#so can't wait to share the next few parts

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE ━━ 8 Letters

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 10.9K

❀ ━ warnings: masochism, smut (oral, fingering), like i think that’s it?

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: wowwowow it’s really done… imma actually write the epilogue for this one trust 🙏🏻 thank you guys for the support on this series, i know a lot of you have probably been frustrated for the sporadic updates 😭 but thanks for reading, i seriously, seriously appreciate it. love yall, onto the next !! (also fair warning i am not proud of how i ended the chapter it feels very rushed but writing ending paragraphs/sentences is so difficult)

PAIGE LEANS AGAINST the wall outside Jo's hotel room for far too long.

At first, she doesn't move because she can't. Like her knees won't work right. Like if she tries to walk, she'll fall apart—limb by limb, piece by piece—right there in the hallway. Her throat feels too dry and her face is wet and hot and her head is pounding with everything she didn't get to explain. With everything Jo refused to hear.

But it's not just dejection swirling around in her chest anymore—it's fire, too. Deep and rising. The kind that simmers and stings and coils tighter the longer she just stands there. There's a part of her that still feels shattered—still confused and devastated and aching—but it's getting drowned out fast by the sharp, crackling anger starting to take over.

Because, genuinely, what the fuck?

What kind of person does what Celeste did today? What kind of person looks someone in the eye, smiles all fake and kind, says "I hope you and Jo are happy," and then turns around and nukes everything with a goddam lie?

She should've trusted her gut. She should've slammed the door the second she saw that red hair.

Paige shoves herself off the wall, every step gaining force as she heads down the hallway. Her jaw is clenched. Her fists are balled, short nails digging into skin. There's a buzzing behind her eyes. It's late—probably past 1AM by now—but she doesn't care. Doesn't care if she wakes up the whole floor. Doesn't care if she pisses anyone off. Because there's only one person she wants to deal with right now, and she's behind one of these fucking doors.

It only takes her a few more steps to find it—the number she remembers being the admin's room. Celeste's room.

She pounds her fist against the door. Once. Twice. Three times.

It's loud, unforgiving. Probably too much. She winces for a second, thinking of Alyssa, one of the managers, who she thinks is the one who's sharing the room with Celeste. She's nice, undeserving of this mess. But the thought flashes and burns away just as fast.

Because then the door swings open and there she is.

Celeste Sinclair. Bright green eyes. Wet red curls like she's freshly out of the shower. Face perfectly still.

She blinks at Paige like she's confused. Like she's the one being wronged. "Hi... ?" she says, voice airy, like nothing is broken. Like she didn't just try to break the one thing in Paige's life that actually fucking matters.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Paige spits, stepping forward just enough to make her point. Her voice is sharp and venomous and loud and she wants it to be. She wants it to hit.

Celeste doesn't flinch, her expression unchanging. The only thing Paige can see is something smug behind her eyes now. Like she's been waiting for this. Like she's enjoying it.

"I should be asking you the same question," Celeste says smoothly. That tone—the one that was missing this morning when she was all apologetic and sweet and fake (goddamn theater major)—slides back into place like it never left. "You're the one banging on my door at one in the morning, Paige."

Paige's eyes narrow. She doesn't have time to be anything but blunt, getting straight to the point. "Did you think I wouldn't find out or somethin'? Are you really that stupid to think breaking apart Jo and I would make me want you?"

Celeste cackles. Full-on, grossly amused laughter. Paige wants to punch the wall.

"I didn't do all that because I want you, Paige," the redhead says simply. Her tone is slow, deliberate, like Paige is the dumbest person in the world for assuming so. Like she should've known better.

"Then why the fuck would you do it?" she asks. Her voice is sharper this time, not just angry but confused—again. Because for all her faults, for all the messiness between them, she never really thought Celeste was cruel.

But apparently she was wrong about that, too.

Celeste's answer is cold, dipped in ice water and frozen over. "Because you don't deserve it."

There's a pause. Paige feels her brain stutter like it's prematurely trying to figure out what's going to come out of Celeste's mouth next.

"You know, this semester, I've become friends with a few new girls in my classes," the redhead starts, and Paige scrunches her face a little, not understand the relevance of this at all. "A couple weeks ago, I was hanging out with a bunch of people and literally two of those girls told me that at some point during college, they'd been fucking you and you ended up breaking their heart."

Paige swallows hard, gathering where this is going.

"It hurt them, Paige," Celeste continues, matter-of-fact. "And it fucking hurt me too. So, why is it that you get to be happy when you've hurt all these people?"

That's the part that lands the heaviest. Paige stares at her, silent. Because the thing is—she's well aware she wasn't perfect. Especially not her freshman and sophomore years. She knows she was careless sometimes, flippant. She knows she had a reputation—and she earned it.

But she never lied to anyone. She never led them on.

She always made it abundantly clear: no strings. Just casual.

Yes, people caught feelings. Yes, maybe she didn't handle every exit perfectly. But she never promised more than what she meant.

And with Jo? She's never once played a game. Not once.

Celeste keeps going, like she's been waiting to get all of this off her chest. "I do feel a little bad about Jo. She was really heartbroken. But, honestly, I probably saved her from something worse by doing that. Because God knows you'd end up hurting her the same way you've hurt everyone else."

Paige feels something twist in her gut. It’s like she’s watching someone stab a knife into the version of herself she’s been trying to be. The version Jo sees. The one who loves so deeply it aches. The one who wants to do right.

And she knows that’s who she is with Jo.

But now? Now Jo’s on the other side of the hallway thinking she was just another name on a list. And Celeste is down here acting like Paige’s past is enough reason to steal her future.

Her jaw tightens. Her fingers twitch. She stares Celeste down and tries not to cry again. Not because of her—Celeste doesn’t deserve her tears—but because of what she ruined. What she took.

Joey.

But then, something else ignites in Paige's chest. It's slow at first, but then it's sharp, blisteringly hot. Protective, possessive. Because who does Celeste think she is—saying Jo's name like she knows her, like she has the right to even say it. To even think it.

Paige takes another step forward, towering over the redhead. She hopes it makes Celeste feel as small as she deserves.

"You don't know a thing about Jo," Paige snaps, low and firm, like she's holding back from yelling only by the thinnest thread. "Or what she and I have. So don't fucking talk about her like you do."

Celeste flinches, just barely. Her expression tightens, eyes flicking away momentarily like she knows she's hit a nerve. She doesn't say anything back, though.

"And you're sick," Paige adds, stepping in again, "for trying to ruin something that had nothing to do with you."

Still, Celeste says nothing. Her arms cross over her chest defensively, chin tilting up like she wants to pretend she's not rattled, but Paige can see it in her—how her shoulders stiffen, how her eyelid twitches like she's trying to keep her composure and losing.

"I'm sorry I hurt you. And your friends, too, I guess," Paige says, voice coated in honesty even through the anger. "But you always knew what it was with me. I never lied. I never said I was gon' take you out or some shit. I never told anyone to catch feelings."

The air feels tighter with every word. Paige is breathing hard now. There’s heat in her palms, in her neck, all of it boiling to the surface.

“That’s not on me,” she tells her, quieter now, but somehow sharper. “And I’m sorry that it hurt. But you don’t get to turn around and ruin Jo’s life because of it. You don’t get to do that.”

Celeste’s jaw clenches. She blinks a few times, and Paige sees something flicker—maybe regret, maybe shame, maybe just the sting of being told the truth. But then it’s gone.

That smug smile returns like armor, like habit. She crosses her arms again and says, “Sucks to be you, then. Because you’re gonna have to deal with me for another whole year.”

Paige lets out a laugh. A real one. Bitter and cold and sharp-edged. A laugh she didn’t know was in her chest until it spills out.

“You’re funny,” she says, eyes narrowed in disbelief.

“What?” Celeste asks, starting to frown.

“You think you’re gonna be with the team next year?” Paige asks, raising an eyebrow. “That’s funny. You been tamperin' with team chemistry, Celeste. Playin' people against each other. Lying. Manipulating.” She pauses, letting it settle, then says coolly, “You’re not getting the job back.”

Celeste’s face falls like a stone.

“Paige, wait—” she says, and it’s the first time Paige hears it: panic. The beginnings of fear.

That smug little grin drops fast. Her eyes go wide. She starts stepping forward like she wants to plead, like maybe she thought this was all just petty drama and not something that would actually cost her.

But Paige is already stepping back.

“Night, Celeste,” she says flatly, and then she turns, walking away without another look.

Celeste calls her name again, but Paige doesn’t even flinch. She walks fast and steady back down the hallway, back toward her and Aubrey’s hotel room, jaw tight, eyes forward, fists still balled up from everything she’s holding in.

And for a second—for one second—she feels powerful. Just one. It lasts through the hallway, through the keycard swipe, through shutting the door behind her.

But then she’s in bed. And none of it matters.

Because humbling Celeste didn’t fix anything.

Not the hollow space where Jo should be. Not the look on Jo’s face when she told Paige she couldn’t even look at her. Not the panic in Jo’s voice when she said, “I can’t do this.”

So now Paige is curled up in bed, still in the same sweatpants and hoodie she wore to the game, her hair tied back loosely, eyes burning but no more tears left. She’s got Sunny—the little purple dragon plush Jo gave her after the ACL tear—clutched to her chest so tight it hurts.

The hoodie smells like Jo. That stupid expensive perfume Jo started wearing in December. It still lingers in the collar and Paige feels herself curl tighter around the dragon like it can replace her somehow.

It can’t.

And now all she can do is hope—pray—that maybe Jo will give her a chance to explain tomorrow. Maybe Jo will listen. Maybe there’s still time to make it right.

Because if there’s not…

Paige doesn’t even want to think about it.

THE NEXT DAY passes by in a blur, like Paige is stuck inside some foggy simulation of her own life, moving through it without really feeling any of it.

She and Aubrey don't really say much as they pack up their hotel room. It's mechanical—stuffing clothes into bags, unplugging phone chargers, shoving shoes into suitcase compartments they don't quite fit into. Paige doesn't even bother folding anything. It all gets shoved down with zero regard for how wrinkled or tangled it might end up, because she just doesn't have it in her to care. Nothing feels that important right now.

Jo's name sits on the edge of all her thoughts, and her absence is deafening.

Paige doesn't see her all morning—not until the team finally gathers in the hotel lobby, bags in hand, UConn gear on, the usual travel routine underway. Jo doesn't look at her, not once. Not that Paige really expected her to.

The younger girl stands with Caroline, who often jokes about Jo being her "favorite child." It feels a little protective, right now, how close the two stand, how Jo ends up leaning her temple on Carol's shoulder. Paige can't tell if Caroline is doing it to shield Jo from her or if Jo's just using her as a buffer. Either way, it stings. Jo's expression is schooled over, neutral in a way that looks too practiced, like she's working too hard to stay calm and normal. That almost makes it worse—knowing Jo is still mad, still hurt, and all Paige can do is trail behind, wanting to talk to her again but not knowing how.

The ride to the airport is quiet. Paige sits next to Aubrey, staring out the window with her AirPods in. She doesn't even really listen to the music that's playing.

Once they board the plane, Paige drops down into a seat in the very back, glad they're allowed to spread out. Azzi slides into the aisle seat in her row, an empty seat between them like always, for more comfort and space. Azzi pulls her hoodie up and takes out her unicorn neck pillow like she plans to sleep the whole way back to Connecticut.

Paige tries to do the same. Closes her eyes, leans her neck back, pulls her hood over her head, wraps her arms around herself. But her brain won't turn off. Her chest won't settle. Her knee aches a little, probably from all the stress.

She ends up bothering Azzi after about fifteen minutes. Nudges her. Whispers a quiet, "you awake?" even though she knows she is.

Eventually, she pulls Nika over too. Makes her move from the seat across the aisle to the one between her and Azzi. The three of them talk low—soft murmurs in the hum of the plane, almost like they're conspiring.

Paige keeps her voice quiet, her arms crossed over herself, leg stretched out to help the ache. It's cold back here. Or maybe she just feels cold.

She explains everything in bits and pieces—some of it Azzi already knows, obviously, and Nika gets caught up fast. They're both stunned by Celeste's boldness. Not surprised, exactly, but stunned she actually went that far. Paige watches them both react with wide eyes and disbelieving expressions, and it helps. A little. Just knowing she's not crazy. That it really was as messed up as it felt.

But still—none of it undoes it. None of it fixes the look on Jo's face last night.

Azzi tells her to wait. Nika agrees. Let Jo come to her. That it'll happen. That Jo needs time to calm down and process things, especially after the loss. That they live together, so it's inevitable, and when it does happen, Paige will be able to say everything she needs to say.

And Paige knows they're right—but that doesn't make it easy.

Every inch of her wants to fix it now. Wants to walk up to the front of the plane, pull her into the bathroom, and tell her exactly what happened, make her listen. Because the idea of going back to their apartment and pretending like everything hasn't completely crumpled into dust makes Paige's chest feel too tight.

So, when they get back to campus, Paige doesn't go to their apartment. She goes to Azzi's. She drops her bags just inside the door, toeing off her shoes. Azzi, Ines, and Ice all dump their own things back into their respective bedrooms before coming back out to the living room.

All four of them fall into a normal silence, just laying on couches and scrolling on phones. It's calm and familiar.

Eventually, Caroline shows up, probably to specifically hang out with Azzi if Paige had to guess. But she's here and Paige isn't wasting the opportunity.

Paige watches the brunette from across the room. Waits a minute. Then, clears her throat and nods towards Azzi's room. "Can we talk for a sec?"

Carol gives her a look—somewhere halfway between tired and soft—and nods.

Inside Azzi's bedroom, Paige doesn't sit down. She stands by the dresser, fidgeting with the zipper on her hoodie. She lays it all out: how Celeste showed up that morning with the necklace that she stole, how she spun some story about the two of them hooking up, how obviously Jo believed it.

She keeps it mostly factual. The emotion's all there—thick in her voice, tightening her chest—but she tries not to let it show too much. Just enough to prove she’s serious. Honest. Because she knows Caroline first heard this story from Jo, and she needs Carol to believe her, and not let Celeste win anything else over.

Caroline doesn’t interrupt. Just listens with that same unreadable face. And when Paige is finally done, when she exhales and finally looks up, Carol smiles. A small one. The kind that says she’s been waiting for Paige to get this off her chest.

“I know, P,” she says. “I knew you wouldn’t do that.”

It should be more reassuring than it is, but it still makes something unclench in Paige’s chest.

"She's just scared," Carol continues after a moment. "You know how badly Asher hurt her. And Celeste showing up with the necklace—it looked real. It was believable evidence, and I think she just... panicked."

Paige nods slowly. She's already really gathered all of that on her own.

"I was actually gonna go over to be with her in a little," Caroline adds. "I'll tell her to talk to you. Hear you out. I just want you guys to be happy."

She gives Paige a quick hug—just enough to say I've got you—and then they both walk out like nothing happened.

It's late when Paige finally drags herself back to her apartment. She stands in the front hallway with her huge duffle still slung over her shoulder, while carrying her backpack as well, just staring at the space. She turns the lights on—the place is silent.

She walks over to her bedroom, dropping her bags onto the floor. She kicks her shoes off and shrugs off her hoodie. She should probably shower or at least brush her teeth, but instead she finds herself drifting to the end of the hallway.

Jo's bedroom door is cracked just enough that Paige can hear the faint hum of white noise playing from Jo's phone. The sound is familiar; it's what usually lulls her to sleep, too, curled up against Jo's back, her hand under Jo's shirt, their legs tangled.

She reaches for the doorknob before she even thinks about it. She pauses before carefully pushing it open.

Jo's asleep.

The covers are pulled up high, her face soft and tired, eyelashes fanned against flushed cheeks. She always looks young when she's sleeping. Vulnerable in a way Paige doesn't get to see too much because it's usually wrapped over with a smile.

She hates this. She just wants to be with her.

She could wake her up right now. Explain everything. Beg her to listen.

But Paige doesn't.

Instead, she closes the door just as quietly as she opened it and turns to her own bedroom to sleep alone.

JO STOPS, her feet planting hard against the sidewalk as she bends over, hands braced on her knees, chest rising and falling in a quick, heavy rhythm. Cold sweat clings to her skin, stinging in the wind that cuts sharp through her thin half-zip. The sleeves are pushed halfway up her forearms, and her shorts are clinging damp to her thighs, her body caught somewhere between freezing and burning alive. It's barely six in the morning, and the sky over Storrs is still that pale early-blue that always makes her feel a little lonelier.

She tells herself it's just the run making her feel like this—like her body can't keep up with her mind, like her chest is too tight, like her stomach's churning from something deeper than effort. But it's not just the run. She knows that. She's not stupid.

It's Paige.

Even thinking the name makes her ribs pull tight like someone's got a hand clenched around her sternum.

She straightens up slowly, breath still shaky, lips parting as she tries to regulate it. It's too much. She shouldn't have gone out. Not with four hours of sleep and a stomach full of nothing but a couple sips of water. But she needed to do something. She needed to feel something. And pain is easier than everything that's been swirling through her the past two days.

It's just what she does. Masochism at its finest. It's how she coped when Asher cheated and they broke up—run in the dark until her calves cramped and her lungs stung, stopped eating until she could crawl back into bed and sleep without dreams. She went through those motions until Paige put her foot down and dragged Jo out of the habits herself.

Except now it's different because she's here again, because of Paige.

And Jo doesn't really know how to reconcile that.

They got back from Dallas yesterday and Jo barely made eye contact with her. She couldn't. Not without hearing Celeste's words again. Not without picturing Paige's stupid necklace glinting in Celeste's hand.

She'd actually planned on talking to Paige yesterday. Just... talk. Not accuse or yell like the night prior. Just talk.

But she couldn't bring herself to.

Because what if Paige really had done what Celeste said?

What if Paige said something that made it all worse? What if she begged in that sweet, trembling voice, and Jo believed her, and it ended up being a lie only for her to get hurt again?

She's been through this before. The crying, the begging, the gaslighting, the lying once they know you know what they've done. She never thought Paige could make her feel that way, too.

But she's starting to realize that maybe Paige might not have done anything wrong.

Because, last night, Caroline told Jo she talked to her. And that she believes what Paige told her.

And Jo trusts Carol more than almost anyone.

So why can't she let itgo?

Her Apple Watch buzzes with a completed run notification—something minor, meaningless—and Jo groans aloud, dragging a hand through her damp hair. The ponytail is loose and frizzy, clinging to the sweat at the back of her neck. Her body aches in that dull, buzzing way that means she pushed too hard. Her bad knee—the one she tore her ACL on a couple years back—is probably going to be mad at her all day.

It's then that she hears Siri, dull and robotic in her AirPods, saying something about a Snaphact notification.

Jo opens the app without really thinking.

It's a memory; two months ago today.

A selfie—Paige's cheek pressed to hers, her teeth mock-biting at Jo's skin, both of them laughing in the tangled warmth of Jo's bed. Jo can still remember the way Paige's skin felt against hers, the sound of her giggle, the way—just after this was taken—Paige was kissing every inch of Jo's face like there was nothing else in the world she'd rather be doing.

Jo stares at it for a long time. The photo doesn't disappear. Not until she lets it.

She closes the app, eyes burning, and pulls one AirPod out. Her fingers drift to the little waistband pocket of her athletic shorts. She unzips it and pulls out the necklace.

Paige's necklace. Her necklace. Their necklace.

The one Celeste gave to her. The one Jo threw in the trash two days ago and pulled back out.

She doesn't know why she brought it with her this morning. She couldn't wear it—her chest ached too much just looking at it—but she also couldn't leave it in her room.

It felt like abandoning something that didn't deserve to be.

Now, it rests in her palm, the silver catching the weak morning light. Steady glares slightly.

Jo closes her fist around it.

Fuck. She has to talk to Paige.

Not eventually. Not sometime.

Now.

Because this—this sick, hollow ache in her—isn't something she can live with. Not if there's a chance she's wrong. Not if there's even the smallest possibility that Paige is telling the truth.

Jo turns around on the trail and starts running again. Not to punish herself.

This time, she's running to get home.

JO'S HEART is beating way too fast as she pushes open the front door, the quiet click of the lock loud in the silence of the apartment. Her legs are still shaky from the run. Her throat feels dry and her shirt is clinging to her back, damp with cold sweat. It's barely seven in the morning. The living room is dim, shadows stretching long across the floor from the first hints of daylight slipping through the blinds. She kicks off her shoes near the door.

She doesn't know what she's doing, not really. She could still chicken out. Could just head straight to the shower, buy herself another ten minutes, maybe even a whole hour. Paige's door is shut, she can see it from here. Jo doubts she's up—she never is on off days unless she absolutely has to. She could shower, sit on her bed, overthink everything like she's so good at.

But her feet keep moving.

The hallway is cold and narrow, and Jo moves down it slowly, the way you move when you're trying not to wake someone—when you're trying to give yourself time to make a decision before it makes itself.

The bathroom door is in front of her. She could walk straight, could turn the handle and disappear behind the water and the steam and the noise of it, escape for a little longer.

But her head turns toward Paige's door instead.

The light is off. The room is quiet. But something in Jo—something deeper than nerves, deeper than anger or fear—begs her to just open the door. She can't even name it. Maybe it's hope. Maybe it's desperation.

Maybe it's love.

She breathes in. Then out. Then in again.

And she opens it.

The room is mostly dark, a pale stripe of early light cutting across the carpet. Jo's eyes take a second to adjust, but she sees Paige almost immediately—curled up on her side in bed, the glow of her phone casting a soft blue light on her face.

Jo freezes. Paige looks up. Their eyes meet.

Paige jolts upright like she's been electrocuted, like the sight of Jo in her doorway has scrambled her whole nervous system. Her hair is messy, pillow-creased on one side. Her voice comes out higher than usual when she says, "Hi."

Jo stays standing in the doorway, fingers still wrapped around the edge of the frame. "I didn't wake you up, did I?" she asks, even though she knows she didn't.

"No, no, I— I was awake," Paige says quickly. Her voice is all nerves. She's not acting like herself. She's acting like she's afraid Jo might bolt, like she's walking on the edge of something too thin to hold her weight.

Which—fair. Jo's been very distant.

Before she can say anything else, though, Paige's gaze flickers over her frame, brows furrowing. "Were you out running in that?" she asks softly, her voice lined with worry. She gestures vaguely to Jo's shorts, her half-zip.

Jo glances down at herself. "Yeah."

"Jo, it's freezing, you're gonna get sick again—" Paige starts, like she's personally wired to make sure Jo stays as healthy as possible.

"Paige," Jo says, gently but firmly, cutting her off. She needs to say what she came in here to say. Paige quiets instantly, mouth pressing shut, like she knows it, too. "I wanna talk."

Jo steps fully into the room and closes the door behind her with a soft click. It's quieter now. LIke the whole room is holding its breath. She walks to the bed, slow and hesitant, and sits on the very edge of the mattress. She doesn't look at Paige, but she feels the movement as Paige shifts up beside her, both of them now sitting upright—but far apart. Too far. It's jarring, the space between them. They're usually curled into each other, arms and legs tangled, Jo's fingers in Paige's hair or Paige's hand on Jo's thigh. Now, there's a chasm. An ache in the space between.

Jo presses her lips together. Her fingers move back to the zippered pocket of her shorts. She unzips it slowly. Her fingers close around the cool metal of the necklace. She pulls it out. Looks at it for just a second.

Then, she gently reaches for Paige's hand.

It feels like a risk. A bigger risk than anything else she's done this week.

Jo places the necklace in Paige's palm and then sets her own hand on top of it. The metal sits cool and weighty between their skin. Paige doesn't move. Doesn't speak.

Jo finally lifts her gaze, meeting Paige's eyes. She hasn't done that in days. Hasn't looked at her like this—directly, intentionally, like she's searching for something. Her eyes already sting. Her throat tightens.

"Tell me what happened," Jo says softly.

And she means it. She’s ready to listen. Ready to really listen. Because she needs to hear it from Paige. Needs to believe it, not just feel it. She wants to believe her. She thinks she already does.

But she needs to hear it in Paige’s voice. Right here. Right now.

Jo watches Paige take a deep breath, her pretty blue eyes scanning every inch of Jo's face like she can't believe she's even sitting right next to her right now.

She shouldn’t even be in here—sitting on Paige’s bed, still in her freezing sweat-soaked running clothes, her pulse too high and her stomach too tight. Jo feels jittery, the way she vets before a game she's not sure she's ready for. But this isn't a game. This is... them. And it could be the end of them. She's not even sure what "them" is anymore. All she knows is that the second Paige sat up in bed and looked at her like that—like she still wanted her—something sharp and painful wedged itself behind Jo's ribs and hasn't moved since.

"Okay," Paige says slowly. It's tentative, gentle. She looks like she's thinking a thousand words, weighing each one before she lets them out. Jo understands. She really does.

But then Paige blinks and says, "Actually, 'M sorry—can you—can you please tell me exactly what Celeste told you first? I wanna know exactly what you think happened, because I'm still a little... a little confused."

Jo looks at her for a second. Paige's eyes are wide now, soft and earnest and a little panicked, like she's begging Jo to hand her the map before she can explain how they got lost.

For a second, Jo considers holdng it all in.

Not because she wants to hurt Paige or make her guess or punish her, but because—god—it’s so ugly. She doesn’t want to repeat it. She doesn’t want to admit, out loud, that she believed any of it. That it sunk so deep into her she started to think maybe Paige was just another person who didn’t actually mean what she said.

But Jo’s not good at holding things in. Not when it comes to Paige.

So, she shifts on the bed, gaze falling to the floor. Her hands curl into one another on her lap, fingers twisting. She doesn’t watch Paige anymore, doesn’t meet her eyes. She’s not ready for that. Instead, she focuses on the blank TV, on the way her socks are uneven, on anything but the weight in her chest.

"She came to my room right before breakfast that morning," Jo starts, voice quieter than she means it to be. "Like, early. Right after I finished braiding my hair."

She swallows. "She looked... nervous. Like, almost scared, or—or guilty? I don't know. I thought something was wrong, so I let her in. She was quiet for a while, and I just kept asking her what was going on. And then she pulled out the necklace."

Jo pauses. The memory makes her insides twist. She still feels sick when she thinks about it—the sudden rush of cold that spread through her chest, the way her heart practically stopped when she saw that little piece of silver glinting in Celeste's hand.

"And I just... I didn't understand how she had it. Like, I knew you wouldn't just lose it. You're careful. And I didn't want to think anything bad, but—she looked so serious."

She lets out a breath. Her hands are shaking now. She presses them tighter together to hide it.

"She told me you came to her room that night. Around 12:30. Said you told her that you and I had broken things off, for the better of the team. She said you apologized to her. That you said you wanted to make things right. That you gave her the necklace because it didn't mean what it used to mean anymore."

Jo's voice falters a little. She blinks quickly, eyes burning.

"She said the 'steady' was for her now."

She doesn't realize how much she's shaking until she reaches up and wipes her eyes. Her knuckles come away damp. She bites down hard on her bottom lip.

"And she said you slept with her."

It comes out small. Like saying it too loud will make it more real.

Jo doesn't say anything for a long moment after that. Her hands drop into her lap again. She stares at the floor. She doesn't want to cry anymore. She's cried enough.

And still, there's more to cry about. Always.

She knows how crazy it all sounds now. But in the moment—when she was tired and hurt and already spiraling from the loss, from the stress of the Final Four, from the fear that maybe she and Paige were too good to be true—she believed it. Or maybe, she didn’t believe it, but she was too scared not to believe it. Because then she’d be the idiot who let herself get her heart broken again.

It was easier to believe that Paige had turned into someone else. Some version of herself Jo didn’t know anymore. That maybe Celeste had just come at the right moment and Jo was the one who had misread everything.

But now, sitting here beside Paige, Jo doesn’t feel righteous or justified. She feels small. And tired. And like she’s been carrying a weight that was never hers to carry.

She hears Paige shift beside her, quiet and tentative.

Then, soft enough to break her heart all over again, Paige murmurs, “Jo? Can you—can you look at me? Please?”

Jo doesn’t move at first. Her lungs feel stuck.

But then she turns her head, slow and reluctant, and lets herself look. Really look.

Paige is right there, eyes glossy and wide, her whole face filled with a kind of careful desperation. Not like she’s trying to convince Jo of something—but like she’s trying to show her the truth. Jo feels something break open inside her at the sight.

Tentatively, Paige reaches up to cup Jo’s cheek, her fingers warm and steady against skin that still feels cold from the run. Jo doesn’t flinch. But she doesn’t lean into the touch either. She just… watches her. Through the wet blur in her eyes, through the pounding in her chest. Watches the way Paige looks at her like she’s the most precious thing in the world—like she’s still worth touching gently even after everything.

Paige keeps her hand there, soft and unmoving, thumb just barely brushing at the tear tracks on Jo’s cheek.

“Jo,” she says, voice thick with something that sounds like truth, like a vow, “I swear on everything—everything—that none of that happened.”

And Jo—God, Jo wants to believe her. She wants to let that be enough. Wants to shove the past three days into a box, light it on fire, and never think about them again. She wants to fall forward into Paige and sob into her hoodie and let it be over.

But it’s not. Not yet.

Jo sucks in a shaky breath, staring straight into Paige’s eyes. “Then how did she get the necklace?”

Because that’s still the thing she can’t explain away. That little silver chain with steady engraved on it. Something so personal, so real—so theirs. That’s what made the whole thing so believable. What cracked Jo open in the first place.

Paige takes a breath. A big one. Like she’s bracing herself. Her hand is still on Jo’s cheek, grounding them both.

“She came to my hotel room that morning too,” Paige says slowly. “Really early. Like, right after I got out of the shower.”

Jo’s brows furrow, heart thudding as she listens.

“I’d taken the necklace off because I didn’t want it to rust. I never wear it in the shower. I’d just changed into my clothes. I was about to put it back on, and then she knocked.”

Jo is still, listening. Not moving. She can picture it—Paige in their hotel room, steam on the mirror, necklace resting on the counter like it always is when she showers. She’s seen it herself. A little routine Paige never strays from.

“I answered the door. Obviously, I was confused. She had my UConn ID. Said she found it downstairs in the conference room where we had dinner. She seemed… normal. Like, actually genuine. I took the ID, I thanked her for bringin' it to me. And then she said she was sorry. For how she acted when she found out about us. Said it was immature of her. And then she just... left.”

Paige pauses. Her voice cracks just slightly when she adds, “And a few minutes later, when I looked over at the counter by the door—where I left the necklace—it was gone. I thought it dropped or something. I was freakin’ out about it. But clearly… she took it.”

Jo swallows, and the sound feels too loud in the room.

And the thing is—it makes sense. Every part of that story fits perfectly into place with what she knows of Paige. The ID thing, the timing, even Celeste’s strange apology. It sounds real. And more than that—it feels like Paige. The way she’s telling it, not trying to over-explain, not pleading, just honest. Like it’s breaking her heart to have to walk Jo through it piece by piece.

Jo feels the tears come again, and she hates it. Hates that her heart still feels like it’s trying to climb out of her chest. But this time, they’re not tears of betrayal. Or confusion. They’re just exhaustion. From hurting. From doubting. From being scared of losing someone she’s so, so in love with.

But even now—there’s still one thing.

Jo clears her throat, voice small. “But the night before that… after I gave you the necklace, you didn’t go in the direction of your room.”

She feels Paige’s grip tense slightly, just barely.

Jo continues, quiet and cautious, not accusatory—just… scared. “You went the opposite way. Toward hers.”

She watches Paige closely, sees the blonde’s eyes narrow slightly in confusion. Like she’s flipping through memories trying to find what Jo’s talking about. And then—Jo sees the shift. Realization washing over her face like a wave. Paige blinks, and her brows knit together as she speaks.

“Jo,” Paige says gently, letting her hand drop from Jo’s cheek and slide back into Jo’s lap to hold her hand more fully, “the vending machine was that way. I got Aubrey and I each a bottle of water before bed. I didn’t go to her room.”

Jo doesn’t know why this is what finally breaks her open. Not the necklace. Not the story. Not even the quiet, sincere way Paige walked her through every little detail to help her make sense of something that’s been chewing her alive for the past three days. No, it’s this—this simple sentence, this explanation about the vending machine. The honesty in Paige’s voice. The clarity. The way she says it without hesitation, without defensiveness, like it’s just the truth, plain and simple.

Jo believes her.

God, she believes her.

And somehow, that realization doesn’t bring immediate relief. It brings more tears. They sting behind her eyes and spill over before she can stop them. A choked little sob catches in her throat and she bites down on the inside of her cheek, trying to keep it together, but she feels her chest heaving with every breath like her body is trying to catch up with the emotional whiplash.

She doesn’t even realize she’s shaking until Paige is suddenly not beside her anymore.

Jo blinks through her tears and looks down, and Paige is on the floor, on her knees, still holding Jo’s hands. Their fingers are laced together and Paige is staring up at her with eyes that are as glassy and broken and desperate as Jo’s feel.

And Jo’s never been looked at like that. Never. Not in all her life.

Not by Asher, not by anyone. It’s like Paige sees every single broken part of her and still chooses her. Still wants her. Still loves her.

The tears come harder.

Paige lifts their joined hands to her mouth and presses a kiss to each of Jo’s knuckles, soft and reverent. Then, still crying, still holding her hands like they're the most delicate things she’s ever touched, she leans in and kisses Jo’s knee—then the other. The one with the scar, from her ACL. She kisses it with this tenderness that makes Jo feel like her heart is going to rip straight out of her chest.

“Joey,” Paige says, voice shaking as much as Jo’s is. “Jo. Josephine. I—God, I would never hurt you. Never, baby. I swear. All I want is for you to be safe and healthy and happy. That’s all I want. That’s why I didn’t tell you about Azzi and Aubrey and Nika knowing. I knew it would make you anxious and I just… I just wanted to take any pressure away from you that I could.”

Jo’s hand clenches slightly in Paige’s. She doesn’t mean to, but she’s holding on so tightly now, like if she lets go, any of this might slip away again.

Paige sniffles, wipes her face with the back of her arm, then keeps going.

“Jo, I’m in love with you,” she says. “I am so in love with you. I don’t think I’ve ever loved anything more and I’m not sure how exactly to handle it, but I want you. I want to be your girlfriend, for real, and I want to take you on dates, and I want the whole team to know about us, and I want us to meet each other’s families as girlfriends, not best friends or teammates or roommates or anything else. I want you in any and every way possible. Please, Jo.”

Jo can’t take it anymore. Her hands are trembling as she untangles their fingers, reaching out instead to cup Paige’s cheeks. Her thumbs brush over the tears there, over skin that’s warm and soft and familiar. Paige doesn’t resist. She leans into the touch like it’s all she’s ever wanted.

Jo pulls her up. She doesn’t say anything at first—just holds Paige’s face in her hands and brings her forward until their foreheads are touching, both of them crying, both of them shaking, both of them breathing the same air again for the first time in days.

“I want you, too,” Jo whispers. Her voice cracks halfway through, but she doesn’t stop. “I love you. So much. And I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you before. I’m so sorry. But I do now. I believe you. And I want to be your girlfriend. I want you to be mine.”

And it’s like the second she says it, everything inside her comes undone. Not in a bad way—no, it’s like letting go of this massive weight she’s been carrying since the moment Celeste knocked on her door. Like exhaling after holding her breath for three days straight. Her arms wrap around Paige’s shoulders, and Paige’s wrap around her waist, and then they’re clinging to each other.

Jo buries her face in Paige’s neck, and Paige’s hand finds her hair, her back. The sobs shake them both but neither of them tries to stop it. It’s messy and raw and real and them.

“I was so scared,” Jo whispers into Paige’s skin.

“I know,” Paige whispers back, kissing the side of her head. “Me too.”

Jo pulls back just enough to really look at her.

Paige’s face is a mess—her eyes are glassy and red-rimmed, the tears making them even more impossibly blue, cheeks streaked and flushed like she’s been crying for hours. But her mouth is pink and parted and she’s breathing like she just ran a mile, and she’s looking at Jo like she’s the only thing that’s ever existed. Like nothing else matters. Like Jo hung the goddamn moon.

Jo can’t help it.

She leans in and kisses her. Hard.

It’s not soft, not tentative—there’s too much built up in her chest, too much that’s been swelling and festering and clawing at her from the inside since that morning in Dallas. And God, God, she didn’t think she’d get this again. She wasn’t sure if Paige would even want to kiss her again after everything she said. After the way she looked at her in that hotel room, like she couldn’t believe Jo wouldn’t even let her explain.

But Paige does want it. She kisses back instantly, like she’s been waiting for this just as desperately, and Jo feels her whimper against her mouth, hands sliding up into Jo’s hair with the same kind of urgency.

Jo reaches blindly, grabs at Paige’s waist and guides her up, tugging her gently by the hips until Paige is shifting back on the bed. They fall together—half-tangled, the movement awkward but natural. Jo ends up half on top of her, hands braced on either side of Paige’s face, legs tangled with hers, mouths never parting.

It’s like the past few days didn’t happen. And yet they did, and that’s what makes this worse and better all at once.

Because Jo knows she fucked up. She knows she did. Paige didn’t do anything wrong, not one fucking thing, and Jo still let herself believe that Paige was like Asher. That she was just another person Jo would fall stupidly, completely in love with only to have it blow up in her face. That she wasn’t special. That none of this had ever really meant anything.

And that’s what makes Jo’s chest ache with guilt now.

Because this—Paige—has always meant everything.

Paige’s hand slides under the hem of Jo’s shirt, fingertips grazing her lower back like she’s trying to memorize the shape of her all over again. Jo kisses her harder, her body melting into Paige’s, and they’re pressed so close now it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. And maybe that’s how it’s always been between them. Maybe that’s what scared Jo so badly in the first place. How much of herself she gave to this girl without even realizing it.

Jo pulls back only for a second, just long enough to breathe, just long enough to look at her again. Paige’s lips are swollen, her skin flushed, and her eyes—those eyes—are still locked on Jo like she’s the sun. The way she’s looking at her, even now, after all of it... Jo doesn’t feel like she deserves it.

“I’m sorry,” Jo whispers, forehead resting against Paige’s. She can still taste the salt of Paige’s tears. Or maybe her own. “I’m so sorry, baby. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just… I got scared. And I didn’t want to be the one getting hurt again, and I didn’t even let you talk, and that was—”

“Jo,” Paige breathes, hand curling around Jo’s wrist, grounding her. “It’s okay. You were scared. I get it. We're okay now, promise.”

Jo closes her eyes. Tries to believe her. Tries to let go of the weight she’s been carrying since that knock on her hotel door. Since Celeste’s voice. Since the way it all cracked apart without warning.

“I love you,” she says softly. “So much.”

Paige’s thumb brushes against her cheek. “I love you too.”

Paige leans back in to kiss her, mouth parting. Jo lets out a little noise, kissing back. Her fingers reach down, curling into the hem of Paige's t-shirt. Paige lifts her arms, already helping her. The shirt slides up and over and then it's gone, tossed to the side of the bed, forgotten. Paige doesn't sleep in a bra—Jo knows that. But the sight of her still knocks the wind out of her a little.

Because she's beautiful. God, she's so beautiful. And she's letting Jo see her like this, even after everything. Even after being accused of something she didn't do. Even after Jo all but shut the door on her.

Jo feels like her hands are shaking. Not from nerves, not exactly. It’s something heavier. Something deeper. Guilt, yes, but more than that—gratitude. Relief. A kind of love that scrapes up her throat and catches in her chest and makes it hard to speak, hard to breathe. She doesn’t try to put it into words. Instead, she just leans in, kissing Paige again—slow this time, and soft. Not asking for anything. Just there.

And then Paige reaches down and pulls Jo’s half-zip off for her, exposing the thin black sports bra underneath. Their chests press together and Jo thinks she might actually combust from how warm and real and close this all is again. She’s missed this. Missed her. Missed being them, even if it hasn't been that long.

Jo's mouth moves instinctively—along Paige's jaw, her pulse point, the delicate slope of her neck. She kisses over the places where Paige's skin is warmest, where her breath catches, where Jo can feel her heartbeat pulsing just beneath the surface. Each kiss says something: I'm sorry. I love you. You're real. I'm here.

She trails them down slowly to Paige's collarbone and then further, her lips brushing along Paige's breasts, lips wrapping around one of her nipples. She feels Paige's hips twitch slightly beneath her and hears the quietest noise escape her throat—something soft, something vulnerable—and Jo pauses, letting her forehead rest against Paige's sternum for just a second.

Jo's hand slides downward, gently, and she presses her lips to Paige's ribs, just above the waistband of her sweats. Paige's breath hitches again, and Jo glances up to check with her eyes, but Paige doesn't say anything—just nods quickly. Jo hooks her fingers into Paige's sweatpants and boxers at once, sliding them down slowly, slowly, kissing her knee when it bends to help, kissing her thigh as the pale skin of it is revealed.

Jo settles between the blonde's legs, watching as Paige exhales shakily, eyes fluttering shut, hand instinctively finding Jo's hair, threading through it. Jo dips her head, kissing gently first. Soft, warm presses of her mouth to Paige's clit. She takes her time, letting herself settle into a rhythm.

And the way Paige reacts—the way she opens under her, hips twitching slightly, breath catching—makes Jo feel emotional all over again. The trust, the closeness. The way Paige is whispering her name in that shaky voice she has during this kind of thing, gasping out tings like, "baby... fuck, Jo..." like this is love and this is home and this is everything they nearly lost.

Jo's more focused than she's ever been. Careful, present. She doesn't rush like she used to a couple months ago, when she first started. She remembers being clumsy, nervous. So unsure of herself, Paige guiding her through all of it. But now, it's different. Now, she knows Paige. She knows what makes her tense and what makes her fall apart. She knows how much pressure to give, how long to hold, when to pull back.

"Baby," Paige whimpers as Jo's lips wrap around her clit, sucking. "So good. Fuck—I love you. Love you so much, Jo,"

Jo closes her eyes at that, humming softly in response, tongue swirling and flicking quicker, Paige's hand tightening in her hair. Jo keeps going, steady, until Paige's legs are trembling beneath her palms and her voice is a breathless, repeating litany of Jo's name and please and don't stop.

It doesn't take long.

Paige comes with a, "Joey, baby, I'm gonna—" and then a broken, choked moan. Jo works her through it slowly, tongue easing its pace.

She doesn't even get a second to say anything, though, before Paige pulls her in by the back of her head, kissing her like she means it. Like she’s trying to tell Jo something with her mouth that she doesn’t know how to say otherwise. Jo melts into it immediately, lets herself be kissed, lets herself get swallowed up in the heat of it. Paige tastes like sweat and sweetness and something Jo can’t name but wants to drown in.

Then, her bra is being tugged over her head, and Jo lets it happen. She lifts her arms and watches it join the growing pile of clothes. She sucks in a sharp breath when Paige shifts on top of her, and then she's the one underneath now, and it's Paige leaning over her, staring down, blue eyes practically twinkling.

Jo's stomach flips.

Paige dips her head and starts kissing across her chest, slow and unhurried. She takes her time. Her mouth is warm, wet, sucking softly at one nipple and then licking over the other. Jo makes a sound in the back of her throat that surprises her. Her hand slides into Paige's hair without thinking, fingers tangling in those messy blonde strands. Her eyes flutter closed as she arches into the touch.

"Paige," Jo whispers, barely audible, more breath than voice.

Everywhere the older girl's mouth touches sends a little shockwave straight to Jo's core. It’s not even just the physical part—though that alone would be enough—it’s the care. The attention. The way Paige isn’t rushing anything. Like she’s memorizing her, just like she's done a million times over.

Soft at first, Paige's fingertips glide across Jo's stomach, featherlight. Jo's muscles jump under the contact. She swallows thickly, heartbeat picking up. The anticipation coils tight inside her.

Paige's hand slips under her waistband, slow and careful. She moves like she's checking for permission even though Jo hasn't said—and won't be saying—no. Her breath catches as Paige's fingers slide beneath her shorts and underwear, finding slick skin and sensitive heat.

Jo opens her eyes again, finds Paige looking right at her.

She nods.

It’s small, barely perceptible. But Paige sees it.

And she smiles—this quiet, understanding thing—before leaning down to kiss her again. Not hurried. Just real. Just theirs.

Jo feels Paige’s fingers dip lower, between her legs now. She gasps, one hand tightening in Paige’s hair, the other curling against the sheets beneath them. She’s already wet—has been since she made Paige fall apart a few minutes ago—and the first touch is almost too much. She’s hypersensitive. Every nerve in her body feels like it’s tuned to Paige.

"You don't—" Jo starts before cutting herself off with a gasp. "You don't have to be so gentle—"

"I want to be," Paige murmurs, her voice low and raspy right in Jo's ear. Her fingers move slow and steady over Jo's clit, just the lightest circles. Jo can't breathe right, can hardly think straight.

The brunette's lips part like she wants to say something, but nothing comes out. Just a sharp inhale and a soft whimper. Her hips tilt without permission, chasing Paige's hand, chasing more. Always more. But Paige stays patient, almost maddeningly gentle, like she’s not in a rush to get Jo anywhere fast. Like she wants Jo to feel every second of it. And she does. It’s too much and not enough all at once.

Her breathing’s ragged now, and she doesn’t even realize she’s right up in Paige’s ear until she hears herself—these little shaky exhales that are barely words. Her fingers are still twisted in Paige’s hair, holding on like it’ll keep her grounded, but it’s not working. Nothing’s working. She’s already coming undone.

“Mm, Joey,” Paige murmurs, soft and affectionate. Jo shudders under her.

The nickname lands different when Paige says it like that, her voice low and rough, mouth brushing Jo’s neck like a whisper. There’s something about it—something real, something tender—that makes Jo’s stomach flip and her chest ache at the same time. Paige isn’t even looking at her right now, but Jo feels completely seen. Like she’s being held open, emotionally and physically, and Paige isn’t flinching.

And then Paige’s fingers slip inside her—slowly, carefully—and Jo’s whole body jerks.

“Oh my God,” she gasps, voice cracking with it.

Her legs twitch. Her back arches slightly. Her grip on Paige’s hair tightens just enough to make Paige hum into her neck again, the vibration going straight through her.

It’s not even the stretch—it’s the feeling. Of being filled. Of Paige inside her. Of how fucking gentle she’s being, even though Jo’s already a mess.

Paige kisses the side of her neck, right below her jaw. “You okay?” she murmurs, fingers still, waiting.

Jo nods fast. Too fast. “Yeah,” she breathes. “Yeah."

She doesn’t even recognize her own voice. It sounds wrecked. Desperate. Real.

Paige pulls back just enough to look at her, just for a second, and the way she’s looking—eyes half-lidded, hair a little wild, face flushed—it makes Jo’s stomach clench. Paige looks at her like she’s the only girl in the world.

Jo swallows hard. Tries to hold her gaze, but it’s too much. She looks away, cheeks burning, even as her hips roll up to meet Paige’s hand again.

Paige moves her fingers slow, deep, and steady. She knows exactly what Jo needs—enough pressure, enough rhythm, but still that soft touch that makes Jo feel like she’s being cherished, not just fucked. It's just what she wants.

Paige continues pumping her fingers as she shifts downward slightly, her hair dragging across Jo's chest. Paige is moving lower, kissing her way down, mouth trailing heat and intention. And for a split second, Jo thinks maybe she should let her. Maybe she should just stay quiet, let it happen, let Paige do whatever she wants.

But then that flicker of something—hesitation? vulnerability?—cracks through the haze, and Jo tightens. Not because she doesn’t want it. God, she wants Paige all the time, wants her in every version of every possible way. But right now… right now it's not what she needs. She doesn't need more sensation. Doesn't need more heat. She just needs Paige.

She reaches out without even thinking, slipping her arm around the back of Paige’s neck, fingers brushing lightly at her nape. Paige stills immediately, head tilting up.

“Wait,” Jo whispers, voice still wrecked, hoarse around the edges. She swallows and clears her throat, eyes searching Paige’s. “Can you just… stay up? Wanna be close to you.”

It comes out a little shakier than she means it to. A little too soft, like the words were waiting somewhere in the center of her chest and just fell out. She hopes it doesn’t sound weird. Doesn’t sound like rejection. She doesn’t want to push Paige away, not again, she wants the opposite really—she wants her here.

Paige pauses, hovering above her, the dim light catching the edge of her profile. Her face softens instantly. Something shifts in her expression, something gentle and open, and Jo swears she could cry from how easy Paige makes it feel to be honest.

“Yeah, baby,” Paige murmurs, and she leans back in, pressing a kiss to Jo’s mouth like she never left. No hesitation or confusion, just genuine understanding.

Jo’s fingers tighten against the back of Paige’s neck, like she’s scared she might slip away if she doesn’t hold her close enough. But Paige stays right there, kissing her slowly, her weight settling over her again. And even though her hand doesn’t stop—doesn’t stop moving between Jo’s legs, fingers still deep and steady—somehow it feels less about sex now. More about them. About the feeling of being known. Which is all Jo ever feels with Paige.

Jo isn’t sure how long Paige keeps touching her—how long her fingers move slow and deep inside her, how long she whispers into her mouth and kisses her through every breathless high and trembling exhale—but time has stopped mattering. The only thing Jo can register anymore is this. Paige’s weight on top of her. Her body surrounding hers like a blanket. Her hand between Jo’s thighs, slow and steady and so fucking tender it makes Jo want to cry.

It’s not just the pace, either. It’s the care. Paige listens—every time Jo’s hips shift, every gasp she lets slip out into the warm space between them, every twitch of her legs—Paige listens. Adjusts. Presses deeper. Circles tighter. She speeds up just slightly when Jo starts breathing faster, moaning against her mouth. She goes back to slow when Jo arches like she’s too close, like she needs to calm down before she loses it completely. It’s all so—attuned. Like Paige is playing her. Like Paige knows her body better than Jo ever has.

Jo can feel it building, low and hot and dizzying. The kind of orgasm that creeps up on her until it’s too late. And her body is already starting to fall apart, little tremors moving through her legs, her stomach, her chest. She’s soaking. She knows it. She can feel it with every drag of Paige’s fingers, slick and shame-free.

"You're doin' so good, baby," Paige whispers, her lips brushing the skin of Jo's ear between words.

Jo whimpers, her head falling back, neck arched, mouth open and useless. "P..."

"Mm, I know. I know, Joey." Paige kisses the edge of her jaw, the corner of her mouth. "Just breathe. I got you."

And then Paige curls her fingers just right and presses her thumb with a little more pressure on her clit and Jo breaks.

The orgasm hits hard—fast and unforgiving—and Jo cries out, a sharp, breathless sound that feels like it comes from somewhere buried under her ribs. Her thighs lock up around Paige’s hand, legs trembling, chest heaving. She clutches at Paige’s back with both arms, desperate and wordless, just trying to anchor herself.

“I got you,” Paige murmurs, her voice calm and close and steady. She slows down again, working Jo through it, kissing her softly, over and over. “I got you, I got you."

And Jo just nods. Eyes squeezed shut, mouth against Paige’s neck. She holds on until her muscles finally give out, her body limp and shaking in the aftermath.

They stay like that for a while—no rush to separate, no need to fill the silence. Paige eventually slips her hand out, wiping it gently on the blanket, and Jo doesn’t flinch when she touches her stomach. She doesn’t even look away. Just breathes, lets her heart slow down, lets her chest rise and fall against Paige’s, feeling her own body come back to itself.

Later—she doesn’t know how much later—they’re lying on their sides, tangled up in sheets that don’t quite cover everything, skin warm and still a little sticky from sweat and each other. The lights are low. The room is quiet in that safe way, where nothing has to be said unless they want to say it. And Jo doesn’t want to talk. Not yet. She’s never felt like this before. Not just sated, but… settled. Like everything that used to rattle around inside her has finally found a place to rest.

Paige’s fingers are tracing gentle lines along her back. Slow, meandering. Like she’s drawing her own version of a map, just for Jo. And Jo lets her. She keeps her eyes closed, her forehead pressed to Paige’s collarbone, one leg hooked lazily over her thigh.

She doesn’t know how to explain what this feels like. Just that it’s not scary. Not anymore.

“Still with me?” Paige mumbles after a while, voice rough with sleep.

Jo hums. “Mmhm.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Jo whispers. Then, after a second: “You?”

Paige shifts just enough to kiss the top of her head. “Yeah.”

Jo opens her eyes slowly, blinking at the soft shadows on the ceiling. Then she tilts her face up, finds Paige already looking at her. Their eyes meet in that quiet way—no dramatics, no swelling music, just two people staring at each other like maybe they’ve figured it out. Maybe this is the part where things stop running from them.

Jo brushes her thumb across Paige’s ribs, right over the place her breath moves. "I love you."

Paige grins down at her, as real as anything Jo has ever seen. "I know."

[chocomintyyyyyyy]

Yeah we're gonna neec a part 2 of that Madara fic wheres just smut PLEASEE

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: 𝑫𝒐𝒎!𝑼𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒉𝒂 𝑴𝒂𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎! 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝒕𝒘: 𝑏𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑔𝑒, 𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑛𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑑𝑒𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑠𝑒𝑥 𝑚𝑎𝑛ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑔𝑎𝑔𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑝 𝑖𝑛 𝑣, 𝑒𝑥ℎ𝑖𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑠𝑚, 𝑝𝑒𝑡 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠, 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑠, 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚𝑝𝑖𝑒

𝒂/𝒏: 𝑖 𝑎𝑚 𝑠𝑜 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒. 𝐼 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑚! ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑡 𝑎 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑝𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑙𝑢𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞ 𝑖'𝑙𝑙 𝑙𝑒𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑. 𝐼𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑚𝑢𝑡 𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑢𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦.

𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑎 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡2 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑦 𝑀𝑎𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑡. 𝐸𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦𝑦𝑦

_________________________________________

One thing about Uchiha Madara, he never back away from his promises. If a man can't keep his promises, it means he's a cunt. At least that what's he believed in.

He promised himself, one month and he'll stuff you full with his brat. Preferably a boy as the next heir.

That's precisely why he told Hashirama that he'll be taking a one month honeymoon vacation with his sister. He couldn't deny it, you're so sexy it almost impossible for him to leave you alone after your first night.

You're just too pretty to resist.

"N-no .. M-m ahh!" You felt like your hips might break at any moment. Madara didn't stop, he kept going, thrusting his dick even further up your pretty cunt. A smirk form on his lips as his cock bully it's way into your tight little cunt. The lips of your pussy already sore from how long he has been fucking you.

" Stop *spank* moving *spank* you *spank* whore!" He snarled through his teeth. Your cries only fuels his desire even more. The way your soft skin turns red from his spanking, the red hickeys all over your neck, collarbone and chest are the prove of how insatiable you.

Madara kept spanking your already red and bloodied ass. Few droplets of blood mixing with your sweat as he grope the perfect round ass of yours. He grab it hard and another smack landed, making your body jerk up from the pain. He likes it. He knows you love the pain when he spanks you for the first time.

You were acting sassy while he bend you over his study table one night. You demanded to go home since you missed your brothers but he was having none of it.

You're an Uchiha now. Why bother going back to the Senju's? Are you trying to make him look bad? Are you trying to tell the whole Konoha that you're bored with him already?

Madara pressed your face on the pillow, his hand gripping your hair tightly, making the skin around your neck turned red from the force. He made sure to tie your hands with your panties tightly, leaving no room for you to escape. You're such a good wife for him.

The sounds of wet skin slapping against balls echoes throughout your shared bedroom. He knows that his servants are around, waiting for his call in case he needs food or for him to tell them to prepare a hot bath for you. He intentionally fucking you roughly so his clansmen can hear.

He needs to give them some warning and also, he loves to show his physical prowess to others. He wants them to know how much of a whore (y/n) Senju is.

"M-m ahh! P-please... S-slow-" Your words were muffled by the soft pillow. The tip of his dick hitting your cervix at every thrust, making you seeing stars. His cock is too big for you even though he trained you to take it every single day. His monstrous strength is also a problem for you.

The pillow were drenched by your tears. The messy lipstick stain on your lips and the melted mascara already stained the case.

"What? Faster?" He said before going in an even faster pace. Your choked moans are music to his ears. His cock buried deeper inside your cunt, the bulge on your stomach is a proof of how deep his dick goes inside.

He loves seeing you bound, weak and at his mercy. Madara started to slow down with his pace, he watches your reaction. Despite your pleas for him to slow down, it looks like you enjoyed it more with him being rough with you. Unconsciously your needy whimper alongside with your ass pressed against him making him laugh sarcastically.

"See how much of a slut are you?" He said.

*smack!*

"Ah!"

"You don't like me going faster huh? Is that it?*smack!*"

Madara kept going. Smacks after smack follows through until you begged him to stop. Your desperate cries filling the air.

"See how needy you are for me princess?" He said and thrust inside your pussy again, the tip of his cock hitting your g-spot nonstop, your wails were muffled by the pillow as he pressed your face further.

"Look at you princess. Look how you take me so well." He slow down before letting go of your hair. Your cries became louder as you tilted your head to the side. Your gummy walls clenching hard around his cock, didn't let go.

"You're such a whore aren't you? You beg me to stop but your pussy didn't want me too. I didn't know Tobirama's sister is such a slut." He smirks. Your body twitches as he mentioned your brother's name.

"D-d.. don't say tha- at.." You panted, your heart race as you see his smirks. Madara smirks turned into a smile.

"Why? You're afraid that he knows how much you love being fuck by me? By your enemy?" He laughed. Once again Madara smacked your ass hard, the crimson skin burns and you could only let out a whimper.

"Your womb is full of my Uchiha's seeds princess. I'll fuck you so full of my seeds that you'll have no choice but to bear my heir. I'll make your brother's life miserable and I'll fuck you every single day until you gave me my heir princess." He activated his sharingan without him knowing it. His hand once again gripping your hair tightly, pressing your face back to the pillow.

You think you've lost your voice for now. His big hand left such a huge print on your skin, it hurts more than when he whipped you with his leather belt.

"M'sorry! M' sorry!" You cried out, couldn't take the humiliation anymore.

It's all started because you're too sassy for your own good. He said no but you threatened to tell Hashirama to take you if he didn't let you go back to meet them. You regretted the night where he finally snaps and kept punishing every time you do something that he wasn't fond off. You thought he's like Tobirama, cold, doesn't get pissed easily but you're wrong.

Your voice turned hoarse after lots of screaming and begging. His laugh only made you scared. You never knows your older brother best friend is actually a kinky guy. He takes pleasure in dominating and take charge in the bedroom. You always knows that he's a bit strange but this is on another level.

He got a weird kinks that you didn't know until he showed it to you. It unlocked the other side of you that you never know.

Madara scoffed at your pathetic attempt of apology. He pulled your head up, tilting it slightly before he look at your messy face. Lipstick stains and melted mascara painted your perfect face. His infamous smirks appears.

"What are you sorry for? Huh?" He whispered, waiting for your answer.

You gulp. Tears started to stream down your face again.

"M-m.. 'm sorry for... b-being a brat M-mada." You said while hiccuping.

*smack!*

"M-my- Lord! My Lord! 'm sorry!" You choked on your tears as he spanks your rear.

Madara smile before pulling you into a kiss. His rough kisses almost made you lost your breath. His tongue push through your lips before sucking on yours. He deepens the kiss before his hips moving again. The thrust became faster and faster every second.

He uses his free hand to find your clit. His callous finger rubbing and circling the bud in an awfully fast pace. You moans were shut down by his kiss. Madara was so lost in the sex that he didn't even care when his servants knocked on the door.

"Cum. Cum right now princess." He instructed, his dick hitting your g-spot, abusing the gummy walls with his speed. In the span of 30 minutes, you've came multiple times that you can't even remember but he didn't even cum even once. His endurance is no joke.

"A- ah! M-mada!" You felt your legs shakes violently before your stomach twisted into a knot. You came on his cock, drenching his big cock with your cum. Your body went limp but his grip on your hair tighten as he thrust his cock roughly inside your cunt.

"My lord." The sound of his guards shock you. Your eyes widen when you see his men at the shoji door, awkwardly looking on the floor while Madara still chasing his orgasm.

"M-mada." You called out before he stuff three fingers inside your mouth, shutting you off completely. He fastened his pace, chasing his release from your tight cunt.

Madara thrust deep inside your cunt, chasing his orgasm before finally releases the huge loads of his cum deep inside your fertile cunt. He made sure to thrust a few times more before finally pulling his cock out from your pussy. The pearly liquid dripping out from your pussy, drenching the futon while he wiped his cum-coated dick with his fingers and scooping the wasted seed on the futon.

He creampied you so many many times already. He hope by the end of the month that you will get pregnant. Or else he have to stuff your pussy full again.

Madara push the remaining cum back inside your pulsating pussy. He made sure none of the liquid drip down to the futon before sealing your already sore pussy with the metal plug that he specifically made for you. You whimper softly as you feel the cold steel being push inside your pussy. The width of the plug is bigger than his cock, making it hurt and uncomfortable for your pussy. Even after being fucked by Madara, your hole still tight and it drives him crazy.

"What is it?!" He asked in a thunderous voice when he turned his head from your sexy body.

Madara didn't bother to wrapped his body with the blanket for modesty in front of his men. He slightly push the blanket to your tired body before got up, his dick jutted proudly, half hard before he grab his robe from the floor.

His men gulps before lowered their head. They know what awaits for them if they ever set their eyes to your naked body.

"T-the Hokage and Senju Tobirama is here to meet Lady (y/n)." The man said before clearing his throat.

"They won't go away even though we told them too." His friend added.

Your head jerks up as you heard about your brothers. Panic begin to seeps inside your system.

'They're here?!"

Madara push his hair back, giving his view more access. Muttering several curse words to his friends for the inappropriate time of his visit, Madara told his guards to invite them inside the house before finding another clean pair of underwear around the floor. He quickly change into his usual kimono.

"W-wait!" You called out, your head tilted aside to meet his eyes.

Madara gave you an amused look before tie his hair up.

"What?" He said.

"I- I want to meet my brothers." You said weakly.

Your ass is hurts, so does your whole body. Madara really didn't spare you today. You look at Madara, hoping he would help but instead he only untie the panties from your wrist and throw the fabric away.

"You can't even get up, let alone walk." He said coldly. You pouted at his words, tears slowly starting to well up on the corner of your eye.

He pinch the bridge of his nose, you're as stubborn as Hashirama. He kneel next to you, his hand holding your face softly.

" Stay here. Or I'll make sure to punish you really hard that you can't even talk." He threatened before kissing your shoulder softly. He managed to add several more red marks on your shoulder blade. His hand rub your crimson ass softly as he heard you wince.

"Rest princess. I'll tell the servants to give you a bath." He said before got up.

Pink hue appears on your cheeks before you hide your face on the pillow. You heard his footsteps slowly disappearing from the room.

"Oh." He stops on his track.

"Your punishment isn't over yet." He smirks. Without even seeing your expression, he knows that you're as pale as ghost right now.

"When I get back, I expected you to be on your all four Princess. A brat doesn't deserve any rest isn't it?" His cold voice sounded very threatening to you right now.

Goosebumps got all over you body, realizing how much deep in trouble you are now.

[turb05ynth]

where is your relic? pt. 1 | ridoc gamlyn x reader

word count: 1.7k

warnings: spoilers from fourth wing, no smut in this part, smut in series that is relevant to plot

tags: gn! reader, use of y/n, fourth wing, ridoc gamlyn, friends to lovers

part summary: y/n realizes the man she claims is her friend means more than that to her.

series summary: y/n and ridoc are friends who have supported each other through basgiath with endless jokes and relentless teasing. that's it. just friends. right? however, after threshing, their desire for each other becomes insatiable as the jokes and teasing start to blur the line between friends and something more.

a/n: hey everyone ! so this part is super uneventful because i am just trying to get this story out to motivate me to write more. this is the first thing i have ever wrote so please don't judge too harshly ! i am starting this blog to improve my writing skills so if you have any comments please let me know !

requests are open || i only have limited ideas, please please please share any requests you have !

Threshing. You made it, you survived Basgiath this far. Far enough to get your own dragon. Like most days in the Riders Quadrant you haven't gotten much sleep but you force your eyes awake and lace up your boots.

Slipping out of the small, dark room that houses what is remaining of the first year students you make your way to breakfast. Usually, you are one of the first ones there, ready to scarf down the best of the food before the remaining riders take it all, but, today the room is filled with riders waiting for Threshing to begin.

As you scan the room, your gaze meets a pair of warm, honey brown eyes across the dining hall. You can't help but feel warmth rush to your cheeks as you lock eyes. Of course, you have had your fair share of hookups with other riders these past few weeks but no one has brought butterflies to your stomach through just eye contact. No one besides Ridoc that is.

The man is everything you could dream of. When you first saw him on the parapet you were ridden with anxiety and began babbling nonsense but Ridoc calmed you down. When you stumbled, he yelled motivation through the wind that kept your ground. He could have brushed you off as competition and let you succumb to your pessimistic thoughts as you fell off to your death, but he didn't. Without him you don't know if you would have made it past Conscription Day .

Since then, you have grown close. You bicker and tease like friends do but sometimes you can't wonder if there is something more. You notice yourself smiling a little harder when he enters the room and starting at him holding back laughter as he sits next to you in history whispering stupid jokes. You can't deny he is handsome with a smile that could brighten your worst days and the way he has begun to fill in his uniform since the parapet is always a bonus. Of course, you would never admit this to yourself or anyone else because it's impossible that Ridoc feels the same. Right?

You are brought back to reality as you see the man from your thoughts call you over to the table where he is currently shoving his face with food.

"Y/N! Over here," his voice sounds across the dining hall muffled by the muffin he is chewing as his muscular arm waves so you can see him amongst the crowd of cadets.

As you head over to his table, you abandon the thought of breakfast, the anticipation for the day ahead smothering your appetite. You try to convince yourself that it is the fact that most of the food that doesn't cause indigestion has been eaten by the other cadets instead to avoid bruising your pride. A rider shouldn't get nervous after all.

"Good morning everyone," you grumbled to the people at the table as you swinging your legs over the bench, taking a seat next to Ridoc.

"Hey, sleep well?" Sawyer is the first to respond, sympathizing with the anxious look you sport as he was in the same position last year. You couldn't understand why a dragon wouldn't choose him, he was the epitome of a perfect rider. That just made you more worried, would you have to repeat a year too. Watch all your friends move ahead while you are left behind? Of course the alternative that they die is possible but you choose to bury that thought.

We will all survive. You think, sending a quick prayer to Zihnal.

"World to y/n??" You hear Ridoc say from your left side, hand on your shoulder, as you are brought out of your thoughts.

"Sorry, I didn't get much sleep. Nervous about Threshing." You mumble in response to Sawyers previous question as you turn to stare at Ridoc. You can't help but take him in. He has grown so much since the day you first saw him and his warm scent of vanilla surrounds you like the comforting hug you crave now. More than anything, you pray he survives. The world needs Ridoc, you need Ridoc.

"Me too, but we made it this far. That has to mean something? Right?" Rhiannon suggests as she picks at her plate, drawing your attention away from the man you were just fawning over. You notice her not eating anything, just moving the food around.

"Right," Sawyer begins from next to her, "Don't worry, we will find our dragons. Stay strong, dragons don't choose those who worry." While his words are reassuring, you can hear a hint of insecurity in his voice. Almost as if Sawyer is trying to convince himself that repeating a year has not gone to waste.

You offer him a sympathetic smile as you feel Ridoc's hand slip off of you toward the glass of water in front of him.

"Besides, we are the most badass riders Basgiath has seen. Why would they not choose us?" You hear Ridoc joke from besides you as he brings the glass to his lips and takes a sip. While you hear giggles erupt from Rhi and a chuckle from Sawyer, you can't help but plaster a genuine smile on your face. Maybe it would all be okay.

As you look around the table, your eyebrows furrow when you notice someone is missing: Violet. You ask the people at the table, "Do you know where Vi is?"

"She wasn't feeling hungry this morning and said she would catch up with us later. I hope she is fine though, I know she was scared about today." Rhiannon responds with a bit of worry lacing her voice as she speaks about her friend.

You nod in understanding as your face begins to relax. All you want is your squad to survive Threshing and move on together, your whole squad. You have grown to be close friends and can't imagine Basgiath without them.

"Speaking of hunger, I saved you some food for you princess. I know, I know, no need to thank me. I am such a gentleman." Ridoc exclaims from next to you as he slide over his tray with fruit.

While you sincerely appreciate the thought you can't help but gag a little at the thought of eating, your stomach already churning from anxiety. Meeting Ridoc's eyes you push the plate back and reach you hand for his muscular bicep as you chuckle, "Thank you kind sir, but I think a man as strong as you surely needs the energy more than me."

As you feel the muscle tense under your touch, you can't help but keep your hand there. He really has gotten strong, you can feel the definition through his uniform and blood rushes to your cheeks as you drop your gaze from his and quickly pull your hand back in your lap. Fuck you can't change feelings for him, he is your best friend. You can't ruin this.

"You flatter me angel but you really should eat something." He responds with genuine concern in his voice hidden behind his classic smirk as he begins peeling an orange and handing you the slices.

"Thanks Ridoc," you say as you take the slices and pop them into your mouth, "What would I do without you?"

The words draw a giggle from him but you aren't sure if he understands the truth behind them. You truly aren't sure what you would do without him.

You spend the little time you have left at breakfast chatting with those at the table, an attempt to ease your mind from the reality that will face you shortly. There isn't a dragon in specific you felt drawn to at Presentation which only worries you more about your fate in the quadrant. Rhiannon seems excited as she talks about the green daggertail she seemed connected to and Sawyer shared his affection for a red swordtail.

For the first time, you felt Ridoc quite next to you. You wondered if he was nervous too. Turning to look up at him you saw how focused he was on the conversation between Rhi and Sawyer. Of course he wasn't scared, what could scare Ridoc? Almost as if he felt you looking he turned to you and offered you a smile before leaning towards your ear.

"Everything okay darling?" He whispered squeezing your thigh in reassurance.

You nearly choked on the orange you were eating as you felt his warm breath tickle your neck and his hand spanning the greater part of your leg. God you can't keep denying how he makes you feel, when your with him the whole world pauses. You get lost in his eyes and feel your breath hitch.

"Yeah, yeah.. yeah, I'm fine." You breathed out attempting to stop your racing heart.

"If you say so." His hand brushing your leg as he slides it off.

You wish you could yell out for him to stop, to keep his hand there. You know you can't, how could you? Nothing was certain in the Riders Quadrant and there was no way Ridoc could feel the same about you, almost everyone in the quadrant found the man next to you charming so why would he choose you. That's why you settle, friends is better than nothing and there is no way you could ruin that.

As breakfast came to an end you all said your goodbyes, rushing to your respective bunks to change and get prepared for Threshing. You try to shake the thoughts from earlier today and focus on how one of the most important days of your life is in an hour, but you can't. You are ridden by anxiety.

You replay Ridoc's voice like it's your favorite song and your thigh tingles with emptiness like his hand was the only thing keeping it complete. You think about all the days where he missed lectures to pull mischievous pranks where you felt like a part of you was gone and how you looked around the hallways to see if you could spot him between classes. You recall that when you would train together his hand would stay on waist a moment too long and how when studying together you both tripped over your words as you caught yourselves getting lost in each others eyes.

Tying up your leathers and sheathing your daggers into your sides, you finally admit to yourself. You are in love with your best friend.

"Fuck."

As you close the door behind you, you push your thoughts down. It is not the time for emotional epiphanies, you have a dragon to bond.

[wishjacked]

more recent cargo pages :-)

i really am just so glad about finishing volume one... it feels SO good to be starting on the next part of the story and i'm so happy to have gotten to this little milestone. it feels so special

[illou-sainte]

What happens to disobedient wives?

pairings: doctor!zayne x assistant/wife!reader

cw: unprotected sex, impregnation, jealous!zayne, possessiveness, lots of cum, dom!zayne, sub!reader, breeding kink, hickeys, marking, mentions of reader being a cumslut, kind of nasty sex (lol)

Zayne is determined that the silver band wrapped around your finger isn't enough to let others know that you're married.

Zayne's assistant---also his lovely wife, you're always tasked to assist him every time. When working in the ER, it requires to take off any accessories---including your wedding ring.

Zayne understands that, because he does that too---but you on the other hand, you'd always forget to wear your ring even if you're not working in the ER. Zayne brought it up since it bothered him a lot and of course, you immediately apologized to your husband---assuring him that you won't forget to wear it next time.

But, you'd always forget---silly you :(

His last nerve was struck, when one of his patients asked him---if you are married or not. Since, you weren't wearing a ring around your finger---nor showed any signs that you have a lover.

It angered him, as he spat back to the patient, telling him that he shouldn't be asking for confidential information about their medical helpers, especially about the head doctor's wife---of course, he didn't mention that part to the patient.

Zayne knew he needs to put senses on you.

Your back arches when Zayne's gritty cock slammed inside your plushed tight pussy. You were already overstimulated, the mix of both of your sweats dripping against your hot bodies. Your moans and whimpers filling your shared bedroom. You can feel the gushing and leaking of his cum and your juices oozing out of your entrance.

The covers of your shared bed are soaked with it, but he doesn't care.

This man's stamina is above all.

He's been fucking you dumb for hours, in every position. Stretching you so good---his cock kissing and reaching every part of your aching pussy.

You can't recall how many times this man has been deep fucking his cum inside your womb---you were sure that he's plotting on something.

He placed his right hand over your wrists--- trapping you under. The way your ass arches---like a little cumslut you are to him. You were in full bliss as he fills you up with ropes after ropes of his loading hot cum.

Always been so good to him since day one.

Leaning against your back, kissing and leaving hickeys over your nape making you shudder while you cried out and moaned---telling him to not leave marks because you still have shifts tomorrow.

But, he doesn't budge---continuing to mark you as he please. His thumb rubbing circles over the finger where your wedding ring is.

As if he's giving you hints what would happen if you ever forget wearing it.

"This is what happens to disobedient wives like you"

The same patient visited the Akso Hospital a few months in, standing at the front desk and asked the nurse if you were available at the moment. Holding a bouquet of flowers while he waits for a reply.

"Oh, Dr. Zayne's wife? Sorry she's in maternity leave."

You now know, what happens if you forget to wear your ring! <3.

masterlist

[kngrose]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐀𝐓 𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐎 𝐈'𝐌 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐃...

imagine a situationship with sevika

WARNINGS: mentions of cheating, drinking, bi! reader but wlw, eventual smut, modern au

from roselí. ᡣ𐭩 : i have way too many thoughts about this— this will have multiple parts. see part two here. ^^

It wasn’t supposed to happen. You didn’t plan for it. But somewhere along the line, something changed. Your relationship had gotten too… comfortable. At first, the changes were subtle; He wasn’t saying anything outlandish, nothing to make you question your relationship.

But there were small instances, ones where he’d forget plans you made, or when he’d linger on his phone a little longer than usual in your company. You told yourself it was nothing; he might just be a little more stressed than usual– maybe there’s something personal he’s going through.

But as time passed, the pattern became clearer. Conversations that used to flow easily were now strained, almost forced, filled with half-hearted responses. He didn't pick up on the little things anymore; your new manicure or your haircut you had gotten to perfectly frame your face, in hopes that he would notice.

He wouldn’t be as passionate anymore, the fire he once held slowly dimming before your eyes. It was disheartening. The spark that once kept your relationship alive is fading, and you're left with a gnawing feeling of emptiness that you can’t quite explain.

And then there was her.

It wasn’t anything too large, the event. Just a kickback amongst some of your shared friends and some extras they’d invited. You’d tagged along with your boyfriend who’d long forgotten about you, chopping it up with a few of the guys on the couch. You felt a sour twinge in your gut as you sat beside him; this is the most enthusiasm he’s shown in weeks.

You’d noticed her in your solitude; shooting you glances across the room. Similar to you, she hadn’t said much of anything, just idly man-spread on the neighboring couch, red cup held loosely in her hand. You’ve never seen her before… you wonder whose friend she is.

You can't help but return the glances– look at her. Her broad shoulders, her thighs, her hands decorated with rings. The piercings that decorate her face. Those eyes, assessing you as she circles the rim of her cup with an index finger, a little smirk forming on her dark lips.

How could you help it– when she’s just radiating with unspoken confidence? It’s captivating, drawing you in like a deer in headlights. There’s a sharpness in her eyes that unsettles you, and yet, something about it excites you. She’s not like anyone you’ve ever seen.

You realized later that she was just waiting. Waiting for your boyfriend to excuse himself so she could move in. It’ll make you wonder later, how much of this she premeditated. It doesn’t take her long to approach you when he leaves, sliding into the spot next to you curtly, smirking as she meets your eyes. She’s beautiful up close.

She’s looking at you with that calculating gaze, making it clear she’s intrigued. She scans your face up and down, “Like your hair… suits you.”

Her voice was deep, commanding, like she had the power to bend the world to her will. You feel your cheeks warm under her gaze, touching your hair softly. “Thank you.” You manage to retort, embarrassingly glancing away. When you shot your eyes back to hers your breath got caught in your chest, her gaze is unwavering. A chuckle rumbles from her throat, “You’re cute.”

But it's not just the look—it’s the way she speaks to you. It’s amazing how easily she manages to fluster you, it’s effortless. Sevika, you learn that her name is, charms you with her dry humor and college stories, entertaining you the entirety of the night.

She tells you about all of the petty fights she’s been in, and all of her run ins with the police. Some of which are so descriptive you have to wonder if she’s being generous with the details. All the while she’s charming you up, placing a hand on your knee, then to your thigh, drawing small circles. You take note of the way she seems to fixate on your hair, constantly moving it from your face or twisting the strands between her fingers.

The flirtation feels different—darker. Her voice rumbles with a kind of quiet power, and when her hand brushes against yours, it lingers just a little too long. You want to pull away, but instead, you stay. The tension builds, and despite your better judgment, a part of you is drawn to it. To her.

You wish you could go back in time and slap yourself. You knew better than to get yourself alone with this girl, this freakishly charismatic, freakishly, randomly attractive girl. But you let her lead you away to a secluded hallway of the house, her excuse being the music was too loud.

And she continued conversing with you, leaning against the wall and swallowing down the rest of the cup. She huffed out something between a scoff and a laugh, “You a nanny or somethin’?” You shot her a confused look in response. She looked down, nodding her head towards the red cup in your hand. “You’re babysitting.” 

“Oh, this…” You mutter, swirling the drink around plainly. “Not much of a drinker.” You notice the roll of her eyes as she pushes herself off the wall and your breath hitches as she closes in on you. She pulls the cup from your hand, raising a large hand to your chin to tilt your head back. You barely manage to sputter, “What are you doing–!” before she orders you to, “Open,” nudging your chin softly.

You lock eyes with her for the umpteenth time, her eyes filled with something different this time around. You hesitantly part your lips, allowing her to pour the rest of the content into your mouth. There’s a soft groan leaving her mouth as she watches some of it spill from the corner of your lips down your chin.

The way her eyes lingered on your lips made your heart race. You were suddenly aware of how close you were, how her scent filled your senses, how her gaze felt like a slow burn.

You don’t say anything, but you can feel the heat between you both, the pull that’s been growing stronger with each passing second. Before you know it, she’s kissing you—rough and urgent, her hands gripping your hips with a hunger that matches the storm brewing inside you. Her kiss is overwhelming, like a fire that consumes you whole. You melt into it, into her, not thinking about the consequences, not thinking about him.

The moment ends just as quickly as it began, but the aftershocks are impossible to ignore. You stand there, breathless, disoriented, and yet, there’s a part of you that doesn’t regret it. It feels raw, real, and alive in a way you haven’t felt in a long time.

You pull away from Sevika, your chest tight with confusion and shame. But Sevika just watches you, unfazed. There’s no sympathy in her gaze, in fact, all you could register was a sly smirk on her lips. Sevika moves to stand close to you, her presence overwhelming, wrapping a hand around your throat, "What's holding you back?" she mumbles against your lips.

And in that moment, you realize that nothing is holding you back. You’ve already made your choice without even knowing it.

There’s no turning back now.  

please let me know if you would like to be added to my taglist to be notified everytime i post, xx

taglist: @opropheticsoul

[lostazuree]

WELL HELLO THERE!!

Really nice to meet you btw!

I wanted to ask for some hq smut. Short thingsies or hc are ok for me! I want the Wedding night, like, no brutal fucking, genuinly making love to fem reader.

I really really want Oikawa n Tsukishima and if you feel like him too, i would love Sakusa too

THANK U SM OMFG 🫶😭

⚝₊˚𖦹౨ৎ— Wedding Night.ᐟ ♡

⚝ Haikyuu!! Boys x Reader!

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: Wedding night love making! -NSFW, Praise, soft smut, fluff-ish, penetration, light cussing.

ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ: Oikawa Tooru, Tsukishima Kei, Iwaizumi Hajime, Kuroo Tetsurou, Miya Atsumu, Kageyama Tobio .ᐟ

𖦹 ᴏɪᴋᴀᴡᴀ ᴛᴏᴏʀᴜ .ᐟ

This man was beaming the whole day, wider than ever before, too quiet, like one wrong word and he might wake up to an empty bed for the end of his dream. He was a giddy schoolgirl when he saw you in that dress, wanting to cry when you walked down the aisle. He couldn't wait for these guests to leave, so he could have you to himself.

When you both reached the room, he lifted you up and twirled you around, grinning in not the usual charming way, but a more genuine, boyish way as he whispered, "God, finally, finally. I can't breathe!" He settled you down on his bed, laying you down while his lips were latched to yours, he mumbled in a few praises about how good you looked, how lucky he is to get to call you his wife now as you both giggled over things previously unsaid, and how he's now acting all sappy. He lied you down on the bed, unzipping your dress.

"You looked so, so stunning tonight, I forgot I was even there, angel." He hummed, looking at you with a faint smile as he took a moment to admire you, hands trailing down every inch like he's been dreaming of this for too long, in that moment, I believe he'd want to drop his teasing & cocky persona for the moment, (Do not get used to it) He's thanking to whatever supreme deity there is above, because this is his greatest win in life.

He makes it his goal to make this as good as possible, to pour his soul about just how much he loves you, in ways his words would fail to express, he wants to show you just how much. Leaving faint lovebites on your neck he's sure to get swatted for in the morning, his mouth trailing low, and hands even lower. "Tell me to stop when it gets too much.", oh, sweetheart. He's practically fawning over you, eyes darting everywhere as he pulls your thighs apart, tip sliding against your entrance, soon lowering himself into you, slowly, like he wants you to feel every inch of him, giving you time to breathe. "Y'know, I really lucked out in highschool." He hummed in your ear, voice laced with something you couldn't pin down. He was enjoying this, these little ministrations were getting to him. Praises, praises, & praises as he's cupping your breast, lightly pinching the nipple while your eyes roll back. He's just giddy, slow yet deep thrusts delving into you while his hands caress you and hold you down, your hands tangling in strands of his hair, tugging him closer, his cock hitting your spots repeatedly, unhurriedly, hands pinning yours to the bed when he picks up a steadier pace, while he's kissing you over and over again till you fall apart on his hands, "T-..Toru..", absolutely thrives on sounds. "On it." Doesn't give you a chance to complain as he pushes himself deeper, not rough, just slow. His thrusts soon falter when you two near, eventually releasing. Will hold you and cuddle you to sleep afterwards, whispering in your ear how he's once again that lovesick second year who fell for you. He plops down on the bed breathlessly beside you. "I promise to love you and cherish you whole heartedly, forever, even if death do us part, and I'd love you now and forever, until the next life I get to share with you." No way did this idiot just recite his vows again after ...sex?! "Toru, you fuckin' dumbass.", "Just makin' sure, wifey." and he chuckled, for this is what he wants to wake up to everyday, for you are the win for everytime he lost in his life. -And honestly, you wouldn't have it any other way.

𖦹 ᴛꜱᴜᴋɪꜱʜɪᴍᴀ ᴋᴇɪ .ᐟ

He really didn't care that it was his day as well. It was yours. He really couldn't care less about the wedding guests, if he'd be asked to recall his favourite parts of the wedding, there won't be a single face other than yours in his head.

The whole ceremony, he looked nowhere but you. And finally when the 'lousy guests' as he says, were gone, he couldn't wait to get you. He's smiling, watching you twirl around in your dress, showing off how pretty you looked. "Of course you did, I picked that dress." He looks at you with such a fond little smile, grabbing you by the hand as he pulls you on the bed with him, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. "You looked jaw-dropping." he included while you loosened his tie, exchanging a few snarky remarks about how you just can't get your hands off him.

But soon, he's the one who can't get his hands off you. Pushing your dress off your shoulders, he's visibly taken aback by the view, audibly swallowing as he whispers in, a few praises that sound foreign to his own ears. He's not a man of many words, but he'll gladly fill your ears with praises if he gets his fill of you. Leaning in, he kisses your lips, before those kisses trail down your neck, to your chest, like he's trying to engrave every inch to his brain through his lips. You hummed something about him taking credit as usual, hands tangling in his hair, and he smirked. He lays you flat against the bed as you two bicker about how your life turned out here from your highschool days, giggles and chuckles turning into moans, gasps and whimpers as he's into you, pulling out- not all the way before going back in, slow, considerate. "Back then I never knew why you stuck around, but I guess, now you're stuck around, forever.", "Willingly. Ring off or on." you muttered out breathlessly with a smile. And he gives you such a childish, sheepish even, grin. "I suppose that's right, You never stopped being cheesy." He leaned in to kiss you before you could make any sounds of protest at his reply, his kiss deep and passionate like he's been meaning to pour confessions worth a decade into it. He retains his pace, slow, deep thrusts into your aching cunt, holding your thighs stable in his hands when he feels your body shaking, walls clenching around his length, he bites his lip, letting out a shaky exhale as he kisses your forehead.

"Mhm..you're doing such a good job, darling." His voice is so uncharacteristically soft, like he's trying to reassure both you and himself that it's happening really happening, his eyes never leaving yours. And after a while, his pace and rhythm falters, he grunts, tilting your head up as he presses another kiss to your forehead while you both come undone. He holds you in his arms, hands running through your hair as he whispers some breathless promises that you both are too hazy to remember, "You've no idea how much I've dreamt of this, Mrs. Tsukishima." and that comment doesn't just make you giddy, but also him.

𖦹 ɪᴡᴀɪᴢᴜᴍɪ ʜᴀᴊɪᴍᴇ .ᐟ

It's one of those rare times you've never seen him in a rush, one of those times where he's patient, happy, like he's genuinely filming this whole day in his head, filming you in his head, because he knows he'll never live this day again.

He stayed back, waving those guests off, making you wonder whether if this was even the same man before he scooped you up in his arms, carrying you to the room with the widest grin you've seen on him. "God, you look so pretty, I can't take my eyes off of you." He chuckled, crashing his lips with yours as he set you down on the bed.

"Hard to believe I bagged a wife, one as pretty as you, love." He rested his forehead against you as you began to loosen his tie, his hands slowly, carefully undressing you like he's unwrapping a present, which is true, after all, you are kind of one, to him. He took a moment to admire you, his calloused hands hovering over your skin hesitantly before you pulled him closer and he got the message. His hands now roaming over your body like he's analyzing a court, his eyes focused, but soft, his lips dragging themselves from your lips to your neck as he bit down, leaving marks on places he'd be very proud of, later. He's so sappy as he positions himself between your thighs, the faintest tint of pink on his cheeks as his tip rubs against your folds. This is the softest you've ever seen him aside from the day he dropped juice over himself while confessing to you back in highschool. He's looking at you the whole time, gouging your reaction as he pushes inside you, slowly. His eyes are so wide and dreamy, panting softly before he buries his face in your neck, his rhythm never faltering. "You've made me the happiest man alive, baby. I'll make sure I return the favor. Everyday." and you can't help but giggle at his giddy behaviour, It's hard to believe he's the same Iwaizumi, who's now a blushing, sappy mess while he's rolling his hips against yours, hand clenching the headboard, veins rippling in his arms from just how tight his grip is. But all of that just makes you fall in love with him more, after all, what's a better feeling than being confessed love to, over and over again while you're struggling to think straight from just how big his cock is?

His pace doesn't falter too quick, it's his goal to get you to orgasm, but you know he's close when he's grunting a little more, the veins on his dick twitching as he's panting. Eventually, after you've both been milked dry, he plops down on the bed, pulls you on his chest, his big arms circling you whole as you whisper, "Haji, baby, I love you too." and he grins, hands caressing your hair, until his sappy mode turns back on. "You make my days far more bearable. Thank you, darling.", he's blushing the entire time, praying you don't see him so flustered because he doesn't even know why he is. But he knows, he wants to stay like this for the rest of his life.

𖦹 ᴋᴜʀᴏᴏ ᴛᴇᴛꜱᴜʀᴏᴜ .ᐟ

He's so uncharacteristic, donned up in a suit and blushing like a maiden when you stood infront of him at the altar, hands unstable and fingers fidgeting, his mind was reeling with words unsaid, grinning at you like he did for the first time he laid his eyes on you.

"I'm still mentally not here, it's unfair how beautiful you looked." He smiled, cupping your face as he joked, in order to retain some semblance of his breaking composure, he could frankly cry from just thinking that he's married now, that too, to the person of his dreams. He pushed himself off the wall, placing a chaste kiss to your lips, which soon turned deeper, more passionate as he lifted you up in his arms and placed you on the bed, climbing over you with the widest grin you've seen on him. Not the cocky grin you're used to, but more like a lovestruck expression you see on kids when they get a crush. Boyish, unfiltered. His hands travel across you body, undressing you slowly, his breath hitching when you undid his buttons. He slid the dress off you, his eyes trailing, eyeing you up and down appreciatively.

"You're gawking like a damn virgin, Tetsu." You teased him, he chuckled as he lied you down impatiently, his touch leaving trails of heat in their wake. "I can't help it. You're too, too pretty for your own good." he kissed your cheek, hands cupping your soft mounds as he squeezed them, hands spreading your plush thighs. "And hey, I'm allowed to gawk at what's mine." He mused, whispering in your ear, hands caressing your thighs softly, like he's mapping them inch by inch with his hands before he parts them, positioning himself in between, his tip pressed right against your entrance. "Push me away when you feel like.", he reassures you before his cock slides inside your pussy, slow, deliberate, stretching you out while your nails dig into his shoulder, clawing at his chest. He looks at you, eyes locked on the your face, both to check how you're feeling, and admire it. "Y'know...you kinda blessed me before the priest did." He grinned, sheepish at his cheesy jokes, which, sure, sound insufferably corny, but are sincere. He holds you down, lavishing you with kisses, hickies as he tells you just how proud he is, how incredibly lucky he must've been that he's at this point in life. You don't know which point though- the relationship or the current ongoing sex, but you were fine by both.

He continued his thrusts and sheepish praises, his hands occasionally caressing your body so it wouldn't be too aching for you, your moans and gasps making his eyes roll back, his breathing heavy and ragged when your fingers tangled in locks of his hair, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to your lips when he felt your pussy clenching around him more desperately. You were close, so was he. Still, he rode you through your orgasm, and took a moment to admire how you looked beneath him. "You're the hardest, yet the best thing I ever had to win over, but I'll do it all over again. In every life." He whispered against your neck, arms trapping you in his embrace as you two bantered about his cheesy antics. He looked at you and thought to himself, about just how blissful his mornings are going to be, starting from tonight.

𖦹 ᴍɪʏᴀ ᴀᴛꜱᴜᴍᴜ .ᐟ

Atsumu was a self-assured, confident man, until your wedding day. He was freaking out, all emotional and hyper when he saw you, dolled up for him in a white dress, and when you stood infront of him at the altar, he'd already shed a few tears from just how enchanting you looked, from how you were now gonna be his.

You had to calm his brain down, because oh boy, was he a teary-eyed, giggling mess who couldn't stop hugging you with those big arms of his, refusing to let you go. "Jesus, 'm god. 'tis real, yer' real!" his eyes were shining, hair fallen over them. He had the silliest grin on his face, it was like his hands had a mind of their own, ad he just couldn't bring himself to stop kissing you. After a long smooch-session, he plopped down on the bed and pulled you over himself, his calloused yet careful fingers brushing strands of your hair away, so he could meet your eyes. "Yer' m' wife now, can ya believe that? Hell, I can't!" and you two giggled over a few things that lead to one another.

Soon, he flipped you over, his mellow eyes scanning your face while you fiddled with his tie and buttons, sliding his shirt off, letting your hands roam over his broad, built figure. He hummed in content, pushing your own dress down as he left feather-light, hot kisses over your body. Neck, chest, collarbone, stomach, just wherever his lips could land. "Yer' so, so pretty, I wonder how I landed ya." He whispered, his tongue soon circling your nipple and his fingertips drawing patterns across your thighs. "..'Tsumu-", you croaked out, and thankfully, he took the signal. His hands now parted your thighs to a good distance, positioning himself between your legs as he wrapped them around his waist. "Sweetheart, hold on tight, 'kay?" He whispered in your ear as his cock made contact with your glistening folds, his fingers twirling strands of your hair around them, the other hand holding the head board.

And with those words, he finally lowered himself inside your entrance, bit by bit, savoring the moment as you clung to him, a sputtered string of incoherent praises leaving his lips at how good you felt, how desperately your hands tried to hold onto his sturdy shoulders when he picked up his place, though by only a notch. His hands caressed whatever part of your skin they landed on, soothing you while you arched into his touch. Not long after, you were spent. And he once again cradled you in his arms. "Baby, yer' gonna marry me, right?" he whispered, and you looked at him incredulously, "..'Tsumu, we just got married, today." and he was quick to retort with a wide, enamored yet sheepish grin, "Again, for good measure." and at that, he knew he fumbled so many things, but today, he made a decision worth a blissful lifetime.

𖦹 ᴋᴀɢᴇʏᴀᴍᴀ ᴛᴏʙɪᴏ .ᐟ

The ever quiet, maybe even stoic and aloof individual is so, so close to his breaking point, he can't focus on anything else aside from how angelic you look, so much so, that he almost forgets that he's the one marrying you, and he's not here to watch.

He isn't quite at all, giggling and blushing like a dopey, intoxicated teen who had his first taste of alcohol. His hands are unable to keep themselves off you as he backs you against a wall, peppering your face in kisses, "It's impossible for me to convey just how much I waited for this.." He trails off as he locks his gaze with yours, leaving a fluttering kiss to your lips. "..for you." He continues sheepishly as he scoops you up in his arms, cradling you against his chest, whispering sweet nothings like a prayer as he sets you down on the bed. His hands slowly tugging out your accessories and the laces of your dress, letting it fall apart as he stared at you with wide eyes.

"Oh, god, wake me up. Wake me up." He mumbled under his breath as his hands finally made contact with your body, his touch light and reverent. "You're awake, Kags." you couldn't help but tease him at his flustered reaction, and he just frowned at you, cheeks still tinted with a faint pink as he narrowed his eyes at you, clicking his tongue in faux annoyance, "I know that.", but his frown softened when you chuckled, pulling him over you, his fingers brushing strands of your hair away from your face. "I really must have done something praise-worthy that I ended up with you.", he whispered meekly while you continued teasing him that you too, didn't know how you fell for this brooding introvert. "Oh please. Shut up." He grumbled as he pushed your legs apart, feeling the skin with his fingers while his teeth grazed over your neck and chest, leaving streaks of faint red wherever they touched.

He took a few deep breaths as he lined up his cock against your dripping cunt, taking a moment to look at you, before he slowly pushed himself in, waiting for you to adjust to him. "You look so pretty like this." He whispered in your ear, his cock throbbing as you moan next to his ears. But really, he's been doing a fairly well job keeping his cool as he resumes his thrusting. His hand holds your thigh to steady you, the other under your waist as you arch your back. He's close, really close, but so are you. So after a euphoric orgasm from you two, he pulls you close to him, he's silent, his hands caressing your body before he let's out a whisper which sounds like he's holding tears, "Thank you, love."

A/N: I hope my blatant favouritism for a particular character in this wasn't too obvious, lmao.

Sorry if it's toooo long, I just poured my heart and soul into this. (๑•﹏•)

(Couldn't include Sakusa because I have slight trouble writing for him)

Thank you for reading!

Likes and Reblogs, and your opinions, would be highly appreciated! 🎀

[obito-in-disguise]

| Making you lunch |

How the naruto men make your lunch

Uchiha Sasuke

-Keeps it simple with homemade rice, grilled chicken, and a side of pickled vegetables, all neatly arranged.

-Acts indifferent when handing it over but blushes slightly when you praise him.

-Tells you not to expect it every day, that he only made it because he felt sorry for your cooking skills

-but you know he’ll make it for you again tomorrow.

-Secretly learned how to cook your favorite dishes just to impress you, pretends he didn't know when you act surprised.

-"Grilled chicken is your favourite?...who would've guessed"

Uzumaki Naruto

-Tries his best but somehow ends up packing a ridiculous amount of instant ramen and some poorly wrapped rice balls.

-Part of you is convinced he does it on purpose because you almost always offer him the leftover ramen. He pretends to be reluctant at first but then instantly scarfs it all down the moment you insist.

-Looks way too pleased with himself when he gets to eat the extra ramen, like it was his plan all along.

-Makes up for it by adding a few of your favorite snacks and a messy but sweet note, saying, “Eat up, dattebayo!”

-Hopes you don’t mind the slightly charred onigiri, he really tried.

Uchiha Itachi

-You can't remember the last time you made a meal since you met this man. Cooking was basically his love language at this point.

-Packs you a balanced, nutritious bento with homemade onigiri, grilled fish, and perfectly sliced vegetables.

-Includes a handwritten note reminding you to take care of yourself, with a little doodle of a cat. (he he)

-Completely overdoes it, making you enough to feed three people. Acts sheepish when you point it out. He just wants you to be healthy. :(

-Later, subtly checks if you finished the meal, always quietly relieved when you do.

Hyuuga Neji

-Packs a beautifully arranged, traditional bento with steamed rice, sautéed vegetables, and perfectly grilled teriyaki chicken. Every component is meticulously placed,nothing out of line.

-Adds a side dish with a subtle hint of sweetness, like a small portion of kinpira because he knows you like a bit of variety.

-Wraps the bento carefully in a cloth with a delicate knot, almost like a ritual.

-Hands it to you with his usual calm demeanor, saying, “It’s just lunch. Don’t make a big deal out of it.” But there’s a hint of softness in his tone.

- If you try to share with him, he’ll insist that it’s for you, but eventually, he’ll take a small bite when you persist because he secretly loves when you feed him.

Uchiha Obito

-Goes a little overboard, wanting to impress you, there’s a bit of everything in the lunch box.

-Tries to make it cute with heart-shaped onigiri but ends up with some amoeba-shaped ones.

-Awkwardly tells you it’s nothing special, but eagerly waits for your reaction.

-Is over the moon when you tell him you love it. Very happy and content for the rest of the day :D

-Practices shaping the onigiri late at night, determined to get it right one day.

Aburame Shino

-Meticulously plans out a balanced meal, incorporating seasonal ingredients and local produce.

-Adds a small honey-flavored dessert, subtly mentioning that it’s good for energy.

-Insists you have to eat everything in the order and color code he packed it in to enjoy the experience. (Undiagnosed OCD king)

-Quietly observes your reaction, feeling a bit more relaxed when you compliment his thoughtful choices.

-Takes your lunch prepping into his hands from that day onwards, quietly noting if you follow the order next time.

Hatake Kakashi

-Prepares a well-balanced and surprisingly elaborate meal, featuring grilled fish, miso soup, and perfectly seasoned vegetables.

-Keeps the presentation simple but elegant, not overdoing it, because he likes practical yet tasty meals.

-Hands it to you casually, acting like it’s no big deal, but subtly watches your reaction from the corner of his eye, leaning against the counter not so casually.

-Secretly happy he has someone to cook for now after living alone and making single meals for so long.

-Sometimes accidentally overcooks because he’s still adjusting to making more than one portion.

-If you compliment him, he just shrugs it off with a playful, “Don’t get used to it,” but the slight upward curve of his eye gives away his satisfaction.

Uchiha Shisui

-Whips up something colorful and fun, like octopus-shaped sausages and cute rice animals.

-Makes sure to add a little dessert, usually something sweet and homemade. Insists they're solely for you but will steal little bites out of them.

-Hands it over with a bright grin, saying, “Only the best for you!”

-Insists on feeding you every bite, says it's part of the 'Shisui lunchtime experience'

-"Say ahhh!"

-If you try to feed yourself, he’ll pout and insist that he's the one in charge of feeding you.

xxxxxx

We have a new addition to the headcanon list everyone!- Shisui! (Applause)

Please enjoy this celebratory post I made for hitting 500 followers, I do it all for ya'll!

I might do konoha founding fathers headcanons in the future, because ngl, Hashirama has me in a chokehold right now.

Feel free to check out more of my naruto fics and the rest of my work!

Tiny taglist- @catlover19282 @yoonsave777

[muniimyg]

♡ 04: how you're lookin' at me, yeah, i know what that means and i'm obsessed

series m.list // taglist

note: a wild ride…. good luck y’all ,, THANKS FOR 1K 😻 my kitty is happy !!! hauwhahahahaa this part is lengthy so pls take a mfking SEAT. pls lmk what y’all think ,, send in asks 🫵 we’re headed towards the finale 💛 much wuv !!

warnings: tension/tampo vibes (whats that in english? lol) ,, male masturbation (jk gets himself off as he recalls oc slapping him) ,, jealousy (lots of it. like 90% of this part is filled with it) ,, oc has a hickey ,, angst ,, and a little mwaamwaaaa moment :')

//

life sucks. 

for jungkook, at least. 

it’s been almost a month since the incident, and you’ve done everything in your power to avoid him.

the memory of the fight—the words exchanged, the way he said your name—still lingers in the air between you like smoke, suffocating and inescapable.

at first, jungkook tried.

he texted you the next day and every day after that. his messages were hesitant and apologetic... and each one was left unanswered.

nerd [11:11PM]: ___, can we talk? sent nerd [11:28PM]: please? sent nerd [12:01AM]: i’m sorry. i mean it. sent nerd [12:03AM]: it wasn’t even like that. not with her.  sent nerd [1:09AM]: ik i’m gonna sound like a total douche no matter what so let me do it please sent nerd [1:15AM]: let me say sorry, let me fuck up, let me make it up to u sent nerd [2:01AM]: i really hate begging  sent nerd [2:01AM]: but i really hate u not wanting me even more seen

he did try to call though.

just once.

the ringtone barely lasted before he hung up, realizing how futile it was.

at one point, he showed up at your favorite coffee shop one afternoon. he sat alone by the window with an untouched drink, waiting. 

his eyes flicked to the door every time it opened, a glimmer of hope lighting his expression for a split second before fading when it wasn’t you.

after two hours, he left.

but now, almost four weeks later, jungkook has stopped trying (so hard).

it wasn’t a sudden decision, more of a gradual acceptance that whatever connection you’d shared—whatever you’d been to each other—was slipping through his fingers.

he told himself you needed time, that maybe this space was what you wanted, what you deserved. and so, he gave it to you.

he told himself it wasn’t the end. 

it couldn’t be.

he refuses for it to be. 

this is just… complicated. 

he gets that.

he's a smart guy after all!

but late at night, when the world was quiet and he was left alone with his thoughts, the weight of your absence pressed against his chest like an ache he couldn’t soothe. it... burns? it throbs in this aching rhythm that he can't quite figure the melody to.

jungkook thinks about the way you banter with him and how much it makes his day. how closely you sit next to him. how effortlessly you mesmerize him… 

how you flirted with him for a few days and now he's malfunctioning. how he spent the last month memorizing every detail of those days and can't get over it. he has convinced himself you're into him...  

like, remember how your fingers would brush his when you handed him something? that meant something, right? or how about the way you looked at him and tilted your head? shit, yeah.

that meant something.

fuck, the way you laugh and throw your head back and he gets a glance at your perfect neck—how he wants to leave kisses on it. how he… 

how he had you. 

for a moment, he really had you. 

under him, tangled, and messy. 

how he was so close to your lips. 

he should’ve kissed you. 

he should’ve locked the fucking door. 

he should’ve ran after you even more. 

but he didn’t…

and now? 

now you aren’t even around. 

he recalls what taehyung said to him night at the arcade. taehyung's words rub into his wound like salt. it stings. it makes him feel sick to his stomach and he just... get can't stomach it.

“she isn't gonna stick around forever... especially with all the shit you pull…”

there are no words to describe how incredibly helpless he feels.

if anything, he goes through circles in his mind; completely in disbelief he could fuck up this bad with you.

he hates that he can't think straight. he hates that he can't study properly. he hates that he stopped tutoring and even got in trouble with his profs for letting them down (they really counted on jungkook to help other students out).

he hates that he can't fucking breathe lately.

he can't sleep.

he can't eat.

jungkook hates the growing distance, but more than that, he hates how much it hurts.

he hates how much he wants to fix things even when he doesn’t know how. he just knows he wants to. god, fuck it—

fine. 

he hates how much he misses you.

but most of all, he hates that he was wrong. 

it was entirely his fault. 

jungkook hates it all.

by chance, you and jungkook run into each other. 

the scene is perfect.

it's the perfect set up to cry over when you get home—that is.

the rain starts just as you’re leaving the library, soft at first but quickly turning heavier. you don’t expect to see him—not here, not now—but there he is, standing under the awning of the café across the street, shaking out his umbrella. the door chimes as you step outside, and he looks up.

for a moment, neither of you move, caught in the heavy stillness of the moment.

jungkook freezes when he sees you. 

his eyes widen briefly, then soften into something cautious, hesitant. he tucks his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, fingers flexing nervously against the fabric as he steps forward.

“hey,” he says, his voice careful, like he’s offering a truce.

the sound of him makes your heart clench, the warmth in his tone threatening to undo you. but you don’t let it show. you nod once, lips pressed into a thin line, and move to step around him.

“wait—” his hand shoots out, not to grab you, just to stop you. his fingers hover midair, unsure if he even has the right to reach for you anymore. “___, please?”

the rain is falling harder now, pooling on the sidewalk and soaking into the edges of your shoes. you glance at him, taking in the way his hair clings to his forehead, the way his hoodie looks just a little too big on him, like he hasn’t been sleeping well or eating much.

“can you not pretend like this is a coincidence?” you ask quietly, refusing to meet his gaze. 

he stays silent. 

it wasn’t. 

truth be told, he’s been waiting outside for almost 45 minutes. he didn’t even know if you were at the library today… he just had to wait and find out for himself. 

"do you have an umbrella?" he asks, breaking the silence. 

"what—"

"here." 

he cuts you off, pushing the umbrella toward you.

you blink, startled, as he places the handle firmly in your hand. your fingers wrap around it instinctively, the metal cool against your palm.

"jungkook—" you start, your voice faltering.

he shakes his head, stepping back into the rain without a word. the downpour hits him almost instantly, soaking through his hoodie as he shoves his hands into his pockets and starts walking away.

you stand there, the umbrella trembling in your grip, watching him go. the rain comes down harder, cascading off the awning above you, but you barely notice. your gaze stays locked on him—on the way his shoulders hunch against the storm, on the slow but steady steps that carry him farther and farther away.

something tightens in your chest. 

maybe it’s regret or maybe longing… but as his figure grows smaller and the storm swallows him—you feel it.

the warmth of his lingering presence and the chill of it all—

—of your favourite almost.

a few days later, jungkook finds his umbrella in his bedroom. 

he takes out his phone to send you a text, prepared to humiliate himself and to beg for a second of your attention. he’d trade all tonight’s focus for a moment of you.

just as he picks the umbrella up, he finds a note. 

___ told me to give it back to you. she says thanks (whore). ps: she said don’t text her. — taehyung

jungkook sighs. 

does he listen? 

obviously not. 

nerd [6:19PM]: don’t tell me what to do  nerd [6:20PM]: i hate this nerd [6:21PM]: u should’ve jus kept the umbrella. giving it back to taehyung and telling him to tell me not to text u is sick.  seen. nerd [6:22PM]: reply pls seen.  nerd [6:26PM]: fine. i’ll jus talk to myself  nerd [6:31PM]: i miss u sm i jerked off the other night thinking abt the way u slapped me  seen nerd [6:33PM]: come on, kitty  nerd [6:34PM]: promise to think abt me tn :(  nerd [6:35PM]: cos i’m gonna think abt u tn nerd [6:36PM]: ignore me if u want proof  typing…  nerd [6:37PM]: kitty? seen nerd [6:40PM]: fuck. nerd [6:41PM]: how do u get me so fucking hard thru text? maybe i jus miss u too much  nerd [6:42PM]: excited for my proof?  seen nerd [6:45PM]: ft?  seen nerd [6:46PM]: keep seenzoning me and i’ll cum typing... seen ___ has notifications silenced

but it's too late.

jungkook meant it.

he's sat on his gaming chair, cock heavy.

his phone is out with that group picture from the arcade (zoomed into you) as lewd thoughts of you fill his mind. jungkook runs his thumb across his tip, hissing at the way it feels over his slit. 

he flicks his wrists, gripping his dick with just enough pressure to grow the hardness. it’s already stiff and he can feel the need to cum—but he just can’t.

he can’t without thinking of you. 

so, his eyes flutter shut as his memories of you replay in his mind. 

from the way your lips winced when he ate you out—to the way that mini skirt looked on you that day. he thinks about the way you say his name; in any and every way. angry, teasingly, and desperately… he thinks about how pretty it sounds rolling off your tongue. 

how pretty you looked under him.

how good you smelt when he kissed your neck. 

how close you sat next to him—fingertips lingering... god, what he would do to be close to you again. 

jungkook thinks about the slap. 

how hard your palms hit his cheek and how angry you looked at him. despite the negativity surrounding the situation—he can’t help it. 

you looked so hot. 

it just… gets to him. 

before he knows it, his hand is covered in his sticky cum. 

he’s a loser—a nerd in your words. 

he always has been… and here he is; jerking himself off to the pretty girl he lost his chance with.

the night is supposed to be nothing special. 

for jungkook, it’s just another event for his precious marine conservation club—a fundraiser, a schmooze-fest for potential investors, and a chance to hand out awards to appease the donors. sure, he’s getting an award, but it doesn’t feel like much.

the room buzzes with polite conversation and clinking glasses. jungkook adjusts his tie for the hundredth time, barely paying attention to the speeches and presentations. he stands off to the side with the other club members, blending into the background until his name is called.

“jeon jungkook, for outstanding contributions to marine conservation and innovation. mr. jeon has been working towards innovative chemical solutions for marine conservation, focusing on sustainable practices to protect endangered species like dolphins, and developing eco-friendly alternatives to reduce their environmental impact.”

the applause is polite but hearty.

jungkook steps onto the stage, the spotlight hitting him square in the face. as he accepts the plaque, his gaze instinctively sweeps over the audience—and then it stops.

you’re here.

sitting with the guys, casually chatting like you belong there, like you haven’t been avoiding him for a month and a half (at this point).

his heart trips over itself. 

he’s not even sure if it’s relief or panic or something else entirely, but it rattles him. he forces his attention back to the microphone, holding the plaque in his slightly sweaty hands.

“uh, thank you,” he begins, his voice steady enough, though his pulse is anything but. “our club’s mission has always been to protect and preserve marine life through education, community projects, and outreach. with this award…”

his eyes flick back to you. 

you’re laughing at something taehyung just said, your smile bright, your whole demeanor light and carefree.

“…we want to focus on…”

he falters, the words slipping from his mind as his gaze lingers on you.

“…we want to focus on… f-focus…”

a ripple of laughter spreads through the audience. someone whistles playfully. he blinks, startled back into the moment.

“…focus on sustainable practices and expanding our projects,” he finishes, clearing his throat as heat rises to his cheeks.

you’re laughing too, your head tilted slightly as you join the others. it should make him feel worse, but somehow, seeing you like that—smiling, present—grounds him.

he powers through the rest of the speech, keeping his gaze firmly away from where you’re sitting. when it’s over, he accepts the handshake from the host and makes his way offstage, barely registering the applause.

as soon as the ceremony ends, jungkook doesn’t even think. 

he weaves through the crowd, ignoring congratulatory pats on the back and comments from investors, his eyes scanning for you.

how did you know about tonight?

wait. 

shit.

he’s been texting you every day with random ass updates. of course you know. he’s yapped about it… but why? why did you come? don’t you hate his guts?

you're here so... maybe you don't hate him as much as he has convinced himself you do.

jungkook finds you near the back with the friend group, holding a glass of champagne and listening to hoseok animatedly retell a story.

“congratulations,” you say lightly, lifting your glass in a mock toast. your words are casual, but there's an edge to them, a distance you've kept between the two of you for far too long.

his chest tightens at the awkwardness of your tone, but he nods, his hands slipping into his pockets. the space between you feels impossibly wide now, though only a few feet separate you.

“thanks,” he says, his voice quieter than he intended. “... thanks for coming.”

his gaze flickers to yours for a second before dropping to the floor, and he shifts, a little uncertain, taking a half-step closer.

hesitantly, you inch back. 

his presence is suddenly overwhelming, more than you’re ready for.

“yeah… of course,” you murmur, unsure how to navigate the new dynamic between you two. the tension is thick, but there's something else there too. an unspoken history. “what are friends for, you know?”

he hates that. 

friends. 

yeah fucking right.

jungkook tries to break the tension.

he takes a risk.

he takes a small step forward, hoping you don’t move. this is the closest he’s gotten to you in over a month—he needs this. it’s like euphoria in his veins—being with you again.

he needs this.

“how have you been?” he asks, the question coming out softer than he anticipated. jungkook scratches the back of his neck and continues. “a-are you coming to the afterparty?”

your lips part, a pause hanging between you.

you don’t want to admit how much you’ve missed this. how much you’ve missed him.

but the words slip out, more natural than you expect.

“yeah,” you say, giving him a brief but warm look. “i’ll be there.”

for a moment, your eyes lock, and something shifts. 

it’s like you’ve both forgotten all the walls, the space between you collapsing. he can feel his heart rate quicken, like his knees might give out, but he forces himself to stay grounded, to act nonchalant.

“cool,” he says, trying to brush off the sudden rush of emotions. “i’ll.. i’ll be there too.” he smiles, but it’s the kind of smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes—not yet, anyway.

“i sure hope so,” you laugh. “it’s your party, nerd.”

nerd. 

holy shit. 

never has he ever felt so relieved to hear you call him that. 

as he’s about to say more, taehyung appears out of nowhere, slapping his arm and giving him a congratulatory squeeze. 

“hey, man, nice speech. well deserved,” taehyung says, grinning like an idiot. “what did you want to focus on, again?”

you laugh while jungkook rolls his eyes. he shoves taehyung playfully. 

suddenly, you can’t help but feel the awkwardness settle back in, like something’s shifted again. you feel a pang in your chest as you turn toward the other people nearby, the ones you've been socializing with before jungkook showed up. the buzz of the conversation pulls you away, and you focus on the group, hoping to escape the overwhelming emotions that jungkook’s presence stirs.

jungkook watches you go, his eyes lingering as you slip away from the conversation. 

he can’t help it. 

you’re in his head again.

he looks over at taehyung, catching his eye. 

“hyung, is she coming to the dinner before the afterparty?” he asks, trying to sound casual. his voice betrays him, cracking with just the faintest hint of hope.

taehyung raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of his drink. 

“yeah. excited?”

“no.”

taehyung scoffs. “say that again but take away the lying.”

“fuck off.”

“___’s a good friend, man,” taehyung chuckles, redirecting the conversation. “you’re lucky. you just might be back in her good graces.”

jungkook’s heart skips a beat. 

“really?” he asks, trying not to sound too eager.

taehyung grins, leaning in a little. 

“yeah, but... she’s bringing her little boyfriend with her.”

you’re doing what?

jungkook feels the need to rub his eyes or something.

was taehyung shitting on him? boyfriend? when did this happen? no fucking way. 

jungkook refuses to believe it. 

… yet, the words hit jungkook like a punch to the gut. his breath catches, and his stomach tightens. 

"what?" his voice is barely a whisper, the weight of it settling in. 

"she didn't tell you?"

"we haven't been talking."

"rightfully so."

fuck. 

no. 

he doesn’t want to believe it, but the hurt is already seeping through.

taehyung shrugs, oblivious to the internal storm brewing in jungkook. 

“shit, well... yeah, she’s been seeing him for a while. dunno if they’re officially together, but… guess she’s really moving on. good for her, right? i mean, now you can really focus on just being her friend.”

the air stills. 

the reality of it all comes crashing down. jungkook’s heart sinks, his chest tightening in that all-too-familiar ache. 

that's why you’ve been busy... 

you’ve been moving on.

his fingers curl into fists, the anger bubbling up before he can suppress it. but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t let his emotions spill out in front of taehyung, even though every part of him is screaming. 

“yeah,” he forces a smile. “i guess.”

as the night goes on, jungkook can’t shake the feeling that he’s lost something he can’t get back. something that’s slipping further away with every step you take, every laugh you share with someone else. and no matter how much he wants to fight for it, he’s afraid it’s already too late.

jungkook doesn’t want to go to dinner anymore.

he has no appetite.

jungkook is already at the dinner when you arrive. 

his mood is off, grumpy but with an undercurrent of sadness that he can’t quite shake. he’s forcing a smile when people congratulate him for the award, but it’s clear it’s not reaching his eyes. the night’s just been a blur of congratulations and polite smiles, but all he can think about who will walk in with you. 

does he know him?

is he gonna be some super cool prince charming?

does he know that jungkook was eating you out just a month ago? 

all valid questions…

however, you arrive a little late, and immediately his gaze searches for you in the crowd. when he sees you, his heart lurches. he spots you talking to someone, and the knot in his stomach tightens.

you make your way to the table, your eyes scanning it before you stop. for a moment, you aren’t sure where to sit. usually, you sit next to jungkook… but the spot is occupied by jimin. 

not by choice.

jungkook had saved the spot for you… you just came too late and he didn’t have it in him to tell jimin to move. but, jimin catches the milli-second exchanged look you have with jungkook and immediately shifts. 

“oh,” jimin begins. “shit, i forgot… didn’t know you were gonna show up so late—”

you chuckle, shaking your head. “it’s fine we’re gonna sit on the other side! by the way,” you pause and push the guy you came with forward. “this is do-hwan. he’s a biochem major and we have a few electives together… um, what else?” 

biochem?

serisouly?

do you have a thing for nerds or something? bro doesn't even look the part. he should be majoring in physics or something even more lame.

jungkook's thoughts cut short when he hears you giggling.

“hi,” do-hwan says with a grins at everyone. then, he turns and extends his hand to jungkook. “jungkook? shit, man. congrats on the award.”

he chuckles, giving jungkook a playful look. “organic chem, huh? i guess someone has to study the pretty side of chemistry.” 

what the fuck does that mean?

jungkook’s ears turn red. 

“yeah,” he grumbles under his breath. “nice to meet you too.”

with that, you and do-hwan make your way to the other side of the table. jungkook watches, his gaze hardening as you take a seat beside him.

he’s trying his best to stay calm and to not show it—not show how absolutely fucking mad this entire thing is.

this is ridiculous! 

his chest tightens painfully at the sight of you sitting with him. his fingers curl into his glass as he watches you laugh and chat with others, inserting do-hwan like you’re some proud girlfriend. 

you've probably known do-hwan like 10 seconds.

and jungkook can’t help it! every word you exchange with do-hwan makes him feel like he’s being crushed from the inside out. 

he’s trying to focus on the conversation happening around him, but his mind keeps wandering, drifting to you.

he watches as you lean in to talk to do-hwan, the way your eyes light up when you laugh at something he says. it’s the same laugh, the same warmth in your smile, but somehow it feels so much farther away from him now—like a memory that he’s trying to hold onto but can’t quite grasp.

he forces himself to look at the group again, but his gaze keeps slipping back to you. every word you exchange with do-hwan makes his chest tighten.

it's like he’s suffocating, and he can’t tear his eyes away. the way he moves so casually, his hand brushing against yours as he reaches for his drink. 

it’s too much.

it’s too familiar.

and then, as you turn your head to respond to someone else, he sees it.

just a flash of it—right there on your neck. 

a small hickey, barely visible, but it might as well be a brand. his heart stops for a beat. the sight burns in his chest, and before he can stop himself, his breath catches in his throat.

his stomach churns violently, a rush of heat flooding his veins. everything feels like it’s collapsing inward. the noise around him fades, and all he can hear is the pounding of his own heartbeat. the world shrinks, and the weight of the jealousy hits him like a truck.

he can’t stay here. 

not like this. 

not with this tightness in his chest, not with the ache in his stomach. the room feels like it’s closing in on him, and he knows—he knows he has to get out.

without a word, he stands abruptly, pushing his chair back. his heart races as he excuses himself from the table, slipping away into the hallway outside the main dining area.

the rest of the table doesn’t seem to notice his sudden departure, but your friends quickly start murmuring, and one of them nudges you. 

"you should probably go check on him," taehyung says, giving you an almost knowing look. “i told you not to bring him.”

you hesitate for a second, then stand, glancing at do-hwan.

“it’s not do-hwan's fault.”

taehyung rolls his eyes at you. 

“you’re playing it kinda mean tonight though,” he tells you. “jungkook’s been miserable. sure he deserves to be dragged through mud for whatever happened and for whatever he said, but this? on his night? i don’t know ___…”

you gulp.

maybe taehyung is right.

but you didn’t intend for it to be like this. you genuinely brought a friend you’ve been spending time with! and, sure… yeah. you’ve been kissing him for a few weeks now, but so what? jungkook has probably been fucking every student he’s been tutoring so why the fuck does this matter?

“___…” taehyung urges you. 

“yeah, yeah… i’m going.” 

you wave taehyung off as you get up from your seat. you excuse yourself and let do-hwan know you’ll be right back.

you find jungkook outside. 

he stands with his back pressed against the cool metal of his car, arms crossed loosely over his chest. you notice that his posture is stiff... like he’s trying to keep himself grounded, but his shoulders still carry the weight of what he’s just seen.

his jaw clenches every so often, like he’s holding something back, but when his muscles tense, it’s almost as if the anger or hurt inside him is too much to contain.

as you walk towards him and he notices you. he runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends, clearly agitated. he lets out a slow, shaky breath, his eyes cast down toward the ground as if trying to collect his thoughts. he shakes his head slightly, as if to shake off the frustration that has settled in his chest, but it doesn’t seem to help. 

then, he looks up at the sky, his gaze distant, unfocused, lost in the swirl of thoughts that seem to chase him in circles. his arms drop to his sides for a moment, his fingers flexing and unflexing like he’s trying to release the tension that has built up in his body.

after a long pause, he lets out a frustrated sigh, raking his hand through his hair again, this time pushing it back as he exhales sharply.

his whole stance is restless.

it’s like he can’t quite settle his thoughts or his body, caught between what he feels and the reality of what’s happening. 

he’s trapped in his own head, unable to escape the weight of the situation.

by now, you’re next to him.

are you here to set him free?

“so… have the dolphins ever thanked you for your hard work?” you ask, trying to break both the silence and tension with your light tone. “you do so much for them… ungrateful little brats—you know they’re psychos right? they bully—”

he doesn’t turn around. 

“what’s on your neck?” he asks. “did your boyfriend do that?”

your chest hurts at his words. “he’s not... he’s not my boyfriend.” you swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. “he’s just a friend.”

there’s a long pause, and when he finally turns to face you, his eyes are a mixture of frustration and hurt. 

“the same kind of friend i am to you?”

he’s trying to sound nonchalant, but there’s a tremor in his voice.

you shake your head, not knowing how to explain, not knowing how to make him understand.

“you know what? i didn’t come here to make you feel like this…” your voice cracks slightly. “i didn’t... i don’t want to hurt you. i didn’t want to come.”

he scoffs bitterly.

“maybe you shouldn’t have.”

his words sting, but you can’t back down. 

“what do you want me to do?” you ask, frustrated. “if i didn’t show up, you’d be upset and blow up my phone. now that i’m here, you’re still upset—”

“and this is how you chose to show up?” jungkook raises his voice, turning to you. he steps forward, towering over you. he brings his hands to your hair, pushing it back and leaning in to look at your hickey properly. 

he squints. 

“are you proud of this?” he hisses. “fucking bug bite bullshit.”

“stop—” you snap, cutting him off now. “don’t—”

“okay. sorry, fuck..."

a beat.

"___, i miss you,” he breathes. “i just… shit. can you stay still for a second?”

there’s a long silence between you two, the air thick with things unsaid. jungkook looks like he’s about to say something, but his mouth closes, his frustration evident in the way he grits his teeth. 

instead, he just breathes you in. 

for the first time in a month and a half; jungkook can breathe.

then, he steps away and sighs. 

“think i’m gonna head home first. i… i need some space or something,” jungkook tells you. “let them know for me?”

“y-yeah. sure.”

“okay,” jungkook nods. “i’ll see you later.”

“see you.”

for the first time in a while, jungkook offers you a smile and you return it. 

short and sweet—he takes it. 

he leaves and thinks about it the entire drive home.

when you arrive at the party, you’re still reeling from the brief exchange with jungkook. 

your thoughts are completely a tangled mess. 

from the words he didn’t say to the way his eyes held that edge of something unspoken—it all lingers in your mind like an unsolved puzzle. you thought you had it all figured out…

that you could be fine.

that you could move on—but now, after that moment, you’re not so sure anymore. 

your heart races in a way that you can’t explain. why does it feel like you’re standing on the edge of something—something big, something scary—and yet, you're not sure if you want to fall or pull back?

your mind keeps returning to the way he looked at you, like he was caught between wanting to say everything and nothing at all. it’s not a feeling you can shake off easily.

it’s heavier than you thought it would be.

at the party, you try your best to focus on the people around you. do-hwan is by your side, chatting casually with a few people, most of them strangers to you. some faces are familiar—people from jungkook’s marine conservation club, and others... just people. 

you make your rounds, greeting them politely, exchanging pleasantries, but your thoughts are still drifting back to him. to jungkook. the air is thick with anticipation, and no matter how much you try to focus on the conversations happening around you, your mind keeps wandering.

and then, there he is.

jungkook is standing by the drink table, his posture relaxed but not at ease. 

his gaze flicks to you for a moment, a brief flicker of something—maybe surprise, maybe something more—before he meets your eyes. there’s a tense, palpable moment of silence.

he’s holding a red cup in one hand, his fingers wrapped loosely around it. his other hand rests in his pocket, but his stance is still too rigid... too guarded.

it’s like he’s waiting for something to happen, for you to do something.

he doesn’t smile. 

he just nods at you. 

a small, deliberate movement that somehow feels too formal, too distant.

no words.

just acknowledgment.

you feel the knot tighten in your stomach, the nervous energy in your chest quickening. it’s the simplest thing, but it feels loaded with so much more.

you can’t look away. 

something inside you is aching to go over, to close the space between you, to ask if everything’s okay, to say something—but you're frozen. the tension in the air between you is thick enough to suffocate.

you swallow hard, trying to calm the unease building in your chest, but it's no use.

the silence stretches out, heavy and thick, as you stand there, caught between the desire to run or to take a step closer, not sure if you're brave enough for either.

you take a step back, trying to break eye contact, when suddenly, someone bumps into you from behind. you stumble forward, your feet catching on the edge of a rug, and you let out a startled breath as you lose your balance.

before you can fully fall, a strong hand grips your wrist, pulling you back against something solid. your breath catches as you feel the warmth of someone’s body close to you.

it’s jungkook.

without a word, his other hand slides around your waist, steadying you, his fingers briefly pressing against the fabric of your shirt. the contact is brief but grounding, like the world, slows for a moment, just the two of you, suspended in time.

he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer the usual reassuring words. 

his grip is firm, and steady, but he doesn’t linger. as quickly as it happens, he pulls away, his hand leaving your waist just as the tension between you starts to build.

you open your mouth to say something, maybe a thank you, but before the words leave your lips, he’s already moving away, stepping back with that familiar, unreadable expression.

you stand there. 

you’re frozen for a beat longer than necessary. your chest tight as you try to catch your breath… his sudden departure stings more than you care to admit. there’s no time for you to process what just happened, what that touch meant—or didn't mean—before he vanishes back into the crowd.

fuck.

the night only gets louder as more people flood into the house. 

the music thrums through the walls, bass-heavy and relentless, blending with the clatter of cups and the hum of overlapping conversations.

you weave through the crowd, the heat of so many bodies pressed together almost suffocating. your heart races—not from the chaos around you but from the weight of the unspoken tension that’s followed you since you walked in.

you couldn’t bring yourself to drink, though do-hwan had handed you a cup earlier. 

it’s long forgotten somewhere, left behind on a table. you’re too afraid of what a single drink might loosen in you—afraid of saying or doing something you’re not ready for.

you don’t want to make worse what already feels so broken.

“hey.” do-hwan’s voice cuts through the noise, his hand resting lightly on your arm. he pulls you aside to a quieter corner of the room, away from the crush of people. “you okay?”

you nod, a small, uncertain smile tugging at your lips. “yeah. just... a little overwhelmed, i guess.”

he watches you closely, his expression softening as if he’s trying to read between the lines. “you sure? you’ve been kind of quiet tonight.”

“i’m fine, really.”

“you don’t have to be,” he says, and it’s the way he says it—gentle, almost understanding—that makes you crack a real smile. “pretty sure jungkook hates me. pretty sure he’s killed me 10 times in his head in the past hour or so… and he knows all the organic chem shit to make it a really clean murder, you know? “

you let out a weak laugh, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

he grins at the sight, his confidence blooming as he leans in closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. 

“there it is,” he says playfully. “i was starting to think you didn’t know how to smile anymore.”

you laugh softly despite yourself, and his grin widens. 

do-hwan then dips his head lower as he talks, his voice dropping slightly, as if the two of you are sharing a secret. it’s intimate in a way that makes your cheeks flush, his proximity unnerving. his eyes flick to yours, and he leans in just a little more.

across the room, jungkook sees everything. 

is it hot in here?

because fuck, he’s burning up.

actually, the entire house is on fire in his mind. 

he’s been watching you for most of the night, though he pretends not to be.

the way do-hwan hovers near you, the way you laugh at something he says—it feels like a punch to the chest. every small interaction between you two is a reminder of what he’s lost, of what he could’ve had if he’d been braver, better.

his grip on his cup tightens, his knuckles white against the red plastic. he can’t hear what you’re saying, but he doesn’t need to. the way do-hwan leans closer, the way his hand brushes your arm—it’s enough to make jealousy coil hot and bitter in jungkook’s stomach. it burns through him, unbearable, as he watches do-hwan dip his head lower, his lips so close to yours.

and then something inside him snaps.

fuck it. 

before he knows it, he’s moving through the crowd, his feet carrying him faster than his mind can keep up. his hand reaches out, fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist just as do-hwan’s face nears yours. you barely have time to process the sudden motion before you’re being yanked back, stumbling slightly into jungkook’s chest.

“what the hell?” do-hwan says, his tone sharp, but jungkook doesn’t even look at him. his focus is entirely on you, his jaw tight and eyes dark with something unreadable.

your breath catches, your heart hammering in your chest as you look up at him, startled. 

“jungkook—”

he doesn’t let you finish. 

his hand wraps firmly around your wrist, and before you can process what’s happening, he’s pulling you away. his grip is steady but not rough, a silent insistence that leaves no room for argument.

“jungkook, wait—” you try again, glancing back at do-hwan, whose confused expression barely registers in the rush of your heartbeat.

jungkook doesn’t look back, his jaw tight and his steps purposeful as he weaves through the crowd, his hand never leaving yours. the air around you feels heavy, the muffled music and chatter blurring into white noise as he leads you up the stairs.

your pulse thrums in your ears as he pushes open a door and pulls you inside, closing it behind you with a quiet but final click. the sudden silence of the room contrasts sharply with the chaos outside, and for a moment, you can only stare at him, your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath.

he finally lets go of your wrist, his hand lingering for a split second longer than necessary before he steps back. his gaze is dark, unreadable, but the tension radiating off him is palpable. the weight of the moment presses down on you, thick and suffocating, as you wait for him to speak.

a moment passes.

then, another.

and another.

and another.

and then—

“dump him.” 

you clearly your throat.

“can’t dump him. he’s not my boyfriend—“

“you and your fucking situationships.”

you gulp.

you hate the way he says it.

situationship… fuck him.

the room feels smaller than it is, the air thick with the weight of the moment. jungkook’s jaw ticks as he stares at you, the sharpness in his voice cutting through the silence.

“you’re… fucking with me, right?” he spits out, his tone teetering between disbelief and frustration. “you can’t be fucking real right now. you were just—”

“i was just what?” you snap, your glare matching his. “no fair, jungkook. i got to hear you fuck some girl, but you don’t want to watch me kiss—”

“did i ask you to?” he cuts in, his voice rising.

“no,” you huff, crossing your arms. “but what are you asking from me right now? huh? jungkook… i don’t understand you—”

“what do you think i’m asking?” his voice lowers, but the intensity behind it doesn’t waver. he steps closer, his presence almost suffocating. “you’re always trying to act like this doesn’t matter. like i don’t matter.”

“maybe it doesn’t,” you challenge, even though the words taste bitter on your tongue.

jungkook laughs, but it’s humorless, sharp. 

“yeah, sure. that’s why you still give a fuck about me fucking—”

you snap. “don’t tell me her name.”

“what?” jungkook grumbles. “is that it? you get to parade around, yelling his fucking name and announcing it to the entire fucking world but i don’t get to tell you about the girl that came onto me for months? do-hwan biochem this, do-hwan that—do-hwan kiss me! is that it?"

"jungkook—"

"fuck, ___... listen to me, okay? let me tell you what i've been rehearsing for the past month and a half.... the girl i declined over and over again and fucked a total of 3 times because i was thinking with my dick is done. okay? if you’re trying to tell me that i fucked up—fine. yeah. i fucked up. but i meant it when i said it’s not what it looked like. ___, it wasn't like that. she spread shit about me being a good tutor and twisted it. how the fuck do you think i feel about myself? how the fuck do you think i feel about you seeing it differently—seeing me differently?”

your throat tightens, and you look away, desperate for a moment to compose yourself. 

“jungkook—”

“tell me how to fix it,” he cries, his frustration spilling over. “tell me what you want, because i’ll do it. i’ll stop tutoring if that’s what you want. fuck, i already did to be honest with you.”

you glance up at him, startled.

“why? that’s not going to change anything.”

“but i have to try…” his voice cracks, and he runs a hand through his hair, his exasperation evident. “i’ll give up anything—whatever it takes. just tell me what you need, and i’ll do it. want me to stop wearing ugly ass shirts? fine. want me to stop saving the dolphins you hate so much—”

“i don’t hate dolphins—”

“you’re scared of them.”

your eyes soften. 

“how’d you know—”

“it’s obvious,” jungkook breathes. “the same way it’s obvious you’re scared of this.”

this...

what even is this?

the silence that follows is deafening. you don’t say anything, and the tension between you stretches taut, threatening to snap. his chest rises and falls heavily, his eyes searching yours, desperate for something you’re not sure you can give him.

he takes another step closer, his proximity making it impossible to think straight.

“say something,” he pleads, his voice barely above a whisper now.

but you can’t.

you don’t trust your voice, don’t trust yourself not to break under the weight of it all. so you stay quiet, the space between you charged with everything unsaid.

the weight of unsaid words and unresolved feelings pressing down on both of you. you take a step back, trying to create some space to breathe, but jungkook mirrors you, closing the distance effortlessly.

then, you look around his room for some kind of break… but it backfires as your eyes meet a plushie, laying on his bed.

hello kitty.

“what’s that?” you ask a little shyly.

jungkook turns his head, feeling a little embarrassed at what you’ve seen.

“what do you think it is?” jungkook asks gently. "___... i... i can't do it. i'm sorry, i can't..."

"can't what?"

"i can't want you," he confesses. "i can't want you when i need you that bad."

he points at the plushie and sighs. "fuck, do you know how stupid that fucking claw machine made me feel? i spent like 1 or 2—"

"hours?" your eyes widen.

he shakes his head. "hundred."

hundred.

you stay silent.

"i'm sorry, ___... for everything. i'm a shithead. i'm mean and inconsiderate. i'm a waste of time—i know... but i want you to know that... everything about my life feels so weird without you in it. the past month and half has been absolute hell. it's like... if you're not around, all i do is think about you and it fucks with me. i wonder what you're eating, who you're with, and what you're going to do next... i get excited when you seenzone me. i feel like i can finally breathe when you're near. i don't know what you did and what fucking pavlov doggy shit experiment you did on me—but fuck. woof woof. whatever you want, ___. seriously."

then, you do what you fear.

you give in.

“how am i supposed to trust you,” you start, your voice shaky but firm, “when you’re not even a good friend? you’re always so mean to me, jungkook. think about it… when have we ever been good friends?”

he scoffs, the corner of his mouth twisting into a bitter smile. 

“maybe it’s because i don’t want to be your friend.”

the words hit you like a slap, your breath catching in your throat. 

“what if i want you to be?” 

his eyes search yours, as if trying to figure out if you’re serious. 

“really?” he asks, his voice dropping lower, softer.

“really.”

his gaze flickers down to your lips, then back to your eyes, and his voice drops even lower, a dangerous edge creeping into it. 

you can feel it… you can feel it about to happen. 

“even when i’m about to do this?”

before you can process his words, his hand moves to your waist, fingers curling around you in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. he pulls you closer, the heat of his touch searing through the fabric of your clothes.

his lips find yours in a kiss that’s as sudden as it is inevitable. 

it’s not gentle—it’s firm, deliberate, and entirely consuming. his other hand comes up to cradle your jaw, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss. your hands instinctively reach for his shoulders, gripping him as if to steady yourself against the storm he’s unleashing.

when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing hard. the air between you feels different now—heavier, laden with something you can’t quite name but can’t deny.

his hand slides up, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, and he looks at you softly, his dark eyes searching yours. the tender gesture sends a fresh wave of confusion—and longing—coursing through you.

“bad friend,” you scold him in a whisper.

his lips twitch, a soft laugh escaping him as his thumb grazes your cheek.

“don’t do that,” he says, his voice low, almost pleading. 

you raise a brow at him. "do what?"

"don’t friendzone me.”

“why not?” 

“i just kissed you.”

“so?”

“so?” he mimics, his tone teasing, but there’s a sharpness in his voice that makes you squirm. his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. 

“kitty,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a rough whisper, “i’m gonna be impossible to get rid of now."

[dilf-docs]

Light Up My Life (So Blind I Can't See)

pedro pascal x younger fem!reader

summary: pedro pascal in cannes breaks the internet, only rivaled by the mystery figure next to him at the airport. oh, that's you. oh. well, that wasn't part of the plan. oops.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, begging kink, lwk praise kink, choking, fingering, creampie, hurt/comfort, fluff, cannes!pedro (yes that's a warning)

word count: 5,984 words

side note: not to be that bitch but i think pedro in cannes 2025 will be my roman empire. shot out to secret dating, love that shit!!!! based on this request by my lovely fren :)

A few days ago, you had been watching a movie marathon in the comfort of your home.

"I can't believe it, you said you liked it!"

"I never said that. I said it looked interesting" he yawns. You narrow your eyes. "Sleep deprivation" he clarifies, as if reading your mind. "But, you chose it"

"Yes, because you let me" you're quick to counter.

"Yes, because we always do what you want"

Even in the distance, he finds ways to tease you.

"Not true. If it was, I would be there, with you. You know I love Marvel"

He laughs. "It's rare to hear that nowadays, less sounding so sure. You're an endangered species, baby"

You gasp. "I'm not that much of a fan"

"Not a lot of people watch a six hour livestream of chairs"

"Five" you correct, "and I did just to see if you'd show up!"

As if, gut feeling aside, he hadn't told you before.

"Alright, my bad. Five. Still, my point stands"

"So does mine. If Coco is there, why can't I be?"

"Do you happen to know hairstyling? I thought your thing was marketing"

"Oh, shut up"

Stanley Tucci briefly shows up on screen. Not that you already know, given the amount of times you've watched it.

"Are you sure it doesn't bother you?" he asks. Could refer to a lot of things.

It's the crack of dawn.

"It's the only time you can give me" you answer instead.

He makes a little pout, making you giggle. The movie keeps playing in your laptop.

"I'm sorry you have to meet me like this"

"Please, stop" at his bad joke. "The lack of sleep is showing"

He just laughs. "I can't wait for you to come"

(Texted you places of London you wouldn't be able to visit. It's just a stopover, you said, yet he insisted on sending links of London's best attractions for tourists)

"I know" you admit, softer. "Me either"

You yawn. So much for a movie you aren't watching.

"Won't it be too tiring?"

Your amazing boyfriend, ever so caring.

"Pedrito" he sighs at his name on your lips, little and a warning. "I'll be fine. Besides, I already dowloaded the movie's soundtrack to keep me company"

Pedro rolls his eyes. "You really enjoy this movie, don't you?"

You take a brief glimpse at the forgotten movie, playing on your shared screen, then back at his face.

A bit tired, eye bags more pronounced. The sleep thing was true. Still, he was the same in many other ways. His broad frame, sharp jawline, grey hair now dyed yet stubborn enough to show in some edges and over his face, in a beard that would scratch against your face when he kissed you, because he liked being close. Too close. You can still smell him, even if he hasn't been in your apartment for over a month now. As if his smell, him being intoxicantingly close, had impregnated on your skin. Another part of his to be yours.

"It's Madonna" like that's enough of a reason.

It shouldn't be this distracting. Singing Who's That Girl after arriving in France isn't a special thing, but to you, lyrics blasting through your airbuds that Pedro hates except when you offer a song and he listens, because he always listens, holds something sacred the moment your feet stretch and you're back on land again, yet people speak French instead of English and time has warped your sense of reality again.

Pedro had checked on you all the time. That was distracting. Some texts during the flight, insisting on buying Wi-Fi on the plane as if he was a millennial who couldn't survive without internet, saying what he couldn't live without was writing to you. That's a lie. You caught him on TikTok sometimes. Over his shoulder, because you couldn't sit together. Liar, you sent. You know he saw it by the way his shoulders wiggled and he covered his mouth to stiffle a giggle over the silence in the cabin. Nevertheless, he continued his little check-ups on you, as if you were a kid.

(Him: in a way, you are. You: Pedro, I'm almost thirty. Him: That's as ambiguous as me coming to Cannes. You: Your fans already suspect. Him: They're smart. You: They are. Him: Listening to the soundtrack? You: Tenth round. Him: You're insane. Insufferable too. You: It's only about forty minutes. This is a seven hour flight. Besides, you love me. Him: I do. Now stop peeking over my shoulder. You: Stop watching TikToks then, you addict!)

Somehow, lost in the music and happy feet struting towards movies, bright sun and the close yet faraway sea, you take too many of those. That wasn't the plan. Don't sit together, don't look in his direction. Over and over again. Precautions. To you, rules. Memorized them. It's not every day you board a plane, but the others are similar, in a way. It was a small price to pay for dating him.

Sometimes you mind.

(You: I miss my personal pillow. Him: I ain't got a belly anymore. You: I'm aware. I was talking about other huge things. Your biceps. HUGE. The one's Julie will show to the world in a day. Those HUGE biceps. I want to bite them. Him: You're a freak. You: Blame Kevin Feige. Him: Not the guy who lost 25 pounds?)

Sometimes you don't.

(You: Come to think of it, you do snore a bit. Him: But I thought you missed me? You break my heart, y/n)

Bump.

The defeaning sound. Coco and his bodyguard glance. But Pedro? he looks. At you.

The internet has rules too. They're both, funnily, f-rules: never forgive, never forget.

His expression is of surprise. They don't forget. His wide eyes. No, that's beyond a surprised face. That's a knowing face. They don't forgive. The subtle difference. He knows you.

Seconds, probably. He goes back to stoic mode. You hear his voice as he chats with Coco. His voice is tight, barely noticeable to anyone but you; know him better than you know yourself. But not today, when he's a supposed stranger and you're another passenger of this plane. An insignificant dot in a crowd. You walk further and avoid his gaze, pretending to search for imaginary stains in your passport, as if you hadn't make the worst mistake of your life.

Days ago, sitting in your bed, you were just another light in the vast Californian sea of houses and salt air. Now, everyone knows he's your something.

Makes sense.

The slip-ups on interviews, his comments about Materialists, his behavior on that interview with Dakota, the mysterious silhoutte that ressembled a woman but was always too blurry and far yet close to identify.

Unrecognizable.

Because you were a nobody. Made a line to get coffee, nothing about you guaranteeing any special treatment. Worked in a publicity agency from Mondays to Fridays, Saturdays if someone called in sick. Took your dog, who complained when the LA sun hit his tiny paws too much, out on walks: Toto, the little cairn terrier who was now under the care of your brother and his girlfriend because of your trip. Was photographed because you wanted and not because they had to, the hidden cameras capturing every move of yours.

That was the privilege of anonymity.

But that luck, like everything else in the world, seemed to have run out.

Now you sit on the hotel room, phone blowing up with messages, mentions, and emails. Funny thing is, despite already having your Instagram account leaked, you were still a ghost. A who?. Just a face Pedro had looked too much for it to be a simple passerby.

You sniffle as Coco brushes your hair, more to calm you than to fix it for the event.

You look through the mirror, not at you, but at the bag dangling from it, and sniffle again. The dress hangs on the closet as Coco gives you a sympathetic look and Lux squeezes your shoulder gently.

"Maybe we can still work it out" you manage to choke up, hoarse from useless crying. So hopeful, as Pedro would say.

The original plan, before the little "bump" on the road, was to attend Cannes while disguised, which meant sneaking as a guest, skipping the whole red carpet.

But now people knew who you were. Or how you looked, at least.

"Not to be a killjoy, but even if the French press is oblivious, I'm sure the internet will catch up as soon as the live stream for Eddington's red carpet starts broadcasting" Lux comments.

"They don't know your name, yet I'm sure they've already memorized your face. You're all over my Instagram" Coco adds, smiling sadly. "Your face is not to be forgotten"

You smile weakly, still feeling bad.

"I don't know what to do" you sniffle, looking back at the dress, one your budget could've bought but leave you on a tightrope for the rest of the month. To your boyfriend, it was barely a tickle on his finances. He insisted on buying it after your bright, unable to hide, smile. Wear it on a special day, and that is today.

Was.

"I'm sure we can come up with something" Lux offers.

"Come with me"

The three of your turn around. You'd recognize that voice even if you were deaf.

"¿Te volviste loco?" Lux asks, perplexed. (have you gone crazy?)

"Un poco" he replies in a Spanish that needs to be practiced a tad bit more, "por ella, sí" (a bit, yes. for her)

"What's going on?" you ask, wiping your tears.

Pedro kneels down in front of you, already dressed in an all black suit. If you weren't on the verge of sobbing for the umpteenth time, you'd tear that suit in two.

"You look good" you sniffle.

He smiles, softly. "I know"

"I love those glasses. They're my favorites"

He smiles again, adjusting them. "I know"

"Se acabó el tiempo, tortolitos" Lux jokes. (time's up, lovebirds)

"Yeah. Are we going to ignore the elephant in the room?" Coco asks, eyes widened in exasperation.

"I'm taking her with me"

"To the red carpet?" his sister asks, surprised.

"No, to fucking Wendy's. Of course, Lux. I'm taking her to the red carpet" he then gives his sister a glance. "You look gorgeous, by the way"

"I know" she flips her hair.

"Yeah, she's beautiful and so are you" Coco interrupts, then points to you. "Is that how you plan on solving this?"

Pedro nods, solemly.

"Listen, it's just a matter of hours before people connect the dots. They already have your Instagram and name. What's next? Your job, your dog?"

You gasp. "I have a whole dump of Toto on my feed!"

"Your account is private though" Lux drops.

"Still!" you panic. "What do I do?"

"Come with me" Pedro insists. "Harm's already done. What would change if we walked down a piece of red clothing?"

"Not even Rooney Mara will walk along Joaquin"

"So? We're not them" he kneels in front of your face again. Wipes a stray tear and grabs your hand. Squeezes it, like fresh oranges for a juice, because he knows you like the gesture. Need it. "And Emma is taking her husband, so"

You only sigh, unconvinced.

"Come with me" he repeats again, like a mantra. Or a prayer. Maybe hoping you'd accept.

"And let the whole world know?"

"Precisely" he smiles, cheeky. "They know some things already. We're just advancing the process for them"

Coco sighs. "At the speed of a bullet train"

"Whatever" Pedro drops. Then, looks at you. "We like it fast, don't we, baby?"

You can only blush in response.

"She'll come with me, then. We'll ride in the car behind" Ullrich sentences.

"No" his grip on your arm is strong but not brusing. Firm, as his position. He gives you a little tug, as to pull you in. Needless to say, you felt like a ragdoll. "She'll come with me"

Fighting Pedro was like trying to tame a tide.

In the end, somehow, he'd managed to rope you into the chaos of the red carpet, black limusines and flashing cameras and inside his car.

You weren't sure. Back in school, you weren't disliked or bullied, but it's not like you were popular either. You had friends, but would rather be alone at times, be it at the library or just sketching at a lonely bench in the park. There was something precious in the silence most people didn't appreciate; you did.

So, to say you where overwhelmed at the bright lights and constant yelling for Pedro was an understatement.

But, if your boyfriend dressed in an all black suit didn't scream Look at me! energy enough, there was you.

It was quick. Everything seemed to be so as of late. The cameras and press, waiting fans, yelled for Pedro, only to then find out he wasn't only here with his sister, but another woman. The airport woman. A loud point of a finger and the whole world knows you're back.

That he isn't your something. No, Pedro is more.

He's your fucking partner.

And it's so obvious, by the way he looks at you fondly. It different from his sister. This isn't that type of unconditional supporting love, but a stronger one. Consuming. One that speaks of devotion. He looks at you. Admires you. Like a painting. As if you had all the answers in the world.

You say hi to his co-stars, maybe a bit too excited to greet Austin Butler. Pedro isn't happy but he's not putting a jealous fit for the cameras. Not when he's busy throwing charming smiles and flexing that body he's worked so hard for under the summer sun.

The world talks. It's all over the news. Your smile, growing only wider when Pedro is near you, hand on the small of your back, right where the dress leaves inviting skin for the rest to see. He introduces you to anyone who wants to listen, always talking, because he's such a yapper. A loud laugher too, and even if it's not with you, you laugh with him, too contagious for you to question it. Posing with the rest of the cast as you wait by the sidelines, taking some pictures for yourself. You see the bee, trying to meddle, imposing and nosy, and feel a little sorry for it, despite Emma's face and the guys' laugh. In a way, you see yourself in the poor insect: taking space where it shouldn't, captured under the lights.

Comments are deceiving, yet there's a movie playing and then an awkward, way too long, standing ovation for you to care. You do. But you try not to, rather focusing on the event and feeling proud of Pedro. You clap and do a little too loud sound that vagely resembles a cheer. Flustered, you find out later on that the video made it out to Twitter. Strangely, even if your sudden appearance in Pedro's life, or rather public life, is well received under that post. Maybe life wasn't so cruel.

"You're not wearing that"

Life is cruel.

"Why not? You knew it beforehand. Said it was your favorite"

"I changed my mind. It's too revealing"

"What are you? Seventy?"

"The age gap is the other way around, grandpa"

And then the fucker flexes his arms. Worst, not even on purpose. Putting on glasses and a pink soft sweater shouldn't be this hot.

"Don't worry, baby. Don't break a sweat. I'll take the grandma sweater off when we get there"

Your cheeks heat up. "That was on purpose"

He offers a cheeky grin.

"Maybe"

Today is the photocall, and if yesterday's outfit put you in your knees, this one sends you straight to the ground. Full force. In a tank top and black pants paired with spiky shoes, his purpose was to serve and to kill you.

He goes again for the round of photos and such, you trailing behind like a lost puppy. Everyone assumes, yet no one asks.

She, the airport woman, now y/n.

(Can't say it out loud either. Not even you, yet, as if the knowing smiles and stolen not so subtle glances hadn't given you away)

You enjoyed this limbo. Of belonging not more inside closed doors and ambiguous coincidences, but on tabloids and loud shutters of camera. You liked the attention but not the label. It was good to see them scrambling, begging for details. Your social media had filled with requests, and even at times, your phone crashed.

You sat in a corner, watching the press. A few clicks here and there, Pedro drinking water and making it sexy (the size difference of his hand and the tiny bottle? You need to be locked up), questions, some about the movie, others about working with Ari Aster and then, awkward ones Pedro handled with grace. He spoke with such reverence, care and thoughtfulness, you can't help but feel your legs weak. You knew he was smart, well read and opinionated, but hearing him was another thing. So lost in this, you don't hear the next question.

"I know no one else is brave enough to ask" the reporter laughs nervously, "but I need to know"

Pedro senses immediately. When he glances briefly at you, hidden on a corner, you know this is about you.

"I don't think you do" he laughs, but there's a certain edge on his tone.

"It's fine if you don't want to answer, but me and everyone else on this room, hell, world!, wants to know who the woman at the airport is"

Before he adds about your quiet but strong presence on both days, Pedro cuts in:

"Is that how you call my girlfriend?"

The uproar is so loud, even Joaquin, who seemed to be on a separate train of thought, jumps on his seat. More questions follow, ones he doesn't answer. Out of boredom or to keep. Some things are meant to be like this.

Tabloids go crazy with the news. You haven't even left the place and phone blows up even more. It will explode at this point. Worse, it's only been minutes. An hour later, it's still as bad. Well, bad is a way of saying it: what you mean is nosy press and the promise of a quiet vacation ruined.

"I don't think it'll ever be quiet again"

You sigh softly, leaning on the door of the car taking you to the hotel.

"It's an opportunity" you reply just to feel the silence.

"Ever the marketer, you bussiness woman"

Even then, he manages to rob from you a faint smile.

At least they don't know where you're staying. That would be awful. You can't imagine having troubles to get out of a car.

"Something's in your mind" as your heels click against cold marble floors.

A shit ton.

You. The fast changes. Impending. Privacy gone. Scrapes of your life out in the open for the world to see. Your relationship and this new stage you're in.

Him. His warm eyes. Firm hand to secure you. Those circles on your back that calmed you down. It's a quiet I love you. Reassurance you don't say but need. I'm here. Pedro won't let you take the fall alone.

But, also, him.

With his body that had been driving you wild. Intoxicating cologne. A small cut abov his beard, still fresh. Thick glasses. Long legs. Strong arms. His charisma. Confidence. A killer smile. Warm eyes. Kind. He laughed too much and filled the gap of your stolen breaths, waiting.

"Want me to tell you?"

Smug grin you could wipe off his face.

"I'm all ears"

He too has noticed you. Short glances. Parted lips. So plump he can still taste them. The lipstick inside his cheek, over his white pristine smile if he hadn't licked it off. A part of you in him. Another. Your body, always so perfect, but in that dress he bought? He steals a look now. He definitely pictured you in it, yet this is better. How you own it. The cameras aren't flashing your way, but their eyes trail your every move. You had that in you: a beauty that wasn't loud, but made sure to be noticed. Like the air: not seen, just felt. Sometimes light, others heavy. He feels light-headed. Today you chose another set he bought you. In away, Pedro feels as if he owns you. But a tender belonging, of soul to soul, possessive, yet not as an object; he was raised right. Although, after your giggles with Austin...

"Pedro..." all sweet voice. He likes his name a lot. More if it's from you.

Your silence is both punishing and teasing.

"Tell me what you want" he insists.

"You know me" you play coy.

"I wanna hear it" desperate.

You cave in. Then, lean. His hairs raise in a prickly trepidation.

"They know too much" he feels your pressure, fears. But also, he feels your hot breath and short gasps, as if you can't hold this any longer.

"I'm sorry"

You shake your head with parted lips and hooded eyes, blood rushing to your cheeks.

"Show me something only I'll know"

Pedro's control shatteres at your words, a low, animalistic growl rumbling up from his chest.

"You're gonna make me fuck you in here" he spills the lewd confession.

"You're going to get us kicked out of this hotel"

"Can I at least kiss you on the elevator?" he pleads. Puppy sad brown eyes and all.

"Maybe"

In an instant, he takes your wrist in his grip, pulling you stumbling to the dinging door.

"Be patient" you mumble as his lips ghost over your neck. You glance at the numbers.

"We're on the thirty-two floor"

"Patience is a virtue"

"I don't care"

As soon as the door opens, he strides out with desperate, urgent steps.

"This isn't our floor"

"Fuck!"

The short time from the twenty-four to your actual floor felt interminable, every second stretching into an eternity as the weight of your shared desire hung heavy in the air.

"Jesus" you mutter.

"That good or bad?" he asks, mouth busy and voice sort of muffled against the flush skin of your neck.

"Good" you manage to mumble, hands on his hair.

Alright, you miss the messy curls but you can see them insist on the top of his hair, now starting to get sweaty, Coco's work going to waste.

"Then let's give them more to talk"

As soon as you crossed the hallway, Pedro kicks the door shut behind both of you. He's got your back pressed against it, roughly, as if he couldn't wait a bit longer, mouth taking yours in a hungry kiss.

His hands roam your body, gripping, squeezing, tugging at any little space of honeyed skin he can, taking off the buttons with a feverish desperation. You swear one of them pops, if your ears don't deceive you.

"You bought that dress. I liked it"

He rolls his eyes. "I can buy you a new one. A whole closet"

"But I liked this one" you pout.

He kisses your pouty lips. "Then I shall move the earth to get the same one again for you. Now... where were we?"

He's back to kissing you roughly, and soon, your brain is too fuzzy and lost in the force of his lips on yours, that the cameras and late interview are soon forgotten in the back of your mind.

"I'm going to ruin you" he says against your mouth, voice ragged with lust. You let out a little moan as you squirm under his insistent touch. "So hard, so deep, you won't forget who you belong to. Never"

You should feel threatened. Scared, even. But no, down there? You're a wet mess.

The dress falls to the floor with a soft thud. At least he didn't rip it.

"No bra, baby?" he asks, voice thick. You swallow harshly and nod. "Bad girl. Such'a tease"

His mouth drops then to your chest, lips kissing and teeth grazing the soft swell of your breasts. His tongue runs cold through a shiver, moving to your nipples, taking the hardened bud into his mouth and sucking hard. You feel his hands then over the rosy flesh, grabbing what he can, which, given the size of his hands, it's a lot.

"All this for me?"

You nod, lost in the grunts, sweat, his mouth and touch.

"That's right. Mine. You're mine, baby. Just mine. Say it. Tell me you are"

"Yes!" you gasp. "I'm yours, Pedro. All yours. Only yours"

He groans into your mouth as your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. There's too a low sound coming from his throat, probably an approval sound of some sorts. His hands now slide down to your hips, gripping the free skin until he lifts you up. It's always like this. Now, you wrap your legs around his waist, tiny ankles locking at the small of his broad back.

Finally, he takes you to the bed in the middle of the room, all while never breaking the kiss or stopping his greedy hands from touching you. You whine and squirm, weak under his spell.

"So antsy" he softly says.

"I think you meant your hands"

With a little laugh, he lays you down on the bed, body hovering over you, pinning you to the mattress. Before, he'd take his time to let go of the shirt, undressing slowly and almost reluctantly. Now, he takes no time in stripping off his shirt, revealing the toned body under an already revealing shirt. You love Pedro, in all of his forms and shapes, but weren't you incredibly turned on like a horny teenager for this new body? Maybe it was his new energy, how it oozed off of him in the form of flexing biceps, slim figure, toned chest and stomach and disarming smile. He was a menace and knew it, by the smirk visible even through the soft moonlight filtering through the window.

"We should've turned the lights"

"I like you like this" needy fingers now turn tender as he traces soft hearts on your face, the rough skin brushing your soft flushed own.

"At least the nightstand one. It's yellow"

"No"

He leans down to claim your mouth again, or just shut you up. It's helpful, anyway, as he kisses you until you're breathless, lips swollen and tingling.

"Someone's insatiable today" you croak out.

"For you? Always" he replies, fingers finding the damp patch in your panties, rubbing over it, thick fingers pressing against your clothed pussy. "It's never enough, baby"

He lets out a little grunt.

"Fuck, you're so wet" voice rough with lust and surprise. "Julie's outfit turned you on that much?"

"Even the hideous ones did" you whimper. "Imagine this one"

"I chose some of those, you know" he sounds a bit offended.

"Whatever. I'm happy with this Cannes run. I'll send some flowers or take her to lunch"

"So caring" he mocks.

"For dressing my man like a complete eye candy? Hell, yes"

"No one uses that term nowadays" Pedro interjects.

"Here you go again. You're my biggest hater. Shut up and just-"

You turn desperate at the pressure his fingers apply on your clothed slit. He smirks at that, eyes dark.

"You want this, don't you? You want me inside, filling you, stretching you around my cock?"

"Yes" you whimper again.

"Say it" he demands.

Never would you beg for something, but goddamn, didn't this man reduce you to a puddle of moans and pleasure? Your common sense, no, normal functioning, basic even, flew out of the window with just a kiss.

"I need you"

His fingers press even deeper, and the pulsing light pain sensation drives you wild, making you whimper again.

"Pedro-" you whine, hips rocking up against his hand, seeking more of that delicious friction.

He clicks his tongue. "Manners, baby"

You squirm, violently and desperate. He really was going to make you beg for it.

"Please, Pedro"

"That better" fingers slightly more insistent. "One last time?"

Fuck dignity, man.

"Please, Pedro. I need you. I need you so badly" you choke out.

He grins like a schoolboy, eyes dark. "Good girl"

He rewards you by making a quick work of your panties, practically tearing them off and tossing them aside. His fingers then were on your bare skin, drumming on sensitive thighs.

"Don't tease" you plead through gritted teeth.

"So impatient" he tsks. "Want it now, baby?"

You nod, feverish.

"Because you asked"

"Because we always do what I want" you choke.

His eyes shine dark. "Easy, brat"

He strokes through the slick folds of your, pussy, pushing two long, thick fingers deep inside you, curling them just right, hitting that well known spot that made you see stars.

"So tight" his voice comes out strained. "So fucking tight and hot and perfect"

Pedro pumps his fingers in and out, thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit. His mouth drops to your breast again, suckling hard, biting just on the edge and then licking to soothe the sting. You feel heat building, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in your core. Your hands scrabble at his back, nails digging into his skin, as to urge him.

And then he pulls away, leaving you empty and aching. You whimper at the loss, making him chuckle a bit.

"Calm down, baby. I ain't going anywhere"

He starts undressing what's left of his clothes, and if you liked the outfit, him naked takes the win. His cock springs free, long and hard, the thick head already glistening.

"See?"

He settles himself between your thighs, the thick length of his cock nudging against your slick folds. He looks down at you, eyes intense under the moonlight. His large, calloused hands slid under your hips, gripping them hard enough to leave bruises.

If spilling it in the interview wasn't enough, he was going to mark you, claim you, make you his.

"I'm going to fuck you now" Pedro announces, voice low with lust. "I'm going to fuck you hard and deep, just like you need. Like we both do"

With that, he thrust forward, pushing past your entrance. You gasp at the intrusion, feeling your pussy stretch around him, accommodating his size. It always happens; he's just big like that. He pauses, letting you adjust to the stretch, before pushing forward again, sinking deeper inside.

So thoughtful.

"Fuck, you're so tight " he said through gritted teeth. "So fucking tight and hot and perfect. You feel incredible, y/n"

He starts to move then, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in. Each push brings him deeper, until he was buried to the hilt inside. He sets a hard, fast pace, the bed creaking beneath with the force of his thrusts. The room filled with the sound of their mingled moans and gasps, sweat pooling like a second skin.

And if things couldn't get any better...

One hand came up to your throat, long fingers wrapping around it. He didn't squeeze, not yet, just rested them there, feeling the flutter of your pulse.

"Nervous?" his thumb brushes over your racing heartbeat, a teasing promise of what was to come. "C'mon. Don't get shy on me, baby. I know you like that"

(You did. He was new to this, mainly going off some spaking and dirty talk. Now, he seemed to be into it, if not more, as you. It was always exciting when he did it, never telling you before. If you didn't want to, he stopped. You know he would, at least, because so far, you've never told him to)

You nod, walls clench around him.

"As much as you like feeling my cock stretching you open? Filling you up? You like knowing I'm the only man to be inside this perfect little cunt?"

"Yes" you gasp. "God, yes. No one else, but you, Pedro. Only you."

A wicked grin spreads across his face and he tightens his grip on your throat, just a little. Enough to make you feel it.

"That's right, baby. This cunt belong to me now. Your body. You. You belong to me"

He starts to thrust harder, faster, headboard slamming against the wall with each snap.

Pedro feels you starting to tighten around him, breath coming in short, sharp, desperate gasps.

He knew you were close.

He leans down then, his rough stubble rasping against the smooth skin of your neck as he growled in your ear.

"Be a good girl and come for me" he urges. "Let me feel this pretty pussy spasm around my cock. Feel it come undone on my dick"

His hips never slow, pounding into you with deep, powerful thrusts. The grip on your throat tightened just a touch more, fingers pressing into the soft flesh. Not enough to cut off your air, but enough to make you light-headed.

"I'm going to fill this cunt with my cum. I'm going to pump you so full of it, you'll be dripping for days"

You let out a choked moan at his filthy promise, back arching off the bed. He could feel her starting to convulse around him, her slick walls fluttering and clenching. He was so close too, his balls drawing up tight against his body as the pressure built.

"Come now. Let me feel you scream my name as I fill you up. Let the whole damn city know who you belong to"

With a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you. At the same time, his fingers tightened around your throat, squeezing just as your orgasm crashes over. You let out a strangled cry, body shaking and shuddering beneath him as you come apart.

"Fuck, y/n. Fuck"

With a load groan, he comes too, cock pulsing and jerking inside you as he pumps you full of his hot seed. Spurt after spurt, until he sees your stomach bloat lightly and you feel it sloshing inside you like the distant waves on the beach.

He collapses on top of you with a loud sigh, weight pressing you into the mattress, his cock still buried deep inside your fluttering heat; it's still dripping.

You both lay there for a long moment, chests heaving, bodies slick with sweat, as you catch your breaths. Finally, he lifted his head to look at you, his eyes soft.

"You're incredible" voice raw. "I can't believe you're mine"

You giggle, feeling his arms wrap around you, pulling you close as you snuggle against his neck. He can feel your soft, warm breath tickling on his skin. A sense of peace and contentment settles over him, and he sighs happily.

"Yours" and a quick tired sloppy kiss. "You drained me, thought"

"If you weren't such a tease..."

You playfully swat him, weakly.

"Shh, just relax" he murmurs, one hand stroking slowly up and down your back. "You did so good, baby. So fucking perfect. As always"

You can't helo but say: "And now the whole world knows it"

He captures your lips in a slow, deep kiss. It was different from the hungry, desperate kisses before. This one was tender, almost sweet. Full of a quiet, growing affection.

"It's okay" so quiet you would miss it. "I've got you, baby. And I'm not going anywhere"

You make a soft, contented lazy sound as you snuggle even closer, fingers playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. He feels your body starting to give up.

"Promise?"

He tightens his arms around you, holding you like he means it. You are the most precious thing in the world to him, but he doesn't want to tell you. He wants you to know. So he holds you tightly, like a vow. Something to keep. Something worth.

"Promise"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif: @a7estrellas / dts: @io12n

[favefandomimagines]

loml (r.c)

SEASON 4 PART 2 SPOILERS!!!!

Request: @motherlanaenthusiast “So what if we do a Rafe x Maybank!reader where like maybe she was in morocco but she wasn’t with JJ when he died cuz she was doing smthn else so like they all have to break the news and that happens and then when like after when they’re back at Kildare Rafe like gets deja vu from s1&2 him because he sees reader going kinda crazy”

Summary: Rafe is the only person to save Y/N from a downward spiral.

AN: I will NEVER forgive the writers for this lol I went on a tangent with this one

The sun was blistering and casting a golden hue over the winding alleyways in Morocco. Rafe Cameron and Y/N Maybank moved through the maze of alleyways, their steps quick and purposeful, yet filled with a tension that spoke of something much deeper than their immediate surroundings.

Y/N was JJ Maybank’s twin sister, a spitfire with a wild heart who had once been the center of Rafe’s secret world. The two had shared a tumultuous fling, a secret affair that had started four years ago under the cover of darkness and ended just as abruptly. It was a relationship neither had ever fully acknowledged. Rafe was a Kook, while Y/N, like her brother JJ, was a Pogue, tale as old as time.

The shop was quiet, the group off to Charleston to follow the next clue. Y/N stayed behind to wait for her brother after he had wandered off “running errands.” The bell above the door jingled, and the soft sound broke through the silence.

Y/N was leaning against the counter, staring at her phone screen, scrolling through all the unread text messages to her brother.

"How can I help you?" she asked absently, not looking up from her phone.

She looked up and her breath got caught in her throat, the smile on Rafe Cameron's face grating against the air. He stood at the entrance, hands tucked casually in his pockets, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, keeping her tone even, though the familiar tension in her chest began to build. She’d never been able to shake the feeling of unease around him. Not since everything went down with Pope, the fight that ended whatever it was they had.

"Can't I just stop by and visit my local surf and bait shop?" Rafe said, taking a step inside, his eyes glinting mischievously.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You looking for Sarah?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Actually, yeah. I'm looking for Sarah."

She shook her head, setting the phone down with a soft click. "She doesn’t want to talk to you."

Rafe raised an eyebrow, the smirk still in place. "I think I can have a chat with my sister whenever I want."

"Not if she doesn't want to talk to you." Her words were firm, but there was a slight quiver in her voice that betrayed her more complicated feelings.

Rafe’s smirk didn’t falter as he took a few more steps forward, closing the distance between them. He placed his elbows on the counter, leaning in closer, the sudden proximity catching her off guard.

"I'm sorry about the drama at the beach the other day," he said, his voice lowering in an almost sincere tone. "With Ruthie and the turtles."

She didn’t respond right away, trying to keep her emotions in check. She could feel the weight of his words, but it didn’t change anything. Rafe was sorry—sorry for the mess he had created, maybe, but never for the things that had truly mattered.

"Don’t act like you care, Rafe," she replied, her voice steady despite the knot tightening in her stomach. "You only care about how things affect you. And I guess now Sofia."

He stared at her for a long moment, his gaze growing intense. The years of tension between them seemed to hang in the air, unresolved and unspoken. Then he said, his tone soft but firm, "We used to be so close, Y/N. What happened?"

She sucked in a breath, trying to push down the anger, the hurt, the past. "The drugs happened," she said slowly, her voice low. "Ward happened. Your anger happened."

His eyes darkened for a second, his jaw tightening. He opened his mouth to say something, but he closed it just as quickly. After a long, weighted silence, he took a half step back, his expression softening, just a little.

"I’m on your side, you know," he said quietly, the words almost a whisper, as though they were too important to rush. "I always have been."

The words hung between them, charged and heavy with meaning. She didn’t know what to say to that. She hadn’t known what to say to Rafe since the day he’d walked away, leaving everything torn apart in his wake.

Before she could respond, Rafe straightened, brushing his hand across his forehead as if clearing his thoughts. He turned toward the door, his back to her now. "I’ll be seeing you around," he muttered over his shoulder, the door swinging open as he left without another word.

Now, as they weaved through the ancient Moroccan city, they were older, scarred by the years of treasure hunts, betrayals, and broken friendships.

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Y/N said, stopping suddenly, her dark eyes scanning the shadowed alleyways. She had always been the one with the sixth sense, the one who could feel trouble like a storm on the horizon.

Rafe turned to her, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

But before she could answer, they heard Kiara’s voice, shrill and desperate, cutting through the noise of the bustling market.

“Y/N! John B! Pope!”

Y/N’s heart seized in her chest, and without another word, she took off in the direction of Kiara's cries, Rafe hot on her heels. They rounded a corner and found Kiara kneeling on the cobblestones, her face pale and streaked with tears. And lying there, motionless, was JJ.

“No, no, no,” Y/N whispered, her voice breaking as she fell to her knees beside her brother. Her hands trembled as she reached out to touch JJ’s face, his skin already growing cold under her fingertips.

“JJ, please,” she begged, her voice cracking, tears streaming down her face. “You can’t leave me. You promised.” She cried.

But there was no response, no flicker of life in those familiar blue eyes. It felt like the world had been ripped out from under her, like the ground had opened up to swallow her whole. Rafe stood behind her, his face pale, his fists clenched at his sides.

The group stood stunned, no one wanting to be the one to move. But they were in a busy, bustling city with a dead body. People would ask questions. “W-We have to get him out of here.” John B stammered. He moved to reach for Y/N, attempting to pry her off of her brother’s body.

Y/N fought against him, muttering things like ‘I’m not leaving him’ or ‘he can’t be alone.’ Rafe takes over for John B and has to use his strength to pull her up to her feet. He held her in his arms, close to his chest to avoid having to see her two best friends moving her brother.

At that moment, all he could really do was hold her.

||

Months had passed since that horrible day in Morocco, but for Y/N, time had ceased to exist. She was back in Kildare, but it was as if she was still stuck in that dark alleyway, kneeling beside her brother’s lifeless body.

Sarah Cameron was heavily pregnant, as she prepared for the birth of her first child with John B. It was supposed to be a time of joy and new beginnings, but the shadow of JJ’s death loomed over them all.

Y/N had fallen into a downward spiral, her grief consuming her. She drank herself into oblivion every night, stumbling through the streets of Kildare like a ghost. She would disappear for days, only to be found passed out on the beach or in the hammock outside her house. The Pogues tried to help her, but she pushed them all away, lost in her own pain.

Sarah had told Rafe about Y/N, how she was drowning in guilt for not being there when JJ had died. The words had hit Rafe like a punch to the gut, reminding him of his own spiral years ago, before his father had dragged him into the hunt for the Royal Merchant’s gold.

He couldn’t let that happen to Y/N. He wouldn’t. He loved her even if he couldn’t admit it.

So he found himself standing on the porch of the Maybank house, staring at the peeling paint on the front door. John B’s van was parked out front, and Rafe assumed he was there trying to talk some sense into Y/N.

A part of him thought ‘oh John B is here, I can come back later.’ But he couldn’t walk away, not this time.He’s walked away from her too many times.

He knocked, the sound echoing in the stillness of the early afternoon. John B opened the door, his face drawn and tired. “Sarah’s not here.” He told Rafe. “I’m not here for Sarah. I’m here for Y/N.” Rafe answered.

“She’s not doing well, man,” John B said, his voice low. “We don’t know what else to do. I think... I think she feels guilty for not being with JJ when it happened.”

Rafe nodded, his jaw tightening. “Let me talk to her.”

John B hesitated but finally stepped aside, letting Rafe through. The house was quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos that had always surrounded JJ.

Rafe walked down the hall to Y/N’s bedroom, the same room he used to sneak into all those years ago. All of the memories came flooding back as he stopped in front of the door. Nights that ended tangled up in her sheets. Other nights where she just wanted to be held after a fight with her dad.

Rafe pushed the door open to find her cocooned under the comforter, a bottle of vodka sitting on her nightstand.

“JB, please go away,” she mumbled, her voice raw and hoarse. Rafe assumed from a mixture of alcohol and crying.

“Not John B,” Rafe said softly.

Y/N stiffened, slowly emerging from under the covers, moving to sit up against her headboard. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face pale and gaunt. She looked like a shadow of the girl he once knew.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“I’m worried about you,” Rafe said, moving to sit on the edge of the mattress.

“Apparently everyone is,” she muttered, her eyes flicking away from him.

There was a heavy silence, the kind that was filled with all the things they had left unsaid for so many years. Rafe took a deep breath, trying to find the right words.

“Y/N... I know what it’s like to lose yourself,” he began, his voice steady. “I know what it’s like to drown. I was there once, you know that. Hell, I’m still trying to crawl my way out.”

She looked at him, her eyes filling with tears. “He was always afraid to be alone, and I left him alone,” she choked out. “I should have been there. I should have protected him.”

Rafe’s heart broke at the raw pain in her voice. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened, Y/N. JJ wouldn’t want that.”

“How would you know?” she snapped, her voice rising. “You never cared about him. About me.”

The words were like a slap in the face, but Rafe took it, knowing she was lashing out from a place of deep hurt. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “I didn’t care about JJ, and I pushed everyone away. But I always cared about you. And I don’t want to lose you to this, Y/N. I can’t.”

“I’m not your responsibility, Rafe.” Y/N muttered. “No but you’re the person I love.” Rafe replied. “You can’t say things like that.” She practically snapped. “Why not? You used to beg me to tell you how I felt and I finally am. I’m sorry it came so late and it’s happening because of this but I’ll be damned if another person I love gets hurt because I didn’t do anything to stop it.” Rafe told her.

She stared at him, the anger draining from her eyes, leaving only exhaustion. “I don’t know how to come back from this,” she whispered.

“Let me help you,” Rafe said, his voice breaking. “Please. Let me be there for you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

There was a long pause, and then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded. It was a small gesture, but it was enough.

“I’ll try,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’ll try to get better.”

“And I’ll be here,” Rafe promised, reaching out to take her hand. “Through it all. I’m not going anywhere.”

||

A year had passed since that day in Morocco. The sun was shining over the Outer Banks, the salty breeze carrying the sound of laughter and the distant crash of waves. The Pogues had gathered for a special occasion, a day of celebration and new beginnings.

Sarah and John B’s son, Jackson, was turning one today, and they were throwing a beach party in his honor. Y/N stood on the edge of the gathering, watching as Sarah bounced her son on her hip, his tiny hands reaching for the birthday cake.

Y/N was sober, clear-eyed, and for the first time in a long time, she felt like she could breathe again. She had fought her way out of the darkness with Rafe by her side, and though the pain of losing her brother would never fully fade, she was learning to live with it.

Rafe approached her, a soft smile on his lips. “You doing okay?” he asked, his voice gentle.

She nodded, turning to look at him. “Yeah, I think I am.”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “I’m proud of you,” he whispered. “For everything.”

She leaned into him, letting the warmth of his embrace chase away the lingering shadows. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For not giving up on me.”

Rafe smiled down at her before she moved up on her toes and kissed him sweetly. “I love you, Rafe.” She spoke quietly. “I love you too.” He replied.

They stood there together, watching as their friends celebrated a new chapter of their lives, a chapter filled with hope and healing.

For the first time in a long time, Y/N believed that maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.

[bubblyi3]

Residuals PART 2 | JJK

"when trust is the currency, betrayal is the gamble."

pairing: jungkook x female reader

genre: childhood best friends, lovers to enemies to strangers, fratboy!jungkook, heartbreak, uni!au

word count: 13.4k

content warning: angst, mild smut, mild languages

summary: jungkook used to be your everything. your best friend, your first love. but you both grew up and grew apart. he’s now the campus heartbreaker, a cocky frat boy who runs with the worst crowd. when a cruel dare asks him to destroy you just for the fun of it. everything shatters. trust. hearts. and maybe the chance to ever put it back together.

author's note: the anticipation for the next part is so real 😭🔥 i’m seriously blown away by all your feedback and opinions. i read every single one and love them so much 💌🫶🏼 >> TAGLIST IS NOW CLOSED << 📝⏳ hope you enjoy this update, and i’m honestly so curious to hear what you think! 👀💭💗

about part 3… i’m planning to work on it a little later, but i’m not exactly sure when since i’ll be pretty busy in the next few days. and plus i want a little writing break lol. anyway, happy reading! so again please feel free to share your thoughts or what you’d like to see happen. though, i do have it mostly planned already 👀

© disclaimer: please do not copy, translate or reproduce any part of this work without my permission. thank you!

PROLOGUE || PART 1

🏷️ taglist: @whoa-jo / @username23345 / @kelsyx33 / @toosweetforyall / @junniesoleilkth / @literallyjimin / @jeeykey / @stars4kooo / @delulutofr / @smoljimjim / @elithenium / @mysoulherofriend / @ukndtwme / @somehowukook / @songbyeonkim / @miakay98 / @sundains / @bjoriis / @kooever / @dragonflygurl4 / @labbbaaa / @cherricherryy / @jeongguks-posts / @rexana19 / @ppeachyttae / @ssbb-22

The soft rustle of your dress echoed in your bedroom as you smoothed it down, your heart fluttering with nervous excitement. The mint green shimmered softly in the light, delicate beading catching the golden hour like morning dew. The dress hugged your figure gently, its cowl neckline and flowing ruffled hem giving you the look of something out of a vintage daydream.

A sheer sash tied at your shoulder swayed lightly as you moved. A soft pink shimmer clung to your eyelids, paired with champagne highlighter dusted across your cheekbones and hint of moss green in the crease of your eyes. Your lip gloss, rosy and light. You were almost ready. Your heels sat neatly by your bed, and you carefully clipped on your earrings, taking one last look at yourself in the mirror. Tonight, you didn't just feel beautiful. You felt like you belonged in a fairytale.

Your phone buzzed. A message from your date. Your boyfriend.

[Yeonjun]: Be there in 15 minutes. Can't wait to see you :)

You smiled, though your stomach flipped in a way that felt more anxious that excited. It was prom. It was supposed to feel like magic. Perfect. Like in the movies.

Next door, Jungkook stood in front of his mirror, pulling on his black suit, with a crisp white pocket, and slim black tie. He looked sharp, older somehow. Mature in a way that would've made you blink if you thought about it for too long. His mom had popped her head into the hallway and gasped.

"You look so grown up, Jungkook!"

He chuckled as he adjusted his tie. "It's just prom."

"And I'm only sixteen, Mom. Not grown yet."

Still, something flickered behind his eyes as he picked up the corsage for Sohee. The girl who had caught his attention during PE, who giggled at his jokes and flipped her hair just enough to make his ears turn pink.

You didn’t see him leave, but you heard the soft slam of a car door, and when you peeked out your window. There he was… serious, collected, driving off with a sharpness that made your chest feel tight.

About five minutes had quietly slipped by. You’d gone over everything twice. Your phone tucked securely in your clutch, heels slipped on with practiced ease. One last glance in the mirror as you dabbed a fresh coat of gloss onto your lips, a small exhale steadying your nerves. Smoothing down the fabric of your outfit.

Then came the sound. Sharp and unmistakable, it was the doorbell chimed from downstairs, slicing through the silence like a signal that the night was finally beginning. You made your way downstairs, the soft click of your heels echoing in the quiet once you've hit the floorboard.

Yeonjun stood at the entrance, his tux well-fitted and a bouquet in hand that perfectly matched your dress. Your parents welcomed him with warm smiles and watchful eyes. There were polite exchanges, awkward laughs, and a few snaps of the two of you posing at the foot of the stairs. You pinned the boutonniere to his suit, your fingers brushing his chest, and he gently fastened the corsage around your wrist.

He looked at you. “You look beautiful.”

You smiled. “Thanks.”

It was… sweet. Not magical, but nice.

The drive to the venue passed in a blur. Streetlights flickering in the windows like fireflies, the buzz of the night ahead humming beneath your skin.

Prom was beautiful.

The gymnasium had been transformed with fairy lights strung across the ceiling, casting a soft golden glow. Music pulsed through the air, bass vibrating under your heels. Waiters in black and white attire circled with trays of finger food, and girls in shimmering dresses laughed beneath the glitter of a mirrored disco ball.

And then, you spotted them.

Kelsy and Linda, your two friends that you managed to make at the start of high school, already sitting at a round table near the back, waving excitedly when they saw you. Kelsy practically jumped up and hurried over in a cloud of lilac tulle, with Linda following closely behind, her champagne-colored gown hugging her like it was made for her.

“Oh my god, you look stunning!” Kelsy said, grabbing your hands as if she hadn’t just seen you yesterday.

“Seriously,” Linda added, eyes wide. “You’re glowing. Like you walked out of a magazine.”

You laughed, hugging them both. “You two are unreal. I was just thinking the same thing.”

Their dates trailed behind them. Kelsy's was Mark, your go-to group project MVP, awkward in a cute way. Linda had brought Kyungsoo, who gave you a polite nod and a compliment about your earrings.

Then Yeonjun stepped beside you and draped an arm around your shoulder, a bit stiff, his smile too practiced. “Hey.”

They greeted him politely, shared quick small talk, and then ushered you all back to the table for a few candid photos. For a while, it felt okay. Comfortable.

But something didn’t sit right. Yeonjun wasn’t quite present. His hand slipped from yours during conversations. He laughed more with the boys from the next table than he did with you. Scrolling his phone under the table. Texting.

You felt your eyes wander, scanning the room, drawn to something. Or someone.

And there he was.

Sitting across the venue at a table decorated with gold accents, next to Sohee in a flowy white dress that made her look angelic. Her hand was on his arm as she leaned in to whisper something. He smiled, laughed but it didn’t reach his eyes. Jungkook gradually looked up and saw you.

You both froze for a breath. He flashes a small, quiet, real kind of smile. Jungkook tilted his head slightly, motioning you over like you were still those two kids from next door, still sneaking out in the late afternoon to race bikes and fight over which Marvel movie was best.

You made a move.

But Yeonjun caught your wrist gently. “Hey, my friends are over there. They got us a table.”

You hesitated for a second.

Then you gave Jungkook the softest smile and nodded at Yeonjun. “Sure. Let’s go.”

The rest of the night unraveled like a slow unraveling thread.

You danced once, maybe twice with Yeonjun. The second time he barely looked at you. His hands weren’t on your waist like they used to be. His smile, when it came, was tired.

You went to grab a drink. He didn’t come with you.

And then, under the warm buzz of fairy lights and pop music, it happened.

Yeonjun pulled you aside near the edge of the dance floor, his voice casual like this wasn’t about to wreck your night.

“Look,” he said, hands in his pockets. “I think we should just be friends after tonight.”

You blinked. “What?”

“We’re still so young,” he went on, eyes darting around. “And I know you want something serious. But you’re… kind of clingy. I just… don’t feel it anymore.”

It wasn’t loud. No shouting. No tears on his end.

Just a quiet, casual betrayal wrapped in cologne and a neatly tied tie.

You stood frozen. Your mouth parted, your heart thudding. The music continued. Laughter, the sound of heels clicking against the polished floor, camera shutters snapping memories.

You turned before the tears could fall. Instinctively scanning the room and finding him.

Jungkook was already looking at you. His expression changed instantly. Concern replacing laughter, Sohee beside him chatting with her friends, unaware.

And in that moment, even across a crowded room, it was like he knew.

You were hurting.

And the boy who once raced you down the hill on bikes and always let you win… wouldn’t let you fall now.

You slipped past the dance floor, through the crowd of glittering gowns and tailored suits, your vision blurring. The hallway outside was dimly lit and quiet. Just the soft thud of bass vibrating through the walls and the occasional distant laugh echoing from behind the closed gym doors.

You leaned against the wall, pulling in shaky breaths, willing yourself not to cry. Not here. Not in heels and highlighter and all this effort.

But the lump in your throat wouldn’t move.

And then... footsteps.

You didn’t look up at first. Not until you heard his voice.

“Hey…”

He stood there, just a few steps away, his dress shirt slightly unbuttoned now, hair a little messier than earlier, like he’d run his fingers through it on the way out.

You straightened a little. “Did you follow me?”

His lips curved into a soft smile. “Kelsy told me to.”

Of course she did. She always loved him. Saw him as more than just your bestfriend. Even if you tried not to.

He stepped closer, hesitant. “Are you okay?”

You almost laughed, but it caught in your throat. “Do I look okay?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I thought maybe… I could change that.”

Your brows lifted. “By doing what? Giving me a lecture? A joke?”

He smiled again, a little sheepish this time. “No. By dancing with you.”

You blinked. “Jungkook-”

“I already asked Sohee,” he added, looking away for a second. “Told her I wanted... needed to check on you. Asked if she was okay with me dancing with you.”

You raised a brow. “And?”

“She was confused,” he admitted, a little breathless, “but I didn’t wait for her answer.”

You let out a small breath. “What if she’s mad?”

He shrugged, stepping even closer. “Then she’s mad. But I’m not going back in there if you’re out here crying.”

You stared at him. At this boy you’d known since you were practically in diapers. The boy who used to braid your friendship bracelets wrong and race you up the hill just to lose on purpose. The boy who now stood in a black suit under low hallway lights, asking you to dance like it meant something.

And it did.

He held out his hand.

You hesitated only a second and then placed yours in his.

He led you back in.

And when the doors opened again, the lights felt warmer. The noise dulled to a hum. The world stopped spinning.

At first, you thought Jungkook was leading you straight to the dance floor. But instead, he veered slightly. Eyes sharp, posture tense. You followed his gaze.

Yeonjun.

Still near the drinks table, laughing like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just shattered your night and walked away without a care. He was surrounded by his friends, sipping from his cup with that same careless grin.

Jungkook didn’t hesitate.

"Yeonjun," he said, voice low and cool. Like a storm on the verge of breaking.

Yeonjun looked up, squinting slightly, like he couldn’t quite believe Jungkook was talking to him. “Uh… hey?”

But Jungkook didn’t waste time.

“You’re a real piece of work.”

Yeonjun raised a brow.  “Excuse me?”

“You dumped her. On prom night,” Jungkook said, his jaw clenching. “Didn’t even have the decency to wait until the end?”

Yeonjun scoffed. “Relax. It was mutual.”

Jungkook took a step closer, voice dipping lower, colder. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t ditch someone who gave you her time, her trust... and leave her to cry alone in a hallway like she didn’t matter.”

Yeonjun blinked, caught off guard. “This really isn’t your business-”

“It is when it’s her,” Jungkook snapped. His tone wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It was laced with something heavier. Protective. Dangerous.

He leaned in close, his next words meant for Yeonjun alone. “Make her cry again… and I’ll knock you out. I won't think twice about it."

Yeonjun’s mouth parted like he wanted to say something, but nothing came. Just a nervous swallow and the flush draining from his face.

And then Jungkook turned.

You were there, a few steps behind. Frozen. Wide-eyed. You couldn’t hear what exactly he had said. Only that it had left Yeonjun pale and speechless.

But somehow, you didn’t care. Yeonjun wasn’t yours anymore.

Jungkook reached for your hand again, slipping his fingers through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And then, without another word, he finally led you to the dance floor.

The slow song wrapped around the two of you like a lullaby. You swayed gently in his arms, your cheek brushing the soft fabric of his suit jacket, heart settling into a rhythm that finally made sense. Every now and then, Jungkook would look down at you. Not saying anything, just being there, and it was enough.

You could’ve stayed like that all night.

But the next track kicked in and it was not another slow song.

Suddenly, synths pulsed through the speakers, that dreamy electronic beat rising like a wave through the ballroom. You recognized it instantly. It was “Walking on a Dream” by Empire of the Sun. One of your old favorites. You and Jungkook used to blast it riding your bikes through the suburbs when the streetlights just started flickering on.

Your head popped up, and you glanced at him.

His brows raised in recognition, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin. “No way.”

You laughed. “They actually played it.”

He pulled back just enough to grab both your hands and, with no warning at all, spun you.

You stumbled a little in your heels but laughed so hard you barely cared. The dreamy beat picked up, and suddenly the dance floor, which had thinned out for the slow song, started coming back to life. Couples broke apart, laughing, moving, jumping, spinning.

Jungkook didn’t let go of your hand once.

“Come on, show me those moves from eighth grade!” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

You gasped, smacking his arm. “You promised to never bring that up!”

“Nope,” he laughed. “This is payback for when you made me do the dougie in front of your parents."

“Oh, that again-” You burst out laughing.

Then the chorus hit, and you both jumped in. Wild, messy, carefree. He twirled you again, and you threw your hands up, hair flying, dress swaying, heart light.

The stares from earlier faded into the background. You didn’t care who saw. You didn’t care who whispered. In that moment, it was just you and Jungkook, dancing like you were twelve again, like nothing had ever changed.

Sohee was still standing at the edge of the floor with her friends, watching. And maybe part of you noticed that. Maybe part of you even enjoyed it, not to be cruel, but because for once, the roles were reversed.

Jungkook caught your eye and leaned in, slightly breathless, his hair falling over his forehead. “You look like you're actually having fun again.”

You nodded, smiling so wide your cheeks hurt. “Because I am.”

He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, holding your gaze just a second longer than necessary.

And under the flashing lights, with that nostalgic beat filling the air, you suddenly realized something. That this was the moment you'd remember.

Not Yeonjun. Not the break up.

But this. The dancing, the laughter and him.

The chorus of the song pulsed around you, neon lights flickering across the dance floor like stars crashing into earth. Jungkook suit jacket was no longer on. You laughed as you spun around, letting your hair fly loose, your dress twirling at your knees. For the first time that night, you felt weightless.

Free.

You didn’t notice Jungkook had stopped dancing until you turned back toward him.

He wasn’t moving. Just standing there, chest rising and falling with steady breaths, watching you like you were the only thing in the room worth seeing.

Like the chaos, the music, the people. None of it existed anymore.

His eyes softened, lips parted just slightly, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

You tilted your head. “What?” you asked, breathless from dancing.

He didn’t respond. Just took one step closer.

Then another.

And then before you could even process it. His hand slipped gently behind your neck, and he leaned in.

His lips met yours.

Soft at first. Like a question.

You froze for a heartbeat, not out of fear or confusion, but out of everything. Shock. Wonder. Relief. And then, without thinking, you melted into it. Into him.

The music faded beneath the roar of your pulse.

It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t perfect, but it was real. Years of knowing each other, of moments unspoken, of stolen glances and silent loyalty. It all collided in that one kiss.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. His breath was warm, his voice barely audible above the beat of the song still playing.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he whispered.

You blinked up at him, lips still tingling, heart still racing. You didn’t know what to say, not right away. But your silence didn’t scare him. He just smiled, like he didn’t need an answer. 

Jungkook tasted like soda. Lemon, to be exact. Sharp and sweet, like summer and surprises. It lingered on your lips a little longer. It felt dizzying, addictive, like something you shouldn’t want but craved anyway. And maybe part of you hated that he still technically came to prom with Sohee. That she'd been the one on his arm when he walked in. That her corsage was still fastened neatly at her wrist while you danced with the boy she was supposed to be with.

But the way Jungkook looked at you like nothing else existed… it made the edges of that ache soften. Just a little.

Still, the tension lingered, refusing to fade even as the music died down and the lights brightened. By the end of the night, after hours of mingling, laughing with friends, dancing under dim lights, and picking at plates of food. Jungkook had somehow made your prom night feel memorable, even magical in moments.

As the crowd slowly thinned, classmates trickled out in small groups, and teachers stood in clusters, exchanging quiet conversation by the doors. Sohee hovered near the exit with her arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t say much, but the tightness in her jaw said enough.

“I can take you both home,” Jungkook had offered, his voice casual, like nothing had shifted.

Sohee’s eyes snapped to you, then back to him. “It’s fine. I already called my dad,” she said quickly, voice a little too clipped. “He’s almost here.”

“You sure?” Jungkook asked, brows slightly knit.

“I’m sure,” she replied, gaze cutting in your direction. “Besides… you two seem busy.”

Neither of you responded to that.

Sohee walked off without another word, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement. The car ride that could’ve been a triangle never happened. Instead, it was just you and Jungkook, the night air heavy with everything unspoken.

Even though your houses were right next to each other, he still pulled into your driveway. The engine idled for a moment before he turned it off. He didn’t say anything at first. Just got out and rounded the car to open your door.

You stepped out slowly, the hem of your dress grazing the ground. His jacket, which he had put on you earlier, still draped over your shoulders.

He walked you to your front door, not rushing, not speaking. Just… being there.

And then, right as you reached the steps, he finally asked, “You okay?”

You turned to look at him, heart full and aching all at once.

A soft smile curved your lips. “I am now.”

Jungkook fell silent for a beat, his gaze shifting to the side as he slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “I didn’t like him anyway.”

You raised a brow, momentarily thrown. “You mean… Yeonjun?”

He let out a quiet scoff, tongue clicking in annoyance as he shook his head. “Yeah. The guy’s a total ass. I overheard him talking with his boys once. Saying the only reason he got with you was because he felt sorry for you.”

Your breath caught. “Seriously?” A beat passed. “Wow… he really is an ass.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything right away. Just gave a small smile. It was soft, but there was something protective beneath it. His eyes flicked over to you, lingering. “You looked really pretty tonight. The dress. Your hair. Everything.”

A warmth bloomed in your chest. “Thanks. I’ve got your mum to thank for that. She has an eye for this stuff. She helped me pick out the best one.”

His smile widened, just slightly. “Well… she was right.”

You nudged him gently with your shoulder. “And you don’t look so bad yourself, Jeon.”

A silence settled again, comfortable this time.

Your eyes flicked toward the house next door, before returning to his.

"You should probably head home," you said gently, voice low. "It's late."

He nodded slowly, reluctantly. "Yeah... suppose I should."

You slipped off his jacket, handing it back as you took a small step back, arms folding in front of you. A faint smile tugged at your lips. "Goodnight, Kook.'"

He lingered for a second longer, like he wasn’t quite ready to cross the few steps that would take him back to his door. Then suddenly, without warning, he stepped forward and pulled you into his arms.

Your breath caught.

His embrace was warm, secure, a little too long to be casual. He didn’t say anything. Just held you like he meant it. Like he needed it. Like letting go too soon might break something in him.

And maybe, in you too.

You stood frozen for a moment before letting yourself relax into him, your hands finding his back. The fabric of his dress shirt was soft beneath your fingertips, but it was the heartbeat you felt against your own that made your throat tighten.

He finally pulled away, slowly, almost reluctantly.

Neither of you mentioned the kiss from earlier. You didn’t need to.

Because the real moment wasn’t the kiss.

Not the dance.

Not even the jealousy.

It was this.

Jungkook, just a few steps from home, still choosing to stay for a little longer.

Still choosing you... even in silence.

Your eyes blink open slowly, the weight of half-slept dreams still clinging to your lashes. For a second, you don't know where you are. Your mind pulling from fragments of a dream that felt real only moments ago.

You weren't sixteen anymore, at prom, twirling under fairy lights, laughter ringing in your ears as Jungkook spun you around like you were the only girl in the world. No soft music, no warm hands. You weren't even in that familiar memory anymore. Instead, your ceiling stares blankly back at you, the soft hum of a Sunday morning filtering in through your cracked window.

The smell of dew and cut grass drifts in as light creeps across the floor of your room. The air feels slow, a little heavy. You let out a small sigh, rubbing your eyes. You don't even remember what you were supposed to be doing today. All you know is that last night, you stayed up far too late. Pouring yourself into dense business readings, getting nowhere with that damn case study report you had to work on.

And then there was Jungkook.

You stared at his name glowing on your phone screen, feeling a strange distance between you. His message sat there unread, unopened, just as he deserved. Yet, you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering back to it. Back to him. After all, wasn’t this what you wanted? To have him back in your life? To have your best friend back?

You throw the covers off, the sheets twisted and clinging to your legs like the thoughts you’ve been trying so hard to outrun. It's almost pathetic. How even the air in your room feels like it carries traces of him. Like he still lingers, even when he shouldn’t.

You hate it.

That somehow, despite everything, Jungkook thinks a single message. Probably crafted with zero effort is enough to worm his way back into your day. Your mind. Your heart.

Not after what he had done.

Not after he let his friends talk about you like you were disposable. A joke. Right there, in front of him, and he didn’t flinch. He let their words hang in the air like it wasn’t his job to shut it down. Like he wasn’t supposed to be the one to protect you.

He ignored you. Brushed you off. Dismissed you when it was convenient for him.

And God, you try not to think about your twenty-first birthday. The way the day came and went, and there was no text. No call. No surprises. Just silence from the one person who was supposed to know what that milestone meant to you. Who was supposed to be there.

Especially after you showed up for his.

Even when it wasn’t your kind of scene. Chaotic, wild, too many strangers crammed into a space pulsing with loud music and strobe lights. The kind of party that felt like it had been thrown for social media rather than for connection. Drinks being poured like water, shots passed around like candy, and girls. There were girls everywhere, clinging to him, laughing a little too loudly at everything he said. Half the people there probably didn’t even know Jungkook, not really. Just heard that he was throwing a rager and decided to show up.

But you? You showed up for him.

And he didn’t even expect you to.

You can still remember how his expression changed the moment you stepped through that door into the frat house. There was a flicker of surprise. Like a part of him had convinced himself you’d finally walked away for good. Maybe, deep down, he was hoping you wouldn’t show up at all, just so he could tell himself you were the one who left first.

But you did come. Because it was tradition. Because for as long as you can remember, you and Jungkook never missed each other's birthdays. It was just an unspoken rule. A thread that tied your childhood to your present, something steady, even when everything else was falling apart.

You even got him a gift, not some small, last-minute thing, but the wireless headphones he’d once casually mentioned in passing. The latest model. Beneath his passion for film and all that, you knew Jungkook loved music, and lately, he’d been getting into gaming and streaming too. That was another reason you’d chosen those headphones.

He hadn’t expected it. You saw it, the brief, flickering shadow of something like guilt in his eyes as he unwrapped the gift, caught off guard by the thoughtfulness.

And still, somehow, when it was your turn, he didn’t even show up.

Even after you had sent him a gentle reminder the night before the actual day. A reminder of how excited you were to celebrate your twenty-first with him. You had booked at the new diner, the one with that Korean BBQ vibe you knew he’d love.

You tried to convince yourself you weren’t bothered by his absence, even as your friends kept reassuring you he’d show up.

Kelsey, was the first to notice something was off. She gave you a small, uneasy smile. “I know it’s not like him to miss something this big.”

Linda nodded beside her, frowning. “Yeah… and honestly, we’re starting to believe you. This whole ‘new Jungkook’ vibe. You might be right. He’s not the same anymore.”

Kelsey reached out to squeeze your hand. “But hey, this is your night. We’ll make sure it’s still a good one, no matter what.”

From there you blew out your candles and spent the night laughing through bowling and karaoke with your uni friends and your old high school duo. The ones who actually showed up, who actually cared.

It was real. It was alive.

And still, he didn’t.

So no, he doesn’t get to act like a message means anything. Like that one text wipes away the silence, the absence, the times you were left hanging. It doesn’t. Not even close.

Without thinking, your eyes flicker toward the bouquet of crocheted tulips sitting on your desk. Soft, pastel coloured and handmade. The ones Jungkook brought you yesterday at the weekend market.

It wasn’t even the tulips themselves. It was the nerve. The way he acted like those stitched flowers could somehow cover over everything he’s done. Like yarn and effort could could bridge the growing distance, erase the quiet moments where you felt him slipping further away.

A flare of irritation hits your chest. Sharp and fast. You scoop the bouquet off your desk with one hand and march out of your room, heavy steps on the hardwood floor.

You’re fully ready to toss the whole thing in the bin.

But you freeze mid-step at the bottom of the stairs.

In the lounge, your parents sit with mugs in hand, already dressed for the day. Your mum’s hair is loosely braided, soft strands escaping here and there, while your dad scrolls through the news on his tablet. Both look up the moment they notice you.

Your mum pauses mid-sip, blinking in confusion as you stand there like a half-dressed storm cloud, hair a bit messy from sleep, in just your oversized tee and shorts… clutching a bouquet of crocheted tulips like it’s the smoking gun in a crime scene.

To them, you probably looked unhinged. Or sleepwalking. Or both.

“Morning, Y/n,” your mum says slowly, cautiously.

“Morning,” your dad echoes, though there’s already amusement in his voice, like he knows this is about to be something.

Their eyes both land on the tulips.

Your mum leans slightly forward. “What are you doing with those?”

You blink.

Your mind blanks.

And then, like a reflex, you lie.

“They’re for you!” you blurt, voice a little too chipper, a little too high.

Your mum’s face scrunches, confused. “Wait... aren’t those from Jungkook?”

You force a laugh. “Yeah… I mean, yes. But I totally forgot I meant to give them to you instead. Thought you’d like them better. You know… handmade… tulips…”

She raises an eyebrow.

And then, just to dig the hole deeper, you add, “Also, I’ve, um… recently developed an allergy to acrylic.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you want to sink through the floor.

Your dad looks up from his mug, eyes wide. “You what?”

“Since when?” your mum chimes in, clearly caught off guard.

“Acrylic yarns,” you say, keeping a straight face, too far gone to backtrack now. “Apparently, I picked it up during uni.”

A heavy silence hangs between you all.

Your dad clears his throat, setting down his mug with a soft clink. “Well… I guess you should throw that out then."

Your mum shakes her head. "No! I'll keep it. It's from Jungkook. After all, I wouldn’t want it to go to waste."

You let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Fine, but just… keep it at a good distance from me,” you say, forcing a half-smile. “I don’t want to end up sneezing all over the place.”

Your mum grins, clearly pleased with the compromise. “Deal. I’ll treasure it. For both of us.”

Your dad chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Only you would come up with an allergy to yarns.”

You laugh along, the tension easing as the moment shifts from awkward to warm, even though the truth behind your excuse isn’t quite so simple.

Holding out the tulips awkwardly, your mum takes them gently. “Well, thank you, I guess,” she says with a soft smile.

You nod and turn on your heel before they can ask any more questions.

But as you walk back toward the kitchen. Barefoot, flustered, and still wrestling with yourself, you feel a sharp twist in your chest.

Because no matter how ridiculous it all seems, no matter how much you tell yourself those tulips mean nothing now, the truth remains. He still got to you. He found a way to crawl under your skin. And here you are, cleaning up the mess of feelings he left behind.

And it sucks.

But maybe that’s proof. Proof that you’re still learning how to let go.

And as you told that little lie about being allergic to acrylic yarns, next door, Jungkook is just waking up.

He groans, arm thrown over his eyes. His room is dim, curtain still drawn, but he can see the faint light sneaking through the edges. He doesn’t check his phone immediately. He already knows.

You still didn’t reply.

Last night, he had stayed up longer than he needed to. Pretending to focus on his film assignment while watching your bedroom light from his window. Just waiting. Just hoping. For something.

He sits up, rubbing his face, a bitter taste in his mouth. Not from sleep, but from regret. Maybe he pushed too far this time. Maybe you finally had enough. Fuck no. I can't back out yet.

Eventually, he drags himself out of bed, goes through the motions. Shower, brush teeth, throw on something decent. Still, your silence clings to him like static.

Downstairs, he’s greeted by the scent of breakfast. Toast and eggs, maybe pancakes if his dad got ambitious. His parents are chatting in the kitchen.

“Morning,” he mumbles.

“Morning, son,” his dad says. “Plans today?”

“Not really. Was gonna go out, take a stroll somewhere."

His mom looks over her shoulder. “Why don’t you and Y/n, go visit Halmoni Boksoon today? She’d love to see you both. It’s been too long.”

Jungkook pauses, heart tugging a little. Halmoni Boksoon.

He forgot about her. About the summer days you both spent there, how she’d spoil you with lemonade and stories while your parents worked overtime. The garden swings, her laugh, her warm hugs.

He feels a pang of guilt. Then warmth.

“Yeah,” he says, softer. “That might be nice. I’ll ask Y/n."

He pulls his phone out again, thumb hovering over the same thread. The message you didn’t reply to.

His mum glances up. “Why are you texting her? Just walk over. She’s right next door.”

He blinks, like it’s only just occurred to him. “Oh… right.”

He stuffs his phone into his pocket. Maybe he can fix things in person. Maybe he’ll say something you can actually believe this time.

But as he’s heading toward the door, a part of him forgets something. Something important.

The bet.

The dare.

The reason he had even sent you a text in the first place.

And what he doesn't know is that across the fence, you’re done letting him play tug-of-war with your heart. Because today isn’t about Jungkook.

It’s about you.

... so you thought.

You had freshened up since the whole crochet fiasco, hair loosely done, makeup light but enough to make you feel awake, present. Your hoodie was zipped halfway, and your sneakers sat by the door, ready to slip on. You still hadn’t fully decided on where the day would take you. Maybe a café nearby, maybe a walk down by the old park trail. Or maybe, if your parents were feeling generous, you’d ask to borrow the car. Nothing serious. Just a scenic drive with music on and the windows cracked open to let the breeze carry everything away.

In the meantime, you sat with your parents in the lounge again, the mood light. Your dad was telling one of his infamous stories from his early work days. About a photocopier jam that turned into a full on evacuation drill. On the other hand, your mum couldn’t stop laughing, her head leaning against the couch as she wiped a tear from her eye. You chuckled too, genuinely, grateful for the stillness of the moment.

It felt warm. Safe.

Normal.

Until it didn’t.

A knock echoed from the front door.

Not loud, but purposeful.

Your dad paused his story mid-sentence, looking toward the hallway. You were closest, so you stood up and walked over. Assuming it might be Ms. Jeon... or the postman.

You didn’t even hesitate as you turned the handle and opened the door.

But your breath caught in your throat the moment you saw him.

Piercings, tattoos. His hoodie was thrown on carelessly over a plain white tee, sleeves pushed up, revealing the ink that curled around his arm. But it was his eyes that did it. Those familiar doe eyes. Wide, unreadable, with the kind of softness that used to make you crumble. The kind that still somehow made you falter, even now, when you didn’t want them to.

He looked at you like he wasn’t sure if he should smile. Like he wasn’t sure if he deserved to.

You were frozen, hand still on the doorframe.

He spoke first.

“Hey.”

Simple. Quiet. Weighted.

Your mouth opened slightly, but no words came out at first. The air felt heavier with him standing there. Like he brought all the weight of your shared history with him.

“Hi,” you said, voice low. Guarded.

He glanced past you into the house, then back at you. “I didn’t mean to just show up, but… I figured I’d come see if you wanted to go visit Halmoni Boksoon. Like old times.”

Like old times.

He really had the nerve.

You almost laughed.

“Now’s not a good time,” you said calmly, trying to step out slightly, subtly blocking his view from the inside of your house. As if you were hiding something, even though he's been inside so many times before.

He nodded slowly, chewing on his bottom lip the way he always did when he was trying not to say too much, too soon. “Right. I figured. Since you didn't respond to my text.”

Before you could say anything else. Before you could tell him to go away or shut the door on him. Your mum's voice floated in from the lounge, light and curious.

“Is that Jungkook?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, silently cursing how easily his voice carried.

That one line from her was all he needed. Permission. He stepped fully into the doorway, past the invisible line you hadn’t realized you were drawing. And just like that, he was inside.

“Morning!" he called out, all fake cheer and sunshine. You rolled your eyes as he brushed past you. His scent... faint cologne and fabric softener, clinging in the air between you.

“Morning, Dad,” Jungkook added with a polite nod. Just like he always had since you were kids.

Your father looked up from his tablet, a warm smile tugging at his face, the kind that deepened the lines near his eyes. From the couch, your mum grinned. “Can you ask your mother if she’s still coming with me to bingo night?”

Jungkook chuckled as he made himself comfortable at the edge of the armchair near your dad. “Are you kidding? You know she lives for bingo night. She’ll be there with her ‘lucky lipstick’ and two daubers.”

That made your mum laugh. A real, warm sound that pulled at something nostalgic in you, the kind that made you feel like a kid again.

And as time went on, conversation flowed easily around the room, like Jungkook hadn’t just ambushed you. Like his presence wasn’t a sore spot.

“So,” your dad chimed in with a knowing grin, “you get bored of all that film study already, Jungkook? Or did you come over because you’re just bored and missing Y/n?”

Jungkook didn’t skip a beat. He turned to glance at you with a soft smile, but then his gaze landed on something else.

The crocheted tulips. Sitting on the dining table at the back. Your mum must've had place them there after your whole thing with acrylic yarn. She had noted to herself to take it up to the room later on.

His smile faltered for half a second. You watched the recognition click in his eyes. He tilted his head slightly.

“Oh,” he said, as if everything was starting to click. “Glad you like the tulips, by the way. Figured you’d have them up in your room.”

Your throat tightened, but before you could offer any sort of retort, your mum jumped in, completely unaware of the emotional minefield she was stepping into.

“She loved them so much,” she said, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “Though apparently, she’s suddenly allergic to acrylic yarn now.”

You froze.

Jungkook blinked, clearly confused at first.

Then it hit him.

That was your excuse? How could you possibly be allergic to acrylic yarn? when just yesterday you seemed perfectly fine with it?

His brows lifted slightly. He didn’t say anything right away, but the way his lips curved. Tight and unsure, told you everything. He knew it was a lie. And now he knew what it meant.

She really does hate me.

But he didn’t let it show in front of your parents. Instead, he cleared his throat and kept playing the part.

“Well,” he said lightly, “guess I’ll remember to get silk next time.”

Your heart gave a bitter twist. Next time? Like you’d ever let there be a next time.

Then he turned back toward your parents, shifting the conversation before the moment could hang too long in the air.

“Actually, I came by because Mum had an idea. Thought maybe Y/n and I could go visit Halmoni Boksoon. It’s been a while since we’ve seen her... and I think it’d make her really happy.”

Your dad nodded immediately. “That’s a great idea.”

“She’d love that,” your mum added, eyes turning toward you with something unreadable behind them. “You two always used to spend time with her. I’m sure she misses you both.”

Your stomach twisted. Not because you didn’t want to see Halmoni. You loved her. You missed her. The woman practically helped raise you. Her house smelled like jasmine tea and honey, and her hugs always lasted long enough to warm the coldest days.

But going with Jungkook?

Absolutely not.

“Maybe I’ll go tomorrow,” you said quickly. “Give her a call, see what works. You can go today.”

Your mum tilted her head, frowning a little. “Why not today? You’re not too busy, are you?”

It was a fair question, but a loaded one.

Because this hesitation wasn’t like you. You’d always been eager to hang out with Jungkook. Always chasing him, always defending him, always caring for him.

So this shift? She noticed. And you knew it.

But before you could respond, Jungkook stood up and stepped toward you casually, his arm draping around your shoulders like it was second nature.

Your body went stiff under his touch.

He leaned in, cheek brushing yours, and smiled. Big, fake and charming.

“Come on,” he said playfully. “It’ll be fun. Like the old days, remember? We used to eat all her rice cakes and watch TV until we knocked out on her couch.”

You stared ahead, teeth clenched behind a forced smile.

Like the old days.

The thing about the old days? You weren’t this angry back then. You weren’t this heartbroken, this bruised, this unsure of who Jungkook really was.

And now, here he was. Still trying to stay close, to stay needed, even if he didn’t deserve it anymore.

Just from this morning and how you'd made an unspoken plan. Right from the moment the idea was planted in the room. Avoid Jungkook as much as possible during this semester break. You needed space to untangle your thoughts, to find yourself without the constant pull of his complicated presence.

But here you were now, sitting behind the wheel of your mum’s car, the leather worn but familiar beneath your fingers, and Jungkook settled in the passenger seat. A shift from the usual. You'd offered to drive, mostly because you just wanted to take control. Both the car and the situation.

The drive to Halmoni was short. No more than twenty minutes through winding suburban streets where trees bowed low over cracked footpaths, and the scent of spring blossoms hung in the air.

You tapped the stereo, letting music pour out, loud enough to fill the small space and drown out the awkward silence between you.

For a while, it seemed to work.

You kept your gaze locked on the road ahead, hands steady on the wheel, your mind calculating every turn, every light.

Jungkook sat still beside you, eyes watching the passing scenery, but not saying a word.

Until the volume dropped suddenly.

You glanced over to find him reaching for the dial, his voice breaking the quiet with a teasing edge.

“You can’t give me the silent treatment forever, you know,” Jungkook said, voice deceptively light but his eyes dark, searching and desperate. “Allergic to acrylic… really? That’s the excuse you’re sticking with?”

You bit your lip, feeling the weight of every unsaid thing pressing down. The words wanted to come out harsh. Like the bitterness still simmering beneath your skin, but you swallowed them.

“I’m driving,” you said, voice steady but cold, like glass. “And yes. I am. It’s pretty common now, actually.”

He scoffed, shaking his head as if trying to shake off the tension thickening the air between you. “Come on, you really hate me that much princess? After everything?”

“Don’t ever call me that,” you snapped. “And yeah, maybe I have stopped pretending I even liked you.”

His chest tightened, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. His breath hitched sharply, and for a moment, his eyes glazed over. Distant, lost in a memory that pulled him back to that night at the house party.

He could almost feel the rough wall pressing behind him, hear the music’s bass vibrating through the air, taste the bitterness curling on his tongue. The piercing on his lip, the fresh tattoos marking someone new.

And then his own voice. Clear and painfully familiar, echoed inside him. “Maybe I just stopped pretending.”

He blinked, shaken by the ghost of that moment.

This wouldn’t be easy.

Jungkook knew he had to take it slow, let you believe it was your choice. To open up, to get close again.

But he’d keep the leash tight, just enough so that when he pulled, you couldn’t pull away.

And if you broke… or when you did…

He’d be there to catch the pieces.

His voice dropped low, rough with emotion, almost a whisper meant only for himself. “I’m sorry, okay? For how I’ve treated you. For that night. For what I said.”

A heavy silence settled between you.

Finally, you sighed. A breath weighed down by days of frustration and fading hope. “Jungkook,” you said softly, reluctant, “Let’s just go visit Halmoni. Be civil. For her.”

He nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. “For her,” he echoed.

And so, you focused on the road again. The car hummed along the quiet streets, the music now soft and fragile. Like the delicate peace between you both, uncertain but holding on, if only for a little while.

Pulling up to Halmoni Boksoon’s house, the familiar sight hit you like a bittersweet wave. Everything was the same, yet somehow different.

The garden still flourished with wildflowers, though some patches had grown a little wilder, the edges less tended than you remembered. The orange tree stood tall and proud in the corner of the yard, its branches heavy with fruit, casting dappled shadows across the cracked concrete path.

You and Jungkook climbed out of the car, the quiet crunch of gravel beneath your feet breaking the stillness of the morning. The sun warmed your skin, but a quiet nervousness settled in your chest.

Together, you walked up the worn steps to the porch, the wood creaking faintly under your weight. The door was the same faded blue with the little brass knocker shaped like a lion’s head.

You lifted your hand and pressed the doorbell.

Silence hung for a beat.

Then, a faint shuffle echoed from within.

A tiny square peep hole on the door swung open just enough for a pair of eyes to peek out. When Halmoni saw you both standing there, her face lit up instantly. You could almost hear the joy in her voice from behind the door, even before it opened.

“Oh, my darlings!” she called out, her tone bright and warm, “I can’t believe you’re both here! I thought I’d have to wait forever.”

The door swung open, and there she was. Halmoni Boksoon,  just as you remembered. Slightly stooped but strong, with silver hair pulled into a loose bun and eyes twinkling with love and surprise. Her floral apron was dusted with a hint of flour, as if she’d been baking just before you arrived.

She stepped forward and wrapped you both in a tight hug, her arms surprisingly strong despite her age.

“My goodness, what’s the occasion? Why didn’t you just call first?” she asked, her voice filled with that familiar mix of curiosity and gentle scolding.

Neither of you had the chance to answer before she took your hands and started pulling you inside, her excitement too big to hold back.

“Come on, come in,” she urged, practically dragging you past the threshold. “You both look like you could use some tea and something sweet.”

The scent of fresh jasmine tea and cinnamon greeted you the moment you stepped inside. The comforting aroma instantly melting some of the tension you'd carried in the car.

You and Jungkook exchanged a glance, one heavy with unspoken words. But for now, you both let yourselves be pulled into the warmth of the moment, even if only just for Halmoni's sake.

Jungkook now settled into the cozy armchair by the window, the soft sunlight catching on the silver glint of his piercings and the intricate tattoos winding up his forearm. Halmoni ’s eyes flickered curiously to them, a slight smile tugging at her lips. “So, it’s university break then?” 

Jungkook nodded, folding his hands on his lap. “Yeah, just a short break. Plenty of work to catch up on, but it’s nice to have a little time off.”

Halmeoni chuckled warmly. “I remember my university days. Dreaming big, feeling like the world was wide open. What are you studying again, Kook?”

"Film production,"Jungkook said proudly, a spark lighting his eyes. “However, I want to tell real stories. Things people don’t always see.”

“That’s wonderful,” she said, her gaze softening. “Your tattoos... they tell stories too, don’t they? Each one a piece of who you are.” She glanced at you then, beaming. “You two are still as close as ever, I see. Just like your mums. Best friends since before you were born, practically grew up side by side. I’ve been there for them through everything, you know.”

You smiled politely, warmed by Halmoni’s presence but weighed down by years of tangled history with Jungkook.

Halmoni’s eyes sparkled mischievously as she leaned in, her tone dipping into playful territory. “Your mums always hoped you two would grow up close. And who knows… maybe more than just best friends someday.” She paused, her smile turning sly. “You know, dating… marriage even. They used to say it like it was already written in the stars.”

You nearly choked on the tea she’d handed you moments earlier, coughing into your sleeve while Jungkook froze beside you, eyes slightly too wide.

“Me? Dating Jungkook?” you managed between coughs, your voice straining somewhere between disbelief and sarcasm.

Because the truth was. Before Jungkook turned into this smug campus jock with a permanent chip on his shoulder and a rotation of girls in his bed. There had been a time. A quiet closeness. Lingering stares. A kiss or two, more than once. His hands had known your skin. Your heart had once, stupidly, softened around the idea of him. That was probably why, back then, he refused to call it anything. Why he backed away when things felt too real.

“Halmoni, Y/n’s like a sister to me,” Jungkook said quickly, his tone smooth and casual, too casual. “I wouldn’t imagine dating her or anything like that.”

Ouch. That one stung.

You masked it with a roll of your eyes, a tight smile curling your lips. “Right. I wouldn’t dream of dating anyone like Jungkook anyway.”

Halmeoni simply chuckled, not missing the edge beneath both your voices. “Don’t worry, dear. Sometimes love sneaks up on you when you least expect it.” Her eyes flicked between the two of you. Amused, wise and too knowing for your liking. “But no pressure. Life’s too short not to take chances.”

The room felt heavier then, tension settling in like a storm cloud beneath the cozy warmth. You and Jungkook, yet again, exchanged a glance. Awkward, unreadable and said nothing.

Halmoni chuckled softly as she set down her teacup, turning her body toward you. "Now, enough about all that,' she said with a smile. "Tell me about your studies, Y/n."

Time drifted by like that. Halmoni’s stories from years past weaving seamlessly with yours and Jungkook’s tales of campus life, though he carefully left out the parties, the girls, and the way he’d treated you. You spoke of deadlines, ambitions, and distant dreams.

Then, with a mischievous glint in her eye, Halmoni  stood and clapped her hands together.

“Come on, I want to show you two something out back.”

Curiosity piqued, you both followed her through the back door and into the garden. The familiar scents of earth and blooming flowers surrounded you.

To your surprise, tucked behind the orange tree and partially hidden by climbing vines, was a small greenhouse. The glass panes caught the sunlight, sparkling like a little jewel among the greenery. Nearby, sprinklers were set up, their gentle spray misting the air.

"Both your dads built it last summer,” Halmeoni said with a proud grin. “Thought I’d try my hand at some herbs and flowers. Keeps me busy.”

Jungkook stepped closer, examining the neat rows of pots and seedlings. You wandered around, feeling the cool mist from the sprinklers brush against your skin.

Suddenly, a sudden spray of water caught Jungkook off guard, drenching his shoulder.

"Halmoni!"

Then a second spray comes at him. Maybe a third and a forth. The water hit Jungkook full force, soaking him from head to toe. His shirt clung to his skin, droplets running down his tattooed arm as he sputtered and laughed, completely caught off guard.

She stood behind the hose, giggling uncontrollably, eyes twinkling with playful delight. “Had to get you back for that time you splashed me at the river when you were like... ten years old, didn’t I?”

You, on the other hand, started laughing. A sound that to Jungkook was suddenly beautiful, reminding him how much he’d missed hearing it. But just as quickly, the thought slipped away.

“Oh, so you wanna laugh, Princess?” he called out, spotting the second sprinkler nearby. A mischievous grin spread across his face as he grabbed the hose and aimed it at you. Your laughter burst louder, eyes sparkling and breath catching in surprise as the water sprayed.

The cold spray hit you square in the chest, and you squealed, stepping back with a startled laugh. Jungkook’s laughter echoed behind you as he chased after you, playful and relentless.

“Hey, come back here!” you shouted, trying to dodge the icy water.

Halmoni threw up her hands in playful surrender, shielding her face as a stray spray caught the hem of her apron. Jungkook quickly lowered the hose, a cheeky smirk tugging at his lips.

“Can’t soak the old lady,” he said with a grin. “She’s earned a pass.”

You took off again, heart racing as you weaved through the garden. Bursting out of the greenhouse, the warm, humid air clung to your skin.

But Jungkook was faster than you expected. Just as you neared the porch, his hands caught your arms, steadying you before you could slip away.

For a moment, the playful chase froze, and you caught the sight of him. The familiar face framed by wet hair plastered to his forehead, the sharp contrast of dark eyes, cheeky smile. Your childhood friend.

But then the weight of everything else crashed back.

This was Jungkook, yes. The same boy who’d once built forts with you and shared secrets beneath the stars.

But also the one who had changed. The campus fratboy.

The one who had shown you, with words and actions, that you were no longer part of his world.

And in that moment, you realized that he wasn't really your Jungkook anymore.

You pulled back gently, wiping water from your face, your voice soft but steady. "I'm glad we came together, for Halmoni," you said, meaning every word. Despite how much you didn’t want to come with him before. "But this... you can't do that."

Jungkook’s smile wavered, his eyes searching yours. For a glimpse of what once was, or maybe what still could be.

He took a slow breath, the playfulness fading from his features, replaced by something raw and uncertain.

“I said I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice low, almost desperate. “Even if it doesn’t look like it… being here, with you, it made me feel things. Made me miss things. Made me miss you.”

You took a step back, pointing a finger at him, voice sharp and unwavering.

“No… you don’t get to say that. You don’t get to feel that. Just because we’re both back home, away from uni, and you’re away from your friends, doesn’t mean you get to fool yourself into thinking you miss this. Miss us.”

Before Jungkook could find the words to respond, a warm, familiar voice cut through the charged silence.

“Omg, look at you two! So drenched!” Halmoni’s gentle laughter floated through the air as she appeared, two towels draped over her arms.

Her eyes sparkled with amusement. Unaware of the storm that had just passed between you, silently hoping she hadn’t overheard a thing.

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the garden as a heavy silence settled between you.

Back inside, the warmth of the house wrapped around you both. A stark contrast to the cool dampness still clinging to your skin. You and Jungkook stood side by side, towels wrapped tightly around your bodies.

Halmoni clapped her hands together with a bright smile. “Alright, you two! Time to dry off. I’ve got some spare clothes for you both.”

With comforting ease, she bustled about, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she returned carrying two matching sets of soft, floral pajamas. The pastel hues and delicate prints looked like they belonged in a vintage catalog.

You both froze, wide-eyed and speechless.

Jungkook’s jaw dropped, a mix of disbelief and amusement in his voice. “No way. I’m not wearing that.”

You couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. “Seriously, Halmoni?”

She chuckled warmly, handing over the pajamas with gentle care. “Why not? You know, Jungkook, when you were little, you were always fascinated by my pajama collection. You used to ask why I had so many sets that looked the same. I said they were ‘magic’ pajamas.”

Jungkook laughed, a genuine grin breaking through his usual guarded expression. “Yeah, I remember that. Guess the magic was just keeping you cozy and warm. But that was then, Halmoni.”

You bit your lip to hide your smile as Jungkook eyed the delicate fabric, clearly wrestling with his pride.

Halmoni winked. “Well then, magic pajamas it is. You two go change and get comfortable. I’ll have some rice cakes ready.”

With the floral pajamas in hand, you both headed off to change. Caught somewhere between childhood memories and the complicated present, wrapped in the softness of those silly, familiar pajamas.

The floral pajamas were soft and surprisingly cozy as you slipped into them. Once dressed, you met Jungkook just outside your room. He had changed in the spare room nearby. The two of you exchanged glances and shared a quiet laugh. There was something both ridiculous and oddly comforting about wearing matching, grandma-approved sleepwear.

Meanwhile, Halmoni gathered your wet clothes, expertly loading them into the washer and then the dryer. “Old but gold,” she said with a proud wink, patting the machine. “This house might creak, but it still has all the bells and whistles.”

Soon, you and Jungkook settled into the cozy lounge. The TV murmured quietly in the background while Halmoni brought in a steaming tray of hot rice cakes.

“Dig in, loves,” she said warmly.

The sweet, sticky treats filled the room with a calm, nostalgic comfort. Between the soft pajamas, the warm tea, and the gentle crackle of the fire, your eyes began to grow heavy.

Eventually, you drifted off, curled up at one end of the couch, your breathing soft and steady. Jungkook had fallen asleep too, head tilted back against the cushions, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm.

He woke first, blinking into the dim room as the flickering light from the TV danced across the walls. He turned to look at you, still fast asleep and completely unaware. Then his eyes drifted toward the porch.

Outside, beneath the soft glow of the string lights, Halmoni sat in her favorite chair with a book in her hands, the pages catching the warm light. Jungkook looked back at you again, a flicker of something tender crossing his face.

He reached out slowly, his fingers just brushing your cheek, as if trying to memorize the shape of it. You stirred, just slightly, and his hand froze midair.

Your eyes fluttered open. “What… what are you doing?” you asked sleepily, your voice thick with drowsiness.

Jungkook hesitated. His mouth opened, but no words came. Just silence thick with everything unspoken.

“Maybe we should head home,” he finally said, his voice quiet. “It’s getting late.”

You nodded, still half-lost in sleep, though the weight in the air had noticeably shifted. A little while later, Halmoni stepped back into the lounge with a warm smile. “Your clothes are all washed and dried now,” she said, placing them down. “Unless, of course, you two have decided to live in Grandma-style pajamas forever… very fashionable, you know.”

You and Jungkook exchanged a quiet glance, a small laugh passing between you.

Jungkook let out a soft chuckle, his voice still rough with sleep. “No thanks, Halmoni. I think we’re good.”

You and Jungkook exchanged a glance and nodded, grateful for the warmth of your own clothes waiting. She led you both to the laundry room where everything was folded neatly, still warm from the dryer.

In the calm of your own space, you let the floral pajamas fall away, the cool air brushing your skin as you reached for your clothes. The familiar fabric felt comforting, grounding you after the strange tenderness of the night. A quiet sigh escaped you as you pulled your top over your head. Dry, soft, and yours again.

When you returned, the three of you made your way to the front door, where Halmoni stood waiting with her warm smile never fading.

“Don’t forget to study hard, both of you,” she said softly, a gentle reminder wrapped in love. “And remember, no matter what happens, you’ve always got a place here.”

You said your goodbyes, the night outside cool but the memories inside glowing warmly as you and Jungkook stepped into the quiet dark, the past and present tangled between you.

The car ride started off quiet again. This time, though, Jungkook was the one driving. He offered and you let him. You didn’t feel like speaking much. Not when you could still feel the ghost of laughter from earlier, still trying to forget the look in his eyes when he caught you during that moment. Like for a second, he wasn’t the version of him everyone at campus whispered about.

He wasn’t the flirt. The daredevil. The player.

He was your Jungkook again, just for a blink. And it unsettled you more than anything else.

But the silence didn't stretch for long. Jungkook’s grip on the wheel grew tighter the farther you got from Halmoni’s street. His fingers tapped against the leather, his jaw flexed now and then like he was trying to bite back whatever was circling in his head.

He didn’t understand why his chest felt this tight. Why the memory of your laugh hit harder than it should. Why watching you nap earlier made something ache in his gut.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He was supposed to play the part. Win the bet. Keep control.

Not feel like he was losing it.

And before he could even think it through, he pulled the car over onto a quiet stretch of road flanked by trees and silence. He shifted into park, his breath shallow.

You frowned, glancing around. “Jungkook?” you asked, wary. “Why are we stopping? Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, barely. “I just-”

You leaned slightly toward him, brows pinched. “If you’re tired, I can drive. Seriously.”

But he wasn’t listening. Not to your words, not to reason. His heart was beating louder than the music still playing low through the speakers. A love song, ironically. The worst kind.

He looked at you. Your eyes, confused. Your lips, slightly parted. You, so close yet so far away.

His hand moved without permission, brushing against your cheek, fingers slipping behind your neck like they used to. Familiar... and so fucking wrong.

Then, he kissed you.

There was nothing soft about it. Nothing rehearsed or sweet. It was rushed. Intense. A collision of old emotion and current chaos. His lips pressed against yours like he was trying to find his way back to something he’d already lost. Like if he held on hard enough, you wouldn’t slip away again.

And for a second, you let him.

Because you remembered, too.

How his mouth once felt like home.

But then reality snapped like a rubber band stretched too far.

You pulled away. Sudden and sharp, like coming up for air after drowning.

“No,” you breathed, your voice breaking slightly as you pressed a hand to his chest, pushing him back. “No, Jungkook.”

His eyes opened, stunned. You felt his breath catch, his chest rising beneath your palm. But you weren’t looking at him like you used to. Not with softness. Not with longing. Just disbelief. Hurt. Maybe even pity.

“What the hell are you doing?” you whispered. The words came out raw, like they’d been scraped up your throat.

Jungkook blinked, lips still parted, like he hadn’t realized what he’d done until he saw the look on your face.

“I— I don’t know,” he said, the words coming out small, pathetic. “I just…”

You shook your head. Slowly. Like even trying to understand him would hurt too much.

"You can't just do that," you said, your voice trembling now, but not from fear. From restraint. "You don't get to leave me hanging and then act like you still have the right to come back."

He wanted to argue. To defend himself.

But what could he say?

You were already turning away, eyes glassy with unshed tears, jaw tight like you were holding back more things you really wanted to say.

“Let’s just go home,” you muttered, almost to yourself.

Jungkook didn’t move at first. He just sat there, blinking through the gravity of what he’d done.

Then, finally he nodded.

He turned back to the wheel, hand gripping it tighter than necessary.

The car rumbled to life.

The music kept playing. A soft echo of everything that now felt impossibly far away. But the silence between you had changed.

You looked out the window, trying to gather the pieces of your composure.

Jungkook didn’t look at you again. He just couldn’t.

And as the car rolled forward through the dimming streets, the distance between you felt like a wall neither of you knew how to break through anymore.

The drive home felt like a dream you hadn’t signed up for. One you wanted to wake up from, but your body was still caught in its haze. The streetlights flickered past in streaks of gold, and even though the kiss had ended minutes ago, it still lingered on your lips like a secret you didn’t ask to keep.

Jungkook didn’t say a word the entire ride back.

When he pulled into your driveway, he shifted the car into park, the soft click echoing louder than it should’ve. He sat there for a second, gripping the wheel like it was the only thing anchoring him. Then, with a quiet exhale, he turned off the ignition. The hum of the engine died, leaving only the sound of your shallow breaths in the stillness.

He reached into the cup holder, grabbed your mum’s car keys, and finally stepped out.

Before you could even gather your thoughts, the passenger door opened. He stood there, not meeting your eyes, and gently placed the keys into your palm. Careful and almost distant, like he was passing back something delicate he wasn’t sure he should’ve been holding. Then without a word, with his head low and hands buried deep in the pockets of his hoodie, Jungkook turned and walked away.

You blinked after him, heart thudding loud in your chest as you watched him cross the small patch of grass between your houses, disappearing into the warm glow of his porch light.

Not even a glance back.

You hated that it hurt.

Still trying to make sense of what just happened, you unlocked the front door and stepped inside. The house was dim and quiet, expect for the soft buzz of the hallway light and the faint creak of the floor beneath your feet.

Your mum was still awake, sitting on the couch in her coat, bingo cards stacked beside her and a half-drunk cup of tea on the coffee table. The scent of peppermint hung in the air.

She looked up as soon as you entered, face brightening. Until she saw the look on yours.

“There you are,” she said warmly, her voice soft. “I just got back not long ago. Your dad’s knocked out already. How was Halmoni?”

You stood frozen for a moment, keys still clenched in your hand, shoes still on. You didn’t answer right away. You couldn’t. You were still replaying it all. The garden, the water fight, the nap, his hand brushing your cheek, his mouth on yours like none of the damage he’d caused mattered.

Your mum tilted her head gently, eyes narrowing in the way only a mother could. “Everything okay?”

“I…” you started, and for a terrifying moment, you thought about blurting it out. Jungkook kissed me. You wanted to say it. Wanted someone else to hold the weight of it. Maybe even tell you what to do.

But you couldn’t. The words got caught in your throat like splinters.

Instead, you gave a soft, tight smile. “Yeah. Halmoni’s good. Still the same.”

Your mum didn’t look fully convinced, but she smiled back and nodded slowly. “That’s nice to hear. Did she show you her greenhouse? She's been obsessed with it lately."

You chuckled softly. “Yeah, I saw it. It’s still incredible. She hasn’t lost that spark. Still playful as ever.”

Your mum yawned into her hand, clearly letting the moment pass, though something flickered behind her eyes. “Well, I’m glad you and Jungkook went. It’s good to see you two spending time together."

You froze at that. Just a second.

Then you nodded stiffly. “Yeah. I guess.”

She gave you one last glance as she stood, gathering her things. “Get some sleep, honey. Big day tomorrow or not, you look like your mind’s still somewhere else.”

It is.

“Night, Mum,” you murmured.

“Night. Love you, Y/n.”

She disappeared down the hallway and up the stairs, leaving the silence to settle around you. At last, you were alone with your thoughts again.

You stood in the dark living room, staring at nothing, your heartbeat still racing with the weight of that kiss.

You still loved him. Maybe always would.

But you hated him just as deeply. Maybe even more.

And what haunted you most… was that you didn’t know which one would win.

The door of his bedroom clicked shut behind him with a dull finality, and he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since he left your driveway.

What the fuck was that.

The feel of your lips lingered, soft, shocked and hesitant. The way you looked at him, with your eyes wide and breath caught. That flicker of something raw and real he hadn’t expected.

That kiss wasn’t just a moment. It was a test.

A desperate, reckless test to see if any of it still mattered. If the years and distance and walls you’d both built had erased what he’d never been able to forget.

From his side of things, he remembered the first time he introduced you to the guys. Namjoon, Taehyung, Jimin, Jin, Yoongi, Hoseok. The brothers from the frat house, the ones who made up his world on campus.

How he’d called you his best friend... his little sister, the one constant he wanted to keep close.

But the guys never let him forget it. They teased him relentlessly, mocking how protective he was. Joking about “bro code” and “bros before hoes.”

You didn’t fit their scene.

You never had.

And maybe that was the problem.

Jungkook was just a guy trying to find himself. Lost in the chaos of university life, trying to belong in a world where loyalty meant everything.

And maybe you were right... that he wasn’t being true to himself. Or to you. But fuck it, he was stubborn as hell. His ego too big to just walk away. He needed their approval, the loud, reckless validation from his frat brothers. The wild nights, the jokes, the unspoken code that made him feel alive, even if it meant pushing away the people who mattered most.

Because maybe he was scared. Scared to admit what you already knew... that he’d lost his way.

He shouldn’t have kissed you.

Not then.

Not like that.

But he did.

And that feeling ripped through every excuse he’d made.

He collapsed onto the edge of his bed, restless, heart pounding. His phone buzzed. Messages from the guys.

[Taehyung]: How’d it go man? [Hoseok]: did u manage to fuck her yet? [Namjoon]: Tell us everything.

He stared at the screen, jaw tight.

But he didn’t reply.

Not tonight.

Tonight, he needed silence. To sit with what that kiss had just confirmed. To figure out what the hell he actually wanted.

And if he was ready to admit it... even to himself.

The moment you stepped into the aquarium, the smell of sea salt and the low hum of bubbling tanks filled the air. You glanced over at Jungkook, who had this boyish sparkle in his eyes, already bouncing on his heels like a kid on a sugar high.

“I swear, you’re more excited than the actual kids here,” you teased, nudging his arm.

He shot you a grin, that familiar dimple popping out. “Excuse me, I’ve waited my whole life to see jellyfish in high definition.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile creeping across your face. “You’re such a nerd.”

“And yet,” he said, dramatically placing a hand on his chest, “you still agreed to come here with me. What does that say about you, huh?”

You lightly smacked his shoulder with the map of the exhibits. “That I’m the nicest person in the world.”

He laughed, the sound echoing through the hall of glowing tanks. As the day went on, you both wandered from exhibit to exhibit, arguing over which sea creature would win in a fight, daring each other to touch the weirdest things in the tide pool, and trying (and failing) to take cute selfies without one of you making a stupid face.

But it was right after the dolphin show that the moment happened.

You had both finished your soft serve, and he threw a snarky comment your way about how you always managed to drop yours. With a playful gasp, you narrowed your eyes and took off down the path lined with colorful coral tanks.

“Oh, don’t you dare run from me, Y/n!” he yelled, already laughing as he chased after you.

You shrieked through giggles, weaving between displays and dodging a few surprised tourists. “Catch me if you can, Jeon!”

“NO RUNNING IN THE EXHIBIT!” a security guard shouted sternly from somewhere behind a jellyfish display.

“Sorry!” you both called back. Neither of you slowing.

It didn’t take long. His footsteps quickened behind you and in a blur, his arms wrapped around your waist from behind. You squealed as he lifted you off the ground and spun you in circles, laughter spilling from both of you like the crashing waves in the background.

“You’re so annoying!” you said between laughs, breathless.

He finally slowed and set you down gently, his arms still around you. You turned your head to look at him and for a second, everything quieted. Just you, him, and the soft glow of the tank beside you reflecting in his eyes.

“You love it,” he whispered.

You did. Maybe more than you were ready to admit back then.

The sun had already started to dip by the time you both left the aquarium, casting a golden hue over the city. The air smelled faintly of the ocean, and Jungkook insisted on getting takeout to eat by the pier. You didn’t argue. Not when he looked at you with those soft, hopeful eyes.

Eventually, after too many fries and shared sips from the same drink, the two of you ended up on his bed back home, curled up under the familiar weight of a blanket

A quiet, comfortable stillness had settled between you both, only interrupted by the low hum of his playlist in the background.

You were tucked into his side, your head resting on his chest as his fingers absentmindedly traced slow circles on your shoulder. It was the kind of closeness that felt… more. It wasn’t just friends. Not anymore.

You tilted your head slightly to look up at him. “Jungkook?”

“Hm?”

You hesitated, watching the way his jaw moved as he chewed the inside of his cheek, like he already knew something was coming.

“What are we?”

He blinked, eyes flicking down to meet yours, and in that moment, you could feel his whole body tense ever so slightly under you.

“You’re my best friend,” he said slowly.

You nodded once, sitting up just a little but still staying in his arms. “Yeah, but… friends don’t do this. They don’t cuddle like this. They don’t hold hands like we did today, or kiss."

He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out at first.

“I know,” he finally murmured. “I know it’s not just… that. But I—” He exhaled hard, sitting up a little more so you were eye to eye. “I’m scared, Y/n.”

“Of what?”

“Of ruining it,” he said. “Of putting a label on something that’s always been so easy. So safe. You mean… everything to me. But if we try to go beyond this and it doesn’t work... what if I lose you? What if we lose this?”

You looked down at your fingers, fiddling with the seam of the blanket. “And what if we don’t? What if it’s even better?”

His expression cracked just slightly, vulnerability bleeding into every part of him. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear gently, like he was memorizing you.

“I don’t have the answers,” he said softly. “But I want to keep you close. I want this... whatever this is, even if I don’t have the courage to define it yet. I just hope… you’re okay with that.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then you rested your head against his chest again, sighing quietly. “I don’t know if I am. But for now… I think I’d rather have some part of you than none at all.”

And neither of you said anything after that. Just the quiet thudding of his heartbeat against your ear, and the unspoken question still lingering in the air.

[wholoveseggs]

Face First

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Klaus Mikaelson x f!reader} A few late-night texts leads to a very unexpected house call. You’re on your period. Klaus doesn’t care.

♡♡ For my beautiful feral Klaus lovers ♡♡

1.7k words - Warnings: smutt, oral sex only, period sex, fingering, sexting, mild anal play, unsolicited house visits && {of course} Klaus being Klaus ...

You weren’t trying to start anything. Not really.

You were just bored. Horny in that aimless, restless way that came from too much scrolling and not enough serotonin. The sheets were soft. The night was quiet. You were freshly showered, wrapped in an oversized t-shirt, legs bare, your period cramps finally dulled to a distant throb. For whatever reason, your brain had decided Niklaus fucking Mikaelson was the problem and the solution all at once.

So you opened your messages and did something incredibly stupid. You pulled your shirt up and snapped a photo. Nothing too explicit. Just bare thighs, legs spread, the hem hitched high enough to hint at more. Just enough to drive him insane. You hit send, a little thrill of adrenaline spiking through you.

And then you waited. The response was almost instant. ~ Nik: thinking of me? ~

You laughed. You had been doing nothing of the sort. ~ You: i was bored ~

~ Nik: is that an invitation?  ~

~ You: could be, what's in it for me? ~

You could hear the smirk in his voice as you read his next message. ~ Nik: anything. Name it, and I'll give it to you ~

A shiver rolled down your spine. A promise like that was a dangerous thing, coming from someone like him. ~ You: send me a picture ~

There was a long pause, and for a moment, you thought you might have gone too far. He was a possessive man. He didn't share, and he didn't like when people saw him vulnerable. You had pushed. Maybe you had pushed too much.

The ping of a new message made you jump. Your heart thudded in your chest, a rush of adrenaline and arousal spiking through you. The image was mostly a tease. Just the barest glimpse of the hard line of him beneath the soft fabric of his pajama pants, the outline of him thick and straining, the fabric tented and pulled tight. It was hot as fuck.

 He sent a second message. ~ Nik: don't say i never gave you anything ~

You took another photo. A little bolder, this time. The shirt pushed up a bit further, your breasts on display for him.

~ Nik: touch yourself for me ~

~ You: you can't tell me what to do ~

He knew you were teasing. There was a part of you that loved when he got bossy, that loved the way he would grab you, force you down, pin you beneath him and take what he wanted. You could almost feel the ghost of his lips on your throat, the weight of him heavy between your thighs, the delicious ache of him filling you.

~ Nik: I'm coming over ~

You blinked at the screen. ~ You: No you're not ~

No response. ~ You: Nik i’m serious ~

Nothing. ~ You: do not show up here right now, I'm on my period... I'm not even joking, don't come over here ~

The bubbles stayed on delivered. Either he killed his read receipts, or he was already enroute. You sighed, dragged a blanket and your phone out to the living-room sofa, and snuggled deeper into the couch cushions. If he showed up, you would just not invite him in.

A knock at the door.

 Shit.

You threw back the blanket, shoving your feet into the nearest pair of shoes. You grabbed your robe, throwing it over your shoulders. You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the chill, and threw the door open.

Klaus stood in the threshold, eyebrow raised, an amused smirk curling his lips. You leaned against the doorframe, feigning boredom... never mind the way your pulse kicked at the sight of him.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" he asked, gaze roaming over you. He seemed... amused.

“Why?” you asked sweetly. “So you can ignore me again? Or maybe chat up another random blonde at Rousseau’s like you did last week?”

"That was a misunderstanding, love," he said, his tone low and smooth, the way he spoke when he wanted to talk his way out of trouble. 

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.  "Oh, really?"

"Let me make it up to you," he murmured. "You know how persuasive my tongue can be."

Your mouth went dry, but you kept your composure. "I'm on my period."

"Is that an excuse," he said, voice dropping low, "or a challenge?"

Klaus braced one palm flat against the doorframe, the other against the opposite side, boxing you in without crossing the invisible line. The threshold itself seemed to sizzle between you, the thin membrane of old magic keeping the monster at bay.

"Let me in," he said again, quieter this time. "Let me fix what I fucked up."

"You can’t fix it with sex."

"No," he agreed. "But I can start with my mouth. And darling..." His eyes dipped to your thighs, pupils blown wide. "If you think a little blood between your thighs makes me want you less, you’ve forgotten what I am."

Your breath caught, your cheeks on fire.

“Invite me in,” he murmured, nearly begging, finger-tips tapping the wood, knuckles whitening with restraint, every muscle coiled to leap the second permission fell.

One heartbeat. Two.

 “Fine,” you breathed. “Come in. Lock the door behind you.”

The word come barely left your lips before the barrier snapped open. Klaus surged forward, slamming the door behind him and pulling you into his arms. His lips captured yours, biting at your bottom lip like he wanted to taste the need right off your mouth, then he tugged you towards your bedroom.

You fell back onto the mattress, legs sprawled. Your nightie rode up on its own, and you didn’t bother fixing it.

"Sweet fucking hell," he groaned, staring at the slick and dark-red sheen between your thighs.

He dropped to his knees, his gaze locked with yours, dark eyes full of reverence and desire. The moment his tongue touched you, a wave of relief rolled through your body, chasing away the lingering ache of cramps you'd been battling all day. You exhaled shakily, the tension in your muscles easing immediately under his touch.

The first lap of his tongue made you gasp, the second made your eyes roll back, and the third was nothing but a high-pitched moan as he latched his lips around your clit and sucked. You were so sensitive, and the way his tongue moved against you was too much and not enough, the wet, obscene noises of his lips working against you only making it better.

“Fuck, I missed this,” he muttered, voice rough and wet with need. His thumb teased at your entrance, and you bucked, hissing. He pressed his forearm across your hips, pinning you in place. “You’ve no idea what it does to me. How sweet you taste.”

You gasped, hands flying to his hair, fingers tangling in those curls and tugging hard. That only made him groan louder. He loved it and it spurred him on. Klaus was relentless. Tongue flattening and circling, then flicking just right, until your legs shook and your hips jolted with every stroke.

“Nik,” you cried, voice catching. “Please.”

He pulled back, lips slick with blood, eyes gleaming. “Please what, love? If you want something, you’ll need to ask properly.”

When all you could do was whimper, he smirked and pressed a kiss to your mound. Then slid two fingers inside your soaked cunt in one smooth, practiced motion. You jolted, hips lifting, the pleasure white-hot and searing, the pace he set making your toes curl.

“Ah. That, then.” He chuckled.

The pressure built fast. Too fast. Klaus didn’t slow. If anything, he got rougher, more focused. His mouth stayed messy and hot against you. His fingers never relented.

He looked up at you through his lashes, face slick, and smirked. “Come on, then. Show me how pretty you are when you break.”

You didn’t stand a chance. Your back arched as the orgasm hit, sharp and electric, tearing through you. Your thighs clamped around his head but he didn’t stop. Just groaned into your cunt, licking you through it like nothing else mattered.

“Nik, too much.”

He didn’t budge. Didn’t stop. He just kissed your clit again, harder this time, and slid a third finger in with a filthy sound. His other hand gripped your ass, spreading you open. His thumb circled the tight ring there with slow, steady pressure.

“Relax,” he said, and eased it in.

A moan fell from your lips. It didn't hurt. But the pressure was overwhelming, the feeling of being stretched and filled making you writhe. You whimpered, tugging his curls even harder. He moaned, deep and guttural, fingers driving into you with purpose. The second orgasm hit fast and brutal. You squirted around his hand, slick soaking everything, a strangled sob ripping from your throat.

“Fuck,” he snarled. “That’s it. Look at the mess you’re making.”

You trembled violently, body twitching through the aftershocks, unable to do anything but pant and take it. The sheets were a mess of red, and when you managed to open your eyes, his face was still buried between your thighs, his eyes black, the veins dark and stark beneath them. He groaned, licking a final slow stripe up your cunt.

You tried to scoot back, but his arm tightened.

"Too much, Nik." You whined, pushing his bloody face away. "Stoppp," you slurred, the syllables coming out all wrong.

He chuckled, and pulled away, his mouth and chin gleamed a dark crimson. But he didn’t wipe it; he looked proud of the mess. Then he crawled up your body, dragging hot kisses along your skin, up your stomach, your chest, your throat. Painting faint red smears everywhere his lips touched.

“You are so fucking smug,” you rasped, half out of your mind.

“Hard not to be, after tasting ambrosia.” He licked his lips, his mouth still stained and wet.

"Ew, go brush your teeth," you grumbled, and shoved him.

"I didn't hear a thank-you," he said, rolling his eyes. But he slid off the bed and sauntered towards the bathroom.

You smiled, rolling onto your side, watching him through the open doorway. He washed his face, then rinsed his mouth. He didn't bother closing the door, or turning the light off. He knew you were watching. Knew you liked seeing him. You didn't bother hiding it.

He returned with a warm, damp cloth, and cleaned you up, gentle and slow. You were nearly asleep by the time he was done, and he tossed the towel aside, climbed into bed beside you, and wrapped you in his arms.

"Does this mean I get another chance at taking you out?" he murmured, stroking your hair.

"Depends."

"On?"

"Whether or not I wake up alone."

He snorted, pressing a kiss to your temple. "That won't be a problem, love. Not a chance in hell."

[priisprii]

Hi, can I ask you for some fluff? Something like Seungcheol and Reader are lying down cuddling, and they kiss. During one kiss, Reader puffs out Seungcheol's cheeks. Cheol really liked that and continued doing it while they giggled.

I am bored, let's kiss

Contains: kissing, kissing and kissing ( did i mention kissing?)

Seungcheol has strange obsession with eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, you both had probably watched that movie more than 10 times and it's still never enough for him. Every dialogue is tattooed on back of your mind like you're the damn writer of that movie.

Your focus isn't even on the movie since few couple of minutes, mind glued to the fact you're close to seungcheol and cuddling with him in the living room while kkuma is sleeping right infront of you on the floor.

Your frame was engulfed by seungcheol, tightly, sharing the coziest blanket you could ever find, his warm breath hitting your neck making you tickle .you turned to his direction, faces barely inches apart. "I am bored let's kiss"

You didn't wait for Seungcheol's next words, pressing your lips against his, noses rubbing against each other. he wasted no time reciprocating your kiss, pressing your body closer to his, loving the way how pillowy your lips felt.his lips tasted like hot chocolate that you made for him, sweet Just like him.

"you're soo so pretty" seungcheol murmurs letting out a dreamy sigh and leaving a peck on your nose, his eyes filled with overflowing love a big grin made it's way on your face. cheeks flushed and heart at complete peace.

"and you're soo cute" you giggled, cupping his face with both of your hands, thumb tracing his smile lines. he looked so adorable and fluffy. You got intense cuteness aggression wanting to squish and bite his soft cheeks.

You squished his cheeks, loving the way his lips turned into pout. you placed a quick kiss against his lips but it wasn't enough for seungcheol. he released your waist his hands coming to your face and grabbing your cheeks the exact same way.

"hey, you're crushing my cheekbones" you whined, voice coming off muffled and too adorable for seungcheol to handle.

"can't help it, you're so lovely" seungcheol says kissing your eyebrows , then lowering down to your nose then finally onto your lips, repeating the whole process countless times till your whole face is covered with kisses and his lipbalm.

You both kept arguing back and forth on who's more cute and just kissing each other, not leaving any part of face devoid of attention and love. movie being long forgotten now just two lovers using each other's faces as a canvas to paint out their love.

A/n:Thank you anon for triggering my cuteness aggression for Cheol and so sorry for letting this marinate so long in my inbox

[ggukivrse]

THE ART OF PRETENDING - JJK | 03

summary. when you and jungkook show up to your much anticipated graduation trip and realise neither of you had the guts to tell your friends about your recent break up, there’s only one thing you can do to keep the trip from falling apart: pretend.

but somewhere between fake kisses and real feelings, you start to wonder if letting go was ever the right choice at all.

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre/warnings: exes to lovers, fake dating, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, (eventual) explicit sexual content, swearing, pov switches (1), jk is an acts of service king and a pathetic simp for oc, ft. seokjin, namjoon, hoseok, jimin, taehyung, yoongi + four female ocs

word count: 5.5k

notes: i procrastinated the shit out of this chapter omfg, i’m so sorry for the wait. tysm to my bae isa @page-isa for beta-reading and providing me with concerts on call while i wrote lolol. likes, comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are so so appreciated!! enjoy reading my loves <33

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⤷ chapter three — ivy

i could hate you now / it’s quite alright to hate me now / but we both know that deep down / the feeling still deep down is good

The knife makes a soft thunk against the cutting board as you slice through the last of the strawberries, bright red, juice bleeding out onto the wood. You scoop the pieces into a bowl with the others — kiwi, pineapple, blueberries, a few slices of watermelon. Colourful. Easy to share. Refreshing enough for the heat outside, you hope.

A headache throbs behind your temple. It’s been sitting there since you woke up, dull but insistent. Usually, you would've had a few painkillers in your purse for this exact situation, but you had been certain that you'd be fine on the trip.

You let out a soft sigh. If it weren’t for your own spectacular decision-making.

You tilt your head back gently, reaching up to rub your forehead with the back of your wrist, careful not to smear fruit juice across your skin. The cool tile under your bare feet helps. A little.

From the kitchen, you can just about make out the voices outside.

Laughter and chatter carries faintly. Someone shouts something you can't quite make out, and there's a burst of response.

You should be out there with them. You would be, on any other day. But you’re not risking it — not with your head pounding like this, like your brain is bruised beneath your skull. One hour under that sun, and you know you’ll spend the rest of the day curled up in the dark, miserable.

Well... at least, that’s the excuse you went with.

You haven’t talked to Jungkook since last night.

Not after you walked away, leaving him with nothing but the weight of his own words and the silence you wrapped yourself in.

'I figured… you’d be here.'

Like it was obvious. Like he still knew you. Like he hadn’t made the choice to not be part of your life anymore.

Last night, your anger had been sharp. You’d felt it in your jaw, your chest, your hands. But now, it’s dulled into something muddier.

You’d been telling yourself he’d moved on — that whatever the breakup had done to you, it hadn’t touched him the same way. That he was fine. Probably relieved. Probably already halfway into his next chapter, while you were still here, trying to rewrite your ending like it didn’t hurt. And maybe that assumption had made it easier. Easier to be mad. Easier to hate him a little.

But then last night… he said he came here for you. Like he missed you. Like you still mattered.

And that? That messed with things.

Because how are you supposed to stay angry at someone who walked away, then looked you in the eye like they never wanted to? How are you supposed to keep the space intact when he was the one reaching across it — gently, quietly, like he didn’t know he was doing it?

You’d built your resentment around the idea that he let go easily. That he wanted out more than he wanted you. But now, with the weight of his words still sitting heavy in your chest, the whole picture feels harder to hold. Blurrier.

Turns out, hate’s a lot easier when you think the other person never looked back. And you're clearly a weak link.

The sound of the sliding door pulls you out of your thoughts, and you don't have to look to know exactly who it is.

There’s a soft pad of bare feet on tile, a steady, unhurried rhythm you’ve heard a thousand times before. You keep your eyes on the bowl of fruit in front of you, pretending to rearrange a few pieces like it matters.

“Hey,” Jungkook says, his voice calm.

You don’t turn around. “Hey.”

There’s a pause, just long enough for you to feel it.

”You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine,” you answer, automatic. Then you exhale, conceding a little. “Just a headache.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him move closer. He’s wearing black swim shorts that cling slightly at the waist, water still darkening the edges. A loose white t-shirt hangs off his frame — a little translucent from where it’s stuck to his chest.

His hair’s damp, curls pushed back from his forehead like he ran his fingers through it and let it dry that way. He smells faintly like sunscreen and chlorine and the heat outside.

“Did you drink enough water?” he asks.

A laughing breath tumbles from your lips before you can stop yourself. You shake your head, mostly to yourself, and glance at him over your shoulder.

He raises an eyebrow, like he already knows why you're laughing.

“You say that every time,” you say.

“Because every time, it’s true,” he says, not missing a beat.

His tone is easy, but his eyes search your face like he’s still trying to make sure. You give him a look — not annoyed, just tired — and sip from the water bottle already in your hand.

“Yes,” you say. “I’ve had water. It’s probably nothing.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond right away. He just leans against the counter beside you, one hand bracing the edge. A droplet of water slides down the inside of his veiny forearm.

You pretend not to notice.

“You take anything for it?” he asks eventually.

You shake your head. “Didn’t bring any.”

He scoffs, low and amused. “Oh, so smart.”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks. Really helpful.”

He grins — not wide, not smug. Just soft around the edges. Familiar. The kind of grin he probably doesn’t realise he’s making.

He reaches into the drawer next to you without asking, pulling it open with a scrape of wood on wood. You glance sideways, eyebrows pulling together.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking if this place is stocked like a normal rental or if we’re screwed,” he says, sifting through half-empty tea boxes, a roll of foil, batteries, and a mostly dead flashlight. “And… yeah. Screwed.”

You exhale through your nose, more of a puff than a laugh. “Should’ve figured.”

“You know what you need?” he says, straightening up. “Cold compress. Or a wet towel.”

“I’m not that desperate.”

“You say that now,” he murmurs, stepping away and heading toward the sink. He grabs a dish towel from the rack, runs it under cool water, wrings it out with practiced ease.

He turns, holding it out to you — not pushing it into your hands, just waiting, giving you the option.

You hesitate.

You want to say no. You should. But your head throbs again, dull and pulsing behind your eyes, and maybe your pride’s not worth it right now.

You reach out, take it from him.

His fingers brush yours, just for a second. Your grip's not as steady as you’d like.

You fold the cloth once, press it to the side of your head, and close your eyes for a second. The coolness helps. Not enough, but it’s something.

When you open your eyes again, he’s still there, simply watching.

“What?” you ask.

He shakes his head, but there's a small smile on his face. "Nothing."

You narrow your eyes at him, but no further words leave your mouth.

He leans a little heavier into the counter, arms folded, eyes flicking over the kitchen like he’s killing time — like he knows you well enough to wait you out.

The kitchen settles into a soft hush, filled only by the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional burst of laughter from outside.

You keep your eyes forward, focused on nothing, the damp towel warming slowly in your hand. You can feel him looking — not staring, but thinking. Sitting on something.

He shifts his weight slightly, arms still folded across his chest. Then finally, he says, low and cautious, “Hey.”

You glance over, just barely. “Yeah?”

He hesitates, just long enough for you to brace yourself.

“About what I said last night.”

You blink, eyes flicking back to the counter.

Jungkook keeps going anyway. “I didn’t mean to… dump that on you, or say it like that. I wasn’t trying to make things harder. I just… I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think.”

You let the silence hang a moment, long enough for the words to settle.

“It’s fine,” you say eventually, quietly. “I’d already forgotten about it.”

He nods, lips pressing together. “Still. I’m sorry.”

You don’t answer this time. Just give a small shrug, like it’s not worth talking about.

Another hush washes over the kitchen, this one heavier.

You both sit in it for a moment, like neither of you knows exactly where to go next, but he shifts slightly and clears his throat.

A beat passes. You watch him out of the corner of your eye as he squints at the counter.

“So...” he says, dragging the word out just enough to be obvious. “Are you gonna tell me what’s in the bowl, or do I have to guess?”

The question is stupid. It’s clearly fruit. But it works. It’s light enough to crack the silence without pretending it wasn’t there.

You don’t say anything for a second. Just press the cloth a little firmer to your temple and exhale, slow.

“Fruit,” you say. "Strawberries, kiwi, watermelon, pineapple. Some other stuff."

Jungkook leans over to peek into the bowl, then reaches for the spoon. You slide it away before he can grab it.

He blinks at you, a beat of surprise. “Seriously?”

“I didn’t say you could have any.”

“Since when do I need permission?” he asks, brow raised.

You give him a flat look. “Since always. You just never listened.”

He grins like that’s not even close to a deterrent. “C’mon. I kept you from passing out on the kitchen floor. That’s at least worth a bite.”

You shift the spoon just slightly further out of reach, not smiling — not fully — but your mouth twitches like it’s thinking about it. “One bite.”

“I’m starving.”

“Should’ve thought of that before cannonballing off the deep end for an hour.”

He steps closer — not too close — but enough to peer over your shoulder again, dramatic and exaggerated. “You’re telling me I generously helped your migraine and you’re gonna gatekeep the fruit bowl?”

You roll your eyes. “Fine,” you mutter, sliding the spoon toward him with one finger. “You can have some. As long as you take the rest out to the others.”

He grabs the spoon like it’s a prize, already scooping a chunk of watermelon into his mouth. “Deal,” he says around it.

He chews slowly, gaze still fixed on the bowl, like he’s giving the fruit his full concentration.

Then he nods once, eyebrows furrowed. “It’s good.”

You say nothing, just shift the towel slightly against your temple, adjusting it where it’s starting to lose its chill.

He takes another bite — slower this time, as if he’s savouring the taste.

You glance over at him, just briefly. The light from the sliding door paints a soft sheen across his skin, catches in the damp ends of his hair. His profile is calm, unreadable. You know that look. He’s thinking about something he won’t say.

“You gonna take that out?” you ask eventually, nodding at the bowl.

He looks up like he forgot it was in his hands. “Yeah. Right.”

Jungkook lingers for a second longer than necessary, still holding the spoon. Then, finally, he turns toward the door.

Just before he slides it open, he pauses, glancing back over his shoulder.

“If you still feel bad later… I can run into town, grab something.”

"I can take care of myself, Jungkook.”

"I— right. I didn't mean it like that." He lets out a sigh. "Just don't die, yeah?"

You nod, and the door slides open again, letting in a gust of sun and the very distant echo of your friends yelling over music.

You let out a slow breath and rest both elbows on the counter, head still heavy.

And even though the ache behind your eyes is still there — stubborn and dull — it’s softened now. Just a little.

Your headache is mostly gone.

Not completely — there’s still a faint buzz behind your right eye — but it’s somewhat bearable now. The dull kind of pressure you can forget about if you keep still and breathe slow.

What really helped, you think, was the nap. A quiet hour stretched out on the couch with the curtains drawn halfway closed and the cold cloth still folded gently against your forehead.

You don’t remember falling asleep. One minute, you were lying there, your arm slung over your eyes to block the light, and the next, you were waking up to the distant sound of laughter outside, the ache in your head a few degrees cooler.

The towel was still cold when you stirred. Not freezing, but fresher than it had any right to be after an hour against your skin.

You hadn’t put it back in the freezer.

You’re almost sure you didn’t move at all.

Which means… someone had to have changed it amidst your slumber.

You’re not sure how you feel about it. If it even happened. If it means anything.

It shouldn’t. You tell yourself that. It shouldn’t mean anything.

But something about it sticks in your chest.

You’d asked for space — not out loud, not exactly, but in all the ways that mattered. In how you walked away, in how you haven’t reached for him since. And yet… here you are. Picking apart the temperature of a towel like it holds any real weight.

You’re trying not to read into things.

Really, you are.

But it’s hard when the lines keep blurring.

Pretending in front of the others is one thing. A mutual act, a lie with rules and boundaries. But the quiet moments are harder — the ones where no one is looking. Those feel like the truth, leaking out in small, inconvenient ways.

And now here you are.

The beach is stretched out before you in all its sleepy, golden haze. You’ve only been out here for ten minutes; just long enough to settle on your towel and feel the sun warm the backs of your legs.

When you stepped out of the house, the last serve of a makeshift volleyball game had just hit the sand. Taehyung and Hoseok stood dramatically with their arms raised like they'd won the Olympics, while Jimin fell to his knees with an exaggerated groan, sand puffing up beneath him. Seokjin declared the whole thing rigged.

Now, the energy has dipped.

Yoongi is passed out with a bucket hat covering his face. Seokjin’s sitting near the cooler, sipping something canned and cold with his arm lazily slung around Haeun’s waist. Everyone else lies scattered across the sand

The air smells like sunscreen and salt. The ocean hums steady in the background, lapping up against the shore.

And beside it all — Jungkook is somewhere behind you.

You haven’t looked directly at him since you laid your towel down, but you can almost feel his presence.

You shift on your stomach, resting your cheek against your folded arms as you watch Ari walk toward the water, her ankles sinking into the wet sand with each step. The back of your neck is starting to warm. A little too much.

“You're gonna get sunburnt,” comes Jungkook’s voice, low and close behind you.

You don’t lift your head. Just let out a small noise, somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” he replies, not unkindly. “Do you really wanna deal with a migraine and a sun burn at the same time?”

You squint forward, not at anything in particular. The sun is still high, still hot. That tell tale sting is starting to spread across your shoulders, the heat clawing at your skin.

But still, you don’t move.

“I’m too comfortable,” you mumble into your arms.

Behind you, there’s a pause. A quiet snort. The soft click of a bottle opening.

“Then don’t move,” Jungkook says. “I’ve got it.”

You could say no. Could roll away, wave him off, insist on doing it yourself. But you don’t. Whether it’s the heat, the sleep still clinging to your limbs, or just the fact that resisting feels like more effort than it’s worth — you stay where you are.

You hear him kneel beside you in the sand, shifting his weight until his shadow falls across your back.

A second later, the first touch of sunscreen lands cool and smooth on your skin, right between your shoulder blades. His hands follow, spreading it across your back with steady, practiced pressure.

You tense at first, your body instinctively stiffening beneath the weight of his palms. But it’s not like you don’t know how he touches. You do. That knowledge is in your bones, no matter how much time has passed.

He’s methodical about it. No lingering, no hesitation — just slow, firm strokes. Across your shoulders. Down the curve of your spine. It doesn't feel like anything more than it is. It shouldn't.

Still, you keep your face turned away, your sunglasses hiding the part of you that can’t stop reading into this.

He’s just doing it to show the others.

His hand drags slightly higher, toward the back of your neck — just above where your bikini strap cuts across your skin — and slows.

His fingers brush lightly over the spot where your tattoo is inked into your skin: small, fine-lined, nothing dramatic. Just a single, understated flower.

His birth flower. A small tiger lily.

He’s quiet for a beat. Long enough that you notice.

It was years ago. You’d gotten them together after a night out with the group — a bit drunk and feeling impulsive. You’d been walking past a tiny tattoo studio near campus while on the way home, a place you’d both seen a hundred times but never gone into. And for some reason that night, you did.

It was an idea that made sense at the time.

He has your birth flower on the back of his neck too, low enough to hide beneath the collar of a hoodie. Yours a mirror of his, but a small bit higher.

You never talked about what they meant. Not out loud. They weren’t anything too special. Just... markers of time. Of who you were to each other then.

And now here he is, brushing sunscreen over it like he’s trying not to think about the fact that it’s still there.

You feel his fingers hesitate — just for a second — right over the ink. His thumb grazes the edge of it, subtle enough that you almost miss it. But you don’t. You feel everything.

Then he clears his throat softly and moves on, his hands smoothing down the rest of your back with the same quiet efficiency as before. Like nothing happened. Like it didn’t matter.

And maybe it doesn’t.

But the tension in your jaw says otherwise.

By the time he’s finished, your skin feels slick and protected, the burn averted. But something else lingers — not on your back, but under your ribs. Low and restless.

"Thanks," you mumble.

He lets out a small hum in response, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. For a second, you think he's going to say something, but instead, he scoots over to his own towel placed a few feet away from yours.

Minutes slip by in a blur of warmth and white noise.

You stay there, cheek pressed against the crook of your arm, letting the sun soak into your back. The sounds around you start to flatten — laughter, crashing waves, the thump of footsteps on sand — all melting together into something distant and slow. You’re not sure how long you lie there, half-awake, thoughts drifting somewhere between now and then, between what was and what isn’t anymore.

You don’t notice the shape that settles beside you until it casts a shadow across your towel.

“Wow,” Kiara says, dropping onto the sand with a dramatic exhale, “you’ve been so boring today.”

You lift your head slightly, squinting at her through your sunglasses. “Rude.”

“I’m serious,” she says, unbothered, propping herself up on her elbows. “You’re usually all over the place. But today?” She sighs. “Nothing. It’s been tragic.”

You snort, the sound muffled by your arm. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“I’m just saying,” she says, nudging your leg lightly with hers. “You’re throwing off the group dynamic."

You laugh for real this time — small, but genuine — and lift yourself slightly off your towel. Your head feels better, the pressure dulled to a faint hum. Manageable.

"You are good though, right?"

“I’m fine,” you say, rubbing at your temple with the back of your hand. “Just needed a break.”

“Well,” she drawls, sitting upright, “if you’re feeling human again, please tell me you’ll play one more round of volleyball.”

You blink. “Volleyball?”

“Yes,” she says, as if it’s obvious. “We need even teams, and I’m tired of getting stuck with Taehyung. He's genuinely a lost cause.”

You hesitate, and she watches you closely. Then, with a tilt of her head, she adds, “If you're feeling well, that is. Jungkook said that you had a headache earlier. He told all of us to keep it down when he saw you walking out, so I figured you were dying or something.”

“Oh,” you say, voice a little thinner than you’d like. “Right.” You force a breath through your nose. “I’m okay now. The nap helped.”

“Good,” she grins, bright and unbothered. “Because I refuse to lose to Jimin and this asshole again." She glances over at Jungkook with narrowed eyes, and you hear him chuckle. "My dignity can’t handle it," she adds, voice dropping a tiny bit.

You laugh and push yourself upright, brushing sand from your arms. “Fine. But Kiara, if someone spikes the ball at my face, you'll be the one that ends up dead.”

She beams, grabbing your hand and pulling you up to your feet. “No promises, but sure.”

She lets go of your hand as soon as you’re steady, then turns and jogs toward Hoseok to try and convince him to play too.

You dust off your legs with a sigh, flexing your toes in the warm sand. The heat radiates up through your soles, grounding. The sun is relentless now, painting everything in gold and glare.

You glance sideways toward the towel a few feet away.

Jungkook is still there, stretched out on his back with one arm slung across his forehead, shielding his eyes from the sun. From here, he looks peaceful. Like the ocean and the warmth and the quiet are all he needs.

You hesitate, then step closer.

“You playing?” you ask, voice light, careful.

Jungkook peeks one eye open, blinking up at you. “Nah,” he says, dragging the word out. “Too tired.”

You pause. Your first instinct is to roll your eyes. Maybe push. Maybe say something along the lines of 'Scared I'll beat you?'

But you don’t.

You open your mouth, but the words dry up before they form. Instead, you just give him a simple, “Alright.”

You turn toward the lazy line drawn into the sand (their version of a volleyball net), pretending you don’t hear the voice in your head asking why you even bothered in the first place.

It's not like you care.

You’re sitting on the edge of the pool, ankles skimming the surface, the pads of your feet just brushing cool water. There’s a half-empty glass of something fruity beside you on the tile. Hoseok’s cracking up mid-story, animated like always, throwing his arms out as he re-enacts some tragic college memory that has you clutching your stomach with laughter.

You’re glowing. Not in the cliché way — not some poetic, golden-hour kind of glow — but in that real, visceral way you used to around him. Like the air is lighter in your lungs when you’re surrounded by the people who get you. Like joy just leaks out of you without asking for permission.

And Jungkook?

He sits beside you. A little too close. Not close enough.

His legs are in the water too, knees bent, toes flexing every now and then as Namjoon speaks beside him, something low and thoughtful and typical of Namjoon — philosophy or music or that book he never shuts up about. Jungkook nods, murmurs something back, throws a quiet smile when Namjoon teases him for zoning out, but his attention never really leaves you.

You.

Laughing like you used to, shoulders shaking, head thrown back.

You reach out mid-laugh, fingers curling instinctively around Hoseok’s arm as you recover, and Jungkook’s heart does this pathetic little stutter in his chest. It shouldn’t matter. He knows that. Hoseok is family — your friend, his friend, everyone’s friend — and nothing more. But it’s the way you touch. So easy. So natural. So unguarded.

Like the version of you that still belongs to everyone else hasn’t changed.

The version of you he gets, though?

Guarded. Quiet. Careful.

And he deserves it. He knows that.

But still, it hurts.

It’s stupid, really. How he sits here, nodding along to a conversation he’s not even hearing, all while tracking your every laugh like it’s the air he breathes; like he’s parched and it’s the only thing that could quench it.

He doesn’t mean to do it. He tries to stop. But it’s been a month — just a month — and already he’s forgotten how to breathe in a world where your joy doesn’t belong to him.

Your fingers swipe at your eyes, wiping away tears from the laughter, and Jungkook can’t help but notice how your guard drops when you’re surrounded by them. How you’ve drawn a clear line around him, and only him.

You talk to everyone but him with that voice. The one that dances. The one he used to fall asleep to on long nights when sleep wouldn’t come unless your words wrapped around the edges of his mind first.

Now?

You barely look at him unless you have to.

Even now, you’re angled slightly away. Just enough to remind him that he lost access to something no one else even realises is sacred.

And he let it happen.

He chose this. And fuck, does he regret it.

It’s a strange kind of punishment — being near you like this. Close enough to hear your laughter, to count the freckles on your shoulders, to smell the sunscreen on your skin — and still feel completely shut out. He’s sitting in the middle of everything, surrounded by friends, summer heat, fading sun — and yet all he can think about is how badly he wants to reach for you, and how he can’t.

A splash breaks Jungkook out of his thoughts, followed by a sharp, familiar voice.

“Jimin, seriously, if you drop that in—”

“I’m not gonna drop it!”

He twists just slightly enough to see Jimin in the pool, chest deep, both arms stretched upward to keep Yasmine’s baby pink digital camera above the water. The strap is wrapped twice around his wrist, but he still moves like the thing’s made of glass, carefully navigating the shallow end of the pool.

He’s grinning, eyes curled into crescent moons behind the camera as he wades closer.

“Smile!” he shouts, voice echoing a little off the tile.

Jungkook barely has enough time to throw up a casual peace sign before the shutter snaps.

Jimin squints at the screen, adjusting the angle slightly before lifting the camera again.

“One more! The lighting’s really good right now.”

The sky is washed in that honey-orange haze that only happens for a few precious minutes before dusk. The pool reflects it all — golden ripples catching light, soft shadows stretching across the deck.

You sit still beside Jungkook, your laughter cooling into a smile. Your hand brushes your hair back absently, and it takes everything in him not to follow the movement.

Jimin lowers the camera again, brows lifting. “Wait, I wanna get one of just you two."

You hesitate, eyes flicking toward Jungkook for the briefest second. He meets your gaze and he can see the hesitance swimming in your mind.

But before he can open his mouth to tell Jimin that the picture isn't needed, you adjust your legs, turning slightly so your shoulder brushes his.

It’s not much. But it’s not nothing.

Jungkook lifts an arm, pausing for half a second, then lets his hand settle at your waist, fingers just grazing the curve of your side.

You lean into his touch, your shoulder slipping under his arm, your hand moving to rest on his knee, and Jungkook's heart trips. No warning, no rhythm. It just skips — sharp and stupid and immediate.

Because this feels familiar. And fuck, he’s missed this.

“Okay,” Jimin calls. “Say cheese!”

You smile.

Click.

He turns his head ever so slightly to sneak a glance at you, and his breath catches.

Your smile isn’t fake. Not forced. Not the stiff, polite kind you’ve been tossing his way when the group’s looking. It’s real — soft and bright, with your eyes crinkling at the corners and your nose doing that little scrunch it always does when you’re genuinely happy. Your eyelashes catch the light, casting faint shadows on your cheeks.

Click.

The sound barely fades before something reckless flickers in Jungkook.

His hand tightens slightly at your waist, like he’s grounding himself, or maybe trying to stop himself from doing exactly what he’s about to do. He knows he shouldn’t. He’s not entitled to moments like this anymore.

But God, you’re right there. Glowing. Laughing like you used to. And it’s killing him.

He watches the way your lips part slightly after your smile, the way your eyes dart to the camera and then away again. You look happy — not with him, but still. And it’s that exact version of you he aches for. The one that used to look at him like that on purpose.

He should look away.

He should remember that you're not his anymore. That whatever you're doing right now — playing pretend, leaning into the role for the sake of everyone else — isn’t real.

He tells himself not to do it.

Tells himself to breathe. To sit still. To just let this moment exist without taking anything from it.

But he doesn’t listen.

He never could, when it comes to you.

So before he can think twice — before reason has a chance to claw its way back in — he leans in, slow and quiet and aching.

And presses a kiss to your cheek.

It’s soft. A touch more than a breath, less than a second.

His lips barely linger, but it’s enough. Enough to remember. Enough to want

Click.

To his surprise, you don’t flinch or pull away.

You just… sit there. Letting it happen.

Jimin chirps something about the photo, already moving on, flipping the camera around to show Taehyung and Yasmine as they ask him to take a similar picture of them too.

But Jungkook barely hears them.

He can’t hear much over the pounding in his chest, anyway. Can’t think beyond the feel of your skin under his lips, the way your shoulder fit under his arm like it still belongs there. Like nothing’s changed.

Maybe that’s why his voice comes out quieter than he means it to.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, eyes fixed straight ahead. “Habit.”

You don’t look at him. But you don’t move away either. Your hand stays on his knee, almost as if you know that the second either of you move, the moment is over.

The air goes still between you. And for the first time all day, Jungkook lets himself breathe.

Not fully. Not the kind of breath that fills your lungs and clears your head. But something. Something real enough that it almost feels like hope.

Then you shift.

Just slightly.

Your hand slides off his knee, fingers brushing the fabric of his shorts as you pull away.

You stand up slowly, brushing the back of your hand across your cheek where he kissed you, like you’re wiping away sweat — or maybe just trying to reset the moment.

You don’t say anything. Just pick up your drink, half-finished and watered down by melted ice, and move toward Haeun and Ari near the deep end who welcome you with a small wave of their fingers.

Jungkook watches you go.

He should feel stupid. Regretful. Humiliated, even. But he doesn’t. Not really.

Because for one second — just one — you didn’t pull away.

You let him exist beside you. With you. Like maybe some part of you remembered, too.

And maybe that means nothing.

Maybe it was just muscle memory.

But maybe — maybe — there’s still something left to hold onto.

Even if it hurts.

Even if it’s only for one more week.

Even if all he gets now are seconds.

And he’ll take them.

Because when it comes to you, he always would.

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[c4tluver02]

group project

wc: 3.5k

summary: You and Steve get paired up for a group project. You dread it and Steve can't help but want to figure out why?

cw: r has long hair, shy!reader, r has female anatomy

a/n: i think this is the longest ive written? we all cheered!!

The start of your senior year has gone smoothly so far. You woke up on time, nothing went wrong with your makeup, and you made it to school with no issue. After parking you met up with a friend who had called you earlier to tell you she already had ‘hot school gossip’. Classes started in 10 minutes so it gave you two times to talk. 

“Okay, so you know how Kelly dropped out?” She started.

You nod ready to hear the rest of the story until you hear a loud yell from the end of the hall. Both of you turn your heads to see King Steve and his group of friends. Tommy was jumping up and down and Steve was rolling his eyes laughing at him. Grinding your teeth at their obnoxiousness you turn your attention back to your friend. 

“If I am in any class with those fools I might just have to walk out.” She says still gazing over the group. 

“We’ve made it this far without, let's hope for one more good year!” You respond sarcastically. 

Suddenly the bell rings. You’ll have to get the details on Kelly during lunch. You and your friend part ways and you head towards the first period class. 

After being here for three years already, you have the place down. It doesn't take you long to find out where your class is and luckily you're early enough to pick a good seat. Another hope you have is the absences of a seating chart. But with all these hopes you risk not being lucky at most. 

Everyone starts walking in, the class is filled with chatter and still the seat next to you is empty. Class starts in exactly one minute, it looks like you got lucky with this one. Allowing your attention to be soaked up by the teacher, introducing herself, you miss how someone sneakily got into the seat next to you. 

Feeling a presence, it doesn't take you long to turn your head to see who it is. And of course the luck didn't last long, here he was in all his glory. King Steve sat perched on the stool next to you, messing with his hair and setting down his backpack. Nothing is being taken out and he looks rushed. 

Trying to look around for any other empty seats, but they were all taken. The teacher started yelling out names for attendance and afterwards let the class know that the seats you are in are the ones you'll be in for the rest of the year. You’re quick to drop your head into your hands and Steve takes notice of it. 

“Are you okay?” He asks. 

You are surprised he would even bother to care but maybe you look ill and he probably doesn't want to be near someone like that. It is hard for you to wrap your head around it and all this thinking makes you pause. 

“Yeah, I'm okay.” You nod.  It comes out after a few seconds which definitely doesn't help your case. 

The thought that he doesn't even think the reaction was about him tells you pretty much all you need to know. But thankfully he doesn't ask you anything more, the rest of the class is the teacher speaking and for once you’re grateful for it. 

–

During lunch you were quick to inform your friends that your first period of the day would be shared with Steve Harrington and the sad looks you got made it all worse. It wasnt that you hated Steve, his charm got him through every door and if we were being real he didn't hurt to look at either. It was no surprise why so many girls tried to get with him but in a class you're not someone Steves going after. If anything he was gonna ask for your homework to copy and because you have no backbone you’d probably give it to him. 

So truthfully Steve wasn’t some bad guy, he was just bad for you. 

And each day Steve came in he was almost late to class. Watching the clock has become somewhat of a fun game for you, waiting to see what time he gets here each day. Some days he arrives with 30 seconds to spare before he's officially late. Others make it with a full 50 seconds remaining. And each time he sits next to you he offers a small smile. It wouldn’t be weird if it was anyone else doing this, however, this was Steve we were talking about. Steve who sleeps with a new girl each week and only thinks with the, rumored 8 inches?, in his pants. 

Still, always being polite, you give him a smile back. It never lasts long and your body always turns back to the teacher but it’s still there. This is what Steve holds onto. But if you knew the things he was saying about you to Tommy your face would turn bright red. 

–

“She barely even looks at me. Like did I turn ugly overnight?” Steve asks dramatically. He's eating lunch with his friends and for some reason you aren't throwing yourself his way. It’s not like Steve necessarily wants that but he’s surprised it isn't happening. 

“Maybe she’s already dating someone else?” Tommy asks, digging into his burger like he hasn't eaten in days.

“Nah I already asked Carol and she said she was single. I swear I give her smiles and each time she turns away.” Why wouldn't you talk to him? Steve thought his super power was being able to make anyone like him. He was just that type of guy, likeable, fun, easy to talk to. And here you were writing him off like he was some loser. 

“I dunno man.” Steve sighs as Tommy talks with food stuffed in his mouth. “She could like the other gender.” He says with brows raised, the last part comes out in a low voice like it was some scary secret.

Maybe Steve should have just kept the topic between him and Carol. He needs a plan to talk to you. Something about the way he knows nothing about you makes him all the more intrigued. He had completely missed your name during roll call on the first day of school, the teacher doesn't even do it anymore. Which in any other case would mean that Steves skipping the class, but he couldn't, because then he’d miss you. 

–

The next few weeks Steve tries more and more to up the conversation between the two of you. You’re often quick to cut it short or give clipped answers. Neither help Steve and his mission to befriend you, or at the very least get to know you. 

When he got to class he gave you the classic Steve Harrington smile and the one you gave back made his heart skip a beat. It always did. Now Steve hasn't said it outloud but you were someone he could see himself falling for. Your long hair matches so nicely with the pretty smile you flash. And the way your bra sometimes pokes out from your shirt is never lost on him. 

Class was boring so far, all the teacher had talked about was some book stuff, Steve had zoned out for most of it. But then hands were being raised and that was quick to wake him up. The teacher was pointed at tables to group up and you and Steve had been paired together. Apparently there's a group project due for the midterm. Each pair had to make a presentation and Steve’s smile was big. This was his moment to talk to you, maybe even get you out of this school for dinner or something. You however looked a little less happy than Steve. Over the few weeks you’d grown to unfortunately not hate him. He was nice to you despite all the horrible things you've heard from other girls. Maybe it was all gossip or maybe you just had to wait for the right moment for him to use you and move on. This group project seemed like the right moment for that, forcing you to do the work and slap his name on it. Sounded convenient. 

Although what really surprised you was when Steve came up to you during lunch. You were completely unaware as your back was facing his table but the wide eyes from your friends made you turn around. 

“Hey Steve.” You say kindly but still a hint of shock in your voice. 

“Hey! So, uh, I was wondering if you wanted to come by my place to start working on the project? I know we have a few weeks but I think it would be good to get an overall idea of what we want to do.” He tries to make it come out with confidence but with all these eyes on him he stumbles. 

Your eyes only grew wider as you looked back at your friends as if they could tell you what to say. Barely a month of school has gone by and it started with you never having a word with Steve to now you going to his house. To say you were shocked is an understatement. 

“Okay, yeah, we can do that. Could you write down your address for me?” You ask while simultaneously grabbing a pen and paper.

Steve tries to write neatly but his chicken scratch still comes through. It's legible and really that's all that matters. 

“So how does Saturday at 12 work?” Steve asks once he's done. 

“12pm on Saturday works perfectly.” You smile. He gives you a nod and waves a small goodbye ending the conversation there. He hopes that when you're at his place you’ll feel more open to talk or Steve will feel more open to keep the conversation going. 

–

Saturday comes sooner than expected. With school starting back up so does homework and for some reason they are drowning you in it. Barely any room for down time the weekend is like a breath of fresh air. You can finally sleep in and be lazy. Well, you would be if you didn't have to go to Steves. Speaking of your room is a mess from you trying to find an outfit. Not wanting to come off too casual but also not wanting to look like every  other girl that threw themselves at him.

The drive to his house was short and it took you a second to actually get past the anxiety of knocking on his door. With all the courage you could muster, you gently knock on the large door which Steve is quick to open and greet you with a big smile. 

“Hey sweetheart, perfect timing I just got some snacks for us all ready to go. You can come in.” He says waving his hand towards him, signaling to walk. 

You hope he can't see the way the pet name affected you. He’s never called you that before, maybe he doesn't even know he did it. 

Shutting the door behind you Steve places a small hand on your back to guide you through his large house. 

“It’s all still in the kitchen, I just need to bring it over here.” He says bringing you both to the kitchen. 

“Are your parents home?” You ask looking around for them.

“No, they are gone for the week on some business trip.” 

You give him a small ‘oh ok’ as you help with the bowls of food. One has chips, the other has cookies, and the last one has grapes. 

“I didn’t know which you’d like so I just thought all three could be nice.” The gesture is sweet, and he's right, they all look good. 

Placing all three bowls on the table in the living room he sits on the couch and you follow through with the same action. He grabs a grape and pops it in his mouth. 

“Can you catch a grape?” He asks, he’s doing a lot of the talking but you don’t really know what to say. Too shy to start a conversation that may lead nowhere.

“No, but I don't think I've ever tried.” Steve can see that you're even more timid outside of school than you were in school. A new territory doesn't bring you out of your shell. 

“It’s pretty easy. When you throw it just follow the grape with your eyes and then once it comes down catch it!” He throws the grape into the air and catches it with ease. You can’t help but wonder if he's trying to impress you with these little tricks. 

You throw a grape into the air and move your head towards it with an open mouth but it lands in your lap. 

Embarrassed with your fail, you pop it quickly into your mouth. It is a crunchy grape and super sweet at the same time. It must be nice to be rich and have nice grapes, you think. 

“Here throw and I'll catch.” Steve says handing you a grape. 

“You just saw my throw, I don’t know how good this’ll be.” Your brows are furrowed and Steve laughs. 

“You got this, c'mon I’ll catch it I promise. Won't let you down.” His head is thrown back and he has a steady eye on the grape in your hand. 

He’s so locked in and ready it makes you smile. Doing what he asked, you turn to face him and throw it in the air. It’s not exactly far enough which makes Steve pull himself forward. He catches it but not without his hands landing on either side of your thighs, a little close in your personal space. 

He doesn't move his position as he crunches down on the fruit. “See? Told you I’d get it.” The smirk that appears on his face is evident and you fight everything in you not to inspect every mole on his face. 

“You wanna try?” He asks, still not moving. Why isn't he moving? 

“I think I’d do even worse.” You respond shyly. Steve isn’t in love with all this negative self-talk; he needs to do something about it. 

“You just threw a grape and it was great. There's no hurt in trying right?” You aren't sure why he's filled with compliments for you but whatever he’s doing is working. Each word pumps you with confidence and you agree to do it. 

“Just try and copy what I did, eyes on the grape, lean to wherever it goes, and boom you got it.” He states simply. 

You can't help but roll your eyes at his explanation. It obviously wasn't as easy as he's making it out to be and the embarrassment from your first try is still in you. 

“Ok grumpy, ready?” Steve says light-heartedly with a laugh. 

“Just throw it Harrington.” You say tilting your head back, getting serious. 

You’ve never called him that before and Steve can’t say he hates the way it sounds coming from your lips. The serious tone doing wonders for him he almost forgot your demand. 

Following through, he throws it and you lean out a little and catch it. It’s perfect for your first try and Steve’s loud cheer is proof of it. 

“You did it!” He says all smiley.

“I did it!” You’re on your knees now with fists up in the air. Your laugh fills up the room and Steve thinks it might be the best sound he’s ever heard. 

“Do you wanna try with a chip?” Steve asks, he really just wants to sit and talk. 

“As good as I am at this newfound skill, I think we should probably get started on the project.” You say biting into a cookie. Steve nods in agreement, he’s probably being a bad partner right now but he doesn't really care too much. 

“So what did you have in mind?” He asks. You’re leaning your head against the cushion of the couch and eating a cookie he made just for today. His heart might devastatingly break if he doesn't get to kiss you sometime soon. 

“I don’t even know, I think maybe doing it on one of the required books could make it easy?’ 

“Okay smarty pants, that's a great idea.” Steve says, poking a finger into your hip. It tickles which makes you giggle. “That way when we have to read the book we’ll already understand it.” He finishes and you're still smiling from the complement. 

“Exactly! We can kill two birds with one stone.” You’re done with your cookie and it’s as if Steve could read your mind and he hands you another one. 

“We need to go to the store to pick up all the supplies. Along with the books, you think she’d lend us some copies early?” He asks, thinking about how stubborn the teacher is. 

The thought of Steve already planning another meet up for you two makes your body feel like it's on fire. It’s obvious that you would need to see him again for the project but now you’re going out shopping with him. 

“I think she would if she knew it was for the project. If all else fails add the library to the list after the store.” 

It falls silent after that, the plan fully set and now it’s just a fight of who asks who. Steve doesn't want you to go and if he asked, you would say the same. An hour and a half has already passed but it feels like you’ve been here for 10 minutes. But the sun is setting and you did tell your parents you’d be home at a certain time. 

“Steve, what time is it?” You say it gently, not wanting it to come off like you're dying to leave or something. 

He quickly glances at the watch on his wrist and tells you it’s 6pm. You know your family is waiting on you to eat dinner but the feeling of leaving Steve here all alone makes your heart physically ache. 

“What are you doing for dinner?” 

“Oh, um maybe mac and cheese? I dunno, I have to go shopping. My parents barely left me with anything.” He says it with a laugh at the end, he doesn't want to sound pathetic. 

“Would you like to come to mine and eat dinner with me?” This is a bold move coming from you and Steve knows it. Which is exactly why he thinks it's all just a pity move. 

“Oh, no, no I don't want to impose on your family dinner. I swear it’s all good I’m used to it when my parents are gone.” 

You let out a small huff. You’re not great at asking for things like this and he’s not taking the hint as easily as you’d hoped. 

“I am trying to invite you because I want to hang out more, Steve.” Maybe the direct approach will work, you’re already this far into asking. But still your head is hanging low in case of any rejection. 

“Oh.” It’s all he says.

“Okay nevermind. Thanks for having me.” You’re quick to grab for your shoes and get up but Steve places a hand on your thigh before you fully get off the couch.

“No, that's not, I didn't mean it like that.” His hand is still burning on your thigh. “I just didn’t think you liked me that much.” 

Your eyes soften and guilt starts biting at you. “I do like you. I just didn’t know you, I guess.” The shrug you give is paired with a small hand on top of his own, still resting on your thigh. 

Normally Steve would make a joke about how you ‘like like him’ but he doesn't. Because you're not some girl he plays around with, and to gain your trust is something Steve is ready to fight for. Which means he's gonna go about this in the right way, no cutting corners, nothing to make you think this is a one time fling. 

Which is why he declines your extremely sweet invite. Steve will meet your family when you can proudly talk about him across the table to your parents. He’s not gonna be some boy you bring home but someone who will come over when the time is right. 

Before you leave Steve gives you his number and for the next few nights you two talk for hours. Only hanging up when your mom calls you down for dinner. It’s nice learning all these things about Steve, each fact fighting against the awful rumors being told about him. And with each time you two meet up to work on the project, the less school work gets done and the more flirting comes out. You’re getting braver and Steves getting softer, a perfect pair. 

It’s never a lazy complement or a small hug. It’s only ever full of passion and heartfelt. You learn that Steve can’t keep his hands off you, always one on your thigh or tangled with your own, he is ridiculously generous with the compliments, and never fails to call you something deathly sweet. 

The shyness within you fades as your bubbly personality shines, Steve can only be enamored by you. And he isn't afraid to show it during your first period together. Each day the two of you get closer and closer and soon enough Steve is able to go to that family dinner as you introduce him as your boyfriend.