#HE TURNED INTO A SCENE KID AND WE LOVE HIM

[emskryptonite]

Fit to be a Mother

a/n: here it is!!! so SO sorry for the wait, but i gotta say i'm really proud of how this one turned out! this is quite a big plot point in this au, so i'll be happy to hear any thoughts you all have after reading!! i hope you all enjoy!! - Emmy ❤️

Summary: No one ever said motherhood is easy, and Mrs. Wayne has fallen victim. What happens when she finally voices her thoughts on her unconventional journey through motherhood?

Pairing(s): Bruce Wayne x southern!wife!reader, Batfamily x southern!batmom!reader

Word Count: 5k

Content/Warnings: reader/batmom is depicted as a southern woman, angst, hurt/comfort (LOTS of comfort), self-deprecating thoughts, suggestive (??) scene at the end (it's barely anything), somewhat proofread, i think that covers it but if i've missed something let me know!!

Masterlist | Bruce Wayne/Batman Masterlist | Southern!Batmom Masterlist

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Bruce,” she sighs. They’d been going back and forth for over ten minutes now, and Bruce was prying. She was trying to stay strong, but she wasn’t sure how much longer she could handle it.

“I just want you to talk to me, my love. You’ve been distancing yourself since Sunday. I’m concerned…” He trails off, but his eyes remain on her face, watching her expression carefully. He immediately notices the way she folds in on herself slightly, making herself seem smaller, and the way she’s refusing to meet his eye. Something happened; he knows it. “Wait, Sunday, that was Mother’s Day. What could’ve happened? Do you miss your mother? We can go down and see her; it’s really no problem, darling.”

“No, darlin’, that’s not it.” She turns away from him, hating how close he is to figuring out what’s truly bothering her.

“Then what is? I just want to help you-” His words are cut off by his wife.

“I don’t deserve the kids, alright?” Her voice is raised, and it’s obvious she’s had enough of the back and forth.

“What?” His voice drops to a whisper, amazed at what he hears.

“I just…” She moves to sit on the end of their shared bed, and she continues her rant as her husband sits beside her. “I was never supposed to be a mother, Bruce. I don’t have any kids of my own-”

“They are your kids-” He tries to cut in, but she puts a quick stop to it.

“Just- Just let me finish, alright? I need to get this out, and if you keep cutting in, I’ll end up bottling it all up again…” She waits for his nod of agreement to continue. “Look, I love all our kids with everything in me, no matter what. It’s just… they all had a mother before me, a woman who was meant to raise them, to watch them grow, and instead, they got stuck with me. I’d barely been around kids before we met, and even now, the youngest I’ve dealt with is an eight-year-old. And, I get that some of them had a not-so-great childhood, like Jason and Cass, but that doesn’t mean that I’m the best person to mother them…”

“Oh, honey… You’re a wonderful mother. You always have been. Besides, what about Dick? Or, Damian?”

“Dick makes me feel the worst,” she sighs, hunching over and hiding her face behind her hands. “He had wonderful parents. The Graysons were exactly what he needed, and they were ripped away from him. Then, when someone somewhat resembling a mother figure walks into his life, he’s eighteen, and all he gets is me. And then Damian, I mean… You finally have a child that’s your blood, and- and I wasn’t the one who gave him to you. I’m not fit to be a mother, Bruce, and I’m not sure that I ever was.”

He swears he can feel his heart slowly cracking open at her words. How long has she been feeling like this? How long has he let her pain go unnoticed? What kind of husband is he? 

“Sweetheart, no, that’s not true at all. You’ve done so much for all of our kids. I mean, look at everything they did for Mother’s Day! It’s not every day the manor is completely full like that. They love you so much, darling.”

“No, I-I know they do, but that doesn’t mean that I feel like I deserve it…” Bruce is quick to bring her into a hug, wrapping his big arms around her in hopes it would bring her some sense of comfort.

“How can I help?” That’s all he wants, to make his wife feel better, to take her pain away. He’s only ever wanted her happiness.

“I think… I think this is something I have to work past on my own, darlin’...” She nuzzles further into him, enjoying the comfort that comes from being so close to her husband. They stay there like that for a long while, just resting in each other’s arms in silence. The talking was done now; there was nothing more to be said, but that didn’t stop Bruce’s mind from running a million miles a minute. How could the woman who saved him in so many ways think so little of herself?

“Ma has been… off… right?” Jason wonders aloud, looking toward his siblings for answers. He’d been noticing it for a while, but it had gotten worse recently. He was concerned, to say the least.

“I’ve noticed it, too. Some of the things I’ve heard her say just don’t sound like her…” Dick agrees, trailing off.

“It has only gotten worse since Mother’s Day. Something must have occurred that affected her emotionally,” Damian deduces. The others share a glance, and the pieces slowly begin to fall into place. They are detectives after all, trained by the best.

“Wait. Mother’s Day?” Dick questions.

“Yes, Grayson. Ummi has been acting out of character for a while, as you and Todd mentioned, but it seems to have worsened since Sunday, Mother’s Day,” the youngest deadpans.

“Okay, well, the tone was unnecessary, first of all. The point I was trying to make was that maybe something about motherhood is setting her off.”

“What makes you say that?” Cass cuts in.

“She just… said something the other day, but I didn’t think much of it until now.”

“What did she say?” Jason steps forward. He cares a great deal for his Ma, and he wants to help her feel better. For that to happen, though, they need to figure out what’s wrong.

“We were talking about that lady in her book club who’s expecting, and I asked her what the most difficult part of becoming a mother was. She said that wasn’t meant for it.”

“What in the world does she mean by that? I’m not even a Wayne, and she still treats me like her kid. I’ve quite literally never met someone more qualified to be a mother.” Steph joins in, taking a sip from her slushy as she speaks.

“You’re right, but the theory checks out. Plus, just yesterday, I reminded her that she told me she’d help me look over the files from the Scarecrow case last week, and she said, and I quote, ‘Sorry, Timmy. I’ll do better.’ I was confused, but I let it slide in the moment,” Tim breaks his silence.

“So, what do we do? Duke is the next to share his thoughts.

“We show her how amazing our mother is,” Dick decides. The others agree quickly, huddling closer together to formulate a scheme. The kids want their mother to know how much they appreciate her for everything she does for them. Even Barbara, Steph, and Duke, who weren’t even technically Waynes, no matter how often they were at the manor, want her to know just how loved she is. Sooner rather than later, a plan is set in stone.

It starts with the girls. They cornered her the next day, Saturday, explaining that they were in dire need of a girls’ day.

“C’mon, Mama Wayne, please,” Stephanie drags out the last word, dramatizing every motion she makes.

“Yeah, when was the last time you got out of the manor? Away from all the testosterone?” Barbara cuts in.

“C’mon, Mom. Just a trip to the mall, and then some food. It’ll be fun!” Cassandra is the last to plead their case. Mrs. Wayne shoots a look toward her husband, who had been watching the interaction from the other end of the couch.

“Go on. It’ll be good for you. Use my card.”

“Bruce-”

“Nope. No arguing. Go have a good day with our girls.” He turns back to the book he was reading, silently holding out the black card he’d just fished out of his wallet. Steph is the one to snatch it while Cassandra drags her adoptive mother off the couch.

“Alright, alright. Let me go get dressed, jeez oh peez.” She laughs as she walks away.

As she ascends up the stairs, her husband looks toward the three girls. 

“What are you three up to?” he smiles. 

“Nothin’,” Steph shrugs. 

“Right. Well, have fun.” He stands, wandering off toward his study. He isn’t sure what was going on, but he decides to let it play out. It seems harmless. 

The four of them had done their sweep of the mall, using Bruce’s card as he had said, and now they were sitting on the outdoor patio of a restaurant in Gotham Central, with all the bags in the back of the Aston Martin in the parking lot. 

“So, Mother’s Day was nice, especially for you, I bet.” Babs looks toward Mrs. Wayne, “We should all get together like that again.”

Mrs. Wayne offers a kind, albeit forced, smile, “We should. Bruce and I love havin’ all of y’all together at the manor.”

“We love being with you guys! I know I’m not really one of your kids, but you, specifically, always make the manor feel like a home. You make it… nice there, welcoming, I guess.” Stephanie jumps in.

“Really?” the older woman questions the blonde girl.

“Yes! I remember when you first took me in, I was worried to say the least, about fitting in, about being welcomed, but you and Bruce, mostly you, made everything seem so easy, like I had always been a part of your family. I’ll never forget that,” Cassandra looks away as she speaks, attempting to hide the blush creeping up her face.

“I- We really made that much of an impact?”

“Yeah, I’ve never had a reason to doubt since then, not really. You were just always so…motherly, just the way you swooped in and cared for me.”

“Don’t tell Bruce, but you’re kinda the real hero at the manor,” Barbara winks.

Mrs. Wayne doesn’t say much as the conversation begins to drift; Stephanie is ranting about some professor she’s already tired of. Mrs. Wayne’s mind is still reeling, though. Motherly, that’s what Cass had called her. She couldn’t make sense of it, but it still lifted a few of the countless bricks from her shoulders.

Next was Damian, her baby, although he’d complain if she ever said it to his face. 

“Ummi, can we do that activity where I do one thing while you do something else, but we’re in the same room?” he asks, his disposition surprisingly sweet.

“Parallel play?” she questions. When he nods, she speaks up again, “Yeah, of course, pumpkin! You wanna paint for a while? I need to work on finishing that crochet blanket I started a while back.”

“Actually, could you make me something? I don’t mind what. It can be of your choosing.”

“Well, sure I can! You can’t think of anything you might want? Some kind of stuffy, maybe? I think I have some extra polyfill lying around…” She’s talking to herself more than him, but he finds it endearing how ready and willing she is to take care of him, even with the smallest things.

“That sounds…nice, I suppose.” He tries to hide his smile, but he never succeeds in doing so around his Ummi. She’s always been able to bring out that side of him, that softer side that his birth mother forced down. It was a total three-sixty when he first got to the manor, and back then, he didn’t hesitate to voice his “disdain” for the differences between his birth mother and his stepmother. Eventually, though, he realized how much he needed that softness, how nice it was to just be a kid, not the heir of the Demon’s Head or the son of the Bat, just Damian, just a pre-teen boy who was still learning how to be just that. He’s always been able to seek comfort in her, and although he chooses to do it in ways like this, not too close, he’s much more secure in doing so than when he first came to the manor at nine years old. 

From then on, not much more is said. Damian quietly paints, laser-focused on making his vision come to life while his Ummi occasionally hums from where she’s crocheting on the couch on the other side of the study. The evening passes slowly, but neither of them minds; this is their ideal way of spending time, close enough to someone else to feel their comfort, but without the pressure of keeping up conversation. They both enjoy the peacefulness that comes with nights like that. Eventually, though, it’s time for Damian to patrol and for his stepmother to retire to bed. He’s more than eager to show off the work he’s put in, though.

“Would you like to see the progress I’ve made, Ummi?” He peeks around the canvas to look at her after she tells him it’s time to call it a night.

“Of course I do, pumpkin!” she grins. She slowly makes her way to the other side of the canvas, revealing a dragon that’s too realistic to have been drawn from the imagination of a twelve-year-old. Her eyes widen in awe; her baby’s talents never failed to amaze her. “Oh my- Damian! That’s amazing! How much more do you have left?”

“Mostly just shading,” he shrugs, pretending not to bask in the praise from the woman he cares so deeply for. 

“Well, it looks wonderful as is. Oh! I managed to finish your stuffy! I had a lot of red yarn, so I decided on a little Goliath stuffy,” she smiles brightly as she presents it to the young boy. His draw drops in shock, not only at the artistry his stepmother showed to complete the project so quickly, but also at how well she knew him. She knows he loves nothing more than his animals, so she used that as inspiration for something that could’ve been so meaningless. How in the world could this woman believe she wasn’t meant to be a mother?

“It’s… more than adequate. Thank you, Ummi. May I go show Grayson before patrol?” She knows that although his words sound less than polite, coming from Damian, they’re a huge compliment, especially considering that his first thought was to show his eldest brother, likely to brag. It warms her heart to say the least.

He had already run off toward the door after she nodded, but he screeched to a halt to turn back and say one more thing, “I really do appreciate this, Ummi, and you, and all that you do. You mean a deal to everyone.” Before she can even comprehend everything he’s said, he’s gone, probably halfway to the cave by now, bragging as he goes about the nice gift from his Ummi.

Then came Duke and Tim, challenging her to the greatest, most noble competition in Wayne family history: Mario Kart. The kids played almost every time any amount of them were together, and on occasion, they had even talked Bruce into joining for a round or two. Her though? Never. She always refused, told them she’d much rather watch the disaster that was bound to happen from a safe distance. This time, however, Duke and Tim were more than prepared, and they were more than comfortable using every resource they had, the most notable resource being Bruce.

“Boys, Bruce told you it was time to head down to the cave. You know it’s your night to patrol,” she speaks to them as sternly as possible, but everyone knows Bruce is the “bad cop” parent; it takes a lot to get her to the point of seriously scolding any of them.

“And we will,” Tim starts, allowing Duke to finish his statement.

“After you play Mario Kart with us.”

“I don’t play Mario Kart. Y’all know I prefer to watch.” She shakes her head at them, trying to hold her ground. She looks toward her husband for reassurance, or at least back up, but that’s not what she finds.

“They’ve made their demands,” he shrugs, like there’s absolutely nothing he can do. “Looks like you’ve gotta give in.” By now, the Bat had figured out what his kids, and the other children who like to hang around the manor, were up to. Somehow, they’d pieced together why his wife was feeling down, and they’d taken it upon themselves to fix it. He had no plans to stop them, especially since he could see the light slowly returning to her features day by day.

“Ya know what? Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you two.” She pretends to be upset that she has to play, but inside, she’s bursting at the seams. It’s been too long she’s played this game, and it’s well past due for her to show up the younger generation.

“Alright, Mrs. Wayne, we’ll even be nice and let you pick the cup,” Duke speaks up, brows already furrowed in determination.

“Okay. Let’s go with,” she drags out the word for dramatic effect, “the Turnip Cup.”

Tim snorts to her right, “Oh, yeah. You’re going down, Mom.”

She fakes a gasp, “You know, yours was the first set of adoption papers I ever signed. I can’t believe you’d treat me so poorly.”

“Oh, c’mon, you can’t play that card! Bruce!”

“Tim, we both know who I’m gonna side with every time. She calls the shots around here.” Bruce raises his hands in mock surrender, once again pretending like there’s not a thing in the world he can do about the situation, but this time it was in her favor. 

Soon enough, the drivers and carts had been chosen, and the races were about to begin. First up was a track called New York Minute; she held back a little, finishing in a strong third. Tim was right in front of her in second while Duke was held back in fifth. She could work with this. Next was Mario Circuit 3, a fairly basic course. She played a bit more confidently in this round, still being careful not to give too much away. When the race ended and she had passed Duke, last second, to get first place, she turned to her husband in false surprise.

“Did you see that? I just won!” 

“You got lucky,” Duke playfully rolls his eyes. “If I hadn’t taken out Tim, you wouldn’t have had a chance.” As his sentence finishes, the race she’d chosen the cup for is about to begin: Kalimari Desert. A wicked grin overtakes her face, and the two young men share a confused look.

“You two are going down.” Bruce stifles a laugh from behind his wife. He knew how this would end from the start; she’s as competitive as him, and if there’s one game she never lost at, it’s Mario Kart.

By the time Tim had crossed the finish line in fourth, just inches behind Duke, she’d already been waiting for them.

“Wha- How?” Tim looks toward his adoptive mother, wondering where her apparent secret talent for Mario Kart had come from.

“Honey, we still have video games in the south. I grew up playing that exact course on the Nintendo 64 almost every day after school. The only reason I’ve never played with y’all is because I didn’t wanna have to humble you like this. Apparently, though, you were getting just a little too big for your britches.” 

“So, there’s, like, no hope for the last race, right?” Duke asks from the other side of her.

“Oh, definitely not, but I don’t raise quitters. Now, c’mon, it’s startin’.”

Much to the chagrin of Tim and Duke, the final race, Waluigi’s Pinball, ended much like the race before. Mrs. Wayne had cleared the other racers early on and was sitting patiently waiting for them to finish their own final lap.

“Now, you’ve had your fun, and I’ve had even more. I believe it’s time for patrol.” She gives the two of them a knowing grin, and they share a look as they begin to gather their things and head down to the cave.

“I can’t believe we’ve gotta go on patrol after getting our butts handed to us like that…” Duke trails off.

“You’re never getting out of Mario Kart night again, Mom!” Tim shouts as they disappear down the hall.

“You know he wasn’t kidding, right? The others won’t let it go until you play with them, too.” Her husband wraps his arms around her waist from behind her, reveling in the warmth his wife always seemed to radiate, physically and emotionally.

“Well, I suppose it was about time I joined in anyway. Besides, I almost forgot how much I love that stupid little game,” she huffed out a laugh.

“I hope you know how much it means to them that you played, even if they did have to lose pretty badly.” Her heart swells at her husband's words, and again, she feels some more of those bricks just floating away. Maybe she had been looking into things too deeply. The kids do all seem to care for her, even in the tiniest ways. Still, though, she couldn’t help but let the doubts creep in.

Last, but never least, were her two eldest boys, Dick and Jason. Dick was older when she came into Bruce’s life, and Jason had only recently been taken under Bruce’s wing. Back then, she and Bruce were only friends, hadn’t even been on a date yet, so she hadn’t even seen their adoption papers, let alone signed them. Either way, if you asked her, or Bruce, or even Dick or Jason, they were her boys, and she was their mother. It was as simple as that.

They had known her the longest, and they took it upon themselves to do something a bit more significant to show her how wonderful of a mother she truly is. 

“Hey, Ma,” Jason says as he peeks through the open door of her library. “Can we talk to you for a second?”

“Who’s we?” she questions with a smile, her head tilted to the right in slight confusion.

“Just us, Momma,” Dick’s head pokes out from his brother.

“Of course you can! C’mon,” she waves her hands toward herself, ushering the young men inside the room. She doesn’t miss that Dick shuts the door behind him, although it was only cracked before. He’s the first to speak.

“We have something kind of important we want to bring up to you, and I,” Jason elbows Dick in the middle of his sentence, “we need you to promise you won’t freak out or anything, alright?”

She looks between the two of them, a quizzical and slightly concerned look on her face. Eventually, she relents, “I won’t freak out. Promise.”

“We’ve been bouncing this idea around for quite a while now, but it just never felt right,” Dick starts.

“The other day, though, we noticed that you’d been feeling kinda down lately, and we all wanted to do something nice for you to show you how appreciated you are around here,” Jason steps in.

“Don’t think that we’re doing this because we have to or we feel obligated to,” Dick takes the reins again.

“Or that this is just something to cheer you up. It’s not. It means a lot to us, and this just felt like the right time to bring it up,” Jason finishes for both of them.

“Okay? You two have me a little worried,” the woman lets out a nervous chuckle.

“We’d really like it if you would legally adopt us…” Dick trails off.

“We want you to be our mom, in every sense, not just emotionally,” Jason agrees. “Because you are our mother. This is just us asking to make it official.”

“I- I don’t even know what to say. Are- Are you sure? What about Bruce? W-What will he say?” It takes her getting choked up on her words three times to realize she’s crying.

“We’ve already talked to Bruce, Ma. He’s more than okay with this, I promise,” Jason reassures.

“I mean, like, really, are you two absolutely sure? I won’t be offended if you change your mind. I know I’m not the best option out there-”

“Hey,” the eldest is quick to cut off her self-descriminating rambling, “that’s where you’re wrong. You are the best option, and either way, you’re the only option we want. Like Jason said, you’re already our mom, we just wanna make it legal.”

“Ma, I don’t think you realize how much you’ve done for me, for any of us. When I came back, woke up, however you wanna put it, my first thought was you. I wanted my mom, and I wasn’t thinking about the addict who had me stealing tires to pay the bills. I was thinking about you, and you weren’t even with Bruce yet, at least not that I knew of. Point is, from the moment you came into my life, you were the mother I always needed, the comfort I always wanted to find in someone. Don’t downplay yourself like that, not when you’ve been everything and more for me.”

“Jay’s right. I know I was eighteen and out of the manor when you started coming around, but within minutes, I could feel the warmth you brought out in everyone, the reassurance that only a mother could give. I didn’t want to admit it, but for ten years, I had been craving that feeling, wanting nothing more than to just feel my mother’s arms wrapped around me, just one more time. Then, you hugged me, and it was everything I’d been missing and more. Right then, even though it was before you started dating Bruce, and even though I barely knew you and you barely knew me, you were my mother. I started coming back to the manor more, hoping you were here so I could get that silent consolation again. You’ve always been that person for me, from the very start. I don’t want you to forget that.”

“Oh, my babies,” she chokes out, pulling both of them into a tight hug. “I’m sorry, I’m such a mess right now. I just… I didn’t know all of that, and you two have no idea how much this means to me, okay? I’d be more than happy to officially adopt the both of you, as long as you’ll have me. I love you both so much.”

“I love you, too, Ma,” Jason repeats the sentiment.

“I love you, too, Momma,” Dick repeats at the same time.

Later that night, she finds herself wandering down the stairs into the Batcave. Patrol times are well past over, the kids who don’t live in the manor are back at their own places, and the ones who do still live in the manor have already retreated to their beds. All that’s left is for her husband to finally call it a night.

“You know you can’t fight crime if you can’t keep your eyes open, right?” She leans one arm on the back of his chair. He turns away from the Batcomputer to look at his wife.

“Maybe I just wanted to get you alone down here.” He grabs her waist tinderly, pulling her into his lap.

“I’d much rather be alone in our bedroom…asleep…with my husband next to me…also asleep…”

“Alright, alright. I get it,” he chuckles. “Let’s just sit her for a while, though.”

“I suppose that sounds nice,” she sighs, laying her head on her husband’s muscular shoulder. He has his cowl off, hanging loosely on his back like the hood of a sweatshirt. The rest of the suit is still on, though, and she can’t help but appreciate how well it frames him. “The kids have been…something else recently.”

“They care about you as much as you care about them. They just wanted their mom to be happy.” Subconsciously, his arms tighten around her, just for a moment.

“Well, it worked. I won’t say that I’m completely healed or that I’m not having a single doubt about my self or my abilities as a mother anymore, but…they’ve done a lot. I don’t know where I’d be without them, or you.” She nuzzles further into him.

“I knew it wouldn’t magically cure your self-doubts, but I’m glad they were able to cheer you up. It does remind me, though, of something I wanted to bring up with you…” He trails off, gently pushing her to sit upright so they can look at one another.

“Okay?”

“You said that one of the reason you felt like you weren’t a good mother was because you don’t have a child, yourself, not a blood-child at least. What if- What if we…started trying?” He avoids her eye, and she’d never tell him how adorable his nervousness is.

“Bruce, we’re forty,” she laughs.

“So, what? We could do it,” he shrugs.

“You’re serious?” Her eyebrows shoot toward her hairline.

“Deadly. C’mon, you don’t want another, one that’s half you and half me?”

“That sounds wonderful, darlin’, but-”

“No buts. Besides, you said it yourself. We’ve never had one that young, never had a baby.” His eyes are shining so brightly with hope, and she can’t find the energy to lie to herself any longer.

“Okay.”

“Really?” His face is pure shock, like he hadn’t actually expected her to agree, at least not so easily.

“Why not? You’re right, anyway. I wanna see you with a baby,” she grins.

“Oh, really?” He narrows his eyes, standing up and taking her with him. “Guess we better get to work on that, huh?” He gives her his infamous smirk, the one that he used on her the night they met, the one that she fell in love with all too quickly. She’d never been able to turn that smirk down, and she wasn’t about to start now.

“Yeah, I guess we should.”

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~ Emmy

[fencecollapsed]

alright now that I'm finally home and settled I've made a list of stuff from the TGWDLM reprise that I liked. I have endless love in my heart for this show so it is very long <3 so without further ado I give you;

TGWDLM Reprised things that are important to me

The train choreography oh it's so silly <3

The SET holy shit it really is phenomenal. Best one they've done so far, and one of my favorite theatre sets I've ever seen overall

Rolling office chairs

Charlotte's zoned out stare as she picks something out of her teeth and wipes it on her skirt

Paul unplugging his mouse and plugging it back in

Melissa's clipboard covered in cat stickers, and the perfect dose of Freak(tm) that Mariah injected into the softball convo. Context changes the interaction anyway but seeing her play it with the context? Unmatched. Melissa's on the verge of exploding when Paul turns her down and trying so hard (and failing) to hide it, it's incredible

Bill being so locked in on the Mama Mia tickets he doesn't answer Paul for a solid thirty seconds

There's a drink on the Beanie's menu called Fudge You Clivesdale

"There's a line..." (there is no line) "and... people are working..." (Zoey is on her phone)

Emma's super smiley snarky delivery on "well did you do that to be nice or did you do it to be an asshole?" I love her so much <3

The pause between Emma giving Paul his coffee and Paul saying he doesn't like musicals. It adds a cute relatable awkwardness that I appreciate, like he knows the interaction would naturally end here but he wants to keep talking to her. Continuing to complain about musicals should be an easy in. And Emma giving a teeny bit of an Oh I Thought We Were Done Here? vibe, but picking up on him trying to flirt and clearly being fully won over by "some things are worth it." Her big smile when she asks his name is so damn cute!!! She is sold she wants this dork!!!!

Frank Pricely cameo <3 (he gets TWO and he deserves it)

Paul fully exiting and then RUNNING back onstage to keep arguing with the Greenpeace Girl, he's such a piece of shit I'm in love with him

Paul has three locks on his door

He quietly says Emma's name to himself before he starts walking to work, he's so smitten <3

Ruth Fleming cameo!

MAX JÄGERMAN CAMEO!!! This was the one I was most excited for, I screamed when I saw him. That's my favorite awful jock whose corpse is being puppeted around all silly, look at him GO <3

Paul getting his ass slapped twice <3

Infected Max saying "This kid's got MUSCLES :D"

ALL the new choreography for What Do You Want, Paul?, but specifically Mr. Davidson gesturing for Paul to come sit in his rolling chair and Paul just. obeying. and also when Davidson chokes Paul with the phone cord

"I forgot what it was..." (looks at Paul and mouths "I didn't forget")

Emma looks really happy to see Paul again at first <3

The GOOP in the coffee pot, oh it looks so good and nasty!!

"Oh god. I just quit my job. I'm unemployed." // "Do you have any savings?" // "NO!!!"

"They used to call me Tomcat Paul- er- Alleycat Paul"

Bill, Charlotte, and Ted actually being INSIDE the trashcans makes it like ten times funnier

The cop car choreo bit in Show Me Your Hands. Just everything about it, I love it so much. Emma's little arms-crossed sulk is delightful to me

Emma gagging when she looks at Sam's brain

Hidgens having a portrait of himself in his house. Who painted that. Did he commission Ziggs to paint that. I want to believe he did

Ted sounding legitimately bummed out when he says "I'm gonna go hit on that crabby barista." He's settling, he'd much rather be flirting with Charlotte and I truly love that

Charlotte being relentlessly horny during both her scene with Ted and all of You Tied Up My Heart. Someone take this woman to bed she is desperate and she deserves it

Jaime played Charlotte a little mousier this time around and I think it was endearing

Bill fully smacking Ted in the face. 1000/10 no notes, perfect form. Do it again

How somber Emma sounds when she starts talking about Jane. The grief and guilt and shame and self-loathing WEIGHS in her voice, it's really good. There's like... an uncertainty that Lauren brings to the monologue in this iteration that's really interesting to me. Like maybe the path she put herself on in her grief isn't the right one but she can't think of any other options. And now that the world's ending it won't even matter. She won't get to see if it works out, she won't get the chance to make things right with Jane's family. And even though she doesn't mention Tom and Tim by name they loom over the monologue in how palpable her regret is. It's really good

This might've just been my read but Emma sounds a little apprehensive when she says "I guess that makes me the supervillain" and practically melts at "I don't think of you like that at all, Emma." She has her walls up but Paul erodes them by just. being genuine. This is why paulkins is my number one ship, folks

JOIN US AND DIE. AAAAAAUGH HOLY FUCK ITS SO GOOD. THE GOOP. THE GOOP GLOWS. GAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!

I love how rough and physical infected Charlotte and Sam get. The infected are rougher with the humans in this version in general but it's particularly fun here. I love when they push Paul and Emma together like they're gonna make them kiss, only to bonk their heads together and puppet them around while they're both dizzy

Emma, Paul, and Bill huddling together while Ted tries and fails to get their attention. Correct, this is the dynamic. Also an OT3 moment for those with eyes to see <3

The DEVASTATION in Ted's voice for his The World Has Changed monologue. Being able to actually see Charlotte's body and how he's been looking at her adds to it on its own, but Joey really dialed up Ted's pain this time around. It's great

Emma being left alone on the stage as the curtains close

Not Your Seed. Everything about Not Your Seed. Bill constantly trying to reach infected Alice and being held back by Paul. Whenever Paul tries to run in to protect Bill and gets shoved back by one of the girls. Bill being able to get close and touch Alice without being attacked because they know this will hurt more. When he holds her hands. When she sits on the floor and he sits with her and cradles her so tenderly, not wanting to believe she's gone. That he can still hold his little girl. Deb and the Bee taking the gun off Bill's back and placing it in his hands at the end. Corey's performance. He's incredible. Not Your Seed has always been an effectively sad moment, but this was next level. So thoroughly devastating.

Paul catching Bill and gently lowering his body to the ground. Not giving his attention to the infected teens immediately because he's still holding onto Bill for a few beats

Overall Paul and Bill are a lot more touchy in the reprise up to this point and as someone who ships them I feel personally catered to

Will's delivery of "yes... of course... STOP... it..." And also the amount of slooooow turns he does as Hidgens, he's such a living cartoon I love how he performs. Great casting imo

The Black Friday motif playing while McNamara explains what PEIP does

Emma and Ted trying to beckon Hidgens away from the piano, and almost succeeding, only for him to slooooowly turn back to it and sit down. SO fucking funny 😭 Additionally, the long-ass pause between "it's.... a................................. sssshow-stoppin number-" KILLED me

Hidgens does the same woman-with-too-many-curves outline from WDYWP at one point and Emma says "that's too many!"

Infected Greg and Stu miming basketball and golf while talking about football

After ditching Paul and Emma, when Ted goes: "I just gotta get to that chopper. Heh. 'Get to the choppah!' Haha did you hear that, Paul- AW FUCK!" I like that a lot. He wants Paul's validation so bad it makes him look stupid <3

The fucking choreography for America Is Great Again AAAAUGH!!! The slow-mo running, the freeze-frame moments of Paul and Emma being separated and reaching for each other!! Emma being directly targeted with the gun aimed at her, and Paul saving her, before being caught by McNamara, and then Emma saves him. it's so much more dynamic than the original (all of the musical numbers are) and I love it so!!! much!!!

Jon and Lauren's helicopter crash acting

The flirty, teasing, half-delirious delivery of "and it wasn't cuz you liked our shit coffee!" It's really cute to see Emma being overt about knowing Paul's into her and that she's into him too <3

I just liked seeing the blood-spit in person it was special <3

Let It Out. Holy fucking shit Let It Out. LET IT OUT. GOD. I was sitting there with my jaw hanging open the entire time. This was a spiritual experience. I am a different person after seeing Let It Out.

The meteor is amazing (it GLOWS). The lighting and the fog are amazing. The way you can tell Paul is starting starting hear the music before he sings his first note is amazing. The new choreography is amazing. The additional lyrics are amazing. Jon!!! sounds!!! AMAZING!!!!! His singing has improved so much and it SHOWS, his performance is so heightened and strong. The two sides of Paul are distinct and the fight for control is a hard push and pull that Jon sells so fucking well. You can FEEL him collapse under the fight and start to give in a little during the bridge. Paul's battle with apotheosis was THE thing that made me fully fall in love with this show the first time. I've always thought it was incredible. Getting to see an IMPROVED version where every single aspect is dialed up and enhanced is more than I could have ever hoped for. This was very genuinely one of the most amazing experiences of my life. Dare I say, fucking transcendent

Also infected Bill hugged Paul right before the song started and that is everything to me

Seeing The Hug(tm) in person. Followed immediately by the opening of Inevitable. Once again, a life-changing moment for me the first time I saw it, and life-changing again in person

Infected Paul lifts Emma

Infected Paul DIPS Emma

Infected Paul is so deeply sinister and threatening and joyful and I NEED to KISS HIM on the MOUTH I don't CARE if he pukes on me that is a FEATURE not a bug-

Jaime and Mariah coming out as Charlotte and Melissa for Inevitable, and Emma in casual clothes with her hair down, matching her look during the opening. It cements the show as a clean loop, that it's a performance the infected are putting on after the story really happened

Emma's terror is so raw and visceral, and when she sees the band and the audience and the set backdrop lifts to reveal the stage lights, it's such a fantastically horrific moment. Lauren played it so fucking phenomenally, she's such a star. And it feels so different to be THERE. She's seeing the audience, she's seeing ME. I'M witness to her horror, I'M part of the show, I'M clapping and cheering as she's dragged to her death. But I don't stop, do I? I love the show, after all

It was an incredible experience, this reprise is so good. There's such a strong sense that everyone involved loves what they're doing and loves this show and loves this world. It's the same show, but there's more context, more understanding, more to work with, and more experience. Lauren's direction is fantastic, I really like how much exaggerated, physical comedy she added to the show. It feels like both the comedy and the drama/emotion were heightened, which makes the contrast stronger, so the emotions hit harder. At least for me. There were a couple comedic choices that didn't work for me, I didn't love Sam's lego-man walk, but for the most part I really enjoyed this take on it. And GOD all the new choreography!!! Everything was so much more dynamic, so much more fun to watch! James and Lauren were firing on ALL cylinders for this show and it DELIVERS. It's so good. I had the time of my life

[dannyriccsystem]

zizi, you're feeding my delusions 😭😭.

i can't see lando as a dad for now but--- him as an uncle. that one uncle the kids love and the reader is the gf and seeing lando with children puts her in suuuuch a baby fever. omg i will die i don't even like little children why am i like that 😭😭😭.

oscar is such a girl dad, i can't.

— 🌱.

MAYBE WE CAN SLEEP IN

LANDO NORRIS X READER

SUMMARY: When Lando Norris finally meets Oscar’s new baby, his girlfriend can’t help but fixate on a potential future together.

WORD COUNT: 986

WARNINGS: Talk of pregnancy, reader gets baby fever, mature ending (no actual smut), Oscar is a dad + Lily’s a mom :)

FEATURING: Lando Norris x Reader

“Congratulations on such a healthy pregnancy, Lily.” You wear a grin as you sit beside the other woman, watching her own tired face lift into a matching smile. You heard the first weeks of parenthood were always rough with sleep, but seeing her now was living proof. But even then, she was glowing. She looked incredibly happy.

She lifted her glass of water, carefully sipping the ice cold beverage. “Thank you,” she replied, eyes darting over to your boyfriends. Oscar was gently cradling a bundle of pink blankets, and within his arms lay a snoozing baby, barely two months old. Lando was hovering, his eyes not daring to leave the child’s chubby face. You followed her gaze, nearly melting at the scene. “I’m just glad everything went smoothly.”

“I bet.” She had looked away finally, but your eyes were still pinned on your boyfriend. You were encapsulated by the look of wonder and awe on his face— A rather boyish expression. You watched as Oscar held his arms out, successfully handing his newborn over to Lando, who immediately softened up. He held her to his chest, hands rubbing smooth circles along her back. He stared down, unable to hold back the grin on his face.

“I can’t believe he managed to convince Osc to give him up,” she joked lightly. “He barely lets his own mum hold her.” You giggle under your breath. You tilt your head. Lando coos softly, one finger poking the baby girl’s nose. You heard her exclaim in a sort of half-laugh half-cry manner, a small hand weakly wrapped around his index finger. “Well, your boyfriend’s a natural.”

“Good to know,” you whisper, finally breaking your staring streak. It was hard to look away from such a heartwarming sight, but the longer you looked the more you felt an unwelcome sensation settle in your stomach.

You wanted that.

You continued to gossip with the new mother, free from her responsibilities for just a moment while visitors happily held her baby in turns. Eventually Oscar came back over with Lando in tow, the child cradled in the younger man’s arms once more. He smiled. “Do you want to hold her, Y/N?”

You were somewhat hesitant. You had never really thought about children before, and while they were cute, you lacked a lot of experience with the really young ones. However, you nodded and got comfortable in your chair before accepting the small bundle of joy. Your hesitation was immediately pushed aside when you looked down to see an adorable, chubby, sleeping face. “She looks more like her mom,” you comment, making the parents of the child occupying your arms laugh.

“Yeah, that’s what everyone says,” Oscar replies with a hint of playful bitterness in his tone.

Lando sat on the love seat beside you, one arm around your shoulder as he looked down at the baby, and then to you. He leaned in, kissing your cheek. “She’s cute, huh?”

“Very.”

When the night officially ended, you had spent the ride home staring out the window as Lando drove, his hand resting casually on your thigh like it always had. You watched the city lights of Monaco race on by. A familiar sight, but still a beautiful one. Lando had picked up your quiet behavior, but wasn’t sure how to comment on it without upsetting you.

He sighed, gently squeezing the muscle on your leg, and then he hummed. “What’s on your mind?”

“Hm?”

“You look lost in thought,” he says despite not looking away from the road. “Something happen?”

“No, just… Thinking,” you shrug, brushing his question off.

He doesn’t pry, and the rest of the car ride is silence. Aside from your music playing over the speakers softly.

You’re subconsciously pacing around the apartment, looking for something to occupy you. Lando’s sat on the couch, leaned back as he watches TV. You study his figure from afar— Sharp jawline, nice nose, tan skin, curly mullet, pretty eyes. He’s muscular, hard-working, and defined. If he had a daughter, she’d be beautiful.

You slowly approach him, climbing onto his lap without any warning. He smiles up at you rather boyishly, his hands finding your hips. “What’s all this about?” He inquires, kissing your cheek in a sneaky manner. You smile, turning away to tease him when he goes for the lips. “Hey!”

“Lando,” you interrupt, grabbing his full attention. He leans back, hands falling to the couch at his sides. You run one hand through his hair, watching him melt like a cat as you carefully scratch his scalp. “Have you ever thought about…” You trail off, unsure of how to word your thoughts.

“About what?” He raises your other hand, kissing your knuckles reassuringly. He doesn’t know what you’re gonna say, but he can see that it’s not something easy.

“Having kids.” The words feel heavy as they leave your mouth. Lando’s quiet, his thumb rubbing over the back of your hand. In fact, it was so quiet that’s all you could hear. “I mean— Probably not right now, but… Eventually.”

“Of course I do.” You’re surprised at this. “When I saw you today, holding that baby, that’s all I could think about. You’d be a fantastic parent one day, and I hope that I can be a fantastic dad for our child.”

“You will be,” You sniffle, turning your head to wipe the tears threatening to spill. Lando chuckles, gently guiding you back to look at him and then brush them away with his index finger. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m getting so emotional.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he kisses you, and you’re swept away by how gentle and considerate it is. “You know, maybe we should get a head start.” He grabs your thighs firmly, hoisting you up with ease as he stands. You yelp, legs wrapping around his waist and hands on his shoulders. “Let’s make a baby.”

“Weirdo.”

[yorblair]

I don’t like engaging in Tumblr or any online arguments because 9/10 it’s just two people trying to force their opinions on each other. But I will say this once-

I think there is nothing implying anything was up with Jinu abandoning his family (aka if he was manipulated or sth in the scene is wrong) Jinu just abandoned them and instead of staying with them went on to a safe life, he was selfish. He probably could have felt regret and left to look for them abandoning the palace anytime he wanted but he didn’t, that’s not a lapse of judgment depending on how long he remained a human in that place before turning demon, that’s just straight up f my family who cares if they are starving to death. We need to stop excusing bad trash actions of characters we want to like and convince ourselves to like some projected sugarcoated version of them. Jinu was a trash person to his family. Jinu isn’t a full on only trash person, but part of him is. That’s also why he got corrupted so fast. This is why he feels bad about everything. That’s his sin. He has to live with it and Rumi tries to give him a second chance because even trash people sometimes can change and deserve a second chance (not always , but it’s a kids movie so we need to have hope and believe even the most unlikely things can happen as Rumi puts it) . I do not like Jinu less because of these things, I actually find him more relatable and down to earth, he had a choice and messed up, twice, and I like that the narrative didn’t sugarcoat his actions, it portrays them as wrong and inexcusable. They basically had him say “Yeah I did that trash thing and hid that I did the trash thing from Rumi and lied to her and then did a trash thing to Rumi“ but then in the end he switches sides and sacrifices himself. That’s growth. That’s a good message for a children’s movie. Him feeling guilty doesn’t absolve him of his past or current wrongdoings. I have seen this with other dubious characters in other fandoms, sometimes we shouldn’t give characters a pass. His actions being inexcusable doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve a second chance, just that he doesn’t deserve forgiveness for the past. You can live without forgiveness and make sure your future actions are better. Idk if people understand that. At least I see it in that way. And the second time he was going to repeat the same mistake (abandoning his family/Rumi for a safe luxurious life in the palace/in a world where Gwi Ma wins) this time he choses to stay, risk his life and stay by the side of the one he loves aka Rumi. Jinu did for Rumi what he couldn’t for his mum and sister. And that’s so beautiful because it shows how he changed from bad selfish person to a selfless person who finally had the guts to FULLY protect the ones he loves. (And basically the whole world from demons)

Anti Rujinu/Jinu people: Jinu is a bad person

Me: Yeah, no shit, the whole story actively portrays Jinu as a villain and doesn’t shy away from reminding the suit he in the wrong. His actions are never excused.

He gets called out by Rumi, by Gwi-Ma, by HIMSELF ffs for being a bad person.

That’s why the Rujinu pairing is an actual “enemies to (almost) lovers” pairing.

[anythinggoesbutme]

Mimosas & Mayhem

Mattias Slater x Gigi Grayson

Warnings: Alcohol use, public embarrassment, mild language, chaotic behavior, protective love interest, unresolved romantic tension.

Synopsis: Gigi’s drunk. On a table. In glitter heels. Mattis is furious—and already taking off his jacket to princess-carry her out.

Song: “Glamorous” — Fergie ft. Ludacris

Word Count: 1,041

Tag List: @anintellectualintellectual @aria-filomena @angelnextdooor @runnningoutofink @saythewordheiress @lyrrrr @laurilovesbooks @sp3ncerre1dsw1fe @joelmillerswifeyyy @hannahcharlie @shestheworst @iheartkars @hwqdbncxowasqebclo @valeriaemerald @sweet-girl-in-cabin-13

There are several things Mattias Slater knows for certain:

1. Gigi Grayson does nothing in moderation.

2. If there’s glitter involved, she’s either about to cause a scene or already mid-disaster.

3. And wherever she is, she is absolutely, one hundred percent his problem.

The bartender at the rooftop brunch points vaguely toward the noise.

“She’s… on a table,” they say carefully, like trying to describe a wild animal without startling it.

Mattias doesn’t thank them. He just storms toward the music, shouldering through the half-drunken crowd until—

Oh. Oh, hell.

Gigi Grayson is in the center of the patio, standing on a table in six-inch silver heels that should be illegal. Her oversized sunglasses are perched crookedly on her nose, her mimosa is raised like a microphone, and her lipstick is smudged in a way that suggests both chaos and victory.

“…and THAT is why you should never date a man who drives a Jeep and says ‘vibes’ unironically,” she announces.

Scattered applause.

Mattias stops in his tracks. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Gigi lifts her glass like she’s about to toast the revolution. “Ladies, we are not rehab centers for emotionally constipated men with mother issues. Say it with me—”

“Gigi,” Mattias snaps.

She freezes, then grins down at him like a tipsy war criminal.

“Oh, Slater!” she calls sweetly, gesturing dramatically. “Did you come to support women’s voices? Or just mine?”

The crowd turns. Oh, they love this.

Mattias is already removing his jacket.

“You’re coming down.”

“Aw. You missed the good part.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m brilliant.” She lifts a finger. “And giving a public service announcement.”

“On a table.”

“It’s brunch theater.”

Mattias sighs. Deeply. Painfully. And when she sways on her ridiculous shoes, that’s the last straw.

He strides forward, grabs her waist, and lifts her—like a sack of glittery, stubborn flour—right off the table.

“Hey—!” Gigi shrieks.

“I warned you.”

“You are manhandling me.”

“You’re wearing heels that look like weapons and you’ve had three mimosas too many.”

“Two and a half,” she mutters into his shoulder.

He adjusts his grip and carries her like royalty through the stunned crowd. His jacket is draped around her, shielding her legs and saving her dignity—or at least what’s left of it.

Someone claps.

Gigi lifts her head and calls, “TEDx thank you for having me! Next week: how to fake cry your way out of a parking ticket!”

Mattias doesn’t stop until they’re out of the building, down the stairs, and standing beside his car.

“You’re infuriating,” he mutters, setting her down.

She wobbles slightly but doesn’t let go of him.

“And you are just mad because I was funnier than you.”

“I’m mad because you could’ve gotten hurt.”

Gigi arches an eyebrow. “You think a brunch table could take me down?”

“I think you don’t know your limits. And I think I’m the one who always has to clean up when you cross them.”

That lands.

Her smirk falters.

For a second, she’s quiet. Still half-draped in his jacket, half-drunk on champagne and bravado, but quieter than she ever lets herself be.

“Sorry,” she mumbles.

Mattias blinks.

“I’m not actually sorry for the TED Talk,” she adds. “But maybe… a little bit for the table.”

Mattias studies her. The eyeliner smudged beneath her eyes. The slight tremor in her fingers. The way her bravado is unraveling at the edges.

“You okay?”

Gigi shrugs. “I was fine. Until I wasn’t. So I ordered a pitcher.”

“Alone?”

She glances away. “It was supposed to be a birthday brunch with Harper. She bailed. Said her boyfriend needed her. Again.”

He exhales. “And you didn’t text me why?”

“Because I knew you’d come.”

“That’s… kind of the point.”

Gigi laughs. Softly. “I didn’t want to ruin your day. Just mine.”

Mattias stares at her. “Juliet.”

She winces at the name. “Matty.”

“Don’t.”

“Then stop using my government name.”

He steps closer, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You think I care if you ruin my day?”

“I think I ruin everything.”

“Yeah?” His voice drops. “Then why do I keep showing up?”

Gigi swallows.

The tension shifts—sharp, electric, familiar. The kind of push and pull they’ve lived in for years. Him, the storm she tries to outpace. Her, the flame he never stops chasing.

“I didn’t want to cry at brunch,” she whispers.

“So you climbed on a table instead.”

“I wanted to feel like I had control over something.”

Mattias doesn’t respond. Just takes her face in his hands and kisses her forehead.

“You don’t have to perform for me, sunshine.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were. You always do. But you don’t have to.”

She lets herself lean into him. Just a little.

“Still mad?” she asks.

“Oh, furious.”

“But?”

“But you looked hot doing it.”

Gigi snorts.

He opens the passenger door for her. “Get in. We’re going home.”

“We?”

“You’re not being left alone while you’re crash-crying in last night’s makeup. I’m making you food. You’re drinking water. Then you’re sleeping it off on my couch.”

“I could go to my apartment.”

He gives her a look.

She relents. “Fine. But I want hash browns.”

“I was already making them.”

“Ugh,” she groans as she climbs in. “You’re such a wife.”

Mattias shuts the door and walks around to the driver’s side, still muttering, “You’re lucky I love you.”

She grins out the window. “Say it louder for the TED Talk!”

Gigi is wrapped in a blanket burrito, mascara wiped off, hair in a messy bun. Mattias sets a plate of hash browns and eggs in front of her and collapses beside her.

She gives him a look. “You really do love me, huh?”

He shrugs. “God knows why.”

Gigi hums. “Probably because I’m a glitter-covered disaster with excellent stage presence.”

“Definitely not that.”

She leans her head on his shoulder. “You always catch me.”

“Always.”

Silence.

“Hey, Matty?”

“Yes, sunshine?”

“Thanks for the brunch extraction.”

“Thanks for the table-top feminist manifesto.”

They grin.

And just like that—between the mayhem, the mimosas, and the mess—Gigi Grayson lets herself feel safe. Even if she’s still drunk. Even if tomorrow she’ll make it worse again.

Tonight, she has him.

And that’s enough.

[darklinaforever]

No, but I'm dying of laughter ?! The scene of Jere and Belly on the inflatable couch in the pool laughing with Conrad who see them... Well actually... in this scene... Belly and Jere make fun of Conrad and his reaction to their marriage by repeating over and over his "When you think about it it's ridiculous" (which Conrad said to Jere when he and Jere were surfing together about Jelly wedding). Am I dying of laughter ?! 😂😭

And there still hasn't been a big moment between Conrad and Belly, by the way... Belly actually made fun of him a bit a lot in this episode ? In the end, Conrad finally decides to support Belly and Jere because he can see that 0 support hurts Belly a lot when he hears her crying in her room (so not for his own brother...). OH AND, by the way... that scene of Belly in her bed in the trailer that cut to her and Conrad lying on the floor (during Christmas) saying "he comes to me in a flashback" of the song Red. So we thought she would probably think of Conrad in that scene in her bed ? Well... no. She was thinking of Susannah and her mother...

And at the end there's a hug from Bonrad but nothing very romantic ? Belly learns that Conrad cooks and he made cupcakes for her birthday and she thanks him with a hug and the episode ends with Conrad saying in his head : "What did I do ?!" And I confirm... damn you should have gone back to California you're going to screw things up man.

He had his ticket ready to go and everything. And he stayed...

I'm sure Team Conrad will still be putting Jere down by saying, you see Conrad was able to make her the cakes she likes ! Jere isn't even capable of that ! He brought her a ridiculous ready-made cake !!! Misery... Yes, a ready-made Oreo cake, her favorite with the second gift being the keys to the vacation home and it's just awesome too ?!

Now I can see all their shitty arguments coming. Since the beginning of season 3 I've been having fun predicting them and they're turning out to be spot on.

Also, the first scene where Belly sees Conrad again in this episode... at the vacation home... Like she's sleeping on the couch, Jere between her legs, with him sleeping on top of her (so cute), she wakes up, looks up and surprising sees Conrad. And... she thinks about Christmas when he says her name and she says his in question mode. She doesn't have a particular expression when she sees him though ? Very neutral (at the same time the first time she's seen him in a while was in the previous episode, so the big surprise is a bit over now) ? Again, when I say that she seems more disturbed by the last time she saw him that she's keeping secret more than anything else...

She sees Conrad, at his cousin's house where she and Jere are taking refuge, while he is supposed to be back in California and he has been ignoring Jere's messages and calls all this time ?! Even Jere when he wakes up from Belly (Conrad's expression is hilarious when he sees Jere pop up from the couch and therefore understands that he was lying on Belly) and when he sees Conrad he says "What the fuck ?! You were there all this time?!" No but I swear that Conrad and communication are still as much shit...

Basically I still see nothing extraordinary on Belly's face when she sees Conrad again ? She wakes up, sees him among the living room decor from the couch, wonders what and says his name because he's not supposed to be there and she's disturbed because technically their last meeting was in this house ? But nothing crazy.

Not evidence of romantic love still existing in the actuality / present for me either ?

And again, she makes fun of Conrad quite a bit in this episode, in reality ? Especially when Jere tells her that he doesn't approve of the marriage either during the day. She does an impression of Conrad who sees them as little kids, and she makes a joke about it again when she and Jere are on the inflatable sofa in the pool the night and they laugh like crazy with Conrad hearing everything... 😅

The only thing I remember about Belly seeing Conrad for the first time in this episode is that Jere was sleeping on Belly and she was holding him tenderly. Literally that's all I care about in this scene. 😂 Also, when Jere tells Belly that Conrad doesn't approve either, Jere comes back from the beach where he surfed with Conrad, and Belly is in the pool, when Jere tells her Conrad's reaction, she immediately gets out and he automatically takes Belly's towel that he hands her as soon as she's out of the water ?! Is that so cute ?!

@vanillawildflower

[sandpitturtlescove]

(our) kinito 🤝 sword

"i hope you miss me and i hope it hurts"

- 🍪 (+ 🪸 and ⚔️)

[werkwerkelizaaa]

I changed my mind I’m not shutting up about this actually

KPOP DEMON HUNTERS. RUMI AND JINU. MISS ME WITH THAT FORCED ALLO SHIT.

Imagine if he’s her biological father instead.

Especially since in Asian countries there is such an emphasis on sacrifice for and duty to family so him turning his back on them the way the movie has it set up was already a big oof.

This time, it’s personal.

Rumi is the memory he wants erased.

Rumi is the memory he wants erased!!

Maybe he was immature and woefully unprepared to have a child (a sort of stasis, stuck at the age he originally died? Growth is possible but he hasn’t undergone it yet?), maybe the shame due to being unmarried let alone a demon was too much, maybe he thought he was protecting them, maybe he was protecting himself

Rumi already has acceptance issues with Celine, this would exacerbate the issue so much

Celine hates a part of her. He’s denying her entire existence.

There’s still room for humor too, Rumi gagging whenever people thirst over him LMAO

The scene with the introduction of the Saja boys except when it cuts back to Rumi’s POV she just sees Just Some Guy TM

“The way he looked at me. As if we know each other or something?”

Zoey: Oooh, maybe you’re star-crossed lovers!

“No I don’t think that’s it.”

- Mira and Zoey knowing people shipping the two of them together is a major disgust point for Rumi but unable to put their fingers on the exact reason why

- lots of increasingly incorrect guesses

The part where he teases her about her pajama pants. Like. That’s so dad coded.

The only time he hugs her is as a distraction to do something else (putting a bandage on her arm). That’s so Asian dad coded.

The greeting cards and Rumi initially rejecting them? Hello, parent trying to connect with their increasingly distant now-a-teenager child, anybody?

Him sending the Tiger and Magpie as messengers in his stead

Jinu: Kids love animals. Oh yeah, it’s all coming together.

“You’re so OLD.” That is all.

Rumi @ the bracelet lady: Um so yeah that’s my fucking dad (inspiration: assumptions people have made about me being out and about with my own dad 🤢)

“Watch your language young lady”

“I’m 24 I’m a grown ass adult”

“Not compared to me you’re not”

The inherent awkwardness that comes from Rumi not being quite sure how to address him. An elder, a peer, somewhere in between?

And hey, you know how a lot of dads refer to their daughters as their little princess

Parallels with Rumi singing in her song about becoming the queen she was meant to be

She’s grown up. She’s strong. Without him.

… Imagine when he sacrifices himself for her in the end she tells him tearfully “say hi to mom”

She has to let him go. She can’t grow if she holds on.

She stands on her own two feet as an equal with her current found family (Zoey, Mira, Bobby).

And heck, the other two girls were sorely underutilized let’s bring them back in.

Zoey knows what it feels like to have a foot in each world, belonging to neither.

Mira knows what it’s like to have family reject you.

Maybe they know her father is estranged but not details. Zoey would encourage her to try and reconnect, while Mira would urge her to be cautious.

Post-credits bloopers scene where he walks up to Celine and goes “Celine. Long time—“ and she immediately kills him

My credentials are: I’m a tired aro

+ I’m Chinese, but adopted by American parents

Hm. This could've not been a romance.

[hood-ex]

Silver from Treasure Planet is such a good character.

[mabledonut]

I've always liked the thought of Kakashi as being someone who has more skill than power. It made complete sense to me that he was able to do the complete susano'o once infused with Obito's power, because he's had to be that much better at theory and mechanics just to keep up with the power houses. (I never really wondered about Sasuke, because I always assumed the Sharingan or Byakugan would come with the greater reserves to power them.)

Though I do like that Kakashi is portrayed as more powerful in his post Sharingan era, since he no longer has to deal with that constant drain. It must be such a relief (and the tricks that used to compensate would make him seem that much more powerful.)

i don't really know about the post-sharingan era because I've never watched Boruto/anything post canon, but yeah, I agree it seems like a relief and a well-deserved break for him 🙂.

it's definitely interesting to think about AU situations where Obito didn't die/never gave him the Sharingan, and Kakashi would have carved his career path on his own terms, rather than as the Copy Nin. makes me wonder what his reputation would have been, and what he would have been known for. I frequently come back to that ability to use all 5 chakra natures because in my understanding of canon, that seems like a very strong and unusual ability, and one that requires more skill than power, as you mentioned.

And yeah, in general he seems more analytical and strategic to me than someone who uses raw expenditures of strength to make a point. even when he has the upper hand.

so I think even if he had never had the Sharingan, or even if he had unlimited chakra pools to draw on, he'd still be thinking about conservation of energy and efficiency of movements rather than shows of dominance.

...except when he wants to look cool.

and anyway, to me the Kakashi fights that are most memorable are predominantly taijutsu-centric fights where he's showing off his athleticism rather than his jutsu skills:

...but that's probably just because the animators love him so much (and for good reason). even so, I think the battles where he replies more on jutsu (the Zabuza and Pain fights, e.g.) are cool, but not quite as cool as him just kicking the shit out of his friends and ex-students battle opponents.

[sskk-manifesto]

\\

[thebarneschronicles]

Nine Lives

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 9.4k

Synopsis: Bucky Barnes drives you insane—in every possible way. The bickering, the reckless plans, the way he smirks like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. But when a mission goes sideways, leaving you both bloodied and too close for comfort, the tension between you ignites into something impossible to ignore.

You can keep pretending. Keep fighting him. But Bucky isn’t one to back down—especially when he knows you don’t really want him to.

Trigger Warnings: Bullet wounds, unprotect sex (wrap it before you tap it!), p in v, dirty talk, BUCKY BARNES (he needs his own warning)

Author’s Note: I had been tinkering with a few scenes in this and the Thunderbolts trailer made me finish it. Hope you like it! B x

-- Bucky Barnes was going to be the death of you.

Whether it was because he got on your last nerve or because you were desperately, irrevocably, undeniably in love with him—either way, he’d be the reason your heart stopped beating.

And honestly? It might happen in the next five minutes. Because God help you, the man was insufferable.

The room smelled like burnt coffee and bad decisions.

Sam stood at the front, gesturing at a holographic map as he laid out the mission plan, his voice steady and patient—too patient, the way a parent speaks when they know their kids are about to cause problems.

You were paying attention. You really were. But out of the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky leaning against the wall, arms crossed– and looking bored out of his mind.

Every once in a while, he flicked his gaze to you, not saying anything. Just watching.

And you knew that look. That I’m about to do something reckless and you’re going to yell at me for it look.

You gritted your teeth.

“—we’ll go in through the east entrance,” Sam continued, pointing at the building layout. “Stealth is key. No unnecessary attention.”

Bucky made a quiet sound. It wasn’t quite a scoff, but it was close enough.

Sam’s jaw flexed. “Got something to add, Barnes?”

Bucky shrugged, like the whole thing was barely worth his effort. “I just think you’re overcomplicating it.”

Your brows shot up. Oh, here we go.

Sam closed his eyes, visibly counting to ten. “What part is complicated?”

Bucky shifted, pushing off the wall. “The part where we’re tiptoeing around like we’re on a damn field trip. We go in, take out the threats, get what we need. Done.”

You turned in your chair, slowly. “Take out the threats?”

Bucky smirked. “What?”

“What?” you repeated, voice rising. “You mean brute force? Like some kind of rabid raccoon?”

Sam sighed deeply, rubbing his temples.

Bucky grinned, which somehow made it worse. “I’d say more wolf, but sure.”

Your grip tightened on the edge of the table. “Barnes, if you go off-script, I swear to God—”

“Relax, doll,” he said, casual as anything. “I’ll mostly follow the plan.”

Your eye twitched. “Mostly?”

Sam exhaled sharply, muttering to himself. “I should start charging overtime for this.”

Bucky wasn’t done, though—he turned that damn smirk back on you. “You do love bossing me around, don’t you?”

And that? That was the last straw.

Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood, planting your hands on your hips. “We are sticking to the plan, Barnes. No improvising. No wandering off. No turning this into some solo hero death mission.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling through gritted teeth as you fought for patience you absolutely did not have. “Why is your solution to everything brute force? Sam has a plan. A good plan. A plan that does not involve you punching your way through every obstacle.”

Bucky folded his arms across his broad chest, looking completely unfazed. If anything, he seemed amused. “First of all, rude. Second of all, my way works.”

“You mean it works when it doesn’t get us killed?” you shot back, voice rising. “Which, by the way, is not a guarantee.”

His mouth twitched like he was trying not to grin. “C’mon, doll, you’re overreacting.”

And there it was. That goddamn nickname.

You felt it like a spark in your bloodstream, a rush of heat you refused to acknowledge. Instead, you rolled your eyes so hard they nearly got stuck. “Don’t ‘doll’ me, Barnes. I’m serious. We are sticking to the plan.”

“I am sticking to the plan,” he said, far too casually. “I’m just… modifying it.”

Your jaw dropped. “Modifying it?”

“Enhancing.”

“You mean ignoring it?”

He shrugged and you had never wanted to strangle and kiss someone in equal measure more in your life.

God, this man was going to be the death of you.

You took a slow, deep breath, curling your fingers into fists at your sides. “Bucky. No modifications. No enhancements. No Barnes-ifying the plan.”

He tilted his head, looking irritatingly pleased with himself. “Barnes-ifying? Huh. I kinda like that.”

You threw your hands in the air. “Of course you do.”

Sam, who had been observing this entire exchange with the long-suffering patience of a saint, let out a loud sigh. “Are you two done? Or should we clear the room so you can work out all that tension?”

Your head snapped toward him. “There is no tension.”

Bucky, the absolute menace that he was, had the audacity to murmur, “Oh, there’s tension.”

Your entire body went rigid. Your face felt hot. You whirled back to him, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. “I will kill you.”

His lips twitched. “I’d love to see you try, doll.”

You weren’t sure what infuriated you more—the way he said it— doll —like it was his own private joke, or the fact that you liked it. Loved it, even. That it sent a pulse of something traitorous through you, something that made you want to either punch him or grab him by the collar and—

No. Focus.

You squared your shoulders, planting your hands on your hips. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Barnes. You’re going to follow the plan. No making things up as you go along. Got it?”

His blue eyes glinted with something unreadable. “And what if I don’t?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Then I’ll personally make sure you regret it.”

Bucky grinned, slow and wicked. “Kinda looking forward to that.”

Your breath hitched. Your brain short-circuited. You opened your mouth, then shut it again, because there was absolutely nothing appropriate to say to that.

Oh. Oh, that son of a—

Bucky chuckled, clearly enjoying the way he’d just rendered you speechless. Then he leaned in just slightly, voice dropping to something low and smug.

“Face it, doll,” he murmured. “You’d miss me if I was gone.”

You scoffed, even as your stomach flipped. “I’d miss arguing with you. That’s it.”

“Mm-hmm.”

The knowing look on his face made you want to smack it off. But more than that, it made you want to—

Nope. Not going there.

You exhaled sharply, turning on your heel. “I’m done. Sam, let’s go before I change my mind and let him get himself killed.”

Sam snorted, giving Bucky a pointed look. “See what you did? Now you’ve pissed her off.”

Bucky only smirked, watching you walk away. “Nah,” he said, mostly to himself. “She likes it.”

—

You didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

And do you know why? Because you knew—knew—he wasn’t lying.

Bucky Barnes didn’t say things he didn’t mean. He wasn’t the type to play games with words, wasn’t the type to tease just for the hell of it. If he said there was tension, if he said you’d miss him, then he meant it. He knew.

He knew before you did.

And that was the worst part.

You had no idea when your constant bickering turned into something else, something deeper, something dangerous. One day, you thought you hated him—the next, you realized you couldn’t imagine a world without him in it.

It had terrified you.

So you fought.

You fought harder, argued louder, refused to let him see just how deeply he had burrowed into you. You clashed over the stupidest things—his reckless plans, his stubbornness, the way he called you doll like it was a secret between you. Because if you didn’t fight, if you let the walls slip for even a second, you weren’t sure what would happen.

And it infuriated you.

How dare he?

How dare he make himself at home in a corner of your heart you didn’t even know existed? How dare he take up permanent residence there, until that tiny space expanded into the whole damn thing?

How dare he make you want him when you were supposed to be angry at him?

How. Dare. He.

The memory took over before you could stop it…

It had been a disaster from the start.

The mission was supposed to be a simple recon—go in, get intel, get out. No unnecessary engagement. No close calls. No getting shot.

But Bucky Barnes? He didn’t believe in simple.

You were fuming as you dragged him into the safe house, your grip tight on his arm, ignoring the way his blood seeped through your gloves. He was bleeding all over the place, but of course, he still had the audacity to smirk at you.

“You’re manhandling me, doll.” His voice was rough, teasing. “If you wanted to get handsy, you could’ve just asked.”

You pushed him down onto the rickety cot in the corner, none too gently. “I swear to God, Barnes, if you don’t shut up, I will make your injuries worse.”

Bucky groaned dramatically as he flopped back, far too casual for someone who had just taken a bullet to the shoulder. “You’re so mean to me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—should I be nice to the guy who just got himself shot?” You tore open the med kit, grabbing a pair of scissors and snipping at the sleeve of his tactical suit. 

Bucky’s smirk vanished. “Hey, whoa—this is a perfectly good jacket.”

“You’ve bled through half of it, Bucky!” You glared at him, slicing the fabric open with zero hesitation.

Bucky scowled. “Still wearable.”

“Still ruined.”

“You’re ruining it more.”

“Oh my God—do you wanna keep arguing, or do you want me to keep you from bleeding out you reckless, metal-armed asshole?”

Bucky huffed a laugh, because of course he did, the sound painfully casual. “Little dramatic, don’t you think?”

Your hands shook as you tore open the med kit, fingers fumbling over the supplies. “Shut up.”

“Oh, come on, doll, it’s just a—”

“Don’t you dare say ‘scratch.’”

Bucky sighed, dropping his head back onto the cot. “I’m not bleeding out.”

“You got shot, you dick,” you snapped, peeling the fabric away to get a better look at the wound. Through and through, just above his bicep. A clean hit, but it would scar if you didn’t take care of it properly.

Bucky peered at the wound like it was barely an inconvenience. “It is just a scratch.”

Your eye twitched. You gritted your teeth, pressing an antiseptic wipe to the wound with zero mercy.

Bucky hissed, body tensing as he glared at you. “Jesus—are you trying to kill me?”

“Oh, now you feel pain?” You didn’t let up, pressing a little harder just for good measure. “You didn’t seem too concerned when you ran into a hail of gunfire like a rabid golden retriever with a death wish.”

Bucky scoffed. “Golden retriever?”

“You just charged in, Bucky! What part of ‘stealth mission’ do you not understand?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I had to.”

“No, you didn’t!” You grabbed a fresh gauze pad, pressing it against the wound. “Sam and I were handling it just fine before you decided to be stupidly heroic.”

“Doll, you were cornered,” Bucky argued.

“No, I was waiting for backup.”

Bucky gave you a pointed look. “You were outnumbered and had a jammed weapon.”

You locked your jaw. Because okay, maybe that was true.

But he didn’t have to jump in front of a bullet for you.

You cleared your throat, trying to sound unimpressed. “I was fine.”

“You were two seconds away from getting shot.”

“I know, Bucky!” You slammed the antiseptic wipe against his skin, not caring when he hissed. “But you didn’t have to—you didn’t—you— I told you not to do it!” you cried out. “But no, you just had to go full Terminator and jump in front of a goddamn bullet for me—”

You stopped.

Because suddenly, your throat was too tight, and your breath was coming too fast, and you hated that the panic was winning, that it was spilling over.

You weren’t just mad.

You were terrified.

Bucky blinked at you, actually looking concerned now, which only pissed you off more.

“Doll—”

“You think you’re indestructible, don’t you?” You threw the used gauze aside, grabbing another one, your hands shaking as you pressed it to the wound. “Just because you have the serum, you think you can—can take all these stupid risks—”

Bucky sighed, clearly exasperated. “I heal faster than you do, sweetheart. It’s not that deep.”

Something inside you snapped.

“Oh, fuck you, Bucky!”

His eyebrows shot up at that.

“You think the serum makes you invincible?” you seethed, eyes burning. “Is that why you keep throwing yourself into danger? Why you never hesitate before taking a hit? Why you jump in front of bullets like it’s your damn job?”

Bucky opened his mouth, but you weren’t done.

“Guess what, Barnes? The serum doesn’t make you immortal! One day, your dumbass luck is going to run out! And what then?”

Bucky stilled, blue eyes searching yours.

But you were unraveling too fast to stop now.

“I swear to God, Bucky, I’m gonna lose my mind if you keep—” You sucked in a shaky breath, voice cracking. “I can’t—I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself.”

Something changed in Bucky’s face. The teasing, the smirking—it all vanished.

You didn’t want to see whatever was in his eyes.

You dropped your gaze, fingers moving on autopilot, taping the bandage down over his shoulder. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking, but you pretended not to notice.

You felt him watching you.

For the first time since the mission, Bucky was quiet.

The weight of it pressed against your chest.

You swallowed hard, clearing your throat. “Just—just try not to die next time, okay?”

Bucky let out a slow breath, something almost amused slipping into his voice. “Not really my style, doll.”

You snapped your head up, narrowing your eyes at him. “Yeah, I noticed. You’ve got a real stubborn track record of coming back from the brink of death.”

Bucky grinned, slow and lazy, like he couldn’t help himself. “What can I say? I’m persistent.”

Your jaw tensed.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t want to be the one watching you zero out your nine lives.”

The smirk disappeared.

A flicker of something serious passed through his eyes—so fast you almost missed it.

For a second, you thought he was going to say something that would change everything.

But then, as quickly as it came, he shoved it away.

He exhaled a soft chuckle instead, shaking his head. “You worry too much.”

You clenched your jaw, standing abruptly. “And you don’t worry enough.”

Bucky watched you, his expression unreadable.

You grabbed the med kit and turned away, before he could see just how badly your hands were still shaking.

Because the truth was—

You weren’t sure what scared you more.

The fact that Bucky Barnes kept coming back from the brink of death—

Or the fact that, one day, he might not.

–

You exhaled sharply, shoving the memory aside.

No. Not thinking about that.

You couldn’t.

Because if you let yourself sit with it for too long—

If you let yourself acknowledge how much he meant to you—

You weren’t sure how you were supposed to breathe through it.

Bucky must have sensed the shift in you, because as you stalked ahead, fuming, he was suddenly there—keeping pace beside you, his presence entirely too much. Too close, too solid, too him.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured. “That’s never a good sign.”

“Maybe I just ran out of things to say,” you snapped, not looking at him.

He made a low sound, somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. “That’ll be the day.”

You whirled on him before you could stop yourself, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Do you enjoy driving me insane, Barnes? Is it, like, a hobby for you?”

His lips twitched, that damn smirk already forming. “I mean… yeah. Kinda.”

You let out a frustrated noise, turning on your heel, ready to put as much distance between you and that insufferable smirk as possible. But before you could take two steps, his fingers curled around your wrist—gentle, but firm enough to stop you in your tracks.

The warmth of his skin against yours sent a jolt through you. His grip wasn’t rough, wasn’t forceful, but it was steady, intentional. And for a split second, you couldn’t breathe.

When you looked up, his blue eyes were locked onto yours, unreadable, intense.

“I’m not trying to drive you insane,” he said, his voice softer now, but laced with something heavier, something that made your chest feel tight. “I’m just trying to figure out why you won’t admit it.”

You swallowed, pulse hammering. “Admit what?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, studying you like he was searching for something, peeling back layers you weren’t ready to let him see. His gaze dragged over your face, lingering—too long—on your lips before flicking back up.

Your breath hitched.

He was going to say something else. You knew it. Could feel it. But whatever he saw in your expression made him change his mind at the last second. His features shifted, the quiet determination giving way to something smug, teasing. A deflection.

“That it’s a good plan.”

Your pulse stuttered.

This wasn’t what he wanted to say. Not even close.

But he was giving you an out. Letting you pretend, letting himself pretend, like this was still just another argument. Another round of your never-ending bickering instead of… whatever the hell this was becoming.

And that? That scared you more than anything.

“It’s not,” you shot back, seizing the escape he’d handed you. You took a step back, yanking your wrist free of his grasp. “It’s stupid. It’s reckless, and it’s going to get one or all of us hurt if we do it.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed, his smirk faltering for the first time. His eyes darkened, something unreadable flickering in them before he asked, voice quieter, but rougher—”Why do you never take my side?”

The question hit like a sucker punch.

It knocked the breath from your lungs, left you reeling in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I—” The words caught in your throat.

He wasn’t teasing now. Wasn’t throwing out some cocky remark just to get under your skin. This was something real, something raw, and it left you woozy.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Second time I’ve got you speechless today, huh? Must be a new record.”

His voice was light, teasing again, but the look in his eyes said something else entirely.

Then, before you could recover, before you could shove something sharp and defensive between you, he turned and walked ahead—leaving you standing there, heart racing, breath unsteady.

Completely, utterly furious at him.

And even more furious at yourself.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you forced yourself to breathe. In. Out. Don’t let him get to you.

Except he had. He always did. And the worst part? He knew it.

You glared at the back of his head as he walked ahead like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just thrown you completely off balance and left you scrambling for solid ground.

Why do you never take my side?

You hated that the question still echoed in your head. That it stung in a way you weren’t ready to unpack.

You stormed after him, your boots crunching against the pavement. “Barnes, we’re not done talking about this.”

He didn’t stop, didn’t even turn around. “Seemed pretty done to me.”

Your jaw clenched. “God, you are infuriating.”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that once or twice.” He threw a glance over his shoulder, his smirk still in place, but his eyes? His eyes were still sharp, still waiting.

You caught up to him in two quick strides, grabbing his arm to yank him to a stop. “Don’t walk away from me.”

Bucky arched a brow, glancing down at where your fingers gripped the sleeve of his jacket. “Thought you couldn’t stand being near me, doll.”

You ignored the way your stomach flipped at the nickname. Ignored the way your traitorous hand lingered for a second before you let go.

“That plan of yours?” You crossed your arms, tilting your chin up. “It’s reckless. And you know it.”

His smirk faded, just slightly. “And what if reckless is the only option?”

“That’s bullshit, and you know that too.”

Bucky let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. You think I’m some idiot who just punches his way through problems—”

“I know you are,” you shot back.

He glared at you, jaw ticking. “But maybe—just maybe—I actually know what I’m doing this time.”

You opened your mouth, ready to argue, but something in his expression stopped you.

There was no smugness, no teasing. Just raw frustration, something worn down underneath.

You stared at him, chest rising and falling too fast, the words dying on your tongue.

“Right,” Bucky muttered, shaking his head. “Should’ve known better than to expect you to trust me.”

The words weren’t loud. He wasn’t even looking at you when he said them. But they landed like a slap.

Your breath caught. “That’s not—”

“Forget it.” 

— 

Shockingly, Bucky had followed Sam’s plan.

And—even more shockingly—it had gone wrong.

In the end, brute force had been the only way to get all three of you out alive.

You weren’t sure when the dust had settled, when the ringing in your ears had finally faded enough for you to hear your own breathing again. But when your vision cleared, Bucky was still standing.

Standing over a pile of bodies, bloodied and exhausted, his chest heaving with exertion.

There was a split in his lip, a gash across his forehead, and a bullet graze along his ribs, the fabric of his tactical suit dark with blood.

And you hated it.

You hated how your stomach twisted at the sight of him hurt. Hated the way your fingers curled into fists at your sides to stop yourself from running to him, from touching him, from grabbing his face and checking.

Most of all, you hated that you had doubted him.

Bucky Barnes had a century of combat experience. He had spent his entire life surviving fights he shouldn’t have walked away from, and still, you had dismissed him. Still, you had refused to listen.

And now? Now all of you were bleeding. All of you were shaken.

But the worst part—the part that made your throat tighten and your breath shudder—was that Bucky wasn’t even gloating.

No smirk. No I told you so.

Just silence. Just his sharp, assessing gaze, scanning the aftermath like he was still bracing for another fight.

By the time Torres had you all back on the plane, you were shaking.

The adrenaline should have worn off by now, but the weight in your chest only grew heavier. You knew—you knew—Bucky would heal faster than you or Sam. Logically, you understood that.

But logic wasn’t stopping the tightness in your throat when your eyes landed on the bruising around his temple.

It wasn’t stopping the way your fingers trembled as you grabbed the first aid kit and sat down in front of him, against every warning screaming in your head.

Bucky exhaled slowly, tilting his head back against the seat. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” you shot back, voice sharper than intended.

“So are you.”

You ignored that. “Just—hold still.”

For once, he didn’t argue. But when you reached for him, when your fingers ghosted over his skin, his gaze flickered—just for a second—to your hands.

He noticed.

Noticed the tremor in your fingers, the way they weren’t steady.

His brows drew together, just slightly. He didn’t say anything, but you felt his stare, felt the question lingering on the tip of his tongue.

Your breath hitched. You curled your fingers tighter around the antiseptic wipe, focusing too hard on dabbing at the cut on his forehead.

When he flinched, you huffed. “Big bad super soldier can take on twenty guys at once but can’t handle a little stinging?”

His lips twitched, but the teasing was half-hearted. “Not my fault you’re rough.”

You shot him a look. “I wonder why.”

His jaw flexed. “You do like making things difficult.”

“Oh, I make things difficult?” You shook your head, pressing a little too firmly as you cleaned the wound. “I don’t remember me running in headfirst with zero regard for a plan.”

Bucky scoffed. “Right, because your plan went so well.”

You froze, fingers stilling against his skin.

His voice hadn’t been sharp, but the words still landed heavy in your chest.

“You didn’t have to follow it,” you murmured.

Bucky let out a slow breath. “Yeah. Well. I did.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and weighted.

You forced yourself to move again, forced yourself to focus on the cut rather than the way his eyes lingered.

Your throat was dry when you spoke. “You were right.”

His expression didn’t change, but you felt the shift in the air.

“We should have done it your way,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s fingers curled over the edge of the seat. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, but you knew he was watching you.

Finally, he exhaled, his voice quiet. “Didn’t do us much good, did it?”

You pressed your lips together. “Would’ve gone a lot worse if you hadn’t stepped in.”

His eyes flickered. His jaw worked, like he wanted to argue but didn’t have the energy for it.

“You don’t have to say that,” he murmured.

“I do.” Your voice wavered, but you swallowed hard, pushing through it. “Because I was wrong.”

Bucky was still. Unreadable.

Then, after a beat, his voice dropped lower. “That an apology?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real fire behind it. “Don’t push your luck, Barnes.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Wouldn’t dream of it, doll.”

But his eyes? His eyes told a different story.

—

The hum of the jet was steady beneath you, the vibrations deep in your bones, but it did nothing to ground you. The cabin lights were low, throwing long shadows across the metal walls. Sam was already passed out in the back, his breathing even, the tension from the mission finally easing from his shoulders.

You should be doing the same. You should be closing your eyes, letting exhaustion take over, shutting out the memory of the chaos you’d just escaped from.

But you couldn’t.

Because Bucky was still watching you.

He sat across from you, silent and unreadable, his blue eyes darker in the dim light. He hadn’t spoken since you finished patching him up, but he hadn’t stopped looking, either.

It wasn’t his usual sharp-edged irritation or teasing smirk. No playful bickering, no cocky remarks about how he’d been right. Just this.

Something softer. Something heavier.

Something you weren’t ready for.

“You should get some rest,” he murmured, voice low and rough around the edges.

You shook your head, fingers curling into your palms. “I’m fine.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, like he didn’t believe you. “Yeah? You don’t look fine.”

You hated that he could see it. The tremor in your fingers, the tension in your shoulders, the way you were still breathing too fast, like your body hadn’t realized the fight was over.

You hated that he noticed. That he cared enough to notice.

And then—because you were tired, because you were furious, because he had almost died and you were still trying to claw your way back from the sheer panic of it—you snapped.

“You could have died, Bucky.” Your voice was sharper than you meant, thick with something you didn’t want to name.

His brow twitched, but his expression didn’t change. His voice stayed infuriatingly even. “Yeah. That’s kinda what happens when people shoot at you.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.” His lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing out there?”

“That’s not—” You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?”

The question hung between you, thick with unspoken things.

Bucky didn’t move, didn’t blink, just watched you—his gaze steady, patient, like he was giving you the space to say it.

And God, you wanted to.

But the words sat like stones in your throat, impossible to force out. You clenched your jaw, tried to shove them back down, but they wouldn’t go away.

Because the truth was, you weren’t just shaken by the mission.

You were shaken by the way seeing him bleeding had made your stomach drop, by the way his pained groans had made your hands shake, by the way you had wanted—needed—to run to him, to wrap yourself around him and never let go.

You were terrified.

Because this wasn’t just anger or frustration or a heated argument in the middle of a mission.

This was Bucky.

And you couldn’t lose him.

So instead of answering, instead of trying to put words to the panic still rattling inside you, you did the only thing you could do.

You reached for him.

It wasn’t sharp or defiant, wasn’t out of frustration or anger.

You just—needed to touch him.

Your fingers brushed over his wrist, barely there, hesitant. A point of contact. Something to anchor you.

Bucky stilled.

For a second, he just stared at your hand, at the way your fingers curled against his skin like you weren’t even sure if you had permission to hold on.

Then, slowly, he turned his wrist under your palm, letting your fingers slide over his pulse point. His skin was warm, his pulse steady. Alive. Here.

Your throat went tight.

Bucky’s voice was quieter this time. Rougher. “You gonna tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”

You swallowed hard, but you didn’t let go.

Your thumb ghosted over his pulse, barely a whisper of touch, but it still wasn’t enough.

You didn’t know what you needed, what you were searching for beneath your fingertips, but the slow, steady thrum of his heartbeat wasn’t easing the raw ache in your chest.

Your eyes flickered around the cabin.

Sam was still dead to the world, Torres nowhere in sight. The only two people awake on this jet were you and Bucky.

Something inside you snapped.

One second, you were gripping his wrist, tethering yourself to him like that alone would make this feeling go away. The next, you were moving before you could stop yourself—sliding out of your seat, crawling into his lap, wrapping yourself around him like holding on tighter would somehow keep him safe, keep him yours.

Bucky made a sound—something low, something confused—but his hands came up anyway, large and warm and steady as they settled on your hips, instinctive.

His breath hitched, and you felt it against your temple, the subtle shudder of his inhale.

You buried yourself closer, curling into his chest, fingers winding into the hair at the nape of his neck. His scent was everywhere—gunpowder and metal and something distinctly him—and you could have drowned in it.

“If you ever tell anyone I did this,” you muttered, voice muffled against his neck, “I will find ways to kill you.”

There was no bite to it. No real threat.

Just you—raw and exposed in a way you didn’t know how to take back.

Bucky let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, but he didn’t pull away.

Didn’t tease.

Didn’t shove you off like he should have.

Instead, his arms shifted, wrapping around you fully, pressing you into him like this was what he had been waiting for, like this was something he had been needing just as badly.

Like he wanted to.

His metal fingers flexed at your waist, pressing against the fabric of your suit, a steadying grip. His other hand flattened against your back, tracing over the curve of your spine as if he was committing the shape of you to memory.

His touch burned.

His warmth was everywhere.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your fingers sliding from his hair to his cheek, brushing over the stubble there, the still-healing cut on his temple. And then—before you could stop yourself—you were tilting his face toward yours.

For the first time since the mission, since the gunfire, since you watched the blood dripping down his temple and felt your entire world tilt on its axis—you met his eyes head-on.

Bucky swallowed.

His gaze dropped—just for a second—to your lips.

It was enough.

Your resolve snapped like a frayed wire.

And before you could second-guess yourself, before you could remind yourself that this was Bucky, before you could convince yourself that you didn’t love him like this—

You kissed him.

It was desperate, messy—nothing like the slow, sweet build-up you had imagined in the deepest corners of your mind.

Your lips crashed against his, your hands fisting in his suit, pulling yourself closer, closer, closer, needing more, needing everything.

Bucky froze.

Didn’t move when your lips parted against his, when your tongue flicked against his bottom lip, when your teeth caught the cut there, tasting blood.

Didn’t react when you kissed him again, soft and searching, when your nose brushed against his, when you sighed against his mouth, the sound fragile and aching.

Didn’t kiss you back.

The realization hit slow, creeping in at the edges of your desperation, sinking its claws into your chest.

He wasn’t—

Oh, God.

The sting of rejection burned hotter than the wounds littering your body.

You tried to breathe, tried to steady yourself, but your lungs felt too tight, your hands shaking as you forced yourself to pull back, to put distance between you before you shattered entirely.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, a shaky breath washing over his lips. Your throat was tight, your vision blurring at the edges. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Your voice broke.

Bucky was still silent.

And that was somehow worse.

It took a second to register the weight of what you’d done, to catch up to you.

You had kissed him.

You had kissed him and he hadn’t—

Your stomach plummeted.

“I’m—” Your breath hitched, panic clawing at your ribs. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

You tried to untangle yourself, tried to scramble out of his lap, to preserve whatever dignity you had left, to put distance between you before you completely fell apart in front of him—

But then—

God.

Then his hands tightened on your hips.

Hard.

Before you could even get further, Bucky dragged you back against him, fingers digging into your skin, like he wasn’t about to let you go. He maneuvered you until your legs were astride his hips, your arms around his neck, your chest pressed to his.

Your breath stilled, eyes wide, heart hammering against your ribs.

His expression had changed.

The shock, the hesitation—it was gone.

In its place was something darker.

Something heated and unrelenting.

Something like want.

Bucky’s breathing was uneven, his lips parted, his pupils blown wide as his gaze flickered between your eyes, your mouth, back up.

Then—

Then his fingers traced up your spine, slow and deliberate, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His metal hand trailed over your ribs, up your arm, curling at the back of your neck, tipping your face toward his.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“Doll,” he rasped, voice wrecked and low. “Can you do that again?”

Your stomach flipped.

“I—” You swallowed, your pulse hammering against his fingertips. “You didn’t—”

“I froze,” he cut in, jaw tight. “I won’t now.”

Oh.

Oh.

Your lips parted, heart stumbling over itself.

Bucky let out a breath, something between a laugh and a groan, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you. His grip on your hips flexed, strong and sure, and for a split second, all he did was look at you.

Like you were something he didn’t know how to handle.

Like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to devour you or worship you.

Then—slower this time, more sure—he leaned in.

And kissed you.

You had been right.

Bucky Barnes would be your undoing.

He’d kill you with the way he kissed, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to ruin you, like he wanted to take you apart with nothing but the sweep of his tongue and the heat of his mouth.

You felt it—every glide of his tongue against yours, every careful press of his lips, every sharp inhale between kisses—like a spark lighting up your spine, sinking deep, settling between your legs with a heat so intense you could barely breathe through it.

You shook on top of him, the way he touched you sending shockwaves through every nerve ending in your body. His hands were everywhere—tight, possessive squeezes against your hips, reverent drags of his fingers down your back and thighs, gripping you like he never wanted to let go.

A whimper escaped you, completely unbidden, and Bucky groaned, a deep, wrecked sound that vibrated against your mouth.

Then, suddenly, his lips left yours.

You gasped at the loss—until you felt him move.

Felt the warm brush of his breath against your throat, felt his nose skim along the sensitive skin there before his mouth followed.

“Bucky—” His name left you in a sharp breath as he kissed down your neck, slow, teasing, his lips dragging over every inch of exposed skin he could reach.

The problem was—there wasn’t enough.

Your suit covered too much, kept him from truly touching you, and it was driving you out of your mind.

You arched into him, restless, desperate. “Take it off,” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Bucky stilled, his lips pausing against your collarbone.

His hands tightened on your hips, but he didn’t move. Didn’t continue.

“Take it off,” you begged, fingers digging into the fabric of his suit, tracing over the zippers, tugging uselessly at the buttons, trying to feel more. “Please, take it off.”

His breath was uneven, ragged. “Doll, there are people—”

“I don’t care.” You tugged at his collar, leaning in, pressing another desperate kiss to the corner of his mouth. “They won’t see.”

Bucky’s hands flexed against your waist, like he was warring with himself.

You kissed him again, lips parting over his, trying to convince him, trying to make him understand, to feel just how badly you needed this, needed him.

He let out a shaky breath, his forehead pressing to yours, his chest rising and falling unevenly beneath you.

“Please,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Please, before you change your mind—I need this. I need you.”

That did it.

Something snapped in him.

The hesitation vanished.

And then, suddenly, you were weightless.

Before you could even process what was happening, Bucky was standing, lifting you effortlessly, your legs tightening around his waist as he carried you toward the back of the jet, moving with a singular, determined focus that made your breath catch.

Your back hit the cool metal wall of the jet, the impact sending a shiver down your spine, but you barely had time to react before Bucky was kissing you again—hot, rough, devouring.

You gasped against his lips, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding on for dear life.

His hands roamed down your back, over your thighs, squeezing, gripping—and then, finally, finally, he found the zipper of your suit.

“I’m not changing my mind,” he murmured, his voice thick, edged with something raw that made you shiver. His fingers curled around the fabric, tugging just enough for you to feel the weight of his words. “And you’re not changing yours.”

You nodded without thinking, without hesitation, without fear.

There was a faint awareness of the reality around you—the steady hum of the jet beneath you, the wall of gear shielding you from the others, the knowledge that Sam and Torres were mere feet away. The fact that you were both bloodied and bruised from the mission, that maybe this wasn’t the time, wasn’t the place.

But then Bucky moved, and all of that faded.

The zipper came down in a slow, deliberate slide, the rasp of it against your skin sending a shiver down your spine. His hands worked quickly, efficiently, but gentle, pushing the suit down your arms until you could shake it off completely. The moment it was gone, he pulled your arms around his shoulders, guiding them to hold onto him, like he needed you to keep him close.

“Hold on to me,” he murmured, voice quieter now, almost reverent, before dropping to his knees.

Your breath caught, your pulse hammering as his hands gripped your hips, firm and unshakable, guiding the rest of your suit down your legs. His head dipped, his lips grazing the fresh bruise blooming along your hip. He kissed it once, then again—soft, lingering. Worshipping.

You swallowed hard, your fingers threading into his hair as he nuzzled along your thigh, your knee, before rising back to his full height.

“Not getting these off,” he muttered, his fingers ghosting over your soaked panties. You’d be ashamed if it weren’t for the way his lips parted, like he was desperate to get back on his knees, get his mouth on you, There was also something else. The look on his face - regret, you thought - like he wanted to take his time with you, but was disappointed he couldn’t.

His hands moved up your body, skimming over your waist, tracing along your ribs. You shivered at the sensation of warm and cold, flesh and metal. His eyes darkened at the sight of you trembling under his touch.

“We have to be quick.”

You nodded, obedient, but there was something clawing at your chest, something making your breath catch, making your hands shake as you reached for his belt, undoing it with frantic fingers.

“This—” You took a breath, sliding the zipper down, pushing his pants and underwear down in one swift motion. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, the tip already slick with pre-cum. You ached at the sight of him. Ached to drop to your knees and taste him.

Instead, you swallowed hard and met his eyes. “This isn’t how I imagined doing this with you.”

Bucky let out a low, disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. “Me either.” His voice was rough, wrecked, breaking apart at the seams. His lips brushed your ear as he groaned, deep and ragged, when you wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him slow, teasing. “Fuck, sweetheart—”

A shudder rolled through him, his forehead pressing to yours, eyes fluttering shut.

“But I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, voice thick with something dangerous, something devoted. “I promise.”

His arms wrapped around you again, lifting you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your hips rolling forward to grind against him.

“Bucky—”

“You want this?” he asked, pressing you back against the cool metal wall, the contrast making you gasp. His mouth was everywhere—dragging down your jaw, across the swell of your breast, open-mouthed and hungry.

“I do. I—”

The words faltered on your tongue.

Your heart was hammering, your chest was aching. This was reckless. This was insane.

This was everything.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressed your forehead to his, your lips brushing his with every ragged breath. “I want you,” you whispered, voice breaking. “All of you.” Your fingers twisted into his hair, tugging just enough for him to feel it. “Please.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, his grip tightening. “You have me.”

His words were iron, unbreakable, true.

Something cracked inside you.

And then—there was no more hesitation.

His lips crashed into yours again, raw and consuming, leaving no space between you, no air, no room for anything but him. His free hand slid down, tugging at your panties, dragging them to the side. Your own hand moved between you, wrapping around his cock, guiding him to where you needed him.

“Jesus, doll—”

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t careful.

It was one full thrust, his cock pressing inside you inch by inch, filling you completely, stretching you to the edge of pain. Your nails bit into his shoulders, your head falling back against the wall as a gasp tore from your throat.

You felt full. Too full.

Your legs shook around him, your walls clenching tight around his cock, the overwhelming stretch making your eyes slam shut, your mouth parting on a silent moan.

Bucky groaned, deep and wrecked, his forehead pressing to your temple. His body was shaking too, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps against your skin.

“Fuck,” he ground out, metal hand locking around your thigh, keeping you open for him. His other hand tangled in your hair, his grip tight, desperate. “Fuck, you feel—Jesus, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched, your arms trembling as you clung to him. “I can’t believe you’re inside me,” you whispered, voice barely there, overwhelmed and ruined. “Oh my god, Bucky—”

He snapped his hips forward, and your world split apart.

The pleasure was sharp, blinding, a lightning strike surging through your veins. Your body clenched around him, gripping him so tight he groaned against your neck, his rhythm faltering for a beat. His hands tightened on your hips, metal and flesh both possessive, both desperate to hold on.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he choked out, voice strangled, roughened with something close to reverence. He thrust deep, his cock dragging against every nerve inside you, every sensitive place that made your stomach coil so tight you thought you might shatter.

“For you,” you confessed, arching into him, letting him feel it, letting him know. “All the time. Every time you look at me—”

Bucky snapped his hips forward, harder, deeper, tearing a cry from your lips.

“Shit,” he breathed, voice breaking, cracking at the edges. “Shit, shit—”

“You’re so deep,” you gasped, barely able to breathe. Your nails raked down his back, desperate, pleading, needing. “Bucky, I—I can’t—”

“I’ve got you, doll,” he groaned, pressing his mouth to yours, swallowing every sound you made as he ruined you completely.

Every thrust was a curse, every breath a kiss, and you were careening toward the edge so fast it was dizzying.

The pleasure ripped through you before you could warn him, before you could even process it. Your walls tightened, pulsing around his cock, body shaking so violently that he had to pin you to the wall with his hips, burying himself to the hilt, his hand cradling the back of your head, shielding you as you contorted in his grasp.

His mouth devoured your cries, catching every broken, pleading gasp as the orgasm tore you apart. It was an explosion that didn’t stop, that kept rolling through you, wave after wave.

You rocked against him, desperate for more, still chasing, still needing, barely hearing the way he rasped your name, telling you to slow down, telling you to look at him, warning you that he was—

“God, you’re heaven,” Bucky breathed against your ear, grinding deep inside of you, his voice wrecked, every syllable tinged with something broken, something beautiful. As you slowly came down, you could feel how close he was, how tightly he was holding on, trying to keep himself from falling over the edge. “I can feel you—fuck me, I should pull out.”

“No.”

It came out fast, urgent, a whisper laced with something dangerous. Your legs locked around his hips, keeping him trapped in your hold.

His entire body went rigid. His breathing stilled.

“Baby.”

Bucky’s voice was low, frayed at the edges, filled with disbelief. The word hung in the air between you, unspoken until now.

You froze.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you knew you shouldn’t have given that away. Shouldn’t have let it slip, shouldn’t have handed him something so fragile, something you couldn’t take back.

But what was a drop to someone who was already drowning?

Bucky’s hands tightened on your hips, but he didn’t move. If he wanted to, he could have pulled you off of him without lifting a finger. You had always been painfully aware of how much stronger he was, how easily he could overpower you.

And yet, he stayed still, locked in your hold. Completely at your mercy.

You swallowed, your fingers shaking as they curled into his hair, pulling him closer, refusing to let him run.

“C’mon, doll,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours, stealing a kiss that felt like it was more for him than for you. “Let go.”

His hips rolled, his pelvis grinding against your clit, making you whimper. Your body was still trembling, still oversensitive, but fuck, if he kept going just a little longer—

“I want you to cum inside me,” you pleaded, your voice trembling, your nails digging into his skin.

Bucky froze.

The words echoed between you like a shot fired into the silence.

His hips stilled. His breath hitched. His hands trembled where they held you.

You had to bite your bottom lip to keep from crying out, from begging him to move.

“Doll,” he rasped, warning in his tone, his forehead pressed to yours. He looked wrecked, as undone as you felt.

“Stop arguing with me,” you shot back, voice shaky, grinding against him, dragging your soaked, sensitive heat over him, pulling a moan from his throat so deep it made every hair on your body stand on end.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder, his grip on you bruising.

“I want this.” You tightened your arms around his neck, pressing yourself closer, wrapping him in you, cocooning you both in the moment. “I’m begging you, Bucky. Please.”

“It’s—” He swallowed thickly, voice strangled.

“Irresponsible, yes, but what’s a little irresponsibility?” A breathless laugh escaped you, but your voice broke at the end, too raw to keep up the teasing. You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling deeply before forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m on the pill.”

His jaw clenched.

“I need this,” you whispered, the truth clawing up your throat before you could stop it. “I need you.” Your voice cracked, your breath hitched, emotion swelling too fast, too much. “You don’t get it, I—”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until he softened.

Something in his eyes clicked, something changed, and suddenly, his arms were wrapping around you tighter, his hands cradling your face like you were precious, like you were fragile, like he had to hold you together before you broke apart completely.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, kissing your temple, your cheek, your jaw. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

And then he moved.

His thrusts were slower, deeper, his lips brushing yours between each movement. His hands wandered, soothing, worshipping.

“Giving you exactly what you want, yeah?”

You nodded frantically, breath labored, losing yourself in the way he felt, the way he surrounded you, consumed you.

“Don’t pull out,” you begged, voice barely there, a whisper of devotion, of desperation.

Bucky let out a shaky breath, forehead pressed to yours. “I won’t, baby,” he promised, voice breaking. His pace picked up, hips rolling against yours, pushing deeper, harder, dragging against your oversensitive clit in a way that had you whimpering. “Gonna fill you up like you wanted.”

Your toes curled at the words, at the image, your walls fluttering around him.

“Oh, please don’t stop,” you gasped, rolling your hips, needing, aching.

Bucky groaned, his head dropping back as his rhythm faltered, as he snapped his hips harder, chasing the end, giving you what you wanted, giving you everything.

“Fill me up, baby,” you pleaded, your voice a broken, desperate thing. “Make me yours..”

And that—

That was what finally broke him.

Bucky snapped.

A curse tore from his throat, his grip on you bruising, unrelenting as his hips slammed into you, chasing the inevitable, giving you everything. His rhythm turned frantic, needy, his body demanding what you had just offered.

And you took it.

You craved it.

Your body tightened around him, coaxing him deeper, begging for more. Every thrust was an answer to a question neither of you had spoken aloud, a declaration in the language of skin and breath and longing.

“Fucking hell, sweetheart,” he gritted out, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath hot against your mouth. His hand slid down between you, his metal fingers finding your clit and pressing, rubbing tight circles, dragging you back to the edge with him.

Your body shook, every muscle tensed, the pleasure sharpening into something unbearable, something deadly.

“Bucky—”

“I know, baby,” he groaned, his voice cracking at the edges, his own body trembling as he held himself back, as he waited for you. “Give it to me.”

You did.

Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, knocking the air from your lungs, blinding in its intensity. Your body locked around him, your hands clutching desperately at his shoulders as the pleasure ripped through you in violent, unrelenting waves.

And that was it. That was everything.

Bucky followed, slamming into you one last time before breaking, burying himself as deep as he could go, a shuddering groan torn from his chest as he spilled into you, filling you like he promised. You felt it as his warm cum Costas your walls, so much of it you weren’t sure there wasn’t some spilling out.

His body trembled, his arms locked tight around you, holding you close as he gave in, as he let go, as he let himself have this.

For a moment, there was silence.

Just the sound of your breathing, labored and uneven. The quiet, lingering shock of what you had just done.

Bucky’s forehead pressed against yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his heart hammering so hard you could feel it through his suit.

Neither of you spoke.

Neither of you moved.

You stayed like that—wrapped around him, his cock still twitching inside of you, his arms cradling you like you might disappear if he let go.

You let your eyes drift shut, your fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against the back of his neck, the weight of him comforting, grounding, even as reality started creeping back in.

You should let go.

You should move.

You should say something.

But when Bucky finally pulled back, just enough to look at you, his hands coming up to frame your face gently, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones—

The words died on your lips.

Because he was looking at you like you had just ruined him. Like you had just changed something fundamental inside of him.

Like you had just made him yours.

And you had.

Slowly,, Bucky eased his grip, his arms still wrapped around you, his hands still mapping the shape of you, like he needed to memorize every curve, every ridge, every place he’d touched.

His lips brushed your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw—soft, tender kisses that made your heart clench, made something deep inside you ache.

It felt too big.

Too much.

But you couldn’t stop touching him.

Your fingers traced the lines of his jaw, the stubble rough beneath your touch. You pushed damp hair out of his face, ran your knuckles down the slope of his nose, his cheekbone, memorizing him the way he was memorizing you.

A hand slid up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb tracing your cheek, his expression unreadable.

When he finally spoke, his eyes were soft, but serious.

“You meant it,” he murmured.

It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed, lips parting, breath hitching.

“Bucky—”

His other hand was still pressed to your lower stomach, like he could feel himself inside you, like he could brand this moment into your skin.

“I felt it,” he whispered, almost to himself. “The way you—” He exhaled sharply, like the words were too heavy to get out.

You closed your eyes, trying to give yourself some kind of reprieve from the enormity of it all.

“Don’t run from this.” His voice was so calm, but it cut through you like a knife. “Please, doll.”

Your throat tightened.

You weren’t sure if it was the aftershocks of pleasure or the overwhelming emotion of it all, but your body was still trembling—and Bucky felt every bit of it.

His arms tightened around you, securing you to him, anchoring you.

“I’m not running,” you whispered.

He pulled back just enough to search your face, like he didn’t quite believe you.

And maybe you didn’t quite believe yourself.

Because what came next?

What happened after this?

There was you before Bucky Barnes.

There was you after Bucky Barnes.

And they weren’t the same.

[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

[sageofunknownwisdom]

A/N: tw, this shit is literally just thirsting. i love phainon guys, yall would need the help of the whole tarot club to get me off this man. pls be aware this is NSFW work. also idk how ro add those pretty ahh tumblr border so u gotta bear w me here okay. idk how tumblr fkin works. love yall, peace and love fr. 💗 ALSO THIS IS JUST SOME BUM ASS DRABBLE THAT I MADE UNDER 40 MINS WHILE WATCHING PHAINON EDITS, DONT JUDGE ME.

lowkey thinking about omegaverse au! phainon…

he'd be the best alpha ever. i don't think i even need to elaborate on this but i will.

let's get this straight, he's an alpha. no, i will not be taking any arguments on this.

he's clingy and…a sniffer. as funny as that sounds, it's the best way to describe him. phainon sleeps with his face safely tucked under your chin, as close as possible to your scent glands. he can't sleep properly without your scent enveloping him.

phainon would have the most homey scent ever. instead of it being musky and domineering like the usual alpha pheromones, it's just subtle and fresh. i fully believe he'd smell like fresh sheets and citrus.

this man is also a licker! you can call him a mutt all you want but that doesn't stop him from kissing and making out with your neck every time you're alone. it's hard to tell what he has in store for you, it's a phainon roulette (LMAO). sometimes he's cheeky and teasing, lifting you up and twirling you around. other times he's soft and clingy, whining and pouting whenever you try to break out from his infamous bear hugs. there's also the very rare occasions where he's a little more quiet than usual, resting his head on your thighs– please hold him tight during these moments, caress his cheeks and whisper love confessions like a corny eight-grader. he needs it.

everyone else is sick and tired of him and his PDA, it's not even the suggestive kind, he's just so clingy that it looks like he's trying to fuse himself with you through his hugs (is he secretly an octopus? a crystal gem…?). speaking of hugs, his favorite cuddle position is when you're on his lap and he's hugging you from the back, nuzzling his face on your neck.

phainon is a pathetic ass alpha. i kid you not, mydeimos looks at him like he's possessed whenever you're nearby ‘cause your man switched from ragebaiting asshole to your husband™️ in seconds. it's like seeing a misbehaving kid acting all angel-like after beating someone to a pulp.

“oh is mydei too chicken? hm? acting all high and mighty but cowering from a simple match.” phainon's annoying fuckass voice is literally the worst noise to hear when it's 90 celsius outside and the bugs are buzzing a little too loud for mydei's liking.

he's gonna bash the guy's head one day, mydei just knows it. matter of fact, the rock on the ground looks awfully enchanting today.

before he could become a potential killer of the chrysos heir, your voice called out to them.

“phai! mydei!”

phainon's shit eating grin disappeared from his face, facing you with open arms and a gummy smile that only a man so utterly gone for his mate could ever give. mydei had a look of genuine horror on his face as phainon pecks your lips and giggles when you pat his head.

“i was going to ask if you wanted to have lunch with me.” you smile, letting your overgrown samoyed use your body as a plushie, squeezing and holding you close without shame.

“great timing, i haven't eaten yet.” (yes he did, mydeimos would've quipped if he wasn't horrified) phainon hums, taking your hand in his, “let's go to our usual place! i heard they added something new to the menu. we can try it out together.”

“mydei, you should come too.” you turn to mydeimos who was silently watching the scene with a troubled expression.

as he was about to answer (it was a no), phainon chuckled from behind you. “he's very busy. our dear mydei here actually has plans of his own, being a prince and all.”

mydeimos huffs, “as he said. i'm afraid i won't be able to join you two.”

with a nod, phainon whisks you away. hands resting on your waist as he talks your ear off before you could even say a proper goodbye to mydeimos.

now, mydei might’ve smelled it wrong. but phainon's pheromones smelled a little burnt when you suggested he join your lunch date. he might have also seen your white-haired mate's eyes flicker into gold, smile twitching as he eyes mydei down like a threat.

or maybe he was just…seeing things. (he wasn't but mydei isn't ready to open that can of worms yet)

phainon's definitely that one kid in aedes elysiae that made all younger kids want to be an omega just so they could get with him (they're children, they think alphas should only be with omegas and vise versa) but he'd be clueless to it all.

most adults in the village were trying to set him up with their omega daughters. while those with alpha sons kept on comparing them to phainon, “look at khaslana, already so strong and tall. very respectful too! unlike my son who only waves his alpha status around, making other children run away.”

phainon was the resident big brother, always so polite and kind. ready to carry a grandmother's fruit basket, play with younger children, and help other alphas with labor ‘cause apparently, he wants to grow up big and strong just like the other alphas of his village (everyone crooned at the young boy's statement, a warm smile on his lips). another thing…his mom was the alpha btw, not gonna elaborate on that part. his dad is a beta.

honestly, if it weren't for his body, some may have mistaken him for an omega. he's so pretty that it hurts you (and me).

although phainon is your sweetheart who laughs and smiles like the sun, he's still very much a predator. he's much more territorial than one might think, phainon acts easy-going and laid-back but it's really just a facade for the scorching emotions that get amplified when it's about you. it's always you. you. you. and you. phainon can't help it when you're this loveable, it's like an obsession almost.

don't be surprised if your darling puppy becomes a starved wolf when it's his rut. you are not going anywhere, okay? stay right beside him where he can see you, hear you, and smell you.

of course, he's all about consent, phainon is well aware of his…more intense than normal carnal desires. if you don't want to handle it then you don't have to. phainon has spent years making do with his hands and fantasies about you, if he can kiss and cherish you as his then phainon doesn't mind making more depraved imaginary situations in his head as he mounts the poor pillow with frenzied thrusts. doesn't mind spilling load after load into cotton sheets while you're smiling happily and chatting with your friends somewhere in the city.

if you do decide to offer yourself, phainon the gentleman that he is would probably decline a few times. just keep reaching out, he'll break pretty soon. just…don't expect to leave his room for a couple of days. (you are soo lucky his personal residence is a good distance from any neighborhoods or else you would've gotten several noise complaints.)

on your heats (if you're an omega) and when he isn't lost in his head due to ruts, he'd be such a service dom. i just know it bro, trust me trust me. this man eats you out like he's dying of thirst. it's a little messy, and he's drooling as if he's the one getting off from it. he's so whiny during this too, always asking you to press your thighs a little tighter. oh great kephale, save this man. (or you can save him yourself by sitting on his face, he can cum just from that)

shiii, you know what– he's totally down to being messed up by you too. although he prefers making you gush all over him, if you beg prettily enough then maaaybee phainon would let you ride him until his eyes are hazy and his legs are shaking. if you're a guy, go on and ask him if you could dick him down too, phainon would probably feel a little hesitant but let's be honest here: if you told him to jump off a cliff, he would.

also yes, he's into breeding you. doesn't matter if you top or you don't want kids, just let him stuff you with cum, please. phainon gets really giddy whenever he hears you praise him during sex, you could moan about him being a good boy as he's quite literally jack hammering himself into your warmth and he'd still whine as he's thanking you.

sigh...i love my wife.

[sc3ptre]

omg omg do you know that tiktok trend where girlfriends wipe off their boyfriend's kisses as like a joke/prank?? Imagine that with Clark Kent, omg he's so babygirl 😭😔

Where love lands

Pairing: Clark Kent x fem!reader

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

a/n: I couldn't help myself and wrote two versions bc I kept thinking about the scene, one not metioning tiktok and the other mentioning the trend. Here are both because I couldn't choose! Genre: Fluff

No spoilers for the film!

Total word count: 1.3k (V1 0.4k and V2 0.9k)

Version 1 (0.4k)

You were leaning against the kitchen counter when he walked in, glasses slightly fogged from the change in temperature, tie askew, coffee in hand and a grin that could light up Gotham.

"Morning, sweetheart," he said, leaning in and planting a warm kiss to your cheek before walking past you to grab a second mug.

You waited two beats, just long enough for him to feel safe. Then, with exaggerated flair, you reached up… and wiped the kiss off with the back of your hand.

Clark froze mid-pour and you could feel his confusion like a change in air pressure.

“…Did…did I miss?” he asked, already glancing down at his lips like maybe he somehow did it wrong. “Was that– was it scratchy? I shaved last night, I swear–"

You covered your mouth to hide your smile, but it was too late for him as his eyes already widened with full, horrified realization.

“Did you wipe it off?” he asked, aghast, like you’d just thrown the sun into a dumpster. “You wiped off my kiss?”

You turned dramatically away. “Sorry, I’m trying to keep my skin clean. Skincare is getting ridiculously expensive.”

“My kiss is clean! That’s all the skincare you need.” he insisted, voice cracking just a little as he stepped closer, looking tragically betrayed. “I’m basically cruelty-free! I–I’ve literally flown through fire for you and you’re worried about a little cheek grease?!”

You shrugged. “Guess I’m just not into PDA anymore.”

“Inside our house?…Do we have a roommate I don't know about? Wh–you just…yesterday morning you made me kiss you goodbye on Krypto’s forehead too.”

“Did I?” you asked, all innocence.

Clark looked like you’d personally sucker-punched his soft farmboy heart. He set the coffee pot down gently, like it might break under the weight of his sorrow.

He exhaled slowly before speaking. “Do you want me to leave? Because if that’s what this is about–”

You burst into laughter, grabbing his shirt and tugging him back toward you. “No! No, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, you’re too cute…come here.”

Except now he was pouting. Clark Kent, the Man of Steel, pouting like a kicked puppy. “I can’t believe you wiped it off. My love…gone, like chalk dust.”

“I was kidding!” you giggled, pressing kisses across his face. “See? I love your kisses.”

“You better,” he muttered, melting into your hands anyway, arms sliding around your waist. “You should be grateful I didn’t laser-eye the whole sink out of heartbreak.”

“Oh yeah?” You snorted. “Is that what they call emotional maturity on Krypton?”

“Absolutely not,” he said, finally grinning. “On Krypton we hold dramatic grudges and float away slowly while sad orchestras play.”

You nuzzled into his neck muttering more half-giggled apologies while he kissed the crown of your head repeatedly and of course, you didn’t wipe them off this time.

Version 2 (0.9k)

The apartment smelled like cinnamon and newsprint.

You were in the kitchen, half-focused on your cereal, swaying a little to the oldies station humming through the speakers when the front bathroom door creaked open, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone larger than life tiptoeing through the space like he didn’t weigh 230 pounds of muscle and space metal.

“Hey, baby,” Clark’s voice came, low and sleepy. His tie was undone, shirt collar open and hair still damp from a too-fast shower he must’ve taken after fighting crime before breakfast. “Didn’t expect you to be up.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek, soft and sweet before continuing to the cabinet to grab his favorite mug. The one with a print of Kansas cornfields on it, chipped on the rim but he refused to let you throw it out.

You gave him two seconds, two full seconds of peace, before you slowly and dramatically, reached up… and wiped the kiss off your cheek with the back of your hand.

Dead silence followed and Clark paused mid-reach. “Did you just…?” He turned, blinking. “Was that...Did you wipe off my kiss?”

You gave a casual shrug, barely glancing at him. “Just trying to keep my skin clean.”

He stared at you, eyes wide behind his glasses, brow furrowing like you’d just slapped a baby bird. “But–but I’m clean.”

“Mhm...I’m sure you are but–”

“I brushed my teeth! And I used mouthwash. You see me floss every morning!”

You turned away with a hum, taking a sip of your coffee like this was just another Thursday. Clark took one slow, wounded step toward you. “I can’t believe this. You wiped it off… My love, my affection…just gone, tossed out like garbage.”

“I didn’t toss it,” you said sweetly. “Just…recycled it.”

“Don’t joke,” he said, horrified. “Do you want me to leave? Is that it? Is it because I crushed you while cuddling last night? Because if it is, I can sleep on the floor–”

You finally looked at him. His lips were pressed tight, brows pinched and his eyes were full of puppy-dog devastation. He looked like a man who had just watched a romantic movie get spoiled mid-airplane ride.

You cracked. “No! Clark, I was joking! I’m so sorry…well, you did crush me a little but you should know by now that you’re my favorite weighted blanket.” You laughed, grabbing his shirt to pull him close. “Gosh, I feel terrible! You look like I spit on your cape.”

“It felt like you did,” he muttered, arms looping slowly around your waist even as he pouted. “Do you know how many people wish they could get kissed by Superman?”

“I didn’t wipe off Superman’s kiss. I wiped off Clark Kent’s,” you teased.

“Oh great…much better. Kick the civilian while he’s down.” He gave an over-exaggerated sigh, tilting his head back like he was praying to the ceiling. “First I’m rejected, now I’m slandered.”

You gently grabbed both sides of his face, tilting his head down so you could kiss the tip of his nose. “You’re such a drama queen.”

“I’m six foot four and I cry while watching old Christmas movies, let me live.”

You buried your face in his chest, still giggling apologies. 

He kissed the top of your head again softly and this time, you let it stay but your brain was already turning.

Later that night, after dinner, a movie and a cuddle-heavy couch session, you tested it again. 

This time mid-forehead kiss as he reached across you for the remote.

You wiped it off in slow motion.

Clark gasped. “Again?!”

“It’s unnecessary exfoliation. I have sensitive skin!” you said, barely holding back a grin.

He narrowed his eyes. “You have a sensitive boyfriend too! What did he do to deserve this?”

You laughed so hard you could barely breathe. “It’s a trend, baby! It’s going viral on TikTok. I promise, you did nothing wrong.”

He blinked, confused. “…Why would anyone do that? What’s the joke? You’re rejecting love!”

Your body shook with laughter, so hard you nearly slid off the couch. He caught you mid-topple, strong hands grabbing your waist and gently placing you back on it. You barely had time to recover before he leaned in, bracing himself with one arm and settling his weight just enough to trap you beneath him. 

His glasses were askew and his expression caught somewhere between a pout and a grin as he stared you down, breathless. His lips twitched.

“This is emotional terrorism,” he said, voice low and faux serious. “You’re terrorizing me.”

“Oh, c’mon Smallville.” You grinned.

“I’ve fought aliens with less cruelty,” he declared. Then, in a whisper, with his forehead dramatically on your chest he added, “My heart…”

You chuckled before leaning down and kissing the top of his head with a loud ‘mwah!’. “You’re so babygirl.”

“Don’t weaponize that word against me,” he grumbled, now looking into your eyes.

“I’d never,” you promised, grinning up at him.

He lifted your hand and kissed the knuckles, eyes still vaguely wounded but soft with forgiveness. “I’ll remember this.”

“Oh no,” you gasped. “What’re you gonna do? Kiss me so many times I can’t wipe them all away?”

His smile turned smug, dangerously smug. “Exactly.”

And of course he did, peppering your face with relentless, exaggerated kisses until you squealed and squirmed beneath him, the apartment ringing with your laughter, his muffled chuckles and the kind of love that felt both ridiculous and endlessly real.

[littlegrapejuice]

Grid Mum 7 | MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Kimi gets his first podium, and you're crying like you just witnessed your kid walk for the first time. Bonus: Franco being bullied on a plane.

Author's Note: I'm still so so happy ab kimi's podium, i was fr super proud and i can't wait for him to get others + for the rest of the rookies to get one in the future🤍

F1 MASTERLIST🏎 | Previous Part | Next Part

Kimi didn’t care about what people would think. He didn’t care about how it would look when his first instinct after hugging his team was to make his way towards the sea of Red Bull employees. Because amongst those employees who were here in parc fermé to celebrate Max’s P2, there was you.

Your smile was wide, cheeks almost hurting. And as soon as your eyes met Kimi’s, you grinned harder – if that was even possible.

“You did it!” You told Kimi once his arms were around you.

“I did it!” He echoed your words. His voice was muffled by his helmet, but the happiness and joy were obvious.

Pulling back from his embrace, your hands went to hold Kimi’s helmet. The rookie noticed that your eyes were tearing up a bit, and his couldn’t help but do the same too.

“That was a wonderful race, Kimi. I’m so proud of you.” Your tone was soft, conveying how genuine you were.

“Thank you!” Kimi’s eyes were enough to express his gratitude for your support, and they showed that he was smiling under his helmet. When someone from his team called him for his post-race duties before the podium, he quickly turned towards the voice then met your eyes once again. “Bye, I love you!” Next thing you know, he was gone from your side.

It wasn’t supposed to be such a big deal that Kimi was saying that he loved you – you had been mothering him since the season had started and had supported him through his unfortunately numerous DNFs. But still, it made you feel warm inside.

You observed as Kimi hugged George once again before Max went to congratulate him as well. You obviously would’ve loved to see your boyfriend winning this race, but this would definitely be one of your favourite podiums of the year – it wasn’t everyday that one of your grid kids featured on it. And such a wholesome scene it was to watch, as Max had a wide smile on his face while spraying Kimi with champagne. The tension between him and George had dissipated despite the accusations they had made against each other during the safety car earlier. They were just both enjoying their podiums and appreciating their own success – they also had to play pretend at being a happy little family to not ruin Kimi’s first podium.

You were truly over the moon for both Max and Kimi, so you obviously wanted to celebrate with them. And despite Kimi desperately wishing he could say yes, he had been forced to refuse:

“I can’t go partying… I got homework”, he reminded you as he thought about his final exams awaiting him.

“Then we’ll celebrate later if you graduate”, Max said with a shrug.

“When you graduate”. You sent a look to Max, one that meant to be invested in Kimi’s education even if Max’s hadn’t been his focus years ago.

“Yeah… if, when… same thing.”

“It’s not!” You and Kimi both argued.

“Have some faith in me, mate. I studied hard for this”, Kimi claimed.

“We studied hard”, George added as he joined the conversation.

“You’re not the one doing the exam, though. Not sure you could even manage”, you teased him.

“Please, I could ace it.” George raised an eyebrow at you, a challenging look in his eyes. “Could you?”

“I’m pretty sure I helped Kimi more than you did. Weren’t you the one who delegated the work to the engineers?”

You and George held eye contact for several seconds, neither of you looking away. That was until Kimi intervened.

“Okay guys, please no weird tension.” Kimi waved his hand in front of your and George’s faces, thus breaking the eye contact between the two of you. “Max and George finally figured their shit out – kinda, I don’t need another Verstappen-Russell fall out.”

“Good thing I ain’t a Verstappen, then.”

Yet, Max wanted to add. Even Kimi and George thought the same thing, both of them knowing that it was only a matter of time before it would eventually happen. You were practically one already, and it wasn’t an actual change in last names or a ring on your finger that would ever affect how your relationship with Max already was.

…..

Despite you skipping the F1: The Movie premiere in NYC, it almost felt like you were there with how much the rookies were talking about you. Due to the drivers all going to the same place, it made sense that some of them would be sharing a plane. So that was how Ollie, Franco, and Gabriel ended up travelling together with Lando.

“You should’ve forced her to come with us if you were gonna miss her that much”, Lando complained. He was so close to texting you to leave Max wherever he was and to come get your kids.

“Max didn’t want to come so… whose plus one she would’ve even been?” Ollie asked. “I have my girlfriend already.”

“Same,” Gabriel said with a nod.

“I would have gladly taken her if I didn’t care about the risks of Max running me off track once the pictures would be released. Imagine this: Max’s girlfriend was Lando’s plus one at the premiere, I’m done for!”

“I could have taken her”, Franco chimed in.

“Oh trust me, we know.” Gabriel rolled his eyes at Franco's words, and leaned back in his seat.

Lando and Ollie looked at each other, not sure whether they understood what was going on.

“Are we missing something?” Lando wondered.

Gabriel opened his mouth to explain the situation, before Franco interrupted him:

“Nothing’s going on, no. You’re not missing any vital piece of information.” Franco put on his best innocent smile and tried to think of a way to change the topic.

“That’s a lie”, Gabriel argued. “See, little Franco there did the only thing we had told him not to.”

“Which was?” Lando asked.

But Gabriel didn’t even have time to reply, that Ollie immediately understood what had happened.

“You did not?!” His accusatory tone was directed towards Franco, as Ollie couldn’t believe it.

“Maybe…?” Franco looked away, not liking his business being aired out.

“When was it?” Ollie questioned both Gabriel and Franco, his eyes darting between the two rookies.

“When was what?” Lando was completely lost, and he was definitely not enjoying being excluded from the drama.

“We gave one rule to Franco before Imola,” Ollie finally explained. “Just one tiny little rule.”

“Don’t flirt with Max’s girlfriend”, Gabriel added.

“Okay.” Lando was carefully listening and nodding, showing his investment in the story. “And how long did it take him to break it? Two, three weeks?”

“A day”, Gabriel said.

“A day?” Ollie repeated. “That’s insane, Franco. Imola was…” Ollie started counting in his head, to figure out when it had happened. “More than a month ago! We should revoke any grid mum privilege you’ve ever had.”

“I didn’t have many to start with”, Franco muttered.

“Does Max know?” Lando had no idea whether he expected a positive or negative answer, just wanting to know more about the situation.

“He apparently threatened Franco”, Gabriel explained with a snicker.

“That was traumatising. I had Mad Max in front of me,” Franco dramatised.

“Now that’s something I would’ve liked to see!” Lando started laughing, imagining how Max had intimidated the young driver. “He hasn't driven you into the wall since then, though. So consider him being generous with you.”

“Wanna know what I think?” When the three drivers nodded, Ollie shared his thoughts. “I feel like Max didn’t actually see you as a real threat. Sure you tried to flirt with his girlfriend–”

“Extremely fucked up of you to do that”, Gabriel interrupted Ollie to add his comment.

“Agreed. But yeah, Max is definitely not the guy to get insecure. He knew you had no real chance anyways”, Ollie finished explaining.

“Damn… you have no game, mate.”

“Lando, please don’t bully me as well.” Franco sighed. “I have game! But obviously, it works better when I’m not going after a taken woman!”

“We have yet to see this skill of yours this year”, Gabriel teased.

“Oh God…” Franco groaned as he put his head in his hands.

The Argentinian wouldn’t hear the end of it until the plane had landed. And he knew that once Isack as well as Liam would know, those two would definitely gang up on him too – spoiler: they did.

…..

Meanwhile, in Belgium…

Max had offered you to come see him race in Spa, and you had gladly accepted to show him your support while he pursued this new interest of his. You hadn’t given it a second thought, not really caring about missing the F1: The Movie premiere. Max might have taken you if you had truly wanted to go, but he hadn’t hidden at all the satisfied grin on his face when you had told him that you didn’t want to see Brad Pitt overtake your boyfriend and win all the races that Max had actually won last year.

So while most of the drivers were on their way to New York, you and Max were currently on your way to Spa after a quick pit stop back home. You had just finished typing a text to wish Kimi luck for his final exams, when your nose suddenly started itching right before your body forced you to sneeze.

“Bless you”, Max simply said without looking up from his phone. “Hope no one’s talking badly about you.”

“It might just be allergies”, you argued.

“Or the rookies not being able to shut up about you”, Max teased.

It was honestly your allergies acting up, but Max was also not wrong to trust a silly superstition for once.

..........

Taglist: @umm-i-love-u @callsign-mirage @freyathehuntress @elieanana @suns3treading @fastandcurious16 @l3thal-l0lita @urmomsgirlfriend1 @guacala @delululeclerc

Hope y'all enjoyed this!! I'm honestly loving writing short chaps in between double/triple headers bc it's like a nice change of pace so don't hesitate to tell me if y'all like them too :)

I think isack was acc on the same plane as them (idk ab liam bc bro appears nowhere) but when i eventually noticed, it was too late to change and i was too lazy to add him🤗

Also we reached 500 followers!! It still feels insane that there are this many people supporting me and my silly fics so thanks y'all🫶🏻🫶🏻

See you soon, take care of yourselves, love y'all xx