#this was a lot to type out so i hope it gets some notes at least

[pendingnomdeplume]

Omg requests are open! Could I pretty please request hurt/comfort with a smedieum amount of angst and some smut after? i love ur writing so so much mwah

nothing's fair in love and war pairing: hozier/fem!reader rating: explicit (18+) tags: Enemies to Lovers, Denial of Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, Teasing, Banter, Vaginal Sex words: 21.4k (no i'm not kidding) author's note: UM. SO. This ended up being a lot?? Like, holy shit, the muses took me with this one. Sooo, I hope you enjoy! lmao (Also, sorry about the weird formatting, it looks better on AO3, unfortunately.)

[read it on AO3!]

[title from Love and War by Fleurie]

divider by: sylusz

If you’re certain of exactly one thing in this life, it’s that you will not make it to the end of the Unreal Unearth tour without attempting to throttle one Andrew Hozier-Byrne at least once.

When you signed on to be the Stage Manager for this godforsaken tour, you didn’t realize exactly what would be foisted upon you. Lighting, sound, equipment, props—all of these things are a breeze to handle with your experience and tenure in the industry.

What you weren’t prepared for is somehow becoming the de facto handler for the main act.

It’s barely the second month of the tour, and you find yourself outside of the dressing room, once again banging your fist against the wood impatiently as Hozier—or, Andrew, as he prefers from the crew—lags on his call time once again.

“Andrew, for fuck’s sake—!”

The door swings open, and Andrew glares down at you. “I heard you the first ten times you shouted at me.”

Irritation buzzes along your skin as you close your eyes and take a deep breath through your nose.

“And yet, you still don’t seem to have any sense of fuckin’ urgency about it.”

Andrew rolls his eyes, and it takes every bit of your willpower not to stick a foot out and trip him as you both jog towards the stage.

Your relationship to the man in question has been rocky from the jump. First impressions were…tedious, to say the least. Exhaustion made you grumpy and sour-faced, and the smile on Andrew’s face was merely a thinly-veiled grimace of exasperation, as though meeting any of the crew was simply a waste of his time. Andrew seemed less than impressed with you, his faux smile faltering and his brows furrowing as you flatly, silently shook his hand before turning away.

Your patience for primadonnas is at an all time low after coming off of a tour with a certain lead singer of a shitty band who doubles as a host for a televised singing competition. After dealing with that behaviour, you’re not exactly the most trusting of any talent, constantly expecting to be met with petty pushback at best and violent vitriol at worst. While you’ve never actually heard a single bad thing about Hozier, you know the game, know that these hot, talented, wealthy types are nothing more than snakes in the grass.

Alex and Larissa exchange glances as you stalk after Andrew with a clipboard tucked under your arm and a fist clenched at your side. You pretend not to notice their little snickers, but rage flares within you. Of course you’d get no back-up from the others. They simply find your bickering amusing, often stoking the flames with obnoxious quips to rile either Andrew or yourself up even further.

You come to a halt and turn back to point at them. “What are you two doing?! Fucking go!”

With another exchanged glance and a grimace of fear, the two hurry towards the stage while you pinch the bridge of your nose and take a slow, deep breath.

“You certainly have your hands full, don’t you?”

The only voice that can get a smile out of you these days belongs to Autumn Freeman, the assistant stage manager on the tour.

Autumn Freeman is a tour de force, not one to be fucked with despite her dimpled smile and pleasant demeanor. You’ve never seen anyone tell off another person with such an even, easy tone. She is quite possibly the most self-assured person you’ve ever met, and you wish you could hold a candle to her professionalism in the face of adversity.

“Hey, sorry, I’ll be right back, I have to deal with—”

Autumn holds her hands up to quiet your anxious words. “Hey, hey, don’t worry. I’ve got Emilio and Whitney getting everyone hooked up.”

You let out a relieved sigh as you rub your shoulder, a tension headache already blooming just behind your eyes.

“Thanks, Autumn. God, I don’t understand why they didn’t make you lead stage manager. I’m not cut out for this shit.”

“Nah, I’ve lived that life.” You watch as she pulls up salt and pepper box braids into a bundle on top of her head and secures them with the thick, elastic hair ties on her wrist. “I much prefer having a boss to being the boss. Too much stress and pressure, especially from little boys with too much money and no personality.”

“Yeah, no fucking kidding,” you scoff.

“Is he still giving you trouble?”

“Andrew? Of course he is! Jesus Christ, I’ve never seen a grown-ass man act like such a fucking brat—and I’ve worked with Adam Levine, for God’s sake!”

Autumn laughs—a rich, comforting sound that feels like a warm hug.

“Oh, baby, you never met my ex-husband. Couldn’t clean a damn dish or do a load of laundry to save his life, but Lord knows he expected me to take care of him like I was his mother. So, believe me, I understand immature men.”

“Yeah, well…I think Andrew’s just doing it out of spite at this point,” you grumble.

Autumn hums in displeasure, grimacing as she shakes her head. “Men and their bruised egos…though, I’m surprised it’s Andrew of all people. He’s always seemed like a kind, gentle type. I’ve never had any trouble with him.”

“Yeah, well, he’s kind and gentle to everyone else but me, apparently, and I’m sure he actually respects you.”

You decide to leave out some of the more tense moments between you—the staredowns, the passive-aggressive remarks, and pointedly ignoring the other’s presence outside of any work capacity.

Andrew is nothing if not tenacious, bucking against your authority with grumbled gripes and heavy, dramatic sighs to ensure that you know how unhappy he is having to listen to you.

The problem is you lack a level of patience that’s required to do a job like this. Or, perhaps that’s the asset that got you hired in the first place. Regardless, you’re sure Autumn wouldn’t be too thrilled to know you’ve taken to shouting to get the man to do anything while ignoring his existence otherwise.

She lets out a slow sigh, then presses her lips together as she shakes her head.  “Well, give him some time. Maybe he’ll come around.”

“Yeah, sure,” you snort ruefully.

The show goes off without a hitch that night, thankfully. No sound issues, no lighting issues, and no instruments falling from their dedicated straps. You’re thrilled, if exhausted, but the grimace on Andrew’s face as he exits the stage tells you that he’ll certainly have a complaint or two to lodge with you before the night ends.

The band is surely capable of handling themselves once the show is over without needing you to shepherd them further—a task that shouldn’t even belong to you when there’s a dedicated tour manager for all of this.

You’re not exactly excited to listen to Andrew’s incessant bitching about whatever it is you’ve done wrong. Really, it’s a conversation that can be left for the morning when you’ve both had a full night’s sleep and near-lethal amounts of caffeine.

You quickly pack up your belongings and duck out of the venue before anyone can say a word. The Lyft you surreptitiously ordered idles just outside the back entrance, and you rush towards the car hoping that nobody will spot you making your escape.

You climb in and shuttle yourself off to the hotel on your own dime, not wanting to share any space as you decompress from another show on the long, long list of shows still to be had on this never ending tour.

Thankfully, one of the perks of your title is private accommodations—a blessing that allows you to shower and get ready for bed in quiet solitude instead of battling two or three other people for a place in line. You’re surprised that management is willing to shell out the cash for a single room, but you figure it’s better to just accept it for what it is rather than question things and lose the privilege altogether.

The television is on at a low volume as a dated episode of Forensic Files drones in the background. You’re seated on the bed against the headboard, bundled in a white robe as you scrunch your dripping hair with a scratchy, over-bleached towel. Exhaustion consumes you, your muscles tense and aching, and you roll your shoulders and stretch your neck to find any sort of relief from this stupid fucking headache.

A knock at the door startles you, and you quickly hop up and rush over while hastily tying the belt on your robe. You’re surprised to find Andrew at the threshold of your room. He looks exhausted, but the look of annoyance is quickly replaced by one of surprise as he gives you a once-over.

“Oh, God, I didn’t—sorry, I didn’t realize—”

You roll your eyes and rest your head against the door frame with a heavy sigh. “What do you want, Andrew?”

Just like that, irritation consumes him once more.

“Can you at least say something before you disappear from the venue?”

You blink and lift your head in surprise. “That’s why you’re here? What are you, my fucking keeper?”

Andrew sighs heavily as he rubs at his eyes with his middle finger and thumb. “Last I checked, I’m your fucking boss.”

This startles a laugh out of you. “Last I checked, Caroline is the one signing my checks, babe. Good try with the whole intimidation angle, though. You’re about as fearsome as a puppy.”

There’s a pause as he studies you, head tilting to one side as he deliberates his next reply.

“I—”

“Next time,” you interrupt, “Just text like a normal person. I don’t need you showing up at my door unannounced unless it’s a dire fucking emergency.”

Andrew scoffs and throws his hands up in frustration. “Well, I just wanted to make sure you were okay, but fuck me, I guess!”

“Oh, what a gentleman. Thank you so much for your concern, but I managed to make it back on my own without Daddy holding my fucking hand. As you can see.”

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. You can make out the pink flush that creeps up his neck, angry and flustered. “Well, I’m so sorry for doubting your capabilities. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for such an egregious—”

Wordlessly, you close the door in his face, idling for only a moment to peek out of the peephole you should have used in the first place. Andrew stands outside looking stunned. He raises one arm as he deliberates knocking again. It seems he thinks better of it as he shoves his hands into his pockets, shakes his head, and turns to walk back down the hallway towards his room.

Once he’s out of sight, you move to plop down on the bed with a huff.

You have no time or energy to entertain a grown man’s weird power trip. What does he care if you leave the venue without notifying everyone and their fucking dog? It’s just a show of control; he feels he runs this entire circus when he’s merely the centerpiece—the lion in a cage, poked, prodded, and likely to snap at the first crack of his ringleader’s whip.

Whatever. It’s just another tally mark on the ‘Shitty Interactions’ list, you suppose. Maybe you should start marking them on a calendar as you count down the days until you’re done with this tour.

❤❤❤

In the few weeks following your charged interaction at your hotel door, both you and Andrew maintain a level of distance that’s likely noticeable to everyone else on the crew. Autumn certainly notices but is kind to leave well enough alone, mostly rolling her eyes at the dramatics of it all.

“Honey,” she says with a sense of patience that she’s surely digging down deep to find.  “Is this really the hill you’re going to die on? Fighting with this man instead of maintaining your peace?”

“My peace is fine, thank you.”

Autumn rolls her eyes again as she shakes her head.

“You certainly seem to stick to your guns, I’ll give you that.”

Awkward, stilted interactions with Andrew seem objectively better than constant bickering and passive-aggression. It’s easier this way, giving instruction from afar and staying out of his way—or, making sure he stays out of your way, as it were.

And, sure, okay, maybe the man is on your mind more often than not these days, but it doesn’t mean you care. He’s more of a nuisance, a fruit fly buzzing around your head that you bat away uselessly. Unfortunately, he’s also your boss to some degree, and you feel some sense of obligation towards him even if he drives you up a fucking wall

Today is a particularly stressful day.

The bus arrived to the venue later than expected after a battle with early morning traffic, and now the band and crew are zipping around you as everyone tries to make up for the time lost. You’re pulled in a million directions, questions thrown at you with desperation as you attempt to keep things in order.

A late start meant forgoing breakfast altogether, opting for iced coffee that you sucked down in record time.

By the time lunch rolled around, you were far too busy with the sound crew to break away for a snack, food being the furthest thing from your mind as stress made your stomach twist and spit acid.

Now, nausea sets in right before soundcheck. Sweat beads along your hairline as waves of nausea roll through you, and you squeeze your eyes shut as though it might somehow stop the feeling. You come to a halt in the empty hallway and move to lean back against a wall, sighing as you run a hand over your forehead to wipe away cold sweat.

Footsteps echo just down the hall, and you open your eyes to see Andrew approaching you with a determined stride. You grimace. Of course he’d choose this opportunity to break your weeks-long, silent truce, probably coming over just to be an asshole about something that you don’t have the patience or energy to care about.

“Here,” he says briskly as he shoves something solid into your hand. “You didn’t eat—and coffee does not count as a meal.”

You blink as you stare down at the protein bar in your palm, trying to ignore the lingering feeling of his fingers brushing against your hand.

“Mel also has some of that Blowfish stuff for hangovers. It might help if you feel—I mean, you kind of look like death warmed over.”

This pulls a surprised chuckle from you. “Wow. What a compliment.”

He looks just as surprised, the corner of his mouth lifting for only a moment before dropping just as quickly.

“Didn’t mean it as an insult. You look—I mean, you’re still—you don’t look bad. Just tired.” A pause. “Anyway, I need to…sorry…”

He glances over his shoulder and points a thumb in that direction.

“Right,” you nod.

There’s another brief pause as you blink at him, and he shoves his hands into his trouser pockets before nodding once.

“Eat that, please,” he says as he begins backing away from you. “I don’t need my stage manager passing out in the middle of a show.”

Before you can respond, he turns and walks back in the direction he came, leaving you staring after him until he disappears around a corner.

You look back at the protein bar. It’s a chocolate cookie dough flavor, one of your favorites, and you unwrap it as you ponder the interaction.

How does he know you haven’t eaten? Hell, you barely realized that, and only at his prompting. Was your misery really that obvious? He did say you look like death warmed over. Even if it was meant in jest, it still meant that he’d been…paying attention?

The thought doesn’t disgust you the way you expect it to. In fact, there’s a certain fondness you feel in your chest at the prospect of Andrew actually worrying about you, of him calling you his stage manager in some claim of ownership.

You quickly shake your head as you attempt to squash the feeling. This is not the time to dig into the implications of anything—not when you’re running on caffeine and a fucking dream. Instead, you shove the bar into your mouth and take a bite before jogging down the hallway to find Melissa.

❤❤❤

Days later, it’s Larissa who narcs on Andrew in an early morning text on a day off in Chicago.

Larissa

Andrew is sick

Larissa

He doesn’t want you to know

You frown at the text.

You Is that so?

You Hm. Thanks for letting me know.

You I’ll go have a chat with him.

Larissa 🫡 Anytime

You throw on a hoodie and a pair of sandals before trudging across the parking lot towards the black and silver beast that houses the band. Larissa is already at the door when you arrive, ushering you in quietly as you climb the steps.

The rest of the band is awake, though only barely. Rory squints at you tiredly over a mug of coffee. Alex is stretched out along the couch with his eyes closed, uncaring as Larissa forces his knees up so they can sit. The others are missing, and Larissa confirms that they went out in search of food that doesn’t come from a small refrigerator on the bus.

You make your way towards the back of the bus and stop just in front of the dividing door. You knock tentatively and wait for a response.

“Yes?” The sound of his voice is cracked and feeble, making you frown in sympathy.

“It’s me. Can I come in?”

There’s a brief pause before he answers, “Sure.”

The room is dark when you enter, and you tentatively shut the door behind you to keep from blinding him with the early morning sun.

“My sources tell me that you’re sick and trying to hide it from me,” you say lightly as your eyes adjust to the dimness.

Andrew lets out a tired laugh. “I figured Larissa might say something.”

You can make out his form on the bed, curled beneath the blankets that are held tightly at his chin. His hair is thrown up and out of the way in a bundle on top of his head. You frown in concern as he snuffles into his pillow before turning to look at you with drooping eyes.

“I feel better than I look,” he croaks. “Just exhausted.”

You roll your eyes as you step forward to plop on the bed next to him. You place the back of your hand against his forehead and frown as heat radiates against your skin. Andrew doesn’t protest, doesn’t make a move when you feel his too-warm cheeks.

“Jesus, you’re burning up. Have you taken anything?”

Andrew nods. “I took nighttime cold medicine not too long ago to try and get some sleep.”

It takes a moment for you to realize that your hand is still resting against his skin. You pull it away quickly with a mumbled apology before declaring, “You are on vocal rest, effective immediately. I’ll grab you some pho and herbal tea at lunch, but you need to rest.”

He lets out a quiet hum and nods. “On it, boss.”

You bite your lower lip in an attempt to hide your traitorous budding smile.

“Wow. You’re so much more agreeable like this.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he sighs as his eyes flutter closed. “I’m too tired to pretend to fight you.”

“Pretend?”

You see his smile before he turns his face into his pillow. Andrew mumbles again, though you can’t make out what he says. When you ask him to repeat, he doesn’t respond. You watch the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest as the cold medicine pulls him under, and you smile to yourself and shake your head in amusement before opening the door and tiptoeing out of the room.

“I’m confident that he’ll make a full recovery,” you say seriously when Larissa looks towards you. “He’s passed out on NyQuil right now. I’ll be back to check on him later. He’s on vocal rest, too. If he makes a peep, let me know.”

Alex, who is now wearing a Snorlax sleep mask over his eyes, smiles and teases, “Aw, you do care about him.”

With a roll of your eyes, you reply, “Contrary to popular belief, yes, I do worry about you dipshits. That said, be sure to wash your hands and stay out of Andrew’s general vicinity. I’ll be back later to check in.”

Rory asks, “What about you? What if you get sick?”

You shake your head as you wave off his concerns. “Don’t worry, I never get sick. I’ve got an immune system made of steel.”

Three days later, you lie in your bunk with a low-grade fever and a black surgical mask covering your face as you wonder how your body could fail you like this.

You’re watching old episodes of Futurama to pass the time as you limit yourself to your small enclosure with the curtain drawn shut.

Autumn is covering tonight’s show for you—the second show in a row that you’ll miss due to whatever bullshit illness Andrew gave you. The bus is empty and eerily quiet without the shuffles and murmurs of your colleagues. A white noise app fills the gaps between episodes, its gentle tone lulling you into a fitful sleep that’s broken by the opening and closing of the bus door, followed by tentative footsteps that stop just in front of your bunk.

“Hey, are you awake?”

It’s Andrew’s hushed voice on the other side. You reach up to pull the curtain back with a confused frown.

“Andrew? What time is it? Aren’t you supposed to be—?”

“Don’t worry,” he interrupts with a wave of his hand. “Autumn is waiting outside. I just wanted to check on you. Make sure you’re still alive and such.”

It’s surprising given the animosity between you two, but…you have to admit, it’s a kind gesture to come check up on you when he’s the one who got you sick in the first place.

“Well, it’s the least you could do for giving me your germs.” You wince as you sniffle, mucus sliding down the back of your throat. “I demand reparations for this, Andrew.”

Andrew rolls his eyes, but his annoyance seems feigned, a hint of a smile betraying his enjoyment of your tired, raspy quips.

“All right, you seem just as obnoxious as you always are, so I think you’re fine. I’ve already got someone out getting soup and tea for you, so, y’know. Stay put, wash your hands, et cetera.”

You blink, taken aback by his straightforward kindness. “Oh. You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to return the favor,” he says quickly. “Especially because I’m the one who got you sick in the first place. Something, something, quid pro quo.”

“Right,” you rasp, your mask hiding your smile. “This in no way implies that you might actually care about me.”

There’s a brief pause as he tilts his head at you, the same little gesture that he always does when he’s carefully choosing his next words.

After a beat, he replies, “Can I put you on vocal rest?”

“That’s not how this works.”

Just as he opens his mouth to reply, the bus door opens, and Autumn’s testy tone makes you giggle as she calls out, “Andrew…hurry it up, please...”

Andrew throws her a little smile before turning back to you. “See? See how nice Autumn is about—?”

“Andrew!”

You croak a laugh as he jumps and whips his head around to shout an apology to her. He gives you a small smile and a nod before shuffling off with a murmured, “Get some rest.”

15 minutes later, your phone buzzes beside your head, and you open up your messages to see a text from Autumn.

Autumn Andrew sure seems worried about you… 😉

You He feels bad for getting me sick.

You As any decent human should.

Autumn Right…

Autumn Even though he asked me to check in on you during the show… he definitely doesn’t care…

You lower your phone and stare into the beige wall at your feet. A million thoughts cross your mind at once, and you attempt to bury the feeling of tenderness that makes your chest feel tight.

Hours later, the vibration of your phone wakes you from a twilight sleep, pulls you from a dream of soft caresses and gentle kisses that taste of coffee and smoke. Of fingers threaded into frizzy curls and sweet words mumbled against flushed skin.

Dreams that slip through your fingers, lost within the void of unconsciousness the moment you open your eyes.

Andrew Checking in

Andrew You still with us?

You can’t help but smile at the message. It’s late, the bus already filled with soft murmurs and light footsteps as the crew tries their hardest not to wake you. Andrew should be asleep, but you know his penchant for bedtime procrastination all too well.

You Barely, yet I persist.

The chat bubble pops up and disappears several times in a row as Andrew seemingly types and erases every response that comes to mind. Finally, a text comes through that you read through bleary, drooping eyes.

Andrew Good. Let’s keep it that way.

❤❤❤

The last three weeks have been a complete turnaround for your relationship with Andrew. Where there was once fiery animosity, only soft irritation remains. You find yourself smiling more, feeling far more content with the circumstances than you have over the last few months. As much as you hate to admit it, it’s been…nice. Fun, even, as he opens up to you incrementally.

“You and Andrew seem to be getting along,” Autumn chirps after he stops by the bus to ask a question that you answer with a light tone and a smile.

You roll your eyes, but you can feel the blooming heat of a blush across your cheeks.

“More like we found a solid middle ground, but sure.”

Autumn smiles in that knowing way that makes your stomach squirm with giddy embarrassment. There’s no hiding anything from her—she’s nearly 60 and has had her fair share of relationships, experiences that have left an impact on her, for better or for worse. If anyone knows puppy love  when they see it, it’s probably her.

“Well, normally, I’d say you catch more bees with honey…”

You laugh quietly and ask, “Normally?”

She looks at you in her periphery as she smirks. “The boy seems to like the way you sass him. Almost like it’s a game for him.”

“Oh.” You laugh louder now, a touch hysterical as your embarrassment seeps through.

“Well, I appreciate the advice. But, I’m pretty sure Andrew tolerates me in the same way I tolerate him.”

Autumn smiles as she rolls her eyes. “Mmhm, I’m sure. All I’m saying is, whenever he confesses his love for you, I get to say I told you so.”

It’s something you ponder while waiting in the wings during soundcheck that afternoon.

The band is mostly just fucking around on stage, all still a little loopy from travel exhaustion. Andrew is mostly idling between different crew and producers discussing technical aspects of the show. It’s always interesting to watch him fidget and look around as though he has no clue where they are or what day it is. Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if that were true given his godawful sleep schedule.

You don’t realize you’re staring until he catches your eye. Andrew looks perplexed at first, brows furrowing as he expects you to say or do something that requires his attention. Instead, you look away quickly and busy your hands with the clipboard lying on an amp in front of you.

Your face is on fire as you sneak another glance. A squeak escapes you when you meet his pointed gaze and easy smile before he winks at you and turns his attention towards one of the crew members beside him.

You already have a headset on and can hear some of the chatter picked up by Alex’s talkback mic. It’s nothing you can make out, mostly garbled words between Rory’s random hitting of snares and cymbals.

Your attention is fixed on the setlist that Andrew switched up last minute to rearrange the order.

Did he run this decision by you? Of course not. In true Andrew fashion, he made the change on his own, his shitty handwriting serving as damning evidence.

As you frown at the list, a voice in your ear murmurs, “Sometimes, it’s better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.”

Goosebumps raise in a wave along your skin as you jump and whip around to find Andrew hovering just behind you.

“Oh my God, don’t do that.”

His responding chuckle sends a tingle down your spine. You smack him gently with the clipboard before holding it up to him and pointing to his revisions.

“So, when do you start begging for forgiveness, exactly?”

There’s a pause as Andrew raises an eyebrow at you, his mouth twisted in wry amusement.

“Oh, did I say beg? Hm. I didn’t think I had. Slip of the tongue, I suppose. Or, maybe yours?”

Blood rushes to your face as you attempt not to splutter in reply. There’s a part of you that wants to grab him by the lapels of his stupid tweed jacket and shake him violently, as though he might reveal the truth about his own feelings like a piggy bank spitting out coins.

Instead, you merely tilt your head at him and smile politely. “Wishful thinking, perhaps.”

This seems to catch him off guard, both eyebrows flying up near his hairline as he blinks at you.

“Wishful…thinking?”

You shrug and try your best to look as casual as possible before responding, “Something about a man on his knees begging for my forgiveness really feeds my ego, y’know?”

There’s a swell of pride in your chest as you leave him speechless and spluttering for a response.

“I’m approving your changes,” you say flippantly as you begin walking backwards in the opposite direction, your stomach flip-flopping as you attempt to hide your own flustered expression. “Next time, though, run it by me first, please? So I can distribute a revised setlist that doesn’t look like it was written by an anxious chicken.”

“Oh, ehm—yes, yeah, right.” He clears his throat. “Sorry. I should’ve…I’ll ask next time.”

“Much appreciated,” you say easily as you turn on your heel. “Be ready by six at the latest, or I’m hunting you for sport.”

When you glance back at Andrew, he’s still staring, mouth slightly agape. You throw a cheeky wink his way before rushing off to find the nearest empty dressing room. Upon entering a deserted room, you gently shut the door, toss the clipboard onto the couch, and cover your face as you try to regulate your shallow breathing.

You’re not catching feelings. You’re not.

(You can’t.)

❤❤❤

“Psst, hey. Are you awake?”

You blink into the darkness of your bunk and rub roughly at your eyes. You’re not entirely sure what time it is, but the bus isn’t moving which tells you that you’ve probably arrived in Detroit.

“Oh, Jesus, fuck—!” You shriek as you pull back the curtain to find Andrew far closer than you had anticipated, hazel eyes wide and mere inches away. “Andrew, for the love of God—do you want to get punched? Because that’s how you get punched.”

Andrew laughs. You try to ignore the way your heart skips and chew at your lower lip through your budding smile.

“What do you want?” you ask in feigned annoyance.

Andrew rests his head on his arms that are perched on the edge of your bunk.

“We’re going to the Belle Isle Conservatory today. You should come with us.”

Wakefulness is barely catching up with you as you blink at him slowly. Andrew is…inviting you out. It’s not a date—not that you’d want it to be one, of course. It’s merely an invitation to hang out with the rest of the group in a friendly way, and perhaps this is Andrew’s way of continuing to bury the hatchet.

“Conservatory? Like a big greenhouse deal?”

Andrew smiles as he nods. “Mhm, a huge greenhouse on a little island-thing. It’s quite lovely, and I wanted to ask since…I mean, I assume you’ve never gone?”

You shake your head. “I haven’t, no. I’ve been to Kew Gardens, but nothing in the States.”

“Ah, Kew is lovely, as well. Belle Isle has the same kind of feel to it.”

After a beat, you joke, “I’m still confused as to why you don’t just text.”

Andrew turns his head as he laughs quietly, then turns back to you with slightly reddened cheeks and sparkling eyes.

“I’m a terrible texter. Besides, it’s more fun to scare you, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oh, yes, of course, it’s my absolute favorite thing.” You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide your own gaiety as you smile at him. “Now, get off of my bus so I can get ready.”

Andrew perks up, and you imagine his proverbial tail wagging cautiously as he asks, “Does that mean you’re coming along?”

“Of course I am,” you say easily.

He steps back as you sit up and scooch yourself over the edge of the bunk until your feet safely hit the ground.

“What time are we heading out?”

A glance at his watch. “9:30, I think, so I’ll come get you just before that.”

“And they say chivalry is dead,” you chirp, and he shrugs in response. “All right, scoot along. I’ve got to get ready.”

Andrew opens his mouth to protest, but you shake your head and gently begin pushing him towards the front of the bus.

“You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

“You know, that’s not the first time a woman has said that to me,” he muses, stopping just at the steps before turning to look at you. “The circumstances were a touch different, though.”

“Oh, yeah?” you snort.

“Mhm,” he nods. “More of a morning after situation, if you will.”

You freeze, your eyes meeting his own as he tilts his head and smiles cheekily. You decide it’s better not to comment. He’s just being a pill—knows he’s being a pill—and is simply trying to get a rise out of you. It’s been his MO since day one.

“Gross.” You huff a laugh and shake your head. “Thank you for that image. Now, get out.”

Andrew acts shocked by your response as you gently nudge him down the steps.

“Wow, okay, hurtful,” he quips just as he turns the handle for the door.

Both of you are startled when Autumn appears, staring up at the two of you in confusion. Confusion quickly gives way to sly amusement as she tilts her head and greets, “Well, good morning. Where are you two sneaking off to, hm?”

Andrew is left just as speechless as you, both of you sharing an alarmed glance before you finally find your voice.

“Hey, Autumn!” You wince at the way your voice cracks. “I’m just trying to get Andrew to vacate the premises so I can get ready.”

“Oh?” Autumn squints as she looks between the two of you.

Andrew is quick to divert the conversation. “We’re going to the Belle Isle Conservatory in a bit! Do you want to come with us?”

Autumn shakes her head as she meets your gaze with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t want to be a third wheel…”

Thankfully, Andrew doesn’t look back at you as you give Autumn a narrow-eyed, contemptuous frown before mouthing, ‘Stop it.’

Andrew splutters, “It’s not a—! It’s a group outing! No third wheels here. No wheels to be a third of at all. Just regular friend activities.”

His response makes you smile, and you tease, “Oh, are we friends now?”

He throws a glance back at you and smirks as he clarifies, “More frenemies than anything.”

Autumn chuckles and shakes her head. “Jesus, you two are going to give me a hernia. But, anyway, I’m still going to say no on this one, unfortunately. I’m taking these braids out and doing a wash, and then I’ve got a prior commitment with some cable television and several room service mimosas. So, my schedule is booked out for today, I’m afraid. But, thank you for the invitation. You’re always such a darling, Andrew.”

After wishing her luck for both her arms and her sanity, Autumn shuffles back inside the bus to grab a bag before heading off towards the hotel you’re parked behind.

Andrew steps off the bus and turns to look at you with his hands shoved into his pockets.

“I’ll come get you in like an hour. Do you want coffee? I can grab you some. There’s a place called The Red Hook that serves Red Eyes and Nutella Scones that look like they’re way too sweet.”

Your stomach grumbles at the mere notion of food, and you find yourself nodding as you reply, “That sounds great, actually—the Red Eye and the scone. Thank you, Andrew. I do appreciate it.”

“It’s no trouble.” A pause. “Not for you.”

The words strike you directly in the heart, your pulse jumping and your face going hot as he quickly scurries away before you can collect yourself enough to ask a single question.

What the fuck does that mean? It doesn’t strike you as a particularly frenemies-style offer. Not if he’s willing to do it specifically for you.

Which…is that what he really means? There’s a part of you that wonders if the comment was meant in jest—as though the offer would never be extended to the likes of Alex or Rory, given the trio's long history.

It’s not worth reading into, you decide. Whatever it is that he means, you don’t have the energy or wherewithal to go digging for meaning where there is none. It’s simply another kind gesture in response to your previously negatively-charged encounters.

By 9:15 AM, Andrew reappears with two coffees and two scones held precariously in his hands as he approaches.

The coffee itself is delicious—nothing more than an Americano on steroids, but the roast itself is smooth and not nearly as burnt or acidic as chain shops. The scone is, in fact, far too sweet for an early morning pastry, and you decide to tuck away half for later.

By 9:30, you’re crammed into a van with members of the band, en route to Belle Isle. Andrew sits up front due to his stature, but he stays engaged in conversation and glances back at you every once in a while to show he’s paying attention. Larissa takes the middle seat next to you while Alex, Rory, and Kellen squish themselves into the back, jokingly bickering and whining about personal space while you threaten, “I will come back there, so help me God.”

The ferry ride provides a view of the city overshadowed by a blanket of gray clouds that threaten to fall at any moment. Andrew stands by quietly, hands shoved into his jacket pockets as he and Alex have a quiet conversation that you can’t make out from where you’re huddled with Larissa for warmth.

Whatever it is they’re discussing, you catch them as they both turn their heads to look directly at you. Alex looks away quickly, throwing a hand over his mouth to hide what looks like a smile. Andrew gives a stilted wave before turning to look in the opposite direction, back towards land.

Hm. Strange. Though, no stranger than Andrew typically acts, all things considered.

The conservatory itself is massive—a daunting structure standing tall, glass panels glittering in the bits of sun that peek through the gray veil.

You stick close to Larissa, arm-in-arm on their right side while Alex flanks their left. Andrew is shuffling behind, sticking close to Rory and Kellen who speak animatedly about something, though you’re not exactly sure what. When you glance back, you catch Andrew’s eye and give him a half-smile before turning away.

Humidity chokes you as you marvel at the sheer amount of greenery shoved into nearly every square inch of the greenhouse. The smell of damp earth is grounding, comforting, like the first clear day after heavy rainfall.

As the rest of the group forges ahead, you hang back to sit on a metal bench tucked away in the foliage, take a deep breath, and let your eyes flutter closed as you try to appreciate the moment. It’s rare that you get these sorts of opportunities, to enjoy peace and quiet, to pretend that the foreseeable future isn’t fraught with tireless work.

“Are you okay?”

Andrew’s voice, though quiet and soft, still startles you.

“Andrew! For God’s sake, stop doing that.”

He grins and shrugs, offering an apology that doesn’t seem very sincere. You smile and shake your head before scooting over and offering a seat next to you.

“It really is stunning,” you chirp as you stare up at the trees that nearly eclipse the ceiling. “I feel like I could live in here.”

Andrew hums in agreement, then muses, “You should move to Ireland, then. The weather is nearly always like this, and the countryside is greener than anything you’ve ever seen.”

You glance at him, but his attention is focused on scanning the room in admiration.

“It’s on my personal bucket list.”

“Wait, you’ve never—?”

You shake your head. “I’ve never visited, no. Always wanted to, but never really had the opportunity, I guess.”

Andrew is quiet, and you can make out his pensive frown in your periphery.

“Well, the city is…it’s a city. It’s where everything is, I know, but…I mean, if I were to recommend anything, it’d be to stay outside of the city. Enjoy the quiet of a more peaceful area. There are plenty of trains to bring you into Dublin if you really wanted.”

You smile to yourself. “Can I hire you as my personal travel consultant?”

His responding chuckle sends your stomach flip-flopping in delight.

“I don’t live too far out. If you ever stayed in—I mean, you wouldn’t be too far. There are definitely things I could show you.”

“Oh, are you a personal chauffeur, as well?”

A pause. “I’d say more like a personal tour guide. Though, only for a select few.”

You turn your head to look at him now, but he stares straight ahead. You can see the tips of his ears are bright red, unhidden with his hair thrown into a low bun.

“Are you saying I’m part of that special group, then?”

A nudge of your elbow against him makes him laugh, but he doesn’t reply. Andrew seems bashful now, hands shoved into his jacket pockets as one leg shakes anxiously. If there’s anything more to this conversation, it’s unlikely that you’ll pull it out of him right now.

Still, the thought is sweet—a native of the country showing you areas that are overlooked and underappreciated, at least in his neck of the woods. You wonder what it would be like, to sit next to him as he drives along quiet roads, or to try and keep up with his stride as walks you through a park or museum.

The flash of an image crosses your mind—of holding hands while walking along the pavement, of kissing under an awning during heavy rainfall.

“Hey.” Andrew bumps his knee against yours. “We should probably catch up with the group.”

With a heavy sigh, you stand and brush off invisible dirt before following him towards the other end of the building.

❤❤❤

“He won’t shut up about you, you know.”

Melissa’s voice breaks your reverie, pulling your thoughts from the Tecate bottle sitting on the table.

You’re sitting on the patio of a local Mexican restaurant somewhere in Middle America, though you’re not entirely sure where, nor are you certain of today’s date. A bowl of pozole rests in front of you along with a plate of accouterments to add into it. A basket of tortilla chips in the center is nearly empty now as the two of you munch on them between bits of conversation.

“Hm? What?”

“Andrew.” She takes a sip of her margarita before tilting her head. “He brings you up all the time. Like, every other sentence out of his mouth is about you.”

You blink, your pulse jumping at the mere mention of his name.

“Oh. What is he—I mean, like, what kind of stuff is he saying?”

“Just random stuff.” She shrugs before obnoxiously sucking down what remains of her drink, grinning when you give her a flat stare in response. “Stuff he knows about you, I guess? Like, when we were on the bus driving in this morning, he was looking outside and saw that field full of sheep we passed. Then, he told us he had to text you and ask if you saw the sheep, because he knows you love sheep. It was like he would be sad if you didn’t see them.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t see how that’s—”

“And, the other night! We were drinking this terrible red wine that tastes like gasoline, and then he says something about how much he likes a wine you recommended to him. It wasn’t even a red wine! It’s like he just wanted to say your name out loud again.”

A flush warms your cheeks as you process her words.

Andrew…talks about you? Not only that, he talks about you enough that it’s become obvious to the people surrounding him. But…that doesn’t mean anything. Right? If you’re becoming friendly, well, friends talk about friends. It’s not an indication of anything beyond his growing fondness of you and your working relationship.

When you say as much, Melissa smiles in that affectionate, knowing way and shrugs.

“If that’s how you want to interpret it, sure. All I’m saying is, you don’t see the way he looks at you when he thinks nobody’s watching.”

“And how does he look at me, exactly?”

“Like he fucking adores you.”

❤❤❤

The French Quarter of New Orleans is one of your favorite places to visit. You’ve been here several times in the past, either on tour or with your friends for a Mardi Gras celebration. This visit, however, is unique. Special in a way that you can’t—won’t voice.

You’re sitting under the awning at Cafe Du Monde, a steaming mug of coffee and a plate of generously powdered beignets placed in front of you. Across the table, Andrew sips from his own mug of black coffee, humming in pure delight before setting it down.

When Andrew invited you to see the French Quarter, you had assumed that it would be another field trip with the band members who were willing to get up early in spite of their exhaustion (and possible hangover, depending on the day). Upon arriving at the lobby, however, you found him sitting alone on a plush chair, fidgeting with his hands until he realized your presence. He was quick to stand, a genuine smile brightening his face and crinkling his eyes. You tried to ignore the butterflies, tried to ignore the nerves from the mere idea of spending time alone together.

The cafe had been your idea, mostly because you craved fried, sugary dough, and both of you were in desperate need of caffeine at such an asinine hour.

“If I knew how to make these, I’d be in major trouble,” Andrew muses.

“Oh, absolutely,” you nod. “I could eat these for every meal, probably, but my 30 year old body wouldn’t be able to handle that.”

An offhand conversation about donuts, pastries, and sweets eats an hour of your time before either of you have realized, and you decide to vacate the premises before the waiter (who has been giving both of you a hardened stare for the better part of that hour) decides to kick you out to free up the table.

“So,” you say as you follow his lead down the pavement. “To the museum?”

Andrew is excited to show you the Jazz Museum just down the road, especially after confirming that you had never actually been inside during previous visits. It was the first thing he’d suggested as you made your way to the cafe, eyes sparkling with childlike glee. Truly, who were you to say no to such a precious face?

The museum itself is smaller than you anticipated, each hall and room dedicated to art, sculptures, records, and instruments used by some of the greatest artists in the world who paved the way for jazz and its musical offshoots.

Andrew stops in every room to explain a piece of trivia he knows about this person or that performance, or to explain the personal significance of records his parents played when he was young. It’s endearing to watch him talk so excitedly, and you’re impressed by the information he keeps stored away.

“It’s not often I get to talk about this stuff.” He shrugs. “You’d think I’d remember more important things, like deadlines or what fucking time it is.”

You wave a hand as if to dismiss the notion. “As nice as that would be, I think your trivia is far more interesting.”

“Well, thank you,” he replies meekly, as though he hadn’t expected a compliment of all things. “It’s nice to have someone who seems…interested.”

There’s a pause as he seems to retreat into himself, a small frown forming as his brows furrow. It lasts for only a moment before he shakes his head and looks at you again, his smile looking much more apprehensive this time.

“Do you want to go down to the river with me?”

The sun is shining as you meander along the river walk, iced coffee in hand and sunglasses perched on your nose. The walk itself isn’t overcrowded as the city awaits its true tourist season in the form of Mardi Gras.

A few people recognize Andrew, stop him for a chat that he seems reluctant to engage in. Photos are snapped, but he remains mostly unsmiling save for the teen girl who asks him what his favorite Mavis Staples song is before declaring that hers is “Son of a Preacher Man,” which Andrew lauds as a wonderful choice.

“Are you okay?” You ask the question tentatively as you come to a stop and lean against the railing that separates you from the river.

Andrew sighs and shrugs despondently. “Yeah, I just…I have a call with Caroline later, and she won’t tell me what it’s about. Which is…never a good sign.”

“Oh.” You frown and reach up to rest a hand on his shoulder.

He turns his head quickly, eyes flicking down to where your hand rests before looking up to meet your gaze.

“I’m sorry for being so preoccupied.”

You shake your head. “You have nothing to apologize for. Shit, I’d feel the same way if I had to talk to her. Uh, no offense.”

The corner of his mouth curves in a half-smile as he replies, “No, I get it. She’s…well, she sure is Caroline. I’ll give her that.”

There’s a pause as you deliberate whether you should pry, whether he would even want to share the intimate details of his newfound apprehension towards his manager. The dislike from others is palpable, especially from Alex. Though you’ve never witnessed it, you’re well aware that a few confrontations with her have left Alex wondering if continuing with this job is even worth it. (It’s a question that Andrew isn’t aware of, divulged to you by Larissa who is saddened by such a development.)

Before you can ask a follow-up question, an alarm goes off on your phone—the alarm you set earlier today to remind both of you when it’s time to head back to the venue.

“Thank you for today,” you say upon arriving back at the bus lot after a quiet walk back. Crew members are already zipping around to prepare for their own call times while the band gets ready for sound check.

“Of course. Thank you for coming with me. I…I really enjoyed—I mean, it was nice to just…be there. With you.”

The words strike your heart as they tumble from his mouth, your pulse quickening as he awkwardly shifts his weight and glances over his shoulder.

“I…feel the same. It was nice that it was just, y’know. The two of us.”

In a moment of levity, Andrew gives you the most sincere smile you’ve seen in the last hour, then chirps, “Look at us. Burying the hatchet.”

You can’t help but laugh and roll your eyes. “I mean, usually people don’t acknowledge it out loud, but…yeah. It’s nice. I, uh…yeah.”

Andrew pauses as though waiting for something more, but you stay quiet and turn your gaze towards the ground as a blush makes blood rush in your ears.

“Well, I’ve got to…” He shakes his phone at you and nods his head in the opposite direction.

“Right, sorry! You go on ahead, and, uh—good luck with the call. I need to gather my crew and figure out what’s going on, anyway. But, if you’re not at sound check by three, I’m hunting you down and dragging you to that stage.”

This pulls a small laugh from him as he begins walking backwards towards the dressing rooms. “Duly noted. I’ll see you later.” 

❤❤❤

You’re not sure why, but something in Andrew’s demeanor shifts drastically.

Despite the check-ins, the light banter, and the moments of levity you’ve shared over the past few months, Andrew is quiet. Despondent. Avoidant once more as his goodwill seemingly slips through your fingers. You’re left puzzled and embarrassed by the sadness that echoes within you, unsure of what you’ve done to earn the cold shoulder again when you thought things were going well.

“I don’t know what’s crawled up his ass and died, but I’m super fucking over it,” you tell Autumn over coffee one morning after she confronts you about your own dour mood.

Autumn frowns as she stirs her rapidly cooling tea idly. There’s a tension in her own demeanor that tells you she knows something, but you’re hesitant to shake her down for information she’s not freely sharing.

After a few beats of silence, she sighs and lets her spoon clink against the side of the mug as she sits back and folds her arms over her chest.

“I may know why.”

You raise your brows in anticipation. “Did something happen?”

“More like something is going to happen. I heard that a few of our guys are getting cut for the 2024 leg of the tour. More than a few, actually.”

Your blood feels like ice in your veins, your hackles raising at her words. “What?”

“It’s not confirmed, but…I don’t know. Given how much management has scaled back recently, I wouldn’t be surprised. More shows, less staff. For whatever fucking sense that makes.”

You blink at her, head tilted in confusion as upset bubbles up within you.

“They’re going to make staff cuts? What, are we just supposed to make due with a skeleton crew for one of the biggest fucking musicians in the world right now? These are arena shows, Autumn!”

“Baby, you’re preaching to the choir on this one. I don’t understand it, either, but I don’t think management will know what they’ve done until shit hits the fan at that first show.”

How could a decision like this be made without even consulting you as the stage manager? The crew is an invaluable part of this process, and cutting 25% of your team is like chopping at them at the knees while simultaneously crippling the remaining staff by forcing them to work even harder for the same amount of pay—or, at least, that’s what you assume given all of management’s other cuts were replaced by absolutely nothing.

A thought crosses your mind, one that has you pulling out your phone to double-check the date. It’s been nearly a week since your outing with Andrew in New Orleans, nearly a week of this complete regression in agreeableness until you’ve found yourself back at square one.

Nearly a week since his dreaded phone call with Caroline.

Understanding hits you all at once—this is what Caroline wanted to discuss with him. This is why he’s flipped on you again. To keep you at a distance. To keep himself safe from delivering terrible news to you directly.

“Motherfucker,” you yell, banging your fists on the table before standing up abruptly.

“Wait, don’t—where are you going?!” Autumn shouts after you as you stomp down the stairs of the bus before slamming the door shut behind you.

A fist against the metal of the bus door alerts the entire band of your presence, and Rory opens it with a puzzled, nervous look. The expression on your face must tell him everything he needs to know as he swallows and glances nervously towards whoever might be sitting in the front lounge with him.

“Where is he?”

“Who do you—?”

“Andrew,” you answer brusquely. “Where the fuck is he?”

“He’s…” Rory leans back again and says, “Andrew. It’s for you.”

He’s quick to scurry away as Andrew slowly steps down and idles in the doorway, gaze carefully averted from yours as he grumbles, “What do you want?”

Anger grips your throat as you manage to spit out, “We need to talk. Now.”

“Look, I don’t have time for—”

You cut him off with a tense wave of your hand. “I wasn’t. Fucking. Asking.”

This is enough to get him out of the bus, though he keeps a reasonable distance from you as you try to keep this conversation—this fight—out of earshot from everyone else.

You come upon an empty portion of the parking lot, illuminated in the warm light of a dying street lamp. The buses are a reasonable distance away now, and you stop abruptly to round on him with a finger pointed at him accusingly.

“You. Start talking. Now.”

Andrew blinks, hands immediately going into his pockets as his shoulders come up to his ears.

Tense, short, he asks, “What is this about?”

“You know damn well what this is about.”

It’s maddening when he goes quiet, looks up at the stars that are visible despite the lights of the city polluting the sky. His hesitation is palpable as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other while chewing his lower lip. The idea that he might even consider playing dumb with you, that he might try to lie to your face already has you choking back tears.

“Don’t you dare try to run away from this, Andrew,” you say tightly. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Exasperation is evident in his posture, in his face as his expression twists.

“Jesus Christ, what do you want from me?” he asks, his voice going much louder than you’ve ever heard before.

It sets you on edge, your fingers twitching until you curl your hands into fists at your side. The heat of rage quickly spirals into despair as a gaping maw opens in your chest.

Fuck, you can’t do this now, can’t break down in front of the man who has only seen you as his adversary for the better part of six months—who fucking conned you into thinking he actually cared for even a moment.

You aggressively scrub at the tears that well in your eyes and turn your back to him as you decide where you can run off to before you start fully sobbing.

“Why can’t you just be fucking honest?” you ask, laughing harshly, indignantly. “Fuck me, why can’t you—”

It’s too late to seek sanctuary now as a lump rises in your throat, hot tears spilling down your cheeks as you crumple onto the pavement.

“I…” Andrew’s voice dies in his throat, concern etched into his expression when you manage a glance at him.

With another exasperated laugh, you reply, “Fuck me. You’re cut from the same cloth as every other wealthy, privileged white man I’ve ever met. The star of the show, here to waste my fucking time by approving every new show your bitch of a manager wants to add despite knowing damn well that she’s going to cut a quarter of my fucking team next year.”

An inferno rages inside of you as his face drops, as he looks to his shoes to hide his guilty expression—an answer to your unasked question: Did you know?

“Jesus fucking Christ, Andrew, how long were you going to wait to spring that shit on me? Or, were you going to let Caroline tell me over a fucking Zoom call because you’re too much of a coward to say it to my face?”

Muffled sobs break the silence between you as you squeeze your eyes shut and try to regain some level of composure. A hand at your shoulder startles you. You spring up and quickly shuffle back from him as he stares at you, hand still hovering over where you were just sitting.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

You expect anger. You expect a fight.

You don’t expect red, watery eyes as he sucks in a deep breath and looks towards the ground.

“Oh, did I strike a nerve?” you spit, rage eclipsing any shred of compassion or pity you have.

“Oh, fuck you,” Andrew snaps. “You don’t get to sit on your fucking high horse when you’ve done nothing but antagonize me from the start!”

“Me? Oh, that’s rich. All I’ve done is try to get you to do your fucking job on time, you twat!”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he tilts his head at you. “Right, and the best way to do that is by shouting at me and being the most passive-aggressive geebag I’ve ever fucking met.”

“Well, maybe if every word out of your mouth wasn’t announcing another fucking show, or another fucking cut that your shitty manager is making just to pad out her own pockets—and, by proxy, your fucking pockets.

“I mean, Jesus, Andrew. Do you not see the fucking optics here? Do you not see how all of this lands squarely on you in the eyes of every fucking person here? I won’t shield you from the valid criticisms over management’s choices—and management includes you, Boss Man.”

Andrew snorts ruefully and shakes his head. “The band knows they can talk to me, and the crew knows they’re more than welcome to voice their concerns. You don’t have to shield me from shit.”

“My God, you really don’t get it, do you? You look like the fucking asshole here, Andrew. You. The crew doesn’t know that layoffs are coming, so of course they’d fucking trust you! Believe me, if Caroline were here right now, I’d be ripping into her ass just as hard for being so fucking shady!”

You throw your hands in the air with a frustrated huff.

“But, fuck me, right? What the fuck do I know about this business outside of the twelve years I’ve been doing this fucking job? What do I know about predatory, money-grabbing, narcissistic managers with no regard for the people who suffer beneath them? But, go on ahead and release another vinyl pressing of everything you left on the cutting room floor, Andrew. Go ahead, so that you and her can make a few more bucks off the backs of your fucking fans and that single you wish you’d never released.”

Andrew blanches, mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

A smug sense of satisfaction fills you as he’s left scrambling for a response. Good. He knows you’re right, knows he can’t fight back against anything when the truth is plain as day—the good will of his sophomore album and tour has evaporated with every additional stadium he’s approved, with every cut to catering, with every rollback of amenities provided in tours past, with every brushed off concern from the mouths of people he calls friends.

Your victory is short-lived as his eyes go glassy once more; a stray tear slips free and rolls down his cheek before he roughly wipes it away with the sleeve of his jacket. Your smugness quickly dissolves into guilt as he gives you a curt nod before turning to walk away.

“Fuck…” you whisper to yourself before exhaling sharply and shouting after him, “Andrew, wait!”

He stops but doesn’t turn to look at you as you jog the distance he’s covered with his impossible stride.

“Did you have something else you wanted to say?” His voice is flat, his shoulders still tense and raised to his ears.

After a beat, he still doesn’t look at you, and you sigh as you run a hand through your hair.

“Look, I’m—I’m sorry. I’m just fucking blindsided by all of this, and I—”

Andrew whirls around on you so quickly that you stumble back in surprise. You’ve never seen him so angry, tears freely flowing now as he jabs a finger in your direction.

“Do you think I fucking wanted this? Do you truly, sincerely believe that I’m out to fuck everyone over for my own personal agenda? Of course I’m aware of the optics, but that doesn’t mean a fucking thing when you’re locked into a long-term contract with the ring leader of this entire fucking circus.”

“And, what?” you spit. “You can’t just buy your way out of it?”

There’s a long pause as Andrew levels your stare, his eyes searching your face as he processes your question. Finally, he sighs defeatedly and scrubs at his face with his hands.

“It’s not that simple! Because it’s not just her. It’s the label. It’s the rights to my music. It’s—it’s all of it. Believe me, it’s not for lack of trying. I’ve reached out to lawyers, and there’s…there’s nothing. No loopholes. No gaps. Iron-fucking-clad. My soul belongs to this woman through the next two years, and she’s prepared to wring me dry through the final day.”

Shit. You hadn’t really thought about it from that angle. Despite how long you’ve existed in the music world, talent contracts have never mattered much to you. As long as you’re getting paid fairly, you really can’t be fucked to care about the outrageous salaries of world-famous musicians, nor the percentage their managers receive.

“Even if I could break it…I have to think about my parents. I want to make sure they’re taken care of when—” Andrew looks up at the night sky as he takes a deep breath, voice cracking lightly as he continues, “When I’m not around to help. When my brother’s not around to help. I can’t just walk away.”

When he looks at you again, his brows furrow once more, as though he’s just remembered he’s supposed to be upset with you.

“Andrew…” You take a step closer to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

He holds up a hand to cut you off, shaking his head with a soft sniffle. “Yes, you did. Whatever it is you’re going to say, you absolutely did mean to. And you have. So…well done, I suppose.”

It shatters your heart, the guilt of hurting him swallowing you whole. Because you had meant it, meant to hurt him with your barbed words in an effort to get him to open his eyes.

But, the truth is so much messier, bound by legal jargon and the duty of a loving son. As much as Andrew wears his heart on his sleeve, you’re still surprised by the little things that slip through his veneer, the things meant to stay within his own mind, body, and soul regardless of the pain.

“I…” What can you even say? What can you even do except apologize and hope the man you’ve once disliked based on assumptions and childish principles will forgive you for this transgression.

“It’s an early day tomorrow,” he says hollowly. “You should get some sleep. Goodnight.”

“Please…” The word comes out hoarse and broken as you try to think of anything to say to fix this.

Tears well up as he turns his back to you again and heads off towards the fleet of buses parked across the lot. You don’t call after him, nor shout any further apologies. The lump in your throat is too painful to swallow down.

Seated on the pavement, you draw your knees up and hug them tightly before burying your face into the sleeves of your hoodie and letting out a choked sob.

❤❤❤

The next morning, you wake up feeling like you got hit and backed over by a city bus. Your jaw aches from the tension of clenching the whole night, your head pounding from a teary hangover. Leftover makeup coats your puffy, reddened eyes. Your throat screams for ice cold water, and you figure it’s probably best to chase a handful of ibuprofen with a full glass before facing the day.

“Jesus, what happened to you?” Autumn’s tone is light in comparison to her worried expression as she brings a hand up to cup your chin. She tilts your head from one side to the other, inspecting the remnants of your breakdown in search of foul play.

You know better than to lie to Autumn’s face, and you can’t muster the energy to care about obscuring the truth of the matter.

“I got into it with Andrew last night,” you sigh. “I said some really mean, hurtful shit, and now he hates me even more than he already did.” 

Autumn scoffs as she fills an electric kettle with water for her morning tea.

“You think that man hates you? I don’t think he’s capable of hating anyone outside of politicians and cops.”

“No, I know he hates me. Like, properly hates me now that I’ve insulted him directly to his face.”

“Oh, God.” Autumn turns to you with a wary look. “What did you say?”

As you recount the events of the previous night, Autumn’s face goes from surprise, to concern, to pity. You wish that she wouldn’t turn that look on you when you’re already feeling small and defeated, but you know she means well, that her expression comes from a place of empathy and concern.

She stops what she’s doing and sits beside you before wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug. It feels nice, comforting, and you bite your quivering lower lip as you blink back tears.

“Oh, sugar…listen to me, okay? You are not a terrible person for feeling frustrated. You lashed out at Andrew because of the news about the staff cuts, and while it makes sense, it doesn’t make it right.”

“I know.” You wince as your whispered voice cracks.

“I think you should talk to him and properly apologize. Don’t ambush him. Just ask if he’s willing to talk and hear you out.”

You sigh as you rest your head on Autumn’s shoulder. “What if he won’t?”

A pause. “He will,” she replies quietly. “I know he will.”

After a cup of coffee and an ice cube rubbed against your swollen eyes, you decide to forgo makeup entirely. A hoodie drawn over your head and a pair of baggy sweatpants will be your self-loathing uniform for the day. If anyone has any shitty comments to make, you’re primed and ready to jump down their throat.

A few members of the crew hop back onto the bus with bags of breakfast sandwiches, and the smell of eggs and sausage makes you nauseous. With a disgusted face, you mumble, “I’m going for a walk,” before pushing yourself from your seat and trudging down the steps.

It’s an overcast day, but the clouds don’t look too angry. You hope that rainfall won’t be an issue, making a mental note to keep an eye on the forecast for the evening. A glance at your phone tells you that it’s far too early to bother the ladies and Larissa for company, so you shove your hands into your pockets and set off to walk the perimeter of the venue lot’s fencing.

As you walk, gravel crunches softly behind you—footsteps that are out of sync with your stride. You spin around and are startled to find Andrew approaching, a baseball cap affixed to his head and kept in place by a haphazardly thrown up bun sticking out the back. He’s in his traditional garb—a t-shirt covered by a navy blue mechanics jacket, dark trousers, and the same white Converse that probably need a few cycles in the washing machine to look even remotely clean again.

The bags under his eyes seem darker, more pronounced. He doesn’t smile at you, but he doesn’t look ready to shout abuse at you, either. He mostly looks…sad. Apprehensive. Exhausted.

“Hey,” you say lamely, unsure of how to address him after yesterday’s argument.

“Hey,” he says flatly.

There’s a pause as he hesitates, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he avoids your befuddled stare.

“Did you…need something, or…?” The question is asked in earnest, your heart pounding wildly in your chest as you wait for his next response.

Finally, he sighs and shrugs his shoulders. “There’s a coffee place nearby that I wanted to check out. You should come with me. So we can talk.”

Anxiety washes over you like a crashing wave, buzzing in your fingertips as you stretch your hands against the feeling.

“Right, um…if this is your way of firing me, I’d rather you just do it now. No sense in drawing it out.”

Andrew frowns, puzzled. “Fire you? No, no, no, that’s not—I’m not firing you. Jesus, I think the entire tour would fall apart if you weren’t here.”

It’s surprisingly kind of him to say, though, you don’t necessarily agree. There are a million other prospective stage managers who’d swoop in and probably do a far better job of handling things. Managers who aren’t jaded and won’t antagonize the talent.

“I wanted to talk about yesterday,” he says quietly. “I…wanted to apologize for being…reactive? Or, defensive, rather.”

You blink.

Andrew is apologizing to you?

As other crew members begin to spill out of their respective buses, you nod your head in the opposite direction and ask, “Do you know which way the shop is?”

The coffee shop itself isn’t far, and it’s quiet and relatively empty given that it’s a Sunday. A few guys from the lighting crew are lined up at the counter for their multiple morning espresso shots that will carry them to their afternoon, pre-show energy drinks. They greet you with tired mumbles and little waves, uncaring that the two of you are here together and alone.

Andrew is kind enough to pay for your coffee, and you take a seat at a table in the furthest corner of the room.

“So…” you start as you play with the off-white diner mug in your hands.

“So…” he echoes, folding his hands on the table as he watches you. “About yesterday—”

“Andrew, I’m so sorry,” you interrupt quickly. “I don’t understand why you feel compelled to apologize to me when you were right. I meant to hurt you, and I did. And, I’m so fucking sorry for doing that. I should have just walked away, or cut the conversation short so we could both cool down. That’s on me, and if you hate me after all of that, I understand and absolutely deserve it.”

You suck in a deep breath before bringing the mug up to your lips to sip your too-hot drink.

Andrew is quiet as he mulls over your apology. His silence makes you squirm, so you follow up your statement with, “You are in no way obligated to accept my apology or like me in any capacity, by the way. I just…I was up all night feeling absolutely awful about how I left everything, but it seemed wrong to text you about it.”

After a few more beats of silence, Andrew nods as he plays with his own mug. It looks so much smaller in his massive hands, and you briefly imagine those hands circling your wrists, pinning them above your head—

You shake the thought away as your face begins to burn. Not the time, not the place, and certainly not the man to continue lusting over.

“I appreciate your apology,” he says finally. “I wanted to apologize, too. What you said was hurtful, but…I mean, there’s merit to it all, yeah? I am considered the boss despite not feeling like one, and I certainly don’t want to be one. But, that doesn’t absolve me of responsibility, and I do have a responsibility towards everyone who works on this tour.”

You didn’t expect him to agree with you, and you certainly didn’t expect him to seem so guilty for not upholding his crew the way he should. Perhaps he’s never been called on it so forthrightly, or perhaps it comes off as a more serious issue when not coming from the mouth of a friend—namely, Alex, who has also come to you to commiserate about some of the choices that have been nothing but a detriment to the band’s mental health.

“Also…you were right. I haven’t…I don’t think I considered how comfortable I’ve been with…I don’t know. Money? Recognition? Not that I want to be recognized, but…”

“But the perks of recognition outweigh the negatives?”

Andrew glances up, then sighs. “Sometimes, yeah. I hadn’t really thought about the privilege of it all. Or, I had, sort of, but I didn’t give it much thought until you ripped into me.”

You nod in reply. “I mean, it’s been what? Ten years? It makes sense why you would grow accustomed to it. It makes sense that your brain would put on the blinders to the cognitive dissonance of it all. Doesn’t make you a bad person. It just makes you human.”

Andrew’s mouth lifts in a half-smile. “You don’t have to do that.”

You blink. “Do what?”

“Make excuses for me. Protect me.”

“I am not making excuses for you. I brought all of this shit up in a massive rage last night, and you still took it to heart.”

Andrew had actually thought about what you said instead of stewing in the anger of being called out. He could have remained upset and defensive over your words, but he chose instead to consider your point of view. Something about that makes your chest feel warm.

“Hard not to when all of the things you said have been anxieties of mine for a long time.”

“What do you mean?”

He turns his head to look out the window towards the road. “This…has become so much bigger than I ever thought it would. I never wanted to become a household name or face. I just wanted to put my music out there to see what would happen. But, I didn’t want all of this.”

This—the celebrity of it all. The parties, the events, the boozing and schmoozing required of any star with influence. You’ve seen him on those nights as he staggers back into the hotel lobby looking drunk, haggard, and absolutely miserable.

Despite your ill feelings towards the man at the beginning, you don’t wish this kind of exhausting lifestyle on him. As a fellow introvert and a stage manager, you can empathize with the anxiety of having to be forward-facing and on when you’re already on the verge of collapse.

“If I seem ungrateful for the position I’m in, I’m not trying to be. I’ve become so disillusioned with all of this that I’ve been…I don’t know, checking out when I don’t have to think, I suppose?”

It would explain the curtness, the increased consumption of weed and alcohol where he can, the withdrawn nature of his personality that he’s insisted is just a symptom of his age.

“But, again, not wanting to be in this circumstance doesn’t change anything. I’m still responsible for what happens here, and you were right. The optics don’t look great when I’m not fighting for my fucking team.”

You’re unsure how to respond as he stirs his black coffee with a spoon, careful not to hit the walls of the mug.

“What do you need from me, then?” He looks up, confused. “I mean, how can I help you with all of this?”

“I…I don’t think there’s anything that you can do. I just appreciate that you said something at all so I could get my head out of my arse long enough to realize how fucked it’s all been.”

You crack a smile at this, your heart skipping when he smiles back. Then, his smile falls again, his brows furrowing once more as he stares down at his drink and fidgets with his hands.

“I don’t know if…I mean, this is going to sound really fucking stupid, so please bear with me. You’ve shown more fortitude in the last few months than I have in the last few…” He checks his watch. “Years? You’re the only person in my life right now willing to slap me across the face—figuratively, of course—but, you’re the only person who I can trust to be completely honest with me right now. And, if the biggest problem in my life is being shouted at by a gorgeous lass with a hot temper, then I consider myself extremely lucky.”

Oh. That’s…

Huh.

You blink at him, searching his face for any semblance of insincerity.

“Oh, uh…thanks—thank you. That’s…you’re very kind.”

Andrew stares as though he expects something more, but you’re not sure how to respond. It’s a nice thing to say, certainly. Is this his way of extending another olive branch? Compliments have always made you mildly uncomfortable, but is this his way of working himself back into your good graces?

After a few more seconds of tense silence, Andrew finally knocks on the table once and nods.

“Right, well…we should probably get back then. Long day ahead, and all that.” He stands abruptly, unfinished coffee splashing over the rim of his mug as the table shakes.

“Wait, what—?”

“Thanks for agreeing to talk with me. I appreciate it.”

As he speed walks away from the table, you scramble to grab your things before popping up and rushing after him. His long legs have carried him much further than you anticipated, and you find yourself once again having to jog to catch up with him.

“Andrew, what the fuck?” You round him as you shout, forcing him to stop in his tracks before he collides with you.

“What?” His tone betrays nothing, but exasperation is clear in his expression.

You scoff and laugh incredulously. “Oh no, no, no. You’re not going to weasel your way out of this. What the fuck was that just now?”

Andrew blinks, clearly weighing the pros and cons of lying about whatever is running through his head.

“It’s…almost call time…for a media thing...”

It’s a weak excuse, but you can’t help the startled laugh that escapes you as you ask, “Oh? And when did you suddenly start caring about being on time for literally anything?”

The corner of his mouth lifts just slightly. “Well, a very pretty and very confrontational woman has torn me apart about it multiple times now, you see...”

You can feel the heat of a blush that you attempt to downplay with a cheeky shrug. 

“Hm. She sounds smart. And hot. You should listen to her more often.”

The sound of Andrew’s chuckle makes your heart flutter. You swallow down the delight of making him laugh, press your lips together to hide the smile that wants to break free.

“I probably should, yeah. I’m honestly terrified of what might happen if I don’t.”

A glance at your watch makes you frown, and you clap at Andrew like he’s an animal in need of shepherding. “Oh, shit, it’s—fuck’s sake, go, go, go, you’ve got somewhere to be!”

Instead of the usual annoyed response to your rushing, Andrew merely chuckles again and throws his hands up in acquiescence.

“All right, fine! Jesus, I’m going.”

With a short wave and a little smile, he turns on his heel and rushes back into the venue, and you’re fairly certain you’ve never seen him rush anywhere so quickly, especially at your behest.

You’re floored by his response. There’s a part of you that wonders if his compliments were meant to be taken more…

Well, no. That’s just wishful thinking on your part. The idea of him having any inkling of affection towards you is laughable. This was a one-off, a way to relieve some of the tension from last night’s argument with softened language and compliments of questionable sincerity.

Still…it was nice to hear him laugh. Butterflies in your stomach remind you that, despite his kindness, you’re not meant to feel things for the fucking main act of anything, let alone a world-famous musician.

The rumor mill on tour is always churning out something, and rumors about the stage manager making heart eyes at Andrew is the last thing that you need right now. Jesus, if Caroline caught wind of it, you’d be out on your ass in a second.

It’s best to let sleeping dogs lie, let the crush run its course. Then, you two will part ways, unlikely to ever see each other again. The thought is painful, but it’s the only way you’ll manage to survive the rest of this tour—keep your head down and your mouth shut.

❤❤❤

The next hotel night is a much-needed break from the confines of a bunk and the crew crammed into a moving tin can like a bunch of sardines.

Autumn comes up to your room to watch re-runs of NCIS on cable television while sharing a bottle of the sweetest wine you’ve ever had, occasionally making inappropriate comments about Mark Harmon before muttering, “If he wasn’t a fucking Republican…”

The rest of the crew are all scattered about, some in their hotel rooms while others go out for dinner, drinks, and a bit of the Seattle nightlife. (Whatever that entails.)

Larissa texted you an invitation to dinner, but you feel you’re better off not spending as much time around Andrew. Despite being friendly once again, you can’t shake the unease of your more romantic desires—emotional and physical.

You don’t talk about it with Autumn, and she hasn’t pried, thankfully. She’s already dealt with enough of your bullshit with Andrew, she certainly doesn’t need the intimate details of your daydreams and late-night fantasies.

You’re already two generously poured glasses deep when Autumn decides to turn in for the evening. She shuffles off to her room, laughing to herself as she mentions something about calling her sister, April.

Somewhere on the nightstand, your phone buzzes with a text. You giggle as you toss yourself onto the mattress and roll to the other side to grab it from the charger.

The screen flashes Andrew’s name, and your heart stutters as you read his message.

Andrew Can I see you?

Andrew Please?

What could he possibly want? Especially right now? Isn’t he supposed to be out to dinner? A part of you worries that maybe something happened, either to him or to another band member, but that isn’t your jurisdiction. That’s the tour manager’s problem. Still, you respond fervently in concern.

You What happened? Is something wrong??

The chat bubble pops up immediately, as though he’d been waiting for your reply.

Andrew I just need to see you

You blink, puzzled. At least nobody’s dead, you suppose. But what does Andrew want?

You Why? You’re worrying me now.

Andrew Please don’t make me beg

Oh.

That’s…that can’t be a coincidence. It’s probably the wine that has you reading into things that aren’t there. Though, you hear Melissa’s voice somewhere in the back of your mind, her words playing on a loop as you stare at the screen.

Like he fucking adores you.

It is almost certainly the wine that has you feeling bold enough to text back. You nod to yourself in reassurance before shakily typing out a response.

You What if I want you to beg?

You’re biting at your fingernails as you watch the chat bubble appear and disappear in varying intervals. Anxiety churns in your gut, your brain screaming at you to apologize, to blame the wine for a text that was far too inappropriate for the circumstances. Your thumbs hover over the keyboard as your phone buzzes again.

Andrew I’m coming over

“Oh, shit.” The words slip from your mouth as you throw the phone onto the bed like the damn thing has scalded you.

What have you done? What is he going to say? Sure, he may not have fired you for tearing into him, but this? Suggestive flirting? That’s a whole other line to cross, especially when you’ve been trying to shove away your feelings otherwise.

You’re pacing the length of your room as you try to come up with an apology that covers such an egregious overstep of boundaries when you hear a soft knock at the door. A nervous swallow feels like knives down your throat, and you timidly approach before turning the knob and opening the door.

As expected, Andrew is there, though he looks far more disheveled than usual. His hair is thrown up in the half-up, half-down style that Joy taught him, though tendrils have come loose and fall around his face. He’s wearing an outfit normally reserved for the stage—the dark denim combo with a black button-up shirt beneath.

“Hey,” you greet as casually as you can. “What’s up?”

Andrew tilts his head to one side, studying you for a moment before asking quietly, “May I come in?”

“Uh, yeah, of course,” you mumble as you step aside to let him into the room before closing the door softly behind him.

You whirl around and press your back against the door, eyeing him as he glances around the room.

Before you can form a reasonable question, he looks back at you and holds both hands up as he explains, “Before I launch into my—I mean, full disclosure: I’ve had three beers in the last hour and some.”

Ah, you think to yourself. Liquid courage.

In vino veritas.

“Okay,” you say slowly. “Um…also for the sake of disclosure, I’ve had a few glasses of wine. If that matters.”

Andrew nods, seeming almost relieved that you’re also not fully sober for this—whatever this is.

“Right, okay. Good. I mean, not good, like—” He stops himself mid-sentence and closes his eyes before taking a deep breath and clapping his hands together. “Okay, where do I even start with this?”

You blink, anxiety creeping along your spine and prickling your skin.

“Andrew, what is this about?”

When he opens his eyes again, you can make out the light pink tinge that colors the whites of his eyes along with a fierce flush that brightens his pale skin.

“I think you know exactly what this is about.”

You shake your head. “I don’t think...”

There’s a pause as he averts his gaze to the floor, brows furrowing in thought. His silence feels like it stretches for a lifetime as you await whatever it is he’s about to drop on you.

Finally, he takes a breath. “The other night, when we had that fight…you wanted me to be honest with you when I wasn’t. I know it’s unfair, but I’m going to ask the same from you now.”

“Andrew…”

“Please,” he pleads.

After a beat, you nod and whisper, “Of course.”

“Promise me.”

“Yes, okay, fine. I promise I will be honest with you.”

“Right, good. Grand. Okay.” He smooths an agitated hand over his hair. “I suppose there’s no point in mincing words. Tell me if I’m mistaken, or misunderstanding, or—shit, tell me to fuck off if necessary.”

You chew on your lower lip and nod tightly.

“There’s…I mean, there’s something here, right? Because, I don’t think I’m going mad, and I don’t think you would have responded to my text the way you did if…I mean, stranger things have happened, but this?” He holds up his phone and points at your last text. “This doesn’t feel like a coincidence.”

A million thoughts run through your head at once. You consider lying to him, consider telling him that it’s merely a throwaway joke to reference that conversation from months ago. But, he asked for honesty, and honesty he shall receive…for better or for worse.

“It’s…it’s not. A coincidence, I mean.”

Andrew’s face stays carefully neutral as he takes a step forward, a step closer to where you’re still pressed against the door.

“You hated me until you didn’t. What changed?” he asks.

There’s a part of you that wants to shoot the question right back at him in a deflection of your answer, but you bite back the words before they can escape.

Instead, you’re honest.

“You paid attention,” you say meekly. When he tilts his head in confusion, you continue, “You knew I hadn’t eaten anything that day. I don’t know how you knew, but you did. You gave me a stupid protein bar and scolded me for not eating, and I…fuck. I thought I could just ignore it until all of this was over.”

“Ignore what?”

“Ignore you. Ignore my feelings.”

Andrew goes quiet as he considers your answer, but the silence makes you nervous. This time, you can’t bite your tongue, can’t hold back as you parrot his question.

“Quid pro quo, Andrew. Same question. What changed?”

He shakes his head. “That night early on…when you left the venue early. I don’t know how you got back to the hotel, exactly, but…you were gone, and nobody knew where you went…I asked around, but nobody had heard from you.”

He trails off, as though nervous to continue the story and vocalize this shared feeling, afraid of solidifying it, of making it whole and real in the space between you.

“So, you came to my door to check on me,” you say quietly. “I was awful to you that night.”

For the first time this evening, Andrew cracks a smile that he hides by looking down at his feet.

“Well, I’d been awful to you up to that point, as well. And after, probably.”

The corner of your mouth lifts in a half-smile, and you shrug. “A little bit, yeah.”

Andrew takes another step closer, slowly closing the distance between you. Your face burns with a blush that spreads over your chest and to the tips of your ears as he hovers over you, one hand coming to rest on the doorframe, right beside your head.

“You are the most stubborn, willful man I’ve ever met,” you muse.

“And you are the most headstrong, obstinate woman I’ve ever met,” he responds with a smile.

You hum in amusement, unable to maintain his gaze. Just as you’re running through a rolodex of quips and replies that might be appropriate in the most inappropriate of situations, a gentle hand cups your face and pulls your focus back to him.

Tension has you rooted to the spot. His hand is still there, warm and surprisingly soft against your skin. You slowly let out the breath you’ve been holding in an attempt to calm your nerves.

Carefully, you reach up to place a featherlight hand on his chest.

“This is my favorite outfit of yours, the Man in Black look…” you murmur.

He raises an eyebrow in response. “Oh?”

“Mmhm,” you hum, letting your fingers brush against the fabric of his shirt as it travels downward.

Your fingers stop just short of the silver belt buckle that shines even in the low lighting of the room. Your heart is pounding in your chest, a cold sweat beginning to develop along your hairline as anxiety grips your throat. The sound of Andrew’s responding chuckle in your ear is both comforting and titillating as you lay your proverbial cards on the table.

After a few seconds of silence, he looks up towards the ceiling and sighs before looking back at you with a wry smile.

“May I kiss you? Or, are you going to make me beg?”

You’re not sure how you’re still coherent or standing when all of your blood seems to have rushed to your face or between your legs.

All sense of smug coolness evaporates as you nod frantically and whisper, “Please,” in response.

The first brush of his lips against yours is tentative, restrained. You can smell the hops on his breath, the earthy scent of his cologne, the remnants of smoke from cigarettes he’ll regret come morning.

When he pulls away, you’re left leaning back against the door, breathing shallowly as you swallow down your excited nerves.

“Are you sure you want this?” he breathes, searching for any shred of regret or apprehension in your expression despite everything you’ve just said to the contrary. Still, it’s sweet of him to ask no matter how moot the question is in this circumstance.

Your response comes in the form of another kiss, messier and more frantic this time as you throw your arms around his neck to keep him close. The hand by your head has slipped down to rest on your hips, fingers digging into your skin but not daring to move any further.

Kisses to your neck are punctuated with nibbles that make you squirm in his grip while attempting to swallow down the whimpers and whines that inevitably escape you.

You’re both in your 30s and far too old to be sporting hickies in places that can’t be covered, but the feeling of his teeth grazing your skin, the mere idea of being marked so publicly as his makes you not care quite as much about judgement.

With a huffed laugh and panting breaths, you press gently against his chest while murmuring, “Bed.”

This pulls a genuine laugh from him, and he shakes his head as he smiles down at you.

“My God, you’re demanding even now? I’m going to have my hands full with you, aren’t I?”

The question is startling—an implicit promise that this isn’t just a hook-up or a one night situation. Not that you had expected so, but the confirmation of his own excitement over such a prospect warms your heart.

“You say that like I haven’t been a pain in your ass from day one.”

Andrew shrugs, brings his hand up to cup your face again. “Well, yeah…but this is different.”

“How exactly is it different?” you snort.

“I get to kiss you now which makes up for your bratty attitude. For the most part, anyway.”

The word is a sucker punch, knocking the wind out of you as heat pools low in your belly. It seems your silence speaks volumes as his expression changes from jokingly irritated to slyly amused.

“Oh? Suddenly, you have nothing to say?”

With a lopsided grin and a blush, you reply, “I have plenty to say. You, of all people, should know that.”

You slip away from the door with your grip on his jacket sleeve, lightly tugging him along as you slowly walk backwards towards the bed. Your hold on him keeps you upright even as you move to push the denim from his shoulders in a bid to get it off. Thankfully, he takes the hint as he pulls it off and tosses it gently to the ground. 

“I’m well aware, yes,” he laughs. “Fortunately for you, I happen to like bratty women.”

There’s that word again, the one that makes your pulse jump and knees wobble. Despite your fiery, demanding exterior professionally, your proclivities in the bedroom lean more towards…well, submission isn’t a word you want to say out loud. Rather, you’re more open to following directions. Especially from a man like him.

He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear as he murmurs, “It doesn’t seem like that will be an issue right now, will it?”

You shake your head quickly, earning another little chuckle from him that makes your stomach flip.

“Are you going to behave?”

The question makes you shiver as electricity shoots up your spine, your skin prickling with goosebumps as your breathing goes shallow.

“Yes,��� you whisper, wide eyes turned upwards to stare at him.

“God, you’re so much more agreeable like this,” he says with a smirk.

You grin in return as you shrug and reply, “Don’t get used to it.”

His responding kiss feels different—softer, sweeter, and far more romantic than the particular circumstance would imply. Your hands wander, fumbling with buttons that reveal the black undershirt he wears beneath. The sight makes you giggle as you press your forehead lightly against his chest.

“How do you have more clothes under here? Jesus Christ.”

You can feel him shake with quiet laughter, his chest vibrating as he responds, “It’s layering.”

“It’s impeding my work,” you shoot back.

Finally, he bats your hands away and quickly unbuttons the garment before removing it and tossing it into a heap with his jacket.

It’s rare to see him so undressed, thin arms exposing his singular tattoo done by a friend years ago while under the influence of multiple substances. Veins run like rivers down pale skin, arms flecked with freckles and light, fine hair. They’re more toned than you would have thought, years of lifting heavy equipment showing in the shadows that reveal hints of built muscle.

He allows you to marvel, allows you to brush your fingers along the dip of his collarbone before he gently takes your hand and pulls it away.

He’s hesitant to allow you to continue undressing him, self-consciousness written all over his face despite his best efforts to conceal it. You’re not entirely sure how to express just how much you want to see him, how many times you’ve fantasized about this exact scenario.

“Please,” you whisper, peering up at him from beneath your lashes as you begin pulling at the hem.

There’s a pause as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before nodding.

He keeps his eyes closed as he helps you lift the undershirt off, flinching when your fingers touch the bare skin of his chest, letting them run down along a trail of hair that makes you feel lightheaded and giddy. You’re drawn to the softness of him, compelled to lean in and press soft kisses just below his collarbone.

You push him gently until he takes two steps back, head tilted in confusion as you beckon him to switch places with you. Another nudge has him sitting on the bed, leaning back with his hands braced against the mattress as he watches you slowly drop to your knees.

“Oh,” he breathes as you begin pulling at the leather of his belt. His following chuckle pulls your attention back to him, leaving you flustered and speechless as he reaches out, cups your cheek, and murmurs, “You look so pretty on your knees for me.”

This man is going to kill you before the night is over, you’re sure of it.

“Shush,” you mumble as you attempt to avert your gaze. But, the hand still caressing your face forces you to look at him once again.

His expression shifts, eyes seeming much darker now as he levels your stare. He’s still blushing, obviously still flustered by this entire situation. The alcohol still has a hold on him, however, providing a level of confidence that you’ve rarely seen from him.

“I’ve half a mind to make you beg for this, you know.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he pulls his hand away to unbutton his jeans, and you jump at the opportunity to tug them down until they crumple to the floor. A few awkward kicks and quiet giggles, and soon he’s left in only a pair of black boxer-briefs as he quickly rids himself of his black socks with a laugh.

You’re trying not to stare. But, the tent in his boxers is intimidating, and you reach out with a trembling hand to rest it gently over his clothed cock. Andrew’s grip on the edge of the mattress noticeably tightens, his lower lip slipping through his teeth as he carefully watches your movements.

A light squeeze of your hand makes him hiss quietly. When he reaches out, you expect him to pull your hand away, expect him to say something or give you direction. Instead, he merely rests his hand atop yours, pressing down as he ruts up against your palm with a soft groan.

Your fingers itch for more, that emptiness within you aching to be filled. There are so many things you want to do, want to try, but time and stamina won’t allow for it all. But, there is a future of opportunities, and right now, you want nothing more than to please him until he’s seeing stars.

“Andrew, please,” you whine as the fingers of your free hand slip beneath the waistband of his boxers. “Please, can I…?”

“Wow,” he hums sweetly. “Begging all on your own? You are a fascinating creature, darling.”

The words stun you, your mouth dropping open for a brief moment before you snap it shut.

“Jesus, do you want me to blow you, or not?” you huff as you hide your smiling, embarrassed expression.

“Tempting as that is…I have other ideas. And, you are still wearing far too much.”

At his prompting, you stand and allow him to pull you into his arms where he sits, leaning in for another kiss as his fingers slip beneath the hem of your too-large sleep shirt. You pull away to raise your arms and allow him to slip the shirt off of you entirely, shivering as he begins to kiss along newly exposed skin. Wandering hands cup your breasts, warm fingers rolling your nipples before he leans in to run his tongue over one hardened bud.

Two fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts, tugging slowly as he kisses along your chest. You allow the garment to fall to your feet before stepping out of them and kicking them away, left only in a pair of plain black panties.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs against your skin. “Absolutely stunning.”

It’s almost a compulsion to roll your eyes at his compliments, but you smile all the same, embarrassed yet delighted by his response.

Andrew punctuates his compliments with a few more kisses before mumbling, “Into bed with ye.”

As you crawl in and settle into bed, he fishes around the floor for something unseen. Then, with a triumphant sound, he holds up a square of gold foil like a prize.

“I’m so sorry,” you say through a fit of laughter. “Were you expecting this to happen? Or, do you carry that around with you just in case?”

“It wasn’t an expectation.” Andrew shrugs before falling into bed next to you. “More like…wishful thinking.”

It’s an earnest answer, and one you certainly didn’t expect. Before you can respond in kind, he wraps his arms around your waist and rolls until you’re beneath him.

Kisses trail along your neck, down your chest, before stopping at your hips. Your heart races as he slides his fingers beneath black fabric, and he glances up at you in surprise as he finds you already wet and soaking through your panties. You only shrug, unable to form a coherent response as his fingers press into you easily. It’s not enough, but it’s something, and you can’t help but press back against the feeling.

He tugs the fabric down slowly, as though opening a birthday gift. When you’re finally revealed to him entirely, he kisses along your hips and down your thighs, leaving little bites that will almost certainly bruise.

What a strange feeling to be laid out before him like a feast after months of animosity, months of clandestine desire shrouded in antipathy. Even stranger is the way he’s so tender with you, leaning up to kiss you gently while you try to ground yourself by cupping his face and tangling your hands into his hair.

His body is flush against yours, hips rolling as he absentmindedly seeks friction that you provide as you press back against each movement.

You’re breaking down fast, desire and need coursing through you as your body clenches around nothing but the continued dull, yearning ache.

“Fuck, please, I need…” you whimper against his neck.

“Tell me what you need,” he murmurs. “Use your words, darling.”

You’re well beyond the point of embarrassment, well beyond caring about seeming desperate because you are desperate.

“Andrew, for the love of God, please just—” you laugh to yourself and shake your head. “Please fuck me, or I’ll kick you out of my room.”

This pulls another genuine laugh from him as he hides his face against your neck before pressing a few more soft kisses along your jaw.

“You know what? I’ll accept that. Though, we may have to work on the attitude a little bit.”

There’s little time to respond as his own desperation slips through. He pushes himself up and away from you, sitting up to allow more room to slip your underwear down and over your knees before tossing them into the growing pile of clothing on the floor.

Andrew’s stare makes you self-conscious, and you quickly close your legs and turn your bashful, grinning face until it’s half-concealed by a pillow. He takes the opportunity to twist around and shuck off his boxers, but you keep your gaze fixed on the lamp sitting on the nightstand, arousal and nerves igniting like a current beneath your skin.

The crinkle and tear of the condom wrapper draws your attention, and—oh.

“Oh, my God…”

Andrew blinks at you, brows furrowing in an unspoken question that makes you laugh a little hysterically. You reach out and lay a hand on his shoulder as he hovers over you again.

“Please be gentle,” you say meekly. “I might need…time…to adjust…”

His face is already bright red, but you’re certain your request might make him spontaneously combust. As if he doesn’t know how blessed he is, but you refuse to say it aloud anyway, mostly because you don’t want to fuel whatever ego he may already have about it.

It’s no surprise that he’s a gentleman wanting to look out for your own comfort and pleasure. He grabs two of the unused pillows to shove beneath your hips, a more comfortable angle for both of you in this circumstance.

“Are you okay?”

The question is so sincere despite his previous teasing, and you nod quickly as you hum in the affirmative. With a soft smile and a nod of understanding, he leans down to kiss you again before pressing the head of his cock against your entrance.

His movements are slow and shallow, allowing you to get used to the stretch and size of him as he presses into you. Sweet words and soft questions are whispered in your ear, consistently checking in to ensure your comfort despite the strain of his voice revealing his own self-control. Every inch forward leaves you teary-eyed and whining as you’re filled beyond your limits.

As his hips sit flush against yours, you become hyper-aware of every twitch and slight adjustment as he waits for your permission to continue.

The reality of the situation hits you all at once: You’ve quite literally dreamt of this, always thought you’d part ways with this infuriating, wonderful man with a covertly broken heart. Instead, he’s here, and he’s real, and he’s wanted you just as badly as you want him.

“Can you—? I think I’m—God, please, you can—”

Despite your breathless, broken words, Andrew gets the idea. He’s still careful as he pulls back, slowly pressing into you again as you tilt your head back and let out a quiet moan. He uses the opportunity to lean his head forward until it rests in the crook of your shoulder.

“Fuck, I—” he laughs, warm air brushing against your skin. “I may need a moment.”

After a few seconds of deep breathing, he finally begins to move at a snail’s pace, allowing you to further adjust before finding a rhythm that both of you seem to enjoy.

You can’t control your sounds now, each moan, whine, and whimper increasing in volume as he fucks you, fills you to the brim in a way that teeters on painful pleasure. Silence is broken by the sound of your arousal, of skin against skin, making your face burn as you briefly wonder how audible this all might be to whoever resides next door.

The angle allows for him to rub against a spot inside of you that adds a strangely pleasurable pressure. Your eyes water with every pass as you cling to him, arms securely around his neck as you attempt to muffle your incoherent words mixed with his name.

The headboard of the bed bumps against the wall now, but neither of you really care. All you can think about is your impending climax as you slip a hand between you to press against your swollen, aching clit.

“Close,” he gasps quietly, only spurring your own pleasure as you imagine what it might be like to do this unprotected, to feel him twitch and fill you until come is dripping down your thighs.

With a sharp gasp, you clench around him, fingers working yourself solidly, evenly between whimpers that you muffle by biting gently on his shoulder. Pleasure quickly begins to mount as you dig your blunt fingernails into his back, earning a louder groan from him that clues you in on other proclivities he may have—a mental note to make for later.

“Pleasepleaseplease, it’s so good, ‘m so fucking close...”  Your voice cracks and breaks into a soft groan as a slight adjustment of his hips has you barreling towards your own climax.

“I know, baby, I know,” he huffs, and, fuck, he’s already calling you sweet names that will echo in your mind for the next calendar year, at least.

Another whisper of his name, and he murmurs, “I’ve got you, it’s okay…you’re okay…”

There’s something about the tenderness of his words that sends you reeling, choking out quiet moans and prayers as you clench around him in waves.

It’s your climax that finishes him as he grips your hips and lets out a harsh sigh before his moves still. You can feel him then, can feel the pulsing of his release as he presses his forehead to yours before stealing a kiss that leaves you breathless.

The two of you lie in a sweaty, panting heap as you nuzzle him. A blissed-out giggle against him makes him laugh in return, pulling back once more to look at you with a smile before he presses kisses to your face.

You’re reluctant to let him go when he mumbles about cleaning up, but you finally release him when he promises to come back with a glass of water for you.

You sit up in bed and try to avoid staring when he returns. You’re surprised when he crawls into bed without pulling on any form of clothing, floored when he collects you to cuddle once you’ve downed the glass he handed you.

“So…”

“So…” you parrot, tilting your head to look at him.

There’s a pause before he meets your gaze and asks, “Good?”

With a scoff and a giggle, you smack his shoulder lightly as he grins at you.

“Well, certainly Top Five.”

Andrew gasps in feigned shock. “Five? Not even Top Three? Wow…”

“I didn’t say where you land on the list.” You poke his ribs. “Gotta keep you humble.”

You squawk when he attacks you with rapidfire kisses anywhere he can reach. His arms tighten around you when you try to squirm away, giggling when you relent and turn to catch him in another kiss before resting your head against him. The silence between you is laced with exhausted comfort, merely enjoying the peace and quiet of a shared room, of warmth as you envelop each other.

It’s you who breaks the silence first, compelled by safety you feel in the moment to be vulnerable.

“I really fucking like you, you know,” you murmur. “Like, a whole lot.”

His chest moves with a silent laugh as a hand smooths over your hair.

“I know,” he replies. “I really fucking like you, too.”

After a few minutes, Andrew nudges you, and you realize you’d been nearly asleep in his arms. Slowly, crankily, you slip beneath the covers and wait for him to lie down next to you. The lights go out, and an arm rests around your waist and tugs you closer until your back is flush against his chest.

“We’re going to have a lot to answer for in the morning, huh?” you mumble into the darkness.

Andrew hums in reply. “Probably. Also, we may have to apologize to Joy for the, ehm…you know, the noise.”

Oh, right. It’s Joy who’s next door, possibly traumatized if she hasn’t been wearing headphones for the last hour. You’re too tired to look at your texts, though, and you figure you’ll buy her next few meals to make up for the whole ordeal.

“We’ll deal with it tomorrow,” you say through a yawn.

You feel him nod behind you before he presses a kiss to your head.

“Tomorrow,” he mumbles. “Tomorrow, we handle it. Sleep now…”

You smile in the darkness and wiggle against him. “Goodnight.”

He snuffles into the pillow, clearly losing the battle against sleep as he replies, “Goodnight, love…”

❤❤❤

Epilogue

You’re still waiting on the tarmac when you finally turn off airplane mode on your phone after an 11-hour flight, anxiety and excitement making you buzz with anticipation as folks around you begin to rustle around for their bags.

Andrew I may have gotten too excited

Andrew And I may be here far too early

The texts come through in rapid succession, sent about 20 minutes ago based on the timestamps. You smile at his messages, your heart nearly bursting at his early morning earnestness.

You Thank you for picking me up ❤️

You And sorry for picking the 7 AM flight!!

You I’ll buy you coffee for the trouble

You Also can we get coffee? I think I’m dying

Andrew Of course we can

Andrew It’s the least you could do honestly

Andrew 7 AM is fucking ridiculous

Andrew People choose to live like this??

Andrew I’ll see you in a bit ❤️

It’s not hard to spot him as he idles near the terminal entrance, messy hair hidden by a baseball cap, tired eyes shielded by dark sunglasses. You can tell he’s scanning the crowd for you as his head turns slowly. He breaks out into a grin once he sees you, making your heart stutter as you race over to him.

You drop your bags before throwing your arms around him, burying your face into his chest as he envelops you in a tight hug.

“Hi, hi, hi, I missed you!” you chirp. “Longest three days of my life.”

It’s ridiculous, you know, but you were so sad to see him go days before your departure. Ryan called it sappy, Larissa called it cute. Autumn called it puppy love before walking away crooning to Paul Anka.

“I missed you, too,” he murmurs before pressing a few kisses to your head. “C’mon, let’s head to the car.”

Andrew insists on taking your bags to his car on the fourth level of the parking structure. You’re both exhausted, your miscalculations putting your arrival time in Dublin at just past 7:10 AM. You hadn’t realized before double-checking the evening before your flight. Andrew, gracious thing he is, still volunteered to pick you up despite your offer of getting an Uber instead.

It’s nearly 7:45 AM when you settle into the passenger seat of his car, and you quietly watch the world whizz past the windows as he follows the surprisingly clear M50 southbound towards Wicklow.

“I’m sorry we can’t drive along the coast,” he says as you marvel at the greenery that flanks the outskirts of Carrickmines. “The train runs along that way, though, so if you wanted to go into the city and see the ocean…”

It’s an hour before you’re slowly rolling through the backroads of County Wicklow, further south in the outskirts where civilization dwindles. It makes sense for him, a little hovel he can escape to without fear of prying from nosy neighbors. (Also, cutting down on the noise complaints lodged by said nosy neighbors who don’t appreciate his late night wailing.)

You blink in surprise as he pulls onto a private path that leads into his driveway.

The property itself isn’t massive or sprawling the way you might expect from someone with his net worth. It’s far more quaint, averaging the size of a typical suburban home encountered in the United States with a plethora of vacant land surrounding it.

He walks you through the stone path amidst the foliage of his garden—less a garden and more a wild landscape of native plants for the local bees to thrive on.

The inside of his home is just as quaint, looking similar to your own apartment in terms of cleanliness and coziness. (Which is to say, lots of clutter and too many mismatched pillows piled on the couch.) It’s almost surreal to be here after weeks of planning, weeks of waiting until the coveted three-week break between legs of the tour.

Not that the break really matters to you anymore, you suppose. After a few conversations with Andrew and some uncomfortable Zoom calls with Caroline, it was decided that you could not continue on the tour as stage manager due to conflict of interest.

While you were sad to resign from your position, it was a simultaneously freeing feeling. The relationship you and Andrew had hidden from everyone else for weeks was finally out in the open. You were finally allowed to touch him, hug him, and kiss him in more public areas (within reason) without fear of recourse.

The band had been delighted by the news; you were not thrilled by the quiet grumbles and money that exchanged hands between them as you realized they’d placed bets on your relationship timeline.

Autumn was excited when you relayed the news, proudly shouting her well-earned I told you so across a parking lot at an unreasonable hour; however, she was less-than-enthused at her impromptu promotion to lead stage manager at the behest of management.

“I guess that means you’re leaving altogether?”

“Well…actually…”

Strings were pulled, arrangements were made, and Andrew presented a plan he knew you might try to refuse: Stay with him for the duration of the tour, and he’d take care of everything. Everything holds a much heftier connotation, one that still makes you nervous despite. To not work is one thing, but to have him pay your way? That just felt gross.

In the end, you agreed to the arrangement with the caveat that you would pay for some things here and there to feel like less of a parasite. Andrew begrudgingly agreed despite continuing to argue with you about how unnecessary all of it was, that he was more than happy to handle expenses so you didn’t have to worry.

His continued insistence about taking care of you still warms your heart despite the anxiety that comes with it. A conversation about the long-term has been shelved for now, but Andrew is quick to do anything and everything to ensure your comfort.

Andrew rests your bags on the floor in the entryway before reaching up to stretch and yawn.

“C’mon,” he murmurs as he takes your hand to lead you down the hallway towards the master bedroom. “I’ve only had a few hours of sleep, and I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

The coffee you’d picked up at a local shop on the way to his place does absolutely nothing for you, somehow making you even more tired than when you’d landed. Perhaps it’s the nerves and giddiness wearing off, allowing your body to finally relax enough for some semblance of rest. Perhaps it’s the jetlag finally catching up to you.

Regardless, you feel as though you’re five seconds away from collapsing from exhaustion.

You strip out of your dirty airport clothes and kick them towards where some of his clothing lays in a heap. It requires far too much energy to dig through your bags for any kind of loose-fitting loungewear or pajamas, so you opt to slide into bed in only a pair of dark underwear.

Andrew seems to take this as an invitation as he strips himself of his own clothes, slips beneath the covers, and pulls you close to cuddle against his side.

The blackout curtains plunge the bedroom into darkness once he turns out the lights. You suddenly find it nearly impossible to keep your drooping eyes open as you settle your head into the crook of his shoulder, one leg resting over his own. The smell of the pillows and sheets is comforting, so distinctly him that you can’t help but smile.

“Don’t forget,” he says through another yawn. “Dinner with my folks tonight…”

How could you forget? It will be your first time meeting his family in person, and the thought makes your stomach roll with nervous anticipation. You hope they like you, hope that you make a good enough impression that you’ll be accepted into the fold. Despite Andrew attempting to assuage many of your fears, you’re still worried about fucking it all up.

“I can hear you thinking,” he hums. “It’ll be fine, darling. They’re going to love you.”

You lift your head to catch him in a kiss that lingers until you’re smiling against his lips and pulling away.

“I know,” you say quietly as you settle. You rub light circles along his chest with your fingers. “It’s still daunting, though, meeting the parents. I guess that never really changes, does it?”

“In my experience? No, not really.” You can feel him shake his head. “I know I’ll be a nervous wreck when I meet your family.”

The breeze outside rustles twinkling chimes that hang just outside the open window. It’s soothing, a wonderful background noise as you relax in his arms.

After a few beats of silence, Andrew says quietly, “I’m so happy you’re here.”

“I’m happy I’m here, too,” you say with a huffed laugh. Then, with a content sigh, you murmur against his skin, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, darling,” he mumbles before pressing another kiss to your head. “Sleep now. You got me up far too early, and this is your recompense.”

“Oh nooo,” you say flatly as you tug the covers up to your chin. “I can’t believe you would do this to me…”

The words die in your throat as your eyes slip closed, the whistle of wind and the rustling of trees, the warmth of his body pressed against yours lulling you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

[better-setterv2]

𝒜𝒸𝒸𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈 - 𝒫𝓉.4

Authors Note: Hi guys! Here is another chapter for this series. Next chapter may be in 2 days, as I did a double post today. I hope you enjoy, I’ll try to get the next part finished soon. Lots of love xx

Summary: You experience a mix of nervous anticipation and excitement as you fly to Monaco, battling with the growing curiosity about the mysterious group chat and finally arrive at the Café de Paris, unsure who you are about to meet.

Warnings: mild swearing

Taglist: @urmomsgirlfriend1 @mimisweetz @mits-vi @nebulastarr

MASTERLIST

Pt1, Pt2, Pt3, Pt4

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You never knew the drive to the airport could feel so loud.

It wasn’t the traffic or the occasional honk outside the Uber window, it was you. Your thoughts. Your pulse. The way every single breath seemed too shallow to calm anything inside you.

Your suitcase sat beside you, looking far too confident for what it carried. Clothes, charger, passport and about ten pounds of pure emotional panic.

The driver had the radio on, something mellow and easy. You wanted to hate it. How dare the world be normal right now?

You opened your phone.

The group chat was its usual circus.

Pastry: Bet someone forgets their passport again. Place your bets now.

Norrified: I nominate MadMax.

MadMax: Unbelievable slander.

SmoothOperator: I hope you all lose your luggage tbh.

Hulk: Aw, it’s like watching children before a field trip.

And then, quietly, almost like a whisper -

Hammertime: Safe travels, everyone. See you soon.

You stared at it longer than you needed to. Re-read it like there was some hidden message in the spacing.

He hadn’t messaged you privately again. Not since the night you said yes.

That should’ve calmed you.

It didn’t.

You typed.

[Private Message - Hammertime 💬]

User (You): On my way.

Sent.

You chewed your thumbnail, watching the message sit there. Unread.

Maybe that was for the best. Maybe it was too soon to expect something.

Then, he read it.

The typing bubble appeared instantly.

You sat up straighter.

Hammertime: Me too.

You waited.

And waited.

But that was it.

You could have screamed. Or laughed. Or thrown your phone out the window.

Instead, you clutched it tighter.

User (You): You’re not going to say anything else?

Three dots. Stop. Three dots again.

Hammertime: I could. But I’m afraid I’d say too much. And I want the first time I see you to say it all.

You didn’t reply.

You just stared out the window.

Fingers clenched. Chest full.

The airport was fifteen minutes away.

You had no idea what came next.

But you were already falling.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The airport was cold.

Not freezing, just the kind of chill that settled beneath your skin and stayed there no matter how tightly you pulled your hoodie around you.

You sat hunched over your coffee, watching a little kid drag a stuffed giraffe across the floor while their mum tried not to spill juice on her boarding pass.

Everyone was headed somewhere.

You were headed toward a maybe.

Toward someone you only knew through words on a screen. Through late night private messages and soft, unexpected confessions. Toward Hammertime - whoever he really was.

Your phone vibrated in your lap.

[Private Message – Hammertime 💬]

It never got old seeing his name. It always made your breath hitch a little. As if your body still hadn’t caught up with the fact that he was real. That this thing was real.

You opened the message.

Hammertime: You’re at the airport?

User (You): Yeah. You?

Hammertime: In a car. Driver’s quiet. Or maybe I’m just overthinking.

User (You): Same. I haven’t blinked in ten minutes. Might be in shock.

You hesitated before sending the next one.

User (You):This is…kind of crazy, isn’t it? I don’t even know any of you and I’m flying across the world just to meet you guys.

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Came back.

Hammertime: Yeah. But it also kind of makes sense. In a weird way.

You bit your lip, smiling despite yourself.

User (You): Still not telling me who you are?

Hammertime: What if it’s better like this for now?

You paused.

Because somewhere, you agreed. Knowing too much might make it too real. Too fast. And right now, you still had the space to imagine who he could be. And that was comforting, in a way.

User (You): Then say something else. So I don’t freak out and run for the nearest exit.

Hammertime: Okay. How about this -

I’ve read our old messages more times than I’ll ever admit out loud. And I’m still not tired of any of them.

Your fingers stilled over the screen.

Your chest ached in the softest way.

User (You): You’re not what I expected.

Hammertime: Neither are you, that’s the best part.

The boarding announcement echoed across the terminal.

You stood slowly, tucking your phone into your pocket like it was something fragile. Like it held everything you were afraid to hope for.

The gate ahead was open. The flight was ready.

You stepped forward, heart pounding, still not knowing who he was.

Still wanting to find out.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The descent began with a jolt.

Not the dramatic kind, just enough to remind you that the ground was getting closer and so was everything you’d been avoiding feeling since the moment you clicked accept on the Monaco invite.

You pressed your forehead lightly to the window.

From this height, Monaco looked like a scattered dream. Hazy blue coastline, winding roads, terracotta rooftops tucked into cliffs like secrets. It was all too postcard perfect, and yet somehow it made your stomach flip.

This was real now.

No more hiding behind usernames and late night texts. No more watching from the sidelines, pretending you weren’t holding your breath every time Hammertime messaged you something quiet and kind in the middle of the chaos.

Your phone vibrated the moment the plane wheels kissed the tarmac.

[Private Message – Hammertime 💬]

You didn’t even hesitate this time.

Hammertime: Touch down?

User (You): Just landed. It’s beautiful here.

Hammertime: It is, wait until you see it at night.

That stopped you for a second.

Wait until you see it.

Not “it.” You.

User (You): Is this the part where I ask if you’re picking me up?

Hammertime: I could. But then that’d ruin the mystery, wouldn’t it?

You smiled, exhausted but somehow wired.

User (You): So I’m just supposed to wander through Monaco and hope someone gives me a wink and a clue?

Hammertime: More or less. Don’t worry.

You’ll know. I’ll make sure of it.

You sat there in your seat long after the seatbelt sign blinked off, hands curled around your phone, heart beating out a rhythm you didn’t recognise.

Half of you wanted to run. The other half couldn’t wait to see what came next.

You stood slowly, grabbing your bag slipping into the stream of strangers all headed toward something.

And maybe, just maybe, one of them was him…

The air was heavy with movement.

Wheelie suitcases hummed across polished tiles. People laughed, called out and argued softly in a dozen languages. The smell of jet fuel still lingered faintly beneath the sharper notes of espresso from the nearby café and the citrusy perfume of a woman brushing past. It was overwhelming and yet strangely still. Like a moment stretched just past its breaking point.

You were barely paying attention. Eyes half lowered, thoughts tangled around Hammertime’s last message. His quiet certainty that you’d possibly know him if you saw him.

And that’s exactly when it happened.

A sharp, sudden impact to your shoulder sent you stumbling a step back, suitcase jerking to the side.

“Oh - shit, I’m sorry.”

The voice was smooth. Low. British. And deeply familiar in a way that made your skin prickle, though you couldn’t place it. You looked up.

And then froze.

He stood barely two feet from you, tall and grounded in a way that made everyone else around him blur. His hoodie was pulled low, but not low enough to hide warm brown eyes - soft but searching. His skin caught the airport light like bronze kissed by sun. There was a quiet strength in his posture, like he was always bracing for something but hadn’t decided whether to fight it or embrace it.

Then you smelled him.

Warm spice. Clean linen. A faint, smoky cologne that wrapped around you like a second skin. You inhaled before you could stop yourself. It was unfair how someone could smell like that.

He looked at you with slight concern but no panic, his hand half lifted like he’d thought about steadying you but decided against it.

“No worries,” you managed, your voice a little higher than usual. “I wasn’t watching either.”

A smile ghosted across his lips. Small, almost secretive. The kind of smile that might come with hidden thoughts and unsent messages. The kind that could unearth something in your chest if you weren’t careful.

“I guess we’re even then,” he said, and his voice had this warm rasp to it that made the hairs on your arm stand up.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You didn’t know why. You couldn’t look away from him and somehow, you felt like he couldn’t either.

Then someone behind him called out, voice casual but loud.

“Yo, we’re out front!”

He gave a soft sigh, dipped his head in apology and rolled his bag back toward the exit with that same quiet grace.

You stood there, suitcase handle warm in your hand, heart thudding unevenly. There was no lightning bolt. No grand reveal. Just something subtle and tugging and wrongly familiar.

You didn’t know who he was.

Not really.

But something inside you whispered, you’ve felt this before.

Far ahead, just before disappearing into the crowd, he glanced back.

So did you.

But neither of you said a word.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the city’s distant hum of the rush of scooters, the glittery clatter of luxury, the salt heavy breeze filtering through the slightly cracked balcony window. You dropped your suitcase by the edge of the bed and stood there for a second, just breathing.

You’d made it.

Monaco.

The words didn’t feel real, not even standing in the middle of the sleek, sun drenched hotel suite. Everything was light marble and clean edges, a bottle of sparkling water on the table like it was daring you to pretend this wasn’t out of your league.

And yet, here you were. One accidental group chat, one too kind stranger, one missed connection in an airport later.

You sat on the edge of the bed, pulled out your phone, and stared at the screen for a long moment.

GridGremlins 🛠️

127 unread messages.

You hesitated, then scrolled to the bottom.

Your fingers hovered for just a beat, then you typed -

User (You): made it to Monaco. Barely survived the airport traffic. And yes, i did get shoved by a suitcase. Thanks for asking.

Immediately -

SmootherOperator: ayyyy someone’s officially entered chaos territory 🇲🇨🔥

Norrified: don’t forget to wave at Charles’ cardboard cutout in the gift shop. it’s tradition now.

Baguetteboi: wait wait wait - you’re here? in monaco?like actually?

Pastry: Enjoy your stay.

HoneyBadger: welcome to the jungle 🐒

You grinned, shaking your head at the chaos. But it was the next message that made you still, even though you knew you were waiting for it.

Hammertime: Glad you made it. Let me know if you need anything.

Simple. Short. But enough to send a tiny storm through your stomach.

Your fingers danced over the keyboard, hesitated, then typed -

User (You): Thanks. I almost got taken out by a guy in a hoodie at arrivals. Airport’s wild.

Three dots appeared. Then stopped.

Then appeared again.

Hammertime: Damn. Some people just have no spacial awareness.

You smirked.

If only he knew.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Later than night.

Monaco glittered outside your window, the distant hum of the city barely reaching you, muffled by the heavy curtains and your own thoughts. The night felt far too still for a place this alive.

You were curled up on the hotel bed, a soft weight in the pit of your stomach as you scrolled through your phone, the bright screen illuminating your face in the dark room.

Then a message from him.

Hammertime.

The simple appearance of his name made your heart flutter in a way you hadn’t expected. You’d been alone with your thoughts for too long now, the quiet pressing in as the city pulsed on outside.

You opened the message.

Hammertime: How’s the view from your window?

You smiled softly at the question. It felt intimate, somehow. Like he wasn’t asking about the lights or the scenery, but something deeper. Something more.

User (You): It’s stunning. The lights are so bright they make everything feel like it’s glowing.

You paused. It felt like there was more to say but you weren’t sure what exactly. So, you put your thumb over the keyboard and waited, watching the blinking dots.

Then they appeared.

Hammertime: Good. Monaco should make you feel that way. Like everything’s lit up just for you.

You felt warmth in those words, the kind that wrapped around you when you weren’t expecting it. You pressed your lips together, wondering if this was what it meant to be pulled into someone’s orbit even without meeting face to face. His presence was there, steady and constant, even through a screen.

User (You): Are you always this straightforward?

A pause. Too long. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard, unsure if you’d said too much. You kept your eyes on the screen waiting for him to respond.

Finally, it came.

Hammertime: Only for the people that matter.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t have time to process the weight of the words before another message came.

Hammertime: Don’t feel pressured to respond, by the way. I know the city’s overwhelming. But I wanted to make sure you knew, you’re not alone out there.

You swallowed hard, reading the message again. The thought of being not alone in this strange city felt comforting, but it also stirred something else in you. It was the first time since arriving that you didn’t feel like an outsider.

User (You): Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.

The reply felt hollow compared to the weight of his words, but you didn’t know how to articulate what you were feeling. How do you explain that someone’s kindness could fill the spaces in your chest you hadn’t realised were empty?

You turned your phone face down on the bed, the room too quiet now. You stared at the ceiling, the soft hum of the city below seeming to match the thrum of your pulse.

Somewhere out there, he was too. Close, but still so far away.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The morning sun filtered through your hotel room curtains, casting a warm glow across the space. You had been up for a while now, but your mind felt clouded, uncertain.

The beauty of Monaco was undeniable, but so was the growing tension in your chest. The entire city seemed to hum with energy of luxury cars zipping by, tourists flocking to the shops and the sound of waves crashing against the coast.

You took a deep breath trying to shake the nerves, and reached for your phone. The group chat had been vibrating non stop since you’d woken up.

GridGremlins 🛠️

MadMax: Alright, we’ll be meeting up at 12. You ready for it?

SmoothOperator: No turning back now to meet our newbie . 😎

Hulk: Be there on time. Or else. 👀

Baguetteboi: We won’t wait. Don’t make us look bad. 😅

Pastry: If you’re not at the Café de Paris by 12, we’ll assume you chickened out.

A brief laugh escaped your lips. You couldn’t help it. Their playful yet demanding tone was something you had grown to expect. The more you read, the more the reality of this meeting settled in. You had no idea who they were behind their usernames, but soon you’d find out. You didn’t know what to expect, but that didn’t stop your pulse from quickening.

User (You): Fine. I’ll be there. You won’t regret it.

MadMax: Good. 12pm at the Café de Paris. Don’t be late. We’ll see you there.

Hammertime: Looking forward to meeting you.

Your stomach fluttered at his message. Despite everything, there was a certain comfort in Hammertime’s tone. It was almost as if he understood the nerves you were feeling without having to say anything more.

You tucked your phone into your bag, grabbed your jacket and headed out of the hotel. The streets of Monaco were already lively, even though it was still early. Tourists were making their way through the cobbled streets and the unmistakable scent of freshly brewed coffee hung in the air. You could hear the low hum of conversations as people passed by and the occasional honk of a car added to the rhythm of the city.

The walk to the Café de Paris wasn’t long, just a few minutes. But with each step, your nerves grew. It felt like you were walking toward a moment that was going to change everything, though you couldn’t quite place why.

When you finally reached the café, the outside seating area was filled with people enjoying their morning drinks. The café itself was charming, with its large glass windows and classic French architecture. But it wasn’t the café that had your attention, it was the people around it. You scanned the crowd looking for any sign of the group, but there was no immediate indication.

You stepped closer, your heart pounding in your chest. You could feel the weight of the moment - everything that had led you here. The group chat. The messages. Hammertime.

Taking a deep breath, you adjusted the strap of your bag and approached the entrance, trying to steady your nerves. The door creaked open with a soft sound as you stepped inside, feeling the cool air conditioned breeze greet you.

[bloopitynoot]

Reading TGCF: Chapter 101

For those who don't know, I am reading TGCF for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag Bloopitynoot reads TGCF. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read BUT if you followed along with my SVSSS read, the rules and vibe are the same.

The worst of my schedule things should be done! I can finally, tonight, get some solid rest.

I truly was going to make a soothing lavender night time tea for this post, but instead I did the complete opposite and we have an espresso based latte LOL.

Now that I am supercharged, let's get into chapter 101!

Oh baby. He's just dissociating through life (honestly, valid). p261

Damn. The street performer too. Like, we knew, but the fact that after all of this Xie Lian had to see it. p262

Oh my heart. The fact that Xie Lian is just numb is really making these scenes with the busking and the punch by Feng Xin hurt more. pp264-266

Oh jeeze. What he did to that guy heckling him during the street performance :S p266

:( he's holding so much anger p268

:O he's really just stealing now too. Fundamentally, this man has broken. I hope in other books we get to see him come out of this. I just want Xie Lian to feel something other than indifference and anger. p271

I truly feel so bad for Feng Xin. He was just trying to do his best. He doesn't even know what happened to Xie Lian. That, "Then stop following me" must have crushed him. p273

As a side note, I haven't figured out what it is, maybe a filial piety thing, but Xie Lian's parents are kind of awful. For two people who were supposedly rulers of a kingdom, they have 0 skills or tactics for life. On top of that, his mom seems sweet as hell telling him she understands he's been through a lot (never asks what it is or how he's feeling) and then immediately asks him to give more to them. His dad is just straight up awful. Too prideful to the point where it is harmful. I think it's also a bit that they have a parent child relationship in the inverse. The parents are the children and I fucking hate this type of situation. p275

(It was 30 seconds after this rant that I felt a little bad LMAO)

Fucking hell. And they've hung themselves. We love more trauma. Fuck. p276

god damnit, this fucking book. p277

This is how Ruoye was born :( :( p277

Oh man Xie Lian becoming White Cloth Calamity. I truly hope Hua Cheng low ley saved him from that fate. pp282-283

I need a nap

This was not any better than the previous chapters. In fact it was on par or worse. I think THIS must be Xie Lian's true rock bottom because that boy has nothing left at this point.

[misterbenzadrine]

binary bfs caltech core

when pt 3 dropped, i made these cute little visualizers for myself but i never actually posted it bc they're really low-effort but i hope they're still appreciated !!

eli 'hawk' moskowitz

he still goes by hawk

very much still a mix of wild party guy and total nerd

he goes to most of the events on campus and absolutely soaks in the college experience as much as he can

his friends tease him for being so out there and social while still having a really low social battery but he doesn't tell anyone it's bc he never thought he'd be able to be that kind of guy who had a lot of friends and could confidently participate in everything so he's taking advantage of what he didn't think was possible

his room is SO messy (not dirty, just really sloppy)

sometimes he'll facetime miguel and/or sam, catching up and playing roblox or (at its height) among us (also with tory and robby)

demetri alexopoulos

spends most of his time at the library, his dorm, or the science building/lab

a lot of people actually find him really interesting/fun and some even flirt with him but he's really oblivious, like you could drop as many hints as you want that you wanna hang out with him more and he'll be like "oh that does sound fun ! let me know how that goes :)"

he's still very much a yapper so he does talk to a lot of people on a daily basis (his professors, the dining hall workers, the janitors, student activities members, his classmates, robotics peers, lgbt club members, sword fighting society members, role-play club members, stem society members, etc.)

but again, he doesn't actually think anyone LIKES him. he doesn't necessarily have a defeatist low self-esteem anymore, he doesn't think he's worthless, he just doesn't see himself as the type of person to actually attract permanent company

he keeps his room really neat and always really comfortable (his friends often joke they could stay in there forever if he'd let them)

he always texts sam and yas and allows his other hs friends to have a bit of breathing room as long as they keep contact so he knows they're alive and still care about him

most of demetri's social energy is spent on hawk bc hawk is the only/main person that knows he needs to be blunt about his intentions to hang out instead of beating around the bush

hawk more often than not has to drag him out of one of his usual corners to relax and have fun on campus (which he knows demetri appreciates)

despite how it sounds, they actually have really fun times at the parties together playing beer pong, doing chugging games, and doing low-budget obstacle courses (they are a force to be reckoned with and have a very high reputation on campus)

hawk totally doesn't feel his heart melt when demetri unintentionally shrugs off people flirting with him or asking him to hang out somewhere to put all his focus on hawk and ask him what they're doing

it does slightly frustrate him when demetri is so clueless about it though ("so a lot of people seem to really like you." "do they? i think they're just being nice." "that girl invited you back to her dorm. you know you don't have to have lunch with me, if you wanna take her offer." "we were just talking about star wars and she wanted to show me her clone wars posters. it's not that exciting." "dude she obviously didn't care just about the posters." "i think you're reading too much into it." "and you're clearly not reading enough into it.")

demetri knows and accepts how much it means to him when hawk turns down party invitations to hunker down with demetri for a movie night in their dorm or working in the robotics lab late into the night

hawk sometimes worries demetri has leftover resentment that he dragged him away from mit to stay in california and demetri rolls his eyes and repeats every time "hey, i chose to apply here. you didn't force me to do anything. stop feeling guilty for something you didn't do. now do you wanna get take out or head to the dining hall?"

on the same note, demetri sometimes worries that hawk doesn't want to do "nerd stuff" with him but hawk, as if he has a sixth sense for this insecurity, always swoops in at the perfect time to ask demetri if he wants to do exactly the kind of nerd shit he was insecure about, soothing his worries since hawk is the one to bring it up (this nerd shit can include trivia nights, dnd campaigns, heading to the local comic book store, working in the robotics lab, etc.)

whether it's late night study sessions or midnight drinking contests, the binary bros stay permanently glued to each other's sides and while demetri is scared of hawk growing tired of their mild codependence, hawk works diligently to show him exactly how much he loves being a duo with him

my boys, i miss them so bad

the fact that they'd have been class of 2024 :( MY SHAYLAS

also i can't remember who it was but someone commented a long time ago on one of my tt edits about them quarantining together and tbh that sounds like so much fun, i may put that together later :3

[heartbreakfeelsogood-moved]

i’ve been so unmotivated to make gifs to actually post. i’ve basically spent the last two days making potential headers for myself

[hedgehog-moss]

I need to confess something—my last post presented a deceptively idyllic vision of my hike in the snow. I only posted photos from the tranquil walk home at dusk and neglected to mention that I (once again) got lost in a featureless expanse of snow and briefly became convinced I would never find the road again and would have to dig a little den like an Arctic fox to spend the night.

You see, there's this place where Pandolf really loves to go for a walk on snowy days—it's on top of this plateau here:

^ see the fence in the middle, that curves to the left? Nothing bad can happen as long as you follow it. There are lots of landmarks in this direction, like trees, more fences, and a couple of houses.

In the other direction, however, lies The Nothing.

Here's a photo of Pandolf (eagerly) standing near the edge of The Nothing:

Characteristics of The Nothing: it is vast, and white, and becomes more and more featureless the farther you go into it—

—and Pandolf really, really loves it.

Even when he falls into a surprise hole where the snow is suddenly three times as deep (another characteristic of The Nothing), he'll just push himself out in one great powerful jump and keep frolicking.

Or he'll remain in the spot where the snow is deeper and try his best to bury his entire self into it.

He sometimes gets crazy eyes in The Nothing.

We always start this walk with such good resolutions.

We're definitely staying close to the fence this time! With all the lovely landmarks on the left!

And then, inevitably,

Further notes from my studies: • The Nothing has some small plants and rocks, but using them as landmarks is foolish, as they will eventually disappear. • No matter how many foot-, paw-, and dog-headprints you leave and how deep they are, they will disappear before you are able to retrace your steps, probably because The Nothing is always so windy.

Pandolf thinks this is a great characteristic of The Nothing, as it means he never runs out of immaculate snow to dive into.

The wind and the resulting snow mist are the really treacherous things about this place. These photos were taken in roughly the same spot, a couple of hours apart. In the first one, the fence on the left is clearly visible; in the second one, it has started to melt into The Nothing.

There's always a moment when I end up standing in the middle of, well, nothing, with indistinguishable whiteness in every direction, under my feet, above my head, left, right, and I start thinking about writing poignant farewell messages in my Notes app for my family to find at some point in the future.

One last interesting thing about The Nothing is the way Pandolf reacts when I finally find my bearings again and start walking faster, determined to get back to the safety of the road before it gets dark.

Pandolf then just

It's very different than the playful, energetic way in which he normally buries his head in the snow. This second type of burying is clearly a form of protest—if I continue walking away Pan will reluctantly follow me for 20 or so metres, then flatten himself to the ground again, in the same despondent way.

Hypothesis #1: He is trying to play dead like a possum, hoping I will go "well, I can't lug a dead dog all the way home, I'd better leave him here." And then he'll stay with The Nothing forever.

Hypothesis #2: He is trying to lay as flat as possible so as to become all but invisible against the snow. It's unclear if he knows he is the wrong colour for this.

Hypothesis #3: He is trying to commune with The Nothing, burying words of devotion and friendship deep into the snow and promising to return soon.

Conclusion: I'm sorry, I know that's a very long post, but seeing as each of these photos depicts perfect felicity on Earth, I find it hard to delete any. I also like how I intended this post to be about my long disoriented trek through the snow, wondering if I was going to find the fence or the road again before dark—and then I got distracted by how happy Pandolf was. Which is exactly how I end up getting lost in The Nothing every single time!!

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

no doubt ── s. jy

↳ summary ── struggling to balance a world tour, endless responsibilities, and...well, the sting of getting dumped by his girlfriend, jake finds peace & comfort confiding in you—one of his closest friends. what begins as lighthearted late-night phone calls while he's away on tour deepens into something more, quickly pulling you both into uncharted emotional territory. as your connection with jake intensifies, so does your inner turmoil—torn between the comfort of your easy relationship with him and the terrifying possibility of falling for someone you're not even sure you can have in the first place. but jake? jake has absolutely no doubt of what he wants—and spoiler alert? it's you.

↳ pairing ── jake x f!reader, [ft. childhoodbestfriend!jungwon, bestfriends!enha]

↳ genre ── idol!jake, friends to lovers!au || angstttt, fluff, crack

↳ ✎ᝰ. 23.7k [never beating the allegations of getting too attached to my works and having too much fun writing i fear...]

↳ contains ── angst! very angsty but only after a lot of fluff...the cheesy cringe type but then it goes downhill real quick...but happy ending i swear!, mentions of insecurities, maybe one or two curse words, fic starts with jake dating og character named jenn, the use of pet names, jungwon practically plays therapist, jake is absolutely whipped for reader but is terrible at communication and a certified idiot . also jungwon is reader's best friend so the beginning sets up the context for that lolz

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── she's DONEEE [do u hear me crying in the background]...so some backstory lore abt this fic—basically two years ago i had a dream about the ~angsty scene~ of this fic and ever since then, i've had this itch of putting it into words. and when i finally decided to do it, no doubt came out and i thought it was literal fate since the lyrics match the vibe so well...don't tell me it isn't fate guys :') anyways..this is a little different than my typical writing style even though of course i had to include summm crack..but i am still nervous abt how it came out so i really really hope you guys like it :') thank u for all the support and love always <3

↳ update .ᐟ ── check out the sequel series of this fic here!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

You and Yang Jungwon were literally born to be best friends.  

Like, there was no other option.  

Your mom? Their high school's poster child for academic perfection—top of her class, president of every club imaginable, a certified teacher's pet.  

Jungwon's mom? Their high school's unofficial social chair—life of the party, karaoke queen, probably responsible for half the faculty's headaches. 

Nothing alike. 

So naturally, of course, they were inseparable. By their junior year, they'd already started planning their futures together, including one very specific and totally realistic goal that all teenage girl best friends make when they're young:  

"We should have our first kids around the same time and force them to be best friends!"  

"Oh my gosh, yes," Jungwon's mom agreed enthusiastically. "Like, we'll make them share everything! Matching outfits, playdates, joint birthday parties!"  

But what your moms didn't realize as they were giggling over the playful promise that probably didn't hold any meaning to them at the age of 17? 

The universe was taking notes.  

So fast forward a couple decades later, and there you were, baby best friends from birth, fulfilling the shared dream of your mothers—the true puppeteers in this scenario.  

All your moms had to do was execute their promise as planned, but the rest of it? The rest of it was easy.  

You and Jungwon clicked before you even knew what words were, communicating in a series of shared giggles and unintelligible baby noises. By the time you turned two, you were finishing each other's sentences in your made-up gibberish language, and by preschool, the bond was unshakable. 

You two—just like your moms—were inseparable.  

By high school, everyone knew you were a package deal—where you went, Jungwon followed, and vice versa. So, when he announced your sophomore year that he was leaving to compete on a televised idol survival show, you were, understandably, skeptical.  

"Are you sure it's not a scam?" You had asked, rolling lazily around on his bed while he scrambled around his room, packing his bags.  

"It's not a scam," Jungwon laughed, carefully folding his clothes. 

"Did they ask for your social security number?"  

"Y/N."  

"Exactly. I'm just saying—if you end up on one of those exposé documentaries about fake talent shows, don't say I didn't warn you."  

Despite your teasing, you knew how much this meant to him. Jungwon had been dreaming about being in the music spotlight since he figured out how to work a karaoke machine at the age of six.  

So when he eventually did make his debut with his group, you weren't surprised at all—it was inevitable, written in the stars, just like how your friendship with him was.

What did surprise you, though, was how seamlessly you got roped into his new world.  

Sure, Jungwon's life got infinitely busier overnight, but there is no universe that exists in which he'd forget about you—his non-conjoined twin, ride-or-die, and ultimate life-long nuisance (his words, not yours).  

And so naturally, you became an honorary member of this new life of his. The boys' practice studio might as well be your new home—the endless days camping out on the floor of their dance studio with your head in your textbooks while they drilled their choreography for the hundredth time proved that. Or maybe how you crash on their dorm couch so often that Sunoo coined you your new nickname: their unofficial eighth member.  

Which brings you to now: a marketing major by day, unofficial idol by night, and, as always, a certified magnet to chaos.

Case in point? Whatever madness was happening around you at this exact moment.  

"Okay, but hear me out," Heeseung says, gesturing dramatically with his pizza slice—one of many scattered across the coffee table everyone was sitting around. "Pineapple is the perfect combination of sweet and savory—"  

"It's a crime against humanity," Sunghoon cuts in. 

Tomorrow? The boys leave for their five-month tour.  

Tonight? Tonight is tradition: the pre-tour pizza bash.  

Naturally, it's chaos, as no one has bothered with the last-minute packing they're supposed to be doing.  

Not a single bag is packed.  

"It's fruit on bread," you scrunch your nose, taking a bite of your own normal pepperoni pizza. "This isn't dessert, Hee."  

"Thank you!" Sunghoon reaches across the table to high-five you. 

From the couch behind you, Jake chuckles and nudges your back with his knee, "Big talk coming from someone who claims pickles belong on everything."  

"Uh, because they do," you whip your head around to glare at him. "Pickles are versatile."  

"Versatile my ass," Jungwon mumbles from his spot beside you. "I love you, but you're deranged."  

"Look who's talking, Mr. 'I-put-hot-sauce-on-everything'," you shoot back, eyes narrowing at your best friend. Everyone chuckles from around the table at your dramatic, yet endearing, overreaction. 

"Hot sauce is different," Jay chimes in without even looking up from his phone. "It's an enhancer."  

"Pickles enhance flavor too!"  

"By making everything taste like vinegar," Sunoo deadpans from your other side. "Gross."  

"Whatever," you roll your eyes. "You're all uncultured."  

"And you're a menace," Jake quips from behind you, his voice dripping with amusement. You don't even have to turn around to see the smirk on his face—you can hear it loud and clear. 

"Careful, Sim," you say with a sly glance over your shoulder. "Keep talking, and I'll start adding pickle juice to your coffee."  

The room fills with laughter, but before Jake can fire back, his phone buzzes aggressively against the couch. You watch him glance down at his screen before his playful smile instantly fades.  

"I'll be right back," Jake mutters, getting up and heading towards the kitchen without another word.  

You frown as you watch him disappear around the corner, the sudden shift in his mood gnawing at you, and you can't help but wonder what's gotten under his skin. 

After a few more minutes of heated debates over pizza toppings—and yet another round of everyone ganging up on your weird pickle obsession—you decide it was time for a drink refill.  

Excusing yourself, you step into the kitchen, only to find Jake leaning against the counter, his arms crossed and gaze fixed on the empty wall in front of him. His phone sits abandoned on the counter, screen dark.  

"Jake?" You call out softly, approaching slowly. 

Your voice breaks through his haze, his expression flickering as he registers you standing in the doorway, your brows furrowed in concern.  

"What's going on?" You ask, moving closer to stand in front of him.   

"Nothing," Jake says too quickly, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

You give him a look and he knows that you know he's lying, "Jake.."  

He exhales, his expression crumbling as he runs a hand through his hair, "Just...Jenn called."  

Ah. Of course. Jenn.  

You almost flinch at the sound of the name, the weight it carries instantly souring your stomach. Jake's on-again, off-again girlfriend of two years was a constant source of heartbreak—not just for the poor boy, but for the entire group who helped pick up the pieces of his broken heart after every messy break-up…and even messier make-up.  

"She broke up with me," Jake admits quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "For real this time. Something about me leaving for tour and how it wasn't going to work out."  

Your heart hurts at the sight of him in front of you—shoulders slumped, hands nervously twisting the hem of his shirt, as if trying to distract himself from the conversation.  

"Oh, Jake...," you murmur, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder as you lean against the counter next to him.  

"I'm fine," he insists, waving it off, but the expression on his face clearly betrays him.  

"No, you're not," you say, trying to catch his eyes. "And that's okay."  

Jake lets out a shaky breath, finally looking up from the ground to look at you, before shrugging, "I don't even know why I’m surprised. We've been...really off for a while now. Like, more than usual. But still, it sucks."  

“Of course, it sucks," you nod, agreeing softly. "You guys were together for a long time. You cared about her."  

For a moment, the two of you sit in a heavy silence with an unspoken understanding, the only sounds coming from the muffled chatter and laughter in the other room. You stay close, letting him process without pushing further.  

Still, you can't entirely suppress the annoying flare of emotions bubbling in your chest—a tangled knot of sympathy and…something else. Relief, maybe? Not that you would ever wish any sort of pain on Jake—but you hate the way Jenn always leaves him like this: drained, doubting himself, and trying to piece together what went wrong, where he went wrong. 

"Come back to the living room," you say finally, nudging his side gently. "Ni-ki is freaking out over which hoodies to pack. And I swear, they're all the same black hoodie."  

Jake lets out a small, tired laugh, "You don't need me for that. He's gonna end up packing all of them, just watch."  

"You don't know that," you tease. "Besides, I need someone's back up to help me convince him he's not actually going through an emo phase."  

His eyes carry a faint smile as he looks at you, the corners of his lips lifting just enough to remind you of the warmth he usually carries.  

"Okay," he says in a whisper, pushing himself off the counter.  

You start towards the doorway, forgetting about your drink refill entirely, but his voice stops you.  

"Y/N?"  

You turn to find him still standing there, his eyes filled with warmth and appreciation.  

"Thanks," he adds, a small smile on his face. It's such a simple statement, but the way he says it—soft, sincere, and maybe just a little desperate—makes something twist in your stomach. "For just...always being here."  

You smile back up at the boy, "Of course, Jake. I'll always be here for you. You know that."  

For a moment, he holds your gaze, as if taking a mental note of something. Then he nods, his shoulders relaxing.

"Okay," he says, exhaling as he gestures toward the doorway. "Let's go.”

You follow behind the boy back to the living room, silently hoping he knows just how much you mean your promise to him.  

Jake's body is on autopilot at this point.  

Another city, another show, another string of flashing lights and deafening cheers. It's a month into tour, and the endless loop of responsibilities has left him no room to just breathe.  

And he loves this life—he really does. But tonight, for reasons he can't explain, the adrenaline that usually keeps him afloat isn't enough. Pure exhaustion lingers in his bones, heavier than the applause and screams echoing in his memory, and he just can’t seem to shake it. 

When his head finally hits the stiff hotel pillow, Jake exhales with a heavy sigh. The city around him is alive, the neon lights brightly dancing against his windowpane, but he feels none of it. 

Instead? He just feels the weight of homesickness and the ache of being alone. 

Normally, he would push through, shove these thoughts into the back of his mind, call it a night. But tonight, the ache feels different—sharper, louder—and before he knows it, his phone is in his hand before he can talk himself out of it, his thumb hovering over your name on his screen. 

A familiar battle wages in his mind, one he’s been battling more recently ever since tour became a little heavier on him. Slowly, the quiet yearning has been creeping in, and he’s been missing home more and more, craving the feeling of familiarity. But it isn’t just the physical places or the comfort of his regular routine that he craves. 

It’s something else, something harder to name. 

And for some other reason he can’t seem to explain, he thinks it’s you. 

Jake doesn’t know when it started. Maybe it was hearing the sound of your voice through the phone whenever the guys called you to check in every now and then. Or maybe it was the way you would text in their shared group chat, your messages always tinged with humor or a sense of calm that somehow made everything feel a little less overwhelming. 

Whatever it was, it stuck with him. He finds himself craving that unexplainable comfort only you seem to bring. He tells himself it’s nothing special, just the natural pull of familiarity. You’re back at home, the place he misses the most, so obviously, through association, it makes sense. 

It’s logical. Nothing more. 

That’s what he tells himself as his thumb hovers over your name. It’s not about you specifically—it couldn’t be. It’s just the connection to home. The grounding warmth of your voice. The way you somehow make the distance feel a little less suffocating. 

Obviously. Nothing more. 

He presses call.  

Two rings. That's all it takes before your voice cuts through all the static in his head. Groggy, soft, and achingly familiar. Like home.  

"Jake? It's late, is everything okay?"  

Jake glances at the clock. 10:13PM where he is. Much later for you, he imagines. Guilt stirs, but...  

He doesn't want to hang up. 

Hearing your voice feels like the first breath of air after surfacing from deep water. He instantly feels more comfortable despite the heaviness in his chest.

"Hey," he mumbles, his voice quiet. "I'm okay. Just...needed to hear a friendly voice, I guess."  

"Wow, are the boys that bad that you need to call me?" You tease warmly, despite the sleepiness lingering in your words.  

Jake chuckles, the sound low and tired, "Nothing against them, really. It's just...sometimes you need someone who reminds you of home, you know?"  

The other end of the line goes quiet for a moment. He can hear you shuffle, and he braces himself for a teasing comment about him being sappy and sentimental. But instead, your voice softens.  

"Well, I'm glad I could be that for you," your voice telling him you're smiling brightly on the other side of the screen. "Though if I had a private jet, I'd send it right now. Bring you back instantly."  

"A private jet, huh?" Jake's eyes flutter close as he's engulfed into the usual, playful rhythm that's always there between the two of you. "You'd do that for me?"  

"Only if you bring back goodies, preferably snacks," you quip back, and the warmth in his chest grows.  

There's another pause, the kind that feels comfortable rather than awkward. Jake shifts in his spot and before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “How do you do that?”  

“Do what?” 

“Make everything feel...lighter. Like, I can’t explain it, but just hearing you makes me feel like I’m not carrying all this stuff by myself.” 

Your voice softens at his sudden vulnerability. 

“Because you don't have to carry it all on your own, Jake. You know that, right? That’s what friends are for."  

Jake hums in response, a low sound of acknowledgement as he keeps his phone pressed close, your voice instantly soothing the heavy emotions he's been carrying. 

"You sound exhausted," you say after a beat, your tone cautious but filled with genuine care. "How are you holding up? With everything—the tour, the...break-up, just...you?"  

Jake lets out a low groan, his fingers brushing through his hair. "You sound like my mom."  

"Well, someone has to," you tease lightly, a relieved laugh slipping into your voice, as if you'd been afraid you overstepped. "Seriously, Jake. Are you doing okay?"  

Jake hesitates, the question catching him off guard. He hadn't let himself think too much about Jenn or the breakup since leaving for tour a month ago. The boys knew better than to bring it up, and Jake had been grateful for that—for the distraction.  

But now, with you, it feels different. 

Safer, easier. Natural.  

“Honestly? I don’t know,” he sighs, the sound heavy through the phone. “Some days it feels like I’m fine, like I’ve moved on, and other days...it’s like I’m stuck in this loop of ‘what ifs.’ Like, what if I did something different? Or..."  

He trails off to a pause, his throat tight, before he finally admits to you, and himself, "...what if I just wasn't enough?"  

“Jake,” you say gentle but firm, cutting through his spiraling thoughts. “You are enough. You've always been enough. Jenn...she just wasn’t the right person for you. That doesn’t mean you did anything wrong.” 

He swallows hard, your words settling into the cracks he didn't even realize were there. 

"Thanks, Y/N. I mean it. It's just...hard, you know? Haven't really talked about it since it happened. But talking to you helps—a lot."  

“I’m glad." He can hear the quiet sincerity in your words. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing an amazing job. With tour, with...everything. You've got this, Jake. I’m really proud of you.”

Jake lets out a breathy laugh, the warmth in your words settling something in his chest—a knot he didn't even realize was there. 

“You always know what to say, don’t you?” 

“It’s a gift,” you easily reply, and he can hear the grin in your voice, the easy banter making him feel lighter.  

"I missed this," the words tumble out before he can stop himself. Then he quickly adds, as if to explain himself, "It's weird not having you around. The boys are great and all, but you give the best advice. Don't tell them that."  

You giggle on your end, the sound making Jake's lips curve into a small smile and his heart twists.  

In both a comforting and terrifying way. 

"I miss it too," your voice quieter now. "But I'm here. You know that, right? Even if you're on the other side of the world, or if you call me at four in the morning like you're doing right now."  

Jake lets out a chuckle followed by a sleepy groan, "Sorry about that. But...thank you, Y/N. For picking up."  

"Always," you reply, and he hopes you mean it.  

A beat passes. Jake knows he should hang up, that he should let you sleep. He tries to convince himself that you need the sleep more than he needs this call.  

But he can't help himself.  

"You'll yell at me if I don't sleep, won't you?"  

"Absolutely. Go to bed, Jake. Or at least try. Zombie mode doesn't suit you."  

"Fine," he sighs dramatically, but his eyes feel heavier and he knows he's falling asleep, the tension in his body from before easing away. "But only because you scare me sometimes."  

You laugh. "Good. Now get some rest. And call me whenever you need to, okay?"  

"Okay," he mumbles into his phone quietly, his mind already slipping into a deep sleep. 

"Goodnight, Y/N."  

"Goodnight, Jake."  

"Don't you have a bedtime, Sim Jaeyun?" You tease, answering the call. The clock reads 1:27AM, and you should be asleep—you really should—but you smile anyways when Jake's name appears on your screen.  

"Bedtime? I don't know her," his voice slightly groggy, but as usual, still warm. "Besides I knew you'd be awake. You don't sleep like a normal person either."  

You roll your eyes, knowing fully well he can't see it, "Yeah, well, I don't have to dance around a stage for two hours tomorrow."  

"True, but you do have to deal with my constant calls and keep me entertained. That's way harder."  

"Oh yeah, obviously," you say with mock seriousness. "Being your emotional support human is a full-time job." 

“Emotional support human,” Jake repeats, chuckling softly. “You’re right. I guess I really owe you, huh?”

“Oh, 100%,” you shoot back, a grin in your voice. “I want one of those tour hoodies you guys keep posting with.” 

“Done. What size?” 

"The oversized one."  

Jake pauses. “Let me guess—so you can sleep in it?"  

You hesitate, suddenly sheepish at how he knows you too well, “Hey, it's only cozy if it's oversized!"  

You hear his soft laugh on the other end of the line. 

“Cute. I’ll make sure to steal one for you.” 

You try not to overanalyze the way your stomach flips at the word cute, and the easy way he says it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.  

You shake the thought off immediately. This wasn't new, after all, Jake's always warm and easy to talk to. But lately—over the past month of phone calls—the way he says certain things, the tone he says them in, and the way they make you feel? It carried a weight you weren't sure how to hold.  

In both a comforting and terrifying way.  

“So, how was your day?” you suddenly bring up, trying to redirect your thoughts. 

"Tiring," Jake sighs, his voice muffled as he shifts around in bed. "And Jungwon keeps beating me at Mario Kart during our break time. My pride is in shambles, Y/N."  

"Let me guess," you smirk, repeating his words from earlier. "He picks Yoshi, and you keep picking Toad because you think he's underrated."  

"Excuse me," Jake scoffs. "Toad is underrated. But, for your information, I choose Toad because your go-to character is Toadette."  

Your heart does that stupid flip again. His words are light—I mean, you guys are talking about Mario Kart for god's sake—but it's stuff like that that keeps you questioning the true meaning behind his words.

You ignore the feeling, instead, a laugh bubbles up in response, an attempt to sound unaffected.

"You're so weird."  

“But you like it,” he quips, voice dipping just slightly, like he’s testing the waters. 

You're caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone, but you recover just as quickly. 

"Debatable."  

“Liar.”

His tone is teasing, but there's something softer behind it, “You wouldn’t still be on the phone with me if you didn’t like me at least a little.” 

“Maybe I’m just bored,” you shoot back, though your cheeks are burning at his sudden forwardness, questioning if he’s serious or just messing with you. 

You hear him hum in response, "Then I guess I'll have to work harder to keep you interested."  

“Oh yeah? How are you planning to do that?” You try to match his teasing tone, but internally, you feel unsteady under the implication of his words. 

“By being my usual charming self, duh,” he says, his voice dropping into a smooth tone. “And, you know, calling you every night so you don’t forget about me.” 

Your heart squeezes. "You already do that, stupid. You think I'd forget about you?"  

“Never,” Jake's reply is immediate, almost instinctive, leaving no room for doubt. “But just in case…I like hearing your voice. Makes me feel like I’m not a million miles away.” 

His words linger in the space between you, heavier than the playful banter from earlier. You swallow hard, trying your best to keep your voice steady. 

“You’re not a million miles away, Jake.” 

“Feels like it,” he murmurs. You hear a pause in his voice, as if he's thinking hard about his next words. “I miss home. I miss...you." 

Your chest tightens, and your hands grip the sheets beneath you, as if the fabric could somehow ground you. Your heart is doing that thing again—the erratic, terrifying thing that makes you want to believe in something you're not sure is even real.  

And at the same time, your thoughts are scrambling to say something lighthearted before the conversation steers into that dangerous, dangerous territory you were sure you weren't ready for.  

Not yet.  

"Well, you better win at least one round of Mario Kart for me while you're out there," you force a laugh, trying to mask the tremor in your voice.  

Jake laughs, the sound genuine, "I'll try. But if I lose, just know I'm dedicating every race to you."  

"Wow, I'm so honored," you try to deadpan, but he can sense the grin in your voice.  

"You should be," his voice softens again. "Thanks for picking up tonight, by the way. I know it's late."  

He never fails to thank you every night, as if you haven't been picking up every day for the past month and won't be picking up tomorrow, and the next day...and the day after that.  

And, somehow, the same, genuine appreciation makes it so hard for you to ignore that weird, warm, fluttering sensation growing inside you every time you talk to him.  

But, regardless, you always give him the same reply: 

"Always," your voice matching his softness. "Call me whenever, okay?"  

"Don’t say that," Jake warns, the teasing edge creeping back into his tone. "I'll actually do it."  

"Fine," you giggle. "But if you call me at four in the morning again, I'm putting my phone on Do Not Disturb." 

"Deal." He pauses, then adds, "Goodnight, Y/N."  

"Goodnight, Jake."  

As you hang up, you stare at your phone for a moment longer than you should have, your room feeling oddly quiet and too empty without his voice.  

It's just another call, Y/N. Just another call between two friends.  

But deep down, a part of you tells you it isn’t that simple anymore.  

And maybe—just maybe—he knows it too.  

“Are you busy?” Jake’s voice sounds more tired than usual, heavy with an overwhelming amount of tension. 

“Never too busy for our calls,” you easily reply without hesitation as you lay back in your bed, phone close to your ear. Your voice is light, a stark contrast to the weariness laced in his, and when he doesn’t respond with his typical chuckle, you immediately sense his mood. “Hard day?” 

He exhales slowly, the weary sound answering your question. Today was a lot. Hours of rehearsal followed by a concert, the adrenaline rush of performing, followed by the chaos of having the guys’ hotel information leaked. Crowds of paparazzi and fans swarmed the entrance, the relentless flashes of cameras breaking through whatever little pieces of calm he had left within him. The noise, the pressure, the endless cycle—all spiraled into a mental mess he doesn’t seem to shake. 

The second he settled into his hotel room, all Jake knew was that he needed to talk to you—the one person who could steady his racing thoughts. 

"I just...I didn't think this would get to me, you know? The cameras, the people, the flashes in my face—I'm just—it's like I'm never alone."  

Your heart twists at the vulnerability and rawness in his voice, as if he’s admitting something for the first time—not just to anyone else, but to himself. 

"I—I don't know. Sometimes I wish I could just disappear, just for a little while. Just to breathe, you know?"  

You close your eyes, your grip on the phone unconsciously tightening as if it could anchor him somehow.  

"I know it's not the same," your voice steady, even as you internally ached for him, "but...you can disappear with me, Jake. Even if it's just through the call. No cameras. No noise. Just...you and me."  

He lets out an exhale—shaky, but relieved.  

"You're really good at this. Making me feel like it's all gonna be okay."  

"Because it is going to be okay, Jake," you reply softly. "You're not alone, Jake. Not with me."  

"Yeah," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, and he wishes more than anything else in this moment that he actually was with you. “I know.” 

"Jake," you groan, sitting cross-legged on your bed, staring at the flustered boy through your laptop screen. "I'm begging you—just wear the black jacket. It's literally impossible to mess up black."  

"But what about the beanie?" He whines as he pops back into view, his face scrunched up in genuine distress. "Do you think I can pull it off, or will I look like I'm trying too hard? Be honest, Y/N."  

What started as a simple fashion-advice-question over the phone turned into a two-hour wardrobe emergency—all because Jake couldn’t figure out what to wear to the airport the next day (because, apparently, airport fits matter—his words, not yours).

"Jake, you could wear a literal trash bag to the airport and fans would still lose their minds," you tease, biting back a laugh. 

He rolls his eyes at you, but the smile tugging at his lips says otherwise.  

"Okay, but seriously, you’re trying too hard. Just go with the jacket, no beanie," you add on, just to end this two-hour long madness.  

"Hmm," Jake plops on his bed and turns towards his phone camera, and you swear you can see the pout forming on his lips. "But I already posted a preview of the jacket last week. Isn't that, like, repetitive?"  

"Jake,” you blink at him, "it's an airport. Not a fashion show."  

He stares at you for a beat, then lets out a dramatic sigh, "Fine! Jacket, no beanie. But if I see even one criticizing comment calling me basic, I'm blaming you."  

You laugh, shaking your head at his ridiculousness, "Deal. Now go to sleep, Sim Jaeyun."  

His grin softens as he adjusts the camera to fully look at you, pout gone, eyes glistening.

"Only because you said so."  

"Hey," you say softly, answering the call as you snuggle deeper into your blanket, letting it engulf you completely.

The familiar sound of Jake's quiet breathing fills the space between you, and before he even says a word, you already know.  

"Rough day?" You ask gently when he doesn’t say anything after a few seconds. 

"Yeah," he murmurs, his voice quieter than usual, almost drowned out by the low hum of background noise. "I just...I don't really feel like talking right now, if that's okay."  

"Of course," you reply without hesitation, your tone gentle, no questions asked.

On the other end, Jake presses the phone closer to this ear in an attempt to feel closer to you, instantly feeling better from your pure understanding of how he’s feeling, and he thinks—not for the first time—that you might be his favorite person in the world.  

The warm silence engulfs the both of you like a shared blanket, unspoken yet understood. You can hear the faint echoes of his surroundings: the muffled laughter of the boys somewhere nearby, the distant honk of traffic outside his hotel, and then the quiet shuffle of Jake shifting positions in his hotel bed. You catch his breath catching slightly, like he's finally allowing himself to relax—to just be.  

You don't try to fill the silence. You know that he needs this—a moment of peace in the chaos. Instead, you similarly press the phone closer to your ear, as if doing so can somehow bridge the miles between you, hoping he can sense your presence reaching out for him. 

Minutes pass like this, and for a moment, it’s so quiet you begin to wonder if he's falling asleep. But then, a deep exhale breaks the stillness.

"Thank you, Y/N," he says finally, his voice low but steady, carrying a weight of sincerity that makes your heart clench.  

"You don't have to thank me, Jake," your voice matches his softness. "You know that."  

"Still," his voice is low, so quiet, it feels like a secret meant only for you. "I appreciate you. More than you probably know."  

You smile to yourself, your heart aching in the best way possible, and you desperately try your best to ignore it, no matter how much excitement it brought you. 

"Always, Jake." 

“Tell me something about you that I don’t already know,” you challenge him, your voice carrying that light and endearing tone over the phone that Jake’s come to crave. 

“Hmm,” Jake hums thoughtfully as he lies in his bed, eyes closed, just simply treasuring the small moments, like this one, with you. 

Even though it’s definitely 3AM where he is right now. And he definitely has to be up in a few hours for rehearsal. 

Oh well, completely irrelevant. Talking about everything and anything with you just felt so right. 

“I don’t know,” he eventually exhales, his brain too foggy to think of anything logical right now. “I feel like you know me better than I know myself at this point, Y/N.” 

“You’re so corny it physically hurts, Jake,” you scoff, and Jake swears he can feel your exaggerated eye roll from thousands of miles away. 

“Oh—wait, wait! I have one,” he perks up, his eyes shooting open as he turns towards the phone in excitement. 

“Hit me,” you say, unconsciously smiling at how cute he sounds. 

“I’m allergic to flowers.” 

The line falls silent for a beat before you erupt into a storm of giggles so wild it makes Jake feel sick from how fast the butterflies in his stomach start fluttering. 

“That’s your fun fact? That’s so tragic, Jake,” you gasp through your giggles. “Like, depressingly tragic.” 

“Hey! It’s not that sad, it could be worse,” Jake hopes you can hear his pout over the phone (you can). 

“So you’re telling me you’ve never bought a girl flowers before?” You tease, smiling to yourself as you stare at your ceiling. 

“Guess not,” Jake lets out a laugh, which surprises himself. “Jenn used to always get mad at me for never getting her any, but what am I supposed to do? Show up with a bouquet and an epi-pen? I literally start tearing up whenever I’m around any kind.” 

You lose it all over again, your laughter spilling through Jake’s phone like sunshine, and Jake doesn’t even realize he’s smiling so widely until his cheeks start to ache. 

But what Jake does realize is something unexpected: for the first time in forever, he can talk about Jenn without a single pang of…anything. No weird tension, no lingering sadness—just a casual mention and then…nothing. 

It’s freeing, this feeling of lightness, like an invisible weight he didn’t know he was even carrying has suddenly lifted. He wonders if this is what moving on really feels like, if he’s found his emotional freedom. He wonders when it changed. 

He wonders maybe it’s not when—maybe it’s who.  

And he wonders if it’s you. 

Today was supposed to be Jake’s day off. The golden ticket to rest, recharge, and not think about anything.

Key term: supposed to be.

Instead, Jake found himself knee-deep in the trenches of emotional warfare—and losing spectacularly.

The morning started innocently enough. No alarm, no schedule, just the soft promise of freedom that was so close within his reach. But by noon, Jake came to a harsh realization.

Freedom was a lie.

Because every step, every sight, every breath, was haunted by one inescapable thought: You.

It started with a boutique. Him and the boys had wandered down a cobblestone street in a city that Jake had already forgotten the name of—city number ten or eleven of tour? He barely knew anymore. But then his gaze caught on a mannequin in the window.

Big mistake.

The outfit on display—similar to his mind—had you written all over it. Immediately, his brain spiraled.

Y/N would love that. She'd probably drag me and all the guys in and force me to hold her bag while she tried it on.

He had to physically stop himself from dragging the group inside to purchase it on the spot.

Next? A coffee shop. And there it was: a poster featuring some limited-edition iced peach latte. Jake froze, staring at it like it held the answers to life itself.

You’d love it. You would order it, (well, you'd make Jake order it, because you hate talking to cashiers), sip it, smile, and probably rant about how overpriced it was—even though Jake would pay for it—yet you’d still finish the entire thing.

And then, you'd steal half of his drink, too. 

Because you always did. 

And Jake always lets you.

The final straw? A cat. Just a random stray, peacefully lounging on a sunny part of sidewalk, looking like it had zero interest in the world around it. And even that didn't escape Jake's you-obsessed filter. Without even thinking, Jake whipped out his phone. 

It was instinctual at this point.

Jake [1:06PM]: (attached - one image) Jake [1:06PM]: thought you'd like this one :)

Because obviously, you needed to see that cat. Immediately.

By the time Jake collapses onto his hotel bed that evening, he feels like he’d run a mental marathon—except instead of a finish line, every road led back to you.

He flops onto his bed, hoping sleep would save him from the storm raging in his brain.

Spoiler alert: it doesn't.

Instead, it leads him to the complete opposite. He stares at your name on his phone, your contact picture, your last messages to him. 

You texted him two hours ago—a sweet goodnight message that ended with your usual, 'Don't hesitate to call if you need me.' 

Casual. Normal.

But it probably didn't mean, 'Hey, please interrupt my sleep from the other side of the world so we can discuss your ongoing emotional crisis over me.'

Don't do it, Jake. The remaining rational brain cells within him beg him to stop. You're being dramatic. She's not the air you need to breathe.

But at the same time, deep down, Jake really thinks you are.

The worst part? You two already had talked on the phone earlier—when Jake had another fashion crisis and couldn't decide what to wear for his day off exploring with the guys. Of course, you laughed at him, teased him, but then helped him pick something out anyways. Typical.

Personally, if it was up to him, he'd spent his whole day off on the phone with you. Talking about everything. Or nothing. Whatever you wanted, Jake would've done it, no hesitation.

Don't do it, Jake, his brain warns him again. What kind of obsessed-lunatic calls the same person twice in one day?

Answer: Jake.

But as Jake lies in his hotel bed, thoughts heavily clouded with the image of you and the sound of your voice, he realizes...this wasn't just a phone call thing. No, this was deeper, worse. And somewhere between staring at the same patch of ceiling and replaying every memory of you on a mental loop, Jake tries to rationalize it.

She’s just a good friend, Jake. A best friend, even! You think about her a lot because she’s cool and funny and…and she has the laugh of a Disney princess...But it’s normal to think about your friends, right? Right??

But the more he tries to downplay it, the clearer it becomes. This was something else.

And then it hits.

Like, really hits.

Oh my god. I like her.

Jake shoots upright, widened eyes filled with horror, as if the realization itself just physically smacked him across the face.

No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.

Jake buries his face in his hands, groaning. But the groan quickly turns into a muffled scream, because the more he thinks about it, the worse it gets.

Because he thinks you're going to be the death of him. He really, really likes you. Not in the vague, 'Oh, she’s cute' way, but in the write-her-name-in-a-heart-and-doodle-little-stars-around-it kind of way. The stare-at-her-texts-like-they’re-poetry kind of way. The imagine-her-laughing-at-your-dad’s-jokes-and-enjoying-your-mom’s-meals-forever kind of way.

And this feeling? It's new. It's terrifying. 

It's exhilarating.

Jake realizes in this very moment that he's never experienced this heart-pounding, face-flushing, breath-taking kind of feeling towards anyone. Sure, his past relationship had been meaningful in its own way, but now Jake is realizing that the foundation of his past relationship was tangled up in obligations and unspoken expectations. A tightrope act of Jake having to be the perfect boyfriend, the perfect idol, the perfect...everything. He never realized how suffocating it was until now—until you. Because this feeling with you?

This was pure. Simple, clear, and undeniable.

Your sheer existence proved that it's possible for someone to understand him better than he understands himself. Your laugh had a way of making everything feel lighter, like the weight of the world had been momentarily suspended. Just one look from you alone somehow always manages to make him feel like he was still worthy even on his worst days.

With you, Jake felt...himself, for once. Not Jake Sim, global popstar. Not Jake Sim, the boyfriend of so-and-so. Just...Jake.

Jake's heart pounds as the realization sinks in. He's now transitioned from screaming into his hands to his poor hotel pillow.

Because as clear and strong as this feeling is, the doubt is just as overwhelming. What if you don't feel the same? What if this ruins everything?

But at the same time...what if you do feel the same way?

What if this is his chance? The butterfly effect that changes everything? What if you're it? You have to be.

And so, like an idiot possessed, Jake's finger is one millimeter away from pressing call on your name again.

Because, obviously, the best way to deal with overwhelming feelings is to confess them from a hotel room five countries away.

Obviously. 

Because what if he didn't call? What if he spent the rest of his night spiraling into an endless pit of unspoken feelings and overthinking, arms flailing as he knows the only way out of the pit is with your help?

What if his brain explodes with the sheer amount of feelings he has for you and he never has the chance to tell you ever again?

He presses call.

The line rings twice before you answer.

"Jake?" Your voice is soft, laced with surprise and just the faintest trace of sleep. "It's late for you, is everything okay?"

Jake's brain short-circuits. What time even is it for him? He has no idea, and frankly, he doesn't care.

"Yeah," he blurts, far too quickly that he winces at himself. He clears his throat before trying again, "I mean, yeah. Everything's fine. I just...couldn't sleep."

"Oh," you hum softly and Jake swears the sound alone could single-handedly resolve global wars.

Yeah, he definitely likes you.

"Is something stressing you out?" The genuine concern in your voice makes his chest tighten.

"No—well, nothing like that," Jake rushes to assure you, sitting up straighter in bed now, as if you could see him. His voice lowers, almost shy, "I just...I was thinking about you."

Silence. Jake's heart pounds so loudly, he's sure you can hear it through the phone.

"About me?" You finally tease, light and playful, but there's something softer underneath. "What did I do to deserve such an honor?"

Jake lets out a nervous, breathy laugh, running a hand through his hair, “You exist. That’s what.”

Another pause. He hears you exhale softly, and the sound alone sends his heart into overdrive.

"That was smooth," your voice is quiet, soft, as if teetering on the line of teasing and nervousness at the same time. "Ten out of ten, Jake."

"I'm serious," Jake tries his best to keep his voice from cracking, the weight of his feelings pressing down on him. "I was lying here, thinking about everything, and I realized something."

"And what's that?"

Jake's throat goes dry. His heart is screaming at him to say it, but his brain begs him to reconsider.

But Jake's sure he's lost all his rational brain cells for sure at this point, so he swallows hard, and braces himself for impact.

"I like you, Y/N."

The words spill out, raw and unpolished, but so utterly true.

“I mean, I really like you," Jake continues, his voice barely above a whisper now. "More than a friend, more than anything.”

The line goes silent, and for a split second, a lifetime of pure awkwardness and torture of not having you in his life anymore flashes in his vision, and he rushes to fill the void.

"I know this is probably the worst timing ever, and probably really scary...and it's okay if you don't feel the same way," his voice definitely cracks this time, laying everything bare, but he doesn't care anymore. "But I had to tell you. I can't pretend around you, not when being around you feels like the only time I'm really me."

Then, you let out a soft exhale—a disbelieving, breathless sound that makes Jake's heart skip a beat.

"Jake..."

"You're...you're everything, Y/N. You make life better just by being in it. And I haven't even seen you in four months, but you're all I think about," Jake lets out a small laugh, swallowing the remainder of all his pride and dignity. "I promise, when I'm back...I'll prove it to you. I'll show you how much you mean to me. Anything it takes. "

For once in his life, Jake feels completely vulnerable—and yet, strangely, it feels right.

Because he means it, every word.

He's never meant anything more.

The line had gone quiet after Jake’s confession, his words echoing in your ears. 

“I like you, Y/N.” 

No, not like. Really, really like. 

You spent the last few days replaying his words over and over, dissecting every syllable, every tiny inflection in this voice. At first, it didn't even seem real.  

A part of you still thinks it isn't—that this is all a cruel dream and you're going to wake up any second now back in the real world. The one where Jake Sim, the boy who turns heads and steals hearts without even trying, didn't just confess his deepest, most vulnerable feelings for you in a single phone call. 

But no. He said it, alright. Clear as day.  

First, all you felt was pure happiness. Maybe it was hearing his voice everyday, or maybe it was seeing how his face lit up through the screen when you picked up his video calls—but somewhere along the way, you knew it was something deeper. 

Something that made your heart skip when his name lit up your phone, something that left you craving his voice to make your day feel complete. And now? Now the boy who’d effortlessly become your favorite part of every day was telling you you’d done the same for him. 

But then, came the fear. 

Because what if this was just a rebound? What if you were just a soft landing for him, a way to patch up the holes left behind by his past? Here you were, standing at the edge of something terrifyingly real, wondering if you were just a step in his recovery process—a way to fill the cracks, but not the kind of permanence you were beginning to crave. 

You weren’t naive enough to see Jake’s past relationship didn’t still linger in the corners of his mind. You’d seen him struggle with it before, how hard he’d tried to convince himself he was fine. What if you were just the next step in his healing, rather than something real—a Band-Aid for a wound that wasn’t even yours to heal? 

And worse—what if you let it happen? What if you let yourself fall, only to hit the ground at an alarming speed, and...splat. Not just a regular, embarrassing tumble, no. But the kind that leaves you flattened on the pavement like a cartoon character who ignored every warning sign. 

Because that’s exactly what it would feel like, wouldn’t it? Giving it, letting yourself hope—only to crash and burn spectacularly. 

Deep down, you knew you weren’t just risking a little heartache. Because Jake? Jake had quietly claimed a permanent spot in your heart at this point. 

You were risking everything. 

And the worst part? 

You were already halfway there. 

That was the reason why you told him you needed time. The reason why all you could manage to respond was a meek, 'I just...I need to think about this.' And to his credit, Jake hadn't pushed. Of course, not.  

But now, three days later, you were no closer to an answer. If anything, the time apart had made everything worse. 

Because as the days stretched on, with every passing hour, every text you didn’t send and every call you didn’t make, one thing became gut-wrenchingly, undeniably clear: 

You were already his. 

You miss Jake’s voice, his laugh, the way he rambles about the most random things late at night. You miss how, somehow, he made you fall asleep with a smile on your face from the other side of the world. You miss him, that even in his absence, he was still your first thought in your mind when you woke up and the last before you drifted to sleep. 

And no amount of overthinking or second-guessing could change the truth that finally settled in your chest like a secret you weren’t ready to admit to yourself:

You were his. Completely. 

The only question now was whether you’d let yourself believe he was yours too. 

"Y/N?"  

"Jungwon," you groan helplessly into your phone. "Help me."  

A pause. Then, "Are you sure you meant to call me? It's Jungwon, not Jake," he teases lightly. "I can go get Jake if you meant—" 

"Jungwon!" You cut him off, panicked. "I'm being serious. It's about Jake, dummy."  

"Oh," his tone shifts instantly as he senses the seriousness in your voice. "Did something happen? Because I swear, for the past three days, Jake's been moping around like a kicked puppy, and I was gonna ask you about it because I know you guys have been talking a lot more, but I didn't want to push, and—" 

"That's exactly it, Jungwon!" You wail into your pillow, your voice muffled. Great, now you feel even worse, knowing Jake is moping around, waiting for you.   

"What's exactly it?" Your best friend presses, voice curious. "I need specifics, Y/N."  

You hesitate, the words clinging to the back of your throat like they're too heavy to admit. Finally, you take a deep breath and force them out.  

"Jake told me he likes me, Jungwon. Like really, really likes me. He gave this whole monologue about how I'm all he can think about, and it was so cute, and it made me want to explode from joy and fear all at once, and I don't know what to do!"  

A beat of silence. 

Jungwon sucks in a dramatic breath and then, "Wait, wait, wait. Back up. First of all, this is not news to me."  

You blink, as if he can see your look of shock over the phone, "What?"  

"This was obvious, Y/N. The guy's been smitten with you for months. You guys literally have been talking every day since we left."  

Your jaw drops, "So what? You and I talk every day! How is this any different?"  

Jungwon snorts, "Y/N, we text every day. About minuscule things. Like me reminding you not to forget your keys and you ghosting my last text. But you and Jake? You guys talk for hours—into the illegal hours of the night, mind you. Trust me, I know. Hotel walls are thin."  

You feel your cheeks flushing, "That doesn't mean anything."  

"Doesn't it?" Jungwon's voice is laced with amusement. "When's the last time you called me just to hear my voice?"  

"Jungwon."  

"Exactly."  

You groan again, "But Jungwon, what if…what if he's not over Jenn? What if I'm just a rebound?"  

Jungwon goes quiet for a moment, his tone softening when he finally speaks, “Jake’s not like that, Y/N. You know that. He wouldn’t tell you he likes you unless he meant it.” 

“Yeah, but—” 

“Look," he interrupts. "Jake’s a lot of things—annoyingly loud, for one—but he’s not the kind of guy who’d use someone, especially you, as a rebound. If he said he likes you, he likes you.” 

You bite your lip, his words settling over you like a warm blanket—because you know they're true.  

“And for what it’s worth,” Jungwon continues, “I think you like him too.” 

“I..,” you falter, your heart hammering in your chest. “I do.” 

“Then what are you waiting for?” 

You sigh, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the nerves coiled in your stomach, “I don’t know. I guess I’m scared.” 

“That’s okay,” Jungwon says gently. “But don’t let fear stop you from something that could make you happy. You deserve that, Y/N. And so does Jake.” 

You close your eyes, letting Jungwon's words sink in. Deep down, you know he's right, he always is.  

"Thanks, Jungwon," you say, your voice softer now, tinged with gratitude.  

"Anytime," he replies, and then, with a teasing lilt, "But seriously—you should probably tell him soon. I can't stand watching him mope around like a sad, abandoned puppy. It's seriously tragic, like, to the point where I’m gonna have to start letting him win at Mario Kart."  

A small giggle escapes you, light and genuine for the first time in three days, "I know, I know. Eventually."  

"Y/N," his voice turns playfully stern, like a parent lecturing their toddler. "Eventually isn't a time. Just call him. You've been thinking about him nonstop, haven't you?" 

Unfortunately, Jungwon knows you too well. Your silent response betrays you, and Jungwon lets out a triumphant hum.  

"Thought so. Well, you should go. You have a call to make."  

You sigh, a mix of nerves and a new determination bubbling, "Okay, okay. But if this goes horribly wrong, I'm blaming you."  

"It won't. But deal," his tone is reassuring, confident, like he already knows how this story ends. "You got this, Y/N."  

The call ends, and the quiet still of your room taunts you. For a moment, you sit there, staring at your phone, the little icon of Jake's contact picture—a selfie the two of you took together many years ago—staring back at you like a challenge.  

Your fingers hover. Your heart races, your palms feel clammy, and your stomach twists.  

But then you remember Jungwon's words.  

You deserve this.  

And so does Jake.  

You take a deep breath, then you press down on his name.  

The phone doesn't even reach the second ring before he picks up.  

"Y/N," Jake’s voice is rushed, a little breathless.  

"Hey," you say softly, suddenly unsure where to start. "Um, were you busy?"  

"No, no," he quickly responds. "Not at all. You could call me at 3AM, and I still would’ve picked up."  

"That's unhealthy, you know," your lips twitch as you lay back in your bed, taking a deep inhale. You missed this—you missed him.  

"For you? Worth it," you can hear the smile in his voice, but along with the slight tension just beneath it—the faintest tremor that tells you he's been waiting for this call, maybe agonizing over it just as much as you have.  

You swallow hard, gripping the phone tight, "Jake, about...our last call..."  

"Take your time," he says gently, though you don't miss the way his voice wavers ever so slightly. "I mean it, Y/N. There's no pressure."  

You exhale shakily, closing your eyes, “I’ve been thinking a lot, too. About you. About…us.” 

Jake stays silent, but you could hear the faint sound of him shifting, like he was bracing himself. 

You squeeze your eyes hard, as you let the words finally come out, "I like you too, Jake. A lot. So much, honestly. It's just..."  

"It's just...?" Jake's voice repeats softly, as if that's all he can manage to let out in the midst of his nervousness.  

You hold your breath, scared of what you're about to admit—to Jake and to yourself. 

"It's just...I'm scared," your voice comes out barely above a whisper, "I'm scared that this is too good to be true. That you're saying all of this because...I don't know—you're trying to move on...from the past, or because you're lonely on tour, or—" 

"Y/N,” Jake's voice cuts through firm, but gentle.  

"You're not…a rebound, or a distraction, or anything like that," he starts quietly, each word deliberate. "And this isn't about...Jenn, or me being lonely, or whatever else you think. This is about you."  

Your breath hitches as you take in his words and open your eyes, hoping that staring at the ceiling above you could somehow ground you.  

“You’re the one who makes me laugh when I’ve had the worst day,” Jake continues. “You’re the one I want to talk to, even when I’m running on zero sleep. You’re the one I think about when I’m on stage and wish I could just look into the crowd and see you there. It’s you, Y/N."  

His words are overwhelming, too much, and you're unsure how to even process them. Your throat tightens, and you can feel the subconscious tears prickling at the corners of your eyes without even realizing they were forming.  

"Are you sure, Jake?"  

"More than anything else, Y/N," he says immediately, like the words have been waiting on the tip of his tongue. "And I want to do this right, Y/N. No rushing, no expectations. Just...tell me what you need from me, and I'll do it. Whatever it takes, I'll do it."  

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache. You can picture him on the other side of the line, sitting in some unfamiliar hotel room, his brows probably furrowed in that adorable way they always do whenever he tries to find the right words.  

You bite your lip, a small laugh escaping despite the tears sliding down your cheeks, “You’re so cheesy, you know that?” 

Jake lets out a small laugh, immediately easing from the tension that hung in the air.  

"Only for you," he mumbles, his voice soft but steady.  

You sigh, the sound reaching Jake on the other side. There's a pause, a moment of mutual understanding in silence, just listening to the quiet, peaceful hum of each other's breathing.  

“Jake?” You say finally, your voice trembling. 

“Yeah?” 

“I think…” You take a deep breath, and you think your heart is about to break out of your chest. “I think I want to try too.” 

The silence on the other end was electric, and for a moment, you think maybe the call dropped. Then, you hear the unmistakable sound of Jake’s laugh—soft, relieved, and filled with so much warmth that it instantly makes your own heart feel lighter. 

“You're driving me crazy, Y/N,” he says, his voice almost breathless, but tinged with humor.  

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he says, a smile clear in his tone.  

“I hope I am,” you quip, and it makes him chuckle, the sound warm and full of relief. “Guess I’m stuck with your cheesy lines now huh?” 

“Stuck with me?” Jake repeats, pretending to sound offended. “No way. I’m stuck with you, Y/N. And trust me, I’m not going anywhere.” 

His words are so simple, yet so full of promise, and it leaves you feeling a little breathless. 

“Good,” you whisper, your cheeks warm. “Because I don’t want you to.” 

“Hi Jake,” your voice bright as you immediately pick up his call and see his face appear on the screen, his expression softening when he sees you. 

“Hey pretty,” he replies, without missing a beat, his voice laced with a soft fondness that never fails to make your stomach flip. 

You roll your eyes, failing miserably to hide the blush rising to your cheeks, “Oh, so now I’m pretty, huh?”

Jake smirks at your words, leaning closer to his phone, “Nah, you’ve always been pretty. Just didn’t have the guts to say it to your face before.”  

You groan, dramatically planting your face into your pillow as an attempt to bury the smile on your face, your voice muffled, “You’re gonna be the death of me, Jake.”

“Stop that, don’t hide. Let me see your face,” his tone dips somewhere between playful and pleading, and you give in, lifting your head just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your red cheeks. 

“Cute,” he says with a knowing grin, leaning back against the headboard of his bed. 

“Whatever,” you murmur, but the smile on your face remains. “How was your day today?” 

“Mmm, it was good,” Jake says, running a hand through his messy hair. “Busy, but good. I forget how loud the fans get each time. But it’s nice. Makes it feel worth it, you know?” 

“I’m glad,” your smile grows as you watch him speak, feeling nothing but proud of him. “You deserve all of it, Jake.” 

“Stop,” now he’s groaning, throwing a hand over his face to cover his shy expression. “You’re going to make me blush.” 

“Mm, looks like you already are, Jakey,” you shake your head, laughing softly. 

“Maybe a little,” he admits as he peeks at you through his fingers, his grin boyish and infectious, and you can’t help but laugh again. 

The call falls quiet for a moment, but it’s not awkward—just comfortable, like a shared breath. Jake shifts, turning on his stomach and propping his phone up against some pillows to make sure you can still see him. 

“I miss you,” he says suddenly, and there’s something raw in his tone, something unguarded that catches you off guard. 

Your heart stutters.

“Jake, I literally called you this morning,” you tease, your tone light and sweet. But still, you can’t resist, “I miss you too.”  

“You don’t sound convincing enough,” his eyes narrow at you, the pout forming on his lips quickly turning into a small smirk. “Say it like you mean it.” 

“Fine,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “I miss you so, so much Sim Jaeyun, that it’s physically painful and I might conbust on the spot if I don’t see you soon. Happy?” 

“Very,” he grins into the camera, making your heart beat faster. Ugh. "But please don't combust for me. Who else am I supposed to call every day?"  

"Oh, please, you'd survive," you shoot back, smirking. "I'm sure anyone else would be more than happy to fill the spot."  

Jake clicks his tongue, shaking his head dramatically. "Nope, no one could keep with you, Y/N. You're a handful."  

"Excuse me?" You scoff, mock offense all over your face. "You're calling me a handful? Jake, who's the one that texts me random song lyrics at 3AM and expects me to interpret their deep meaning like it's poetry?"  

"Okay, first of all, they are deep," he argues, his grin widening into something boyish and utterly unfair. "And second of all, I know you secretly love it."  

You let out a laugh as you roll onto your side, propping your phone against the pillow next to you.  

"Maybe I do," you admit with a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant despite the smile on your face. "Or maybe I don't. That's up to you to find out."  

Jake shakes his head, laughing softly, his eyes twinkling as they linger on your face. 

"You really are a handful, Y/N," his voice teases while his eyes remain on you through the screen, as if studying you, and it makes your stomach flip.  

You glance away, suddenly feeling shy again under his unwavering gaze, "Stop looking at me like that."  

"Like what?" His voice is innocent, his eyebrows lifting in feign obliviousness.  

"I don't know—like you're trying to memorize my face or something," you mutter, your cheeks burning.  

"Maybe I am," his voice dips, low and soft. "Honestly wouldn't complain if that's the last thing I ever got to remember."  

His words hit you square in the chest, and despite how ridiculously corny they are, they manage to take your breath away. You don't know if you'll ever get used to this newly discovered side of Jake—the one that speaks so candidly, so sweetly—like you're the only person in his universe.  

But honestly? You love it. You love how he makes you feel, how his words wrap around you perfectly like they were tailor made just for you. But as much as you love it, you fear it too.  

Because the more you fall into this feeling, the more you wonder if there's anything solid beneath it. Despite all the soft words shared and sweet nothings exchanged, at the end of the day, deep down inside you can't help but ask yourself if his words, if he, is even yours to begin with. 

"Jake..."  

"Hmm?" His voice is gentle now, the teasing edge in his voice fading.  

"You really mean it, don't you?" You ask, your voice quieter now, the question laced with your vulnerability. "You're serious about...this? About us?"  

"Of course I am," he answers without hesitation. His soft eyes stay trained on you as he sits up in his spot in bed, as if to show just how serious he is. He lets out an exhale, as if mentally encouraging himself to continue, "I know we're not...whatever this is, officially yet. But I do know that I like what we have."  

He brings his phone closer, a small smile on his face, his expression earnest, "And that I like you. A lot."  

You swallow hard, his words settling in your chest in the best way possible. Because despite everything—the doubts, the undefined boundaries—you can't deny the truth of how you feel.  

"Me too," you admit, your voice steady and honest. "I like what we have too. And I like you."  

You pause, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you feel the remainders of your walls crumbling down, "You make me happy, Jake. Like annoyingly happy."  

"Good. Because you make me happy too," His smile spreads wide, the kind that is contagious and could light up an entire room. "Annoyingly happy, if we're being specific."  

You roll your eyes again, though you're smiling just as much, "We really are insufferable, aren't we?"  

"Oh, completely," Jake nods, his tone playful. He's more relaxed, back to leaning against his headboard as he looks at you with a softened gaze. "We'll figure it out, Y/N. I promise. Whatever this is, or whatever it becomes, I'm not going anywhere. And honestly? I just can't wait to see you. Finally."  

"Me too," you perk up, your eyes sparkling with excitement as you bring your phone closer, "It feels like it's been forever. This tour feels so much longer than the other ones for some reason."  

"It does," Jake hums in agreement, his eyes thoughtful. "But you know what? I think It's because, this time...I actually have something waiting for me. Something—or someone—I want to come home to. And that makes every day feel so much longer."  

You think, at this point, you should check yourself into the emergency department for the sheer amount of times you thought your heart was going to pound out of your body from Jake's words alone.  

“You're ridiculous," you laugh, the sound bubbling out so naturally you couldn't hold it back even if you tried. "It's getting kind of out of hand how cheesy you are, Jake."  

"And yet," he fires back with a smirk, "you love it. Admit it. I've cracked the code."  

"Maybe I do," you tease, repeating your words from earlier as the corners of your mouth tug up into a smile you can't suppress. "But don't let it get to your head."  

"Too late," he grins. "It's already there."  

Jake [2:15AM] : can I call you?   Y/N [2:16AM]: jake isnt it like 2AM for you?   Jake [2:16AM]: well…yea but I was thinking about you so… 

Your feet are kicking before you even realize, and before you can type up a response, your phone lights up with Jake's name and contact picture. 

“Hi,” you answer softly, trying not to let the giddy smile growing on your face take over. 

“Hey pretty,” he greets, voice warm and easy as he brings a hand through his messy hair. The lights in his room are off, and the dim glow of his phone screen casts a soft light over his features, making him look unfairly good for someone who should be fast asleep.  

“You have two seconds to give me a good reason why you’re here talking to me instead of getting a good night’s rest before your concert tomorrow,” your eyes narrow in mock disapproval as you give him a knowing look.  

Jake laughs lightly, “Hey! Okay, hear me out. I couldn’t sleep, so I did something.”  

You raise an eyebrow, “You did something? That sounds ominous, I’m scared.”  

“Yeah. For you,” he states plainly, leaving you even more confused for a second more before he continues. “I made you a playlist.”  

Your brain stalls at how simple he says it—so casual, as if not packed with so much meaning.  

“A playlist? You—wait, why?”  

Jake shrugs, “I don’t know—I guess I just wanted you to hear what I hear when I think about you. Which, by the way, is a lot. So..”  

You blink at the screen, your mouth slightly agape at the boy who's watching you with that lopsided grin that makes it practically impossible to function. You scramble to collect yourself, but the more you try, the worse it gets, and by now, you think he definitely took some secret class on how-to-make-Y/N-completely-flustered.  

And aced it.  

And of course, he notices—because Jake always notices.  

“You okay there?” His voice breaks you out of your overwhelming thoughts, his teasing tone laced with curiosity.  

“Define okay,” you mutter, rubbing a hand over your face in an attempt to cool down the warmth spreading like wildfire across your cheeks. “Because if it means not feeling like a complete fool over a guy who’s halfway across the world, then no, I’m absolutely not okay.”  

Jake lets out a low laugh, the sound affectionate as he leans closer to the camera, the light reflecting off his shining eyes, “If it helps, you’re not the only one losing your mind here.”  

“Oh yeah?” you arch an eyebrow, “What’s your excuse, Sim?”  

“My excuse?” He tilts his head with a small, exaggerated frown, pretending to think. “Hmm…let’s see…I’m hopelessly into this girl who somehow makes being teased fun, who makes me smile just by hearing my name come out her mouth, and who—“  

“Okay! Stop, stop, enough,” your voice strangled as you try to talk through the fit of giggles you couldn’t hold down. “You’re gonna kill me, Jake. Like, actually. I’m not strong enough for this.”  

Jake laughs at your flustered reaction, holding up a hand of surrender, “Fine, fine. But seriously, look.”  

You hear the sound of faint typing in the background before your phone buzzes with a text containing a link.  

“It’s called Songs That Remind Me of Y/N. Creative, right?”  

You open the link, and your thoughts are dazed at the sight of the endless playlist of songs. Some new to you, some you recognize—all of them feeling like little pieces of Jake's heart he's handing to you.  

"I think it's perfect," you murmur softly, scrolling through the titles, the warmth and appreciation for him now feeling almost too overwhelming.  

"Yeah?" Jake's eyes shine with a mixture of pride and hope as he watches your reaction.  

"Yeah," you repeat, switching your phone screen back to his face and giving him a genuine smile. "I love it. Thank you, Jake."  

Jake hums in response, the look on his eyes gentle as a beat of comfortable silence falls between you two.  

"Well, I should probably sleep for real now, but...listen to it when you miss me, okay? Because chances are, I'm probably doing the same."  

You pause, letting the weight of his words settle over you—vulnerable, yet undoubtedly honest. "Deal. I'll listen to it right now, then."  

"Good," his smile grows, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Because I am too. I miss you, too."  

You both linger for a moment, neither wanting to end the call just yet, simply enjoying each other's pure, raw presence.  

"Sweet dreams, Jake," you finally say, your voice gentle as you slowly let sleep take over. 

"Only if they’re about you," he quips, grinning.  

You roll your eyes, your chest feeling lighter, "Go to bed, Sim."  

"Yes, ma'am," he winks, and with one last fond look, he ends the call, leaving you smiling at your screen like the absolute fool he's turned you into.  

"I can't believe you're finally coming back tomorrow," you murmur into the phone, your voice soft but buzzing with excitement as you take in the sight of Jake sprawled out on his bed. The dim glow of his phone highlights just enough of his face to remind you how impossibly cute he is—even with the pillow creases on his cheek.  

"I know," Jake sighs dramatically, flopping onto his side. His head sinks into the pillow, and you hear a soft fwump as he shifts to find a comfortable spot. "I just wish I wasn't landing so late. If I could, I'd come see you the second I land. Like, bags in hand, running to your door."  

"You'd probably trip and knock yourself out with your carry-on, Jake," you snort but then smile, the imagine of Jake rushing to get to you playing in your head.  

"First of all, I'm very athletic," Jake raises an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. "Second, that's exactly what would happen, but at least I'd be unconscious on your doorstep, which is still closer to you than I've been in months."  

Your heart does a little flip at the sound of the sincerity in his voice as you try to keep your tone casual, "It's okay, Jake. I'm not going anywhere. We'll see each other the next day? If you're free, maybe."  

Jake's face softens in that stupidly adorable way he always does when he knows you're just trying to play it cool. "Free or not, I'll find a way. Nothing's stopping me from seeing you, Y/N. Not jet lag, not my schedule, not even my manager if he tries to barricade me in the building."  

A giggle escapes you, partly at his sheer determination and partly to cover up the butterflies constantly causing the havoc in your stomach when it comes to him. And Jake, of course, looks all smug, like he knows exactly what he's doing to you. Typical Jake—sweet, determined, and impossibly endearing.  

But as much as his words make your cheeks warm, there's another reason why you're holding back your smile.  

Because, despite what Jake thinks, you're going to see him much sooner than he expects. All thanks to a message you got earlier from the group's manager:  

Y/N! Hope you’re doing well! We all miss you and can’t wait to see you soon! As you know, the boys are returning tomorrow late at night, but the staff and I want to plan a little surprise party at their apartment, they have no idea. The team’s already prepping everything. We’d love for you to come—it wouldn’t be the same without you. 10 PM! See you! 

You're practically vibrating with excitement, each passing minute on the call with Jake making it harder and harder to not just blurt it out and tell him you'll be seeing him in less than 24 hours. And, somehow, hearing his sleepy voice on the other side of the call, completely oblivious, just makes it even harder to contain yourself.  

Jake's brows furrow as he watches you try (and fail) to suppress your grin, "What's up with you? You're smiling so much, and I'm pretty sure I didn't say anything that funny."  

"Me?" You blink innocently, even though your heart skips a beat. But you shrug casually, masking your smile with a feigned yawn. "Nothing's up, you've just been acting too cute tonight. That's all."  

"You're lucky you're cute," Jake narrows his eyes at you, but even you can see through the dim lighting the red creeping across his face, "And that I'm tired. Or else I'd call you out for how you're gaslighting me right now."  

"Gaslighting?!" You sputter out, breaking out into laughter. "How am I gaslighting you for calling you cute?"  

"Because I know you're hiding something—" Jake replies, his pout audible in the way his voice drags. He yawns mid-sentence, the soft sound and the image of his eyes fluttering closed making your heart melt. "—and you're using my sleep-deprived state against me. It's not fair."  

"I'm not hiding anything!" You protest, your face one second away from cracking into a guilty smile. "Go to sleep—you're barely holding it together over there."  

"Like I'd ever fall asleep on you," he mutters, his voice heavy with drowsiness. "You're way too important for that."  

His words hit you like a train, and you have to physically restrain yourself from squealing, burying your face in your pillow before you let out a strangled, "Okay, enough sap for one night, Romeo. Go to bed."  

"Mmhm, fine, fine," Jake hums before he yawns again. "Goodnight, pretty. Dream sweet dreams, okay?"  

You let out a breath, losing the last remaining bits of your composure at this point—but in the best way possible, of course.  

"Goodnight, Jakey. I'll see you soon."  

The day flies by in a whirlwind of anticipation and sheer chaos, the emotional hurricane brewing up inside you rooting from one source and one source only.  

Because ever since you woke up this morning, every step, every sight, every breath was haunted by one inescapable thought: 

Jake.  

The morning was a blur of pacing around your room like a Sims character who was glitching after being told to "Go Here", overthinking every possible scenario for how tonight—when you finally see Jake in person—could go down.  

Because, really—how exactly do you approach the boy you've been friends with for years, who you've fallen for, in a room filled with people, including yours and his closest friends, all while pretending your heart is trying its hardest to not control, alt, delete itself?  

Not exactly something you can Google.  

Like, do you hug him? Does he hug you? What if he doesn't hug you? (Unacceptable, you decide, before pacing faster.)  

By the time afternoon rolls around, you're about 78% sure you've developed three-and-a-half migraines from the sheer pressure of it all. Not to mention, the borderline illegal amount of caffeine coursing through your veins isn't helping—why did you think drinking four cups of coffee was a good idea? (You didn't. Your brain has officially gone rogue.)  

And now, here you are. The buzzing apartment of the boys is alive with the sounds of laughter, the crinkle of party streamers being hung up, and two staff members arguing about where to put the over-dramatically large "WELCOME HOME" banner. You, along with everyone else, await for the signal, passing time by keeping up small conversation with the friends and staff you've gotten to know over the years—all the while you desperately try to keep your nerves from causing a mental crash out right here and now.  

Eventually, one of the staff gets the alert that the group has landed and is minutes away, the energy immediately shifting, both in the apartment and mentally. You settle in place in the back of the crowd, near the door but not too near the door—because 1) you're 99.99% sure you're not emotionally stable enough to be front and center, and 2) the staff and camera crew are already hogging the entrance as if this was the world's greatest comeback (and spoiler alert—to you, it really is.)  

The lights dim, the chatter fades, and the room hums with anticipation. And meanwhile? Your heart won't. Stop. Pounding.  

Any second now.  

Your nerves bubble up even more than you thought is humanly healthy, and you're not sure if you're about to a) pass out, b) puke, c) or both.

Simultaneously.  

The sound of multiple footsteps echoes faintly in the hallway, followed with muffled voices—one of them the unmistakable sound of Jake's laughter. Your breath catches.  

And then the door swings open.  

"SURPRISE!"  

The boys freeze in the doorway, their suitcases still in hand, the looks of genuine, yet pleasant, confusion plastered on all their faces. Sunghoon's eyes dart to the snacks table, Jay looks like he's deciding whether to laugh or roll his eyes, Sunoo is on the verge of tears, and Jake—Jake looks beautifully, stupidly confused.  

Your eyes immediately find Jake's face, like some natural gravitational pull you can't fight, and suddenly it hits you: he's here. In front of you. No blurry video calls, no glitchy Wi-Fi interruptions—just Jake.  

It feels surreal, like you're living in a sugar-induced dream that you aren't sure of is real yet or not. Last time you saw him in person, he was merely just Jake, one of your best friends, your go-to guy for bad jokes and late-night rants about life. But now? Now he's Jake—the boy who's somehow become the main character of your life (and brain capacity) over the past five months.  

Every memory of your late-night calls, every teasing smile, every time his sweet, groggy voice promised he'd prove himself to you—it all comes rushing back. Like those cheesy montage scenes in a rom-com, except instead of a whimsical romantic song playing in the background, it's the sound of your brain, and heart, screaming WHAT NOW Y/N?! 

But then, finally, his eyes land on you.  

The moment your eyes meet, you think your lungs give up on life. Breathing? Never heard of it. It's like someone hit the pause button on the entire universe, and you're convinced that the only thing to ever exist is Jake looking at you with that soft, unreadable expression.  

But you manage half a second of calm—half a second—before that softness on his face disappears. Just as quickly as it appeared, it's replaced by...something else. Something you can't quite put your finger on. Something you've never thought could exist on his face. A flicker of...conflict? Hesitation? Like he's staring straight at you…but also from miles away at the same time.  

His jaw tightens slightly—so slightly only you would notice with how intently you're looking at him—and for a split second, his hands fidgets at his side before he quickly clasps it over the handle of his suitcase. And right as you process it, right as you're about to convince yourself it's just the million grams of caffeine rushing through your blood that's making you hallucinate and see things— 

He looks away.  

He looks away.  

He looks away. As if you're not even standing there, as if he didn't just short-circuit your entire brain. His attention shifts to the nearest staff member, greeting them with a quick nod, and suddenly he's smiling and laughing at something they're saying like nothing just happened.  

And just like that, the universe hits the play button again, and you're left standing there—staring, blinking, wondering if the last thirty seconds of your life was, indeed, a caffeine-induced hallucination after all. Surely. Right?  

Because Jake definitely didn't avoid you on purpose. Nope. Because that would be insane. Insane, you think to yourself, as the invisible angel on your shoulder continues to whisper into your ear the same sweet words Jake's been telling you the past five months about how much he cares for you, how much he likes you—remember all those times he said it?  

Right. Right. Of course, he does. But still, you stand there frozen, trying to ground yourself, even though your hands start fidgeting at your sides anyway. Great. Fantastic. Cool, cool, cool. This is fine. 

You mentally curse yourself for not being closer to the door after all, and then, you mentally curse every single person in this room for not magically gaining telepathic powers and knowing that you, personally, were trying to have a moment.  

It's fine. You'll find him again. He's just too preoccupied with all the staff members and people to greet. Busy Jake. Social Jake. You're just imagining things. Definitely.  

Trying to distract yourself, you glance around the apartment, everything suddenly feeling suffocating. Maybe a snack. Maybe a drink. Maybe a portal to another dimension. 

Shaking your head out of your spiraling thoughts, you bite the inside of your cheek to ground yourself and turn away from the crowd, quickly settling yourself near the beverage table, pouring yourself a cup of...whatever this is—your mind too cloudy to even bother looking at the sign on the table.

You don't know how much time passes, and frankly, you don't even know if you're fully conscious. Your mind is still living in the past, lingering in that moment where you locked eyes with Jake for the first time in five months, and despite all the overthinking you did this morning of all the possible scenarios that could happen—this was not one of them.  

You're about to pour yourself a second drink just to keep your thoughts busy when you feel a tap on your shoulder.  

"Y/N!"  

Before you can fully turn around, you're engulfed in a warm hug, the familiar scent of Jungwon's cologne immediately grounding you, "Oh god, I missed you. Took me forever to find you with all these people."  

"Jungwon!" You exclaim, a genuine smile lighting up your face despite the emotional tug-of-war in your chest, because, of course, leave it to your best friend to immediately ease your inner panic. You squeeze him back, playfully ruffling his hair as you pull away, "I can't believe they made you grow out your hair. Now you actually look older than me for once."  

He stares at you, blinking. "Y/N. I am older than you."  

"Literally by a week. We all know I'm mentally older," you deadpan, crossing your arms.  

"Okay, I take it back. I didn't miss you after all," he scoffs as you laugh, pulling him into another hug for good measure just to annoy him.  

"I'm so glad you guys are back," you say as Jungwon grabs the drink in your hand and takes a sip himself as he listens to you. "I was dying of boredom without you guys."  

Jungwon raises an eyebrow, "Uh-huh. Definitely didn't sound like boredom all those nights you called Jake at 2AM."  

You freeze. Oh. Great. The one topic you were trying to avoid (how you were going to avoid it—given you're at his literal apartment, with his literal group members, and literal staff members that all work for him—you're not sure. Avoidance was a doomed plan from the start, I fear).  

But before you could answer, Jungwon continues, "So...are you guys, like, a thing now? I know you guys were just talking this whole time, but now that we're back, are you guys gonna be in a relationship and all that stuff? Because if so, I need a heads-up. As much I love you both, I don't know if I can stand you two being all couple-y right in front of me—oh, and also—"  

"Jungwon." 

"—if he hurts you in any way, I swear to god I will not hesitate to—"  

"Jungwon!"  

He stops, wide-eyed, before flashing you a sheepish smile. "Sorry. But seriously, what's happening? You haven't given me any updates!"   

You open your mouth to respond, but the words get caught in your throat. Because if he had asked you yesterday—or even an hour ago—you would've been able to answer confidently. But now? After Jake's apparent Olympic-level avoidance of you? You're not so sure anymore.  

"I...I don't know," you mumble, the words barely audible. Jungwon tilts his head, leaning closer to catch them.  

"What do you mean, you don't know? You guys haven't talked about it?" His brows furrowing as he studies your face, clearly picking up on your hesitation in true best friend fashion.  

"I, uh, I haven't...seen him yet," you admit, hoping the crack in your voice doesn't reveal the real reason you haven't approached the boy in question. "Everyone's busy, and I didn't want to get in the way."  

Jungwon gives you a look like you just said the earth is flat.  

"Get in the way? Y/N, you're insane. This is the guy who's been counting down the days to see you. If anything, everyone else is in his way."  

You give him a helpless shrug, but Jungwon isn't having it. He grabs your shoulders and spins you around, pointing across the room to one of the other snack tables past the crowds of people.

"Look. He's right there. Alone. Perfectly free to talk to you. Go."  

Your eyes land on Jake, back facing you and Jungwon, casually scooping chips into a bowl. You hesitate, scanning his relaxed posture, and the knot in your stomach tightens. Because that's exactly the problem. He's perfectly free. And if he's so excited to see you, how come he hasn't spoken to you yet?  

But before you can voice your doubts, Jungwon gives you a not-so-gentle nudge forward, "Go talk to him before I carry you over there myself."  

And next thing you know, Jake's right there. In front of you. His back is to you still, his eyes scanning the various snacks lined on the table, completely unaware of the full-on mental breakdown occurring just behind him.  

This is your moment, you tell yourself, despite the endless alarms going off in your brain. Every single nerve in your body is on high alert, screaming at you to abort mission, abort! But before you can give in to your panic, your hand is already reaching out, lightly tapping his shoulder.  

"Jake!"  

Jake turns around, and for a moment—a fleeting, fragile moment—you catch it. The way his eyes widen slightly at the sight of you. The way his lips part as if they're about to break into that familiar smile you've missed for months. But just as quickly, similar to earlier, it vanishes, replaced by that flicker of hesitation, and it's enough to make your breath catch.  

"Y/N."  

Your name on his lips used to sound like a warm promise. Now?

Now it feels like an afterthought. 

His voice is calm, steady—too steady, stripped of every ounce of emotion, and not at all like someone who's been counting down the days to see you. He rubs the back of his neck, his gaze flickering to the crowd behind you before reluctantly meeting yours, "It's been so long."  

Your stomach sinks. That's all he had to say? You were completely wrong. You spent precisely 23 minutes of your morning debating if he was even going to give you a hug—but now? Screw the hug, he won't even give you a full sentence. Something's off, and your mind races to figure out what happened, as if you missed a major chapter of your own life.  

Trying to ignore the sharp pang of something lodging itself in your chest, you offer a small smile, hoping to break the tension.  

"Are you...okay? I thought...I don't know, I thought you'd be more excited to see me," the words spill out before you can stop them, and you want to crawl into a self-dug hole from how raw and vulnerable you feel.  

Jake shifts uncomfortably, glancing at the floor, then at you, "No, yeah, of course I am. I'm just...really tired. The flight, you know. And all this," he pauses to gesture at the environment around you two, "it's a lot."  

You stare at him in disbelief, waiting for him to crack—silently begging for some sign of the Jake you thought you knew. But all you get is a shrug.  

A shrug.  

Suddenly, his words feel like a punch to the gut, let alone the way he can't even fully look you in the eyes. In just those few seconds, the invisible angel on your shoulder—whose voice sounded just like Jake's—whispering those promises into your ears suddenly disappeared with no trace in sight, as if it was never there—as if it was never yours—in the first place. Every late-night call, every whispered promise, every shared laugh. 

As if they never belonged to you.  

You swallow hard, trying to keep the growing lump in your throat from choking you, hoping your emotional turmoil isn't blatantly obvious to the boy in front of you.  

"Right," you murmur, nodding as if his excuse makes perfect sense. But it doesn't. "That's...understandable."  

The silence that follows is suffocating. Not the comfortable kind of warm silence you two used to share, but the awkward, unbearable kind that makes you claw at your own skin and makes you wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole right then and there.  

Jake shifts again, and for a moment, his eyes meet yours. There's something there—but before you can grasp it, a voice from the crowd calls his name.  

"I—I should go," he mutters quickly, stepping back. His voice is quiet, his tone almost apologetic, but his words feel like he's hammering the nails to your coffin. "I'll...see you later though, yeah?"  

He doesn't wait for an answer. He's gone before you can say anything, before you can process his words, and for the second time that night, he leaves you standing there with your heart in pieces and your thoughts in chaos.  

For a moment, you swear you're paralyzed. You can't move. Can't breathe. Your vision blurs as every doubt you'd buried for months comes rushing back, screaming in your face louder and crueler than ever. You've never felt smaller, more foolish.  

Your heart beats erratically now, fighting against the realization of the truth settling in your chest—a  heaviness so suffocating it threatens to take you under. The Jake who stood in front of you just now—guarded, distant, a stranger—was so unlike the boy who had made you laugh until your sides ached, who'd stayed up with you on countless late nights, sharing secrets no one else knew.  

The Jake who made promises.  

Your mind spirals. Maybe...maybe those promises were never meant to be kept. Maybe they were just words to fill the time.  

Maybe you were just someone to fill the time.  

Your breath starts to pick up and you're frantically scanning the room, desperate for an escape from your thoughts through any familiar face. Your eyes finally land on Ni-ki and Heeseung casually sitting on one of the couches, their carefree laughter a stark contrast to your inner implosion. You beeline to them, forcing a smile on your face as you plop down beside them.  

"Y/N!" Ni-ki grins the moment he spots you, scooting over to make room. "Where've you been hiding? Thought you ditched us for good."  

"I've been here,“ you give the boys a small smile, praying they don't notice the way your hands tremble as you sit down, “just...mingling."  

Heeseung raises an eyebrow at the faint crack in your voice, but doesn't push further, "Well, we all missed you. Pizza pig-out sesh and games tomorrow? You can tell us everything we've been missing out on."  

You laugh, trying to keep the conversation light, but it comes out shaky, your voice tight under the weight of your hidden emotions, "I think it's you guys who need to catch me up."  

Ni-ki tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at you, "Are you okay? You look...off. What—did someone spill punch on you? Lemme guess, was it Jake?"  

At his name, the knife in your stomach twists even deeper, and you look away, hoping they don't notice the way your face falls.  

But Heeseung notices. Of course. His gaze sharpens, the playful teasing in his expression replaced with a softened concern, "Y/N...what's going on?"  

"I'm fine," you reply a little too quickly, your voice a little too high. You plaster a smile on your face, turning back towards the two boys, concern written all over their faces. "Just tired. Long day."  

Neither of them look convinced, but before Heeseung can say anything else, Ni-ki nudges him and gestures towards something across the room.  

"Hey...isn't that—"  

You follow Ni-ki's gaze, and you immediately wish you didn't. 

Because just like that, your world crumbles.  

There she is—Jenn.  

You're not even wondering when she got here, how she got here, or even why she's here in the first place. No, not even.  

Because all that's occupying your mind right now is the way she's there, perched comfortably on Jake's lap on one of the couches in the distance, her arm draped casually over his shoulder.  

The way she's laughing freely at something he says, her hand lightly brushing against his as if it's second nature, her fingers briefly pushing a strand of hair away from his face.  

The way Jake doesn't even flinch, the way he doesn't pull away.  

The way he smiles at her.  

That same smile—the one you've spent weeks convincing yourself was yours—now feels like a cruel joke.  

And that does it. For the first time that night, despite all you endured, you shatter.  

You force yourself to look away, but it's too late. Your chest hollows out deeper and deeper with every passing second, until all you're left with is a final realization:  

Maybe you never really had him at all. He was never yours in the first place.  

Ni-ki and Heeseung exchange glances before looking at the expression on your face—all the color drained, as if you were merely just a body, paralyzed. Both of them open their mouths, but nothing comes out, clearly unsure of what to say, but you don't give them the chance. You're already standing, grabbing your bag at your side with trembling hands.  

"Y/N, wait—" Heeseung starts as both him and Ni-ki stand up with you, but you shake your head, his voice distant and muffled as if he's speaking to you underwater.  

"I need some air," you mumble, but you're sure neither of them hear you, your voice barely above a whisper.  

Before they can stop you, you're already weaving through the crowd, your vision blurring as you fight the overwhelming urge to break down. You stop at the door, your eyes quickly scanning the cluttered floor for your shoes. For a moment, you think you've made it—escaped the suffocating air and heartbreak clawing at your throat—but a mistake you didn't mean to make stills you.  

You glance over your shoulder, and there he is.  

Jake's eyes meet yours, and the world comes to a stop. His easy smile slips from his face and is immediately replaced by a flicker of panic, his brows drawing together as if he's just realized something, but you don't stick around to analyze it.  

Not when your heart is already in pieces on the floor.  

You quickly look the opposite way, fighting the sting of burning tears threatening to spill over as your fingers fumble desperately with the zipper of your coat when you hear a concerned voice from behind you.  

"Y/N?" Jungwon's familiar voice cuts through your haze, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. "What—where are you going?"  

"Home," you whisper, avoiding his gaze as you finally manage to get your coat on, turning towards the door.  

Suddenly, Jungwon steps in front of you, a firm frown on his face, "Hey, hey, what's wrong? Talk to me—"  

"Jungwon, I need to go," you look up at him as your voice cracks for the nth time that night, feeling Jake's set of eyes on you still, "Please, Won."  

He hesitates, clearly confused but more worried over anything else, "Okay, but I'm driving you."  

You sigh, shaking your head, "No, it's fine—"  

"I'm driving you," Jungwon repeats, leaving no room for argument as he's already grabbing his coat and walking out the door.  

Not bothering to look behind you to see if Jake's still watching, you follow Jungwon out to the hallway, the chill of the air feeling like a fresh wave of emotions crashing over you all at once: embarrassment, anger, heartbreak.  

You're too caught up in your spinning thoughts to even notice the sound of frantic footsteps behind you until a voice cuts through the silence.  

"Y/N."  

His voice is quiet, almost drowned out by the muffled hum of music and laughter seeping from the party you should've escaped from a long time ago.  

But still, you hear it anyway—because of course you do. Because it's him. And no matter how much you wish you didn't, you'd silence the entire world just to hear that voice.  

And you hate it.  

You hate how your entire body freezes mid-step, you hate how every nerve within you comes alive at the sound of his voice, you hate how your heart stumbles, as if trying to root itself in the pain you've been trying so hard to outrun.  

You turn around slowly, against every ounce of logic telling you to keep walking. And when your eyes land on him—on the raw, desperate, almost broken look on his face—you hate yourself even more.  

Because even now, even after everything, your heart still sinks at the sight. And you hate how you give him the power to break you with just one look.  

“Can we talk?” Jake asks, his voice low and unsteady as he takes a small step towards you.  

From beside you, Jungwon hesitates, his gaze flickering between you and Jake. After a beat, he nods, "I'll get the car. Wait here."  

He spares Jake a final look of warning before nudging you for comfort and stepping into the elevator.  

The elevator doors close, leaving you and Jake alone in the hallway, the air thick with unspoken words and emotions.  

You swallow hard, your throat tight, but you steel yourself, "What do you want, Jake?"  

You shift your weight and instinctively cross your arms, a defensive barrier between you and the boy you spent too long letting into your heart. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the vulnerability in them makes your resolve falter. 

He takes a hesitant step towards you before exhaling shakily, running a hand through his hair.  

“I—I messed up tonight. I didn’t mean to...," he trails off, his words fumbling, his eyes searching yours in desperation, his heart breaking at the way your tears are a second away from falling over. 

"...to completely ignore me all night? Make me feel like nothing?" You finish for him, your quiet voice breaking despite your attempt to stay composed.  

"No. God, no. You're not nothing," he says quickly, his voice faltering on the last word. "Y/N, you matter so much to me."  

“Well it definitely didn't feel that way,” your voice is barely audible, but you finally look up at him, the hurt finally bubbling to the surface. “After everything you said—promised, everything we talked about…” 

"I know, I just—" he hesitates, his voice barely above a whisper. He takes a tentative step closer, his movements slow and careful, like he's afraid you'll break if he gets too close. "I was nervous." 

"It’s been so long, and I didn’t know what to say, how to act. I wanted to get it right—to make it perfect—but instead, I just—" he stops, dragging another frustrated hand through his hair. His eyebrows knit together in that familiar way that once made your heart flutter, but now only adds to the ache in your chest. 

You let out a hollow laugh, the bitter sound foreign even to your own ears, “Well, congratulations, Jake. You managed to mess it up anyway.” 

“Please,” he looks devastated, his hands trembling at his sides. “Y/N, please don’t think I don’t care about you. I do. More than you know. I just—I don't know how to do this. I panicked and I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear."  

"Then why was...," you look at him, your eyes still stinging from all the unshed tears as you take a shaky breath, “...why was she all over you tonight? Why didn’t you stop her?” 

He falters, his shoulders slumping under the weight of your question, “It wasn’t what it looked like. I didn’t—I couldn’t—” 

“You couldn’t,” you echo, the words spilling out in a rush now, each one cutting him deeper. “I should've known. Let me guess, she wants to get back together, right?"  

Jake's silence is deafening, and it immediately answers your question. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. The way he looks at you—eyes wide and filled with regret, lips trembling as if searching for the right words—confirms everything you were afraid of. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, a shaky breath escaping your lips—a sound caught somewhere between a scoff and a choked sob. No matter how hard you try, the wall holding back your emotions cracks under the weight of it all. The doubts you’ve tried so hard to bury suddenly resurface, crashing over you like waves, each one carrying the sting of every insecurity, every fear you’ve ever had about this moment. Your chest feels tight, your heart splintering under the realization that everything you were afraid of might be true. 

"Jake, I can't do this," you whisper, shaking your head. "I can't be the person you lean on while you try to figure out what you want."  

"No, no—Y/N, I do know what I want," he pleads, his voice cracking as he tries to step closer. "And it’s you. Always been you, Y/N. Everything I said—I meant it."  

His words hang heavy in the air, the faint echo of the party music filtering through the cracks in the door and into the quiet hallway. You look away, refusing to let him see the way your tears finally spill over.  

"You promised," you let out softly and slowly, through your sniffles. “You promised you wouldn't hurt me. You said you'd prove that I could trust you, that I didn't have to be scared. You knew I was worried, Jake. And you...you hurt me anyways."  

"And I swear I meant every word I said. I still do," Jake says, his voice desperate as he shakes his head. He steps even closer, his hand reaching out and brushing against yours, but you pull back before he can close the distance. "You have to believe me. Please, Y/N. You're the only one."  

You shake your head again, the tears now freely rushing down your cheeks despite your best efforts, "I—I don't know if I can believe that anymore, Jake. I want to, I really, really do. But tonight..."  

Jake’s face falls, the weight of your pain crashing into him all at once. His lips tremble as he struggles to hold himself together, his eyes turning glassy themselves. The sight of you—broken, because of him—cuts deeper than he thought was humanly ever possible. His voice is barely above a whisper, raw and pleading, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I—God, please. Please give me a chance.” 

You look at him—at the boy who became your safe space these past few months—and all you feel is the ache in your heart.  

"I can't do this right now, Jake," you finally let out through your broken voice as you take a step back. "I think I just need space."  

The words hang in the air like a death sentence. His breath hitches as if your words physically hit him in the face, "Y/N..." 

Your phone suddenly buzzes, a text from Jungwon letting you know he's outside. You glance down at it, then back at Jake. For a moment, you hesitate, your heart screaming at you to stay—to give him the chance he's yearning for. But your brain knows better. 

"I have to go," you murmur softly, as you take a final step back, turning away before more tears threaten to spill all over again. You force yourself to keep walking, fighting the overwhelming urge to look back—to let him pull you into his arms, where you wished so desperately you belonged.  

Frozen, Jake watches helplessly as you walk away, his chest tightening with every step you take. Everything feels like it's caving in, regret clawing at him the more he lets you walk further away. He opens his mouth to say something—anything—but the words fail him, silenced by the weight of his own mistakes.  

To Jake, the sounds of the party are now far in the distance, drowned out by the pounding in this ears. Instead, the hallway falls into a haunting silence, broken only by the faint echo of your retreating steps—a cruel reminder of what he's just let slip away.  

The car ride starts in complete silence, the only sound between you and Jungwon the soft hum of his engine and the faint sound of whatever playlist he was playing in the background. You stare out the window, watching the city lights blur together, your coat clutched tightly under your grasp as if it's the only thing keeping you sane.  

Jungwon glances at you out the corner of his eye, his hands steady on the steering wheel. He doesn't say anything at first, but you know him well enough to sense the storm brewing in his head.  

"Okay," he finally says, as if on cue, breaking the silence. "Spill."  

You don't respond, your eyes still fixed on the surrounding city breezing by you, as if the passing view could somehow erase the memory of him. Your fingers dig further into the fabric of your coat, your knuckles going numb.  

Jungwon gives you a few more moments of silence, but when you don't make any sign of responding, he speaks up again. 

"Y/N," his voice softens, but the edge of his concern cuts through. "Don't do that thing where you shut people out. Especially me, you know I hate that."  

"I'm not—" you start, but your voice wavers, and the lie dies on the tip of your tongue.  

“You are," he exhales sharply from beside you, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "Look, you don't have to tell me everything, but don't pretend you're fine when you're clearly not."  

The words sit heavy in the air as you swallow hard, your throat burning as you finally whisper, "It's stupid, Jungwon."  

He doesn't take his eyes off the road, but his tone is firm, "I'm sure if it's got you looking like this, it's not stupid."  

You want to argue, to tell him to just let it go, but the hurt pressing down on your chest is too much. The ache in your body threatens to take over again, and you hate it. You hate how the tears form again, how you can still see Jake looking at you like that, like you were breaking right in front of him and he didn't know how to stop it.  

Jungwon waits. He doesn't push, because he knows you. He knows you're just hurting, struggling to grasp your overwhelming emotions, so he gives you the time you need. But his quiet patience is unbearable, like he's peeling back every layer of your resolve just by being there, and eventually, you give in.  

"It's Jake," you finally choke out, the name tumbling from your lips like a curse.  

Jungwon doesn't respond immediately, but you can feel the shift in his demeanor. His jaw tightens, and his fingers flex against the wheel, "I figured as much honestly, after what I saw in the hallway, but what exactly happened, Y/N?"  

You shake your head, your voice shaky, "It doesn't matter. I—I just feel so stupid, Won. Like, how could I think..." 

You trail off, biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood. Jungwon gives you a softened glance, signaling you to continue whenever you're ready to.  

You take a deep breath before you speak up again, "How could I ever think I was good enough for him, you know?"  

There's a silence that follows after your words and you hear Jungwon take in a deep inhale.  

"This isn't on you, Y/N. This has nothing to do with whether you're enough or not," Jungwon's voice is steady, but there's a firm edge to it now. "Look, I don't want to overstep or anything...and I definitely don't want to vouch for him—especially right now but...are you sure he's not just freaking out?"  

You tilt your head over at the boy next to you, "Freaking out about what?"  

"You," Jungwon says simply like it's the most obvious thing in the world.  

"That doesn't make any sense," you start shaking your head. "Why would he—"  

"Because you're you," Jungwon interrupts, his tone matter-of-fact as he keeps his eyes trained on the road in front of him. "And Jake's a complete idiot, but even idiots get scared when they care about someone as much as he clearly cares about you."  

You blink, Jungwon's words sinking into all the cracks formed within you, "You really think he cares about me that much?"  

“Are you kidding?” Jungwon scoffs, his expression a mix of disbelief and exasperation. “Y/N, the guy looks at you like you hung his moon and stars. Trust me, I’ve seen it.” 

And you don't know what comes over you, but Jungwon's words hit you like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, the tears you've been holding back come rushing forward, hot and relentless. You cover your face with your hands, your body shaking as the sobs you've been swallowing all night finally make their way out.  

Jungwon quickly looks over at you and, without hesitation, glances over his shoulder to pull over to the side of the road, the soft clicking of the hazard lights mixing in with your cries. When he finally puts the car in park, he doesn't say anything and just leans back in his seat, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder—close enough to remind you he's there, but not too much to smother you.  

"I'm sorry," you manage to gasp out between sobs, your hands going up to wipe your face as all the overwhelming emotions finally take over you.  

"Don't," Jungwon says firmly, "Don't apologize for feeling like this."  

You take a shaky breath, trying to pull yourself together as your sobs eventually start to slow down, "I just don't understand. If he cares so much, why does this hurt so bad?"  

"I don't think it's about how much he cares," Jungwon sighs, as if carrying your pain alongside you. "Sometimes...sometimes people care so much that they don't know what to do with it. They panic. They overthink. And they mess up in the worst ways because they don't know how to handle what they're feeling."  

You look up at him, your face still wet with tears, "So you're saying it's an excuse."  

"No," Jungwon replies, quickly shaking his head fervently. "Definitely not an excuse. Jake screwed up, Y/N. Big time. And it's 100% on him to fix that, not you. But—"  

He pauses and thinks for a second, his words deliberate, "—it doesn't mean his feelings aren't real. Or that he doesn't care about you."  

You look away, glancing down at your hands in your lap, fiddling with the hem of your coat as you take in Jungwon's words.  

"It's just feels like...like I'm the only one who got hurt here, Won. Like I'm the only one who..," you trail off, unable to form your thoughts into a coherent sentence, but leave it up to Jungwon to always fully understand you.  

"You're not the only one," he says softly. "He's hurting too, Y/N. Maybe not in the same way, and maybe he doesn't deserve any sympathy, but I can see it. I've seen it. Jake...Jake isn't Jake without you. And honestly? That idiot is probably tearing himself apart right now."  

Your lips part, but the words don't find you. Instead, you let the weight of Jungwon's words sink in, unsure what to do with how true they may be.  

"You don't have to forgive him right now," Jungwon adds after a moment. "Hell, you don't even have to forgive him at all. Honestly, that might satisfy me just a bit. But maybe...maybe you owe it to yourself to hear him out. Not for him, but for you."  

You turn to Jungwon, your lips forming into the smallest pout, "But what if it just makes everything worse?"  

He gives you a faint, grounding smile, equal parts reassuring and honest.  

"Then you walk away knowing you did everything you could—for yourself. And if it does come to that," he shrugs lightly, "we'll figure it out together."  

You're quiet for a long moment, the thought of walking away from Jake and everything he means to you terrifying you…but you know Jungwon's right. You owe yourself the chance to try—even if the unknown outcome fails you.  

With a shaky breath, you nod, brushing away the last of your tears, "Thanks, Jungwon."  

"You're welcome," Jungwon hums in acknowledgement before his lips curve into a small grin, the atmosphere lightening slightly, "but, uh, could you at least use the tissues in the glove compartment before my seats turn into a snot rag?"  

You manage to let out a small scoff of disbelief as you roll your watery eyes, "You're the worst."  

"Nah," Jungwon replies with a cheeky grin as he shifts the car back into drive, but not before he reaches over to ruffle your hair playfully. "C'mon. Let's get you home."  

The knocking at Jungwon’s door comes at the worst possible moment. 

He’s halfway through organizing his desk—something he only attempts when he’s too frustrated to sit still—and the last thing he expects to see when he swings the door open is Jake, standing there looking like he hasn’t slept a millisecond all night. 

Jungwon makes no sign of saying anything or making a move, just staring at the older boy in question. Jakes shifts uncomfortably, running a hand through his messy hair, not used to seeing Jungwon in this sour, expressionless mood.  

"Hey," Jake finally says, his voice hesitant.  

“What do you want?” Jungwon deadpans, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He knows he sounds harsh, but, frankly, he doesn’t care.  

Jake falters for a moment, his gaze dropping to the ground, "I...I need your help."  

Jungwon's eyes narrow, "With what, exactly?"  

He knows what, but he's not letting Jake off that easily. Not after last night.  

"With Y/N," your name hangs in the air between them as Jake's voice cracks, and Jungwon clenches his jaw before he lets out a frustrated sigh.  

"I don't think you're in any position to be asking me for help right now."  

"I know," Jake says quickly, his hands raising in surrender. "I know, okay? I screwed up big time. I—God, I don't even know where to start, Jungwon. I just...I don't want to make things worse."  

Jungwon lets out a bitter, humorless laugh, stepping back and motioning his head to let Jake enter his room, "You've already got a good head start on that, I see."  

Jake steps inside, awkwardly hovering near the door as Jungwon moves to sit on the edge of his own bed. He doesn't offer Jake a seat, and Jake doesn't ask for one.  

"She cried, you know," Jungwon says after a few moments of silence, his voice stone cold. "I had to pull over because she couldn't even hold it together long enough for me to get her home. I've known her my entire life, and I don't think I've ever seen her cry that hard, Jake."  

Jake flinches, the words physically hurting him, "I didn't mean to—"  

"Yeah, I know," the younger boy cuts him off, his voice sharp, his anger rising on behalf of you. "You didn't mean to hurt her. But you did. And now you're asking me to help you fix it like it's that easy."  

"It's not easy," Jake mutters quietly, his hands fumbling with the edge of his hoodie. "Nothing about this...none of it is easy. But I know I messed up, and I—I can't just leave things like this, I can't lose her, Jungwon. I care about her too much."  

Jungwon deadpans at his friend, fighting back the urge to scoff in his face, "If you cared about her, you wouldn't have let her walk out of that party looking like her entire world was falling apart."  

Jake looks up, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with something Jungwon can't quite name...desperation, maybe. Or guilt. Or both.  

"I didn't know what to do," Jake finally admits, his voice still barely above a whisper, as if admitting to himself for the first time, too. "I saw her, and she looked so...broken. And I—I panicked, I didn't know what to do, and by the time I realized, she was gone."  

Jungwon leans back, groaning as he runs a hand over his face. The anger bubbling within him hasn't fully faded, but he knows there's something else now—something softer, something that makes it harder to keep his protective guard for you up.  

Because he knows Jake isn't lying.  

"You don't get to half-ass this, Jake," Jungwon finally says after he thinks to himself. "She's not some random girl you're trying to impress, she isn't Jenn. This is Y/N. If you want to fix things, you have to be ready to own up to everything. No excuses, no backing out. She deserves that much."  

Jake nods quickly, his eyes wide and hopeful at Jungwon's slight change in demeanor, “I will. I swear, I will.” 

"And don't think she's going to forgive you right away," Jungwon adds. "She's hurt. You have to give her time. This isn't about what you want—it's about what she needs."  

Jake swallows hard, nodding again, “I just want to talk to her. To explain. To tell her I’m sorry and—”  

His voice cracks, and he looks down, his hands trembling slightly. Jungwon lets out a sigh, his mixed feelings turning more into something closer to pity. Because as much as he wants to stay mad for your sake, he's known Jake long enough to know that he's a good guy—and that his heart is in the right place.  

But even more than that, he knows you. And he knows how much Jake means to you, even if you won't admit it, especially not now more than ever.  

"You're actually an idiot," Jungwon says after a few beats, his voice carrying a lighter tone now. "But for some godforsaken reason, knowing her, I think she might actually miss you."  

Jake looks up from his hands, his eyes searching Jungwon's face for any flicker of doubt, "You really think so?"  

Jungwon shrugs, standing up and moving towards his door, "I think you've got a lot of work to do if you want to earn her trust back. But...I think you still have a chance."  

Jake doesn't say anything as he follows Jungwon to the door, but the look on his face says enough—there's a new slight look of hope. It's small, but he's clutching onto it like it’s his lifeline.  

“You know," Jungwon says when he reaches the doorway. "Y/N’s not the type to let people in easily. She puts up walls—but with you…she let them down. You’re special to her, Jake, even if she doesn’t say it. Don’t throw that away. For her sake, and yours.” 

“I won’t,” Jake promises, his voice steady now. “Thank you, Jungwon.” 

Jungwon nods at the older boy before giving him a faint smile, "And just so you know, I defended you yesterday. So don't prove me wrong or I'm actually going to deck you."  

Jake lets out a weak laugh as he hangs outside Jungwon's door, "Noted. I promise I won't let her down again."  

Jungwon doesn’t respond, just closes the door with a soft click, and hopes—for all their sakes—that Jake means it.  

Jake [5:12PM]: hi Y/N   Jake [5:12PM]: i know I'm the last person you want to hear from right now. and i don’t blame you at all   Jake [5:13PM]: but i cant just stay silent and let this sit between us, and i value you too much to not respect you needing space and just show up at your door  Jake [5:14PM]: even though it’s killing me to stay away  Jake [5:14PM]: after you left the party last night, i went back inside. i told jenn that whatever we had in the past is exactly that, the past. and i swear to you, Y/N, there’s nothing between us. there hasn’t been for a long time. and it’s my fault for making it seem otherwise.   Jake [5:15PM]: and as for how i acted…i don’t even know where to start. i fucked up extremely. nothing will excuse my actions and i don’t expect you to forgive me. but i need to apologize properly, you deserve that much.   Jake [5:17PM]: please let me see you, Y/N. i don’t deserve it, and i don’t deserve you. but you mean everything to me, and i hate that i hurt you. and i promise, if you let me, i’ll do everything to make it up to you.  

You stare at the phone in your hand, the messages feeling like salt to an open wound. The words on the screen begin to blur together as tears prick your eyes, spilling over before you even realize it. You don't bother wiping them away—the sting in your chest too raw, too heavy. Each word feels like Jake is standing right there in front of you, his voice soft and broken, tangled with regret.  

You tell yourself to stop reading. You've already gone through the same messages at least a hundred times in the past ten minutes, overanalyzing each syllable as if they hold the answers to all of your questions.  

And yet, you can't stop.  

You want to be angry. You are angry. Or, at least, you think. Because beneath the flame of your anger that's already threatening to die out? There's an ache you can't ignore—a small, stubborn part of you that refuses to let go to the sincerity in his words, clinging onto the hope that he's telling you the truth.  

You mean everything to me, and I hate that I hurt you. I promise, if you let me, I'll do everything to make it up to you.  

The ache twists harder, curling into doubt. What if he means it? What if he's telling the truth?  

But of course, the fear rises just as quickly. Because what if he's not? What if you let him back in, and it all falls apart again? What if you let yourself believe in him, giving him the second chance he's asking for, only to have your heart shattered worse than before?  

And then, there's Jungwon's voice, soft but steady, cutting through the chaos brewing in your mind: "Even idiots get scared when they care about someone as much as he clearly cares about you."  

Your breath catches.  

Because that's the worst part. Knowing that maybe—just maybe—Jake really does care. Knowing that maybe he's telling the truth—and you're the one too afraid to take the risk, ready to build up the walls Jake's managed to get through.  

Your phone screen suddenly dims, pulling you out of your thoughts and back into the moment. You blink rapidly, wiping at your face, your mind a mess of emotions you can't untangle or describe.  

Fear. Hope. Doubt. 

And something else—something you're afraid to admit, but you know is unmistakably real.  

And it's stronger than the fear churning in your chest—it's something that's pulling you forward.  

Your heart pounds almost out of your rib cage as you let out a shaky breath, the weight on your shoulders pressing harder and harder with every second you hesitate. The ache doesn't let up, but neither does your hope.  

So you stop thinking altogether, letting your heart take control instead.  

You shut your eyes, as if bracing yourself for a crash, take a deep breath, unlock your phone, and let your fingers fly across the screen, each word feeling like a leap off a cliff.  

You hit send.  

Y/N [5:30PM]: hi jake  Y/N [5:30PM]: you can come over 

The soft knock at your door startles you, even though you know it’s coming.  

“Y/N?” 

His voice. Jake’s voice.  

Your heart clenches painfully, a conflicting mix of longing and hurt washing over you all at once. It hasn't even been a full day since the party, but the weight of his absence has already hollowed you out, leaving a hole you can't ignore. You know he's the one who caused it—that the cracks in your heart are his doing—but at the same time, the stubborn part of you whispers that he's also the only one who can mend them.  

You make your way to the door, your movements hesitant as you crack it open, peek out, and...there he is.  

"Hi," Jake says softly.  

He's a mess. A beautiful, saddened mess—his hair messy, like he's been running his hands through it all day, his eyes rimmed with the kind of exhaustion that isn't just physical. One hand is buried deep in his jacket, and in the other— 

"Flowers?" You ask, raising a brow in surprise.  

Jake's ears turn red. "Yeah. Uh, I didn't know if you had a favorite, so I got—"  

You open the door wider, revealing the full bouquet—daisies, tulips, roses, all wrapped together in crinkled tissue paper.  

"—a little bit of everything," he finishes awkwardly, his voice trailing off, pausing for a second before holding them out to you with a sheepish smile.  

Your lips twitch subconsciously, despite everything.  

"Jake, you're literally allergic."  

His mouth opens, then closes, the redness from his ears now spreading to his cheeks.  

"Well, yeah, but—," Jake mumbles, shifting on his feet. "—not, like, deadly or anything dramatic like that."  

He pauses, his voice dropping into something softer, more vulnerable, "I just wanted you to have them. That's all."  

You feel your insides tighten, the sincerity in his voice getting to you. For a moment, all you can manage to do is stare at him—at the way his eyes are silently pleading, wide and unsure.  

You hesitate for a second, then step back and open the door wider.  

"Thank you," you say quietly, your fingers brushing against his as you take the bouquet, sending a flicker of warmth through you. "Come in."  

Jake hesitates, his eyes searching yours like he's not sure if he's actually allowed to. When you turn away and walk towards your kitchen, he finally steps inside, kicking off his shoes quickly and hovering by the door like he doesn't know what to expect next.  

You set the flowers down on the counter, adjusting them carefully before turning back to him. He's still standing there, stiff and uncertain, the distance between you feeling larger than ever before.  

"So..." You say, crossing your arms tightly across yourself, shifting your weight as a way to ground yourself—though the lump in your throat makes it feel impossible.  

Jake exhales shakily, his hands fidgeting by his sides and gaze darting to the floor before finally landing on you, "I came to apologize. Properly."  

You blink at him, expression unreadable, "You already said sorry."  

Your voice comes out sharper than intended, surprising even yourself, but the words leave before you can stop them. Jake flinches, just slightly, but he nods, knowing he deserved that. 

"Not like I should have," he says, stepping closer, his voice low and careful, like he's afraid you'll run out of your own apartment. "I know I messed up. I hurt you, and I hate that I did. I hate that I made you feel like you weren't enough or that someone else could ever compare to you, Y/N."  

Your arms tighten around yourself as if the words might knock the breath out of you as look away, unsure if you can meet the rawness in his eyes.  

"Last night," Jake continues, his eyes filling with guilt, "I didn't handle last night right. And not just how I handled Jenn, but I let my own insecurities and stupid fears of being perfect for you get in the way. I let it happen and mess everything up. I let you think that you didn't matter to me, and I will never forgive myself, Y/N."  

His words hang in the air, heavy yet sincere, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him as you process his words slowly.  

"And I don't expect you to forgive me either, Y/N," Jake's voice wavers before he continues, "but I need you to know that I'm so, so sorry. No excuses. For all of it—for making you feel like anything less than everything, for making you feel like you weren't my first choice. Because you are. You're my only, Y/N." 

His words hit you with a force that crashes over the walls you tried so desperately to build. They're overwhelming yet tender, like rediscovering a piece of yourself you hadn't even realized you lost. And you want to let them comfort you, you do. But the pain from last night lingers deep down, reminding you of why you built those walls in the first place.  

For a moment, the silence stretches on longer than you intend, the weight of his words settling in the air between you. Jake doesn't look away though—his gaze unwavering, vulnerable, and raw.  

As though he's laid himself bare before you, giving you the power to either accept or shatter him completely.  

When you finally find your voice, it trembles despite your best efforts, "Jake...I don't know if I can just forget what happened."  

"I'm not asking you to forget," he says quickly, taking another step closer until there's only a few feet left between you. "I just want the chance to fix us. I can't lose you like this, Y/N."  

Your breath catches at the proximity, his presence pulling you in like gravity. The pain from last night tries to claw its way back into your heart—sharp and bitter—but his warmth reminds you of something else that refuses to be ignored.  

That flicker of hope that's demanding your attention, screaming at you to just let him in—not just for his sake, but for you. 

You take a deep breath, finally meeting his gaze. "Jake, I don't need you to...to be this perfect person. I don't need you to prove anything to me."  

You pause, pushing past the lump in your throat, "Because since the beginning, I always believed you. And...I think I still do. Even after last night, I still believe you, Jake. No matter how hard I try to."  

Jake lets out a breath he thinks he's been holding in for hours, "Really?"  

"Yeah," you nod slowly, as if reassuring yourself as much as him. "But I don't need any of your promises or proof or any of that. I just...I just need you as you."  

His eyes soften at you as he nods so quickly it's almost desperate.   

"And I need you to be honest with me, Jake," you continue before he can speak. "If we do this, I need to know I can trust you. Because I don't know if I can do this...this waiting game anymore."  

"You can," he says immediately, closing the distance between you two, making your breath hitch. You can see the way his hands are trembling, the slight quiver in his lips. "You can trust me. No more hesitation. I'm all in, Y/N. This is it for me, you're it."   

You search his face for any sign of doubt, any speck of hesitation. But all you find is his sincerity—so hopeful and so real—the kind that makes you want to let him in fully and let your walls crumble all over again.  

So you do.  

"Okay," you say softly, almost as if you're testing the word.  

Jake's eyes widen, the relief and hope flooding his features. Slowly, as if asking for permission, he reaches out, his fingers brushing against yours tentatively.  

"Okay?" He whispers, his voice barely audible to you as his eyes flicker between your hands and your face.  

You nod, your own hand turning over so your fingers curl around his in an instinctive gesture that feels so natural it makes you want to scream. The warmth of his touch feels like the first real comfort you've felt in forever, and it's enough to make your resolve slip.  

"But," you add softly, your eyes not leaving the way his hand wraps around yours so perfectly, "this doesn't mean everything's fine. We need to talk. We need to figure out where we stand, and where we go from there."  

Jake nods again, his grip on your hand tightening slightly, "We will. Whatever it takes, Y/N, I'll do it. I need you to know how much you mean to me and I'll never stop trying to show you that."  

You let out a shaky breath as you take in his words, finally looking up from your intertwined hands to meet his eyes, your own slowly filling with the tears you've been holding back. 

"You really hurt me, Jake," you say quietly, your voice breaking from the sheer weight of your vulnerability being laid bare.  

Jake's face crumbles instantly, guilt etched into every line of his expression. Without hesitation, his free hand comes up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb light brushing away the tears that fall, as if he's afraid you might pull away.  

Your eyes flutter closed at the warmth of his hand, and despite the emotions raging inside you, you let yourself lean into him. It feels both reckless, yet inevitable, like free-falling and trusting—knowing—he'll catch you.  

"I know," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion he can't swallow down. "And I'll spend as long as it takes to deserve you, Y/N. I'll never make you feel like that again."  

You nod weakly, and before you can think too much, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into the safety of his chest, his chin moving to rest on top of your head as his warmth envelops you completely.  

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself break, burying your face into his chest as the tears flow freely, the weight of everything finally breaking free as you let yourself melt into his tight embrace.  

It's not perfect. It's not a fix-all.  

But as Jake holds you close, whispering quiet reassurances into your hair, you know it's a start.  

And a start is all you need.  

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

epilogue:

“Hi, pretty.”  

“Hi, Jake.”

On the other end of the call, Jake lets out a playful scoff. Even with the slight lag, you can see his lips twitch into that familiar pout—the one that still gives you butterflies, no matter how many times you've see it now, even a year later.

“After all we’ve been through, you still won’t give me a cute pet name?” 

You roll your eyes, biting back a grin, “What do you want me to say? Hi, my handsome, perfect, kindest, funniest, boyfriend in the whole wide world?”  

Jake leans closer to the camera, his expression completely serious as if you should already know his answer, "...Yes." 

Giggles burst out of you, shaking your head at his antics. “You’re too cute to be doing all that, Jake. Pick a struggle.” 

He clutches his chest dramatically, “You know, what? You’re my struggle—I fly across time zones, run on three hours of sleep, and you still won’t give me a crumb of your affection?” 

“You’re exhausting.” 

“And yet…,” Jake trails off with a teasing smirk, his voice dropping into that playful, yet low lilt that still makes your stomach flip to this day. "Here you are, calling me at 1AM in the morning.”  

Your cheeks flush as you glance away from the screen, trying to ignore the way his teasing gaze makes you feel, "Don’t' get confused, it's not like I wanted to or anything. I just figured someone should remind you to go to bed or else you'll look like a zombie tomorrow at the fanmeet."  

Jake laughs softly, the sound grounding you in a certain way only he ever can. "You're so thoughtful, babe. My number-one hater and number-one fan, all at once. I'm so lucky."  

You send him an air kiss, the teasing grin on your face mirrored by the fond one tugging at his lips. He looks at you like he did in that first-ever call way back then—like you're his whole world, and he can't believe you're real.  

"How's the jet lag this time?" You ask, steering the conversation to safer ground.  

"It's not so bad," he shrugs, despite the clear exhaustion in his voice. "At least this trip is only for a few days. Then I can come back to the comfort of our bed."  

You raise an eyebrow, "My bed."  

Jake's eyes narrow, "Our bed. Just admit it—you miss me."  

You pause. "Maybe. Just a little."  

His grin widens, and for a moment, neither of you say anything, the conversation lulling into an easy silence—the kind of warmth that only comes with knowing someone so well.  

Finally, you shift under your blanket, getting comfortable as Jake watches you through this screen, his gaze tender, as though memorizing the curve of your smile, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear.  

"You should sleep," you murmur, holding your phone closer to your face. The glow of your phone reflecting off your soft features sends palpations to Jake's chest so loud he almost doesn't hear your words. 

"Mm, I really should," Jake sighs, though he doesn't move an inch. "I'll talk to you soon, yeah?" 

"Mmhm," you hum, your eyes closing at the softness of his voice.  

“Sleep tight. I love you,” his says, voice soft and deliberate, making sure you feel every word. 

“Goodnight, Jakey,” you tease, letting the smirk creep into your voice, peeking an eye open just to catch his reaction. 

Jake groans dramatically, running a hand down his face, “Y/N…not this again.”  

You giggle, the fondness within you growing tenfold as you take in his face—the slight pout of his lips, his messy hair, his eyes shining with unwavering adoration for you. 

“I said I love youuu,” he whines, dragging out the last word, his lips tugging into the tiniest of smiles, his entire universe reflecting from his eyes.  

Finally, you give in, smiling sweetly.  

“I love you, too, Jake. You already know.”  

And you’ve never meant anything more.  

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

Songs that Remind me of Y/N:

From the first call to forever—you've always been my favorite melody.   Yours, Jake <3

"As I Am" – Justin Bieber (ft. Khalid)  

"Daylight" – Taylor Swift 

"DIE 4 YOU" - Dean 

"Psycho, Pt. 2" – Russ 

"Heaven" – Bazzi 

"Every Kind of Way" – H.E.R. 

"Off My Face" – Justin Bieber 

"Before You" – Benson Boone 

"Sunflower" – Post Malone & Swae Lee 

"Pink + White" – Frank Ocean

"No Doubt" – Enhypen <3 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

update! if you enjoyed this and want more of no doubt!jake & y/n, check out my sequel series linked here for drabbles of their relationship <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

the end! if you made it all the way, this is for you:

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡♡♡♡♡♡

p.s. i wanted to leave the ending kinda up to interpretation—hence the time skip to a year later..but lowkey what if i wrote short drabbles/scenes of things jake does to gain Y/N's trust again, from small to big gestures etc etc..lmk if that's something anyone would wanna see !! (update — linked above now!)

<3, addie

m.list here!

tag list (love you all <3):

(i hope it let me tag everyone!)

@thesassy-mia @ikeulove @renaishun @xylatox @puma-riki @blackberryrains @dreamiestay @junislqve @lamin143 @dreamy-carat @etherealhan @vvenusoncasual @belovedsthings @somuchdard @sumzysworld @mirouie @almondtofu006 @fancypeacepersona @vivimura @hollxe1 @missthang600 @sugarikiz @sanasour @enhamonsterghoul @etherealriki

[purple-plum-petals]

Hi!! I love your homicipher fics! Have you thought about writing nsfw hcs? Specifically for Mr. Crawling and Silvair? I hope your night / day is going well! :)

⊱ Mr. Crawling and Mr. Silvair ⊰ || NSFW Alphabet (A-Z) Headcanons

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Character(s): Mr. Crawling, Mr. Silvair (Homicipher/文字化化, Separate) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns, No Sex-Specific Genitalia is Mentioned but it was Written with an AFAB Reader in Mind) Warning(s): 18+ Content, Virgin Asexual Author, Cum Eating, Facials, Minor Objectification, Cuckoldry, Mutual Masturbation, Face-fucking, Sexual Fantasies, Tickling, Praise/Degradation Kink, Breeding Kink/Creampies, BDSM, Overstimulation, Orgasm Control/Denial, Dumbification, Dacryphilia, Hair-pulling, Light Impact Play, Light Breathplay, Implied Cunnilingus/Blowjobs, Cock Warming, Mention/Discussion of Sex Toys… If I missed anything, please let me know! Genre: Headcanons, Smut (Minors Do Not Interact), Fluff Word Count: 7,200 words Request: “Hi!! I love your homicipher fics! Have you thought about writing nsfw hcs? Specifically for Mr. Crawling and Silvair? I hope your night / day is going well! :)” Author’s Note: I’m still very much working on getting better at writing spicier content, and I had no clue how to start writing these kinds of headcanons from scratch, so I went ahead and just filled out the NSFW Alphabet for both Mr. Crawling and Mr. Silvair as a jumping off point! It’s definitely interesting to think about how both of these characters would be in a sexually intimate setting, especially since – at least in my mind – they’d be quite different from each other in a variety of aspects even if they did have some overlap on a few of the points. I did my best to keep each of their headcanons at a similar word length (which was kind of hard to do with my Mr. Crawling bias, but I think I accomplished it haha). Anyway, I hope you enjoy these headcanons! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated!  ♡

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A: Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

👣: Mr. Crawling is immensely clingy after having sex, holding onto you and pretty much refusing to let go as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck or your hair. While he doesn’t want to get up from the bed or leave after the two of you have been intimate, if you’re hungry or thirsty or if you want to go take a bath, he’s happy to go fetch you something to restore your energy or help you to the bathroom to clean up. He’s quite good at aftercare, even if he doesn’t realize what he’s doing counts as it. Mr. Crawling just likes making you feel good, and he wants to keep you safe and happy! His favorite thing to do is help you bathe; he enjoys the way the warm water feels on his skin while he washes your back for you. 

💉: Mr. Silvair isn’t too affectionate after the two of you are intimate, but he’ll check up on you and ask if you need him to get you anything. If your wrists were rubbed raw from the restraints he had placed on you, he would make sure to carefully wrap gauze around your irritated skin. If you were thirsty or hungry, he would locate something safe for you to consume to get your strength back up. If you feel sticky or gross afterward, he’ll carefully wipe your body with a wet cloth to make sure you are clean and comfortable. He lets you sleep and typically goes about his own business. Sometimes, though, Mr. Silvair finds himself watching over you to make sure you’re breathing steadily, carefully combing his fingers through your hair. 

B: Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

👣: Mr. Crawling doesn’t have a favorite part of your body since he honestly enjoys every aspect of you but, if he had to choose, he loves your hands. He knows that they can hurt people and cause a lot of pain, but he loves the way they feel when you cup his face to softly caress it or whenever you thread your fingers through his hair. For himself, Mr. Crawling loves his hair the most (I know it’s not technically a body part, but I think it makes the most sense for him); he pretty much melts whenever you play with it, and his head is quite sensitive, so he blue screens whenever you pull at his hair or rake your nails across his scalp. I also feel like Mr. Crawling would be proud of his arms since they’re fairly toned considering they’re his primary means of getting around. Because of his impressive strength, despite what his thinner frame may portray, he’s able to hold you up and move you around with relative ease (he 100% can manhandle you, but only will if you’re cool with it). 

💉: Mr. Silvair finds every aspect of your body fascinating, and he could probably explain why each part of you was interesting from a medical perspective or that everything was pleasant to look at in one way or another. If he had to pick a favorite part of your body, though, he would have to say it’s your head (I know, kind of weird, but he does appreciate your intelligence and, well… Ending 06 is my other piece of reasoning haha). Specifically, though, he likes your mouth. He enjoys being able to hold your head in place while your jaw hangs open, all while he just goes to town while you drool and choke around his cock. Don’t worry, though – he’ll find some remedy to lessen the soreness you feel in your throat afterward. For himself, he’s quite proud of his hands. Mr. Silvair is skilled at many things, and being able to make you come undone with his fingers alone makes him feel a sense of power (plus, you called them pretty once, and it made him feel good). 

C: Cum (Anything to do with cum)

👣: Mr. Crawling gets extremely flustered whenever he sees his cum on any part of your body, from your hair to your face to your stomach. The sight of it alone on your skin makes his brain short-circuit and body flare up – it only makes him want to touch you even more. He likes being able to clean you up, too, leaning forward before he runs his tongue along your body or face, making sure there wasn’t a single drop of his cum left on you (even if now it meant you were covered in saliva…). He doesn’t mind tasting himself, but it most certainly doesn’t compare to your flavor. 

💉: I probably need to ask you to stay with me on this one, but I think Mr. Silvair would probably keep your cum stored away in a sample tube or something along those lines, having a desire to run tests on it to see what he could create. Views your cum as a valuable resource in his research...yay? Maybe he could even use your release to invent some kind of lubricant since that’s not easily accessible in the other world and make having sex much more streamlined… or he just keeps it around to show you later and see your reaction to the fact he keeps your cum stored away in his laboratory to tease you. 

D: Dirty Secret

👣: The thought of taking you in public, in a space where no one but you could see him, makes his mind race and his body feel like it was on fire – this man can act like a feral dog sometimes. I mean, even you sometimes forgot he was there, unable to see his form unless you concentrated hard enough, so imagine if the two of you went out somewhere in public and he (with your consent, of course), just started touching you? Groping your ass, his face between your legs as he runs his hands along your inner thighs… no one can see that it’s him making your face flush and not the excuse of a fever you told the concerned stranger in the hopes they would leave you alone. When you half-heartedly glare at him to try and get him to lay off for a bit, he just laughs at your expression… how rude!

💉: Mr. Silvar wouldn’t be opposed to having a threesome with another resident of the other world. After all, he would be curious to see how differently you acted when another person was there with the two of you, or if your body reacted in an unlikely way if another were to touch you. While I will not write NSFW for Mr. Chopped (the power dynamic there isn’t my favorite thing in the world), he would be the one Mr. Silvair would feel most at ease sharing you with; Mr. Crawling or Mr. Hood would be his second and third choices respectively since he knows how deeply you trust them. He might not even partake in sex either, just sitting off to the side while he lets another use you like a toy. As long as you know your his, though, he doesn’t mind watching you enjoy yourself with another (he has to be there, though). 

E: Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

👣: Mr. Crawling has absolutely zero experience with this kind of stuff, so he would need someone willing to walk him through the whole process, show him what you like, and teach him what and what not to do. What he lacks in experience, though, he makes up for in pure enthusiasm. It’s quite flattering how determined he is when it comes to making you feel good, even if it’s a bit sloppy and unpracticed. His thrusts are extremely unpredictable, never quite finding their rhythm… It’s alright, though; he’ll definitely get better with more time and the more he gets to understand what your body likes. You just have to give him the time to improve, and he’ll be certain to leave you breathless. 

💉: Mr. Silvair also has no experience when it comes to sex, or at least not any while he’s resided in the other world. He is a life-long learner through and through, though, and there’s nothing in the universe he’s not willing to learn about, especially if it has to do with humans and their anatomy. His thrusts are frighteningly accurate, being able to hit your most sensitive inner spots with ease to have you begging him to give you a moment to breathe. He’s an almost terrifyingly fast learner, too, being able to apply whatever new information he’s observed and gathered within moments. He can do it perfectly, too, and he does it in a way that has you questioning whether he was telling the truth when he said this was his first time doing anything like this. 

F: Favorite Position

👣: When it comes to favorite positions, Mr. Crawling loves being able to hold you close to him while also being able to see your face (he has to kiss you during sex – sorry, I don’t make the rules). He enjoys the rocking horse position since it allows him to be able to hold you close while still being able to maintain eye contact with you and easily have access to cover your face in kisses. While he prefers being the one making you feel good, Mr. Crawling would also enjoy the cowgirl position. He’s happy to let you use him to your heart's content while being able to look up and soak in the pleased look that’s plastered across your features while you slam your hips up and down on his cock. 

💉: Mr. Silvair personally enjoys the butterfly position, having you lay on your back atop his operation table all while he can watch and take mental notes on every single facial expression you make and every single twitch of your muscles while he drives you absolutely insane. He would also enjoy missionary, but he would spice it up a little bit by having your hands or wrists tied to something. After all, he doesn’t want you to touch him unless he says you can – just lay there quietly while he completely wrecks you with that annoyingly calm expression on his face. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy when you touch him, though. Mr. Silvair simply prefers being the one in charge and determining when and where you’re able to feel his skin beneath your hands. 

G: Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)  

👣: Acts goofy most of the time during sex, even if he doesn’t mean to. He likes being able to make you happy, and he finds your laughter to be music to his ears. Sometimes you two will be having sex, and he’ll suddenly start giggling completely unprovoked, just finding the experience with you so joyful. Being with you in any capacity makes his chest feel light and fluttery as a sense of giddiness flows through his veins. He’ll wrap his arms around you and nuzzle into your neck, causing your body to spasm and tighten around him while his long hair drapes over you and tickles your skin. Overall, Mr. Crawling enjoys being more playful when the two of you are intimate since it adds to the overall experience for him. 

💉: Prefers to be serious while having sex. He treats the whole process of intercourse like one would treat a research project which, honestly, can make you feel a bit annoyed in some instances (Mr. Silvair still doesn’t quite understand why, though). He’s methodical in everything he does, and being light-hearted or purposefully humorous isn’t high on his list of things to do. He has no problem if you want to be silly, however. He finds it cute when you try to see if you can make him chuckle. It endears you to him more, and it makes him want to keep you around for even longer. The only goofy thing he does is gently run his fingers up and down your sides while thrusting into you, finding the way your body wriggles and writhes away from his touch to be adorable. 

H: Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

👣: I think Mr. Crawling would have fairly long hair beneath the metaphorical belt. His pubic hair would be thick, curly, and a very dark shade of black. He doesn’t really keep himself groomed (kind of hard to do in his world, plus it was never a priority for him), but if you would prefer him to keep it trimmed, he’d be happy to! He doesn’t care one way or another. 

💉: Mr. Silvair comes off to me as someone who would enjoy keeping themselves groomed and their appearance well-maintained, and I mean every inch of his body. I think he would have either no pubic hair or pubic hair that was trimmed to be the perfect length. If he did have any hair below the belt, it would be a gray color, one that was a shade darker than his regular hair and wavy in texture. 

I: Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

👣: One of the more human-like members of the cast when it comes to his affections; he’s as romantic as a non-human being can be. Mr. Crawling loves holding you close as he ruts into you like a wild dog, whispering praises against your skin. He even tries his best to learn phrases in your language so he can tell you how much you mean to him without you having to try and decipher it. He’s always so, so soft with you when you two are having sex. He’s honored that you’d let him have you in such a way, and finds your trust in him heartwarming – he trusts you, too, with his entire heart and soul. 

💉: Mr. Silvair canonically doesn’t comprehend the concept of “liking” or loving someone, so that also translates into sex with him. All he knows is that he finds you entertaining to be around and that he’s somewhat endeared to you at this point. He’s not romantic but, in between teasing you and making you cry (whether it be in frustration or overstimulation), he’s checking in on you to make sure that you’re still comfortable. He knows sex can be invasive, and he’s aware of how much regard the act is held in by some people in your world, so he does his best to respect that... Even if he does need to check himself every now and again. 

J: Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

👣 and 💉: Neither of them masturbates much because they simply don’t have a desire or time to do so. Mr. Crawling would rather wait for you to be there so you two can enjoy yourselves together, and Mr. Silvair simply has more important matters to attend to. That’s not to say they never masturbate, though, it’s just typically a rare occurrence. 

👣: Mr. Crawling typically masturbates by rutting up against something, like a pillow, rather than taking himself in his hand. His thoughts before meeting you were just focusing on the physical sensation of his cock sliding against the fabric of his clothing, but now he finds himself thinking of you – the way your voice sounds when you coo sweet words in his ear, the warmth of your body. Imagining your hands gently touching his chest and hips makes him cum right then and there, almost embarrassingly quickly… Yeah, he’s down bad. 

💉: Mr. Silvair treats masturbating as a chore. He’d much rather be doing something else than leaning against the wall of his operation room while his hand goes absolutely ham on his dick. He knows which areas on his body get the most reaction, so he purposefully presses all of his buttons just so he can be done with it quicker. This doesn’t change after meeting and getting to be intimate with you, though, he still sees it as a chore… Just now he imagines cumming on your face or inside you whenever he finally reaches his climax. 

K: Kink (one or more of their kinks)

👣: 

Mutual Masturbation: He likes spending time with you and doing things together, so why not spend some time watching each other explore yourselves? He likes observing you as you touch yourself, making mental notes of every spot on your body that have you biting your lip and furrowing your brows. While I wouldn’t say he’s into voyeurism since he does like being with you while you touch yourself instead of tucked away in the shadows just watching, he focuses more on the way your hands touch and caress your skin instead of focusing on the way he moves his hands across his body. Doesn’t last very long doing this, though, eventually pouncing on you and touching you himself.

Overstimulation (Giving): Mr. Crawling loves overstimulating you, even if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it half of the time. He just enjoys seeing you become a blabbering mess all because of him; he takes great pride in being able to make you feel good. However, the first time you started crying because he was simply giving you too much, he felt so guilty – the poor man was on the verge of tears thinking he made you feel bad. 

Praise Kink: While praising you is a bit more difficult considering the language barrier and the limited amount of words and phrases he has to choose from, he still loves doing it. Muttering against your skin how you’re doing such a good job, how he loves you so much, how you make him so happy. Mr. Crawling definitely makes sure to reassure you both inside and outside of the bedroom. 

Hair Pulling (Receiving): He loves, loves, loves it whenever you take his hair in your hand and give it a firm tug. Mr. Crawling enjoys it whenever he’s going down on you and you take his hair into your hands and push him even closer, making him become fully immersed in your scent and taste. 

Sensation Play: While Mr. Crawling may not enjoy more painful experiences, he does like general sensation play quite a bit. He likes the feeling of your breath fanning against his skin while you pepper his flesh with gentle kisses and nips. He enjoys tickling you while his hips sensually thrust in and out, feeling the way you squeeze around him as breathless and airy giggles escape past your lips. He loves whispering into your ear while running his tongue along it before taking your lobe between his teeth and lightly tugging.  

💉: 

Breeding Kink/Creampie: Mr. Silvair, after learning more about human reproduction, has a deep-seated curiosity regarding whether or not the two of you would be able to have offspring. That’s kind of what starts this particular kink for him – he wants to know if you both are sexually compatible in that aspect, and he is curious what the resulting child would look and act like if they were born in the other world. If you’re unable to give birth or get pregnant, even if his initial interest in breeding is certainly from a more scientific aspect, he still finds the image of you full of his seed while it drips down the curve of your ass to be quite arousing. 

Bondage/Shibari (Giving): He enjoys tying you up and pinning you down, being able to have full control over you in the bedroom. He’s perfectly content if you agree to light bondage, like having your hands restrained, and would never ask you to do anything more than that. However, if you trust him enough and feel comfortable doing some more intense bondage, he’s not going to complain. Would definitely be interested in the art of shibari, finding the way the rope looks pressing into your skin tantalizing. 

Orgasm Control/Denial (Giving): Another kink that feeds into his desire for control. Mr. Silvair enjoys being the one in charge of your release, and he likes seeing how far he can push you until you finally break and plead for him to let you cum. He loves seeing how stupid and desperate he can make you, sometimes with just his fingers alone. 

Overstimulation (Giving): Much like orgasm control/denial, he likes pushing you to your breaking point. However, unlike the previous bullet, he likes seeing how much stimulation you can take until you’re crying for him to stop. He thinks it’s fascinating, seeing how quickly your desire for his touch can change – one moment you’re begging for him to touch you, and the next you’re weakly pushing his hand away. He does eventually relent, of course, but only after letting you cry for a bit. 

Dacryphilia: There’s something about seeing your tear-streaked face that makes it feel like he’s just been hit with an arrow in his chest. It’s endearing and oh-so cute the way you look while you sob all because he’s making you feel that good. It makes him feel proud, in a way, seeing you in such a pathetic state all because of him. 

L: Location (Favorite places to do the do)

👣: He enjoys having sex with you on a bed (boring, I know), but he likes the softness of the mattress and the many pillows and blankets that can be used to bring even more comfort by keeping the heat from your bodies trapped. He also likes taking you in small, enclosed spaces, like an empty locker or cabinet (sorry folks with claustrophobia). Much like the reasoning with the bed, he likes how the smaller space forces you both to be immensely close to each other. Plus, these spaces bring him comfort, so why not mix the two things that make him feel safe together? 

💉: Either in his laboratory/operation room or in one of the many different cages or prison cells that he has access to (bonus points if you allow him to chain you up hehe). Mr. Silvair doesn’t need a soft mattress or pillows to enjoy sex with you. He’s fine taking you on his operation table or the cold concrete floor of the small prison cell, even if your back moving up and down across the ground rubs your skin raw. He’ll patch you up after, no worries, but he doesn’t need a lot of bells and whistles to have an enjoyable time. 

M: Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

👣: Sweet words and gentle touches. The other world is one full of violence and death, one where survival trumps all else. While there are entities like him who only resort to violence when either their safety or the safety of someone they’re fond of is in danger, it’s still not a happy or bright place to exist. Mr. Crawling does what he can to enjoy life, laughing in situations that probably aren’t even that funny just to try and make existing more enjoyable. Then you come along and make him feel cared for – loved – and safe, and he’s never been happier. Being able to lay with you, to feel you clench around his cock with your warmth while you pepper kisses across his face and let him know how good he is… Yeah, this is the life. 

💉: Power and control. He enjoys being able to restrict your movement, being able to dictate when and where you’re allowed to cum and, if you disobey him, he’ll punish you with a sadistic smile on his face. However, he would be lying if he said that was all. Mr. Silvair thinks the fact you trust him with your safety – your life, your heart, your existence – gets him going, whether he realizes it or not. Trusting another in the other world showcases how much two people believe in the fact the other would not do anything to purposefully harm them, and you feel that way toward him (and he feels the same toward you). Whenever you call out his “name,” the one you had given him, he finds his hips unconsciously moving even faster at the sound...

N: No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

👣: Anything involving pain would be a hard no for Mr. Crawling, both giving and receiving. Even though his senses are dull and what would be extremely painful for a human wouldn’t be for him, he still doesn’t particularly enjoy being harmed. When it comes to hurting you in any way, that’s pretty much something he will never concede on. He doesn’t want to do a single thing to hurt you, even if it’s an enjoyable kind of pain. 

💉: Pretty much nothing is off the table for him – Mr. Silvair enjoys experimenting, and that’s no different for him in the bedroom. The only extremely hard no would be coprophilia since he just doesn’t see the appeal nor does he want to test to see if he would like it or not. I also feel like he wouldn’t necessarily want a bratty partner or a partner who is constantly trying to take control back in the bedroom. 

O: Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

👣: Loves giving oral 101%, and he will give it to you anywhere – in public, in private, while you’re sleeping (with your consent, of course). Mr. Crawling adores having his mouth on you, being able to taste every single part of you while his tongue forces its way inside you, feeling your release dripping past his lips or dribbling down his chin… You taste good, too, better than anything he’s ever had before; he might get addicted to it, to be honest. He eats you out/blows you like a man starving, wanting a chance to have a taste and make you cry out his name while you pull harshly on his black locks and encourage him to keep going. He’s very enthusiastic about it, too, putting in so much effort and energy to get you cumming on his face or in his mouth. 

💉: Prefers giving oral over receiving it, but it’s not his favorite thing to do either way. It’s nothing personal, he just prefers using his hands, his cock, or a toy to get you off rather than his mouth. If he does allow you to give him a blowjob, he’ll place a collar around your neck and pull on the chain if you get cheeky – after all, he’s the one in charge here. Mr. Silvair enjoys making you kneel in front of him, watching you with a small smile as you take him into your hands and pump once or twice before taking him into your mouth. If the rare occurrence happens when he gives you head, you better thank the universe. He looks so hot, holding your thighs apart while he slowly runs his tongue along your length/slit and teases you until you’re asking him to touch you more. 

P: Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)  

👣: Enjoys the slower and sensual side of things, but he typically can’t control himself as soon as he’s inside of you, so he ends up being somewhat fast and rough (not all the time, though... his thrusts remain immensely unpredictable no matter what, and he never seems to find a good rhythm to follow). Mr. Crawling enjoys the intimacy of sex, and he finds comfort in the closeness of your bodies while you two are connected at the hips. He loves being able to hold your hands and place kisses across your cheeks. Sometimes, he’s so caught up in the act of showering you with words of praise and sweet displays of affection that he forgets the fact he’s currently inside you and is supposed to be moving. He does see the appeal of rougher sex, though – it makes him feel almost animalistic whenever you two decide to set the pace for the night. 

💉: Mr. Silvair can quickly switch between the two, sometimes almost at a break-neck speed, to the point it feels like you got whiplash from the sudden change of deep and slow thrusts to fast and somehow even deeper ones (he’s very precise when it comes to hitting those sweet spots inside of you – it’s actually kind of terrifying how quickly he can locate them). He pretty much does whatever he thinks will get the most reaction out of your body and acts accordingly – nothing more, nothing less. He tends to prefer rougher and faster sex, enjoying the noises the quick snap of his hips can draw out of your mouth. However, sometimes, he finds himself preferring a slower and softer pace. This way, he’s able to focus on and truly soak in the expression on your face and appreciate the way your body feels under his palms (this sometimes just leads to you cock warming him). 

Q: Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)  

👣: Mr. Crawling is down for anything at any time. Pretty much, if you ask him to have sex, he’ll happily do it for you. Need him to eat you out or give you a blowjob, he’ll gladly oblige! After all, he is always pretty much kneeling, so he’s not being made to go out of his way to do it (even if he would go out of his way to please you). Want something more than just his tongue? That’s perfectly fine, too! There’s a private room over there he’ll gladly take you in, or maybe you’d want to try doing it in the empty locker? He’ll try not to take too long, but it’s hard since he loves being able to enjoy you to the fullest. So, Mr. Crawling can do quickies for sure, but he likes being able to take his time with you.  

💉: While he’s not opposed to quickies, he prefers being able to have proper sex with you to get the most out of it. After all, he can’t exactly see how long it takes for you to break or how much time it takes for you to start crying and babbling if you only have a few minutes to enjoy one another. However, he does make it a little challenge for himself to see how quickly he can get you to climax. Mr. Silvair will even make educated guesses on how fast you’ll finish just by making note of your current expression, body language, etc. He likes seeing how flustered you get if you think someone is going to enter the room the two of you are in, begging him to go faster which only makes him want to slow down – how mean! 

R: Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)  

👣: Mr. Crawling is down to experiment but, as stated before, he doesn’t want to try anything that causes him or you harm, even if pain is something you enjoy. He just has no desire to hurt you in any way, something which is quite different from other members of the cast who are definitely more sadistic (cough, Mr. Silvair and Mr. Machete, cough). I feel like he would be down to partake in certain aspects of BDSM, specifically B/D (bondage and discipline) and D/S (dominance and submission). He just wants to have a good time and be close to you, both physically and emotionally. 

💉: 100% down to experiment with anything (except the previously mentioned coprophilia). If you wanted to try some breathplay or impact play or even blood play, he’d be down for it. I honestly think he would enjoy breathplay since it adds more to the differential in power that he enjoys so much (there’s also a stirring in his chest when he sees how much you trust him with your life, but shhh…). Mr. Silvair is a man hungry for information and new experiences, so yes, he’s willing to try a variety of different things even if they could potentially be dangerous – he’ll always make sure you return to your original form. 

S: Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

👣 and 💉: Both of them are inhuman, which means that neither of them need any food, water, or rest to survive. Honestly, the two of them have unlimited amounts of stamina, and they can go for as long as you need them to (which could be two rounds or even eight – nothing is holding them back in the stamina department). 

T: Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

👣 and 💉: Neither of them owns any toys because, well… you can’t access them easily in the other world. If they do end up there, though, they’re probably dirty or damaged beyond repair (please do not use nasty sex toys, people – infections and diseases are no joke). 

👣: Mr. Crawling would be down to use toys on you! After all, why not? It’ll just make the experience more fun, right? You’ll probably have to explain what he’s supposed to do with them, though, since he’s not quite sure what some of them are for. If you want to use toys on him, he’s completely fine with that! Want to wear a strap and give him backshots? Go right ahead! Want to tape vibrators to him until he’s whining and writhing? He’d be happy to oblige! Overall, he’s pretty chill about it and is somewhat enthusiastic about adding toys into your sex life. 

💉: Mr. Silvair enjoys using sex toys on you, some of his favorites being cock rings/chastity belts, strangely-shaped dildos, and vibrators. He loves being able to secure the variety of different vibrators he owns to your body, making sure to cover every erogenous zone he’s noted. He doesn’t typically want toys used on him (but he’d probably try out a variety of different sex toys on himself after a while, though, curious about how each of them felt or what they did), however, and the only one he’d be willing to use consistently would be fleshlights. He’d make you watch him use it, never once allowing you to use them on him. 

U: Unfair (How much they like to tease)

👣: Mr. Crawling is very fair, and he always makes sure to give you exactly what you want in the bedroom. However, that’s not to say he never teases you, he just doesn’t do it very frequently. Sometimes when he’s going down on you, he’ll pause his minstrations to nip at or kiss the fat of your thighs, keeping your hips held down so you can’t buck up against his mouth. When you start getting antsy, he just giggles at your expression before returning his attention to that oh-so-needy part of you. 

💉: If the word unfair was personified, it would be Mr. Silvair. I’d argue teasing you and making you cry – either because you can’t cum or have cum ten times in a row – are the aspects of sex that he enjoys the most. Edging you is one of his favorite things, though, watching you whine and try to move your hips on your own when he stops moving… bad move, though, because now he’s just going to make you wait even longer for release. 

V: Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

👣: He’s not loud, per se, but he does make quite a variety of different noises whenever the two of you are intimate. He whimpers and whines frequently while you’re having sex – they’re barely audible, high-pitched, and come out sounding as though he’s completely out of breath. Sometimes you wonder if he’s in pain with the noises he makes, but he’s not. He just really enjoys being able to feel you like this as he pants like a dog in heat. 

💉: Completely quiet most of the time. Really, the only noises you’ll probably get out of him are barely audible sighs or the sound of his breathing hitching when he feels you stretch/tighten around him. It’s not that Mr. Silvair doesn’t enjoy having sex with you, he just doesn’t express that feeling verbally. You can tell in the way his hand squeezes the fat of your thigh or the way his hips stutter when he moves in and out that he’s having a good time. 

W: Wild Card (Random headcanon)

👣: Mr. Crawling loves taking showers or baths with you, though he leans more towards baths since it’s less painful on his joints (I headcanon that Mr. Crawling can stand, but walking for extended periods of time is painful for him – ambulatory wheelchair user Mr. Crawling when?). While yes, he can technically sit in the shower, having water spray his face isn’t exactly pleasant… He doesn’t view bathing with you as sexual, he just finds it relaxing as he helps you wash your back or you help him make sure all the soap is out of his hair. His favorite scent would have to be lavender – it’s very calming for him. 

💉: He keeps a journal tucked away full of terms and gestures from your world. Mr. Silvair has a deep desire to understand humans and everything they have to offer, even if he believes it's from a stance of craving knowledge (really, he wants to be able to express his endearment of you in a manner you can understand). He has a page on kissing and different kinds of kisses, a page on gestures of endearment, another on hugging and cuddling… The fact that humans’ bodies release a hormone whenever they simply spend time to bond with another socially, a hormone that turns the dial on their brain for whatever emotion they’re currently experiencing, is fascinating to him. 

X: X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

👣: Mr. Crawling is tall – and I mean extremely tall whenever he stands up (my man has got to at least be seven feet), so I can assume that he’s probably relatively proportionate under the belt. I feel like he would be big, almost concerningly so, clocking in at around 8 inches in length. Even though his size is impressive, his dick doesn’t have much girth to it and is on the thinner side, but it is thicker towards the base compared to the head (not that you can take all of him – you can certainly give it a try, though). It’s on the veinier side, too, with a very distinct and present one on the underside of his cock. 

💉: Much like pretty much the entire cast, Mr. Silvair is also on the taller half of the height spectrum. However, I feel as though he would have a more modest, yet of course still impressive dick size. I imagine him to be 6 ½ inches in length and relatively thick from the base to the head with very little change in girth. Whenever you see his cock, you’re kind of awestruck for a moment because how can a man have such a nice-looking dick?? It doesn’t make sense! There’s barely any hair, there’s no visible veins or bumps, and it’s long and thick enough to drive you wild… Plus, it’s just really nice to look at, honestly. 

Y: Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

👣 and 💉: Okay, so I know others probably will not agree with me here… but I honestly don’t think anyone in the cast has much of a sex drive, let alone a high one. I mean, they’re not human, so their cultural/social norms are different than ours, and I wouldn’t hold them to “typical” human desires on a biological/psychological level either. As I said before, I doubt any of them have been laid because sex just isn’t something the residents in the other world partake in – they’re too busy killing/fighting others, eating humans who find themselves lost in the other world, etc. Is this my asexual and world-building brain working? Probably haha. 

👣: Mr. Crawling really only wants sex whenever you want it, but he’s always enthusiastic and does get aroused whenever you ask if he wants to be intimate. While he does love feeling the warmth around his dick whenever you’re clamping down on him, almost like you were hugging him and not wanting to let him go, he enjoys the emotional connection during the moment more than anything else. I headcanon him (and all of the cast, to some degree) as existing somewhere on the aroace-spectrum. For Mr. Crawling, I see him as being reciproromantic/sexual with an average libido – he gets riled up whenever you’re riled up, though there are times he does get horny without you needing to do or say anything.  

💉: Much like Mr. Crawling, Mr. Silvair will have sex if you ask him to – he’ll make you beg for it, though, so he’s not as nice as the former. He prefers the control/power he gets from having sex rather than the sole act of intercourse (not to say he doesn’t enjoy the feeling, though). Plus, he finds the activity interesting since he knows it’s something most humans partake in with one another for a variety of reasons, from procreation to recreation. If you ask him to have sex and he isn’t in the mood, he’ll just use his hands or some toys and play around with you until you’re satisfied. I headcanon Mr. Silvair as being quoiromantic and eegosexual with a low libido. 

Z: ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

👣: Mr. Crawling doesn’t need to sleep (you know… being non-human and all), but he’ll curl up next to you on the bed and hold your body close to his while pretending to sleep alongside you. It’s kind of adorable, the way his head is nuzzled under your neck while his legs and arms are wrapped around your body, holding you close to him like you were a bodypillow or large stuffed animal. While you sleep, though, he’ll eventually place his head against your chest, listening intently to the sound of your heartbeat and the feeling of your chest rising and falling with each breath. Moments like this, laying there with you in silence, make his mind wander to scenarios with you he’ll never be able to fully experience. 

💉: Does not rest often, finding it a waste of time that could be spent doing something else. He understands you need your sleep, though, so he lets you do it in peace after you both have had sex. Mr. Silvair always manages to somehow make sure you have enough pillows to keep you comfortable or blankets to keep you from getting cold (you can’t help but wonder where he finds clean linens in such a grimy place…). Occasionally, however, he finds himself sitting next to you on the bed, fingers absentmindedly combing through your hair before he pulls his hand back as though you had burnt him – he doesn’t understand it, and he’s desperate to figure out an answer. 

[underskz]

➪ ‘TIL NEXT TUESDAY

➪ mark lee x cisfem!reader ✩ w.c 8.5k — NSFW ✩ 18+ minors dni —

✰ NON-IDOL AU

pov: you're a camgirl with a secret admirer who's a little (okay maybe a lot) obsessed

note: y'all do not understand the pain,,, the struggle,,,, the trauma that this fic has inflicted upon me <//3 i quite literally started writing it last year on mark lees stupid lil bday and have been typing away at it for so mf long and have had to dig into the deepest filthiest depths of my brain to finally finish this,,,,, anyways welcome to my twisted mind and we can all blame mark lee my greatest enemy,,,, i hate u… anyways pls make note of the warnings !!! btw don’t ask me what website they’re using idk i couldn’t be fcked to think that hard

warnings: NSFW CONTENT, aka smut, obsessive behavior, viscerally lewd comments, uh lying LOL, wolf in sheep’s clothing energy (good church boy mark lee and his hidden demons <3), honestly both reader and mark r freaky (aww they match each others freaks!), readers thinly veiled shame kink, unsafe sex/no condom, barely any prep lol, not beta read bc im a full send girl (sorry for any typos etc LMAO)

There’s clearly something wrong with user ‘66golden_boy99’ and you can’t quite figure it out. Sure, he seems to be just another fan of your work. And maybe his comments tended to be on the imaginative side.

i wanna dick you down til next tuesday

stuff your guts this thursday and stay buried in you thru the weekend

til youre cryin to me about how you can feel my dick in your throat

how pretty would you cry for me?

That little voice in the back of your head whispers (the one that sounds far too much like Donghyuck), an annoying little I told you so, someone was bound to get obsessed. It wasn’t like you never considered or even feared the possibility. 

But these comments, this person, there was something there. You click into a different video, scrolling down to a specific cluster of comments.

i wanna ruin you so fuckin bad

ruin that pussy for anyone else

wanna hear you beg me to stop 

until it turns into begging me for more

sound fun sweetheart?

Every video, every clip, every single little teaser you post; there’s a thread from him. His stupid username right there, ‘66golden_boy99’ and a digital paper trail that ranges from being unforgivably horny to borderline demented and most of the time a combination of both. 

fuck if i could keep you in a little cage…

i’d fuck u every day all day

turn you into my perfect little pet

made just for my cock

don’t you want that too?

You can’t help but let your mouth gape at that one, a cage? Your head spins at the thought, trying (and failing) to not let your imagination wander.

There’s a certain thrill that crawls down your spine, twisting itself deep into your gut and lodging itself there. An ache that just you can’t quite itch yourself, barely sated by these comments. 

So yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with user ‘66golden_boy99’ but that could only mean there’s something wrong with you.

“Mark, read this! Isn’t it insane?” Donghyuck all but smacks him in the face with your phone.

“Oh! Um.” He immediately flushes, no doubt flustered by the nature of the comments along with the fact he’s one of your few friends who still gets a little red in the cheeks by your choice of profession. 

Good church boy Mark Lee at your service. Who thankfully plucks your phone from Donghyuck and passes it back to you— most likely to avoid further being subjected to such filth in broad daylight. 

“Don’t bust a tit Hyuck, it’s just some dude living out his freaky fantasy while hiding behind a screen.” You knew it was going to be brought up the moment you saw your friends, but you had hoped that Donghyuck would have the decency to not mention it while seated outside a popular cafe on a busy street.

Jokes on you for thinking he could keep his cool about this. The moment you had sent a screenshot to the group chat Donghyuck had been rearing for a fight, overly scandalized and always righteous whenever he thought his friends were being treated badly.

There was no way in hell you’d tell him those comments piqued your debased interest.

“It’s a little creepy.” Jungwoo settles on, stealing a blueberry off of your parfait. “He doesn’t message when you’re live though.”

“Nope, only comments on clips and videos.” You bite back your disappointment, maintaining an almost clinical tone.

“Does he even watch your streams?” Jungwoo questions as he attempts to swipe a strawberry this time, narrowly thwarted by you whacking his hand with your plastic spoon. 

“What difference does it make? He’s a fucking perv!” Donghyuck snipes.

The answer is yes, he does watch every single one of your streams. Occasionally donates too, yet no messages. No live interactions.

“Hyuck, my whole fanbase are pervs.” You ignore the glare of an elderly woman as she passes by your table. “When did you become such a prude?”

It’s enough of a jab to send the man into a fit, ranting and raving about how he’s perfectly freaky enough and that his boyfriend(s) is (are) so into how weird and kinky he could get. 

“Seriously though, is he scaring you?” Mark whispers, careful to not catch Donghyuck’s attention lest he starts laying into you about your “creepy” admirer again. Mark’s considerate like that.

For a moment you sit with the question, mindlessly spooning around your half eaten parfait. Were you scared? You knew full well you were bound to deal with the occasional creep when you decided to pursue camming as a full-time job after university. 

But you weren’t— aren’t scared, initially you had maybe been a bit unnerved. Yet you hadn’t shared the messages because you wanted your friends to “save” you or anything. More so because you were shocked by the sheer audacity and of course by what was being said.

If Donghyuck wasn’t so busy talking about getting spit roasted much to the horror of Jungwoo, he’d be pestering you for the answer too. And you would’ve lied, told him that you were a little nervous but nothing that’d keep you from carrying on as usual.

Instead you have Mark asking, no trace of judgment behind his thick rimmed glasses, just a curious glint with a healthy dash of concern for a friend.

“He’s not.” Is what ends up coming out. It’s simpler than the whole truth, cleaner as well. 

You couldn’t admit to one of your best friends that it sent a thrill down your spine, to have someone so obsessed they comment utter depravity on every post you make. That you’ve checked to make sure this mystery creep was watching your every stream. And that there’s nothing you’ve ever wanted more than to be craved so deeply, to be ached for, to be someone’s sole obsession. 

“If you do get freaked out or anything, uh understandably so, we’ll figure something out. I’ll beat him up?” Mark offers one of his dorky smiles, and despite his statement inspiring little hope — seriously Mark is way too sweet to ‘beat’ anyone up — you still appreciate the sentiment. Offering him a big spoonful of whipped cream and strawberries for his valiant statement.

“Hey! Why does Mark get fed and I have to fight for a crumb?” Jungwoo cries out only causing you to roll your eyes and spark even more outrage from him.

You're thankful that the rest of the outing goes on without another mention of a certain fan of yours. Though Mark seems to be shooting more indiscernible looks your way than usual, but that’s easy to chalk down as him just projecting his own anxieties onto you.

When you all start to bid farewell Donghyuck wastes a few minutes to preach about the dangers of internet strangers, while Jungwoo goads and teases him until his nagging is turned onto Jungwoo.

Again Mark offers comfort — though you really have no need for it, considering the fact you honestly are enjoying the debased behavior more than you maybe should — and you pretend to appreciate it.

needa fuck you over and over and over

til your pretty lil pussy is gaping open

so i can see the way i paint you up inside

wouldn’t you like that?

Yes, you dig your teeth into your bottom lip, fuck yes.

You had just posted a teaser for your next video, a simple reaction to some random threesome video your subscribers had begged you to watch. 

And as always without fail, only a few minutes after you’ve hit post your phone lights up with notifications from ‘66golden_boy99’. You should hate how much you look forward to it— how you’re practically gagging for it (him).

You remember his first thread of comments, remember the scandal that pumped through your veins as the words registered in your brain. 

The thrill.

well aren’t you a sweet thing

He had started it off so normally.

you look like you dont care for just any kind of fun

you look like u need to be fucked within an inch of your life

thrown around and violated like a stupid little toy

i could do that

It’s the only time he hadn’t ended with a question. The only statement needed to stake his claim, to solidify his place. 

It planted the seed right in your lust ridden mind, the growing need to see more and more. It becomes a sick little ritual, to go looking for his comments just after you tuck yourself into bed under the guise of resting for the day. 

You’re desperate enough to reread old ones, to stare at the same comments from days or even weeks ago. Sometimes he’ll throw you a bone, coming back to leave another thread of comments for you to find. 

wanna fill you up so bad

make you take it over and over and over

til my cum is dripping outta you for days

so that all that’s in your pretty head is the thought of my cock pumping you full

wanna make it happen?

Maybe it’s the way you’ve never replied to them, or even acknowledge them in a stream. It doesn’t deter him from continuing, his perverted dedication proving something to you. Something twisted and delicious and all too tempting.

need you so bad

just need to use you over and over and over and over so fuckin bad

turn you into my own pretty fleshlight to use whenever i please

just wanna use you all up baby

how much can you take?

Thursday streams are one of your three weekly streams, and while it had marginally less viewers therefore profit than your Friday and every other Saturday ones, it was by far your favorite.

The chat is far more relaxed, which means you have a better chance to interact with viewers, to have a more intimate stream.

It means you can instead sit at your desk, dressed in nothing but an oversized white tee, playing with your hair and batting your lashes. While making idle conversation as your viewers dutifully pay you compliments and donate small amounts as a hello.

66golden_boy99: hey there

“Oh? Golden boy? And here I was thinking you weren’t interested enough in having a live convo with me.” You wonder if he waited for this, a Thursday stream with an even lower than usual number of viewers to finally send his first message in chat. Was your little freak shy? Only able to sling his filth when nobody was paying attention?

Too late for that, he was in your sights now. 

66golden_boy99: nah just liked sitting here and watching you too much

“Is that so?” You feign distraction, looking off towards the side as you tap your chin thoughtfully. “But here I am, doing nothing. Isn’t that boring?”

There’s a flood of no’s in the chat, messages ranging from horny to sweet about how some like just chatting and others saying that you should at least take off your shirt.

“My shirt? It’s only been twenty-ish minutes since I’ve started and you all don’t wanna butter me up first? Tell me how pretty I am?” You’re accused of being a tease, which is of course your exact angle. Some of them bite, sending cooing comments about how they’d love to see your shirt off, some going as far as to send in a few dollars. 

$200 from 66golden_boy99

it’s okay sweetheart, show em what’ll be mine

Your jaw drops, because while he had tipped in the past, it was never this much. You can’t help the shiver that itches down your spine, ‘what’ll be mine’ he says, like he already has you in the bag.

“Aww you wanna see me that bad? Everyone say thank you to Golden Boy!” You goad, making a show of hooking your thumbs in the hem of your shirt. Slowly you drag the fabric across your flesh, inch by inch exposing how you truly had nothing under your flimsy excuse for clothing. 

66golden_boy99: and where’s your thank you?

“That’s right, you were so generous after all, I should give you a little treat to show my appreciation.” Again you flutter your lashes. “How do you want me?”

66golden_boy99: spreading your legs like a desperate slut

66golden_boy99: wanna see you fuck your fingers

66golden_boy99: cmon babe show off your perfect pussy and open yourself up for me

“Anything for you.” And maybe you’re a little fucked in the head for how much you mean it. 

You’ve never had a favorite before. Nobody in your chat, comments and so on have ever caught your attention. They’ve never bothered to be so interesting, to be so openly obsessed.

Slowly you let your hands wander, cupping your tits before letting your fingertips dance along your ribcage, inching down, down, down. 

You pathetically think of him, wonder who’s on the other side of the screen. It could be some old man, or some greasy incel, maybe it’s someone you’ve met on the street. It could be anyone, and it sickens you almost as much as it excites you.

Carefully, you plant your feet on the edge of your desk, sliding down a few inches in your chair as you spread nice and wide for the camera. 

“This what you want?” The words jumble in your mouth as your fingers continue to  find their way south. You dig your nails into your thighs, moaning loudly at the bite of them into your tender skin.

Shame was something that had long escaped you in this field of work, only the tastefully faked sense of it ever gracing you these days. But there’s that all too familiar burn crawling back into your chest after almost years of nothing. Scorching away at your insides as your fingers drag along your waiting pussy. 

You’re wet, you’re wet and it’s because of some fucking freak on the internet. Your eyes zero in on the chat, hoping to catch a comment from him.

66golden_boy99: fucking perfect for me always so good

It’s all you need to keep going, to let wanton moans tumble out left and right as your back arches into your own touch.

The sense of shame doesn’t diminish, doesn’t fade as you tease your clit and pump your fingers pitifully into your sopping cunt, loudly bemoaning the fact you didn’t grab a toy. 

66golden_boy99: you’ll cum just like this baby, no toys, just your fingers and wishing it was me instead

“Nnn- please.” It’s whiner than you’ve ever heard yourself, because goddammit you are wishing it was him. Old man be damned he had a wicked way of speaking, of sneaking into the dark recesses of your mind and ripping you open. Exposing a side of you that you’d long since buried, a side of you craving to be devoured wholly.

Pleasure snakes through your body, dropping down into your belly as you cum with a whimper. You make a show of bringing your fingers to your lips, tongue flicking out to taste yourself, that sick part of you hoping it makes him want you more. 

You slump against your chair, mindlessly answering chats as you fix yourself into a more comfortable position. You don’t bother looking for your shirt, letting your viewers enjoy watching your chest rise and fall in panting breaths, admire the way the sweat gleams on your skin.

You hope his eyes are glued to his screen. You hope you’re driving him absolutely insane.

“I fear I might be tapped out for the night, but don’t worry there’s always Sunday.” You manage to get out a real sentence, your brain still a little mushy from the post-orgasm haze. “Sweet dreams everyone!” 

You take a moment to let the chat fill with well wishes, a few more donations and scan for a message from one user in particular.  

66golden_boy99: good night sweet thing, dream of me

And oh, you just might. 

Ending streams were nothing special, just a click of a button and your privacy was all yours again. Leaving you with a plethora of thoughts, a tiny remnant of that formerly elusive shame and a craving for something or more accurately someone. 

Send a friend request to 66golden_boy99?

What did you have to lose? What did you have to gain? 

There’s a little angel on your shoulder in the shape of Donghyuck, your ever annoying moral compass, telling you to go shower and to never feed into this anonymous man’s delusions again.

While the little devil on your shoulder shaped like Yuta does nothing, sits there and smirks at you knowing full well you’ll choose his route. 

You always do. 

Sorry Hyuck.

Friend request sent!

Three days go by, no comments, no messages on stream, nothing. Absolute silence.

You can’t help yourself but watch each excruciating second tick by, waiting for something, anything from him. Three whole days of obsessively checking your phone, every social media tied to your occupation and nothing.

It’s like he up and fucking forgot about you. And maybe three days seems too short of a timeline to be losing it, but this is a man who has been all over your account — and notifications — for months.

And he gets scared off by a friend request. 

God, you should’ve known better than to trust Yuta, even if he was just a figment of your imagination at that moment. Though the real Yuta would’ve said the same thing anyway, therefore still making this whole ordeal his fault.

But as fun as blaming your friend and obsessing over whether your twisted little admirer would accept your request, let alone give you something to work with nowadays. It was driving you up the fucking wall. 

You need a distraction, and you need it badly.

Your usual and immediate reaction to having nothing to do and needing attention would be to ask Donghyuck to go out and do something stupid, but the lucky bastard was on vacation with his boyfriend(s?) probably getting fucked into the new year.

So you’re left to consider your options but Jungwoo is definitely still at work and Yuta just left to visit his family. And your other friends lived too far.

That only left you with Mark. God, you need more friends in close proximity. Not because you don’t like Mark, you adore the man if anything and still consider him one of your best friends. It's just that despite all the years of friendship the two of you just haven’t figured out how to quite mesh conversationally like the others. 

You need more spark, conviction. Mark Lee talks like a wet noodle came to life and decided to use ‘yo’, ‘dude’ and ‘woah’ on a permanent rotation. 

At least he’s a great listener.

And since he’s one of your closest friends nonetheless, he would have no problem with you coming over to eat his snacks and lounge on his couch while he works from home. 

So you shoot him a text.

TO: marky markmarkly sparkly can i cum over ;P 

FROM: marky markHaha sure dude! I told you stop spelling it like that > < 

TO: marky markprude be there in 10 want coffee ?

FROM: marky markSure! Caramel latte please :3 

He even texts like a good and innocent church boy. But he’s definitely had girlfriends, and that one boyfriend, so there’s no way he’s a virgin. Is it possible to be a blushing virgin in spirit and at heart?

“Hey beautiful, what can I get ya?” The barista’s stare is nothing short of sleazy, not even bothering to make eye contact as he tries to magically see through your clothing. 

“I’ll take a caramel latte, lemme double check what my boyfriend wanted, hmm just a regular coffee.” And okay it’s a little demeaning to Mark to switch your coffee orders in front of this greaseball. 

The boyfriend comment works well enough, if you take the guy opting to just stare at your ass as you walk out the door instead of bullying you for your number a win.

Thankfully Mark's apartment is just around the corner, and somehow you manage to key in the code not once but twice despite carrying two drinks.

“Marky! Coffee!” Immediately he comes tumbling down the hallway, eyes wide with confusion. His hair is sticking up in different directions, his glasses crooked and half-hanging off his face. His sweat stained white tee, and low hanging gray sweats only the cherry atop the homebody trainwreck sundae of a man before you.

“Hey, yo, shit! Uh dude!” He stops a few steps in front of you, scratching his head sheepishly. “I thought…you would take longer.”

“Do I look like Jungwoo? Or worse, Yuta?” You feign offense with a dramatic gasp. 

“Nah! Ha…ha, um come on in, it’s a fuckin’ mess but like you know, ‘m swamped with work and…”

You hand him his latte and push past him, barely batting an eye at the nightmarish state of his apartment. There’s mountains of paperwork and books stacked along the walls, empty food boxes, bags and wrappers scattered across the floor (along with any other available surface) and you’re trying desperately to not gag at the state of his kitchen.

“Johnny would clean?” You muse as you kick aside an empty pasta box. 

“Johnny would clean.” He sighs. Johnny, being Mark’s roommate, along with (one of) Donghyuck’s boyfriend(s???) is currently on vacation. On top of that, from what you've heard, he’s barely been at the apartment at all the past few months. Definitely too busy catering to every single one of Hyuck’s whims and dramatics.

“I could help?”

“Woah! I couldn’t ask you that, I made this mess on my own. I’ll clean it er.. eventually.” He gestures loosely.

“Mark Lee.” You muster up your best deadpan tone. “I’m so bored I’m gonna chew my own hand off, please let me help you clean your awfully disgusting apartment.” 

“That bad?” He snorts.

“I think that pile of dust moved on it’s own.” At least you’re hoping it’s a pile of dust and not some undiscovered rodent that thrives in the apartments of bachelors with piss poor cleaning habits.

“…I think you’re right. Hey um, lemme just shower and change, I think I’m just as gross as this place. We can clean together. So just…” He shoves aside the pile of laundry inhabiting the couch just enough to give you a place to sit. “Sit for a second?”

The poor guy looks like he’s on the brink of a meltdown, and if you didn’t know Mark as well as you do you would’ve called an ambulance. But he just always has that air around him, exhausted and overworked— but always smiling through it.

“I’m in no rush.” You pat his arm before taking a seat in the space he so generously carved out for you. The second Mark walks off to the bathroom you make yourself nice and comfortable, switching on the TV, straightening out some of the magazines and assorted papers on the coffee table. 

Mindlessly you even start folding some of the laundry next to you. The thought of taking pictures and sending them to Donghyuck so he could show Johnny just how far his roomie has fallen in his absence promptly interrupts your side task.

But to your dismay you find your phone is barely holding on by a few measly percentages. Looking around the living room you know there’s definitely no hope in trying to find a charger on your own. So instead you head off towards the bathroom, following the sound of the shower pouring down.

“Mark!” You knock harshly, hoping he can hear you okay. 

“Yeah?” His voice comes through clear, sounding only a little startled by your sudden presence.  

“Need to charge my phone!” 

There’s a moment of pause and you can only assume it’s because his room is so hellish he can’t even remember where he put the thing.

“By my bed!”

“Thanks!”

His room is actually better than the living room and kitchen, not by much, but still better. You navigate around the clothes and books strewn about the floor. Giggling at his wastebasket full of balled up tissues and a used up bottle of lotion, you definitely couldn’t wait to tell Donghyuck when he gets back. 

Making fun of Mark was an art, a beloved pastime of your friend group. And he always took it like a champ.

You plop down on his unmade bed, looking around for his charger. It’s half under the bed when you spot it, tugging the cord only for there to be a bit of resistance. Carefully you lower yourself to the floor, yanking at the charger and forcing Mark’s IPad to come flying at you.

“Shit!” It lands next to you face down on the hardwood and you pray to whatever gods that you haven’t cracked it. Slowly you pick it up, carefully flipping it over as you prepare yourself for the damage.

“Oh, my god.”

Because it’s not cracked, it’s not even locked, it’s still open to what Mark had been watching last to be exact.

One of your streams, one of your streams with you bent over one of your pillows, both holes stuffed with toys in the perfect position for the camera to see everything. It’s not even a new video, you haven’t done anything like that in months. 

There’s a blur in your vision as you shoot up, lightheaded from standing up straight so suddenly. A scorching heat begins to burn in your gut, creeping through your veins. 

You can still hear the shower going, and you know it must be wrong, to go through his private device like this but…it’s you. He’s been watching you, one of your most bible-thumping, prude-built friends who can barely look you in the eyes and blushes whenever you or your friends make dirty jokes, has been watching your debaucherous streams and has never said a word. 

Sure, Yuta and Jungwoo have confessed to watching more than once and Donghyuck is a fucking mod for your streams. It never bothered you if your friends watched, it wouldn’t bother you now.

But this is…this is different. He kept his viewership a secret, and you weren’t sure what to make of it. Was he too embarrassed to say? Was he afraid it’d ruin your friendship?

You close out the video, looking through his watch history which consists solely of your videos, looking at who he follows — you, only you, and you can’t tell if that’s a good thing yet — and now the used tissues in his trash bin don’t feel so funny anymore. 

“Oh.” You mutter lamely as you open up his comment history. Fucking oh. 

66golden_boy99: wanna fuck you with my tongue til youre squirting all over my face

And your world collapses, punctuated by the sound of the shower turning off— yet that’s lost on your ears. You can’t hear anything but the furious pound of your heart trying to dismantle your ribcage, your blood rushing through your veins and sloshing around your head. 

Mark Lee, sweet, kind and innocent. Mark Lee, who stutters just talking about who he likes. Mark Lee, the resident saint of the group.

Is him. 

The man who’s been peddling filth into your mind, who’s been haunting you every time you decide to start your stream or post a video, skulking around every comment section with your name on it. 

Is Mark fucking Lee.

“Heya! Did ya find…it.” It’s cinematic honestly, the way his stride slows as his eyes frantically flicker back and forth between you and the IPad. “Y-Y-You!”

It’s instantaneous, his face turning a brilliant crimson as he trips over himself to grab the tablet and throw it haphazardly to the side.

His chest is heaving, panic creasing his features as you look him over. He kept the same color scheme, you think emptily, white tank top and gray basketball shorts. It does nothing for your brain as you stare at him mouth agape.

“I c-can explain?” He has the audacity to squeak, to look ashamed even. He’s trying to hide behind his bangs as they fall over his eyes, trying to look so innocent despite his filthy secret coming to light.  

“Why didn’t you accept my friend request?” It’s probably not what you should open with, and Mark’s jaw simply hanging open at the question might be a testament to that.

“…What?” His croaks, voice hoarse.

“You didn’t accept it, why? And where have you been, it’s been three whole days? I’ve been fucking waiting for—”

“You’re not mad?” His voice is still uneven, and even a pitch higher. 

“Mad? Mad? I’m pissed, you, you idiot!” And you are. Probably. Your mind so fucked from trying to comprehend this newfound piece of info you don’t even know where to begin with how you’re feeling. So mad must be the best place to start. 

“For months I’ve been wondering who had the fucking balls to send these freaky borderline insane comments.” He flinches. “Wondering just who the hell was making me feel like, like…that.”

“I—”

“And it was you! Right under my nose, looking at me with those stupid round eyes and big glasses a-and you just pretended like you knew nothing? …I got off to you on stream?” You hate the way your voice sounds so high in your ears, teetering on the edge of full blown shrieking.

“Please, I’m sor…”

“When Hyuck showed those comments were you even ashamed?” You hiss.

He’s blubbering now, eyes pinned somewhere to the ground; half cooked sentences or maybe excuses scattering about the floor with the rest of his mess. It’s all lost on your ears, a million different thoughts in your head drowning it all out. 

His hands raise as if admitting defeat, even beginning to back away in a pitiful attempt at escaping but like hell you’ll let the fool get away from you now. 

“Goddammit, Mark Lee, look at me!” And he does, his mouth snapping shut and eyes focusing on you. His stupid glasses are nowhere to be seen, giving you an unfiltered front row view of how his pupils are blown wide. “Did you mean it?” 

“Mean…what?” You could kill him, you really could because how after all these months of sending you towards the edge with the crudest, filthiest words he can barely say a proper sentence standing before you.

“Any of it! All of it, was it all just talk?” You must’ve hit a nerve. He’s silent again, eyes narrowing for a moment at the accusation. But it slips away, a fickle persona he shoves down. 

His hands lower to his sides.

“...What do you want?” His voice is more even, eyebrows knitting together. 

You know what he’s asking — he was obvious like that, his heart always worn so proudly on his sleeve — because even now with his disgusting secret out in the open between the two of you. He has the audacity to try to take the gentlemanly route of getting you to explicitly state what you want from him, if you want him. 

When all you’ve been waiting for was for him to take.

“What do I want, huh? Let me tell you what I think first.” You know this will definitely make or break what happens next, and maybe even your friendship. But you’re sick of his games, of dancing around whatever the hell was going on between the two of you. “I think you’re all bark and no fucking bite, I think you hide behind a screen because you’re a coward and you probably couldn’t fuck your way out of a wet paper bag.”

His eyes narrow once more.

“You hide behind your good little god fearing boy next door persona when you’re a freak who likes watching one of his best friends get off on camera!” 

He takes a step closer.

“I think you’re filthy and depraved, a repressed weirdo with disgusting kinks. A borderline incel!”

And another step.

“I bet the second you actually got inside of me you’d cum and cry yourself to sleep in a matter of seconds.” His expression darkens at that, and now you’re starting to think that you should stop. 

But where’s the fun in that?

“You couldn’t handle even half the shit you said online, you cowardly little prude, you tiny dicked—”

You don’t realize his hands are on you until you're backed against the wall, one tightly gripping your hip while the other lands on your chest keeping you firmly in place.

“You never shut up. Even in your streams and videos you're constantly yammering on, whimpering and whining and begging.” His voice is low, buzzing around your ears and in your head. You look down at the tent forming in his shorts, mouth drying and watering simultaneously.  

“That for me?” Your tongue feels thick as you look up at him through your lashes.

The hand on your chest inches up, until his palm settles against your throat and you're left wondering if he’ll indulge you by tightening his fingers. Even just a little.

“Even now, can’t shut the fuck up.” He moves in closer, until his hardened cock is against your thigh and he’s forcing his knee between yours. “I asked what you wanted, not for you to insult me.”

“You-”

“So I’ll tell you what I want.” And you feel so wildly out of your depth, there’s a cognitive dissonance you can’t quite escape. Good church boy Mark means wholesome activities, ice cream in the park, farmer’s markets and, and–  

“And then you’re gonna try again for me.” 

“M-Me?” It comes out lamely. Is this really Mark Lee? You think belatedly. Looking at you like he wants to tear you apart inch by inch with nothing but his teeth and tongue.

“I want you on my tongue, on my cock, want you begging for me to stop but it’s all just a filthy fucking lie. I want you to want me to ruin you, this, us.” His voice is raspier, laced with a desperation and craving you’ve never heard before and damn do you need to hear more, so much more.

“So try again. Tell me what you want.” And you can see it, that plea in his eyes for you to just say it. To know you want this as badly as he does, the promise, the threat of him finally letting go looming over the two of you.

“Want.” You grab him by the face, pressing your nose against his and staring into the black depths of his pupils. “Want good boy Mark Lee to die right before my eyes, wan’ you to eat me ‘til nothin’ is left.”

It’s slurred, you’re delirious, so drunk off the way he’s already hard off of you screaming at him (or maybe it was getting caught), at the way he’s demanding you to express your want for him when you’d rather just be on your knees.

But the thing is you always have wanted, craved. That underlying itch to see one of your best friends let loose, the borderline wanting (what you thought was) a random stranger to break into your apartment and do filthy, unmentionable things to you. When you flipped over that IPad thinking you broke it to find yourself being the object of his debauched desire, when you saw his username on the site. 

You ached.

It’s stupid and toeing the line of embarrassing with how badly you want, no, need him, how turned on by the fact he doesn’t even know which person to be in front of you. Doesn’t quite know how to be both.

“Let him die.” Is all he can say, having the audacity to take advantage of your stupor to kiss you. To push you back up against the wall and slot his lips against yours, pulling back just to dive back in before you could truly feel his absence. Over and over each one messier, hotter than the last as a debaucherous hunger flows between the two of you.

“You don’t get it.” He mumbles, pressing himself firmly against you, sweat starting to prickle against your skin. “When y-you started camming I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

And suddenly you could see it, vividly. Just behind your eyelids was Mark hunched over in his bed, one of your streams or videos playing in the background as he furiously chased his release. Only to be left wallowing in the shame of jerking it with cheap lotion to you, forced to clean himself off with even cheaper tissues and spending the rest of his night completely alone.

“Your perfect fucking pussy, for everyone to see…when I’ve been waiting.” He rasps, hands finding their way back onto your body. “Couldn’t stand it, couldn’t fuckin’ stand it.”

“Mm, Ma-ark…” Without hesitation he twists his head, allowing himself to sink his teeth at the base of your throat. Pulling away to focus another dark look at you, that heady mixture of unmitigated want and wicked promises swirling in his eyes.

“S’All I could think about, even with our friends.” He noses along your jaw, nipping at your earlobe as his breathing turns ragged. “Wanted to haul you onto the table and fuck you ‘til your head went dumb, ‘til all was left was you squealing like a fuckin’ whore while they all watched.”

There’s a cartoon halo of stars around your head, surely there is, each word from his mouth adding another to the ditzy constellation circling your brain. This is him, this is Mark ‘Golden Boy’ Lee and his once hidden (and so deliciously unhinged) silver tongue. 

“Pl-Please, oh fu— please.” His lips are back to working against your throat, and just as you try to reach up and grab at him, to try and sway him into relieving some of the tension building in the air. 

He steps back, yanking at your arm.

Yet he doesn’t give you a chance to simply fall, or even react. Instead he uses your off-kilter balance to push you onto your knees, thankful that he’s a sloppy loser when you land on a pile of clothes.

“This.” He doesn’t bother being shy about tugging his shorts and boxers off in one fluid motion. “This is how I want you.”

He pauses, as if to let you admire the view and you’re not nearly above doing so as your eyes roam so shamelessly. 

Of course he’s cut, with neatly trimmed hair adorning his groin. And though he's just above average in length, he definitely makes up in girth. You think hazily that calling him tiny dicked was definitely a lie.

Your mouth waters.

He lets out a low chuckle of all things, surely laughing at the way your eyes have widened. And maybe you did let your tongue swipe over your lips in anticipation.

“Go ahead, before I make it hurt.” His words are delayed, understanding creeping in slowly; impaired by having long let that fog of desperation cloud your mind. 

You move before you can think, nosing along the side of his cock, pressing a kiss to a cute little mole that you hope to revisit at a later date. But for now you’re flattening your tongue against the base of his shaft and dragging it up his length at a frustrating rate.

He’s heavy on your tongue, thick and heavy and so so hot, and fuck he tastes good or maybe you’re just already addicted. Doomed from the start. 

There’s a war raging in your mind, whether to try your hardest to please him with your mouth, all too tempted to hear the pretty, desperate sounds he’ll make and maybe it’ll earn you a bit of praise. Or to tease until he’s pissed off enough to throw any regard for you and your (throat’s) wellbeing out the window.

The latter is far more appealing.

Coyly you look up at him again through your lashes once more, bringing your tongue to tease at the tip of his cock, licking off a bead of precum forming.

“Are you tryin’ to blow me or piss me off?” Ah, so he has you all figured out.

“Haven’t decided.” You reply properly by taking his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before sinking further down and ignoring the slightly uncomfortable stretch of your lips. You could get used to this.

Languidly you try to mind your teeth as you sink further down, your jaw aching at the unprecedented stretch. Shallowly you bob your head, barely giving anything as you look up to meet his burning gaze.

“Enough.” He groans, clearly sick of the teasing as his hand comes around to hook his fingers around the back of your head.  

It’s enough of a warning as your hands come up to grip at his bare thighs, whimpering at the first tentative thrust. Unable to escape, knees aching and you can’t help but wonder how damp your panties will be by the time you get them off.

He’s careful at first, not to be too rough in his movements, trying to be considerate of your comfort. It’s ridiculous, and you let him know as much by stabbing your nails into his thighs only forcing him to accidentally bottom out. 

Tears well in your eyes as you choke, gagging around the sinfully thick intrusion into your throat.

“Woah! Fuck, I’m sor-”

He starts to pull away, and desperately you chase after him. But the fucker pulls out, grabbing you by the cheeks to look you in the eyes. 

“Do I have to start calling you names again?” Your voice is already wrecked, but not nearly enough, it could be worse, so much worse. If he would just fully let go. “Or are you just scared?”

He blinks at you, once, twice, those stupidly big eyes of his narrowing into something dangerous. 

“Two taps if it’s too much.”

“It won’t be.” You barely finish the sentence as he grabs you on either side of your head with both hands, pressing the leaking head of his cock against the seam of your lips, precum smearing across. You barely open your mouth before he’s shoving his entire cock down your throat again. 

You can see him, blurred by the tears stuck to your lashes, watching you with such reverence as you pitifully try to relax, still unable to avoid gagging and choking. Yet this time he offers no reprieve, keeps you firmly in place as tears stream down your face and your nails continue to dig into his thighs.

“T-That’s it, choke.” The break in his voice sends something hot through your chest, snaking through the rest of your body and creeping into your veins. How embarrassed would you really be if you came just from having your throat fucked? 

“Where are you?” Your wandering thoughts immediately cease, drawn back in by his fingers dancing along your cheekbone before settling at the back of your head.

He doesn’t even have the decency to let you catch your breath after pulling your attention, shallow thrusts turning reckless as he fucks your face with little regard for you— it’s everything you’ve every wanted from him.

It sends another surge of heat down into your belly, pooling between your thighs and now you’re wondering if your poor panties will even be salvageable after this. 

“Fuck that’s it, so fuckin’ good for me.” He bites his lip, and a part of you wishes you could be tugging on it too with your teeth. 

Use me, use me, use me. The thought fills your mind, leaving room for nothing else but Mark and his cock and your jaw and throat struggling to keep up. 

Frantically you tap on his calf, his response instantaneous.

“You good?” He pulls out again, swiping his thumb along your bottom lip to wipe away a mess of spit and precum.

“Need you,” and you could care less how your voice shakes and rasps, “need you in me so bad. Fuck me.” 

Your fingers dig into his thighs as you muster up the best pitiful look possible, silently begging for more. 

“C-Condom, need, condom.” He huffs, looking around his room frantically.

“Like hell, what happened to painting my insides huh?” Shakily you stand up, managing to push him towards the bed which he doesn’t even bother resisting. “Thought you wanted your cum dripping from my pussy for days.”

And he fucking growls, the sound so wildly animalistic you can barely believe it came from him.

“That what you want? You wanna feel me for days?” You’re on your back in a matter of seconds, his forearms landing on either side of your head to cage you in. He’s staring you down with an uncharacteristic intensity; a predator sizing up his prey.

“Ruin me for anybody else.” It comes out broken, desperation seeping from each word. How much more do you need to bend before he finally breaks?

He’s back on you, a barrage of teeth and tongue assaulting your flesh as his hands leave no part of you untouched, kneading and feeling. Just as you try to bring your own shirt over your head he pushes away your hands, allowing him to take over stripping you bare. 

Each caress of his fingers leaves a trail of fire, almost too hot to bear.  

“Please Marky, please.” It comes out high and whiny and so very needy. “Touch me more.” 

“I’ll give you what you want, just lemme…fuck lemme look at you.” He catches your wrists just as you try to bring your hands up to cover your face, pinning your arms against your sides as his eye shamelessly trace over your figure. There’s a glint of something hungry, swirled with something akin to adoration.

“Y-You like m-me, you’re obsessed.” You

“Yeah, I really fucking am.” He’s grinning, all teeth with a hint of gums that makes your heart somehow pound even harder and you know you’re well and truly fucked. “Like you s’much gonna keep you on my cock forever.” 

He lets go of your hands, grabbing at your thighs to spread them apart, callused fingers dragging up until he’s almost carelessly pressing a finger into you.

“Fuck, you can… o-oh keep me!” You whimper as he bullies one, then two more fingers into your throbbing cunt— there’s a determination bordering on desperation creasing his brow in order to prep you as quickly as possible. 

“Next time, I’ll spend fuckin’ hours doin’ this.” You whine as he drags his fingers out of you.

His hands hook under your thighs, pressing up and up until he can hook your legs over his shoulders and he’s pressing the blunt head of his cock against your hole. There’s a slight sting as he pushes in, the stretch unfamiliar and despite how wet you are some lube would’ve helped. 

But you well and truly could care less.

“I don’t care who sees this, you, I’m the only one who gets to touch, the only one who gets to fuck you like this.” He rasps, bottoming out in one harsh thrust and punching the air out of your lungs.

He’s kind enough to let you catch your breath, indulging you with a few soft kisses along your jaw and nipping at your bottom lip. But it doesn’t last long, following a sloppy kiss with a tentative grind of his hips, then a soft thrust. 

Those desperate whines you usually play up for your streams easily escaping your lips as he builds a steady rhythm. 

“Yes, yes, yes, Mark.” It’s perfect, every single thrust is perfect, the way you're folded in half, the feeling of his fingers digging into you, the strain of toned muscles under flushed skin; so fucking perfect. “Only you.”

And you mean it, fully, wholeheartedly without any hesitation. Only Mark, if that’s what he wants then you want it too, whatever Mark wants he can have.

“M’Close, fuck, I’m so close.” You whimper, raking your fingers through his still damp hair.

“Already?” It spears through your chest, harsh and burning and tears down your belly. 

There’s a split second of perfect silence interrupting the sound of skin slapping against skin, a ringing in your ears followed by the crash of your heart into your ribcage. 

Pleasure slices down your spine, rippling through your body in crashing waves and leaving your head spinning.

He fucks you through the high, any chance of a coherent thought spilling right out of your ears, his name garbled and strained as it forces it’s way past your lips. 

He slows, as if he’s about to waste both your time and do something stupid like pull out and finish on your stomach. And like hell you’re letting that happen, grabbing at his head with both hands and smashing your lips together, pulling away just enough to stare into blown pupils.

“Cum inside me, you bitch!” His teeth come down on your bottom lip, the bite of iron and tang of sweat and spit swirling together on your tongue dizzying, intoxicating. He slams back into you with a force you didn’t know he had, swallowing down a broken moan from his lips as he spills into you. 

“I’m still gonna stream.”  The two of you have settled on his now made bed, tucked under the covers. You had no problem letting Mark dress you in a clean tee and boxers, watching sleepily from his desk chair as he made his bed before depositing you in it.

“I’ll still watch.” He hums. 

“And comment?” It brings up the matter from earlier, the one you never got an answer to. “Why didn’t you?”

“I…I didn’t know what to do. Uh, it was one thing, hiding, but then I thought you…didn’t…”

“Didn’t?” You raise your head, trying to level your gaze to his. 

“Didn’t like m- it, the comments, those messages in chat, all of it. Thought you were just tryin’ to message me to stop. And then I got scared you somehow knew it was…me.” He has that sheepish look smearing his features, a hand coming up to scratch at his nape. 

You stare at him silently, watching as his eyes bounce around your face searching for some hint of what you could possibly be thinking.

“Look where that got us, I can’t even feel my legs, oh my god you have to fuck me on stream, please!”

“H-Huh? Live? Yo I can’t just-”

“Think about it, Marky.” Aching hips and sore muscles be damned, you somehow manage to climb into his lap and straddle his thighs. “Fucking me, on camera, for everyone to see just what you do to me. I’d be so good for you.”

You can see it, what little resolve he had starting to crumble, just a little more.

“Don’t you want that?” It’s his words and he knows it, starting to see the monster he’s created. You run your fingers along his jaw, settling one hand on his shoulder while the other comes up to muss up fluffy brown locks. “Stretching me on your fat cock for my pitiful little viewers to see, wishing it was them driving me insane.”

“Baby…” The pet name from his lips is instantly addicting, and you need so much more of it.

“Please.” And now you’re not sure what you’re begging for, your body screams for you to stop, to not roll your hips against his because it’s far too soon to be fucked into the mattress again.

“If, if you don’t stop doing that.” He groans. “You’re not gonna be able to stream tomorrow.” 

You blink. 

“Wow you really are my biggest fan.”

“Huh?”

“Got my schedule memorized and everything, does that mean we could do it tomorrow? You’ll fuck me on stream tomorrow?”

“I’ll think about it.” 

“Seriously I–”

“Actually, cancel it.” He’s hooking his hands under your thighs, drawing you closer. “Don’t look at me like that, I said cancel it.”  

“Mm, I don’t know if I can go again yet.” But there’s no conviction behind your words.

“You’re fine, I’ll do all the work.” You’re fine he says, it sends a thrill up your spine right into your brain, reworking the entire chemistry in there. It had been there in the back of your mind, slipping in somewhere between finding out his secret and that first kiss. 

You’re absolutely hooked, simply addicted, to Mark Lee. 

“Okay.” You grin at him.

[asxgard]

I wanted something where Abbott gets involved with a younger resident — maybe everyone in the ER knows about it, except the interns, since it’s their first day. Maybe the resident doesn’t like Trinity’s style, and Trinity goes to complain to Jack, but Jack defends his resident.

In Your Defense | one shot

Dr. Jack Abbot x f!resident!reader

Requested

Summary: After getting on your nerves all day, you and Santos finally go toe-to-toe over a patient. Jack comes to your defense.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: I’ve been floating around ideas of my own of Jack with a resident👀so this was fun!

Sorry it took a bit! I got distracted with a few other things, and I wanted to make sure Companionship got out yesterday. Plus, this became a lot longer than I originally intended. I hope you like it @mayabbot !

Word Count: 2.7k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content.

Warnings: age gap, semi-established relationship, foul language, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, mild Santos hate due difference in style, Pittfest

not beta read

The thing about Dr. Jack Abbot was, you did not need a label to know what you meant to him. There was no officiality of a title, even though you were both serious about each other — but frankly, the title was just a word. You knew where you stood, spending nights in his apartment and cooking breakfast together. He never hesitated to remind you that you belonged to him. Not in the overly possessive way, but in the silent always there type of way.

Jack had a past, and while you never pushed, he opened slowly. He had held you out of reach for some time before you realized what was truly brewing between you, and after he began to share, you thought the slow, quiet way you existed around each other was enough. He had loved and lost, he had fought and sacrificed, so you always assured him there was no rush. Not with you. You supposed there would be something to be said when you finished your residency, since that was a big priority in your life, but that was still a year away.

Like most things, your relationship with Jack did not stay secret for long in the halls of the Pitt. You really should have known better — Princess and Perlah were bloodhounds when it came to sniffing out things like that, and the bet did little to keep it private. You were unsure who had started it, but you were surprised that it was Robby who had walked away with the money. It felt like cheating, since he had insider knowledge after catching the two of you at a bar, but you never said anything.

Waking up in his bed alone was not uncommon — since after your dayshifts you sometimes would just wander to his apartment as opposed to your own. You would curl into his sheets and his smell, even when he would not be home all night. He never minded, and frankly even encouraged it. Working opposite shifts than him cut back on time you had together, but you knew it was only a matter of time before you were back on nights due to your flip-flopping schedule.

He looked worn down when you arrived at the Pitt for your shift, bright-eyed from a full night's rest in his bed. He followed you into the staff lounge so you could put your lunch away and he poured a bit of coffee to top off your thermos.

“Is it a ‘good morning’ type of morning, or a quiet ‘let me contemplate’ type of morning?”

He pursed his lips, “Neither. I lost a vet last night, spent two hours coding him.”

You sucked in a breath, knowing it had been a rough one for him. Those nights were far and few between, but never handled them very well. He was getting better, but oftentimes, he found himself on the roof.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” You said, knowing there was not much to say that would actually make it feel any better. “I made dinner last night, I left some leftovers in your fridge.”

He nodded, “At least we’ll have tonight and tomorrow together.”

You smiled, “I’m looking forward to it. Meet at yours?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

You chuckled, “Go get some rest, old man.”

An eyebrow rose in a challenge, “You won’t be saying that later.”

You smirked, “Counting on it.”

He gave you a rushed kiss on the lips, ensuring it was quick and private, before he was out the door. You sipped on your coffee and let out a long sigh, moving towards the charge desk and greeting Dana with a grin.

You let out a low whistle when you looked up at the board, “Damn, they got hammered last night.”

Frank Langdon stepped beside you to lean against the desk, “Why do I have a feeling you’re going to say the Q word? Don’t you dare, or I swear to god.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “It was one time over a year ago. Who do I look like? Shen? I’m no longer an amatuer.”

“I’m so glad I don’t work with him much. He’s like a walking jinx at this point.”

“He’s not so bad.” You laughed, “I see we got some newbies.”

Langdon glanced over his shoulder, “Two med students, an intern and an R2.”

“Oh, fun.”

—

You learned all the new faces over the course of the next hour. You found you liked the med students well enough, and the R2, Melissa King, but the intern was beginning to rub you the wrong way. Calloused and indifferent did not mesh well in the chaos of the Pitt, or the team player attitude Robby always tried to instill in everyone.

Santos was the type of person you had vehemently disliked during your med student rotations, and after hearing a few cruel nicknames she had picked for Whitaker and Javadi, you brought it to Langdon’s attention. According to Jack, Langdon had walked into the Pitt with the same type of overconfident attitude, and Robby had taken him under his wing and straightened him out. Maybe you thought he would pass on the wisdom. Not to mention, it took the drama off your plate. You had enough worries keeping your relationship with Jack away from Gloria’s ears, and the last thing you wanted to do was get in the middle of something.

“Trust me, I hear you. She already ordered something without clearing it with me first.”

Your nose scrunched in annoyance, “We don’t need someone like that down here.”

“Maybe you could let her shadow you…” he said, a smile growing as your annoyance did. “Show her the ropes. You know, that whole no-nonsense but still empathetic thing you’ve got going on might be right up her alley. You’d be a wonderful teacher.”

You deadpanned, “You owe me. Like super, major—”

“You’re the best!”

You wished you had gone to Collins instead.

Try as you did, the brashness of Santos did not quell under your careful hand and you grew more frustrated with her poor bedside manner and knack for doing things before clearing them. Just when you stepped away to use the restroom, she ordered BPAP for one of your patients and nearly killed him. Yelling was not in your wheelhouse, nor was letting something like this get the better of you, but as the shift ticked on, your fuse grew shorter. Screaming would be the worst teaching tool, but she seemed to railroad over any and all of your advice.

You passed her off to Mohan to take an hour seeing your own patients without Santos’ shadow. At the end of the hour, Mohan only gave you a knowing glance before getting back to it. By the time you went to complain to Langdon, he had disappeared. Just a bit after that, Robby sent Collins home.

Taking a deep breath, you pep-talked yourself into holding it in until the end of your shift. Then you could pass the news on to Robby and go home to forget about it.

—

When the mass casualty event was called, you fiddled with your hands, rubbing anxious circles on one of your palms. The shift had beat you up and left you out to dry, and you knew you were not likely to get out on time. Anxiety thrummed through your system, or perhaps it was the anticipation

Jack’s face was a welcomed one and you wanted to thank whoever you could that he had showed up when he did, a mess of supplies from his truck. With both Robby and Jack at the head of this, you knew the team would get through it. One patient at a time.

Robby placed you in the pink zone, with instructions to float over to yellow if they needed help. Jack found you in the supply closet trying to grab what you could to prepare for the influx in your zone, and he seemed to read you like your shift had been written on your face.

The braindead boy who no one could help. The drowned little girl no one could have saved. Dana being punched by an angry patient, which set your teeth on edge. The anguished screams of grieving family members. Your frustration with the cocky intern. Langdon abandoning you. Collins going home early. The anticipation of all the blood and loss that was sure to be waiting for you as soon as the first cars arrived with the Pittfest victims.

He squeezed your hand, “Find me if you need anything. I got you.”

There it was, that silent, all-knowing ‘always here’ anchor you had needed given in just a few simple words and a giant gesture. You smiled at him and squeezed his back, exhausted and relieved all at once.

You kicked it into gear, getting to work in your zone. Trying to ignore the tragedy around you and just focus on the medicine was easier said than done, especially getting more and more covered in blood as the shift dragged on. It truly was a blur, except for the fact that each patient was clear as day in your head.

Intubating, assessing, applying pressure to wounds, checking on the status of the operating rooms for your more critical patients, forwarding a few to red. Rinse. Repeat. A never ending cycle of carnage.

Mel whizzed past you and you looked back down at your patient, checking his pulse points. He was as stable as he was going to get, and you waved McKay over to him so you could run by yellow zone to see if they needed anything.

Whitaker’s wide eyes greeted you, “She’s doing a REBOA.”

You stopped dead, “What? Who?”

His eyes looked over to Santos, who was leaning over a patient. All the blood rushed from your head, anger and fear tangling together.

Mel was beside you then, tapping her fingers together in an anxious fashion, “I told her—I tried—“

You swallowed before rushing forward. She had already inserted the balloon, and there was not much you could do. You had only done one before, during a mass pile up over a year before, but it was under Jack’s careful supervision.

“Are you insane?” You hissed low, trying not to cause a scene.

Santos only glanced at you, “Patient was bleeding out, need to—“

“No, no, no, no.” Something snapped and all the frustration you had been feeling all day came barreling out of you. “What you need to do, Dr. Santos, is clear shit like this with your senior resident. With an attending. Literally anyone else. Mel already told you no and what do you do? This is how people die. Doctors feeding their own fucking egos and not letting themselves be checked.”

She simply stared at you, “It’s already—“

“No, this was rash.” You glanced down at the patient, seeing that the balloon was likely already in place, but from Donnie’s grim features, the patient was not doing much better. “If it worked? Amazing, great. You saved a patient. But if you keep doing this shit, someone is going to die. You’re not as infallible as you seem to think you are.”

You felt him before you saw him, a once calming presence now beside you and it made all your hairs stand on end. Like you had been caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

At the hospital, he was your attending, you were the resident and you definitely should not have lost your cool like that in the middle of the shitstorm that was already occurring. You physically braced yourself, steeling your composure and trying not to wince. Jack did not scold in public, but you had made a scene.

Jack’s attention had been pulled away from his patient at a particular voice carrying through the air, growing louder as it continued. Your voice. Unmistakable and in the chaos, completely unnerving. It was not like you to shout, or yell, especially in the mess the Pitt had found itself in. He was walking towards your voice without even thinking about it, gait rushed but not running.

“She performed a REBOA.” Mel told Jack as he approached, eyeing each of you warily. “I told her not to.” She gestured to you. “She told her not to.”

You felt Jack’s eyes on your face, and you glanced over to him. He took in your features and looked back to Santos.

“A REBOA? Are you shitting me?”

“Dr. Abbot, I couldn’t get any of the attendings and the patient was bleeding out. No other options.” Santos told him, looking at you again. “I don’t think her yelling about it, or at me right now is exactly—“

“She is a resident and you are an intern. You never should have done that on your own, ever.”

You blinked, half surprised, half thankful. You never wanted your relationship with him to bleed into the professional act you two played whenever you were in the hospital. You never wanted him to play favorites or defend you when you didn’t deserve it. But a part of you relished in him supporting you. Especially after dealing with her going over your head your entire shift.

Two nightshift nurses — Alma and Riley — and Donnie exchanged knowing glances, hiding their smirks well, while Santos just stood there. Jack looked back to you and raised an eyebrow, asking if you were okay without any words.

You gave him the tiniest of nods, likely not to be seen as anything more than a twitch, but Jack caught it easily. You were okay, for the most part anyway. You could talk to him about all of it later. You hoped this could all be behind you soon, as mild embarrassment for yelling in the ED crept up your cheeks. You would pass along the information to Robby and let him handle it. He would be likely to scold you for losing your cool and yelling like he had earlier with Langdon, who was now back floating through zones with little explanation as to why he had left.

Santos looked between you two like she was trying to read you.

Jack had his focus back on the patient, asking Donnie for her vitals.

“Carotid’s weak. Radial’s barely there.” Donnie said.

“Another three cc’s in the balloon.” Jack advised and Santos followed the instruction.

Whitaker looked up, “Radial’s much stronger now.”

“Lock the balloon. Check the wound.”

“Wound’s dry, barely a trickle.”

“That’s because there’s no blood going to her legs.” Mel whispered from beside you.

“Get IR and Vascular on the case.”

The patient began coming to, opening her eyes and looking around her tiredly. There was a relief in the sight, but the fact that this would only make Santos more bold in the future made you worry.

Jack leaned in close to Santos, “That was reckless and could have killed the patient. You need to follow the chain of command here.”

Santos gave a tense nod, her tiny smile disappearing.

You stepped away when Jack did, finding a few moments when you pulled off your gown to replace it with a fresh one. He stepped behind you to tie it while you reached for new gloves.

“It’s been a shift.” You explained simply, not even needing him to open his mouth. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.”

“We can talk about it later.”

You turned to face him, “No, if you’re going to scold me, I’d rather you do it now. Get it out of the way.”

He studied your face. “Can’t change anything now. She did save the patient, but she could've just as easily made it worse. And you lost it for a minute. You know as well as anyone that yelling achieves nothing.”

You cringed, remembering your med school days.

“But you weren’t wrong.” He added, grabbing your arm and forcing you to look at him. “She took an unnecessary risk and hopefully next time, will try to find an attending, or a resident. I’ll mention it to Robby, maybe he can help her get back on track. The Pitt doesn’t need any more egos, I think we’re at capacity.”

A small smirk broke through on your lips, “Thank you.”

“You feel good enough to get back to it?” He raised a careful eyebrow.

You took a breath and nodded. You parted without ceremony, heading back to your respective zones and got lost in the work.

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Dr. Abbot taglist: @flyinglama @valhallavalkyrie9 @melancholyy-hill @travelingmypassion @yournerdmodziata @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @artsymaddie @partofthelouniverse

The Pitt taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph @ksyn-faith @sunfairyy @dragonsondragons @mischiefsemimanaged

Did my own feelings about Santos bleed into this? …maybe. She grew on me, but oh my god she really was getting on my last nerve for most of this season. I hope season 2 comes with some growth from her.

[szasfuckingwife]

basketballer!Gojo who knew you from college. You often showed up to his games with your friend (who liked Suguru) and just, in the most uncreepy way possible , stare at him.

basketballer!Gojo who stayed in contact with you even when he went pro. The blinding lights of fame didn’t blur his deep attraction and fondness of you. Even on his least busiest day, which was still pretty busy, he made time for you.

‘Morning, my love…your smile lightens the world and my heart, love G.S’

You smile at the note that was amongst the several bouquets of red roses, your fave.

basketballer!Gojo who made sure he returned to you every night. Unlike his teammates, he wasn’t the type to go clubbing or anything similar. He was just a guy, obsessed with playing basketball and his girlfriend.

“Fuckin’ love you, Y/N…” He breathes into your ear. After a very deserved win, he made sure to let you know how much he appreciated your support. A string of whimpers left your mouth as his dick slid in and out of you. “Always so good for me, baby..”

basketballer!Gojo who, for some reason, gets a little jealous when you steal some of his spotlight. Maybe it was just an ego thing. He was fine at first when it came to you being called ‘WAG of the season’ after sporting some cute outfits. But then when magazines and publishers hit you up, something shifted.

It was no longer Satoru Gojo and his girlfriend. But now Y/N L/N and…what’s-his-face..?

basketballer!Gojo who you no longer recognised after a heated argument.

“You know, this is so predictable. I supported you since we were in college and the one time something good goes for me, you bitch and complain!”, you yell him, your index finger was firm against his chest. “It pisses me off, Gojo. I’m done.”

He scoffs, “I just think it’s too much. The red carpets and shit, I don’t get it.”

“You don’t get it because you’re used to me being just your stay at home girlfriend. Things change!” You release your own scoff to his response.

“Maybe I liked it that way because you had time for me-”

“But you never had time for me!”

basketballer!Gojo who has no comment to reporters when asked about the ‘break up rumours ‘with long term girlfriend, Y/N. But behind the scenes, he’s yearning for your forgiveness. He’s constantly at Suguru and your best friend’s house, hoping he’ll bump into you but you were never there.

it wasn’t until the season’s final where Satoru’s team were up against the undefeated (3 years in a row) champions. He was definitely shitting himself. As team captain, he was physically present, but not mentally.

But when he walked out and saw you in the crowd wearing his jersey, he suddenly felt calm. Were you attracting all the cameras? Yes. Were you dragging attention away from the game? At times, yes. But did he mind? No. For you were there for him. Even when you hated his guts.

basketballer!Gojo who fucks you like it’s his last night with you after his team won the finals. You can’t even remember how many times you’ve came but Satoru wasn’t gonna let you go.

“Toru-hnnnggghhh..! It’s too much!” You cry out real tears as he fucks up into you. He bites your shoulder, he wanted to be so close to you after so many separated nights.

“I’ve missed this body, I’ve missed you so much, baby. You have no clue…” He growls.

basketballer!Gojo who has the biggest grin on his face when paparazzi swarm him, asking about his engagement with Y/N. Truth be told, he hasn’t stopped smiling since he popped the question.

“Satoru, what’s next for you and Y/N?” A reporter asked.

“Babies. Lot’s of ‘em.” He smugly replies.

You’ll defo punish him for that comment.

[gothlcsan]

SWEETEST TASTE ›› 희승

Tipsy bold confessions lead to more than what typical best friends would do together. You learn more about one another, more than you’ve ever imagined before, maybe more than you’re able to handle.

pairing ⸝⸝ lee heeseung 𝑥 fem!reader ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𓄵 feat ⸝⸝ other enhypen members - non sexually

genre ⋆ 📓 ⸝⸝ smut, idol!heeseung, some fluff, lots of smut..

warnings ⸝⸝ lost of hee’s virginity, drinking, tipsy sex and confessions, teasing, pet names, crying, soft and rough sex, cursing, hee likes to be called sir, messy kissing, so. much. kissing, cum eating, facials, breeding

I apologize if I miss any warnings !

𝒮torm’s note ⸝⸝ six months later and i finally finished this fic.. ㅜㅜ writers block had me in a head lock.. but i’m glad to finally get this published and out of my drafts! this is slightly all over the place (my apologies) but i hope you can enjoy nonetheless ~ xx

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ﴾ 6.3k ﴿ ╱ ﴾ m. list ﴿

𓂃⋆.˚ all feedback and reblogs are welcomed 𓏲𝄢

“Drink up!” Sunoo excitedly shouted at you, all while dramatically throwing your head back with a groan as you hand your glass towards him to refill.

“This is so unfair you know I'm absolutely horrible with these types of games. When’s the last time I've even won?”

Sunoo only shrugs at you with a smug smile, watching as you wait for them to finish counting back from ten before taking your shot, tipping your head back to ensure none spills down yourself. The soju thankfully goes down smoothly (or maybe that’s only possible due to you already beginning to feel a bit tipsy by this point), inhaling sharply between your teeth with squinted eyes. You hated drinking games not because they weren’t fun, you always had a great time, you just absolutely sucked at winning.

“You ok?”

Turning your head you face Heeseung, taking note of his own face starting to form a faint shade of red from drinking, his lips curled up into a soft smile that makes your stomach twist. Nodding in response to his question, he mouths “good” whilst patting the back of your head with his hand a few times before you come to reality, sheepishly turning your head to face away from him. Growing thankful for the tipsy glow on your cheeks masking the blush that was without a doubt starting to blossom in its place. Sitting beside Heeseung had meant you were directly next to your longtime best friend and lifelong crush, internally groaning at the fact you were a victim of the cliche best friend to crush trope, anxiously picking at your tights trying your absolute best to focus on the drunken conversation taking place. Jake was taking love shots with Jay, a dare most likely mischievously curated and requested by no other than Sunoo, the two grown men screaming comically as they pulled away from each other like school children.

Lifting up from your chair at the table, you lean forward just enough to grab a piece of fried chicken with your chopsticks, successfully completing your mission and going to sit back down. The difference in your seat makes you stand back up surprised, looking over behind your shoulder to see that you’ve completely missed your chair altogether and had sat down directly onto Heeseung’s lap. Embarrassment struck you to the core instantly, feeling your face grow hot as you began profusely apologizing quickly trying to explain yourself. Heeseung looked at you with a raised brow, you could easily tell he wasn’t upset or truthfully even close to being bothered, Heeseung shifting in his chair as he not so subtly looked you up and down.

“It’s ok, baby, sit where you’d like.”

Heeseung said that so casually yet still with a clear hint of teasing laced at the end, guiding you back down onto his lap with two hands placed on either side of your hips. The other guys groan begging for the two of you not to be gross, Heeseung quickly tells them to shut up as he returns all of his focus back onto you. He asks if you’re enjoying your night, his randomly timed small talk makes you giggle, nodding. Telling him that it’s nice to be able to come visit at the dorm since they’re not working and overly busy. He smiles huge at that, better securing you onto his lap with his arms wrapped around your waist. Having you now facing him, your legs over to the side, your mouth going dry, Heeseung’s looks being something you’d never be able to familiarize yourself with properly. He was beyond more than handsome.

“You mean that?”

“Why wouldn’t I,” you questioned Heeseung, placing your hands onto his brightly flushed cheeks, your cold hands bringing him comfort.

“Mm,” he hummed. “It’s nice to hear that you miss me.”

You blush again, trying what you can to look away, anywhere but his face, however he brings you back with a finger under your chin, your breath catching in your throat. Drunk Heeseung was bold and it was making you want more, asking him exactly what he was doing.

“Looking at you, you’re really pretty.”

“You’re such a bully, it’s not funny to make fun like this, you know.”

Heeseung gives you a puzzled look as if you said something unimaginable to him. “Making fun of you?”

“You know,” you paused to carefully collect your thoughts to the best of your abilities whilst being this tipsy, “jokingly flirting with me in front of everyone?”

Heeseung raises an eyebrow yet says nothing audible, simply removing you quietly from his lap as he goes to stand up. Worry pricks at your stomach thinking that you’ve accidentally offended him by what’ve you said to him, opening your mouth to apologize but you’re cut off before being able to properly do so.

“Hee,” you squealed as he lifted you up, praying your dress hadn't ridden up and given everyone a glimpse of what was underneath. The other members' drunken cries of playful disgust and teasing are ignored by Heeseung (doing your best to ignore them yourself by burying your face into his chest) as he carries you to his bedroom, pushing the door closed with his foot before turning to make his way to the bed. Gently he drops you onto the mattress, a tiny gasp leaving from your lips as you make contact, pulling the hem of your dress down to protect your modesty.

He stared at you in silence for a moment, an embarrassed smile paired with an awkward laugh escaping from you.

“What, Hee?”

Once again he doesn’t say anything, making his way closer to you, knee bent so that it sits perfectly in place between your legs against the mattress. Pulling you to sit up, he brushes the few strands of hair out of your face. His face was a mere centimeters away from yours by this point, your breath hitched as you became frozen still, anticipating what Heeseung was planning. This was unlike Heeseung, who’s always never purposely crossed any lines over the best friend relationship you two shared, your stomach turning into knots out of confusion but mostly excitement mixed with curiosity. He moves which makes you gasp, his mouth so close to your ear that his breath fanned your neck, your mind thinking what his lips would feel like against your neck, causing you to squeeze your thighs together around his knee - that action not going unnoticed by Heeseung who chuckles amused but pleased.

“I really want to touch you, may I?”

The request floats around your head before you nod, letting out a whine as you give Heeseung audible permission to do so.

“Please, please touch me.”

Heeseung doesn’t hesitate longer than he has to, his large hands wrapping around the plush flesh of your thighs while his mouth crashes into yours. It’s messy, the alcohol bitter against your tongue as his tongue slips alongside yours. He seems eager, hungry even, which only excited you more than anything wondering how long you both had painfully waited for this very moment to happen. The sound of ripping fabric brings your attention away from the kiss, pulling back to look down, seeing Heeseung has ripped apart your tights leaving your thighs exposed to him.

“Sorry,” he said softly, his smile evident he was in fact not sorry, but you couldn’t get out a response as he looked down then back up at you.

“Although it doesn’t seem to bother you, hm?”

You turn red with embarrassment knowing the wet patch on your panties grew from that question laced with taunting. The dress has failed to stay down, the fabric bunched up around your hips, unable to close your thighs with how he was positioned. He repeated his question, looking into his eyes, gasping as he rips the tights further, your panties becoming his main view. Your mind goes fuzzy, whimpering in response when he pressed his fingers up against the very evident wet patch. Need pricked every nerve in the entirety of your body, subtly shaking as Heeseung removed himself away from under your dress.

“Heeseung, please this is cruel,” you whined, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck to pull him closer. He chuckles at your desperation finding it amusing how quickly you grew impatient, kissing at your neck. The way his lips brushed and kissed your neck felt better than anything you could have imagined. Sighing contentedly as you mumbled his name under your breath, his grip on you tightening in response. Nevertheless Heeseung had no intention of furthering this just yet, teasing you to what seemed that had no clear end. Every subtle brush of his lips moving down your throat made you clench around nothing, drawing in your breath simultaneously as he pressed the pad of his thumb hard flushed against your clit over your panties, instinctively moving your hand up to curl your fingers into the baby hairs that adorned the back of his neck.

“Fuck,” he trailed off as you tugged at his hair, Heeseung dipping his face back into the crook of your neck leaving wet open mouth kisses in it’s wake. Trailing down your throat he makes his way down to your collarbones, delving his tongue into your clavicle as he kisses the area leaving small red hickeys. He guides you to lay down on your back, his knee pushing into your pussy causing you to moan from the added pressure, pulling him away from your chest and back into a kiss. It’s not as messy as the previous kiss, this one more heated as the two of you grew handsy. Heeseung lets out a strained moan that brings a smirk to your lips, breaking the kiss to peek down at your hand that was palming him through his pants. His erection grew (a fact that made your head dizzy with just finding out he was already sizeable while soft) Heeseung guiding you back to regain eye contact, his eyes hooded with need. You weren’t much better, wanting or more so needing him, giving him a few slow strokes over his pants, trying your hardest to form a coherent sentence.

“Do you have a condom,” you asked breathlessly between a few shared kisses. Heeseung nods, leaning over away from you to reach over to his nightstand, opening the top drawer to his bedside table, pulling a small box of condoms out. He cutely fumbled with the box as he opened it, picking one from out the box. You watch as he begins ripping it open carefully, moving back to you. Heat runs over you in massive waves watching Heeseung intensely as he strips himself down until he’s wearing nothing. He teases you as he pulls off your dress, your panties not lasting much long after that, the thin fabric torn and discarded absent-mindedly somewhere onto the bedroom floor. Sitting up to rest on his knees, you watch as Heeseung rolls the condom on, visibly shaking from the sensation, rolling his head to the side as he tucks his bottom lip in between his teeth. The sight makes your stomach burn with lust, looking up at him. He grabs a pillow guiding it to be tucked under your hips, maneuvering your legs so that he can fit between them easier. A shudder runs down your spine as he rubs himself against your pussy, pushing the head of his dick through your folds but not giving either of you the satisfaction of easing himself in, this drawing a needy whimper from deep within you. Heeseung takes his time with you, continuing his slow pace of rubbing against you whilst filling out the bedroom with the lewd sounds of your pussy growing wetter for him alongside your desperate noises.

“Hee,” you cut yourself off to gather both yourself and your thoughts, swallowing hard before continuing, “please, I need more. I need you.” The last bit of your sentence is trailed off from your head lulling to the side, whining growing desperate by the millisecond not knowing how much more teasing you could put up with by this point.

At first Heeseung seems to hesitate but it’s clear as day that he’s equally as desperate, although not saying anything as he begins repositioning himself so that he can kiss up your neck to your cheeks. Whimpering softly with scrunched eyes as he lines himself back up before ultimately slipping into you, your fingers curling around his biceps asking him to wait, needing a moment shocked once again by the sheer size of his dick.

“Sorry, fuck, wow,” Heeseung rambles, his voice shaky as he halts his movements to allow you a moment to grow comfortable. Giving him a few squeezes around him in an attempt to familiarize yourself to his size, you take a final deep breath and nod, giving him the go ahead to continue. Pulling back his hips he groans loudly when he pushes back in, feeling your walls clench so beautifully around him with each slow thrust. It didn’t take much more than a few minutes before the impatientness grew in your limbs, begging Heeseung to fuck you, needy whines ripping out of you until he picked up speed. His thrusts were messy and ever so slightly uncoordinated as his thighs slammed into yours, the skin reddening with impact but you loved every second of it making sure to vocalize your thoughts. Heeseung leans down and assaults your throat with his mouth, his lips kissing it whilst his teeth mark you as his. Heeseung’s possessiveness being exposed by his need to mark you, mumbling under his breath that you were his. The slightest change of position deepens his thrusts making your eyes squeeze shut tight, swearing under your breath, reaching up so that your nails dig into his arm. Mumbling something into your neck that you’re unable to make out, the two of you in an impatient frenzy not caring to stop and repeat yourselves. You questioned if the members could hear the two of you, slightly embarrassed by how loud you were being but your thoughts were casted aside as Heeseung pulled completely out of you. It makes you whine in annoyance, frantically searching for his thigh with your hands, digging your nails into the soft skin wondering why he removed himself from you in the first place.

“Why, please,” you pant feverishly between each word, Heeseung seemingly finding it amusing how desperate you were whilst questioning him. He roughly pushes himself back into you, your head tipped back with wide eyes, back lifted up into an arch. You were completely under his command by this point, allowing him to bring your legs together and over to the side so that his thrusts could reach much deeper. The pleasure is slightly unbearable, unsure what to do, burying your face into one of the other pillows on Heeseung’s bed, moans being muffled. Having you on your side, Heeseung lands a rather firm slap across your ass, making you yelp in surprise, removing yourself from the pillow and glaring at him.

“Don’t hide your pretty face from me.”

You stare at him in silence, your mind fuzzing around the edges growing dumb, receiving another slap that lands directly in the same spot, clenching your teeth in an odd mixture of pain and satisfaction.

“Yes, Sir,” you whine, falling back into the pillows, staring at his proud expression knowing that he had you completely under his control. The nickname snapping something in Heeseung, arching your back as his fingers press fingertip sized bruises into your soft skin. His movements grew intense, more coordinated, his nails moving to dig into your ankle. The lewd sounds of your skin connecting with his made you wetter, gasping as Heeseung threw your legs open, manhandling you to lay flat onto your back. With an arm on either side of your head, he leans forward so that his face hovers over yours, his hair sticking to his forehead from sweat. He looked gorgeous, part of his bangs hanging down, his lips swollen red, eyes knitted together as he focused on solely making you feel good. Heeseung groaned when he leaned even closer, finding himself kissing your chest then slowly back up to reconnect with your lips. He was growing feverish which was evident from how he couldn’t seem to focus on just one area of your body to kiss, his speech slurred as he grew drunk from the prior alcohol he consumed and now from you.

“Fuck, feels so good, I’m going to die,” Heeseung rambled near incoherently into the crook of your neck. Feeling as his wet hot tongue lap at your skin made your toes curl, instinctively reaching a hand over to pull at his hair. Your mind was growing fuzzier, no longer in control of your own body nor even your own actions as you pulled him impossibly closer to yourself, fingers tangled tightly in Heeseung’s hair to lock him into a kiss. The way in his tongue worked alongside your own made you feel savage, insane, locking your shaky legs around his torso. His thrusts were now growing faster as his thighs tightened and convulsed, tightening the grip around your waist with his large hands.

A loud groan erupted from Heeseung’s throat, muffled by your heated kiss as he cummed into the condom. His eyes are closely knit together as he continues to fuck into you despite having reaching his orgasm, determined to have you cum around him. The fire in your stomach was growing unbearable, your body lifting into an arch but ensuring your legs kept tight around his body as you cum hard around Heeseung, your eyes blown open as you became flush with the bed. He doesn’t pull out just yet, holding himself up weakly by his forearms to not crush you, the both of you trying to catch your breath before looking at each other.

“I always wanted to do this,” Heeseung said with a smirk, taking a deep breath as he swore, pulling out slowly. With shaky hands he carefully pulls and ties off the condom, discarding it into the trash can then returning back to bed with you. He seems a bit lost at first but he quickly recovers coming to help you out of bed so you’re able to use the bathroom, Heeseung spewing about utis to which you ignored, telling him to please stop talking so you could focus.

Placing your head against his stomach as you used the bathroom, you told him he talked too much, Heeseung giving you a little laugh in return.

“Harsh words coming from the person who took my virginity.”

Your eyes widened, shooting to sit up straight ignoring the slight pain in your lower back as you looked at him in pure shock and disbelief, making him flinch slightly in surprise.

“Heeseung. Do not joke like that with me.”

“I’m not joking, I mean, you did just take my virginity.”

Your hand slaps against your mouth, eyes shaking as you shake your head still in disbelief from this new found information. Heeseung nods with a smirk that you knew meant he was telling the truth (as well as being cocky, he knew he did you good - definitely had you convinced he wasn’t a virgin). You had just taken his virginity, a fact you simply couldn’t begin to wrap your head around. You suddenly felt sober, too sober, tears pricking your eyes as you tilted your head down feeling immensely shameful. Confused and equally as concerned, Heeseung crouches down and places a hand under your chin to raise your head up.

“Why are you crying?” He asked softly, doing his best to sound calm despite feeling utterly confused.

Shaking your head in an attempt for him to leave your side, Heeseung stands firmly in his position, asking you once more. Lifting your head up to look at him, your bottom lip trembles as you speak, more tears threatening to fall given if you spoke too much more.

“I didn’t know you were still a virgin, I wouldn’t have come onto you like I had.”

Heeseung looks hurt, then softens his expression, petting the side of your head until his thumb is able to comfortably brush away the tears that had stained your cheeks.

“How can you feel sorry for something I initiated, hm?”

You tried to open your mouth to reply but it only made the urge to cry worse, shaking your head once more as you buried your face into his chest as he crouched down to comfort you better. There wasn’t a good way for you to explain to Heeseung why you felt guilty taking his virginity, not wanting to come off the wrong way and causing an even bigger misunderstanding. He allows you to cry until you can’t anymore, wiping the tears off your face with his fingers, before asking again why you felt apologetic for something he had so clearly orchestrated in the first place.

“Had I known you were a virgin I would’ve made it special for you, I can’t believe I ruined your first time the way I have.” You trail off into word vomit, Heeseung cutting you off successfully with a kiss, his hand holding you still by the back of your neck. Heeseung didn’t want you overthinking (or thinking at all at this point - which was more than successful) due to him not sharing the status of his virginity, pulling away watching as the weak strand of saliva that connected the two of you broke.

“I wanted this, more than you’re prepared to know, ok? I don’t need cliche first time with flowers and you whispering sweet things into my ear,” Heeseung said, tucking some loose hair behind your ear. His voice was calming as equally as it was convincing, he made you feel less guilty about the situation that you blew up in your head, giving him a faint “ok” alongside a head nod. He plants one last kiss onto the crown of your head before heading to walk back to the bedroom, telling you to finish up and he will meet you back there with warm clothes and a movie. Smiling as he closes the bathroom door behind him, you lift yourself onto shaky legs (a byproduct from sex and sitting on the toilet for an ungodly amount of time) you bite your knuckle as you work on cleaning yourself up, overly sensitive from earlier. The overstimulation unlocks something in your brain, allowing a breathy moan to escape from the depths of your throat, any innocent or guilt ridden thought being put onto the back burner. Washing and drying your hands with a clean towel you open the bathroom door to walk back into the bedroom, seeing a now clothed Heeseung sitting in bed with his back against the headboard. He lights up when he sees you, offering an oversized pair of shorts and one of his shirts that you already knew you’d be swimming in. Ignoring his offer (much to his confusion) you climb into bed, crawling the short distance until you’re practically on his lap, kissing his neck.

“What are you doing,” he questioned with an amused tone, his hand sneaking its way to your backside, swatting his hand away which surprises him. Sitting up you smugly smile at him, messing with the band to his shorts but not doing anything beyond that. It was thrilling watching as he hitched his breath just to sigh in annoyance when you teased with your silence and the possibility of furthering your flirty touches. Your hand makes its way back to his shorts, this time exceeding past the band. Heeseung’s breath catches in his throat in surprise, watching your hand travel down the entirety of his dick before traveling back up in painfully slow strokes. His bangs hang in his face, tilted forward too focused on how your hand felt around him to think much of anything else, growing needier in every aspect. Twisting your wrist, Heeseung's eyes blow wide, a strangled moan erupting from him that took the both of you by surprise.

“You liked that, hm?” You taunted, giving the head of his dick another firm squeeze. Heeseung doesn’t respond with coherent sentences, reduced to whines and tiny pathetic mumbling begging for more. It’s not what you're looking for, removing your hand from him, ignoring his defeated sounds asking what you were doing. With a snap of your fingers you demand him to take off his shorts, he seems to hesitate for a mere millisecond but frantically moves to remove them. A triumphant smile reaches your lips telling him he’s a good boy for obeying you without a fight. The praise rushes from his ears down to his exposed dick an erection now in full view for you to tease him with. Taking it back into your hand, you push your thumb pad into the soft slit of his dick, watching him twitch under your hand.

“I’ll take that as a clear yes then.”

Heeseung’s mind felt fuzzy, this new sensation growing almost unbearable as he let his head fall back against the headboard.

“Please,” he groaned, a bubble in his throat popping as he tried to keep himself grounded. His face is flushed a bright rosy red, sweat starting to form on his brow, mumbling over himself. Your thumb moving back and forth is in a lazy, unfocused, movement wanting to continue listening to Heeseung’s desperation.

“Fuck, please, baby,” Heeseung groans, his voice deep and raspy, wrapping a shaky hand around the wrist that was torturing his dick. His eyes shook whilst the corners collected overwhelmed tears, desperately seeking more. Still, you wanted to test his patience a hint more, repositioning yourself so you laid flat on your stomach. Locking in eye contact, you have Heeseung gasping from a few kittenish licks against the head of his dick. He mumbles something along the lines of this being pure torture smirking to yourself before you break eye contact, wrapping your lips around the tip, tongue swirling around just directly underneath the head. Heeseung makes a humming sound in the back of his throat, his fingers finding their way to your hair, raking through it once before curling the digits near the back of your head. Keeping his grip firm, you groan deep in your throat as his hold on you causes a few tugs if you lean forward too much. Pulling back so Heeseung was no longer in your mouth leaves Heeseung swearing under his breath. He knew you were purposely torturing him. Heat flooding his senses.

“Please,” Heeseung’s voice is raspy, barely above a whisper but the clear desperation and need dripping off his lips brings heat flooding to your stomach. With a click of your tongue you lean back down to where his dick laid heavy on his lower abdomen, wrapping a hand around the base to guide it to your mouth - coating it with a generous amount of spit using your hand to stroke the base. Moving to take the tip of Heeseung’s dick back into your mouth, swirling your tongue, taking more little by little. Once you’ve fully taken what you can, you swallow around Heeseung who tightens their grip on your hair, a loud moan erupting from their chest.

“Such a good girl for me, made to simply take my dick.”

His filthy words make you pool in between your legs, clenching around nothing in hopes of helping with how badly your clit ached. Heeseung used the hand gripping your hair to help guide you

with bobbing on his dick, calling you a messy eater once drool and saliva dripped from your sloppy lips. Initially you had wanted to be the one in control but that plan had been long forgotten, eyes rolled back into your skull with Heeseung losing any prior restrants now fully fucking up into your mouth with messy thrusts. It was overwhelmingly harsh breathing through your nose, tears starting to roll down mixing with the spit on your cheeks and lips.

“Fuck, yeah just like that baby, keep making me feel good.” Heeseung moans, a chuckle of disbelief rolling off his lips. He couldn’t believe how the two of you had gotten to this moment, the girl of his dreams a drooly dumb mess on his dick. A fire built in the pit of Heeseung’s stomach grew uncontrollable, his head tipping forward with furrowed brows, a sharp moan from him as he cums hard. The grip on your hair makes it impossible for you to pull away having to swallow Heeseung’s load to ensure you don’t choke, eyebrows scrunched together at the warm cum soaking your throat. With the hand still wrapped tight around your hair, Heeseung pulls you off, a wet mixture of spit and cum dripping down your chin, the thin strings of saliva connecting you to his dick breaking and coating you both. It was gross but Heeseung twitched at the sight, letting your hair go to use his fingers to swipe a bit of the mixture off your lips before then having you suck the digits clean, praising you for being so obedient.

Your mind is nothing but mush by this point, drunkenly smiling up at Heeseung who pets your hair to lay back flat out of your face, bringing you up by your arm to initiate a kiss. It’s wet, grossly sticky, as he tastes himself off your tongue. Something about it makes him moan against your lips, guiding you to straddle his lap, snaking a hand down to hold your hip. Your tongues work in perfect harmony, a gasp being swallowed by Heeseung as he lands a harsh slap against your bare ass. He leaves no time for you to collect yourself as his fingers are teasing your wet pussy, spreading the folds apart allowing his middle finger to tease and prod at your eager hole. You’re greedy trying to lean back so that it’ll slip in but Heeseung is stronger keeping you in place with the hand on the back of your neck, whining into his mouth about wanting him. A blush across your face when he asked you to repeat yourself, to beg if you wanted it that badly. To which you do, leaning into his chest, licking and nipping his ear lobe.

“Fuck me, please? Want you to fill me up, make me yours.”

“Unless,” you leave a pause, smirking as you whisper into his ear. “I should ask one of your friends to come fuck me for you.”

That's more than enough for Heeseung to angrily stuff his fingers into your wet pussy, the hand on the back of your neck tightening leaving you gasping. Heeseung wasn’t no longer the sweet man from earlier, his fingers scissoring you open as he demanded you to tell him who you belonged to, rough slaps against your ass when you took too long to respond. You were his. Squealing as he corrected your behavior by removing his fingers, manhandling you so that you were on your stomach, legs tucked underneath you. There’s no build up, Heeseung pushing himself into you harshly, mounting you until he has you into a mating press. He was going to ensure you never thought about another man again, his thrust making you come in contact with the headboard, tears forming in your eyes making your vision blur.

“Hee,” you cry out, nails digging into the sheets, tears starting to fall and roll down your flushed cheeks.

Heeseung leans forward so that his body weight traps you underneath him, he pushes your hair out of his way, biting roughly into your shoulder. It makes you scream, begging him to slow down, Heeseung responding with a laugh.

“Going to remind you that you’re mine, train this pussy to only cum if I am the reason. You understand?”

“Yes-,” you let out an animalistic whine, Heeseung pulling you into a headlock, forcing you to stare at the mirror directly to your right.

“Try again.”

“Sir, yes Sir,” you whimper when he calls you his good girl earning a kiss on your cheek as he continues to fuck into you with growing speed. Your pussy was red, bruised, hungrily swallowing Heeseung like the greedy whore you were for him. Your second orgasm was dangerously near, something snapping in you as Heeseung added the slightest bit of pressure in the chokehold, squeezing around him in response. Heat flooded into your abdomen and inner thighs, begging him to let you go, saying you needed to use the bathroom. He ignores your pleas, sobbing uncontrollably now as your body gives out, squirting around Heeseung’s dick with a shrill scream being fucked out of you. He doesn’t slow down as he chases his own orgasm, your sensitive walls being abused by your best friend, whimpering nonsense into the sheets as you watch yourself in the mirror.

Feeling Heeseung’s thighs start to shake and convulse, your eyes roll sweetly back into your skull as he cums hard into you, body going limp having to catch himself with a shaky arm to not crush you. He doesn’t pull out just yet, guiding you along with him so that he’s next to you, both of you trying to catch your breath. Neither of you say anything for a while until Heeseung presses small kisses into your shoulder blade, shakily gasping as he pulls out, having you turn over to face him. He calls you pretty which earns a laugh, humming happily when he cups your face into his hand, pulling you into a slower kiss. It’s sweet, romantic, butterflies erupting in the pit of your stomach as Heeseung pulls away, playing with the ends of your hair.

“How do you feel?”

“Sore,” you chuckle, giving him a kiss. “Otherwise, really, really good.”

His free hand is massaging your hip, fingers digging into your skin making soft content hums come from you.

“Let’s get a shower and head to bed, yeah?”

Stealing a peek at the time it was well past six in the morning now, your eyes widening is disbelief. Heeseung laughs at your shocked expression, helping you off the bed and towards the bathroom on shaky legs. Landing a playful slap across your ass, you stumble, the two of you laughing as Heeseung grabs you in a panic to help stabilize you.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, kissing your cheek as he opened the bathroom door.

“Slapping me when I already can’t walk? You’re shameless.”

“It’s not my fault that I have a pretty girlfriend.”

Heeseung had said it so casually you nearly didn’t catch it, the two of you freezing before looking at one another. His cheeks were bright red, you could feel yours warming up as well, but not to the extreme degree he currently was. At first he goes to open his mouth, apologize for calling you his girlfriend when you weren’t, but something in him stopped him. He wasn’t sorry for calling you that, he wanted you to be his girlfriend, wrapping his hands around the base of your jaw, kissing you. The two of you didn’t need words to know what that kiss meant, Heeseung guiding you towards the sink, lifting you to sit on the cool marble. The contrast of the cool sink against your warm skin causes you to jump, giggling into Heeseung’s mouth who giggled along with you. His hands slowly slide down to comfortably rest on your waist, Heeseung pulling back to look at you, the held eye contact and comfortable silence making the butterflies in your stomach dance.

“So, is it okay to assume you’re my girlfriend?”

Heeseung asked this while tucking your hair behind your ear, a smile on his lips.

“Wow, not even going to ask me out? After I took your virginity and all.”

A laugh bellows out of Heeseung, who nods, stepping away to open the bathroom door, peering into the bedroom watching as Heeseung goes to the bedroom’s door now. He sticks his head out just enough so he wouldn’t accidentally flash either of you.

“Just so everyone knows, she’s my girlfriend now!” Heeseung yells into the hallway, hearing the sound of bottles clinking together and a rather loud, “fucking finally!” Assuming it was Jay. Slamming the door behind him, you laugh watching Heeseung walk back into the bathroom, humming happily when he stops in front of you, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“You’re insane,” you laughed, a clear smile across your face expressing how you felt perfectly. Heeseung nods, a smile on his own face, giving you several small pecks agaisnt your lips.

“Yeah but you like it. My, pretty, girlfriend.”

“I do, I really do. I love you.”

Those three words bring a blush to creep up your neck to your face, giggling watching Heeseung’s expressions. He brings you into another romantic kiss, his actions soft and full of passion. He goes to slip his fingers into you but you stop him, telling him you were sore and desperately wanting a shower. He makes a joke about using the shower for another round calling him a feral beast, Heeseung laughing hard as he helps you off the sink and into the shower. He’s respectfully helping you shower without making it an excuse to initiate another round, helping dry your hair afterwards so you don’t catch a cold.

Once the both of you are ready to climb into bed, thankfully with clean sheets and comforters, you nuzzle your face into Heeseung’s chest. He smells like ocean air and sandalwood, the warmth radiating off him blanketing you in sleepy comfort. His hands fall into a repetitive rhythm of rubbing your back, your eyes starting to struggle to stay open.

“Hee,” you softly whispered, Heeseung giving you a quiet, “hm?”

You lift your head up, your eyes moving from his eyes to his lips, back up, before moving your head back to its previous position.

“I love you.”

“I love you most,” Heeseung said, wrapping you closer to him if that was even humanly possible.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence. Not taking very long for you two to fall asleep, curled up in each other's arms. Happily content and thankful for your inability to win drinking games.

[taeghi]

best friends don’t kiss on birthdays

it’s your birthday! and jake’s gift might be more than just a cake.

PAIRING : bff baker!jake x birthday girl!y/n

GENRE : SMUT = MDNI, bffs 2 lovers, food (cake) play, lots of choking, dirty talk, brief spanking, cum play?? lmao. unprotected sex (pls wear a condom)

WC : 6.5k

authors note : it's my birthday!! (happy bday to me) so i wanted to post a bday fic :D ily all, i hope u enjoy!!!! 🎂🎈

you and jake have been friends for as long as you can remember. you wouldn’t call each other each others soulmates, but you both assume it’s something similar. 

since you were ten, jake has made a cake for you every single year for your birthday. every year it was either a different flavour of cake, different icing style or different shapes. but, every year, like clockwork, jake was at your door with a cake in his hand and a cheesy smile on his face. 

you were both in your final year of university (jake had followed you to university even though he despised the city it was in), and this year so far, has been a bit different between you and jake. both of you had split into different friend groups over the years. you were more of an inner, close social circle type, and jake was, well, the complete opposite. he liked going out every weekend, getting wasted until he was falling off his ass. everytime you hung out with him in public, someone would come up to greet him. 

despite the social shift, you and jake were still close as always. jake was still the same jake you had always known. he lives in the moment, makes quick decisions on the spot without thinking of any consequences, he loves to take risks, even if they put you on edge. but that’s how you and jake balanced each other out. like some chaotic yin and yang in perfect human form. 

the past month, jake had been hanging out with chisa. she’s the lead singer of the rock band at your school, the one that performs at every school event and every party. you’ve only briefly met her, like at her birthday party about a month ago that jake had forced you to go to. but, you could tell that she was almost exactly like jake. she radiates this energy, effortless and infectious, always up for anything, her unpredictability drawing in everyone around her.

jake’s never been serious with anyone—just a few hookups, then he moves on. but with chisa? it was different. he was attached to her in a way you’d never seen before, and you hated that it bugged you, even though you told yourself it didn’t. you had started getting used to smelling chisa’s perfume on jake when he comes over to your apartment, having just left hers. you had gotten used to him smiling at his phone when he hung out with you and it was because of something chisa had texted, not a dumb meme sunghoon had sent him. 

what you couldn’t get used to was jake making sure everyone came to chisa’s birthday, only for a month later to completely forget yours. this was the first year, after fourteen years, that jake didn’t remember your birthday. no text, no barging into your apartment at 8 am with that obnoxious grin of his, dragging you to some arcade or random party to celebrate. nothing.

and now, here it was—10 pm, and not a sign of your best friend.

you sigh and throw yourself into bed, desperately wishing this god awful birthday would just end already. if jake dares to text you tomorrow, you’ll scream at him for hours—unless you’re still caught up in this sinking feeling in your stomach. a brief thought crosses your mind: is jake replacing me? 

you scoff and roll over onto your side, how could jake replace you with chisa if you and chisa had completely different relationships with jake. you told yourself that you’ve just always been the only girl jake hangs out with, that now that there’s another one that he consistently hangs out with it’s fucking with you. because jake is your best friend, or at least you thought he was. do best friends forget each other's birthdays? their traditions? 

you pretend it doesn’t matter, trying to get your mind to shut off so you can sleep. you tell yourself that it’s just another birthday, same as all the others you've lived through and all the ones you’ll live through in the future. but it’s not.jake should’ve been here, whether you wanted to strangle him or not, you just wanted him here.

a single tear falls down your cheek, landing on your pillow that soaks it up.  

more tears are willing to escape, but a knock on the door stops them. 

the clock says 10:32pm on your nightstand, you wonder who the hell is here this late. but in your chest you hope it’s jake. you can’t help but speed walk to the front door. you don’t look through the peephole before you swing it open. 

and sure enough, there’s jake, a cake in his hand with a guilty look on his face, instead of the usual annoying smirk. 

“happy birthday?” jake says unsurely, his face contorted in unease. 

you scoff, “wow, you remembered.” 

jake gasps, “i didn’t miss your birthday, yn!” he pulls out his phone to look at the time, “there’s still an hour and a half of it left!” you don’t answer, just stare at him expressionless, trying to mask your hurt. jake shoves the cake out in front of you, “well are you gonna let me in so we can share this cake? i made it red velvet flavoured this year!” 

you glance down at the cake, it looks perfect. it’s deep red layers covered with cream cheese, white frosting. silver frosting was on the top in jake’s cursive hand writing happy birthday y/n! it looked annoyingly good. 

you sigh and step to the side, letting jake into your apartment so late at night on your birthday. 

“see, you can never say no to my baking!” jake chuckles out, he beelines straight for your kitchen like he never stopped practically living here up until a month ago. he finds two spoons in your cluttered drawers quickly. 

“yeah, well, at least your teachers didn’t waste their money teaching you,” you lean on the other side of the island from him, face to face. 

jake tsks, “okay well, it wasn’t a waste of money then for me to have followed you out here.” jake sticks out a spoon for you to take, “now taste it and tell me how good your best friend in the entire world can bake!” 

you dig your spoon into the cake, it glides so smoothly through it, just like everything else jake bakes. when the red velvet meets your mouth, you can’t help but moan around it. damn jake and his culinary arts degree. 

across the island from you, jake’s mouth is turned into a shit-eating grin, knowing that all your anger towards him has melted away just like the cake has melted in your mouth. 

“good?” jake asks with a tilt of his head, like he doesn’t already know the answer.

“shut up.” 

he laughs—loud, familiar. the sound of it makes your stomach flip in a way you wish it wouldn’t. for a second, it’s like nothing happened. like he didn’t almost forget your birthday.

“sorry there’s no candles this year,” jake mumbles out, placing a bite of cake into his own mouth. 

you shrug, going for a second bite, “it’s okay.” 

“if there was one, what would you wish for?” 

your spoon hovers mid-air. you’re suddenly hyper aware of the way jake is watching you, the way he’s close but not too close, his knee knocking against the cabinet when he shifts. you think for a second, strangely struggling to make eye contact with your best friend. your best friend that you had just cried about 10 minutes before this. 

“hm?” jake pushes you, impatient as always.

“i can’t tell you, or else it won’t come true.” you smirk at him, trying to ignore whatever this weird tension is between you. 

jake scoffs, “you have literally told me every birthday wish you have ever wished for since we were ten, why can’t you tell me now?” 

you shrug, “secret.” placing another piece of cake in your mouth. you notice jake still in front of you, his body rigid. his hands pressing flat against the counter like he’s holding himself back. “what?” 

jake gently puts his spoon down on the marble island, you can feel his sudden unease from across said island.he doesn’t answer. instead, he steps around the island, closing the space between you in two slow strides., “you uh, have icing on your face.”

 before you can reach to wipe it off, jake beats you to it. his large, warm hand meets your cheek, his thumb brushes once against your skin, gathering the icing on his digit. without a second thought (usual jake nature) he slides his thumb into your ajar mouth. your lips circle around his thumb, sucking the frosting of his mouth. jake bites his lower lip in between his teeth as he watches you, feels your tongue circle this thumb before you pull your mouth off it. 

“jake,” your voice whispers to him— he’s so close to you. your apartment suddenly feels one thousand times smaller than it usually does. 

“did your birthday wish include me, y/n?” jake asks, almost desperate, “tell me it did.” you only slightly nod in response, unsure of where this was going, aching for more. in a second, jake’s hand is cupping your jaw. “what was it, y/n? tell me.” 

your voice is quiet when you reveal your wish, “i wished for you to kiss me.” 

before you could process what you had just said to your best friend, he’s leaning over, his lips meeting yours. they’re gentle at first, testing to see if you’re okay. when you don’t push him away or reject the kiss gets hungrier. your lips mesh together in a hurried, desperate mess. like both of you needed this now or else you’d never get it again. 

jake’s hands grip your waist, pulling you into him. it’s the warmth of his body on yours (the one that you’ve always craved) that makes you gasp, pushing him away. 

“what? want to stop?” jake concerns, his eyes flashing over your body quickly, making sure you’re okay. 

“just— what about chisa?” her name sounds foreign coming from your mouth now.  jake chuckles quickly, and then laughs loudly like he suddenly can’t control it. “jake? what?” 

“it’s just,” jake laughs, his on your island to keep him up, “what about chisa? she’s not my girlfriend or anything. don’t you know me, y/n?” 

you pucker your lips, not impressed by his response, it makes you feel dumb. “shut up, jake.” 

when jake sees that you’re being serious, his laugh fades into only a smile, his hands grip your waist again, “chisa is nothing to me, y/n. just a friend.” 

“if she’s just a friend then what am i?” 

his grip falters slightly. you both know jake sucks at talking about his feelings—he’ll show them, sure, but words? not his thing. too bad that’s exactly what you need right now. both of you are unsure if he can give you that. it’s a perfect example of how different you two are from each other. 

“you’re my best friend and i love you.” he speaks, your face is unimpressed and you try to step back from him, but he holds you close, his words rush like you’re gonna disappear, “but i love you more than just as a best friend.” 

you stay in your place, wanting jake to continue, his hands relax on your body again. “then why were you so late to my birthday, jake? i thought you had forgotten about it… about me.” 

“i could never forget about you,” jake leans down to look directly into your eyes as he speaks, wanting you to know that he’s genuine. he swallows harshly before he continues, wanting to do this right, knowing that he’s not good at this type of shit. "i was just—going over everything in my head. all day. i didn’t know if i should go all out or keep it casual. if you’d pick up on my feelings or not. if i’d ruin everything." his hands tremble slightly on your waist. "i didn’t want to lose you."

your heart pounds so loud you’re sure he can hear it. suddenly, all the frustration from earlier doesn’t matter anymore.

you don’t answer—not with words, at least. instead, you pull him back in, pressing your lips to his. jake stiffens for half a second before melting into you, hands slipping around your back, holding you close like he never wants to let go ever again.

jake walks you so your back is against the kitchen island. he pulls away from you and you can see that his eyes are full with lust. you figure yours must look the same. jake swoops down and presses a deep kiss into your neck, inhaling your perfume. he can faintly smell the icing from the cake on you. over your shoulder, jake looks at the bitten-into cake. 

jake’s hands pull off your night shirt, the one you always wear no matter how stretched and oil-stained it’s gotten throughout the years. you gasp at the cold air against your skin, your chest on full display for jake so suddenly. his eyes look like they’re about to devour you. he licks his lips as he look at  your hardened nipples. 

without a second thought, jake swirls some icing from the cake behind you and swipes it onto your breast. 

“jake—!” you gasp out. before you could finish your sentence, jake’s lips are circled around your pink nipples covered in icing, sucking on it and gently pulling it. he moans against your skin. your jaw drops open at the feeling of it. his fingers tweak your other nipples, causing your back to fully arch into him already. 

jake swirls his finger into the cake again, this time slowly, gently, tracing it against your collarbone. 

“what are you doing, jake?” your voice is already breathless as you let your best friend touch you. 

“i wanna see if you, or the icing is sweeter.” he casually shrugs, leaning down and placing his tongue flat against your collarbone, licking up the icing trail in one slow lick. the feeling of his warm, wet tongue on your collarbone has you spiraling too fast for your liking. 

jake’s hands rest on your tits, massaging them and tweaking your nipples as he licks and kisses your collarbone and neck. you can feel your core getting soaked. you can’t believe you and jake are doing this. 

jake dips his finger into the icing again, this time putting his finger right in the valley of your breasts before he slowly drags it down your stomach, stopping at the top of your belly button. 

jake is on his knees in an instant, licking up your stomach the trail of icing. he pops one of your nipples into his mouth again, sucking and pulling on it just enough to get you whining above him. 

jake’s hands push down your night shorts and panties in one go, letting them pool at your feet for you to step out of. it leaves you completely bare in front of fully dressed jake. your body is on full display for him, letting him do whatever he wants to you. 

both of jake’s hands cusp your jaw, his forehead leaning on yours as he looks into your eyes, “you’re so fucking beautiful, y/n.” since he’s holding your jaw you can’t look away from him, you feel your cheeks heat at the compliment. sure, jake has called you beautiful or pretty before, but he’s never done it when you’re completely naked and exposed. “will you let me taste you, baby?” 

you nod in response, making jake smash his lips against yours again, this time softer and gentle, like he’s telling you to trust him. you could taste the icing on his lips. 

jake swipes his index and middle  fingers into the icing again. this time he pushes them in between your lips, getting you to suck on them. “that’s right, baby, get my fingers soaked so they can slide right in you.” his words make you whimper around his fingers, swallowing the sweet icing. your tongue sucks on his fingers, wanting to do as he says. jake’s eyes are glazed over as he watches you, feeling your mouth sucking against his digits. 

with a pop, he pulls them out, now shining with your saliva. he doesn’t hesitate to spread your legs, teasing your already soaked hole with his saliva-covered fingers. he pushes them in slowly, but easy from all the lubricant. both of you moan as his fingers reach as far as they can inside of you. your pussy is so warm around his fingers, he can feel your walls already clenching around them and he hasn’t even moved them yet. 

jake kneels on the ground again, his fingers starting to push out and then back in again. he’s stretching you, preparing you for his cock later on. his fingers adventure and experiment with touching all over your walls. he’s determined to find the spot that makes you cry out. he’s determined to make this the best birthday you’ve ever had. 

your hands grip the kitchen island behind you, trying to stable yourself as jake starts to finger fuck you. his fingers are curling at just the right spots. your bottom lip is glued between your teeth as you watch your best friend stare so intently at where his fingers disappear into your pussy. your folds continue to suck his fingers in everytime he tries to pull them out. your juices and saliva are mixing around his slender fingers, dripping down the sides of them already. 

you throw your head back over your shoulder, the pleasure making your muscles contract and relax over and over again as jake builds your orgasm. you see the red velvet cake that he had made you, keeping your fourteen year tradition alive. you don’t stop yourself from reaching over and swiping the icing off the cake and onto your fingers. jake watches you as you bring your fingers to your folds, smearing the icing around the skin between your legs, right where you want jake’s mouth to be. 

“you want my tongue, baby?” jake smirks up at you from between your legs, his fingers still fucking into you. 

“please, i wanna cum so bad.” 

jake mumbles something about how hot you are before he delves into your folds with his mouth. his eyes closing as he starts to make out with your pussy. he keeps his fingers pushing in and out of you at a steady pace. his tongue starts to circle and tease your clit as his lips suck the skin around it. 

“oh god,” you cry out, your eyebrows bunching together as jake brings you closer to the edge. 

jake’s saliva mixes with your juices as he licks up the icing between your legs. he runs his tongue up and down your slit. your body starts to convulse at the feeling of being so close to the edge. he switches back to giving your clit pressured  sucks, flicking his tongue back and forth your clit quickly. 

your eyes stay focused on jake working your core. his eyes meet yours and a grin spreads across his face as his tongue still circles your clit, adding pressure to it. it makes you cry out, gripping the kitchen island behind you even tighter. your knees start buckling on either side of jake’s head as he kneels on your kitchen floor. 

“fuck, i’m gonna cum, jake!” you warn him, your chest starting to move sporadically as you reach the very edge of your climax. 

“do it, cum all over my face right now— cum all over your best friend's face.” jake grunts out, mumbling against your pussy as he speeds up how fast his tongue circles, how fast his fingers fuck into you. 

your high hits you so satisfyingly. all of your pent up emotions towards jake finally release as you cum onto his mouth and fingers. your body feels like it’s laced with ecstasy as your body shakes with tremors. jake’s free hand helps you stay steady against his mouth as he sucks on your pussy until you’re pushing him away because of the overstimulation. he only laughs at your whining as he pulls his fingers out of you. 

jake stands up, his lips swollen and wet from eating you out. “you really are sweeter than the icing,” jake smiles at your post-nut expression, his mouth still full of your taste. “here— try for yourself.” you let jake slip his finger sinto your mouth for the third time of the night. this time however, it’s not cream cheese icing that has you moaning around his digits, it's your own juices. 

and jake is right, it is sweeter than the icing. 

jake’s fingers slip from your lips. you wrap your arms around jake’s neck, pulling him closer to you again. his hands find their spot on your waist. you both find this position so easily, as if it wasn’t the first time in the past 14 years that you’ve done this. it feels natural, it feels right. 

jake and you are kissing again. it’s slow but passionate and needy. both of you know that the night isn’t over. especially when you feel his hard cock rub on your abdomen through his jeans. you pull away form him, looking down at where your waists are. his bulge is huge in his pants, it makes your mouth and pussy water some more. 

“let’s go to your bedroom,” jake says, his voice husky. 

“please,” 

jake’s quick to pick you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you through your apartment and to your bedroom. you’re both laughing as he does so. you press soft kisses into his scalp as he carries you. 

jake places you down onto your bed. this isn’t the first time jake and you have been in a bed together. though, it is the first time you’ve been in this position. your legs wrapped around his waist as he hovers over you, your pussy and his lips both swollen. 

you continue to make out until either of you can take it anymore. your lips wet and plump from sucking and pulling on each others. you’re both moaning into each other's mouths. jake slowly grinded his jean covered bulge into your bare pussy, teasing the both of you. the moment feels intimate, like the both of you needed this so desperately. 

jake pulls away from you, stopping the heavy makeout sesh. his chest is panting against yours as he lays on top of you. 

“you sure you wanna do this?” 

“yes, please, jake— i need this so bad— please, it’s my birthday,” 

jake laughs, “okay okay, anything for the birthday girl.” 

jake pushes himself off the bed, standing up to take off his clothes. he discards them lazily on your bedroom floor. his lean muscles flex as he crawls back onto the bed, resuming his position of being between your legs. 

jake grabs the flesh of your thighs, holding your legs open and wide for him to be able to press his cock against your pussy. 

“spit on it,” he demands of you. 

you lean over your body, spitting down onto where his cock rests on top of your pussy. both of you can feel your clit throbbing against his cock, wanting and needing more already. 

“good girl.” 

jake grabs his dick, lining it up with your pussy before he pushes all the way in with one singular thrust. both of you let out pornographic moans, your eyes rolling to the back of your head and the feeling of finally being stretched out by your best friend's cock. 

jake curses under his breath, his hair falling into his face as the feeling of you being so tight around him affects him, too. it already feels so wet and warm— jake can feel himself becoming addicted to this feeling. something that he knew would happen if he ever got you in a position like this. which is why he had tried so hard to ignore his feelings for you in the past, not wanting to ruin the friendship. 

but that’s all gone out the window now that he knows what you taste like. 

“move, please, move.” you beg of him, and who is he to deny the birthday girl?

jake leans over top of you, placing both of his hands on the mattress beside your body. your knees are bent around his waist as he starts to move his cock in and out of you, slowly at first, wanting to warm you up to the stretch of his large cock. his lips meet your own again, like they can’t be off each other long without feeling withdrawal symptoms. 

jake has to force himself to stop kissing you and he pushes himself back up, crouching himself over your body with his cock still lodged deep inside of your pussy. his feet are on the outer side of both of your hips, your knees bent and your thighs pressed against your chest in a mating press. 

jake starts to pound his cock into you at a slow but hard pace. the tip of his cock hitting your cervix every time he pushes back into you. 

“oh fuck!” you exclaim. you had imagined that sex with jake would feel good, but not this good. 

jake chuckles breathlessly as his one hand crawls to your neck, wrapping itself around it, adding pressure ever so slightly. jake’s breathless gasps and grunts mix with your whines as he fucks into you, setting a starting pace. everytime he slams himself into you, your bedframe hits the wall behind you. thankfully your bed is pushed up against the window that faces the street and not your next door neighbours. 

jake falls back onto his knees from his feet, keeping your legs placed on his broad shoulders as he continues to fuck into you at a steady pace. he aims for the spot he found earlier that he knows drives you to the edge. you keep your hands on your thighs, your eyes not leaving his face as he fucks you. 

jake’s gold chain hits his chest everytime he pulls out of you, just to drill back into you. 

“fuck i love your cock, it feels so good.” you confess, knowing already that no one would ever be able to make you feel as good as jake does. his cock seems to perfectly fit inside of you. every vein brushes against your pussy walls in the perfect way. his tip hits your g spot every single time. his hand pulses pressure around your neck, blocking complete oxygen from reaching your brain and lungs. 

jake drops your legs from his shoulders, wrapping them around his waist as he leans to hover on top of you, placing his elbows on either side of you. his cock doesn’t stop fucking into you. 

“fuck,” jake groans out, “your pussy keep sucking me back in, baby. doesn’t want my cock to leave.” 

“mhm,” you nod back to him, looking into your eyes as pleasure builds inside both of you. 

“would you like that, y/n?” jake teases you, “would you like having my cock inside of you all day?” 

his words make your walls pulse around his cock, something both of you feel, “oh god, yes. i want it in me all the time, forever.” 

jake dryly chuckles, leaning down to press a deep kiss onto your lips. you can feel his balls hitting your ass every time his hips meet your own. his pelvic bone rubs against your clit as he hovers over top of you. 

when the kiss stops, jake presses his hand over your mouth, cutting off your oxygen again, letting you moan and breathe heavily against his warm palm. jake keeps his body pressed on top of you, only his hips move as he fucks his cock in and out of you. 

at this point, both of you have sweat dripping off your bodies, your skin looks flushed. 

jake is intermittently switching between sloppily making out with you, to covering your mouth or wrapping his hand around your neck. 

“you like when i choke you, baby? like how i control when you breathe?” jake grunts out to you. 

even though you and jake had never done anything sexual up to this point, you both knew each other’s kinks and turn ons. that’s something best friends just talk about, right? 

like you know how much he loves to see girls choke on his dick. how much he loves seeing a girls ass turn red from him spanking her over and over again. just like he knows that you love being choked, love being degraded and teased as a man pounds into you. 

“i fucking love it,” you gasp out, loving how out of breath you were. 

jake smirks at your answer before he sits up on his knees again, your legs still wrapped around his waist. both of his hands land on your neck, adding enough pressure for you to lose some oxygen. jake starts using his grip on your neck to pound into your harder from a different angle. his cock hitting directly inside of you now, your cores hitting each other perfectly. 

your entire body is being pushed up and down off your mattress as jake using your body to be able to fuck into you harder and harder. 

“fuck,” jake grunts out, his teeth greeted as his pace picks up speed. your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, unable to do anything besides letting jake fuck you. your body numb to anything but the pleasure his cock was giving you. “you take my cock like such a good girl, such a nasty, good girl.” 

jake pulls his hands off your neck, and without warning, he roughly flips you over so you’re on your stomach, your plump ass up in the air for him. jake drags your hips towards him, sliding his cock back into you before he pushes your face down into the mattress. your sheets muffle your moans as he starts to fuck into you. 

jake has one hand on the back of your head, keeping it in your bed, and the other hand grips your waist. he keeps your body still, with just his hips moving as he balances himself on his knees. at this point, it feels like jake knows every square inch of your body. he knows every spot that makes you scream out his name. it’s almost ridiculous. 

“that feel good, baby?” jake asks from behind you, his hips not stopping. 

“god, fuck,” you answer, muffled by the mattress. “harder, please fuck me harder.” 

jake does as you say, letting go of the back of your head to grip your waist with both of his hands. his hips start to pound against your ass. your bedroom full of the sound of skin slapping against each other. and since you know your best friend so well, you aren’t shocked when he starts slapping your ass. a cry escapes your mouth everytime his hand meets your ass. 

“you want it hard, y/n?” jake chuckles out from behind you, “i don’t know if you can take it, baby. you already seem so close to cumming.” 

“no, no!” you try to shake your head no, “i can take it, please, please, harder.” your voice doesn’t even sound like yourself. it’s full of need and desperation. and luckily, since it’s your birthday, jake is willing to provide you with everything you want. 

his cock is still filling you up as far as it can go inside of you. it stretches you in a way you didn’t know you could be stretched. you feel so fucking full that it’s intoxicating. you think your pussy is going to be stretched out in the shape of jake’s cock. and then jake will be the only one to fuck you. 

jake’s hands reach under your core, lifting you up so your back is against his chest. his cock doesn’t stop working in and out of you, his pace never letting up. you didn’t know his stamina was this good. but who are you to complain?

jake keeps your body upwards with one hand wrapped around your waist, the other has snaked its way to your clit. all three of his fingers lay flat on your clit as he rubs them in a circle, adding intense pressure on the sensitive bundle of nerves as his cock seems to start perfectly hitting your g spot. 

your hands wrap onto his thighs that are on either side of your body. 

“holy shit!” you shout, “i’m going to fucking cum if you keep doing that.” 

if it wasn’t for jake’s hands keeping you upwards, you’d be bent over limp. the pleasure was building and building and building inside of you. your muscles working overtime by contracting and relaxing repeatedly. your tits were still covered in a mix of icing and jake’s saliva. your hairline was sweaty, you could barely keep your eyes open at this point. 

“yeah? you gonna fucking cum on my cock, princess?” jake grunts in your ear from behind you. “do it. fucking do it. i wanna feel your pussy clench around my cock so bad.” 

you whimper out at his words, they only make you tighten more around his cock. your juices dripping out of your pussy and all over his cock— all over your sheets. a wet stain was starting to form on your sheets directly below you.  

“fuck, fuck, i’m gonna cum on your cock.” you helplessly nod, focusing on the pleasure building in your abdomen. “just like that, like that!” 

you can’t help the scream that escapes your lips next as you come undone on jake’s cock. he’s quick to cover your mouth with his hand— silencing your loud scream so the neighbours don’t call the police. your head falls back onto his shoulder, unable to do anything but let jake fuck you through your orgasm. 

“that’s it,” jake grunts out, the feeling of your walls sporadically squeezing his cock over and over again, makes his brain fog over. “that’s a good girl, fucking wet my cock with your cum.” 

when your body finally stops shaking, jake helps you lay back onto your back, your head on your pillow. your eyes are glazed over, your body feels like it’s on high alert and just so, so sensitive. 

still, jake’s dick is rock hard, oozing pre cum, soaked in your juices. 

“i’m so close, baby.” jake’s voice is needy but gentle, “please let me fuck your pussy until i cum, please. i need it around me cock so bad.” 

you nod lazily at him, “please, please.” your hand reaches out to grab his thigh, wanting his cock back inside of you already, “need your cock in me. need to fill your cum fill me up.” 

jake can’t help but moan at your words, it makes his cock twitch at the fact that he’ll get to cum in your pussy. fill you up with his hot, warm sperm. his heart picks up pace when he visualizes what your pussy would look like as it dribbles out his cum back out and onto your sheets. 

“yeah? you wanna be my cum slut?” jake’s voice is teasing as he leans back over you, his cock already lining up with your weeping, swollen hole. “you wanna be filled with your best friend’s cum on your birthday?” 

“yes, fuck, i want that so bad, jake, please!” 

jake’s hand cups your jaw, forcing you to look at him as he laughs at your desperation. “relax, baby— you’ll get what you want.” 

jake pushes his cock back inside of you with one thrust, making both of you sigh out in satisfaction. he had only been out of your pussy for one minute but both of you were aching for him to be inside of you again already. 

jake could feel that his own orgasm wouldn’t be much longer. his cock was feeling so sensitive. everytime your soaking walls clenched somehow even tighter around him than before he could feel the pit in his stomach grow and grow. your whiny moans of his name, telling him to not stop edged him closer and closer to his orgasm. 

his hands gripped your waist roughly, focusing on trying to cum just for you. 

“oh god, jake— your cock fills me so good, i wanna feel your cum fill me, too, please.” you beg him, your sensitive walls milking his cock further and further. begging him to paint the inside of your pussy white with his cum. 

jake grunts out, his voice becoming deeper with every second, “yeah? tell me you want my cum, y/n. tell me you deserve my cum.” 

“i want your cum inside of me so bad, jake. please give it to me. i deserve to be filled with your cum, don’t i?” you beg him, your eyebrows furrowed together as you look up at him. his eyes switching between your face and your pussy. “aren’t i your good girl, jake?” 

jake lets out a deep grunt at your words, “fuck yeah, you’re my good girl. such a good girl.” jake’s cock is fucking in and out of you so quickly, you don’t even feel it leaving your pussy. “you’re my good girl so you’re gonna take my cum, right?” 

“yes! please, please! i can take it!” 

“fuck, fuck!” jake yells out, his grip on your waist surely leaving bruises now. “i’m fucking cumming.” 

when jake finally cums, it’s messy. 

his cum spurts out inside of you in thick, hot strands. both of you groaning at the feeling of him finally filling you up. jake doesn’t stop thrusting into you until his orgasm dissipates.  his brain becoming a little less foggy as he feels his cock plunged deep inside of your pussy with his sperm. 

jake gently pulls out of you and you sit up on your elbows, legs still spread wide open to watch jake’s cum start to drip out of your red, swollen hole. when it finally does, both of you moan. it’s warm as it drips down your folds, mixing with so many other substances you can’t count. 

jake is quick to reach down and gather some of his cum on his finger. your mouth is already open for it before he even asks you to. he slips his finger into your mouth. you moan at the taste, swallowing it with no hesitation. he pops his finger out of your mouth again. 

“tastes sweeter than the icing.” you tiredly smile up at him, teasing him. 

jake doesn’t laugh though, he only swoops down and presses his plump lips onto yours. the kiss is sweet and gentle, almost innocent if it didn’t just follow the multiple sinful acts you had just committed. 

the second you pull away from each other, reality takes over. your heart is still hammering from the orgasms, your lips are swollen and tingling from kissing jake so much.  your birthday is ending very differently from how it started. you’re now not only best friends with jake, but something more as well. 

jake’s still close to you, smiling at you that makes your stomach have annoying butterflies. he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. his smile is contagious and suddenly you're mimicking his expression. 

“best birthday ever,” 

“yeah?” jake’s smile is boyish and smug. 

“yeah,” you shrug, “definitely better than last year’s gift.” 

“hey! socks are practical! why wouldn't you want socks?” 

“shut up, jake.” 

jake huffs out a laugh before shoving you back onto the bed, he lays down beside you. your bodies still warm and sweaty against each other’s. 

“i can’t wait until my birthday.” jake says, elbowing you suggestively. 

“bold of you to assume i’ll still be into you by then.” 

jake is unaffected, only scoffing as he sits up on his elbows to look down at you, “you’re literally obsessed with me, i have no worries.” 

“okay? and you’re obsessed with me.” 

“yeah,” jake shrugs, “but at least i can admit it.” 

jake laughs when you kick him, laying back down beside you, head right next to yours on your pillow. your bedroom goes quiet. both of you take turns looking at each other when the other isn’t. both of you are still trying to process what just happened in the past hour. 

but, you don’t need to ponder for long. you and jake are still best friends. you’re still complete opposites. still yin and yang. still a complete mess. so, in your usual chaotic way, you’ll figure out your relationship together. 

“wanna shower and then eat the rest of the cake?” jake murmurs to you. 

“hell yeah.” 

best. birthday. ever. 

@ taeghi, 2024. do not repost or reuse in anyway.

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOY, AS LIKES MAKE IT HARD FOR WORK TO BE SPREAD AND ENJOYED BY OTHERS :)

stay safe everyone :)

my luvs : @awqken @021894s @hollyoongs @caratstick @hvseung

taglist :

@bunhoons @jungwonsstrawberriesnchocolate @indacodemo

@jaehoonii @nenemura @deobitifull

@vernonburger @iluvikeu @skaterhoon @shiningnono

@yangkits @onlyhees @cherry-park @missychief1404

@niniissus @jiawji @yongbokified @aileeeeeeeeeeeee

@minniejenseo @rbf-aceu @shjsnkjkj

@ikeuwoniee @jayienn @tanisha2060

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@jenojammin @emogirlsworld @ja3yunslvr

@minaateez @17ericas @wave2hoon @ni-kicism

[digiflora]

🌐 ᯓ★୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐊 '𝐍 𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐘!

hsr men x f!reader .... SMUT!! 🚨🚨🚨

request ؛ ଓ @coreakin-sakarat What will the honkai star rail men play when yr having sex and who bottom or both and do they go rithm oh oh and do they use toys on u and what are their favorite parts of ur body to fuck

gia's notes ؛ ଓ i did this as more of me just... talkin abt what i think the hsr men are like in bed in order from least to most freaky in my humble opinion. i hope that you like it even though i didn't exactly hit every point u brought up :(

DAN HENG .ᐟ୨୧ starting it off sweet with him, i see dan heng as more of a bottom than anything... he's not super experienced, quite a tender lover, and i see him as remaining quite serious and stoic within the bedroom too. definitely more of a slow and sensual pace, just wants to feel it all with you <3 he's quite hesitant to try things out imo, but i reckon that you could convince him to try out using toys with some convincing! 1000% a thigh guy, really likes pulling out and painting your thighs with his cum as he watches them shake. presses kisses to your forehead as you come down from both of your highs. lowkey i get the vibe that the aftercare and the cuddling and falling asleep together is more satisfying to him than having sex. THIS MAN CRAVES SKIN TO SKIN!!!! he will interlace your fingers while fucking and kiss all over your face!!! a very sweet lover <3

GEPARD .ᐟ୨୧ this man SCREAMS pleasure service top to me. he could cum in his pants just by watching you i swear. he just wants to satisfy you as best as he can :((( your wish is his command frfr. he'll put you in whatever positions you want fully customisable experience just say the word. will sometimes pause midway through sex just to ask you if he's doing a good job and if it feels good with his big puppy dog eyes AWEE. i think he would probably be a little hesitant to try out toys, especially at first? his logic reverts to him assuming that he wasn't good enough at pleasuring you and so you have to revert to a piece of plastic... but be a bit dominant and show, don't tell, him just how good a vibrator can feel and he'll be a lot more on board with the idea <3 his whole mentality is just.. do anything to give you pleasure so if you're on the freakier side, this man is game! (PEG HIM) the little sadistic side of you gets a kick seeing tears well up in his eyes if you edge him just to hear his whines and moans... he might be a top but this man is a sub thru and thru. a bad bitch (you) tells him what to do and he listens!! anyways back to when you and him are fucking... this man is just utterly in love with your pussy, they way it gushes and clenches around him, and his absolute favourite position is any where he gets to just bury his face in ur tits while he's buried inside of you because everything is just so comforting and all of him is now surrounded by something so warm and soft... he's in heaven <3 so yeah he's a tits guy who would have thought!! no matter the shape or size HE'S PUTTING THEM IN HIS MOUTH <3 his thrusts get real sloppy at the end when he's about to cum too, starts babbling in your ear about how good it feels and how much he loves u. what a cutie pie

ARGENTI .ᐟ୨୧ to be honest? i had to think a bit about this one. to me, argenti doesn't really seem like the type to bring up using toys... but that doesn't mean that he isn't game if you mention it. he seems ... not passive exactly? but he just seems like the type to go with the flow with sex. whatever you're into he'll just be like shit i'm down let's go. not kinky per se, but he's definitely a passionate lover. very much wants to explore sensuality. ooh maybe he would be into some sort of wax play or blindfold type behaviour i take it back. would probably chuckle if you decide to get on top and place his hands on your hips to help you adjust to his size and set your own pace <3 very loving, wants to celebrate the beauty of your naked body and worship it in the name of adrila. so yeah if you've got a praise kink, HE'S YOUR MAN!!! you feel like the subject of a poem as he sings your praises, telling you how pretty you look and sound when you cum. like shiiiii that would be enough to make me blush <33 in terms of pace and stuff, i feel like he would be pretty standard? maybe on the slower side because of... you know... passion. it's nothing crazy but still a good time. he seems like he prefers to be looking up at you so RIDE THAT MAN!! maintain eye contact as you sink down on it. raise your hips back up ever so slowly and watch the slightest twitch of his brow as you swivel your hips, sinking back down on it ever so slowly. you might just see him blush. and just as the name suggests, the knight of beauty is a SIGHT to behold when he cums (probably inside).

WELT .ᐟ୨୧ yeah peepaw has got some EXPERIENCE to him lmaoo. he's got a sort of... cheekier? side to him. as an older man, though, he doesn't exactly have the same stamina as he did in his youth :( but that doesn't mean that he can't still get down and dirty with you!! quite the opposite actually. so his solution? he uses toys on you <3 he's more of a bottom but he is DEFINITELY in charge. his dirty talk OMFGG im giggling just thinking about it he would praise you and whisper such sweet words to you as he slowly splits you open on his fat cock, telling you how you're such a good girl for taking him so well, how you feel so good around him, all so he can feel you clench around him like a vice grip as he finally bottoms out <33 def would just have his hands around your waist as he moves you up and down his length when you're feeling weightless. but if he's in a more passive mood, he also LOVESSSS just sitting back and watching you struggle to ride him with a lazy adoring look in his eyes as he holds a vibrator to your clit <333 he'll coo at you as you start crying from the overstimulation, his hands wiping away your tears so tenderly and encouraging you to keep going just for him <3 a little bit of a sadistic side to him because he really does just love watching you squirm. another thigh and ass guy imo, really loves the way they jiggle as they slam down against his own thighs as you start to pick up the pace and ride him with increasing desperation. also loves watching them shake when you cum <3. so yeah as a no brainer i think one of his favourite positions would be reverse cowgirl. yum <3

BOOTHILL .ᐟ୨୧ now dont get me wrong this man FUCKS. since he's a cyborg does his dick count as a toy...? yeah fuck it let's go with it HIS BIOCOCK VIBRATES!! so the sensations on that will go CRAZYYYY. and then i'm thinking because of his synthesia beacon and stuff he doesn't exactly experience much sensation down there. so when you're having sex, what gets him off the most is just seeing your pleasure as you unravel. makes him feel good vicariously <3 so yeah definitely a missionary lover in my eyes so he can watch all your facial expressions and reactions as he hits all the right places, how your brows furrow and your eyes slide shut and eyes roll back in your head as he keeps up his unforgiving pace at juuuuust the right angle <33 but don't get me wrong he's no vanilla bitch either!! if he wants to be feeling more ... sensations he can and will make you just sit on his face for actual HOURS just eating you out to his heart's content. you'd think that his tongue is cybernetic too with the way it flicks across your clit at a borderline INHUMAN speed. but no he's just that good. some of ur most intense orgasms have been from him tonguefucking you like this, his head firmly sandwiched between your quivering thighs as you're basically humping his face as u ride out your high. and hey, he's not complaining <3 and then his smug shit-eating grin does NOT help at all when you're still trying to come back down to earth and he's sitting up wiping the slick off his face with that hungry look STILL in his eyes good lord i hope u can survive the night. this bastard has definitely ruined toys for you, they just don't feel the same any more <//3

BLADE .ᐟ୨୧ fucks hard. angry and/or jealous sex with him has just gotta be >>> 😮‍💨😮‍💨 he's on the rougher side and for MOST of the time will dom. and also tbh i don't really see him as being the type to use toys since he's more spontaneous in terms of having sex (public sex. he's got a high sex drive) but very very passionate for sure- lots of grunts and low moans right up in ur ear mhhhnrng. but also at the same time i feel like he would be quite emotionally detached from sex at first, seeing it as more like stress relief than an act of intimacy? and don't get me wrong, some of the best fucks of your life have come from him when he's just trying to release some pent up anger, but on the flip side there's a more vulnerable side to him, almost. one that's barely there any more from years of bitterness and resentment, but still manages to creep up on him on those late nights where he can't quite sleep. so if you're with him on those rare occasions, this is when you experience him not fucking you, but making LOVE. he won't talk, but he doesn't need to, not with the way he's holding you close to him and kissing you with something akin to desperation as he sinks into you and kind of just... stays there for a bit. it's oddly comforting to him, and if he's feeling especially weak he'll need some comfort- just to get him through the night. it's these nights where you take control more, setting a slow and sweet pace and kind of just... hushing him and whispering sweet words to him as you slowly let yourself grind over him, feeling the way he twitches inside of u <333 but yeah back to not vulnerable blade. a fan of quickies for sureeee (see: high sex drive) another tit guy because i am biased. the force of his thrusts in some dark alleyway or hidden corner will have them jiggling and threatening to fall out of whatever shirt you wear. and if he's got you lifted up in his arms, your legs wrapped around him as you're chest to chest with each other, he just can't tear his eyes away from your boobs. leaves bites on them, laves over them like a damn dog until they're coated in saliva and stiff and perked up because of how cold it feels when drying on your skin. if you're in doggystyle, you'll feel his hands clasp over them from behind, a few short and sweet squeezes to them before his blunt nails are flicking over your nipples just to hear you squeal <3

AVENTURINE .ᐟ୨୧ just like blade, he very much has two different modes. let's start with the freaky one bc that's fun. he's quite open to experiment with all aspects of sex- who's in charge, who's topping, toys, positions, you name it. he trusts you enough to do anything with or to you short of causing each other pain. so yeah he's a freak alright!! i feel like if you're in an established relationship, he'll feel guilty due to the amount if time that he spends away from you because of his job, and make it up to you by spoiling you with gifts... he loves to buy you new toys to try out as he sits back and just watches as you squirm and then writhe in pleasure as he slowly palms himself, eventually unzipping his trousers and jerking himself off until he cums all over u <33 definitely gets a kick out of seeing his cum painting your pretty face and how your tongue darts out to catch it before it drips onto the floor <333 or maybe he just strokes himself to stay hard, his eyes hungrily watching you as your own remain transfixed on his cock, the flushed tip disappearing with every stroke of his hand, the slick noises of his precum overpowering the buzzing hum of the dildo inside of you. and then when neither of you can handle the tension any more, dying to feel each other's touch, after you've cum a couple of times and are all nice and sensitive for him, then and ONLY then will he finally put it in, quickly setting a pace to fuck your brains out like a wild animal <3 lovessss doggystyle or the speedbump position because then he's all up in your guts and ur moans/screams of pleasure are just music to his ears. definitely the type to go a little feral bc... yeah. so yeah that's freaky mode! but like blade he has a softer side to him UNLIKE blade it is still definitely there and more accessible... but that doesn't mean he exposes it to you just like that either. but yeah if he's feeling more vulnerable emotionally, especially right after he wakes up from a nightmare while you're groggily waking up next to him, he just needs comfort. you holding him and stroking his hair, telling him how he's safe and how much you love him. if you've been together for a while and he really trusts you, he might even cry. almost begs you to call him kakavasha instead of aventurine, and you oblige. and then as soon as his name leaves your lips, he's kissing you hard, gradually letting them become tender as you undress each other with the utmost amount of care. it's love that motivates him, from what you can feel from his fingers tracing your skin and how soft his lips press against yours. he lets out a quiet moan as he sinks into you and basks in your warmth for a bit, letting his arms now wrap around your frame tightly, holding you to himself as if you would disappear any moment. and you hug him too, draw patterns on his back, stroke his hair and hum as you tell him how much you love him, listening to the sound of his shaky breaths as you slowly raise your hips, sinking back down inch by inch to hear him hiss. at first, he would still refuse to let you see his face when you have sex like this, not until you gently coax him to look at you, and you see the crystalline tears already escaping from his eyes. he's definitely the type to cry during sex like this- something so soft and tender that it's overwhelming to him for so many reasons- the vulnerability of it all, how much you love and care for him written all over your face, the way you squeeze against him so perfectly. and then he buries his face in your chest as you keep whispering words of affirmation to him and he cums so fast, deep inside of you and then he stays even when he feels himself go soft. just because it feels nice. and he falls asleep just like that, clinging to you, the person he loves.

JING YUAN .ᐟ୨୧ another member of team lazy but pussydrunk (him and welt have permanent memberships lmfao) whenever the two of you fuck it usually starts with him making you work for it. involving either you getting off by grinding on his thigh or riding him, desperately throwing your weight back onto him to even simulate the feeling of his powerful thrusts- all in vain as he merely sits there, looking up at you with a maddening smile and just WATCHING you... what a creep <3 but yeah he loves loves loves seeing how worked up and whiny you get for him to do something, anything, just for him to do the exact opposite, placing two firm hands on your hips to effectively get you to stop, and you whine again from the loss of friction. and he'll merely smile, telling you how you're such a good girl for him, getti my off from watching you get so so close, just to do it over and over again. orgasm denial and edging really are his two best friends fr. so he's not really a strict dom but more of a tease, you get me? i think that YES he will use toys. really gets a kick out of vibrating panties or a vibrator inside of you that he can remote control <33 just really enjoys when you're in public trying to remain composed (what a creep <3) keeps u constantly stimulated all day, finally making it up to you when you both get back home, fucking you properly as you're on the verge of tears and ready to cum any second. hmmm hear me out on this but i think his favourite place to cum would be your back.. like yeah finishing inside is cool and all but pulling out and cumming all over your back just drives him CRAZY and ready for another round... as soon as you recover <3

LUOCHA .ᐟ୨୧ LORDDDDDD he's like jing yuan but even WORSE. he's dangerous too because in his eyes, it isn't him or a toy but him AND a toy. this man will have u in his lap thighs spread legs hanging over his knees so he can keep them open as he has one hand gripping your chin forcing to look at yourself in a mirror, the other hand holding a vibe to yr clit <33 every time your eyes start to roll back he'll do a light slap to your face, forcing you to hold eye contact with him through the mirror, his feline eyes dancing with mirth at your already fucked-out expression. and then when he's sure that his gaze is holding your attention, he'll let go of your face, letting his hand snaie downwards until his hands are collecting your slick on his fingers before pushing into you, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek that contradicts how hard he's fingering you <3 squirting is not an achievement but the new standard with him!! that man is NOT relenting until you coat his arm and the floor (even the mirror) he really likes making you kiss him just after you cum- when your brain is foggy from the intensity of your orgasm, you can barely hear, let alone process what he's saying, and when u finally manage to connect your lips to his the kiss is just so sweet n sloppy, showing how worked up he is already <33 he's a little mean with it but you wouldn't have it any other way!! because that man knows what you need and will DELIVER. and he loves alllll of you. especially your pussy. and ass lol

DR RATIO .ᐟ୨୧ ok stay with me now cos this one's more of a scenario but!!! imagine that you haven't seen veritas in a while because you've both been busy but he messages you, saying how he'll finally be back soon!!! and ur just so excited that you can't contain it, and all those lonely nights are starting to tally up... your hands just don't do the trick any more and you finally cave, getting out your old reliable dildo to try and satiate your lust. trying your hardest to focus on veritas while you fuck yourself so that you'll be able to cum... pretending that it's his cock instead of some silicone... moaning out his name into your room with your eyes screwed shut to try trick your brain into believing that it's really him!! and it seems to work because you can feel that coil in you begin to tighten, and just when ur about to cum you feel a hand on top of yours, startling you out of your impending orgasm. and you open your eyes to see none other than the man who you had been fantasising about just now <3 and he's got this smirk on his face and a certain look in his eyes, and when you glance down you can see that he isn't exactly... unaffected from watching you earlier <33 i feel like he would degrade you a little, calling you such a stupid girl for needing to think of him just to even get close to cumming <333 and you'll whine and get embarrassed, trying to hide yourself with the covers, but deep down you know he's right so you peek at him from behind your lashes, batting them and begging him to help you as sweetly as you can. and how can he deny you when you're just so sweet and submissive for him? he'll be quick to take out his cock, slipping the head through your folds, letting it catch as it skims past your needy hole, letting the tip slap against your sensitive clit just to watch your whole body twitch as he chuckles to himself before bullying his cock into you. even after fucking yourself it's still a stretch, especially cos he has you in a mating press, his strong hands keeping your thighs pinned as he puts hisbweight behind his thrusts, really slamming into you until you're bouncing back against the mattress <33 a good hard fuck that hits all the right spots he needs to in order for you to cum HARD. but if he's feeling mean, he won't even oblige your request, instead being all smug and settling back on his haunches, goading you to keep going and make yourself cum without him because you're just so close, you can do it. watches your pathetic attempts to do so as you huff and beg him because you just can't without him <//3 and maybe if you beg hard enough he'll consider helping you out... even though it's just so entertaining to watch you keep trying. ironically enough, it's the way he calls you his sweet girl as he finally pushes into you that sends you over the edge more than any of your own touches did. and once you ride out that high, body no longer convulsing on his dick, he'll pull out of you just to flip you onto your stomach, then pull your hips up to meet his before fucking into you to make you really cum because of him this time <33

SAMPO .ᐟ୨୧ this man is MOST DEFINITELY an experimentalist!!! 1000% down for literally anything. you use toys on each other el oh el. the epitome of a switch. he'll top or bottom too, it's always a good time with him. definitely a freak. tbh i headcanon him as having a crazy oral fixation... if he's not sucking on your tits already then put your fingers in his mouth!! he'll have hearts swimming in his eyes, especially if you let them slide to the back of his throat until he gags and his eyes get all teary!!! definitely a sight to behold if u start fingerfucking his throat. or maybe just gag him with your panties, letting urself hear his muffled whines and moans as you finally free his cock and deepthroat him <33 oh god his whines and moans... get this man on twitter NEEOOOWWW. as a top he's definitely more goofy about it, not super strict. sex is about making sure you both feel good and just having a good time im his eyes.

GALLAGHER .ᐟ୨୧ ... this man... a certified freak. me personally im not into it but IF U LIKE ANAL THIS IS UR GUY 1000%%%. he def loves ur ass more than anything. the type to stick a finger in as he makes out with you or just let his finger tease the ring of muscle, circling it ever so slowly to feel u squirm while sat naked in his lap. when he eats you out he'll let his tongue drop a little lower to tease both of your holes. if u let him he'll eat your ass with GUSTO. and YES he's using toys on you you're not safe... buttplugs with the cute jewel on them and when you're in public he'll give your ass a slap or squeeze just to see your face change as you feel it press a little deeper into you... he'll have a vibrator fucking into your pussy as he's all up in your guts, laughing at the way you can't even form words right now. yeahhh he's a FREAK. oh and did i mention that he's an ass guy??

SUNDAY .ᐟ୨୧ ohohoho. this man has actual YEARS of pent up sexual frustration under his belt. his wings. whatever. he's a man who thrives off of control, and this is no exception in the bedroom. massive dom. both soft and hard. but more hard <3. really gets off on u calling him sir LAWLLL. lowkey i see him being into some real freaky bdsm stuff... cos hes got the whole sexually repressed catholic thing going on n all yknow. likes seeing u kneeled w your hands tied behind your back. you stripped naked while hes fully clothed and smiling so sweetly as he watches you try and get yourself off by humping his shoe. anything for that power imbalance with him hrrrrng. and if youre feeling a bit more bratty, touch his wings. preen them, blow air on them, even grip onto them HARD with your fingers and it'll get him all riled up. and then that sweet smiling facade will drop and youll see his eyes change into something a touch more feral as he pins u down and fucks u hard and properly. just to remind u who's really in control <3. the aftercare goes crazy, naturally. but then i also saw this post talking abt how hes a PEOPLE PLEASER and i agree 10000% so when he's feeling more soft, your pleasure is his greatest reward. a headrush mix of sweet praise and filthy degradation. telling you how you're a nasty bitch who's just so good for him... how you take him so well like the filthy slut you are.... and he's just so so composed during it all like an ANGEL EHFHWJFJE it makes ur head spin istg. yeah he's a freak in the sheets LOLL

IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY ...... eat it 'til your teeth rot!

[ SMUT ] how the hsr men eat pussy!

alternatively, find my hsr masterlist here! ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

[vrystalius]

Squid Game men as dads (+pregnancy HCs)

How they act during your pregnancy, shortly after birth and as a veteran dad!

Pairing: Recruiter, Thanos, Dae-ho, Gi-hun, In-ho x fem!reader

Summary: Headcanons, scenarios as them as to-be-dads, new dads and veteran dads plus a bonus scenario at the end of each character!

Genre: Fluff, angst

Words in total: 7.1k (Every part is around 1.4k words long)

Note: No baby names or gender are mentioned so everything is up to your interpretation. Also, this took a lot of effort. I hope you enjoy this <3

Gong Yoo // The Recruiter // The Salesman

( Words — 1.1k )

Your husband was extremely over-prepared for anything and everything during your pregnancy. He seemingly bought every single parenting book that exists on this planet and proceeded to inhale them in a matter of days before internally panicking about if he is capable of being a good dad anyway. You can tell how much everything was eating away at him, even before the child was born. Although he tried his best to never show it.

A way to channel his nervous and stressed energy into something good is by constantly hovering around you. Being near your pregnant glow gives him a peace of mind, resting his head on your stomach and listening to the baby’s heartbeat and feeling a light kick here and there, or having you in his arms while giving you a massage, his lips peppering featherlight kisses over your skin.

Gong Yoo always insisted on cooking for you, no matter the hour of day or night. He is kind of afraid you might consume something questionable again after watching you dip tuna kimbab into chocolate sauce, insisting it tastes really good and almost making him try a little too.

For you and your baby’s health, he fully banned you from the kitchen. No more experimenting with food for you.

˚✧₊⁎-

He was absolutely broken the first time he held your baby. It was so unbelievably small, so fragile, pure and innocent. The embodiment of love and the result of it. Gong Yoo had to bite his tongue and hold back his tears in order to not cry waterfalls onto your newborn because he knows once a single tear drops, his whole facade shatters.

Once the baby came home with you two, the once neat and organised, shared home was transformed into a more warm and homely environment, the floor now decorated with toys, onesies, clothes and small children’s books.

He always gets up in the middle of the night so you can rest, falling asleep in the rocking chair with the baby in arms. Your husband is also mostly the one that stays at home with the baby since his job only requires some recruitment of desperate people once a year, so most of his time can be dedicated to you and his family.

Gong Yoo is also that one dad most of the other moms swoon about when seeing him at playgrounds or in the park, pushing the stroller of the baby, or having his kid hang out in a sling tied to his chest while he went shopping, comparing two types of baby foods with another and showing both to the bean of happiness tied to his chest, cooing and asking which type of baby food is tastier.

Hanging out with the baby is probably the activity that takes 80% of his day and he is not complaining at all. Your husband’s head lays on the edge of the crib while watching the precious thing sleep, cradling them in his arms in the middle of the night, sitting with them in the playpen, completely matching their excitement and energy while playing with their toys, admiring how easily his kid can be entertained.

Although he looks charming and even more handsome out in public, he cares little about his appearance anymore. While he was obsessed with the way his suit looked and hair was styled, now, he considers himself satisfied when he finds a clean t-shirt. His hair gets a little messier and dark circles begin to form beneath his eyes.

˚✧₊⁎-

Even as a veteran dad, Gong Yoo fold together immediately when his kid try to win his favour by saying I love you or making puppy eyes at him. He’s not a pushover though, standing his ground and giving his kid a strict glare whenever they go to far that immediately silences them is not impossible, although he doesn’t like doing it.

He is always afraid of doing something wrong when it comes to parenting, overthinking every decision and everything he says, fearing he’s too strict, too loose, too much of a pushover, too disinterested and blah blah blah.

You had to stop his circling train of thought by soothing your husband by reminding him how he always shower up to every single school event, always sat through the homework and never raised his voice when his child didn’t understand something, instead explaining it in simpler terms without making them feel stupid for not getting it the first time, how he never shamed his child for doing wrong, never blamed them for being just a kid and always did the opposite than his own father did.

It might sound selfish, but becoming a father healed the hole left behind by his own. Oh how he wishes and prays that he does and did everything right. The only thing he wants is for you and his precious baby to be happy and safe, no matter what.

˚✧₊⁎ - (TW: Suicide)

“What’s the matter? Your mind starting to race?”

The recruiter sits across Gi-hum, gun handed over into his hand. The cold metal now feels almost overwhelming when touching his skin, as if screaming at him to turn it around and point it at the man sitting across him and shoot him, end the game here and there.

“That’s right. Screw the rules. Now, with a single pull of the trigger, you could kill me… but, I’ll have you admit one last thing.”

Gi-hun’s voice wasn’t even shaking in fear, it was firm with determination.

“You put a mask on your face and do whatever your master says. You run, bark and wag your tail for them.

You’re nothing more than their dog.”

The words emitted from the mam sitting across him begin to slice deeper and deeper into his mind, his heart and soul. It’s true what he says, Gong Yoo knows it himself. He is but a small chess piece, a dog, as Gi-hun says, that obeys every order and does what his master says.

What choice does he have anyway? It’s either that or risking his death and yours.

You. A flashing memory of your face from just this morning briefly plagues his mind, the view now feels so utterly distant and unreal.

A small, cocky smile spread on his face, pathetically trying to have his last laugh. He leaned back against the cushion and cocked the gun, pressing the barrel against the underside of his chin. Taking one last breath, his finger pressed against the trigger, not pulling it yet.

He knows you both will be okay. Maybe even better without him.

Thanos // Su-bong // Player 230

( Words — 1.5k )

To be very honest, the news of your pregnancy kinda hit him like a truck. It was somewhat accidental and Thanos maybe panicked quite a lot while pacing around his shitty apartment, scared to death about the idea of becoming a dad. Like, have you seen him?? He is supposed to become a dad?!

After loosing his mind and having multiple panic attacks, he pulled himself together and went to the dollar store to buy a onesie, a teddy bear and a bouquet of roses before heading over to your place and ringing the doorbell for multiple minutes until you finally open the door.

He actually sold his apartment and moved in with you, performed a gig every night for multiple weeks on end, even dealing his fair share of drugs in club pentagon. Your boyfriend would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it, but having a stable income would be much nicer.

Other than that, your boyfriend took care of you the best he could. Whenever you crave something to eat, your boyfriend will stand inside a gas station at 2 am to buy you the specific type of chips you wanted. If there wasn’t enough money to afford a decent meal for the two of you, you’d get all the food. He promises to be fine and get his food elsewhere, don’t even worry about him.

He is incredibly fascinated by your changing body. Your breasts are bigger, softer and sensitive. Thanos will be poking them all day every day randomly, trying to see if they’ll leak despite you only being three months into the pregnancy. He’ll insist on taking a picture of your belly every day so he can document the process to show it off to his kid one day.

Also, he never smoked, vaped or used around you. Your boyfriend has been clean of drugs for the almost entirety of your relationship but still smoked, but for the health of you ans your baby, he tried his best to get clean on that as well but it proved to be much, much harder, so he instead settled on doing it on the balcony or outside.

One last thing, whenever he had a new ultrasound picture of his baby, he was showing it off to everybody he knows with the biggest grin on his face. Thanos was the proudest dad in the world before your baby was even born.

˚✧₊⁎-

Since your boyfriend was so used to staying up all night and performing, so he doesn’t really mind dragging himself out of bed to feed or cradle the baby in the crack of dawn. Although, doing that for multiple nights on end drains any person, so you two end up playing rock paper scissors after a while to decide who gets up.

Thanos is the type to grab his baby by the back of the onesie and lift it out of the crib, gently throwing it onto your bed for some family cuddles, grinning like an idiot at how his baby giggles in delight and kicks its legs, wanting to fly through the air again and again.

He performs for his kid too whenever he doesn’t know what else to do to make his baby stop crying. Your boyfriend would play with an imaginary DJ board with his hands, his waist swaying left and right as he sleepily raps some random lyrics together to make the crying baby in the crib finally fall asleep after being fed, cradled and having its diaper changed.

Sometimes, if all fails (even rapping), Thanos will climb into the crib in order to finally make the screamer fall asleep. His legs would dangle over the edge of the crib and angled in a weird position, his neck awkwardly leaning against the railing. Despite this clearly uncomfortable pose, he was deeply asleep and snoring alongside his baby sleeping on his chest. Of course, this scene immediately became your new phone wallpaper.

After having the baby for a while, Thanos’s fashion will completely shift from the indie/grungry/rave-whatever-esc he was wearing to whatever is clean and comfortable. He doesn’t care he’s wearing a spongebob shirt right now, he’s busy deciding if he wants to buy a CD of the Beauty and the Beast movie or treat you with some snacks and chocolate.

Your boyfriend also had some serious attachment issues. That man could not stand not being near his baby 24/7 or not being able to have it in sight. If you want to take it out to the park or something he’ll insist on coming with you or else he’ll be stuck bouncing his thigh up and down and switching between social media platforms to pass the time until you come home.

What was kind of fascinating to you was how little Thanos now needs to be entertained. Having his little sunshine on his lap, curiously biting onto his fingers or reaching out to his hair could keep him entertained for hours upon hours.

Sometimes you walk in on your boyfriend lying on his stomach, legs kicking in the air, making some grimaces at your kid and watching how it begins to giggle and laugh, trying to copy their dad’s expression as hard as they can. Although you have to say that your baby has their papa’s signature scowl.

˚✧₊⁎-

As a more experienced dad, Thanos gathered no experience at all. Despite his baby now being a toddler, it’s still like he has had that kid for two and a half days. Sure he knows what his kid likes and dislikes because it’s basically the same to him, both your manchild and child like colourful things and don’t like vegetables, but Thanos still has no idea how to raise a proper human.

Whenever you scold your child for something, your boyfriend just nods in approval. When the kid looks over to their papa for help, he’ll just point at you. “Listen to your mama, she’s smarter than both of us.”

Although he gets more excited every day at how he can do more with his kid now. He likes to fantasise and envision everything they could do together, like his precious sunshine’s first day in elementary school, teaching them how to ride a bike, first time bringing them to the club and show them off to everyone…

You’ll have to listen to your boyfriend fully plan out tomorrow and what he’ll go do with his kid while being cuddled up in your arms, your fingers brushing through his hair. Thanos’ll gesture around while vividly explaining everything in detail, how he wants to go buy some new toys and then maybe go to the park, grab some ice cream, then go choose out their bike to learn how to ride one on. It’ll be fun!

Although fantasising is fun, reality is often a little different. It’s difficult to afford all the things he dreams of thanks to your financial situation but despite everything, you, him and your child are happy.

He’ll make every minute, every hour and every day count, wanting to make as many good memories as possible before they grew too old and annoyed of their over-affectionate and hyper dad.

Also, your boyfriend is horrified of the teenager stage when thinking back to his own and how he first got caught up in the drug mess and whatever else he got himself into, but thankfully as of now, your child has yet to finish kindergarten so they are a couple of years ahead before that happens.

˚✧₊⁎- (TW: Death)

He was trying to stop the blood with everything he has, pressing his hands against the underside of his chin as the warm, metallic blood stickers through his fingers, staining the bathroom tiles below.

Choking on his own blood, Thanos slowly crawled into the corner of the bathroom, trying to escape from the chaos that erupted behind him. His face was scrunched together in pain as he rolled over onto his back.

The quiet sound of gurgling was completely drowned out by the sounds of fighting, yelling and punching as Thanos quietly gasped for air.

Fuck, this wasn’t how all of this was supposed to go. He should’ve just gotten the damn money and voted to leave, get that Nam-su or whatever to vote leaving too so he could go home with the guaranteed money instead of risking to play another stupid childhood game.

Now he is here, on a bathroom floor, drowning in his own blood because of a fucking fork.

His eyes were too heavy to be kept open, his warm blood on his hand weirdly enough made him suddenly feel so incredibly tired, like a large, warm blanket was just draped over him. He should close his eyes for a moment before he’ll continue to fight for his life.

Thanos can survive this, he knows that. How could he not? He has a kid back home, you. He promised to buy you a ring and propose once he had gathered enough money. Imagining you in a pretty white dress, standing by the altar, waiting on him with that pretty smile of yours.

He can’t miss his kid’s first day of elementary school, graduation, first day of middle school, first crush, first heartbreak. He can’t leave his kid alone in this world, they can barely walk. How will they get anywhere without him being there to carry them in his arms? He promised himself to be there for them with every step of the way they may take, with you in hand.

He just has to close his eyes for a second, then he’ll stop the bleeding and get up. Promise.

Dae-ho // Player 388

( Words — 1.5k )

Dae-ho was over the moon and back the moment he found out that you are pregnant. Pregnant, carrying his child! He always wanted a family of his own and you being able to grant him that wish made him fall in love with you all over again.

He’ll do everything for you during your pregnancy, just you rest and look pretty. Your boyfriend will transform into a complete malewife and cook, clean and completely pamper you. Not that he never did that before, he just did it even more now.

Whatever you wished for was provided; massage for your swollen feet? C’mere, put your legs on his lap. You want to combine the worst foods together and inhale that combo like a five star gourmet meal? Sure, he’ll go buy the ingredients, save him a plate!

Dae-ho adored cuddling with you even more during that time than before. He adored laying his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat while his large palm gently brushed back and forth over your stomach.

Your boyfriend also takes his time every night to talk to the baby in your stomach. Feathery kisses would be placed all over your warm skin while he sleepily recalls things he did today, trying to get your baby to recognise that the man speaking to it was their dad.

He’ll talk about how he finished building the nursery and how much he looks forward to them seeing it, how you two went to the park today for a small walk, how he watched you ate seven hot dogs and proceeded to ask for his to eat as well.

You can’t help but grin how Dae-ho acts like the baby is already there, can listen and understand to what he is saying and react to it. Your fingers brush through his long hair while he slowly falls asleep with his head resting on your soft chest, his arms draped over your stomach.

˚✧₊⁎-

As a new dad, you can’t help but think about how much of a dilf your boyfriend had become.

His hair is messy and his face tired, yet he has that big grin of his always plastered all over. Dae-ho’s whole demeanour lights up even brighter with his baby in his arms, walking around your home shirtless with his muscles on full display for your shameless enjoyment.

Something extremely important to him is skin-to-skin contact, so you’ll have a half naked Dae-ho laying around on the couch with your baby curled up on his chest. He adores cuddling with you, so having a baby between you is a big bonus.

Even after your pregnancy, he was still in full on malewife mode, but now with a baby strapped to his chest. He cooks and includes his baby in the process so they can stay entertained, offering small tastes of the sauce he is working on or letting them have their own tiny cooking utensils to hold and inspect while he stirs the sauce.

His sisters also come by for a visit a lot so they can see the first offspring of the Kang family. They coo over your baby and congratulate both of you, but scold their brother sometimes for not caring for you well enough, especially after postpartum. Your reassurances that he does plenty fall on deaf ears most of the time.

They often times take your baby in so the both of you can have some alone time and rest. You two planned on taking a small vacation somewhere and treat yourselves to cocktails or something, but you and your boyfriend ended up sleeping and cuddling the full week and barely leaving the bed.

At first you and him enjoyed the peace and quiet, but after a day of naps, cuddles and breakfast at 4pm, Dae-ho suggested the idea of getting pregnant again.

He himself grew up in a big household and sure there were a share of fights over mundane things, but at the end of the day, he and his sisters love each other and have each other’s backs, no matter what. If one of them has problems, the others are there to help and support or bury the body of the problem.

He won’t forcefully push the idea of multiple kids on you though. If you say no he’ll totally understand it. He’s not the one carrying the baby for nine months and bleeds every month when he doesn’t, but Dae-ho will try and sweeten the idea of having a big family to you.

˚✧₊⁎- (multiple kids mentioned in this one)

As a veteran dad, Dae-ho always complies to his little monster(s) demands without complaint. He’s more of the fun dad that lets himself get used as a horse where his kids can hop on and be paraded around the home on his back. He could melt whenever his babies come up to him and ask him to join their roleplay, doesn’t matter if he’s going to be dressed up as a princess or supposed to play a big scary monster.

He’d be down to play all day every day, but once school work and homework comes into play, it’s going to be a little complicated. Dae-ho knows his ABCs and all but quadratic functions? Both him and his kid will be sitting by the table, crying of confusion and stress.

Despite being the fun-dad, he can be strict if he wants to. Sometimes his scoldings hit even harder than yours because of how tolerant he is. He never raises his voice or his hand, nor does he shame his child for doing something wrong. Screaming gets you nowhere, he learned that first hand, so instead he’ll try to understand their behaviour no matter how complicated or hard it may be.

Dae-ho is an incredibly proud dad and he will show it. Every award his kid wins, even if it’s a participation award, will be stored in the living room and somewhere you can admire it in its full glory. Every work of art that was ever gifted to him was kept in either large folders that sorted drawings based on the kid and year or on a shelf in the entrance area.

He also has plenty of pictures of his kids that he is ready to show off to everyone that had the misfortune of asking how they are. He’d spiral into a rant about their recent activities (no matter how mundane they seem, they are very special to him) and just how adorable they are, how they have your nose and eyes but his cheeks… the poor waiter just asked if they wanted a refill on his coke, not knowing about pandora box he opened.

˚✧₊⁎-

His body curled together as he pressed his back against the wall behind his bunk. Right now, Dae-ho wanted nothing more but the concrete to consume him, hide him away and muffle and the gunshots and yelling that was happening above him. His hands were tightly pressed up against his ears and his eyes tightly shut.

He hunched over to hide his face in his shaking knees, trying to hide from the gunfight, to hide form the shame of not being able to force his legs to walk and bring the much needed ammunition. Dae-ho knows he is useless.

“Dae-ho!!”

Player 120 calling out to him violently pulled him out of his trance, making him flinch. He stared up at her, his arms slowly moving off his ears, clearly shaking.

“Dae-ho, what happened?”

“I-I’m sorry.”

She leaned closer to him as he glanced away, lowering his head in shame. His lips pursed together and slowly began quivering as low whimpers escaped him. He felt her eyes literally piercing him.

“The magazines?”

Dae-ho stumbled over his own words, barely comprehending what she is trying to ask of him.

“I-I’m sorry— I-I…”

Hyun-ju glanced down to the hoodie near his cowering form and moved the cloth away to see what was inside. The ammunition magazines. Dae-ho flinched violently and lifted his arms to shield his face as she stood back upright with the ammunition in her arms, casting one last worried glance to the obviously scarred and horrified man before walking off.

The world around him went numb again as he kept repeating quiet “I’m sorry”s over and over, mixed together with broken whimpers.

No matter how hard he tried he just couldn’t pull himself together and force his arms to grab a gun and fight for the games to end, but being staying here, with the other players, would be safer. Out there he either could be captured and eliminated, shot in the fight and bleed out, watch others die in front of him, kill other humans. He can’t do that. He can’t. No matter if he was in the marines or not.

Back when Dae-ho left for the games and back when he didn’t know that said games include death and murder, you two talked about it. You warned him about how it’s too good to be true. Playing childhood games in exchange for hundreds and up to millions of won?

You made him promise he’ll keep himself safe no matter what. You made him promise to always keep you and his family in mind, how he has people he needs to come back to.

It seems that his own body and soul internalised that pinkie promise you made him agree to. He has to keep himself safe and alive.

Gi-hun // Player 456 (post s1)

( Words — 1.4k )

Finding out that you’re pregnant almost made him have an aneurism. He already has a child that he himself doesn’t have a lot/barely and contact with before she moved away to America and even less now thanks to the distance and the want to keep her out of his mess. The mess that are the death games and the mess he now forced you to be apart of.

Gi-hun already felt incredibly guilty for falling in love with you. Anyone being associated with him is now in the line of fire and probably in constant danger thanks to him. Yet you stayed with him and even provided comfort.

He actually apologised for getting you pregnant while standing in a grocery isle to choose some jumpers and sheets for the future nursery crib. It was out of nowhere after staring at you being so excited over your baby, how you couldn’t decide between two pairs of itty bitty socks.

Gi-hun does warm up after a week or two. He catches himself smiling brightly at nothing after thinking back on how round you already look, what you’re doing right now. His eyes soften up every time he walks past the pastel nursery he build himself, fixing the sheets in the crib and folding the baby clothes together for the 100th time. His hands pick up one of the toys and his fingers brush over the surface, feeling the material beneath his skin.

Every time he does all this, it hits him all over again. You’re pregnant with his child.

Since he already had a daughter before and knows how much of a terrible father he was to her, Gi-hun feels a mix of guilt and excitement blooming in his stomach. He knows what he did wrong, both in the department of marriage with his late wife and parenting, so he doesn’t repeat his mistakes again.

The feeling of selfishness always swims around in his mind because it feels unfair to his daughter how he can provide all the things for his future baby he couldn’t for his daughter; proper attention, the financial means, maturity, a good father figure.

Gi-hun rested his head on your stomach, his eyes closed in relaxation as he listens to both your heartbeat and the heartbeat of the growing life inside of you, your hand idly resting on his cheek. Even if he cannot fully fight those feelings of guilt and shame, he swears to be a better father this time. In no means is he perfect, but he will try his best from the bottom of his heart.

˚✧₊⁎-

Right after birth, Gi-hun was incredibly attached to the baby. He was paranoid for a long period of time, things like sudden infant death and all kinds of worst case scenarios always in the back of his mind. He was faster than you in getting up whenever it cried, rushing over to the baby’s side immediately.

He’ll cradle the baby in his arms, silently walking around the home in the dark even long after his child fell asleep. Most of the time, calming his baby is more to calm his own mind of worries.

Sometimes, you two move the crib into your bedroom to stand beside your bed, just so he can feel more secure and less paranoia. It soothes Gi-hun’s mind to have his baby right there in arms reach. His arm drapes over to the crib, his hand weakly holding onto the railing even in his sleep.

But beside his paranoia, Gi-hun is always ecstatic when around his baby. There is always a carefree and soft smile on his face whenever his baby innocently chews on his finger, his eyes intently watching the adorable bean coo and kick around in its crib.

You gifted him a small heart locker with a picture inside. Unoriginal, sure, but something he cherishes with a his being nonetheless. The picture had you and him together, hand in hand, on one side of the locker, a photo that is actually fairly old. It was of one of your first dates and he had a soft smile on his face. It looked hesitant and unsure, but it was one of the first smiles he cracked in a long time.

On the other side of the locker was a picture of your baby in the crib, looking up into the camera with big and curious eyes while chewing on a rubber toy. You dressed the baby in an adorable brown bear onesie, overloading his senses even more.

Gi-hun wears the necklace almost every day and keeps it secure under his shirt, fishing it out and opening the locker to look at the two pictures to remind himself why he is still fighting to stop the games. His fingers brush gently over your face and his baby’s cheeks, a small smile spreading on his face.

˚✧₊⁎-

Since Gi-hun was already had a daughter before, he already kind of knows how to raise a child, although he sometimes struggles with spoiling his child too much.

Thanks to both the guilt he feels for failing to be a proper dad to his daughter and now having such an insane amount of money he doesn’t know what to do with, Gi-hun showers both you and your child with everything you two could possibly want.

So sometimes you have to remind him that just because your kid really really wants that expensive lego set doesn’t mean he should buy it for them, perhaps when it’s their birthday or Christmas or they have done a very good job at something.

You have to teach the oblivious man how to properly manage his money and maybe not buy everything in sight for your kid. Gi-hun will listen to you with those big, sad puppy eyes he always has whenever you scold him about something.

Also, he adores playing with his kid. His favourite thing to do is to have them stand on his feet and put their hand into his, walking “together” through the apartment while loud, childish giggles fill the rooms. He also loves carrying and walking his kid everywhere, despite knowing very well they acted like they were extremely tired just so daddy can carry them for a while.

How can he possibly deny his precious baby?

˚✧₊⁎-

“Here, take this.”

He takes out an ammunition magazine and offers it to Young-il standing in front of him, who was watching him holding the ammo out to him. “You’re going to need it.”

Young-il’s eyes glosses over his hand and up to his face slowly as if not believing his offer. “Are you sure?” Gi-hun nods reassuringly, holding it a little closer to him.

“Dae-ho will be back with more.”

That was the reassurance he seemingly needed before reaching out and finally taking the ammo out of his hand, nodding slightly. “Let’s do this, then. We have to end everything now.” Young-il mumbled, briefly gesturing towards the necklace around his neck as if knowing what was hidden beneath his shirt. “We have to bring everyone back to their families.”

Gi-hun froze for a moment as his head moves back to his ally. Jung-bae glanced over to the two. Seemingly taken back, the man quickly elaborates. “I mean, you have a wife and child, right? I overheard you two talk about it.”

“Doesn’t matter right now, go!!” Jung-bae waved his hand as if to shoo him away. Gi-hun just nodded and spared him one last glance before turning back to the pink guards standing atop of the stairs. Yet he can’t shake the feeling of dread creep up on his neck.

His hand briefly brushed over the locker beneath his cloth, tracing the heart shape with his fingers. Did he ever talk about you or his child back home? Even about his older daughter living abroad? Does Jung-bae even know about his family? Maybe it’s a lucky guess of Young-il.

His brows furrowed together in thought before Jung-bae ripped him out of his thoughts. “Gi-hun? Are you alright?”

Gi-hun flinched slightly before quickly nodding. “Yeah. Yes. Sorry.”

Without wasting another second or a breath, he pulled the gun closer to his chest and aimed it around the corner and at one of the guards and continuing the shootout. Although Young-il’s last remark still was engraved in his mind.

In-ho // Young-il // The Frontman // Player 001

( Words — 1.6k )

The news of you being pregnant actually horrified him to the core for a moment. The last time his love of his life was pregnant she died in the hospital while he fought for his life in the death games. It is safe to say that In-ho has bad memories associated with pregnancy.

Those bad memories fuel his protective streak even further as you cannot find a moment to yourself. Your husband will be there, hovering near you since the first day you know of your pregnancy. He orders you to take a seat in the leather chair of his study with that Frontman-voice of his while he provides food, drinks and entertainment for you.

In-ho also employed a doctor on the island that specifically is there to give you full medical check-ups every week. He cannot risk loosing you or the baby this time, you have his heart tightly trapped within your grasp and he does not mind at all. His heart is yours and yours is his.

Your husband tries to pull himself away from work and planning this year’s games but the VIPs are quite demanding and he cannot afford to disappoint them. Although he is a lot more home than before which you of course enjoy.

Your husband is actually a very good cook and will cook for you as much as he can, but also doesn’t mind when you give into your insane cravings. He will question your choices though, maybe even check your forehead temperature to see if you’re sick or something when In-ho catches you devour a whole plate of cut fruits you generously salted.

In-ho always was more hesitant when it came to showing affection, fearing he might come off as weak or soft and maybe seem unattractive to you. Even if you think quite literally the opposite.

With you becoming pregnant he became more and more sweet with you. His kisses will be more frequent and linger longer on your skin, his hands will always find their way to connect with you and let them run over your waist, stomach, back and shoulders.

Your affection breaks this man more and more as well, your hand cupping his cheek making him melt and nuzzle into your palm like a touch deprived cat, your kiss warming up his soul over and over.

In-ho knew this before but he never fully realised how hard he fell in love with you.

˚✧₊⁎-

You’ve never seen him cry before so the sight of your husband completely breaking down and showering you in praises and kisses right after birth. In-ho pulled you closer against his chest as his tears flowed down to you, his lips whispering broken “I love you”s, “You did such a great job” and “Thank you”s.

You gave birth in a hospital in Soel and not on the island. It was the decision of both of you to spend the first few days after the birth in the old apartment he still owned in the capital city, away from all the death for just a while.

Those days were the most peaceful and pleasant days In-ho had in a while. It was almost like a dream come true, the dirtiest fantasy he ever allowed to imagine: a regular family life with a wife and child. To go to the grocery store to pick up some carrot baby food and the bar of chocolate you have been craving, to have his biggest decision be if the newborn will wear the soft pink bunny jumpsuit or the cozy grey cat onesie. To be a simple man and his only duties to be a husband and a father.

Although after two weeks of rest and peace, the games pulled him and with that both you and the newborn back to the island.

Your husband did set his will through with the VIPs though and worked himself more free time he could spend with you and the baby.

Though he sometimes takes his child with to work by strapping them onto his chest with a baby sling. He knows that the rather violent environment is not the best place to have a baby, so In-ho implemented changes in the control center to make the place a little more child friendly.

The word “eliminated” was a little too gruesome in his opinion, so he made the woman who spoke the first voiceover change it to “lost” or “lost the game”. The blood on the screens will be censored with the colour black and most of the sound will be muted as to not expose his baby to the screams and pleads of mercy and scar that young mind.

It’s quite the bizarre sight, the Frontman standing in the center of the control room, inspecting the new portraits taken of the players participating the games while a giggling baby was attached to his chest, curiously chewing on their own fingers, unbothered by everything around them.

˚✧₊⁎-

As a more experienced dad, In-ho, much to his dismay, found out that his now a little older kid is very attached to the Frontman mask. Sure, they still smile when they see their papa, but they do seem happier and more excited when he wears his mask and talks to them with the voice changer.

In-ho’s parenting style is more strict than lenient, though he does provide a lot of love, encouragement and praise for his child, even his ways to express those things are more subtle. His hands give out light pats on the head while a smile spreads on his face, giving them an acknowledging nod for their work.

Whenever his kid needs to be lectured, his voice is stern but not loud. Raising a hand does nothing but ensue pain, fear and hate, so he never did that anyway. Thanks to his role as the Frontman, he knows how to be and sound incredibly intimidating and menacing.

It’s not entirely his fault, but In-ho is not home with you and the kid most of the time. He is always incredibly busy, especially during that time of the year. He tries his best to compensate for that lost time by pulling himself away from the games and spend time with his family, but it proves to be harder than it sounds.

He has a lot of pictures of you two on his desk and study. Whenever stress gets to him in a moment of weakness, In-ho will take his time to go through every single one. All of the masterful drawings made by your child are also on full display for his enjoyment and you know he’s treating it like a modern art gallery; with uttermost care and interest.

˚✧₊⁎-

“Look closely at the consequences of playing your game.”

In-ho’s voice was deeper, distorted when speaking through the mask. His eyes pierced through the man kneeling in front of him. Gi-hun.

Gi-hun stared back up at him with so much hate, so much despise. It’s almost humorous to In-ho how the same man that seeped of both hate and determination insisted on giving him one of his essential ammunition magazines. Almost.

The Frontman moved and aimed his caliber at the kneeling man beside him, Jung-bae. He slowly moved his head over to his best friend in horror. “Gi-hun.”

Those were the last words he mumbled before In-ho pulled the trigger, executing the kneeling man swiftly.

As Gi-hun screamed and cried for Jung-bae, trying to reach out to his best friend as the pink soldiers pressed him firmly against the concrete floors below, the Frontman swiftly turned around and stepped away to the master control room, sliding his gun into the coat as he walked.

It was pitiful, he thinks. Not the display Gi-hun gave or how he naively trusted him as the played the persona of Young-il to the point of wanting to overthrow the games with him, but how he, In-ho, opened up to the man.

He talked freely about you and how you two met, fell in love and married, how excited and horrified he was when you got pregnant, how he cried for the first time in a very long time after you gave birth. Gi-hun laughed with him when he ranted a little bit about the adorable antics of his child and he comforted In-ho when he voiced how much he missed you and worried about you.

Most of it was planned to get closer to the man and build some sort of connection, to make Gi-hun think of him as a father and husband than a faceless player. It’s just that In-ho enjoyed talking to him so freely.

He doesn’t have friend, no connection to his brother, no people he can confide outside of you and he can’t really talk about his wife to you, can he?

It almost felt normal, like two men complaining about the small things in life like how dry the buns are they ate at breakfast, or compare their children to one another and pridefully gush about how his already knew how to speak both Korean and English at 1 year old and how Gi-hun’s daughter lives in America and goes to a prestige school.

Yes, he’ll miss those couple of days he spend with him. But duty calls. He has to move on now.

💠

Author’s note. Thank you so much for reading!

I wrote this over the course of around three days while recovering from a head concussion, so I apologise for any mistakes! This took a lot of effort but was incredibly fun to write!! This is probably one of my longest work yet but it’s totally worth the effort, I just hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <3

[orangeflowerr]

[KISSES]

synopsis: nanami x reader, fluff, pretending to be injured to get kisses, ooc (?), cliché. gif created by me.

“Can you kiss it better?”

you ask Nanami, holding your finger so it’s in his line of sight. a paper cut that was near invisible was what was causing you so much distress.

“Kiss what?”

a smirk forming upon his face. you let out a huff in annoyance.

“Can’t you see? There’s a cut.” shoving the severely injured finger closer to his face so he can get a good look at it.

“Ahh, I see it now, you poor thing”

playing along whilst trying his hardest to keep the laughter from bubbling out as he took your hand in his, placing a tender kiss upon the finger.

“There, all better?”

“Yeah, but I think there’s something wrong with my cheek, don’t you see?”

you were pointing to a red splotch that had been there for days and was painless. hoping he’d take the bait. he rolled his eyes and chuckled. placing a kiss upon the splotch. he knew what you were doing but he enjoyed giving into you because it meant he could shower you with kisses. he wrapped his arms around your waist bringing you closer to him, your back pressed against his muscular chest. placing his head upon your shoulder and began to gently place kisses upon the side of your face. his hair tickling,you giggled and squirmed as he placed them.

“If you wanted kisses, you could’ve just asked.”

“I know, but it’s much more fun this way,”

authors note: i think nanami might be slightly ooc w this one. proofread but there still might be some errors. im a sucker for these types of cliche imagines so ill probably be writing a lot more like this in the future.feedback and reblogs appreciated.