#someone pls join me in this au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dazevi · 21 days ago

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outta my mind | vi x fem!reader, fluff, smut (18+ MDNI) wc: 20k

synopsis: you didn’t plan on falling for anyone, let alone the painfully attractive bartender at the underground bar your friends dragged you to. she’s trouble, but she’s the kind you don’t mind getting into. | masterlist

content warnings: bartender!vi x fem!reader — modern au, bartender!vi, college student!reader, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn ish, drinking/alcohol, flirting, mutual pining, pet names; baby, princess, sweetheart, smut!!!; top!vi, bottom!reader, semi-public sex, making out, marking/hickeys, fingering (r receiving), pls let me know if i’m missing anything else!

note: lovely request by @balinor93 ! fanart by wickestd on twitter! ( title inspo from song called outta my mind by monsune )

YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO BE HERE.

It was an underground pub, called the Last Drop, tucked between an alley of a street near your campus. The air inside is heavy, thick with a haze of cigarette smoke and the low hum of chatter and laughter. The brick walls are decorated with bright paintings and band posters, chipped and scratched in places, and adorned with flickering neon signs advertising cheap liquor and beers on tap. It’s dimly lit, with most of the light spilling from the bar itself—a warm glow reflecting off rows of liquor bottles stacked neatly against the back wall. The scent of stale beer and faint traces of spilled whiskey linger in the air, mingling with the beat of a bass-heavy track pulsing through the speakers.

You didn’t really plan to be here tonight.

In fact, you pictured something far less chaotic—maybe sitting cross-legged on your tiny dorm bed, your laptop open to half-hearted notes, headphones in to drown out the incessant noise of your hallmates partying down the corridor.

Finals week was looming, but somehow you found yourself here instead, caught up by a friend you weren’t too close with, Maddie, who told you to wear something cute and live a little.

You glance down at yourself, suddenly self-conscious in the outfit you hastily threw together—something a little nicer than your usual, a pretty black dress you found in your closet a jacket to battle the cold, though, it was not nearly as flashy as what your classmates seem to have pulled off effortlessly.

The slight chill in the room makes you tug at the sleeves of your jacket as you follow your group further inside, weaving through the crowd that seems to grow louder and rowdier by the minute.

Your friend is already laughing, tossing her short hair over her shoulder as she chats with someone from another group, leaving you trailing behind. They surge toward the bar, a noisy clump of university students jostling for attention from the bartender. You linger at the edge of the crowd, unsure of whether to join in or keep your distance.

Your eyes wander across the room, taking in the mismatched furniture and the way the low-hanging lights cast strange shadows over the scuffed wooden floor. It feels gritty, raw—nothing like the polished campus lounges or cafes you’re used to. People are packed into every available space, some leaning close to shout over the music, others pressed together in corners.

When you finally look toward the bar, something—or other, someone—catches your attention.

She’s pretty tall, her toned, tattooed arms flexing subtly as she works, pouring drinks expertly without even looking at her hands sometimes. Short, pink hair glows faintly under the neon lights, messy and partly shaved on the side of her head, but it was like she rolled out of bed and still managed to look better than anyone else in the room. She’s wearing a fitted black tee, tattoos peeking out along her biceps as she slides a drink across the counter to a waiting customer.

She glances up for the briefest moment, her sharp blue eyes scanning the crowd—and they land on you. Just for a second, you think, but it’s enough to make your pulse quicken.

But you look away before you could give her a chance to the way your cheeks reddened slightly, thought it would’ve been hard to see anyway underneath the dimness of the light.

You ended up in a booth in one of the corners of the room, sitting with a couple of your classmates as they drank and ate their pizza. The booth creaks slightly as you lean back, your drink—something simple and unadventurous—sitting untouched in front of you.

The group you came with has scattered across the room now to various corners of the bar, their loud laughter and shouts blending into the rest of the noise.

You’re not sure why you agreed to come tonight. Finals around the corner were stressful enough without the added distraction of cheap liquor and the kind of music that vibrates in your chest.

Across from you, someone slides into the booth with a bit too much enthusiasm, too much confidence, their knee knocking against yours under the table.

You glance up to find a man from your group—one of those classmates whose name you barely remember—flashing you a wide grin. Jason? Jacob? He had short brown hair, a white button up under his coat and smells faintly of whiskey and strong cologne, his cheeks flushed in a way that suggests he’s had a drink too many.

“Hey,” he says, his voice pitched louder than it needs to be over the music. “You’re in Professor Medarda’s class, right? Postmodern lit?”

You blink at him, already regretting this conversation.

“Yeah,” you reply, tone flat, hoping he’ll get the hint and move on.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he leans in, propping his elbow on the sticky table like he’s settling in for a long chat.

“Aren’t you the one who absolutely wrecked her in that debate? Something about, what was it—‘deconstructing the deconstruction’ or whatever?” He waves a hand vaguely, his grin turning lopsided. “Man, that was brutal. Everyone was talking about it for days.”

You press your lips into a thin line, your gaze drifting toward the bar. The bartender with the pink hair is still there, moving effortlessly behind the bar underneath the warm glow of the lights. She laughs at something one of the regulars says, the sound faint but distinct over the din, and you find yourself wishing you were anywhere but here, maybe talking to her instead of… this guy.

“Yeah, well,” you say finally, dragging your attention back to him. “It wasn’t… really a debate. I just pointed out that her entire argument was contradictory.”

Jason-or-Jacob—whatever—laughs, a little too loudly, and takes a swig of his drink.

“See, that’s what I mean! It’s… it’s impressive… And not to mention… you’re… really pretty on the eyes.” He gestures vaguely in your direction, his eyes lingering a little too long.

You shift uncomfortably as you raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Uh… right, thanks.”

He chuckles again, clearly not picking up on your disinterest. “No, seriously. You’re, like, intimidating. Smart. And hot. In a good way.”

“Uh-huh.” You tap your fingers against the edge of your glass, your patience wearing thin. “Listen, if this is your way of hitting on me, you might want to workshop it… or something.”

That finally seems to trip him up, his grin faltering as he moves awkwardly in his seat. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just…”

“Right,” you cut him off, standing and grabbing your drink. “Thanks for the conversation, but I’m gonna go… anywhere else.”

You don’t bother waiting for his response as you stand and step away from the booth, weaving through the crowd.

The bar feels slightly less oppressive now that you’re moving, and as you approach the counter, you can’t help but glance toward the bartender again. She’s wiping down a glass, her movements precise, and for the second time tonight, her eyes meet yours. This time, there’s a flicker of something—curiosity, maybe—as her lips twitch into a subtle smirk.

You set your drink down on the counter, your heart skipping just a little. Maybe tonight isn’t a complete waste after all.

The stool creaks faintly as you settle onto it, the weight of the night pressing on your shoulders. You prop your elbow on the bar and glance down at your drink, still untouched. The condensation clings to the glass, cool against your fingertips as you absently trail them along its surface.

The music feels louder here, basslines thrumming through the wooden counter, but it fades into the background every time your gaze drifts upward—to her.

The bartender.

She’s been moving nonstop, hands deft and practiced as she pours drinks, slides glasses across the counter, and exchanges brief words with customers. She was confident and smooth without even trying, her short pink hair glowing faintly under the neon lights that flicker lazily behind her.

You tell yourself you’re not staring, but you are.

She’s impossibly attractive, the kind of person who seems entirely out of reach—too cool, too confident, too… everything. And yet, you catch yourself glancing her way more often than you should, trying to look away quickly enough that she doesn’t notice.

You sigh, shifting in your seat as you fiddle with your drink again, fingers tracing patterns on the glass. You haven’t taken a sip, and you’re not even sure why you ordered it. It was just something to hold, something to keep you occupied in this crowded room.

Just as you glance up again, hoping to catch another fleeting glimpse of her, a voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Hey there,” someone slurs, the words thick and clumsy.

You blink, turning to find a man standing far too close, his grin lopsided and his eyes glassy from too many drinks. His shirt is untucked, and he sways slightly as he leans an elbow on the bar, effectively blocking your view of anything else—including her.

“You’re way too pretty to be sitting here all alone,” he says, his words slurred but bold. “Let me keep you company, yeah?”

“I’m not alone,” you say flatly, holding up your glass like it’s proof. “And, I’m not interested.”

He laughs, as if you’ve said something charming. “Nah, come on. You’re too gorgeous to be hiding away in the corner. You need someone to—”

“No,” you interrupt, your tone sharp. “I’m really not interested.”

But he doesn’t take the hint. Instead, he leans in closer, his breath reeking of alcohol. “Don’t be like that. Just one drink, huh? I promise I’m a good time.”

You grimace, leaning back and trying to create some distance. “And I promise I’m not.”

The man chuckles, as if he thinks you’re joking, and you feel your frustration rising. You glance around, hoping someone—anyone—might intervene, and that’s when you notice her again. The bartender.

She’s been watching, her sharp eyes narrowing as she assesses the situation. Her hands pause mid-motion as she sets down a freshly poured drink, and without missing a beat, she walks over to your side of the bar.

“Hey,” she says, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

The drunk man looks up, startled, as she plants both hands on the counter, leaning slightly forward. Her gaze is steely as she stares down the man next to you.

“You bothering her?” she asks, her tone deceptively casual, though there’s a warning laced in her words.

The man blinks, clearly caught off guard. “What? No, we were just talkin’.”

“Yeah, well, she doesn’t look like she’s enjoying the conversation,” she replies smoothly. Then she turns her attention to you, her expression softening just a fraction. “You good, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. The word sends a small jolt through your chest, and for a moment, you can only shake your head, your voice caught in your throat.

The man mutters something under his breath, but the bartender doesn’t budge.

“You should go.” she says firmly. “Or I’ll have someone make you leave.”

He hesitates, but the weight of her stare is enough to make him backpedal. He stumbles away, disappearing into the crowd, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Thanks,” you murmur, glancing up at her.

You see her more clearly now. Light blue eyes. A strong nose. A small scar over her top lip. Another one over her eyebrow. Nose ring. And a small tattoo of the Roman numeral six on her cheek.

She straightens, brushing her hands off on a rag as a smirk tugs at the corner of her lips.

“Don’t mention it. A lot of people don’t know how to take a hint.”

You can’t help but smile faintly, your fingers still absently fiddling with your glass. “You seem good at dealing with them… They listen to you.”

“Well, there’s this rule around here that, uh, people shouldn’t really mess with the guy who pours the drinks, so… they either listen or I call Loris—our big scary bouncer.” she says with a smile, leaning against the bar now, her full attention on you.

“Do they always listen?”

The bartender smiles that charming smile of hers and simply says, “No.”

She clears her throat and looks down at your hands, then looks back up at you with an eyebrow raised.

“You gonna drink that, or is it just decoration?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” you say. Her teasing tone makes your cheeks warm. You glance down at your untouched drink, swirling the liquid idly in the glass before muttering, almost to yourself, “I don’t actually drink that often, to be honest…”

Her voice pulls you from your thoughts, warm and teasing. “A glass of water for the pretty lady, coming right up.”

Your head snaps up at the words, your cheeks instantly heating. She’s already reaching for a clean glass. But there’s something different now—something about the way she smirks just a little as she glances at you out of the corner of her eye.

“Pretty lady?” you echo, trying for casual, though you’re sure the slight waver in your voice gives you away.

She shrugs as she fills the glass with water, the ice clinking softly against the sides.

“Well, yeah,” she says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “What else would I call you?”

Your stomach flips at the nonchalant confidence in her tone, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to respond. “I don’t know. Most people just go with my name.”

She places the water in front of you, her smile widening just enough to show off the faintest hint of dimples. “Fair enough. But I don’t know your name yet.”

You hesitate, caught between the urge to give her your name and the inexplicable nerves that come with her attention.

You tell her your name, your voice a bit quieter than you intended.

Her smirk softens into something more genuine, and she repeats your name back to you, slow and deliberate, like she’s trying it out.

“I’m Vi,” she says.

Vi. The name suits her—short, sharp, and just as bold as the woman herself.

“Thanks for the water,” you manage to say, your fingers brushing the cool glass.

“Anytime.” Vi leans her weight on her forearms, resting them on the counter as she tilts her head slightly, her eyes catching yours. “So, if you’re not much of a drinker, what brings you here?”

You can’t help but smile, a small laugh escaping you despite yourself. “My friend thought I needed a break from studying. Dragged me out here against my better judgment.”

“Ah… Those your friends over there?” She nods her head in a certain direction, and you follow it slowly.

You see the group you came with, some scattered by the bar spilling drinks and laughing loudly, others by booths making out and shouting over the music and the rest dancing on the dance floor. There are others, who are gathered by the jukebox, laughing and trying to figure out how to play something other than the heavy bass thundering through the speakers. One of them is gesturing wildly, clearly tipsy, while another leans against the wall, scrolling through their phone like they’re already over it.

You shake your head and smile, “Yeah…”

“Loud bunch.”

“Sorry ‘bout that… finals are coming up soon this month, so...”

She gives you a smile and says, “No need to apologize, princess. I serve you, remember?”

Another one. Princess. You were sure you probably as red as a tomato now.

“I barely know half of them...” you say, taking sip of your new glass of water.

“So, what’s your usual crowd then?” Vi asked, her eyes completely on you as she grabs a glass to wipe it down with a rag.

You shrugs, “Textbooks?”

“Well, that’s no good.”

“So I’ve heard,” you reply dryly, taking another small sip of the water she’d poured for you.

She chuckles again as if she finds your answer amusing in a way she doesn’t quite want to admit.

“I’m not exactly big on crowds either,” she says, leaning a little closer as if sharing a secret.

You raise an eyebrow, gesturing subtly to the packed room around you, where people are practically spilling over each other in their rush to the bar. “I’m not sure if I believe you.”

Vi follows your gaze, scanning the chaotic scene with a small smirk tugging at her lips.

“Fair point,” she concedes, looking back at you.

You glance at her again, curious despite yourself. She’s standing still now, leaning back against the counter with her arms crossed loosely over her chest. Her gaze is on you, not in the sharp, observant way she’s probably used to watching the bar, but softer—almost like she’s lost in thought.

Her smile is faint, but it’s there, tugging gently at her lips, and it’s different from the teasing smirks you’ve seen so far. This one feels more… personal, like she’s mulling something over and doesn’t quite realize she’s staring.

Your stomach twists, her attention making you acutely aware of every small movement you make—the way your fingers nervously trace the condensation on your glass, the way you’re trying not to shift under her gaze.

Finally, you can’t help but ask, your voice a touch quieter than you intend, “What?”

Vi blinks, like you’ve pulled her out of a daydream, and her soft smile turns into something a little sheepish.

“Sorry…” she says, before licking her lips. “Just, uh, a bit distracted.”

Her eyes linger on you for a moment longer, as if she’s debating saying something else. Absentmindedly, she tries to trace every feature of your face with your eyes, trying to remember it.

She wanted to say something else—anything… But, fuck. You were really pretty… and it was distracting her. She also decided that she really liked talking to you—even though it’s barely been ten minutes.

But then, from down the counter, someone shouts her name—a regular by the sound of it, slurring slightly as he waves an empty glass in the air.

“Vi! Another round over here!”

Vi doesn’t move right away. Her head turns slightly in the direction of the call, but her attention snaps back to you almost immediately. She hesitates, not wanting to go anywhere.

She shifts her weight, one hand resting on the counter, her body angled toward you even as she glances down the bar.

“Be right there!” she calls back. It’s almost begrudging.

Your lips twitch into a small smile, watching the tiny battle play out on her face.

“You don’t have to babysit me, you know,” you say lightly, though there’s something a little playful in your tone.

Her eyes dart back to yours, and she huffs out a soft laugh, her hand running through her short pink hair.

“Yeah, I know,” she smiles and mutters, almost to herself, before adding softly, almost like a plea, “Call me if you need anything?”

You nod and she smiles. You watch her go, the faint blush on your cheeks lingering as you sip at the water she poured, the ice cold and refreshing.

For the first time tonight, you’re glad your friend dragged you out.

You cant stop thinking about her.

The library is silent except for the soft rustling of pages and the faint clicking of keyboards. It’s a lot more crowded here now, especially during this time of the year, and you’ve grown not to like it. You’re hunched over a stack of textbooks, a highlighter in your hand, staring down at a paragraph you’ve already reread three times. The words swim on the page, refusing to stick, as if your brain has decided it’s reached its limit.

You let out a frustrated sigh and lean back in your chair, dragging a hand through your hair. The fluorescent lights overhead feel harsher than usual, and the quiet tension of finals week is suffocating.

But it’s not just the studying—or the endless pressure of upcoming exams—that’s been messing with your head.

It’s Vi.

You’ve tried to focus, tried to immerse yourself in everything you could but every time your mind starts to settle, her face slips back in. The way her smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. The way her pink hair caught the light behind the bar. The low, teasing lilt of her voice when she called you pretty.

You groan softly, rubbing your temples. This is ridiculous. You barely know her. You’ve spent what—maybe an hour total in her presence? And yet, she’s managed to lodge herself into your thoughts so completely that it’s becoming a problem.

The highlighter in your hand falls to the desk with a muted thud, and you drop your head into your hands, your elbows resting on the textbook in front of you. You can still see the way she looked at you—softly, like she saw something in you that others hadn’t bothered to notice.

It’s infuriating, really. You’ve got finals to prepare for, and instead, your mind is full of half-replayed conversations and fleeting glimpses of pink hair, strong arms and tattoos.

The worst part? You can’t shake the feeling that she’s thinking about you, too.

It’s irrational—you know that. She’s probably forgotten all about you by now, busy serving countless other customers, flashing that same smirk at someone else.

But a part of you, buried beneath the layers of reason and logic you cling to, whispers otherwise.

You snap out of your thoughts and glance at the open book in front of you. The words blur together again, mocking your lack of focus.

With a frustrated exhale, you push the textbook aside and pull out your phone, the screen lighting up in your hand. You scroll aimlessly for a moment, debating whether you’re actually considering what your restless thoughts are urging you to do.

Should you go back? Would she even remember you?

You shake your head, trying to will away the temptation.

Finals. Study. Focus.

You tap your pen against your notebook, each click bouncing off the walls of the crowded library. It’s packed to the brim, filled with students just as desperate as you to cram as much information into their heads as possible before finals. Yet, instead of feeling motivated, all you can focus on is the cacophony—the whispered conversations that aren’t really whispers, the shuffling of papers, the faint tapping of keyboards, the occasional obnoxious laugh breaking the tension.

Your head throbs.

With a sharp sigh, you drop the pen onto the desk and lean back in your chair again, staring blankly at the high ceiling. You’ve been sitting here for hours, yet the number of notes you’ve managed to take is embarrassingly low. Nothing is sticking. You can’t focus.

It doesn’t help that your thoughts keep drifting to her.

To Vi.

You shake your head as if it’ll clear the image, but it doesn’t.

The noise of the library swells again, louder this time—a group of students a few tables down bursts into laughter, drawing glares from everyone around them. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, but it doesn’t help.

The dorm wasn’t any better. Earlier, when you’d tried to study there, the walls practically vibrated with the bass of someone’s speaker. The hallway had been filled with voices, laughter, and the unmistakable sound of another dorm party kicking off despite the looming threat of finals.

You’d lasted maybe twenty minutes before storming out, bag slung over your shoulder, hoping the library would be better.

It wasn’t.

You sit there for a moment, staring down at your open textbook and the mess of half-finished notes in front of you. The sheer impossibility of getting anything done right now feels like a weight pressing down on your chest.

Screw this.

You grab your things in one swift motion, shoving your notebook and pens into your bag with more force than necessary. The chair scrapes loudly against the floor as you stand, drawing a few annoyed glances your way. You ignore them, slinging your bad over your shoulder and walking out of the library without so much as a glance back.

The cold evening air hits you the second you step outside, sharp and bracing, but you welcome it.

You pause at the edge of the path, staring out at the quiet campus bathed in the glow of dim streetlights. You should go back to your dorm, try again, push through the noise.

But the very thought of that makes your stomach twist.

Instead, your feet carry you forward, down the path and out toward the street. You don’t have a destination in mind, but you already know where you’ll end up.

It’s not a conscious decision—it never is, really. You tell yourself you just need a break, some fresh air to clear your head. But the truth hums beneath the surface, undeniable.

You want to see her.

When your feet finally stop, the bar looms in front of you, the soft glow of its neon sign illuminating the damp pavement below. The night air is cool against your skin, a faint breeze carrying the quiet hum of traffic and chatter.

Your hands are shoved deep into the pockets of your jacket, fingers curling into the fabric as you linger just outside the door. You glance at your reflection in the window—a hoodie that hangs a little loose on your frame, jeans you’ve had for years, and shoes slightly scuffed from the walk here.

You bite the inside of your cheek, wishing you’d thought to stop by your dorm first. Maybe throw on something a little prettier. But instead, your feet had brought you straight here, as if they knew something you didn’t.

It’s almost 9 p.m., and the bar looks alive even from the outside. You can always hear the faint hum of music seeping through the walls.

You hesitate. What are you even doing here? It’s not like you have a good excuse—no friends dragging you along this time, no group to blend into. You’re alone, standing in front of a bar where you might not even be remembered.

But the thought of her pulls at you, stronger than the nerves keeping your feet planted. You’d tried to shake her from your thoughts all week, telling yourself she was just a random bartender, someone you’d probably never see again. But it hadn’t worked. Every time you sat down to study, her face would slip into your mind.

Your chest tightens as you reach for the door, your hand hovering over the handle. What if she doesn’t remember you? Or worse—what if she does, and she thinks it’s weird that you’ve come back?

You shake your head, trying to push the doubts aside. You’re here now. You might as well step inside.

With a deep breath, you pull the door open and step into the warm, dimly lit space. The scent of alcohol and faint traces of perfume hit you first.

The bar is slightly less crowded than it had been the last time, but it still carries the same energy—low lights, muted colors, and a buzz of life that makes the air feel heavier than the world outside.

You glance toward the bar, your stomach twisting when you see her. Vi is behind the counter, her pink hair catching the soft light as she leans over to pass a drink to a customer. She straightens, her expression neutral as she scans the room, and then her eyes land on you.

For a split second, her face doesn’t change, and panic spikes in your chest. Maybe she doesn’t—

Then she smiles.

It’s subtle, but it’s there—a small, warm quirk of her lips that sends your nerves scattering in a hundred directions. She holds your gaze for just a moment before returning to what she’s doing, her hands moving fluidly to pour another drink.

You let out a shaky breath, your feet carrying you closer to the bar. You slide into one of the empty stools, trying to shake off the nervous energy buzzing under your skin. The cool wood of the counter feels solid beneath your palms as you rest your elbows on it, trying to make yourself look casual.

But it’s hard to relax with your pulse pounding so loudly in your ears. You glance around the room, looking for anything to distract you from the fact that she’s here.

You’re trying not to fidget with your fingers, not to bite the inside of your lip, not to seem like you’ve been thinking about this moment for days now—trying to shake the nerves that have settled into your bones. But it’s hard when you feel her presence just behind the bar.

It doesn’t take long before you feel her eyes on you.

You glance up just in time to see Vi, mid-conversation with another customer, glance over the counter at you. And in a split second, she’s finished what she’s saying to the customer, brushing past them with an ease.

She doesn’t even seem bothered by the fact that she’s walking away mid-conversation. It’s as if she’s already decided where she needs to be.

Your pulse quickens.

You watch her approach, the way she moves is confident, the soft hum of the music surrounding her as she gets closer. Her smile is almost shy this time, like she’s not entirely sure what to say after the last time you were here. But she doesn’t hesitate.

“I was wondering when I’d see you again,” she says as soon as she reaches you, her voice low, almost teasing, with just a hint of something more.

Her words catch you off guard for a second. You shift slightly on your stool, trying to keep your cool, but you can feel the heat creeping up your neck. Her gaze is steady, not flirtatious exactly, but certainly interested, like she’s been waiting for this moment as much as you have.

You clear your throat, and even though you try to sound casual, your voice betrays you.

“I didn’t really expect to be back so soon.” The words feel like a weak excuse even as you say them.

Vi chuckles softly, leaning just a little closer as she rests her hands on the counter, her gaze never leaving you. “Not really the type to stay away for long, huh?”

There’s that spark in her eyes again, that teasing warmth that makes you wonder if she’s deliberately making you squirm.

You roll your eyes, trying to hide the nervous flutter in your chest.

“I needed a break,” you explain quickly, looking away for a moment. “Studying was driving me crazy.”

You pull your bag closer to the bar, pretending to straighten it out, but your thoughts keep slipping back to her.

Vi’s smile softens a little as she studies you, her eyes tracing your face for a moment longer than necessary. She doesn’t seem in a rush, doesn’t try to fill the space with empty words or awkward small talk.

You swallow, suddenly aware of how much closer she’s gotten, how much she’s drawn you in. There’s an easy chemistry between you, something unspoken but undeniable.

“Well,” she adds, a teasing glint in her eye as she straightens back up, “What’s your drink of choice, princess?”

You almost forget how to breathe for a second at the sudden shift in the atmosphere, your heart racing again. You take a moment to collect yourself before replying, your voice just a little quieter than usual.

“Surprise me,” you say, the words coming out with a confidence you don’t entirely feel.

Vi’s smile deepens, her eyes flashing with something a little mischievous, “Think I can manage that.”

She decides on making something light and sweet—remembering that you didn’t drink that often.

You watch her as she begins to gather the ingredients for your drink, her hands moving expertly behind the bar. The soft clink of glass bottles and the gentle hiss of the tap. You barely even realize you’re fidgeting until you catch sight of her looking back at you, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Finals week started?” She asks.

You blink, momentarily caught off guard by the question. The thought of finals feels like a weight you’ve been trying to avoid all week. The textbooks, the endless hours of studying, the fact that you’re still not feeling ready for any of it—it all hits you again in that instant. But Vi’s gaze makes it hard to focus on anything else.

For a split second, you can feel it too—the awkwardness, the nerves, the slight flutter in your chest that feels completely out of place. It’s not just her usual flirtation. This feels different somehow. She’s not the smooth bartender effortlessly working the crowd, she’s… her. And it makes your heart skip in a way you’re trying to ignore.

“Yeah, it did,” you answer, your voice quieter than you intended. You rub the back of your neck, feeling a little out of place yourself. “It’s… been a nightmare. The library’s packed, the dorm’s loud—honestly, it’s like no one even remembers that we have to actually study for this stuff.”

She raises an eyebrow, her smile never quite fading but now tinged with something a little more… uncertain. Her gaze flits between you and the drinks in front of her, and for a moment, you wonder if she’s just waiting for something to happen.

“Seems like you’re trying to avoid it,” she says softly, her tone lighter but still holding that underlying curiosity. Her voice is almost shy now, like she’s letting down the tough-girl act just a little, and it feels natural. She looks at you again, this time a little less playful and more vulnerable.

You feel something stir inside of you at her words—maybe relief, maybe the sense that she’s giving you a little window into her own world.

“Yeah, kind of,” you admit, your gaze dropping to the counter as you fiddle with the edge of your glass. You take a breath, glancing back up at her, your tone playful but also a little softer than you meant.

She’s leaning slightly over the counter, her eyes scanning the room for a moment, as though looking for your friends. When she doesn’t find them, her gaze returns to you, a small quirk of her lips tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Here alone tonight?” she asks, her tone light and soft.

You feel a small flutter in your chest, a hint of nervousness bubbling up—was she genuinely interested?

“Yeah,” you say, a little unsure, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass. “My friends are… off somewhere else.”

Vi nods slowly, that small smile still playing on her lips, and for a second, you almost feel like she’s understanding you without needing you to say much at all. She’s always been so good at reading people, it seems.

“Well, lucky for you,” she says with a wink, her tone playful but sincere, “I’m here to keep you company, then. No need to be alone if you don’t want to be.”

She leans a little closer, her voice dropping just low enough that only you can hear.

“Not that I mind the company, either.”

Her words settle in your chest, warm and easy, and for a brief moment, it feels like everything else—the noise, the people, the pressure of exams—falls away. All that’s left is the gentle pull of her attention, the way she makes you feel like you’re the only one she wants to talk to tonight.

You can’t help but smile, your nerves starting to ease.

“I like that you’re here,” you say, a little quieter now, the honesty behind your words surprising even you.

Oh.

Vi swallows the tiny lump in her throat, ears reddening at your words.

“Me too,” she says softly, her eyes meeting yours.

And then the night stretches on, the sound of clinking glasses and lively chatter filling the air, but somehow, the noise feels distant.

Vi moves between you and the rest of the bar, always managing to return to you just as you start to think she’s too busy to notice. She steps away occasionally to serve drinks, her smile never fading even when the pressure of the crowd pulls her in different directions.

Every time she returns, though, she looks at you with that same look in her eye, making you feel like you’re the only person in the room who matters. You can tell that she’s working, but there’s an ease in the way she glances over at you, as though she’s intentionally carving out space to keep you company, to make sure you’re not left alone in the bustle of the bar.

As the crowd grows louder and the night wears on, Vi seems to sense that things are getting a little out of hand. The rush of orders starts picking up, and she glances over at Mylo, a colleague of hers you’ve seen around. With a quick wave, she calls him over.

You watch as Vi leans against the bar, her body language shifting just slightly.

“Hey, Mylo, could you cover the drinks for a bit?” she asked, her tone casual, but there’s something unspoken in the way she does it. Mylo gives her a knowing glance, then nods and steps in to take over, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

Vi doesn’t waste any time.

For the rest of the night, she stays close, always coming back to check on you between serving drinks, leaning against the bar whenever she has a spare moment. Mylo helps manage the crowd, but Vi is there, always making sure you’re okay, always drawing you back into the conversation.

There’s no rush, no pressure—just an easy flow between you two, and the more time you spend with her, the next time her eyes meet yours, the way she smiled, the more you realize that this is something you’ve been craving without even knowing it.

The night slips away quietly, and when you glance at the clock on the wall behind the bar, a wave of disappointment hits you.

It’s later than you thought. You hesitate for a moment, your fingers brushing the edge of your empty glass, and then you finally say it, though it’s not what you want to say at all.

“I should, uh… get going,” you murmur, your voice quieter than you intended. You already know you’ll regret it—regret leaving this place, leaving her.

Vi’s smile falters just a little, her eyes quickly flicking to the clock too, and you see the shift on her face, like she’s come to the same realization. There’s a brief, almost imperceptible pause between the two of you as the world around you continues on, but time seems to slow as she takes a breath.

“I… didn’t realize it was that late either,” she says, her tone softer now. And for a brief second, you can almost feel the space between you close in, like neither of you really wants to say goodbye.

Then, without skipping a beat, Vi’s voice pulls you back into the present.

“Hey,” she starts firmly, like she’s made up her mind about something. “Let me walk you back.”

You blink at her, the suggestion catching you off guard. You hadn’t expected her to offer—hadn’t thought she’d even consider it. And though a little part of you wants to say yes immediately, another part of you, the shyer, more self-conscious part, hesitates.

“I don’t want to put you out,” you say quickly, though you’re not entirely sure why you feel so shy all of a sudden. “Besides, you’re working.”

It’s a simple thing, after all, a walk.

But you’d be even more alone. With her. And although that made you excited, it made you even more nervous.

Vi doesn’t give you the chance to second-guess yourself. Her smile returns, and there’s a spark of something playful in her eyes.

“It’s no trouble,” she says, her tone light but insistent. “I’m not going to let you walk back alone at this time. I don’t think I’d be able to focus without knowing you got home safe, so...”

Before you can protest again, she turns to Mylo, who’s tending to the growing crowd at the far end of the bar.

“Hey, Mylo!” she calls out, her voice carrying just enough over the noise to catch his attention. “I’m taking my break now. Be back in a bit.”

Mylo doesn’t even look up from his work, just nods in acknowledgment. “Alright, Vi,” he calls back, and you catch the playful undertone in his voice. It’s clear he knows exactly what’s going on.

Not wasting any more time, Vi grabs her jacket from behind the bar. She slips it on ace doesn’t look back at you to see if you’re ready; she just turns, giving you that soft, inviting smile.

“C’mon,” she says, her voice low and gentle, like she’s pulling you into something that feels a little outside of the ordinary, but in the best way possible.

Her words make you pause, but only for a moment. You look at her—really look at her—and something about the way she’s standing there, waiting, makes your hesitation dissolve. The warmth in her smile settles in your chest, and for the first time in a while, you realize you don’t mind the idea of the night stretching out just a little longer.

You nod, a soft smile curling at your lips.

“Okay,” you say, your voice more confident than it was a second ago.

Vi grins.

Without another word, she starts walking toward the door, holding it open for you, and you follow her out into the cold night air. The city seems quieter now, the streets not as busy, and as the two of you step into the night, the world feels a little smaller, a little more intimate—just the two of you, alone together for the walk.

You can’t help but feel your heart race just a little, but in the best possible way.

The walk to your dorm is slower than you expect, almost as if neither of you wants to rush through it. The night air is cold, the streetlights casting soft pools of light on the sidewalk. The hum of distant traffic fades into the background as you walk side by side, your pace matching each other’s, no one in a hurry.

You’re not sure what it is, but something about the silence between you feels comfortable—like there’s no pressure, just two people walking together. Vi’s steps are easy, casual, but every so often, she glances at you from the corner of her eye, as though she’s watching you without even realizing it. It’s subtle, but you catch her gaze a few times, and each time, she looks away just a fraction too late, as if she was lost in thought.

You can’t help but notice it, how her eyes linger on you, how her attention feels a little more intense than you’re used to, but it’s not uncomfortable. No, it’s the opposite, actually—it feels like she’s admiring something in you, and the idea makes your stomach flutter in a way you can’t quite explain.

Vi keeps most of the conversation light at first, teasing you about how you managed to get through the day without completely falling apart under the weight of finals. But soon enough, the banter turns into something more genuine, more personal, and you find yourself sharing little details about your life.

Vi, on the other hand, seems to enjoy telling you bits and pieces about herself. She talks about the things she’s passionate about—how bartending isn’t just a job for her, but something that gives her a connection to people and to her dad especially, how she loves the way a good drink can change someone’s mood, make them feel more at ease. She tells you about her favorite spots in the city, the places she goes when she wants to unwind or just take a break from the noise.

She mentions that she has a little sister—one that she’s so proud of with how smart she is. She has a scholarship at some other university a pretty far from here, and you can tell Vi misses her dearly.

For the entire way, Vi doesn’t stop glancing at you.

It’s soft and subtle, but you can see it, feel it—the way her eyes linger on you, tracing the lines of your face in a way that makes you feel warm from the inside out.

And for the first time in a while, you don’t mind being the center of someone’s attention. You can’t help but wonder if, in some small way, she feels the same as you.

“So, your dorm’s just up ahead, right?” Vi says, snapping you out of your thoughts. Her voice is low, and there’s a hint of something soft in it. You realize, in that moment, that this walk has felt… different.

“Yeah, just a couple more blocks,” you reply, your voice a little quieter now, feeling like the night has already given you more than you expected.

Eventually, the two of you reach the entrance of your building. It was an apartment style dorm, sitting just a few miles away from campus.

You stop for a moment, your feet lingering on the sidewalk as you take a small breath, suddenly feeling reluctant.

You don’t want it to end—not just yet.

But before you can say anything, the loud thump of music reaches your ears, coming from one of the floors above. Vi’s eyes flick up toward the building, and her brow furrows slightly as she notices the source of the noise.

“Guess the party’s already in full swing,” she murmurs, a bit of a wry smile tugging at her lips, but there’s something in her tone that’s a little amused.

“Yeah. The usual,” you say, your voice tinged with mild exasperation. You chuckle softly, rubbing the back of your neck, feeling a little embarrassed. “They don’t really care if it’s late… It can be quiet sometimes… but on rare occasions.”

Vi glances up at the building, the loud music still spilling out from one of the floors. She hesitates for a moment, then looks back at you.

“You know, uh, the bar doesn’t… open until six… I mean, the lounge opens at ten, but… no one really comes around that time,” she says, her voice quieter now, as if the suggestion she’s about to make is somehow more personal.

She glances at you again, her eyes flickering with tiny hint of nervousness.

“You could, uh, come earlier if you want some quiet… I’ll be there.”

You hadn’t expected that—hadn’t expected her to offer her own space at all. The bar, of all places.

You feel a warmth spread through you at the thought, a pull you hadn’t expected. Something about it makes your heart race a little faster, and you find yourself hesitating, uncertain if you should take the leap.

It was kind of a lousy excuse, Vi thought, but at least she’d get to see you again, instead of waiting all week to see if you’d stop by.

Though she knew she probably should’ve just asked you out on a date like a normal person, but… maybe she’d be able to see more of you this way.

“Vi, I—” you start, but you don’t really know what to say.

“You don’t have to,” she adds quickly, her voice gentle, as if she’s afraid to push too hard. “But if you’re looking for a place to study, it’s quiet in the mornings. And I promise not to be in your way. You don’t have to stay long or anything—just… if you want to, I’m there. And we could talk more, or just… not.”

The sincerity in her voice catches you off guard, and you feel a small tug at your chest.

You glance at her, meeting her eyes for just a moment, and that’s all it takes. Despite the swirl of thoughts in your head, you find yourself nodding.

“Okay,” you say, your voice steady now, though there’s a trace of something soft beneath it. “I’d really like that.”

You watch as her smile brightens, a little relieved and a little pleased, and for a moment, she doesn’t say anything, she just nods.

Vi pauses just as she’s about to turn away, a hesitant look crossing her face. For a moment, she seems to be second-guessing herself, like she’s trying to figure out the best way to say something without overstepping. Then, with a slight sheepishness that’s almost endearing, she glances back at you, her cheeks coloring ever so slightly.

“Oh, shit, I-I should probably give you my number… you know, in case I’m not there or anything,” she says, her voice a little softer, a little more self-conscious than usual. Her fingers nervously tug at the hem of her jacket, and her eyes flicker away briefly.

You can’t help but smile at the way she’s acting—this confident, capable bartender who, just moments ago, had been so cool and smooth, now hesitating as if she’s unsure whether she’s overstepping by asking for your number.

You reach for your phone, feeling a small rush of warmth in your chest.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” you say, your voice light but warm, trying to make her feel at ease.

You quickly unlock your phone and pass it to her, offering a small, reassuring smile.

Vi’s fingers brush against yours as she takes your phone, and for a second, the touch lingers. She types in her number quickly, and you catch the faintest flicker of a smile playing at the corner of her lips. She hands the phone back to you after saving her contact information and you glance down at the screen.

violet :)

“Done,” she says, her voice light again. “Just… in case you need to reach me or anything…”

Vi pulls out her phone, her fingers slightly fumbling as she unlocks it. Her eyes flick up to meet yours, and she gives you a small, almost nervous smile. You type your number into her phone in return, and when you hand it back, you make sure your fingers brush against hers just a little longer than necessary. She smiles softly when she gets her phone back, seeing the small heart you put next to your name.

“Thank you, Vi,” you say softly, feeling a little bolder now.

She grins, the playful glint in her eyes back now, “Text me… whenever.”

She lingers, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, the edges of her smile bright but just a little tight, like she’s holding something back. Her eyes meet yours, warm and soft, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.

You notice the way her gaze flickers, almost imperceptibly, down to your lips. It’s quick, barely a second, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. Your heart thuds in your chest, and you wonder if she realizes how obvious she is—or maybe she doesn’t care. Either way, her attention makes your stomach flip in a way you’re not entirely prepared for.

“I should…” she begins, her voice quiet and almost reluctant. She shifts on her feet, looking down for a moment before glancing back up at you. She hesitates, like she’s searching for a reason to stay, even though she knows she can’t. “…get back to work.”

Her words are practical, but the way she says them—soft and almost regretful—makes it clear she doesn’t really want to leave.

She’s stalling, and you can tell.

For once, Vi doesn’t have that confidence she carries behind the bar. Right now, she just looks… a little unsure. A little vulnerable.

“Goodnight,” you say softly, the words gentle but carrying more weight than you intended.

Her smile widens, though it’s still tight-lipped, and she nods, her hands still buried in her jacket pockets.

“Yeah… goodnight, princess,” she echoes, her voice just above a whisper. She lingers for another second, her gaze sweeping over your face before she finally steps back.

The sound of her boots on the pavement fades as she turns and walks away, heading back down the street toward the bar.

As she disappears into the distance, you catch yourself glancing at your phone, her number now saved there, and you wonder how long you’ll be able to resist texting her. The night air feels colder without her, but the warmth she left behind lingers all the same.

Truth be told, Vi isn’t usually the one to open the bar.

That’s Mylo’s job, and it’s been that way for as long as she can remember. Surprisingly, he’s the early bird, arriving just maybe thirty before ten—always grumbling about it but showing up on time regardless, keys jangling as he flips on the lights and starts the long process of getting the place ready. It’s quiet in the morning, and it’s practically empty until the sun starts to set.

Vi’s shift doesn’t typically start until later in the evening, right when the crowd begins to build, when the air gets thick with chatter and the clink of glass. That’s her time, where she thrives: loud music, fast drinks, and tiny bit of chaos.

But as soon as Vi gets back to work that night after walking you to you back, something shifts. She heads straight behind the bar, sets her jacket down with a quickly, and finds Mylo leaning against the counter, lazily wiping down the counter like he always does. He glances up at her, one brow quirked, clearly ready to make some smart comment about her lateness and tease her about that little crush she has on you.

But before he can get a word out, she cuts him off.

“I’m opening from now on,” she says flatly, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Mylo freezes mid-motion, the rag in his hand hovering over the counter. He stares at her for a moment, like he’s not sure he heard her right.

“What?” he says finally, his tone incredulous. “Since when do you wanna deal with the morning grind? You hate opening.”

“Since now,” Vi snaps, her tone sharp like she’s already decided and doesn’t care for an explanation.

Mylo narrows his eyes, leaning against the bar with a skeptical look. “You’re serious? You, of all people, wanna deal with the dead hours?”

“Yeah,” Vi says simply, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and beginning to organize the counter with quick, efficient movements. “It’s not a big deal.”

Mylo snorts, tossing the rag over his shoulder. “It is for you. You hate the quiet. You told me that yourself. Even Claggor hates the quiet.”

Vi doesn’t answer right away.

She busies herself adjusting the liquor bottles, her back turned to him as she forces herself not to think about why she’s doing this—or more accurately, who she’s doing this for. But her thoughts betray her anyway, drifting back to the way you’d looked at her tonight, soft and unsure but trusting, the way you’d smiled at her when she offered you the bar as a place to get away. The memory makes something tighten in her chest.

She finally turns back to Mylo, her face composed, her tone even.

“Just need a change of pace,” she says with a shrug, though even she knows it’s not convincing. “Besides, you could use the extra sleep.”

Mylo stares at her for another beat and squints his eyes, clearly unconvinced but too tired to argue.

“Is this about that girl you were talking with earlier?”

“No,” Vi said all too quickly, but she knows she couldn’t keep up the lie against Mylo for too long. “Maybe… Yes.”

“Why didn’t you just ask her out? Looked like she liked you enough. Plus—she literally came back to see you—“

“Just—Let me have this. If it goes sour, you can have all the free drinks you want.”

“Fine,” he says, throwing his hands up in defeat. “It’s your funeral. Just don’t come crying to me when you’re stuck listening to the same three jazz songs we have on Vander’s old jukebox.”

Vi smirks, but it’s faint, her mind already elsewhere. “Noted.”

The truth is, she doesn’t care about the mornings or the hassle of opening. All she cares about is the chance that you might show up again, walking into the bar in the early hours, looking for a place to escape the noise.

And if that means opening the doors herself, sitting in silence for a couple hours, and putting up with Mylo’s grumbling, so be it.

She doesn’t tell him any of this, though. She just gets back to work, excited for the next time she might see you.

The sunlight filters in through the thin curtains of your dorm room, soft and golden, warming your skin as you slowly wake. Your eyes blink open, the haze of sleep still clinging to you, and for a moment, you simply lie there, staring up at the ceiling.

Then, your mind drifts back to the night before.

Vi… again.

The thought of her hits you like a spark, and you feel a smile tug at your lips before you can stop it. Your chest tightens slightly, but not unpleasantly, just enough to make you feel warm all over.

Still smiling, you roll onto your side, glancing at your phone on the nightstand. The thought of texting her had crossed your mind the second you got back to your room last night, but you hadn’t been sure if you should. What would you even say?

Now, as the morning stretches ahead of you, you find yourself staring at your phone again, the nervous energy in your chest making it hard to breathe.

You pick it up, the screen lighting up instantly. And there it is.

A small notification sits at the top of your screen.

“1 new message from violet :)”

Your heart jumps, and your thumb hovers over the notification for just a second before you tap it, unable to wait any longer. The message opens, and your breath catches when you see it.

not to brag, but it’s very quiet this morning. open invitation ;)

Attached is a picture of the bar. The room is empty, save for the neat rows of chairs and the warm light spilling in from the windows. The space looks so different from the lively, chaotic energy you’d seen before—calm, inviting, almost serene. But what catches your eye most is the subtle detail in the photo: her black jacket draped over the back of one of the chairs in the corner, and a mug sitting on the counter.

She’s there, waiting.

Your heart does a little flip, and you bite your lip, staring at the message. The cheeky little smirk emoji at the end feels so quintessentially Vi, and you can almost hear the teasing lilt in her voice as you read the words again.

You’re not sure how long you sit there, staring at your phone, trying to decide how to respond. Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, typing and deleting messages you’re too nervous to send. Finally, you settle on something simple, something safe.

all that space for me?

You hit send before you can overthink it, your chest fluttering with a mix of excitement and nerves. Almost immediately, the little bubble indicating she’s typing pops up, and your stomach flips again.

you get special treatment, what can i say?

Her reply comes with another photo—this time, a close-up of her coffee mug on the counter, a little steam curling up from the top. In the background, you can see her hand resting on the bar, the edge of a tattoo peeking out from her wrist. It’s casual, but the fact that she took the time to send it makes your cheeks flush.

You can’t help but smile again, your heart racing as you stare at the screen. The morning, which had started so quietly, now feels electric, buzzing with the possibility of seeing her again. And as you type out your next reply, you can’t help but wonder where this might lead—and how you’ve somehow stumbled into something that already feels so much more than you expected.

You barely even remember the process of getting ready.

It was all a blur of rushing to find something cute, definitely cuter than the night before yet comfortable, sifting through your limited wardrobe for something that felt right. Even though the chill of winter was biting at the edges of the morning, you chose an outfit—layered up enough to keep warm, but nice enough to make you feel put together. You’d even spent a little more time on your hair, fixing it neatly just for Vi to see.

Now, standing in front of the bar, the nerves hit you all at once.

The quiet street around you makes the moment feel even more amplified. You glance at the entrance, the black-painted door that suddenly feels much taller, more imposing, than it had before. Your heart is pounding in your chest, the bag full of textbooks and notes hanging heavy at your side, reminding you of the excuse you gave yourself for coming here.

It’s just a quiet place to study, you tell yourself for the hundredth time, though you know it’s only half the truth.

The other half is much more difficult to admit—that you’re here for her. That something about Vi has been stuck in your head ever since she walked you home, her warm, smooth voice, the way her blue eyes lingered on you. She made your entire body flutter and you can’t help but want more of it.

You take a deep breath, clutching the strap of your bag tightly, and push the door open. The soft chime of the bell above the frame jingles lightly, and you step inside, immediately greeted by the sound of soft jazz playing in the background. The bar looks just like it had in the photo—empty, calm, and warm, bathed in the golden glow of lights reflecting off the polished surfaces.

Your eyes scan the room, and there she is.

Vi stands behind the bar, her jacket from earlier now draped over a nearby stool. She’s pouring herself a cup of coffee, her back to you at first, but as the door closes behind you, she glances over her shoulder. The moment she sees you, her face lights up with that easy smile, the one that makes your chest flutter in ways you’re not quite ready to deal with.

“Look who it is,” she says, setting her mug down and leaning casually against the counter. She folds her arms across her chest, giving you an appraising look. “Was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.”

You step forward, trying to steady your breathing as you approach the bar. “Well,” you say, your voice soft but steady, “that picture you sent was pretty convincing. Had to check it out for myself.”

Vi’s smile widens, and she gestures to the empty space around you. “Guess you came to the right place, huh? It doesn’t get much quieter than this.”

You nod, trying not to fidget as you sling your bag onto one of the stools. “Yeah. Plus, you did say I’d get special treatment.”

Vi chuckles at that, her voice low and warm, “I did, didn’t I?”

She leans forward slightly, resting her elbows on the counter as she watches you unpack a few of your books.

“Something like that,” you mumble, flipping open a notebook and trying not to let her attention distract you too much. It’s easier said than done, though, especially when you feel her eyes on you, warm and curious, like she’s genuinely interested in every little thing you do.

Vi gestures toward your bag with a playful grin. “Didn’t know you’d bring your entire library with you.”

“It’s called being prepared.”

She smirks at that, but as you settle into your work, she finds herself falling quiet. Her gaze lingers on you as she leans back slightly, folding her arms.

“Go ahead and start. I’ll be here if you need anything,” she says kindly, a smile on her face that made your stomach flutter.

You thank her with a smile and a nod and the only thing Vi can think about is how cute you are.

In just a couple of minutes, you’ve focused up, skimming through a page of dense text, your brow furrowed in concentration, and Vi can’t help but notice the way your nose scrunches just a little when you hit something particularly complicated.

It’s… endearing.

She doesn’t mean to stare. Really, she doesn’t.

The jazz music playing softly in the background seems to fade into white noise as Vi lets herself get lost in the little details of you. The slope of your shoulders, the way your hair falls to the side when you tilt your head, the faint flush in your cheeks that she wonders—hopes—might have something to do with her.

She doesn’t even realize she’s staring until Mylo’s voice echoes in her head: You’re being so obvious, Vi.

She clears her throat, tearing her gaze away and reaching for the coffee mug she’d left on the counter. As she takes a sip, she glances back at you, this time trying to keep her interest a little more subtle.

You catch her staring just as you look up from your book, your eyes meeting hers for a brief moment. Vi freezes, caught, and you tilt your head slightly, raising an eyebrow.

“What?”

She blinks, quickly shaking her head and giving you a grin that’s a little too casual.

“Nothing,” she says, her tone light, though her ears flush faintly.

Then she looks down at her mug, then back up at you. She watches you as you shyly turned away, trying to mask the way your cheeks reddened under her stare. With a soft chuckle under her breath, she moves towards the edge of the bar, finally deciding to make you a cup of coffee.

She moves quietly as she works the espresso machine. The bar is silent except for the faint hum of the machine, the relaxing jazz playing in the background, and the occasional sound of you turning your pages, but her focus isn’t entirely on what she’s doing.

Instead, it keeps drifting to you. Sitting there, head bowed over your notes, and Vi can’t help but notice how different you look today compared to the last time she saw you.

You’re dressed a little nicer today—nothing too flashy, just enough that she can tell you put some thought into it. She likes it. She really likes it.

Maybe it’s the way your sweater hugs your frame a little more snugly, or how your jeans look perfectly paired with your boots. Or maybe it’s just the fact that everything about you feels intentional, like you dressed up… just for her.

Either way, it’s distracting her in the best way possible. She shakes her head slightly, trying to focus on the task at hand, but the thought keeps nudging its way back in: So pretty.

She glances at you as she pours the espresso shot into the cup, the deep brown liquid swirling into the mug. You’re chewing on the cap of a pen, your brow furrowed in concentration, and Vi feels a faint, involuntary smile tug at the corners of her mouth.

She watches closely. Too closely. She watches your lips shamelessly, wrapping your lips around the cylinder shape, biting softly on that pen, and… god, you’re just… something else.

Vi shakes her head and tries to throw the thought out of the window. It’s far too early to be thinking about you like… that.

The hot water follows, and before she knows it, the americano is ready. She sets it on the counter softly, barely making a sound, and steps back to admire her handiwork—not the coffee, but you. And maybe she’d never admit it out loud, but she could probably watch you for hours.

When you finally notice the mug in front of you, you blink up at her with a smile, a little startled.

Vi shrugs, leaning one elbow on the counter, her grin casual but her gaze lingering. “Coffee. Figured you could use it.”

Your lips quirk up slightly at her teasing, but there’s something shy in the way you glance down at the mug, your fingers brushing the edge of it.

“Thank you,” you mumble shyly, almost under your breath.

“No problem, princess.” Vi leans back, her hands sliding into her pockets as she studies you for a moment longer. You’re even prettier up close, she thinks.

After a couple minutes, Vi busies herself cleaning the counter, though her eyes flick back to you more often than she means them to. There’s something about you today that feels different… And if she’s being honest with herself, it’s driving her a little crazy—in a good way.

When Vi had her back turned for a moment, adjusting the bottles on the shelf behind the bar, it was your turn to take the opportunity.

Your eyes wandered before you could stop yourself, taking her in as she worked. She moved smoothly, easy, like she’d done this a thousand times before—and maybe she had—but it didn’t make the sight any less captivating.

You’d been trying to focus on your notes, scribbling little reminders in the margins or flipping pages as if you were actually absorbing the words.

But who were you kidding? You couldn’t concentrate. Not when Vi was right there.

Your gaze lingered on her arms first, toned and inked, muscles flexing just enough with every movement. The way she reached up to straighten a bottle, her fingers long and strong, made your thoughts blur and stutter.

And then there was her profile—the sharp angle of her jawline, the way her asymmetrical lips curved faintly even when she wasn’t smiling. That tiny quirk, one side of her top lip arched slightly higher than the other, was unfairly charming. It made her look like she was always on the edge of smirking, always holding back some witty comment.

When she turned slightly, moving to wipe down the counter again, you quickly dropped your eyes back to your notebook, pretending to read a passage you hadn’t actually taken in.

But the distraction didn’t last long. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw her pick up a glass, her hands moving over it in smooth, practiced motions as she polished it to perfection. Her forearms flexed again just slightly, and you caught yourself staring again, your thoughts hazy and full of her.

Every time you looked up, there was something new to notice—the way her brows furrowed just a little when she was focused, the way her tattoos seemed to tell a story you desperately wanted to know. You liked the way her hair fell just a little out of place when she leaned forward, the way her shirt clung to her broad shoulders and the defined curve of her biceps.

You liked the way she moved, so sure of herself yet entirely unaware of just how mesmerizing she was to watch.

It was distracting, sure, but you didn’t mind in the slightest. If anything, you welcomed it.

It didn’t take long for the mornings at the bar to become your new routine.

Vi would open promptly at ten in the morning, and you’d stroll in not long after, bundled up in a jacket, a bag full of textbooks and notebooks slung over your shoulder. She’d always greet you with that soft, lopsided smile of hers, already moving to make you coffee before you even asked.

“Morning, princess,” she’d say, setting the mug in front of you with a little flourish, and you’d roll your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips every time.

You’d settle into your usual spot, unpack your books, and get to work while Vi busied herself behind the counter.

She was always within view, her quiet presence oddly comforting as you flipped through pages and scribbled notes. And she didn’t hover, not exactly, but you knew she kept an eye on you. She’d pause her cleaning or organizing to glance over, catching little glimpses of your concentrated frown or the way you tucked your hair behind your ear absentmindedly.

For you, the quiet space was perfect, and Vi’s company made it even better.

You studied through the morning, your head bent over your books, easily working and concentrating with the quiet surroundings, before eventually packing up to head to your exams in the afternoon.

One morning, though, exhaustion finally caught up with you. You’d been cramming for a couple days, running on little sleep, and your body decided it couldn’t keep up anymore.

Vi noticed you were quieter than usual, your head drooping slightly as you flipped through your notes. She’d thought about saying something but didn’t want to disturb you.

When she looked over again a few minutes later, though, she saw you slumped forward on the counter, your head resting against an open textbook. Your breathing was slow and even, your face pressed against the pages, looking completely at peace.

Vi froze for a moment, her chest tightening in a way she couldn’t quite explain. You looked… adorable, she thought, almost too perfect in that quiet, vulnerable moment. She wiped her hands on a towel absentmindedly, then glanced around the empty bar.

Unable to help herself, she moved from behind the counter and slid into the stool beside you, making sure to be quiet. She leaned forward, resting her forearms on the counter as she studied you.

The soft rise and fall of your shoulders, the way your lashes fluttered just slightly in your sleep, the curve of your lips as they parted ever so slightly—it all made her heart ache in the strangest way.

For a few long minutes, she just sat there, her head tilted slightly, watching you like she was trying to memorize every detail. She thought about waking you up, but part of her didn’t want to. You looked too peaceful, and honestly, she liked having this moment to herself.

Vi let out a soft breath, her lips curving into a small smile.

“Pretty,” she murmured under her breath, the words barely audible even to herself.

When finals week ended, you should’ve felt relief.

You’d survived the late nights, the endless notes, the last-minute cramming. But as you walked back to your apartment after your last exam, all you could feel was a gnawing worry sitting heavy in your chest.

Without exams to study for, without needing the quiet escape of the bar in the mornings, what excuse would you have to see Vi now?

Could you just… show up?

Vi had told you plenty of times that you were welcome there whenever. But it felt different now, like you were losing the one solid reason you had to sit in that quiet space while Vi worked behind the bar.

The thought made you slow your steps, your bag of textbooks feeling heavier than it had all week.

You’d fallen into a rhythm with her—those soft, peaceful mornings where she’d make you coffee without asking, tease you gently when you got too absorbed in your books, and being in her presence made you feel more grounded than you’d ever been.

Now that the routine was gone, you weren’t sure where that left you.

You tossed your bag onto your bed and flopped down beside it, staring up at the ceiling. Maybe I’ll still go to the bar tomorrow morning, you thought, trying to reassure yourself. But doubt crept in immediately. Would she think it was strange if you kept coming back without a reason? Would it seem like you were lingering too much, too long?

You rolled over, burying your face in the pillow as the worry churned in your mind. You couldn’t deny how much you liked being around her—how much you liked… well, her. The idea of not seeing her felt almost unbearable.

With a groan, you sat up and pulled your phone from your pocket. You stared at the screen, thumb hovering over Vi’s contact name.

You’d only messaged a few times before—mostly her checking in, asking if you’d made it back to your apartment safely. The thought of starting a conversation now made your stomach twist nervously.

But you wanted to see her. Needed to, even.

You tapped out a message and then erased it.

Then another.

Then erased that too.

What were you supposed to say? Hey, finals are over, but can I still come to the bar and stare at you for hours like a hopeless idiot? Stupid.

Finally, you set your phone down with a sigh, running your hands through your hair. Maybe you were overthinking it. Maybe she was thinking about you too, wondering if she’d still get to see you now that finals week was done.

But for a while, you stayed away.

Not because you didn’t want to go back—you wanted to more than anything—but the thought of walking into that bar now made your chest tighten with nerves.

The thought embarrassed you, enough that you buried yourself in other things—laundry, tidying your dorm, even a quick grocery run you didn’t really need. Anything to avoid confronting the growing ache in your chest that whispered how much you missed her already.

You told yourself you’d go tomorrow. Then tomorrow came, and you put it off again.

But those days dragged.

The emptiness of your mornings felt heavier than you expected, and the thought of Vi kept slipping into your mind no matter how hard you tried to focus on anything else.

Here, it felt hollow, like something was missing. And you knew exactly what it was.

By the second night, you were pacing your room, staring at your phone every few minutes, wondering if you should just message her. You groaned at yourself, flopping onto your bed and tossing your phone to the side.

It was ridiculous. You wanted to see her. You liked seeing her. So why was it so hard to just show up?

It was the knock on your door that snapped you out of your restless thoughts. You opened it to find Maddie standing there, already halfway dressed up, her hair curled and makeup done. She grinned at you, that mischievous glint in her eyes as she leaned against the doorframe.

“Get dressed,” she said without preamble. “We’re celebrating. We deserve to let loose a little.”

You hesitated for half a second, your mind immediately jumping to Vi and that bar. “Where exactly are we going?”

Maddie smirked. “The Last Drop, obviously.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you tried to play it cool, shrugging like you didn’t care either way. “Oh, back there again?”

“Hell yeah,” she said, already pushing her way into your dorm. “C’mon, don’t make me drag you. Get dressed. No excuses.”

For the first time in two days, you felt a rush of anticipation—nerves, yes, but excitement too. You couldn’t deny it anymore. You wanted to see Vi.

And maybe going with Maddie and the others would make it easier. Less pressure, less obvious that you were showing up just to see her.

So you jumped at the opportunity, rifling through your closet while Maddie lounged on your bed, offering unhelpful commentary about your choices. Eventually, you settled on something nice—a pretty dress, stockings, a coat to match.

“You clean up well,” Maddie teased as you slipped on your shoes.

You flushed, ignoring her as you grabbed your bag and jacket. It was cold outside, but you’d still made an effort—a bit of mascara, a touch of lipstick, enough to feel put-together.

But as you walked toward the bar, the nerves came creeping back.

The neon sign of the bar glowed in the distance, and your chest tightened as you stepped closer. The thought of seeing Vi again made your heart race, but you shoved the nerves down.

As soon as you stepped through the door of the bar, you could feel the atmosphere shift. It was quieter tonight, but still filled with the familiar hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, the low buzz of the jukebox in the corner.

Your eyes automatically darted to the bar, hoping—no, praying—that you might catch sight of her.

And then Maddie’s voice broke through your thoughts, loud and unmistakable.

“Hey, over here!”

You turned to see her waving enthusiastically at a booth toward the back of the bar. A few of her friends were already there, but what caught your attention wasn’t a group. It was the other two people sitting at the table, one of them leaning back with a casual air, a drink in hand, the other staring at you like they were expecting you.

You froze for a moment, your heart sinking. Your gaze flickered between Maddie and the table, noticing her bright, mischievous smile. She’d set you up.

You forced a smile, suddenly feeling out of place. “Uh, Maddie…?”

Your stomach dropped. A double date?

“This is Chris,” she interrupted, pointing at the guy sitting next to you. He smiled widely, practically leaning over the table as he extended his hand.

You hesitated for a moment, still processing the situation. “Uh… hi.”

“We thought you two would hit it off,” Maddie added, as though she hadn’t just dropped a bombshell on you.

“Yeah, you know, I take Professor Talis’ class, right?” Chris said, his voice a little too eager. “We’ve had a couple of group discussions before.”

You offered a polite smile, not quite sure what to make of him. You weren’t even sure how to respond to the whole situation.

Was this supposed to be a date? You’d come to the bar to see Vi—not this.

You glanced around, your eyes scanning the familiar faces behind the bar, hoping to see her. And there, at the counter, you finally spotted her.

Vi.

Chris kept talking, his voice a constant buzz in the background as you tried to nod politely, throwing in an occasional “mhm” or “yeah” just to keep the conversation moving.

But your attention wasn’t on him. It wasn’t on anything other than Vi.

You saw her again, and this time, it wasn’t a subtle glance. Vi had noticed you, her gaze locking onto you from across the room. Her eyes moved briefly over your face, taking you in, before they shifted downward—her gaze narrowing slightly as she looked at Chris, who was still talking to you like everything was normal.

Your breath caught in your throat when you saw her brow furrow, just enough to let you know she was confused.

There was something in the way she looked at you, something almost possessive, like she couldn’t quite figure out what was going on but she knew for a fact that she didn’t like it. She stood still for a moment, fingers wrapped around the edge a glass as she studied you.

For a second, you wondered if it was just your imagination, but then it clicked. Vi was jealous.

You hadn’t noticed before, but now you saw the little tension in her posture, the way her lips pressed together just slightly, the way her gaze flicked back to you every time he leaned in a little too close.

Chris, oblivious to well… everything, kept talking, his voice rising a little as he continued to try and make small talk.

You had no idea what he’d said because all you could hear was the beat of your heart in your ears, and the undeniable pull of Vi’s gaze on you. It was like she was silently challenging you, wanting to see what you’d do.

You glanced back over to Vi, who was still watching you, but now she was pretending to be busy with something—towels, or glassware, or whatever it was that could distract her from the situation.

You saw her glance down at her phone for a second, and you could almost feel her trying to decide whether or not to come over, to approach you, to do something to get your attention.

But instead of doing that, she lingered behind the bar, still looking at you—her expression unreadable now. And as much as you tried to focus on the conversation in front of you, your mind kept drifting back to her. You didn’t care about him anymore. You didn’t care about anything except the way Vi looked at you just now.

Your eyes slid back to Vi, and this time, you didn’t look away. You didn’t try to hide how you felt.

On the other side of the room, Vi’s eyes were locked on you, even though she tried to focus on the tasks in front of her.

She couldn’t help herself, a sense of possessiveness building in her chest. She wondered if you had dressed up like that for him. The guy you’d been sitting with, the one talking a mile a minute, clearly trying to impress you.

Vi’s stomach twisted, and she found herself gripping the counter a little too tightly as she watched you.

God, you looked so good. Vi’s chest tightened at the thought. She tried to focus on cleaning the counter in front of her, but the image of you with him—of you dressed up for him—kept invading her mind.

She wanted it to be her you were dressed up for. She wanted it to be her who got your attention, who you couldn’t stop thinking about.

She couldn’t do this.

She had to look away, had to force herself to breathe, because it was all getting too much.

With a frustrated sigh, Vi wiped her hands on a towel and excused herself, slipping through the back of the bar and into the staff area. She didn’t care if anyone noticed. She just had to get out of there.

She slammed the door behind her, pressing her back against it as she took a deep breath. Her heart was racing, and her mind was spinning. She had no idea what this was, what you were doing to her.

But the thought of you with someone else, the thought of you not being hers, made her ache in a way she wasn’t ready for.

She rubbed her face with both hands, trying to shake the frustration from her body. She tried to steady herself, taking in a few deep breaths as she stared at the floor. She wasn’t supposed to feel this way. She wasn’t supposed to be jealous.

But she wanted you.

And the more she thought about it, the clearer it became.

Vi’s heart skipped a beat when she heard the knock on the staff room door.

She’d half expected it to be Mylo, probably ready to give her a hard time for disappearing off the floor. He always seemed to have a knack for knowing when she was brooding in the back, and she was sure he’d have something to say about it.

But when she opened the door, it wasn’t Mylo.

It was you.

You stood there in the doorway, hesitant, but with that soft look on your face. You looked so damn good up close like this—like you had stepped out of a dream. Vi’s chest tightened, and she swallowed hard.

You looked at her for a moment, unsure of what to say, and then, in a voice that was soft, you say, “I thought… I thought you might be back here.”

She stood still for a second, just staring at you, unsure of how to handle the fact that you had found her.

“Uh, sorry if I—” You paused, glancing down at your shoes like you weren’t sure how to proceed. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just wanted to, I don’t know, check in.”

“You’re not interrupting. I just—“ Vi stepped back to let you in, closing the door behind you. “—needed to take a break.”

She leaned against the door, keeping her distance, unsure if you’d notice how much she was trying to keep her guard up.

The silence stretched between you two, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt… intimate in its own way.

You were quiet too, glancing around the small room, but eventually, your eyes fell to her again. Vi noticed the way your gaze lingered on her, and she couldn’t help but feel the heat rise to her face.

Her breath caught in her throat for a second, but she quickly brushed it off, trying to focus on the conversation, trying not to get lost in the way you looked at her.

“You didn’t come back… when your tests were over…” Vi’s voice dropped quieter, a little hesitant, like she wasn’t sure how to ask the question.

She hadn’t seen you in a while, and it made her question everything.

The words hung between you, and Vi shifted uncomfortably, her gaze flickering away for a moment, focusing on something in the corner of the room.

She didn’t want to look too eager, too desperate. But the truth was, she had been thinking about you. Every minute of the day. And when she didn’t see you, when she didn’t hear from you, it made her feel like maybe she wasn’t as important to you as she had thought.

She didn’t mean to sound accusatory, but the words had slipped out. Vi cleared her throat, turning back to you.

“I thought… I thought maybe I’d see you again, but… you didn’t come back.” Her voice softened again.

Did you want to come back? Had she somehow messed things up by letting herself feel this much for you? Vi couldn’t keep the questions from creeping into her mind, even though she tried to push them away.

“You didn’t even text,” she said quietly, her voice softer now, almost a whisper.

You blinked, surprised by the sharpness in her voice, the way it cut through the silence that had been so comfortable just a moment ago. You could see it in her eyes—something in the way she said that, something fragile.

It made your heart skip a beat. You hadn’t meant to distance yourself from her. You just… didn’t know what to say.

“I… I didn’t mean to disappear,” you said quietly, your voice soft and unsure. You shifted your weight, glancing down at your feet, before looking up again. “It’s just, I was nervous about coming back without having a solid reason to, and I thought maybe, you know…”

Vi’s gaze softened, the intensity in her eyes giving way to something more tender. She tilted her head slightly, studying you.

“Nervous?” she repeated quietly, as if testing the word. Her brow furrowed slightly. “About what?”

You swallowed, your fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your dress, trying to find the right words. It felt strange, admitting it aloud, but with Vi in the room with you, you couldn’t stop yourself.

“About… you,” you said, the confession slipping out before you could stop it. “About all of this… about seeing you again, about how I feel when I’m around you… I didn’t want to mess it up.”

Vi’s heart skipped a beat at your words. Her breath caught for a fraction of a second.

“It’s just…” she started again, her voice a little rough. “I missed seeing you. That’s all.”

Her gaze shifted to the floor for a moment, a faint flush creeping up her neck. She wasn’t used to admitting this kind of thing aloud either, not even to herself. But there it was, spilling out between you two like something she couldn’t stop.

You felt your heart tug at the honesty in her voice, the way it made you feel like maybe you hadn’t been the only one thinking about this.

“I missed you, too.”

And for the first time tonight, Vi finally smiled.

You couldn’t help but tease her, a small smirk curling at the corners of your lips as you said, “I was waiting for you to text me, too, you know.”

The words felt bold, but you couldn’t hide the nervous excitement bubbling up inside of you.

Vi dropped her head and let out a breathy chuckle. The jealousy, the frustration, everything she’d been feeling earlier—it seemed to vanish completely.

She leaned back against the door, her eyes never leaving yours, full of something far gentler now—something you hadn’t seen before, or at least not like this.

“Can you come here?” she asked, her voice soft, almost like a whisper, but there was something in it that made the air in the room thick.

You hesitated for just a moment, heart pounding in your chest, but you couldn’t resist. Slowly, you walked over to her, your movements measured, though a nervous excitement fluttered in your stomach.

Vi’s eyes never left you as you approached. She watched the way your dress moved with each step, the way your body shifted as you walked toward her, and it drove her absolutely wild. She couldn’t help but let her eyes linger, taking in the sight of you, the way the fabric clung to your curves.

By the time you were close enough, Vi had already moved. She leaned against the door, her hands coming up to gently but firmly grip your hips, pulling you in closer. You felt the heat of her touch spread through you, her hands on your hips guiding you so that you were now flat against her chest, your bodies pressed together.

You couldn’t stop the breath that caught in your throat, the feel of her hands on you sending a wave of heat rushing through your body.

You could feel the rhythm of her breathing, the slight hitch in it when you finally stood there, so close. Her gaze flickered down to the dress you were wearing, and you could feel the tension in her fingers as she lightly traced the hem of it, playing with the fabric as though she couldn’t quite get enough of it.

“I like this,” Vi’s voice was quiet, almost a murmur, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “It’s pretty.”

You didn’t say anything at first, instead simply meeting her gaze, your pulse quickening under her touch. The way she looked at you now, hungry and dazed, made your stomach flip in the best way.

“I… I wasn’t sure if it was too much,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, feeling a little shy but also emboldened by the way Vi was looking at you.

Vi smiled softly, her lips curving up as she leaned in just a little bit closer, her breath warming your cheek.

“It’s perfect,” she said, voice low, as if the words were meant only for you. “You look perfect.”

Her eyes darkened just a fraction, the playful smirk on her lips transforming into something more primal, more feral. Her hands on your hips tightened just a little, urging you closer, as if she couldn’t get close enough.

Vi’s gaze was heavy, her pupils dark and blown wide as they locked onto your face, moving slowly down to your lips. Her stare was intense—shameless, even—and it made your breath hitch.

Her grip on your hips tightened, fingers pressing firmly into your sides. The fabric of your dress bunched up under her hands, her thumbs brushing against the soft material as though she couldn’t help herself. Her touch was slow, almost like she was trying to memorize the feeling of you under her palms.

You could feel the heat radiating off her, the space between you almost nonexistent now. The way her gaze lingered on your lips sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt rooted to the spot, as if moving would break whatever spell had settled over the two of you.

Vi swallowed hard, her Adam’s apple bobbing slightly, her hands twitching against your hips as though resisting the urge to pull you impossibly closer. Her chest rose and fell in time with her quickened breathing, and you could feel her struggle to keep herself in check, though the way she stared at you made it clear how difficult that was.

Instead, her fingers tightened again, the slight pull of your dress drawing you even closer to her. Her lips parted slightly, as if she were on the verge of saying something, but her gaze kept flickering back to your mouth, and you wondered if words were even necessary.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but before you could form a single word, Vi moved. Her grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into your dress as she leaned in and claimed your lips with her own.

Her mouth was warm, soft but insistent, and it stole the breath right out of your lungs. You froze for half a second, startled, but then everything in you melted. Your hands found their way to her shoulders, gripping her lightly as she pulled you even closer, pressing your body flush against hers.

There was a kind of hunger in the way her lips moved against yours, but it was careful too—like she wanted to take her time and savor every second of it. Her fingers slid up your sides slightly, still gripping your dress, her thumbs brushing over your waist as she tilted her head to deepen the kiss.

When she finally pulled back, just barely, her forehead rested against yours. She was breathless, her eyes still heavy-lidded as they locked onto yours. Her hands were still on your hips, holding you against her.

Vi looks at you, a wide, soft smile spreading across her face as she leans her head back against the door, her hands moving upward, tracing the curve of your back slowly. Her fingertips brush against the zipper of your dress, playing with it absentmindedly as she lets out a breathy laugh.

“I think I’m doing this out of order…” she murmurs.

Your brows knit together slightly, still dazed from the kiss.

“Out of order?” you echo, your voice quieter than you intended.

Vi nods, her gaze drifting back to your lips as if they we drawn there magnetically.

Her smile turns almost sheepish, but the heat in her eyes doesn’t fade as she mutters quietly, “Yeah… ‘was supposed to ask you out on a date first.”

The words make your stomach flip, and before you can respond, she keeps going. Her voice softens, a little lower, as if she’s painting a picture just for you.

“I would’ve asked you where you’d like to eat… something casual, nothing too fancy. Then I’d pick you up, you’d wear something pretty for me, and I’ll take you somewhere nice. Not here,” she says with a small grin, “somewhere quiet, somewhere where I could actually talk to you without interruptions.”

Her hands are wandering now, sliding slowly down your sides, then up again, the warmth of her palms seeping through the thin fabric of your dress. One of her thumbs brushes against your ribcage, close to the underside of your breasts, her touch gentle but enough to make your breath hitch.

You’re barely holding onto her words as her hands move, but she keeps talking, her tone calm and almost hypnotic.

“Maybe, take you to this little Italian place I like. Not too crowded, but the food’s incredible. Candlelit, y’know? Not to be cheesy, but I think you’d like it.”

Her hands drift down again, her thumbs skimming along the curve of your hips as she keeps her voice low and steady.

“We’d get some wine—unless you’d rather have water, of course,” she teases softly, her lips twitching into a smirk, “and then we’d just… talk. No distractions, no noise, just you and me.”

Her fingers glide back up, tracing the line of your spine.

“After dinner, maybe a walk somewhere. I dunno, a park, the waterfront… wherever you’d want to go. Just somewhere I could hold your hand and maybe steal a kiss, if you let me.”

You try to focus on her voice, but her hands are relentless, mapping your body like she’s trying to memorize every inch. Your breath catches when her fingers tease the short sleeve of your dress, her thumb brushing your shoulder.

“Then,” she continues, her eyes flicking to yours, “I’d walk you home, make sure you got inside safe. And maybe… maybe if I was lucky, you’d ask me to come in and... Well, I don’t wanna spoil it.”

Her lips curve into a lazy smile, her fingers halting just above the small of your back.

“That’s how it was supposed to go,” she says softly, her voice dripping with affection as her gaze locks onto yours.

Your heart pounds in your chest, your body warm and your mind spinning. It’s impossible to think straight when her hands are on you, her voice so low and inviting.

“So why haven’t you?” you ask softly, your voice almost a whisper.

You lean in closer, and Vi instinctively follows your lips, her breath brushing against them.

“Hm?” she hums, clearly distracted, her gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips.

“—asked me out yet?” you finish, your voice trembling slightly, the boldness of the question surprising even you.

Vi freezes for a fraction of a second, then her lips tug into a small, almost bashful smile. Without saying a word, she leans in and kisses you again, soft and lingering, her lips fitting against yours. After a moment, her mouth leaves yours only to trail a path down to your jaw, her lips brushing against your skin.

She pauses at the curve of your neck, pressing a slow kiss there before muttering against your skin, her voice husky and low, “You make me nervous, too.”

You feel her lips curl into a smile against your neck, like she knows exactly what kind of effect she’s having on you. Her hands tighten slightly on your waist, holding you as if she can feel the way your legs are threatening to give out beneath you.

You tilt your head slightly, giving her better access without even thinking, and she takes full advantage of it. Her breath is warm against your skin, and every kiss feels like it’s melting away whatever distance was left between the two of you.

“Vi…” you murmur, unsure if you’re trying to stop her or encourage her to keep going.

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her lips slightly parted, her cheeks faintly flushed.

“Yeah?” she asks, her voice quiet.

You don’t have an answer, not one you can articulate anyway. All you can do is stare at her, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure she can hear it. And then she smiles, a crooked, endearing smile that makes your stomach flutter in the best way.

Vi’s lips return to your neck, her breath warm against your skin. She lingers there, her mouth pressing gentle kisses to the curve of your throat, her hands holding your waist firmly as if to steady you. You feel her lips part, the faintest scrape of her teeth against your skin sending a shiver down your spine.

“V-Vi…” you whimper again, but your voice lacks conviction, too soft, too dazed.

And good god, her name sounds so good on your lips.

She hums in response, low and teasing, as her lips close over the sensitive spot she’s found, sucking lightly. The sensation sends a shiver through your entire body, and you grip the fabric of her shirt without thinking, your nails pressing into her shoulders as she kisses your neck.

Her hands slide up your back, keeping you close, and her lips move to a new spot, determined to leave another mark. You know you should stop her, that you’ll be left with marks you can’t easily explain, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Her tongue traces over the freshly made hickey, soothing it before she moves lower, her lips brushing against your collarbone now. You feel lightheaded, completely consumed by her—her touch, her warmth, her scent, her hands, her lips.

“Vi…” you try again, but it comes out weaker than before, more like a plea than a protest.

She chuckles softly against your skin, the sound low and rumbling, and you feel her smile.

“Too much?” she asks playfully, though she doesn’t pull away.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Instead, your fingers tighten against her shirt, and she takes it as permission to continue. Her lips find the hollow of your throat, her teeth grazing against the delicate skin there before she sucks lightly, her hands roaming lower to rest just above your hips.

By the time she finally pulls back, you’re breathless, your head spinning. Her lips are slightly swollen, her smile smug but tender as she looks at you.

“You’re gonna hate me when you see those,” she says softly, her fingers brushing lightly against your neck where her lips had been.

As soon as Vi pulls back, her lips curling into that smug, tender smile, you don’t think. You act. You grab her collar, pulling her down as you surge up to meet her lips, kissing her hard and desperate, pouring every pent-up feeling into that kiss.

Vi grunts softly against your mouth, low and rough, and it sends a thrill down your spine. Her hands, still gripping your waist, tighten possessively to keep you exactly where you are. You feel her smile against your lips for a moment before she kisses you back just as fiercely, her teeth grazing your bottom lip, her tongue brushing against yours in a way that makes your knees weak.

It’s almost overwhelming, the way she kisses you—like she’s been starving for you.

She breaks the kiss just long enough to push herself off the door, her hands sliding to your hips as she turns you around. Before you can even process what’s happening, your back hits the door with a soft slam, the wood rattling slightly behind you. Vi’s hands cage you in, one hand by the side of your head and the other on your hip, keeping you in place as she crashes her lips back onto yours.

She kisses you like she’s claiming you, like she wants to make it crystal clear who you belong to. Her heart swells with pride as she imagines that guy you were with outside, seeing all those little bruises she left on your neck for everyone to see.

“You’re so pretty, baby,” Vi murmurs against your lips, her voice hoarse and ragged, before diving back in.

Her fingers slide underneath the hem of your dress, tracing the soft curve of your skin, sending a shiver up your spine. The moment her touch makes contact with the bare skin of your thighs, you gasp, the feeling of her fingers inching higher and higher, making your pulse race.

You can feel the way she presses in, her grip firm, as if she’s marking territory, staking her claim. She wanted you so bad. But she’s careful with you, and you can feel how she’s holding herself back just a little, the restraint making you ache for more. You know she wants you just as much as you want her—and you can’t help but be drawn deeper into her orbit.

Her hands reach up under your dress, the pads of her fingers tracing your lace panties and Vi shudders at the feeling. She can feel the dampness and warmth of you already and fuck, it drives her absolutely wild.

“You’re already wet, sweetheart,” she says, smiling against your neck proudly.

“V-Vi… Here?” You gasp into her ear.

She nods eagerly, eyes dazed as she looks at you, “Mhm.”

“B-But, someone might hear—“

“Then, you’ll keep quiet for me, won’t you, princess?” She purrs into your ear. “Can you do that?”

Your breath hitches at the way she says it, making your knees feel weak. You feel her smile against your skin, a sly curve of her lips that tells you she knows exactly what she’s doing to you.

“Hmm?” she hums, her thumb rubbing the center of your panties in soft circles, testing your reaction. She tilts her head slightly to catch your gaze. “Or are you gonna make it hard for me?”

You swallow, your heart pounding as you meet her gaze, your lips parting to answer, but nothing comes out. Instead, you nod, your breath hitching as her thumb presses your clit over the fabric of your panties.

She smiles, one hand coming up to fondle your breast. You whimper when she squeezes softly, enjoying the soft fullness in the palm of her hands.

“Tell me.”

You get lost in her stare, blue eyes telling you how much she wants you.

“I-I want you, Violet.”

Without wasting another second, Vi slips the hand that was under your dress and into your panties, her fingers immediately coming in contact with your soaking cunt, your folds slick with want. She hums in approval, and all you can do is nod again, biting down on your lip to keep from making a sound. Vi notices, her smirk widening as she leans in again, her lips trailing down your neck in a series of soft kisses.

“That’s my girl,” she whispers, her voice vibrating against your skin, making it impossible to focus on anything but her.

And when she slips a finger inside, you drop your head to her shoulder, trying to muffle your moan. Her finger immediately curls against your tight walls and you can feel your knees buckle as she thrusts her finger into you.

“Oh, V-Vi—“

She lifts her head up and kisses you on the lips, her tongue slipping inside with ease. She swallowed your moans as she whimpered into your mouth, her body trapping you between her and the door.

“You look… so good,” she murmured, voice hushed, her lips grazing your skin as she spoke. “Couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

But then she adds another finger without any warning, her pace speeding up as you leaned your head back against the door behind you. You let your jaw fall when you feel her thrusting, and thrusting, and thrusting, and curling right into that spongy spot inside your pussy that made you moan.

“N-nh … A-Ah, fuck!” You gasp, unable to control your voice as she speeds up her fingers.

“Shh, shhhh, baby,” she murmurs against your lips, tilting her head as she watches you fall apart on her fingers. “Does it feel good, princess?”

“M-Mhm—ah—“

“Yeah?” You feel Vi smile on your lips.

Nodding your head, you whine, feeling your body grow weak the longer she fucked you.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmurs against your neck, her voice low and husky.

Her fingers move quickly as they piston in and out of you, a soft squelching noise filling the empty room, teasing and testing your boundaries, gauging every reaction you give her. You could hear the low thrum of the music outside, playing in the lounge and in the bar, but you can barely begin to think about anything else other than the way Vi was making you feel, the way you were coming undone right in front of her.

“Look at you,” she whispers, her voice thick with adoration, “so pretty like this.”

Her free hand, the one that was fondling your tits, moves from your waist to cradle your face, her thumb brushing over your cheek as she leans in to kiss you deeply.

And holy fuck, you could feel it—how close you suddenly were.

You were sure Vi could feel it, too. She groans against your neck, head falling to your shoulder as she breathes you in, feeling your tight walls clench around her digits. You close. You were so damn close—

Then, Vi’s ears twitch—the sound of footsteps coming closer from behind the door.

She freezes. But only for a brief moment when she hears Mylo’s voice through the door, her body going taut as she glances at you. Your eyes widen, but Vi doesn’t pull away. Instead, a sly grin spreads across her face, her pupils blown wide as she looks at you.

Her lips find your ear, her words sending a shiver down your spine. “Stay quiet for me, yeah?”

And instead of stopping, her lips curl into a mischievous grin. Her fingers don’t falter, if anything she thrusted them faster into your wet pussy, her other hand moving quickly to cover your mouth as a quiet whimper escapes you, muffling all your delicious moans. You whimper against her mouth, eyes rolling back, not sure when you were going to cum. You felt so close—so fucking close.

“Shhh,” she whispers, her mouth brushing against your ear, her voice low and dripping with amusement.

From the other side of the door, Mylo’s voice comes again, confused but unconcerned. “Vi? You in there? You good?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she calls out, her voice steady, calm, like nothing at all is happening. “Just… needed a minute.”

You feel your face heat up as you struggle to stay composed, muffled against her palm, your eyes wide and pleading. But Vi’s gaze is locked onto yours as she continues to fuck you.

“Well, can you hurry up? The bar’s getting packed,” he says.

“Y-Yeah, I’ll be there!” Vi sighs as your legs begin to tremble.

Mylo grumbles something you can’t understand, footsteps retreating as he wanders off.

As soon as the sound of his steps fades, Vi lets out a low chuckle, finally removing her hand from your mouth. Her thumb brushes against your lips as she leans in close, her breath fanning your cheek. You were right around her fingers, and Vi couldn’t help but groan and press her thumb against your clit.

You jolt in her arms as you hold on to her shoulders for some leverage, trying to keep yourself steady, even though it felt like an impossible task. Vi groans when you clench, your soaking wet pussy dripping down your thighs, dripping onto her hand as she fingers you.

Vi could feel it on her fingers, slick and tight. How close you were—fuck fuck fuck. She moved faster and all you could do was hold on and cry into her shoulder.

“V-Vi, I—close—I’m—“

“You wanna cum? Yeah?” Vi whispers, using her body to press you against the door, fingers thrusting harder, deeper and faster. “Cum for me, baby.”

Then it crashes. Vi feels your body tense under her touch, your breaths coming faster as you gush around her fingers. She can see it in the way your hands clutch at her shoulders, the way your head tilts back slightly, lips parting as a soft, desperate mewl escapes your mouth.

But before that sound can grow louder, Vi’s lips crash onto yours, swallowing the moan that tries to escape. She doesn’t stop her fingers until you’re trembling in her arms. You melt against her, your body trembling, leaving you breathless and clinging to her, her strong arms and broad shoulders hold you up. Vi doesn’t pull back, keeping her lips on yours until she’s sure you’re done riding it out.

When she finally does break the kiss, her lips linger close, her forehead resting gently against yours. You’re panting softly, and she’s just smiling.

“Fuck,” she murmurs and you can feel her smirk against your skin as she presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Vi’s hand slows to a stop, pulling her fingers out of you slowly, her palm pressing flat against your thigh as she watches you. Her gaze is stuck on you, like she couldn’t believe what she’s seeing. The way your body trembles against hers, the soft flush of your cheeks, the way your lips part as you gasp for breath—it’s all too much and somehow not enough at the same time.

Her chest tightens as she leans her head forward against your shoulder. Vi wasn’t prepared for this—wasn’t prepared for you. And the thought crashes into her like a freight train: she’s falling hard. Maybe she already has.

She lifts her head up and he thumb absentmindedly brushes against your skin as you catch your breath. You’re leaning against her now, your head resting lightly on her shoulder, still dazed and glowing after your orgasm. Vi doesn’t even realize she’s staring, her lips slightly parted, her pupils blown wide with love.

She blurts it out without even thinking.

“So… dinner… Friday?”

Her ears burn as she watches for your reaction.

“I mean—” she starts, her voice faltering, unsure whether to backtrack or double down.

But when she glances down at you, still pressed against her, all she can do is grin sheepishly.

“You’re seriously asking me out… right now?” you say, lifting an eyebrow at her. Your voice is soft and teasing, but still a little breathless from everything that just happened.

Vi’s lips curl into a crooked grin, and she lets out a laugh that’s equal parts nervous and amused. She’s holding you up slightly, biceps flexing under her shirt, her hands resting lightly on your hips, her thumbs grazing the fabric of your dress like she’s afraid to let go.

“Yeah,” she says, her voice low but steady, her grin widening. “Is that a problem?”

You shake your head, narrowing your eyes at her like you’re trying to figure her out. You dart your eyes downward, glancing down at where her hands are on you, feeling the warmth of her touch through the thin fabric.

“Stupid,” you mutter under your breath.

You stare at Vi.

“Friday?” you ask softly, tilting your head slightly, your voice teasing her.

Vi nods again, more earnestly this time, her lips parting like she’s about to say something, but nothing comes out. Instead, she just looks at you, like she’s this big, lovesick puppy. And, if she had a tail right now, you’re pretty sure it would be wagging hard enough to knock over a chair or two.

“Friday,” she repeats.

She shifts on her feet slightly, her hands still resting on your hips, thumbs brushing tiny circles against the fabric of your dress. You bite back a laugh, your smile growing as you watch her, all nervous and excited.

“Okay,” you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Vi’s entire face lights up, her crooked grin spreading so wide it makes her dimples appear.

“Yeah?” she says softly, and you nod, still smiling.

And then she stops, her eyes flickering to your lips one last time, but she doesn’t move any closer.

She’s waiting—patiently, sweetly—for you to close the gap if you want to. And it makes your heart ache a little because she’s trying so hard to hold herself back for your sake, even when you can tell it’s killing her.

But as soon as your eyes day to her lips and smile softly, her restraint crumbles. She leans in and kisses you, her hands tightening slightly on your hips. Vi’s heart feels like it’s about to burst out of her chest. She likes you—so much it scares her, so much she doesn’t know what to do with herself right now except kiss you harder.

You kiss her back with just as much intensity, your fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt to pull her even closer. You can feel the slight tremor in her hands where they grip your hips, sliding up slowly to your waist. She tastes like peppermint gum and something faintly sweet, and the way she kisses you makes your heart race so fast you’re surprised she can’t feel it through your chest.

Vi pulls back for just a moment, her forehead resting against yours as she exhales a shaky breath. Her lips are still parted, her eyes half-lidded as she looks at you, and she’s smiling—wide and boyish and so full of joy that it makes your chest tighten.

“I really, really like you.”

You laugh softly, your hand moving up to touch her jaw, your thumb brushing over her cheek where her tattoo is.

“I really, really like you, too,” you tease, your own voice a little shaky from how lightheaded you feel.

Vi grins, her dimples showing, and then she kisses you again, this time slower, softer, like she’s savoring it.

You cant think of anything else but her. The noise from the bar, the memory of whatever brought you here tonight—it’s all drowned out by the feeling of Vi’s lips on yours and the warmth of her hands on your waist.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself stop overthinking.

Vi feels like she’s floating, her chest so full it feels like she might burst. She likes you so much it almost hurts, and the way you kiss her back like you feel the same way makes her head spin. She pulls you just a little closer, her fingers slipping around your waist, and she can’t stop the quiet, breathless laugh that escapes against your lips. You smile into the kiss, your own heart thudding loudly in your chest.

If this is what liking Vi feels like, you think, you don’t ever want it to stop.

ty for reading ! | navigation

#b’s writings #vi <3 #vi x reader #arcane #arcane x reader #vi arcane #fanfic #vi smut #smut #fanfiction #wlw #x reader #league of legends

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girlygguk · 3 months ago

Text

CRAZY | JJK (Part 2)

summary you know it sounds twisted. that most people would see hyungwon as the perfect boyfriend. healthy, balanced, all the things that relationships should be. that’s when you realized... you weren't like most people. but that's okay. because neither is jungkook.

pairing ceo!jk x employee!(f)reader

rating 18+ minors dni; smut, fluff, angst

genre coworkers to lovers au, established relationship

word count 13.2k

chapter content [read part one for full character & story warnings pls.] jk & oc first encounter, jungkook lowkey goes a bit yandere in one two of the scenes 😭, jk punches another guy, love at first fuck lets b real, mention of oc's superior abusing their power (not jk), hyungwon appearance 🙄, heejin appearance 🙄, hobi appearance 🎉, bff jiminie appearance 🎉, time skips, jealous mcs, heated argument, jk lies but like... for the greater good? god idk

warnings dom jk, sub oc, pre established traffic light sw system and degradation consent, doggy, dirty talk, protected p in v sex, praise kink, um slight exhibition kink, rough sex, squirting...(on their first fucking encounter yeeeppp help me god)

a/n this is only 75% edited bc i honestly wasn't going to post it for a whilee as i'm working on some other things atm but i felt bad just watching her sit in my drafts all sad n semi finished 😢 alsoo if a bit of the smut dialogue looks a lil familiar... cough salsa.. its bc i was gonna completelyy change up the sexy scene 🥺 and so i used the smut as inspo for the salsa drabble so it didnt go to waste... bye im such a clown. okay thank u, enjoy, and pls lemme know what u think <3 mwah

crazy pt 1 | masterlist | join my taglist | banner credit

801 DAYS AGO

Your twelve-month contract as a temp Administrative Assistant at Jeon Corp was creeping to an end, and it was safe to say that you were fucking pissed.

You had put everything into this place—countless overtime shifts, moved into an overpriced house in the city near the firm so you were never late. You eat, sleep and breathe this fucking company. And what did you get for it? An almost certain rejection, apparently.

You were more than sure they'd offer you a permanent position. Your stats spoke for themselves. They were flawless. You’d single-handedly cleaned up the absolute fucking disaster left behind by the previous administrative assistant who bailed after Jeon Jun-seo’s passing—and that was not light work.

And by "bailed," you meant that they were part of the bloodbath that ensued when Jungkook took over and wiped out almost half the staff for incompetence.

The staff who remained still grumbled about it—loyalists, maybe, or just people too comfortable with the way things used to be. They hated him for it. He was ruthless, sure, but effective. Jeon Corp wasn't just successful; it was dominating. They went from merely hitting targets to blowing right past them. And that shift started with him.

Jungkook was good. Really fucking good.

He was young, driven, passionate, and not to mention—a sight for sore eyes. Even as someone who didn't like to openly praise men, you couldn't help but be impressed.

Still, you knew your fate wasn't in his hands directly. He wasn't going to be the one deciding whether your temp position would become permanent. He was the CEO—too high up to care about such things. And besides, you'd never even spoken to the guy. You spent most of your time on the twelfth floor, and he was always buried in work on the nineteenth.

Except for that one time.

Maybe three months ago? You had shared an elevator with him when you both arrived at work around the same time. For eleven floors, you stood silently beside him. Well, you were silent. He was on the phone, speaking in that low, gravelly tone that had a way of crawling under your skin. Being so close, you could hear the slight slip of a Busan accent when he spoke. He wasn't rude, just... intense.

Even while curses slipped from his lips to whoever was on the other end of the line, you couldn’t help but wonder if that was just his usual tone—whether he was speaking to a business partner, an enemy, a lover. Either way, you didn't think it was negative. It was just him.

You knew bits and pieces about the guy from what Jimin had shared—him being Jungkook’s assistant and all—but nothing too personal. Not that you needed to know. Though, admittedly, he had piqued your interest.

A month prior to that elevator ride, you’d caught a glimpse of something that had you squirming in your seat. From your office, you had glanced over to see him leading a meeting on your floor. His suit jacket had been tossed over the back of his chair, revealing the dirtiest, prettiest fucking sleeve you’d ever laid eyes on. His big, tattooed bicep flexed with each movement as he pointed at the projector screen.

The sight had you groaning, pushing your unfinished lunch aside and retreating to the bathroom.

You’d tried calling your boyfriend, hoping to pull him into some filthy phone sex, but he was too nervous to go through with it. In the end, you hung up frustrated, finishing yourself off in the stall, biting your lip to keep from moaning too loudly.

The elevator ride felt quicker than usual. You kept your eyes fixed on the LED screen, watching the numbers tick up, though you were more focused on the way his cologne filled the space, light but somehow intoxicating. By the time the doors slid open on your floor, his call had ended. You adjusted your bag, turning to him with a polite bow.

"Have a good day, seonsaengnim," you'd said, your voice soft as you smiled.

He didn’t say anything back, just looked at you for a second, his dark eyes sweeping over your face. His Adam’s apple bobbed slightly as he gave you a subtle nod, and you walked off, feeling his gaze linger as you left.

And that was it.

You didn't see him again. Not in the lobby, not passing by in meetings, not even when your car and his were the last ones left in the parking lot after late shifts. It wasn't unusual; he was literally the CEO, always busy, always somewhere else. He didn't have time to notice you.

But you couldn’t help but think about it more than you’d like to admit.

If you'd known that you'd never cross paths with him again, never ride the same elevator, never exchange more than those few words before your temp contract ended—would you have done something different? Said something more?

Maybe you would've clicked a higher floor.

But here you were. No offer. No permanence. Just three job offers from other firms sitting in your inbox, waiting for your reply. Of course, you had a backup plan—you weren't that naive. But something about it stung anyway. You'd take one of those offers at the end of the week, move on, and maybe one day, you'd forget about Jeon Corp entirely.

Sigh.

You were really going to miss Jiminie, though.

“So... how's your shift going?”

You rolled your eyes, a soft laugh escaping as you twisted the cap off your water bottle, taking a sip before tearing the lid off your salad. Your phone sat on your desk, Hyungwon's voice crackling through the speaker.

"It's going good, Hyungwon," you replied, voice tinged with sarcasm. "Same as every day."

A sad chuckle echoed through the receiver. "Oh, yeah? Well, we just got new printers at the firm, you know, the Lexmark MX8s? What about y—"

The forkful of salad that was halfway to your mouth dropped back into the bowl. "Hyungwon," you interrupted, incredulity dripping from your tone. "Did you really call me to talk about printers?"

"Well, I—no, I just—"

You sighed, reaching for your water again and setting your untouched lunch down. "Hyungwon, I hope you're okay, I really do. And I'm happy for you and your fancy printers," yours were two seasons ahead, "but this isn't helping. You're not going to feel better if—"

"I just miss you, Y/N," his voice cracked, and instantly, your appetite evaporated. You let out another deep sigh, rubbing your temples, as Hyungwon's next words came out shaky. "And I just want to know what I did wrong. We were doing so well. W-what did I do?"

"Hyungwon…" You picked up the phone, taking it off speaker as you leaned back in your chair, eyes focused on the ceiling. "You didn't do anything. You're a great guy, okay?"

"Yeah," he scoffed, his voice bitter and teary. "Girls don't break up with 'great guys' after an amazing year together out of the blue, Y/N."

Was it out of the blue? Had it been amazing?

"We've been over this," you sighed, adjusting the phone in your hand. "A hundred times in the last month. It's not about what you did. We just—"

"Weren't right for each other," he finished, his voice robotic, like he was reciting a script he'd memorized against his will. A sniffle followed as you heard him reach for tissues. "Just… wanted you to know I miss you. And… could I come by next week? Pick up my clothes?"

You took a long drink from your water bottle, feeling a headache forming. "I’ll leave it with reception. You can pick it up from the office—"

"No," he cut in, his voice tight with desperation. "Please, from your place. I just… I need to see you one more time."

You exhaled deeply, eyes unfocused as you stared out your floor-to-ceiling window. It had been a month since you ended things with Park Hyungwon—a month since you stuffed his clothes into a box and offered to drop them off. A month of excuses, a month of him putting it off, dragging out these unbearable phone calls, asking to see you in person, to talk.

You knew why he wanted to make the exchange in person. You weren't stupid. But lately, something about his calls had been giving you a bad feeling—a taste in your mouth that lingered long after you hung up. Hyungwon wasn't dangerous. He wouldn't hurt a fly. But he was... off. These calls always followed a pattern.

First, 1:15pm, right when you started your break, your phone would buzz. You'd glance down, see an incoming call from P.H, and immediately regret ever sharing your lunch schedule with him.

Then, he'd be kind. Sweet. Boring. Asking about your shift, your day, until something—something trivial—would break his composure. He'd start to crack, voice shaking, or worse, he'd burst into tears over something like… printers.

By the end of the call, there was always that weird shift. Not angry, not sad… something in between. A mix of emotions that left you unsettled, and you couldn't quite put your finger on why. You could feel the resentment beneath it all, though—like he definitely blamed you for the breakup, no matter how many times he asked what he could've done to keep you.

That was fine. You were used to people resenting you. You were top of your major, gorgeous, and a bit of a bitch. But hearing that tone in Hyungwon's voice? A human puppy dog you'd spent a year of your life with? It made your skin crawl in a way you couldn't shake.

And now, here he was, asking to see you again. For what? Closure? An emotional showdown? You didn't care. You just knew you had to end this, fast. Another call filled with sniffles and pleas, eating away at what little break time you had? You'd throw yourself out that fucking floor-to-ceiling window before you let that happen again.

"Fine," you sighed, glancing at your watch as you switched the phone to your other ear. "You can come over next week. I'll check my schedule."

"Really?" His voice immediately brightened, and you rolled your eyes. "Shivers! That sounds great! Just text me when—"

You swallowed the bile rising in your throat. Shivers? SHIVERS?

"Break's over, Hyungwon," you interrupted, forcing a smile into your voice. "Talk to you later, okay?"

"Yeah. Thank you, Y/N. I'll call you tomorrow."

The line went dead, and your fist clenched around the phone.

"God," you muttered to yourself, tossing it onto your desk with an exasperated sigh, "I'm changing my fucking break time."

"Should I come back later?"

You yelped at the sudden voice, spinning around in your chair to see your best friend standing in your office doorway, his signature Cheshire grin firmly in place.

"Jiminie!" you beamed, frustration melting away as you rushed over to pull him into a hug. "No, it's okay. It was just—"

"Hyungwon," Jimin finished for you with a knowing, apologetic nod. "You know, you could always just… not answer when he calls?"

You rolled your eyes, brushing a piece of blonde fringe from his face. "And have his suicide on my conscience? No thanks."

"He's a grown man. He can make his own decisions," Jimin shrugged, laughing when you widened your eyes in faux shock.

You shuffled back to your desk, stabbing a cherry tomato from your salad. "Aren't you supposed to be telling me to run back into his arms and admit I was wrong? Some sort of cousin code or something?" you quirked a brow teasingly, humming around the mouthful.

He laughed softly, adjusting the files in his hand. "I'd never tell you to go back to something you were clearly miserable in, Y/N. Even if he is my cousin."

You swallowed another bite, giving him an appreciative smile before finishing the rest of your water bottle. "That is why I love you, Park." You threw the rest of your papers into a folder and linked your arm with his. "And why I'm going to miss you so much." You pouted playfully.

Jimin rolled his eyes, guiding you out of your office. The usual hustle and bustle of level twelve filled the air as he snorted, "Don't say that. You're not going anywhere, Y/N."

"Mm, I beg to differ." You shot back, bitterness lacing your voice. "I haven't heard a word about permanency, and my contract ends in four days." With a dramatic sigh, you added, "Guess you'll just have to visit me at KimCo on your lunch breaks instead."

"First of all," Jimin smirked, "I wouldn't drive across town on my lunch break to visit anyone, even you." You squinted at him as he teased, "And second, yeah, it's shitty that you haven't heard anything about the promotion—"

"And unprofessional," you interjected, rolling your eyes. "And discourteous, and obnoxious, and plain fucking rude—"

He chuckled, cutting you off with a light shrug. "Yes, all of the above," he agreed as you both reached the elevators. Unlinking his arm from yours, he pressed the button to go up. "But… have you accepted the offer at KimCo yet?"

You frowned, glancing at the lit-up arrow pointing up. "No, not yet. I was going to tonight…" You trailed off, turning to him in confusion. "Jiminie, why are we going up? Our meeting's on level seven."

Jimin glanced down at the file in his hand before his mouth opened to respond, but the elevator dinged, catching your attention.

The doors slid open, and you were immediately hit with the faint scent of tobacco and Bvlgari. Your head turned slightly, seeking the source.

Jungkook stood inside, eyes focused on the phone in his hand, dressed in a perfectly pressed designer suit that somehow looked more sinfully casual on him than it had any right to.

You blinked, tearing your gaze away from him and turning back to Jimin, waiting for an explanation.

"Oh yeah, uh, the meeting's been pushed back a bit," Jimin said, nodding to the elevator. "But you're needed upstairs for a moment."

You frowned, glancing down at the heavy folder in your hands as you stepped into the elevator. If the meeting was postponed, you wouldn't have dragged this big fucking thing around with you. You left some space between yourself and the CEO and Jimin happily slid in between, his usual smile bright and easy.

The doors closed, and silence settled over the small space. Jungkook was still looking at his phone. Jimin still hadn't pressed a button.

You frowned. "Jiminie, why haven't you clicked a floor?"

He turned toward you, feigning confusion as his eyes flicked toward the panel. "Oh, because it's already pressed." He shrugged, flashing a quick smile before turning forward again.

You stared harder at the panel. From the corner of your eye, you could see Jungkook's broad frame. His phone was tucked away now, but his gaze remained fixed straight ahead. He hadn't said a word.

"Level nineteen?" you asked, a hint of confusion in your voice.

Jimin nodded, offering you a simple smile.

The elevator crawled its way up slowly with a few more words exchanged between you and Jimin. Then, finally, the elevator dinged open at level nineteen, and the air shifted.

The sleek, pristine hallway stretched out before you, polished floors gleaming so bright that you could almost see your reflection in the tiles. You had only been here once before, for a department meeting with the CCO, Kim Namjoon.

Jimin politely bowed to his boss as you instinctively stepped back, allowing Jungkook to exit first. His gaze never wavered as he nodded in acknowledgment, his movements calm as he stepped out.

As you followed Jimin down the hall, you couldn't help but notice how eerily quiet everything was. The glass-paneled meeting rooms stood empty, the reception desk vacant. The last time you were here, the place had life, but now… nothing.

Jungkook disappeared into his office without a word while you and Jimin continued walking. Your confusion only deepened as you glanced through the glass panes into all the very empty meeting rooms.

Jimin slowed at the entryway to Jungkook's office.

"Jiminie, what's going on?" you asked, gently grabbing his arm. "Am I supposed to have a meeting with Jeon Jungkook-seonsaengnim? Why wasn't I informed? I need to know what's required—"

"Y/N," Jimin interrupted softly, his hand covering yours reassuringly. "I'll explain soon, okay? I know it's last minute, and I'm sorry for that. Let me just make sure everything is on track." He smiled at you before gesturing to the plush seats outside the office. "Take a seat. I won't be long."

You hesitated, but trusting your best friend, you nodded, setting your folder on the table before sitting down. Jimin gave you one last encouraging smile before disappearing inside Jungkook's office, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

Your eyes darted around the hallway as you waited, the clean surroundings feeling almost too sterile, too perfect. The glass walls of Jungkook's office made it impossible not to glance inside. You caught a glimpse of him flipping through a file, his expression focused, detached. Jimin approached him, placing his own file down on the desk as the two exchanged quiet words.

Jimin greeted his boss again with a respectful bow. "Seonsaengnim," he smiled, placing the file in front of Jungkook.

Jungkook didn't look up from the papers he was thumbing through. "Is she waiting for me?"

"Yes, sir," Jimin replied, his hands clasped neatly in front of him. "You have about thirty minutes before the board meeting, so I thought now could be a good time for you to meet with Y/LN Y/N… The temp administrative assistant from level twelve? Her contract ends in—"

"Four days," Jungkook finished, finally closing the file in front of him. He reached for the one Jimin had brought, flipping it open. "Why hasn't her contract been extended? Her performance is strong, and she has streamlined operations in her department. Does she not wish to stay with the company?"

"She does, sir," Jimin nodded. "But I was informed by Namjoon-seonsaengnim's assistant that Lee Dohyun does not plan to extend her contract. He intends to let it end."

Jungkook's brow twitched slightly, his eyes narrowing as he flipped through the papers. "And why does Dohyun plan to do that? She's efficient, profitable. She cleaned up the mess the last administrative assistant left behind." His tone was clipped, irritation poorly masked.

Jimin shifted on his feet, the hint of hesitation visible in his posture. "I'm not entirely sure, sir. It's mostly hearsay, but…" he cleared his throat, glancing at Jungkook before continuing cautiously, "there's a rumor that she rejected one of Dohyun's advances a few months ago. Since then, word has flown around that he's been less than accommodating toward her."

Jungkook's eyes darkened, his fingers stopping their idle flipping as his gaze snapped back to Jimin. "So, he's punishing her for not entertaining him?"

Jimin's silence was enough of an answer.

Jungkook's jaw clenched, the tension in his shoulders building. He flipped the file shut, the subtle thud of the paper echoing in the quiet office.

"Why have you brought her to me, Jimin?" he asked, shooting a sharp look at his assistant. "There's a chain of command. At least six people between Dohyun and me."

"There are," Jimin acknowledged. "But some months ago, you mentioned noticing a significant increase in productivity and efficiency in Administration… You said the improvements could be attributed to the new assistant's work. I just thought considering her contract ends in four days, you'd want to meet her personally before she accepts another offer."

Jungkook leaned back against his desk, glancing at the glass door where you were sitting, your legs crossed, eyes absentmindedly focused on a strand of your hair. His gaze flicked over your tight black pencil skirt, the cream blouse that hugged your figure, the neat ponytail held in place by four bobby pins.

"She's very good," he admitted, eyes dropping back to the folder. "But I don't meddle in the hiring department. Tell Dohyun to reconsider his decision."

Jimin shifted slightly. "He's on leave for the rest of the week, sir."

Jungkook sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Then go to the next in command, Jimin. I'm not—"

"She's accepting an offer from another firm tonight, Jungkook," Jimin said quickly, catching himself. "Jungkook-seonsaengnim," he corrected. "Once she signs the contract with KimCo, there won't be time to make a counteroffer."

Jungkook went quiet; his eyes focused on the closed folder in front of him as Jimin pressed on. "Just five minutes, sir. That's all she needs."

Jungkook's eyes flicked up to meet Jimin's. He rolled his eyes, leaning back on his desk, arms crossing over his chest. "You're supposed to make my life easier, not harder, Park."

Jimin couldn't help but grin, looking over his shoulder to catch you glancing down at your Apple watch. He bit back a snicker when you rolled your eyes, clearly getting impatient.

"She'd be a big loss, seonsaengnim," Jimin said honestly as he turned back to his boss. "I believe I'm making your life easier. You live, eat, and breathe this company."

Jungkook groaned, closing his eyes briefly before nodding. "Send her in. Five minutes."

"Thank you, seonsaengnim." Jimin bowed, turning toward the door.

"Jimin," Jungkook called out, his assistant's hand freezing on the handle.

"Yes, sir?"

"Draft effective immediate termination papers for Lee Dohyun and put them on my desk when you leave for the night."

Jimin bit back a grin. "Yes, sir."

You straightened in your seat as soon as you saw Jimin approaching, eyes narrowing suspiciously. He looked like the cat that caught the canary, and you didn't trust it for a second.

"Y/N, this way, please—"

"No," you snapped, swatting his outstretched hand away. "Brief me."

There was no way you were walking into a meeting with the fucking CEO without any preparation. Was he fucking high?

Jimin chuckled softly, clearly enjoying this way too much. "Relax, Y/N. It'll only take a few minutes. Jungkook's not much of a talker…" He reached out again, and you batted his hand away once more.

He laughed again, then pouted, blinking at you with wide, innocent eyes. "Please, Y/N? Just trust me."

"God, you're a cunt," you muttered under your breath, shooting him a glare as you stood and smoothed your skirt. Reluctantly, you started toward the office.

"Unprofessional…" Jimin teased with a grin, snickering when you turned and mouthed 'get fucked' at him before stepping inside.

The glass doors clicked softly behind you as you entered the impeccably tidy office. "Seonsaengnim," you greeted with a bow. “Y/LN Y/N. It's nice to formally meet you."

Jungkook barely glanced up, his dark eyes sweeping over you for just a moment before he dropped them back down to the file on his desk.

His nod was curt, his voice low and indifferent. "Jeon Jungkook," he said, as if his name wasn't already plastered across every inch of this building.

When he gestured toward the seat in front of his desk, you sat down, crossing your legs as he settled back into his chair. His attention returned to the open file. "Your contract ends in four days."

"Yes, sir," you nodded, hands resting in your lap as you held back any trace of bitterness.

"Do you not wish to stay here?" His voice was steady as his eyes flicked up to meet yours.

You blinked, a little surprised by the question. "No, sir. I do wish to stay. But I haven't heard anything from management regarding a permanent position."

"Who do you report to?" Jungkook asked, though you were sure he already knew the answer.

"Lee Dohyun-seonsaengnim."

He leaned back in his chair, drumming his tattooed fingers lightly against the desk as he skimmed the file. "Your work is impressive."

"Thank you, sir." You smiled softly, ignoring how those four simple words made your stomach flip. "That means a lot coming from you."

His gaze lingered on you for a second longer before he closed the file and set it aside. "Y/LN Y/N," he said, his voice calm, "Why do you think your contract hasn't been extended?"

You blinked, momentarily thrown off by the question. "I'm not entirely sure, seonsaengnim."

Jungkook hummed. "You've been here almost a year. Your work speaks for itself. Yet your contract hasn't been extended." His gaze locked on yours, and for a second, he almost looked genuinely interested. "Why?"

You inhaled slowly, keeping your expression as neutral as possible. "I've heard rumors, sir. But I'm not one hundred percent certain."

An eyebrow arched, and Jungkook tilted his head slightly. "Let's say the rumors are true. Do you think personal reasons should outweigh performance?"

"No, sir," you answered steadily. "But I don't control the decisions."

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, and for a moment, his eyes flickered with amusement. Whether he appreciated your honesty or just liked watching you squirm, you weren't sure. "Do you plan on accepting an offer from another company, Y/N?"

You gave a slight nod. "Yes, sir. My first choice is KimCo. They've offered me a permanent coordinator role in their administration department. I plan on sending my letter of acceptance tonight, after my shift."

Jungkook was quiet for a moment, his dark eyes roaming over you lazily, but enough that it was impossible not to notice. "Is there anything I can do to change your mind?" he asked finally, his voice casual as he leaned back in his chair. "Or are you happy to go to KimCo?"

"I would prefer to stay, sir," you said, holding his gaze. "If Jeon Corp is willing to match the salary offer and I'm guaranteed a permanent position."

"What's the offer?"

"₩67m, sir."

Jungkook's expression didn't change. "We can do eighty."

"Wha—"

"I'll have your permanent administrative coordinator contract drafted by tonight and emailed to you. Will that work?"

It took you a second to process his words before you blinked in surprise. "Yes, sir," you replied, fighting to keep the smile tugging at your lips in check. "It would."

Jungkook leaned back further in his chair, his eyes flicking over you once more, lingering in a way that wasn't accidental. Then, with a simple nod, he closed the file in front of him. "Good. I'll expect your response by tomorrow morning."

You still don't really know how it happened.

Maybe it started when you stood to give him a polite bow before leaving his office, and he reached out for a handshake at the exact same moment. His cold hand accidentally brushed against the side of your inner breast through your blouse as you leaned forward, and suddenly, both of you froze.

Jungkook pulled his hand back sharply, his brows furrowing as he stared down at the file on his desk like it was the most interesting thing in the world, muttering a low apology, his usual confident tone suddenly gone.

It was... so cute.

Seeing the man who looked like he could ruin your life with just a snap of his fingers suddenly all shy and flustered as if he was more embarrassed than you were? Fucking adorable.

Maybe it was his instinct to avoid an HR complaint, to maintain professionalism in what could have been misconstrued as an inappropriate touch.

But you weren't going to misconstrue it. It was an accident.

And, honestly... you always were kind of a sucker for bad boys with soft eyes.

"Fucking goodddd!!!" you moaned, your voice barely coherent as your cheek pressed against the cold surface of his desk. Each relentless thrust from Jungkook had your body jiggling under him, your mind lost in a haze as his hips slammed into you without mercy. "S-so fucking b-biiiiig."

Your eyes rolled back, throat raw from the croaky whimpers that escaped between each ragged breath. His hand was firm on the back of your head, keeping you pinned down, helpless as he took you apart, piece by piece.

"I know, baby," he cooed, his voice laced with that condescending pout that only made you clench harder around him. "I know it's big, baby. But you can take it, can't you?"

His fingers tangled in your hair, brushing lightly over your flushed cheek in a teasing, mocking pat. Then, without warning, he pulled back and slammed into you harder, deeper, until you felt him hit that spot. That fucking spottt. Your breath caught in your throat as he didn't stop, didn't let up, just kept going, over and over and over.

Your mouth fell open in a silent scream, nails scraping into the polished wood of his desk until you felt the lacquer gathering beneath your fingernails. The loud, wet slaps of his hips against your ass echoed through the room, his heavy balls smacking into your swollen clit.

"'Course you can take it. 'Cause you're such a hard worker, hm? Such an overachiever, aren't you, baby." His voice dripped with dark amusement, each taunting word sending shivers down your spine. His hand pressed your head harder into the desk, the weight of him leaving you trembling, drool pooling on the wood beneath you as you gasped and whimpered, completely at his mercy.

"You can take it, Y/N. Know you can," he murmured, every word like a filthy promise, his gaze locked on the way your body was surrendering to him, giving him everything. He wasn’t going to stop until you broke. Until you were his.

"Color, baby." He growled into your neck, his breath hot against your skin. He hummed in delight when he felt you swallow, your gasps feeding into his satisfaction.

"Green," you choked out, barely able to form the words. "Do anything to me. Green, fucking green to it all," you cried, voice raw as tears blurred your vision, and Jungkook groaned, teeth grazing the delicate skin of your throat in approval.

His grip tightened in your hair again, yanking you upright until your back was flush against his chest. "G-g-godddddd," you choked out, body trembling, tears threatening to spill as his thrusts grew quicker, more brutal, each one slamming harder and louder, drowning out everything else.

Your hands shot up, clawing desperately at the back of his neck as you tried to hold on, your body burning from the inside out as he destroyed you. His lips ghosted over the curve of your neck, teeth grazing your skin just as his hand slipped down your stomach, his fingers finding your swollen, slippery clit with ease.

Jungkook's pace became punishing, driving into you harder and faster, your body quivering under his touch. His lips brushed lazily over your neck, whispering filthy praise into your ear as his fingers circled your clit, sending a jolt through your entire body. The wet, sloppy sounds of his hips smacking into your ass filled the room, each thrust sending you closer to the edge.

"F-fuck, Jungkook," you gasped, your voice cracking as his pace quickened even more at the sound of his name on your lips. "It's s-so… fuck…"

He groaned low in your ear, his hand fisting your hair tighter, yanking your head back as his hips crashed into you over and over. "So good, Y/N baby," he cooed, his voice dripping with lust. "You're doing so fucking well. Taking it so good."

The praise made your throat bob, your entire body teetering on the edge of collapse. You couldn't think of anything but him—full, Jungkook, full, Jungkook. It was all-consuming, the only thing that mattered.

You weren't just wet anymore—you were disgustingly soaked, your arousal dripping down your thighs, mixing with the sweat on your skin as he ruined you. You let out a sob as tears streaked down your cheeks, your mascara no doubt smeared beyond repair as your entire body burned with pleasure.

"Careful, baby," he hummed darkly, voice tinged with amusement. "Don't want anyone to hear you, huh. Coming to check if you're okay..."

Your eyes flicked toward the glass doors, your head lolling back into the crook of his neck as you realized the vulnerability of your position. Fucked out, skirt bunched up around your waist, tits spilling over your bra, completely on display and helpless in his arms—holy fuck. The idea of someone seeing you like this had your thighs pathetically trembling as you felt yourself get even wetter. Sicko.

"S-sir," you stammered, the words forced out between his relentless thrusts that threw your body forward. "Cl-close the blinds."

Jungkook's lips curled into a smile against your neck at the lack of conviction in your words. Fucking perfect. His breath was warm as he whispered, "Why would I want to do that?" His hand slid to your chin, his fingers gripping firmly as he forced your eyes to the glass. "Y'look so fucking pretty, Y/N. Who would want to hide all that?"

Humiliation mixed with need, making your core throb even harder. The reflection of your wrecked form stared back at you—trembling, sweaty, makeup running down your tear-streaked face.

Well, he wasn't wrong. You did look kind of pretty.

The thought of how many other women had been in this same position with him briefly slithered through your mind, but you whimpered, pushing it away.

"H-harder, Jungkook… please," you gasped, voice a broken plea. "P-please, baby?"

That was all it took. His low groan vibrated through you, his hands gripping your waist tight as he snapped his hips into you with a force that made the desk rattle beneath your hands. One hand cupped your breast, tugging harshly at your nipple, while the other slipped down to mercilessly slap at your clit over and over.

"Shit, shit, shit, shittttt!" you sobbed, your voice high and broken, pleasure tearing through your body.

"You're close, aren't you?" Jungkook rasped, his voice rough as his thrusts grew erratic, harder, faster. "Getting so fucking tight around me. Gonna come for me, aren't you, baby?"

Your mind was gone. You couldn't focus on anything but the feeling of him inside you, stretching you, filling you, owning you. "J-Jungkook..." you slurred, your head falling back against his chest, "please make me come, baby, pleasepleasepleaseeee."

Jungkook's arms tightened around your trembling body, and in one quick motion, he sat back in his office chair, pulling you down into his lap. You cried out as his hands hooked under the back of your knees, planting his feet on the ground and spreading your legs wide, completely open, and facing the see-through fucking doors.

He didn't give you a second to breathe before he started pounding into you again, his fat cock hitting so deep at the new angle that your body shook uncontrollably. You couldn't even hear your own cries—just the wet, obscene slapping of skin and Jungkook's gorgeous groans in your ear.

"Rub your fucking clit," he commanded, his voice thick with urgency. "Come. Now, Y/N. Fucking come."

Your hand flew to your clit, trembling fingers rubbing furiously, slipping because you were so fucking wet. "Jungkook," you gasped, voice breaking, tears pouring down your cheeks.

"No, baby, f-fuckkk, I'm sor—" You couldn't stop the sobs, your body convulsing as the tension coiled tighter and tighter inside you. "Jungkook, I'm—I'm so sorry, ahhhh fuckkk! I-I'm gonna squirt, oh my goddddd!"

"Fuck, yes," he growled, and just as your body started to seize up, his hand shot down, pressing hard on your lower belly and bladder, right where he was buried deep inside you. His hips didn't relent, pounding into you with the same brutal pace.

The pressure on your abdomen made everything inside you snap. Your scream tore through his office as your walls clamped down hard on him, your body shaking violently as your hand trembled, losing its grip on your clit. You came so hard that your hand slipped away entirely, but before the overwhelming release could fade, Jungkook's hand was there, replacing yours instantly. His fingers rubbed your swollen clit with intense pressure, refusing to let you stop.

"Fuckk, look at that fucking pussy, Y/N," he growled as he slapped your pulsing clit over and over. "Keep going, fuck, keep squirting on my fucking dick, baby, holy shittttt."

The filthy command tipped you over the edge again. The sensation was too much, and you started to gush even harder. Wetness sprayed everywhere, soaking his lap, drenching the desk. You were fucking gone.

"Holy fuck," Jungkook choked out at the sight of your cunt gushing out liquid, his hips jerking erratically as his body tensed beneath you. He came hard into the condom with a deep, broken groan, his grip on you tight as he rode out his release, still rubbing your clit with nasty, unrelenting strokes, making sure you didn't stop.

Your body convulsed violently, your legs shaking uncontrollably as he kept rubbing, drawing out every last wave of your orgasm until you were a trembling, sobbing mess. His big hand cupped over your warm pussy, feeling it throb beneath his palm as he slowed his thrusts, easing you through the last shudders of your release.

"My godddd," he growled, his voice raw with awe as he moved his hand and looked down at the mess you'd made. Your quivering pussy, glistening and red, his slacks drenched, the chair wet, and even some paperwork on the desk soaked through.

Fuck, he groaned internally. He's obsessed.

Your chest heaved as you slumped against him, completely spent, your head falling onto his shoulder. Jungkook’s hands glided up and down your trembling thighs, suppressing the smile tugging at his lips as you buried your face into the crook of his neck, clinging to him like he was the only thing holding you together.

"Well done," he murmured, his lips grazing your forehead before pressing a soft kiss there. You could still feel his heart racing against your skin as you tried to catch your breath.

"Seonsaengnim," you muttered, still panting, "I'm so sorry about your papers—"

"Shut up," Jungkook cut you off with a roll of his eyes, your sudden shift to formalities clearly grating on him. His hands continued their soothing path over your stomach, fingers brushing lightly over the soft skin before he gently adjusted your legs on his lap. His strong thighs kept your feet dangling above the floor, his touch softening as he patted your belly absentmindedly, his voice easing. "It’s alright."

You tried to gather yourself, your mind still spinning. "I haven't done that in a while," you mumbled into his neck, the words slipping out without thought. "God."

Jungkook swallowed hard, suppressing the mix of emotions rising in his chest. Pride at making you feel this way. Anger at knowing someone else had. His jaw clenched briefly before he cleared his throat, forcing a casual hum of acknowledgment. "Good."

He patted your belly a couple more times, as though resetting his focus. "You okay to get dressed?" he asked, his voice slipping into something nonchalant, though the grip on your thighs lingered a moment longer than necessary. "I've got a meeting soon."

You cleared your throat and nodded, feeling a little unsteady as you began to push yourself up from his lap. His hands helped guide you as you stood, and you winced slightly as he slipped out of you, leaving you feeling oddly empty. Your legs wobbled beneath you, but you ignored the sensation, letting your skirt fall back into place. You glanced around the room, searching for your panties.

You crouched down, looking under the chair, then the desk, even flipping through some of the papers on his desk, but there was no sign of them.

"Have you seen my…?" you trailed off, turning to look at him, feeling the confusion settle in as you noticed his casual indifference. Jungkook, now having disposed of the condom, zipped up his slacks with an air of calmness that seemed just a bit too casual for your liking.

You raised a brow, suspicion growing. His expression mirrored yours with a glint in his eyes.

"Where are they?" you asked, narrowing your gaze.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he straightened his shirt. Then, he casually slipped his hands into his pockets, and that's when you caught the faintest flicker of black lace peeking out from one of them.

You scoffed, stepping toward him, but before you could snatch them back, Jungkook caught your hand. He snickered softly as he brought it to his lips, pressing a mocking kiss to your knuckles.

“01J09. Lock the door when you leave, Y/N." His tone was commanding but light as he slipped past you, grabbing his suit jacket as if nothing had happened. He gave you one last look before walking out of the room, leaving you standing in the middle of his messed-up office.

You slumped back into his chair with a huff, quickly adjusting your bra and buttoning your blouse. As you started to tidy the room, you found some disinfectant wipes in a cupboard and began cleaning the desk, trying to distract yourself.

The sound of the door opening behind you startled you, and you quickly turned, assuming Jungkook had returned. But when you locked eyes with your best friend smirking widely at the scene, your stomach dropped.

"You fucking slut!" Jimin shouted, closing the door behind him as he made his way toward you, cupping your face with both hands. His grin was bright, teasing, as he shook his head in disbelief.

"Holy shit! I'm mortified that I just walked past and saw my best friend getting railed by my boss… but I'm also so fucking happy! So, are you staying? Are you guys a thing? How did it happen? Holy fuck—"

"Jiminie," you whined, pulling his hands away and turning back to the desk to finish cleaning, "I'll tell you later. My legs hurt, and we need to get to the meeting—"

"The meeting's over," Jimin interrupted with a snicker, "it's been an hour."

"What the fuck?!" Panic washed over you as you turned to face him, eyes wide.

Jimin just shrugged, still wearing that smug smile. "It's fine, Y/N. I took notes; they're on our shared drive. It wasn't anything important. Definitely not as important as the 'meeting' you were in."

You snorted, tossing the used wipes into the bin and slipping your heels back on as you made your way toward the door, legs still shaky. "Jesus, Jimin, I can barely walk."

"I noticed," Jimin teased, his voice full of amusement. "Want me to carry you?"

"No thanks," you replied quickly, shuddering at the thought. "I'd rather crawl than have anyone see you carry me out of here."

"Are you at least going to the bathroom to fix your hair and makeup?" he asked, eyeing you critically. "You look like you were attacked by a swarm of wasps..."

You groaned. "Yes, Jiminie. I'm going to the bathroom. Now stop pestering me, or you'll be having movie night alone tomorrow."

His smirk softened into a playful smile. "Okay, okay. I'll wait for you in your office."

You waited for him to leave before entering the pin code to lock Jungkook's office door. After hearing the beep and confirming the door was secure, you turned to head toward the bathroom, only to find Jimin still blocking your path, brows furrowed and eyes wide.

"Jimin-ah, move—"

"He gave you the code to his office?" Jimin's voice was serious now, the lightheartedness from earlier gone.

You blinked at him, confused by the sudden shift in his tone. "Yes. Can you please move?"

Jimin didn't budge. His frown deepened as he processed the information. “Y/N… He doesn't just give the code to his office out. To anyone."

Your stomach twisted at his words. "Maybe he'll change it later. He said he had a meeting to go to—"

Jimin shook his head. "He hasn't changed that code since he took over. And… he just canceled his meetings for this afternoon. I thought it was because…"

The sinking feeling in your stomach grew worse. Of course, Jungkook lied and just wanted to leave. What was he supposed to do—sit there and cuddle you? Offer you aftercare? This wasn't new for him. You weren't special. Just another woman in a long line.

You swallowed hard, ignoring the bile rising in your throat. "Jiminie, can I… meet you downstairs? I need to go to the bathroom."

Jimin's expression softened instantly, his hand reaching out to brush some hair from your face before leaning in to kiss your forehead. "Okay, love. I'll get you some water and wait in your office."

You thanked him quietly before heading to the bathroom, locking the door before you leaned heavily against the sink. Staring at your reflection, you sighed at the sight. Your sleek ponytail was merely a distant memory, makeup smeared beyond repair. And there, on your neck, was a deep hickey blooming against your skin.

"Idiot," you muttered to yourself as you turned the tap on, starting to scrub your face clean in attempt to erase every trace of what just happened.

What was happening to you? You never let stuff like this get to you. You'd had more than your fair share of one-night stands, and you knew better than to let them mean anything. It was nothing to him, and it should've been nothing to you.

But god, it felt like so much more than nothing.

"Idiotttt," you muttered again, this time more frustrated. As you aggressively wiped away the mascara and dried tears, your eyes kept drifting back to the hickey. You sighed, knowing you had no makeup to cover it until you got back to your office.

With a huff, you walked toward the toilet and sat down, your hand grazing the mark on your neck while you peed. The memory of his lips still lingered fresh in your mind, and the longer you sat there, the more the reality of it all began to sink in.

Fuck, you groaned internally. You're obsessed.

Jungkook pulled the keys from the ignition, stepping out of his car and adjusting the collar of his suit jacket when it shifted out of place. The door clicked shut behind him as he locked the Mercedes, casually slipping his phone into his pocket—right next to your panties, still snug in the black fabric of his slacks.

When he reached the reception desk, a fake redhead sat behind it, focused on a stack of paperwork. She didn’t notice him at first, not until the sound of his footsteps caught her attention. The moment her eyes met his, Jungkook noticed the way she straightened in her seat, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Oh, hello,” she greeted, her voice sweet but dripping with an attempt at seduction. “Welcome to Jang Merriott. How can I be of service?”

Jungkook swallowed the grimace threatening to surface, but his lips curved into that fake, charming smile he’d perfected for work events. “Hi, darling.” His voice was smooth, just the right amount of warmth. “I’m here for a business meeting, but I’m so silly...” He leaned in slightly, watching her eyes widen. His voice dropped to a lower, more intimate tone. “I forgot which room it’s in. Think you could help me?”

His eyes flicked to her nametag—Cho Minju—and when he looked back, he could practically see her mind spinning. “I-I…” she stammered, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Do you have the name of the—”

“Lee Dohyun,” Jungkook answered easily, not missing the way she gulped when he added softly, “Thank you, baby.”

“L-Lee Dohyun,” she echoed nervously, typing the name into the system with shaky fingers. Then she paused, biting her lip. “I, um… I really shouldn’t if you aren’t—if you’re not on the guest list…”

“It would really help me out, Minju-yah,” Jungkook murmured, his voice taking on a softer, boyish edge. His brows furrowed just slightly as he leaned in a touch more, looking at her through his lashes. “If I’m late, Dohyun-seonsaengnim will kill me… I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

Her wide eyes blinked up at him, her lip caught between her teeth. He could see the internal battle playing out in her head—protocol versus the hot guy in front of her. Predictably, protocol lost.

“Floor 13, room 304,” she whispered, her cheeks flushed.

“Thank you, baby,” Jungkook replied with a charming smile, slipping a hundred-dollar bill into her tip jar before walking toward the elevator. Minju’s breath caught again as he turned and walked toward the elevator, not looking back once.

As the elevator doors slid shut with a soft chime, Jungkook’s facade dropped, and he let out a small, amused scoff. He thought that was going to cost him at least a couple grand.

The elevator hummed softly as it ascended. When the monotone voice announced floor 13, the doors slid open, revealing a quiet, plush carpeted hallway. Jungkook strode out, his eyes narrowing slightly as he made his way to room 304.

“Jungkook-seonsaengnim?” Dohyun’s voice cracked in surprise when he opened the door, eyes widening at the unexpected sight of his boss. “I’m on leave, sir, is everything oka—”

The words barely left his mouth before Jungkook’s fist connected sharply with the side of his jaw. The force of the blow sent Dohyun crashing to the ground, his head snapping back as he sprawled out, half-dangling outside the doorway. His feet splayed awkwardly on the floor, barely moving. Jungkook nudged his limp body inside with the toe of his polished shoe, stepping over him as he calmly closed the door behind him with a soft click.

“Everything’s fine, Dohyun.” Jungkook’s voice was casual, almost too calm, as he crouched down to level his gaze with the man on the floor. Dohyun was clutching his jaw, eyes wide with terror, blinking back tears as he struggled to sit up. Confusion mixed with fear spread across his face, trembling as he tried to find his words.

Jungkook tilted his head, a slow, cold smirk pulling at his lips. "Great, actually," he continued, the menace in his voice unmistakable. His eyes flickered over the man on the ground as if he were nothing more than something to be dealt with. “And it’ll be even better in a second.”

TODAY

The soft click of heels against tile echoed down the pristine hall of level nineteen. Jimin and Hobi were either side of you, all three of you deep in conversation about Jimin's latest epic love saga.

“And afterward, we went and got ice cream,” Jimin sighed, a dreamy smile spreading across his lips. “And he even paid for my cone. I think he’s the one.”

You and Hobi shared a knowing look before turning back to him. Hobi giggled, shaking his head, while you leaned your head on Jimin’s shoulder, smiling warmly. “I’m sure he is, honey. Was it at least a double scoop?”

Jimin beamed, nodding enthusiastically, but his excitement faltered the second he caught the teasing smirks plastered on your and Hobi’s faces. His expression morphed into a pout as he narrowed his eyes at the both of you.

"Whatever. Just because you—" Jimin shot a pointed look at Hobi, "—don’t sleep with anyone more than once because of your deep-rooted commitment issues, and you—" he turned his accusing gaze to you, "—have found the only person in Seoul as crazy and fucked up as you to spend the rest of your life with, doesn’t make Min Yoongi any less of a perfect prince."

Hoseok grunted, crossing his arms dramatically as you broke into laughter. "You're not wrong," you hummed with a shrug, right as Hobi muttered defensively, "I don't have commitment issues."

It was Hobi’s turn to receive knowing looks from both of you before he sighed, dramatically slowing his pace as you reached the entrance of the meeting room. "Whatever, you guys suck."

Snickering softly, the three of you stepped inside, bowing politely to the handful of executives already seated around the large meeting table. As usual, the three of you were early, but you noticed that a few others had already claimed their seats. Unfortunately, there weren’t three consecutive spots left for you all to sit together.

Your gaze immediately went to the head of the table, the seat reserved for the CEO, which was still empty. You knew Jungkook was in a meeting with Kim Namjoon that had run overtime, so their arrival was indefinitely delayed.

The seat closest to the CEO’s chair—Namjoon’s usual spot—was unoccupied, but the one on the opposite end, typically claimed by you, Jimin, or Hobi, was already taken. You felt your blood boil when you saw Heejin, the newly appointed temp head of Communications while Sana Minatozaki was on maternity leave, sitting there comfortably, scrolling through a document on her laptop.

Jimin caught your eye, noticing Heejin as well, and gestured toward the chair next to her, silently offering it to you. You just shook your head, flashing a small smile as if to say, no fucking thanks. He and Hobi settled into two seats beside each other, leaving you to scan the rest of the room for an available spot.

Your options weren’t great.

A middle seat between Hailey and Vernon—two relentless chatterboxes from levels three and four—caught your eye. You grimaced immediately at the thought of being dragged into their non-stop, ping-pong conversation about god knows what. They could probably talk about fucking office supplies for hours if given the chance.

Then your gaze shifted to the next option: a seat next to Kang Minho, the scruffy finance head. As expected, he was already twirling a cigar between his fingers, his eyes twitching in clear defiance of the new no-smoking rule in meetings. The urge to light it was practically vibrating off him.

You sighed.

That left the only bearable choice: a seat next to Oh Sehun, the head of Technology and Innovation. He was known to be quiet and professional, and most importantly, he's least likely to annoy you.

Resigned, you pulled the chair next to Sehun, placing your laptop and phone on the table in front of you. He glanced over with a polite smile, nodding in greeting. You returned the gesture, settling into your seat and immediately focusing on starting up your laptop.

The room settled into a quiet lull, with only a few hushed conversations breaking the silence. Most of the attendees were either finishing up side discussions or preparing for the meeting as they trickled in. As your laptop booted up, you instinctively picked up your phone, slipping it under the table. Your fingers moved quickly, opening the location app and tapping on Jungkook’s name. The pin was still loading when you heard a throat clear beside you.

Oh, here we fucking go.

“Y/N-ssi?”

You locked your phone and turned toward Sehun with a forced smile. "Yes, Sehun-ssi. How can I help?"

His smile widened slightly, a little shy. "Uh, I just wanted to say… congratulations. Your promotion to Head of Operations & Efficiency—it's no small feat. Not an easy title to earn or handle. But I've seen your work, and it's… admirable. Truly."

You almost frowned, caught off guard. That was… really sweet.

"Oh," you replied, your voice softening. "Thank you, Sehun-ssi, that’s very kind of you. I appreciate it a lot." You smiled genuinely this time. "And I’ve heard a lot about you, too. Running your department is also no easy task, and you do it well."

Sehun grinned, his head dipping slightly as his ears turned a bit red. "Ah, thank you so much," he murmured, looking humbled. "I’ve learned a lot from our CEO, Jungkook-seonsaengnim. He’s incredible. One day, I hope to have my own business and run it just like him."

You bit the inside of your lip, warmth swelling in your chest at the compliment to your man. "He is," you agreed softly, your smile a little more private this time. "And I’m sure you will."

Sehun’s lip was caught between his teeth as his eyes seemed to linger just below yours, but before you could say anything else, the sound of footsteps echoed through the room, drawing your attention. You turned toward the entrance.

Jungkook and Namjoon strode into the room, their presence immediately commanding attention. Namjoon greeted the department heads with a dimply smile, but your eyes locked onto Jungkook. His gaze, however, wasn’t on you—it was unwaveringly fixed on Sehun’s reddened face. A flash of something dark crossed his features, and he didn’t spare you or anyone else a glance as he took his seat at the head of the table.

Straightening in your chair, you swallowed the scoff that rose in your throat. He didn’t even acknowledge you, his attention already on the file in front of him as he flipped through it silently. Namjoon’s eyes flickered over Jungkook’s hardened expression before realizing the CEO wouldn’t be opening the meeting. Clearing his throat, Namjoon stood up and took over.

"Good morning, everyone. Glad to see you all here," Namjoon greeted, flashing a bright, toothy smile. The room responded with polite murmurs. "We’ve got a full agenda today, so let’s start with—"

About thirty minutes into the meeting, you were still focused on your notes. Namjoon was wrapping up his discussion on a new marketing campaign strategy that had piqued your interest. You were typing up the last few points when Jungkook’s deep voice suddenly rang out. Your body reacted instantly, muscles relaxing after hearing him finally speak after what felt like hours of his silence.

"Sehun," Jungkook called out, his tone firm and commanding, and your head snapped up instinctively, surprised to find that Sehun had leaned over, perhaps about to whisper something to you while Namjoon was speaking.

"Did you have a question about the campaign strategy?" Jungkook’s voice was measured, but you felt the tension behind it.

Sehun jerked back, startled by the sudden attention. "Oh, I- no, sir, I was just—"

"Conversing with your colleague while your superior was in the middle of speaking," Jungkook finished for him, his dark gaze unwavering, pinning the tech head in place. "I'm sure I’d be more than capable of answering any questions you have regarding the project. Go ahead."

It wasn’t a suggestion—it was an order.

Sehun swallowed nervously, eyes flicking down to his laptop as if it held the answers. Then, foolishly, he glanced at you, probably hoping for some kind of lifeline. You could only offer him an apologetic look, knowing your boyfriend's ways.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched visibly, his irritation evident as he barked out, "Do you need her to speak for you?" His fist tightened on the table beside him, knuckles paling. "Are you that incompetent?"

Your gaze slowly shifted from Sehun, who was visibly shaken, to your boyfriend, who was fucking seething. You sighed softly, dropping your gaze back to your laptop, fingers resuming their typing with a small shake of your head.

And then his voice came again. A little softer, but still pissed. "Did you have something to add, Y/N?"

Your fingers froze mid-typing. The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. You could feel every pair of eyes turning to you. Everyone knew about your relationship with Jungkook. It wasn’t a secret, but it wasn’t exactly something you had announced over the firm intercom, either. Most of the department heads were aware and knew better than to draw attention to it, but there were still some, like poor Sehun, who hadn’t quite pieced it together yet.

When you looked up, Jungkook’s dark eyes were locked on you. From your peripheral, you saw Jimin and Hobi exchanging wide-eyed glances, while Heejin’s gaze flickered nervously between you and the CEO.

Every fiber in your bratty being wanted to fight back, make him repeat himself, ask him what the fuck he was trying to prove by putting you on the spot in front of a room full of department heads. But the professional in you won out, forcing you to bite your tongue.

You shook your head calmly. "No, sir." The silence was deafening. You turned to Namjoon, whose eyes were carefully trained on his papers. "My apologies, Namjoon-seongsaengnim," you said. "We didn’t mean to interrupt you. Please, continue."

Namjoon nodded appreciatively, sending you a brief smile before moving on. “Right, as I was saying…”

The meeting finally wrapped up, and everyone began packing up their things. Some were quicker than others to vacate the room, with Kang Minho leading the pack, cigar already halfway to his lips, lighter flicking in agitation.

You closed your laptop with a little more force than intended, irritation still simmering under your skin. Grabbing your jacket off the back of your chair, you stood, feeling Sehun shifting beside you, fumbling to gather his things. You could almost sense the apology hanging on the edge of his lips, and you sighed internally, praying he wouldn’t try and engage in conversation with you again.

Jimin and Hobi walked over, ready to leave, but your attention was drawn to Heejin’s voice as she spoke to Jungkook. Your movements slowed as you listened.

“Thank you for such a great meeting, seonsaengnim,” she said sweetly, her fingers tapping the edge of her laptop.

You clenched your jaw slightly, the inside of your cheek caught between your teeth. Namjoon had handled ninety percent of the presentation—what the fuck was she even thanking him for?

“I actually had a few concerns for the Communications department that I was hoping to run by you—"

"Take them up with your superior," Jungkook replied, not even bothering to glance her way as he slipped his phone into his pocket and made his way toward the door.

Heejin smiled, clearly undeterred as she closed her laptop and followed after him. "But you are my superior," she giggled. Your brows furrowed as you turned to look at her follow after your man like a lost puppy. Your grip on your laptop tightened.

Jungkook sighed, forgetting she had even been promoted recently. Still, he didn’t glance at her. “Make an appointment with one of my assistants, Heejin,” he said, his voice dripping with impatience. “I have somewhere to be. Excuse me, please.”

Excuse me, please? You rolled your eyes. Why doesn't he just tell her to get on her knees and get to work?

Heejin nodded, still all smiles as she left the room, laptop clutched to her chest. You gathered your things and fell into step with Jimin and Hobi. Jungkook paused near the end of the table, his gaze boring into you, but you ignored the stare, slipping between your friends as you headed out.

“Y/N-ssi,” Sehun’s voice cut through the air as he jogged to catch up with the three of you.

You sucked your teeth, glancing down at your watch. Fifteen minutes until your production conference. Enough time to grab something to eat since you’d skipped breakfast—thanks to Jungkook’s insistence on christening yet another room in your new house this morning. The laundry room, this time. And as it turns out, sex on top of a dryer was a lot better and less uncomfortable than you’d expected.

Jimin took your laptop from your hands, giving you a soft smile. "I’ll drop this off at your office. Hobi and I are heading that way."

You nodded in thanks, turning back to Sehun, only to catch Jungkook’s eyes glaring at you from behind the tech leader’s frame. His brows were furrowed, a silent question written all over his face—what the fuck are you doing?

Ignoring your fuming boyfriend, you refocused on Sehun. "You alright?" you asked.

Sehun nodded quickly. "Yeah, I just—" He started to say more but stopped abruptly, his body stiffening as if he could feel Jungkook's glare on the back of his neck. Turning, he blinked, clearly startled to see the CEO still there. "Oh—hi, sir. Once again, I’m so sorry about—"

"It’s okay, Sehun-ssi," you cut him off, drawing his attention back to you. "I need to grab something to eat. Is this important?"

Sehun shifted nervously. "Ah, well... it can wait." His ears were going red again. "How much time do you have? Did you want to stop by the cafe on level 10 before your conference? I was heading there anyway—"

At that, Jungkook’s head snapped up, his gaze zeroing in as he pushed himself off the table. You stepped around Sehun, positioning yourself between him and your clearly furious boyfriend.

"No, thank you, Sehun. I’ll catch you later, okay?" You kept your tone light, ignoring the fact that you had definitely not told him that you were on your way to a conference.

Sehun, still a bit confused, turned slightly to see what had you moving so quickly. And that’s when he saw it—Jungkook’s dark, cold glare burning holes through him. Before Sehun could stutter another word, Jungkook’s eyes flicked down to you, noting the goosebumps on your arms. He grabbed the jacket from your hands and silently made you slip your arms into it.

That’s when the realization hit Sehun like a fucking brick.

His face went ghostly pale, and you could visibly see him swallow nervously. "Oh my god… are you—are you two—"

You nodded simply, sliding your arms into the jacket as Jungkook remained silently brooding behind you.

"I—I am so—sir, I’m so sorry! I would never—"

"Sehun-ssi, it’s fine." You gave him a polite, almost bored smile. "Let's talk later."

Sehun barely managed a shaky nod before he bolted, red-faced and flustered, out of the room.

"You’re such a jealous psycho," you muttered under your breath, turning to face Jungkook, who was still fuming quietly. You puckered your lips for a kiss.

Jungkook just glared, his eyes flicking to your lips for a moment before leaning down to give you a quick, soft peck. You frowned, leaning in for another, but he pulled back, narrowing his eyes at you.

"Why’d you sit there?" he asked, glancing down at your jacket, noticing you hadn’t done up the top two buttons. When he reached to fasten them, you smacked his hand away, refusing to let him make you look like a nun.

"Because your girlfriend was in my usual seat," you shot back, poking him in the stomach before turning on your heel and heading toward the door.

"And I’m the jealous one?" he muttered, flicking the lights off as he followed behind you.

"Yes," you hummed, walking down the now-empty hall, clear of all the departmental seniors and visitors.

You reached the elevator when Jungkook’s arms wrapped around your waist from behind, his head resting comfortably in the crook of your neck. You smiled, pressing a kiss to his warm cheek as you reached out to press the down arrow.

"That poor boy almost pissed himself because of you."

"I felt like I was very soft on him," Jungkook shrugged, taking a deep inhale of your honey scented skin before pressing a kiss to your neck and standing upright. His hands slipped under your jacket to rest on your belly over your blouse, his fingers grazing your skin gently. "Could’ve been a lot worse."

You chuckled, rolling your eyes, but couldn’t resist the urge to look up at his adorable pout. You puckered your lips again, and this time, he gave in, leaning down for a proper kiss. Spinning in his arms, his hands fell naturally to rest on your ass as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss.

A soft moan escaped your lips when his tongue slid between them, licking into your mouth in the way only he could. It felt like only milliseconds before the elevator dinged, snapping you back to reality. You reluctantly pulled away, biting his lip gently before spinning around to face the opening doors.

The elevator revealed Kim Namjoon, standing there with his head tilted, eyebrow raised. "Jungkook-ah, the board is waiting. Answer your fuckin' phone, man," the CCO huffed, gesturing for you both to step inside with a hurried wave of his hand.

You smiled at Namjoon and walked into the elevator, Jungkook right behind you. His hand found its way back to your belly, rubbing absentmindedly as you hit the button for level 12.

Namjoon scrolled through something on his phone, snickering. "What time are you planning on getting there tonight, Kook? The RSVP says 6, but they don’t start serving drinks until 8, so I'll be there around 9," he chuckled.

Your ears perked up at the mention of the event. You fiddled with Jungkook’s tattooed fingers on your stomach, glancing up at him as you waited for him to respond.

"For what?" Jungkook asked, not looking up from his phone.

You almost frowned at his response. He already told you he had a sponsorship function tonight. Jungkook never forgets things like that.

Namjoon barely glanced up. "That promo celebration for the girl taking over for Sana-ssi?" He explained, locking his phone and leaning back. "Shit, I forgot if we need to bring gifts. I'll check with my assistant—"

You didn’t hear anything after that. Everything faded, the muffled sounds of the elevator blending together like white noise. Jungkook’s hand stiffened against your stomach, and that was all the confirmation you needed.

He hadn’t gotten his schedule mixed up. He knew damn well what event Namjoon was referring to. The "sponsorship function" was actually a celebration for that dirty slut from level 7, and that dirty slut from level 7 had gotten a permanent promotion, which would bring her even closer when fucking working with him.

The elevator doors slid open, and without a second thought, you shoved Jungkook’s hand off you and stormed out.

"Baby," Jungkook was immediately on your tail, ignoring Namjoon’s confused calls from behind.

"Wh— Jungkook-ah? What the fuck? Where are you going?"

"Baby, wait." Jungkook's voice was tense as he caught up to you, but when his hand reached out to grab your arm, you shoved it off aggressively.

"I’m so fucking serious right now, don’t touch me, Jungkook." You spat, whipping around to face him. He just shook his head, trying to step closer, but you put your hand up, keeping him at a distance. "I’m not fucking kidding—"

"Baby, listen to me—" he tried, his voice urgent.

"Get the fuck away from me," you snapped, digging into your pocket for your phone, your fingers trembling as you scrolled through your contacts. "God, you know I fucking hate it when you lie, and you just—" You groaned, your fist tightening around your phone as you shoved his hands off you once again.

"Who are you texting?" Jungkook frowned, trying to get a look at your phone over your shoulder.

"None of your fucking business," you spat, stepping out of his reach.

"Y/N, don't. If you're not going to let me explain—"

"My mom," you snapped sarcastically, your fingers flying across the screen as you started typing. "They finally adapted technology so you can get cell reception six feet underground now. It's great."

Jungkook scoffed, clearly unamused, but he continued following closely behind you as you started walking again. "If you can lie to me, then I can fucking lie to you, right?" you added mockingly.

He tried to grab your phone, but you dodged him, sending the message just in time. His jaw tightened when he saw the screen. "Like hell you’re sleeping at Jimin’s tonight, are you fucking crazy?"

"Well, I’m not staying in a house with a fucking liar, that’s for sure," you shot back, your tone sharp as you moved further away from him.

"You’re not staying at Jimin’s," he repeated firmly, his voice absolute.

His certainty made you laugh bitterly. "I’m staying at Jimin’s or I’m staying at Hyungwon’s. You fucking choose."

Jungkook’s fists clenched at his sides, his face hardening in disbelief. "Why the fuck would you say that, Y/N?"

"I don't have anywhere to go, Jungkook!" Your voice rose, frustration and pain bubbling to the surface. You could feel eyes on you from the staff scattered around the floor, but you didn’t care. "You are my home. I don’t have anywhere else to fucking—"

Jungkook’s expression softened when your voice broke, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. He stepped closer, his hands slipping under your jacket, palms smoothing down your hips. "Then don't fucking go, baby. Just don’t go anywhere, please. Don’t go to Jimin’s." He begged.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you felt the warmth of his hands, the familiar comfort of his body close to yours. His face rested in the crook of your neck, and despite your anger, you found yourself leaning into him slightly, knowing full well that getting to your conference on time now was just a lost cause.

"Tell me why you lied then," you mumbled, your voice quieter, your sniffles betraying you.

Jungkook pulled back, his thumbs swiping gently under your eyes, wiping the tears away before they could fully form. His fingers brushed under your nose as he wiped away the dribble there. "Because I knew it would upset you. We’ve been doing so well in our new place, baby—I didn’t want anything to ruin it." His voice was soft, almost pleading. "I’m so sorry, Y/N. I was only going to make an appearance and come home straight away."

You studied his face, your own expression softening despite the anger still bubbling inside you. You understood him, you really did. But you still hated when he lied. "Then why didn’t you just ask me to go with you?" Your voice wavered, doubt creeping in despite yourself. "Did you... not want to be seen with me?"

You didn’t even know where the self-doubt was coming from. Jungkook loved you. He loved letting people know you were his. He didn’t care who was around when he kissed you or rested a hand on your body, claiming you without shame. But something about Heejin… She got under your skin in a way that you couldn’t describe. Maybe it was because she’d been here longer, known him longer. She was going to be in meetings with him now—department head meetings, one-on-one meetings. The thought alone made you feel sick.

Jungkook sighed, his hands cupping your cheeks, and pressed two quick, soft kisses on your lips. "Don’t say dumb shit like that," he murmured, his voice soft but firm. He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking with yours. "I wanted to have a joint office, but you said that was unprofessional or whatever." He rolled his eyes, giving you a little smirk.

You blinked, hugging your arms around yourself, stepping back a little. "Then why?" Your voice was quieter now, laced with the confusion and hurt you couldn’t hide. "Why didn’t you want me to go? I’ve gone with you to plenty of functions."

Jungkook hesitated, and you felt the tension settle back into the air between you. His silence weighed heavy, and that familiar twist of anxiety and anger began to gnaw at you again.

"It’s because of Hyungwon, isn’t it?" you asked, even though you already knew the answer. "You didn’t want me to go because people from his firm are going to be there, and he could be too, right?"

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his eyes hardening slightly as he averted your gaze. He didn’t need to say anything. His silence confirmed everything.

You let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking your head. Not only did he keep you away from a party celebrating the one woman you couldn’t stand the most when it came to him, but he also made sure you didn’t go because of the one man he had a problem with the most when it came to you was attending.

"Fucking hypocrite," you muttered, stepping further back from him, your stomach turning in disgust.

"Baby, it’s not like that—" he started, his tone filled with urgency.

"Then what is it like, Jungkook?" Your voice rose again, frustration spilling out as you threw your hands up. "You didn’t tell me about the party because you knew it would piss me off that it’s for Heejin. But you also didn’t want me to go because there was a chance Hyungwon could be there! So, what? I can’t go because you have a problem, but I’m supposed to sit at home and wait for you like a fucking housewife while you go to a party for a bitch that you know I can’t stand? How the fuck does that make sense?"

Jungkook’s face was a mixture of guilt and frustration. He took a step toward you, but you held up your hand again, stopping him in his tracks.

"God, can you just go away?" you spat, your voice trembling slightly as you felt the tears begin to well up again. Shaking your head, you started to walk away.

"Baby," Jungkook grunted, his frustration growing as he followed you.

"No, Jungkook. I need space. Seriously." You didn’t even turn around, your voice sharp as you neared your office.

"We don’t do space. That’s not how we work," he argued, right behind you.

"Well, maybe we need to start doing space," you snapped, reaching for the door handle.

Before you could pull the door open, Jungkook grabbed your wrist, spinning you around to face him. His eyes were intense, wild, like he was barely keeping himself together. "If you keep walking away from me, I'm going to follow you into that conference room and make you sit in my fucking lap during your entire presentation."

The seriousness in his voice made you want to roll your eyes, but you kept your expression blank, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched when you didn’t answer, but he didn’t stop. "I can’t have you two in the same room, Y/N." His voice was low, almost dangerous, as if just saying Hyungwon’s name triggered something in him.

You just blinked, still silent.

“If I see him anywhere near you, I’ll kill him.” Jungkook said it simply, like it was just another fact. “I wouldn’t regret it. But they probably won’t let you stay in my cell with me, would they, baby?” His brows furrowed, head tilting as he asked, like he was genuinely curious to know the answer.

a/n i cut it here because the rest is nawttt edited at all and very rough 😬 but any takers on a part 3 ??!!?! just give me 6 months and it's all yours xx

1K notes · View notes

wavesmp3 · 8 months ago

Text

young & stupid

yoon jeonghan x reader (gender neutral)

you think yoon jeonghan is crazy when he asks if you'll pretend to date him, but luckily for him you're just young and dumb enough to agree.

genre: university + fake dating au word count: 14k warnings: alcohol, profanity, some explicit content, mentions of sex, and a very american writer who says soccer instead of football a/n: posted an unfinished version of this like 4 years ago and randomly decided one day a couple weeks ago to finish it. this is the most indulgent fic i have ever written. pls enjoy my birthday gift to myself lolol

Music bursts from every corner of the run-down frat house, chasing after you no matter where you run to escape it. Bodies endlessly spill in from the patio and front entrance, a never ending revolving door of college kids just like yourself looking for some kind of release after a long week of… well, college. But unlike most times you’ve paid a visit to Soonyoung’s frat house on a Friday night, tonight you’ve already decided that you are not going to be having fun at this party.

Soonyoung begged you to come, bribing your appearance with a promise to study with you for the next math quiz. Of course the first thing he does after walking into the house with you is ditch you. But even that, you deal with. You find some friends among the crowd, acquaint yourself with some beer, and almost start to have fun egging on a brewing dance battle. But all that ends the second you turn a corner too fast and are met with a full cup of bright red jungle juice all over your white shirt.

So now, upstairs in a bathroom Soonyoung let you in to, desperately trying to wash out the stains, you make a stubborn decision to not make another appearance at a frat party for the rest of the semester which you’re positive you’ll break by the time midterms are up.

But for now, helplessly staring at your reflection in the dirty mirror, you arrive to the conclusion that this damn jungle juice stain is not coming out. You exit the bathroom into the adjoining room and start grabbing your stuff to walk home.

“Who the fuck are you?” You jump at the voice that’s joined you in the room. You hadn’t even noticed anyone entering. You stare at the figure, mouth open. “How’d you get into my room?”

“Oh my gosh, so sorry,” you apologize in a hurried voice, packing your things up impossibly faster. “Soonyoung let me in. It was just supposed to be a quick thing–Wait no, that makes it sound like we were hooking up. Which we definitely were not. I can promise you that much, lol, not Soonyoung. But no, I just needed the bathroom. Cause this dude and his jungle juice, and…” you look down at your shirt. “Anyways, I was about to go home. I didn’t even–”

“Okay, wait, slow down.” The guy cuts you off. “You know Soonyoung.”

You nod. “Uh, yeah, we’re friends.”

He steps closer, narrowing his eyes at you, and for a moment you think the guy looks a little bit familiar. “And you’re not a stalker?”

This time you squint, jutting your head forward. “A stalker?” He stares at you unwavering. You scoff. “Um. No. Of course not.”

“Oh, okay, good.” He exhales, his previous demeanor falling entirely. “Well, in that case, let me help.” He walks towards one of the dressers, pulling the drawer open to rummage through it.

“No. That’s okay. You don’t have to–”

“Let me. Plus,” he gestures towards the general direction of your shirt without looking up from the drawer, “that can’t be comfortable. And it definitely isn’t flattering.”

You’re too stunned to say anything back. You’re not sure how you’d respond anyways to what you think counts as an insult from the dude who’s also helping you. You study him instead. You’ve definitely seen him around before, but you’re not entirely sure where or when because you probably would’ve remembered someone as attractive as him. He’s tall, soft-faced with longer hair that cuts off right under his ears, and damn is he attractive. In an obvious—in your face, weak in the knees, god this man is beautiful—kind of way. Not that you notice.

“Here.” He throws a tshirt your way, and you catch it between your arms. You both stare at each for a long moment, until he jumps on his heels a little as if he’s suddenly remembered something. “My bad, I’ll turn around.”

You stare unamused at his backside. He really doesn’t think you’re going to change with him in the room does he?

And almost as if he’s reading your mind, he says: “Don’t worry, I won’t peek.” He looks over his shoulder with a crooked, mischievous smile. “I mean unless you want me to.” Your stomach throws itself out the window.

You scoff. “I’ll just change in the bathroom.” You fully expect the guy to be gone by the time you exit the bathroom, but instead he’s still there, sitting at the edge of the bed on his phone.

You clear your throat. “Thanks for the shirt.”

“Oh, yeah,” he looks up from his phone and takes you in. You swear his mouth twitches into a half smile. “It’s no big deal.

You let out an awkward half laugh, half sigh. “So, I’ll get this shirt back to you somehow. Thanks again.”

He nods, still staring at the air around your body with that sickeningly charming half smile. You turn for the door.

“Wait!” You pause, facing the boy again who is now standing up, arm stretched out towards you. He drops it at once like it was never supposed to be there. “Are you going back to the party?”

You actually laugh at that. “God, no. I’m going home.”

“Oh.” He tilts his head, and then opens and closes his mouth as if the words keep getting lost in the back of his throat. You try not to think too hard about how endearing the action is. “I can give you a ride if you want.”

You shake your head quickly. “No, that’s alright. I don’t live that far.” You live on the opposite side of campus.

He grabs a set of keys off his desk. “Let me. I wanna get out of this party too. But sadly,” he motions to the room you’re both standing in, then leans towards you a little, “I live here.”

And you know you should refuse. You know there is nothing sensical about letting this stranger, whose name you don’t even know, take you home. But there’s something about his smile and the tufts of hair falling over his forehead, something about the way he gave you his shirt that makes you say yes against your better judgment.

It turns out, leaving the party with the mysteriously nice guy, who’s conveniently hot (again, not that you’re looking), is much harder than it looks. The only plus side to getting bombarded with people wanting to talk to him, is that you learn his name: Jeonghan. And it hits you then, of course you’ve seen him around before. Well, maybe not him, but you’ve definitely seen his picture. His face is plastered over all of the university’s promotional material. Half the school has a crush on Jeonghan, the star soccer player. Unfortunately for you and your apparently impossible wish to go home, it also appears that half the school is at this party and fueled with liquid confidence.

“Hey Jeonghan,” one person in particular slurs, appearing in front of you and him magically. Yeah, you think, if I were him I’d want to get out of this party too. Then as if the stranger has come to their senses, they jump back and clasp their hands over their mouth. A blush paints itself all over their face. “So sorry. I must’ve tripped or something…” they laugh awkwardly. Jeonghan does too. You look over at him and find that he looks incredibly uncomfortable.

“It’s fine,” he tells them, holding his hands up, “I gotta go. See you around though.” And Jeonghan’s turning on his heel ready to dash for the door.

“Wait a second!” The person calls, grabbing Jeonghan’s arm before he can slip out of the house. He turns back around begrudgingly. “I was uh I was sort of wondering if you’d like to maybe go out or something—“

You watch them ask out Jeonghan on a date, and well, it’s sort of cute. The stranger clearly harbors a massive crush on Jeonghan. They’re not being rude or pushy, and honestly, even after accounting for the alcohol, they’re more confident and bold than you’d be. You find yourself wanting to congratulate them. But then, with another look at Jeonghan’s face, you feel a burst of pity. You know that look. Jeonghan is going to turn them down.

“I, uh, I’m really flattered but I…” Jeonghan stutters through his words, shooting you a glance asking for help. You just shrug. Suddenly his smirk reappears. He grabs your hand, pulling you to his slide and lifting your joined hands up like a trophy. “I’m actually with them.”

Your teeth clench immediately to keep your mouth from falling open. You stare at Jeonghan, eyes screaming.

“Oh sorry,” the person looks between the two of you, “I didn’t know.”

You stare at Jeonghan, waiting for him to say something and failing to find any words for yourself. But instead of continuing his lie verbally, he decides to act it out even further, bringing your hands up to his lips and pressing the faintest kiss to your knuckle.

That fucker.

“Yeah,” you sigh, grasping at straws for something to say that sounds convincing with your one free hand. “It’s new.” You squeeze Jeonghan’s hand hard enough to know it has to have hurt and promptly drag him out of the house.

Once you’re in his car, safe from all his suitors. You round on him. “You couldn’t have just said no?”

“That was their third time asking me out.”

“And?”

“Turning down people is hard.” He whines, pushing the keys in the car and starting the ignition. “It was just easier to say we’re dating. Plus, you’re in my shirt so it already looks like we just had sex.”

“Or,” you gasp, exasperated, “it looks like I got jungle juice on my shirt, and you just gave me one to wear!”

He gives you a look. “Now, who would believe that?”

You have the sudden desire to dissolve into the seat.

“Anyways,” he says, putting the car in reverse, “where to?”

“East campus. The Austin Complex.”

He makes a triumphant noise while stopping at a red light. “It appears I’m not the only one that’s been telling lies tonight. Not that far you said.”

You gape at him. “My lie is not comparable to yours.”

“Actually I think it is.” He taps a finger to his chin. “In fact, I think it even makes us equal.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

He holds out his pinky as a peace offering. “I’m not moving until you agree.”

“Jeonghan, the light’s green.”

He glances at the green traffic light and proceeds to turn his hazards on in the middle of the fucking road all while keeping his pinky in the exact same spot.

“Are you crazy?”

“Most people don’t think so.”

“People will honk.”

“It’s 1 am.”

You say his name. He says yours. The light turns yellow, and you feel a rush of warmth.

“Fine.” You huff, joining your pinky with his. “We’re equal.”

He passes the light just as it turns red.

—

You haven’t seen Jeonghan since the entire incident. In truth, you’ve been so busy studying for your math quiz with Soonyoung that you almost hadn’t even thought about that night again. Emphasis on almost. However, when you get your score back the following week, the hours you spent studying appear to have been wasted. You slump into a bench outside the lecture hall, holding another barely passing grade to your chest.

And in the midst of your public wallowing, you feel a flick to your forehead.

You yelp and snap your eyes open to Jeonghan who stands before you snickering. “What was that for?”

“Payback.”

You say holding out your pinky as a reminder. “I thought we were even.” He shrugs, sporting a smirk that makes your stomach churn. It should be illegal for someone to look that good with a smirk.

“Excuse me?”

Fuck. Did you say that outloud?

“Nothing.” You quickly mutter, shaking your head. He invites himself to sit down next to you.

“Anyway, what’s wrong with you?”

You groan at the reminder. “Multi.”

“Multivariable calculus?” He asks to which you nod. “Who do you have?”

“Lubinsky.”

Defying all laws of reason and physics, Jeonghan perks up a bit. “Oh, I loved him.”

“His quizzes are impossible.”

“Yeah, but he’s funny.”

You scrunch your noise. “When did you even take multi? Aren’t you a business major?”

He tilts his head at you. “How do you know my major?” You might’ve asked Soonyoung about Jeonghan during one of your study sessions, but you definitely weren’t about to admit that now. Luckily for you, he continues without an answer. “I switched majors last year.”

“Then you must know how much I despise sketching in three axes.” You complain, throwing your head back against the wall.

“Just wait until you get to finding extrema.” Jeonghan hums. You want to shove your head through the damn wall just from the sound of it.

“May my grade rest in peace in that case,” you mutter, fishing through your bag. “Here’s your shirt back.”

He takes it. “So people kind of think we’re dating after the party.”

You can’t help it. You laugh at the look on his face. “Yeah, what did you expect when you said we were together?” He doesn’t say anything. “Don’t worry. I’ll clear the air.”

He furrows his brows at you. “What? No. That’s not what I mean. I…” he hesitates, scratching an area behind his neck. “Well, this past week has been surprisingly calm for me. Not a ton of confessions.” (“Oh, poor Jeonghan,” you murmur.) He looks at you hopefully, “So, I was thinking we keep up the charade.”

You make a noise. “Like fake dating?”

“Yes.”

“Haha, very funny.”

“No, seriously.” He says earnestly. You don’t say anything for a moment just staring at him flabbergasted. He softens, giving you a very soft, “please,” paired with big, brown, pleading eyes.

Goddamn it–those eyes.

You turn your body towards him. “What do I get out of it?”

“I’ll tutor you.” He says, pointing to your quiz grade. You flip the paper upside down. “I got an A in multi.”

“No one makes an A with Lubinsky.”

“Which is exactly why you want me as your tutor.”

You think about it for a moment longer, and, well…

Fake dating Yoon Jeonghan can’t be the worst thing in the world.

—

As you find out during your first session, Jeonghan is not what you’d call a ‘chill’ tutor. You’re both sitting in a far corner of the library, notes splayed out all over the table.

“Do it again.”

“Jeonghan please, we’ve been finding directional derivatives and unit normal vectors for so long now. Let’s take a break.”

He points to your worksheet. “One more.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“I thought you wanted an A.”

“You know, a C isn’t sounding so bad right now.”

“Just do it.”

You groan and set up another integral.

To your complete and utter shock, you’re able to solve the problem all on your own. No clarifying questions to Jeonghan. No flipping through your lecture notes. Just you and the answer.

Jeonghan checks it over, eyes darting between your notebook and his laptop. He pauses for a minute, finger lingering by your boxed, final answer, before very quietly saying, “look at that.” He looks up to you, eyes widened and lips pursed together in a pleasant surprise.

You can barely contain yourself. “It’s right?”

“Well,” he draws out the word, sitting back in his chair and erasing his previous expression. “You still rounded wrong at this step—“

You throw your pencil down. “I’M RIGHT!”

Which unsurprisingly earns you a couple dirty looks from others.

He snickers at your excitement, offering you silent applause at the achievement.

“So can we take a break now?”

He looks at you for a long moment. You stare at him back, shaking your shoulders as if that would convince him of a break. He smiles. “Okay, fine, but only for ten minutes.”

You end up taking it on the roof of the library building, eating an assortment of snacks that you bought from the vending machine and Jeonghan brought from home.

“So, tell me,” you start, grabbing a chip from the bag, “the confessions can’t really be that bad, can they?”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean,” you sit up in your chair, stretching out your back, “enough for you to spend your Thursday afternoon doing all this?”

“Ah.” He exhales, sitting down further in his seat and popping a grape in his mouth. “Well, I like to teach.”

“And what about the whole fake dating ruse?”

He shrugs. “It’s easier than being the asshole that says no.”

You lean forward, squinting at him. “I don’t believe that.”

He cocks his head. “No?”

You shake yours. “No.”

“What about you then?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “How come I know nothing about you?”

“How come you haven’t asked?”

He swipes his tongue over his lips briefly, sizing your question up. Quietly, he says, “Touche.” Then leads forward in his seat and asks if you have an ex.

You steal a grape. “Not an official one.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that there was this guy before university, and we were…” you push the grape in your mouth, letting the burst of it give you time to find the right words. They never come. “We were something,” you settle on, “but he just ended up being more trouble than he was worth. Ask Soonyoung. He’s always hated the guy’s guts.”

“I can’t imagine Soonyoung hating anyone.” Jeonghan muses, pushing the tupperware of grapes towards you.

“Yeah, well, Soonyoung hated people who treated others like they were disposable.”

“So why’d you date him then?”

For a moment, you’re taken aback by the question. Replaying the words over and over in your mind looking for a hint of mockery or judgment. You don’t find any. Instead, you find his brows knitted together, and his lips pushed to the side of this mouth. The question is genuine. A wholehearted curiosity that feels so misplaced coming from the guy who has suitors falling at his feet at least once a day. It’s an innocent kind of curiosity that isn’t trying to pry; it’s only trying to understand. And that thought, the very idea that Jeonghan might actually be trying to get to know you, makes your entire body inexplicably shiver.

The curiosity in his voice bends over and touches yours. “What? You’ve never been young and stupid before?”

He shakes his head. “I was so focused on school and soccer when I was younger. I feel like I never gave myself the chance to just do dumb things, date shitty people, etc. etc.”

Gravely, you say. “It’s really not that exciting.”

He laughs. “I know.” His voice dips. “I just wish I had figured that out myself.”

Jeonghan doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it, but he makes this face, this sad-eyed, forced smile face that makes him look so suddenly vulnerable. Like you could tap his shoulder and watch him unravel from head to toe. You feel a rush of pity in the middle of your chest, a quiet urge to reach over and give him all the teenage regrets he never got to have. Instead, you lean towards him and say, “You’re still young. You can still do dumb things. Date shitty people.”

His eyes flit up to you. You notice what a beautiful shade of brown they are. How big they are. How sincerely sad they look. (And you know, somewhere, in a very far corner of your mind, that those eyes will be the ultimate death of you.)

“Well, I don’t know about that last part.” He starts, rubbing his hands against his jeans. “Technically, I’m dating you.”

You place your palm on your chest. “And I swear to be the shittiest fake partner you’ll ever have.”

He smiles. The sun emerges from behind a cloud. And his eyes–you swear to god–they glimmer.

—

You and Jeonghan’s first outing as an official fake couple is back at the frat house. To your surprise Jeonghan stays by your side the entire time. He takes you around the house, gets you a drink, and introduces you to his friends, but you’re quick to shoot down any shock because what else would a fake boyfriend be doing at a party. Although it’s not as easy to calm down the beating of your heart when Jeonghan’s hand finds its way into yours at some point in the night. By the time the party is in full swing, people bursting from every open door and window in the house, you’re already a little tipsy.

You’re getting a refill for your nearly done drink when another girl appears in front of Jeonghan. From the way she’s twirling her hair between her fingers and leaning into one hip, you can tell that, at least from her end, it’s more than just a friendly conversation. But even that doesn’t really explain what makes you act the way you do. Maybe it’s the alcohol, you reason. Or maybe the fact that Jeonghan’s popularity is just as contagious as the rest of him. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s that you’ve gotten a little too invested in this whole fake dating act. Either way, you swallow reason with the last of your drink, strut up to the both of them, and latch yourself to Jeonghan’s side, letting your arm wrap around his. You give the girl a snotty ‘sorry, he’s taken’ before dragging Jeonghan away, giggling into your palm with no intention to return. When you look back at Jeonghan, you find him looking quite amused as well.

“That was good!” He tells you by the time you’re both in the hallway. “But you know what would really seal the deal?”

You’re excited. Fake dating is fun. “What?”

“If we kissed?”

“Oh, please.” Your eyes do a drunken loop de loop. “I’m gonna go get my refill.”

“No, seriously.” He says with a look you can’t quite comprehend. “Look. She’s still watching.”

You look beyond his shoulder and sure enough, the girl is still watching you and him in the hallway. And she looks pissed. Maybe Jeonghan wasn’t that far off with the stalker accusation.

“You see what I have to deal with. Just one kiss. We probably won’t even have to do it again after this.”

“Probably?” You echo.

“Well, yeah, I can’t make any promises.” He shrugs except that you barely hear the words because you’re too focused on taking a tiny step back each time he takes a tiny step towards you. Eventually, the charade ends. Your heel and head meet the wall. His knee meets yours.

You’re painfully aware of your own breathing when you say, “When I said to be young and stupid this is not what I meant.”

He giggles in your face. You can smell the vodka on his breath. Is he drunk? Are you?

“Who’s going to believe we’re dating if we never kiss?”

And well, you can’t really argue with that logic. “Fine, but keep it short.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Do I look like the kind of guy to keep a kiss short?” You snort at that, and when he takes yet another step closer to you, your hands instinctively fly up against his chest. He tangles his fingers between yours and pulls your hands down, resting his forehead against yours. “Hey,” he says except that he’s so close it’s more like he exhales the word and inhales you, “can I kiss you now?”

He lets go of your hands, as if he’s making sure you know you have an out. Your eyes flit up to his, only to find that he’s watching your lips.

“Oh, fuck it,” is what you say before you fist his shirt and pull him in so that his lips meet yours.

And the moment you do all of your previous precautions are thrown out the window because—dang how long has it been since you’ve kissed someone?

Somewhere along the kiss, you lose yourself in the sensation of it, tugging on Jeonghan’s shirt. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in until your bodies are flush against each other. And when he slips his tongue into your mouth you tell yourself you allow it to happen because you’re tipsy or touch starved or both. Although none of those excuses explain why your arms snake around his neck and why your entire body turns to jelly when he moans in your mouth.

“Hey lovebirds,” you hear Soonyoung yell from somewhere thousands and thousands lightyears away, somewhere so far away you barely hear it, “get a room.” You both pull away from the kiss, faces only moving a tiny bit apart. Neither of you try to remove yourselves from the other's arms. He smiles, wide enough that his cheek brushes up against your nose, and it makes you forget where you are. Your ears betray you. You let yourself think he’s talking about the kiss and not the charade when he says, “Thanks for that.”

You throw caution to the window, laughing freely against his face. “Asshole. You knew I wouldn’t say no.”

He steps back, pulling away from your embrace. “Yeah,” he mutters, looking back to the main room, “that should do it.” You follow his eyes to see the girl from earlier whispering to a friend while sneaking glances at you two. You’re reminded of the whole reason you and Jeonghan were kissing in the first place.

He points to your cup. “Shot?”

You laugh—or well at least you try to—but it gets caught in your throat and distorted into a small cough. You swallow. “Yes.”

—

Thankfully, things aren’t awkward between you and Jeonghan after the party, although there’s no real reason for there to be other than the fact that you agreed to fake date him without really thinking about what else it would implicate. In fact, things are sort of easy with Jeonghan. He finds you around campus more often, and you find him too, walking each other to class and grabbing coffee when you both have a spare moment. In the midst of getting a fake boyfriend, you also get a new friend. With Jeonghan’s help, you actually start understanding math enough to complete the homework without having to flip back to the textbook every question. And it’s not too long after the party that you’re planning your next outing as a couple.

—

The stands of the field are absolutely packed with people. You had no idea soccer games rallied this much interest at your school.

“We’re playing a top ranked school apparently,” Soonyoung reads off a sign as you both make your way towards the student section. Luckily, he knows as little about the sport as you do. “So, why exactly did you agree to fake date Jeonghan?”

“He’s tutoring me in multi.” You explain to him, scanning the stands. While walking over to the game, you had told Soonyoung about the whole act, confirming what he already started to suspect when you first suggested going to the soccer game together. (“Drunken makeout I get.” Soonyoung had said. “But going to his games seemed like a stretch.” You shoved him off the sidewalk.)

“At least you’re getting something out of it.” He snorts. “Who are we looking for?”

You show him the text from Jeonghan, telling you to sit with his friend. “Do you know him?”

Soonyoung looks into the crowd. “Him?” He asks, pointing to a guy waving you and him over. You inhale sharply, waving back. “So if it’s fake, why is Jeonghan having you meet his friends?” Soonyoung asks as you head over.

“He has his reasons.” You offer, having asked a similar question yourself. You reach the stand where his friend is seated, crossing past the others in the row and gently apologizing as you bump into dozens of knees.

“Hi, I’m Joshua.” Jeonghan’s friend introduces himself as you and Soonyoung take your seats. You return the greeting, introducing yourself to him. Looking around the student section, you notice everyone else dressed in school merchandise. “Was I supposed to wear school colors for this?”

Soonyoung gives you a long look. Then just laughs in your face.

“Asshole.” You grumble quietly. “Could’ve said something.”

Joshua laughs as well, although much less in-your-face than Soonyoung’s. “I’m surprised Jeonghan didn’t give you like a jersey to wear or something.”

You had meant the asshole in question to be Soonyoung, not Jeonghan, but you don’t really have the heart to correct him. Instead, while waiting for the game to start, you ask, “How do you know Jeonghan?”

“Oh, we met freshman year. We both rushed the frat together, but I dropped after one semester.” Soonyoung pops in then, telling Joshua about when he rushed, and the two boys talk about other people they both mutually know. As one does.

They run out of people after a person named Jihoon. Joshua turns back to you. “How did you and Jeonghan meet? I haven’t even gotten the full story yet.”

“We met through Soonyoung, technically, I guess. At the house during a party. Soonyoung let me into his bathroom.”

Joshua nods, and with a playful lilt adds, “not a stalker, are you?”

You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth and turn back to Soonyoung on the other side of you. “I hope you know I’m never beating the stalker allegations because of you.”

Soonyoung smiles smugly at you.

“No, I’m kidding,” Joshua says through a laugh hidden behind his palm. “I just know how paranoid Jeonghan is about that stuff now.”

The wording pokes at a corner of your mind. “Now?”

Joshua nods, solemnly almost. “He actually had one last year. Didn’t end up being anything seriously endangering luckily. But he barely left his dorm for the rest of the semester after all was said and done.”

You think back to your conversation with Jeonghan on the roof of the library. You feel a familiar pang of pity bloom in your chest. He never got to just be young. Outloud, you hear yourself saying, “stupid.”

Joshua leans towards you. “What?”

You wave it off, and the crowd erupts into cheer. Everybody starts standing up, yelling and jumping and whooping. You hesitate for too long obviously. Soonyoung pulls you up by your arm. You see the team rush the field and the crowd gets impossibly louder. You look for Jeonghan among the players scanning each of them until you find him towards the left side of the field, warming up or something. You’re not really sure. Either way, you hear yourself start cheering when you find him, hands cupping around your mouth. The game starts soon enough with Joshua explaining to you and Soonyoung which position Jeonghan plays and what the hell is happening each time a player receives a card. After the first 15 minutes, you actually get a pretty good understanding of the whole thing.

The first half comes to a close with the opposing team up by one goal and Jeonghan’s team looking exhausted and dispirited.

“Hey, I gotta head out.” Soonyoung tells you once everything has settled down for halftime. “Still have to finish that chem lab due tonight.”

You grimace at the reminder of the report. “Good luck. It took me 5 hours.”

He gives you a miserable thumbs up. Then, turns his attention to Joshua. “It was nice to meet you.”

Joshua returns the sentiment. “I’ll see you at Tim’s once you’re done with the report though, right?”

Soonyoung’s lips turn to a fine line. “I, well, it’s a funny story but uh…”

“He’s banned from Tim’s.” You finish for him.

Joshua does not hide his shock. Soonyoung just shrugs and walks off. Joshua turns to you, exasperated. “But it’s the only bar in town.”

You inhale, “And Soonyoung is the type to get impulsively banned from it for the rest of college.” The answer doesn’t seem to do much of anything for Joshua’s profound confusion. “What’s at Tim’s tonight?”

“Oh, the team always goes there after games. They normally invite some friends too. Whoever can make it out basically.” You nod at his explanation, watching as people leave the stands then return, holding steaming, paper cartons of food. God, that smells good. You crane your neck to see. Are those corn dogs? “Did Jeonghan not tell you about it?”

“What?” He pulls you out of a trance of your own. “Oh, yeah, yeah. I think he mentioned it. I probably just forgot.”

Joshua chuckles politely. “So are you coming?”

Oh crap. “Uh, well…” A million lies run through your mind, chasing past one another, zigzagging in your brain. You have homework. You have other plans. You and Jeonghan aren’t even actually dating. Well—a million lies and one truth you guess. Either way, they all fizzle to nothing. Jeonghan didn’t tell you about the tradition at Tim’s. He probably doesn’t even want you there. So what the hell are you supposed to tell his best friend?

Luckily, you never have to figure that out. Fanfare erupts through the crowd, the announcer sounds throughout the entire field. “Oh the game’s restarting,” you mutter. Joshua is either genuinely disinterested in your response or just polite enough to not ask about it again. You have a crummy feeling it’s the latter.

The second half of the game is much more intense than the first. Your school’s team comes out blazing, scoring a goal in the first ten minutes in an insane effort led by the player with a 7 on his back. And the crowd, you included, absolutely lose their shit. You’re jumping up and down on the stands, screaming at the top of your lungs, voice lost among the rest. The team rushes to the right corner of the field closest to the student section, colliding in hugs and jumps and screaming maybe even louder than the hundreds of you in the stands. You watch Jeonghan in the celebration, hair matted down with sweat, mouth ajar in a soundless cheer, embracing a teammate before ditching him to literally jump on top of another. Your yells turn to laughs. And before you know it, the game is back on, all players racing across the field in a mad dash. The ball goes flying. Penalty cards flying to nearly every player at least once. The entire student section is at the edge of their seats. Time seems to fly by with unified chants filling your ears and throat. There’s only 10 minutes left. The game is still in a tie, and you really don’t feel like sitting here for the extra time. Then, someone starts singing the school’s fight song. Eventually, the whole section is singing it. You included. It ignites something in the team.

The opposing team has the ball, dribbling it across the field and passing it back and forth. Out of nowhere, one of your school’s players appears right next to the opponent with the ball. He kicks the ball out from under the other player, taking him and the rest of the stands by surprise. The ball rolls from under his knees to another of your school’s players. Jeonghan’s teammate is in action immediately, sprinting away with the ball to the opposite side of the field, feet flying faster than your mind can even comprehend. And just as one of the opposing team’s members closes in on him, he punts the ball in the air and it flies and flies and flies. Your heart lurches. There’s no mistaking it–the ball is aimed for Jeonghan. 7 minutes left. Jeonghan receives the ball perfectly, immediately racing away with it towards the goal. An opponent chases after him, forcing him to head nearer and nearer to the touchlines. It all happens so fast. The other player kicks his feet out to steal the ball. Jeonghan crosses the ball over to another teammate. The teammate receives it with his head. He dribbles it forward for half a second and then shoots. Time nearly stops when he does. The goalie throws their entire body to block the ball, and every present body watches, stupefied, as the ball blows right past the goalie’s head and lands squarely within the goal.

And if you thought the previous goal’s celebration was loud, this one’s is deafening. The entire stadium roars in pride. Your school won. Jeonghan won. And you can’t stop fucking smiling.

—

Joshua convinces you to wait for Jeonghan and the rest of the team at Tim’s with him. You do. For matters of fake dating but also because you could really use a beer. Conversation with Joshua is fun and light. By the time you’re both on your second round, his politeness dims to tease you for your drink of choice. You see now why he’s one of Jeonghan’s closest friends.

There’s commotion towards the entrance. You turn your heads towards it and watch Jeonghan’s team rumble through the tiny door, yelling at god knows what and rushing to the bar.

Joshua stands to go say hi. You follow him, walking slightly behind. Jeonghan finds you before you both find him. He tackles Joshua first, hugging him from the side, and literally ‘whooping’ into his ear. Joshua smacks at his face at first, but eventually joins him in the repeated ‘whooping’ jumping up and down in celebration. Then Jeonghan sees you. The whooping fades. He stares.

You swallow.

“Yah!” He exclaims, releasing Joshua and pointing a finger at your shirt. “I thought I told you to wear the jersey I gave you.”

Your face drops. Whatever happened to ‘hi’, ‘hello’, ‘how are you’?

Joshua says something about the bathroom and walks to the back of the bar.

You shake your head at the remaining boy. “It’s a little bit concerning how good you are at lying, you know.”

“Well, we can’t have people suspecting us.” He retorts, stepping closer to you as someone passes behind him.

“Is it okay that I’m here?” You ask, quiet enough for no one else to hear, face scrunching. “I didn’t know what to say to Joshua earlier, but I can definitely make up a lie if you want to just–”

“Are you kidding?” He grabs you by the shoulders, shaking you back and forth. “I want you here! We have to celebrate. This was the biggest game of the season, and we won it!” Then, with that same crooked smile you noticed upon first meeting, he adds, “Plus, you’re not very good at lying.”

You scoff. “Even now, you have the capacity for assholery.”

His eyebrows zip together. “I don’t think that’s a word.”

“It could be.”

Someone pats Jeonghan on the back, handing him a drink. Jeonghan asks what it is. The other person tells him to just drink it. Jeonghan does so begrudgingly. You recognize the person to be player number 7.

“Hi, I’m Seungcheol,” number 7 says to you, holding out his hand. You shake it, introducing yourself and congratulating him on the game.

“Hey, is assholery a word?” Jeonghan asks his teammate, watching your face contort through a thousand different variations of annoyance and disbelief.

Seungcheol looks between the two of you. “Uh, no. Don’t think so.”

“Ha!” Jeonghan wags a finger in your face. “You owe me a drink.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but you head towards the bar with Jeonghan anyways, where you find Joshua again ordering the three of you a round of shots. “No, no,” he insists, when you try to tell him that you’re already buying drinks, “I owe Jeonghan a drink anyways.”

And as you find out throughout the course of the night, apparently every other patron at Tim’s owes Jeonghan a drink. You lose count of how many times you’ve heard him say so after your third beer. Joshua makes his exit soon after that and conveniently right before the team starts singing the fight song again. You start dreaming of bed when a guy you recognize as number 3 gets on a chair and starts leading the crowd.

Your phone buzzes.

Soonyoung [1:23 AM]: finished the report :0

Soonyoung [1:23 AM]: finally

Soonyoung [1:24 AM]: how’s tim’s

You [1:24 AM]: did you know they had a karaoke machine?

Soonyoung [1:25 AM]: do you not remember how i got banned in the first place

You [1:25 AM]: sore subject mb

You [1:27 AM]: damn how’d you finish the report so fast

You [1:27 AM]: you only started it after the game right

Soonyoung [1:28 AM]: u know me xD

An odd feeling settles in your stomach as they start the last stanza of the fight song. You shove your phone in your pocket and ask for the check.

By 2 am, the celebration is finally winding down, and the entire team is collectively too drunk to stand. “Come on, Jeonghan,” you pull him away as he says goodbye to his friends for the millionth time. “Let’s go home.”

He finally relents, turning away from his friends and throwing both his arms over your shoulders, hugging you from the back. “Let’s go to yours.”

“Mine? Why?”

“It’s closer.” Then after a moment, he bumps his chin against your shoulder and adds, “Plus, I wanna see your room.”

“Fine,” you huff and start walking. Jeonghan releases himself from your back, electing to walk on his own until you realize he’s too much of a wanderer to be unattached, drifting off to the edge of the sidewalk or in the wrong direction every chance he gets. He asks you to carry him. You settle for holding his hand. The two of you walk quietly back to your dorm. That is until Jeonghan starts humming the fight song again. You snap. “Is that the only song you guys know tonight?”

He stops humming and apologizes. You don’t say anything back. Then, very quietly, sounding so infuriatingly innocent, he says, “I didn’t mean to get this drunk.”

You’re an asshole. “No. It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m just a little… upset right now.”

He burps. “Because of me?”

The look on his face when he says it pulls a laugh from between your lips. “No. Not because of you.” You make a right onto your street, dragging Jeonghan along as he tries to take a left. “Anyway, I thought student athletes weren’t supposed to drink.”

“No, we’re not supposed to get caught drinking.” Jeonghan holds out his hand in front of him, as if to say ‘stop’ to something invisible to you. “Very different.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Either way, I don’t drink that much.”

You scoff, stopping in front of the door to your building. “What do you mean? You drank last weekend.”

He shakes his head. “That was a special occasion.”

“And the occasion was…?”

He looks you dead in the eye.

“You make me nervous.”

Then, he turns around and vomits into the bushes behind him.

Once you get him to your apartment and in your bathroom, you leave him to vomit out the alcohol. Returning after the retching sounds recede and you’ve changed into pjs. He’s seated on the floor beside the toilet, eyes closed and head resting against the wall. You sit on the other side. Thank god, you cleaned this bathroom yesterday. “How do you feel?” You ask him.

He inhales. “Much better now that I…” He gestures to the toilet.

“Here.” You hand him a glass of water.

He opens his eyes and takes it, drinking from it slowly. “Sorry I got so drunk.”

“You already apologized 30 times on the way up here.” You remind him.

“But I’m really sorry.”

“And I really don’t mind.”

He considers that for a long moment. “You sure?”

You lean forward. “I’m sure. More water?”

He shakes his head, wordlessly eyeing your pajama pants. You look down at your snoopy pants. You hadn’t thought too hard about your choice of bottoms when you changed. “Cute.” He mutters, smiling at them.

You mumble back a ‘thanks’.

“So, what’d you think of the game?”

You tell him honestly how much fun you had watching them play, giving him every reaction you had to every move made and all your unfiltered opinions on the refs. He listens intently, filling you in on all the thoughts that ran through his head while they were playing and every conversation that happened on the sidelines.

“Thanks for coming.” He tells you once you’ve both exhausted all opinions relating to the game itself. “And for meeting Joshua and coming out to Tim’s afterwards and then getting me out of Tim’s too.”

“Jeonghan, it’s really not that big of a deal. And Joshua was a lot of fun to hang out with.”

“Hey, don’t get too attached.” He warns. “I’m the one you’re fake dating.”

“Trust me, I know.”

“So, then, as your fake boyfriend,” he gulps down the last of the water, “are you going to tell me what you were so upset about?”

You exhale, flexing your fingers. “It’s stupid.”

“And here I was thinking we had made a pact to be young and dumb.” You run your tongue over your top row of teeth, holding back a smile. “So, what happened?”

“I just got this text from Soonyoung that he finished this one assignment. And, I don’t know, I just felt so ridiculous because it took me so much longer than him to do.”

“Which assignment? The chem lab?”

You don’t remember telling Jeonghan about it. “Uh, yeah. How did you–”

“Man, who cares if it took you longer? I know Soonyoung, and I know you, and I bet yours is a million times better than his. No offense to Soonyoung, but I’m pretty sure he’d agree anyways.”

“Okay, you’re drunk.”

“That may be true, but it has nothing to do with the fact that you’re brilliant.”

Something about the way he says it, how steady his voice is maybe or the way he refuses to look away, forces you to see how much he believes it. But even that, doesn’t do much to change what you think.

“What are you talking about? I wouldn’t even be passing multi if it weren’t for you.” Your voice cracks as you say the words, making it all come out sounding much sadder than you had intended it to. You hope he doesn’t notice.

“That’s really not true.” You can’t even trust yourself to respond to him. He pouts. “Are you upset again?”

“A little.”

“I’m sorry. Let’s drop it.”

“Gladly.” Then, after a moment, you laugh at how silly it all is.

“First fight of the relationship.” He gives you your second half smile of the night. “I think we should hug it out.”

Your body reacts to the words before you do. “I disagree–”

“Did you just cringe?”

“–you smell like vomit.”

“Well, do you have clothes for me?”

“No, but I have a couch.”

He holds his index finger up. “I’ll take it.”

—

(When you wake up the next morning, Jeonghan’s gone. You open your phone and find 2 more apologies and 3 more thank you’s from him.

You try to ignore the twinge of disappointment.)

—

When the third weekend of fake dating rolls around, you admittedly are a bit tired of going to parties and getting drunk. So when Jeonghan asks what the plans are, you suggest he say that he’s taking you out on a date instead.

As such, you’ve spent nearly the entire day in bed. You’re heating up some water on the stove to make ramen when you get a text from Jeonghan saying he’s five minutes away. You stare at the text. The fuck does that mean?

Unsurprisingly, it ends up meaning that he was literally five minutes away. You open the door when he knocks and stare at him standing in the doorway.

“What are you wearing?” Is the first thing he says. You look down at your outfit. “You should’ve told me this was going to be a sweats kind of date before I put real clothes on.”

“Date?”

“Don’t look so surprised, it was your idea.” Jeonghan reminds you, strutting into your kitchen.

“No, no.” You say, returning to your boiling water. “My idea was to tell people we’re going on a date. Like as a cover.”

“Oh.” He falls down onto your couch. “Well I’m here so get dressed there’s this new ramen place I wanna try.”

You sigh, turning the stovetop off before trudging to your room to change.

The ‘date’ ends up being quite nice. You discuss a study plan to prepare for your math midterm over a much yummier bowl of ramen than you had planned on consuming today. Afterwards, you walk the streets of downtown, only intending to window shop. However, now, standing in a small boutique, Jeonghan tries to convince you to buy matching necklaces.

“Come on, they’re so cute.”

“We don’t need matching necklaces, Jeonghan.”

“A real couple would definitely have matching necklaces.”

“Good thing we’re not one.”

“Fine then. Guess I’ll just stop tutoring you in math too. You know Lubinsky’s midterms are almost as hard as his finals, right?”

You grab two of the necklaces and turn to the cashier. “How much?” You swear you hear Jeonghan whoop from behind you.

—

“Hey,” Jeonghan whispers, “we’re here.” You open your eyes slowly, not even registering that you fell asleep on the ride back to campus after the date-but-not-date. “You drool when you sleep by the way.”

And that wakes you up. You wipe whatever drool is left on your mouth, muttering a small and embarrassed ‘shut up’.

“What are you doing for the rest of your day?” He asks as you gather your things from his car.

“Absolutely nothing. Today’s the last day to rot before midterm prep starts.” You tell him, looking for your wallet. “What about you?”

“Avoiding a mixer at the house tonight.” He reaches into the center console and hands you the leather slip.

You take the wallet gratefully. “Wanna join me? We can make some tea. Watch a movie.”

He puts the car in park. “I know just what we should watch.”

And that’s how you end up on your couch with Jeonghan, two emptied mugs sitting on the coffee table, blanket draped over your legs, and the worst movie you’ve seen to date playing in the background.

“Wow, this movie sucks ass.”

“This,” Jeonghan gestures passionately to the screen, “is cinema.” You clasp your hands together as if in prayer. He takes a double take at the motion. “What are you doing?”

“I’m thanking god that your major is business and not film.” He immediately smacks apart your hands. “Don’t lie.” You say gasping for air between laughs. “This movie is objectively not good.”

His tongue peeks out between his lips, you practically see the smiling begging to emerge on his face. “Okay, so it might not be all that it was hyped up to be, but–”

“Ha!” You point a finger in his face. “I knew you hated it.” He slumps into the couch, pulling the blanket up to his chin. “Do you want more tea?” You ask. He soundlessly nods, refusing to move his eyes from the tv screen.

You stand to make some, grabbing both mugs from the table. “So, do you not have a roommate?” Jeonghan questions, as you pour water from the kettle into the mugs.

You look to the second, empty room of your apartment style dorm. “Actually, no. There was supposed to be someone there, but they moved or dropped out at the start of the year and the school never filled the room.”

“Ah.” Jeonghan clicks, nodding as if finally putting together the last piece of a puzzle “So, that’s why you’re so friendless.”

You return to the couch with full mugs. “I am not friendless.” He makes a face. “Really. I have friends.”

“Other than Soonyoung?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, name them.” You kick him under the blanket. “Fine. You have friends.” (“I have friends.”) “But how come you never talk about hanging out with them?”

You exhale slowly, sinking further into the couch. “I just didn’t do too well in school last semester, so I promised myself I would focus on classes this time around. And, I don’t know, I guess I just got so caught up in that and haven’t really been making the time or effort for hangouts.”

He tilts his head. “You know, I feel like there’s a world where you can do well in school while also maintaining your friendships. I mean we see each other regularly.”

“That’s because half of the time we’re studying.”

He gives you a look. “You know what I mean.”

You sigh, considering his point. Maybe at one point you would have thought the same. Last semester you even tried to have it all–the friends, the social life, the grades. But in the end, you dropped the ball. You can’t afford to make those same mistakes. “I just don’t think that world exists for me.”

He finally looks away from the tv and gives his full attention to you. His eyes seem to linger on every turn in your face. Quietly, he says, “So that’s what it is.” He doesn’t offer an explanation immediately. Instead, his chest deflates in one long exhale, and you smother the voice in your head that’s begging you to ask for one. And there’s this conviction in his voice, this breathtaking finality, when he says, “When are you going to believe me when I say that you’re one of the smartest people I know?” that scares the living shit out of you.

He looks at you again, and you swear to god, his eyes fall right through your frame. You swallow. “What about you?”

His eyebrows raise. “What about me?”

“Who are your friends? How do you spend all your time apart from classes, soccer, the frat, tutoring me and–oh my god, nevermind, new question. Do you even sleep?”

He takes a sip from the tea. “Don’t forget the business honor society. I’ll be the treasurer next fall.”

You squint at him. “Why?”

And like it’s the simplest, most obvious thing in the world he says, “oh, well, they asked.”

Suddenly, you’re reminded of all the times you’ve seen him get asked out on dates followed by every time he’s failed to say no. “Jeonghan,” you turn to him, setting down your mug. (“oh, this is serious, okay.”) You ignore him. “Can you not say no to people?”

He blows a raspberry. “I can say no. Ask me something.”

“Uhhhh,” you rack your brain, “how about–let’s go to the beach next weekend.”

The closest beach is 5 hours away, and yet he has the audacity to say, “Wait, that sounds like fun though.”

“I thought you hated the ocean.”

“Yeah, but maybe it’d be fun with you.”

You shake your head, muttering how impossible he is. The end credits of the movie finally plays.

“I should head out.” Jeonghan says, removing himself from under the blanket. You nod, grabbing the mugs of tea and bringing them to the kitchen. He follows you to the door. You both exchange the usual ‘this was fun’, ‘let’s do it again’, ‘I’ll see you later’ that ends every hangout you’ve had in college. But then, unlike every other person you’ve held the door open for as they leave, after Jeonghan says his final goodbye, he gives you a peck on the lips.

Did that just happen?

Your fingers touch against your lips. Oh my god, it did.

He blinks. “Sorry. I, uh, I don’t know why I just,” he points to your lips, swallowing, “lol. We’re always pretending and then now. And you. Okay, well, anyways, I’ll leave.”

He turns and doesn’t look back. You hear a ‘bye’ sound from the hallway.

And it’s only by the time he’s probably halfway home that it hits: You’ve never seen Jeonghan flustered like that.

—

The first day of midterm prep is brutal. You spend the entire night in the library, studying for hours on end. And once an hour, on the dot it seems, you hear Jeonghan’s voice in your head. There’s a world where you can do well in school while also maintaining your friendships. That very night you text your friends, asking if they want to join you in one of the library study rooms you have booked every evening this week. They do, excited to hear from you again and for the gentle encouragement to get a head start on studying. You hate to admit that Jeonghan was right, but goddammit he was. You have a blast with your friends. You had barely even realized how long you’d gone without seeing them and how much you missed them. By the time your Thursday afternoon tutoring with Jeonghan comes back around, you’re still on track with the study plan you created over ramen, and you have exciting news for him.

“A birthday party?” Jeonghan says, voice carefully devoid of the disdain you must know he feels.

“Yeah, they heard through whoever that we’re dating, and now they all want you to come.”

“But a birthday party?” He repeats. This time not trying to hide anything.

“Oh come on. I went to the game for you.”

“Yeah, but the game was fun.”

“This will be fun too!” You say in what you hope is an encouraging way.

“Fine. But promise you won’t ditch me for your friends.”

“You’re so dramatic.” You mutter. “But yes, I promise.”

That Friday night Jeonghan meets you at your apartment and the two of you head over to the party together.

Halfway down the hallway to your friend’s apartment, Jeonghan suddenly halts. “Shit, should I have brought something?”

“Like what?”

“A gift? Wine? I don’t know.”

“Jeonghan, it’s a party. Don’t overthink it.” You tell him, opening the door to your friend’s apartment.

You step into her entryway and immediately feel like you’ve been transported into another world. The lights are all off save for some LED lights wrapped around the living room ceiling. An assortment of stacked red solo cups, yak-worthy bottles of vodka, and seltzers take over all available kitchen counter space. Some old pop song from an artist you know your friend loves plays loudly from the tv, reverberating through every pair of ears shoved into this tiny apartment. You inhale. The air reeks distinctly of college. You love it.

“Oh my god, there’s even people on the balcony.” Jeonghan whispers in your ears. You pivot your head around to look at him. He looks back at you, unassuming. “What?”

This entire scene is one you’re quite familiar with, having spent many nights just like this in previous semesters. But as you watch Jeonghan gape at the amount of people fitted into the kitchen alone, you figure he might not be as acquainted with this. “Yoon Jeonghan, is this your first apartment party?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Is it not yours?”

But before you can tell him all about the life you used to live before him, your friends find you attacking you with hugs and introducing themselves to Jeonghan.

Jenny, the birthday girl in question, sloppily points at both of you and says, “I’ve been drinking since noon. You need to catch up.”

After a minute of half-hearted protest, you oblige, heading over to the kitchen area. You grab two cups, handing Jeonghan one. “There’s soda over there if you’re not drinking tonight,” you tell him, pointing to the area beside the sink where a line of mixers await.

He looks over at the bottles, then looks back at you. “Are you drinking?”

“Yes!” Your friend Daniel yells from over the music. You just shrug, reaching for one of the handles. “I guess so.”

Jeonghan inhales sharply, holding out his cup for you to pour. “I’ll have what you’re having then.”

You hesitate, open bottle hovering over the lip of his cup. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Why?”

You frown. “I was thinking about what you said after the game about how you don’t drink that much, and I don’t want you to drink just because I am. I can not drink too.”

He pushes his cup up. “What was it you said earlier? It’s a party. Don’t overthink it.”

Then he gives you that crooked half smile that you’ve come to know so well. You pour him a drink and pour yourself one too. You turn back to your friends, holding up your cup for a cheers.

“Wait, wait, what are we cheersing to?” Daniel asks, grabbing his cup from behind him and holding it up, tapping on Jenny’s shoulder for her to do the same.

It’s Jeonghan who answers. Looking straight at you, he holds his cup up high and says, “To friends.”

You bring the drink up to your lips smiling, watching him watching you. All four of you down your drinks. The drink is absolutely terrible, burning a path down your throat all the way down. Jeonghan hands you another cup, whispering ‘it’s coke’ with an equally pained expression on his face. You take it gratefully.

“God,” Jenny says, placing a hand on her chest while watching the exchange between you and Jeonghan, “they’re like an old married couple already. How have we missed all this?”

“I know.” Daniel says, shaking his head. “I can still barely believe it.”

You glare at him. “Hey, what’s so hard to believe?”

They both ignore you, turning their attention to Jeonghan instead.

“So, we’ve heard all the boring–how you guys met, first date–sort of stuff, but we want to know the juicy details–”

“Jenny, don’t you have other guests to attend to or–”

“Yeah,” Daniel joins in, “like what’s your favorite thing about them?”

You turn to Jeonghan immediately. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“My favorite part,” Jeonghan starts, ignoring your plea to not humor them and tapping a finger on his chin in thought. He must find it after a moment, pausing the tapping and stealing a glance your way. “Probably how much fun I have with them.” He says to your friends. “I feel like we’re always laughing together or just having a good time. I’ve never been able to talk to someone as easily as I do with them. Like you know how when you get towards the end of a really good book, and you just can’t put it down, pushing everything else to the side to keep reading. Hanging out with them is like that.” Turning back to look at you, he adds, “I never want it to end.”

You hold his gaze while Jenny and Daniel erupt into a series of awes and exclamations. Deep in your gut, you know that you should be focusing on the kind smile on his face or the sudden rapidity in your heartbeat, but instead, more cruelly, you wonder how much of that was a lie he made up to appease the role of your fake boyfriend.

You turn to pour yourself another drink. He holds his cup out as well. You pour for two.

“You okay?” He asks, pouring some fruit punch into both your cups as well.

You nod. You have no reason to be upset. So taking a sip of the drink, you decide you’re not. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“We should play a game,” he says, taking a sniff of your jointly made concoction.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, like…” He looks around the apartment. “We have to drink every time we see someone kissing.”

“What kind of rule is that?”

“No. It’ll be fun.” He says, scanning the apartment again. He sucks in air between his teeth. “Damn, I thought there’d be more kissing than this for some reason.”

You laugh at his cluelessness, and then lean in to kiss his cheek. “There.” You say, clinking your cup against his. “Now, we can drink.”

He taps a finger to the tip of his nose twice, then points it at you, before taking two large gulps of his drink.

The game actually does a good job of getting you and Jeonghan drunk once Jenny catches wind if it and starts giving out birthday kisses to whoever will take one. After a while, you make the executive decision that you need a break and escape to the bathroom to piss. When you exit back into the hallway off the living room, Jeonghan is there, leaning against the opposite wall, waiting for you. He hands you your cup back. “Your friends are terrible, terrible enablers,” he says, motioning for you to drink up while taking a drink himself. You whimper, leaning against the wall beside him and readmitting the dreaded liquid to your body.

“So,” you bump your shoulder against his, “are you having fun?”

He shifts his entire body to face you, shoulder resting against the wall, back turned to the entire party. He puts his face right in front of yours, narrows his eyes at you playfully, and says, “did you even listen to what I said?”

You put a hand on his shoulder. Just to have something between his body and yours. “What?”

He grins cheekily, letting out a puff of air that smells like cherry. “I always have fun with you.”

You laugh. Then in a voice sober you would be embarrassed of, you say, “And you never want it to end?”

He sticks his tongue out just barely, laughing into your neck. “And I never want it to end.”

You kiss him.

You don’t stop to think about what it might mean tomorrow or even in the next hour. You don’t stop to think about the fact that you’re too drunk to be initiating kisses or the possibility that he is. You don’t stop to think about anything, other than how much you love the sound of his laugh and how badly you want to feel his lips on yours again.

The kiss starts slowly, a shy orchestration of lips and breath. Your nose bumps against his, and he pulls away. He looks at you with those damn eyes, like it’s the first time all over again. And for some reason you can’t explain you bitterly think that it was always going to end like this.

He cups his free hand against your cheek and pulls you back in. Your lips meet in an open-mouthed kiss that has nothing slow and shy about it. No. It’s sloppy, hurried, and hungry. It’s tongue and teeth, crashing and colliding over and over again. It’s your body against his, every rise of your chest battling against his You wrap your free hand against his torso, pulling him impossibly closer. His hand moves from where it was holding your face to travel over the back of your head and your neck, sliding halfway down your back before pulling forward to run from your waist down to your hip. It lingers there for a moment before continuing further to grip the back of your thigh, pulling your knee up the side of his leg and holding it there against his hip.

A commotion sounds from the living room. “Oh shit.” You say breathlessly, pulling away from him. “I think she’s going to pop the champagne.”

“Okay.” He breathes, before kissing you again. You laugh in his mouth, whispering his name and pushing a hand against his chest. Finally, he lets go of your leg. You lead him back to the rest of the party where everyone is crowding around the balcony entrance. You and Jeonghan stand in the living room, watching from the window as Jenny struggles to pop the cork. She gets it after a moment, yelping at the sudden burst and spraying it over the edge of the balcony. Once the champagne dies down enough to not be overflowing, she brings the bottle to her lips and chugs. Everyone counts.

1! Jeonghan steps closer to you, wrapping his arms around your torso and hugging you from the back. You have to remind yourself to catch your breath.

2! He rests his chin on your shoulder. Without even thinking about it, you rest your head against his. His voice is a warm breath on your neck.

3! You recall what he said to your friends at the start of the party and again to you right before the kiss. Did he mean it? Does he really not want this to end?

4! Your eyes glance over at his. He looks happy. He looks like he’s finally given himself the chance to be young and stupid, which from the start, is all you ever wanted for him. So then why does it make you feel so suddenly grief-stricken?

5! “Why didn’t you tell Joshua about us?” You ask him quietly, voice drowned out by the counting for everyone other than him.

6! He angles his chin towards you. “What do you mean? He knows we’re dating.”

7! “No, I mean why didn’t you tell him that it’s fake.”

8! He stands up straight. Fuck the counting. You turn to look at him. “He’s your best friend, isn’t he?”

9! He looks at you carefully. “Did you tell Soonyoung that it’s all been fake?”

10! You haven’t even answered him yet, but somehow, he already knows what you’re going to say.

11! “Yes.” And even alcohol couldn’t have hidden the distinct look of betrayal painted all over his face.

12! He looks down into his cup and chuckles darkly. “Why did we just kiss?”

13! You swallow. Shit. “Someone was looking at you, like–well, you know what like.”

14! He doesn’t say anything. You recount his words back to him. “Sealing the deal, remember.”

15! His eyes bore into yours. How could you have been so stupid?

16! Please, you want to beg, say something.

17! He shakes his head, smiling emptily. “Tell your friends it was nice to meet them.”

18! He doesn’t wait to hear if you have anything left to say. He turns, and you watch him disappear from the party.

The rest of the numbers blur in your head.

—

(That night you had called Soonyoung, sobbing over the phone, feeling more drunk then, in your apartment than you had at any other point that night.

“What’s wrong?” Alarm was flush in his voice. “What happened? Are you okay?”

The only thing Soonyoung could even make out was a very sad, very quiet, “I ruined it.”)

—

You haven’t talked to Jeonghan since Jenny’s party. He hasn’t texted you either. Staring at your upcoming midterm on Thursday and the extra study session with Jeonghan scheduled for Wednesday, you feel, quite lamely, mocked by your own calendar. But more than anything, you’re mad that he’s left you to study all alone the week of your midterm. You’re mad that you’re so busy replaying that night in your head, you can barely pay attention to the practice tests. You’re mad that, right now, sitting at the spot you guys always sat at in the library, you don’t have him. And you’re terrified of the creeping thought that you never really did.

By the time the midterm does come around, you’re exhausted. Not from studying or lack of sleep, but just from the sheer willpower it’s taken all week to not think about Jeonghan. You feel oddly calm going into the exam, the usual anxious chatter of students around you and rattling of chairs and pencils, not freaking you out as much as it normally would. You take the midterm, one question at a time, just as Jeonghan instructed you to do with every homework and every quiz. And then, 40 minutes in, you finish. Astonishingly, you even have enough time left to check over your work. So you do, fixing minor rounding and calculation errors, until you’re faced again with a completed exam and 15 minutes left.

You get to do something you haven’t done since high school: you turn it in early.

—

You spend the rest of that day in between your bed and your couch, struggling even more now than before to ignore thoughts of Jeonghan and your last conversation with him. For the past several weeks, Thursday afternoons were monopolized by Jeonghan, but today, watching the sun set outside your window, you’ve spent it all alone. The finality of what happened last weekend finally hits you: you might never speak to Jeonghan again. You really did ruin it. Suddenly, the urge to weep overcomes you. You turn on the tv instead, looking for a movie to watch. And of course it must be fate's petty joke on you that the first movie that pops up is the one you watched with Jeonghan after your date. You groan into your pillow before switching to something else.

By the time the movie is almost over and the sun has fully set, your phone rings. You had been checking it obsessively earlier and had therefore set it a bit farther away from where you were sitting. But at the sound of the ring, you’re ashamed to admit that you literally leapt for it. Your mind reads the caller id and is instantly flooded with an odd mix of relief and anxiety. Jeonghan is calling. Holy shit, Jeonghan is calling.

Your voice is shaky when you answer. “Hello?”

“Hey, this is Jeonghan’s partner right?” Your mouth parts at the voice that most definitely does not belong to Jeonghan. Who is this man? Why does he have Jeonghan’s phone? Why does it hurt your heart so much when he calls you Jeonghan’s partner? You must sit in your shock for too long because the mystery caller speaks again, sounding somewhat annoyed. “This is Seungcheol from the team. This is who I think it is, right? Because your number was saved as ‘my cutie’ with like a million heart emojis, so if not, this is about to get really awkward.” You have no idea how to respond to that. Finally, Seungcheol says your name. “This is you, right?”

You inhale sharply. “Yeah, uhm, sorry yes. Is everything alright? Aren’t you guys at practice right now?”

“Yeah, well we’re about to end, but here’s the thing…” Seungcheol then explains how terribly Jeonghan’s been playing this week, overly aggressive, missing every pass, fucking up every cross. And today, halfway through practice he hurt his shoulder and the coach sat him out entirely, forcing him to sit on the sidelines and just watch. Safe to say, this did not go over well with him, and he’s been laying down on the bench head buried in his arms, snapping at everyone who approaches him ever since. Seungcheol had to use a fake emergency bathroom break as a chance to run away to the locker room and make this call. “Do you know what’s going on with him?”

Of course you know, and it’s all your fault. You really did ruin everything with one kiss. “I–”

“Fuck, I’m running out of time. Never mind that.” Seungcheol says, cutting you off. “Can you just come down and be here, when we get off practice? Jeonghan drove over so you both can take his car back, but I think he just really needs someone here with him today.”

You wince. “Seungcheol, actually, I–”

“No, no, please. You don’t understand. I think I saw him crying on the bench. He needs you. Come.” Then after a slight hesitation he adds, “If you can. Please.”

You don’t even know what to say, but it doesn’t matter because just then the call ends. You stare at your phone, considering the options. Stay here and wallow. Or go, and try to salvage everything you’ve broken. And while you are a very accomplished wallower, you know which one you have to do. You drag your feet all the way over to your room to change.

You pace outside the field waiting for them, running through every possible scenario in your head. It does nothing, only worsening the condition of your already ailing heart. You drop down onto the curb, holding your head in your hands. Maybe he won’t even see you like this. You can’t tell if you prefer or hate that possibility.

Something bumps into your back. You look up and find Jeonghan staring down at you. You stand up so quickly your head starts to spin. Looking at him, you realize that this is the longest you’ve gone without seeing or talking to each other since meeting. You hated every second of it. But you think you might hate the look on his face right now more.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, words devoid of all the little quirks that make him him.

“Seungcheol called me.”

His face twitches. “Why?”

“He said that you–” you halt, selfishly wondering if it’s too late to abandon this ship. “How’s your shoulder?”

He looks at it, rolling it out once. He shrugs. “It’s fine now.”

You nod.

He then surprises you by asking: “How was your midterm?” Your eyes widen, searching his face for… you’re not even sure what. You don’t find it anyways.

You shift your weight uncomfortably. “It went well actually.”

He nods.

“Do you want a ride back?

He scoffs quietly. You flinch. “Can you even drive?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“How would you get back to yours?”

“I don’t know. Walk. Or maybe a bus. Or I could even–”

He doesn’t even let you finish. Voice raising when he asks again, “Why are you here?”

The words come out before you can stop them, tone matching his. “Because I’m sorry!”

“For what?”

“For kissing you!” He drops his duffle bag on the floor. “I don’t know!”

He parts his lips, inhaling as if to speak, but then he looks straight in your eyes and loses every word he might’ve wanted to say. He picks up his duffle and walks over to his car. “Jeonghan, please say something. I miss you, and I hate this. I just want to at least talk about what happened before we never speak again.”

He shoves his bag into the backseat and slams the door shut. He points to the car. “You coming?”

“Where?”

“I’ll drop you home.”

You don’t even know why you let him, but you do, sliding in the passenger seat and waiting until the car is started and moving to say something.

Or at least, that was the plan. But then you lose all the nerves you built up on your walk over and keep quiet the entire drive back to your place. It’s only when he stops in front of yours, ignition shutting off, that they build back enough for you to say, “Jeonghan, I–”

“I’m not mad because of the kiss.” He finally says, voice much softer than before. His eyes stay trained on the dashboard. “The kiss was…” He chokes on the word while the tiniest of smiles breaks like light after a storm on his face. “The kiss was perfect.” Your stomach momentarily turns into a gymnast. “I’m not even mad at all. I’m just,” You lean in after the words, as if waiting to catch them in your hands. He shakes his head once and then turns to look at you fully. “I’m upset because you think this has all been fake when, if I’m being brutally honest, I haven’t been faking anything since that first party.”

Oh.

Holy fucking shit.

He chuckles darkly, hitting his head lightly against the steering wheel. “Now, I know what it feels like to be on the opposite end of this.”

You can’t help yourself. “How is it?”

He groans. “It’s like a thousand stomach aches throughout your entire body.”

You want to take him out of his misery, but, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything.”

“I don’t think–”

“No, I’m serious.” He mutters. He looks pained. “Remember when you said that I can’t say no to people? This is it. I’m saying no.” He smiles at you, but you know his eyes too well and you know when there’s nothing in them. His breath catches. “I’m really happy about your midterm. I always knew you didn’t need me.”

He looks away after that, turning the car back on, an obvious signal for you to get out. Selfishly, you don’t. You take two more seconds to stare at his face, his eyes, his hair, his hands. Then you unbuckle your seatbelt and step out of the car.

He doesn’t wait long before he drives away.

You walk back up to your dorm in a stupor of sorts. You unlock the door, step through the kitchen, walk like a zombie to your room, and stare at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes travel over your whole frame, and for some reason they fall to rest at your neck. More specifically, your necklace.

You’re out of the door, running before you even know it. Breathlessly, turning onto the road that leads to the opposite side of campus. 30 minutes away. This of course turns out to be a terrible, terrible idea. You do not run. But you get there eventually. Speed walking up to the door of Jeonghan’s frat house and knocking vigorously.

Soonyoung happens to be the one that opens it. “Oh, hey! How was your–Why can’t you breathe?”

You ignore him. “Is Jeonghan here?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think he’s back from practice yet. Why? What happened? Did you guys make up yet?”

“No, but, Soonyoung, I’ve been so stupid. This whole time I kept gabbing on and on, but I was blind. It was him. It was always–”

You hear a familiar voice say your name. Not just familiar. Your favorite voice. You turn to face him.

And you can’t help it, you grin.

You’re distantly aware of Soonyoung closing the door behind you.

“How did you get here?”

“I ran.” He makes a face. “Well, partly.”

“I told you to–”

“I know what you said.”

“Fine.” He sighs. “I didn’t–well, not like this, but listen. It’s okay if you don’t care–”

“But the thing is Jeonghan,” you say, the sentences and words you had prepared on the way over blurring together all in a rush to get out of your head and into his, “I do. There was no one looking at you at Jenny’s party. I kissed you because I wanted to. Because I wanted it. I hate sports. Really, ask Soonyoung, but I went and watched your game and had fun because you asked me to and because I don’t have the capacity to actually say no to your face. I thought I hated that smirk you do, but really I just hate how flustered it makes me feel. And I’m sorry that I took the whole young and stupid thing too close to heart, but,” you pull the matching necklace out from under your shirt. “If I didn’t care, would I still be wearing this? Would I be able to stand here and tell you and I haven’t taken it off since we bought it? And that that date was the best date I’ve ever been on.” You let go of the necklace, inhaling sharply. “I care, Jeonghan.” Then, as if it needs to be clarified, you add, “about you.”

You stare at him, waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

He turns around, takes two steps away from you, and then immediately plops his ass on the ground. You hear a whimper. “I thought I was going to lose you.” You approach him slowly, like a cat you’re trying like hell not to scare. You kneel down on the pavement beside him. He wipes his tears. “Don’t laugh.” He cries, already sensing the one bubbling in your throat. You shake your head as a swear not to. Which you break a second after the fact, turning your head to the side, desperately trying to hide it behind your hand. “Bully!” He exclaims.

“No. No.” You say, composing yourself and turning back to him. His tears are wiped, but a pout remains on his face. You cup your hands against his cheeks. “It’s just really cute.”

“It’s embarrassing.” He huffs.

You shake your head. “I love it.” Then you kiss him. It’s a slow and sweet kiss. You relish in it. There’s no rush anymore. No deadline. He isn’t going anywhere. Neither are you. You have all the time in the world with him.

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen fanfic #jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan fanfic #jeonghan x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen smut #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan angst #svt scenarios #mine #young & stupid

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midnite-c6 · 14 days ago

Note

Listen… hear me out on a little squid games au

pink guard!namgyu and thanos who has a thing for the timid!reader.

i’m thinking a group game but no one picks you because they all believe you’re not strong enough and instead of killing you instead they bring you to one of their bedrooms…

THE WAY U COOKED WITH RHIS ASK OMGGGG them spoilin u bcuz they feel bad u didnt get chosen huhu NEED THAT! I SEE THE VISIONN

pink guard!thanos & pink guard!nam-gyu x reader imagine!!!🫶🏻

warnings: 18+ DARK content, dubcon (pleaseee read at ur own risk!!)

the way you were so quiet during the last game and during voting, how you were also one of the last players to get to the finish light in green light, red light, it was evident noone was gonna pick you in their team :( and you can't do anything but accept that fate, shamefully begging for someone to let you join, they'd all tell you their already full or even worse they need someone more stronger!

so when the timer is almost over in picking out groups and everyone's already grouped up, they'd see you in the corner with tears in your eyes begging how "please... somebody... pick me..!" with pleading eyes, and how everybody has already concluded your fate, you're fucked.

everybody watches as two guards escort you out of the room, with you're puffy red eyes, you cried out "i don't wanna die! pl-please, let me live, pleaseee!!"

the two guards take you to a small room, like a dorm, and they'd lay you down the bed. "don't worry, you won't be eliminated as it's unfair that you didn't get picked, you are allowed to skip this game until all the players have finished the game." one of the masked guards said in a monotone voice, they both had a triangle symbol on their masks. "wha... what?" the other guard sits down next to you, his hands carefully rubbing on your back as to comfort you, you'd tilt your head up to look at the standing guard, taking off his mask. he'd show blue eyes, purple-dyed hair, piercings on his ears, and a terribly handsome face. "you're the one killing people...?" he laughed at your shock, "shhh.. don't worry, angel, you're alive and well right now." he said with a sly smile. "what's your name player 54?, it's a shame nobody chose such a pretty girl like you.." you'd immediately say your name out of fear. noticing how the guard that was sitting next to you was getting extremelyy touchy. he'd also take off his mask, showing his slightly-long black hair and a more sharper face shape. "we'd choose you on our team anytime, let's have some fun while they do, huh?" you didn't know what he meant by "fun", and you sure as hell didn't know why these two considerably young men would be apart of this cruel game..

nsfw below!! (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡->

you were crying about how you weren't getting picked a few hours ago, now you were crying of overstimulation!! huhu, poor you, they'd lay you down on the bed comfortably, strip your clothes right off, and start to kiss and worship your body head to toe. the one with the slightly-long hair was pumping his middle and ring finger in and out of your cunny,, his tongue laps up and down your clit making you make sounds you'd never thought you'd ever make!! whilst the purple-haired male was taking his time marking your body, sucking and lightly nipping on both your nipples. he'd mumble against your skin, "you're so tasty.. let it all out, yeah?" as the other one slips in another finger. you were already so full with just his fingers!! you'd look down through your blurry eyes to see him, his mouth dripping in your cum and juices, "c..can't take it anymore.." he'd stop, "but why? maybe that's why people didn't choose you, you're too weak, even for this..." you know that wasn't true! you're stronger than that you swear! you wanted to prove him wrong... "that's it, knew you were obedient enough, you can take one more..." it was infact, not one more, and now you had to endure both of them overstimulating you to the max in pleasure!! why are the players playing in that stupid game six-legged race taking so long, anyway?! it already finished an hour ago, but they needed that extra treat (you!!).⁠♡

#squid game #squid game 2 #player 124 #squid game x reader #nam-gyu #squid game smut #squid game season 2 #thanos #namgyu #thanos x reader #choi su bong x reader #choi su bong #thanos squid game #squid game thanos #namgyu x reader

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sungbeams · 1 month ago

Text

WIP DUMP

okay so this is lowkey inspired by @jayparked posting about her wips a bit ago (check them out here she's crazy talented and i can't wait to read them all) and since i've been struggling with writing recently i thought maybe sharing some of my wips could help. also biggest thanks to snail for helping me with the synopses for some of these and listening to me stress over the banners and everything

if you want to talk to me about any of them or wanna get tagged pls don't hesitate to send asks or comment on this post, i'd love to talk about them some more🥺❤️

MIDNIGHT IN MILAN — lhs !! POSTED !!

⟡ ┆ featuring. heeseung x fem!reader

⟡ ┆ genre and tropes. MDNI 18+ ONLY, smut, established relationship, idol AU (both heeseung and yn)

⟡ ┆ warnings. semi-public sex, unprotected sex, mirror sex, mild choking, creampie, fingering, tiniest hint of degradation (he calls her a slut like once), one singular spank, some hair pulling, not really any aftercare

⟡ ┆ estimated word count. 6k

they say love makes you do stupid things...surely fucking your boyfriend in the bathroom at the prada after party when your relationship isn't even public and neither of you can afford a dating scandal isn't that stupid, right?

(i'm well aware the hype around tipsy heeseung has already died down but i started writing this immediately after the pics dropped and then got hit by writers block so i'm dedicated to finish this)

!! more under the cut !!

HE HATES ME, HE HATES ME NOT — psh

⟡ ┆ featuring. sunghoon x fem!reader

⟡ ┆ genre and tropes. MDNI 18+ ONLY, smut, enemies to lovers, coworker AU, miscommunication (ikik), lowkey past fuckboi sunghoon

⟡ ┆ warnings. hate sex, semi-public sex (in an archive room?), protected and unprotected sex (there's several smut scenes), choking, spanking, degradation, praise kink, oral (m. and f. receiving), handjob, fingering, manhandling, overstimulation, dacryphilia, spit kink

⟡ ┆ estimated word count. 20k

park sunghoon hates you, and you hate him. it hadn't always been like that, when you first joined the company he works at he was friendly, a real gentleman, but over time of working together he turns cold, sometimes even downright mean, and you cannot for the life of you figure out what caused the sudden change in his behavior. however, things between you change yet again when you 'accidentally' get locked in your offices archive room.

HOME IS WHEREVER YOU ARE — lhs

⟡ ┆ featuring. heeseung x fem!reader

⟡ ┆ genre and tropes. MDNI 18+ ONLY, smut, college!au, friends to lovers

⟡ ┆ warnings. there's some talks of depression as well as unhealthy coping mechanism so be aware of that pls, protected sex (be proud of me okay), oral (f. and m. receiving), vanilla af, neither of them are virgins or inexperienced but they just having sex for the first time together after realizing they've been in love with each other for years :')

⟡ ┆ estimated word count. 14k

"distance makes the heart grow fonder." is no longer just a cliche saying. heeseung decided to follow his dreams, but doing so lead him to a different city, leaving you behind. no other friends, no hobbies to keep yourself busy, and no motivation to keep going, the only thing keeping you on some sort of routine is attending your college classes that your parents force you to go to. just when you're about to officially quit and give up, heeseung shows up out of nowhere and manages to pull you out of your slump, upturning your whole friendship in the process.

NATURAL REMEDY — pjs

⟡ ┆ featuring. jay x fem!reader

⟡ ┆ genre and tropes. MDNI 18+ ONLY, smut, physical therapist!reader, patient!jay, probably hipaa violations idk just don't do this irl basically

⟡ ┆ warnings. unprotected sex, oral (m. receiving), body worship (jay receiving bc he deserves someone to tell him or handsome he is), handjob, lots of oil, lowkey massage kink idek what to call this??

⟡ ┆ estimated word count. 5k

when jay hurts his knee while goofing around with his friends, his doctor recommends rest and physical therapy. lucky for him, your office is just around the corner, just that neither of you can make good on the ordered rest by doctor.

HEALTHY COMPETITION — lhs + sjy

⟡ ┆ featuring. heeseung x fem!reader x jake

⟡ ┆ genre and tropes. MDNI 18+ ONLY, smut, college au, non-idol au, and they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates), no romance just fucking

⟡ ┆ warnings. basically no plot, threesome (duh), protected and unprotected sex, anal, double penetration, spanking, oral (m. and f. receiving), multiple rounds, manhandling, they make it a competition to see who can make her moan the loudest...

⟡ ┆ estimated word count. 9k

your roommates bickering should be nothing but white noise to you at this point, but when they both rope you into their little argument of who fucks better things take an interesting turn and a welcomed distraction from studying is provided.

SNEAKY LINK — sjy

⟡ ┆ featuring. jake x fem!reader

⟡ ┆ genre and tropes. MDNI 18+ ONLY, smut, uni AU, frat boy jake (i'm sorry), friends with benefits but no one knows, alcohol consumption (they're not drunk and both consenting !!)

⟡ ┆ warnings. unprotected sex (it's a theme for me atp, don't do this irl pls), dry humping, fingering (it's jake come on now), kinda rushed sex ig, does it count as exhibitionism when they fuck in a spare bedroom idk, oral (f. receiving), breast play

⟡ ┆ estimated word count. 4k

frat parties usually weren't your thing, but when your best friend invites you (with the intention to be her wingwoman) you're not one to let her down. that is until you run into jake, whom you've been fooling around with without anyone knowing ...

#lia.txt #wips #wip dump #pls interact guys :(#gonna put some enha tags for exposure sorry in advance !!#heeseung x reader #sunghoon x reader #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #heeseung smut #sunghoon smut #jake sim x reader #jake sim smut #jay park x reader #jay park smut

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rookienando · 3 months ago

Text

our secret moments | 𝓯. 𝓪𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓸

pairing: fernando alonso x f!actress!reader, socmed!au

synopsis: you and fernando's rumored relationship isn't really a rumor at all. pt. ii

a/n: nando needs more fics on this app. also, i just KNOW my pinterest feed will be filled with rich couple things and yachts bc i was so picky with the pics😭

yourusername

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yourusername i'll take any excuse to go back to monaco. thanks for having me, @/astonmartinf1 💞

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username omggg, i didn't know y/n was an f1 fan

username she's not tho? all of these celebs are just here bc f1's more popular now

username lmao what are you talking abt?💀 she's been a fan since forever

username proof?

username google is free

username i see nando in her likes👀

username duh??😭 she was literally invited by aston martin

username pls even her past posts were liked by him

username y'all are delulu af

astonmartinf1 we were so happy to have you in the paddock today

yourusername any chance i'll be back there again?☺️

astonmartinf1 of course, entire crew loved you🤗

fernandoalo_official

Liked by carlossainz55, francolapinto, yourusername and others

fernandoalo_official Love spending the summer break on the sea🌊⛵️

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username someone cooked and i'm 90% sure it isn't the pr team

username who then?

username they prolly think it's y/n but be fr

username the last pic🥵🔥

username forrealll

username man's supposed to be on break but he's already prepping for the next race😭

username omg is that y/n on the other jetski in the second pic???

username y'all need to stop being so crazy

username no wait, look at y/n's ig

yourusername

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yourusername two weeks of this before filming starts 🌊

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username BOTH FERNANDO AND Y/N HAVING SIMILAR POSTS AT THE SAME TIME OHMYGOD

username i'm officially joining the fernandoy/n train bc what the hell this can't be a coincidence

username and they've been consistently liking each other's posts too😭

username ugh that swimsuit looks sooo good on her i'm in love😍

username you're not the only one in love

username unless they actually confirm it, i'm not believing anything

yourcostar so gorgeous! can't wait to see you 🤩

yourusername liked this comment

yourusername can't wait to see you too, bbg!!

username i'm soo excited for the next season

yourprivateaccount

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yourprivateaccount just me, the sea, and my love ❤️

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carmenmmundt you look so lovely together🫶

yourprivateaccount liked this comment

yourprivateaccount we should def plan a couples trip one day, carm!

carmenmmundt yes please!

georgerussell63 wait what?

fernandoalo_official i see enough of george already

fernandoalo_official I can't wait to see you again, mi corazón ❤️

yourprivateaccount liked this comment

yourprivateaccount me too. i miss you already, nando ❤️

landonorris get a room

yourprivateaccount stfu or i'll make nando gift you coal for this year's secret santa

fernandoalo_official You give me reasons to love you more and more

landonorris it's actually hilarious how the internet is going crazy over whether or not you're together

yourprivateaccount we love being a menace to society🥰

oscarpiastri a fan came up to me the other day and actually asked me if you two are together or not

yourprivateaccount omg osc i'm so sorry😭

fernandoalo_official posted a story!

yourusername

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yourusername just lace sleeves and roses in the dressing room

Comments on this post have been restricted.

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #fernando alonso #fa14 #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso x you #fa14 x reader #fa14 x you #f1 social media au #f1 smau #socmed au

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satoruxx · 11 months ago

Text

PARACOSM OF THE GODS.

PAIRING: gojo satoru x f!reader, geto suguru x f!reader | 11.5k words

SUMMARY: ok here we go, canon au, angst, fluff, best friends being in love, stsg being whipped but unable to express it, reader is clueless as usual, timeskips, canon compliant deaths, bittersweet, longing, mutual pining, emotionally stunted teens, dad!gojo makes an appearance, hopefully that’s it i'm tired of typing

RHEYA'S NOTE: highkey lowkey stressed posting bc this has been sitting in my wips for 4 years now. i honestly didn't have to add much to it i basically just proofread. but yeah when you maladaptive daydream and create a plot where you're a character in jjk and you're also in love with gojo and geto this is what happens. a little sad to let this go but it's time !! plus i can add more parts later. but anyways pls lmk what you think, i'm super curious to know <33

i. the unknown

satoru's first impression of you is anything but kind.

his words come casually, free into the wind without care, and they aren't meant for you to hear. instead, they fall only to suguru's ears, evoking a deep chuckle and a slight shake of his head. his bangs swish a little with the movement, but satoru is too busy eyeing you over the frame of his shades to notice.

you're lucky to have not heard it, because the intent with which it was said would have probably made your brow tick with frustration. he says it without a thought, as if he hasn't the slightest bit of interest in you as hints of arrogance fill his tone.

"who's the rookie?"

satoru and suguru sit outside against the patio railings of the classroom they had chosen for the day. it overlooks the grounds of the school, where they have a clear view of who approaches the main entrance. suguru absentmindedly clicks his lighter—shoko had gone to get another pack of cigarettes.

it is from this higher point that they have a clear view of you. you're so obviously new to this, satoru thinks as he watches how you awkwardly stand in front of yaga sensei.

he already wants to label you as a side character. it's mean, he realizes—cruel even, but he can barely bring himself to care.

"yaga sensei mentioned that there'd be a new student joining us this week," suguru says, fingering the bangs hanging in front of his eyes. they roam over you with only slight interest before uttering your full name, just as his teacher had said it.

satoru repeats it with a hum. "not a big name or anything. a small-sized family of sorcerers i think." he shrugs carelessly. "but honestly i never really paid attention to all those stupid clan and jujutsu family lessons."

suguru only responds with a good-natured chuckle, tearing his eyes away from the scene to look at his friend. "no shit."

the two sit in quiet silence, watching yaga's lips move in structured, emotionless greetings as he shakes your hand. satoru is especially focused on the hunching of your shoulders and the way your eyes nervously dart around.

suguru is the first to interrupt the peace.

"maybe she's strong?"

"are you kidding?" satoru scoffs as he stands up straight, shoving his fists into his pockets. he turns his nose up slightly. "that's not the attitude of someone who's confident in their abilities."

ii. routine

"can i ask you guys a question?"

a cool breeze tickles your skin, goosebumps rising in its wake, and you suppress a shiver. the smell of the air tells you winter is fast approaching.

"you just did," satoru hums, his snowy hair splayed out against stems of green grass. suguru's chuckle reverberates deep in his chest, and you have to push back an exasperated smile.

"another one then," you press, leaning over satoru's face to force yourself into his view. his blue eyes pierce through yours over the dark-rimmed frames of his glasses, and even after seeing them so many times, they still feel as dominating as the first. he hums again, and you take that as your cue.

"what did you first think of me when we met all those months ago?"

satoru sits up quickly, and you can already feel your shoulders dropping when you catch a glimpse of the teasing smirk on his lips. he shifts so that he's directly facing you, leaning close so that the two of you are barely a palm's distance from one another.

"thought you were an annoying little rookie~" he sings and you immediately shove at his shoulder.

"'m not a rookie anymore," you huff, and satoru laughs joyously. suguru only grins, his eyes darting between the two of you happily. satoru moves himself into a proper sitting position, digging his long fingers into your bag of chips and popping one into his mouth. you swat at his hand, even though you don't mean it, because though you complain about gojo satoru all the time, you would give him the whole world if you could.

you and satoru take turns reaching into the bag. you wonder if the sound of crunching disturbs suguru. he's not asleep—he's just doing that thing where he keeps his eyes closed and escapes to his own land of tranquility. you'd like to give him as much peace as you can, so you stay quiet. satoru does too, but you think that's just because you aren't talking to him.

the quiet is nice when you're with them. sometimes silence makes you feel alone—paranoid. it feels like there is some impending doom hovering over your shoulder, and all you can do is wait for it to come. but with them it is different. you know that any danger in the quiet will be caught by the two of them. maybe that's why it's so easy to let your guard down around them. you trust that they won't let you die.

"i thought you were weak," satoru pipes up after a few minutes of silence. "you didn't seem like you were confident in your abilities, and that's a sign of weakness."

after spending so much time with satoru and suguru, the word weak has permeated almost every one of your conversations. later you learned how much more significant it was for them to label someone as strong. you chase after the word—crave it.

"and turns out that wasn't true." suguru adds with a smile, his head leaning back against the trunk of the tree. his eyes are still closed serenely and you wonder if he can feel the way you're gazing at him.

"yeah and now you act like some big hotshot," satoru grumbles, as though he doesn't want to admit to his old mistake, but you can hear his smile. it annoys you, the way his once degrading little nickname has now somewhat turned into a term of endearment. you would rather die than admit that you like hearing him say it.

"well, I'm glad that i was able to prove you both wrong."

the conversation ends there.

shoko returns a few minutes later, tossing you a can of soda and suguru a pack of cigarettes. as soon as she sits down in her spot under the tree you're forcing your head into her lap and kicking your feet onto satoru's legs. you ignore his complaints, because you know that in just a little bit he'll quiet down and his hand will rest over your ankle, fingers soft but firm. they'll occasionally drum some rhythmic tune, or draw nonsensical patterns against your skin.

shoko's fingers thread through your hair, just like they always do, and you know that in a few minutes you'll doze off in her lap, just like you always do. it's clockwork, this thing that you have with them. they make the days keep going—time doesn't stop for you.

a part of you wishes you could freeze time at that moment.

but you can't.

iii. halcyon

"hey suguru?"

"hm?"

"how come you always do your hair the same way?"

suguru glances up from his book. he's seated at your desk, and for a minute, the breeze pushes your curtains so that they block your view of him. satoru groans lightly from your left, turning on his side to snuggle deeper into your pillow, and slumber overtakes him once more. him and shoko remain quiet, faces free of worry as they dream in a land that is so unlike the real world you live in.

"what do you mean?" suguru asks in response to your question. he has an amused smile on his face as he places his book on your desk, though his thumb and pointer finger keep his page.

"well…" you suddenly feel stupid for asking, but he's looking at you so intently now. "you have such nice hair. you could style it in so many different ways."

"are you saying you don't like my hair the way it is?" he frowns.

"no no!" you scramble, shaking your head emphatically. quite the opposite actually you think he's so so attractive—how on earth did you screw this up so badly? "that's not it i just—"

he laughs, tilting his head fondly. "i'm just messing with you, hotshot."

you blanch, before crossing your arms with a huff. "asshole…"

he chuckles, before lifting a calloused hand up to finger the tie that holds his hair in a bun. he glances back at you, before a michevious smile settles on his face. he gives the tie one sharp tug, and the bun falls away. black hair drops, resting on his shoulders, and you stare at him—oddly parched. wind brushes through the open window, tickling your curtains, tickling his now open hair. you had seen his hair down before, of course. in the few seconds after a sparring session when the bun had gotten loose, or when too many strands escaped the tie and fell in front of his face (he always pushed them away with an agitated huff). but now he looks different—good, you realize. he looks good.

"how should i style it then, hotshot?"

his question shakes you out of your daze. you hum in contemplation. "i don't know."

he laughs quietly, as to not wake the other two. "didn't you just say there were so many ways to style it? enlighten me then," he teases, reaching over to grab a small scrap of paper from your desk. he slots it where his fingers are holding place, and then closes the book. he swivels in the chair to face you completely, rolling over so that he's right in front of you.

"well…" you start, biting your lip in thought. "a ponytail maybe?"

suguru bunches his hair into his fist, holding it up against his head. "and? how do i look?"

you grin, eyeing the new style with a stifled laugh. "fantastic."

he laughs again, louder this time, before dropping his hand.

"it looked good though!" you laugh and he rolls his eyes fondly.

"yeah yeah," he dismisses with a wave of his hand. he looks back at you, eyes tracing over your hair before he grins wide.

"i like yours."

you blink. "mine?"

"the way you did your hair today," he points to the half up-half down style you've thrown together. a dark blue ribbon holds the hair in place—satoru had said it matched nicely with your uniform. suguru's eyes gleam as he appraises it. "it's nice. it looks really pretty on you."

something in your chest feels like it fell off a cliff.

"oh—" you stumble, before smiling at him because that's all you can do when he makes you feel like this. "thanks suguru."

"do mine like that," he says quickly.

once again, you blink owlishly and all you can manage is a stupid "huh?"

"do my hair like that," he repeats, getting up from the chair to sit at your feet, back towards you. he crosses his legs and puts his hands in his lap, patiently waiting.

"you can't do it yourself?" you tease, scooting closer to the edge of the bed.

"i can," he replies and you can hear the easy smile in his voice. "but i want you to do it for me."

"okay then!" you laugh before gently parting sections of his hair out. and then you work in silence, putting more effort into his hair than you've ever done with your own.

iv. fragility

"lady riko does not have any relations. when she was young, her family was involved in an accident…since then, i've been her caretaker. so please let her at least spend time with her fr—"

"—so that makes you her family then."

suguru's words seem to stun kuroi, the weight of riko's situation finally making itself clear as her face crumbles.

"…yes."

you listen to the way her voice wobbles, and try to suppress the poisonous lump forming in your throat.

"then we do everything we can to make her happy," you say solemnly, leaving no room for argument. suguru seems to agree and says nothing—some deeper part of you feels something more than thankful towards him.

"you're awfully sensitive for a jujustu sorcerer, you know that?" satoru comments offhandedly. you turn to look at him, meeting his piercing gaze over dark rims.

"maybe," you concur. "is that considered weak?"

satoru seems to ponder his answer, before shrugging, a light smile on his face. "to some people, maybe."

you manage to smile back, and he takes in the expression with an odd look on his face. "say what you want, satoru. but you agree with me, don't you?"

he looks away, eyes gazing out to the distance where you know riko is currently in class with her friends, trying to live the life she wants, and something in them softens considerably.

"we'll do things the way she wants us to."

it's one sentence, said without a smile or laugh, but hearing it fall from satoru's lips makes you beam at him.

that's just your kindness, isn't it, satoru?

your heart leaps when you notice the tips of his ears tinge with rouge.

v. longing

riko's hand is warm against the coolness of your fingers. your body feels hyperaware of your surroundings, toes deep in hot sand and salty air sticking to your skin. for some odd reason, you can't seem to relax. unconsciously, you tighten your grip around the young girl's palm. she glances up at you, but when you look down at her, she's wearing the biggest smile you've ever seen.

satoru's presence makes itself known behind you—his shadow looms over yours in the sand. "it'll be fine," he says.

you can't see his face, nor can you see suguru who stands at his side, but your shoulders drop slightly, and you find yourself smiling back at riko.

"i'm getting in the water!" she squeals eagerly, before dragging a helpless kuroi with her. satoru laughs—a clear, pristine sound—and follows after her. you watch the three of them with a fond smile, something akin to content settling deep within you.

"and what are you planning on doing?" suguru asks. you turn to look at him, watching the way his heavy eyes stay focused on you.

"hmm," you quirk a brow mischievously. "build sandcastles with me?"

suguru blinks owlishly before he breaks out into a good-natured laugh.

"deal." he walks closer to the water's edge, where the sand is damper, and crouches down. he turns to look at you over his shoulder. "don't make me do all the work, hotshot."

you stand there, taking him in—really taking him in. he's just as clear as the sky behind him, and the sun shining on his face makes his smile glow. you want him to continue smiling at you like that well into the future. the waves crash onto the shore, as though the ocean is chasing his radiance, and an overwhelming feeling of unfiltered affection swells in your chest.

your feet carry you forward, and you think that they might always lead you back to him.

the sun rises as time passes, and occasionally you spare a glance at satoru and riko, who are screaming as they splash water at one another. and then you catch a glimpse of kuroi, who stands with her feet in the water, a soft smile on her face.

and in that moment, nothing can be ruined.

"what's wrong?" suguru's voice calls out, and you tear your gaze away from the others to look back at him. he stands behind you with two strawberry ice cream cones in his hands.

"nothing," you hum, a serene smile on your face. "everything's perfect."

his eyes trace your face, stopping to linger on your smile, and they soften. "it is, isn't it?"

he turns to the ocean, watching satoru and riko, and his eyes sparkle. "i hope it stays like this always."

"me too."

he bends down to take his place at your side before he hands you a cone. you take it from him. suguru's eyes drift away from you to look down at his castle.

"i think it looks great," he expresses, before taking a lick of his ice cream.

you roll your eyes with a huff. "yeah, because you made it look so nice. you're unnecessarily good at this, suguru."

he laughs, waving his hand dismissively. "no no, we did it together! and yours is nice too!"

"maybe," you grin, looking at his castle. "but yours is extra pretty."

he smiles back, before pointing at a small hole in his sand tower. "see this room? it's yours."

"mine?" you chuckle.

"yeah, all yours," he hums softly. "this is my castle and you get your own room."

"oh? and why's that?"

suguru's gaze lingers on you, and his dark eyes soften considerably. "because you'll always have a place in my home."

you stare at him, speechless—something hammers away at the inner crevices of your chest.

"and this one—" he points to another hole a few inches away from the first. "—is my room."

"well in that case, that room is mine too!" you declare.

"what?" he barks out a laugh. "how does that work?"

"well…" you grin at him, the sun burning into your cheeks. "because my home is wherever you are!"

suguru's cheeky smile fades and his eyes widen. he looks at you, mouth agape, and you're about to say something else before sticky coolness trickles down your wrist.

"ack!" you hurry to wipe away the strawberry ice cream dripping down your skin and you completely miss the red that creeps up his neck and seeps into his ears.

vi. ice bath

shoko's fingers are unbelievably soft. you're grateful that you were unconscious through most of her procedures on your battered body—you don't think you would've handled the pain too well. she's quiet as she works over the large wound that now covers almost half of your torso. the man with the scar on his lip had done quite the number on you, and you don't think you'll ever forget the searing ache of his blade slicing through your flesh. he had left you in a bloodied pile, isolated, and you hadn't seen what had happened to suguru after the man shot riko. you could only lay there, vision swimming as a bitter taste filled your mouth—a reminder of the life you failed to protect.

the pain had been the only thing you could focus on, until satoru was on his knees at your side and tightly gripping your shoulders. your hazy focus was drawn to his lips as he spewed curses and insults at you.

"why didn't you run away, you little shit," he had shouted, a feral look in his eyes. there was something different about him—a change in his very being that you could see even in the throes of death. "shoko's coming, do you hear me? for fuck's sake, keep your eyes open, hotshot!"

you swore you saw his eyes shine behind that look of uncontrolled anger. he had been talking a mile a minute and your focus had waned until you could only see his lips move, no sound reaching your ears.

you've never thought satoru looked more godly than he did at that moment.

suguru eventually found his way into your field of vision—knelt at satoru's side. his large hand had squeezed your limp fingers in a death grip. he was sweating, and his eyes were darting back and forth between your pale face and bloodied torso, something akin to guilt swimming in them. you wished that you had the strength in you to squeeze his hand in return. the last thing you remember seeing is his dark hair falling in front of his face as he turned to shout at whoever was approaching.

now you're awake. disoriented and bleary, but awake, and all you can look at is the way shoko's bangs fall over her furrowed brows. she's taken care of the bleeding, and now all that's left is a dull throbbing, reminding you of how close you had toed the line with death. you don't know this yet, but the scar will remain for the rest of your life, and that dull throbbing will be a permanent reminder of your narrow escape.

shoko hasn't said a word since she noticed your eyelids flutter open. you want to ask her so many things. important things that cannot wait:

where's satoru? how about suguru? i saw them both. satoru's alive, right? and suguru, too? the man—with the scar. where did he go? he said that satoru—riko….where is riko? and—and kuroi…i—i..couldn't save riko. when did you get here, shoko? and why am i the only one who's being taken care of by you?

you want to ask her. but she's making a very odd expression as her hands ghost over your body. you've never seen it before, this odd quirking of her lips. her teeth sink into the bottom one, and she chews and bites and nibbles like it's some kind of nervous tell.

"shoko?"

it's all you can manage to say—all you dare. your voice is dry, shaky, and sounds almost foreign to your ears. you're going to ask more, at least one of those thousand questions you had asked in your head earlier, but you don't get to because she speaks before you.

"shut up," she spits, and the wobble in her voice has you pinching your lips shut and feeling closer to death than you did before.

vii. acid rain

the sound of clapping is deafening. you don't think you've ever heard a sound so horrid in your life before, and you feel as though your ears are bleeding heavily. you can faintly make out the conversation between satoru and suguru, your ears struggling to pick out the tones of their voices.

"no…" you hear suguru say quietly. "it doesn't matter if I'm fine…"

you can feel satoru's eyes roam over your motionless body, watching the way you gaze out into the crowd impassively.

"let's get out of here, guys."

your feet carry you numbly, and you aren't aware of anything except the way riko's arm is swinging in front of you lifelessly. there are no mirrors around—no way of catching the track of tears cutting over your cheeks. the places where the salt touches burn like acid. you say nothing.

satoru's gaze feels intrusive. he doesn't need to ask you anything—he just knows. it's like your body is radiating the emotions tumbling around in your gut.

you're awfully sensitive for a jujutsu sorcerer, you know that?

"do you want to…kill them all?"

the question stuns you, and for the first time, you can shake yourself out of your daze to look at satoru directly. blood is smeared over the left side of his face, cerulean eyes dimmed, as though something had pulled the shine out of them. red seeps into the fine hairs of his restless eyebrows.��

"right now, i probably wouldn't even feel anything," he continues, staring at you listlessly.

you think satoru might be feeling just as numb as you are. you don't know what happened to him yet. the last you had heard, gojo satoru had been killed by the man with the scar. he had boasted about it to you before he attempted to kill you too. but then satoru was at your side again, completely alive as he ran your battered body to shoko like a crazed man.

you'll find out later who the man with the scar on his lip was, and what kind of legacy he had left behind. but for right now, all you see is a teenager with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and you know your answer.

satoru could help the pain go away; he'd be able to make the clapping stop—maybe then your ears wouldn't bleed anymore. but you couldn't ask that of him.

"forget it. it's pointless," suguru mutters, and you're glad he's on the same page as you. not because any of these people deserve pity, but because satoru deserves a break—one less burden for him to carry.

you hear suguru say more, but you can't focus. you continue to listen to the sound of the clapping, and once again lose yourself as you stare at riko's bloodied fingertips.

"pointless, huh?" satoru mumbles in response to suguru's answer. "does there need to be a reason?"

"of course. it's important," suguru's voice doesn't carry the same pleasant tone it always does. instead, it sounds strained, and tired beyond belief. unsure. "especially as jujutsu sorcerers."

satoru doesn't respond, but you know that he's measuring the weight of his friend's words. that's how it was with the two of them. they both balance each other out—their moral compasses influenced by one another. but then you feel satoru look up from riko's body and turn to you. suguru follows suit, and before you can wonder why, it hits you: satoru had asked you both.

you suck a deep breath in, feeling unusually breathless. the flesh of your stomach tingles with a painful reminder of what might've been, and you make up your mind.

"killing them won't change anything," you say, breaking your silence. the tears on your cheeks have dried, but they leave a rigid trail in their wake—a trail that still stings. "let's just leave it at that."

viii. fever dreams

satoru lies next to you.

a few nights have passed since riko's death, and you've chosen to stay holed up in your room. you're not sure why—death has always played a big role in your life. you don't understand why it's different this time.

tonight is different as well. while you've maintained a distance from everyone since that day, save for classes and passing by people on school grounds, today you've decided to let someone in. satoru's the lucky one, mostly because he would've pestered you until you opened your door for him anyway.

it's strange though. he had knocked over and over, and when you finally opened up with a snappy jab at his annoying personality, he had brushed straight past you and laid across your bed. he hadn't said a word since then, and you've found yourself lying next to him in silence for quite a while.

his hand stretches out in the darkness and you can feel his fingertips brush over the skin of your arm. it's delicate, like he's testing his limits, but you understand. it's just to ground himself—to know that you're still here, with him. to be sure that you're still alive.

you think the scar that goes down your body bothers him a lot more than it bothers you.

"'m here," you mumble sleepily. your fingers reach up to bump against his knuckles, and you hear him inhale deeply. his voice is throaty when he replies.

"i know."

ix. doubt

satoru learns that you've never been kissed before and he teases you for it.

not in a mean way, but in a way that has your cheeks heating and your eyes avoiding his. suddenly it feels like the gap between ages 16 and 17 is huge. he's barely even a year older than you and you're in the same year, but it feels as though he knows so much more about the world than you do. you want to ask suguru if it's bad that you've never had a kiss, but you don't. suguru rarely talks these days. sometimes he'll have conversations with you but won't look in your eyes when he speaks.

"hey listen, hotshot. if you don't get a kiss by…" satoru hums, an eager smile on his face as he swings an arm around your shoulders and contemplates his words. "…let's say 27, then i'll give one to you!"

there's an odd note of glee in his voice.

"shut up, toru," you groan, heat flooding your cheeks. "quit joking around."

he laughs loudly, pulling your cheek teasingly. "aw, i'm just playing. it's not a bad thing i promise!"

your shoulders relax slightly as the snowy-haired sorcerer continues to speak.

"i just thought that you would've kissed someone by now," he shrugs. "wasn't there that one guy you went on a few dates with? the one you met when we went to yokohama?"

there's an almost sour expression on his face as he speaks, but you're too frustrated to care. "just because i went on a couple of dates with him doesn't mean i kissed him!"

a broad teasing smile appears on satoru's face. "is that so?"

"ugh, i'm only 16!" you hiss, shoving him away from you. "besides i'm saving it for someone special!"

"good," you hear suguru speak up, and you turn to look at him. his fingers are interlocked, elbows resting on his knees, and he's staring down at his hands like they hold the answers to some deep questions he has. "it is something irreplaceable after all."

x. shadow

satoru's grin is proud as he stands before the three of you, his loose shirt billowing in the summer breeze.

you stare at him, heart thumping as shoko lets out a confused gasp. "huh? what the hell was that?"

"did it automatically choose the target for your technique?" suguru asks.

"yep!" satoru stresses the word, spinning the pencil suguru had thrown as he explains. "though i am the target. i've pretty much automated what i used to have to do manually."

your head is spinning.

"now i can tell an object's danger levels based the strength of its cursed energy, its speed, mass, velocity, shape—whatever. i want to be able to discern poisons too but that's pretty hard right now." satoru's voice is even when he explains, though you can make out the hints of pride that permeate his tones. you think his voice has gotten a little deeper too. "basically this is gonna allow me to keep my limitless technique active all the time!"

"that's gonna fry your brain!" shoko interjects, shaking her hair out of her eyes.

"yeah but i can do it while i continuously generate energy on my own. that way my brain stays fresh."

you can't help but let out an amused scoff. "what brain?"

satoru chucks the eraser at you, and you laugh as it bounces off your shoulder harmlessly.

"i've been working on shortening my hand signals so i can activate red and blue simultaneously." he continues, lips twitching upward as he gives you an exaggerated glare. "after this the only things i need to work on are domain expansion and long-distance teleportation. which i should be able to do if we set up some training courses here at school."

you think if someone examined you closely, they would see the stars in your eyes when you look at satoru.

"shoko~" he calls out, grinning eagerly. "think you could get me some lab rats?"

shoko groans as satoru bounds over to pester her more emphatically. you watch him, thinking you've never seen a person quite so magnificent.

god personified into a 17-year-old body. and yet it is a body that stays so close to you—well within your reach. maybe there's nothing so godly about that at all.

"don't you get tired of getting stronger and stronger, jeez?" you complain, crossing your arms as you raise a brow at him. satoru wets his lips as he throws you a smug smile.

"don't worry hotshot, you'll catch up to me someday!" he gives you an exaggerated wink over the frames of his glasses, and you shake your head somewhat fondly.

"no way! i never want to be at your level," you huff. "i'm very comfortable living in your shadow, thank you very much!"

a strange look passes over his face, almost puzzled, but the dip in his brows melts away as he approaches you. "well—" he slings an arm over your shoulder. "if my shadow makes you happy then you're more than welcome to stay there."

you don't have time to reply. pale lashes flutter at you—a backdrop of cerulean. you think white and blue may be the prettiest combination of colors in the world.

"suguru?" satoru's voice is casual, yet the amusement has dropped from it. his arm is heavy around your shoulders. "have you lost weight? are you okay?"

you look up, seeing tired eyes behind dark stands of hair. suguru's cheekbones are prominent, and you have the sudden urge to reach out and trace your fingers over them.

his lips twitch upward weakly. "it's just the summer heat…"

his lavender eyes drift to your face as he says it, and he tilts his head as he scrutinizes your worried expression. "…i'll be fine."

xi. hellfire

you hear suguru before you see him.

his breaths come loud as he pushes the door to the morgue open, the metal clanging heavily. his eyes bore into your back, taking in your clenched fists and raised shoulders that seem to tremble.

you wonder who told suguru you'd be here. maybe nanami, who was here not long ago, and had sent you a text that merely said: the mission went badly.

or maybe it was satoru, who had been chatting with you near the entrance of campus when he saw the myriad of emotions pass over your face as you read the text. he had probably called suguru as soon as you left.

it doesn't matter—you can't bring yourself to care.

you can only think about the way haibara had smiled at you before he left that morning.

now that smile is covered by a dirty white sheet, and you can't tear your eyes away from it. the taste of blood and vomit is heavy on your tongue.

suguru says your name quietly. you can't even look at him—you're scared that you'll cry if you do.

you don't ever want to cry in front of him. or satoru—so weak in front of those who are so strong.

"he asked if i wanted to go with them and i said no because i was lazy," you hiss, teeth clenched as you spit out the words with venom. "if i had just stopped thinking about myself for a second—"

your fingers dig into the flesh of your palms—deep, deep, deeper.

you hear suguru click his tongue, and his hands wrap around yours. he yanks your fingers apart fiercely, thumbs smoothing over the bloodied indents you've made in your own skin. you tear your eyes away from the body to finally look at him.

"don't—" his breath catches as his thumbs still over your flesh, eyes going hard as he takes in the blood.

he blurs in and out of focus. his head whips up when he hears you sniffle, and his lips slant ruefully. "you—"

"i'm fine," you interrupt, blinking pointedly and taking a deep breath. "it's fine—i mean it's not fine—but i c—"

"stop." suguru grabs your shoulders, giving you an even stare. you don't know how you didn't notice it before, but he looks thinner, older. there are dark circles under his eyes—poison seeping into his skin. "you need to rest."

you stare back at him silently, but you don't feel like you agree. something about this is making you feel restless, like there is so much you need to make up for. his grip tightens, before he's wordlessly leading you to take a seat—he finds his place next to you.

"satoru took over the mission." he stares at the lifeless body on the table as he speaks. you lower your gaze.

"and nanami?" your throat feels like it's closing. suguru inhales deeply.

"he went back to the dorms."

"okay."

you try to figure out if there is any meaning in having this conversation. despite everything, weren't you expected to wake up tomorrow morning and head out on a mission once more? and when you return, you're sure that there'll be another faceless body taking haibara's place.

the cycle continues—clockwork. it scares you, just how replaceable you are.

haibara, nanami, you, another, nameless—interchangeable.

not like satoru. not like suguru. not like the strong.

you lean your head against suguru's shoulder, fingering the hem of your uniform skirt. the fabric is cool to the touch—it seems darker, heavier. heat radiates from the body next to you, and there's something about him that's making your stomach churn with nerves. "suguru?"

his voice sounds far away. "hm?"

"are you okay?"

he stiffens and you suddenly fear you've said too much—nosy, intruding, out of place. you stumble. "it's just, we haven't talked much lately."

"i'm fine," he answers, and you can hear a smile in his voice—whether it's real or fake you can't tell. "just a little tired."

you know there is truth to this. but it scares you, how this tiredness of his has lingered for months. you don't know how to tell him that.

"okay…" your voice is barely a whisper, heavy with unspoken words that you don't know how to formulate. somehow you find that silence has always been your only option.

but like usual, silence with suguru has never once been uncomfortable.

haibara's smile burns behind your eyelids.

"it should be a relatively simple mission. if you're not doing anything today senpai, would you like to come with us?"

his voice tickles your ears.

"that's alright! i'll get going then! oh right, today's mission is a little farther than usual, so we'll probably be back late! what would you like me to bring back for you?"

hypoxia crushes your lungs, your blood burns. selfish selfish selfish. you've only ever cared about yourself.

suguru's arm curls around your shoulder before you even realize you're crying. his palm is warm as it smooths over your hair, and all you can worry about tainting him with your ridiculous tears.

you don't ever want to burden him—just want to quietly live in his shadow.

"i don't—" you internally cringe at the throaty rasp of your voice, swiping a hand at your nose. "i shouldn't be so sensitive about—"

"it's not your fault." he quietly hushes you, grip tightening imperceptibly. through your tears you can see him adam's apple bob, and for some reason that makes you feel worse. you're too scared to look at his expression, even though his voice is resolute. "none of this is our fault."

something has changed in the way he speaks now. something has settled, a confirmation of some idea that has been brewing for a long time now.

you don't say another word, but somehow he manages to sear himself into your very being. he's warm, and fuzzy, and he smells like sandalwood and incense.

you don't know how long suguru let's you pathetically sob into his shoulder.

but you think you're embarrassed that he has taken pity on a wounded animal's cries.

xii. split

he looks different, but also the same. you've seen him wear that sweater before. it's plain black, no patterns, and you know that there's a loose string on the inside of the left sleeve that he was always too lazy to cut. you've always liked that sweater—always liked the way he looked in it.

you liked it so much that you've even stolen it a few times yourself.

but now it looks different. older and dirtier—as though soiled by some unknown curse.

that's what everything came down to, right? curses.

suguru stands in front of you, almost no trace of emotion on his handsome face, and his expression makes you want to turn and run. you miss the calm serenity that normally graced his features, wishing that you had some kind of cursed technique that could turn back time. but you aren't blessed like that—you wonder what sin you might've committed in a past life that made you so unlucky in this one.

"you look confused," he comments. you reel at how casually he speaks to you, like it's just another afternoon sitting under that stupid tree. like he's leaning his head back against the trunk and watching you and satoru bicker with that fond look in his eye.

"suguru," you speak, an odd strain in your voice. you struggle to comprehend this odd turn of events. you've had time to understand that he's now a different person than the one you once knew. you know that he's responsible for killing 112 innocents, including his own parents. you know that he's now an enemy to jujutsu society and you know that you should kill him right at this moment.

but he looks so much like suguru, like your suguru, that you can only manage to stand there, frozen in place. his eyes drift over your body, taking in your pajamas, the bath towel in your hands, and the small drops that trickle from your hair, and you can see the familiarity settle in his expression.

"why are you here?" you choke out. you feel an overwhelming sense of danger in your gut, knowing that your family is just a few rooms over from where he stands now.

"at your family home, you mean?" he asks casually. a small, almost amused smirk appears on his face. "you said i was always welcome."

you did say that. sometime last year or the year before, when you had invited satoru, suguru, and shoko over to visit during one of your quick holidays. suguru had sat across from you at your dinner table. he complimented the food and your father smiled one of his rare smiles. you had chewed quietly to hide your grin.

you don't know what to say to him now.

"everything they said about you," you whisper, taking a step toward him. he remains rooted in place, but his eyes follow your movements. they shift when he catches your fingers gripping your towel tighter. "is it true?"

"do you think it is?" he asks, and you gulp. it feels like he's baiting you into some kind of trap.

"i don't want to believe that it is," you answer, voice shaking. "that you would ever do something so…"

the sentence hangs in the air, and he tilts his head imperceptibly. something in his eyes changes as he focuses on the drops falling over your shoulders.

"well i'm sorry to squash your hope," he raises his arms in a shrug. "but everything you heard is completely true."

your head aches, but you're not surprised by his confirmation. "why would you…?"

suguru hums, a dark look falling over his face. "do you remember the conversation we had after haibara's funeral? do you remember what i told you when he died?"

anger flares in your gut at the mention of haibara, and the bath towel crumples in your hold. "don't say his name," you hiss through gritted teeth. "don't act like he's the reason—just…don't bring him into this. please."

suguru licks his lips, eyes going soft before he tries again.

"everything used to make sense back then," he sighs. "back when the strong existed to protect the weak. but it's not true."

"suguru—"

"the reason why we suffer is because of them," he interjects evenly, though frustration is clearly evident in the curve of his brows and the volume of his voice. "we clean up their messes. they create problems and we die for it."

you're stunned into silence, at the way he's raising his voice at you, at the way he's speaking so firmly about this horrible topic, at everything. he seems to realize the effect of his speech, and he quells his anger to speak quieter. "that's why i'm doing this. i'm going to create a world without non-sorcerers, so that sorcerers like you and i can live peacefully."

a lump forms in your throat because god, he's right. he's so right. your life would be a thousand times better without curses. non-sorcerers were the reason curses existed. but the way he's going about this…

"suguru," your voice shakes, but you press on. "i get it. i really do—"

"i know you do," he interrupts. "you always have. even back then…"

he takes a step closer to you, reaching out to finger the towel in your hands. "but you don't agree with the way i'm doing it, right?"

you bite your lip, and he smiles at the sadness in your expression. "you're so easy to read, hotshot."

you ignore the way the nickname stings. "i just—how could you kill innocent people like that? your own parents, suguru."

he looks away from you, steely resolve in his eyes. "if i made exceptions for my parents, that would kinda make me a hypocrite, wouldn't it?"

you don't know what to say to that. he doesn't seem to have anything else to add either.

he looks around your old bedroom, eyes sparkling as they catch a picture of the four of you from your first year. satoru's arm is slung around shoko. the dark-haired female has her elbow resting on your shoulder, her tongue sticking out playfully. you're clinging to suguru's arm, and satoru's free hand is squishing your cheeks together. the four of you are laughing.

nobody has laughed in a while now.

you tear your gaze away from the picture frame to look at him. he's so unbelievably close, and he's gazing down at you with this foreign look in his eyes, the picture forgotten behind him.

he slips his fingers into your hair. his palm is large enough that it can brush the side of your face, and you wonder why your body doesn't flinch away from those bloodstained hands.

"it's okay," he mumbles, a faraway look in his eyes. they remain trained on your hair, but it feels like he's looking straight through you. like you're nothing more than a ghost he wants to erase. he's so close—you can count his dark lashes as they brush against his cheeks. "it's difficult. i don't expect you to understand."

his words incite a sudden flare of anger in your gut. it burns something fierce, and in that moment you hate him.

"no, i don't," you reply indignantly. he pauses, now really looking at you, and his brows quirk upward in what seems to be surprise, because—well, he's never seen you make such an expression at him before. "you never tried to help me understand. you just left."

a strained silence follows. his fingers twitch against your cheek.

"this doesn't concern you," he says finally. "i don't need you to understand my actions."

you recoil, as though he's physically hurt you, and your expression falls so hard that it almost makes him regret saying it. almost.

"if it doesn't concern me, then why are you here?" you ask again, and you see suguru's shoulders drop. "you know that i have orders to kill you. i might not be able to because you've always been stronger than me. but you know that i'll…"

go down fighting you, is what you want to say, but the words leave a nasty taste in your mouth. but suguru seems to know what you're implying because a wry smile appears on his lips. his fingers twirl a strand of your wet hair.

"i'm here to say goodbye," he says finally. another tense silence fills the space between you both, and suguru can see the way your fingers shake between the folds of your towel.

"you're a little bit late for that, aren't you?" you choke out, a strange tilt to your voice as you break eye contact with him. "you left school weeks ago, and you didn't say a word to me then."

"better late than never, right?"

the softness in his tone makes you turn to look at him again, and you desperately want to ingrain the features of his face into your head. the gentle slope of his eyes and sweetness of his smile. he almost looks like the suguru you once knew, and you suddenly have the urge to mourn his death.

his face becomes blurry, the edges becoming less pronounced, and you can see the way his expression falls.

"i didn't come all the way here to make you cry." his hand drops from your face and he takes a step back. your fingers hurry to wipe at your waterline, and you shake your head.

"'m not crying."

suguru smiles ruefully, and his eyes suddenly look devoid of life. he takes another step back—your heart plummets.

he says your name once, quietly, and it hangs in the air as you wait for him to say more.

he doesn't.

"you know that I'm not supposed to let you leave alive, right?" you mumble, fingers toying with the towel in your hand. "but i can't—i mean—"

"hm," he chuckles. "still as sensitive as ever, huh? s'okay…"

he moves toward you again and his hand gently cups the back of your neck. "i think it's your best quality. makes you better than most people in our world."

he presses his lips to your forehead tenderly, and you feel your eyes widen behind your tears.

you probably could've stopped him, because you're aware that he's now suddenly behind you, and that he's raising his hand. you can stop him, but a part of you thinks that if it's death at suguru's hands, maybe it's not such a bad way to go.

you accept your fate then and there.

you'll find out later that suguru never had the intention to kill you then. perhaps he was waiting for a more opportune time, waiting for there to be a meaning behind it. you're not sure. but when you wake up tucked in your bed cozily, you'll feel the remnants of him lingering around you.

he was warm, and fuzzy, and he smelled like sandalwood and incense.

xiii. sanctify

satoru's at your door again.

you've memorized his knock patterns. he always knocks three times, then leaves a pause, then twice more. for someone so erratic, he can be quite predictable.

"what's up, satoru?" you call out, not looking up from your busy hands. there are a couple of empty cardboard boxes open on your bed, and you've been placing things into them all morning. things that should've been put away a long time ago. you pause on one of your old test papers, and in suguru's dark, blocky handwriting you read:

YOU GOTTA STUDY MORE DUMBASS.

underneath it, satoru had scrawled:

hotshot failing class now huh? :P

and shoko had added:

both of you stfu you're failing too

you had drawn a heart next to her name.

"whatcha doin'?" a familiar voice chirps. "spring cleaning?"

satoru stands directly behind you, peering over your shoulder. you can practically feel his aura shift when he notices the items you're putting away.

"cleaning of some sort," you sigh, before turning to look over your shoulder. "i've been…putting it off."

he doesn't move—just continues to stare down at the paper in your hands. you think maybe you shouldn't have let him in. sometimes you forget that satoru might have his own sensitivities—you've always viewed him as the strongest.

a few strands of his hair tickle your cheek, and you scrunch your nose in response. he then turns to you, eyes blinding as he studies you over the frames of his shades.

"want help?"

"please." you don't intend to sound so needy, but the way you whisper the word has him immediately grabbing your wrist and sitting you down next to him on the bed.

"how are we sorting this stuff?" he asks, his voice oddly calm. he hasn't let go of your arm yet, and some quiet part of you is grateful.

"i was putting our old school stuff in that box. books, papers…" you answer softly, and satoru nods in understanding. "and in the other box…"

you inhale deeply through your nose. satoru waits, strangely patient. you're not sure if you're imagining it, but you think he squeezes your wrist.

"…are all of suguru's things."

there's a moment of silence—a quick mourning for what is no longer there.

"it's stupid stuff that he left behind, you know?" you chuckle, even though nothing is funny. "some old shirts from when you two would sleep over, his old textbooks, a few pictures from our holidays—shit like that."

satoru hums. he's not looking at you—instead he's staring at the box, a frown on his face.

"i guess he didn't really need those things for where he was going. or for wherever he is now," you mumble.

"guess not."

you're not sure what's going through his head. satoru's reaction to suguru leaving had been chaotic at best. it was so hard to tell how he felt about it. you knew he was angry, confused, betrayed. but he never showed things like that. you think it might have to do with being the strongest. you're not sure though—you never were strong like him.

you wish there was a way to tell him that he could share his feelings with you, but you can't think of a way that won't be awkward.

a ticklish sensation crawls up your wrist and you look down to watch satoru's first two fingers tap against the inside of your palm. his thumb brushes against yours as he lets out a heavy exhale.

"let's get started then, hotshot."

he looks down at you as he says the words, and you think you might cry. but you want to be strong, like him, so you offer him a smile. he gives you one in return. you realize there isn't that much warmth in it, not like it used to have—you're sure that yours isn't that warm either.

but it's enough for the two of you.

"you look tired, toru," you chuckle wryly, reaching up to brush a few strands of hair from his face. his eyes flutter at the touch, and you honestly think this might be the most vulnerable you've ever seen him.

"so do you."

"i am," you admit honestly.

"'s okay," he mumbles. his fingers tap against your palm once more. "'m here."

"i know," you answer. you always are.

nothing more is said as satoru stands up. he makes his way over to your desk and pulls one of suguru's old sweaters from your chair. you watch him fold it neatly, smoothing out the creases with care, before placing it into the box—you smile once more.

you think the scent of sandalwood tickles your nose, but it's gone in an instant.

both of you work in relative silence, sorting through the things in your room quickly. you're surprised at how bare it looks as you're nearing the end, as though there's nothing more to your life than old high school recollections.

you finish putting the last few polaroids into the box when satoru speaks up.

"hey."

you look up and find him staring at you, so you turn to face him completely, giving him your full attention.

"zenin toji—" the name sends a painful tingle up your body. "—left something behind."

you frown. "what are you talking about?"

"a kid. he's got a kid. and i was gonna go meet him today," satoru shrugs. you try to read his emotions, but as usual, he's giving you nothing. "the old man said something about the zenin clan buying up his kid before i killed him. i was gonna go see if there's something i could do about that."

you sigh before raising a brow, an amused lilt to your voice. "and why have you kept this a secret?"

satoru's trademark smirk appears, and he walks over to sling an arm around your shoulders. "who knows?" he quips nonchalantly. "guess i was waiting until we were bored. we need something to do now, don't we?"

you glance at the packed boxes on your bed, and then look around your empty room. everything is always changing, but satoru is constant.

"i guess so," you grin. his eyes shine, and for a second you see a familiar teenager at the beach, and then a familiar teenager under an old tree. you think you hear waves, and the crinkling of a bag of chips.

"good," he chirps, walking you to the door, the arm around your shoulder secure. "his name's megumi, and we're gonna make sure he gets strong."

xiv. idyll

it takes you a little over four months to get used to megumi's eyes. they aren't unsettling or invading, like a certain snowy haired sorcerer, but they do give you chills when you first notice them. chills and a fleeting feeling of metal slicing up and down through your flesh. you just have to steady your breathing and remind yourself that the son is not the father.

tsumiki is an angel. you didn't think that kids that age could be so emotionally competent, but she's a pleasant surprise. she had been awfully protective over megumi, fidgeting with a firm hand on his shoulder as you and satoru invaded their space and upturned their lives. even after they had settled into the humble apartment satoru had purchased, tsumiki was still so overly cautious. it was obvious she still didn't trust either of you, but you thought it was admirable of her, and you relay this thought to satoru one day.

"think they hate us?" he asks, squishing his cheeks between his lithe fingers as he eyes the different milk cartons over the rims of his glasses.

"i'm pretty sure they just don't trust us that much," you reply, placing a few packs of instant ramen into the cart. "can you blame them? we're just random strangers who came up and basically kidnapped them."

"i'd like to say adopted!" he points out with a grin, before he sighs. "but we've already proved we're just doing this to help them. but they still barely talk at all."

"they're just being careful. megumi's still a little young and he looks like he doesn't give a shit about most stuff anyway," you chuckle as you remember the expression on the first grader's face as he spoke to your cocky friend. "and tsumiki's being cautious for both of them."

"she doesn't need to be cautious of us!" satoru dramatically whines, pulling out a carton of whole milk and placing it into the cart. you shiver as the cold air hits your skin, eyeing the sorcerer with an exasperated smile. he shuts the door with a huff. "i've been such a good dad!"

you roll your eyes, shoving his arm as he starts pushing the cart down the aisle. "she definitely should be cautious of you, you creep."

satoru looks down over his shoulder, appalled, though his eyes sparkle with mirth. "and why do you say that?"

"have you seen yourself? crazy 19 year old man that kidnaps kids," you mutter somewhat sarcastically, falling into step with him like it's normal. satoru grins at that—amused.

"i think it's pretty cool of her to be that responsible though," you continue, voice going softer as you think about them, and satoru hums in what you think might be agreement. you suddenly grab his arm, stopping him in his tracks and he turns to look at you.

"you think we should get another carton of milk?" you question, tilting your head at him. "megumi's been drinking it every day after he comes back from school and tsumiki said she wanted to try making milkshakes."

satoru blinks at you, eyes widening before an amused chuckle escapes his lips. you're about to ask what is so funny but he gestures back down the aisle. "go get some."

he waits for you as you go grab another carton, leaning against the cart easily. when you make it back and place the extra milk in the cart, satoru slings an arm around your shoulders. you raise a brow, but he just continues to push the cart with his free hand and says nothing.

so you don't say anything either.

the two of you continue shopping, trying to remember the things you've noticed the kids enjoying because you know they'll be too uncomfortable to outrightly request them. for every sweet snack satoru puts into the cart, you add something that can pass as somewhat healthy, and he hides a teasing grin behind his fist each time.

when you're almost done, satoru motions to the shelves of snacks, raising a brow at you. "what do you need, hotshot?"

you look up from where you're analyzing the contents of the cart. "hm? oh i don't wanna buy anything for myself. i'm good with the stuff i have back at the dorm."

"great," he shrugs with a subtle shake of his head. "except you're not buying anything this time, i am. so pick something."

"what?" you frown, walking over to him. "we're supposed to split groceries for the kids."

"we can split next time." satoru rolls his eyes at you, as though annoyed by your insistence. "i just got paid yesterday and i wanna waste money. pick something."

you groan. "but there really isn't anything i want. if you're gonna pay yourself then let's just go. i think this is good enough."

satoru looks unamused, his eyes boring into yours—bright, dominating, mesmerizing. "oh really? nothing you want?"

you stare at him in confusion as he walks over to the frozen section and opens the door. after a few seconds of rummaging, he pulls out a box. "not even this?"

your shoulders drop. he's holding a tub of strawberry ice cream.

he casually places it into the cart, eyes trained on your expression as he bends down. "it's your favorite, isn't it?"

your voice comes out throaty, and you wet your lips nervously—his eyes follow the movement at lightning speed. "how'd you know?"

satoru scoffs out a haughty chuckle, reaching up to knock a knuckle at your forehead—it's cold. "i know everything about you, hotshot."

he moves to grip at the cart's handle, standing close enough that you can feel the energy radiating off of him. the side of his hand touches yours, still cold. "now we can go."

he sticks by your side, pushing the cart towards the counters as he casually looks around the store. you briefly realize that his shadow doesn't cover you when you're at his side like this. the thought both scares you and pleases you in a way you didn't think was possible.

"thanks toru," you mumble before you can stop yourself. his gives you a sidelong glance—assessing.

his lips twitch. "it's just ice cream."

"no, it's a lot more than that." you're not really sure why you say it so tragically, and satoru inhales sharply. you notice that his knuckles have turned white as he grips the cart's handles. once again, his eyes dart rapidly over your face—between your eyes and then further down.

then he lets out a hushed laugh, nudging your shoulder with his. "as long as you share with me, hotshot."

everything is always changing, but satoru is constant.

you can't help but smile. "always."

you two don't say much as you head to the counter, taking turns placing all the items on the belt. you quietly watch satoru dig into his wallet, feeling oddly content doing so. you think the stars in your eyes will never disappear.

the clerk eyes you both, and suppresses a fond grin. with your close proximity, shared cart, and satoru's easy going smile, you realize that she's probably misunderstanding, but you don't really know how to correct her. satoru says nothing—he just continues smiling, oddly pleased.

he smiles all the way to the car. you catch yourself doing the same in the rear view mirror.

xv. retribution

the first thing you notice when you kneel in front of suguru is that he's bleeding all over the place. you have the strongest urge to scramble and grip his fingers tightly, just as he had done for you so many years ago—but you don't dare. you're too scared that touching him will ruin you completely.

he says your name quietly, and yet it's the loudest thing in the universe to you—crashing over your ears until you've lost all sense of self.

and then he leans forward, his gaze heavy, and his hand comes up to tangle in your hair. his palm rests on the side of your face just like it did when he visited you at your family home. the last time you saw your geto suguru.

except this time he moves further—crosses a line. presses his lips to yours.

he tastes like blood. you don't pull away.

the feeling of his lips shocks you though, and you stay permanently frozen in place as you feel your eyes glaze over with something you can't put into words.

suguru kisses you slowly, deeply, like he's been waiting but wants to savor it. maybe you've been waiting too. you're not sure. you're so confused.

you don't even process the way his tongue slips past your lips, tasting almost eagerly like your mouth is some kind of conquest he's trying to claim.

it's intrusive, but not unwelcome. slow, but not gentle.

you whimper quietly, feeling acid sting down your cheek as he pulls away and his eyes flutter open. he takes in your expression, and a million emotions pass over his face.

a quiet chuckle. "that bad, huh?"

you shake yourself out of it and try to push away the flush creeping up your neck. "w-what?"

"you're crying," he announces, his furrowed eyebrows paired with a sweet smile that makes him look so unbelievably tragic. "the kiss was that bad?"

your face burns, and you raise a shaking hand up to your cheek—it's wet.

"it wasn't—i didn't—" you struggle. "i mean—"

he smiles ruefully. "i'm sorry. you were saving it for someone special, right?"

there's a charged silence that follows as you scour your brain for the conversation he's referencing. when you find it, your heart sinks.

"you've always been special to me, suguru." your voice comes out quiet, but he hears it all the same. his eyes widen fractionally and you can see a light pink dust his cheeks before he laughs. it's soft, hushed, and looks like it's painful, but he lets it run its course.

it reminds you of a laugh from so long ago, at a beach, with childish screams echoing against the sound of waves. you think you can feel strawberry ice cream dripping down your wrist.

his laughs die down and he's left smiling softly at you. his lavender eyes sparkle with mirth as he tilts his head. "i'm glad. that you were the one i gave a room to."

you can hear waves in your ears, crashing crashing drowning. sand is in your hands, in between your toes, in your eyes.

he coughs, and his palm shakes against your cheek. you wonder why he doesn't just let go already dammit suguru.

you inhale sharply, trying so hard to breathe because what is that stupid thing that's clogging your throat and preventing you from speaking? there's so much you have to say to him. so many questions. so many things left unsaid. your words are failing you.

but silence with suguru has never once been uncomfortable, right?

you raise a shaky hand to press against his where it lays against your neck. "do you regret it?"

he licks his lips, smiling faintly, as though he's enjoying the new taste of you on them. "no."

"why not?" you whisper. your body unconsciously shuffles closer to him, chasing his warmth because gods is he warm. he's always been so warm, even now, in the throes of death.

"my feelings are still the same. i still hate the monkeys for everything they've done, all the crap they cause." he shuts his eyes, smiling that serene smile. you wish he was leaning against a tree trunk. "i still have no resentment to those at jujutsu tech. and you, i still…"

he doesn't continue. you don't think you want him to. there's a flush crawling up his neck, the faint pink a stark contrast to the red of blood. it makes you nauseous.

another deep inhale, and his thumb slides over your jawbone, before brushing under your bottom lip. he stares at the flesh heavily, letting his finger press into it. his tongue swipes over his own lips, eyes darkening further.

and then something shifts in his face, and he smiles mirthlessly. his hand drops from your face—broken contact.

he doesn't tear his gaze away from you, committing your face to memory. it's almost like he wants to say something, but decides against it at the last minute as he slumps further into the wall behind him and shuts his eyes.

when he speaks again, you know that it is all over.

"you're late, satoru."

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kwanisms · 4 months ago

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Kinktober 「10:04」 — y.jeonghan

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➮ oni!Jeonghan × fem!Reader wc: 5.3k summary: Speed dating never was Y/N’s thing but lucky for her, she just so happened to meet someone worthwhile. He asked her on a proper date which developed into a relationship. After a regular date night, Jeonghan asks Y/N if he can try something new in the bedroom. genres/themes/au: angst/fluff/smut; supernatural, horror, thriller; non idol au, monster idol au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, mention of alcohol consumption, supernatural and horror themes, mentions of: food/drink consumption, coffee; sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! taglist has been moved to the reblogs join my taglists! taglist for kinktober is CLOSED. Strikethrough means I cannot tag you. MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED.

a/n: this one was going to be much different but sometimes, the story writes itself. i don't have much else to say so enjoy this piece for kinktober and hbd to Jeonghan! thank you for reading! the next part is Mingyu so stick around for that! as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), deepthroating (f receiving), bulge kink, use of pet names (baby, angel, sweetheart, etc), unprotected sex (use protection pls), oral (m receiving), Jeonghan has a huge d!ck, and I think I got all of it but of course, tell me if I missed any. kinks: Bulge kink + deepthroatingdialogue prompt: ❛❛ I haven’t even touched you yet and you’re already wet. ❜❜

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Dating in this day and age had always been difficult for you.

When your friend, Voxx, first suggested speed dating, you laughed it off as a ridiculous notion, not wanting to resort to something you deemed so impersonal. Your friend reassured you that it wasn’t that bad and that they had met their partner during a speed date.

“No, I get that,” you said as you leaned back against their couch, a glass of wine in your hand as they sat on the opposite end of the couch. “I didn’t put much stock in meeting someone on a speed date but Michael has been great and I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.”

You nodded, taking a sip from your glass. “Besides,” Voxx continued after taking a sip of their own glass. “How else do you expect to meet anyone? You never approach anyone at the bar, you hardly speak to anyone outside our friend group except for your coworkers,” they added, giving you a knowing look. You narrowed your eyes before lowering your gaze to your glass.

“You have a point.”

Voxx smirked, taking another sip of wine. “It’s really not that bad and if you do get someone truly awful, you don’t have to worry about being stuck with them for very long,” they explained. “You only get a few minutes, maybe ten at most.” You nodded silently as you turned their words over in your head.

“Come on,” your friend whined. “You never know who you might meet!”

You sighed, looking up from your glass. “Fine,” you said when you saw the pleading look in their eyes. “I will attend but if it ends disastrously, I’m blaming you,” you added, pointing at them before downing the rest of your wine right as the timer on the oven went off, signaling dinner was ready and it was time for more wine.

Voxx promised to sign you up for the event, taking care of everything but sending the questionnaire for you to look over and fill out. You emailed it back to the event coordinator who was beyond excited that you were attending. Your friend told you they often hosted these events and was always this ecstatic.

The night of the event, you raided your closet, settling on a simple cream colored blouse with a small keyhole cut just above the bust. You paired it with a dark brown skirt, nude colored stockings, and a pair of stylish but comfortable heels in case you would be doing a lot of standing or walking. Grabbing your beige long wool coat to brave the elements, you were ready.

It was a Saturday afternoon which is why you chose to dress in the color palette you did. An evening event would have seen you in a much more extravagant cocktail dress and your red bottom heels you saved for special occasions.

You took the train into the city, getting off at the appropriate stop and making your way to the address provided by the coordinator which turned out to be a bookstore and cafe. You entered through the front door, greeting the cashier who then pointed you to the private room in the back. The main room of the coffee shop was rather large with couches, arm chairs, and tables placed throughout the shop.

Every wall that didn’t have a window or doorway had a bookshelf lined with books, all separated by genre and organized by author name. It was very organized and tidy. You walked through the open doorway into another, smaller room with love seats, coffee tables, armchairs with a small end table between them. It was the perfect set up and away from prying eyes.

You saw that you were one of the first participants to show up and caught the eye of the coordinator. You only knew who she was because of the picture your friend had shown you. She walked over, smiling warmly at you as she approached. “You must be Y/N,” she said, holding your hand out. Up close, you noticed she had striking red eyes, pointed fangs, and her nails were unusually long and sharp.

As you took her hand, you felt her skin was cold to the touch and it dawned on you that you were now face to face with a vampire. “Uh,” you said, realizing she was waiting for you to answer. “Yes. I’m Y/N,” you replied. She smiled again. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Lucia,” she said.

You thanked her, forcing a smile as you shook hands. “We’re waiting for the rest of the participants to show up but if you’d like to go grab a coffee and browse the books, feel free. We don’t start for another twenty minutes,” she added, pulling out a pocket watch — because of course she did — to check the time. You thanked her once more, looking past her at the other people in the room.

You noticed nonhuman features, inhuman eye and hair colors but also some that looked entirely ordinary. As you walked out of the room to go up to the counter, you saw a woman sporting yellow eyes with vertical slits and bits of scaly skin peeking out from under her hairline, you realized what you’d signed up for, letting out a small groan of frustration.

You quickly composed yourself as you approached the counter and ordered a simple caramel macchiato, paying and stepping aside to pay. As you waited, you pulled out your phone, shooting a quick text to Voxx, conveying your frustration.

You: YOU SIGNED ME UP FOR A MONSTER LOVERS SPEED DATING EVENT?!

Voxx’s response was instantaneous.

Voxx: I thought you might like to give it a try since your track record with humans hasn’t exactly been that great. You: a heads up would have been nice 😒 Voxx: if I had told you it was a monster lover speed dating event beforehand, would you have still gone? You: …no Voxx: exactly. Now stop texting me, put your phone on silent and enjoy the event! (:

You grumbled to yourself as you did just that, putting your phone on silent and slipping it into your pocket as the barista called out your name, setting your coffee on the counter. With your macchiato in hand, you perused the bookshelves, finding several old novels, settling on grabbing one of your favorites, Carmilla.

With the book in hand, you returned to the back private room, moving to sit in one of the armchairs while you waited for the rest of the participants to arrive. Among the ones you'd already seen there were a couple more newer faces.

You kept count as the room slowly filled until there were a total of 19 bodies not including the hostess. There were 10 humans including yourself and 9 humanoids ranging from demons to reptilians and you were sure there was even the odd werecreature. The numbers were uneven though, which you thought odd unless there was meant to be one person without a match each round.

You saw Lucia look around and check her pocket watch once more before getting up and moving to the front of the room. She cleared her throat before smiling, looking around at the guests.

“Good afternoon,” she greeted. “And welcome to the annual Unconventional Couple's Speed Dating Event.” A light, scattered applause rang throughout the room, soft but noticeable.

“Each year, my partner and I host this event to help humans and non-humans come together and meet in a safe environment without the judgment of others,” Lucia explained in a clear calm voice, her warm smile ever present on her lips.

“My partner, Greg, and I met 9 years ago by sheer coincidence and it was practically love at first sight. We decided after being together for four years that we wanted to help others like us meet and potentially find their match.”

As you sipped your coffee, you listened to Lucia's speech. It wasn't as if you were uninterested in dating a monster, it just wasn't something you'd put much thought into before.

A loud bang rang out, making you jump in your seat along with several others and you turned your head in the direction of the sound to see a tall, and rather attractive, man bent over, nursing his knee. He'd run into one of the end tables by the door upon entering.

He looked up, his paint expression melting instantly when he realized he had all eyes in the room on him. He stood up straight, grimacing as he walked further into the room. “Sorry,” he whispered, moving quickly to take the empty armchair by yours.

Several of the others sent icy glares in his direction before returning their attention back to Lucia who started to speak again, going over the rules of the event. Your attention waned as the man in the armchair next to you shifted in his seat.

“If looks could kill,” he muttered. You threw a glance his way, noticing he was staring past you. His eyes shifted, meeting yours and you knew instantly, he was not a regular man.

He had brown eyes that seemed to glow slightly which bordered on uncanny territory for you. From this close proximity, you could see that he was even more attractive than you previously thought.

He had a medium golden skin tone with reddish brown hair, strands falling into his eyes. From between strands of hair, two small dark brown horns peeked out, the tips rounded into nubs.

He wore a white button down under a caramel colored sweater with dark brown fitted pleated pants and black oxfords. Over the entire ensemble, he wore a light cream colored long coat with brown buttons and a sash that hung untied.

He nodded pointedly past you, bringing you back to reality. You turned, following his gaze to find a pair of icy blue eyes staring at the two of you before turning away to look at Lucia. You turned to look at the man once more. His gaze met yours and he smiled, giving you a wink before he turned his attention to the front of the room.

After explaining the rules, Lucia had ten participants, half the humans and half the nonhumans, sit while the remaining half would be the roaming half. It worked out that all humans sitting would be paired with nonhumans and vice versa.

You were lucky enough to be included in the group that was seated, removing your coat and draping it over your seat as Lucia passed out cards with a list of potential questions to ask. You looked over the card, chuckling to yourself at the logo. You read over the questions, rereading them a few times so you wouldn’t have to keep looking at the card.

Lucia then explained you would have up to ten minutes with your date before the timer went off. You were the second to last in the rotation of human females. The first nonhuman to sit in the armchair next to you was a werewolf named Liam. He was nice enough but he had some rather interesting ideas about his ideal family that you weren’t entirely on board with.

As he got up and moved to the next station, the man from before sat down, smiling at you as he settled back in the chair. “Well, hello again,” he said softly, grinning broadly at you. “Hi,” you said holding back a chuckle as you set your almost empty macchiato down on the table.

“I didn’t get the chance to introduce myself earlier,” he said. “I’m Jeonghan.” You looked up as he held out a hand. You took it, shaking his hand. “Y/N,” you replied. “So uh, tell me Jeonghan,” you started, clearing your throat and glancing at the cards.

“What color would you say best describes your personality?”

Jeonghan’s smile widened as he let out a low laugh. “Color?” he asked. “Maybe a nice deep red. Like a merlot,” he said, smirking at you. “What about you? Any color out there to let me get an idea of who you are?” he asked, tilting his head curiously. “Purple,” you answered quickly.

“Purple? Is that like an eggplant or —”

“No,” you answered, shaking your head. “Like a bright, vibrant, almost neon purple.”

Jeonghan’s eyebrows shot up as he looked you over. “Neon purple?” he asked. “You?” You nodded, holding back a smile. “You look more like a baby pink. Pastels,” he said as he straightened up. You laughed to yourself, nodding as you looked down. “You should see me at night,” you replied.

“Is that an invitation?”

You lifted your head to look at him. His smirk had grown, looking even more mischievous as time went on. You found yourself holding his gaze. His eyes were so beautiful and there was something behind them that drew you in but you couldn’t place it. He was overall mesmerizing.

“We only have like five minutes left,” he said suddenly, drawing you from your trance. “Right, you said, glancing down at the card again. Your mind seemed to go blank whenever he opened his mouth. It was unlike you and an entirely new experience but it was one you were liking.

“What are you most passionate about?” you asked, reading from the card.

“Sex. Next,” Jeonghan answered, making you choke on your spit. He laughed as you picked up your drink and sipped, trying to quell your cough. “I’m kidding,” he added as you managed to subdue your coughing fit. “That was supposed to make you laugh. Not potentially kill you.”

You waved your hand, dismissing his concern. “I’m fine,” you gasped, setting your cup down. “I’m passionate about food,” he said as you regained your composure. “Food?” you asked, looking up at him. He nodded. “I love food. Good food is important to me.”

“Okay,” you said, shifting in your seat to face him properly. “Your friends are coming over for dinner, what are you cooking?” you asked. Jeonghan smiled as he leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair. “What friends?” he joked.

You rolled your eyes. “Fine,” you said, giving in to his teasing. “Do you snore?” Jeonghan asked abruptly,” you looked up at him, alarmed. “What?” you asked. “Do you snore?” he asked again. You stared at him silently for a few minutes before answering. “Only when I’m sick,” you said, looking down at the card once more.

“Do you have any party tricks?”

Your question made Jeonghan laugh loudly. “Take me to dinner first,” he said with a wink. Your cheeks burned as you met his gaze. The line itself was enough to have you flushing but the wink just added an extra amount of cheese to it.

You glanced down once more but Jeonghan leaned forward, grabbing the card out of your hand and sat back as you looked up at him. He crumpled the card in his hand, giving you another mischievous grin. “Ask me something off the top of your head,” he said softly, cocking his head to the right.

Your mind went blank as you stared at him. Being put on the spot like this made you nervous as hell. ‘What could I possibly ask him?’ your mind went reeling as you tried to grasp for something to ask. Jeonghan checked his watch, glancing up at you. He made a soft ticking sound, as if to try and pressure you into asking a random question. One that wasn’t printed on the card.

“I am so sorry,” you said softly. “My mind is completely blank.” Jeonghan chuckled as he set the crumpled up card on the table. “That’s alright,” he said, picking up his coffee and downing the rest of it as the timer went off, signaling that 10 minutes had passed.

You felt your heart sink. You didn’t want the time with him to end. He got up and grabbed his coat before he leaned over as the participants started to move to the next station. “When the next round ends, meet me outside. This is boring as hell and you are most certainly not,” he whispered in your ear before standing up, giving you another wink with a smile before he turned and headed for the last date as your third one sat down.

The third round wasn’t nearly as entertaining or interesting as Jeonghan had been. He was a shapeshifter named Kai and he was nice, much nicer than Liam, but he was also quite awkward. When the round finally ended, you felt relief wash over you.

Lucia stood at the front of the room, calling for everyone’s attention.

“Now that we’re finished, I’d like you to fill out the back of the card I gave you and write down the names of the participants you’d like to meet again,” she said. “And afterwards, if you’ll stick around, we have a few ice breaker games to get to know everyone a bit more.”

You looked around as everyone flipped over their cards and started writing. You grabbed your wrinkled one and picked up the pen before writing down one name only: Jeonghan.

Looking up, you saw Jeonghan get up, walk up to Lucia and slip the card into a small box on a table next to her. You saw him briefly exchange words with her before he turned and started for the door. He met your gaze, sending you a wink before he disappeared out the doorway into the main area.

Following your instincts,” you got up and walked up to Lucia. She smiled as you slipped the card into the box. “Are you going to be staying for the ice breaker games?” she asked, sounding hopeful. You forced a smile, shaking your head. “Sorry,” you replied. “I actually had something come up. Family emergency.” Lucia smiled politely. “Of course,” she replied, nodding understandingly.

“Thank you again.” you added. “This was a very informative experience.” You exited the room, returning your book to the shelf and dropping your used mug off at the counter.

Once you were back outside, you looked up and down the sidewalk, hoping to see Jeonghan standing nearby but you didn’t see him anywhere. You felt your heart sink, wondering if you’d taken too long as you continued to look around.

You walked towards the edge of the sidewalk, looking on the opposite side to see if maybe Jeonghan had crossed over. You were getting more and more dejected as you didn’t see him anywhere. You sighed, hoping that Lucia would at least be able to pair you up as you turned and started down the street towards the bus station.

“There you are,” a voice said from behind you. Turning, you saw Jeonghan walking out of the coffee shop and waited as he jogged lightly to catch up. “Thought you had taken off,” he said as he matched your pace, tucking his hands in his coat pockets. You smiled as you walked along. “I thought the same actually,” you said, making him chuckle.

You walked in silence for a few minutes until he skipped ahead, moving to stand in front of you just as you reached the bus stop. “Alright,” he started. “So, I’m sure you wrote my name down. I wrote yours down and only yours,” he added. “So how about we skip the middle and I take you out tonight?” he asked.

Your heart skipped a beat as a smile spread across your face. “Okay,” you said softly, feeling suddenly shy. Jeonghan snorted. “Well, jeez,” he started jokingly. “Don’t go jumping for joy. Wouldn’t want you to die from excitement.” You laughed, playfully swatting at him. “I’d love to,” you replied.

Jeonghan smiled, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Then let’s not wait for Lucia to do her thing,” he said, unlocking the screen and tapping away. “We can just exchange numbers now.” You quickly pulled your phone out and pulled up a new contact as Jeonghan held out his phone. You exchanged with him, typing in your name and number, adding a purple heart emoji.

When you had your phone back in your hands, you read his contact card. His name had the red ogre emoji next to it with the sunglasses smiley face. You shot him a quick text before pocketing your phone. “So what time were you thinking?” you asked, looking up at him as he checked his phone before slipping it back into his coat pocket.

“How about seven?” he asked. “And if you don’t want me to know where you live, let’s just meet there, yeah?” he asked. You nodded. “Meet where?” you asked. Jeonghan nodded towards your pocket. “I sent you the address. It’s a restaurant I love and I’d like to actually share it with someone.”

You pulled out your phone, looking at the notification. You would look it up later to make sure it was actually a restaurant. You trusted that Lucia would vet all the participants pretty well but you could never be too certain. “So, I’ll see you at seven?” he asked as the bus pulled to the stop.

You pulled out your bus pass as the doors opened, several passengers getting off. “Seven,” you agreed, looking back at him with a smile before getting onto the bus, scanning your pass and taking a seat. You waved at him as he stood on the sidewalk. He waved back, smiling as the bus started to roll forward and soon he was out of view as the bus continued down the street.

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket and fished it out, checking your messages.

Jeonghan👹😎: you’re really pretty (:

You chuckled as you typed a response back.

You: so are you ;)

Jeonghan’s reply was instant.

Jeonghan👹😎: see you at seven, beautiful

One date with Jeonghan turned into two which turned into a third and after a few weeks, you were dating pretty regularly. Lucia had contacted the both of you a few days after the speed dating event to inform you that you had both selected each other and she passed on your contact details but you already had exchanged them.

Your regular dates turned into something romantic and sexual after a couple months and by the third month, you had agreed to be exclusive. You really liked Jeonghan. He was smart, funny, charming, and a little bit annoying but you liked his teasing.

On the surface, he liked to joke around, tease, and play pranks but under that silly exterior was an extremely caring, loving, and passionate person. You learned on the fourth or fifth date that Jeonghan was an oni. You knew from the start that he wasn’t human but that didn’t bother you in the slightest. If anything, it made him much more alluring and added to his appeal.

You’d never truly considered dating any monsters before but now that you had, you were certain you probably wouldn’t ever date human men again. Your past with dating had been turbulent and rocky to say the least but ever since meeting Jeonghan, things had been so much easier. Your relationship with him seemed to come naturally to the both of you.

In the bedroom, things were beyond amazing. Jeonghan was neither pushy or hasty to make you do anything you didn’t want to. Sex with him was as easy as breathing. All you needed to get into the mood was some playful banter, a few light touches, and some whispered dirty words and you were putty in his hands. He was a skilled lover and you were never left unsatisfied.

After a date night out, you returned to your apartment, inviting Jeonghan in for a moment which you knew would turn into more if you played your cards right.

“I’m never ordering that again,” Jeonghan said as you giggled, letting him into your apartment as you stood in the doorway. Once the door was shut, you moved to set your purse on the kitchen counter, fishing out your wallet and phone as Jeonghan walked up behind you. You felt his hands on your waist as he pressed into your backside.

“I like this dress on you,” he murmured, lips brushing against your exposed shoulder. “Yeah?” you asked softly, leaning back against him. He hummed in response, pressing a few kisses to your shoulder before you turned around in his hold, reaching up to comb your fingers through his hair. “I think the only thing that would be better is if you took it off,” he said, leaning in to capture your lips in a soft kiss.

Your fingers curled into his hair, pulling him closer as your lips parted, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You felt his fingers dig into your hips, pulling them flush against his. Pulling back slightly, you smirked as he tried to chase your lips. “Maybe you should take it off,” you whispered, nuzzling his nose. Jeonghan let out a groan, sliding his hand down to cup your ass before moving to pull your thigh up, pressing his clothed crotch into you.

“Bedroom,” he muttered, peppering kisses along your jaw. “Now.”

You did as he demanded, heading for the bedroom with him on your heels. Once inside, you heard the soft click of the door shutting as you turned on the bedside lamps. Jeonghan was on you in an instant, pulling at your dress, kissing your neck, littering your skin with love bites as he guided you towards the bed. “I’d like to try something new tonight,” he whispered between kisses.

His hands unzipped the side of your dress, hands moving up to slide the straps of your dress down your arms and letting the garment fall to the floor at your feet, leaving you in your lingerie and heels. “What’s that?” you asked as you stepped out of your dress, kicking it across the wood floor.

Jeonghan cupped the side of your neck just under your jaw. “Climb onto the bed,” he said softly. You glanced down at your feet. “My heels,” you started. Jeonghan clicked his tongue. “Shit, right. Let me handle that.” he said, kneeling down to quickly remove your shoes one at a time. He tossed them aside, ignoring the clatter they made as they bounced across the wood.

“Now, sit on the bed,” he said, gently nudging you. You followed his instruction, sitting on the edge of the mattress, looking up at him as you waited for further instruction. Jeonghan leaned down, pressing a kiss to your lips and cupping your cheek.

“You know I absolutely love it when you use your mouth,” he started softly. “And I love the way you do it but I’ve really wanted to fuck your mouth for a while now,” he continued. “I’d really like to try it, if you’ll let me.” You nodded, grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand over your face and kissing his palm. “And I promise to reward you,” he added. “Of course,” you answered. “I love trying out new things with you.”

Jeonghan leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. Standing up straight he pulled his tie loose, discarding it on the floor before undoing the buttons of his shirt one by one, keeping his eyes on you. He dropped the shirt to the floor, moving his hands to undo the zipper of his pants.

“Here,” you said, reaching out to grab him by the waistband of his pants.

You made quick work of his pants and underwear, pushing them down his thighs, revealing his already hard and leaking cock. You took him in your hand, opening your lips and taking the head into your mouth. Jeonghan let out a throaty groan, one hand moving to the back of your head.

You moved your head, bobbing and taking more and more of his cock into your mouth. You felt the tip hit the back of your throat as he thrust slightly, making a wet gagging sound. You pulled back, waiting a moment before resuming.

You felt his grip on your head tighten as he pushed you further down. “Just a little more,” he groaned. “I know you can do it, sweetheart.” You obliged him, sinking his cock further into your mouth until you felt the head push into your throat. Jeonghan let out a loud moan, throwing his head back.

“Fuuuuck, baby,” he groaned, swallowing thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. He let out a shaky breath, lowering his gaze to look down at you. The hand on the back of your head moved up to the top, slightly tilting your head back. More of his cock sank into your throat at this angle.

He let out another strained moan as he felt your throat constrict around his cock. He moved his other hand down to your throat, fingers feeling the bulge of his cock in your throat. “Oh, shit,” he whispered. “That’s so fucking hot.” He wrapped his fingers around your neck, squeezing slightly.

After a moment, he pushed your head back slowly, his cock slipping out of your throat.

Once freed, you pulled back, gasping as air filled your lungs. “You alright, baby?” he asked, gently caressing your cheek. You nodded, coughing slightly. “You okay to keep going?” he asked, his voice sounded full of concern. Again, you nodded. “Yeah,” you said. “M’Okay.”

Regardless, Jeonghan gave you a few moments to recover your breath before letting you continue. “If you need to stop, just tap my thigh, okay?” he asked. You nodded, taking his cock in your hand, you stroked him quickly before taking the head back in your mouth, the weight of his cock heavy against your tongue.

Jeonghan’s hips thrusted forward, burying his cock further into your mouth. You removed your hand, moving your hands to his hips as he set a slow, steady pace. You kept your jaw lax, letting him fuck your mouth at his own pace. Each thrust made that same wet gagging sound at the back of your throat, filling the room with nothing but that sound.

His fingers curled into your hair, tightening his grip on your head as he guided you to move into his thrusts. “Fuck,” he groaned. “M’close.” He slowed to a stop, pulling his cock from your mouth. “Up,” Jeonghan ordered, holding his hand out for you to take. He pulled you up onto your feet before turning you to face the bed, pushing you onto it. He removed his pants quickly before cupping your sex.

“Holy shit,” he groaned. “I haven’t even touched you yet and you’re already wet?” he asked. You whined, wiggling your hips. “Don’t tease me, Hannie.” He chuckled, moving to pull your panties down your thighs. “God, look how fucking wet you are. Fucking soaked,” he growled, fingers swiping through your folds before sinking into your cunt. You let out a moan as he slowly curled his fingers.

“Please, Jeonghan,” you whimpered. “Please fuck me.”

You heard him chuckle as he removed his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and cleaning them. “You sure you’re ready for me, angel?” You nodded eagerly. “Please,” you whined. “Please. I can take it.”

Jeonghan chuckled again, grabbing the base of his cock and gliding the tip between your folds, gathering your arousal before pushing the head into your slit, the warmth of your cunt welcoming him as he glided in, unrestricted. Each inch filled your walls, stretching you slowly to accommodate his size. “F-fuck,” you gasped as he bottomed out, tip of his cock kissing your cervix.

“So f-full,” you groaned. Jeonghan gave you a harsh thrust, making you cry out sharply. “You really sure you’re ready, my love?” Jeonghan asked, moving his hands to your hips. You nodded once more. “Yes,” you whined, feeling him retract slowly. “Please just fuck m-me!” you gasped as he snapped his hips forward, filling you in one, sharp thrust.

“Oh I plan to,” Jeonghan said softly. “You might wanna hold on, sweetheart,” he added.

“You’re in for a long night.”

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scoupsakakitty · 19 days ago

Note

Hi!! I have an idea for Jeonghan. You know The8's song Cold love. (It's my favorite).

The idea is this. The reader has a crush on him, even tho there in the same group (pls idol au), But he's cold, and distant to her/them.

It can be either a fluffy or angsty ending, with her leaving the group of them ending up together.

The reader can be Gn, or female I don't mind any.

I Love your writing, it brings me comfort 🫶

Cold Love | idol!Jeonghan x 14thmember!Reader | angst, fluff

The sun dipped behind the mountains, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. The secluded cabin where Seventeen had gathered felt warm and lively, but to Y/N, it felt anything but.

She sat on the wooden deck, looking out at the calm lake that stretched before her. It was supposed to be a relaxing trip a short break before Jeonghan left for the military in a few months. Everyone had been excited about it, especially since they hadn’t had much downtime lately. But for Y/N, this trip had been nothing but painful.

She glanced back toward the large glass windows of the cabin. The rest of the group was inside, laughing and playing games, but her eyes were fixed on one person Jeonghan. He was sitting at the dining table, smiling at something Mingyu said. That smile was the reason she had fallen for him in the first place. It was soft, warm, and made her feel safe.

But lately, he hadn’t shown that side to her.

Not once.

Instead, he had been cold. Distant. Unkind.

Her chest tightened as she turned back toward the lake, hugging her knees. She wanted to believe there was a reason for his behavior some explanation that made sense but she was tired of waiting for answers.

“Y/N?”

She flinched at the sound of her name and quickly wiped at her eyes before turning to see Joshua approaching her.

“You okay?” he asked, crouching beside her.

“Yeah,” she lied.

Joshua raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because you’ve been out here for almost an hour, and you missed dinner.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“Not hungry, or avoiding someone?” Joshua’s voice was gentle, but his words hit her hard.

She didn’t answer.

“You know,” he said, sitting down next to her, “whatever’s going on between you and Jeonghan, you should talk to him about it. The tension’s so thick it’s making the rest of us uncomfortable.”

Y/N let out a humorless laugh. “There is no ‘me and Jeonghan.’ He made that very clear.”

Joshua hesitated before speaking again. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“Then why does he act like I don’t exist?” Her voice cracked.

Joshua frowned but didn’t push any further. Instead, he stood and offered her a hand. “Come inside. It’s getting cold.”

She took his hand and let him pull her up, but her heart sank as she caught Jeonghan’s gaze through the window. For just a moment, something flashed in his eyes worry? Pain? But then, just as quickly, his expression hardened, and he looked away.

————————————————————————————-

Dinner had ended, and the group gathered in the living room for games. Y/N sat quietly in the corner, barely paying attention as the others laughed and teased each other. She tried to join in, but her mind kept drifting back to Jeonghan.

It wasn’t fair. She had poured her heart out to him months ago, told him how she felt. And he had rejected her not with words, but with silence and distance.

It hurt more than she ever thought it could.

“Y/N, it’s your turn,” Seungkwan said, snapping her out of her thoughts.

She blinked. “What?”

“We’re playing charades. Your turn.”

“Oh… okay.”

She stood awkwardly, trying to focus, but the pressure of everyone’s eyes on her and Jeonghan sitting just across the room made her panic.

“I can’t. Sorry.” She quickly sat down again, her cheeks burning.

“Are you okay?” Seungkwan asked, concerned.

“I’m fine,” she said, but the tears threatening to spill told a different story.

Jeonghan shifted in his seat, his fists clenched. He wanted to say something to do something but he couldn’t. The management’s warning echoed in his head. No relationships. No scandals. If he stepped out of line, she could be kicked out of the group.

But seeing her like this, breaking apart because of him, was unbearable.

“Y/N.” His voice was sharp.

She froze, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Can I talk to you? Outside?”

The room fell silent, everyone’s eyes darting between the two of them.

“No,” Y/N snapped.

Jeonghan flinched. “Y/N—”

“No!” She stood up, her voice rising. “You don’t get to do this! You don’t get to ignore me, push me away, and then suddenly decide you want to talk when it’s convenient for you!”

The other members stared in shock as her voice cracked with emotion.

“Do you have any idea how much you’ve hurt me?” she cried. “You know how I feel, and you couldn’t even be kind to me. If you don’t like me, fine! But at least treat me like a human being!”

Jeonghan opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“Forget it,” Y/N said, her voice trembling. She turned and ran to her room, slamming the door behind her.

————————————————————————————-

The night was quiet, but Jeonghan couldn’t sleep. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as her words replayed in his head.

You don’t get to do this.

Do you have any idea how much you’ve hurt me?

If you don’t like me, fine!

He sat up, running a hand through his hair. He couldn’t let her believe that. He couldn’t let her go to sleep thinking she wasn’t loved because she was. More than anything.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he left his room and walked to hers.

He hesitated at the door, hearing her muffled sobs. His heart shattered.

Knock. Knock.

“Y/N,” he said softly. “It’s me.”

There was no response.

“Please,” he whispered. “Let me in.”

After a long pause, the door opened.

Her eyes were red and puffy, and she looked exhausted.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I need to explain,” he said. “Please.”

She stepped aside, and he walked in, closing the door behind him.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“I don’t hate you,” Jeonghan finally said. “I never have.”

Y/N crossed her arms. “Then why?”

“Because I was scared.” His voice was raw. “The management they told me that if we got involved, they’d kick you out of the group. And I couldn’t risk that. Not for me, and not for you.”

Her eyes filled with fresh tears. “So instead, you decided to treat me like I didn’t matter?”

“I thought it would be easier,” he admitted. “I thought pushing you away would protect both of us. But all I’ve done is hurt you—and I hate myself for it.”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said softly. “I always have.”

Before she could stop herself, she stepped forward and kissed him.

Jeonghan froze, shocked, but when she pulled away, embarrassed, he caught her hand.

“Wait.”

He cupped her face and kissed her deeply, pouring everything he felt into that one moment.

When they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers.

“We’ll figure this out,” he said. “Together.”

Tears streamed down her face, but this time, they were happy tears.

“Okay,” she whispered.

————————————————————————————-

Y/N sat nervously in the practice room, her hands clenched into fists as she faced Seungcheol. He looked at her like she had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world.

“You want to what?” Seungcheol’s voice was sharp, but there was also concern in his eyes.

“I want to leave the group,” Y/N repeated, this time louder. Her voice still shook, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. “It’s the only way.”

“The only way for what?” he demanded, crossing his arms.

“For Jeonghan and me to be together,” she said softly, looking down.

Seungcheol froze. “…What?”

Y/N swallowed hard, feeling her chest tighten. “The management said if we get into a relationship, I’ll be kicked out of the group. Not him. Me.”

Seungcheol stared at her, completely silent for a moment. Then he burst out, “And you just accepted that?!”

“What else am I supposed to do, Seungcheol?” she snapped, her voice breaking. “Let them ruin his career? Let them destroy everything he’s worked for? I can’t do that to him!”

“And you think he’d be okay with you giving up your career instead?” he shot back. “Do you think Jeonghan would ever forgive himself if you left because of him?”

Y/N opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out.

Seungcheol ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “No. Absolutely not. You’re not leaving. We’re going to fix this.”

“How?”

“Simple,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “We’re going to the management, and we’re going to make it clear that this isn’t happening. You’re staying in Seventeen.”

———————————————————————————-

Y/N sat beside Seungcheol in the cold, sterile meeting room. Her palms were sweaty, and her heart pounded so loudly she was sure the managers could hear it.

Seungcheol, on the other hand, leaned back in his chair, completely unfazed.

“Let’s get straight to the point,” he said as soon as the managers sat down. “We need to talk about Y/N.”

One of the managers raised an eyebrow. “What about her?”

“This rule you’ve made,” Seungcheol said, his voice sharp. “The one where you’ll kick her out of the group if she dates Jeonghan. It’s ridiculous, and it’s not happening.”

The managers exchanged glances. “We’ve already discussed this with her.”

“And now you’re going to discuss it with me,” Seungcheol shot back. “You don’t get to ruin someone’s career because they fell in love.”

“This isn’t about punishment,” one manager said stiffly. “It’s about protecting the group’s reputation.”

“Reputation?” Seungcheol laughed bitterly. “What reputation? SEVENTEEN’s reputation isn’t built on scandals or dating bans. It’s built on talent, hard work, and loyalty. And you want to throw all of that away by forcing Y/N out?”

Another manager leaned forward. “This is standard in the industry—”

“I don’t care what’s standard,” Seungcheol interrupted. “This group isn’t like the others, and you know that. We’re a family. And you’re asking us to tear apart our family over something as human as love.”

“It’s a risk,” the manager argued.

“So what?” Seungcheol said, his voice rising. “Everything we do is a risk! Going on stage is a risk! Performing live is a risk! But we still do it because we believe in each other. And if you don’t believe in us if you don’t believe in Y/N and Jeonghan then maybe you’re the problem, not them.”

The room went silent.

Finally, one of the managers spoke, their tone colder than before. “If this relationship gets out to the public, there will be consequences. For both of them.”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched. “Then we’ll handle it. But you’re not forcing her out of this group.”

The managers exchanged looks, clearly unhappy, but after a long pause, one of them sighed. “Fine. But it stays private. And if it ever becomes public, you all know what’s at stake.”

———————————————————————————-

Meanwhile—Dance Practice Room

Jeonghan wiped sweat from his forehead, looking around the room. Something felt… off.

“Where’s Y/N?” he asked, glancing at the others.

Joshua hesitated, then pulled him aside. “She’s with Seungcheol. At the company office.”

Jeonghan frowned. “Why?”

Joshua bit his lip. “…She’s asking to leave the group.”

Jeonghan froze. “What?”

“She said it’s because of you,” Joshua admitted softly. “Because of what the management said about you two.”

Jeonghan didn’t wait to hear more. He grabbed his jacket and bolted out of the practice room.

———————————————————————————-

Y/N and Seungcheol stepped out of the management’s office, the tension from their earlier discussion still lingering in the air. Y/N’s heart pounded, but this time, it wasn’t from fear. It was from relief.

It was over.

She could stay. She didn’t have to leave Seventeen. She and Jeonghan could be together as long as they kept it private.

But before she could fully process everything, Jeonghan’s voice echoed down the hallway.

“Y/N!”

She froze, her eyes widening as she turned to see him storming toward her.

His face was filled with panic and anger, and the moment he reached her, his voice was sharp. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Jeonghan—”

“You can’t leave the group!” he interrupted, his voice trembling. “Not because of me!”

Seungcheol raised his hands, trying to calm the situation. “I’ll give you two a moment,” he said, stepping back. He shot Y/N a reassuring look before walking away.

As soon as Seungcheol disappeared down the hall, Jeonghan turned back to Y/N, his eyes desperate.

“Why?” he demanded. “Why would you do this? Why would you throw away everything we’ve worked for?”

Y/N’s heart ached seeing the pain in his eyes. She reached out, but he stepped back, his fists clenched.

“Jeonghan, stop,” she said softly. “Listen to me.”

“How can I listen to you when you’re trying to leave?” His voice cracked, and for the first time, she saw the fear in his expression.

“I’m not leaving,” Y/N said quickly, grabbing his hands before he could pull away. “I’m staying.”

He froze. “What?”

She nodded, tears forming in her eyes. “Seungcheol and I talked to the management. We convinced them to let me stay. We can be together, but it has to be private.”

Jeonghan stared at her, completely stunned. “You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

Relief washed over his face, but it was quickly replaced by frustration. “You should have told me.”

“I didn’t want you to worry,” she said, her voice trembling. “I thought this was the only way to protect you.”

“Protect me?” Jeonghan stepped closer, his voice softer now. “Y/N, do you really think I’d be okay with you giving up your dream for me? Do you know how much that would’ve destroyed me?”

Tears slipped down her cheeks. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

Jeonghan reached out, gently cupping her face. “We’ll figure things out together. You don’t have to fight this alone anymore, okay?”

Y/N nodded, leaning into his touch. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. For everything. For how I treated you before. For making you feel like you weren’t important to me.”

She shook her head. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain again. I know why you did it.”

“But I shouldn’t have,” Jeonghan said firmly. “I should’ve trusted you. I should’ve fought for us from the start.”

Y/N opened her mouth to respond, but Jeonghan didn’t let her.

Instead, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly.

“You’re not leaving me,” he whispered. “Not now. Not ever.”

Y/N melted into his embrace, finally allowing herself to breathe.

“Never,” she whispered back.

————————————————————————————

The group had gathered back at the cabin after practice. Y/N and Jeonghan sat together in the corner, their hands intertwined under the table where no one could see.

Seungcheol watched them from across the room and smiled to himself.

“Thanks, hyung,” Jeonghan said quietly when he caught Seungcheol’s gaze.

Seungcheol just shrugged. “You owe me.”

Jeonghan grinned. “I know.”

Y/N squeezed Jeonghan’s hand, and he turned to her, his expression softening.

They still had a long road ahead of them, but for the first time, they felt ready to face it. Together.

258 notes · View notes

saerotonins · 1 year ago

Text

actor!kento headcanons

ft. nanami kento x reader

content warnings: fluff, general actor headcanons, implied nanami x reader

wc: 749

note: i really have fun doing this, let me know if you guys want more for other characters! 🫶🏻

jjk actor au masterlist

as an actor:

i feel like he would be more humorous and laid back than his character

usually the one who starts teasing his closest castmates (probably haibara and gojo)

treats the 1st and 2nd year casts as his kids

especially the twins, yuuji and sukuna

acts like a father figure to them on set and takes care of them whenever they had a very exhausting scene to film (like fight scenes and such)

he's also the one who breaks the twins up whenever they have playful banter with each other

puts up with gojo more outside their characters and is actually tolerating his antics on set

will sometimes have a giggle fit whenever someone makes a light mistake during filming like voice cracks and stumbling during fight scenes

believe it or not, he's really the type to join gojo and geto in creating light pranks to the other casts

when a scene needs to be filmed before the sun even goes up, he pulls up to the shoot with coffee and the casts' (even the crew!) favorite drinks

knows their coffee and drink orders BY HEART

the producers love him because he's such a sweetheart

whenever he smiles (an example is during that mahito scene where he was trapped in his domain expansion and in the restaurant with ino), the crew is literally the definition of "got me kicking my feet, giggling, and twirling my hair" LOL literally big fans of him

speaking of mahito, people are surprised to know that they're very good friends and actually went to the same middle school

he is usually the one that he practices his lines with aside from his spouse

he CANNOT for the life of him practice his lines with gojo and geto alone because they will have a giggle fit every time 😭 they can't take it seriously pls

also shares his bentos made by you to his co-stars which they really REALLY love

he also takes his physic very very seriously and works out on a daily basis but it doesn't mean he won't enjoy a good cheat meal (which is also very often because whenever filming gets busy, they resort to take outs) hence he compensates by working out more

gojo really likes to touch and squish his biceps from time to time istg this man

believe it or not, he has an instagram, but his face is barely posted unless it's a promotion or magazine shoot

most of his posts includes foods, behind the scenes of some shoots, and his spouse, you

fans are raving and gushing about it

he also has highlights that are just food, travels, behind the scenes on the shows he is in

as a husband:

unlike his character, he stays to work overtime most of the time (not that he wants to, it's just he NEEDS to) which you understood head on before you married him and before his stardom

you usually prepare his bentos before he goes to work

which is most the time also appreciated by his workmates so you make more portions to satisfy their stomachs as well

but whenever his hectic schedule and yours clash that you don't have the time to prepare him one, he settles with takeouts and convenient store foods which is enough to fill him up but it just does not hit the same :((

he practices his lines with you as a form pf quality time, his schedule is so packed that he takes every single free moment with you as a bonding experience

but sometimes he doesn't because he hates giving you spoilers and wants his scenes to be a surprise for you (*wink wink* hair grab scene *wink wink*)

the kids, the 1st and 2nd year casts (and maybe even gojo), goes to your shared home to crash if they're too tired to go home from the shooting site if your house is the closest

the 1st year trio, especially yuuji, goes by your home often whenever he gets easily bored

even though you're not the part of the crew, for how often they go to your home, you also treat them as your kids (yes, including gojo)

whenever they're around, it's always so loud and lively but both you and nanami are not complaining

#nanami fluff #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x yn #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x yn #nanami kento fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fluff #jjk actor au #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

1K notes · View notes

woahjo · 11 months ago

Text

The People We Became (Bakugou x Reader)

masterlist | ao3

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Summary: Zombie Apocalypse Au.

The world fell apart almost a year ago and you refused to go with it. Left alone and to your own devices in a world full of monsters, where the dead come back to life, you believe that maybe surviving isn't living.

When Katsuki finds you alone in the woods and on the precipice of collapsing from exhaustion, he decides to bring you back to the house his group calls home. Against your better judgement and hesitancy to become attached, you decide to stay. In this world, everyone has lost someone. No soul is spared the violence, and you start sleeping with Bakugou Katsuki to dull the ache. Somehow, peace finds you anyway, but not without sacrifice.

Chapter Content Warnings: fem!reader, gender neutral pronouns, strangers to lovers, violence typical of zombies, blood, gore, romance, slow-ish burn (for the emotional stuff), angst, kissin', questions of identity, loss, grief, graphic depictions of death and/or violence, mentions and descriptions of starvation/exhaustion typical of an apocalypse setting, very slight implications of possible sexual violence typical of an apocalypse setting, derealization, depersonalization, weapons (guns, blades, and traps), loss of identity

All content warnings can be found on ao3 with the rest of the series.

Word Count: 14.4k — 53k total on ao3

A/N: it's finally done... i'm sweating. i screamed. i cried. i bled. you know the drill. i am posting this a little differently than my other fics and series. only the first chapter will be posted here on tumblr (this post), with the rest of it broken up into chapters and posted on ao3.. purely because it was originally meant as a one shot and i don't like posting chapters on tumblr. it's not built for that and im tired. anyway, im nervous this is my new baby and im pretty sure my soul is somewhere in here. if u read this, pls come tell me what you think.. it fuels me. enjoy, cry, sweat, or whatever else you do when you read. as always, thank you and i love you.

Two hundred and seventy six. It’s been two hundred and seventy six days since the world completely went to shit. You don’t really count the initial outbreak. The initial outbreak was relatively contained once people found out about it. You quarantined. You stayed inside. All it really took were a handful of idiots. Someone selfish. Someone who panicked and ran instead of facing the world honorably, and that was it. It only took days to lose almost every semblance of a normal life and a week to lose everything else.

The light of your fire is dim, embers burning low as you sit in a foldable chair beside it. The chair is from a friend, someone you’re not with anymore and who went somewhere you couldn’t follow, and you've got a metal spatula in your hand. You're not sure why you grabbed it when you fled, but panic does weird things to the mind. You absentmindedly wonder why you’ve brought it along with you all this time. There’s no logical reason for you to tote the thing around. A friend had told you how strange it was that you thought to toss it into your bag and continue carrying it. This, along with a few other oddities, are all you managed to take from your house when the world fell to ruin. Everything else are things scavenged along the way or from people you'd met, joined, and lost.

Maybe it’s because the spatula is somewhat normal, like somehow when you cook the game on your makeshift tin over your shitty fire, you can pretend you’re in your kitchen. A smash burger sounds good right now, with grilled onions on a brioche bun like the ones from the place by your apartment.

The night is near silent and trees creak and crack like the hulls of great ships under heavy pressure, but the birds don't sing and nothing in the crowded wood you're taking shelter in makes a sound. Well, except for you and the gentle crackle of your fire.

It’s easy to miss the noise that used to irritate you when the world goes quiet. You used to hate the sounds and lights of passing trucks when they’d cross on the street below your apartment window. Now, you’d do anything for the familiar comfort. The world is so dark and quiet, like it’s holding its breath and waiting for this to be over. The silence is almost too much, so loud that it hurts your ears. You huddle closer to the fire, craving its quiet sound. Focusing on it lessens the anxiety of the other noises. The ones you don’t want to hear.

Your head is on a swivel. It has been for months. Ever since the outbreak, ever since the dead rose and began consuming and infecting the living, you've kept watch. A paranoid, never ending cycle that you suppose—if left on your own—will burn itself out. You swallow thick and return your attention to the fire, watching the tree line just in front of you for any hint of movement or monsters.

A branch cracks just behind you. A swift sound, followed by rapid footsteps. You stand, quickly turning your head, only to see a figure a few feet away from you. They move quickly and the dancing light of the fire obscures their features from view. Their eyes, most importantly. You can always tell if someone is dead or alive based on their eyes and the sounds that their joints make. In this light, should this stranger have that milky white film over them, you wouldn't be able to tell.

You make a small noise, something between a whimper and a shout, as the person comes to a stop in front of you and holds a flashlight directly into your face. You squint, panic in your veins as your eyes adjust as best they can to the sudden assault. It takes you a moment to realize that there is a gun pointed directly at your forehead. The living. This person is alive. You're not sure yet if encountering one of the dead would have been worse.

"Shut up and drop your weapon," he says in a hurried voice. It's aggressive and threatening. It comes from deep in his chest, like somehow fear has gripped and mutilated it into something violent.

You raise your shaky hands to your head quickly at the order, screwing your eyes shut in the beam of the flashlight.

"It's not a weapon!" you shout, voice cracking. "It's a spatula. It's a spatula."

The words are rushed and heavy, fear seizing your chest as you look down the barrel of the gun. The flashlight turns off, sending you back into the dark. Your eyes fight to adjust, catching the firelight that glints off of the barrel, and you begin to makeout the man’s features. He's big, blonde under the grime, you think. A man, not the best thing to encounter alone at night in times like these.

You see him hesitate for a moment, eyes darting between you and the silver kitchen item in your hand. You drop it quickly, hoping to appeal to his humanity.

"Do you have a weapon on you?" he questions, voice a little less urgent.

You shake your head in response and then shakily look beside the chair, choking out the word “ground”. There's a knife there and a pistol with no bullets. You're a poor shot and you had run out of ammo the previous week. He glances at it, the gun still raised at you, and sidesteps to grab the two items. When he does, he cautiously lowers the weapon and you start to lower your trembling hands.

Then, as if struck by some realization, the man stomps towards the fire and you jump as he does.

"The fuck are you doing lighting a fire this late?" he says angrily, opening the clip of your pistol. "And with no fucking bullets. Those things may be dead, but they can still fuckin' see. That's a good way to get yourself killed."

He stomps out the fire as he talks, urgently stamping out what's left of the low-burning logs.

"I didn't think there were many in the area," you justify, furrowing your eyebrows as you step away from him.

"And that's a risk you want to take?" he says indignantly. You wonder briefly what business he has worrying about you.

"What do you want?" you snap, "My food? Weapons? Life? What is it?"

The man scoffs, "Jesus, none of that. I don’t want your shit."

You narrow your eyes and take a step back. One thing this world has done is remove trust from every chance encounter, and that was already hard enough when the place was sane.

"Not all people who camp out in the woods are good," he says. "But I sure as shit didn't expect to find someone like you alone lighting a damn fire. Stupid."

"There were others," you say indignantly, like somehow that makes it better. "Force of habit, I guess."

The man pauses for a moment as understanding passes between the two of you. It's a relatable feeling. Everyone has lost someone now.

"Got a name?" he asks.

You hesitate in giving it to him and the pause causes him to roll his eyes. “You want me to call you Idiot-with-no-bullets instead?”

You give him your name and the man nods as if he likes the sound of it, turning it over in his head before inhaling.

"I'm Katsuki," he furrows his eyebrows. "You're alone?"

You nod, swallowing down the grief that pushes at your throat.

"Wasn't always," you respond, "but yeah. Now, I am."

He nods his understanding.

"Come with me."

"Where?" you say instinctively, a defensive edge to your voice. Katsuki looks at you as if you’re stupid, or maybe it's pity, like you're a wounded animal. Probably both.

"Where the fuck do you think?" he retorts. "We've got a camp a little ways from here. I saw your fire from the watch post we have stationed."

You look at him like he's a little crazy for even thinking to bring you. Kindness, especially the selfless type, is so rare now and you find it difficult to believe that he’s willing to take you there at no cost.

He scoffs and rolls his head over his shoulder. "Look, we've got men and women," then he pauses. "Used to have children. We're not gonna hurt you. World's gone to shit, do you really wanna keep at it alone?"

He's probably right. You've been alone for weeks now, exhausted for longer, and though your common sense tells you not to go off with a strange man in this kind of world, the promise of rest is far too tempting. You nod and glance back to your camp. A measly collection of supplies haphazardly put together. You suppose that it doesn’t look so promising.

"We'll come back for it when it's light," he says. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather not spend longer in these dark ass woods than I have to."

"Okay," you say. The presence of another person both sets you on edge and makes you feel the press of fatigue even more. A gun's barrel on your nose followed by the promise of safety and you're going with him? You must be stupider than a horror movie protagonist. "Do you take in a lot of strays?"

Katsuki looks over his shoulder and you think you see him smile a little at the phrase.

"If that's what you want to call it," he says begrudgingly. Then, with a softer tone of voice, barely noticeable with the quiet whisper you both have been speaking at. "I'm sure the others won't mind one more."

You nod a little and follow him through the wood, stepping over obstacles. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark, but you feel unsteady on your feet. Everything you��ve ever learned about this world tells you that maybe you shouldn’t go with him. What if they’re dangerous? It’s easy to lie about women and children, about a community that doesn’t exist. Or worse, it’s easy to fool yourself that where you are is good, but you don’t know yet if he’s the type to delude himself. He doesn’t seem it.

The two of you walk for what feels like forever, even if it is only a little over half a mile. Your feet have been aching for days and every step you take feels like a blade into the heel. Katsuki seems steady, his gun secured at his hip and a large knife in his dominant hand. He doesn’t have the flashlight out, but he seems sure-footed and takes every step in stride, as if he’s too heavy to be swayed by any missed step.

As you move, you can barely make out his back in the white tank top he wears. You use it as a landmark, following the glowing white as it catches the light from the moon. Like chasing a ghost through the trees.

Then, the wood eases up. The trees grow sparse and the suffocating humidity of the forest eases into a more breathable, open-air breeze. Katsuki steps out into a clearing. It’s relatively small, for how large the world is, but it’s some of the most open space you’ve seen in a while. The feeling of stepping out into the tall grass, where you’re both visible to any wandering thing, sends a rush of fear through you.

By the edge of the clearing, there’s a small house with a short steeple. It almost looks like a Christian church, but you get the sense that it’s likely a barn. That must be the watchtower and you wonder just how good the view of the forest is from up there if Katsuki managed to see the light of your fire. How many other people had seen your fires over the weeks and not made it out to confront you? How close had you come before to safety or annihilation?

"Hey!" a girl's voice calls. "He's back!"

In the near distance, you can see a large and dimly lit house. It looks a little worn down, but soft and hardly noticeable light emanates from it in a way that makes it seem inviting.You can’t make out its exact silhouette and night blurs just how broken-down it is, but you can tell that people live there in the same way you can tell when someone has just left a room.

Someone runs across the field to you both. It looks like a man and a woman, maybe around Katsuki's age. They move quickly through the tall grass and for a moment, the urgency that they move with frightens you. You worry that your presence will ignite some protective sort of panic. You linger back, letting Katsuki grow a little farther from you as they call out to him.

“Yeah, yeah," he half-shouts, no longer seeming to care about keeping quiet. Guess that's what happens when there's a group. "I found the fire I mentioned."

The two come to a stop in front of him, resting their hands on their hips as they catch the breath they lost.

"We started to get a little worried," says the girl. She's pretty, with big eyes and curly hair that looks like it probably used to be dyed. "You've been gone for a while."

"Well, I'm back," he says.

"And you brought a friend," the other man says, sounding shocked. His tone is noticeably kind. The boisterous type of kind and when he smiles, you can see that he has sharp canines. His hair is straight, sticking out in different directions, and tinged with red in this light.

"More like an acquaintance," Katsuki says. “I found them in the woods with a fire and an empty clip. Felt like their blood would be on my hands if I didn’t bring them back.” The red-haired man gives him a telling look and Katsuki scoffs in response and turns to the girl. "Get them settled, Mina, will you?" The girl called Mina nods and Katsuki takes off toward the house without another word.

"You're lucky," she says, pausing when you flinch as she steps closer. "You're gettin' the last solo room in the place. Kirishima, is it set up?"

Kirishima shrugs his shoulders. "You'd have to ask Izuku. He'd know all about that, but I can go check."

Mina shakes her head and turns her attention to you, giving you a quick once over with her eyebrows pulled together.

"You must be tired.”

When you nod, she gives you an empathetic smile and motions for you to come with her. "We'll fix that. You hungry?"

"What do you think?" you manage, saliva pooling in your mouth. "Do you have food?"

"Plenty," she smiles. "not quite enough for leftovers just yet though, don’t tell anyone."

You smile awkwardly. Who on earth would you tell?

"Sounds like a good deal," you say.

You follow Mina up to the house. Around it, there are a few parked cars. They look like they could pull out at any moment, and through the dust covered windows, you can just make out supplies in the back seats as you pass. In the distance, you can see the fuzzy silhouette of the barn you’d assumed was a watchtower in the dark of the field and you figure that maybe it used to be a place to keep livestock.

Mina doesn't say much to you as you pass through the field, and when you walk into the door, the first thing you notice is a large group of people seated at a dining table. They all look up at you when you enter and it's with a bit of shock that you register their faces as healthy. Well, healthier. These people live well. Something stirs in your chest, both anxiety and excitement at the thought of possibly having found somewhere safe. They blink at you for a moment, exchanging looks that all end up landing on Katsuki.

"This is the group. Well, most of us," Mina says pleasantly and with a light huff. "That's Izuku, Denki, Ochako, Sero, and you already know the handsome guy on the end there. Kiri's probably checking to see if the room is half decent.." They all greet you with a glad murmur. "Group, this is..."

She looks at you expectantly. When you tell them your name, you can't help but look at Katsuki who already knows it. He raises his eyebrows unconsciously and turns his attention to the glass in front of him.

There’s an awkward pause as you stand in the doorway, suddenly conscious of just how dirty you must look. Remnants of an older world, you suppose. No one really worries about things like that anymore.

“Uhm…” you search for something to say, but your people skills seem to have left you.

“You’re okay,” Mina says lightly. “Plenty of time to get to know you when you’ve rested and had something to eat.”

Mina sits you down at a chair that she pulls in from the other room. It doesn't match the other ones in the dining room, but you suppose no one is really thinking of the decor in their house anymore. It's only now that you realize the house has electricity.

"You have power?" you say incredulously, looking at the center light in the dining room on its low setting.

"Mhm," Mina hums as she sits down next to you and spoons a helping of vegetables onto your plate. "It's got a generator. We got lucky finding this place. I don't think many of us would be alive if we hadn't."

Those listening in the group nod their affirmation.

"It draws from well water too," she adds. "With the right care, the place practically runs on its own. Hard work but what isn't nowadays?"

“Like you do any of the heavy lifting," Sero scoffs across from her.

"That's not fair," Katsuki adds with a slick smirk, "you know damn well none of our vegetables would be so well socialized if she didn't use them like a damn diary all day."

The group laughs a little and Mina rolls her eyes and sits back in the chair. You avoid looking at anyone, shoveling the food into your mouth. You’re salivating an almost embarrassing amount, struggling to eat at a normal pace. There’s something about food cooked inside, about the way food tastes when you can smell it wafting in from the kitchen.

"Don't worry," she turns to you, as if you’re at all concerned with the implication that she doesn’t do much work, "they know we’d hardly have vegetables at all if it weren't my job to tend them. I used to garden quite a bit before all of this."

Sero tosses her a sideways glance and you get the sense that maybe it isn’t just her doing it.

"Mina does a lot of the garden stuff," Ochako pitches in, her voice hesitant. "We all sort of just do what we can."

You can’t really keep up with the conversation and instead just blink at her for a moment before turning back to your food. Maybe that’s rude, but you don’t have the energy to consider it. There’s food in front of you. Food that doesn’t taste like it’s been poorly slaughtered or rotting in a cabinet for months.

The group at the table with you shifts back into what you feel is their normal conversation and you watch them through your peripheral. You can’t relax yet, maybe you never will. Always on watch with your guard up.

They pass the dishes around the table, plates going from hand to hand over mismatched sets of silverware. The action feels strange to you. Your chest squeezes at the thought. Just a few weeks ago, you’d done this around a fire with the people you loved. You’d passed a too-hot-to-touch pot around a circle of friends, laughing quietly at the little moments of joy you could find. It feels far away now and jealousy rouses beside hope as you sit.

“So, where did you come from?” Izuku at the end of the table asks.

It takes you a moment to realize that he’s talking to you and there’s an edge to his voice that has everyone at the table sitting up with curiosity. You stare at him for a moment, exhausted and defeated and unable to muster the words.

“Leave them be,” Katsuki says, looking up from his plate. “They just got here. They’re probably freaked out.”

The table goes a little quiet, a hush falling over it. You look around as glances are exchanged before Mina stands up quickly and quietly claps her hands together.

“I think,” she says with an awkward laugh, “it may be time for bed.”

Mina turns to you. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

You nod, standing up and turning to the group with furrowed eyebrows. You want to thank them, to tell them that you’re grateful for the meal and their kindness, but the words don’t come. Instead, you meet Katsuki’s gaze, grateful for the intervention, but suspicious at such forthcoming kindness. He scoffs a little and turns away.

—

“It’s just up here,” Mina says as she guides you through the house.

You pass rooms with their doors ajar. They are lived in, with unmade beds and glasses of clean water on nightstands. It’s like something out of a life gone by, with a few less amenities. You can imagine a family moving through this house. Girls in school uniforms calling through the halls about a stolen hair clip. Now, you picture these people doing that. Living and not just surviving.

“The bathroom is across the hall,” she says. “You can take a shower if you want. I’ll leave a towel and some clothes in there just in case.”

You nod.

“No worries if you don’t,” Mina adds in a whisper. “When I first met everyone, I didn’t undress to bathe for days so… take your time. We won’t be offended.”

She shuts the door behind her when she leaves and you stumble back onto the bed, shocked by just how soft it feels after spending weeks on the floor. It’s not much, but it’s nicer than anything you’ve experienced in the last nine months, and there's a working shower. You haven’t had a shower since everything fell apart and the layer of grime on your skin is so thick that you can feel it. You haven’t felt safe enough to properly wash since you’d lost the rest of your group, only stopping to rinse your body in streams you pass if the thought occurred to you. The idea of running water and a shower is near euphoric.

You probably shouldn’t. It may not be wise to shower tonight. You still don’t know these people or what they’re capable of, but the temptation of being clean is too great and as soon as you hear Mina close the bathroom door and walk away, you hurry across the hall on the balls of your feet.

The bathroom looks old and the sink is white porcelain, eggshell now with a lack of care. The shower has a bathtub in it and though it’s cloudy, there’s a mirror over the sink where you catch the first clear glimpse you’ve had of yourself in weeks.

You don’t know who you’re looking at. The person in the mirror is nearly unrecognizable. Their eyes are wide and frightened, wild like an animal’s, and their face is covered in a layer of grime that looks like it can never be washed out. Their hair is unruly, sticking out in some areas and matted down with blood in others. This is a person you’ve never seen or met before. Someone you would have avoided only a year ago if you’d ever encountered them.

You reach up to touch your face, running your hand over the dried blood that has made a home on the underside of your jaw. How long has it been there? Have you always looked so unwell? So sick in mind and body? The promise of a shower grows unbearably pleasant.

The knob squeaks when you turn it, screeching as the pipes hum and clang to life. Water spits out in a few bursts before raining down from the faucet and hitting the back of the tub in a steady thrum. It sounds a little bit like music to you, constant and heavy, and it gives the impression of normalcy as you begin undressing.

The fabric of your clothes sticks to your skin, peeling from your body in an unbearable and disgusting way. You don’t look at your body in the mirror. In fact, you avoid it entirely. Not recognizing your face was enough, but your body—a part of yourself you never really recognized—would drive you over the edge.

Then, you pull the shower curtain back and stick your hand under the water, stepping into it fully with a deep sigh. The water is lukewarm. They probably turned off the heater to conserve power and allow the main generator to function for longer. That’s fine. Beggars can’t be choosers and everyone is a beggar nowadays. Besides, it’s warm enough outside that the water isn’t too cold as it is. In the winter, you probably wouldn’t be able to shower and the pipes might freeze entirely until the following spring.

There’s a normalcy that you settle into as you wash your body. You return to muscle memory, running your hands over your skin and scrubbing the grime out. It’s simultaneously like the first shower of your life and as if you’ve been doing it every day. You return to a state of pleasant, familiar humanity as you wash away dirt that has built up for weeks. You feel as it pours off of you, see it run down your body onto the porcelain of the tub and swirl down the drain. It’s dirt and dried blood that has been caked onto your skin. You worry that even after washing, it will leave a permanent mark.

The person in the mirror when you get out of the shower is in stark contrast to the person who went into it. They’re someone that you recognize. You could almost convince yourself that nothing ever changed. Your water-soaked skin is so familiar to you, that you could be getting out of the shower and dressing to go to work. If it weren’t for the look in your eyes, you could have fooled yourself. Something undefinable has changed in you, something that you will carry with you forever. You glance at yourself in the foggy mirror and think that there is no going back.

The house is quiet when you dry yourself and open the bathroom door. You step across the hall on the balls of your feet, careful not to make any noise, and when you push the bedroom door open, you do a visual sweep to make sure that it’s safe out of habit.

Your body is exhausted. You are so thoroughly tired that you think you could collapse at any moment, but when you sit down on the bed in your fresh clothes, you find yourself restless. This place is new to you and you’re unsure if the safe feeling is your mind playing desperate tricks on you or the real thing. The lamp by your bed is on, casting a yellow glow across the bedsheets and the dark wood furniture. Come to think of it, you didn’t get a good look at the house when you came in and the thought starts to bother you as you stare at the closed door to the hallway.

Someone could be behind it. They could be waiting for you to lay down, to sleep, before doing something awful. You almost feel guilty for thinking this way about them. They’ve fed you, given you a shower, given you fresh clothes. Luxuries you weren’t sure even existed anymore, yet you’re sitting here doubting them, wishing you had your pistol or knife.

The bedroom door creaks as you open it. You wince, nervous that you’ve disturbed the quiet peace of the house and that everything will come crashing down as quickly as it seemed to come together. The hallway is dark, save for some light coming from under two doors at the end of the hall. One of them turns out as you creep past it to the stairs, and you hear the distinct sound of box springs squeaking as someone crawls into bed. You let go of the breath you’d been holding, straightening up as you relax into the late-night environment.

The house looks old even from the inside. It gives the impression of having once been dirty and in near disrepair. There are dust stains and dull spots that no amount of scrubbing could get out. You can almost picture how this place may have looked when they found it and it’s entirely possible that it had been abandoned before the actual outbreak. Someone run out of their home for lack of money. What a trivial thing now.

The stairs are sturdy, probably held together so well by the foundation of the house, and they’re made of dark wood. They’re steep too, the kind that a baby or old person might trip over, and you hold the railing to calm the shaking of your legs as you slowly feel your way down. You can see the light on in the kitchen from around the corner, spreading out onto the floor of the old fashioned drawing room. Dishes clink in the kitchen, like someone is washing them, and you jump a little at the noise as you creep around the corner.

Kirishima is standing at the sink with his back to you, whispering something to someone beside him. The expanse of his back is broad, moving every time he goes to run his hand over the dish in front of him. Then, he turns to look at you and you see Mina pop her head around the corner.

“Oh,” Kiri says, “did you need something?”

You shake your head. “Not really, I just couldn’t sleep.”

Kiri nods sympathetically as if he knows the feeling. “Well, you look like you feel a little better at least.”

You pad over to where he’s doing the dishes and Mina offers you a soft smile and a knowing look. It all seems so normal. Doing the dishes, whispering quietly as they do. Something about it screams a kind of humanity you haven’t experienced in a long while, even with your last group.

“Are you sure we can’t get you something?” Mina says, furrowing her brows.

“Why are you all being so nice to me?” You ask. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”

“Is there some reason why we shouldn’t be nice to you?” Kiri says over his shoulder.

“No,” you shake your head. “I just think it’s reckless, that’s all. I could have been anyone.”

Kirishima and Mina exchange a look. They glance at each other, like they’re debating on saying something, and then Kiri turns and rests his palms on the back of the sink. He looks at Mina.

“We don’t usually decide to do this so quickly,” she admits. “We’re friendly, but nobody’s that friendly anymore.”

Kiri nods his agreement and you listen quietly, trying to determine if they plan to toss you back out into the woods in the morning.

“But, Katsuki doesn’t usually bring people in,” she continues.

“He’s a little more closed off than the rest of us,” Kirishima adds. “He’s a good guy, just takes a while to warm up, is all.”

“Mhm,” Mina says.

“What does that have to do with me?” you ask. “This is nice and all, but I’m sure you get why I’m wary.”

“He’s a good judge of character,” Kiri adds earnestly. “He doesn’t bring people in often, but when he does, he’s usually right.”

You nod, not quite understanding. Sure, you don’t plan to do anything terrible. In fact, you’re content to accept their kindness and stay, if they’d let you. Anything is better than being alone, but their blind trust in one man’s judgment of character makes you uneasy.

“He was alone for a really long time,” Mina adds. “A lot of us were. I got lucky meeting Kirishima early on, but Katsuki’s luck was a little less fortuitous.”

“So you all just… happened upon each other by chance?” You ask.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Mina says. “It was me and Kiri for a long time. Just the two of us. We’d found Izuku and Katsuki together a while later, but they didn’t seem to like each other all that much. We still haven’t really figured that out, especially because they’re so close now. Ochako and Sero ended up cornered together by accident. We found them just before we found this place, and Denki just sort of showed up here one day and promised to fix the generator in exchange for safety. That was months ago. We’ve been like this since.”

“So you’re all strays,” you say and Mina laughs a little and looks at Kiri.

“Sure,” she says. “We’re all strays. There were others too. Shoji. Jirou. She was Denki’s girlfriend.”

“I’m sorry,” you say with a frown. It feels pointless to apologize for the dead, if you get caught up in it, you’d be apologizing forever.

“Don’t be,” Kiri adds. “But best not to bring her up. It was pretty recent and Denki’s only just started to get over it.”

You swallow thick and nod a little.

“Anyway,” Mina says, “we can’t really explain it. We just trust him. We trust Katsuki. That’s all.”

“Hm,” you hum, understanding that to a degree.

You trusted the people in your group. If they believed in someone, you were willing to as well, so you suppose you can understand a little where they’re coming from.

“What are you talking about,” Katsuki rounds the corner, walking into the kitchen and putting his water bottle under the sink.

“Nothing really,” Mina says.

Katsuki furrows his eyebrows and then looks at you. He gives you a once over, taking in your new clothing before scoffing lightly.

“Don’t you look cozy,” he says. “You get settled?”

“When can I go get my stuff?” You ask.

“Someone’s eager,” he says through lightly gritted teeth. “Didn’t I tell ya we could go in the morning? Besides, what’s there really to miss in that lot of junk?”

“Katsuki!” Mina quietly chides.

“I have things I care about there,” you say. “Things I’m not ready to lose.”

Katsuki blinks at you for a second before swearing under his breath. “We’ll leave when you get up in the morning.”

“You don’t have to come with me,” you say, frowning a bit at his sour attitude.

“Like hell,” he scoffs. “What if the dead are waiting back there for you?”

“I made it this far on my own,” you respond.

Katsuki nods for a second. “I’m going. Come find me in the morning.”

He walks off and around the corner. You hear him go up the stairs, followed by the distinct click of a bedroom door shutting.

“Don’t pay too much attention to that,” Mina says. “It’s past his bedtime.”

“You’ll get used to him,” Kiri adds.

“Right,” you say, swallowing down your frustration in favor of trying to be appreciative of the help. You sway on your feet a little and then steady yourself. “I’m going to go to sleep. Thank you for the meal and the bed.”

Mina and Kiri nod, but you don’t stick around to hear a response. Fatigue creeps up on you. It ambushes your senses and you go from feeling dream-like to delusional in a matter of moments. You make your way up the stairs, your body feeling heavy as lead, and wobble your way into the bedroom they’re letting you stay in.

When your head hits the pillow, you’re out. The world around you fades to dark and just before you sleep, you swear that you can hear the sounds of cars passing on the highway. A busy night, Saturday maybe, and people go about their daily lives outside of the window the way that they always have. They live, never the wiser to just how quickly things fall apart and how little it takes for our humanity to leave us.

—

Mornings in this place are boisterous. The sun coming through the lone window in your room wakes you up and you can hear the calls of busy people getting to work outside. There are voices from the porch out front that your window looks over and though you can’t see them, you get the sense that they’re having a pleasant conversation.

As you rouse, you come to the realization of just how exhausted you’d really been. They probably saved your life by bringing you to this place, feeding you, and offering you a bed. In hindsight, it’s easy to see just how little you had left in you. You get the sense now that you’d been running on an empty tank for days, slowly coming to an inglorious, gruesome, sputtering stop.

Things seem a little clearer, like the sunlight is somehow less bleak than it had been the days previous and you feel a little bit like you have a new lease on life. There are no big emotions, no swells of hope or humanity just yet, and you dread the moment you are rested enough to let grief consume you. Right now, you can’t feel it, but there is a fear in you that as you get to know these people who live relatively beautifully in an ugly world, it will weigh you down so much that you’ll never be able to outrun it.

You wonder if they’ll let you stay. They very well may not, even with the way they were talking last night. Strangers are more dangerous than they’ve ever been and if they ask you whether or not you’ve killed someone, you refuse to lie to them. Sitting up on the bed, you mull over the very real possibility that you could be back out there on your own again in a matter of days and you don’t even have that many good acts under your belt to plead your case. You’re just a person and you’ve done what you needed to in order to survive. Now, you’re not sure if that’s enough.

You swallow thick, wandering over to the mirror on the dresser. It’s fogged, though less than the bathroom mirror, and you can make out your features a little better than you could last night. You feel a bit more sane, though you still don’t recognize the frightful and distrustful look in your eyes. Like a wounded animal. Inside your head, you acknowledge that you are completely different from the person you were two hundred and seventy seven days ago.

The voices grow louder as you climb down the stairs, more secure on your feet than you felt last night. You can hear them talking about the generator, as well as a name you don’t recognize.

“He should be back by now,” a woman says. “Shoto’s never gone longer than a day or two, max.”

“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” another woman says with a worried bite in her voice. Mina, maybe? “We’re only a few hours into the day. He probably got holed up somewhere.”

“Someone needs to go look for him,” a man says.

“And what? Risk getting yourself killed?” the first woman says. “No, it doesn’t make sense. We need you here.”

“You’d rather we leave him to die on his own?”

“No one’s fuckin’ dying.”

You recognize Katsuki’s voice.

“He’s perfectly capable of going on a gasoline run,” he continues. “He’s done it before.”

“I should have gone with him,” says the same woman.

“On that leg? You wouldn’t have made it halfway to town, let alone there and back,” his voice raises a little. “Don’t be stupid. He’ll be back.”

You clear your throat and step around the corner. The group turns to face you quickly at the sound, their eyes wide for a moment before relaxing. You can’t sneak up on anyone nowadays.

“Sorry,” you say, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Is everything okay?”

It’s not your business, but you ask anyway, wondering for yourself about the safety of Shoto.

“Fine,” Izuku says, shaking his head. You recognize him to be the one who'd vouched for going after their friend. Katsuki takes a step away from the broad man as he says this. “Nothing for you to worry about. Did you rest?”

Izuku smiles gently at you, his chest inflating a little at the question. The movement broadens his shoulders and you realize that he stands almost a head taller than Katsuki. You look briefly between the two of them before nodding.

“I did,” you say. “Thank you.”

“Nothing wrong with a little hospitality now and then,” he smiles and you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows at the distinct hesitance in his voice.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” the woman standing across from Izuku says. “I’m Momo. Sorry I wasn’t there to meet you last night. I’ve been a little under the weather.”

You introduce yourself to her and glance down at her leg. Her ankle is swollen and wrapped in a bandage. Her sneaker laces are untied at the top to make room for the swelling and you can see that she’s guarding that side of her leg.

“Is it…?” you grimace, taking an instinctive step away from her. You almost feel bad for it, but sometimes good people make bad decisions when loved ones get bit.

“No,” she says quickly, “no, it isn’t. Caught an edge in an old chain link fence on the property a couple days back.”

Momo smiles slightly at you as if to reassure you. She’s really beautiful, with thick dark hair pulled back into a somewhat messy ponytail. Her eyes are bright, like she’s engaged in lively conversation, and you find yourself feeling a little sad for her. She’ll need medicine soon, if they can get it. Infections set in easily these days and you get the sense that even she knows that she may not have long without it. Maybe that’s something else their friend Shoto set out to find.

“I assume you’ll be wanting to go get your supplies?” Katsuki says, cutting the conversation short. Maybe he could sense the sour turn of thoughts.

“Ready when you are,” you respond with a nod.

Katsuki glances at Izuku, who gives him a slightly disapproving look.

“Someone get them something to eat,” Katsuki says. “...I’ll get my shit ready.”

“Fig jam…” Mina mumbles as she motions for you to follow her to the kitchen.

You oblige her, not exactly jumping to turn down a meal. She walks you into the kitchen and opens up a cabinet, where she pulls out a jar filled with a dark and seed filled paste. It’s a jam, sealed in a jar that looks older than what’s inside of it. The seal breaks open with a pleasant pop.

“This stuff is so good,” she says to you over her shoulder, pulling out a package of crackers that have likely gone stale. “You won’t believe it.”

She spreads the jam on a few crackers and sets it in front of you on a plate, pushing it across the counter towards you.

“It’s fig jam,” she says with a smile. “Homemade.”

You look down at the plate, your mouth watering at the prospect of something sweet like this. It’s been so long since you've had fresh jam. It could be as long as 10 years. You don’t think you’ve had it since you were a kid, when jam came easily and you preferred the processed brands at the supermarket to the ones your mom used to make sometimes.

You raise the cracker to your mouth and stuff it in with little grace. The sweetness spreads across your tongue as soon as you bite into the stale cracker. It fizzes and pops almost, the sugar melting across your tongue as the seeds crack softly between your teeth. The smile that hits your face is completely involuntary and though you know that nine months ago, this jam wouldn’t have been much, today it is something extraordinary.

Mina nods a kind of girlish agreement, like the way people used to when they had their friend try something at their favorite restaurant.

“We got here in the fall. I want to say late October or early November?” she offers. “We were starving and there wasn’t enough food to feed all of us. By that time there were like… nine of us.”

You listen as you eat your crackers.

“This place was in such an awful state,” she laughs. “I mean, really terrible. But, it was big and there was a fig tree in the back. A little thing, probably only a few years old and it had fruit on it. We ate so many of them that if the world were normal, we’d have sworn off of them forever. When we realized that the house actually had some old food in it,” she interrupts herself “-nothing good, canned stuff mostly- we decided to jar up the rest of the figs so that they didn’t rot.”

She smiles at you like it’s a pleasant memory, but you can only think about how hungry they must have been. Your stomach growls as you eat.

“I know it doesn’t sound like much,” she says, “but for some reason it’s a really nice memory. Honestly, we’re lucky we didn’t die.”

Mina laughs a little.

“I mean,” she continues, “we didn’t even clear the area before we started pulling at the figs and throwing them into our mouths.”

You tilt your head at her and furrow your eyebrows with a small smile.

“You’re really forthcoming with information.”

“You just seem a little hesitant, is all,” she answers.

“Can you blame me?”

Mina shrugs her shoulders but doesn’t really offer an answer. You assume it’s because she can’t, because Mina has the same doubts everyone carries with them in this world. All of the what ifs people would think about before they slept have become more prevalent than anyone would have ever liked.

“The jam is good,” you say, trying to be friendly in the same way she is. “Even if it is months old.”

“Things keep well in jars,” Mina defends softly, smiling a little as she gets another out of you.

This place feels like a little slice of paradise. A blessing from whoever lived here before and kept a garden stocked with vegetables. From someone who lived in an old house with stables and well-water, who kept canned food past its expiration date. It feels almost too good to be true, like these people live in a bubble bound to pop.

“You ready?” Katsuki thuds into the kitchen with an empty backpack slung over his shoulder.

You turn, startled by his sudden appearance and nod as you quickly finish chewing the last cracker. Katsuki furrows his eyebrows as he watches the way you scarf it down.

When you stand from the table, Katsuki turns on his heel to make for the front door and you follow with a light step. Mina says something about staying safe, but you don’t respond, glancing once over your shoulder at the girl.

It’s strange, the world has made you wishy-washy and uncommitted. You never used to be like that, never so distrusting as to second guess someone’s kindness the moment your back is turned to them, and you’re certainly not the type to be friendly one moment and closed off the next. Now though, you find that doubt creeps in easily through cracks and any foundation that didn’t exist before, seems to be swallowed before you can finish building it.

Katsuki leads you back across the small clearing you’d come through the night before. It looks different in the day, almost romantic, and it lacks any of the ominous feeling it had the previous evening. He steps over mounds in the dirt from moles and gophers that have made lawns their new home and you try to mimic his steps, sinking occasionally into a particularly soft patch of dirt. Every now and then, Katsuki glances behind him to check that you’re still there and you offer him a forced smile that he never returns.

You catch up to him when you hit the trees, sticking close at his side like something will come and take you away if you’re not. It’s unintentional, but you don’t have a weapon on you. Your knife is back at your makeshift camp, along with the unloaded pistol and your trusty spatula.

“How do you know where we’re going?” You ask in a whisper.

Katsuki tosses a look at you over his shoulder. “I’m good with directions.”

His tone is clipped, like he’s pissed about something, and your expression sours at it. Sure, you get it but it irritates you to some small degree. You hadn’t asked him to come along. In fact, you’d have been fine getting back here to collect your stuff on your own. You’d have asked for a knife and set out without a second thought, if only because being alone in the woods with some guy was less preferable than doing it by yourself. Of course, some guy also probably saved your life, but you’re not quite ready to relinquish your trust completely.

“Thanks for coming,” you decide. A peace offering.

Katsuki doesn’t answer and you furrow your brows a little bit. You wonder if he’s always been like this or if the end of the world brought on the loss of his manners.

Then, he stops, taking you by the arm and pulling you down beside a bush. You gasp and he puts his hand over your mouth to silence you. There’s the urge to bite him, to catch the fleshy bit connecting his thumb and pointer finger between your teeth and bite down till he bleeds, but you stop when you catch what he’s looking at.

Two of the living dead crouch by a tree, clicking their tongues as they eat something just out of sight. You furrow your eyebrows, eyes widening at the horror of it. For some reason, seeing them always brings about a round of momentary shock. You’ve yet to let go of the hounding thought that they used to be people and sometimes have to reorient yourself to the world you’re in now.

You catch Katsuki’s eye behind you, his calloused hand still clasped over your mouth, and nod your head. It’s a silent communication that you’ve seen what he has and he removes his palm from your face to grab a knife tucked into his belt, passing it to you quickly.

The two infected haven’t noticed the two of you yet, but they will soon, if only by the smell of your flesh which has yet to rot. You hear Katsuki let out a breath, as if to calm his heart, and do the same. There’s time to look at them like this and you’re struck by how human you can pretend they are in your head. Well, you suppose they were human once, now they’re a disease using someone’s skin as a mask.

Infected people aren’t quick, that’s one thing to be grateful for. Back when the outbreak first started, the CDC had released information on what to look out for in those who might have contracted the virus. The first was obviously a bite wound from another infected person, but you can tell from other symptoms. Early symptoms are average. Body aches, fever, lethargy, and delirium. All things you might see with a nasty flu. Then, infection of the wound site, twitching, foggy eyes—like low-grade cataracts—that develop within a matter of hours or days, severe disorientation, aversion to food, insomnia, with the final symptom being a coma that no one ever wakes up as themselves from.

These are the symptoms that people are conscious for. The ones they feel. The sickness that people tried to nurse others back from. There is no coming back though, not alive at the very least. The virus attacks the nerves throughout the brain and body, that’s what causes the twitching and convulsions. It’s what ultimately kills us, and it's what they think causes the bodies to come back.

Most infected will crack when they move. It’s the cartilage breaking down as the bones grind together and crack as they’re weakened from the marrow out. They twitch like rabid animals, unable to keep masterful control of their bodies because they are run like puppets from the brain stem. You don’t know if they think. If somehow the people they used to be are still in there, unable to stop themselves from consuming and spreading the virus to others. All you really know is that they twitch and click, functions of the brain that still remain. Tiny impulses sent through the synapses. You imagine it to be like the way you twitch when you sleep, an arm here or a leg there, the way someone might call out with their voice to a room with no one in it.

Maybe the infected think they’re dreaming. A nightmare that they never wake up from, like those of us who have to put them down. You could see it as a mercy from that perspective. You have an easier time rationalizing putting a knife in someone’s skull if you convince yourself that they’re silently begging for it.

Katsuki shifts his weight and looks at you. He mouths the words no guns and you nod, briefly wondering where the fuck he thinks you could have gotten a gun from.

Then, you kick off and run with Katsuki towards the infected. They don’t really have time to begin moving towards you both. You’re faster than them, but you hear the crack of their legs as they stand from their crouched positions, pulled in at the idea of their next meal.

Katsuki takes the farther one, sinking the knife into the soft spot of its temple with relative ease. You switch yourself off and take the one closest only a few moments later, sending your blade through the top of its skull. That happens to you when you have to do this. You turn yourself off for a bit, just so that you don’t have to remember the way it feels to hit the soft part of someone’s brain. You didn’t used to do that, only starting when you realized that there’s no going through this world anymore without it.

Katsuki wipes the blood on his pants. It’s brown, no longer oxygenated, and the area around you begins to reek. You notice, but for some reason the smell of decomposition doesn’t register in your brain and you continue on behind him.

There are a few beats of silence, save for twigs breaking under your feet, before Katsuki speaks up.

“You okay?” It’s barely above a whisper and you wouldn’t have caught it were you not listening for the distinctive crack of human bones.

“Yeah,” you say, continuing forward.

The campsite rounds into view and in this light, with your full night’s sleep under your belt, you can see just how pitiful it looks. A tent that you’d hastily put up before nightfall, the remains of your stamped out fire, the folding chair which has since been knocked over, and your weapons on the floor covered by a few leaves disturbed by the wind.

You snatch them up and move to grab your backpack out of the tent. The inside is shitty too and your torn sleeping bag hadn’t even been rolled out yet. You pick up the bag, returning to the folding chair as Katsuki begins to take down the tent. The polyester and nylon blend zips together as he makes quick work of folding it. Then, he kicks some dry brush over the remains of the fire, like he’s covering your tracks.

“The next person that comes through here might not be alone,” he says plainly. “And they may have more bullets than you did.”

“Right,” you respond. Your voice sounds a little far off and you settle your backpack on your shoulder in one quick motion.

“Got everything?”

You nod, following him as he heads out in the direction you both came from. The two of you pass the bodies of the infected you’d killed. The smell has permeated the air, lingering like how it does in cities, only less pungent. Their fogged eyes stare blankly at nothing, expressions plain and unreadable. You pass and try not to think much about it.

Katsuki is a few feet ahead of you and he doesn’t glance back to make sure you’re following. You could leave now and never get attached to these people. You could head off in another direction and never have to think twice about it. No more worrying about who you could lose, about who’s next to become one of the sick masses. Just you by yourself. Then, when you finally kick the can, someone else can put you down the way you did to those strangers.

Is there really a point to it anymore? To community or living in general. No one is as they once were. Does that make it fantasy to live in their beautiful bubble? Could you even find it in yourself to pretend again, to make nice and play house in that place? They saved your life, sure. They fed you, clothed you, bathed you, but for what point? Tomorrow, you could end up back in the woods, lighting fires with twigs you found in the brush, paranoid that someone would find you or the fire would spread.

You watch Katsuki’s back as he moves, shoulders shifting with each step. His shirt is stained, white turned eggshell from the wear and tear of time. It seems so off to you that he looks relatively clean, like he lives well.

Fear strikes you as you realize that your rambling thoughts have merit. Anything you fear now has become real and loss is so tangible to you that you can squeeze it in your hand. They could turn you out. Tomorrow night you could begin the starve and step all over again, moving from place to place, talking to yourself, filling your hours with paranoid thoughts like these that plague you when you’re alone. Is that worse than loss? If you’re alone long enough, you’d probably forget what you’re missing. Losing anyone else could make the wound fresh. For now, the hunger wins out.

Katsuki jogs ahead of you to get to the house. Momo is on the porch waving him in and he hurries up the steps and bursts through the front door. As you approach, you can hear voices, some of which are relieved, others hurried. When you enter the room, you find a man standing there whom you’ve never seen before, Shoto maybe.

“A plus one,” the man looks up, tilting his head at you in an odd way.

“Katsuki’s,” Kiri says with a low smirk.

Shoto’s eyes widen as he peers at his friend, clutching what looks like an injured shoulder. Katsuki just huffs his irritation.

“Well, that’s rare,” Shoto says.

“What’s rare?” Katsuki spits. “They were in the woods with a fire. What was I supposed to do? Let ‘em die?”

“Maybe,” Shoto says, a light smile creeping onto his features. Then, he turns to you. “What’s your name?”

You give it to him and he nods his head, tilting it at you again.

“How long are you staying?”

You’re not sure how to answer that question. In fact, no one is, and it feels like more of a test than it does a genuine inquiry. Kiri and Mina exchange a glance and Katsuki tosses a somewhat dirty look towards Shoto. Ochako gives Shoto a knowing glance and Sero and Denki shift uncomfortably on their feet. Then, Momo clears her throat, spurring Izuku to say something.

“Shoto,” he says. “You’re probably hungry, you should eat something and lay down. Ochako? Could you take a look at his shoulder?”

“Sure,” the girl says softly, giving a closed mouth smile to Shoto as she takes him by the arm.

She glances at you as she passes, almost like she’s too embarrassed to look at you fully in the face. You suppose this is what happens when people are forced to think about whether or not they will potentially leave someone else to die. It’s like the trolley cart question and though in this case there is always the possibility of a better outcome, it’s not likely in this world.

“Just until I’m rested,” you add with a small tilt of your head. “A few days.”

Shoto looks at you over his shoulder and gives you a small smile. It’s funny, you can see kindness there. His actions aren’t kind, but you can feel that he has kindness in him, though his rudeness stems from something different than Katsuki’s, you think. Like he’s strange in some way.

“I’ll start on dinner,” Sero says. “Kiri, give me a hand.”

The group disperses and you head upstairs without speaking to anyone else. A few days to rest and then cut the first people you’ve spoken to in weeks loose. What sort of idiot gives up something like this to avoid a little awkwardness? Not that you necessarily had your mind made up. You wonder briefly if you’ve just sealed your own tomb.

—

After dinner, you go upstairs to sleep after eating as much as they would offer you. Your stomach has ceased its constant growling and the shakiness that comes with hunger has receded almost entirely into the background. The bed is soft, with a slight dent in it from whoever slept in here before. The thought unsettles you that they’re probably dead now, but you try to push it from your mind as you steel yourself for what comes within the next few days.

You had volunteered yourself to leave. To what? Save yourself the embarrassment of pleading? Did you even want to plead? Why are you regretting not asking to stay? These people don’t know you, what trust can you have built with them in only a few days? Your skin crawls at the expanse of possibilities in front of you after so many weeks without any.

You think that if you let yourself walk away, you’ll probably die. You’re out of bullets and don’t know where to find any food except by luck. You can try to catch prey, but prey hides whenever infected are around, and they’re everywhere nowadays. It’s spring, water wouldn’t be a problem, but running water has its clear comforts. Then, there’s the possibility of loss. You’d come to care for these people if you stayed, you know it.

You furrow your eyebrows and look at the ceiling. There’s really no choice to be made. You’ll let them make it for you, even if you don’t know them. It’s their house and you won’t walk in uninvited or try to take it. You’re not about to become a monster just because the world is full of them now.

The darkness grows and your eyes drift to the dim light wandering in under the crack of the door. Hushed voices whisper in the living room, you can hear them. It’s a heated discussion, lively, but deliberately quiet. It’s been hours since everyone went to bed, yet you get the impression that many people are chiming in. You’re too nosey to leave it be.

You open the bedroom door silently, turning the cool knob with a wince as it clicks out of place. When you peer into the hallway, every upstairs bedroom door is open with the room empty. The light is coming from down stairs and around the corner, and you can see shadows move as you inch closer to the source.

You pause at the top of the stairs, knowing that they creak, and crouch by the bannister to listen. You’re out of sight. The only way they’d know you’re listening is if you made a sound, but you won’t. You’re good at being quiet.

“We don’t even know them,” someone says in a rushed whisper. “We don’t know what they’ve done before.”

“Everyone’s done things they’re not proud of now, Shoto,” a woman adds. It’s Mina. She’s spoken enough to you that you recognize her voice.

“I agree with Shoto,” says another woman, her voice higher pitched. She sounds guilty and her voice is tight as she speaks “We have no clue who they are. They could be dangerous.”

“You mean like me, Ochako?” A man adds. “I could have been dangerous.”

The group grows quiet for a moment.

“No,” Momo says. You recognize the cadence of her voice. “Shoto might be right, Denki. It’s been nearly six months since you got here and the world has changed a lot. We don’t- we can’t know for sure.”

“Can we really know anything for sure?” Another man adds, Kiri.

“What about you guys?” Shoto says, presumably to the rest of the group.

“I don’t know.”

“I’m hesitant, but I don’t know either.”

“Jesus,” another man with a baritone voice, harsher than the rest. That’s Katsuki, the first voice you’d heard of the group. “You guys make me a little sick.”

“That’s not fair,” Ochako says.

“No,” he interrupts. “It is fair. You guys want to… what? Send them back out there to die?”

“It’s not like that,” Shoto says.

“It is like that,” he says, raising his voice and then lowering it back to a whisper. “You didn’t see them when they got here, Shoto. They- they didn’t look… shit. The rest of you, you saw them. You really want to send them back out there to fuckin’ waste away? I don’t know about you all, but I won’t do that to a person.”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“Katsuki’s right,” Izuku says with a bit of conviction, like he’s finally made up his mind. “Sending someone out there alone is a death sentence. How does doing that make us any better than the people we’re trying to protect ourselves from?”

“What if there are more of them?” Ochako says quietly. “What if they’re not alone?”

“Trust me,” Katsuki says, “They were alone.”

“But what if they’re not?” She insists at a whisper, a bit of shame creeping into her voice. “What if people come for us?”

“See?” Shoto says gently. “There are so many what-ifs.”

“That works the other way too,” Mina adds.

You don’t listen to hear the rest of their conversation. They’re going to run themselves in circles debating about you. They’ll go around and around and land on whichever argument ends with the most votes. They’ll convince each other of one thing and it will happen totally out of your control.

The bedroom door shuts with a low click that makes you wince again. You think about the people who went to bat for you and the people who didn’t. You don’t blame those who opposed. You’d have probably reacted similarly if your old group were still alive and you understand very clearly why they do it. One person’s stupid reaction can be catastrophic and they don’t know enough about you to be certain that you’re not one of those stupid people. It’s how the world went to shit in the first place and though nine months ago you’d have surely condemned someone for making the same decision, you know that fear has warped humanity beyond comprehension. You didn’t get it until you lived it.

Still, Katsuki’s humanity feels intact somehow, more so than yours at least. His response is something you probably never would have said under the same conditions and you can’t help but feel some sort of fondness bloom in you for him. Call it connection, gratefulness for his willingness to stick his neck out for you, a trauma response. You still feel it. Mina and Kiri had said that Katsuki was a good judge of character and that’s why they were willing to back him. You wonder briefly if maybe Katsuki sees something in you that you don’t recognize in yourself anymore, or maybe something you don’t expect other people to recognize. What is it that he wants so badly to protect?

Someone stomps down the hallway, heavy boots against the old creaky floors. You hear the steps recede down the hallway, maybe a door or two down, before it shuts quickly. The sound makes you wince and you listen as the house grows quiet and then hums quietly with the sound of others coming upstairs a few moments later. Someone pads to the end of the hall, pushing the door open.

You hear a woman’s voice, so muffled that you can’t make out what she’s saying. Then, you hear the sound of a man’s affirmation before the bedroom door shuts and the visitor moves back down the hall to a separate bedroom. Information passing through the house.

Someone is moving around in a room below you and you figure that there are probably bedrooms downstairs as well. From the outside, you’d never guess that the place could house ten people. Inside though, the bedrooms are small. That’s probably why so many can fit. You’d guess that the place used to have multiple generations living in it, or maybe even rented out rooms to people for a few months. It sort of has a boarding house feel to it, like many people have come and gone even before people stopped staying in one place.

That’s a good thing to call it, the boarding house. It certainly has that sort of feel to it, many of its spaces undeniably communal.

You turn over in the bed, facing the bedroom door. The lights have gone out completely now and the house is quiet save for the occasional creak or thud from someone preparing to sleep. It’s been a long while since the sounds of living have been so prevalent near you. You’re eased by the sounds of the house settling, a familiar reminder of what living used to be. Your group had been on the road long before you lost them and the comforts of an interior are almost overwhelmingly nostalgic. You’re better rested to notice it now and shutting your eyes, you savor the feeling.

—

“Need some help?” You say.

Denki turns around, grease smeared across his nose where he likely wiped it with his dirty hands. He’s holding a wrench in a glove so tattered that it hardly counts as a glove anymore. He looks startled, amber eyes widening before he uses his forearm to brush stray hairs out of his face. The rest of it is pulled up into a messy ponytail, revealing the moist back of his neck.

“Oh, sure,” he says, a bit surprised. “Do you know how generators work?”

He crouches back over the machine and you step up behind him.

The machine is rusted near the bottom and between the exposed winding pipes. Its paint has chipped away, leaving the weather-damaged metal open for you to see. On the side, a fan-like piece spins slowly in circles and the machine whirs and sputters softly as it… generates power, probably.

“Not quite, but an extra pair of hands is always helpful,” you say softly, passing him a tool he’d been reaching for. “Did it break?”

“No,” Denki says, “but it’s probably on its last legs. The thing’s almost as old as we are, probably older, so it’s good to tune it up a bunch.”

You hum your agreement, tilting your head as you stand and watch him work.

You’re not necessarily comfortable with Denki, but he feels like a safe person for some reason. Maybe it’s because he’s got a sort of ditzy, non-threatening vibe to him. You can almost distinctly picture him tripping over his own feet and something about that makes you feel considerably safer than someone who wouldn’t. That and he was the first person you’ve come across this morning who you don’t think distrusts you too badly.

“Are you dodging something?” Denki smirks up at you from his crouch.

“Who on earth would I be dodging?” you snort a bit defensively.

“Shoto,” he says with a light smile. “He put you in a tight spot the other day.”

“Yeah, well,” you say, glancing over your shoulder. “It wasn’t anything he didn’t have a right to ask.”

“Right, but it sure was rude, huh?”

Denki laughs to himself a little and you’re surprised by how easygoing he is. You subconsciously begin to categorize him with Mina and Kiri. The dichotomy of this group baffles you a bit, but you can certainly see all nine of them as a collective. Tightly knit and well acquainted with the habits of others.

“Oh!” He exclaims, “I have something you can do for me.”

You tilt your head.

“There’s a bucket over there,” he says, pointing absentmindedly to a shitty plastic bucket against the side of the house. “We use the water from the creek as coolant. It’s not factory grade, but it does the trick. You wanna go fill it up and bring it back for when I’m done tuning this thing up?”

You furrow your eyebrows, not sure where the creek he’s talking about is.

“The creek is just over there,” he points behind the house to the edge of the treeline. “I know you can’t see it from here, but if you walk in a straight line, you’ll hit it. Katsuki should be down there too, so you can use him as a landmark.”

When you don’t immediately answer, Denki whines a little.

“I mean,” he says, “I’d go myself, but-”

“I’ll do it,” you laugh a little and Denki seems surprised that you do.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I’d like to pull some weight at least while I’m here. Plus, I offered.”

Denki mumbles his pleasure and you walk to the bucket without another word and set off in the direction Denki pointed. You’re much more willing to go out to the treeline now that you have a knife back at your side.

The walk to the trees is longer than it looks, like how sometimes the horizon looks like something you could reach out and climb up onto. The walk stretches with each step you take and you become a little more understanding of why Denki didn’t want to do it himself. But the walk is actually pleasant, the warmth of mid May collecting evenly on your skin as the humidity grows more intense with the sun.

You wonder what Katsuki would be doing by the creek. Maybe he’s fishing, or crouched over himself sharpening an arsenal of knives that you think he might keep in a roll attached to his belt sometimes. You’re not sure why, but Katsuki sort of has that expression to him. He’s handsome, but the scowl projects something hostile that makes him seem unapproachable.

As you cross through the middle of the clearing, you could almost imagine that this is a normal day. Humidity collects on your skin, making you sweat a little as you dodge gopher holes and soft spots of dirt. It almost feels like summer camp, if it weren’t for the looming idea that you’re contributing to something you may not be a part of. Denki’s attitude though, has you hoping for a more favorable outcome, if you want to call it that.

You’re only a few steps into the line of trees when the earth dips into a sand-lined ravine. The trees leave room for the sun to beat down on warmed rocks, making the area seem brighter with their subtle reflection of the light. The noise of the creek drowns out the sound of your footsteps and you shuffle toward where the earth flattens just before the water starts. A little ways to your right, you can see Katsuki sitting on a rock in the sun, his hands dipped into a large bucket. You narrow your eyes as he pulls what looks like a cloth out of the water, rubbing the fabric together before dipping it in the cool water of the creek.

As you approach, you realize what it is that he’s doing. It’s laundry. On the other side of him, you can see a bin of what look like dirty clothes and water-soaked clean ones. Talk about misjudged character.

“Katsuki,” you say as you approach him, the bucket still empty in your hand.

He squints up at you, shifting his face so that it's in your shadow.

“You’re still here,” he says plainly, returning to his task.

“Clearly,” you respond, watching as he runs his fingers over the next piece of clothing in the bucket.

“Why are you down here? Did Denki pawn the generator water onto you?” He says, like he’s somewhat frustrated. “He does that shit to anyone he can.”

You shrug your shoulders and continue to stare at him.

“Are you just gonna stand there?” He huffs out.

“You’re doing laundry.”

“Yeah?” he furrows his eyebrows and looks at you. “So?”

“Nothing,” you say. “I just didn’t expect that.”

“Yeah well,” he stops for a moment like he’s struggling to find the words. “It needed to be done. Figured I might as well.”

“How progressive of you,” you joke with a straight face.

He looks at you out of the corner of his eyes and sighs, not justifying your comment with a response. You find yourself smiling a little bit.

“If you’re going to linger, sit down and do it,” he says. “You’re creeping me out.”

You oblige him and sit down on a rock next to him, far enough that you’re not touching, but near enough to hear him if you speak in a low voice. For some reason, you feel a sort of kinship with Katsuki. You’d thought longer than you’d like to admit about his willingness to vouch for you and find that you want to live up to his expectation of your goodness, even if it’s not what you believe yourself to be anymore. Maybe it’s because you’ve slept well the past few nights and feel more like yourself, but there’s a certain casualness to conversing with him that you enjoy. He’s not looking at what you could be, but rather what you’re showing him that you are. His lack of doubt in that is something you find relatively attractive.

You watch his arms out of the corner of your eye in between gazing at the treeline and the sky. Your field of vision catches on them, his sleeves cut short to expose his biceps, a bit muddied near the elbows where the mud has begun to stick.

Katsuki doesn’t seem all that bothered by your presence, but now and then you’ll catch the sideways glance he gives you, almost like he’s trying to figure out exactly why you’re lingering.

“How long have you been with them?” You ask, more as a way to fill the silence.

Katsuki’s hands pause as he thinks about answering, then, they continue their steady pace.

“A decent amount of time,” he says. “I met Izuku first, probably in November just before Mina and Kiri. The rest came later.”

You furrow your eyebrows.

“No offense,” you start, “but you don’t really seem like the group type.”

“And you don’t seem like the type who’d be alone,” he retorts, like your statement was stupid.

You press your lips into a tight line, not really knowing how to respond.

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head a little.

“Were you?”

“What? Was I sorry?” He furrows his eyebrows at you.

“No,” you shake your head. “Were you alone? Before Izuku.”

He goes silent. You’ll take that as a yes, but you regret asking a little. It had just slipped out. If someone were to ask you something like that, you’d probably react the same way. That’s just as well, you don’t really need to know him like that anyway.

You wonder briefly if anyone does. He seems closed off, but Mina and Kiri spoke about him a few days prior like they knew him well. Well enough at least to allude to a history you’ll likely never be privy to. Then there’s Momo, who whispers little things to him that he answers in kind. Curiosity gets the better of you, if only to tease.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” you ask and Katsuki’s response is to rest his elbows on his knees and let out a dry laugh.

He turns his head and looks at you from the side. “And what the fuck are you asking me that for?”

“Just curious,” you say. “Is it Momo?”

“Momo?” He makes a sour face at you. “Yeah, right.”

“She’s pretty,” you say.

“Sure is,” he responds dryly. “If you’re into the mom type.”

“What? You’re not into moms?” You grin a little and Katsuki furrows his eyebrows at you.

“So you do have a personality,” he scoffs a little.

There’s a pause. You haven’t felt this in a while. The feeling of bonding with someone new, compatibility on the human level that feels nearly instant.

“I’m kinda serious though,” you say, tilting your head down to catch his eye. “Do you?”

You’re leaning a little closer to him now.

“You seen any nice restaurants to take a person out to these days?” he questions, clearly a little frustrated with you in the way someone gets when they’re a bit amused.

“You don’t have to take someone out to a restaurant to fuck them, you know?” You laugh a little.

Katsuki’s lips part and he swallows like his mouth has gone dry.

“Yeah, well,” he starts, looking away from you. “I’m a romantic. Sue me.”

He’s just full of surprises, isn’t he? You find that you’re captivated by this feeling, this humanity, that exists in him. It’s something alive between you both, something left behind from the old world, and you crave it the same way you crave food.

Katsuki continues scrubbing the clothes, rubbing the fabric together and then dunking it in the bucket before plunging it into the freshwater creek. You’re not sure why you do it, but the next time he looks at you, you kiss him.

It’s not as if you like him, but it’s something to feel. Some remnant of the butterflies you used to feel on dates and the kiss makes you feel like you could be close to human again. You pull away almost as soon as you put his lips to yours and you can tell that the expression on your face is one of surprise.

Katsuki blinks for a second, looking at you with his brows knitted together. The expression doesn’t leave him as he places a wet hand on the side of your face to kiss you again. It’s an anxious kiss, confused and slow but—like someone riding a bike for the first time in years—it quickly becomes something familiar. Muscle memory that you both let yourselves sink into.

You can feel his expression as he kisses you, something between confusion and desire, like his own actions are perplexing. You feel the same way, hesitant, but reaching in the dark for the promise of some sort of normalcy. You want to feel like a person again. You haven’t felt it in so long and you push yourself against him as the ache swells in you.

The two of you continue like this for a moment, Katsuki’s fingers pressing lightly into the skin of your neck. You moan softly as his tongue slips into your mouth, taking a sharp inhale at the sensation of skin on skin. The sound of the creek drowns out the clicking of your mouths, but you can feel the way he hums into your mouth. They’re little sounds, involuntary ones driven by the nervous, desirous feelings inside of you both.

Then, Katsuki pulls away, swallowing thick as he takes his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. You appreciate the way they look. They’re swollen, anxious to continue and keep forgetting where you really are. He drops his hand from your face with a sigh and almost seems like he comes back to himself. You do the same, moving back into an upright position.

“Denki will want that water soon,” he clears his throat and motions to the empty bucket by your feet.

“Oh,” you say, laughing a little. “Right.”

You stand, dusting off the back of your pants and dunking the bucket into the water. It sloshes, the liquid hitting the back of the plastic with a satisfying elastic sound. You begin to walk away without another word, heading down the way you came to climb up the gentler part of the slope.

“Hey,” Katsuki calls softly. “You should stay. We talked it over last night. You can if you want to.”

The last part, he says facing the wash, his hands moving as if he hadn’t said anything at all. You don’t respond, knowing that the obvious answer is already yes.

Dread settles in your stomach. It’s an icky, swirling feeling that threatens to make you double over. You climb up the bank, the water in the bucket sloshing as you move through the trees and enter the clearing. The feeling doesn’t dissipate, growing as you leave the cover of the trees. You probably wouldn’t have kissed him if he’d asked you that earlier.

The boarding house comes into view and you can see Denki sitting beside the generator, conversing with who appears to be Shoto. They turn and Denki waves you down, Shoto turning away and starting around for the front of the house.

Denki jogs to meet you, taking the bucket from your hand. You flex your fingers as the weight is removed, wincing a little at how stiff they feel.

“Jeez, what took you so long?” Denki laughs and with your new information, you understand his willingness to be friendly with you a little better.

“I asked Katsuki for his life story,” you respond dryly, following him back to the generator.

Denki looks over his shoulder and laughs at you. “Did he tell you?”

You pause for a moment, watching as Denki unscrews something and pours the water in.

“Nope,” you say. “Not a thing.”

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