his teachers know by now. he's a stoic student, one that doesn't participate in group projects and eats his lunch alone in the library. normally, this type of behavior exhibited by students should have been noticed by his teachers and counselors. but rin was seemingly well behaved, and he had straight a's in most of his classes—so nobody took notice of him. he felt like a ghost, drifting through the walls of his high school without a single person by his side. it was his first day of senior year, and itoshi rin had no expectations for this year.

the phantom ache in his chest is harder to ignore nowadays. he doesn't realize he's been spacing out again until the bell rings, signaling the start of the next class period. rin is snapped violently out of his daze. he glances at the blank canvas in front of him before realizing he's spent the past fifty five minutes doing absolutely nothing. the students around him file out of the room—chatting and laughing as he stands there, a bit dumbfounded with how this class seemed to suck the life out of him.

when itoshi rin was little, he loved drawing. his imagination would run wild, and sometimes—he couldn't always act out the magnificent battles he wanted his toys to perform. dragons and princes and volcanos—his medium of choice used to be these scratchy crayons his brother, sae, would get for rin from the corner store. rin remembers how his parents had to force him to put his crayons down just to make him eat dinner. and now, he can't even manage to put a single mark on a canvas.

during his teacher's instructions at the beginning of class, he was, quite vaguely told at that, to use whatever colors and styles he wanted to on a 12 by 12 canvas to reflect his soul. bitterly, rin thinks his canvas reflects him perfectly. he'll turn this in tomorrow, he decides. a blank canvas—no feelings, no purpose, nothing. just like him.

he'll take the shitty grade and move on with his life. rin wonders if there's even a language that exists to put his feelings into something other people can comprehend. he doesn't think there is. if he wants anyone to understand how he feels, they'll have to tear his ribs out one by one to reach the barely alive beat lying inside.

itoshi rin is seventeen years old when he falls in love.

"do you need some help cleaning up?"

rin glances away from his blank canvas, looking up to meet whomever it is speaking. the class is empty now. his art teacher is busying herself in the back of the classroom, unboxing a new pack of paintbrushes when rin swallows the lump in his throat.

"i'm fine,"

your smile is hesitant. understanding, almost, as you look at rin's canvas and the tubes of unopened acrylic paint surrounding him. the window panes hanging high towards the ceiling welcome in the rising sun outside, and rin can see the light shimmering in your eyes—glittering shards of gold gleam like morning stars in your irises as you wordlessly pick up the neglected paint and brushes on his desk—carrying them over to the back of the classroom and putting them away as rin watches silently.

slowly, he picks up his own canvas—and he stares at his classmates' drying ones with an almost envious kind of sadness as he places his untouched canvas beside theirs. where they had explosions of colors, reds and yellows and greens and blues blending and combining into the most wonderful art—rin didn't. he had nothing.

rin turns around to where he'd seen you last in the back of the classroom, before clearing his throat. he doesn't lift his gaze from the tiled floor beneath him, pressing his hand flat against the surface of a nearby table to steady himself before speaking up

"thanks..." he begins, but his voice trails off when he realizes you've already left.

—

rin was sitting in english class when he heard your voice again. to be completely honest, he had no idea you were in this class. rin didn't talk to anyone in all of his classes, so hearing the sound of your voice was a surprise. and where he sat in the back of the classroom, you sat towards the front. you're asking the teacher a question on last night's homework, and rin takes his chance to watch you freely.

you have a tote bag slung over your shoulder. there's a landscape painted on it, with little pins placed all over. you have your hair down today compared to the updo you wore yesterday. it's only when you turn towards your seat that rin finally makes eye contact with you.

time slows, and the conversation around rin drowns out as if he's ducked his head underwater. his brain is nothing but white static for that one second you look into his eyes.

actually, you didn't even hold his gaze for a full second, it was more like a fraction of one—but rin's heart rate didn't calm until the bell rang, and he was the first student out the door. he left class that day with clammy palms and pink-tinted cheeks.

rin didn't have art class today, but he was called down regardless during study hall. his art teacher was an old woman with a wrinkly smile who always wore colorful cardigans. rin enters the room, moving through the empty desks and chairs before he stops in front of her with a quiet greeting.

"rin! it's so nice of you to come so quickly, students aren't usually so courteous! please have a seat," she says warmly, and rin eyes the blank canvas—his blank canvas—laying beside her on the desk.

rin takes a seat, fading in and out of the conversation as she talks. he already knew what to expect, and of course, he was right. akamatsu sensei had the type of voice rin imagines story tellers have, or lullaby singers do. she tells him that she's having trouble seeing signs of progress in his art and wanted him to be doing better. but her last sentence is what catches rin off gaurd. this he did not predict.

"a tutor?"

akamatsu sensei nods her head slowly, folding her hands in her lap at rin's apprehensive expression. she watches his delicate brows pinch together in discomfort, soft lips pulled into a small frown filled with silent frustration. rin didn't understand why he had to get another person to tutor him—he thought art was subjective.

"i promise you, rin, i have just the perfect person in mind. they're my best student—i think if anyone can get your imagination flowing again, it's them."

—

akamatsu sensei introduces you and rin to each other the following morning—and rin's learns that your name is y/n. he repeats it in his head a few times, committing it to memory before you speak his name in the sweetest voice he'll ever have the pleasure of hearing.

"rin-san, i think we're going to get along well! we can sit together in class and work on assignments with each other, but we'll also have to meet after school. what days are you free?" you question, and rin's heart positively plummets to his feet when you grab his hand and lead him towards his seat—you occupy the usually empty chair beside him, and he follows your lead.

"that's fine. i'm free every friday, every other day of the week i have football practice."

rin's hands clutch his knees under his desk when you pull your hand out of his, a fruitless attempt to try and calm himself after you so casually held his hand. your fingers curved around his perfectly—and while the gesture might not have meant anything to you, it meant so much to rin. he doesn't hold hands, he can't even hold a conversation—but you're bubbly and bright in a way that has him submitting in one second flat.

"football? that sounds like fun! i'm sorry, i'm not very well versed with sports. do you like it?" you ask, organizing the paints in front of you as rin nods wordlessly, staring at the gentle manner in which you treat the art materials. you smile at his confirmation, grabbing a tube of a radiant midnight blue and placing a dollop of it on rin's blank canvas with a grin

"when we're in doubt, it's like our minds subconsciously pull away. they shut down and sorta refuse to do anything, right? i want to push you out of your comfort zone and give you a blue canvas to work with rather than a white one. we'll see what you do with that, okay?"

rin nods, fingers moving to take the paintbrush you hand him before he turns to the awaiting paint in front of him. his brushstrokes are slow and a little messy, but five minutes later—the canvas is entirely blue.

"what do you see?" you question softly as rin stares at his canvas. he stays silent for a heartbeat, two heartbeats, and then—

"i don't see anything."

rin's inner turmoil is a storm. was he supposed to be seeing something? all he sees is blue. there's nothing coming to his mind, no connection being made—his bites the inside of his cheek, angry at himself and his clear lack of creativity.

"that's okay. let's think together, okay? what do you think of when you think of the color blue? it can be the simplest thing of all, rin-san. anything at all," you assure, gently scooting your chair closer to his as he nods, clenching his jaw as he thinks. blue. blue. blue. what the hell is blue?

"the sky."

you're silent a for a few moments before he hears it. it's soft and muffled with the back of your hand, but you're laughing at him. his cheeks burn in an instant, and his lips transform into a scowl immediately

"whatever, i know it's stupid—"

"no, no! i was thinking the same thing, that's why i laughed! now, the sky is a painting all in its own! think about it—it's orange and pink during sunrise, like a fruity drink on the beach. it can be a misty, pale haze during snow storms. but, i want you to think of a time you saw the sky like this—an inky void, like a dark blue veil's been put over the world. can you do that?"

rin doesn't respond. he stares at the sea of blue in front of him—blue blue blue.

"...sometimes, football practice gets cut short on rainy days. the sky sorta looks like this blue on those days. dark. blurry—but it's still...i can see some stars. and the moon peaking out from behind the clouds, too. i guess this kind of looks like that."

rin's brows furrow together in concentration as he stares at the canvas after speaking. he turns away from it and towards you after another moment—and he's met with your gentle lips parted in awe. he blinks rapidly a few times to confirm the sight of your awe struck face in front of him is real, not something his imagination made up, before you break into a breathtaking smile.

"well then, let's get some black to add some darker shading to the sky! and some white—for the stars and moon...come on!"

—

itoshi rin is attentive. it's something you would come to learn soon enough. you're an avid artist—truly, it was your passion. rin can watch you scribble away in your sketchbook from where he sits in the back. english class is droning on, and for once, he's not paying attention.

you tilt your head over your notebook, staring at your drawing before you erase something and redraw it. rin watches the way your hair shifts and moves around you as you look at your sketchbook from different angles—perfecting your art. his lips twitch at the sight of your pout when the tip of your pencil breaks. you're restless, quickly sharpening it and continuing your drawing when the teacher's voice breaks him out of his daze.

"all right class, partner up! i'll let you chose your partners this time. please don't make me regret it," she sighs, and the excited chatter of the students quickly fills the once silent room.

rin straightens in his seat. he had absolutely no idea what the assignment was since he wasn't paying attention—but, right now, he didn't care. his eyes stayed glued on you, waiting to see who you would partner up with. rin has to crane his neck a bit as his classmates moved around and shifted seats—effectively blocking his view. once everyone settled down with their partners, rin was able to see you again.

and you're sitting by yourself.

rin doesn't know what urged him to walk towards you. he can hear his heart pounding—tugging him closer and closer towards where you sat. he swallows the lump in his throat, standing behind you silently before he taps your shoulder

you turn around, obviously not expecting him—because your eyes widen a bit when you see rin. and rin just...stares. he doesn't say anything, and it's like the two of you were sucked into a bubble, separating you from everyone else—you both stare at each other, blinking blankly and staying absolutely silent

"do you want to—"

"are you—"

rin wants to crawl into a hole and die. he shakes his head, pressing his lips into a firm line before speaking again. the flush of embarrassment in your cheeks was making him feel flustered.

"sorry. i was asking if you wanted to be partners with me," he speaks. rin places an awkward palm on the nape of his neck, silently questioning where he got the sudden boost of confidence to approach you from, because it had suddenly, and very inconveniently, vanished into thin air—leaving him defenseless. you smile warmly at him, quickly moving over and beckoning to the open seat beside yours.

"yes! i'd love to be partners," you say, quickly closing your sketchbook and putting it away as he nods gratefully, taking the seat beside you.

"thank you," rin says. and then, it's quiet again. the tension is as thick as butter, and you look around awkwardly before laughing, nervously.

"so...do you know what we're supposed to be doing, rin-san?"

this was the first time you saw rin smile. and laugh. well, not laugh, per say. but he snorts, and it's almost as if he was surprised by his own reaction as he shakes his head with a soft grin.

"not a clue."

the rest of class consisted of the two of you leaning towards each other with bowed heads, you soft giggles and rin's low voice filling the void between you two.

—

itoshi rin has a friend.

this is what friends are, he decides. people who smile at you when they see you, people who help you with your homework and expect nothing in return. slowly, but surely, fall turned into winter, and winter turned into spring. friendship is a blossoming thing, he thinks. because it felt like every day that passed, you and rin became closer. like a knot tightening further and further—he was growing closer and closer to you.

your guidance is what rin needs. direction and kindness—you helped rin navigate his own mind through art, a language he could use to spill his heart's deepest desires. every stroke of his brush came straight from the core of his soul.

charcoal was your current medium of choice this friday afternoon. every harsh fingertip pressed into rin's paper and ever gentle brush of his knuckles against the page has its own meaning—its own purpose. his tongue is poked out in concentration, and you watch rin work quietly as the quiet sound of akamatsu sensei's record player filled the silence. rin thinks of the way your delicate fingers transverse and move when you make art, and he mimics your movements—your gentle voice reassuring him.

"beautiful," you breathe breathlessly, tentative hands carefully taking the paper rin hands you as you stare at the art piece he'd just created. a battle field—it's set up like a football field, but instead of players, there were towering presences instead. swords and shields, a storm in the background, long blades of grass and a constellation of stars—rin's spark and love for art had been rekindled.

"thank you, y/n. i...i couldn't have done any of this without you. you're the only reason i'm not failing right now," he says softly, his voice almost sheepish as your eyes flit towards his—welling with pride.

"i wish i could frame this! it's beautiful...akamatsu sensei is going to be so proud of you, rin-san! this talent has always been with you. i just got the wheels rolling. you're very talented, i hope you understand." you smile softly, your eyes crinkling with the motion as rin's heart rate spikes at the sight

"rin," he whispers, and you blink in confusion before he clarifies himself

"call me just rin, please."

"oh! okay, rin," you smile, the familiar flush returning to your cheeks as rin smiles softly. if he moves even an inch closer to you, his knee will bump against yours under the table. rin is suddenly hyper aware of the space between you two. the music playing in the back ground fades to nothing, just like the world did, when rin stares at you. your eyes soften, and rin's positive his heart is going to burst right out of his chest and into your lap.

friends don't want to kiss their friends. the realization is chilling, and rin's eyes dart towards your lips for a split second—he couldn't stop himself, and the sight makes his breath hitch. soft, pink, plump—he wants to kiss you. rin really wants to kiss you.

the screeching sound of his chair against the floor shatters the serene moment of peace. you blink rapidly from the loud interruption as rin wordlessly picks his bag off the floor, slinging it over his shoulder in a single, fluid motion before exiting the classroom. you're left stunned and alone, your smile falling as he leaves without saying goodbye,

alone again.

—

rin is not familiar with love, you have to understand this.

in his eyes—love was a transaction. a give or take scenario, and if you can't give something useful—you get your heart trampled on. a certain brother taught rin that. he leaves school that day sullen and empty, his heart physically hurting in his chest as he walked home.

rin started ignoring you after that day. he didn't show up to your after school tutoring sessions on friday, he stopped turning towards you when your english teacher told the class to partner up—and your seat in art class beside him was now occupied by his backpack, a clear message telling you he didn't want you sitting near him.

you have to understand—rin didn't have anything to give. he'd taken your kindness, your love, your guidance—but what did he have to offer? he's not very gentle, and as graceful as his movements may be, he can't always control the bite in his tongue. and he's sensitive. his humor borderlines between dry and downright crude. and he's not used to having a friend, forget a lover—so, itoshi rin will ignore you. he will love you from afar, but he won't so much as glance in your direction anymore. because he cares too much, and rin thinks you deserve better. he doesn't thrive like you do, he destroys. and he's certainly not your mess to clean up.

"y/n,"

you glance away from rin's retreating figure. once again, he didn't bother to look at you all day or say goodbye—he simply left class. akamatsu sensei's voice pulls you away from rin as you quickly approach her desk, bowing your head in greeting.

"sensei," you greet with a weary smile as her gaze softens. she hands you a slip of paper, her voice gentle as she speaks

"rin has been leaving class far too quickly for me to catch up with! would you be a dear and give this to him for me, please? it's a permission slip he must sign for our upcoming field trip,"

the words otsuka museum of art were printed neatly at the top. you'd been looking forward to this trip for months—you vaguely remember mentioning your excitement for it to rin at some point when he still spoke to you.

the otsuka museum of art scaled five floors, three underground and two above—of the richest art history ever. there were reportedly over a thousand paintings—masterpieces ranging from ancient times to the present day from all over the world. it was your dream to have your own art in a museum like the otsuka museum one day.

"okay! that's not a problem at all for, akamatsu sensei," you reply softly, bidding her goodbye as she waves enthusiastically to you. you manage a meek wave, offering a small smile as you exit the classroom.

this was your chance to talk to rin. determined to find him before he left school for the day, you move swiftly through the crowded hallways—keeping a firm grip on your tote bag and the slip of paper between your fingertips as you push open the front doors of the school

and there he is. his strides are slow and long as he walks on the sidewalk about a dozen meters away from you. your feet hit the pavement as you quickly make your way towards him. he doesn't look up from his path to the school's football field—his hands remain shoved deep in his pockets and completely unaware of your approaching steps

"rin! rin, wait!"

rin pauses mid step, and you watch every muscle in his back tense the moment your voice reached his ears. he swallows the lump forming in his throat, closing his eyes for a moment before reluctantly turning around. his eyes are round in an almost childlike manner as you approach him.

you take a deep breath before grabbing his hand—and he's startled for a moment before you place the field trip slip in his hand. he blinks down at it in confusion, squinting at the small text before they widen a bit in realization

"akamatsu sensei couldn't give it to you earlier, so, uh, she asked me to," you quickly say, wringing your hands together nervously as rin stays silent, blinking at the paper in his hand.

"i...i'd be really happy if you came. of course, it's a voluntary thing but..."

even though rin won't look at you, resorting to burning a hole through the paper slip in his hands again, you continue with your words.

"rin, i don't know if i did something wrong to upset you, or if i said something you didn't like—but...i'm sorry."

rin's jaw clenches, and a frown digs its way onto his face as he stares at you. he shakes his head as if to say no, and just when he opens his mouth to say something—a loud voice comes barreling your way.

"itoshi! you're late! on the field, now!"

rin's coach's voice is booming and demanding of attention—and you're startled enough to flinch. rin exhales sharply through his nose, a vein threatening to pop on his forehead as he fights to keep himself from cursing out his coach, something he'd done many times before, in front of you.

"...we'll talk another time, all right?"

he doesn't seem to want to leave until he gets your confirmation, and you quickly nod

"i...okay."

he frowns at your hesitance, taking a half hearted step back, sparing you one last glance, before walking away. his shoulders are slumping just the slightest bit with defeat, and you don't have the strength to keep watching. you begin the walk home, thoughts scattered and heart hurt.

—

thankfully, rin did show up the day of the trip.

your breath hitched when you saw him board the bus—his dark, inky strands mused from the wind outside as he huffed, handing akamatsu sensei his field trip form before he turned towards the open seats. yes, there was one right beside you—but rin took the seat on the other side of the aisle.

doing this, he kept himself both near you and faraway—you heart sinks at the silent rejection. you spend the bus ride sketching in your notebook, trying your best to not look at rin.

—

you fell asleep on the two hour drive there. rin thinks you look a lot like an angel when you sleep. your face is composed entirely of peace. your sketchbook lays idly in your lap, and rin frowns when he notices it's slipping from your grasp.

he waits for the bus to approach a red light before slipping into the vacant spot beside you. he grabs your sketchbook, prepared to close it and put it safely away into your tote bag, when he sees what you were drawing

it was him.

—

everyone arrives to the museum after another fifteen minutes. and after going through security, your classmates and akamatsu sensei stand in the foyer—buzzing with excitement. you leave the group the second you're given the green light. everyone is given ninety minutes to explore the museum on their own before you all have to regroup and grab lunch. you slip away as quietly as you can, moving through the crowd of people in search of some much needed solitude.

you let out a breath of relief once you escape rin's presence. now, you can't see him at all—all you can see is the hundreds of art pieces and hallways waiting to be explored. they beckon you forward and call your name. your first step is hesitant as you remember how much you wanted to explore this beautiful building with rin just a month ago, but you take it anyway.

you move through the museum slowly, allowing your body to sink into the moment and absorb the entirely new world around you. the domed ceilings themselves have art painted on them, and you twirl and waltz through the halls, taking it all in.

your heartbeat calms. your nerves, fears, sadness—it fades to background noise as you take it all in.

unbeknownst to you, rin follows you the entire time.

his movements are precise and elegant. he can duck behind a nearby family or statue the moment he anticipates your gaze nearing his vicinity. he keeps a healthy distance, his eyes never leaving your form.

there's a soft smile on your face as you explore the museum. rin can't help but watch the way you excitedly chat to the security guards posted by the arts and explain each piece's history. he watches your animated gestures to the enormous structures as you explain the myths and stories behind them.

you're far too kind for this world. truthfully, rin thinks your heart is bigger than the entire museum—bigger than the entire world, really. you give, and you give, and you give—but you don't ask for anything in return. you're selfless—offering your sweet smiles to passerby’s and dorky art facts to anyone willing to hear.

rin would soon learn the love you offered was unconditional.

you're moving from exhibit to exhibit, before you finally enter an empty one. he stands by the entrance where your back is facing him. rin is nervous beyond belief—but he takes the step inside, anyway. you don't notice him at first, too busy staring at a painting the same height as you with a feverish type of awe.

he steps beside you, not meeting your gaze as he peers up at the painting. a man and a woman sit at a piano, playing together in harmony. they're in a ballroom of some sort, both dressed in formal wear. rin can tell they're in love with the way they look at each other.

"i'm sorry."

rin can feel you go rigid beside him—he can hear the silent hitch in your breath as you keep your gaze glued to the painting, your fingers tensing at your sides as rin looks away from the painting, turning towards you.

he takes a moment to admire you. your lips, your lashes, the slope of your nose and the curve of your neck—before speaking

"i'm not good with my feelings. i push people away before they get to close, but it was like you slipped through the gaps—i...thought i'd hurt you if i stayed. but i hurt you by leaving. i like you, y/n. i like you more than any person i've ever known—i-i think i love you,"

the words fall from his lips in a broken whisper, and he wants to reach out and play with your fingers—have something to fidget with as he awaits your response. he wasn't going to shy away from admitting his feelings anymore, that wasn't rin. the only reason he messed up with you the first time was because he's never been in love before. but, he was willing to learn everything about it with you—he didn't want to do it with anyone else.

his eyes are glazed with unshed tears, because not once, not ever—has itoshi rin so clearly expressed his heart to another person.

this moment would forever be engraved into his heart, brain, and soul—but the sight of your face when you finally look at him steals the air from his lungs.

your lip trembles in disbelief for a moment, tears of joy springing from your eyes as you laugh—the sound a melody all in its own to rin's ears as you smile with all your teeth.

his mouth slots over yours a moment later. soft and oh so sweet—itoshi rin's kiss was like pressing your mouth against the petal of a flower. his hands cradle your face, his breathing coming out uneven and quick—he kisses you hard, and you laugh into his mouth as your hands wrap around his neck. he tugs you infinitely closer, molding his form against yours.

"i love you too, itoshi rin..!"

rin's eyes crinkle with a rare show of genuine joy. his eyes don't leave yours as he watches your thumb gently caress his cheek. because in a room full of art—itoshi rin would rather look at you.

[struwberrii]

haikyuu!! at an american highschool ⊹ ‧₊˚ ౨ৎ

pt.1 here pt.3 here

these are just some of my silly headcannons on how i think hq characters would act and what stereotypes they would be at an american highschool (as an american highschooler ☝️🤓)

characters: kuroo, kenma, bokuto, akaashi, oikawa, iwaizumi

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

kuroo

literally the biggest nerd but sm girls crush on him

the type of guy you gotta hit your friends with the “hear me out” before you say he’s cute

kind of annoying and cocky about his intelligence but ppl still like him

gets real creative about his insults towards ugly people

wears cringey dad graphic tees bc he has no style

crunchy coughs in class a lil too often….

has the oldest most beat up car on the planet like it’s a safety hazard driving that thing

always smells really weird like cigarettes or something despite not smoking a day in his life

debate club.

his note books have like water stains and the covers are like torn apart and look like they were used as a shield during a war

offers all his friends rides but is such a scary driver

makes fun of ppl “lovingly” but he’s lowkey a bully

jokingly owns a minecraft hoodie he bought from the kids section and it’s SO TIGHT it’s a crime to wear that out with his big self

kenma

wears the same clothes multiple days in a row, he don’t gaf he probably slept in ts too 😭

probably doesn’t really smell bad, just kind of…. moist? marinated?

his hair is probably really greasy sometimes

always brings some type of gaming console to school and plays during lunch and during any free time he has

sneaks his phone when he isn’t supposed to and has never been caught

for some reason he sits with cool people despite NEVER talking during class and never going out of his way to make friends (kuroo forces him to hang out with his friends)

raged at his game super loud in class one time and got so embarrassed he begged his counselor to take him out of that class

his grades are ok for someone who never studies or even really pays attention

some of his teachers have gone entire school years without ever remembering his name

has the best comebacks to everyone, he is not afraid to clock you

bokuto

drives the biggest jeep or like ford bronco ever and is actually a decent driver

his parking is TERRIBLE though and he never bothers to fix it

probably would play football (i’m sorry guys) and is constantly at risk of getting kicked off the team for his grades

akaashi helps him study to stay on the team

genuinely the biggest himbo, a bunch of the girls think he’s adorable but he never gets the hint

posts silly gym selfies on his story

book bag has like 1 notebook in it, maybe a pencil if he’s lucky

teachers secretly love him (but not enough to pass him)

i feel like he’d also try and join the swim team for some reason

i feel like he’d eat burger king for lunch :,(

girls confide in him with their drama even though he gives no helpful feedback or advice and just occasionally gasps and goes “no way”

has the most cracked iphone screen on the planet

akaashi

probably taking like half honors classes or AP (idk how it works i’m not at a regular high school sorry guys </3)

gets school iced coffee for breakfast

takes super good and detailed notes and helps bokuto despite being a lower grade

wears the funkiest outfits but girls still think he’s cute

no girls talk to him though because he’s so quiet

always has at least 1 airpod in

sells pics of his notes

sometimes goes off campus for lunch with bokuto, but refuses to eat burger king

other days he probably has salad for lunch

probably in like orchestra but never carries his instrument in the halls bc he thinks it’s embarrassing

bokuto is loud af cheering him on when they have concerts

also sneaks his phone during class but got caught one time and now he’s kind of too scared to use it

iwaizumi

wears those tight work out shirts to show off his muscles

probably drinks like protein drinks in class

has the biggest water bottle ever like bro drinks a gallon of water every period

has a SUPER old iphone or like an android he refuses to upgrade because it gets the job done

always posting about his gains

probably crashed his car and his bumper is like hanging off his car

in like a weight lifting or body building club and is probably the leader of said club

he and oikawa are a very popular duo

occasionally skips class if he ever just doesn’t feel like going

his notes are so vague and short yet he understands and remembers everything he wrote

his grades are insanely good too

literally only wears sports clothing

uses really good smelling cologne but since he’s so active there’s always a hint of must from all the sweat :,(

oikawa

man hoe

he has been in just about every girls dms at some point

his grades are like, okay? he’s not failing

does stuff for female validation, like ik if he had a cat he’d be posting it on his story constantly and like flexing his hand veins

drives a bmw

if he’s actually in a relationship, he’s super loyal tho

his teachers kinda hate him

still uses snapchat and his snap score is like 500k

has decent fashion but dresses mildly gay at the same time

people constantly make jokes abt him and iwa being gay and he gets so mad (maybe he’s projecting idk)

smells a little like vanilla

he and iwa get in n out for lunch and eat in his car

[fiddleyoumust]

Let’s talk about queerness and High School Frenemy. There’s a large portion of BL fandom that refuses to engage with the show, and while that rubs me the wrong way, I do understand it. If you only wish to consume queer media, it’s easy to dismiss HSF since it is not explicitly queer. It’s also a show that on a surface level, looks like classic queerbaiting. And before I get a bunch of HSF fans in the tags or comments, I am a huge fan of this show. It is possibly the best thing I’ve watched all year. But on a surface level, it is doing the literal definition of queerbaiting even if I personally do not think it is. 

As a person who is OLD and came of age in the 90s, I do want to talk about this show from a queer perspective. I grew up in a time when queer characters were not abundant. If they did show up in media, it was newsworthy. These characters were always support characters and seldom had love interests or explored what it was like to be queer. None of them looked like me or made me feel seen or represented. Heteronormativity was the standard, as it is today, but back then, a queer kid seldom encountered anything that made them question that heteronormativity. 

HSF, and Shin and Saint specifically, resonate with me more than most queer media I’ve consumed, and I’ve consumed a lot. The intense, obsessive love that Shin and Saint have for each other under the guise of friendship IS my story. For me, it was a wild girl named Jennifer, who I was attached to the hip with from 6th grade until our early twenties. I loved her. I was obsessed with her. I was probably in love with her, but it never occurred to me until years after we’d stopped speaking that what I felt for her was more than friendship. The heteronormative brainworms are real, and they infected me until my late 20s when I suddenly had a revelation about myself. 

Hindsight is 20/20. Suddenly, my obsession with Charlize Theron in Two Days In The Valley, Helen Hunt in Twister (1996), and Kate Winslet in Titanic made so much sense. My relationship with Jennifer was also at the forefront of my mind. Ah, I thought. That’s what that was.

HSF is a show about friendship, a show about community, a show about the ways adults fail their children, a show about class and poverty. It is also a show about unrealized queerness. The director, Fon, told that story purposefully through music, lighting, and dialogue, she told a story about two boys who can’t live without each other, but don’t have the knowledge, the vocabulary, or the self-awareness to understand what they are to each other.

In every choice Fon made, she dangled queerness without explicitly naming it. I would call it queerbaiting in any other media,  but for me, she made one other choice that I believe is purposeful and elevates this show into the queer category for me. She completely stripped the show of heteronormativity. There are no couples. None. We never see Chatjen’s parents. Any parents we do see are single - Ken’s father, Shin’s mother, Saint’s father, Cable’s mother.

In any other media, the male and female homeroom teachers with clashing teaching styles would  be an enemies-to-lovers side plot. Here, they grow into supportive co-workers and friends who become better versions of themselves to help the children in their class. In any other media, there would be talk of crushes among the teenagers. Here, we see them grapple with the pressures of academia, abusive or absentee parents, bullying, drugs, and the hopelessness of poverty. In fact, the only mention of sexuality or romance at all comes from Eve, a girl who befriends Airy, a girl from their rival school, and confesses that she had a crush on her when she was younger. Nothing comes of this revelation, even though we see Airy become curious and seek out Eve’s company prior to this revelation, and we see how pleased Airy is about Eve’s confession. But this is a show about unrealized queerness and even Eve and Airy, two girls who understand what they are feeling for one another, still can’t bring themselves to name it.

The lack of heterosexuality creates a void that is filled by Shin and Saint’s relationship. It’s purposeful, and Director Fon uses other friendships in the show to highlight the ways Shin and Saint are not the same. Knot, Nate, and Ken are extremely close friends. They, too, have a “no one left behind” friendship pact. They fight for each other and get hurt for each other and very obviously love each other. Chatjen and Shin’s friendship is also very deep. Chatjen considers Shin his best friend. He hero worships him a bit and sees him as his protector and savior. Yet, anyone watching can understand the ways the producers use music, lighting, costuming, and dialogue to elevate Shin and Saint’s relationship above all the other ones. 

High School Frenemy is queer. Shin and Saint are purposefully queer coded in a world devoid of heterosexuality. You are seeing what you are supposed to see, and it's a hill I’ll die on. If you were on the fence about this show, I can not recommend it enough. It’s great and will leave you feeling warm and happy and loved. If you only consume explicitly queer media, I still encourage you to watch it. Sometimes, our queerness eludes us. Sometimes it’s hidden under other words like “friendship” because we haven’t learned the right words for it yet. I enjoyed watching a show that reminded me of my youth and gave me a glimpse of the girl I used to be. She was still queer even if she didn't know it yet.

[miguelsslvt]

punk! miguel x innocent! reader

word count: 879

TW: nsfw, smoking, hair-pulling, corruption, swearing, creampie.

request: @sukioyakio ★

A/N: this isn't edited and is poorly made so i'm so sorry. also can i just say thank you so much for over 600 notes on my first drabble?? oh my gosh?? anyways, enjoy and welcome to the club! ^^

imagine punk! miguel being the 'bad rep' of the school. in the 3rd year of college, he took physics, chemistry and spanish language. he would smoke behind the science classrooms, refuse to wear clothes that he calls 'society norms' like a blazer or a button up, and instead wear a black leather jacket with pins like 'pink floyd', or 'anarchist' all around it. he would yell, slander and mock almost every teacher whenever he's in class (which is very rare).

most of the girls honestly adored him, apart from the odd popular girl or two finding him too 'annoying' or too 'muscly' for their liking. he didn't give two shits, he already knew his body count was probably higher then their grades.

but then there's you. sweet, innocent little y/n. where most college students spent their weekends partying, you spent it in your dorm room re-reading 'moby dick' for the 6th time. you took phsycology, english literature and spanish language. and if you were completely honest, the only reason you chose spanish language is because your boyfriend at the time (now ex) was spanish. god, did you regret picking it for him.

you noticed miguel, like every other person in the school would. but your first time was different. you were running late, extremely late for your first class of the day. damn you, alarm. that's when you noticed miguel, outside science block, groaning.

despite being late, you took a curious peek at what the man was groaning about.

'stupid fucking lighter..' he mumbled, trying to light his cigarette, but failing. you knew better then to interfere, to even speak to the most intimidating man in college. but, for some reason, you ended up giving him your lighter.

'thanks, you smoke? i can give you one for a trade.' miguel said, as you smiled so sweetly. you explained how you didn't smoke, or did anything like that, and that you only carried a lighter 'just in case of emergencies'.

that's when miguel's interest in you piqued. you were such a sweet, innocent girl, and that drove something in him. something that he didn't realise he wanted. he usually only went for girls with his taste and style, girls he'd meet at festivals or clubs and were either high as heck or sexy goths. but you, you were different.

soon enough, he realised you were only in his spanish language classes, and that you weren't the best at it. perfect. your weakness was miguel's strength.

that's how you ended up in this situation. bent over miguell's desk in his dorm, mumbling his name as hee proceeded to sbuse his way into your sweet cunt.

'you want to tutor me..? that would be so nice miguel!' you had said so excitedly, there was a spanish exam coming up and miguel so kindly offered to tutor you the friday night. and being so naive and quite desperate for the help, you happily accepted.

his room was filled with different posters and signs like his favourite bands, anarchistic posters, stickers saying things like 'fuck the government!'. his leather jacket was discarded somewhere on the messy floor, as his hands grasped your hips to push you even deeper onto his cock.

'm-miguel.. m-miguel please!' you whined, your mascara running down your face.

he just chuckled, as he pulled your hair lightly, moving you onto the bed as he laid you down on your back, as he started bullying into your pussy once again. he was so mean.

your light blue dress was somewhere on the floor, ripped to shreds. it was your favourite dress, but you had other things to think about at the moment.

'yeah.. you like that, cariño? you like being fucked like a slut? not used to being so used, are you?' miguel teased, as you just moaned in response. he hadn't realised that fucking a cute little angel could be this enticing. fuck, he could get used to this.

'i.. miguel! i-i've never-' 'shh.. i know, i know, a sweet girl like you hasn't ever been treated this way.. i'm sorry for being so rough, but i dunno.. the way you're tightening around me suggests you like the harshness..' he said, his hand wiping your mascara-smudged cheeks. your body was submitting to him in every way possible, and he felt like a starved predator being fed for the first time in years.

'i-is it normal to feel l-like this..?' you whimpered, eyes shut from the pleasure. 'yes.. yes my sweet girl it's very normal to feel like this.. let me give you all the pleasure you've missed out on.' miguel whispered in your ear, as he started thrusting faster and faster, pushing you over to the edge.

you let out a loud moan, your back arching as you came. the way you clenched onto him drove miguel over the edge too. his thrusts became erratic and sloppy, as he let out one more groan as he came deep inside you.

you were panting, your eyes still shut. he pulled out slowly, placing a sweet kiss on your temple. 'god you're so cute..' miguel whispered to you, as you just whimpered in response. he chuckled deeply.

god, he might just get addicted to such a good innocent little thing like you.

♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎

[trippinsorrows]

with me + part one

authors note: well, i got some type of writers block working on two other RR wip's so opened a new google doc and ended up with this. prob gonna be 3 parts, maybe 4. there's an almost five year time jump after this one, can you guess why? also, joe's wife is an oc, not galina.

first time posting my roman writings on here and trying not to freak out tbh

warnings: angst, infidelity, language, suggestive content

song inspo: with me by destiny's child

word count: 4,000

You know that assignment everyone at some point in their education where they research what they want to be when they grow up and share it with the whole class for a grade? Yeah, that big mammoth of a question that somehow you’re supposed to have confidently answered before even reaching double digits.

That was always super easy for you.

From as far back as you can remember, you wanted to be a teacher. It took until you were in middle school, almost high school for you to settle on an elementary school teacher, college for a specific grade. But, the teaching profession always called to you.

You chalk it up to your grandmother, undoubtedly one of your favorite people in this entire world. She was also an elementary school teacher who taught until she was expectedly called home when you were 14. Some part of you wonders if you’ve never even allowed yourself to entertain any other professions because of her loss. She was your best friend, and following in her footsteps was wanted but also felt somewhat necessary. Like you had to in order to honor her and her legacy.

A couple years into your career, you still think about that, how you’ve known from such a young age what you wanted to do with your life. Well, one part. 

In other areas, maybe the most important areas, you were lost as all of the outdoors. Mostly in one area, if you’re being honest, and truthfully, it’s not even what you want in as much as it is how you get there. The path is relatively simple: find a man, fall in love, get married, have babies, live happily ever after.

It’s such a stereotypical trajectory, but one you’ve also envisioned for yourself since your late teens. You’d gotten partying all out of your system during the early college years, somewhat in high school as well. Now in your mid 20s, soon to be late 20s, all you want to do is prepare to eventually settle down. Sooner rather than later.

And the issue isn’t even having no prospects. You have a prospect, he’s just unavailable. 

Because he’s already fucking married.

But can you even call him a prospect when that implies there’s some chance? Because there’s zero chance. You know this. You know this very well, too well. So why you still allow him into your bed and inside of you is beyond you. Yes, the sex is out of this world, but you desire more than that. Maybe not at first, but almost three years deep into this arrangement, most definitely.

You still think back to your first meeting.

Your best friend won a contest that not only granted her two front row tickets to a Smackdown show but backstage passes as well. You met so many wrestlers that night, some you grew up watching on TV as the little tomboy that you were as a kid. But, it was one wrestler in particular: tall, muscular, hair more beautiful and silky than any silk press your beautician mother could ever style, that changed your life. Whether for better or worse remains to be seen. 

He was attractive, extremely, possibly one of the most beautiful men you’d ever met. But, the attraction was short-lived when you spotted the wedding band on his left hand. You’d be lying if you tried to say that was when the attraction sizzled out. It diminished, but it was still there. Still, you didn’t think much of it, that was until you received a call from a number on your phone that you didn't recognize. 

Why you even accepted the call is still a mystery. You never answered random calls, yet that one was an exception, an exception that resulted in you having an unexpected phone conversation with Roman fucking Reigns. He explained that he got your number from your friend who’d exchanged contact information with a wrestler she met that night as well. They were messing around too, that much you knew. And good for her. He, unlike Roman, was not married and therefore free to fuck around.

The conversation lasted much longer than it needed to, especially given the flirtatious nature it quickly took on. It was wrong, you knew this well, very well. He took vows, but you were also aware of those vows. And heat no point pressured you into anything, you could have cut it off. Flirtatious he was, but forceful he was not.

The conversations increased in frequency and length over a matter of weeks that turned into months, and before you knew it, your day started and ended with either a text or phone call from the wrestler. 

A small part of you knew that it would eventually escalate into more, a man like him seemed like he needed more. But, you stupidly tried to tell yourself that when that time came, you would remain strong and draw the line in the sand with just communication. Even if it was just as wrong as anything else.

It was a silly thought. 

Your resolve was weak.

You absolutely did not need to accept his invitation to fly you out to one of his shows, and you damn sure didn’t need to allow him to take you back to his hotel where your legs ended up wrapped around his waist as he pounded into you—among other things—until the early hours of the morning.

The days after that were rough. You felt absolutely disgusted with yourself. It was one thing to flirt with a married man, but it was an entirely different thing to fuck a married man. He wasn’t yours. He belonged to someone else. He had a life with some other woman. You had no right to insert yourself into that union, so you decided to sever contact with him, deleting his number from your phone and shoving the experience in the ‘biggest regret of your life’ box with no intention of reopening it.

Unfortunately for you, Roman, Joe, as he asked you to call him, was a persistent bastard.

You ignored his texts, so he called. You ignored his calls, so he texted. You ignored both, and this motherfucker showed up at your goddamn door. There were multiple times you could have and should have ended things, that being another perfect opportunity. If you told him to leave that night, not allowed him into your apartment, he would have listened. He was stubborn and resolute but also respectful. If you told him to leave, really told him, he would have done so.

But, you didn’t. You allowed him into your place and similar to the last time you were in his presence, ended up spread out on your bed with him balls deep inside you until you couldn’t feel your lower half. 

Now, fast forward three years later, not much has changed. You two don’t communicate quite as much in the day, and his visits are more spread out given the company’s current efforts at pushing him as the new face of the company. But, that doesn’t stop his visits to come see you and flights he puts you on to come see him, both of which always end with him leaving your legs jelly and throat raw.

All the while his wife sits at home unaware of her husband’s consistent residence between your legs.

The thought alone makes you sick, revolted at yourself, at how you’ve allowed yourself to reach this point in life. Closer to 30 than 20 and going on 3 years of being a mistress to a married man, a man who can never give you the future you want yet refuse to let go. 

Not that you’d ever allow yourself to really acknowledge why. 

That’s….that’s just too much.

________

Pillow talk was just something that naturally happened between the two of you. It made sense given that your relationship started out with just talking. He seemed interested in knowing more about you, about your likes and dislikes. He shared his as well. You weren’t beyond admitting that Joe was insanely easy to talk to, the flow of conversation always natural, never forced. There never seemed to be a dry spot between you two. 

And whether it was an innate ability to pick up on the emotions of others or just his, you could always tell when something was bothering him, could see when he came to you with a burden he didn’t want to discuss.

Not that that stopped you from asking. If he declined to talk about it, you respected it, didn’t push. But, more often than not, he would end up sharing things with you, mostly concerns regarding his career.

It seemed he visioned one thing for himself, while Vince McMahon saw another. He felt frustrated at times, especially when the fanbase started pushing back more. He never admitted as such, but you could see it hurt his feelings. How could it not? Kayfabe or not, Joe was still a real person with real feelings, regardless of the role he played.

And at some point, his visits to see you stopped always involving sex. That happened majority of the time, but there were occasions when he just seemed like he needed someone to be around, a distraction, someone to talk to. 

Someone like you.

“Come on.” You jumped up off the couch and offered your hand that he looked at with disinterest. “Don’t make me drag your big ass. It’ll probably break my back.” He lifts his brow, and you roll your eyes. “Joe, come onnnn.”

“Where are we going?” He finally asks, all the while sighing heavily and standing up. Though unnecessary at this point, he still takes your hand. You try not to think too much of the gentle squeeze he gives.

“To my kitchen.” 

Glancing over, he gestures with his thumb. “The place that’s like 3 feet away.”

You suck your teeth and shove against him. “Don’t be an ass. We’re gonna bake cookies.”

“Bake?”

“That’s what I said.” Though clearly skeptical, he follows you into the kitchen and watches as you start gathering supplies. “I spent a lot of summers with my grandma, and whenever either of us were having a bad day, she’d take us into the kitchen and we’d bake chocolate chip cookies. She’d always say there’s nothing a good chocolate morsel can’t cure.” 

Reflecting on those memories, so fond and cherished, brings a despondent smile to your face.

His eyes fall on you, sensing the sudden sadness. “You miss her.”

“Every day….” Shaking your head, you make a conscious effort to not make this about you and your grief. “Now, we need music.” You settle on some random “cookout” playlist that aids in setting the playful mood. To your surprise, yet not surprise, Joe keeps up without struggle. He's a fast learner, easily following along to your detailed instructions and explanations. Things get messy at times, as one does when baking, but it only causes the two of you to share laughter. Especially when you ‘accidentally’ get flour on each other. For you, it was an accident. His was definitely intentional. 

Still, between the laughter, light conversation, and New Edition serving as backdrop, it’s a sweet moment. 

“And now we wait,” you announce, plopping down on the sofa. “Wrestler by day, baker by night. Who’d a thunk it?”

He chuckles. “I never knew you could cook.”

At that, you nearly choke on the water bottle you’d grabbed off the coffee table. “Me? Cook? No. Not at all. There’s a reason every thanksgiving, my family only asks me to bring the drinks. My mom is the cook. Grandma was the baker. I can make cookies and a few select items. That’s it.”

You can still hear your grandma’s voice in the back of your head, chiding you for never allowing your mom to teach you how to cook. It just never garnered your interest, even when they swore up and down you’d never find a husband without knowing how.

Maybe they were right.

He joins you in the living room, settling on the other end of the sofa. “Maybe I could teach you then.”

His words—and offer—suprise you. “You can cook?”

“Don’t look so surprised.” He rolls his blue eyes. Some days you love the contacts, others you hate them. Today is a love day. They make his beauty even more exquisite. “Because of the big age difference between me and my siblings, it was just me and my mom a lot of times. They were either out and about or had either moved out. She’d ask me to help her out in the kitchen, and I picked up on a couple things.”

“You’re a fast learner.” That much is very obvious, in several areas of his life. “Was it ever hard? Like, not really having them around?”

He seems to think about her question before answering. “Yes and no. The twins moved to Florida when I was like three, and we became close instantly. It was like suddenly having two new brothers. Obviously, they didn’t live with us, so they weren’t always around, and those times were hard, I guess. But the older we got, the more we did together.”

The Usos. Also wrestlers trying to make names for themselves. He really does hail from a legendary dynasty. “I get that. It was just me and my mom, and she worked a lot to support us, so that’s why I spent so much time with my grandma. And I loved it, but sometimes it got lonely not really having siblings.” You look over at him, studying this massive specimen of a man who seems so unsure of himself right now, unsure of his future. He’d hinted at such during their prep, but you bookmarked the comment to revisit. “It’s all gonna work out, you know.”

His gaze is on you, partially disinterested, mostly in disagreement. Joe knows what you're referring to. He chuckles, darkly, “you sound sure.”

“I am,” you counter calmly. Moving to sit on your knees, you continue, “no matter what it takes, you make them respect you. You can do it, and when you finally find your footing, you’ll be one of the best to ever do it. Mark my words.” 

You’ve never been one to build up false hopes in anyone, far too familiar with the sting of disappointment. So every word leaving your mouth drips with sincerity. Joe is so much more than a “pretty face” or someone who got lucky by being born into a wrestling dynasty with a golden spoon in his mouth. He’s worked his ass off, you see how he works his ass off, so the last thing you’d want to witness is him become his own worst enemy by getting too into his head.

“You’ll see. They boo now, but pretty soon they’ll be cheering.” Moving to your knees, you lift your arms in a theatrical display. “Roman, Roman, Roman.” You yelp when his strong arms pull you into his lap, legs spread on either side of his thick thighs. “Would you let me hype you up? Like, damn.”

His smile, so beautiful and genuine, warms your soul. His spirits are lifted, and that’s all that matters. Joe’s hands are on your hips, palms massaging you through your shorts. You move your arms around his neck, resting on his strong shoulders “Thank you.”

It’s at this moment, you foolishly allow yourself to wonder. Wonder what it would be like for this to be the norm, for him to always return to your place when he has time off or in between shows. Wonder what it would be like to consistently be this safe space for him, to be in his corner and not just in the shadows, but in the light. To be supporting him ringside. To be his.

And for a second, you pretend. You pretend that you are his, and he’s yours. That this is your man, and you’re his girl. Just the two of you. Nobody else.

But the comedown from that is devastating, like a boulder sitting on your chest, a butcher knife to your heart. Because he isn’t yours. He never was, and he never will be. 

Mood sullen, you lower your arms to separate yourself. “I should…” You clear your throat, climbing off of him. The air is suddenly too stuffy, the room too small. You need space. “I should go check on the cookies.” 

Joe’s not stupid, far from it. You know that he has to pick up on your 180 in mood, yet he doesn’t pursue you, doesn’t ask questions, and you’re thankful for that. You need to not be around him right now, not so close, not so connected, not so in love.

You need to let him go. ________

“I can’t do this anymore.” 

Joe’s in the midst of sliding his shirt over his head, sitting on the edge of the bed when your voice, low and quiet, stops him mid movement. “What?”

“I said.” You blow out a big breath, unsure why your chest suddenly feels so heavy. “I can’t do this anymore.”

At that, he angles his body so that he can look at you, assess your face. He’s a big eye contact person. “What are you talking about?”

Irritation piques. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Joe.” Gesturing between the two of you, you kick the blankets off and quickly reach for your t-shirt that got discarded last night. Being naked in front of him suddenly feels uncomfortable. “This. It’s done.”

He pauses for a second and then shakes his head, resuming his dressing. “Okay.”

His tone is dismissive, like he doesn’t believe you. Like he thinks you’re playing around. Of course he would be in one of those moods, where he’s more irritable, less receptive and fucking stubborn. “I’m serious.”

“I’m not doing this shit with you right now.” Joe gets up and continues dressing himself, prompting you to climb out of bed and move in front of him. 

He can’t avoid his way out of this. You won’t allow it. It’s time to finally rip the bandaid off. 

You’ve sat on this for the last two weeks, since he last left your apartment and you realized you’d stupidly allowed yourself to fall for this man. Fall for a man who walks around with a wedding ring on his left hand, who’s always had that wedding ring from the moment you met him. You’re not upset with him, not as much as you’re upset with yourself.

You grew up the product of an affair, felt the stinging pain of being rejected by a parent whose selfishness resulted in the creation of life, a life he wanted no part of. Seen how your mom literally begged your piece of shit father to be in your life, to play some role. Heard how he cruelly rejected her, rejected you, calling you your mother’s bastard. A mistake.

It devastated you so deeply that you still can’t really talk about it without getting emotional. 

And yet, you idiotically found yourself playing the same role you used to judge your mother for: the other woman. 

It’s a role you stepped in, and one you must now step out of.

“There’s nothing to do.” You run your hands over your face and shake your head. Choosing to have this conversation at almost 4 o’clock in the morning probably wasn’t the best move, but you also know that if you give yourself more time, you’ll find a reason not to do it. And you need to do this. “You have a wife, Joe. A whole ass woman who loves you and would probably let you fuck her just as much as you like to fuck me. Go be with her, and if not her, find someone else, cause I won’t be that for you. Not anymore.” 

You’re not exactly sure what part of what you just said registered with him, but it’s obvious something did by the change of tone he takes. “Where is this coming from?”

“It’s coming from where it should have come a long time ago,” you answer, crossing your arms over your body. “This was never right, and I refuse to partake in it anymore. I won’t be your whore anymore.”

You didn’t expect hurt to flash in his beautiful eyes nor for him to move closer to you, that hurt intensifying when you back away. He can’t touch you. You can’t allow that, because all it takes is only touch, one longing gaze, and you’ll be putty in his hands. This has to end. “Is that really what you think you are to me?”

“I don’t know what I am to you, Joe,” you answer, honestly. It’s something you’ve battled back and forth with for nearly three years. Just what is it about you that keeps him coming back, keeps him in your bedroom, inside of you. At face value, it’s the sexual compatibility between you. Below the surface level though, there’s maybe more. You’ve never allowed yourself to venture there, and you’re certainly not about to right now. You know how you feel about him, but you refuse to really ask yourself how he feels about you. “And truthfully, it doesn’t matter, cause it doesn’t change anything.”

“So, that’s just it?” His voice is wounded, handsome face painted into a mixture of scowl and a frown. “Almost three years, and you want to throw it all away, for what?”

“For what…..Joe, you are married. You have a whole wife at home. Whatever issues you have that cause you to step out, work that shit out. Learn how to be with her. Cause I’m not doing it any more. I—I can’t.” Emotion imbues your voice toward the end, and you hate that shit. You don’t want him to see, to know, how much this has been eating you up as of lately. “I’m gonna be 30 in a few years. I want to be married. I want to have a family. I deserve that, and I’ll never have it as long as I’m messing with you, so I’ve gotta let you go.” You swallow the deep lump in the back of your throat. “And you’ve gotta let me go.” 

This time, this time you can see the part that wounds him, that digs into his chest. You’ve gotta let me go. 

Joe is fast, fast enough to move directly in front of you, large hands holding your face. He says your name, desperate almost. “Tell me what to do, tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. Just….” He stops, and you close your eyes, refusing to see if it’s his own emotions coming up. You can barely handle your own cascade of feelings right now and refuse to take on his. “I can’t lose you.”

What you want…..

What you want is for him to never leave. What you want is for him to stay with you, to be with you. What you want is for him to have never met Jadah, never married her, never committed his life to her. 

What you want is for him to be yours and only yours, but what you want….is also what you can never have. 

“I—I want you to leave, Joe.” The words burn your lips, scorch your throat, ache your soul. “And this time….don’t come back.”

You can’t bring yourself to open your eyes, to see the result of your heartbreaking, even if honest request. It’s because you know seeing him hurt will only cause your resolve to crumble, and you can’t have that. You have to be strong, have to be the woman your mother couldn't.

So, you remain there, remain silent as he steps away from you, his touch vanishing. There’s such an emptiness in his wake.

It’s only when you hear the front door of your apartment shut that you finally feel it, the caving of your stomach, the heavy lump move from the back of your throat, the release of the loud sob you didn’t realize you’d been keeping at bay. 

It’s when you finally allow yourself to feel all of the emotions of a woman who just told the only man she’s ever loved to leave. 

If only you knew his departure was just the beginning of the rest of your life.

[kbandtrash]

Less Than Three (Hongjoong x Reader)

~Rachel~

@sorryimananti-romantic hahaha remember how I said I was the slowest writer ever? Apparently that's not true because it only took me a month and a half to write this. I need help

Content: fluff, a whole lot of delusional one-sided pining (the cute kind though) (from him), silly middle school antics from both teachers and students, betting, friends to lovers

Summary: Kim Hongjoong teaches middle school math and finds himself absolutely smitten with you, the math department's newest hire. You're the last person to find out.

Note: This is set in an American-style middle school because that's where my teaching experiences have been and I figured my best work would come out of the system I'm most familiar with

Word Count: 11.5k

Why did Hongjoong choose middle school?

He asks himself this question every day as well

If he wanted to be a math teacher, high school was clearly a better option

But no he had started out in a middle school, promising to take a high school position as soon as one opened up

And now he was actively avoiding high school principals that wanted to recruit him

Is it because he found out the math is easier to explain and the kids really aren’t that bad?

Yeah sure

But this year he had another reason to stay

See his math department had a position open up this summer and as he got to take part in interviews to select a new hire

He fell in love

Now that was not the whole reason he advocated to hire you

In fact your credentials as a math teacher

The places you had taught before

Your praxis exam scores

Your recommendation letters

The professional development programs you were a part of

Test scores from your previous classes

The way you understood math

And especially the way you believed that every student had the potential to pass your class

All of these made you the obvious choice and everyone else agreed

But he was struck several times with Cupid’s arrows throughout the interview and that absolutely did not hurt his opinion of you as a potential colleague

On this particular morning his excuse to talk to you before classes started for the day was a test for your 7th graders

Which they would be taking next Friday

Your feedback always ended up being valuable anyway so there was no need for this to be an “excuse” but it got to be one anyway

You were typing something up when he knocked on the open door to your classroom to announce his presence

You finished typing your sentence before you looked up, and when you saw Hongjoong leaning against the door frame with some papers in his hand, you greeted him with a smile and a wave

He wondered if it would look unprofessional if he grew out his hair to cover his ears

You looked gorgeous today (every day) and he knew there was no stopping his ears from turning bright red

“I have the unit tests for 7th,” he said, stealing a chair from a desk to sit backwards on while he talked to you

“Oh good!” you replied. “I’ll take a look at those and get them back to you by lunch”

Buy lunch he thought

That sounded like an excellent idea

He should buy you lunch

He didn’t say that though

“Works for me. How was your weekend?”

And he stalled and stalled and stalled until the first bell rang and he had to get out to hall duty

At lunch he walked in again while you were putting in assignment scores and munching on some pretzel sticks

“I made a key for that new assignment we decided to add for 8th grade. Can you check answers if you get the time?”

His heart did a little flip as you covered your mouth with your hand while you finished chewing

How could you be so graceful and polite?

And your hands were so pretty wow

“Yes just as soon as I finish putting these in. And—” you turned your chair around and grabbed something from behind you— “here are the 7th tests from this morning. I added a couple notes on the integer operations review questions, but other than that, I think they’re great”

He unfortunately did need to go and eat his own lunch and fulfill other teacherly lunchtime duties so he couldn’t stall as much as this morning

But he read your notes on the way back to his classroom

And boy he could have lived in your handwriting

The pen that you used was the perfect instrument to capture every letter, every dot, every loop in a way that encapsulated your personality

And as soon as he caught himself thinking that he knew he needed to ask the home ec teacher to smack him over the head with a frying pan because wowie

He would need professional help in order to date you like a normal person at this point

Anyway he was practically skipping back after lunch because he came up with another question to ask you

There were students there so instead of using your first name he caught your attention by calling you Miss (L/N)

Which for some reason gives him more butterflies than calling you normally

This time luckily instead of giving you a new task it was a task he could do for you

“How many copies of the activity page should I put you down for?”

“Ooh good question”

You put your finger over your lips as you counted on your other hand and he had to actively look away and think about other things

There were students present after all

“Which classes are you doing it with?” you ended up asking

He used the opportunity to set a hand down on your desk and lean forward in a cool pose

“I’m making the eighth graders do it but it’s extra credit for the seventh”

“That sounds like a good plan to me. So sixty for the eighth graders and then how many do you think I would need if it’s optional?”

Oh boy he loved it when you asked for advice

It gave him the chance to look cool and smart and he always got to play it off as the humble senior teacher

“I do half just to be safe. Plus then you have extra if you want to do it again later in the year or even next year”

And then your face did that thing it did when you liked a suggestion he gave

Your face lit up with your eyebrows raised and your mouth in a little “ooh”

There were students around there were students around

“Okay then sixty for the eighth graders and forty-five for seventh. A hundred and five?”

He scribbled the number down on the copy request form

“Excellent. I’ll run this down then”

He gave you a smile and a wave as he went to attend to his own class

Which you returned

And he was sure his heart would never physically recover from the stress it was under this year

You didn’t need to know that you were the only other teacher he was sharing this particular activity page with

He would give it to the other teachers if they asked him for it but he wasn’t going to go out of his way for this one because it was kind of silly and short

But he would do anything to make your first year at a new school just a little bit easier

Back in his classroom he tried to get class started when one of his eighth graders had the audacity to raise his hand and say the following:

“You just walked back from Miss (L/N)’s class huh?”

Mr. Kim squinted suspiciously at the student

“Yeah…why”

“You’re way nicer when you go to her class before our class starts”

Before he had any time to figure out what that meant, the class exploded in giggles and shouts of agreement

“Yeah you smile a lot more this year than you did last year” a girl who had had his class the previous year as well agreed

And then from the back corner

One of the notorious trouble makers stood up

Pointed his finger up at poor Mr. Kim, who was now considering taking a high school position again

And shouted “Mr. Kim has a crush on Miss (L/N)!!!”

There was no longer any hope for this class

Exponent rules? Down the drain

Hongjoong was now a laughingstock

Irredeemable in front of a bunch of 13-14 year olds

So he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, lips pursed, and his eyes dangerously blank

It wasn’t long before kids started shushing each other

Even once they were quiet, he held their attention for a second longer

“If you have two to the fourth times two to the third, what’s the product?” he asked clearly, writing the problem on the whiteboard in new black marker

Not addressing the issue would not stem the tide of curious teenagers for long but it would have to be a band-aid solution until he figured out how to do this properly

Because he couldn’t allow rumors to spread that he liked you because firstly unprofessional and secondly what if you heard them and thought he was weird

But he couldn’t lie and allow rumors to spread that he definitely didn’t have a crush on you because firstly. unprofessional kids don’t need to know about that stuff

Like they think they’re all mature and old enough to date when they can’t even drive yet like can you imagine as a teenager asking your mom to drive you to your date with your girlfriend. Embarrassing

BUT SECONDLY

What if you heard the rumors and maybe you did like him back and it crushed your heart to hear that he didn’t like you

While the kids were working on their assignment and he was working on his computer he decided the best way to explain this to them

If they ever brought it up again

Was that they’re always in a better mood when they get to talk to their friends, right?

You’re a good friend and it’s fun working with you

The other math teachers are fun too but you’re close to his age so it makes sense that you would be closer

Yep

Good explanation Mr. Kim

Literally just one day later the kids bring it up again and they do not buy his explanation

They don’t even pretend to because their brains are not developed enough to have that kind of social tact

And the rumor doesn’t exactly spread like wildfire around the school but everyone knows about it you know what I mean

Except you actually

You’re usually very aware of everything going on in your classroom but somehow this particular subject escaped your attention

You learned early on that for some reason kids don’t have shame anymore in spilling their guts to the classroom about what they’re gossiping about

So the usual “if you can’t wait to tell your friend later then tell the whole class now” classroom management tactic is now useless

So you didn’t do that instead you just asked them which problem they’re helping their friend with and if they’re not helping their friend with math then they should get back on task

You didn’t think that any middle school level gossip could actually be that interesting anyway so yeah you had no idea that kids were shipping the teachers

And you didn’t want to know

So you stayed blissfully ignorant

While Hongjoong was lowkey agonizing over it

Now you and Hongjoong tend to eat lunch in your own classrooms rather than the staff lounge

Because why use up any more social energy than necessary right

But there is a vending machine in the staff room and Hongjoong was craving something sweet one day

And when he walked in the other teachers in there suddenly went awkwardly silent

And he knew

They were talking about him

Yeah he should take a high school position next year

Two of the younger teachers, Jung Wooyoung from the history department and Choi San from the phys ed department, broke the silence giggling to each other

“Sorry Hongjoong” San apologized “the kids are just hilarious these days. They’re so excited about you and (Y/N) it’s adorable”

Hongjoong gave them a look

“Adorable?”

“Well firstly you” Wooyoung pointed out “I never thought I’d see you fall head over heels but I totally get it. She’s super cool”

“And secondly the kids” San continued “any time you guys are talking in the hall I have all of the girls talking about it during warm ups. The boys all think of you as their role model when it comes to liking a girl”

“That reminds me!” Wooyoung interrupted “I actually did have a boy confess to a girl in my class the other day and you wanna know what he told her??”

Hongjoong’s eyebrows furrowed in a glare, absolutely sure that his reputation was never going to recover

“He said ‘I like you more than Mr. Kim likes Miss (L/N)’”

The teachers tried to tone down their laughter out of respect

Hongjoong wanted to leave immediately but this stupid vending machine was having issues

“And then you know what she said back?”

Wooyoung was having trouble holding himself together

His eyes were shining a little with tears of laughter

“She said ‘That’s impossible. No one can like anyone more than Mr. Kim likes Miss (L/N)’”

The other teachers could not hold it back anymore

The vending machine finally gave Hongjoong his candy bar

(Plus the extra one he bought for you)

So he made his way swiftly back towards the door

“Oh no no wait” Wooyoung called after him

“Tests to grade” Hongjoong lied simply

“No come on you have to hear this”

Hongjoong stopped at the door, fighting the urge to classroom manage his coworkers

He looked back both unimpressed and expectant at the same time

“Okay everyone raise your hands if you betted on before Christmas break” Wooyoung called out

Some of the teachers looked at him like he had just asked out a widow at her husband’s funeral

But they raised their hands sheepishly anyway

“Great yes and after Christmas break?”

The other half raised their hands, most of them looking like they wished that had eaten lunch in their own classrooms

“These are bets on when you’re going to ask her out” Wooyoung explained cheerfully

“Wasn’t someone also trying to get bets going on whether you would confess first or she would notice first?” San asked

“That was also me” Wooyoung said with a grin

The lounge door opened again and in walked the principal and one of the vice principals

Hongjoong thought this was finally the end to this stupid conversation

But no

“Oh Hongjoong!” the principal greeted him with a pat on the arm “I’ve got $50 on you dating before Christmas. Don’t let me down”

Waiting until the end of the school year to take a new position would simply not be soon enough

Hongjoong needed to find a new job or retire within the month

But then on the way back to his classroom he remembered he had an extra candy bar for you

So he made a detour

But what greeted him was a closed door with the window on the door covered

He hadn’t ever seen your door shut like this before so he wasn’t sure what it meant exactly

Maybe you went out to lunch today?

Then he could just nab one of your sticky notes and leave the candy bar on your desk with a positive message

He would rather give it to you himself, but the idea of you finding the candy bar on your desk later made his chest feel all warm and cozy so it was fine

Your door was unlocked, so he pulled it open just enough so he could see inside

And you were in there actually

Slumped in your desk chair with your head in your hands

Oh

Oh no

Hongjoong had been there before

Every teacher had been there before

The work of a teacher isn’t as easy as most people would like to believe

Especially for middle school, and even more so for math, it takes someone with unending patience and courage to help kids learn every day

And some days that patience and courage runs a little thinner than other days

Even experienced teachers wonder from time to time if it’s worth the soul that they give to their classes

The classes that seem sometimes not to notice one way or the other if you’re teaching or not

You hadn’t noticed that you weren’t quite alone anymore, so that left Hongjoong with a choice to make

Did he let you have this moment to yourself?

Or did he try to help you through it?

He closed the door as softly as he could

And then he gave a little knock to give you some privacy and some time to gather yourself

Then he opened the door and stepped halfway through

“The vending machine spat out two candy bars instead of one” he lied with a grin, holding up the extra candy bar and wiggling it between his fingers

You had sat up and were resting your chin on your hand curiously

But there was definitely a downtrodden aura about you that he couldn’t miss

“That’s pretty lucky,” you replied

He took that as permission to enter and on his way to your desk he snagged his usual chair to sit backwards on

“How’s today going so far?” he asked as if he knew nothing, setting the candy bar down on top of your closed computer

“Oh, you know,” you sighed

He chuckled, opening his candy bar, not making eye contact with you to relieve some pressure for you to keep up an act

“That good, huh?”

You laughed in return

“Just got my butt kicked by a bunch of seventh graders, so yeah, it’s kind of whatever right now”

Ah the teacher equivalent of “I want to quit my job and hide in my bed for the rest of my life”

“Oh, yep, I’ve been there more than once” he said with a nod “and sometimes there’s really nothing you could have done better, you know? Kids are just like that sometimes. It makes me glad I’m not an elementary school teacher”

“Oh my word yes” you agreed, finally picking up the candy bar “at least I can kick these gremlins out after 45 minutes and I don’t have to see them again until the next day. I can’t imagine being with the same class all day”

Did Hongjoong end up squandering his entire eating time just to talk with you and make sure you felt better?

Yes

He would have to sneak bites of his sandwich in between activities during his afternoon classes

But like it wasn’t the first time he’d had to do that and heaven knew it wouldn’t be the last

At least he had a good reason today instead of something stupid like he was lost in the test grading sauce and forgot to eat

He proceeded to get his butt kicked by his afternoon classes because he couldn’t wipe his lovefool smile off his face

But it was okay because once again it wasn’t the first time and heaven knew it wouldn’t be the last

Not long after came the hallowed and hated teacher inservice day

Professional development day

Both a huge waste of time and a relaxing little work day

The administrators usually planned a series of workshops for the morning that all looked. well. kind of stupid but it was all planned with good intention

Then it was lunch time

And then after that you had until the end of contract hours to do whatever pretty much

The math department liked to go to lunch together and then have a really productive planning meeting until people got bored and then it was individual prep time pretty much

Mostly it was just kinda nice to be at school without kids there

This year was no exception to all of this

But Mr. Principal had $50 on the line and decided to play matchmaker about it

For each of the workshops the teachers were split into groups

And you and Hongjoong had been placed together every single time

Somehow you genuinely thought it was just good luck

Hongjoong was hyperaware of every other teacher looking and pointing and giggling and you were so peacefully oblivious to it

The first workshop was about medical emergency training, specifically training teachers in case of allergy or diabetic emergencies

As soon as the nurse finished with the epipen instructions you leaned over to Hongjoong and whispered “like this?” 

And stabbed him with the fake epipen right in the thigh

Hongjoong swore he was going to die right then and there because why was that so attractive???

“Four…five…six…seven…eight…” you counted out, holding the epipen in place for the full ten seconds

And like a good patient he sat like a statue because his circuits were absolutely fried

You glanced up at his face and your expression immediately dropped

You checked the epipen all over to make sure it was just a trainer

(It was)

“Hongjoong are you okay?? Your face is all red did I do something wrong?” you worried

He unfroze and tried to undo the damage of his Little Moment but the nurse was already over at the table taking a closer look at him after dismissing the rest of the teachers to practice

She looked at you and then at Hongjoong and then at you again and back at Hongjoong and a funny look of understanding came over her face

“Are you Mr. Kim the math teacher” she asked

He nodded awkwardly

“And are you Miss (L/N) the math teacher” she asked

“Yes?” you answered

She patted Hongjoong on the shoulder

“He’ll be fine in a minute or so” she reassured you, glancing up and away somewhere else

You both followed her gaze over to the principal, who gave her a bright smile and a thumbs up

Which looked innocuous enough to the untrained eye

But to Hongjoong this was just another in a long list of embarrassments

The principal had told the guest workshop speakers about him

And he had been spotted that easily

After that was administration-provided snack time

Hongjoong offered to grab sodas if you would grab chips and stuff

And at the soda table he was greeted by Wooyoung and San, who called him affectionately Mr. Traffic Light

Hongjoong resisted the urge to react publicly

Even though there were no children around he refused to allow himself to be caught cursing them out

But he brainstormed violently about the ways he could get back at them without getting caught

Truly his middle school teacher powers of ignoring were activated because those two were practically dancing around him trading one-liner after one-liner and Hongjoong paid them no mind

Until he realized they were following him back to the table where he was sitting with you

He did not need them teasing him around you so he tried to shoo them off

But Wooyoung gleefully turned his attention up to the projector screen where the groupings for the next workshop were displayed

Truly your presence was the only saving grace this day had to offer

They were in this group with you two

The computer teacher/school tech support guy was leading this workshop and he was showcasing how one might use ai in their classroom

And all four of you were totally zoned out because firstly ai in a math classroom?? For what

Chat bots are notoriously bad at math

Ai in San’s gymnasium? Once again no practical application

And Wooyoung honestly just wasn’t that interested because none of you were listening so he didn’t feel like he had to either

So he decided flirting with you was more fun

Just to make Hongjoong mad

But for all of his whispered pick up lines and compliments you had approximately the same response as to this ai workshop:

Playing gamepigeon with Hongjoong under the table

(Which Hongjoong had initiated by the way)

(And you had perpetuated after destroying him at the mini golf game)

Aka you ignored Wooyoung pretty well

So Hongjoong got to glare over at him with the peace of mind that your attention was fully his right then

San tapped your shoulder and asked for your number

Which you gave him a little too easily for Hongjoong’s continued peace of mind

But then San just made a group chat for the four of you to play uno together for the remainder of the workshop

So Hongjoong decided that actually this setup wasn’t so bad

The last workshop was unfortunately much more important so the four of you couldn’t continue slacking off

The principal was running this one and it was genuinely for the betterment of the school environment

Plus San and Wooyoung were sent off to other groups

So it was the two of you and a few other senior teachers that were going to have a discussion about one of the behavior initiatives that the school was trying out

You were the only two math teachers in the group, so when the principal passed out data that had been collected about this behavior initiative, the other teachers sort of automatically passed the papers to you

(And the science teachers in the group but that’s irrelevant)

There was only one copy of each dataset, so that meant you got to share

And that meant that you got to scoot your chairs close together to look at the paper at the same time

And even better the text was kind of small so you had to bring the papers close to your faces to read them

So the two of you were shoulder to shoulder

Practically cheek to cheek, your heads almost touching

To read this data and explain it to the less number-savvy teachers

Today was actually pretty fantastic so far, Hongjoong thought

He also wondered if you could physically feel the heat coming off of his face but that was not something he was going to let bother him right then

He was going to live in the moment

And perhaps thank the principal later

After a surprisingly productive and insightful discussion

It was finally ~lunch time~

The math department gathered up in the department head’s classroom to decide which of the nearby restaurants to choose to go to

And no one could agree

Not a single person was feeling like eating the same thing

Except Hongjoong he was agreeing with whatever you said

Not just because he wanted you to have your way but because whatever you said sounded good to him too

Maybe it sounded good because you said it but nonetheless

And then the department head said the following fateful words:

“How about you two just go ahead and we’ll try to decide on something for the rest of us

Hongjoong was suspicious right then and there that this was a setup

The department head probably had money on Before Christmas

But Hongjoong was absolutely not going to let this opportunity slip through his fingers

“I’m cool with that” you answered before Hongjoong could gather his thoughts enough to say anything

Then you turned to him

“I need to go grab my purse from my classroom. Do you need anything from yours?”

“Oh, yeah, just my wallet” he answered totally on autopilot

You stopped by your classroom first and then his since his was closer to the front of the school

He was so excited to finally realize that dream of his from a few weeks back

He was gonna buy you lunch

And not only that it was just the two of you going out to lunch

It didn’t matter that this wasn’t a date

Or that technically you were just gonna buy food and eat it back at school

It was special to him to go somewhere with just you 

That wasn’t school

Seriously he was so happy he couldn’t stop smiling when he told the cashier that your orders were together and he was going to pay

You kinda elbowed him and told him he didn’t have to do that

But he just shrugged and turned his smile on you

“But I wanted to” he replied

You accepted that

“It’s on me next time” you promised

And oh man he could have died right there he felt so complete

Except if he died then there would be no next time

But you were saying next time and it made him think that wow yeah this would happen again

You meant if it ever happened again but he was determined that it was a certain for the future

Because even if it didn’t happen by chance then he would make it happen himself

When you got back to the school the rest of the math department was gone so you started eating without them

And that was a magical moment of peace too

Just the two of you

No one around to tease Hongjoong

He could almost pretend you were just normal friends and he wasn’t head over heels for you

Then the rest of the department came back and they all had food from the same restaurant

So Hongjoong had been right to be suspicious earlier

It was most definitely a setup to get the two of you by yourselves

And he liked it so he wasn’t going to complain about it

Even though it was embarrassing

Well as fun as professional development day ended up being

Parent teacher conferences were not

Hongjoong was looking forward to more Mr. Principal shenanigans

Like maybe when all the teachers were in the gym yours and his table could be next to each other

And he could talk to you when neither of you had any parents

And when the night was wrapping up

And he could walk you out to your car because it was dark

And maybe treat you to dinner because the school-provided food wasn’t usually that great

But no

None of that could happen

Because someone had decided to have teachers stay in their classrooms for conferences this year

The parents would have the wonderful opportunity to get lost in their child’s school trying to find all of their classes

What a joke

They were probably going to get so many complaints they would switch it back to normal next semester

But the one time Hongjoong was looking forward to parent teacher conferences

Of course

Was the one time they had to switch it up

The one silver lining in this was the teachers complaining about it together

Hongjoong’s favorite email he had ever received was now from Wooyoung

Who was replying to the email notifying teachers of the different setup this year but just to Hongjoong

In all lowercase:

“hey loverboy u see this crap

math teacher romancephobic fr smh”

And then with his full professional email signature at the bottom

This precious email was moved to Hongjoong’s funny emails folder, which was usually reserved for unhinged student emails

He did not reply to it

San and the other phys ed teachers were joking about how nice it would be to have the gym to themselves for once but they were in agreement that this probably wouldn’t last

Of course the math department had tests scheduled across all the grades right before conferences

Which of course left everyone grading like crazy

And of course the kids trashed the classrooms the day before

And of course the head janitor ended up getting sick

So it was up to the teachers to make sure their classrooms didn’t look like trash

Even though they had 150+ tests to grade and a pile of late work to grade

And they had 24 hours (7 of which were going to be spent teaching, and hopefully 7-8 would be spent sleeping) to make this all work before parents started showing up at 4 o’clock tomorrow afternoon

What a time this was going to be

So Hongjoong picked up his pile of tests and went to your classroom

Predictably you were grading tests

He stole a student desk and moved it close to your desk

“Which tests are you working on?” he asked

“Eighth” you replied, not looking up from the test you were currently grading

“How does this sound” he began “I’ll take your seventh and you take my eighth so we don’t have to switch answer keys?”

Still barely looking up, you handed him three binder-clipped stacks of paper

“As long as you don’t mind working to music” you replied, your eyebrows raising as a little smile played on your lips

He took your tests and handed you his eighth grade tests

(This worked out nicely as you both had three classes of seventh and two classes of eighth. He was tricking you into letting him take the heavier load ohoho so sneaky)

(He was just lucky you were grading eighth instead of seventh first)

“Don’t mind?” he snickered, uncapping his favorite felt-tip grading pen “I’d prefer it”

And that’s how speed grading turned into karaoke

Grading went almost certainly slower than it would have if you had worked alone but it was way more fun this way

Of course he ended up with sixty some more tests to grade than you

So when you finished you left for a bit and came back with snacks

As well as his pile of late work

He tried to protest but no no

“You’re not nearly as sneaky as you think you are Mr. Kim” you teased him “You thought you could fool a math teacher into thinking we had an equal workload here?”

“That wasn’t the point” he whined, trying to put the cap back on his pen and inking his finger instead

“Then what was the point?”

I love you that’s the point

But what was the point actually

What was a point he could believably tell you without giving himself away

“Just…because” he said convincingly, shrugging his shoulders and settling back into his tests “You look stressed these days. Wanted to do something nice I guess”

You brandished his late work stack again

“So I’m going to do something nice too”

Yeah he probably wouldn’t ever feel this way about anyone ever again

For him at this point it was you or nothing

But the problem was he was willing to let it be nothing for far too long

He would never make a single move unless he knew you were okay with it

Because if he and his stupid heart ruined whatever you had going now then it would really be nothing

He wouldn’t give up the something he still had

He was like a curve approaching an asymptote

He could get infinitely close, but he would never actually touch you

After settling your gradebooks for tomorrow you started by picking up your classroom together

This did go faster with music by the way

And then you picked up his classroom together

And then he realized Hongjoong realized he could have his wish

The one about walking you out to your car and taking you out to dinner

Walking you out was easy but taking you out was another story

He would have to suggest it himself

A little known fact about teachers is that they became teachers because they don’t know how/don’t want to talk with other adults

Kids don’t judge you if something comes out of your mouth a little different than you meant it

Other adults are mean and judge you over silly things

This unfortunately meant that he didn’t know how to ask you to go to dinner with him without making it sound like a date

He was kinda just hoping a lil Kdrama moment would happen and one of your stomachs would rumble really loud so he could laugh it off and say you should go eat together

But you got closer and closer to your car and no tummy rumbling

You got to your car and no tummy rumbling

You opened your door and said goodbye and still no tummy rumbling

“Wait!!!”

He could have slapped his own mouth

You were a little startled but it stopped you from getting in your car

“Hmm?”

“Just uh…it’s kinda late and snacks are great but they’re not that filling…so do you wanna um…” he trailed off and did not finish his thought

“Wanna what?” you asked

Big boy pants Hongjoong come on

“Go grab dinner? Or something?” he finally spat out

He must not have seen your face light up in the dark

“No pressure” he added when you didn’t answer within 0.05 seconds

“No that sounds great! I was thinking of grabbing something on the way home anyway and it would be way more fun to do it with someone else” you accepted

He let you pick the place again and you drove separately because after you would be going in different directions

But it ended up being a nice little fast casual restaurant

And it didn’t feel like a date really but it kinda felt like a date but no it didn’t

It just ended up being a comfortable little outing between friends

Hongjoong knew he couldn’t stop smiling

And he wondered if you already knew how he felt about you

He was sure he didn’t smile like this at anyone else

And you were many things but dense couldn’t possibly be one of them

He knew he was the opposite of subtle

But if you were willing to spend time with him like this then that meant he didn’t make you uncomfortable

Honestly he was so used to the way you made him feel at this point that loving you from afar felt like second nature

Being friends with you was enough if he could keep loving you like this

The waiter came by and asked if it was one check or two

And Hongjoong was fully prepared to pay once again

But you beat him to it

You were already prepared with your card and everything

“I owe you for last time, remember?” you told him with a cheeky grin

He shook his head

“You don’t owe me anything”

“Well then next time it’s on you”

Hongjoong started to smile again

“Next time?”

“Well, yeah” you said with a shrug, now a little bashful “This was fun. We should keep doing it”

“It is fun” he agreed with a laugh “It’s nice to hang out with people outside of school for once”

You laughed at that

“Oh boy tell me about it. Nobody told me that teaching would ruin my social life”

And things just kind of continued like that for a while

Before you had come to the school, Hongjoong had lowkey felt like he was kind of going nowhere with his life

Any time he spent at school outside of his contract hours felt like an infringement on his personal time

Or not even at school, just away from home

He had been hoping that taking a high school position would give him back a little bit of the passion for teaching that he was losing

He hadn’t even been teaching that long it’s just that the profession really is like that

Indescribably rewarding and incredibly draining all at the same time

(Especially these days. Sometimes you really wonder if it’s worth it)

But having something to look forward to every day besides a favorite class ended up being what he needed to love his job wholeheartedly again

It wasn’t just you he had fallen in love with

He had also found new friends in an unlikely place

The math department was like family and he enjoyed their company dearly

But that weirdo phys ed teacher and obnoxious history teacher had turned into excellent friends frighteningly fast

Sometimes they joined you and Hongjoong on your dinner outings

And honestly it was such a blast

An amendment to my previous statement about teachers being teachers because they don’t like talking to other adults:

Other teachers often do not count as other adults

Sometimes they do when you have to have grown up conversations

But gossiping about students does not count as grown up conversation

There were some eighth graders that all four of you had

Hongjoong not currently but he’d had them for previous classes and they were now in your class

Was it a little embarrassing as 20 somethings to have your main source of gossip be preteens?

Yeah but oh man there is nothing like finding out which of your students are lying to their other teachers about the work they need to do

Or what they’re like in other classes

(You and Hongjoong, and sometimes Wooyoung, tended to have very different opinions about some students than San did so it was double fascinating)

Who they’re friends with outside of your class

Or crushes they have on each other

Basically if you spend every day around preteens you gossip like them too

It was now November and starting to get uncomfortably cold outside

So San had offered his home as a little gathering space for you all to order food and hang out

It was almost like a little Friendsgiving

“Any of you have (male student name, obnoxious connotation)?” Wooyoung asked, taking a sip of his soda

You immediately scoffed

“I’m about to write an email home about that kid”

Hongjoong was surprised

Annoying kids existed in every class but you usually had something nice to say about them at first at least before you got into the bad behavior

He hadn’t had this particular student but he was intrigued as to why he annoyed you so much

Wooyoung and San also both looked surprised

“He’s great in gym—like cooperative, doesn’t do stupid stuff too often—” San said “but that doesn’t usually mean anything about how they are in math class”

“No he’s great in history too” Wooyoung added “finishes all his work on time, helps his friends with theirs if he finishes”

Your eye might have twitched a little bit

You let out an unamused laugh and crossed your arms over your chest

Hongjoong was fascinated and quite enamored with this new side of you

“If he has time to help his friends then he should be working on the seven late assignments I’ve been reminding him about. He hasn’t turned in anything for two weeks”

Wooyoung gasped and covered his mouth

“You’re joking”

“I’ve talked to him about it twice and I warned him if I had to remind him a third time then I would email his parents” you said, shaking your head “Like I asked him if he’s understanding the material, if he’s got something going on at home, if he needs some help, and he’s giving me nothing to go off of”

Wooyoung smiled devilishly

“He’s been lying to me, then. I ask him every day if he has other classes to do stuff for and he says no. I will absolutely be getting on him about that”

San shook his head

“Teenagers” he sighed

Everyone nodded and repeated what he’d said

“Teenagers.”

After a moment of silence, Hongjoong spoke up

“How about (female student name, pleasant connotation)?”

The mood lifted immediately and everyone gave their own version of the word “aww”

“She is the highlight of my whole day” you said

“Seriously she’s so polite and she tries so hard even when she’s having a hard time” Wooyoung agreed

“Super athletic too” San added

“Ooh and (male student name, pleasant connotation)?” you said to another chorus of agreement “He’s kind of a punk sometimes but he’s another one that always does his best”

Hongjoong smiled

Complaining was fun, but he loved the light in your eyes when you talked about the parts of the job that you loved

Anyway as I said it was November and the Before Christmas faction of teachers was starting to get nervous because there was no sign of anything happening

They saw you walk out together more than usual but they didn’t know that you were meeting up outside of school and stuff

The kids were also more riled up about it than usual

To the point where Hongjoong wondered if the other teachers were inciting chaos on purpose

It was getting bad enough that one of his classes almost failed a test across the board—on a unit about rounding and converting fractions to decimals of all things

As in the easiest math ever

So Mr. Kim had to resort to drastic measures

At the beginning of all his classes, he drew a box on the edge of the whiteboard

“This is the nonsense box” he explained with a teacherly smile

That is to say frustrated but still filled with love for his students

“Every time one of you is talking about anything that is not related to class, a tally mark goes in the box. Each tally mark represents an extra fifteen seconds you get to sit in your seat after the bell rings”

A chorus of protest arose

“I don’t want to hear it” Mr. Kim shook his head “How many of you are planning on retaking last Friday’s test?”

About half of the hands in the room came up sheepishly

“Exactly. It’s because we’re constantly off topic that no one is able to listen and learn in here. We can do better, okay?”

And then immediately from the back of the room

“Ooh, Miss (L/N) just passed in the hall!!!”

And chorus of “Ooooooh”

Whether it was true or not, Hongjoong was happy to draw his first tally mark without a word

Just that same teacherly smile

Another round of protest came and he drew another one

After the third tally mark, they shut up

“Good. Let’s talk about coefficients. Has anyone heard that word before?”

Once again I will say it was November

And the month after November is December

And December is the month of Christmas

Not just Christmas break

But Christmas itself

And that meant that Hongjoong now

After coming back from a brief Thanksgiving break

Had only a few weeks to find you a Christmas present

Now he wasn’t thoughtless like this wasn’t the first time it had crossed his mind

It had just stressed him out wondering if he would have the guts to confess his feelings for you or if he would be outed somehow first

Plus in case y’all didn’t know teaching (especially teaching around the holidays) is stressful

He just imagined Christmas as this far off date that was too good to ever come

And so he hadn’t even had time to think about what to get you

Something for your classroom?

Something for your home?

A cute accessory?

A fun math shirt?

Not a gift card though that was far too impersonal

Nothing seemed good enough for you

If he were to deliver his feelings with a gift like any of these, it felt insufficient

Most lunches the last bit of November and the first week of December

(If not spent pestering you)

He spent fretting over his Amazon cart with his head in his hands

And then the most unfortunate miracle occurred

The heaters toward the math hall decided working at full capacity was a waste of tax dollars

And the weather was shaping up to be quite uncomfortable

Everyone started to bring blankets and stuff but it was never quite enough

Your classroom was especially cold, since it was the farthest down the hall

So Hongjoong was gifted an opportunity

He went and found one of those soft and cozy electric blankets

In a color he assumed to be your favorite considering how much you wore it and how many of the little trinkets around your classroom were that color

And he packaged it like he had meant to give it to you for Christmas anyway

Then he brought it for you the next day

You were sitting at your desk in your full winter outdoor gear with a blanket that did look cozy but thankfully was not electric

And your teeth were practically chattering as you waved hello

He still hadn’t taken off his coat or his gloves either actually

He set the present on your desk

“I was saving this for Christmas but I think you might need it more now” he told you with a grin

Your curiosity was suddenly piqued

You opened the gift cautiously, glancing up at him every few seconds

But as soon as you felt the material of the blanket, you perked up

And upon discovering that it was electric you could have cried

“I haven’t been able to feel my fingers since last week” you told him gratefully “Seriously I was trying to figure out how many space heaters I would need to buy to survive the winter”

“The department head has one in her classroom” he said “If you grab your old blanket and your laptop then you can let your new blanket heat up here while we hang out over there”

What a beautiful suggestion

The department head raised her eyebrow at the two of you coming in with blankets

But she smiled too when she saw you settling down in front of her heater

“Don’t tell anyone” she said “but sometimes I take a nap over there during lunch”

“Oh I see exactly why” you agreed, sitting cross-legged and setting your computer in your lap “I can literally feel my bones thawing out”

Hongjoong settled down a respectable distance from you

But he thought someone else was pranking him when he felt a blanket drape over his shoulders

He looked around, startled, and then he realized it was the other side of your blanket

You had thrown your blanket over him to share, even though he had one of his own

And now you were pulling his arm to get him to scoot closer to you

Was this a dream??

He would not be happy if his alarm rang

But no it was real and he happily obliged

You were sitting shoulder to shoulder again

Just like at the professional development workshop

Except this time it was so warm and cozy and there was definitely a much less professional vibe

The department head raised her eyebrow at you once again

But Hongjoong was way too enamored with your shy smile to notice

After just a few minutes in this cozy little haven

Your time was unfortunately cut short

Not by students arriving to school

But by Wooyoung poking his head into the classroom

“Oh I’ve been looking everywhere for you guys”

He stepped into the classroom and greeted its owner accordingly

She nodded as if to allow him permission to enter

“They have hot chocolate down in the teachers lounge” Wooyoung informed them “I figured you icicles back here in the freezer rooms would want some but it looks like you were hiding a—” he looked down at the two of you skeptically “campfire back here”

Wooyoung clearly thought he meant something by that but no one else knew what he was trying to say

So his last comment went ignored

“Do you want hot chocolate?” Hongjoong asked you “I can go get some for us”

“No it’s okay I’ll go with you” 

Oh Wooyoung saw exactly what was going on here

Hongjoong did not

Hongjoong was a little confused—was his help becoming an awkward burden to you?

While Wooyoung saw the truth

You just wanted the excuse to walk with him

Now Wooyoung had two choices

He could step back and let you two walk down together, maybe say something to speed this math teacher romance along

Or he could third wheel

And who was Wooyoung if he didn’t pass up the chance to annoy?

Plus he had taken an oath once he started collecting bets that he wouldn’t try to swing the competition one way or another

And since telling you about the hot chocolate while you were together felt like pushing the competition faster, it felt right to pull it back a bit by getting in between you for a few minutes

So he offered hands to both of you to help you off the floor

“Let’s all go together then” he said “You should also find out if your campsite director wants any”

“Campsite director?” Hongjoong asked, shutting his computer

You also closed your computer and set it aside, looking around to figure out who Wooyoung was talking about

“Your gracious host this morning” he clarified, giving the department head a charming little wave

You both took Wooyoung’s hands at the same time and almost pulled him down with you in the process of standing up

As you straightened your pants, you asked the department head if she wanted you to bring her back any hot chocolate, to which she responded yes please

Wooyoung insisted on walking in the middle

And Hongjoong wondered if all of the patience he had acquired as a middle school teacher was going to be spent on not wringing this guy’s neck this morning

Fortunately Mr. Jung acted enough like one of Mr. Kim’s students that he was able to pretend he was one and just let it go

Unfortunately by the time they got back to the department head’s classroom kids were starting to show up so that was the end of artificial campfire cuddle time

But there was a silent agreement as you picked up your blankets and computers that you would be doing this again sometime

The first few weeks of December didn’t necessarily fly by but they did go by quickly in hindsight if that makes sense

And before everyone knew it

Christmas break was upon you

And there was no further progression of the math department couple

The Before Christmas teachers had gotten antsier and antsier right up until the day before break started

But thankfully no one had been worried enough to interfere

Hongjoong decided to stay in his classroom that day

(As if he didn’t stay in his classroom every day)

Because people had been giving him disappointed looks all over the school and he was tired of it

Even the principal had made a trip to Hongjoong’s classroom the Friday afternoon before everyone left

Just to tell him how disappointed he was that he hadn’t had the guts to make a move even when he knew the principal’s precious money was on the line

And ask him if you were secretly dating already and just didn’t want to make a big deal about it

But ultimately to wish him luck and a nice break

A few minutes after he left, you popped into his classroom

You had your bag and your coat and it looked like you were ready to head home

“Are you so ready to get out of here?” you asked

He stopped immediately in the middle of his task and slammed his laptop shut

Contract hours had ended a whole minute ago and he had wasted a whole minute still doing work? On break?

“Say no more” he said, standing up and putting his coat on “We should have left five minutes ago”

“Wholeheartedly agree” you replied “I would have but the principal visited me and I felt like I had to look like I was doing something”

Hongjoong froze

The principal had visited you too?

Why?

For what purpose?

Betting purposes?

This technically didn’t still count as Before Christmas Break right?

“That’s weird haha he came and visited me too, like ten minutes ago” he said with the normalest most unbothered tone he could manage

(He tried)

(His voice was not quite an octave higher than usual)

(Which is considerable improvement since it’s usually an octave and a half)

“Maybe he’s just making rounds” you said with a shrug “It’s nice to see how much he cares about this school. Definitely one of the better principals I’ve worked with”

Hongjoong relaxed perhaps too visibly

“Yeah if you need a guy to have your back he’s got it no question”

“Anyway if you don’t have any plans for the day after Christmas you should spend it with me”

If Hongjoong had been drinking something he would have choked

Even if he’d had plans in the first place he would have canceled them for you

“My day is wide open” he said “As is almost all of my break”

You smiled and his stomach did a flip

He wondered if it was ever going to stop doing that

He hoped not

“Mine too. If you’re bored, you can probably text me and I won’t be doing anything”

Was it cringe that he was now looking for technically his second Christmas present for you?

Yeah maybe but that was his lifestyle now

To quote N.Flying’s Lovefool “if they call me a lovefool it’s okay as long as it’s for your sake”

Even if you didn’t see him that way that was A-Okay

Anyway he found some cute little math-themed trinkets like pi earrings and a right triangle pin that said “I’m always right”

Because actually who are math teachers if they don’t like puns

And the morning after Christmas Day he wrapped them up all nice for you

And he got ready to meet you at a little restaurant you now frequented together

But this was actually like the first time he was meeting you on a whole day off so he had to figure out how to dress not like a teacher but still kinda nice

He had no idea

All of his pants were teacher pants

His shirts? All teacher shirts

He was way too good at dressing for his job

So he wore jeans instead of his usual khakis and hoped that was different enough?

He also layered one of his graph paper teacher shirts with a plain t-shirt underneath and didn’t button it up

He looked himself up and down in his mirror, trying different poses to make sure he looked like a Normal Guy

In the end he decided his hair was the only issue

He only knew how to style it in a teacherly fashion

And leaving it unstyled wasn’t an option

So he looked up some tutorials on some easy styles but he just could not see himself as anything other than a math teacher

So he gave up and just prayed that he looked okay

You looked perfect of course

The difference was subtle in theory but the way you dressed, the way you did your hair and makeup, it made for a world of difference

Oh you looked so gorgeous he was never going to get over it

Your eyes practically sparkled when you met him out front and man he thought before that he couldn’t be more in love with you but he was wrong

You did seem a little more awkward today than usual and he couldn’t figure out why

Like you almost seemed nervous

What for? It was just him

You got your food and he suddenly remembered the gifts in his pocket

“Oh!” he exclaimed, pulling them out “I know I gave you the blanket a few weeks ago but I found these and I knew you had to have them. Merry double Christmas?”

You covered your mouth to hide your laughter and your bite of food

“That’s so funny because I found something for you too”

And you pulled a little package out of your bag

Down bad wasn’t even a good descriptor anymore and neither was head over heels like there had to be a stronger silly description of being in love and if there wasn’t it would have to be invented for him

You had found him a shirt that said “Math is hard. So is life. Get over it.”

(Tbh an actual shirt that I own)

And he promised you he would be wearing it the day you all got back from break

As for his silly little gifts you adored them

You put the pi earrings in immediately and started brainstorming what do do with the other things out loud

He could not have been happier with himself

And then you caught him staring at you

You paused in your excited little ramblings

He sat up a little straighter, wondering what to say next

But you smiled and looked down at your plate

“You’re pretty cute, you know that?” you told him, unable to meet his eyes for more than a second

In front of you, his first instinct was to deny the possibility and he followed it without thinking

“Eh, no I’m not—not in comparison to you, anyway”

Hmm if he wanted to keep his feelings secret then that was not the thing to say

But you deserved to know it

Not just cute but beautiful

Heartstoppingly so

You took the compliment well anyway

“Have you ever thought…” you began, trailing off

You watched him as he waited for you to continue, his eyes wide and curious

“Never mind” you dismissed with a casual wave of your hand

“No hey what were you going to say?” he asked

“Nothing I just had a weird thought for a second”

“No no come on! You know I wouldn’t judge you for anything”

You hesitated again and he could see that same nervousness he’d noticed before

“Have you ever thought…I don’t know” you put your elbows up on the table “of us as more than friends? Like dating maybe?”

Once again he was going to be very upset if his alarm clock went off now

But even if this was a dream, there was no harm in saying it out loud

“Every day since the day I met you” he answered honestly

You blinked like you didn’t believe him

“You’d better not be joking because I mean this like I’m risking our whole professional relationship here—”

And then he realized

You literally had no idea about him

Genuinely no clue that the whole school knew exactly how you had him wrapped around your finger

Except you

“—on the slightest chance that you might feel the same way—”

“Hey” he stopped you softly “I would never joke about how I feel about you”

Embarrassment began to set in for both of you

“Seriously,” he said, holding back a laugh, “you can ask any of my students, any of the teachers. I think you were the last one to find out that I have a massive crush on you”

“Oh no you’re kidding!” you exclaimed, your hands coming up to hide your face

“I really wish I were—Wooyoung has two rounds of bets going with the teachers about when and how we would end up dating. It’s just about me though—I don’t think anyone else knew about you”

You buried your face further in your hands

“That is so embarrassing” you whined “Seriously I might kill Wooyoung when we get back from break”

“I’ll help you” he promised

You ended up deciding to tell the other teachers on account of the bets they had placed on you

But you asked them not to tell the kids

Hongjoong was comfortable dealing with them at this point and he didn’t see the point in subjecting you to the attention he got about it

Speaking of the bets

No one won any of them technically

The two categories were before/after Christmas break and you notice/he confesses

And since you confessed during Christmas break well

As tempting as it would have been to say that you two deserved the money

(Especially on those teacher salaries)

You just made Wooyoung give it back to everyone who had put money down

And honestly? Very little about your at school dynamic changed

The kids still teased Hongjoong every day about his obvious soft spot for you

But he didn’t care because he knew better than they did anyway

You did actually start to notice now that kids were gossiping about you and Hongjoong

And it was really funny actually

Especially when he stopped by your classroom and the kids went dead silent watching you

Or when you left his classroom and you heard the kids explode with their weirdo little preteen comments from just outside in the hallway

Wooyoung insisted on telling you about every time you were mentioned in his classroom

This included the story about the girl rejecting a boy because quote no one can like anyone as much as Mr. Kim likes Miss (L/N) enquote

And you about died from laughter and embarrassment

Because how had you missed every single sign thrown your way??

It was so obvious now that you were dating him and you knew why he spent as much time as physically and contractually possible in your classroom

Because like I said very little about your at school dynamic changed

He still treated you almost exactly the same way

Except now if you were having a bad day he could hug you and kiss you on the head and tell you that everything would be okay and you were a good teacher

And if he got cold he could come to your classroom and have you sit on his lap while you shared your blanket

You were very very careful with any displays of affection by the way like it was only behind a locked door that you would even dare

Because firstly unprofessional

A literal breach of the code of ethics more likely than not

And secondly what if the kids saw you???

The other teachers were whatever like you didn’t really want them to walk in on you either but at least they were other adults

But the kids??? 

There were already too many rumors flying around the school about you and they did not need a even whispering of confirmation

The end of that came of course when you got engaged like a year or so later idk and you showed up to school with a ring on your finger and the kids went wild

“Mr. Kim she has a ring!!!”

“Mr. Kim what are you going to do?? She’s gonna get married!!”

“Mr. Kim you must be heartbroken”

You had prepared for this together

You had known it was coming so you knew you had to be ready for the chaos it was going to cause

So you had decided that he would also start wearing a ring to match even before the wedding

So to all his very concerned students he got to hold up his hand and say in the coolest most chic manner possible

“And who do you think gave her the ring huh?”

It was like setting off a nuclear bomb of middle school gossip but it was so worth it

Anyway breaking the chronological flow going back in time because this needed to be the last scene

The cutest change with your at school dynamic now that you were dating was now you could exchange secret messages on sticky notes with the papers you traded

He started it by handing you a test key to check with a sticky note on the top that you assumed was a label for what the test was

But on closer inspection it was a pickup line

“The limit of my love for you is like the limit of 1/x as it approaches 0; it doesn’t exist”

So you wrote back on the same sticky note “well mine is like 1/x^2 and it approaches infinity so there” and handed it back to him once you checked his key

Not to be outdone he wrote you a new note

“Girl are you a 30° angle inscribed in a circle because you’re acute-y pi”

Oh that one was bad

You had to give him something worse

“If we’re both math teachers, how come we have so much chemistry?”

You handed him that one in between classes

And as he read it he had to disguise his sudden laughter as a cough because there were kids around and they didn’t need to be curious about what he was laughing at

His next sticky note had a crease down the middle horizontally

128√e980

You recognized it immediately but you folded it in half to reveal the secret message anyway

“I love you”

So you gave him back “I hope you like fractions because you’re my other half”

You stored all these away in a little file on your computer titled “Valentine’s Day Math Jokes”

Maybe for some future Valentine’s Day activity

But mostly just to keep them all somewhere safe where you could look at them any time you wanted

Without some kid being like “oooh Miss (L/N) whatcha lookin at”

Your favorite note from him was about as simple and dorky as they came

Much like Hongjoong himself actually

Simplify 2x+6i<2(x+9u)

First you distributed the 2 on the right

2x+6i<2x+18u

Then since there was a 2x on both sides, you could subtract them and cancel them

6i<18u

Then divide by 6

And the answer made you smile every time

i<3u

(so I know how I wrote this so fast actually. I just have a goal to write 250+ words every day and uh pretty much every day of the month of January ended up dedicated to this one. Someone said Math Teacher Hongjoong and I (graduated in December with a math teaching degree, student taught in a middle school for 4 months) went feral over it whoops)

Masterlist

[rottenpumpkin13]

If AGS HAD to to secondary/high school teachers, what would they teach and what are they like?

Sephiroth: Chemistry teacher. Never raises his voice but somehow makes "please solve this equation" sound like a death threat. Has a perfect record of student attendance because no one dares to skip his class. Somehow always knows when students are using calculators without permission, even with his back turned. Teaching style consists of staring in silence when students give wrong answers until they correct themselves. Somehow always knows when someone's on their phone without looking up. Has never once sat in his chair, just stands menacingly. Once made a kid cry by simply writing "explain" on their paper in red ink. Rumor has it that strategic placement of apples or treats on his desk at the beginning of class can result in extra credit.

Angeal: P.E. teacher who's also a yapper. Students spend 15 minutes exercising and 35 minutes listening to lectures. Has never once completed a full lesson without using the word "honor" at least 15 times. Has a mysterious ability to appear behind any student who's about to give up during exercises, launching into an impromptu speech about perseverance. Makes students run the mile in complete silence "to hear the voice of their dreams." Currently in an ongoing battle with the administration about why cleaning the entire gym with toothbrushes should be part of the curriculum. Always has snacks to hand out though.

Genesis: English teacher who doubles as the head of the drama department. Has a full-size skeleton that he dresses according to whatever play they're studying (stolen from Sephiroth's class). Dramatically perches on his desk rather than sitting in it. Has a collection of prop swords he uses as "advanced pointing sticks" during lectures, has been known to let students duel for bonus points while he lounges at his desk, observing the chaos like a Roman emperor enjoying a gladiator match. Gives automatic A's to students who bring him high-quality apples, but will dock points for bringing "peasant fruit." Regularly derails lessons to gossip while he sits on his desk. Has been reported to throw apples at sleeping students with concerning accuracy, no one knows where he keeps getting them from. The school's fire alarm mysteriously goes off whenever he grades papers.

[thatgirlie-diaries]

Academic tips that work for me

Hello girlies! This is a post that I have been delaying for like 2 weeks, but now it's time or me to post it. In this blog I will give you all the things I do to keep myself getting high grades and maintain the "intelligent" persona I have worked for since I started studying my college career and fortunately others see me this way now.

I do not study hevy or know a lot about studying methods, I am more into "smart work > hard work" kind of thing

My personal tips

This are my tips being an auditory person focused on being effortless

Understand your learning style: Are you visual? Auditory? Or kinesthetic? By knowing this you can apply studying methods that are efficient for you.

Pay attention to your classes!: I think the main reason I slay effortlessly my exams is because of this so I only need a quick study. You will be saving future time since your study sessions will be lighter because you will remember lots of the things.

Participate / Ask questions: It's easy, you will get points with your teachers as a great student, plus you will get your questions solved.

Put your on a place you can't see it so it doesn't distract you, for classes or when you need to study / get work done.

Study in a place when you feel comfortable, it can be at an cafe or at the library, even in your bedroom at a desk, what matters is that you feel comfortable and that you get the feel of "this is a place where I can study / do my assignments" and not feel lazy or uncomfortable by "x or y" reason. As a plus, keep your space clean and only with the necessary at sight.

Use music that doesn't distract you and you vibe with: Listen to music that doesn't have lyrics, but that's a basic by now. What I recommend you is to listen to music that you just vibe with to get your desired mood and motivation. In my case, I listen to videogame soundtracks since it makes me feel relaxed or to classical music because I fee like "that business girly", either way music helps me concentrate.

Romanticize your studies: This can mean different things to all of you reading this post, I am talking about making your academic journey fun and pleasing rather than streesing! Some ideas are having cute stationery, take cute notes, act like one of your fav academic characters, have study playlists, drinking coffee, go to the library or to cafes, dress cute for school, read, light candles, watch "study with me" videos and study vlogs, create a pinterest board, stablish academic goals, etc.

Do your homework when you have free time at school / college or do it as a first thing after your schedule, this will help you save time. Think about it, if you do it while having free time at school / college you don't need to do it at home. And if you need to do it at home, if done as the first thing, you will either way get so much free time and can focus on other tasks or activities freely.

Be organized: Have a bullet journal or use an app to keep track of your subjects and assignments. By this you will remember and keep in sight upcoming deadlines and events.

Take care of your academic relationships: I make sure that the people inside my circle of friends are girls (mainly, but boys too) who I feel comfortable, have fun with but also are similar to me in the sense that they take seriously her studies and are good teammates. Outside of them I also focus on other potential classmates that are intelligent and have similar values. There is no need to bother on the ones who don't attend classes, are irresponsable and don't even know what are they doing in the course.

Take care of yourself: Ask yourself? Will it be worth it while not sleeping enough, having a poor diet and exercise? By not letting yourself rest or have fun from time to time? By not practicing self-care? By not practicing any hobby or taking the time for your interests ? Please take care of yourself, girl, this is the lowest part of the pyramid. The reason to care is not only your wellbeing, but also because having a poor lifestyle can have bad effects for you that also affect your performance, and we won't like that.

Now go and slay your academic year / course! 𑄽𑄺ྀ

[prettywhenicryyyyyyyy]

Shy nerd guys, always surprise you

Sim jaeyun

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖.

𖤐 paring : Jake x reader

𖤐 genre : high-school sweethearts

𖤐 warning : 18+ content, fingering, choking, pussy eating, makeout, smut, kissing, neck grabbing

𖤐 summary : Jake, the physics prodigy and your high school sweetheart, offered to help you with your studies. However, instead of focusing on physics, you had other plans in mind, involving making him forget all about equations and delve into a more satisfying kind of experimentation.

song suggestions (listen while reading) :

As you entered the classroom, your shoulders slumped and a frown tugged at the corners of your lips. Jake couldn't help but notice your expression and asked, "What's wrong? You look like someone just told you your favorite band has disbanded."

With a heavy sigh, you replied, "I just got called into the physics teacher's office. My grades in that class have been dropping like a rock, but I've been excelling in all my other subjects. It's so frustrating because I'm usually good at everything, especially math, but physics is just kicking my butt."

Jake couldn't resist poking a little fun at your distress over physics grades. He chuckled and teased, "It sounds like the only thing dropping around here is your physics grade, not some random band. Maybe you should focus on studying physics instead of being their number one fan."

She rolled her eyes at his playful jab, but couldn't help a slight smile from tugging at her lips as she retorted, "Oh shut up, Jake. As if your taste in music is any better than mine."

Jake raised an eyebrow in feigned surprise. "Oh, so my music taste is now on the chopping block, huh? Well, let me tell you, my taste in music is a masterpiece like none other."

You chuckled at his over-the-top response. "A masterpiece, huh? Let me guess, you only listen to obscure and experimental genres that no one's ever heard of, right?"

Jake feigned offense. "Obscure and experimental? Those are just fancy words for 'ahead of their time' and 'avant-garde.' You'll come around to appreciate my excellent taste eventually."

Just as your conversation with Jake was getting a bit livelier, Sunghoon walked into the room, He noticed the two of you sitting together, Sunghoon approached the two of you, a bit curious as to what you were discussing. With a hint of concern in his voice, addressed your academic struggles. "Word on the street is that you're having some trouble with physics lately. I heard it's been giving you quite the headache."

"Great, more talk about physics" you said, annoyance creeping into your voice.

"You know, I'm pretty good at this class," he said casually. "If you need any help, I'd be happy to lend a hand." Jake stifled a laugh as Sunghoon made the offer to help with physics. He knew all too well that Sunghoon struggled with the subject himself.

"Good one, Sunghoon," Jake said, struggling to hide his amusement. "Maybe you should focus on helping yourself with physics first before offering to help others."

Sunghoon rolled his eyes at Jake's comment. "Yeah, yeah, I get it, I'm not the greatest at physics," he replied, feigning offense. "But I'm still offering, alright?"

Jake's possessive streak started to show. He felt a twinge of jealousy as he noticed the way Sunghoon was offering to help you with physics.

"You know what, Sunghoon," Jake suddenly interjected, a hint of irritation in his voice. "I'm her boyfriend. I can help her with physics if she needs it. You can take a back seat, alright?"

"Alright, alright, chill out, Jake," sunghoon said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I get the hint. You've got it covered. I'll step back, no need to get all territorial."

With that, he turned and walked away, shaking his head with a mix of annoyance and acceptance.

You couldn't help but chuckle at Jake's possessive words. "Hmmm," you teased, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. "Is that your way of declaring your ownership over me, Jake?"

Jake rolled his eyes playfully, realizing you were poking fun at his earlier display of jealousy. "Shut up," he retorted, but there was no hint of irritation in his tone. "You know I just don't like sharing what's mine."

Jake leaned in close, his voice dropping to a seductive tone. "It's not just a matter of pride, you know," he whispered. "It's a matter of desire. You're mine, and I don't like the thought of another guy getting so close to you. It stirs up primal instincts, a hunger I can't control. So, you see, it's more than just possessiveness. It's a deep, primal need to claim what's mine." The intensity in his voice and the way he described his desire to claim you made your heart race. But just as you were processing his words, Jake leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on your forehead.

The affectionate gesture caught you off guard, making your cheeks flush with a mix of surprise and affection. You couldn't help but feel a fluttery sensation in your stomach as you wondered how one simple move could melt your defenses so effortlessly.

As you looked at Jake, your eyes slowly traveled down his lean figure. You took in his messy hair that fell perfectly over his glasses, framing his captivating puppy-like eyes. The prominent vein there was the way he would occasionally bite his lower lip, a subtle gesture that spoke of a hidden lust. You couldn't help but feel a heat slowly begin to spread through your body as you continued to drink in the sight of him.

Jake's hands were a dangerous game, a tantalizing tease that left you craving for more. The veins that ran along his arms and down his fingers added a sinful edge, a hint of animalistic power lurking beneath the surface. And his slender digits, how they moved with such fluid elegance and grace, whether strumming the strings of his guitar or tracing a soft touch against your skin — each movement was a symphony of passion and finesse, leaving you entranced and yearning for more.

Jake gave you a reassuring smile, his puppy-like eyes meeting your gaze."I'll be at the park at 5 with Layla and my physics helpbook. We'll hang out, and I'll help you with your physics studies. Sound good?"

"Sure," you replied, a hint of excitement in your voice. "That sounds like a great plan. I'll see you there at 5."

in the park

As you approached the park, you spotted Jake up ahead, playing with Layla. He was throwing a small squeaky toy for Layla to chase and catch, and she was gleefully running after it, her tail wagging with excitement. Jake looked up as you neared, a smile spreading across his face.

"Hey, you're here!" he greeted you, patting the spot beside him on the bench. "I was just playing with Layla while I waited. She's having a blast."

"omg she's full of energy today" you said

As you settled down beside him, Jake couldn't resist stealing a quick kiss. His lips gently brushed against yours, a soft and affectionate gesture that sent a warm flutter through your chest.

"Hey," he whispered. "I missed you. You look beautiful today."

"I missed you too." you chuckled.

Jake chuckled softly, "Yeah, let's start on those physics questions. Can't let you slack on your studies, now can we?" With that, he opened the physics textbook and flipped to the chapter you had been struggling with. He placed the book on your lap so you could both look at it.

"Alright," he said, pointing to a problem on the page, "Let's start with this one. Do you remember the formula we need to solve it?"

You nodded, trying to focus your attention on the textbook in front of you. Jake's proximity was making it a bit challenging to concentrate, but you took a deep breath and mentally went through the formula in your head.

"Uh, let me think," you said, tapping your fingers on the page. "I think it's something like F equals ma, right? Force equals mass times acceleration?"

"Exactly right," he said, his gaze fixed on your face. "That's the one. So, assuming we have the mass and the acceleration, we can plug those into the formula and solve for force."

He pointed to the numbers listed in the problem, guiding you through the steps of plugging them into the formula. As he continued to explain the physics problem, using his hands to illustrate the concepts, your attention was drawn to his veiny forearms and slender fingers. The way his hands moved as he explained the formulas, the subtle motions, was incredibly hypnotic. And as his hands gestured towards your neck, as if wrapping around it delicately, a shiver ran down your spine, causing you to momentarily forget about the physics problem.

You couldn't help but imagine those hands on your skin, the touch of his slender fingers exploring every inch of you, slowly and methodically. His eyes, still fixed on your face, appeared to notice your distraction, and a sly, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He was well aware of the effect his hands and his nearness were having on you, and he found it amusing to see your concentration waver. But all the while, a flicker of desire flickered in his eyes, mirroring your own imagination of his touch.

"Are you paying attention?" he whispered, his voice low and smooth. "I thought you were trying to learn something here."

You snapped your attention back to the problem in front of you, feigning nonchalance.

"Of course I am," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "Just had a brief moment of distraction. No big deal."

*smirks* Jake handed you a small quiz sheet, and you glanced over it, seeing various physics questions and formulas. His thoughtfulness in preparing it for you touched you, a sign of his genuine wish to help you study.

"Thanks, Jake," you said, looking up at him with a grateful smile. "I'll do my best. And don't worry, I'll be sure to tell you if I need any help."

"Good," he said. "I trust you'll do well. And yeah, don't hesitate to ask if you need any assistance. I'm here to help."

His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he looked away, as if trying to reign in his own feelings.

"Hey," he said softly, "You look exhausted. Coffee might not be a bad idea. Let's head to that café down the street and grab a cup."

"You're right," you replied, a hint of relief in your voice. "Coffee would be perfect right now. Let's go."

As you both stood up, Jake gestured for you to lead the way towards the café. He followed closely behind you, his presence behind you causing a subtle thrill to run down your spine. But you tried to ignore the feeling, focusing on the thought of the much-needed caffeine boost that awaited you at the café.

As you both entered the cozy café, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, immediately lifting your spirits. Jake ordered his usual black coffee, and then he surprised you by ordering your favorite latte with extra whipped cream on top, along with some dog-friendly treats for Layla.

"Here you go," he said, handing you the steaming hot latte. "I thought you could use something a bit sweeter this morning."

"Thank you," you said, meeting his gaze with a sincere smile. "You didn't have to get all this, but I really appreciate it."

Jake smiled warmly, his eyes meeting yours. "You know, I was just thinking," he began, "that it would be great to spend more time together. I'd love it if you could come over to my place afterward. We could hang out, keep studying if you want, or do something else entirely. I just really enjoy your company and want to spend as much time with you as possible."

His smile was eager, hopeful on his face. It was clear that he was genuinely hoping you would say yes.

Jake's suggestion caught you by surprise, and a mixture of emotions washed over you. "Yeah," you replied, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "I'd like that. Let's hang out at your place after this."

"Perfect." he says with a joyful smile on his face.

Your heart raced with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. This was uncharted territory for you – visiting your boyfriend's place for the first time. It felt like a significant step in your relationship, and you hoped everything would go smoothly.

You glanced at Jake, taking in his relaxed demeanor as he strolled beside you. He seemed at ease.

Jake unlocked the gate and swung it open, gesturing for you to go through. As you entered his place, You followed Jake along the pathway, taking in the serene atmosphere of his home.

He turned to you, a warm smile gracing his lips. "So," he began, "now that we're at my place, there's plenty we can do. We can continue studying together if you want, or we can watch a movie, play some board games, or even cook something together. I'm open to anything that's comfortable for you."

He leaned back on the sofa, folding his arms behind his head, waiting for your response.

"umm how about netflix?" you suggested

Jake's face lit up at your suggestion. "Netflix sounds perfect," he said, reaching for the remote control on the coffee table. "You can pick whatever you want to watch. There's so much to choose from. Movies, series, documentaries – whatever you're in the mood for."

He handed the remote to you, allowing you to choose the entertainment for the evening. As he settled back on the sofa, he glanced over at you, eagerly awaiting your selection.

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you took the remote from Jake. "You know what?" you said, scrolling through the options on the TV. "Let's watch Grey's anatomy, That always put me in a good mood."

Jake nodded, a warm smile on his face. "That sounds perfect."

A grin spread across your face as you thought about watching Grey's Anatomy. "Alright then," you said, feeling a sense of excitement. "Grey's Anatomy it is! We can spend hours watching those intense medical cases, swooning over the romance, and bonding over our love for Meredith and Derek. Plus, it's got like a million episodes, so we won't run out of content anytime soon."

Jake nodded in agreement, clearly just as enthusiastic about the idea. "This is gonna be epic," he said, grabbing the remote from you. "Let's start from the beginning."

He wrapped his strong arms around you, pulling you closer to him on the sofa. His touch was warm and soothing, making you feel protected and cherished.

You snuggled into his embrace, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. The sound of his heart thumping beneath your ear was a soothing soundtrack to the movie playing on the TV.

The world seemed to fade away as you both focused on the series, losing yourselves in the lives of the doctors at Seattle Grace Hospital.

His slender fingers traced gentle circles on your neck, sending a slight shiver down your spine. His touch was light, yet it sent tingles of pleasure radiating from the point of contact. He seemed to be unconsciously exploring the sensitive skin there, his fingers gliding with ease across your exposed flesh.

As he continued to caress your neck, you could feel the tension slowly seeping from your body. It was as if his touch had the power to soothe and relax you, making everything else seem insignificant in comparison. A small gasp escaped your lips as his fingers trailed across your neck, sending a thrill of electricity through your body. His touch was delicate, yet it ignited a flame within you, sending waves of desire coursing through your veins. The way his fingers explored your skin was intoxicating, and you found yourself arching your neck slightly, giving him easier access.

Jake seemed to notice your reaction, as his finger began to trace a path towards the collarbone, leaving a trail of heat and anticipation in its wake.

As Jake continued to caress your neck and collarbone, your eyes fluttered closed, your body responding to his touch in ways you couldn't control. In that moment, all you wanted was for him to keep going, to explore every inch of you and drive you wild with ecstasy.

"Jake," you whispered, your voice a mere breath.

Jake pulled back slightly, his lips still hovering inches away from yours. His breath came in ragged gasps.

"It's just... ."

Jake remained silent for a moment, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

"What do you want, sweetheart?" he murmured, his voice filled with a tenderness that contrasted with the raw desire you could feel radiating from him. "Tell me what you're feeling right now. Tell me what you need."

Your gaze fixed on Jake's lips, your mind reeling with a flood of thoughts. You knew exactly what you wanted, but the words seemed to get stuck on your tongue. It was as if the intensity of the moment had rendered you speechless, your emotions surging through you like a tidal wave.

He cupped your face in his hands and crashed his lips against yours in a fervent kiss. There was no hesitation, no holding back this time. He kissed you fiercely, his lips moving over yours demandingly, as if he couldn't get close enough. His tongue delved into your mouth, tangling with yours, and his hands roamed your body urgently, mapping every curve and contour. As Jake's lips trailed down from your mouth to your neck, a low moan escaped you, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly. The sensation of his mouth on your sensitive skin sent shivers down your spine, the heat of his touch igniting a fire within you. Each kiss, each nip of his teeth, fueled a desire that you never knew you had. You arched your neck, giving him more access, silently pleading for him to continue his assault on your senses.

"Jake," you gasped, your voice hoarser than before. "Please, put your hand around my throat. I want to feel your touch, your control."

You looked at him, your eyes pleading, silently begging him to give you what you craved.

"Is this what you want, sweetheart?" Jake murmured, his voice low and raspy with desire. He knew exactly what you were asking for, but he wanted to make sure you were certain about it. He tightened his grip slightly tighter, his fingers pressing against the sensitive skin of your neck. "You want me to put my hand around your throat, to give you that feeling of helplessness and desire at the same time?"

"Yes," you breathed, your voice barely above a

Your body arched towards him, silently begging for his touch to become stronger, to bring you to the edge of pleasure and push you over. You felt a sense of surrender, of relinquishing all control to him, and it was both exhilarating and terrifying. But most of all, you wanted to feel him. As Jake's hand closed around your throat, your breath caught in your chest. His fingers applied just enough pressure to make you gasp, making your pulse flutter beneath his touch. It was a possessive move, yet there was a tenderness to it, a care that showed in the way his hand cradled your neck.

His other hand began to explore your body, caressing your curves, his fingers tracing fiery paths across your skin. It was as if he needed to touch you, to claim you, to make sure you knew how much he wanted you.

His hand slipped under the waistband of your sweatpants, a shiver of anticipation ran through you. The touch of his warm palm against your pussy sent a wave of desire coursing through your body, and you instinctively arched towards him, craving more.

He traced small circles on your vagina, his fingers caressing the sensitive flesh he found there. Each touch was deliberate, and he seemed to know where to apply pressure to drive you wild. His hand continued its descent, moving towards the sensitive area between your thighs, and you couldn't help but whimper in need.

"You're so fucking wet y/n" he whispered, his voice deepened.

"Yes, I'm so wet for you," you responded, your voice trembling. "I need you, Jake, so badly. You have no idea how much I crave your touch, your presence."

He leaned in closer, his lips millimeters away from yours. "Show me," he breathed, his voice dripping with lust. "Show me just how badly you want me."

"I can show you better than I can tell you," you purred, leaning closer, your breath mingling with his. Your lips hovered just a fraction of an inch away from his, and the desire to close the gap was almost overwhelming.

"Just close your eyes," you murmured, "and let me show you every single way I want you, every single way I need you."

Your lips pressed against Jake's abs, leaving a trail of soft, moist kisses along his skin, as you marked his body with a hickey. Your tongue traced lazy circles around his navel, tasting the salty essence of his skin. his body reacting to the sensations you were stirring within him. He let out a low moan, his hands gripping your shoulders, holding you against him as if afraid you might pull away.

"fuck" he groaned, his fingers digging into your skin.

As Jake rolled you over, you let out a gasp of surprise, your body momentarily frozen in shock. You surrendered yourself to the sensation, completely at his mercy.

He loomed over you, pinning you beneath him, his strong frame pressing against your soft curves.

"Don't move," he commanded, his voice ragged with need. "Just lie there and let me take good care of you."

Without further ado, Jake pushes your underwear aside and dives in, his skilled tongue immediately finding your most sensitive spots. He licks and sucks with intense focus, determined to make you squirm and moan. His hands grip your thighs, holding you in place as he devours you. "Mmmm..."

"OH GOD" you screamed.

He pulls back, his face glistening. "Oh god? Is that all you've got? Because I've only just begun."

"Such a responsive little thing." He straightens up, his fingers gently caressing your swollen folds. And such a needy one too.His eyes are glistening with lust.

"It feels heavenly," you breathed, the words almost a moan in the quietness of the room.

Jake's grin turns smug as he slowly pushes two fingers inside you, curling them upward to hit that spot that drives you wild. "Heaven, you say?" He begins to move his hand, his rhythm steady and purposeful. "Well, then. I must be your personal angel."

Jake's fingers continue to work their magic, stretching and curling inside you as he eats your pussy with his other hand. "You're so fucking tight, and your taste is divine."

you were out of breath, struggling to breathe

"They were right; it's the shy nerd guys, always surprise you." you said with your voice trembling.

I hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading. 🩷

[thatbitchery]

& remember the first sign of a loser loser loser loser is hating school. Yall should've unfollowed me 2023 this year I'm laying it on you as is.

If you're not in some sort of murder level clas enroll right now. & it has to be so hard it feels like a death sentence

Ladies any form of "escape the matrix" and "you don't need school" & whatever school hating content out there is level down programming meant to keep you stuck and weak. School is the closest imitation to real life you get so dropping a class because it's too hard is your sign to tie yourself to your moms basement and never leave because you sure as heaven not making it in corporate, business, friendships, relationships, and, God Forbid, parenting. You Manifest a future as a stone because that's the most you can do with that mentality. Dropping out because you have anxiety is another great sign to move to the Amazon and cosplay a sloth because if you think there are human interactions in the adult world that won't make you feel anxious ahhh baby my baby. You got it so wrong, baby. If you can't focus in a 30 minute lesson just take your dream board & burn it up burn it upp and try your hand at being a house fly you'll have better luck. If you drop a class because you don't like the teacher stay as far away from romantic relationships and friendships and , especially, corporate & entrepreneurship because girly don't we have news for ya. Can't manage your time? And you want to be a CEO? Are you kidding?

School is the closest imitation to real life you get & the better you are at it the better you are at life, the harder your school life is the better your real life will be. & I mean take biochem engineering & aeronautical engineering first year college, get your ass run over by it BUT learn to sit still, to power through, teamwork, study techniques, etc so no one cares about your A [fun fact most A students don't make it] but did you power through it? K then junior year do the thing you actually like.

Not liking school for whatever reason is loser mentality if you couldn't make it past test drive what makes you think you'll make it on the highway. Back in high-school when I told my grandma I'm giving up on my scholarship because I'm getting bullied and tortured and ostracized her response wasn't a hug it was a slipper grandma of color style because do you think that won't happen in your adulthood? You think you run from a problem and it goes away? Go back in and make it tf. Notice how I'm not focused on what grade you get? My friend works at firm (one of the top of the country) that don't employ people with a history of As , it's not about academic excellence, can you get to cheer practise at 6 am and be in class by 7? What makes you think you can be a mom then? "Independent" can you schedule yourself? Manage classes, sports, hobbies, a part-time job, home chores , friendships, and free time? WHAT DO YOU THINK ADULTHOOD IS ABOUT? what makes you think running from that in school (where you have guidance & forced community) will keep you safe? Out here you're all alone sis. And now the government protects you like a treasure that ID days 18 and its up to you to protect yourself. If you can not sit still in a 30 minutes class you don't like what makes you think you're cut out for corporate? Yall ain't never left your moms house and it shows, no one that has been in the real world has that level of delulu.

Pick the damn calculus class & power from an E to a C- so when you're running your business & you meet hard things you dislike you have muscle memory to power through it & bc your business is something you like it's easier. Go to school with the girls that dislike you & find a way out of that so when your mom in law or officemates are being flaky you know what to do, you don't run. Sit through that class with that one homphobic sexist bigoted teacher so when you land a job at your dream firm you don't resign in six days and sabotage shit because you're delulu enough to think your little tantrum matters.

School , especially boarding school, is the closest imitation to real life you get. Power through it, take advantage of the resources & always chase the hardships now that you have people charged with guiding you so you're not 25 unmotivated with no accomplishment despite your A's , barely functional adult feeling like a loser because you let tiktok & escape the matrix bojo creators lie to you. Do you want to be one of those 35 year olds heavy on magical thinking because you didn't learn what your parents literally paid for you to learn under the guise of 'self care'. Don't be dumb dumb.

Success spills over

[lunawagner]

Couples of Linkon High School

Freshmen: Rafayel x MC

MC is the class president, with Rafayel as her deputy. He calls out, "Miss Class President!" throughout the day.

MC has good grades, —not the top student, but definitely in the top ten.

Of course, Rafayel draws and doodles during classes. But his grades are not bad either thanks to his drive to outperform his possible rivals in love.

His notebooks are filled with sketches of MC.

MC teaches math to Rafayel and Rafayel teaches English to MC.

They are both bad at physics and spend class time drawing short comics together. However, if nobody listens and the teacher seems down, they would listen and nod along even though they don't understand a word.

The chemistry teacher is unsure if they like or fear Rafayel.

Overall, teachers love them 'cause they treat their teachers as real people and genuinely care about them.

Sometimes they lock their pinky fingers under the desk and keep them that way until the class is over, even though they both get a bit embarrassed.

Rafayel is determined not to kiss her on the lips until both become adults.

Their music teacher is Rafayel's aunt. MC loves her classes and is learning to play piano. Rafayel always complains but still can play at least one decent piece on every instrument you have in the music room.

The art teacher is Thomas. He and Rafayel always argue as Rafayel doesn’t want his art to be just another mass product produced for exhibitions and competitions

MC grew up in a government institution. Although she doesn't remember, she met Rafayel when he was placed there after losing his parents. His relatives quickly took him in, but MC looked out for him, saving him from the bigger kids who tried to bully him. Eventually, they became friends.

MC is tomboy-ish and can't process her emotions properly.

MC's fashion sense is minimal, so Rafayel goes to shopping with her on weekends. Thanks to that they have some matching couple clothes.

Sophomores: Xavier x MC

They have average grades but excel in sports, making them the school's hidden assets in tournaments.

The school coach would love to have them join every team if he could.

Xavier is popular among other boys and has a considerable number of fans.

They nap together during lunch breaks.

They are members of the literature club and student librarians. So they regularly visit the library to read books or organize shelves and help others.

Literature teacher loves them.

Xavier tends to sleep through STEM classes, so MC shares her notes with him later in exchange for snacks or chocolate milk.

When Xavier gets bored during lectures or breaks, he secretly plays with MC's hair.

Despite skipping classes for extracurricular activities, they absorb information quickly, allowing them to pull all-nighters before exams and still perform well.

Some boys claim they got beaten up in the dark when they went down to the basement. Everyone's suspicious of Sylus, but it’s actually Xavier who’s taking care of anyone who messes with MC.

They hang out with a large friend group that includes Tara, Jenna, Jeremiah, and Bella.

Tara enjoys styling MC’s and Bella’s hair with cute hairpins to see how Xavier and Jeremiah will react.

Xavier wears one of MC's hair ties as a bracelet, believing it brings him luck.

They use all of their stationery together, so their pencils and erasers frequently end up in each other’s pencil cases.

MC's dad is a police officer and her mom is a nurse. Xavier's parents are both politicians.

Xavier doesn't get along with his own father but they are on good terms with MC's dad. They play board games, go fishing, or jog on weekends. MC doesn't have the foggiest idea of how it happened.

Juniors: Zayne x MC

Zayne is the top student and MC is right behind him in second place.

People often think MC is just an airhead who gets good grades just because she’s dating Zayne.

But while she is cheerful and active, she’s also super diligent. She pays attention in class, reviews her notes, and makes new ones before exams to make sure she’s on top of things.

She doesn't want to fall behind Zayne and secretly worries about how he would react in case she fails and gets bad grades.

All the teachers are fond of them with some even treating them like their own kids.

MC’s family trusts Zayne more than they trust her, so they’re quicker to say yes to events if they know Zayne will be there with her.

MC has a cute habit of drawing little hearts on the random pages of Zayne's textbooks. Once Zayne noticed it, he started drawing jasmine flowers on hers.

They tend to avoid skinship at school, except for the times MC is sick. During those times, Zayne stays close to her all day, ensuring she is hydrated and consuming warm drinks. He hugs MC and lets her rest on his chest, and he holds her hand during classes.

Seniors: Sylus x MC

One word: Trouble

But no they're not your typical troublemaker brats. They are also top-notch in nearly every class, so teachers don't know what to do with them.

At first, they were pretty low-key about their relationship, keeping it a secret. But once they went public, they became all about PDA with Sylus' hand always around MC's waist whenever they managed to take a break from holding hands.

Science teachers would love to exempt Sylus from taking their classes so that he can never ever set foot in their labs.

Chemistry, physics, and biology teachers change their way when they see Sylus in corridors, lest he ask them about things that would lead to a global catastrophe.

The music teacher gets goosebumps whenever they see Sylus.

Most of the girls don't like MC and there is always gossip and slander surrounding her. But for some, she is like a protective big sis.

MC and Sylus's families have been business partners since the time of MC's grandma.

Sylus' family makes huge donations to the school, so the administration is unusually lenient with him.

They play truant regularly. For what? Nobody knows.

It’s hard for others to actually mess with MC. But, when they do, Luke and Kieran are quick to pull pranks on them even before MC or Sylus can react.

Luke and Kieran look so similar that teachers often can’t figure out who’s at fault. Their innocent expressions after causing trouble don’t make things any easier.

Sylus and MC are chosen school representatives. They are intimidating and cunning so it is easier for them to negotiate with and win over teachers and the local student union.

People come to them with problems to be solved. MC is willing to help them without any immediate material return but Sylus always turns it into a business deal with specific terms.

MC doesn't have many close friends, but she occasionally lunches with the MCs of Xavier, Zayne, and Rafayel.

[gottabfall]

On Snape's treatment of his students

Snape is a professor with extraordinarily high expectations and moderate to low interest in helping his students meet them. He views his students, especially all those who belong to Gryffindor House, as highly faulty, self-satisfied, incorrigible, completely unreasonable beings who can only be trained to behave as desired through disciplinary measures, like Pavlov’s dogs. His teaching style, which Harry compares both to Professor McGonagall’s and to torture methods, is accordingly authoritarian: Snape punishes his students severely, deducting house points even for minor mistakes and misbehavior, frequently assigning detention, and grading exams very strictly.

However, suspicion might arise that Snape's cruelty doesn't serve the purpose of strengthening his students' character, but instead has a self-serving purpose. Instead of teaching, he demands and threatens, punishes, sets intentionally unattainable standards, and delights in his students' inevitable failure to meet them. He greatly favors Slytherin House, and the injustice of his punishments, which are supposedly meant to serve as life lessons ("It might have escaped your notice, Potter, but life isn’t fair"), he almost celebrates. Many fans therefore believe Snape is a "bad person." What kind of adult man would spend much of his time hunting down students in the hallways to take points from them, actively seeking Harry to make sarcastic comments, tormenting Neville for years to the point that the boggart, which tries to turn into his greatest fear, transforms into Snape, and finding his greatest joy in making his students' lives hell? Although this question is mostly asked rhetorically (Tumblr's answer: "because he is the absolute worst"), I think the possible answers are quite interesting:

I. Snape vents his dissatisfaction with himself and his life on his students. As a brilliant wizard who already improved textbooks while in school, invented his own spells as a teenager, and knew more about the dark arts as a child than most students ("Snape knew more curses when he arrived at school than half the kids in the seventh year"), he could certainly have pursued a more fulfilling career than that of a teacher, staring every morning into the interchangeable, empty faces of disinterested students. If he has to endure the stupid, arrogant, non-intellectual students of Hogwarts, if he has to be exploited by Dumbledore, then at least he should be able to have some fun with it.

II. Snape is still a teenager in spirit, feeling threatened by students. While Snape is a master of self-presentation – he knows exactly where to place pauses for dramatic effect, wears clothing resembling a cloak when patrolling the halls, keeps his emotions under complete control with his Occlumency skills, and places great importance on his expression – ever since the catastrophic events that led to Voldemort's death, time has stood still for him. In isolation, which he has spent entirely in school, continuously humiliated, without friends he could trust and who could trust him, and with Dumbledore as an authority figure who has disappointed him multiple times, Snape has had no opportunity to experience himself as an independent, sovereign person. Thus, he feels threatened by Harry, who looks like James and shares similar impulsive and arrogant traits to his father. He envies Harry for the recognition Dumbledore gives him, and comments on his behavior and abilities in a rhetorically skilled and sarcastic way, but still in a manner that resembles a quick-witted student more than a professor. As he distorts the power imbalance between him and his students, he tries to enlarge it with draconian punishments.

III. Snape enjoys the role of the elitist intellectual. Snape’s relationship with elitism is complex. On the one hand, he has a strong class consciousness and scorns the naive and unreflective rich people like the Potters or the Blacks. On the other hand, he dresses according to the etiquette of the wealthy families of pureblood wizards, is drawn to eloquent and influential people like Lucius Malfoy, and places great importance on his own belonging to some elite. In terms of intellect, he can cultivate his aristocratic gestures independent of class differences (and even welcomes the fact that he had to work hard for his status).

This has an impact on his teaching: Snape enjoys the role of the teacher who announces uncomfortable truths, who designs his lessons only for the "select few" who have special talents, who loves knowledge and is one of the few who does so. He doesn’t like that his students are bad, but he likes that he doesn’t like it: His hatred and superiority stabilize his self-image. He likes the elitist aesthetic of his subject too much to develop an interest in teaching pedagogically good lessons. His dissatisfaction is more identity-defining than any interesting follow-up question from an enthusiastic, perhaps merely mediocre student.

(Nevertheless, his students perform well because he is a very competent teacher, and his self-concept as a teacher and intellectual would not allow him to teach bad lessons. Even Neville, who performs poorly in all subjects (except Herbology), especially in Potions, passes his subject.)

IV. The question of whether he is a good or bad teacher doesn’t arise if he doesn't teach at all. Snape is twenty-one years old when he begins teaching at Hogwarts. As a person who is socially incompetent (at least when it comes to small talk, expressing emotions, and friendly, approachable behavior), who was often humiliated as a student, and who as a Death Eater mostly spent time with people of higher social status, he has had few positive social experiences. Most of the teachers who were teaching at this time were teachers whose student Snape had been, and the students he would soon teach knew him from his own school days. Certainly, Snape’s greatest fear as a teacher was not being respected. Trying to inspire real interest in his subject in his students, abandoning his repressive teaching style, and making more of an effort to convey the material would not only be laborious but would also risk him losing the respect of his students since he would have to give up the role of the intimidating authority. How it is possible to be both liked and respected and lead people without being feared by them, Snape has never learned (Note: This was the greatest weakness of the Dark Lord and ultimately led to his downfall.).