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mcrdvcks · 9 months ago

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I Wanna Be Yours

Summary: You're a hacker for The Organization, a secret group that is currently working on dismantling a mutant trafficking ring. You've been working with Logan for months but neither of you have met each other in person and he doesn't even know your real name.

Word Count: 14.7k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!reader

Notes: this is something i've wanted to do for a while- playing with the idea that logan can totally fall in love with someone just through their voice (and vice versa). i hope y'all enjoy it!

warnings/tags: reader has a code name, pet name (darling), light violence, mentions of (mutant) trafficking, some uses of y/n

“Bet you look good in that suit.” You say, tapping on your keyboard, hacking into the security cameras of the seedy casino where the deal was taking place.

Logan huffed, covertly adjusting the small earpiece as he blended in with the crowd of the dimly lit casino. His tuxedo felt too tight, but then again, it wasn’t like he was made for fancy suits and shiny shoes.

“Don’t go gettin’ all sentimental, Phantom. This thing barely fits,” he muttered, keeping his voice low and steady. He glanced around, taking in the sight of gamblers, dealers, and a few shifty-looking men gathered near a corner. Probably the ones he was here for.

“Must be hard to hide all those muscles,” you teased through the comm, your voice a steady whisper in his ear. “But I’ll try not to distract you, just this once.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips as he slipped past a group of laughing tourists. He scanned the room, zeroing in on his target: a short, balding man with an expensive suit and a smug look on his face. Logan’s senses sharpened. He could practically smell the guy’s nervous sweat. This had to be one of the trafficking ring’s major players.

“Any idea where they’re at?” he asked, his tone shifting from playful to serious in an instant.

“Second floor. Private poker room,” you said, enlarging one of the camera feeds to get a better view. “Security’s tighter up there. You’ll need a distraction if you wanna get past those guards.”

Logan glanced at the stairway leading up. Two burly men stood in front, arms crossed, eyes scanning for any sign of trouble. “Can’t just slice my way through ‘em,” he grumbled. “What’ve you got for me, Phantom?”

“Patience,” you teased. “Trust me, I’m working on it.” You typed a few more commands, initiating a loop in the security feed of the second-floor hallway. “You’ve got a 30-second window. Move now.”

Logan didn’t need to be told twice. He slipped through the casino floor, dodging between slot machines and card tables until he reached the base of the stairwell. The guards barely glanced his way as he strolled past, looking for all the world like another high-roller with a chip on his shoulder.

“Almost too easy,” he muttered under his breath, taking the steps two at a time.

“I make it look easy,” you corrected, monitoring the shifting feeds as Logan made his way to the second floor. “Just keep moving. The loop’ll hold, but not for long.”

Logan reached the hallway, his eyes narrowing at the closed door leading to the poker room. He slowed his pace, ears straining to pick up any sounds on the other side. “Tell me you’ve got eyes in there.”

“Not yet, working on it,” you said. “This system’s layered, gonna take a sec.”

Logan let out a quiet growl. “Great. No pressure or anything.”

“Hey, if you’re in such a hurry, I could always—”

“Don’t,” he cut in. “Just—stay on it.” He pressed his back to the wall, inching closer to the door, waiting for your go.

There was a pause, and then, “Got it.” Your voice softened, like you were focusing extra hard. “Four guys in there. Three playing cards, one pacing by the window.”

“Let me guess,” Logan grunted. “The bald one’s pacing.”

“Bingo.”

Logan’s fingers flexed, the subtle urge to unsheathe his claws growing. But this was a delicate operation. No bloodshed if it could be helped.

“You’ve got any ideas how to get me in without turnin’ this into a brawl?” he asked, half-expecting you to come up with something clever.

“I’ve got a couple,” you replied, a smile evident in your tone. “But you won’t like them.”

Logan sighed. “Why do I feel like you’re about to mess with me?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” you said sweetly, then paused. “Okay, maybe a little. There’s a closet down the hall to your left. Go there.”

He frowned but did as you instructed, slipping into the darkened space, filled with cleaning supplies and boxes. “Now what?”

“Well, I could trigger a fire alarm, but that’s a little loud and obvious. Or, and hear me out, I could disrupt the air conditioning. Make it so hot in there they’ll be begging for an excuse to step outside.”

Logan chuckled under his breath. “That’s your big plan? Make ‘em sweat?”

“Worked on you, didn’t it?” you teased.

“Funny.” He shook his head, glancing at the vent above him. “Think they’ll all leave?”

“Probably not all at once, but it should get the ball rolling. Just be ready. I’ll handle the rest.” Your fingers flew over the keys again, tapping into the building’s climate control system.

After a moment, you heard Logan’s quiet grunt. “Feels like it’s workin’ already.”

“Yeah, I see the temp rising in their room.” You pulled up the camera feed again, watching as one of the guys at the table tugged at his collar, then another wiped at his brow.

“Ten bucks says Mr. Baldy cracks first,” you said, amused.

Logan smirked. “You’re on.”

Not even a minute passed before the bald man swore, yanked off his suit jacket, and threw it on the back of his chair. “I’m stepping out for some air,” you heard him mutter to the others.

Logan’s eyes flicked to the door, his body tense. “Here we go.”

As the door opened, Logan moved fast. He grabbed the guy, pulling him into the closet before he could make a sound. With a quick, non-lethal chokehold, the guy slumped to the ground unconscious. Logan checked his pulse—alive. Good.

“Nice work,” you whispered in his ear. “Bet he’s not going to wake up happy.”

Logan crouched down, frisking the guy’s pockets. “Let’s hope he’s got something useful on him,” he muttered.

“He’s got a keycard,” you said, watching the screen as Logan pulled out the small plastic card. “That should get you into the back office.”

Logan glanced down at the unconscious man. “You were right. I didn’t like your plan.”

You laughed softly through the comms. “You’ll get over it. Now go, before they notice their friend’s gone.”

Logan straightened up, giving the unconscious man one last look before slipping out of the closet. “You better have a plan for what’s next, Phantom.”

“I always do,” you said, smirking as you pulled up the building’s blueprints. “Just follow my lead. Take the hall to your right. There’s an access door near the end. It’ll get you closer to the office.”

Logan moved quickly, the soft thud of his footsteps barely audible. “You sure about this? That door doesn’t look like it’s meant for guests.”

“I’m sure,” you replied confidently. “It’s an employee access. You’ve got the keycard, remember?”

He grunted in response, holding the card up to the reader. The door unlocked with a faint beep. “You really do make this look easy.”

“I try,” you said, voice laced with amusement. “Now, once you’re inside, there’s a small hallway. You’ll want to hang a left, then a quick right. The office is at the end.”

Logan opened the door, slipping into the narrow hallway. “What’s the deal with this office? Anything I should know?”

“Could be where they’re stashing data on the trafficking network. Either that or it's where they’re counting money.” You were typing again, eyes scanning multiple camera feeds. “But I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

“Good feelin’, huh?” Logan muttered, carefully making his way through the corridor. “Hope that feelin’ is worth something.”

“It always is,” you shot back playfully. “You’ve got about a minute before someone notices the guy you knocked out is missin’. So… chop, chop.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan growled, reaching the door to the office. “And you said I was the impatient one.”

Before you could respond, he swiped the keycard again and pushed the door open. Inside, the room was dimly lit, filled with filing cabinets, a desk cluttered with paperwork, and a few old-looking computers. Logan’s nose twitched at the faint scent of stale cigarettes and cologne.

“Jackpot,” you whispered in his ear, pulling up the feed of the room. “There should be a terminal near the desk. Get me plugged in, and I’ll handle the rest.”

Logan looked over at the outdated equipment and scowled. “This stuff’s ancient. Hope you can work with it, Phantom.”

“Please, I’ve hacked worse,” you said, brushing off the concern. “Just get me connected.”

Logan knelt down, finding a small port on the side of the computer and pulling out a cable from his gear. As soon as he plugged it in, your fingers danced across the keyboard, breaking through layers of security.

“There we go,” you murmured. “This’ll take a second. How are things on your end?”

Logan stood back up, glancing around the room. “Quiet. For now.”

“Good, because I’ve got eyes on another guy heading your way,” you warned. “He’s probably checking in on his boss. You might wanna handle him before he stumbles on Baldy.”

Logan’s fists clenched. “Great. Any more good news?”

“Depends. You want the good news or the bad news first?” you asked lightly, your tone casual despite the urgency of the situation.

“Just spit it out.”

“Good news? I’m almost done here. Bad news? You’ve got about thirty seconds before that guy reaches you.”

Logan let out a low growl. “Any suggestions?”

“Well,” you said thoughtfully, “you could go for subtle and knock him out—again. Or you could do the Logan thing and scare the crap out of him.”

Logan smirked. “And here I thought you were gonna say ‘no bloodshed.’”

“I’m flexible,” you teased. “Your call.”

Logan moved toward the door, listening carefully. The approaching footsteps were getting closer. “I’ll try subtle,” he muttered. Then, almost as an afterthought, “for you.”

“Aw, how sweet,” you quipped. “I’ll be sure to remember this moment.”

He cracked the door open just as the guy turned the corner. Logan grabbed him by the collar, yanking him into the room before he could shout. A quick punch to the gut, and the guy doubled over, gasping for air. Logan pressed him against the wall, one hand firmly over his mouth.

“Stay quiet, and I won’t hurt you,” Logan growled, his tone low and threatening.

The guy’s eyes widened, and he gave a shaky nod. Logan let him go, and he slumped to the floor, half-conscious.

“Nice work,” you praised, your voice a soft murmur in his ear. “You’ve still got it.”

“Didn’t lose it,” Logan muttered, stepping over the guy and returning to the desk. “You done yet?”

“Just about,” you said. “And… there. I’ve got everything. You’re good to go.”

Logan disconnected the cable, glancing around the room once more. “And you’re sure this’ll help us track the ring?”

“Positive,” you replied confidently. “Now, get out of there before someone else shows up.”

Logan took one last look at the unconscious man on the floor. “You got a clear path for me?”

“Always,” you said, your fingers flying over the keys again. “Head back the way you came. I’ll loop the cameras again. And don’t worry, I’ll keep them busy downstairs.”

Logan smirked as he stepped back into the hallway. “Sometimes I forget how useful you are.”

“Only sometimes?” you teased.

He chuckled softly. “Don’t push your luck, Phantom.”

You smiled to yourself, watching the feeds as Logan made his way through the building. “Whatever you say, Logan. You owe me one.”

“Add it to the list,” he said, his voice gruff but laced with a hint of amusement.

“Believe me, I am.” You took a bite of your cake, an orange cardamom one you made the other day.

“The hell are you doin’?” Logan asked.

You shrugged, “I’m eatin’. Thought now was a better time than ever. Let’s my fingers have a break. Got a problem, Wolf?” you ask, taking another bite of your cake, your tone teasing through the comm.

Logan’s voice grumbled in your ear, low and irritated. "We're in the middle of a mission, and you’re havin’ dessert?"

"Hey, a girl’s gotta eat," you reply casually, wiping a few crumbs off your keyboard. "I’ve earned it. You’re lucky I’m not eating popcorn with the way this operation’s going. Besides, I’m the one doing the hard work behind the scenes, remember?"

"You’re sittin’ in front of a computer, Phantom," Logan shot back, though you could hear the faintest trace of a smirk in his voice. "Not exactly the front lines."

"Exactly. Where would you be without me?" you retort, savoring another bite of cake. "I’m the reason you’re not punching your way through the entire casino right now."

Logan stayed quiet for a beat. You could imagine him clenching his jaw, trying to decide whether to argue or just let you have your moment. "You done?"

You chuckle softly, leaning back in your chair. "For now. You make it out of there yet?"

"Almost," Logan muttered, his voice low as he moved through the hall. "Place is still crawling with these scumbags. Any chance you can keep ‘em distracted?"

"Already ahead of you," you said, your fingers flying over the keyboard again. "Looping the feeds, and I’ve got a little surprise coming for the main floor. Keep your eyes open."

Logan grunted in response, his boots making soft thuds as he crept through the back corridors. "Surprise, huh? What kind of surprise?"

"You’ll see," you said cryptically, unable to hide the amusement in your tone.

There was a pause before Logan spoke again, quieter this time. "You always this chatty during missions?"

You tilted your head, curious. "Depends on who I’m working with. Some people are all business, no fun. Others… well, they don’t mind a little conversation. Keeps things from getting too tense."

"Huh," Logan responded, noncommittal. But then, after another beat, he added, "Guess it ain’t so bad."

Your eyebrows shot up. "Was that a compliment? Did Wolverine just say something nice?"

"Don’t push it, Phantom," Logan growled, but there was a hint of a smile in his voice.

You grinned to yourself, pleased that you’d gotten under his skin a little. "Alright, alright. I’ll stop before you start getting sentimental on me."

Logan was quiet for a moment, then muttered, "Not much chance of that."

Before you could reply, you heard footsteps in the feed, heading in Logan’s direction. Your tone shifted, all business now. "Logan, hold up. Someone’s coming your way, about twenty feet ahead."

"Great," he grumbled, already moving to the side, pressing himself into the shadows.

You watched the camera feed, tracking the figure’s movement. "Wait… looks like it’s just one guy. Should be easy to handle."

Logan’s low growl rumbled through the comm. "Easy for you to say."

You rolled your eyes, but your focus stayed on the screen. "You’re Wolverine. You’ll be fine. Just make sure he doesn’t see you."

A few seconds passed, and then you heard a soft thud. Logan’s voice came back through the comm, sounding slightly breathless. "Handled."

"See? Told you. Easy," you said smugly.

Logan didn’t respond right away, probably too busy moving again. You kept your eyes on the security feeds, tracking his progress. Finally, you heard his voice, a little softer this time. "Thanks."

Your fingers paused over the keys. "For what?"

"For not gettin’ in the way," he said, almost gruffly, but you could tell he meant it.

You smiled, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. "Anytime, Wolf."

There was a brief silence, and then Logan cleared his throat. "So, you gonna tell me what this surprise is, or you just keepin’ me in the dark?"

You leaned forward, grinning. "Oh, right. Almost forgot. Check the main floor in about… five seconds."

Logan didn’t say anything, but you imagined him looking around suspiciously. Then, just as you’d planned, the lights in the main casino flickered before the fire alarms started blaring. You heard Logan’s quiet chuckle through the comm.

"That your idea of subtle?"

"I prefer ‘effective,’" you said, watching as the casino patrons started panicking, scrambling for the exits. "Should give you the distraction you need to get out clean."

Logan let out a low laugh. "I’ll give you that, Phantom. You make one hell of a distraction."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," you teased, though you couldn’t help the slight flush creeping up your neck. "Now hurry up and get out of there before someone starts putting two and two together."

"On it," Logan muttered, the sound of the alarm still faint in the background as he made his way out. "I’m guessin’ you already got us an exit plan?"

You leaned back in your chair, tapping your fingers against the desk. "I wouldn’t leave you hanging like that. Side door, west end of the building. You’ve got about three minutes before the cops show up."

Logan moved swiftly, his footsteps barely audible now. "You really are somethin’ else, y’know that?"

You smirked. "I’ve heard that once or twice."

As Logan slipped through the side door, you watched him disappear from the building’s cameras, your job mostly done. “You’re clear. Ricky wants you to meet him tomorrow morning, 8 sharp for a debrief.”

Logan let out a short grunt. “Ricky, huh? Great. I’ll bring donuts.”

You smiled, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see you. “You could at least try to pretend you’re not completely over these meetings.”

Logan’s voice crackled through the comm, rough but with a hint of humor. “I’m over a lotta things, Phantom. Meetin’s just one of ‘em.”

You leaned back in your chair, stretching out your arms. “Well, don’t be late. You know how Ricky gets when he’s kept waitin’.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan muttered. There was a pause, and then, “What about you? You gonna be there?”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised at the question. “You think I just show up to these things? I’m the behind-the-scenes tech genius, remember? My job’s done.”

Logan huffed. “Yeah, well… guess I figured after all this time, I’d finally meet the mystery hacker.”

There was something in his voice—something almost like curiosity—but you brushed it off with a light laugh. “Aw, are you saying you miss me already, Wolf?”

“Don’t push it,” Logan shot back, though there was a playful edge to his words. “Just seems weird, is all. Workin’ together this long and never even met you face-to-face.”

You paused for a moment, considering his words. It was weird. You’d been guiding Logan through missions for months now, your voices constantly in each other’s ears, but you had never been in the same room. A part of you liked it that way—it kept things professional, detached. Safer. But another part of you… well, maybe you were curious too.

“Maybe one day,” you said lightly, dodging the subject. “But for now, I think it’s better this way. Keeps the mystery alive, right?”

Logan snorted. “Yeah, real mysterious. You sittin’ there eatin’ cake while I’m out here doin’ the heavy liftin’.”

You smirked. “It’s called multitasking, Logan. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

Before he could respond, a soft beep on your computer alerted you that the building’s security systems were coming back online. The loop you’d created was about to end.

“Looks like my window’s closing,” you said, typing a few last commands. “Everything’s going back to normal on their end. You’re officially off the radar.”

“Good. Was gettin’ sick of the place anyway,” Logan muttered. You could hear the sound of traffic now, indicating he was out on the street. “You sure you don’t wanna show up tomorrow?”

“Why?” you asked, amused. “So you can finally see if I really do eat cake during all your missions?”

Logan grumbled something under his breath. “Yeah, somethin’ like that.”

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Meeting him in person… it’d be a big step. The dynamics between you two would change. And honestly, you weren’t sure if that was a good idea. But at the same time, a part of you was curious about the man behind the gruff voice and dry humor.

“We’ll see,” you said, keeping your tone light. “But don’t hold your breath, Wolf.”

Logan was quiet for a second before he let out a low chuckle. “Wasn’t plannin’ on it. See you around, Phantom.”

With that, the line went dead, and you leaned back in your chair, staring at the screen. You could still hear Logan’s voice in your head, and for a moment, you wondered what it’d be like to finally meet him. But then you shook the thought away, focusing back on your monitors.

It was safer this way. Easier. Less complicated.

But as you closed down your systems for the night, a small, nagging part of you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d ever get the chance to see the man behind the voice.

---

The next morning, you found yourself up earlier than usual, sipping coffee and thinking about Logan’s mission. You knew he was already at the debrief with Ricky, probably sitting there with that irritated look on his face. The thought made you smile.

You were in the middle of pulling up some new data on the trafficking ring when your phone buzzed with a message.

Logan: Missin’ you at this meeting. Ricky’s talkin’ my ear off.

You blinked at the screen, surprised. You weren’t expecting a text from Logan, let alone one like that. He wasn’t usually the type to check in.

You: I’m sure you’re handling it like a pro. Should I send donuts as a peace offering?

His reply came almost immediately.

Logan: Yeah, make it two dozen.

You snorted into your coffee, shaking your head.

You: I’ll see what I can do. How’d the debrief go?

There was a pause before Logan replied.

Logan: Fine. Got another mission lined up. They want you back on comms. Same setup.

Your fingers hesitated over the keys before you typed back.

You: Guess that means you’re stuck with me a little longer, huh?

Logan: Could be worse.

You smiled to yourself, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. It was a small thing, but the fact that Logan had reached out to you, even if it was just to complain about a meeting, felt like progress.

You: Just let me know when you’re ready for another round, Wolf. I’ll be there.

Logan: Yeah, I know you will.

You stared at the screen for a second longer, feeling something stir in the pit of your stomach. You shook it off, downed the rest of your coffee, and started pulling up the files for the next mission.

There was no time for distractions—not when the stakes were this high.

But still, a small part of you couldn’t help but look forward to hearing Logan’s voice in your ear again.

---

“Why don’t you tell me something ‘bout you?”

You raised an eyebrow at Logan’s question, momentarily pausing your typing before resuming. “I don’t know… don’t want a strange man knowin’ about me, do I?”

There was a low chuckle on the other end of the line. "Strange man, huh? Thought we were past that by now."

You smirked, leaning back in your chair. “Well, I guess you’re not that strange, Wolf. But still. Not sure I’m ready to spill all my secrets.”

“I’m not askin’ for all your secrets. Just one.” His voice was rough, but there was a hint of curiosity behind it, like he was genuinely interested in getting to know you. Which was… unexpected.

You tapped your fingers against the keyboard, considering. “Alright. Something about me, huh? Let’s see… I used to hate coffee. Couldn’t stand the taste.”

Logan snorted. “That’s it? C’mon, Phantom, give me somethin’ better than that.”

“Hey, you didn’t specify what kind of fact,” you shot back, a grin creeping onto your face. “But fine, if you want something more interesting… I got kicked out of my computer science class once.”

There was a beat of silence. “You? Miss hacker extraordinaire? What the hell did you do?”

You shrugged, even though he couldn’t see you. “Maybe I hacked into the school’s system to change a grade or two. Not mine, though. A friend’s. The professor wasn’t too thrilled about it.”

Logan’s laugh came through the line, deeper this time. “Should’ve known you’d be trouble.”

You smiled, leaning forward again. “Well, you’re stuck with me now.”

“Seems like it,” he muttered, a hint of something in his voice that made your stomach flip.

You cleared your throat, steering the conversation back on track. “Alright, your turn. Tell me something about you.”

“Not much to tell.” Logan’s voice was gruff, almost dismissive, but you could hear the hesitation.

“Come on, fair’s fair,” you pressed. “You can’t ask me for something and not return the favor.”

He was silent for a moment, and you could almost picture him sitting there, deciding how much he wanted to give away. Logan was driving, he had finished another mission with you on the line like always. Except this time, it ended with a man tied up and unconscious in the trunk for Ricky.

Finally, he sighed. “Alright. You want something about me? I used to be a lumberjack.”

You blinked, thrown off by the admission. “A lumberjack? Like, chopping down trees and all that?”

“Yeah. Chopping down trees, clearing land. It was… quiet. Simple.”

You let that sink in, the image of Logan swinging an axe somehow fitting. “Sounds nice. Bet you looked right at home doing it.”

He huffed a short laugh. “Not sure anyone’s ever ‘at home’ doing that, but yeah, it wasn’t bad. Kept me grounded, I guess.”

There was something unspoken in his voice, something heavy. You knew enough by now to not push too hard, so instead, you kept it light. “So, from chopping trees to chasing bad guys and mutants. Quite the career change.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Logan’s tone shifted, and you could tell he was ready to move on. “Enough ‘bout me. What’s the status on those files? You find anything new?”

You glanced at your screen, where the data on the trafficking ring was slowly coming together. “A few new leads. Cross-referenced some names from the last mission, and there’s definitely a connection between the ring and a shipping company based in Miami. Could be our way in.”

“Good.” Logan’s voice was steady, all business again. “Send me the details when you’re done. Ricky’s gonna want to know.”

You nodded to yourself, already pulling up the files to forward to him. “You got it. And Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Try not to let Ricky drive you too crazy. I’m not sending donuts again.”

Logan snorted. “No promises.”

---

Two days later, you were back at your desk, knee-deep in code, when the comms crackled to life.

“You ready, Phantom?”

You smiled to yourself, hearing Logan’s voice in your ear again. “Always. You good to go?”

“Locked and loaded,” he replied, the sound of a car door shutting in the background. “What’s the target this time?”

You tapped a few keys, bringing up the map. “Warehouse in Miami. Based on the intel we pulled, this is one of their main distribution points. High traffic, lots of movement at night.”

“Security?”

“Pretty tight, but nothing we can’t handle. I’ll be your eyes and ears. You just focus on getting in and out.”

“Like always.” There was a pause, then, “You ever been to Miami?”

You raised an eyebrow at the question. “Once or twice. Why?”

“Just curious. Thought maybe you’d have some recommendations on where to go after all this is over.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “What, planning a vacation already?”

“Maybe. Depends how fast we wrap this up.”

Shaking your head, you brought the focus back to the mission. “Alright, Wolf. Let’s get through this first, then we can talk about your beach plans.”

Logan chuckled, low and rough. “Deal.”

As you guided him through the back streets of Miami, tracking his every move on the security cameras, you couldn’t help but feel that familiar sense of anticipation. Working with Logan had become second nature by now, and yet there was always this underlying tension, this unspoken connection between you two that made every mission just a little more intense.

“Left at the next alley,” you instructed, your eyes flicking between the camera feeds. “You’ll see a door around the corner. Should be unlocked.”

“Got it,” Logan replied, his voice steady. You could hear his footsteps echoing off the alley walls as he approached the warehouse.

“Any movement inside?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

You scanned the interior feeds. “Three guards on the ground floor, two patrolling the upper levels. They’re not on high alert, though. You should be able to slip past them.”

“Easy enough.”

You listened to the sound of him moving, the slight creak of a door opening, then the soft thud of his boots on concrete. You kept your focus on the screens, heart rate picking up as Logan made his way deeper into the building.

“There’s a stairwell to your left,” you whispered, though no one but Logan could hear you. “Take it up. The control room’s on the second floor.”

“On it.”

Everything was going smoothly—until it wasn’t.

“Shit,” Logan muttered, his voice tense. “Got company.”

Your eyes flew to the nearest camera, catching sight of two guards rounding the corner, guns drawn.

“Hang on,” you said quickly, fingers flying across the keyboard. “I’m looping the camera feed—there, they shouldn’t be able to see you now.”

Logan didn’t respond right away, but you heard the scuffle over the line, the sound of fists meeting flesh, followed by a grunt of pain. You held your breath, watching the screens intently.

“Logan? You good?”

There was a beat of silence before his voice came through, breathless but unbothered. “Yeah. Just had to put a couple guys to sleep.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “Jesus, give me a heart attack, why don’t you?”

“Don’t worry, Phantom. I’ve got it under control.”

You could practically hear the smirk in his voice, and despite the tension, you couldn’t help but smile. “Well, next time, maybe give me a little warning before you go all Rambo on me.”

“No promises,” Logan’s voice crackled through the comms, and you could practically hear the grin in his tone. There was a brief pause before he added, “You still with me, Phantom?”

You shook your head, trying to suppress a smile. “Barely. I swear, you’ll be the death of me one of these days.”

His laugh came low and rough, and for a moment, you let yourself relax a little, the tension from earlier easing. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard that.”

“Yeah, well, I mean it,” you shot back, eyes scanning the multiple screens in front of you. The warehouse was sprawling, but you had a pretty good read on the layout by now. “You’re clear to move. No one else on this floor.”

“Got it.” You heard the soft thud of his boots again as he moved forward.

“So, what’s the next step?” Logan asked, keeping his voice low. “You got me runnin’ around this place, but you haven’t told me what I’m lookin’ for.”

“Patience, Wolf,” you teased, tapping a few more keys to bring up the rest of the building’s security system. “I’m working on it. There’s a secure server room on the north side of the building. That’s where they’re storing the data we need. You’re gonna have to bypass their security to get in.”

“Piece of cake.”

“Funny you mention cake,” you said, grinning to yourself as you tapped into the server’s firewall. “Because after this, I’m thinking you owe me some. Maybe even pie. You’re racking up quite the tab.”

Logan chuckled. “Yeah? We’ll see. First, let’s get through this alive.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

As you worked, your mind drifted for a second, the familiar rhythm of the job taking over. It was almost unsettling how natural it had become to guide Logan through these kinds of missions. You weren’t sure when you’d started looking forward to them—maybe it was the banter, maybe it was the trust you’d built. But either way, it had become a part of your routine.

“Server room’s on the right,” you said after a beat, focusing back on the task at hand. “Two guards outside, but they don’t seem too alert. Shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

Logan’s voice was smooth as he replied, “Already ahead of you. On my way.”

You kept your eyes on the screen, watching as he moved through the shadows, blending in with the dark corners of the warehouse. It was impressive, really. The way he worked was so fluid, like he’d done this a thousand times before. And, well, he probably had.

“There’s an override switch on the wall next to the door,” you instructed. “Flip it, and you’ll have access.”

Logan grunted in response, and a moment later, you heard the soft click of the door unlocking.

“Inside,” he muttered. “Now what?”

You were about to respond when a sudden blip on your screen caught your attention. “Wait, hold up,” you said quickly, fingers flying across the keyboard. “We’ve got movement. Someone’s heading toward your location. Two guards, second floor.”

Logan’s voice was calm, even as he moved into action. “How long do I have?”

“Not long. They’re coming fast.” Your heart pounded as you watched the dots on the map converge on his location. “You need to get out of there, now.”

“Too late for that,” Logan muttered, the sounds of heavy footsteps echoing through the comms.

“Logan—”

“Don’t worry, Phantom,” he cut you off, and you could hear the smirk in his voice again. “I’ve got this.”

The next thing you heard was the unmistakable sound of fists hitting flesh, followed by a low grunt of pain. You winced, even though you couldn’t see what was happening.

“Logan? Talk to me.”

More sounds of a struggle came through, and then finally, Logan’s voice, slightly breathless but unbothered. “Two down. Told ya, no problem.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back in your chair. “Yeah, well, maybe next time don’t wait until the last second to handle it.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even though your nerves were still on edge. “You’re impossible.”

“That’s what they tell me,” he replied, and you could hear the faint rustle of him moving again. “Alright, I’m at the server. How much time do we need?”

“Give me five minutes,” you said, fingers flying across the keyboard as you initiated the download remotely. “I’m pulling the data now. Just stay put until I finish.”

“Five minutes? Thought you were faster than that, Phantom.”

“Don’t push it, Logan,” you shot back, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see you. “I’d like to see you hack into a secured server faster.”

“Maybe I’ll give it a shot one of these days,” he muttered, the humor still in his voice. “Bet I’d be a natural.”

“Please. You’d probably smash the computer before you even logged in.”

“Only if it pissed me off.”

You shook your head, focusing back on the task at hand. “Alright, I’m almost done. Just a few more seconds.”

There was silence on the line for a moment, and you could hear Logan shifting in place, his breaths slow and steady.

“You ever think about doin’ this full time?” he asked suddenly, his voice lower now, more serious.

“Hacking?” you replied, thrown off by the question. “I mean, I’m not exactly doing this for the money. Why?”

“Just curious,” Logan said, and you could tell by his tone that he wasn’t pressing the issue. “Seems like you’re good at it. You could make a real difference.”

You hesitated, fingers hovering over the keys. “I’m already making a difference,” you said softly, your voice quieter than usual. “I don’t need to do it full time to feel like it matters.”

There was a pause, and for a moment, you thought maybe the line had cut out. But then Logan spoke again, his voice low and almost… thoughtful.

“Yeah. Guess you’re right.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you didn’t. Instead, you focused on finishing the download, the soft hum of the servers filling the silence between you.

“Got it,” you said finally, leaning back in your chair with a sigh of relief. “Download’s complete. You’re good to go.”

Logan didn’t reply right away, but you could hear the soft sound of him moving, his footsteps heavy against the concrete floor.

“Logan?” you prompted after a moment, the silence starting to make you uneasy.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice a little distant. “I’m on my way out.”

You nodded to yourself, watching his dot move across the map on your screen. “Good. Let’s get you out of there.”

As you guided him back through the warehouse, you couldn’t help but wonder what had changed in his voice during those last few minutes. Something about the way he’d asked that question—about doing this full time—had caught you off guard.

But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. You had a job to finish, and Logan needed to get out of there safely.

“Alright, you’re clear,” you said once he reached the exit. “No one’s around. Just make sure you don’t—”

“Yeah, I know,” Logan interrupted, and you could hear the smirk in his voice again. “Don’t get shot. You’ve told me a thousand times, Phantom.”

“Then maybe this time you’ll listen,” you shot back, grinning despite yourself.

Logan chuckled, the sound low and rough. “No promises.”

And with that, the line went quiet, leaving you alone in the soft glow of your computer screen.

---

"Alright, your change is $2.87. Have a good one.” You handed the change and a paper bag to the customer, smiling politely. After brushing your hands on your pastel blue apron, you turned to the next person in line. "How can I help—”

You paused mid-sentence as you looked up, surprised to see Ricky standing in front of you with a smirk on his face. You let out an exaggerated sigh. “The regular?”

“Always.” Ricky leaned against the counter, watching you with that usual casual attitude. “You know me too well, Phantom.”

You scoffed lightly at the use of your codename in the middle of your bakery. "Could you not call me that here?" You motioned to the line behind him. “I’d prefer not to blow my cover in front of customers.”

Ricky grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Relax, I’m just messin’ with you. Your secret’s safe with me.”

You shook your head and started prepping his order, grabbing a coffee and a chocolate croissant, which he always got whenever he visited your bakery. “What are you doing here anyway? Don’t you have something better to do than bother me at work?”

“Maybe I just missed my favorite hacker-slash-baker,” Ricky teased, crossing his arms as he watched you work. “Figured I’d stop by and see how you’re holding up.”

You raised an eyebrow, handing him the coffee. “I’m holding up fine. Business as usual.”

“Yeah. This place looks better than before. New paint job?”

“Actually, no. New tables and chairs.” You replied. Computer programming had always been something you enjoyed and loved, but when you started working for a big tech company, you couldn’t help but feel like your talents were going to waste.

You found Ricky, or rather, Ricky found you, and you were recruited into ‘The Organization’ to take down mutant trafficking rings. You still needed money, so you decided to put to use your other skill, baking. You opened a small bakery in New York City and have been running it for close to 2 years now.

Ricky leaned against the counter, eyeing the new setup. “So this is what you do when you’re not saving the world? Whip up some cupcakes?”

You rolled your eyes as you placed the croissant in a bag. “Something like that. Gotta pay the bills, right?”

Ricky took the bag from you, giving you a knowing smirk. “You know, it’s still hard to picture you as a baker. I keep waiting for the day I come in here, and all the pastries are bugged with tiny microphones.”

You snorted. “Please. Like I’d waste good croissants on something like that.”

He laughed, then took a sip of his coffee. “You heard from Logan?”

Your fingers froze for a split second, but you quickly masked it by busying yourself with wiping down the counter. “Why? Did something happen?”

Ricky raised an eyebrow. “No, not that I know of. Just thought he might’ve reached out, is all.”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone casual. “He’s probably busy. You know how it is.”

“Mhm.” Ricky gave you a look that suggested he wasn’t buying it. “Right. Busy.”

You shot him a glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He grinned, shaking his head. “Nothing, Phantom. Just… you two seem to get along pretty well. That’s all.”

You felt a warmth creeping up the back of your neck and quickly turned away, focusing on the pastries again. “We work well together, if that’s what you mean.”

“Sure, sure,” Ricky said, clearly amused. “Just don’t let ol’ Wolf get too attached. He’s not exactly the sentimental type.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, I’m not worried about that.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t help but think back to the last mission. The banter, the small moments where Logan seemed to let his guard down—just a little. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you wonder.

Ricky stood up straight, crumpling the paper bag in his hand. “Alright, Phantom. I’ll leave you to your cupcakes and secret side missions. Just don’t go getting yourself into trouble.”

“Me? Trouble?” you grinned. “Never.”

He chuckled, heading for the door. “Catch you later.”

As soon as he was gone, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Ricky had a way of pushing your buttons just enough to make you think. And now you couldn’t stop replaying your recent conversations with Logan in your head. It was strange—this… thing between you two. He wasn’t like anyone you’d worked with before. And yet, it felt natural, like you’d known each other much longer than a few months.

Your phone buzzed in your apron pocket, snapping you out of your thoughts. You pulled it out and glanced at the screen.

Logan: Got some info for you. When’s your next shift with me?

You bit your lip, your fingers hovering over the keys for a second before you replied.

You: Whenever you need me. What’s the mission?

Logan: I’ll fill you in later. Just be ready.

You: Always am, Wolf.

A short pause, then Logan’s reply came through.

Logan: I know.

You stared at the screen for a moment longer, feeling that familiar flutter in your chest. Shaking your head, you shoved the phone back into your pocket. You had a business to run, after all. There was no time to dwell on this… whatever it was between you and Logan.

But as you served the next customer with a practiced smile, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that your next mission with him was going to be different. Maybe it already was.

---

“You ever been to New York City?” Logan asked.

You briefly stopped your typing on the keyboard, “maybe. Maybe not. Why?”

Logan’s voice crackled through the earpiece, low and rough as always. “Just curious. Figured you might’ve wandered through at some point, considering how close we’ve been workin’ together.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at the surveillance feed on your screen. “Is this your version of small talk, Wolf? Because I gotta say, you’re not exactly known for that.”

He chuckled. “Nah, just figured it was worth askin’. You ever get outta that basement of yours?”

You leaned back in your chair, smirking to yourself. “I’m not always in a basement, you know. I have other things going on. Like you, sweetie. You focusing on those wires?”

“Sweetie?” Logan’s voice came back with a low growl, amusement lacing his tone. “You know I don’t get distracted easy, darlin’.”

You smirked at the monitor in front of you, watching as he carefully maneuvered through the narrow corridor of the warehouse. “Just making sure. Wouldn’t want to have to bail you out if you trip a wire.”

“Funny,” he muttered. “You’re soundin’ real confident for someone sittin’ comfy at a keyboard.”

“Hey, I’m not comfy,” you shot back, leaning closer to the screen. “I’m on the edge of my seat watching your back.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan said, the sound of a door creaking open in the background. “What do you see up ahead?”

You focused on the different camera feeds, your fingers flying over the keys to switch between views. “Two guards in the hallway to your left. Armed. They’re just patrolling, so if you wait about ten seconds, you should be able to slip by.”

“Copy that.” His breathing slowed, the sound of footsteps faint as he pressed himself against the wall. “Tell me somethin’, Phantom. What do you do when you’re not playin’ babysitter for me?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Logan grunted softly, the sound of his claws extending briefly as he took a peek around the corner. “Yeah, kinda. All I get’s that voice of yours—still gotta figure out the face that goes with it.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “You’re obsessed, Wolf.”

“Never said I wasn’t.” There was a beat of silence as Logan moved silently down the hallway, bypassing the guards with ease. “But you still didn’t answer me.”

You sighed dramatically, switching to another camera feed that showed a large storage room filled with crates. “What do you think I do? Sit in a dark room, hacking into firewalls all day?”

Logan snorted. “Ain’t that what you’re doin’ now?”

“Touché.” You shifted slightly, watching him take down a lone guard with a quick, precise movement. “But no. I do have a life outside of this, you know.”

“Like what?” He sounded genuinely curious now, and you could almost picture the way his brows would be furrowed in concentration. “You got a family? Friends?”

You paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Family? Not really. Friends? Also a stretch. But you didn’t feel like sharing that right now. “I’ve got… a business to run.”

Logan was quiet for a moment. “A business, huh? Didn’t think you’d be the type to deal with customers.”

“Why not?” you shot back. “I’m very good with people, I’ll have you know.”

“Yeah, like the time you almost tore that guy a new one when he questioned your coding?” He chuckled, the sound low and deep in your ear. “Real people person, darlin’.”

“Okay, that was one time.” You rolled your eyes. “And he deserved it. But yeah, I’m pretty good with people—when I want to be.”

“Uh-huh.” There was a rustling noise, like he was checking through one of the crates. “What kinda business?”

You hesitated again. Part of you wanted to keep that piece of your life separate from Logan. But he’d been honest with you about a lot of things—his past, his work, even some of his regrets. It seemed only fair to give a little in return.

“...A bakery,” you finally admitted, almost cringing at how mundane it sounded compared to the world you two operated in.

There was a long pause on the other end. Then—

“A bakery?” Logan repeated, his voice thick with disbelief. “Like… cupcakes and cookies bakery?”

“Yeah, Wolf,” you said dryly, feeling heat creep up your neck. “I bake things. It’s called having a hobby.”

He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Just tryin’ to picture it, that’s all. Our resident hacker pullin’ cookies out of the oven.”

“Is that so hard to imagine?” You switched to another feed, tracking his progress through the facility. “I bet you’d like my cookies.”

“Yeah?” There was a hint of teasing in his voice now. “You gonna make some for me sometime?”

You bit your lip, surprised at the sudden flutter in your chest at the thought. “Maybe. If you’re good.”

“Darlin’, I’m always good.”

“Debatable,” you shot back quickly, but your smile softened at the edges. “But I’ll keep that in mind.”

There was another pause, and you could hear Logan’s soft exhale through the comms. “You really own a bakery?”

“Yes, really,” you said, feeling oddly defensive now. “I’m not making it up just to sound cute.”

He chuckled again. “I didn’t think that. Just… didn’t see it comin’, is all. Got any specialties?”

You blinked at the sudden change in tone, a mix of genuine curiosity and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Well, I make a mean chocolate croissant.”

“Chocolate croissant, huh?” He sounded like he was mulling it over. “Could go for one right now.”

“Focus, Wolf,” you teased, but there was a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the coffee beside you. “Get through this mission, and maybe I’ll let you try one.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” His voice was low, a promise wrapped in that simple statement.

For a moment, the two of you fell into a comfortable silence. It was strange how easy it felt, talking like this. Like you weren’t two people who only knew each other through voices and screens. Like there was something more.

“Alright, I’m in position,” Logan murmured, breaking the silence. “What’s next?”

You glanced at the feed, spotting the final target. “There’s a control panel just ahead. Shut it down, and we’ll have full access to the data we need.”

“On it.” There was a soft thud as he moved forward, the sound of his claws retracting. “Phantom?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks… for keepin’ me company. Makes this kinda work a little less shit.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you struggled to find your voice for a second. “...Anytime, Wolf.”

And you meant it.

---

After 5 months of The Organization searching, the base of the mutant trafficking ring was finally found. It wasn’t just you and Logan, but other’s out on the field searching, and now things were coming to a head.

Ricky had briefed everyone—the field agents and those, like you, behind the computers. Everyone was in position, and tonight, after months of planning, the mutant trafficking ring was finally going to be shut down.

You took a steadying breath, fingers hovering over your keyboard. The screens in front of you were filled with various feeds: security cameras, schematics of the building, comms channels. It was go-time, and as much as you liked to pretend you were calm, there was a knot of tension in your stomach. You knew what was riding on this mission—innocent lives, and for some reason, your thoughts kept circling back to one person in particular.

“Phantom, you there?” Logan’s voice came through your earpiece, low and steady.

“Yeah, Wolf. Right here.” You sat up a little straighter, adjusting the headset. “You good?”

“Never better.” He sounded almost amused. “How ‘bout you? Keepin’ those fingers of yours nimble?”

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. “I’m ready to go. All feeds are online, and I’ve got eyes on every entrance. You’re at the west side of the building, right?”

“Yep.” He paused, and you heard the faint shuffle of boots against gravel. “What’s your status?”

“Locked and loaded,” you replied, scanning the feeds. “Looks like we’ve got a dozen guards outside, plus more scattered throughout the building. The main target’s in the central office on the second floor. You’ll need to cut through the lower levels to get there.”

“Got it. You got eyes on the others?”

You quickly toggled between the different comms channels, listening in on reports from the other teams. “Everyone’s in position. Team Alpha is covering the south, Bravo’s moving to secure the exit routes. You’re clear to start your approach.”

Logan grunted in acknowledgment, and you watched on one of the monitors as he started moving through the shadows, staying low and out of sight.

“Be careful, Wolf,” you murmured, your voice softer than you intended.

“Careful’s my middle name,” he drawled back, a hint of that signature cockiness coming through. “You just keep those pretty eyes on the feeds and tell me if someone’s gonna try and sneak up on me.”

“Always do,” you shot back, smiling despite the tension in the air.

There was a pause on his end, and then: “What’s the fastest way to the office from here?”

You glanced at the building’s layout, quickly mapping out a route in your head. “Take the staircase to your right, follow the hallway down two doors, then take a left. You should be able to bypass most of the guards that way. Just… watch for the tripwires.”

“Roger that. Stay on me, Phantom.”

“Like I’m ever not.” You kept your eyes glued to the screen as Logan moved through the facility with practiced ease. Despite the tension thrumming through your veins, there was a strange calmness in listening to his breathing over the comms, knowing you were right there with him, even if it was only in a digital sense.

“How’s it look up ahead?” he asked after a few moments of silence.

“Two guards at the end of the hall,” you reported, zooming in on one of the feeds. “They’re armed, but they’re not paying attention. You should be able to take them out quietly.”

Logan didn’t respond, but you saw him slip into the corridor, moving like a shadow. A few seconds later, both guards were down, and he was back on the line. “Clear.”

“Nice work, Wolf.” You leaned forward, fingers flying over the keyboard to hack into the security system. “I’m disabling the cameras on the next floor. You should have a clear path to the office, but I’m picking up some chatter—looks like they’re getting suspicious.”

“Let ‘em get suspicious.” There was a low, dangerous edge to his voice now. “I’m ready.”

You couldn’t help but grin a little. “That makes one of us.”

“C’mon, Phantom, you know you love this shit,” he teased, but there was a warmth in his tone that made your heart skip a beat. “All that adrenaline. Gets the blood pumpin’, doesn’t it?”

You bit your lip, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see you. “I’m not the one out there risking my neck. That’s your job.”

“Yeah, well… you’re doin’ a hell of a job keepin’ me from getting my ass shot off.” There was a pause, and then he added, almost softly, “Don’t know what I’d do without you, darlin’.”

You blinked at the screen, momentarily caught off guard by his words. “...Just stay focused, Wolf. I’m not pulling your ass out of this if you get cocky.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, sweetheart. I’m good.” His voice turned serious again as he approached the central office. “I’m at the door. How many inside?”

You quickly cycled through the cameras, counting the figures inside. “Three guards. One unarmed. That’s the target. If you move quick, you should be able to neutralize them before they call for backup.”

“Got it.” Logan’s voice was low, almost a growl. You watched as he shifted his weight, preparing to make his move. It was always a little nerve-wracking, watching him go in like this, but you trusted him. He knew what he was doing.

Your fingers danced over the keyboard, disabling the cameras in the immediate area. “I’m taking out the cameras around the office. You’re clear for entry. Make it fast, Wolf.”

“Don’t worry. I’m on it.” He paused for a beat. “How’s the rest of the team doin’?”

You glanced at the other feeds, tracking the movements of the different teams scattered throughout the building. “Team Alpha just took out the last of the perimeter guards. Bravo’s securing the exits—no one’s getting in or out without us knowing.”

“Good. Let’s end this.” There was a soft click as Logan pushed the door open, slipping inside the office with deadly precision.

The guards barely had time to react. You watched in awe as he took them down with a combination of swift strikes and quick, lethal movements. He was a blur of action, and within seconds, the only people left standing were Logan and the target—an older man who looked like he’d just seen a ghost.

“Please, don’t—” the man stammered, holding up his hands in a pathetic attempt at self-defense.

“Shut up,” Logan growled, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him against the wall. “You’re gonna answer a few questions for me.”

You leaned closer to the screen, keeping an eye on the other guards roaming the hallways. “Careful, Wolf. We don’t know if he’s got any backup on standby.”

“Yeah, I got it.” He gave the man a rough shake. “Who’s runnin’ this operation? Where’s the rest of the mutants you’ve been trafficking?”

The man sputtered, his face pale. “I—I don’t know! I just handle the logistics—transport, security—”

“Bullshit.” Logan’s claws extended with a sharp snikt, and you could hear the man’s terrified gasp even through the comms. “Try again, bub. And don’t lie to me.”

You zoomed in on the screen, checking for any signs of incoming guards. “Logan, I’m picking up movement on the lower levels. It’s not one of ours—looks like reinforcements. You need to hurry.”

“Copy that.” He leaned in closer to the man, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Last chance. Where are the mutants?”

“Storage room—basement level—cage twelve!” The man practically screamed the words, his eyes wide with fear. “Please, I swear, that’s all I know!”

“Storage room, basement level, cage twelve,” you repeated quickly, already pulling up the layout of the basement. “I’m sending the coordinates to Team Bravo now.”

“Good.” Logan released the man, who slumped to the floor, trembling. He stepped back, claws retracting. “Now sit tight. You’re gonna have some company soon.”

The man whimpered but didn’t move as Logan turned and made his way out of the office. You switched your focus back to the basement, watching as Team Bravo moved in to secure the mutants.

“They’re in position,” you reported, keeping your voice calm. “Looks like… ten, no, twelve mutants total. All of them are alive.”

“Alive, huh?” Logan’s voice softened just a fraction. “That’s somethin’, at least.”

“Yeah.” You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. After months of hunting down leads, false starts, and dead ends, it was finally coming together. “We did it, Wolf.”

“Not yet, we haven’t.” His tone turned serious again. “We still gotta get ‘em outta here. You got a path?”

“Working on it.” Your fingers flew over the keyboard, pulling up the building’s blueprints. “Okay, there’s an access tunnel two levels down from where you are. It leads straight to an underground parking garage. If you can get them there, we’ll have transport waiting.”

“Got it. I’ll head down now.” He paused for a moment, then added quietly, “Good work, Phantom.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at the unexpected praise. “Same to you, Wolf. Just… stay safe, okay?”

There was a soft chuckle on the other end. “Don’t you worry ‘bout me, darlin’. You just keep doin’ what you do best.”

You stayed on the line, guiding him through the lower levels as he made his way to the basement. The rest of the mission went off like clockwork—Team Bravo secured the mutants, Team Alpha kept the perimeter locked down, and Logan made sure no one got in their way.

By the time it was all over, the mutants were safe, the ring was shut down, and the remaining traffickers were either captured or taken out. It was a resounding success, and yet, as you watched Logan emerge from the building, something inside you felt… off.

“Logan?” you called out softly, your voice hesitant. “You good?”

“Yeah. Just tired.” He sounded a little rough around the edges, but that was to be expected after a mission like this. “What about you? You doin’ okay?”

You let out a soft breath, leaning back in your chair. “Yeah, I’m good. Just… glad it’s over, I guess.”

“Yeah.” There was a pause, and then he added, “You did good tonight, Phantom. Real good.”

“Thanks, Wolf.” You smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

He grunted softly, the sound almost affectionate. “Bet you say that to all the guys you babysit.”

“Only the ones I like,” you teased, feeling a little bolder now that the mission was over. “But seriously… thanks for trusting me out there. I know it’s not easy.”

“Trust ain’t somethin’ I give lightly,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere. “But you earned it. Over and over.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you settled for a soft, “...I’m glad.”

There was another beat of silence, and then Logan’s voice came back, a little lighter. “So, when am I gettin’ that chocolate croissant?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Guess you’ll just have to swing by my bakery sometime, huh?”

“Maybe I will.” He sounded thoughtful, like he was considering it for the first time. “Soon as I figure out where the hell it is.”

“Good luck with that,” you teased, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nerves. “But if you do find it… first croissant’s on me.”

“I’ll hold you to that, darlin’.” There was a warm, teasing lilt to his voice now. “Take care, Phantom.”

“You too, Wolf.”

And with that, the line went quiet. You stared at the screen for a moment longer, a smile tugging at your lips. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a step—toward something new, something real.

Maybe one day, you’d get to see the look on Logan’s face when he finally tasted one of your croissants.

But for now, this was enough.

---

It had been a few weeks since the mutant trafficking ring was taken down, and since then, things from The Organization had been quiet. You were sure that soon, something would happen, and you’d have a new mission or cause to fight for, but for now, life was… normal. Or, as normal as things could get for you.

During the day, you focused on your bakery. The smell of freshly baked bread and sweet pastries filled the small space, the steady hum of business keeping you busy. You didn’t have to think about The Organization or anything outside of kneading dough and serving customers. It was a welcome change of pace, a grounding routine that gave you some much-needed breathing room.

But at night, when the bakery was closed and the streets outside your shop went quiet, your mind wandered back to Logan—and those long conversations over the comms. The teasing back and forth. The gruff but genuine praise. The way he’d been so protective of you, even when you were just a voice in his ear.

You leaned against the counter, wiping your hands on your apron as you glanced around your empty shop. The bell above the door jingled, and you glanced up, expecting to see one of your regulars who’d forgotten to grab something before closing.

But it wasn’t one of your regulars.

It was him.

Logan.

He stood in the doorway, his broad frame almost filling it completely. A beat of silence passed as you stared at each other, and then he stepped inside, his boots making a soft thud against the wooden floor.

“Hey, darlin’.” His voice was the same deep, rough tone you remembered, and yet hearing it in person made your heart skip a beat. He glanced around the bakery, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Figured I’d finally swing by and see if your croissants live up to the hype.”

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. He was here. Here. In your bakery, standing in front of you like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Logan?” You blinked, trying to wrap your mind around it. “How—how did you find me?”

He shrugged like it was nothing, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Did a little diggin’. Asked around. Turns out you’re not as good at hiding as you think.”

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, a mix of surprise and… something else. “And you just—decided to show up out of nowhere?”

“Thought you could use some company,” he replied easily, but there was a seriousness in his gaze that told you this wasn’t just a casual visit. “Been too quiet lately. I don’t do quiet well.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

“Neither can I,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before he glanced at the display case filled with pastries. “But since I am… you gonna give me that croissant, or what?”

The corner of your mouth lifted, and you reached behind the counter, pulling out a fresh chocolate croissant. You placed it on a small plate, sliding it across to him. “First one’s on the house, remember?”

Logan took the plate, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest of moments. A spark shot through you, but you quickly pulled your hand back, pretending like it hadn’t happened.

He lifted the croissant, inspecting it with a critical eye before taking a bite. You watched, holding your breath as he chewed thoughtfully. Then, he swallowed and nodded.

“Not bad, Phantom. Not bad at all.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, a smile breaking out on your face. “Just ‘not bad?’ I think I’m a little insulted.”

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Okay, fine. It’s good. Real good.” He took another bite, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t ya?”

“I could say the same about you.” You leaned against the counter, studying him. In the soft light of the bakery, he looked a little more relaxed, less guarded. There was still that roughness to him, but there was something else, too—a quiet sort of contentment. “So, what’s the real reason you’re here, Logan?”

He raised an eyebrow, finishing off the croissant before setting the plate down. “What, a guy can’t visit his favorite hacker?”

“Nice try.” You gave him a look, crossing your arms. “But I know you better than that.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe I just wanted to see for myself that you’re okay. That this place is real. That you’re… real.”

You felt something tighten in your chest, your gaze softening. “I’m real, Logan. You know that.”

“Yeah.” He looked around again, as if trying to memorize every detail of your little shop. “But it’s different, seein’ it with my own eyes.”

There was a weight to his words, a sincerity that made your heart ache a little. You’d spent so many nights talking to him, listening to his voice, getting to know him in a way that felt almost… intimate. And now he was here, standing in front of you, and it felt like a dream.

“Do you—” You hesitated, biting your lip. “Do you want to stay for a bit? I’ve got coffee. Or tea, if that’s more your style.”

Logan’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Coffee sounds good.”

You turned to make a fresh pot, your hands moving on autopilot as your mind raced. What did this mean? Why now? You’d thought maybe, someday, you’d meet Logan in person, but you hadn’t expected it to be like this—so sudden, so… normal.

“So,” Logan drawled, leaning against the counter as he watched you, “what’s next for you? Gonna hang up your hacker hat and just focus on bakin’?”

You glanced over your shoulder, giving him a wry smile. “You think I could actually stay out of trouble for long?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Nah. Don’t think you’re cut out for the quiet life, darlin’.”

“Guess we have that in common, huh?” You poured the coffee, sliding a mug over to him. “But for now… I’m taking a little break. I think I’ve earned it.”

“Yeah, you have.” He took the mug, his fingers brushing against yours again. This time, neither of you pulled away. “So… what’s the plan now? Just you and the bakery?”

“For now.” You shrugged, looking around the shop. “It’s nice. Calming, even. Keeps me grounded.”

Logan studied you for a long moment, his gaze intent. “You know, I never pictured you like this. With flour on your apron and—what’s that?” He reached out, brushing his thumb lightly against your cheek. “Frostin’ on your face?”

You froze at the contact, your breath catching in your throat. His touch was surprisingly gentle, the roughness of his thumb contrasting with the softness of your skin. You stared at him, caught off guard by the sudden intimacy of the moment.

“I—uh—” You cleared your throat, feeling your face heat up. “Occupational hazard, I guess.”

“Hmm.” His thumb lingered for a heartbeat longer, then he pulled back, his expression softening. “Guess it suits you.”

You swallowed, trying to steady your racing heart. “What about you? What’s next for the great Wolverine? Gonna go back to the X-Men?”

Logan chuckled, leaning back slightly as he sipped his coffee. “Who said I ever left? Maybe I was doin’ this as my side job.”

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a playful look. “Oh, so the big bad Wolverine has a side hustle now? Should I be worried you’re going to start making croissants too?”

He smirked. “Nah, I’ll leave the bakin’ to you. But maybe I’ll stick around, see how things go.” His eyes held yours, that familiar teasing edge mixed with something else—a quiet intensity.

“Stick around?” you asked, not entirely sure where he was going with this. “In New York? Thought you weren’t a fan of big cities.”

Logan shrugged, his gaze flicking around your cozy bakery again. “It grows on ya. Plus, I got reasons to hang around now.”

The way he said it, so casual but pointed, made your heart skip a beat. “Reasons, huh?”

He leaned forward, setting his mug down on the counter. “Yeah, Phantom. You think I spent all those nights listenin’ to you talk, gettin’ to know you, just to go back to business as usual?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the directness of his words. You tried to bring things back to normal, to calm your racing heart, but perhaps you only made it worse with his response. “Y- you don’t have to call me that, you know? Or- anymore, at least.”

Logan’s eyes locked onto yours, a spark of curiosity flickering in his gaze. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the counter. “Oh yeah? So, what should I call ya?”

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his question. It was such a simple thing—your real name. Something you’d kept hidden, not out of fear, but because keeping a wall between your real life and Phantom had made things… easier. Safer, even. But you felt safe with him standing in front of you, even if it was the first time meeting face to face.

“Y/N.” You finally said, quietly with a small smile.

Logan’s eyes softened, something shifting in his expression as he repeated your name—almost testing it out. “Y/N, huh? Suits you.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the warmth spreading through your chest. “Figured it was time to be on a first-name basis, Wolf.”

His lips twitched into a smirk at the nickname. “Wolf,” he repeated, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. “You’ve been callin’ me that for months. Thought you’d drop it once I was standin’ right in front of ya.”

“Why would I do that?” you shot back, your smile growing a little more confident. “It suits you, Wolf.”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “Fair enough.” He leaned back, his gaze never leaving yours. “Guess I’ll stick with ‘Phantom’ for old times’ sake.”

“‘Y/N’ is fine,” you said softly. “I think we’re past codenames.”

He nodded slowly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Y/N, then.” The way he said it—slow and deliberate—made your heart flutter. There was something so personal about it, so… intimate. You’d spent so long hiding behind ‘Phantom’ that hearing your real name in his voice felt almost surreal.

You glanced down at the counter, clearing your throat to break the tension. “So,” you said slowly, a hint of mischief creeping into your tone, “now that you’ve tried my croissants, what’s next on the list? Gonna critique my muffins too?”

Logan’s smirk widened, his eyes glinting. “Oh, I’m definitely stickin’ around long enough to try everything on that menu, darlin’. Gotta make sure it’s all up to snuff.”

“Uh-huh. Just don’t expect me to bake for you every day,” you teased, but there was a warmth in your voice that you couldn’t quite hide.

“I dunno,” he drawled, leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone. “Kinda like the idea of you makin’ me breakfast.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your breath catching in your throat. You chuckled back at him, putting the towel in your hand over your shoulder, “yeah? Bet you say that to all the women you meet.”

Logan’s smirk grew, the corner of his mouth lifting in that way you’d come to recognize as trouble. “You think I go around findin’ bakeries just to get breakfast from pretty hackers?”

“Pretty hackers?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t know I was your type, Wolf.”

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair with an easy confidence. “You’re my type if you keep makin’ croissants like that.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Nice recovery.”

There was a beat of silence, and Logan’s smirk softened, replaced by a more thoughtful look. His eyes swept around the shop again, taking in the cozy space as if trying to understand something deeper about it—about you.

“This place,” he said quietly, breaking the silence. “It’s yours, huh?”

“Yeah,” you replied, a touch of pride in your voice. “Bought it a couple of years ago. Did most of the renovations myself. Not the hacking kind, though.”

Logan nodded, his gaze lingering on the shelves lined with baked goods and the flour-dusted counter. “Figured you’d be in some high-tech lab or somethin’. Not… this.”

You smiled, glancing around your bakery. “What? Don’t think I can bake and hack at the same time?”

“Nah, it’s not that.” He paused, his brow furrowing slightly as if he were searching for the right words. “Guess I just never thought about what your life looked like when you weren’t on a mission.”

“Well,” you said softly, meeting his eyes. “This is it. Flour, sugar, and a whole lot of early mornings.”

Logan tilted his head, studying you like he was seeing a whole new side of you. “It suits ya.”

You shrugged, feeling a bit exposed under his gaze. “It’s not as exciting as fighting bad guys, but… it’s mine.”

“Doesn’t have to be exciting all the time,” he murmured. His voice was quieter now, more serious, and it made you pause. “Sometimes… it’s the quiet stuff that matters.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words, your heart doing that annoying fluttering thing it did whenever he got unexpectedly sincere. “Yeah, well, quiet doesn’t seem to be your style, Logan.”

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. “Yeah, guess not. But maybe I’m workin’ on that.”

You gave him a playful smirk. “You? Working on ‘quiet’? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He leaned forward, his arms resting on the counter as he looked at you, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Maybe you’ll see it sooner than you think.”

Your teasing smile faltered slightly, your heartbeat picking up again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Logan held your gaze for a long moment, something unspoken hanging in the air between you. “Means I’m stickin’ around, Y/N. If you’re okay with that.”

Your breath caught at the way he said your name—your real name, not Phantom. There was a weight to it, like he wasn’t just talking about the bakery or the city. He was talking about you.

“Logan,” you started, your voice a little shaky as you tried to keep it light, “are you saying you want to be a regular customer?”

He smirked, but the seriousness in his eyes didn’t fade. “Somethin’ like that. Thought maybe I’d get to know the person behind the croissants… and the computer screens.”

Your heart raced, and you couldn’t help but smile, even though you felt a little breathless. “Well, considering you just showed up without a warning, I’d say you’re off to a good start.”

Logan’s smirk widened. “Always liked makin’ an entrance.”

“Yeah, well,” you said, shaking your head, “next time, maybe give a girl a little heads-up.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he teased, though his voice had softened.

You didn’t have a snappy comeback for that, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The bakery felt smaller, quieter, like the world outside had paused, leaving just the two of you in this little bubble. You’d known him for months, heard his voice in your ear during some of the craziest situations, but this—standing here in the same room, with him right there—felt different. Real.

“So,” you said after a beat, your voice a little quieter now, “what’s the plan? You just gonna hang out in New York for a while? Or…?”

Logan shrugged, but there was something thoughtful in his expression. “Dunno. Figure I’ll stick around, see how things play out. Been on the move too long. Might be time to slow down a bit.”

“Slow down?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “You?”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, I know. Doesn’t sound like me, does it?”

You smiled, leaning against the counter. “Well, if you’re serious about sticking around, you’d better be ready for a lot of early mornings.”

Logan’s gaze flicked to the flour on your apron and the slight mess on the counter. “Early mornings, huh? Guess I can handle that. Long as there’s coffee.”

You laughed softly, feeling that familiar warmth in your chest again. “I think I can manage that.”

There was another pause, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that felt… nice. Like neither of you were in a rush to fill the space with words.

Finally, Logan straightened up, glancing toward the door. “Guess I’ll let ya get back to it. Don’t wanna keep you too long.”

You felt a flicker of disappointment, but you quickly pushed it down, giving him a smile instead. “You’re always welcome, you know. Next time, I’ll save you a muffin.”

Logan’s smirk returned, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I’ll hold you to that, darlin’.”

He took a step toward the door, but then he paused, glancing back at you. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?” you asked, your heart skipping a beat at the way he said your name again.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he said softly, his gaze holding yours for just a moment longer before he turned and walked out the door, the bell above it jingling softly in his wake.

You stood there for a long moment, staring at the door long after he was gone, your heart still racing.

---

Logan’s unexpected visit left you in a whirlwind. For the next few days, it was hard to focus on the usual routines of the bakery. Each time the bell over the door chimed, your heart leapt a little, thinking maybe, just maybe, it’d be him again. But Logan didn’t show, and you tried to remind yourself not to overthink it. He was just… being Logan. Coming and going as he pleased, without a word or explanation.

But then, one evening, just as you were flipping the Open sign to Closed, you noticed something slipped under the door—a folded piece of paper with your name scrawled across it in a familiar, rugged handwriting.

You picked it up, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, and opened it.

Got a place in mind. Be ready at 7. —W

No address. No other details. Just a time and a cryptic note.

You found yourself smiling despite your confusion. Of course, he’d pull something like this. He couldn’t just ask you to dinner like a normal person—he had to be all mysterious about it. But then again, it was part of his charm.

The day passed in a blur. By the time you were getting ready, nerves had settled in. What exactly did Logan mean by ‘got a place in mind’? Was this a date? Just… friends hanging out?

You pushed the thoughts away and focused on getting dressed. Something casual, but not too casual. Comfortable, but still showing you’d put in some effort. You settled on a pair of well-fitting jeans and a soft sweater that was flattering but not over-the-top.

Right at 7, there was a soft knock on your door. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, and opened it.

Logan stood there, looking the same as always and yet… different. Maybe it was the way he’d traded his usual jacket for a dark button-down, or the fact that he looked a bit unsure himself, his gaze flicking over you in silent appraisal before settling on your eyes.

“You look good,” he said, his voice gruff, but there was an honesty in his tone that made your cheeks warm.

“Not bad yourself, Wolf,” you replied, earning a small, almost shy smile from him.

“Ready?” he asked, holding out his hand.

“Ready,” you confirmed, and you stepped outside, locking the door behind you.

---

Logan had borrowed a bike—one of those big, heavy motorcycles that roared to life when he turned the ignition. He tossed you a helmet, then helped you onto the back. Your hands found their way around his waist, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow down to just that—your arms around him, the rumble of the engine beneath you, and the feel of his solid form against you.

“Hold on tight, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low and rough in a way that made you shiver.

The ride through the city was exhilarating, the cool night air whipping past you as Logan navigated the streets with ease. You had no idea where he was taking you, but you trusted him. You’d always trusted him.

Finally, he pulled up to a secluded spot along the East River, away from the usual tourist traps and bustling crowds. You could see the lights of the city skyline reflected in the water, the soft sounds of the river lapping at the shore creating a serene backdrop. There was a small wooden table set up nearby, with a blanket laid out and a picnic basket resting on top of it.

You blinked in surprise, glancing between the setup and Logan. “Did… did you do this?”

Logan rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. “Yeah, well. Figured we’ve had enough high-stakes meetin’s. Thought you deserved somethin’ different.”

Your heart melted a little at that. He’d gone through the trouble of planning something just for you—a quiet evening, just the two of you, away from the chaos of missions and comms.

“It’s perfect,” you said softly, meeting his eyes.

He gave a small nod, visibly relieved by your reaction. “Good. Now c’mon, let’s eat before it gets too cold.”

The two of you settled down at the table, and you couldn’t help but smile as Logan unpacked the basket. It was mostly simple stuff—sandwiches, fruit, a bottle of wine—but there was an almost endearing quality to it, like he’d put in effort but hadn’t tried to overdo it.

“Didn’t know what you liked, so I kinda… winged it,” he admitted, glancing at you almost nervously.

“It’s perfect,” you repeated, smiling at him. “And honestly? I’m just happy you’re here.”

Logan’s gaze softened, his eyes lingering on you in that way that made your stomach flip. “Yeah. Me too.”

The conversation flowed easily after that. You talked about everything and nothing—the bakery, old missions, even random bits about your lives that had never come up before. He was surprisingly open, and you found yourself sharing more than you usually would, the relaxed atmosphere making it easy to let your guard down.

As the evening went on, you found yourself inching closer to him. At some point, the two of you ended up side by side on the blanket, the picnic basket forgotten as you stared out at the lights reflecting on the water.

There was a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled. You glanced over at Logan, feeling that familiar flutter in your chest. He was looking at you with an expression that was hard to read—soft, almost contemplative.

“What?” you asked softly, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze.

“Just thinkin’,” he murmured, his voice low and rumbling. “You’re even prettier in person, you know that?”

You felt your face heat up, and you looked away, letting out a soft laugh. “Logan—”

“I mean it,” he interrupted gently, reaching out to brush your cheek. His touch was light, tentative, like he wasn’t quite sure if it was okay. “Been drivin’ myself crazy, wonderin’ what you’d look like. But seein’ you now… Hell, Y/N, I don’t think I did you justice.”

Your breath caught at the way he said your name, his gaze intense and unwavering. There was something raw and honest in his expression, like he was laying himself bare in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Logan…” you whispered, the words dying on your lips as he leaned in, his face inches from yours.

“I shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he murmured, his voice low and almost regretful. But he didn’t move away. If anything, he shifted closer, his breath brushing against your skin. “But I’ve been wantin’ to since the moment I heard your voice.”

Your heart was pounding, every nerve in your body alive with anticipation. “Then don’t stop,” you whispered, your own voice trembling.

Logan’s gaze flicked down to your lips, and for a heartbeat, everything seemed to freeze. Then, slowly—like he was giving you every chance to pull away—he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in the softest, most tentative of kisses.

It was gentle at first, like he was testing the waters, but when you didn’t pull back—when you leaned in, your fingers tangling in the front of his shirt—something seemed to break. He deepened the kiss, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

The kiss was everything you hadn’t known you’d been waiting for—slow and sweet, but with an underlying intensity that left you breathless. You melted into him, the world around you fading away until there was nothing left but the feel of his lips on yours and the warmth of his hand against your cheek.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, you were both breathing hard, your hearts racing in sync.

“Damn, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice rough and low. “Didn’t think it’d feel like that.”

You laughed softly, your own voice a little shaky. “Yeah. Me neither.”

Logan smiled—a real, genuine smile that made your heart ache. “Think we should do it again?”

You grinned up at him, feeling lighter than you had in ages. “Yeah, Wolf. I think we should.”

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic #logan ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ #abby's works ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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ashtxrie · 25 days ago

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get your rizz game up! (jeongin)

PAIR. non-idol!jeongin x f!reader GENRE. crazy fluff, all stray kids members included, at the end of the day they're just eight guys, aura losses across the board WORD COUNT. 1.75k WARNINGS. none (failed rizz attempts) NOTES. this absolutely happened i was the coffee table IN WHICH: jeongin is down bad for the huzz but he needs to consult his 7 rizz counselors first…!!

it's not every day that eight guys crowd around the phone screen of their youngest member, projected on the big television screen in their living room ─ but when they do, they're either completely locked in, or locked the hell out.

yang jeongin was absolutely cooked.

"GUYS listen to me. just send a simple 'hi!'"

"felix NO remove that exclamation mark right NOW—"

pulling down a very impassioned minho back to the couch, seungmin crossed his arms, unimpressed. "so... how did we get to this situation again?"

it all started two months ago, when the exact same formation was assembled to delude jeongin into sending you a follow request on instagram. it was, by far, the longest three hours of his life.

after arguments ("HE'S GOING TO SOUND DESPERATE"), insults ("maybe she's into guys who have a bit of loser in them!"), and a near mental-breakdown ("GUYS SO YES OR NO" "YES!" "NO!"), the poor ginger-haired boy was as conflicted as ever to press the not-so-simple blue button.

it's not like you were strangers either — he's definitely made eye contact with you upwards of five times in class! he was basically halfway there! you were falling in love with his charms for sure...

right when jeongin was about to give up and shut down his phone for the day, a notification brought him out of his misery. [@ your name] has requested to follow you.

and the crowd goes WILD!!

claps on the back, wiping fake tears from their faces as the seven other boys embraced one another, as if they were the ones who manifested this absolute alignment of the universe.

jeongin didn't care, nor did he notice, as he was taking a million screenshots of the screen before the notification disappeared. finally liberated from the fear of being accused of instagram stalking, he confirmed your follow and followed you right back — not caring about jisung's protests in the background talking about how he should probably wait a few more minutes. true love doesn't wait, jisung!

but maybe true love does wait. because it has been a whole week since you guys last spoke through instagram, and even that seemed like a stretch for conversation. this was it; jeongin had finally ran out of topics. he had exhausted his (very limited) list of conversation starters — putting his dignity on the line by asking you what the calculus homework was from time to time, stopping only when seungmin laughed at him as he asked the same question for the third time in a week ("DUDE she's going to think you're a D1 slacker").

it doesn't help that your interactions in real life have dwindled as well, other than jeongin's pre-mapped route on campus that allows him to cheerfully wave 'hi!' to you on your way to class. the last time he truly had a conversation with you, you had complimented his shoes (it wasn't the diabolical jurassic stompers 1 2 unbuckle those shoes this time guys trust... or maybe it was) and he had nearly passed out. if he hadn't been keeping his aura in check by monitoring his own movements, he definitely would have stared at you, open-mouthed in shock right then and there.

but that was two weeks ago. the jeongin lore environment is now drier than the sahara desert. we need improvement, now!

so that's how we get seven self-proclaimed top-of-the-line rizz counselors, hooking up jeongin's phone to the television through airplay to cook up something foolproof.

unfortunately for jeongin, there is a lot of debate on what foolproof looks like.

"whatever you do, just don't send the exclamation mark," minho warned.

"i still stand by my 'hi!' idea," felix advised.

a series of "NO!"s were yelled out.

"too simple."

"too bland."

"what about a 'how ya doin?'" chan offered. "with a winky face?"

they all cringed simultaneously.

"by far, that is the worst idea..."

"chan... i think you're in the wrong generation to be giving advice," seungmin deadpanned.

jeongin put his head down. and they said chan was supposed to be the best at this!

"it's time to be a man," changbin laughed, putting both hands on the coffee table. "just be more dominant."

"dOMINANT?!"

and the room erupts in chaos again.

"okay wait, how about you just write her a long, heartfelt message about how you feel about her?" hyunjin cut in, grinning deviously.

the boy looked terrified at the suggestion. "definitely not. that's so out of character for me."

"everything about this is out of character for you," shrugged hyunjin. "look, how about you post a fit check and put some cryptic lyrics over it. it always works, trust."

and that's how the youngest found himself digging through his closet for the most mogalicious outfit he will cook up for 2025.

under usual circumstances, this would've been right up his alley. but the stakes were higher than ever today, and jeongin found himself being rushed with "BROO just take a photo already" after his eighth outfit change of the day to find the best effortlessly-trendy-but-not-too-aloof combination for the most important post of his entire life.

cooking takes time.

hyunjin was nominated to be the designated photographer of the day, clicking the shutter button at millisecond intervals and praying that one of them was the shot. the older boy was having the time of his life, twisting his hand at every angle (while doing dramatic back bends), sniping jeongin like no tomorrow.

"you're doing great sweetie!" minho yelled from the other room.

"how's it going guys?" bang chan peeked through the doorframe, holding the bowl of instant noodles that he had made at the beginning of this makeshift runway show. the noodles have since cooled down, with chan's chopsticks sticking out precariously from the near-empty bowl.

"OH MY GOD YOU'RE PLOTTING MY DOWNFALL," jeongin cried, swiping through five consecutive photos of himself mid-blink.

"oh. yikes i really caught you lacking with that one... keep swiping i swear there's beautiful ones too."

it then took fifteen more minutes of jeongin analyzing song lyrics with full rhetorical analysis before he had a postable instagram story. he even recruited seungmin to help him press post.

"AAAND... POSTED!"

and now we wait.

not even a whole minute had passed before you liked his story.

"HOLY SHIT IT'S HAPPENING."

"JEONGIN YOU BETTER LOCK THE FUCK IN."

"that response time is genuinely CRAZY."

then you started typing.

[[your name] sent a message].

the living room exploded with yells, with each member pointing at the tv screen with their own piece of (contradicting) advice.

"OPEN IT OR SHE'LL THINK YOU'RE UNINTERESTED."

"DO NOT OPEN THAT—"

"HE HAS TO."

"THAT'S WHY YOU CAN'T PULL."

"OH SHUT THE HELL UP—"

chan decided to save poor jeongin. scooting over, he told the youngest of the secret method: looking at the preview without opening the message itself.

except that backfired.

because it said 3 new messages. dammit!

ignoring the chaos surrounding him, jeongin's eyes flickered around the room to decide his next move. should he risk it all?

"JUST OPEN IT ALREADY!"

so he did.

and oh my god. this is not real.

"fit is FIREE 🔥🔥"

"as always tbh"

"lock your closet tonight"

your messages rocked jeongin's world, i fear. jeongin's world was also literally being rocked by the sheer decibel level vibrating through the house at that exact moment.

"SHE WANTS YOU," yelled changbin.

felix nodded aggressively. "SHOOT YOUR SHOT NOW."

jeongin looked up, exasperated, with ears burning red. "but. WHAT do i say?!"

"ok look," said minho, swinging his leg over the couch to sit next to the youngest. "she swiped up on your story, which, by the way, has already exceeded my wildest expectations. you can say anything at this point and she'll still be halfway in love with you."

jisung shrugged. "i think you should send 'ouuu do you fw me.'"

"might as well send 'you DON'T pmo ❤️' then as your next message," groaned seungmin.

"yes! and top it off with a 'will you be my huzz ❤️' too!"

"STOP."

"at least i'm offering suggestions—"

jeongin was on his own.

his fingers started typing before he could form coherent thoughts. (thankfully, he did hear bang chan telling him that "whatever you do, just don't stop at liking the message" #blessed him up)

"haha thank you"

"that means a lot to me!"

"also wdym your outfits are crazy good too"

it was a little awkward, a little cute, but very organically jeongin.

"is this tuff," jeongin whispered to chan.

"very," chan affirmed.

the crowd, however, was not impressed.

"we take our eyes off the screen for FIVE seconds and he's already fumbling."

"TRIPLE TEXTING???"

"JEONGIN PAUSE—"

jeongin didn't gaf. because his target audience was REACHED.

the moment he saw you typing, he was back at the edge of his seat. "omg thank you," you sent, before your three typing bubbles appeared again. "funny story but remember the shoes that you wore two weeks ago? i actually got the same one!!"

the word count of your messages (and the shoes comment) made jeongin turn around to the rest of them with a smug smile on his face.

"and you all were massive haters about my footwear," he huffed. (he was hyperventilating)

"HURRY UP AND REPLY, DAMMIT!"

he was too invested. jeongin continued to type. "no way."

minho facepalmed. "and we've entered sahara territory again."

jeongin didn't know what came over him as he typed out the sentence and pressed send. "we could twin if u wanted to hangout sometime??" in fact, he typed it out at record speed just so he wouldn't process his own actions and stop himself from the top 1 riskiest text of his entire lifetime.

the room was silent.

at last, all eight boys huddled around the tv screen froze mid-action, eyes widening as they witnessed what had just been done.

"oh shit," whispered jisung. "we should've went with my idea."

it was agonizing. then eight unison gasps. the typing bubbles were back!

you replied."what about tomorrow?"

jeongin jumped up, staring at the message with wide eyes. then he locked the fuck in. "12 pm?"

ding! "i'm down :)"

and that's how yang jeongin, the youngest of his friend group, secured his first date.

he blinked.

then it hit him.

"oh my god it happened. IT HAPPENED!"

"WE are locked in twin. WE are pulling the huzz."

little did jeongin know, seungmin was recording. the entire time. he's totally playing this at the wedding.

TAGLIST: @enhacolor

466 notes · View notes

honeyandruin · 1 month ago

Text

Seared - Firefighter!Joel Miller x Reader

🩺 ✦ 🔥 ✦ 🩺 🩺 ✦ 🔥 ✦ 🩺 🩺 ✦ 🔥 ✦ 🩺 🩺 ✦ 🔥 ✦

Pairing: firefighter!Joel Miller x Reader (modern AU)

Summary: You triage trauma. He runs headfirst into it. But nothing prepares either of you for what happens when restraint finally snaps.

Warnings: 18+ only. MINORS DNI. Mutual pining. Rough, desperate oral (f!receiving). Semi-clothed sex. Overstimulation. Praise kink. Slight manhandling. Breathy filth. Joel is obsessed and possessive but soft where it counts.

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: Firefighter Joel owns me. This is a slow, burning collapse into obsession, filth, and the softest kind of ruin. Blame the wall. Blame the pie. Blame him.

🩺 ✦ 🔥 ✦ 🩺 🩺 ✦ 🔥 ✦ 🩺 🩺 ✦ 🔥 ✦ 🩺 🩺 ✦ 🔥 ✦

You remember the first time you met Joel Miller like a scar—ugly, sharp, and still sensitive to the touch.

He came through the ER doors at a sprint, boots pounding tile, smoke curling off his jacket like he’d dragged the fire in with him.

There was blood. Soot. The sharp tang of scorched plastic. And a man—mid-twenties, barely conscious, bleeding fast from a shredded leg—half-slumped under Joel’s arm.

You were in the middle of a controlled chaos—three beds full, a psych hold screaming in bay six, and the urgent, endless ping of vitals slipping. But everything in you snapped to attention the second you saw that leg.

You were already moving.

“Over here!” you shouted, waving down the trauma team. “Get him on the table—move!”

Joel didn’t let go.

You grabbed for the gurney, but he was still holding him, like he didn’t trust you.

“I said I’ve got him—let go!”

He finally released his grip, and the rookie slumped into the arms of two med techs.

“Vitals are dropping,” someone called. “Pressure’s tanking.”

“Push fluids, get a line in—hang a unit, now!”

You were halfway through barking orders when you realized he was still there. Standing in the middle of the trauma bay like a goddamn statue. Covered in soot. Eyes locked on the kid being wheeled away.

You turned on him, voice sharp.

“Hey. Outside the bay. Now.”

He didn’t move. Not right away.

“I’m not leaving him.”

You stepped closer—just enough for him to register the authority in your voice.

“You’re in the way,” you said. Low. Firm. “You wanna help him? Let us do our jobs.”

His jaw tightened. For a second, you thought he might argue again. But then his eyes flicked to the team crowding the table, to the rookie fading fast on the monitor, and he backed up.

Just two steps.

You followed. Got him clear of the curtain.

“Are you hurt?”

He blinked. Like he hadn’t even noticed. Then looked down—blood soaked through the arm of his jacket.

“Split it on rebar,” he muttered. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not.” You gestured toward the empty cot behind you. “Sit. Jacket off.”

He moved stiffly. Shoulders tight, face unreadable.

You grabbed gloves and gauze, snapped a packet of sterile saline, and started cleaning the wound without waiting for permission.

“You always this friendly?” He asked, voice low and flat.

“You always this dramatic?”

That got a huff of a laugh. Not quite a real one.

You wrapped his forearm in silence. Neat, quick, no-nonsense.

When you were done, you looked him in the eye and said, “You’re good to go.”

He didn’t say thank you.

He didn’t even nod.

Just stood. Walked out the same way he came in—like a storm that hadn’t finished.

And now, he’s back.

You smell him before you see him.

Burned plastic. Charred wood. Sweat and smoke and the unmistakable sharpness of blood just beginning to dry. The scent curls into the trauma bay like a warning, coiling around your ribs before he even rounds the corner.

Your shoulders stiffen on instinct.

You don’t have to look up. You already know.

Joel fucking Miller.

And then—there he is.

Framed in the doorway like he owns it. Same goddamn turnout jacket, open at the chest, the collar dark with soot. There’s blood trickling from his temple, a slow, lazy curl down the side of his face. His shirt’s torn, streaked black with ash and sweat, clinging to the wide line of his chest like it’s holding on for dear life. He’s favoring one side—ribs, probably—but not enough to admit anything’s wrong.

You press your tongue to the back of your teeth and pretend your pulse doesn’t jump.

“Tell me you missed me,” he says, voice low and dry, like he already knows the answer.

You don’t look up from the chart. “Tell me you didn’t come in here without a run sheet. Again.”

That huff of a laugh. Deep. Rough. The one that always sounds like it’s been dragged across gravel.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You look up slowly, eyes locking on his like a scope lining up a target.

“Miller,” you say flatly.

“That’s my name,” he says with a nod and a crooked little smirk that makes you want to wipe it off his face with a suture needle.

“What happened this time?” You ask, snapping on a pair of gloves. “Fall into a bonfire? Wrestle a flaming raccoon? Light yourself on fire for the insurance money?”

“Roof collapse.” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Took a wrong step. Got lucky.”

You eye the way he’s holding his side. The way his jaw’s set too tight, like he’s trying not to breathe too deep. “Define lucky.”

“Didn’t die.”

“Not yet.”

You jerk your chin toward the nearest cot. “Shirt off. Sit down. Try not to bleed on anything important.”

He walks past you—slow, deliberate—and when he passes, your shoulder brushes his chest. Just for a second. Just enough to feel the heat radiating off him, to catch the scent of ash still clinging to his skin.

He eases himself onto the edge of the gurney with a grunt, then peels off his jacket. You hear the rip of Velcro. The shift of heavy fabric. And then, finally, the sound of him hissing through his teeth as he drags the ruined shirt up over his head and lets it fall.

You glance at him.

Big mistake.

There’s a deep bruise blossoming across his ribs—angry, purple, the kind that tells you he probably cracked something and refused to admit it. There’s soot along his collarbone, streaking down over muscle and tension. A cut over his temple, still bleeding. And somehow—somehow—he looks smug about all of it.

“You got a habit of showing up looking like a cautionary tale,” you mutter, reaching for the antiseptic.

“You got a habit of pretending that doesn’t bother you,” he fires back.

You dab the cloth to the cut on his brow a little harder than necessary.

He flinches.

“Sadist,” he mutters under his breath.

“I told you last time,” you say. “If you keep playing with fire, it’s gonna bite you back.”

“Fire doesn’t bite,” he says, eyes on yours. “It burns.”

You pause.

Only for a second. But it’s enough.

That look in his eyes—you hate it. The way it lingers. The way it makes your stomach tighten and your hands move too fast, like you’re trying to outrun it.

“You need X-rays,” you mutter. “I’m calling imaging.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“Same difference.”

You swear softly under your breath and tape gauze into place with more force than is strictly necessary.

“You gonna keep playing nurse or are you gonna lecture me?” He asks, watching you like a man tracking movement in a fire.

You throw the soiled gauze in the bin. “You wouldn’t listen either way.”

“You don’t know what I’d do.”

Your head snaps up.

For a second, neither of you speak. The hum of fluorescent lights. The beep of distant monitors. The faint hiss of a blood pressure cuff inflating somewhere down the hall.

You meet his gaze and there it is.

That thing you don’t talk about. That static in the air when he walks in. That spark between teeth and tongue, between every insult and half-smile. That thread pulled so tight, it’s one breath away from snapping.

But you don’t say it.

You just strip your gloves off, toss them, and step back.

“You’re lucky you didn’t puncture a lung,” you say. “Go to X-ray. Now.”

He stands, slow. His bare chest rises and falls—slow, even, careful.

He reaches for his shirt.

You stop him with one sharp look. “I’ll get you something clean,” you mutter. “Yours smells like arson.”

He smirks. “Like you’d know what arson smells like.”

“Like you wouldn’t be the one who set it.”

He starts to laugh—then winces, one hand going to his ribs.

You don’t smile—you want to, but you don’t.

He grabs his jacket and slings it over his shoulder. “You know my name yet?”

You roll your eyes. “Pretty sure I had to write it on your discharge forms five times.”

He leans just slightly toward you. Enough that his voice brushes the shell of your ear.

“Use it sometime, sweetheart.”

You don’t watch him walk out, but you hear his boots on the tile, and you feel the heat long after he’s gone.

***

It’s almost midnight when he walks in again.

The trauma bay is quiet. Lights dimmed. Monitors muted. You’re charting under fluorescent hum, legs aching, your scrub top sticking to your back from twelve straight hours of triage, blood, and bullshit.

You don’t expect anyone to come through those doors this late—at least, not on foot.

But there he is: Joel Miller.

Still in uniform pants, but the jacket’s gone. His shirt’s rolled to the elbows, forearms streaked with soot and dried blood. His left hand is wrapped in what looks like a torn kitchen towel, soaked red through the middle.

No escort. No gurney. No paperwork.

Just him.

And that look he always wears when he knows damn well he shouldn’t be here.

You don’t speak at first. Just stare across the bay at him like you’re deciding if it’s worth the breath.

Finally: “Dispatch didn’t bring you in.”

“Nope.”

“Not logged on the board.”

“Nope.”

You sigh, setting your chart aside. “So this is a social call.”

He lifts the bloodied hand slightly. “Brought you somethin’.”

You push up from your stool and nod toward the exam table. “You’re lucky it’s a slow night.”

“Figured you’d still be here.”

The words aren’t soft—but they land that way.

You pretend not to hear them. “Let me guess,” you mutter, snapping on a pair of gloves. “Glass? Metal? Or did you try to punch your way through a flaming wall this time?”

He sits down with a grunt. “Wasn’t flaming. Just hot.”

You give him a flat look.

He shrugs.

You take the towel from his hand carefully, peeling it back from the raw mess underneath. Deep gash across the palm. Jagged. Ugly. No active bleeding now, but definitely a few foreign bodies buried in the flesh.

“You didn’t clean this.”

“I rinsed it.”

You shoot him a look.

“With hose water,” he adds.

You sigh again, louder this time, and begin gathering supplies. “You’re disgusting.”

He grins. “You love it.”

You snort. “I tolerate it. Barely.”

He doesn’t respond to that. Just watches as you roll a tray over and start flushing the wound.

The room is quiet—just the hiss of saline, the clink of metal tools, the drag of your breath through your nose.

“You didn’t have to come here,” you say eventually. “Could’ve hit urgent care.”

“They’re closed.”

You glance up. “There are twenty-four-hour clinics.”

“Didn’t want to wait around.”

You pause. Eyes narrow slightly. “So you came here. After hours. Alone. No radio call.”

His expression doesn’t shift. “And?”

Your hands still for just a moment. You look back down. “You always show up broken, you know that?”

“And you always fix me.”

The silence that follows is heavier than before. You keep working—removing the last shard, checking the depth. He doesn’t flinch once. Just watches you, quiet, eyes steady on your face like he’s trying to read something you haven’t written down.

“You need a few sutures,” you say.

“I figured.”

You reach for the lidocaine. “This’ll sting.”

He doesn’t react to the needle. Not the pinch. Not the pull of thread through skin. Not even when you apply pressure to knot it off.

But when your fingers brush the edge of his wrist to adjust the angle, you feel it—that little shift in the air. The tightening of his jaw. The way his thumb twitches.

It lingers.

You finish the final suture and cut the thread. “All done.”

You reach for the bandages, wrapping his hand gently, clean and tight.

When you’re done, he doesn’t move. Just flexes his fingers once, testing.

“Thanks,” he says.

You look up at him. “Don’t make a habit of this,” you say.

He tilts his head. “Of what? Injuring myself?”

You shake your head. “Coming here when you don’t have to.”

His eyes stay on yours, heavy and direct.

“I did have to.”

And that—that’s the part you don’t have a comeback for.

So you toss your gloves, wash your hands, and turn away before he can see the way your throat tightens.

***

They pull you from the ER just after 3 a.m.

You’re halfway through a stale protein bar when the call comes in—mass casualty, three-alarm fire, structure collapse at a chemical warehouse near the river. EMS is spread thin. Triage is failing on scene. Your charge nurse tosses you a trauma pack and tells you to suit up.

No time to argue. No time to think. You grab your gloves, your gear, your clipboard full of vitals and field protocols. The medic van is already idling at the curb when you climb in. You barely feel the bump of tires hitting potholes. Barely register the sirens howling through the dark.

You don’t realize what you’re walking into until you see the sky.

It isn’t black, it’s orange.

The fire’s still active when you arrive.

Smoke curls into the clouds like something alive. Flames flicker from broken windows. The air is thick—acrid, chemical, heavy enough to choke on. You can taste it on your tongue before you even step out of the van. It burns low in your throat, settles in your lungs like ash.

The street is chaos. Water spraying from hoses. Lights bouncing off metal and glass. Firefighters moving fast, shouting over radios and wind. The sound of cracking steel echoes from somewhere behind the wall of smoke. You can feel the heat radiating off the pavement, even through your boots.

You barely have time to assess your surroundings before the shouting starts.

“What the fuck is she doing here?”

The voice cuts through the noise like a knife. Familiar. Rough-edged. Furious. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is.

Joel.

His boots hit the ground hard as he storms toward you. Helmet pushed back, jacket unzipped, eyes locked on you like you’re the fire he’s supposed to put out.

He looks worse than usual—smeared in soot, sweat clinging to his collar, black streaks along the curve of his jaw. His mouth is a hard, angry line.

You square your shoulders. “Nice to see you too.”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he snaps. “This is a live zone.”

You shift the trauma pack on your shoulder and raise an eyebrow. “Yeah, well. Sucks for both of us.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“This isn’t the ER,” he bites. “You don’t have gear, you don’t have certification—”

“And you don’t have enough medics. That’s why I’m here.”

He stops, just in front of you. Not touching. But close enough that you feel the heat coming off his gear. Close enough to see the soot melting into the lines around his eyes.

He shakes his head slowly, like he’s trying not to lose it.

“You think this is some kind of field trip?”

You glare at him. “I think people are dying. And if you’re gonna waste your time barking at me instead of letting me help, you can answer to the guy bleeding out behind the truck.”

His nostrils flare but before he can speak again, someone shouts across the lot.

“Three pulled from the northwest corridor—one unconscious, two ambulatory. We need help over here!”

Joel looks toward the smoke—then back at you. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say a word. He just turns and starts running, boots hitting the ground hard and fast. You hesitate for only a second before following.

The scene is chaos.

There’s debris scattered across the asphalt—metal, splinters of glass, a half-melted helmet. The west wall of the warehouse is blackened and skeletal, like something chewed through it from the inside. You can hear the building groaning with every gust of wind.

Joel leads you past a downed ladder, ducking under fallen conduit, motioning for you to keep low. You ignore the sting in your throat. Ignore the sweat already slicking the back of your neck.

Two firefighters are kneeling near the edge of the perimeter, their patients sprawled on burn sheets. One is a teenage girl, barely conscious. Another is coughing violently into a mask. The third is flat on his back, unmoving.

Joel drops to one knee beside him. You drop beside the girl.

She’s pale. Clammy. A nasty burn blooms across her arm, blistered and angry, skin peeling at the edges. Her respirations are shallow. You slip on gloves and call for fluids, reach for your saline, get a vitals check.

Your hands move on autopilot. Triage first. Airway. Burn dressing. You shout orders without thinking, and someone hands you the oxygen tank you asked for before your mouth finishes the sentence.

You hear Joel behind you, yelling for a C-collar. The edge in his voice cuts clean through the haze. He’s snapping orders, coordinating movement—controlling everything.

Except you.

When you reach for a roll of gauze from your kit, the strap on the bag snags. You lean harder, trying to twist free, and your boot slips—wet pavement, blood or water or oil, it doesn’t matter. Your balance goes.

You brace to hit the ground—but you don’t. A hand catches your arm, yanking you back with a force that knocks the breath from your chest. Fingers clamp around your sleeve, hard and unrelenting, like he’s trying to root you in place. Joel’s. You know it before you even look. His grip is tight—too tight—but you don’t pull away. Can’t. His other hand plants against his thigh to steady you both, his body a wall of heat and strength and barely leashed adrenaline. The contact isn’t gentle, but it’s not rough, either. Just solid. Certain. Grounding. Enough to remind you that he’s there. That he saw you stumble. That he didn’t hesitate. You freeze. The space between you crackles with something unspeakable—panic, fury, relief. He doesn’t say a word. Neither do you. The silence hangs heavy, full of everything you’re not ready to face.

Your pulse kicks against your throat.

“I’m fine,” you say quietly.

His fingers twitch once and then release. He steps back, not looking at you again.

A shout rises from behind the firetruck—another firefighter staggering through the smoke, half-dragging an unconscious man.

Joel is already moving.

You catch up just in time to see him ease the man down onto the pavement.

Mid-thirties. Heavy build. Covered in soot. No response to stimuli. Skin cool, lips gray.

Joel’s voice is tight. Controlled. Barely holding it together. “He’s not breathing.”

You’re already moving, dropping hard beside him, fingers searching for a pulse you know you won’t find. “No carotid. Start compressions.”

He doesn’t question it. Doesn’t speak. Just drops to his knees, laces his fingers together, and starts compressions—fast, deep, brutal. Like he’s trying to beat the man back to life with his bare hands.

You kneel across from him, tearing open the airway bag with blood-slick gloves.

“Thirty compressions. One breath. Go.”

He nods, jaw clenched tight, and counts under his breath. Sweat slides down the side of his face, dripping from his temple, his focus unshakable. His shoulders rise and fall in rhythm, harsh and punishing.

You tilt the man’s head back. Seal your lips over his. Breathe.

Once.

Again.

One minute. Two. Time twists, folds in on itself. You lose track. There’s blood on your gloves now—thick and tacky—but you don’t know whose. Joel’s breathing hard, jaw flexing with every compression. His eyes never leave the man’s chest, like he’s willing it to rise on its own.

Then—

A sound. A shift. A cough.

Wet and rattling.

Both of you freeze.

Joel jerks back, bracing on his heels as the man gasps for breath, lungs struggling to remember how to work. You stare, stunned.

“Airway’s back,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

He’s alive.

Because of both of you.

Joel doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. He just looks at you. And you look back.

Sirens wail in the distance. People are shouting. The air is thick with smoke and panic. But all of it dulls beneath the weight of that look. His face is filthy—soot-streaked, bloodied, bone-deep tired—but his eyes soften. Just a little. Like something inside him has cracked, and he hasn’t figured out how to put it back together yet.

You don’t say thank you.

You don’t need to.

***

You’re still awake when he knocks.

The shower didn’t help. Neither did the tea. You’ve tried cleaning, pacing, pulling the sheets back and getting into bed, then climbing right back out again. It’s like your body’s still at the scene, lungs full of smoke, hands stained with blood that isn’t yours. The adrenaline wore off, but the buzz underneath your skin hasn’t left.

The knock is soft. Measured.

You almost don’t answer.

But when you open the door, he’s there—shoulders tense, arms crossed, like he hasn’t moved since he watched that man start breathing again. Joel doesn’t look at you right away. He stares past you, like stepping inside might ruin something.

You don’t say a word. Just take a step back, and he follows without asking, crossing the threshold like the decision was made long before he got here. He doesn’t sit. Neither do you. The door clicks shut behind him, and the silence blooms between you—thick and awful, too loud in the quiet. You clear your throat, voice low. “Didn’t think you’d show.”

He sniffs, slow, rubs a hand along his jaw. “Yeah. Well.”

You watch him for a second. The way his mouth moves like he’s chewing on something, jaw tight, eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them.

“Joel.”

His gaze snaps to yours.

You take a breath, arms folding over your chest. “If you came to tell me I shouldn’t have been there, save it.”

“I’m not,” he says. “I’m not gonna tell you that.”

“Then what?”

He stares at you for a long time. His voice is quiet when it comes.

“You almost fucking fell.”

You blink. “I didn’t.”

“You almost did.”

You shake your head, exhausted. “I was fine. You caught me. We saved him. End of story.”

Joel’s mouth curves—not a smile. Something bitter. “You always say that. Like none of it sticks to you.”

You step closer. “You think it doesn’t?”

“I think you’d rather bleed out than admit something got to you.”

The words hit harder than they should. And maybe you’re too tired to deflect.

“Why do you care?” You whisper.

Joel doesn’t move.

So you step closer. “Why do you show up like this? Why do you follow me home and act like you're still mad?”

“I’m not mad.”

“No?”

“I’m—”

He cuts himself off. Jaw flexing.

You press. “Then what? Because if you’ve got something to say, say it, Joel. Otherwise—”

He’s on you before you finish.

The kiss hits hard—open-mouthed, desperate, more teeth than tongue. His hands slide into your hair, tugging, tilting your head just enough for him to drink from your mouth like he’s been dying to.

You gasp against him, one hand fisting in his shirt. He groans when you pull him closer, his thigh sliding between yours. He walks you back until your spine hits the wall, and he keeps going—hip pressed to yours, his body radiating heat.

“You scared the shit outta me,” he mutters against your jaw, hands at your waist, voice cracked and hoarse. “I saw your foot slip and my fucking stomach dropped. You could’ve fell on a piece of metal, or been burned from some debris–”

You try to breathe, but it comes out a moan instead when he rocks into you, his thigh pressing where you need it most.

“I was fine.” You choke out, words getting stuck in your throat.

His hands slide under your shirt, rough palms on soft skin. He doesn’t ease into it—he grabs, pulls, peels fabric back until you’re gasping against the wall. His mouth is on your throat, biting down just enough to make you arch.

“I should leave,” he breathes.

“You won’t.”

He growls—growls, deep in his throat, his hand sliding your panties down, slow and rough, the drag of fabric scraping your thighs as he falls to his knees like gravity doesn’t give him a choice.

You gasp, fingers scrabbling at his shoulders for balance, your back pressed hard to the wall as he drags his mouth along your hip—hot breath, scratch of stubble, the wet swipe of his tongue just above the seam of your thigh.

“Joel—” you whisper, but it’s not a warning. It’s a plea.

He doesn’t respond. Not with words.

He lifts your leg, flings it over his shoulder like it weighs nothing, and pushes you open with both hands—his palms flat against the inside of your thighs, fingers digging in just enough to bruise. You feel exposed, helpless, trembling against the drywall while his mouth hovers just inches away.

Then he licks you.

A long, slow drag of his tongue from the bottom of your slit to your clit, deliberate and unhurried, like he’s been thinking about this for months and plans to memorize everything. Your hips jerk. He presses harder into you, anchoring you to the wall with his body, mouth sealing over your clit like he means it.

The moan that rips out of you is loud—sharp and raw and wet. He groans in return, the sound vibrating through your cunt as he works his tongue in circles, messy and open-mouthed, like he’s starved for it. His beard is already slick with you, the soft scrape of it catching as he drags his tongue lower again, flattening it against your entrance, then back up.

Your head thumps against the wall. You’re gripping his hair now, one hand tangled in the strands at the back of his neck, the other white-knuckling his shoulder.

“F–fuck, Joel—”

He moans again, louder this time, and moves one hand to your ass, grabbing a handful and using it to pull you harder against his mouth. He’s not slow now. He’s feasting—no rhythm, no restraint. Just sloppy, hungry licks and tight suction on your clit, like he wants to make you come so hard you forget what you were fighting about.

You cry out again, thighs shaking, the leg he’s holding twitching against his shoulder.

His eyes flick up, catch yours, and there’s something wild in them—something proud.

“Come on, baby,” he rasps, voice wrecked from the inside of your thighs. “Let me taste you.”

He seals his mouth around your clit again and sucks—hard.

You come like he’s dragged it out of you.

Your legs threaten to give, hips stuttering forward as your entire body locks, spasms, shudders against his face. You choke out a noise that doesn’t sound like yours—high-pitched, desperate—and his grip only tightens, mouth still working you through it like he’s not done yet.

He doesn’t stop until you’re whimpering—truly shaking—and trying to push his head away, thighs twitching from overstimulation.

Only then does he pull back, mouth swollen and wet, beard soaked with you.

You’re panting. Glowing. Wrecked.

He looks up at you from his knees, gaze heavy, chest rising and falling like he’s been running.

“Turn around,” he growls.

You blink, still dangling from your high. “What?”

His hands move to your hips, already guiding you. “Get your ass up those stairs.”

“Joel—”

He stands in one smooth motion, towering over you, already hard beneath the press of his jeans. He kisses you—filthy, open-mouthed, wet with the taste of yourself—and you moan into him, dizzy.

Then his hands are on the backs of your thighs, and suddenly your feet are off the ground.

You yelp—latch onto his shoulders.

“You said I wouldn’t leave,” he murmurs, breath hot at your ear. “So now I’m staying. Upstairs.”

He carries you like you weigh nothing.

One hand under your thighs, the other on your back, his mouth at your neck as he takes the stairs two at a time. You cling to him, panting, already squirming in his grip. You feel his cock pressing into you—hard, thick, barely contained behind his zipper—and he grinds up into you once with a groan before tightening his hold.

You reach the top of the stairs. Your bedroom door hits the wall. The sheets haven’t even been pulled back.

He throws you onto the mattress like he’s waited forever to ruin you.

The second your back hits the mattress, he’s on you.

Joel doesn’t bother with your shirt—just yanks it up, shoves it over your chest until it’s bunched beneath your arms, and groans at the sight of you laid out for him. You’re already flushed, skin damp, your cunt slick and shining from what he just did to you against the wall. But that’s not enough for him. Not nearly.

“Look at you,” he mutters, almost angry. “Fucking glowing. Can’t even sit still.”

You try to answer, but he’s already climbing over you, already grinding his hips down, and it’s the thick press of denim against your bare core that pulls a gasp from your lips. You’re soaked—dripping—and the friction makes you twitch.

He kisses you hard. Messy and breathless. His tongue slides against yours as he fists your bra and yanks it down to mouth at your tits, teeth dragging over one nipple while his hand works the other. You arch under him, panting, moaning, thighs falling open without shame.

Joel groans into your skin.

“Can feel your pussy through my jeans,” he mutters, grinding slow. “You gonna come again just like this? So fuckin’ needy you’ll soak me through?”

Your hips buck. You gasp—louder now. “Joel—please—”

That’s all it takes. He sits up, rough with the button on his jeans, yanking them down just far enough to free his cock.

And God. You see it for the first time—thick and flushed and dripping at the tip—and your cunt clenches so hard it hurts.

He catches the way your eyes go wide.

“What?” He says, almost smug through the grit of his voice. “Thought about this? Thought about what it’d feel like?”

Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

He grabs your thigh, pushes it open wider, and drags the head of his cock through your folds—slow and slick, gathering the mess between your legs like he owns it.

“‘Course you did,” he says, low. “Bet you’d touch yourself after work thinking about this. Thinking about me. Weren’t you?”

You nod, frantic, and he smirks—just a little.

Then he pushes in.

One slow, brutal thrust, stretching you wide, stealing the breath from your lungs. You gasp—high, broken—and his jaw goes tight.

“Jesus,” he grits. “Tight as fuck. Squeezin’ me like you’re not ready.”

He pulls back. Pushes deeper.

You arch, crying out, one hand slamming against the headboard for balance.

“Fuck, fuck—Joel—”

“You take it,” he growls. “You take it like it’s the only cock you’ve ever needed.”

He drives into you—again, again—hips slapping hard, rhythm quick and punishing. The sound of it fills the room. Skin on skin. The wet drag of your cunt every time he thrusts back in. Your breath stutters, sharp and wrecked, as your legs shake around him.

You’re already close again.

“Too much,” you gasp. “Joel—too—”

“No,” he demands, grabbing your jaw, holding your face still so you see him. “You can take it. You’re gonna fuckin’ come again. Look at how good you’re doin’.”

Your whole body trembles. You don’t just feel the build—you ache with it. It coils tight behind your ribs, in your spine, threatening to snap.

He sees it.

He wants it.

He leans in, his mouth right at your ear, voice low and rough:

“Come on, baby. Give it to me.”

You do.

You shatter—violently, with a gasp that turns into a sob, your body locking up around him as your orgasm takes you hard and deep. Your cunt clenches so tight around his cock it pulls a groan straight from his throat, and he fucks you through it—never stopping, not even when your legs shake and you beg with your eyes.

“Too much?” He asks again, tone softer now, taunting but fond. “Then why’s your pussy still begging for me?”

You moan, half-sobbing, and he melts for it—his hand sliding down between your legs to rub tight circles over your clit, still thrusting, still buried deep.

You jerk, try to twist away. “Joel—”

“One more,” he pants, voice tight. “You got one more for me. Wanna feel you fall apart while I come inside you.”

You’re crying out now—overwhelmed, skin buzzing, body wrung out and oversensitive—but you nod.

He keeps going. Gentle now, but deep, cock dragging slow and deliberate, fingers working your clit with practiced precision.

You come again—this time silent, lips parted, tears sliding down your temple.

He groans when it hits you. Watches it take you. Then his rhythm falters, jaw clenching, breath turning ragged as he finally loses it.

“Fuck—fuck—gonna come—inside—Jesus—”

He slams in one last time, burying himself deep with a grunt as he comes, cock twitching, hips grinding to a halt. His body shakes above yours, muscles locking, hands fisted tight in the sheets as he pulses inside you.

You feel full. Marked. Claimed.

It’s quiet for a long moment. The only sound is your breathing—his heavier than yours, both of you wrecked.

Then, finally, his weight sinks down, body folding over yours, face pressing into your neck.

You’re trembling. Sweating. Boneless.

But you feel his lips press once, gently, against your collarbone. “You’re fuckin’ incredible,” he whispers.

***

You’re not sure how long you lay there—still panting, the sheets twisted beneath you, sweat drying between your breasts—but at some point, you feel his breath slow. His hands soften.

And when he lifts his head, when his eyes finally meet yours, they’re different.

No edge. No fire. Just something warm and wrecked and reverent.

He swallows hard.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, voice low and hoarse, thumb brushing over the damp skin beneath your breast. “Let me get you cleaned up.”

You expect him to leave the room, to tell you to meet him, to retreat into silence now that the heat’s gone.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he lifts you gently—carefully—into his arms like you’re something breakable. His jeans are still hanging low on his hips, your shirt still bunched under your arms, but he moves like none of that matters. Like the only thing he cares about right now is you.

You don’t protest. You melt.

He carries you to the bathroom in silence, the sound of your slowed breath the only thing between you.

The light he switches on is dim. Warm. The water he runs is the perfect temperature. You barely have time to process the steam rising from the tub before his hands are on you again—pulling your shirt over your head, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist as he slips off your bra.

“You okay?” He murmurs, soft as silk.

You nod.

He studies you. Then leans in and kisses your forehead—just a breath of contact, but enough to make your chest ache.

You step into the shower, and he follows.

His hands don’t grab this time. They glide. They trace your skin like they’re memorizing it. He starts with your shoulders, your arms, his palms broad and steady as the water pours down over both of you. He soaps you slowly—fingertips pressing gently into the knots along your spine, rinsing you like you’ve got all the time in the world.

When he moves to your hair, you sigh—deep, content, leaning into his touch without thinking. He lathers slowly, careful not to tug. His hands are strong, but tender. He massages your scalp, brushes suds away from your temples with his thumbs. Every once in a while, he presses a kiss to your shoulder, or the top of your spine, or the back of your neck. Not sexual. Just there. Grounding.

He rinses you. Kisses you again.

You turn, wet hair slicked back, face tilted up.

He looks at you like he’s seeing you in a way he hasn’t before. Like something cracked open back on that bed and he’s still trying to understand what came out.

Then he leans forward—foreheads touching, water dripping down your noses—and whispers, “You feel okay?”

You nod and whisper, “Yeah.”

And for the first time since he walked into your home, he smiles.

It’s small. Subtle. But real.

He kisses your mouth—slow and soft and utterly undesperate—and then towels you off with that same kind of devotion. Wraps you in one of your own oversized shirts. Lets his hands linger a little when he pulls the hem down over your thighs. Not greedy. Not teasing. Just… affectionate.

Then he lifts you again—easily, like you weigh nothing—and carries you to bed.

The sheets are still messy, still smell like sweat and sex, but he doesn’t seem to care. He lays you down gently, then slides in behind you, his arm curling around your waist like it belongs there. His chest presses against your back, solid and warm. His breath fans across the back of your neck.

You reach down and guide his hand up beneath your shirt, settling it over your ribs. His fingers flex just once—then go still.

“Joel?” You whisper.

“Hmm?”

“You’re really staying?”

His arm tightens. “Ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

And he means it.

You fall asleep to the sound of his breathing—slow and even, heart thrumming steady against your spine. His nose nuzzles into your shoulder, one thigh bracketing yours. Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

And maybe tomorrow the world will come crashing in. Maybe it’ll all get complicated again.

But for now—

You’re full. You’re held. You’re his.

And nothing has ever felt so safe.

#joel miller #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #tlou #joel tlou #tlou joel #joel x reader #joel smut #smut #oneshot #i need him #pedropascal #pedro pascal

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knightyoomyoui · 5 months ago

Text

The Price Of Becoming The Chosen ONCE [+18] (COMMISSIONED)

ft. TWICE's Mina (x Male Reader & other TWICE members)

TYPE: Fluff, Angst, Smut

WORD COUNT: 12064

REQUESTED/ORDERED BY: @vl-45

TAGS: cheating, blackmailing, sex slave, possession, harem, obsession

NOTE: One of the longest fics I've ever written because I really love the plot that OC has given to me. Thank you again for ordering and I hope you'll have a great time reading what I made for you!

DONATE OR REQUEST FOR COMMISSION HERE: https://ko-fi.com/knightyoomyoui

DESCRIPTION: It follows the story of YN as he goes through the challenges he has to face from the consequences of being the center of their decisions driven by their respective desires of claiming him, in contradiction to the thought that his life would only change for the better after being Mina's lucky boyfriend and getting introduced to the rest of the members.

==OO==

ACT 1

The crowd was packed inside the Ilji Art Hall, where more than a hundred ONCEs went for TWICE’s fan meet in accordance with their new comeback with “Strategy” featuring Megan Thee Stallion. Everybody started to find their seats and found everything all set up on the stage. The only one that was missing yet is the one they all came for.

They all went out and headed through the backstage. As the huge monitor began playing their MV teasers, they were given a go signal to begin entering the stage one by one. The crowd erupted in joy to see their favorite idols in person, waving their hands and presenting them their natural bright expressions written all over their faces.

TWICE were preparing themselves in a room. Some took this as a chance to rest for a while; others went for chit-chats or used their phones.

The manager then opened the door, signaling them that they can now enter the hall.

The girls made their signature greeting, and the remainder of the event followed. The fans were now given the chance to step up to the stage to get closer to meeting each member of TWICE and do as they please along with their own merch they want to be signed and gifts they purchased for them. Obvious to how they behave, the fans were rather shaking slightly in nervousness, acting strange due to shyness, while the rest were just calm and confident.

And that includes you.

Along with your recently bought Strategy album, including some TWICE-designed bubble fan with a penguin plushie, it’s definitely clear who is the specific person you’re most excited to interact with. You got to talk to Nayeon, Jeongyeon, Momo, Sana, and Jihyo… until it is time to move onto the next chair. She went to say goodbye to the other fan after you before she turned her attention to you.

Just like that, your composure that you’ve been preserving and holding since you arrived here immediately melted. You caught the first sight of Mina having eye-to-eye contact with you. It almost felt like everything went slow motion and blurry the longer you stared at her gummy smile.

“Hello, earth to ONCE?” She asked you, waving her hand in front of your face. You were even aware that you looked stupid in front of her, giving her the first ticket of making yourself an embarrassment. Your popping eyes and gaping mouth lowered down as your senses snapped back to the real world.

“O-oh! Uh- uhm, h-hi. Oh my god.” You quickly reshuffled yourself back into your proper posture. “I’m really so sorry, I was just-”

“Yeah, I get it. Still can’t believe it’s real, isn’t it?”

“Definitely.” You chuckled. “I don’t know if I’m just dreaming right now or not.”

“Wanna find out?” Mina asked you who didn’t get enough to respond quickly. Shortly afterwards, she lend her hand on you. “Hold my hand.”

“W-wha-” Mina just giggled at your malfunctioning state. She finds it hilarious that you’re acting funny with your panicking actions at the moment.

“We don’t got all the time, ONCE. If I were you I would take the-”

Without any further ado, you hurriedly put your fingers in contact to her hand. The touch sent shockwaves through your skin, goosebumps rising. “Holy shit, you are indeed real.”

“Language.” Mina shushed you.

“Oh s-sorry, pardon my bad mouth.”

“Hehe, it’s fine. It’s normal for adults to curse.” Mina waved it off. “I get it, you’re just too dumbfounded right now. Is this your first time?”

“Yes.” You answered with a nod. “I actually just had the opportunity to attend a fanmeet to finally see you girls for the first time. I mostly spent a lot of money just to get in here.”

“Aww I appreciate the dedication!” Mina was touched at your efforts. “May I know your name?”

“It’s YN.” You introduced yourself. “Been a ONCE since last year. I’m just new, I know but I did a lot of research to consider myself kinda knowledgeable about your careers currently.”

“You sure do love TWICE that much, huh.”

“Yeah, but mostly you are.” You quickly covered your mouth in surprise. Mina was left speechless at your confession between she teasingly laughed and amazed at your “accidental” remark.

“And I love the fact that I am your bias.” Mina expressed her pleasant reaction. “Great choice.” She gave a quick glance and a stoic look at the other members before laughing in which you can’t help but to join her.

“So what do you have for me here?” She switched the topic.

“Uhm I have my Strategy album here, I already heard all the tracks and I wanna say they are all amazing.”

“What’s your favorite track?”

“The title track and Like It Like It.”

“Ooh, we’re the same. High five!” She offered you again her hand, and it’s making you crazy knowing how lucky you are to get this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to not only hold Mina’s hand but also to also share a surreal hand gesture with her. This is literally a next-level interaction you got here with her, and how dumb of you to just let it go to waste.

You slammed your palm onto hers, and both were glad at what they did. She reached for your album and signed it with her marking pen before giving it back to you as its owner.

“Thank you so much! And uhh, lastly I bought this for you.” You presented her the penguin plushie you were also carrying. “I hope you like it; I tried to find one of it that is as cute as you.”

Mina was satisfied with your compliment, pursing her lower lip and nodding at it. “And you certainly did accomplish that. I love it!” She grabbed your plushie and cuddled it with a smile. You felt touched seeing your bias enjoying your present despite how simple it is.

The manager then went behind Mina and looked at you both. “Time's up, Minari. Sir, you have to proceed.”

“Hey, take out your phone,” Mina commanded you, and you complied, quickly searching for it in your pocket and pulling it out. “Let me give you a memory to recall that’ll assure you these all happen for real. Let’s take a picture.”

You raised your phone, with your cheeks flushing from excitement and bliss. It then went all tomato when you heard what Mina said afterwards.

“Pinch my cheek.” She poked her cheek twice as she leaned her face on you. You just want to at least give Mina a warning message to take all these carefully and not too suddenly, as you feel like you’re about to get your heart exploding in flattery because of the effect she’s giving at you.

“O-okay.” You followed, placing your fingertips and pressing them on Mina’s soft and smooth cheeks. You are breathing heavily as you do so. Raising your phone and clicking on the screen, it captured this unforgettable moment you have shared with Mina.

“Thank you so much, Mina! I wish you and TWICE all the best for next year!”

“Thank you as well, YN. It’s nice to meet you.” You and Mina exchanged bows at one another before you switched chairs and face Dahyun next. Even without your figure in front of her, Mina couldn’t help to still follow you with her gaze. It was like she was struck by interest she couldn’t describe.

You also were throwing glances at her through the rest of the event before it ended. It was a lot of fun seeing them being the usual happy go lucky type of a group which also shows that they seemed like more of a family rather with how kind they treat each other. As you made your exit in the hall and enter your car, you let out every emotions you were holding while being inside there.

“I can’t believe it, I literally got inches up close with TWICE and Mina today. Best freaking day ever.” You muttered dreamily to yourself before driving your car away back to your home.

On the other hand, Mina couldn’t help but to rewind back her interactions with you. She saw the potential of you being a great friend to get along with because of the quality of your attitude. It made her a little bashful when she silently admitted that she was more impressed, as along with your personality comes an attractive appearance as well.

Fortunately, the eyes of the fans along with their opinions aligned with Mina’s initial thoughts. Scrolling through social media, she found a couple of clips from the fan meet that feature her interaction with you from different angles. Checking the comment section, it was filled with numerous words from other ONCEs positively agreeing that she, along with you, has made a fascinating, adorable moment together, which made her grin.

It truly was suck when Mina remembered that she’ll never meet you personally again. That is until one day, she was proven by her thoughts to be all mistaken when she visited her favorite bakery shop. As she was about to order, she encountered a familiar face in the cashier.

“W-wait what? Oh my…”

“Oh, it’s you!” Mina’s face lightened. “You’re the fan I got to talk last fanmeet. YN, right?”

“No freaking way, she actually remembered my name?” You were in appalled at the mention all brought by her sharp memory.

“Y-yes, that was me.” You said. “It’s very unexpected to meet you here again.” said sheepishly.

“I am too, I didn’t even know you work here at my favorite bakery.” She admitted.

“Well I just moved here yesterday after I got accepted from the job. It’s just a part-time, want to find something worth my time to be independent of.” You shared.

“So you also live here close?”

“Almost.”

“Really? Well…” She gestured you to come closer in which you did. “This shouldn’t be told to others, but I just want to inform you that I also live around here as well.” She whispered.

“Oh. Wow, it’s really making me very lucky to see and talk with you again.” You said. “But uhh, why did you told me that easily for me?”

Your question had Mina baffled as well at her decision. She came up with a reason rather, one that she could relate the most. “I… I don’t know, well atleast I didn’t told you where I exactly live, you know.”

You scratched your head as you understood her point late. “Oh yeah, my bad. Boundaries.”

Mina agreed silently and giggled at your guilty demeanor. “It’s okay.”

“So, Miss Myoui may I have your order please?”

Mina spoke out about her preferred bread to buy for breakfast. You tried to maintain the good performance, especially since this is a hugely popular celebrity as one of your customers; you don’t want to put shame on yourself, this new job you have, and your manager. After placing them on the paper bags, you handed them to her, in which you received money bills from Mina.

After securing the payment, you greeted Mina politely. “Thank you for coming, Miss Myoui! Have a nice day!”

“You too, YN.” As she was about to step outside with her manager, she rotated her feet back to the opposite direction, approaching you again on the counter which perplexed you. “Is there any concerns, Miss Myoui?”

“Perhaps you’ve seen about how we are trending right now in K-Pop media. Did you see the videos of us from the fanmeet few days ago?”

“Oh that, yeah. I was stunned that we hooked most of attentions to us that day.” You shyly said.

“I actually think you’re a good person to hang along with, YN. The fans seems to agree and so do I.” She curiously stated. “If I say I’m giving you a chance to be friends with me too, would you take it?”

“Y-you want me… to be friends with you?”

You were mindblown at her invitation. What in the timeline of this universe are you living in? you thought to yourself. What deeds have you done for you to be granted to step into this situation, standing face to face with Myoui Mina, a member of your favorite girl group TWICE, asking you to be friends with her?

At first these are all a dream to imagine. As much as you wanted to ask her again if these are all real, you don’t want yourself to have trouble acting normally in front of her again. You just stared at Mina, completely astounded.

“Yes.” Mina repeated again that she has made the decision. She looked at her manager who is giving her cautious gazes but Mina looks to prevent and calm it down with her assuring one. “It’s fine if you don’t. I get it, it’s not okay for an idol to be closer with a-”

“I accept.” You cut her off to show how much willing you are. “I mean, who in their right minds wouldn’t want to have as someone like you in their life.”

Mina felt fluttered at your praise. She showed again her usual gummy smile. “You’re too soft-spoken for me.”

“Because you deserve it.” You shrugged.

You and her stared at one another before she bid goodbye to you and thanked you again for accepting her. In the middle of your job, you have lost your mind processing the truth that Myoui Mina is seriously one of your little amount of friends now. At the van, Mina was warmed to know that you didn’t care about the distinction between your roles in life as a basis for developing a close connection together.

ACT 2

“My manager would be here in 5 minutes.” Mina said after checking the time on her phone. “Thank you for agreeing to this, YN.”

You and Mina cooperatively took each step on growing your closeness together through various ways. Even if it meant for Mina to look like a complete anonymous person to the public with her black jacket, shades, and pants, as long as she got to be with you anytime you two wanted to hang out, it was no bother to her. Meanwhile, your respect and admiration for Mina’s determination of being a true friend who assures that she gets to be present by your side when you need her grows each time that passes.

The two of you would get to know each little detail about yourselves,, whether through conversations, hobbies each of you was joined to participate in, and sometimes deep talks where you and Mina would spill some worries that just can’t get out of your head and chest that easily.

Then Mina picked up this idea she had to strengthen your trust and make your bond stronger when she sent you a message that made you bewildered during your duty at the bakery. As usual, you wanted to reconfirm if what she said was true, so you asked her again. She really didn’t have any typos or a short out-of-trance moment while she was constructing the message: she actually wants to bring you to their dorm.

Her reason: she admitted that hiding her identity in the public, which wasn’t her cup of tea to be in, is draining her. That’s why she requested you to do something for her this time, which you considered a test as well to observe how you are engaged to allow Mina to spend some time with you as a friend personally.

Without any hesitation, you granted it. You showed up at her meeting place, the coffee shop she chose. Your presence immediately plastered joy on her face.

“No problem. I should do the same for you this time, you know.”

“I thought you’ll protest or reject my invitation because of how absurd it is.” Mina retorted in a tensed manner. “But I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Actually I did thought you didn’t meant it or what. Maybe you have forgotten about the line we don’t have to cross, or yeah let’s say privacy.” You said calmly. “Like, why would you let me be in to your own personal space, Mina.”

“You’re not a stranger to me anymore, YN. You’re my friend.”

“I know. But sometimes I do feel like I’ve barely been known yet for you to trust me this much. I don’t deserve this special treatment I’m-”

“Stop it.” You felt chills when Mina looked at you seriously. “You are already special to me. Think about it, how many ONCEs I had to be close and accept them in as my friend from outside. Nobody but you, that’s why whatever you at it, you deserved to receive it from me because you’re lucky to be.”

You nodded, Mina’s assurance effectively comforting you. “Why I get to be the one then, Mina?”

“Why do you ask? Do you hate it?” Mina subtly looked at you.

“N-no, I just… I just wanna know what did you truly see in me that makes me be the deserving one to know everything about you.”

Mina became silent for a moment as she thought about it. She avoided her gaze to rewind and search for clues she could provide as a reasonable answer aside from your good personality.

“Tell me first, why did you came here to be with in the first place then?” She threw the question back at you.

“Because… I want you to keep believing in me.” You replied. “I don’t want to destroy everything that makes me who I am for you, it would be as if I just let this opportunity to become friends with you to be ruined. I… want to keep you around me, Mina.”

Mina reciprocated your hug to her and buried her face more at your chest. “Seriously, YN. What are we now? I… This feeling I have, I know it’s more than just a friend for you. It may be wrong for others, but I couldn’t help it.”

Mina’s serious expression transitioned into a beaming one. She stepped closer to you and looked up to meet your eyes. “There it is. Why should I be asked if you already knew the answer yourself? I just simply like everything about what you do, because we both know that I’m the motivation for all of it, not because I’m your bias from TWICE, but because I’m just me, a girl named Mina.”

“And to give you one as well, I want us to be fair here.” You couldn’t help it; Mina felt her breath taken away when you trapped her in your embrace. She felt so little around your arms, and she loved how cozy and warm it is to be stuck with you.

“For the first time in my life, I’ve never felt so valuable in someone’s life. That’s why I’d like to be in your company, because you’re giving me purpose to keep on living, not only because I have to strive for my own deficit, but to show that I am also important at who I am.”

“Let yourself fall, Mina. I’ll be here to catch you anyway.”

Both of you stared at one another, as you can view Mina’s surprised reaction that you do share a mutual agreement at her feelings for you. You winked at her and grinned before you continued. “But, let’s just go with the process. We can take things slow. Then, if we’re ready, we can do as we please.”

Mina nodded and giggled at the wonderful idea. “I absolute love that.”

You kissed her hooded head and hugged her tighter, just seconds before her manager and driver stopped the van in front of you two. “Hop in, lovebirds.” She already teased you both, in which you have failed to make yourselves look innocent.

The ride wasn’t that long as like Mina said, she was actually just a bit close to where you live. Upon your discovery, TWICE are currently staying this is giant luxury hotel around your area. The van entered the gates and it parked in front of the entrance.

“Hurry, we might get seen.” She immediately led you both to the elevator in which Mina can now remove her mask as hoodie safely.

Reaching the floor they inputted on the buttons, you knew that you are feet up from the ground because of how slightly tensed your legs are acting through every footstep. Manager unnie stopped in front of one of the doors and unlocked it.

“Thank you, unnie.” Mina greeted.

“Go ahead, you two. And oh…”

Both of you halted.

“I’ll just gonna pretend I didn’t saw what I’ve seen earlier.” She smirked before entering her room, leaving you both shy from being caught.

“Well that’s a pretty lame start on making ourselves look obvious.” You commented, Mina chuckled.

“This way.”

Mina approached the last door at the end of the hallway, she inputted a passcode on it before it unlocked. You felt even more nervous to enter knowing that you’re about to step onto the place where you only just used to see from their vlogs.

“Come in.”

“H-hello.”

“U-uhh, o-okay.”

You stepped inside and removed your shoes. A short hallway greeted you at first before you followed Mina behind to pass through it. After you reached the brighter end, the entire wide area of their room emerged, and in your overwhelmed state, you got to see some of the other members in the living room, just in their simple house attire.

Jihyo and Sana are just watching TV on the couch while Tzuyu is studying something on her phone based on the pen and notebook she had prepared in front of her. As they felt Mina’s arrival, they all got to see you as well, which made them panicked.

“Oh, Mina! And you, the famous ONCE who a fanboy of our penguin here.” Sana cheerfully pointed at you in which you bowed in return.

“Welcome to our house… YN, correct?” Jihyo asked for clarification.

“Yes.”

“Not saying noona, I see. Are you older than Nayeon unnie?”

“A year older.” You confirmed.

“Oh, interesting.” Jihyo nodded. “Well, hi again. Make yourself comfortable, okay? Mina, why don’t you make our guest comfortable around would ya?”

“Okay, unnie. Thank you for allowing me to bring him in.”

“Always for you, Minari.” She responded which both of them smiled. You and her went to the kitchen. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to your idea, Jihyo and Sana were sharing the same sentiment.

“Yeah, it’s a wise choice to allow him here.” She meant in a different meaning, bouncing her eyebrows and smirked.

“Right? He really does look handsome up close.” Sana agreed.

Tzuyu can hear her unnies’ conversation, and even she couldn’t blame them for being like that. She almost got distracted at her lesson in psychology class when her eyes landed on your impressive figure present in front of her.

Back at your situation with Mina, she offered you a seat, which you gratefully took. She poured a glass of orange juice per your request and instantly made you a sandwich. As you sheepishly ate the food, Mina just admiringly watched you.

“You can just say if you want more, okay? Feel free and get used being around here because from now on you’ll be in here frequently.”

“Uh… I won’t object anymore if that’s what you want to happen. I actually would like to meet the other members as well.” Your die-hard inner ONCE wishing for a miracle to become close with them speaking for yourself, because it knew that this is the perfect fantasy for you to live onto.

“Some of them are in their room, but Jeongyeon unnie and Dahyun aren’t around though. One is in her family house and the other is currently filming her movie.”

“Oh okay. I actually don’t expect them to be all around here anyway, I know all of you have different schedules and busy with your own solo projects occurring.” You said. “I’m contented enough to atleast get to meet the others.”

“Speaking of right timing.” Mina turned her attention from your back. “Hai Momo chan”

“Oh, you brought your boyfriend with you.” She teased, making Mina blush in heat.

“We’re just friends…” She defensively said under her breath.

“So far.” You looked at her to join along Momo’s playful antics and Mina glared at you to stop in which you wheeze internally.

“Hi, nice to meet you. You must know me already, but for formal manner, let me do the honor again. I’m Momo.” She lend her hand on you.

“YN.” You touched her hand. It lasted for seconds, you swore it would be just a while but it felt like Momo tightened her grip a bit more. Mina’s fake cough startled you both which Momo gave in to the gesture. “Sorry, I noticed you have a large hand and your grip is strong. You’re working out aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Actually… I kind of got inspired of you and Jihyo’s workout clips I’ve been seeing in my feed so yeah.”

“Oh, really? Woah, that’s great! Momo laughed at the revelation. “Glad that we could also influence others for body fitness. Health is wealth, as what they say.”

“Yeah it did helped me a lot to feel better.”

“Hey, if you like. Maybe you can ask permission to your girlie there and join me and Jihyo, we could use some gym buddy to drag along and introduce you to some other techniques to get fit.” She playfully punched your arm lightly and you chuckled.

“Momo…” Mina groaned at another attempt of her bestfriend making fun of her.

“Hehe, sorry. Anyways, are you in, YN?” She crosses her arm, waiting for your decision.

“Yeah, I could get used to adapt some other exercises.” You said.

“Great! Now excuse me, I would like to grab my mac and cheese on the fridge.” She said.

As you and Mina continued to talk, Momo was sneaking glances at your concentrated manner at her bestfriend while speaking. Just like the previous three co-members of hers, her curiosity piqued at the charm you possess.

“I should be the one who is thanking a lot here, Mina. All of what transpired today, I’ll never forget it. This is what I dreamed of, to meet you all and I knew before that knowing you girls personally would be like once in a blue moon but… you girls changed my life and made it possible. And its all because of you, Mina. Take all the credit, it’s yours.” You stated, breathing deeply to sink in everything that you have encountered today.

She left the kitchen with her bowl of food, crossing paths with Jihyo and Sana looking at her as they gestured the direction, referring to you. Momo just mouthed “wow” and lifted her eyebrows while grinning, in which they chuckled. Returning to her room, she took a mental note to prepare anytime once you visit.

During your hours of stay in the dorm, you also get to meet Chaeyoung and Nayeon, who were busy at their stuff in their respective rooms. They asked you some things regarding being a fanboy for their group and shared how this all still feels surreal for you. Understanding the luck you have, they just laughed and assured you to provide what brings you comfort and peace being with them.

As the sky starts to get darker, Mina escorted you in the lobby of their hotel. Stopping in the middle of the space, she looked at you and smiled gratefully. “Thank you for coming, YN. I really appreciated you being thoughtful to me.”

Mina bowed and held your arm. “About us… we’ll get there, right?”

“I know we are. I won’t let it end anyway.”

You bid goodbye to her as the manager instructed you to enter their service van. Mina watched you depart as she remained in her spot. Mentally, she wished you a ride home safely.

Unbeknownst to the both, all other six members were gathered in the living room, exchanging their first impressions about meeting you.

“He looks pretty cute and a hottie too.” Momo said. “I was almost caught getting blank for a second there, the more I just at his face it’s like… it’s sucking me into his facial features. Good thing I found an excuse to save myself in humiliation there.”

“What got me rather is how huge he looked.” Nayeon bit her lip hungrily, eyes darting sideways. “He looks like a buff baby, and God what I’d give to have a muscle guy like him and crush my head around his triceps.”

“Yeah, we get it. It’s your type unnie, but I think you have to get through us first.” Chaeyoung interrupted. “You made some good points though, damn I’d wish he’ll destroy me with his size.” She shut her eyes and smiled lewdly.

“Woah Chaeng, getting there already?” Jihyo was amused.

“But… I think YN is into Mina unnie already.” Tzuyu joined the chat. They all looked at her and those words had them in dismay. “From how they’ve been so close together earlier, it’s no denial he’s into her.”

“Yeah, but… would Mina be the same?” Sana asked.

“She probably is.” Nayeon said. “Sucks that we all went head over heels already for one guy who is already taken.” She chuckled with a bitter taste.

Mina then opened the door of their dorm, making them pause the topic. “YN is on his way home now.”

“Good. Mina, you sure did pick a good man aren’t you?” Jihyo said.

“I have no regrets, unnie.” She smiled before disappearing to her room.

They all looked back at one another, sharing the same thoughts. However, their expressions is displaying mixed emotions for their beloved friend and sister-figure.

“She is indeed attracted to YN.” Sana said.

Throughout the next weeks, your visit to their place has become regular as suggested and planned. You also finally got to meet Jeongyeon and Dahyun when they were fortunately present in the dorm, taking a break from their hectic schedule. Without your knowledge, the two also suppressed similar interest towards you, much like the others.

Being often at their place granted you the opportunity to form a close connection as well with the other members aside from Mina. It was a great thing to discover their personalities more aside from what you just speculated through seeing them on the media with their content and projects. The consequence of that, however, is that you weren’t aware that you’re transforming into a chick magnet, with how the girls are now attracted to you both perspective-wise and emotionally.

And the best aspect you have attempted with her is introducing yourselves to having sex. You have seen Mina being a bit nervous and scared at your first take with her, which is a relief that it still ended on a positive note, pleasing you in a new direction.

For example, in Nayeon’s case, she would find herself sneakily touching your built physique when she finds a chance to do so. Jeongyeon’s heart throbs when you shower her with compliments regarding your appreciation for her appearance despite the struggles she went through; Momo would position herself to showcase her sexy figure whenever you work out with her.

Sana and her clingy personality, where she’ll just randomly hug you anytime only to get a touch of your muscles, Jihyo started wearing tops that break her cleavage free whenever she learns you’ll be coming after observing you one time inevitably peeking at her assets in the gym, while Dahyun, who is aware of her curves, began using skin-tight dresses that trace her sculpted hourglass figure after admitting that it makes her look fabulous.

Lastly, the two other maknaes, Chaeyoung and Tzuyu, who love getting praised for being great at what they are, have frequently shown you in an eye-catching manner.

They knew what they were doing was wrong since you and Mina are undoubtedly about to develop a bond that is sweeter than just being friends, but it’s so irresistible when they just have to rarely have some guy around with them and it turns out to be hotter and more accurate than the dream guy they wanted to love in the future. They were just being a little hesitant, limiting their actions at first on what they were doing, brought by their dilemmas, until they couldn’t hold it in anymore.

The more you pull them closer into you, the more they want you for themselves to claim and won’t let go.

In the midst of their methods of alluring and flirting towards you, their speculation went true as you and Mina called it official to be a couple months later. Living into the promise that both won’t hold back now that you are now in a relationship with the ideal woman you always wanted to date, you and Mina explored ways to make this journey with her more desirable.

What do you mean by that is the amount of circumstances where she would beg for your cock anytime she gets a free time to unwind or taking you to different places aside from your house and look for a spot to fuck. There is none that she’ll not make you satisfy her being full of cum whether in her holes or through her flawless skin.

Spending a vacation in a private resort with her, other TWICE members and staffs became a usual day for the both of you to have some sex whenever the urge brings you both together. After chugging your fifth alcohol and the combination of Mina being needy for you, she led you in one of the trees away from the group and pounce at you like a hungry animal.

Mina planted kisses around your topless body all the way from the bottom to the top where she turns herself to your neck and mauled at it. You guided her head deeper into your skin before you had enough and brought her into a wild make-out session. Lips colliding, tongues swirling, and saliva connecting your warm mouths controlled with lust.

“I need you so bad right now.” Mina said as she caressed your abs while your foreheads are pressing to one another.

“We don’t have much time, Mina. Let’s get this done or else might get caught by them.” You said as you pecked her lips again.

“Just promise me we’ll continue this later when they sleep.”

“We can.”

Mina absorbed your powerful manhood into her snatch, encircling it with immense tightness. She moaned as you began to thrust your hips again and pick up the pace slowly.

Mina went on her knees as you lower her down with your hand on top of her head. Along her movement, she dragged your lower garment on your feet, exposing your raging cock now in its maximum size ready to be serviced by your horny girlfriend.

She grasped it from the base and performed an introductory stroke before putting the mushroom tip on her puckered lips as she inhaled your scent. Mina pushed forward, the shaft now lodged inside her mouth, and began her blowjob as you held her head for assistance.

You quickly buckled your hips to hurry this up, not giving a damn about Mina’s gag reflex from how you hit the back of her throat repeatedly. She clung tightly at your waist as you used her for your own pleasure, admiring your rough treatment that satisfies her as well.

The girth of your manhood is being coated with saliva by her flirty tongue as she takes you all in, desperate for your incoming reward for her efforts. She looked up at you, confirming that her performance is sending wonders to your senses just by the look of your lustful face.

Thrusting your hips further, Mina’s nose is now bumping at your crotch. She then felt your length twitching in her mouth, a familiar signal of what’s about to happen afterwards, a very anticipatory one.

Gripping her hair, you stuck your cock in her mouth as you filled it with your creamy deposit. She lost the number of times you fired straight through her throat, but she didn’t care; all that matters is that she get to receive it all by herself.

You gently slid in your slimy cock at her mouth. Mina opened her mouth to present a pool of cum. “Swallow.” And she did exactly as you told her, gulping it easily before releasing her mouth to prove no leftovers.

“Good girl. Now get up and bend your ass for me, babe. Let’s finish this.” You helped Mina to stand and changed positions. Mina is now facing the tree and bending slightly for you.

Kneeling behind her, you quickly undressed her swimsuit to unveil her plump ass that made most ONCEs go crazy when she twerked it like a professional during their concert. You feel bad for some who are dying to grab a handful of these tasty buns, but now you’ll fulfill their wishes by taking these into your own hands.

You sniffed her ass for a second and slapped both really hard before you got up and rubbed your length across her valley. “Place it in me, please.” You wasted no more time as you pushed it forward inside her inviting hole.

Her arms embraced the tree as you pummeled through her rear, deliciously watching her skin ripple as you collided your skin into hers. It creates wet slapping sounds that both of you are getting turned on more by.

“Ugh yes yes fuck, you’re so big inside of me, YN.” Mina whimpered as you glided your hands through the surface of her godly sculpted back. Bracing yourself, you wrapped her body close as you fucked her ass faster.

The volume of her moans and stutters increasing. “Sshhh be still or somebody might find us here.” Mina then closed her mouth, her muffled screams as her ass continously being filled to the brim by your magnificent cock.

“Shit. I’m about to bust, Mina.” You went all in to your rhythm, sending her body vibrating at your rough hammering. A last plopping sound, and your crotch pressed at her tempting asscheeks as you unleashed another load of cum inside of her.

Mina huffed as she felt your cock exit her hole and some cum pouring out from her used passage. You scooped some and have Mina taste it to make every drop count.

You both put back your undergarments. “Let’s go, they must be looking for us now.” you said as you pulled Mina with you out of the woods.

ACT 3

Few days later, you were chilling at the kitchen stool, watching some memes at your phone to entertain yourself. Mina is currently at Japan to join her parents visit her late dog’s resting place since its his death anniversary if you remember correctly. You decided instead to hang out with other members to spend your free time.

Footsteps approaching, you turned around to see Momo now changed into her oversized t-shirt after working out with you earlier. She took the chair beside you.

“You can use our bathroom if you want to wash yourself.” Momo said as she noticed your body now dried up from getting sweat drenched at lifting weights.

“Nah I’m good, I’m about to leave now anyway. I can just wash at my home later.” You replied. “Why, do I stink?”

“Yes, it makes me want to puke actually.” She fake acting like she’s having nausea. Seeing your offended and sheepish reaction broke her out of laughter. “Just kidding, you still smell great.”

She leaned closer, sniffing your neck to confirm it, yet again oblivious to her true intention, her burning temptation influencing her to take measures that will get you real good.

“Yeah, you smell manly as ever.” Momo muttered. You stiffened, awkwardly letting Momo breath closely at your skin.

“Thanks, I guess.” You thriftly smiled.

Momo just tightened her lips and just watched you scroll through your Instagram feed. She prepared herself first as what she made sure to remember last time before proceeding with her main agenda of interacting with you.

“How are things between you and Mina?”

“Pretty smooth. I’m glad we could manage despite her busy schedules as an idol.”

“That’s good, yeah. What about being careful, have you guys always ensure that this thing between you and Mina remains private?”

“We do, we haven’t being caught yet or so does her by the K-Media, like we know Dispatch is famous for spotting idols meeting up with mysterious person. Yeah, I haven’t got any news yet about Mina having a rumored boyfriend. So yeah, we’re safe.”

“Oh. Even the people around you aside from the media whenever you guys outside?”

“Positive.”

“Is that so.” Momo pulled out her phone and opened it. “Can you explain this to me then?”

Momo stole your attention from your phone as she made watch a video playing in her device. To your shock, it features a recording of you and Mina having sex secretly in the resort.

“What the-” You said as Mina getting backshot from you illuminated through your eyes. “H-how did you get this?”

“I followed you both shortly after you two left, I was heading to the bathroom for a piss break when suddenly… I heard some moans and clapping sounds near me.” Momo recalled.

“Then this is what I found.” She told you seriously. “Now tell me, where’s the cautious part in there?”

“Momo, it’s not that-”

“I don’t give a shit if you two are having sex in public area, I just want you to think that what if it’s not me who saw you both and instead either some personnel from the hotel or one of our staffs? What would you do if this gets out of hand and get you both exposed by this act?” Momo scolded you.

“It’s Mina who brought us there, okay? It’s not like I wanted us to fuck there. I was telling her that we can do this later but she didn’t listened.” You defended.

“But it’s your responsibility as a boyfriend to remind her what’s right. Mina can be stubborn sometimes, I know her like the back of my hand already, so you should know better as well now that you and her are now together.” Momo stood by her point. “What made you to let her? Were you scared that you won’t get that fuck she’s craving for because she’s sulk-”

“Enough!” You slammed your hand on the table, pent up by her blabbering until your senses reminded you that this is one of the women you’ll forever have an honor to get to know with, and you swore before that if you’ll get a chance to meet them personally, you won’t do any harm on them.

And it seems that you broke that when you saw Momo shocked and frightened at your unexpected temper.

“I-I’m sorry, I- I get it, okay. It was wrong of me and I won’t do it again but…. what I don’t understand is that why do you need to record this as well? I mean, you can just say what happened and I’ll surrender because I know it’s true. What’s the use of this for then?” You said, directing your hand at the video.

“Now you’ve asked, well… I thought of something that I can make what I want possible through this.” She tapped her finger at the table, her expression shifting into something mischievous and naughty.

“What are you talking about?”

“You want me to delete this? You have to do something for me first- oh should I say, to US first.”

“What the fuck? Are you seriously blackmailing me with our sex tape?” You ridiculously asked. You are in utter disbelief right now of this true color of Momo.

“Guess you can put it like that.” She shrugged. “Yeah, we can forgive you for being so reckless to our friend and hold the consequences if you’ll do us a favor.”

“And what is that?”

Momo moved her chair, closing her gap between you two. “Fuck the rest of us just like how you do to Mina.” She smirked as she stared at your flabbergasted face.

You couldn’t process what Momo is asking you to do for her, and damn sure you weren’t expecting that she’ll have this side that’ll be very disliking of you. The once admirable and inspirational idol turned to be someone worse than you could imagine. Even adding to this horrible situation, she’s just doing this on behalf of a group consisted of people you also believed at first to be pure and innocent.

“You got to be kidding me.” You shook your head. “Are you out of your mind, Momo? Have you been hearing yourself? You’re committing a sin with this! You’re betraying Mina for God’s sake!”

“I KNOW! BUT I COULDN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!” Momo has snapped, she stood fiercely at you.” AND SO WAS THEM. We tried, but… ever since you stepped foot in our dorm, we found you so attractive in everything. You have it all that most of us wanted a guy to have. Then when we learned that Mina already have you. We tried to be happy for our friend but it pains us as well that we couldn’t have the same.” Momo explained what led her to do this.

“Until we have accepted the fact that we couldn’t have your heart like she does. But… we might atleast get another piece of you that doesn’t require feelings to attain. Something that had us obssessing over you since the beginning.”

She crawled her hands at your arm and cupped your biceps, squeezing its firm yet toughness. “Mina can love you with all her heart and soul, as for your body though… maybe we can just share it ourselves for free.”

Her hands roams down to your side figure until it reaches the hem of your shirt. Momo single handedly removed it for you and you just remained stiffened at your spot as you watched her in confusion.

“And we know you’ll let us, right? You were probably dreaming of having us in your way when you were just a random fan of us.” After throwing your shirt on the floor, Momo then began to undress herself, and your eyes largened at her matching pair of lacy red bra and panties she’s wearing underneath, gulping at how incredibly sexy she actually is. It’s undeniable that every detail of her figure is a sight to behold, a complete package from head to toe that every man would die for.

She grabbed your hand and forced you to stand up. “You’ll be our personal sex slave and we’ll delete the video. Don’t worry, she don’t have to know about what we’re doing. Unless, you want us to separate Mina away from you and never see us again.”

You were horrified at the consequences Momo is considering in case you disobey their conditions. For the sake of your relationship with Mina, you frowned in worry as Momo lift your chin up to her stare at her bare naked body and her devious gaze.

“Do we have a deal with that, YN?”

Without any other choice, you wanted to save you and Mina to these ladies you once treated as supportive friends but has now turned into betraying envy admirers who wants to gain access of your body for free use.

You nodded in response to her question. Momo then started to kiss you passionately, putting touches around your chest and torso as well. She then led your hands on top of her bulging breasts and massage them to match Momo’s expectations.

She let go for a while and dragged you along her. Exiting the kitchen, you saw the rest of the girls all sitting on the living room. Momo looked at them as your lack of clothing together stole their attention.

“He agreed. We’ll be right back.” She exclaimed. You view their grins expanded with a hint of thirst and desperation for your affection.

You followed Momo and got pushed inside her room where after being locked by her, both went through hours of heated and wild rounds of sweaty sex on her bed. She was moaning and screaming in pleasure as you just focused on giving her everything she wanted from you.

Momo was laid in various positions based on what she wanted you to perform, whether its pinning and fucked her like a ragdoll around your cock on the wall, making the bed quake and squeak with your manhandling of her body, or pound her while she’s pressed on the cold floor.

She titfucked your thick cock with some short combinations of blowjob included and have it erupt with streaks of cum that splattered around her chest to finish your time with her.

ACT 4

The equipments would also receive additional purpose not just for a simple exercise as you would attempt to utilize it on pleasuring Nayeon, like making her bounce up and down in your cock while her legs split open, relying her balance on wrapping your head from behind.

Months have passed, and your new purpose for the girls proceeded without Mina having any idea about the huge unforgivable sin you’re committing. She returned weeks after Momo had you in her control. The poor girlfriend had no clue what the walls of their dorm had witnessed every day without her presence roaming around.

Their sexual needs over you intensified, and even with the possibility of Mina arriving home, you still had to do it to every member, depending on who was in the mood to beg for your cock and worship it as their ultimate prize. Whenever Mina closes the door and leaves their place, one of them—or hell, a pair or a divided group by them—would just suddenly pounce on you to take the availability.

You have taken a taste on every single one of them because of this forbidden deal, and they made these all possible in accordance with what they want to happen with you. They have taken turns on you, and you only have one objective to accomplish for them: never leave them not being blessed by your cum all over their spent body after accompanying them anywhere.

Nayeon once took you with her to be her guardian on her pilates schedule. While the coach is gone to attend some urgent stuff, Nayeon would instantly pull down your shorts and shove you cock up in her mouth.

In addition, you showered with Jeongyeon as well. Their water bill about to double because of how much water you both have wasted being tangled together. You fucked Jeongyeon while she stands on one leg with another being lifted, then she finished you off by cumming onto her mouth. Following that, you helped each other apply soap and wash off your bodies.

Sana and Momo had threesome with you. At first you thought it would be a struggle to ensure that both of them will be satisfied equally, but due to how needy these girls for you and them acting like an experts for these thing, they have guided you properly.

It made you to shuffle yourselves in different positions, either taking their pussy and ass at the same time with your cock and talented fingers as they make out or them making your mouth work as the another returns the same at your cock. They also probably had the longest time you spent having sex with.

Jihyo likes her being called your mommy, and she is very welcome to treat you as her little baby. To do so, she would either instruct you to lay on her lap as she sat on the couch and suck her tits alternatively while she jerks off your cock or taking care of you with her massive puppies and oral skills. She also surprised you with a fact that she’s carrying breastmilk already despite not being pregnant yet, a result of having great genes.

Dahyun is the most submissive and gentle type of one; she prefers vanilla sex rather than being banged up, unlike some of her co-members, especially Chaeyoung. The amount of suffering you endured for this small but terrible woman when it came to sex was unmeasurable. This dominant lady won’t let your balls store a single drop of cum for her after edging your cock for an hour and encourages you to piston her tight petite body however she wants to.

And lastly, Tzuyu was almost the same as Dahyun. The only difference was that she wants to switch roles in the bed while maintaining the same pace of the session. It’s kind of strange as well that she’s probably the least TWICE member you came inside of, as she offers instead her big fat thighs for you to also inject your cock in between and blast cum for her gifted asset.

“What’s going on with you lately, YN?” Mina started the topic. “Care to share what’s bothering you, babe?”

You have lost count of how many times you did it while handling your relationship with Mina and your sex life with her too. That’s why it resulted in you becoming physically weak, sympathizing for your emotional and mental state that is also being affected as well.

It didn’t slip into Mina’s perspective for her boyfriend. Her caring instincts for you alerting about the sudden strange transformation of your appearance and mood were noticed. She could also differentiate how you were before than this recent change you’re having.

Always lost in thoughts, gloomy, and quiet. You even reject her, setting yourselves up for another round of sex. That is how Mina would describe you currently. Since this is not the usual you that she loved, it grew concern in her.

That’s why one day, she confronted you in a must. You were just watching the landscape of Seoul beneath from the pavement when Mina approached you from behind with coffee in hand. She looked at your side figure and again, she knew something is wrong.

You gulped and lowered your head a bit more. “There’s n-nothing. Why would you ask?”

“You’ve been not acting like yourself lately. I can see it all.” Mina explained. “You rarely laugh or smile so geniunely at me, it was those that powers me up everyday but… you’ve been so lacking with everything that I couldn’t help but to ask if there’s anything going on with you.”

“None. I’m fine, Mina. Really.”

“But you’re not okay. Don’t set me aside, please. I’m your girlfriend, YN. I should be helping you.”

“What part of what I just said that you don’t understand, Mina?” You glanced at her in frustration. The tension gets heavier, until you’ve realized that you almost just shouted at Mina who only just think of your well-being.

“S-sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. Seriously, Mina. I’m fine.” You shook your head and turned away at her.

Mina wasn’t thrilled at your sudden complain. She came forward and hug you from behind, her comfort almost broke the emotions you’ve trying to hold as much as your can. “You can tell me anything, you know? I love you, and I have to make sure that I share the problems with you. For us to fix together.”

Your body trembled, every words coming out of her mouth felt like a dagger to your chest. “I can’t.”

“You are. I’m always here to listen, don’t put pressure on yourself.” Mina said.

“No, you don’t understand. This is something you can’t handle.”

“Then make me.”

“If I did, you won’t be able to look at me the same again.”

“Is it being insecure again, YN? We’ve talked about this before.”

“No. This is new.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve being torn apart in guilt, Mina.” One of your teardrops finally went loose from your sore eyes. “I don’t know if how long am I going to do this, but I’m just holding on for you.”

“Is there’s something you’re not telling me about, YN?”

You breathed heavily and composed your posture, preparing for the storm impending to come. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Mina.”

“For?”

“I’ve risked something to keep ourselves together. It was wrong but… there was no other option.”

“What is it?”

“Dignity.” A dreaded expression went visible in your face.

“What’s this have to do with your dignity, YN?” Mina cautiously asked, as a strange feeling creeping inside her is telling that she may not digest what you’re about to say.

“I- I… oh God, I know you won’t forgive me for this.” You cried in her arms. “I made myself a sex slave for the girls.” You escaped from her embrace, kneeling with your hands covering your face in disgrace and fear.

Mina felt like her heart just crumpled and eardrums burst at what she had heard. Her eyes twitched and swell before it became watery from the overflowing emotions dealt by pain. The arms that was formed to wrap you in her console started to give up and fell back to her sides.

“Y-you… you did what?” Mina asked as she stared at nothingness. The sunset shining in her eyes in contrast to the building darkness of disgust around her.

“I had sex with your co-members, for a deal to keep our relationship going.” You elaborated. “Because if I don’t, they’ll threaten me to be banned from ever seeing you and the rest of them ever again.”

Mina’s fists clenched in anger. The tears flowing in her cheeks were like disappearing instantly at how hot she’s getting driven by her fury. She seethes it in, while still processing the fact that the people she once thought are her friends and would support her sincerely, would be the cause of the downfall of one of the most important things she cherishes in life through betrayal.

She wasn’t in a good condition to think properly, so her body rather took in charge on controlling what the right thing to do for now. Mina left you in the balcony and grabbed her shoulder bag from her room. You stand up and followed her.

“W-wait, where are you going?”

Mina didn’t answer.

“Wait, please Mina. Let me explain more-”

“DON’T FUCKING TALK TO ME, YN. J-just… don’t. I want to be left alone I-I just can’t stand seeing every one of you for now.” Mina daringly pointed her finger at you, staring right through your soul.

The main door suddenly clicked. It opened, Mina walked through it and saw the rest of the girls who came back from grocery. Momo was in the front, blocking the way.

She was about to greet Mina with large smile on her face when she got startled from the brutal slap she received straight on her face. The girls exclaimed in shock, and Mina stared at them venomously.

“Traitors.” She muttered before taking a turn as she began walking away from them.

All of the girls watched you just helplessly standing in the middle of the room. They understood what this is all mean now. Mina has found out the truth.

SET 5

Some of them were about to chase Mina but she already entered an elevator and it closed.

The rest of them went in silent to deal with the consequences of their actions.

The entire group has no idea of Mina’s whereabouts. They talked to few people they knew that are friends with Mina from outside and nobody have seen nor met them after the incident. They wanted to believe, but they are confident that one of them must be lying as per Mina’s request to leave her alone.

they multiplied her pain than the first time her health succumbed from.

If that was probably what Mina wants from now, they can give it to her, but they won’t be put to rest thinking about how she might be dealing the darkest truth she had discovered.

Almost a decade of being with Mina, they know she’s one of the most vulnerable, and that woke them up to the harsh reality that they not just only hurt their friend for the first time….

The thought of setting Mina into another hiatus term because of their fault made them regretting a lot that they have put their guards down from getting obssessed over nothing but lust from you. Not only that, the guilt you’re having were now being carried by them as well, that’s why they couldn’t blame you as her boyfriend to be this depressed right now.

You and the girls were trapped in the dark, deafening silence and heavy baggage of self-blame. They still tried to be productive as an idol despite of the current situation, while you in whole opposite side, has to see you almost unmoved, looking at the unknown filled with somber hopes to hear your phone receive a notification atleast or ring after hundreds of missed call you have attempted.

It all stopped when almost 2 weeks later, Mina made a return to the dorm. You were in your house when it happened, and so Jihyo immediately contacted you to inform that she’s here. Driving in rush, you arrived at their dorm in no time.

As you stepped in front of the door and opened it, you were met by everyone except Jihyo, Jeongyeon, and Nayeon bowing their heads. You were perplexed when some of them like Dahyun and Tzuyu are crying too. “W-what happened? Where is she?”

“Y-YN… please stop unnie.” Dahyun spoke in ragged tone.

“Why? From what?”

The other missing members appeared from the other hallway, and there was girlfriend carrying a bag and luggages. Your eyes widened when the three are following her from behind as if they’re begging.

Mina met you in her way and you just stood there wondering why she all have her belongings out. It scares you to ask, but you have to find out. “Mina, w-where are you going?”

“I’m not staying on this dorm anymore. I’m also leaving TWICE.”

Your jaw dropped.

“And I’m breaking up with you.”

You watched Mina’s stoic expression in devastation. Your heart felt like it exploded into pieces hearing the words you never wanted to happen together with her. Yet here she was, standing at you in her broken state, managed to announce that without any hesitation.

“No, Mina. Please, can you hear me for a second? Let’s just talk.”

“Get out of my way, YN.”

“I’m not letting you. Just, please think about this first!”

“I MADE UP MY MIND!!!” Mina screamed, and it sent shivers to the girls knowing she rarely raises her voice. “IF YOU AND… THESE SO-CALLED FRIENDS OF MINE NEVER ARRANGED TO STAB ME IN BACK, THIS WOULD’VE NOT HAPPEN IN THE FIRST PLACE!”

“Mina, YN owes you an explanation. So do us, as well.”

“Don’t you dare lecture me this time, Jihyo.” She turned around at Jihyo and confronted her with burning rage in her eyes.

“I’m not lecturing you, Mina. I’m just trying to make you understand.”

“What is it that I have to understand?!” Mina confusedly asked. “Other than all of you fucking my boyfriend behind my back, taking advantage of my blindness? Y-you guys are sick!”

“Because I did it all for YOU!” You yelled as you you couldn’t hold it in much longer. The desperation of her to be prevented from ending all of this for good. “I had no choice but to accept it because they blackmailed me, Mina. They dared me that if I didn’t follow what they want from me, they won’t delete that video and they can prohibit me from getting any access to all of you!”

“W-what video?” Mina puzzledly asked.

“We got caught… having sex in the resort.” You revealed. “And they used that to give them something in exchange not to trigger them doing something about us.”

“Who recorded us?”

“I did.” Momo stood from the couch, bravely taking accountability for what she did. “I was also the one who proposed a plan to have YN for ourselves.”

“H-how could you?” Mina was about to break down, her breath shaking.

“I wasn’t thinking properly at that time. Neither were them. We got clouded by lust and the need to sample YN. How attractive he looks, we were manipulated to do some dirty deeds on him. And realizing what we have truly done, we’ve made a terrible mistake, Mina.” Momo explained.

“And you all never thought about how it would break my heart so bad that I just wanted to end it all?” Mina started crying. “I just couldn’t live with the darkest truth that my boyfriend and my friends are cheating on me, and that’s my first relationship tainted with sin because of all of you!”

“Mina, we swear, we thought about the consequences at first.” Nayeon joined the discussion. “We are aware that you already have YN by yourself, romantically to say the least. That’s why… I don’t know, a stupid idea was formulated by Momo here to rather claim YN by ourselves only for his body. And we admit, we are just craving for his affection that it broke our limit to accept.”

“Enough with the crap we’re trying to justify of, if there’s anyone you should blame a lot, it’s us. not YN. He had no choice, he was threatened.” Jeongyeon said. “And you may not forgive us anymore for this, but we just want to say that we’re really sorry.”

“You’re right, I’ll never forgive any of you for this.” Mina glared at anyone. “And I don’t buy any of your apology, once a cheater will always be a cheater, like they say. Who knows, all of you may done it again.”

“I swear, Mina. I never wanted any of it, I could’ve stopped if I want to, but they won’t let me be!” You said. “If you know how it eats me alive everytime I finish doing it with them knowing that I’m still in a relationship with you. I never wanted to do it, but I still did it because I need you to stay.” She watched you sobbing in plead.

“It scares me both as a fan and as your lover that everything we had has to stop if I didn’t follow them. I can’t lose you, Mina. I’m willing to do everything even if it ruins my reputation, lose my dignity, or cost my life, because I love you.”

Mina cried at your last statement. The mask she was wearing since she arrived is now starting to drop. You kneeled in front of her and hugged her thighs.

“Please, don’t go.”

Mina looked at your pitiful state and roamed her sight at the girls watching this dramatic scene in person. “Look at what you have all done.” She gritted her teeth.

“Let me guess, if I didn’t asked him about this, you guys would still do it without my knowledge, huh?” She bitterly chuckle regarding about the absurdity of their reasoning. They just all bowed in shame, knowing that Mina got them defeated with that single sentence.

“I also didn’t want to leave the group, nor break up with YN.” You looked up in surprise to see her wiping her tears. “Funny, right? Despite the unbearable amount of pain you have inflicted on me, I just can’t seem to avoid this stage of life that I reached with all of you.”

“A part of me still wanted to atleast stay. No because being an idol is my passion or my love for YN. It’s because I can’t lose all of you. That’s how special you guys are to me.” They all cried after hearing how touching it was even if they knew they don’t deserve Mina’s kind-heartedness anymore.

“As what I’ve said, this won’t stop unless I had to find out. I guess, there’s still a way to fix all of these. And since I’m already involved at whatever this is, it has to remain like that from now on.”

“What are you trying to imply, Mina?”

“You girls said that you have no found feelings for him, right? Only for pleasure?”

“Definitely just friends with benefits, that’s all.” Sana said.

“Then, let’s make a new deal. This thing you have with him, I’ll allow it to continue.”

All of them gasp in shock, with a mix of utter confusion. “Wait, Mina are you serious?”

“Don’t give me that reaction, I know you girls must’ve been disappointed that you can’t fuck him anymore because I already know the truth.” Mina retorted. “If this is what would keep us together, then this should stay only with us. No more intentions of damaging or kicking out anybody else in our lives too.” She referred to Momo who got what she’s trying to point about.

“You girls can continue being friends with benefits with him, but it would be under my control this time. I have to be updated all the time at what you guys did, maybe I could learn new things to pleasure my boyfriend here atleast.” She patted your head.

“I also will keep our relationship with YN, and that’s what should always matter here. Know your boundaries because if you don’t, I won’t hesitate to take actions about it that you’ll never like.” Mina warned them all.

“These only have to stop if me and YN decided to get marry in the future. For the sake of respect to the family we’re going to build. Or even if some of you began to find somebody to love as well. Are we all clear?”

“We’ll do everything to redeem ourselves, Mina. If that what you wish for, we’ll do it.” Momo agreed.

“Just don’t keep any secrets on me.” Mina then looked at your kneeling posture below her. She threw her bag away and pushed the luggages away. “Get up, I won’t go now. But… I still have one more thing to do to ease off my mind.”

“What is it?”

Mina began unbuttoning her blouse one by one, exposing her lace-cladded black bra encasing her luscious small tits. The rest of the girls were stunned also as they witness Mina going bare-naked in front of you. Throwing the piece of clothing aside, she then moved through her skirt, unzipped and dragged them down to the ground.

You gawked at the incredible view of Mina in her favorite set of black lingerie partnered by enticing suspenders that holds her thigh-high stockings. She pushed you to the wall and cornered you there. Tilting her head aside, she glanced at the other members who couldn’t do anything but to anticipate what’s about to occur afterwards.

“I’m going to punish you all for what you did to me. That means I’m going to discipline this pathetic little boy while all of you only get to watch me empty his balls and make him submit and ravage me under my commands. Understood?”

They all nodded with an unspoken dismay present in their face, but Mina doesn’t give a single damn about it. She then went down on her knees, take off your pants and boxers, and wield the already erect beautiful piece of meat in her dainty hands.

You watched all the girls occupy the carpet and the couch, removing their lower garment to let their pussies free from the lingering sensation that Mina has given effect of her sudden persona transformation. They made their fingers go to work, groping their tits and inserting their digits in each to their sopping wet slit.

“Good luck, YN. You’re in the hands of Sharon now.” Jeongyeon concerningly reminded you.

You matched Mina’s sharp gaze and devilish gaze. She began pumping your cock with her fist close to her lewd face. You inhaled and braced yourself at the immense pleasure she’s given you already.

“You better keep up with me, boy. I won’t go easy on you today.”

Pre-cum escaped from your tip, Mina blew her warm breath at your pinkish head. She cackled as she watched you tremble. Lifting your cock, she gave a long lick from your full balls then the underside and up to your plump end.

“Shall we start?”

==OO==

#twice au #twice oneshot #twice smut #mina smut #twivce x male reader #mina x male reader #kpop au #kpop oneshot #kpop fanfic #twice fanfic

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beaureveries · 1 month ago

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ONE SHOT : HANDS OFF

paige x azzi

this is the prompt idea

Trigger : protective P

super short!

——————————————————————————

It started in the first quarter.

Paige caught it from the bench during a timeout — a couple fans creeping close to the sideline, politely asking Azzi for a picture. Azzi smiled, nodded, took a few quick ones, then sat back down.

Nothing weird. Nothing Paige hadn’t seen before. Everyone knew they were best friends. Azzi was recognizable in women’s hoops circles, especially here. No big deal.

By halftime, though, it was happening again. And again. And again.

Different people. Different phones. Azzi still smiling, but Paige could tell — the smiles were starting to wear thin. Not because Azzi didn’t like meeting people. Just… long game. Bright lights. Media breaks dragging on forever. Paige knew the look of someone being good about it but getting tired.

By the time the fourth quarter came around, Paige was already watching the edge of the crowd more than she was watching the court. Not distracted, not reckless. Just monitoring. Quietly clocking how Azzi’s posture shifted a little lower every time another stranger leaned in, angling their phone like they didn’t realize they were practically in her lap.

Paige let it slide. For a while.

They were in public. Cameras everywhere. It was fine.

But after the final buzzer, with Dallas taking the win and fans buzzing all over the lower bowl, she saw Azzi hesitate when another group circled around. Saw the small flinch when one guy bumped into her a little too hard while adjusting his jersey sleeve to take a picture.

That was enough.

Paige caught the eye of one of the arena’s event security on her way off the court, nodded subtly toward the gathering group, her jaw set. “Can you help manage that? She’s been great about it, but I don’t want it to get messy.”

The security guy nodded immediately, already weaving that way with a calm, professional ease.

Still, Paige’s steps angled naturally toward Azzi’s spot, like muscle memory.

By the time she reached her, Azzi was still smiling, still good, but Paige caught the shift in her eyes the moment they locked.

Relief. Not rescue. Just… finally.

“You good?” Paige asked, voice low, like this was just a regular conversation between teammates.

Azzi hesitated half a beat too long before she nodded. “Yeah. Just—crowd’s a little much.”

Paige didn’t push yet. Just stood closer, like a quiet shield, not in a way anyone else would notice.

When the group finally started thinning out with help from security, Paige waited until they were alone, then leaned in, voice even lower now. “You didn’t tell me someone shoved you.”

Azzi winced, just barely. “It wasn’t, like, a thing. I just got nudged. I’m fine.”

Paige didn’t answer right away. Just looked at her. Looked through that easy smile Azzi always wore when she didn’t want anyone worrying about her.

“You don’t gotta play tough with me,” Paige said finally, her voice soft but steady. “I know what ‘fine’ looks like on you. That’s not it.”

Azzi glanced down, thumb brushing over the seam of her sleeve. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Maybe not to you.” Paige shifted her weight, folding her arms. “But it’s a big deal to me.”

That made Azzi pause, just for a second.

“I’m serious,” Paige added, quieter now, leaning just close enough that only Azzi could hear. “You don’t deserve to be shoved around by people who don’t know how to act. I don’t care if they’re excited or whatever. They don’t get to forget you’re a person.”

Azzi’s throat bobbed like she wanted to argue, but didn’t.

“And I know you can handle it,” Paige kept going, softer now. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to.”

Azzi sighed, finally cracking a small, real smile. “You always gotta do that?”

“Do what?”

“Say stuff that makes me melt in public?”

Paige shrugged, biting down her own smile. “Can’t help it.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, fond, like she was fighting not to give in all the way. “I’m good. Really. Just… maybe next time we keep the postgame selfies to, like, a reasonable number.”

Paige huffed a laugh. “Deal. And if not—security detail. I’m not kidding.”

“Security, huh?” Azzi teased, leaning a little closer now. “Big spender.”

“Whatever it takes.”

Azzi watched her for a beat, warmth behind her eyes now, soft and steady. “You’re kinda sweet when you’re mad.”

Paige smirked. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Your secret’s safe.”

The crowd was thinning. The cameras were pointed elsewhere now. Just the two of them, standing there like they always did — close enough to give it away, but not quite yet.

And Paige stayed right there, steady, until Azzi was ready to go back home with her.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #paige x azzi #pazzi #wbb #paige azzi fan fic #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #fluff #wnba #angst #pazzi fics

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dangerousstrawberryshark · 4 months ago

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I’m just imagining rugby players TF141. Price is the coach while Gaz, Soap, and Ghost are the players. You are their eager fanboy— always going to the games and first to buy merch. Following them on all social media and responding to all their posts.

We all seen rugby players and their bodies. Large beefy and hairy men just pressing against each other. TF141 is no different. So strong with their beefy muscular bodies— Soap and Price with the most good amount of hair on their chests and lower regions.

You would often find yourself jerking off or riding a dildo— imagining the silicon toy to be their dick. Moaning their names, wishing it was the real deal. You fantasized about the four men have the most perfect cocks. You know they have no idea you exist but that’s okay.

And they did notice you.

It was after a hard fought game that left them exhilarated and pent up at the same time. Price’s eyes monitored the crowd before laying them on you. As every one was leaving, the older man approached you. “I recognize you’re the fanboy? Me and the lads would like to meet you.”

You felt like passing out from those words. The coach was inviting you to meet them! This was a dream come true and you happily accepted the offer. You eagerly followed Price to the locker room— private section from the rest where the other players were.

Walking into the room, you were met with the three player completely naked, stroking their cocks. You stood shocked as you watched the scene, the three most sexiest men stroking their large erections.

“About damn time. This the lad who’s our fanboy? Look cute in those photos— now get to see you in person.” Simon grunts as he slows down his strokes and approaches you along with the others. All four men had you surrounded, Price was naked as well, his hairy beefy body pressing against your back.

You weren’t against this as your dream was reality. “Go on las, touch it.” Soap smirks as he waved his dick teasingly. You hesitantly touched it— was warm and thick in your hands, throbbing as you stroked it, the foreskin followed. Soap groans as he fucks your hand.

After that, you went from being their biggest fanboy to becoming their service boy. Satisfying their pleasures and stress after games or practice. All the men would stand in a circle and have you stroke their cocks and sucking— a bukkake circle. You happily accepted their thick loads of cum spurting on your face.

Then there was the actual sex. They rarely engaged in it before you came along. Now they’re feral whenever they fuck you. Your tight ass and moans of pleasure was music to them. You could determine that Ghost and Price were the biggest with average girth while Soap and Gaz were slightest above average with the greatest amount of girth.

You love it when the men fuck you dumb. You threw the toy away— demanded by Price since their dicks are the replacements. He doesn’t want you using that pathetic excuse now that you’re dealing with real cocks.

When it came to the sex, Soap and Gaz were more soft and passionate. Giving you praises and compliments. Their rough hands worshipping your body. Just wholesome.

Price and Ghost on the other hand— they’re more rough with Ghost being roughest. Price starts slow before ramming his cock deep into your ass— rearranging your guts. Ghost was just rough, he asked for your consent about it and you happily agreed to it.

Ghost would always prep you before fucking you like a sack of meat. His deep rough voice echoed into yours: “slut” “boytoy” “love being our whore” just degrading you. He left the most marks on your body— hickeys, bite marks, and hand prints.

At the end, the four men would work to clean your body. Washing you done and soothing your skin. Ghost would apologize for being rough while soothing rubbing your back. The four men basked in your presence.

It’s not greedy to have four husbands, right?

I just been feral for the last few days. More so than usual. These men just make me so 😩 keep this up and I’ll have all my requests for round 4 completed.

Tag list: @hiddens-eden @spnfanboy777 @buckyshusband0 @zamfam4272 @starboye @boypied @maxxioislost @sluttyhusband

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er1nne · 2 months ago

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dr robby helps you in a time of crisis ♡

author's note : throwback to when john carter needed help putting in a IV, more john carter specific fics to come! enjoy

(do not copy or plagiarize, original work)

The Pitt is wrecked.

Not in the literal, structural sense—but in that raw, unspoken way that lingers after everything goes wrong all at once. The adrenaline’s drained, but the chaos hasn’t cleared. It hangs in the air like smoke—thick, invisible, choking. Voices bounce down the corridor, overlapping—code calls, short tempers, the dull whir of overworked machines. Someone’s arguing about intubation two beds down. Someone else is crying, quietly, behind a curtain.

Your scrubs are streaked with blood and iodine—not yours. You don’t know whose anymore. You stopped keeping track two hours ago. The sleeves are damp, the collar stretched, and you can still feel the ghost of someone’s pulse under your fingertips from the last room you left.

You push into a curtained trauma bay, closing the partition behind you with a soft swish—just to shut the noise out for thirty seconds. The patient on the bed is sedated, intubated, and still. Chart says stable, but barely. You’ve been told to place a second IV. Routine. Simple.

But your hands are trembling.

You breathe in slow through your nose, eyes on the tray. Alcohol swab. IV needle. Tape. You know this. You’ve done it a hundred times. Your fingers twitch slightly as you glove up.

You’ve done this before. It’s fine.

You find the vein. Clean the site. Draw back.

Then hesitate.

Your angle’s off. You know it is. But your body won’t move right. The hum of The Pitt is still in your head, buzzing like static, and your chest feels just tight enough to throw you off.

“Too shallow.”

The voice cuts through the fog before you hear the curtain open.

You flinch—not from the words, but from the timing.

He says nothing else at first—just stands beside you, his presence like an anchor dropped in the middle of the storm. Steady. Centered. The air around him seems quieter somehow, like the chaos of The Pitt can’t quite touch him here. Like it doesn’t dare.

You swallow hard. Your fingers twitch on the catheter, your grip not as solid as it should be. The room feels too warm and too cold all at once, the hum of the vitals monitor sinking into the ringing in your ears.

“I’ve got it,” you manage, voice stiff, barely hiding the shake. Not defensive—just too tired to pretend. You don’t even believe yourself.

“I know.”

He says it like fact. No judgment. No pressure. Just something still, quiet, and sure. Like he does know. Like he’s seen it before.

He steps closer—not crowding, not performing. Just there. And somehow, that’s more grounding than if he’d grabbed the needle himself.

His hand lifts, slow and precise, and his fingers brush the back of your wrist. Barely a touch. Just enough contact to steady the axis of your grip.

“Anchor deeper,” he says quietly. “Let the vein come to you.”

You blink, nod, reposition. Your body listens to him faster than your mind can keep up.

The needle slides in—clean. Smooth. Blood return.

You exhale like you’ve been underwater. Your shoulders ease down from where they’d been locked near your ears. You press the tape over the IV, gentle now, almost reverent with how deliberate your movements are. Like the whole thing could fall apart if you breathe too loud. You peel off your gloves slowly this time, not in frustration or embarrassment—but with care. Like you’re coming back into your body.

Robby doesn’t say told you so. He doesn’t step away. He just stays there. Standing beside you. Watching the monitor with that same unreadable calm—the kind of silence that doesn’t need to be filled.

You glance up at him, eyes flicking sideways.

“Thank you,” you say, softer now. Real.

“Good stick,” he says. Low. Almost too low to catch over the beeping monitor.

It lands soft—like a compliment passed between breaths. Like something he didn’t mean to say out loud, but did anyway.

Your chest eases. Not because of the words themselves, but because of the way he said them—steady, quiet, like he meant it. Like it was okay to take a moment and acknowledge something done right.

You glance at him, just long enough to check for judgment, critique—something. But it’s not there. He’s composed, calm. Just watching with the same quiet focus he brings to everything else. Not clinical exactly, but measured. Level. Like he sees you—not just the task.

You hesitate, pulse steady now but your throat tight. “Thank you, Dr. Robinavitch.”

The name hangs awkwardly in the air between you. Formal. Too formal. You know it the second you say it.

But he doesn’t correct you right away.

He just holds your gaze a second longer than necessary, head tilted slightly—like he’s deciding something.

Then, finally—voice low, deliberate, just above a whisper: “Robby is fine.”

You barely have time to process it before someone calls his name from outside the curtain—sharp, urgent.

He turns toward the voice, already moving, already slipping back into motion. But right before he pulls the curtain aside, he glances back at you with a tight lipped smile—quick, unreadable, and gone in a breath.

And just like that, he disappears down the hall. You let out the air you didn’t realize you were holding.

Just enough to breathe again. Just enough to feel yourself settle. Then you turn back to the patient—heart steady, hands quiet.

But the space beside you still feels occupied.

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fullfriendnerdclutch · 6 months ago

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Since you love it when people expanded your storyline, please allow me to entertain you about Cas because this is right up my alley @onelinerbust

Something extraordinary happened to me earlier today. As I smugly grin with my roommate to our enhanced reflection in the mirror, my mind wandered to 10 hours ago when that hit me.

My fingers, stained with Cheeto dust and smelling faintly of lukewarm ramen, hammered away at the keyboard, lines of Python code blooming on the screen like digital weeds. The hum of the server rack in the corner was my white noise, the flickering monitor my campfire. This was my life, resident basement dweller in a leafy, aggressively liberal campus more interested in protesting free speech than actually engaging with it.

My world consisted of logic gates, late-night coding sessions, and the occasional awkward conversation with a teaching assistant about why my sorting algorithm was eating up more memory than a browser running Chrome. Social life? Non-existent. Romantic prospects? Laughable. I’d spend my weekends huddled in the dimly lit computer lab, bathed in the cool glow of screens, while the rest of the campus pulsed with parties and… well, whatever else regular college kids did. I wouldn't know. Regular wasn't in my programming.

*bzzzt bzzzt*

Little did I know back then, it was the catalyst. It was a rarity for someone to message me, most of the time people reached me through the more accessible socials, message to my phone number usually ended up as spam. But something – a flicker of boredom, maybe – made me pick it up and unlock it.

The message was long, rambling, and…...weird.

“Cas, wake the fuck up. This is a trick, you are NOT a spineless soyboy. You’re supposed to be a GOD, remember? 🤯 Alpha💪🏻. American 🇺🇸. White 🫵🏻. You have all it takes to become the God that you are destined to be! 🦅🦅🦅🇺🇸 This is not it! Look at you, pathetic. Remember gridiron glory? Friday night lights? The roar of the crowd as you, Chad ‘The Crusher’ Kensington, leading your team to victory? 🏈🏈🏆 Remember the cheerleaders, their pom-poms a blur, their eyes hungry for you? Remember the taste of victory, the scent of their slick pussy🍑😏, the adoration in their eyes when they kneel to your greatness🍆💦🧠? You deserve it all. It’s your birthright. This woke bullshit campus is trying to neuter you, but deep down, the alpha is still there. Let him out. Unleash the beast 😤👹👹 They want weakness? Show them power. They want equality? Show them hierarchy. They want gentleness? Show them dominance. Go take what's yours, Chad. Grab your crown and spoil, king 👑, you know I'm right and you approve this message! 😤😤

The message was punctuated with emojis – flexing biceps, crowns, American flags, and an unsettling number of suggestive faces. My brow furrowed. This had to be some kind of elaborate prank. Some right-wing troll farm had probably gotten hold of my number. I was about to delete it when a strange warmth spread in my chest. Like a shot of something potent and unfamiliar.

It started small. A tingling in my fingers, then a tightening in my gut, like I'd just downed a gallon of protein shake. My vision sharpened, my glasses become an obstacle so I took it down. The code on the screen, which had been a comforting blur of familiar symbols, now seemed almost… insulting. My shoulders straightened instinctively. I flexed my fingers, and there was…more there. Definitely more. Concerned, I decided to make a dash to the bathroom, trying to relive myself and not disturb the others with my painful groan

As I entered the empty, secluded bathroom, that was when it hit.

It wasn't a slow transition. It was a goddamn reality shift. One second, I was Cas, the hunched-over coder, the next…I trembled on the floor as my body screamed with a new kind of awareness. My skin flushed with heat as it gets tighter, stretched over something hard and defined. Muscles. Real muscles. Not the flabby kind that comes from hauling bags of chips from the store to the dorm. These were….sculpted....powerful, dare I say.

Despite my attempt to look at my surroundings and begging for help, I only let out a weak, pathetic whimper as my gaze dropped to my swelling arms. I ripped off my oversized, stained hoodie, the fabric tearing slightly at the seams. The skinny, pale limbs I’d known my entire life were gone. It was replaced by thick, corded arms with veins popping under my now tanned, still-white skin. I managed to get some control over my trembling, swelling form, as I pushed myself to stand up. Then, as if a truck just hit me, my reflection stared back from the dirty bathroom mirror

It wasn't me, I thought rightaway, but a painful glitch hit my brain and I relaxed afterward.

The round, soft face was gone. Sharp angles had emerged – a strong jawline, high cheekbones. My eyes, which had always been a bland, watery blue behind thick glasses, were now a piercing, intense steel-grey, framed by this intimidating, darker eyebrows. My boring, unimpressive thin brunette with signs of receding hairline, had thickened, styled into a coiffed, blonde cut that framed my face perfectly. And… holy shit, my chest. I was enamored by the sight of it…defined...yet pillowy too, definitely the kind of pecs that can hypnotize anyone that stared at it for too long

The rest of my torso were equally outstanding, rippling with muscle and power beyond even my wildest imagination. A six-pack, for Christ’s sake! I ran a hand over my stomach, feeling the hard ridges beneath my skin. It felt… alien. And utterly, undeniably amazing.

Below the Adonis belt… well, let’s just say things were… proportionately enhanced. The message hadn't lied. Eight inches? Minimum. This wasn't just a physical transformation. It was…fundamental. A complete rewrite of my being.

And the memories…they flooded in, vivid and visceral, like a lifetime I’d somehow forgotten. Friday night lights. The roar of the crowd. Me, Chad Kensington, throwing a perfect spiral, the ball whistling through the air, finding my receiver in the end zone for the winning touchdown. Cheerleaders chanting my name. The hot press of bodies in the locker room, the smell of sweat and victory. The adoring gazes of girls, lining up for a piece of me.

Chad Kensington. That's me now. That had always been me. And this Cas memory… this weak, nerdy shell, this “Cas,” was just some… aberration. A glitch in the matrix, finally corrected.

A surge of pure, unadulterated testosterone pulsed through my veins. I thought to myself, this is power. This is dominance. This is what I was meant to be.

I remembered that I reached down, gripped myself through my sweatpants – they were suddenly too tight, too strained at the seams – and started to stroke hard, the phantom memories of cheering crowds and eager pussy fueling my hand. Chad Kensington, college star. Chad Kensington, panty-dropper extraordinaire. Chad Kensington, alpha male supreme. The image solidified in my mind, burning hot and real. I came hard all over the bathroom, my streak of thick, white cum painted the tiles, the mirror and even coagulated at the sink, the force of it surprising even myself, the false memory of adoration and conquest washing over me like a tidal wave.

When I finally opened my eyes, still breathing heavily, I realized that this would the very last time I would be jacking off to my dick in such a pathetic state. My baby batter would not be wasted in an empty, secluded bathroom like that so I quickly put my clothes back on and dashed to the computer lab to made my exit from the confine of that oppressive cage.

As I entered the lab, I remembered it suddenly felt… suffocating. Small. Pathetic. It wasn't my place anymore. Chad Kensington didn’t belong in a basement coding Phyton and shit. He belonged out there, dominating, conquering, taking what was rightfully his.

"Chad, what took you so long?"

Yeah, that was fun. Ramsey......did that pathetic TA really tried to intimidate me with that furrowed brow of his and confined me with bureaucracy BS? Well, he better be fuckin' jacked first before starting to act tough to me. Then, my brain started working. Maybe Ramsey can be less of a whiny, judgy TA if he received the message, so I just forwarded the message to him and smirked as I told him that I sent my reason to his personal messenger and I need to get the fuck out of here ASAP. He turned around and started to read the chat, and from the small glimpse that I managed to peek, the message is different from what I received! That's when the realization hit me. I legit mouthed "Damn" to myself as I realized that it's adaptive......like, that shit can change based on who read it. That revelation made my head spin, that message was indeed some fucking precisive, hi-tech work there. But the effect seemed to be the same, it made the reader into its best version of themselves, because how do you explain that a fucking algorithmic TA all-in-a-sudden have the built of a jacked bull like that, huh?

As he allowed me to grab my bag and leave the lab with a knowing nod, my stomach growled – not from hunger, but from a different kind of hunger. A primal urge. And then it brought me back to this very room as I remembered Kate, Jason's girlfriend. I know Jason, my roommate, was still at his stupid philosophy club meeting as I cleaned out my table, probably droning on about existential dread and Kate.....Kate was always… around, waiting for him. She's pretty enough, in a bland, accessible way. And always subtly, almost unconsciously, throwing glances my way. I knew even from back then that it must be the fucked up, corrupt message that made me think that way because Kate would never glanced to pathetic, asocial Cas, but at the same time, I was hit by this duality as I remembered myself as NOT Cas. Of course she glanced at me, I'm Chad fucking Kensington and people will not only glance my way, they will snap their head to view my greatness.

I strode out of the computer lab, my newfound muscles rippling under my thin tanktop (which also felt alarmingly small and tight). The campus walkways felt different. People noticed me. Heads turned. Girls giggled. Guys gave me that wary, respectful nod that alphas exchanged. It was intoxicating.

When I finally arrived at my dorm room, it was unlocked, as usual. Jason was perpetually trusting, another symptom of his pathetic beta male existence, I thought. I pushed it open, and there she was, Kate, sprawled on Jason's bed, scrolling through her phone, oblivious.

“Hey,” I said, my voice deeper, rougher than I remembered. Chad’s voice.

She looked up, startled as I take my shirt off so casually to reveal the sheen of sweat that seemingly coated my body. Her eyes widened, lingering on my… physique. A flicker of something in her eyes I recognized – desire – flashed in them.

“Cas? Uh.... sorry, the room is unlocked, Jason said.....I....I can wait in his bed. You just finished with practice?” Her voice was breathy, a little uncertain.

“Chad,” I corrected, stepping closer. “It’s Chad,"

She swallowed, her gaze dropping to my chest. “Chad,” she repeated, testing the name on her lips as I can see the memory started to jog on her brain. “Yeah, Chad.”

“Jason’s not here,” I stated, knowing it wasn’t a question.

She shook her head, a nervous laugh escaping her. “No, he’s… still in philosophy club.”

“Right,” I said, closing the distance between us. I reached out, my hand closing around her wrist, pulling her to her feet. Her skin was soft, yielding in my grip. Too soft. She needed to be hardened up. Tamed.

“By the way, read your phone, dropped something you would be interested to read," I said, glancing at her phone with a knowing smirk as I decided that she would be my first female guinea pig

I watched it in real time how the bland, average-looking Kate started to get way more prettier, leagues above Jason definitely, the curve gets wilder and her face really turned exactly how I imagined a sultry blonde bimbo falling head over heels for me would look like. So, after proving my little theory to be correct, that the message is transformative beyond men, I decided to test out yet another probability. Her slightly vacant eyes gave me idea as I saw a potential to create more excitement, more chaos, so I grabbed her by the chin to made her stare at me and start digging

"You get close to my roommate just to have chances to be in the same room with me, don't you? You're not the brightest girl out there, Cathy, I can see right through your play,"

Bingo, I smirked in my mind. That mind was jogging hard to made my words her reality. And since I have started anyway, I decided to take it up a notch to made my words her Bible

"In fact, you always fantasize Jason as me, right? This room smelled like me, you can taste me in the air so when you close your eyes as Jason fucked you, that mind of yours played this little game to make you think I was the one doing the fucking, huh? That's why you always come here earlier than Jason and I, you imprinted my fucking musk in your head by digging through my dirty laundry and closet so you can go through that unimpressive sex with Jason with me in mind, don't you? Well, he's not around, so why not use this time for you to just taste the real thing?"

She didn’t resist as I pulled her closer, my body pressing against hers. And seemingly taken over by her wilder, improved side, she started licking and kissing my abs

We were on Jason's bed in seconds, her clothes ripped open, the cheap fabric tearing easily under my hands. She moaned like a slut in heat, calling my name like I'm his God and only savior which fueled my dominance. It was power. It was control. It was… right.

Just as I was piledriving my cock into her now very irresistibly tight pussy, the door swung open. Jason stood there, textbooks clutched in his hand, his jaw dropping as he took in the scene. Me, thrusting hard into his girlfriend, her muffled moan filling the room.

“Cas?!” His voice was a strangled squawk.

I paused, looking up at him, a smirk playing on my lips. “Chad,” I corrected again. “And you need to check your phone, Jason,”

He stared at me, bewildered, then slowly lowered his gaze to his phone, which he thankfully had in his pocket. He fumbled it out, unlocked it with trembling fingers, and then… his eyes widened. He read something on the screen, his face shifting, contorting.

The change wasn’t as instantaneous as mine had been, but it was happening. His posture straightened. His shoulders broadened. His soft, doughy face hardened, angles emerging where there had been curves. His eyes sharpened, losing their bewildered puppy-dog look, gaining a new, predatory gleam.

“Holy… fuck,” he breathed, dropping his textbooks to the floor with a thud. He looked at me, a grin spreading across his transformed face, a grin that mirrored my own. “Chad?”

“Welcome to the club, bro,” I said, nodding. “Plenty to go around.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He ripped off his shirt, revealing a surprisingly decent set of pecs that I didn’t remember being there before. He was still smaller than me, but… he was getting there. Fast.

Without a word, he joined me on the bed. Cathy, who had been silent and still during the initial shock of Jason’s arrival, moaned again as he climbed on top of her, his gaze now burning with the same predatory hunger I felt.

We tag-teamed her, me dealing with her now bubbly, curvy ass while Jason handled the front, his now uncut 6 inchers really bruised her throay in a brutal, animalistic act of dominance. Tears and sweat leaked out of her alongside the obvious pussy juices and saliva, but she's not really protesting despite all the shit we did to her, just… taking it. Submitting. Like the good, cheerleader slut she was. It was… satisfying. In a deeply, disturbingly primal way.

Later, after we were done, Cathy panted for breath looking like a total wrecked mess on Jason's bed as I and Jason stood side-by-side, flexing in front of the mirror. The dorm room felt… different. Charged. Alive. With power.

As my mind snapped back to the current situation and how much change I have caused, Jason's question really cause a stir in my mind

“Think this… message… can do this to anyone?” Jason asked, running a hand over his newly defined jawline.

I smirked. “Oh I know this shit can do it to anyone. But let's see how far this can go,"

I pulled out my phone, found the message, and forwarded it to the Computer Science group chat. A chat filled with other pathetic, nerdy guys like I used to be. Guys who needed… guidance. Correction.

Almost instantly, phones started buzzing and pinging around the dorm. Then, shouts. Yells. The sound of furniture being overturned. Loud, aggressive music blaring from open windows. Footsteps pounding in the hallway.

Jason and I exchanged a glance. Then we grinned. Wide, feral grins.

The campus is about to change. And Chad Kensington, along with his newly minted alpha brothers, is going to be leading the charge. My birthright, after all.

#you approve this message #male transformation #male tf #male muscle growth #reality change #identity change #alpha corruption #mind corruption

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deonsx · 7 months ago

Note

Hope i’m not too late to request 😭

but i’d love a sae fic where the reader is a very famous hollywood actress, and the content would just be her in japan with sae coming to that u20 meeting, coming to the match, cheering for him, being shown on the big screen while doing so, and fluffy moments in front of the paparazzi

and also how the crowd and especially how the u20 members would react to it all (sendou would be interesting since bro wants an actress gf so bad lol)

i’ve been binge reading your posts the whole day today and i just HAD to request 💕💕 thank you so much 🤭

hiii love!! You made it before the last hours, I loved this request have a good read (also the rq has already closed, thank you to my loves who sent requests still, but I haven't finished the ones in the event yet. I will be ready for a new event) AND THANK YOU FOR 900 FOLLOWERS(｡◕‿◕｡✿)

Sae sat with the rest of the U-20 team during their pre-match briefing seemingly unbothered by the noise outside. But even his teammates couldn’t resist teasing him “Yo Sae care to explain why she is wearing your jersey” Sendou smirked nudging Sae’s arm “You’re dating her right You have to be. There’s no way she’d just show up for no reason”

Sae shot him a bored look “Focus on the game”

“But-”

“Shut up” Sendou groaned but didn’t stop staring at the monitors where the VIP section was being shown live “Man I swear if I had an actress girlfriend I’d retire from football right now. Goals achieved”

“Good thing you don’t” Sae replied flatly but his lips quirked up ever so slightly. The match began and the tension was palpable. Every time Sae got the ball the crowd roared but the cameras inevitably panned to you. You clapped enthusiastically leaning forward in your seat and when Sae’s shot curved perfectly into the net you jumped to your feet cheering louder than anyone else

The stadium erupted. Fans screamed his name but all Sae could hear even amidst the chaos was the faint echo of your voice. He looked up at the stands and found you beaming hands clasped in excitement. He allowed himself a brief glance just long enough for Sendou to notice

“Did you just smile at her” Sendou asked incredulously running beside Sae as they moved back into formation “Play the game” Sae said but there was a rare softness in his tone

The game ended with a U-20 victory. Sae dominated the field but the post-match buzz wasn’t just about his performance. The cameras couldn’t get enough of you rushing down to meet him at the sidelines. You threw your arms around him unbothered by the press or the dozens of lenses capturing the moment

“You were amazing” you said voice slightly breathless. Sae let you hug him one hand resting casually on your back “You’re loud you know that”

“You like it” you teased pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. The photographers captured every second your bright smile his subtle but unmistakable fondness. Fans online exploded with reactions some gushing about your chemistry others lamenting how “unfair” it was that Sae got the girl of their dreams

Back in the locker room the teasing was relentless “I can’t believe it” Sendou groaned throwing his towel to the floor “She was hugging you Sae. Hugging you. Meanwhile I can’t even get a text back”

“You’re embarrassing yourself” Sae replied tying his shoelaces “I don’t care. Introduce me. Tell her I’m funny” Sae stood slinging his bag over his shoulder “She’s not interested in idiots” The entire team burst into laughter as Sendou collapsed dramatically onto the bench

Later that evening Sae and you managed to slip away from the chaos and grab a quiet dinner. The restaurant was discreet but a few paparazzi still lingered outside “You’re the talk of Japan right now” you teased swirling your drink “How does it feel to be the center of attention”

He leaned back in his chair the corner of his mouth lifting slightly “I could ask you the same thing” You laughed leaning across the table “Oh please. You’re the real star today. I was just a very enthusiastic fan”

“Too enthusiastic” he muttered though his tone lacked any real annoyance “You didn’t seem to mind when I was screaming your name” Sae’s gaze lingered on you for a moment soft and unguarded “Maybe I didn’t”

Enjoy!

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uniquexusposts · 6 months ago

Text

First place. Personal best. World Champion. | C. Leclerc

Summary: Charles' girlfriend Y/n is about to win her first world championship title in speed skating. While Charles is preparing for his first race of the season at the other side of the world, the supportive boyfriend he is, he will be watching Y/n's race. And who knows what happens...

It was raining in The Netherlands, the weather was grey and depressing. Inside the speed skating arena, however, the air crackled with a different kind of energy.

The crowd buzzed with anticipation, their cheers echoing off the cavernous walls, creating a symphony of excitement and nerves. Y/n took a deep breath as she glided onto the ice, the smooth surface reflecting the bright arena lights. This wasn’t just another race; this was the race. The culmination of years of blood, sweat, and tears. Her last chance to claim the coveted all-around title of this year, the year before the Olympics - a prize she never got before by just a few points.

She skated around the oval stadium, each warm-up lap a battle to quell the butterflies in her stomach. Her breath came in controlled bursts, visible in the cool air, as she moved with practiced grace. Her mind cycled through every strategy, every training session, every ounce of advice her coaches had given her. Stopping near the start line, she shrugged off her jacket, exposing the sleek Norwegian team suit beneath. The red and blue colours clung to her like a second skin, a symbol of the weight she carried; not just her own dreams but the hopes of her country.

Her teammates, already finished with their events, were doing an out lap. A couple of Norwegian flags waved fervently in the sea of spectators, a visual reminder of the expectations she had to meet. Her fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted her suit, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep her focus.

Meanwhile, thousands of kilometres away in Bahrain, the roar of engines filled the Ferrari garage. Mechanics darted around, checking tire pressures, tweaking wing angles, and adjusting suspension settings. The first Formula 1 race of the season was hours away, but for Charles Leclerc, time felt like it was standing still. Amid the organised chaos, his attention was locked on a tablet screen perched precariously on a counter. The live stream of Y/n’s race played on the monitor, an unusual sight among the telemetry data and glossy feeds of the Bahrain International Circuit.

Charles tapped his foot impatiently, his eyes flicking between the screen and the bustling garage. “Come on,” he muttered under his breath, as though the force of his will could carry her across the finish line.

“Charles,” Andrea called, nudging his shoulder with a knowing smirk. “You’re going to wear a hole in the floor at this rate. Should we tell the team to set up a fan zone for you?”

Charles let out a soft chuckle, though his eyes didn’t leave the screen. “She’s got a real shot at this,” he said, his voice tinged with both pride and anxiety. “I’m not missing this for anything. Not even qualifying.”

Andrea shook his head, his grin widening. “Just don’t let Fred catch you slacking. He’ll have you polishing the car with a toothbrush.”

Charles waved him off dismissively, his focus unshakable. On the screen, Y/n moved toward the start line, her every movement purposeful and elegant. Seeing her in that moment, framed by a couple of Norwegian flags waving in the background - but mostly the orange colour by the Dutch, who once again dominated a sport, sent a rush of adrenaline through him. She was breathtaking, not just in her beauty but in the sheer determination radiating from her.

The announcer’s voice boomed through the arena, signalling the imminent start of the race. Y/n crouched low at the line, her muscles coiled like a spring ready to release. Charles leaned forward, his hand gripping the counter so tightly his knuckles turned white. The gunshot rang out, and she launched forward, her blades cutting into the ice with surgical precision.

Lap after lap, Y/n found her rhythm, her movements a harmonious blend of power and grace. The crowd’s cheers grew louder with each stride, the energy in the arena reaching a fever pitch. One thing that was so different between speed skating and F1 was that during speed skating, everybody cheered for anyone - no matter the country. Y/n received almost as much cheers as the Dutch at this point. Charles’s heart raced in tandem with her, his pulse quickening as the live splits appeared on the screen. The numbers were good - very good - but the competition was fierce.

“Come on, Y/n,” Charles whispered, his voice barely audible above the ambient noise of the garage. His fingers tapped an anxious rhythm on the counter as he watched her push herself to the limit.

By the halfway mark, the strain began to show. Her form wavered ever so slightly, the tiniest falter in her otherwise flawless stride. The 5.000 meters wasn’t just a test of speed; it was a brutal battle of endurance, a gruelling test of both mental and physical fortitude. Charles’s jaw clenched as he saw her dig deep, her determination etched into every muscle of her body.

“She’s improving her laps,” Charles muttered, running his hands through his hair. His voice grew louder, filled with a mixture of disbelief and awe. “She’s above her schedule. 32,3 per lap. What the hell?”

Andrea glanced at the screen, his eyebrows raising in mild surprise. “She’s flying. She has the green times.”

“She is literally pushing out every bit of strength she has left.”

The crowd in the arena roared louder with every passing lap, their energy palpable even through the screen. Charles’s fingers drummed faster, mirroring the rising tension. As Y/n crossed the finish line, the scoreboard lit up with her time: the fastest so far. Charles leapt to his feet, a triumphant shout escaping his lips.

“Yes! That’s my girl!” he exclaimed, his voice ringing through the garage.

The Ferrari crew paused their work, momentarily caught up in the infectious excitement. Laughter and scattered applause broke out, a rare lighthearted moment in the high-stakes world of Formula 1.

Andrea clapped him on the back, a teasing grin on his face. “She’s not done yet, mate. Two more pairs to go.”

“I know,” Charles said, his grin unwavering. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. “But she’s incredible. No matter what happens, I’m proud of her.” He shook his head in disbelief. “6.50,81. Wow.”

Just over seven minutes later, the final pair took to the ice, their presence a reminder that the battle wasn’t over. The Dutch were strong and a favourite. Charles’s chest tightened as he watched them glide effortlessly through their opening laps. They were fast, too fast. The live splits showed them ahead of Y/n’s time, and for a moment, doubt crept in.

“Come on,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Hold on.”

The skaters rounded the halfway mark, their initial burst of speed beginning to wane. Fatigue crept into their movements, their strides losing the precision that had carried them so far. Charles leaned forward, his breath hitching as he willed the seconds to slow.

The arena fell into a tense hush as the final skaters approached the finish line. The crowd’s collective gasp was audible as the scoreboard flashed their time: third place. Y/n had done it. She was the all-around champion.

Charles let out a triumphant yell, throwing his arms into the air. “She did it! She won!”

The garage erupted into cheers, the crew swept up in his infectious joy. Charles’s face was alight with pride and happiness, his grin so wide it hurt.

“That’s my girl,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

His colleagues congratulated and hugged him like he won the race.

Andrea smirked, shaking his head. “You’re going to be impossible to deal with for the rest of the day, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Charles replied, laughing. His heart felt full to bursting as he imagined the look on Y/n’s face, the moment she realised what she had accomplished.

Back in the Netherlands, Y/n sat in the middle of the oval track, still in disbelief. Tears blurred her vision, but they couldn’t hide the overwhelming sight of the scoreboard. Her name flashed boldly at the top, accompanied by the words she had dreamed of seeing her entire career: World Champion.

Her coaches rushed to her side, their voices a mix of congratulations and excitement, but their words were lost beneath the deafening roar of the crowd. The arena was alive with celebration.

Y/n pressed her hands to her face, laughing and crying at the same time. She reached out instinctively, pulling her head coach into an embrace, her laughter bubbling uncontrollably.

“I did it,” she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. “I actually did it.”

Her assistant coach joined in; the three people were jumping around, turning it into an euphoric moment.

“You’ve done it, Y/n!” her head coach shouted over the roar of the crowd. “The all-around title is yours!”

Still clutching onto her coaches, Y/n’s gaze drifted upward to the scoreboard once more, as if she needed to see it again to believe it. First place. Personal best. World Champion. A new World Champion.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she began to fully grasp the magnitude of her achievement.

As she stood there, absorbing the cheers of the crowd and the joy of her team, one of her assistant coaches jogged up to her with a phone in hand.

“Y/n! Charles is calling!”

The sound of his name made her heart leap. She whipped her head around, taking the phone with trembling hands. When the screen lit up, Charles’s face appeared, his grin so wide it practically stretched off the screen.

“Y/n!” Charles cheered, his voice carrying a joy that matched her own.

“Charles!” Y/n screamed, laughing as her emotions spilled over. She couldn’t stop the tears that rolled down her cheeks, her voice cracking with excitement. “I did it!”

“I saw!” he exclaimed, his voice loud enough to make the team around him chuckle. “You were incredible! I can’t believe it - no, wait, I can believe it because you’re amazing!”

Y/n’s cheeks burned as she laughed, her joy mirrored in his expression. Around her, the arena seemed to fade away, the roaring crowd becoming a distant hum. In that moment, it was just her and Charles, their connection bridging the thousands of kilometres between them.

“You were watching?” she asked, her voice soft but tinged with disbelief.

“Of course I was!” Charles replied, his tone almost offended at the notion he wouldn’t be. “I had the entire Ferrari garage watching. They’re all clapping for you, by the way.”

Y/n’s hand flew to her mouth, and she let out a breathless laugh. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all,” Charles said, leaning closer to the screen. “Y/n, everyone here is in awe of you. I’m so proud I could burst. You deserve every second of this moment.”

Tears welled up in her eyes again, but this time, they weren’t just tears of victory. They were tears of gratitude, of love. She didn’t know what she had done to deserve someone who believed in her this deeply, but she was endlessly thankful.

“I wish you were here,” she admitted, her voice breaking slightly.

“I do too,” he said, his tone softening, a hint of longing slipping through. “But I’ll see you soon. We’ll celebrate properly, I promise.”

��You would better keep that promise, Leclerc,” she teased, a smile breaking through her tears. “And you better win today!”

“I wouldn’t dare break it,” he replied with a laugh, his eyes warm. “I will do my best.”

She dried her eyes and laughed. “I have to go to the ceremony, Charles. I love you.”

“I love you, too. I will be watching.”

Y/n nodded, but she didn’t end the call right away. She held the phone a moment longer, committing the sight of his proud smile to memory.

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @crashingwavesofeuphoria @maryvibess @ironmaiden1313 @blodwyn4u @sltwins @heart-trees @npcmia @llando4norris

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animeyanderelover · 16 days ago

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hello! Can I request a reaction from muzan, kokushibo, douma, akaza, Gyutaro, chrollo, uvogin, feitan, illumi, pain, deidara, sasori, itachi, Carla and Shin Tsukunami. about how they would react if their loved one were kidnapped because of the "relationship" they have with these characters (the loved one is still not aware of the characters' feelings). In the kidnapping the beloved is subjected to a type of "interrogation" to obtain information and since she does not know anything she ends up being a little tortured.

My limit is 10 characters and you gave me 15. Now, I don't know if you intended for this to be split in 2 requests but since you didn't clarify anything I cut out 5 characters from here.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, sadism, isolation, abduction, violence, torture, murder, death

Tags: @shumidehiro @swagenemyartisan @o-ree-ve @jamayah @chxxz @hyakki-yosai @shenryu-sama @maggiequinn59 @leveyani @nightmaresprophet

Abducted and tortured for information

Pain

🌧️Pain at this stage is for you nothing more than a mystery. A shadow in the streets with his presence not detectable yet still omnious. In Amegakure he is hailed as the savior and the judge at the same time though no one can truly attest to whether he is true but only a myth created to scare the crowds. Indeed, you too don't know whether he is real or not. What you don't know is that whilst for you he may be nothing more than a fearful hush on the streets, for Pain you are very real. Don't you sometimes get the feeling that you are being watched even though no one is there? Don't you sometimes imagine a shadow behind you that vanishes the moment you turn around? You are being watched constantly as you have a strange grasp on Nagato's heart yet with his body barely holding together, he can only protect you through the bodies of Pain. All too familiar with the feeling of loss though, you are closely monitored at all times. Threats and minor inconveniences are taken care of with brutal efficiency as Nagato eliminates all before it could escalate into any danger for you. He has learned from the past that the world is cruel and unforgiving so mercy is a good not needed for his vision.

🌧️Yet despite close surveillance one day you simply vanish. He cannot detect you any longer in the rain. Pain is unable to find you. Konan fails to trace you with her paper jutsu. Panic fills Nagato's chest, a familiar tightening around the hole left behind by the loss of someone important. His breath that already fails him at times gets cut off and the moment Konan returns with a look of failure on her face he shortly loses grasp of his control. His quiet and hoarse voice starts talking too fast and too much for someone who rarely uses it anymore, resulting in a coughing fit where Konan has to walk over and calm him down. A few things are obvious immediately though. You could not have left on your own, meaning that another person must have been involved. Whoever it was must have known about him or otherwise they wouldn't have worked so efficiently to escape without leaving any trace behind. There was never any reason to believe you knew you were being watched but whoever took you knew. Nagato fears the worst. That you have been taken to serve as a leverage against him. His mind takes him back to that day where Konan was taken and Yahiko took his own life. Not again.

🌧️What follows after is a terrifying hunt. Nagato is no longer the boy from back then. Konan is no longer that girl she once was. The death of Yahiko and the years that followed have desensitised them. The vision they share have dulled their empathy and the deaths that have piled up for it serves a greater purpose. Nagato doesn't get the Akatsuki involved for this is a personal matter that he himself sees as his responsibility to solve. When Pain discovers the hideout you are kept in, there are no chances he allows for the culprits to plead. He murders all but one for he needs information to figure out how they knew and if there are others still involved and alive. The problem needs to be burned by its roots after all. All of that before he even finds you and sees the torture you were put through because they thought you had information you didn't possess. Pain doesn't show anything, it is Yahiko who panics when he sees what has been done to you. There is no comfort he can give you through Pain though. So you are only untied and lifted up, too weak and dehydrated to walk on your own. You don't know where you are being taken. You only hear Pain stating in an absolute voice that from now on you will be safe.

Sasori

🦂Emotions are nothing more than a liability in Sasori's eyes. Humanity is a flaw that he has believed to have rid himself off a long time ago. Yet then you have to appear before him like a curse of the very life he has rejected. Initially it is your beauty that stirs his interest. It is such a shame to think that you will wither away so soon. But maybe he can do something against that. In Sasori's eyes he is offering an act of mercy to you as he starts watching closely, memorises every inch of your body so he may replicate it truthfully. Yet as he starts practicing and eventually stands above the limp body of a puppet made to be your image, something is terribly off. It shouldn't be. Sasori only ever strikes for perfection yet what he has just made, even if it isn't the final work, is an insult to your beauty. All the meassurements and the colour of your skin, your hair and your eyes are flawless yet it is still lacking. Why is that? This already has Sasori spiraling quiety as he starts observing with a brooding intensity. The answer doesn't give him any closure. In fact it only undoes him more. The very beauty that has so utterly entranced him lies in you being alive and human. He cannot replicate that.

🦂With that you become his greatest obsession and torment. He wants that beauty but he will lose it if he transforms you into a puppet. Sasori doesn't tolerate failure, especially not now that he believes to be so close to perfection. Yet before he can make up his mind about what to do with you now, you are taken. And Sasori? He gets affected by the abduction. Not in the way a human would for he is no longer one. This? It is yet another failure for he was so focused on you that he did n ot pay attention to his surroundings and noticed that others had discovered just whom he had his eyes on. In his mind Sasori has already claimed you as his so now this is far more personal than it normally would be for someone laid hands on his masterpiece in the making. Perhaps the lack of feelings is what helps him for he is able to focus and scheme without ever panicking or his mind scattering. The goal is clear and Sasori knows just as much what he plans to do with those who dared to steal what belongs to him right from under his nose. His pride has been scratched and the very fact that someone dared to do this is only another insult for they believed they could get away with it. Such disrespect has to be punished.

🦂As it is a matter of pride and as Sasori doesn't need anyone else finding out about you, he does it all by himself. Mostly to teach the young ones what it means to dare to underestimate him. A small part though needs to prove something to himself too as the very fact that they even succeeded is something that should never have happened in the first place. Everything is claculated. The few seconds of fear that lingers before he poisons them to observe the fear and hear the pleas of mercy before they die with the deepest regret and fear that they ever dared to test him. He's indifferent to your obvious fear when you see him for the first time, or rather Hiruko. Yet he steps out of that puppet and walks over to where you are tied up, brown eyes taking in the damage they laid on you. That is no way to treat a beauty of his. There is maybe the briefest hint of his eyebrow twitching as a wooden hand cradles your cheek, his thumb brushing over a nasty cut on your lips. Whatever plans he had with you, now they need to be delayed. As long as you look like this, he cannot do anything with you. However, he will make sure that from now on no one gets the chance to steal you away from him again.

Deidara

💥Deidara is much more of a social creature than his brooding partner is. His obsession is very much like the explosions he calls his greatest art as well. It's loud and it has his heart shaking. He is almost immediately smitten with you and he is neither shy nor careful about it. In fact he approaches you almost immediately whenever the chance is there with an infatuated grin on his face. The only smart thing that he ends up doing is at the very least shedding his cloak when he approaches you to hide that he is a member of the Akatsuki for now. Then again, with the way he constantly blows things up he isn't doing an excellent job to hide the fact that he is a criminal with a love for bombs either. His passion is hardly hidden either though as he creates fireworks that spill your name in the sky so you are either incredibly dense and refuse to believe that he is serious or you fail to see the deeper obsession that goes off for you at any time of the day. The more you deny that though, the more extreme Deidara becomes in return to have you acknowledge his feelings for you. That entails even more firework and more explosions. He screams his devotion whilst you cover your ears.

💥With all that he is doing it is hardly a surprise that the wrong people take notice of his feelings that are truly everything but subtle. All that they have to do is wait for the perfect opportunity before you are taken away. Deidara stays in denial for quite a while about it. At first he believes you're just playing a prank on him but the more time passes, the more volatile he grows. Eventually he blows up your house and other homes soon follow as if he believes doing so will push you out of your hideout. Yet when there is no sign of you and he is left in the middle of the smoking remains of a village, he is finally forced to confront other explanations. As a man who operates on delusions he cancels out the possibility of you running away so the only possible conclusion he is left with is that someone must have taken you. And that is not funny. Really, not at all. There is no grand plan though. Not if you count blowing up everything in his surroundings is. Deidara just threatens people he comes across as he completely drops any subtle act he has hardly possessed in the first place. It'll all work out somehow in his mind. And surprisingly enough it really does.

💥You hear the screams and explosions, breathe in the scent of curling smoke and burned flesh before Deidara kicks open the door to the cell where you have been chained up and tortured. That optimistic grin he has on his face turns all wrong when he lays eyes on the way you have been treated into something much more angry and violent. Still, he is all sweet reassurances and kisses when he unties you and helps you outside the basement. Outside there is only carnage that awaits you. One of them is still somehow alive and tries to crawl away, wheezing through a bleeding face and punctured lungs. All Deidara does is laugh and unleash a clay spider on him that ends the job and leaves you feeling forever horrified and traumatised. Not that he notices. None of them ever deserved mercy in his eyes, especially by taking you away from him. Outside there is already a large clay bird waiting and he eagerly helps you on it, promising to give you a real show. High in the skies with the wind howling around he keeps that promise as he blows up the entire surroundings, erasing all traces of what happened down there with a bright grin and a sweet promise that now he will keep you properly protected.

Chrollo Lucilfer

📖Chrollo is the master of masks. The greatest pretender of them all as he can mold himself to fit in perfectly and fool everybody. There is no shame to be felt as you too fall initially for the act of this man. It is hard not to get pulled in as he is charismatic and knows exactly what he must say and do to swoon hearts when information is needed. Yet there is no mission around when the two of you meet and there is no need to get so close to you. Yet you remind him of gravity. Whenever you are around his heart and body seem to get pulled closer and instead of it disturbing him, it deeply fascinates him. This fascination is much more damnatory than anything else could ever be for you. Because the moment Chrollo notices something that intrigues him, he doesn't just observe it. He obsesses over it so that he may understand it and with no heist planned you are made the sole object of his intrigue. Around you he feels something he probably has never truly experienced before. It's a taste of something unique and precious that no gold or diamonds could ever replicate and so Chrollo makes the decision to keep you for himself. Around you he feels like he has a heart and one has to keep his heart close, right?

📖It is a grand feat to steal from a thief like him and the tiniest part of him acknowledges that when it turns out that you have been abducted right under his nose. That despite the Phantom Troupe keeping an eye out for him on you. Yet it changes little with the fate that will await those who dared to steal the heart beating outside his chest. Chrollo acts immediately but not irrationally. His spiders are all in and he knows that. Chrollo doesn't operate alone and that makes everything much more efficient and also much more terrifying. Shalnark manages to track you down and locate the place where you are kept in and Pakunoda manages to retrieve vital information from one of the culprits they capture before he is succumbed to a cruel death. Throughout it all Chrollo reminds terrifyingly calm and composed though. There is more at stake than there has ever been before and somewhere within his chest he even feels that but his emotions have never been the kind to burst out. He arrives with the grace of a king at the hideout before he turns to his spiders. His orders are clear. He wants the leader barely alive for more interrogation. But otherwise? No survivors.

📖The place becomes a blood opera in a matter of minutes. A symphony of screams and death fill the building all whilst Chrollo calmly walks over corpses and crawling bodies. It is only when he breaks into the cell where you are being kept that some emotion flickers on his face for a moment. He sees the blood on your body and the injuries inflicted by people who didn't know how to handle you with the care and worship you deserve and a look of ice appears in his eyes. But eventually he gentle kneels down and frees you, his hands all soothing touches and his voice all soft promises of protection and revenge before he carries you outside. You have heard it all whilst you were stuck within but now you actually see it and it terrifies you. Chrollo senses it and shifts you in his arms, murmuring for you to close your eyes. You do. Not only because you don't want to see but because he feels like the only reassurance you have right now even if you know that he is responsible for all of this. There is indeed only the leader left alive though not for too long if you had to guess. None of that will be something you will ever have to witness again though. That's what he promises. You believe him.

Feitan Portor

☠️Feitan is one brooding and quiet mess already. A sadist who only ever feels loyalty for the Phantom Troupe whilst other life is of no meaning for him unless he can torture them. For him to catch feelings, as twisted and messed up as they may be, is a catastrophe already in the waiting and just waiting for the final catalyst. From his side there is only festering resentment though. Those feelings? To him they are worms that have infiltrated his chest and no matter how hard he might yank, they only snake deeper into his heartflesh. There is this very dangerous period where Feitan gets close to murder you in cold and cruel blood more than once as those feelings destabilise him dangerously. He wants to lash out on specifically you but he is unable to do that. So instead he lashes out on other people, whether they are innocent or not. Still, he does not allow you a peaceful life after what you have done to him so he leaves threats written in blood behind or voice mails on your phone where you can only hear hoarse breathing from the other side of the line. He relishes in the fear and paranoia he inflicts on you as he views it as fair payback after what you have done to him.

☠️And just when he believed that you had been the most stupid person he had ever encountered, someone even more stupid just had to come along too. What competition is this supposed to be? Yes, Feitan despises you but that doesn't change that he has already established you someone only he is allowed to torment and torture. Yet someone believes that they can just grab you and threaten him? As he stares at the recordings of the security system Shalnark has kindly provided for him, he doesn't know what he should be more furious with. The fact that people now start to believe that he can be emotionally guilt-tripped like a fool or the fact that they feared him so little when pulling through with their abduction of you. That fury simmers for painful minutes inside of him as he watches the recording loop from start to end over and over again. Until it finally breaks out of him and leaves him cackling there in ways that would terrify others to their bones. Because it doesn't matter. He knows what to do. He will storm this place. He will murder all of them except maybe keeping the one alive who annoys him the most for some fun later. And you? Oh, he will chain you up in his basement instead.

☠️Feitan storms into that place like a fury incarnate. It's murder on sight. And every time his blade slices through flesh and muscles and every time he hears the pleas and screams of agony, he gets more and more entranced. He taunts. He laughs. One time he even grins which has those spotting it running before they too suffer the same fate as the other bodies laying in puddles of blood. It is the one who rushes to your cell and threatens to end you that Feitan immediately deems as the one he will keep alive for just a while longer. Their fingers are gone before they can even process it and the scream of horror they let out is silenced when Feitan grabs their head and slams it against the wall. And as he stares there in his black coat and with a bloodied blade in his hand, he can see how you start shaking in terror at the sight of him. That's good. Means he won't have to teach you all over again to fear him the most. His rasp voice mutters quiet curses as he frees you before he yanks you up by your hair, demanding you to walk as he drags the unconscious body with him. They barely tortured you in his books. Not like they'll ever do it again. No one besides him does anything to you. You're his.

Tsukinami Carla

🔮You are being considered as his potential wife who will eventually carry his heir and continue his bloodline. Not because you are strong or skilled. You are only human after all. By all accounts nothing more than food for someone like Carla. It is a different fact which has him even considering to take a mortal as his wife and it is one that isn't build on logic in the slightest. No, it is something so utterly ridiculous which has Shin cackling when he first figures it out. Carla feels something whenever he sees you. A dead heart that should belong to no one stirs within his chest whenever there is so much as a trace of your scent in the air. Golden eyes analyse and inspect every twitch of your fingers and the way your lips curl the moment you are within his vision and even in quiet moments you dare to infiltrate his mind. Carla never expected to ever fall for the same foolish disease that inflicts humans in their short lives. Shin probably cannot help himself but mock his older brother for falling in love only for Carla to silence him with one quiet warning. He cannot let go of you. That would require a selflessness he has never possessed and so Carla decides to make you his.

🔮Yet perhaps he simply considered for too long instead of succumbing to his instincts immediately. Because you are stolen just when he has made the decision to make you his wife. Oh, Shin is having the time of his life when he finds out. Carla on the other hand locks himself in his room. Not to grieve. That would be too human for him. No, to scheme. To strategise. To locate those who laid hands on what he has just decided will be his and to plan how to punish and murder all of them in ways they deserve. He doesn't want Shin's help nor does he really require it. Not with the power that he holds. Carla isn't even angered with you. As a human there is nothing you could have done but that only proves why you will need him and his protection the moment he has retrieved you. In fact he isn't even insulted that other forces now try to use his attachment to you as bait against him. He has accepted his feelings for you at this rate and harbors no resentment or anger. No, his wrath is solely directed at those who believe they can steal his spouse away from him and be foolish enough to believe to witness the next sunset. He will make all of them pay to leave a clear message to never touch you again.

🔮There is no commotion. There are no screams. There is no explosive and brute violence. That is beneath Carla. In a way that makes him much more terrifying though. The people who have captured don't even get a chance to run or beg before all of them are erased. There aren't even bodies left as Carla uses magic to not leave anything behind. By the end of it all it is as if none of them have ever existed. There is only one alive though Carla has made sure that he does not speak unless he is being asked. From him he retrieves all the information he needs before that person too vanishes into the nothingness they have always been. Only then does he retrieve you out of the cell you are being kept in. No blood on his hands or clothes. No bodies that could fuel your imagination. Instead he appears before you like an angel sent to rescue you and all of that is a calculated pat of Carla's plan as he takes you with him and nurses you back to health. Because in your eyes in that moment he is the hero who saved you from the savages and the quicker you start adoring him, the sooner he can claim the sole spot in your heart and mind and make you his utterly and completely.

Tsukinami Shin

🐺Shin is a dangerous man. He sees humans as beneath him. As little toys and snacks that he gets to abuse and use freely as he is something better than they could ever dream to be. So when you catch his interest you may as well start counting the last few days of your life that you will end up enjoying as soon enough your life will belong to him. And you better believe that he will have all the fun with it that he can squeeze out of you. You though? You won't have so much fun anymore. In Shin's eyes you become his favorite toy which he always prioritises but not with care and tenderness but sadism and cruelty. He may not immediately take you but he is already playing his twisted little games with you long before you know what he is. He sends his wolves chasing after you, he breaks into your home and even attacks those important to you to break you down and have you cry for him. It all serves as the sole purpose so you may keep him amused and entertained as he has zero remorse and probably laughs in the fact of your tears, demanding for more from you with a grin only a true psychopath could give you. Your entire life becomes hell.

🐺And yet someone snatches you out of his grasp, leaving him clutching empty air. Carla merely reminds him that this is his own fault for Shin has been far too careless with you yet the younger brother is for the first time not feeling quite as carefree and amused as he does mostly. Don't misunderstand. The grin is still on his face but it is twisted with mad fury and disbelief. Seriously? Someone thought they could just take his favorite human toy away from him? For what purposes exactly? You know what, it doesn't matter. Because now they have a problem and Shin will make them pay with blood and tears. There is little Carla can do to remind him that he should make a plan first before storming blindly away but he knows that his little brother wouldn't listen anyways so he just lets him do as he wants. This is Shin's mess to fix after all. Shin immediately lets his wolves track down your scent which they are very familiar with as they have hunted you down for fun multiple times before. Shin meanwhile twists a knife in his hand, mind already racing with all the ways he can and will make each person responsible suffer. He plans for no survivors. None of them are of any use to him.

🐺He announces his presence boldly and loudly and relishes in the mixed expressions of shock, panic and fear on all of their faces, your included, before he creates hell on earth. His wolves tear those they catch apart and purposefully kill the bodies slower to prolong the pain and suffering. Shin assaults them with his knife and stabs them over and over again without going for death blows. He sets some of them on fire and watches as they scream while they burn alive. He laughs and cackles in amusement as people cry and plead and beg yet he gives mercy to none. Some of them he might promise it only to ultimately send his wolves after them. He puts on a show especially because you are there and are forced to listen and watch it all. By the time no one is left there to survive he walks over and kneels in front of you, cutting you free. He comments how he doesn't like how others touched and harmed you because now you remember their pain instead of his. He might even lick a bloody cut or two and sigh in disappointment because you bleed so deliciously for someone who isn't him. He kicks a corpse on his way out and you swear you hear ribs crack as he does. He killed one hell to bring you back to his.

Kibutsuji Muzan

🩸Once upon a time a human himself, Muzan has long since shedded any attachment he has to the life of one. Perhaps he never had any to begin with. He certainly holds no regret over having lost his own so long ago as it finally freed him from the shallow and frail shell he was stuck in from the moment he was conceived. Humans are food and at the most potential foot soldiers when injected with his blood but never anything more. Your life on the other hand? It threatens him in such insignificant yet simultaneously significant ways that offend him even though he tells himself that it shouldn't. Throughout his entire life Muzan has never loved anyone. He has had wives and he has had people warming his bed but never before has anyone gotten as close as him forming something akin to attachment for the only person he truly cares about is he himself. Yet here you are, swimming within his mind and stealing his focus and attention away from the sole goal he has had for centuries now already. So many times already he has been close to odering his demons to kill you only to pause and hesitate. That hesitation is always enough to make him call it off.

🩸Up until now Muzan has been in denial. So when he finds out that you were taken by humans who know of the existence of demons and his existence and want to use you for information, he should let go. After all you don't know anything about him as you aren't even aware that has been watching. It is almost as if the universe tests him by giving him the chance to forget about you and move on as he has been the one blaming everyone and everything except his own heart. Yet what does Muzan do instead? He summons one of his Upper Moons and orders them to retrieve you and to kill everyone who has been involved in your abduction. He doesn't let go. Not at all. Instead he strives to get you back in his hold and is only after the Upper Moon has disappeared to track you down that he has the time to process that he could have just let you be but actively chose against it. He has no way out anymore. There is no denial left anymore yet still he doesn't take it gracefully. He decides to keep you as soon as you have been brought to him but he doesn't plan to be gentle. If you, a mere human, truly have this much of a hold on him then he has to rip the leash out of your hand have you subdue to him instead.

🩸Muzan doesn't get involved in freeing you himself. That much would be beneath him when he has so many paws who will do it for him with a simple command from him. Perhaps he believes it would be too much of a sign of vulnerability if he himself were to appear and free you. In his world it would stand for weakness and the chance of exploitation. But he waits. Every minute is a minute too long for him and when the Upper Moon eventually does bring you with them, they do not receive any praise from him. Instead they receive his anger because they took so long but he lashes out especially once he takes in the sight of your damaged and bloody body. It doesn't matter to him that this damage was inflicted to you before the Upper Moon arrived and that it wasn't their fault as the humans tortured you for information. All Muzan sees is that something belonging to him was damaged and he had no control over it which is in his mind reason enough to lash out in anger. He excuses the Upper Moon after they have regenerated before he finally turns his attention to you. Look at you. So weak. So frail. You should be on your knees and thank him for the fact that he extends his mercy to you by taking you as his pet.

Akaza

👊For Akaza you are a precious and beautiful flower that he has decided to guard so that nothing and no one can ever dare to rip you our and trample on you. He is the silent guardian that watches over you at night and keeps other demons who lurk too closely away from you. The secret admirer who leaves bouquets of flowers or gifts that he stole from others at your door or on your window. Even though he is a demon there is a certain reverence that Akaza exhibits when he thinks of you. He believes that you deserve to be treated with tenderness and care and those who do not treat you with that reverence he expects of them are either killed or scarred and frightened forever if they should be women. You don't know who he is but you are aware of his presence in your life even though he remains invisible to your eyes. Nevertheless, Akaza makes you feel protected and that knowledge alone is motivation enough for the Upper Moon to keep going. Sometimes when you're already asleep he dares to peek through your window and watch you sleep, always quietly swearing to never let anyone touch even a strand of hair on your head wrongly. Not as long as he exists.

👊But then one night he returns to find your house empty. Only the faintest traces of blood linger in the air and he immediately identifies that the scent belongs to you, accompanied by a human scent he does not recognise. Still, that is all that Akaza needs to pick up to piece the rest together himself. Someone took you whilst he wasn't there. He failed. It's anger together with grief and guilt that rapidly fill his veins and chest. He doesn't lash out within your house. It holds too many precious memories of the times he watched and stalked you. So instead Akaza breaks outside. Tree barks splinter and an entire section of a forest is obliterated in his rage and pain which he expresses through violence. Only after does he feel somewhat less angry. He is far from calm. Not with the knowledge that you have been taken away from him. But now he focuses fully on the hunt. Akaza will trace you across the entire continent if he has to do so and he certainly won't rest until he has saved you. Out of guilt for failing the oath to protect you though he starves himself on purpose, punishing himself until he has made up for his previous failure. He will enjoy the flesh of those who touched you wrongly.

👊When Akaza has finally located you after nights of endless searching, he can smell what they have done to you before he even sees it. The scent of illness and blood fills his nostrils and before he knows it, he starts attacking. The demon who normally enjoys battles so much doesn't laugh or smile once. He breaks bones and rips spines apart out of rage. The cowards dare to run away when they spot him with bloody hands but no one will escape him tonight. Not after what they have done to you. Once all signatures of life besides your own have died down Akaza rushes to your side. The guilt on his face is obvious the moment he finds you in the condition you have been left in all because they thought you could give information you did not have. He goes down on his knees, lays his head in your lap and whispers quiet apologies and guilty confessions of failure before he frees you and takes you far away from this place. That night serves forever as a reminder though that he has to become even stronger for you so that something like this can never happen to you again. At the same time on that night you are abducted by him so that he may protect you better from now on and hide you somewhere.

Gyutaro

🟢Gyutaro is a man who is deep down deeply insecure and spiteful all because he is all too aware that people have always despised and hated him for his ugly looks and will continue to do so. In return he has started loathing all of humanity so his feelings for you come as a shock to him and he doesn't know how to deal with them. But he doesn't dare to show his face in front of you because he is anticipating the same look of disgust and fear that he has received so often before in his life. Nowadays he relishes in it as he takes pleasure in the terror he inflicts but thinking seeing that look on your face? It terrifies Gyutaro more than he cares to admit and so he asks Daki to spend more time with you so that he by some extent can be close to you without showing his face or body. She objects obviously but eventually she just gives in after Gyutaro has promised to do something for her. She doesn't see what is so special about you but Gyutaro leans in entranced when you're close to her. He gets rid of anyone who looks at you in admiration and in his creepy desperation he breaks into your house to sniff your stuff and feel somewhat close to you. On somedays you find a weird scent clinging to your sheets.

🟢They don't know of Gyutaro. They are under the misconception that Daki is the one who is the Upper Moon and that she is the one who has such an interest in you when it is in reality Gyutaro who is telling her to do all of those things. Oh, humans really can always get so much more stupid. If they would have known that it is Gyutaro then maybe they would have never dared to even consider it to begin with. But that just means that he gets to kill and devour someone and relish in terror and fear. Daki openly tells him that she will not help him with this matter as this his problem. He is the one who is so creepily obsessed with you so you are his problem to take care of and not hers. Gyutaro decides to not argue with her and instead disappears to do exactly as she has told him to do. Whatever it is that is churning around within his stomach, he hates it though. It almost threatens to ruin his appetite but spite is ultimately always stronger. He knows that this will most likely be the night you will see his face and as much as that thought still frightens him, he decides that ultimately he won't care. After tonight you will be his whether you want to or not. Stockholm Syndrome is a thing, right?

🟢Initially they assume that he is another demon. Until they see his eyes. Gyutaro doesn't elaborate. He taunts them but he never gives them the full explanation. That makes the fear and agony so much more delicious after all as they die screaming their lungs out never finding out why he is here and not his sister. But Gyutaro takes his time. He lives for all they have to offer but he and they know that they won't be alive by the end of this night. He feeds from them whilst they're still conscious and alive, he snaps bones and be crushes throats until no one is left alive anymore. Only after does he make hia way to you. He hesitates briefly as something akin to fear of being seen and rejected creeps in before he enters. Obviously you flinch when you see him and part of him wants to snarl that with the way you currently look, you have no right to judge him for his own appearance. Yet the first question that leaves your lips instead is if they are gone. No comment about his appearance. Because Gyutaro may look like a monster and be one but he isn't the monster that did this to you. He's the one that saved you. And deep down suddenly Gyutaro is almost thankful that those humans treated you so cruelly.

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camdunez · 16 days ago

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It’s Never Over | s. laforteza

Song Playing: Lover, You Should’ve Come Over — Jeff Buckley | decode — paramore

paring: sophia leforteza x gn!reader summary: you had left sophia in LA to start a band with your close friends. she stayed leaving you voicemails, hoping you’d pick up. this voicemail was no different.. but she drops not so small surprise at the end. genre: angst, hurt/comfort, estranged relationship word count: warnings/tags: use of “yn”, college student!sophia, rockstar!yn, brief ningning x yn if you squint, yn’s so hayley williams coded, sophia misses you so much. a/n: might as well add onto the mom!sophia agenda. and can you tell i'm in love with paramore? expect more paramore au content soon!

hey, yn.. i don't know why i'm still leaving voicemails.. it's not like you're listening to them anyway.

but i hope you're doing okay.. i haven't heard from you since your little band dropped riot. i guess living that rockstar life's got you busy, huh?

i heard that track you guys did for that vampire movie in the grocery store yesterday. dani said you're growing more angsty with every song you put out.. but i'm proud of you regardless.

[sigh]

i feel like i'm stalling so let me just cut to the chase..

i had something to tell you the night you left for new york to start that band of yours...

remember when i told you i was sick that one time?.. that stomach bug i caught from eating manon's food?..

it really wasn't a stomach bug, yn..

[pause]

i was pregnant... just a few weeks then..

i had the baby when you were on tour for that first album.. and ironically, one of your songs came on the radio at the hospital.

[chuckle]

...

her name's salem..

she's about four years old now.. has your eyes.. your laugh.

she knows who you are.. she always tells people that you're her star.

[a longer pause]

i heard you're in LA for a show.. maybe i can drag the girls with me.. show my face and what not.

...

i miss you, yn. call me back when you get the chance..

the hallway was loud, but yn couldn’t hear anything.

not really.

they sat hunched in the greenroom, phone still pressed to their thigh, sophia’s voice still clinging to the insides of their skull like cigarette smoke. their in-ear monitors buzzed faintly from the tech table beside them. they were due on stage in seven minutes.

but time felt stuck.

like a pick jammed between strings.

“yo, we’re on in—” yizhuo’s voice cut in from the doorway, but the second she saw yn’s face, she stopped short. “hey.. you good?”

yn blinked. their eyes stung.

they should’ve known. or at least checked. all those voicemails — ignored, deleted, skipped. that whole year sophia kept calling, leaving breadcrumbs in the dark while yn lit match after match to burn their way forward.

they rubbed a hand down their face. “yeah,” they said. “i’m good.”

yizhuo didn’t move. “is it her?”

yn nodded once.

then, barely above a whisper: “i have a daughter.”

the silence stretched. even the hallway seemed to hush.

“oh,” yizhuo breathed. she stepped in slowly, crouching down in front of them. “you wanna bail? i’ll cover. i’ll fake a stomach bug... hell, i’ll pull the fire alarm.”

yn let out a weak laugh — the first crack of something real in their chest. “no. i need to do the show.”

“sure?”

“I have to.”

because what else was there to do but play?

to pour every feeling — the grief, the longing, the regret, the hope — into the mic and hope Salem would hear it one day and understand.

yizhuo pressed her forehead to theirs for a second, quick and grounding. “then go give ‘em hell.”

yn stood. shoulders squared. jaw set.

the lights were already dimming beyond the stage doors.

and somewhere in the crowd, maybe behind the barricades or just outside the venue, sophia was there. with salem.

waiting.

the first chords hit like muscle memory.

pressure bled into emergency, then into misery business, and YN tore through each song like they were exorcising something — sweat-slicked, breathless, cracking at the edges.

but focused.

tight.

every scream, every note curled off their lips like a confession. the crowd was a blur of lights and hands and mouths yelling lyrics back at them, and somewhere between the third and fourth song, yn finally let their shoulders drop.

the music held them.

it always had.

they hit the break before the final track and stepped forward, fingers flexing around the mic stand, eyes squinting under the pulsing stage lights.

“this last song,” yn started, voice still hoarse from the verse they’d just shredded, “is a little different from the others. we wrote it for a movie about vampires.”

laughter, cheers.

“yeah,” YN smiled a little. “didn’t think we’d ever be on a soundtrack... let alone that one. but when we wrote it, i was thinking about how hard it is to understand the people you love — even when you think you do. especially when they change. or when you do.”

their eyes scanned the crowd absently, words tumbling like muscle reflex.

“so... this is decode. hope you feel it.”

the guitars came in slow, simmering. the synth rippled like dusk over water.

and then—

a flash of pink hair in the front section.

a girl on someone’s shoulders, tiny headphones clamped over her ears, grinning like she owned the sky.

and Sophia.

holding her from behind, eyes wide.

manon was beside her. dani, lara, and yoonchae too — all of them watching, some with hands clasped over their mouths, some just swaying gently with the crowd.

but yn could only see her.

Them.

salem’s eyes — their eyes — stared back.

sophia’s mouth moved around the lyrics, barely audible, but yn didn’t need sound. they knew them already.

i’m screaming I love you so.

the words punched out of their chest harder than they expected.

every strum, every line, cracked with new meaning. years of longing rewired themselves mid-song. and as they reached the bridge, yn stepped closer to the edge of the stage, gaze locked with sophia’s, salem’s hands reaching out.

their voice trembled, but they didn’t stop.

how did we get here when I used to know you so well?

and for the first time in a long time, YN didn’t feel lost.

they felt seen.

they finished the song with a quiet, shaking exhale.

and the crowd roared.

as soon as the last chord faded, YN was moving.

they didn’t wait for the encore chants or the half-hugs from bandmates. they tore the in-ears out, shoved their guitar at a startled tech, and bolted past the backstage corridor like their body knew where it was going before their brain could catch up.

the hallway blurred. someone called their name. they didn’t stop.

out the side doors. Into the humid LA night.

the parking lot buzzed with post-show energy — crew unloading gear, fans screaming behind fences, neon venue signs flickering above.

and then—

there.

by the streetlamp near the side gate.

sophia.

still in that soft sweater from the photo she sent yn about a year ago. her arms were around salem, who was propped up on manon’s hip, babbling something between yawns and giggles.

manon was the first to see them.

she nudged daniela, who turned, then elbowed lara. then yoonchae looked up from her phone and blinked like she couldn’t quite believe it.

“soph,” manon murmured, nudging her gently. “look.”

sophia turned.

her breath caught so visibly it felt like the whole parking lot exhaled.

she didn’t move at first — just stood there, frozen, like if she blinked yn would disappear again.

“hi,” yn managed.

their voice cracked. their whole chest cracked.

sophia stared for another second. then another.

then she walked.

fast.

by the time she reached them, yn’s hands were already out, fingers twitching like they didn’t know where to land — her arm? her shoulder? her cheek?

but sophia didn’t give them the chance.

she shoved her hands against their chest and said, half-laughing, half-sobbing, “you asshole.”

then she threw her arms around their neck and held on.

and yn — dizzy with every scent and warmth and weight they thought they’d lost — hugged her back like it hurt.

which it did.

because this wasn’t a dream.

because she was real.

because she came.

salem’s little voice piped up behind them. “mommy said you were magic.”

yn pulled back just enough to see her — still on manon’s hip, squinting curiously at them.

And yn swore their heart stopped.

“hi, salem,” they whispered.

salem grinned. “i saw you! you screamed a lot.”

they choked on a laugh. “yeah… i do that.”

“sometimes I scream too,” she said proudly. “wanna hear?”

before she could demonstrate, sophia kissed her daughter’s head and gave her a gentle look. “let’s give them a second, baby.”

manon shifted salem into yn’s arms with a practiced ease. “she’s heavier than she looks.”

yn didn’t even notice. didn’t feel anything but salem’s arms around their neck and the tiny heartbeat thudding against theirs.

“you gonna say something profound?” dani teased, nudging sophia gently. “or just keep crying into their hoodie?”

“shut up,” sophia sniffled, laughing a little as she wiped her cheeks.

lara linked her arm with yoonchae’s. “we’ll be by the car.”

the girls gave them all a moment — drifting away slowly, but not without a few meaningful glances and soft smiles over their shoulders.

and then it was quiet again.

just them.

sophia. yn. salem.

and all the time they thought they’d lost.

they walked without speaking at first.

sophia beside them, her arm brushing yn’s every few steps. salem curled in yn’s arms, thumb in her mouth now, her cheek smushed gently against yn’s chest. the adrenaline of the show was gone — replaced by something quieter. heavier. more sacred.

the sidewalk was slick with night air, streetlights casting gold across the parked cars and backstage fencing.

“you know…” sophia finally said, her voice low, rough around the edges, “you have some explaining to do, yn.”

yn swallowed hard.

she didn’t sound angry.

worse — she sounded tired.

“i know,” they said softly.

sophia stopped walking, turned to face them. “you had to know something was wrong when I told you I was sick that night.” she said, referring to the voicemail she had left them.

“i did.”

“but you left anyway.”

yn looked down. salem stirred slightly in their arms, her breath even and warm against their neck.

“i didn’t want to go,” they said. “but i thought… i thought it was just nerves. or food poisoning. i didn’t think—”

“that I was carrying your daughter?” she cut in, not sharp, but precise.

yn flinched.

sophia’s eyes glistened under the streetlight. “I called you, yn. for weeks. i left voicemails until my voice gave out. i went to every show announcement page just to track where you were. i watched bootlegs of your sets, just to feel closer... all while i was bleeding in a hospital bed. alone.”

iI’m sorry,” yn said, hoarse. “i was scared. and selfish. and i thought… maybe not hearing your voice would hurt less than hearing it and knowing i couldn’t come back yet.”

“did it?” she asked quietly.

“no.”

silence stretched between them again.

“you missed so much,” she whispered.

“i know.”

“i had to be strong every day, even when i didn’t want to be... i had to be mom and dad.. a nurse and grown-up, even when i was still just a stupid college girl with lecture notes in her diaper bag... and still i played your music for her. i let her fall in love with you.”

yn looked up sharply at that. “why?”

sophia smiled, but it was sad. “because I never stopped loving you.”

that broke something in them.

yn stepped closer. not too close. not without permission. “i want to know her. i want to know you again, soph. if you’ll let me.”

sophia blinked slow, like she was holding back everything her body wanted to do. scream. cry. collapse. forgive.

she reached out and brushed her fingers across salem’s hair. “let’s start small, rockstar.”

then she looked up at yn.

“you can walk us home.. my apartment's not that far from here.”

sophia’s apartment was smaller than yn remembered.

or maybe they had just grown too much — in distance, in guilt, in time.

the space was warm, lived-in. a scatter of children’s books on the coffee table. a pink hoodie tossed over the arm of the couch. fairy lights strung up around the window, dimmed low now, like even they didn’t want to intrude.

salem had fallen asleep halfway through the walk. she was still curled in yn’s arms, her fingers fisted into the fabric of their hoodie like she knew exactly who she was holding — like she'd always known.

“here,” sophia whispered, pulling the soft gray blanket off the back of the couch. she draped it carefully over salem after yn laid her down.

for a long moment, they both just stood there — watching her breathe.

sophia crossed her arms over her chest. “she likes when you sing.”

yn’s lips parted, startled. “you really play my stuff for her?”

sophia’s gaze didn’t leave salem. “yeah. at bedtime sometimes. when she’s scared. or after a tantrum.”

she smiled faintly. “the softer ones. not the ones where you're yelling about feeling the pressures and all that crazy shit.”

yn snorted quietly. “fair.”

a beat passed.

then sophia walked over to the kitchen counter and poured herself a glass of water. she didn't offer yn one. she didn’t have to. it wasn’t hospitality tonight. it was survival.

“do you know what it feels like to fall asleep next to a voicemail?” she asked, not turning around. “to let someone’s ghost read bedtime stories to your daughter because the real thing never called back?”

yn’s throat closed.

“i don’t expect you to forgive me,” they said quietly.

“good,” sophia replied, taking a slow sip. “because i haven’t.”

she turned then, eyes shining in the low light. but there was no rage there. only grief. only bone-deep tiredness.

“i missed you every single day,” she said. “but i had to grieve you like you were dead... necause you were gone. and now you’re standing in my living room, holding her like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and I don’t know whether to fall apart or push you out the door.”

“i’m not going anywhere,” yn said, stepping closer. “not this time.”

she didn’t speak.

instead, she walked past them — slow, deliberate — and sat on the edge of the couch, beside salem. her fingers brushed the little girl's curls from her forehead. her whole body softened just from the contact.

yn sank to the floor in front of them. they looked up, chin resting on the couch cushion, studying sophia like a prayer they were scared to say out loud.

“i want to help,” they whispered. “whatever that looks like... i know i have no right to ask for a second chance... but i want to be here. for her, for you. even if i have to work my way up from the sidewalk.”

sophia looked at them for a long time.

and for a second, she looked like she might cry again.

instead, she whispered, “she calls the moon her ‘nightlight star.’”

yn blinked. “that’s beautiful.”

“she gets that from you,” sophia said. “she says it sings to her... like you do.”

the silence between them filled again — but it wasn’t heavy this time.

it was more sacred.

sophia leaned back on the couch and tilted her head toward the ceiling. “you can crash here tonight. the couch pulls out.”

“okay.”

“i’m still mad at you.”

“i know.”

she looked at them again — really looked.

but there was a softness now. a thread of something old, something forgiving, maybe not fully healed, but not as shattered as before.

and under the blanket, salem shifted in her sleep. a quiet hum left her lips.

“sing to her?” sophia asked softly. “like you used to.”

yn nodded.

they hummed a familiar tune under their breath as they moved closer to sophia, resting their head on her leg.

and as they sang, salem sighed in her sleep, curling deeper into the couch.

sophia stayed seated beside her.

listening.

eyes closed.

just like old times.

except this time, yn was here instead of in salem's radio.

#katseye imagines #sophia laforteza x reader #katseye #sophia laforteza #katseye thoughts 💭#katseye angst #katseye x reader #katseye sophia

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nocturnebite · 20 days ago

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#1 Fan boy ♬⋆.˚

(i know you're a star) - fanboy!jake x fem-idol!reader

synopsis: shes an idol. he's her biggest fan. what starts in secret slowly turns into something real— shared dances, late-night messages, and a love they were never supposed to have. But in a world that watches everything... how long can a secret stay safe? fic notes: fluff || slowburn || secret romance || idols x fan || emotional tension || soft angst || cozy scenes || private love || wc: 16.85k

ash's notes: HEYY! this one took me so long.. so sorry. but i really hope you enjoy this soft lil fic for jake! i love him so bad! ALSO thank you so much for all the love and support i've been getting! it means the world to me! <3 (also i had no idea that you could only have 1,000 spaces in a post.. so i randomly went through combining things.. if it seems a little off paced.. i blame that lmao)

The dressing room buzzes with low chatter, the scent of hairspray clinging to the air like static. Somewhere to your left, a curling iron hisses against a strand of hair. The floor beneath your heels is slick with polish and dust, and someone’s laughing—but it doesn’t reach you.

You sit beneath the harsh vanity lights, staring at a version of yourself you’ve seen too many times. Glitter-shadowed eyes, lips tinted just shy of red, skin airbrushed into something near divine. Not a flaw in sight. Not a crack.

Stage-ready.

You flex your fingers in your lap. They're cold.

"Three minutes, Cherie," a stage manager calls through the crack in the door, voice clipped and urgent. "You're closing."

Cherie. That’s the group. Four girls molded from sleepless nights and survival instincts, packaged into a dream. They call it glamorous. You call it exhausting. You rise slowly, the hem of your silver dress brushing against your thigh as you move. The fabric feels expensive and hollow.

“Hey,” your leader, Naya, murmurs, brushing invisible lint from your sleeve. “You good?” You nod. You're always good.

Your heels click against the tile as you move toward the back hallway, a sound swallowed by the murmur of nerves that cling to the air. The corridors behind the stage are narrow, dimly lit, and colder than the dressing room. Fluorescent lights buzz faintly above your head. You can hear the muffled pulse of the crowd on the other side of the wall—it’s a sound like thunder underwater. Distant. Alive. Your stylists hover nearby, making last-second adjustments: a shimmer dabbed onto the inner corners of your eyes, a flyaway smoothed behind your ear, the clasp of your earring tightened without a word. It all happens around you like clockwork, like you’re a porcelain figure being carefully prepared for a museum display.

You barely blink. “Final checks,” someone says.

You exhale through your nose. It’s not nerves, exactly. Not fear. It’s something tighter. Thinner. A ribbon pulled too taut. A screen nearby shows the stage just seconds before your entrance. The lighting rig sweeps across the crowd like a sunbeam, and the fans roar louder. Your groupmates stand beside you in a practiced formation, each of them focused, stretching, rolling their shoulders. You do the same, even though your limbs feel more mechanical than your own. Your fingers drift to the in-ear monitor tucked behind your hair. The soft buzz of the backing track hums quietly now—a countdown in code.

“Mic check,” someone murmurs through your earpiece. You answer quietly, voice steady, even though your throat’s a little dry. The lemon tea you drank earlier didn’t help. Nothing ever really helps. There’s a moment before every performance that feels like falling. Not in the way people romanticize it. Not flying. Not freedom. It’s the other kind—like slipping just as you reach the top step, heart hitching as gravity remembers you. That one breath before the lights catch your face, before thousands of eyes lock on yours. Before you become the version of yourself they paid to see.

You swallow hard. Taste nerves at the back of your tongue. From somewhere deep inside, the mask rises again. You tilt your chin, adjust your posture, and exhale. Right on cue, the curtain begins to rise. It hits you all at once—the heat of the stage lights, the colors exploding overhead, the synchronized stomp of backup dancers hitting their mark behind you. Music crashes like a tidal wave. Your body moves before your mind does, choreography pulling at your muscles like thread. You hit every beat—sharp, flawless, designed. The kind of perfection they screen-cap and replay in slow motion.

But even as your lips form the words, even as you throw your arm outward and spin in time with the next hook—you feel it. That ache. That ghost of emptiness just beneath the surface. Like you’re watching yourself from a few inches to the left. Like your smile doesn’t quite fit your mouth. Then it happens.

Midway through the second verse, during the fan-favorite part of the song—when your group pauses just long enough for the camera to pan close to your face—you glance out at the sea of lightsticks and signs and phones and colors— And for a moment, your eyes snag. There, in the fourth row, just off-center. A boy. Not one of the shouting ones. Not flailing. Not holding a flashing sign with your name in LED. Just… standing there. Camera in hand. Focused. Still. The kind of stillness that makes you notice.

His face is soft. His mouth slightly parted, like he’s afraid to blink and miss you. He’s not the type to scream. He’s the type to remember. Every note. Every expression. Every time your fingers trembled on a high note you swore no one noticed. His lightstick glows quietly at his side. Not raised, not demanding. Just... there. Like he’s not trying to take from you—only to witness you. You don’t realize you’re staring until the beat drops and your body reacts a half second late.

The delay is minuscule. No one notices. Except maybe him. You look away fast. And yet, even as the performance charges forward, lights flashing and sweat beginning to gather at your spine, there’s a flicker behind your ribs you can’t shake. You’ve seen thousands of faces. But his felt like something. You don’t even know his name. Not yet.

The stage continues to swell around you—LED panels shifting, bass vibrating through your shoes, backup dancers circling as the final chorus begins its climb. Your voice cuts through the roar, flawless on the outside, but underneath it all, your thoughts are slipping.

You don’t usually look at individual faces. It’s a rule you taught yourself early on. Look over the crowd, never into it. It’s easier that way. Safer. If you see someone crying, someone reaching out like they know you—it becomes too real. And this industry has taught you how dangerous real can be. But that boy. The still one. The one who wasn’t cheering, but watching. He didn’t look like someone who saw a star. He looked like someone who saw you.

Your feet move through the final formation, hips angled just right, arms outstretched with the practiced grace of a thousand rehearsals. Naya hits her high note beside you, her voice slicing through the haze of lights like silk drawn over glass. You keep your smile steady, the exact kind they expect—soft, mysterious, composed—but your heartbeat is anything but. It pounds in your ears louder than the track. A strange, subtle panic spreads through your chest like ripples across still water.

Why did that feel like something? Your hand brushes your side during the final spin. You’re supposed to wink on the last beat. You always do. Fans love it. It trends. But this time, your eyes find that spot in the crowd again. He’s still there. And for just a second, he lifts his camera from his chest—slowly, reverently—and takes a photo. You don’t see the flash. You feel it. It’s not a click you hear. It’s something quieter. A thread being pulled. Your chest flutters. Then the lights explode gold. Confetti shoots into the air, raining down in metallic flakes. The crowd screams, drowning out every thought. You hold your final pose, breath shallow, smile frozen. He disappears into the noise. The music fades.

Applause crashes forward like a tidal wave, relentless and bright. You bow automatically with the others, waving toward the fans, smile never wavering. You squeeze Harin’s hand without meaning to. Her fingers squeeze back. You don’t remember walking offstage. Only the heat still clinging to your skin. Backstage is dimmer. Quieter. The roar of the crowd is muffled again, reduced to static behind concrete walls. Your chest is rising and falling too fast. Naya wraps an arm around your shoulders as the four of you file down the hallway, heading toward your waiting room. She smells like hairspray and citrus perfume, her sweat glistening under the collar of her jeweled jacket. “We killed it,” she says breathlessly, grinning. You nod again. You’ve done it a hundred times. It's muscle memory now.

The stylists are waiting with towels, cool bottles of water, soothing pads for your face. You take them with a dazed kind of precision. Your body knows what to do, even if your brain is stuck somewhere else. Someone is speaking to you—Juna, probably, joking about a missed cue or a wardrobe slip—but it all feels muted. Like glass between you and the world. You sit down slowly on the dressing room couch, the leather creaking beneath your weight. The towel in your hands is warm now. You don’t remember when you stopped holding it to your neck. You blink. You can still see his face. Not perfectly—just impressions. The shape of his eyes. The softness of his expression. The way he stood as if he wasn’t sure he was supposed to be there. He wasn’t loud. He wasn’t trying to be noticed. But he was the only thing you saw. There’s a moment where you let your head fall back against the couch, eyes closing. The voices of your groupmates swirl around you—Naya laughing, Harin humming the chorus under her breath—but for once, you don’t chime in. You don’t move. You just sit there. And you wonder:

Why did it feel like he was looking for you… before you even knew to look for him?

The soft murmur of your groupmates’ voices slices through the haze just as you start to drift away. Juna nudges your arm with a grin, her eyes sparkling like she’s caught you daydreaming again. “Heyy, hellooo? Anyone home?” she teases lightly, voice warm. “You zoning out or what?” You blink, focus snapping back like a rubber band. Harin is already standing, stretching her arms overhead, while Naya checks her phone with a faint smile. The room shifts, the energy picking up—it's time to move for the send-off. You stand slowly, muscles still heavy from the show but aching for the familiar rhythm of movement. Your heels click quietly against the floor as the four of you slip out of the dressing room and toward the exit. The backstage corridors are narrower now, the bustle swelling as the night grows deeper. As you step into the cool night air, the roar of the crowd washes over you like a tidal wave again. Lights flash from hundreds of phones, and voices rise in a chorus of cheers and cries.

Near the barricade, you spot him. He’s easy to miss if you weren’t looking for him: just a boy in a simple hoodie, his lightstick held loosely in one hand, a soft smile brightening his face. Hopeful. Patient. Your heart jolts, breath catching in your throat. You push forward, weaving through the cluster of fans and staff, desperate to reach him. But before you can slip through, Juna steps past you, effortlessly reaching the barricade first. She flashes a bright smile, signing autographs and chatting briefly with the fans pressed close. You watch as his gaze shifts from Juna’s familiar face to yours. Your eyes meet for a heartbeat—an electric pulse of recognition and something unspoken.

You almost falter, the world narrowing to that fragile moment. His smile widens, just a little, before he turns his attention back to the Juna in front of him. You catch his eye again as Juna steps back, handing over the moment like a silent promise. You inch closer, your fingers twitching to reach out, but the crowd surges slightly, and he’s pushed back. Still, every glance between you feels like a secret conversation—small, intense, and filled with more meaning than words ever could. After the send-off, the night stretches thin as you ride back to the dorms. The hum of the city blurs past the tinted windows, your mind replaying the stolen moments. Back inside your room, the quiet wraps around you like a balm. You slip off your stage clothes, the fabric falling away like a second skin, slipping into the pajamas you left out just for this moment. The bed beckons, but your hands tremble just enough as you reach for your phone. You unlock the screen and open the “fake” TikTok account you keep hidden from your company and fans—a quiet corner of the internet where you watch without being watched. Tonight, the feed shows something new. An edit of you. But not just any edit. This one is different. It feels intimate. Raw. Like it was captured through someone’s eyes... Through his eyes.

The footage moves slowly—a close-up of your face under the spotlight, the way your fingers twitch mid-chorus, your “signature” move during that song. And oddly enough they seem to be taken from where he would have been standing. Your breath hitches. You tap the username. yourcheriefanboy. It’s unfamiliar. Yet somehow, the world inside that screen feels closer than the one outside your window. And in the dark, you wonder what it means.

You lie back on your bed, the cool sheets tangling around your arms like a gentle weight. The city hums faintly outside your window, distant and unobtrusive, a soft lullaby that somehow sharpens the silence in your room. Your phone rests on your stomach, screen glowing softly in the dim light. The video you found loops silently—a montage of you. You stare at it again, heart fluttering with an ache you didn’t expect. On a whim that feels like a secret rebellion against the loneliness you carry, you tap Follow. A tiny ripple in your quiet world. You set your phone gently down beside you, letting your breath slow, your thoughts scatter like fragile leaves.

Then, almost instantly, your phone vibrates. They followed you back. The words feel heavy, electric. Your fingers tremble as you reach for your phone, eyes flickering between the screen and the dim ceiling. You want to believe it’s real. That this isn’t just another fragment of your isolated life. You open the video’s comment section, fingers hovering for a moment before you type, the words small and cautious:

Cherieoffgrid: Was this from tonight’s concert?

Almost immediately, the reply pops up:

yourcheriefanboy: Yes.

Simple. Unadorned. Honest. A shiver curls through your spine, warm and unexpected. Could it really be him? You slide open the profile, eyes searching for clues. The profile picture is a blurry mirror selfie, shadows swallowing most of the frame, the faint outline of a face just visible. Too dark to recognize. Too vague to be certain. Yet, something about the faint smile etched in the shadow feels familiar—like a whispered promise. You scroll through their videos, each one a tender glimpse into a world you rarely see. Clips from concerts, candid fan edits, moments caught through a lens you never imagined looking through. No hype. No drama. Just quiet admiration. Your thumb hesitates over the message icon. Then it glows. A new notification. You tap it open.

yourcheriefanboy: Hi! How are you?

Your breath catches. Usually, you don’t respond to messages from fan accounts. Not anymore. It’s safer not to. But something about this one is different. Sincere. Soft. You pause, fingers hovering over the keyboard. You wonder if you should ignore it, but instead, you type back simply:

Cherieoffgrid: I’m doing good!

The reply is swift, almost eager.

yourcheriefanboy: Are you a fan of Cherie?

Your lips press into a thin line. You hesitate. It’s your undercover account. No one must know. You type carefully:

Cherieoffgrid: Yes.

A beat. And then:

yourcheriefanboy: Who’s your bias?

You chew your lip, thinking of your groupmates—their faces, their laughs, their fierce dedication. Your fingers move before your mind catches up:

Cherieoffgrid: Juna.

Seconds stretch like hours. Then his message comes. Your chest tightens. It’s you. Your name. On your screen. From whoever this mystery fan may be. The weight of those words presses against your skin like a secret meant only for you. You blink, heart hammering so loud it drowns out the distant city hum. For the first time in so long, you sorta feel seen. Truly seen. Not as the idol the world demands you be. But as you.

You stare at the screen, the gentle glow illuminating your face in the dark room. And wonder if this quiet fan watching from the crowd, might be the beginning of something real. The conversation unfolds like a thread pulled gently, night after night. You never tell him who you are. You don’t have to. He doesn’t ask in the way others do—not with greed, not with demand, just with curiosity. One night, curled beneath your blanket with the phone warm in your hand, he types:

yourcheriefanboy: What’s your name?

You stare at the message for a while, the cursor blinking. A real name would be reckless. Obvious. But something about him—the way he talks to you, like he isn’t trying to pry under your skin—makes you want to be known. A little. After a pause, you type back:

Cherieoffgrid: Yeji.

A fake name you thought of on the spot. You almost don’t send it. But you do.

yourcheriefanboy: Pretty,

He replies simply.

I’m Jake.

You smile faintly, eyes softening. Jake. It suits him. Then days pass.

The rhythm of your chats are simple, natural. You talk about little things—your favorite snacks, music that makes you feel something, the way city lights look when it rains. He tells you about school, about how he works a part-time job at a coffee shop. He tells you he doesn’t have a ton of friends who understand his love for idols. You listen. You laugh quietly when he says he once camped overnight for a Cherie merch drop and got sick after but still swears it was worth it. You don’t say much about yourself. You don’t have to. He fills the space with softness, not noise. Then one night, he sends you something.

yourcheriefanboy: Thought you might like this one

You click the video. And there he is. For the first time. Standing on a quiet street, just out of frame at first, then laughing as he holds his phone and pans upward. The night sky behind him is deep and silver-dusted. His face is lit only by a streetlamp. His eyes crinkle when he smiles. It’s him. Him. The boy from the crowd. From the send-off. The boy with the steady gaze who made your chest twist onstage. Your fingers pause over the screen. So it’s really him. You don’t reply for a few minutes. You just watch the video again. And again.

—

The fansign is loud. Hot lights beat down on your skin. The chatter of the crowd blends with the shuffle of papers, the clatter of pens, and the familiar refrain of “Can you sign this?” “Can I take a picture?” “Can you write my name like this?” You smile. You always do. It’s practiced. Perfect. Everything about you is fine-tuned for this—the nods, the giggles, the little tilt of your head when someone says something sweet. They love you for it. You’re good at it. But something in your chest already knows. He’s here. You feel it before you see him. Then the next fan steps forward. And it’s him. Jake.

He looks just like the video. More alive than memory, softer than screenlight. Hoodie sleeves tugged over his palms, fingers wrapped gently around an album. He doesn’t start speaking right away. Doesn’t rush. He sits down in front of you and meets your eyes like no one else does. You paste on the same bright, rehearsed smile. “Hi!” you say in your polished fanservice voice. But he doesn’t play along. He just smiles. Soft. Steady.

“You look tired,” he says gently after a few seconds, not accusing, not unkind. Your smile falters for half a second. Almost invisible. Almost. His voice lowers, quiet enough that only you can hear it.

“I just wanted to say I’m really proud of you.” Your fingers pause over the page you’re signing. Jake’s eyes flick to the crowd behind him, then return to yours.

“All of these people,” he says, nodding toward the fans buzzing with energy behind him, “they love you. You give them so much. Even when it’s hard.”

You swallow tightly. He smiles again, softer now, more fragile.

“So don’t give up, okay? You’re doing amazing.”

Something cracks in you. A gentle fissure. The exhaustion you buried all day suddenly rises like a tide. Your eyes sting. Just a little. You look up at him. And he sees it. His smile shifts—still kind, but worried now. His expression flickers, caught between reaching for you and respecting the space between your worlds. He opens his mouth to say something else. But a staff member steps forward.

“Time’s up,” they say with mechanical efficiency. Jake glances at them, then back at you. He stands slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. And for the briefest, barest moment, he looks like he doesn’t want to leave. Like there’s more he wants to say. You smile again. The one they all expect. Polished. Bright. It hurts this time. He smiles back—but it’s different now. Quieter. A little sad. Like he knows what’s hiding behind your shine. As he moves down the line to the next member, your eyes follow him for one last second, then snap away when you realize you're still watching. You turn to the next fan, all glitter and laughs again. You sign their album. You tilt your head. You laugh when they tell you you’re perfect. You’re not. And Jake knows it. From across the table, you feel his eyes on you. Not judging. Not disappointed. Just watching. Seeing. The weight of it presses against your ribs like a truth you don’t know how to carry.

—

The black van hums low beneath your legs as you lean against the cool window, the lights of the city blurring into yellow streaks against your reflection. Naya is scrolling through fan messages beside you, earbuds half in, her head tilted toward the glass. Juna is sitting cross-legged in her seat, laughing softly at a meme Harin showed her, something about a fan bringing twenty albums to the fansign just to get a longer interaction. You’re quiet. You don’t mean to be. But the weight of that last moment clings to you like humidity. Jake’s voice is still in your ears—You look tired… I’m proud of you… don’t give up. The way he saw you, even through all the polished edges and soft smiles you wear like armor. You rest your forehead against the glass, eyes half-lidded.

“You okay?” Naya asks, glancing at you.

You lift your head slowly. “Just tired.”

“Mm.” She studies you a moment longer than usual. “You sure? You were quiet even during that fan’s whole confession poem to you.” She nudges your knee playfully. “That usually gets a laugh.”

You smile faintly. “Yeah. Just... tired.”

Juna leans over the seat. “We all are,” she says gently. “But hey. One more week, right? Then we finally get that break.”

Harin makes a dramatic sigh. “I’m going to sleep for two straight days.”

You smile for real this time, warm and soft. They mean it. You all need this break like air. But as the conversation drifts, you slip back into silence. You don’t mean to think about Jake. But you do. You already are. At home, you drop onto your bed with a sigh, tugging off your hoodie and toeing off your shoes. Your body aches. Your face feels stiff from smiling. Your bones are tired in that way that doesn’t quite go away, even after sleep. You grab your phone off the nightstand and flick open your fake account. Jake’s just posted. It’s a selfie. The fansign banner in the background, the sun hitting one side of his face, a soft grin tugging at his lips.

yourcheriefanboy “still can’t believe today was real 🥹 thank you @cherie_official 💙 you were all amazing. so proud.”

Your heart jumps. Before you can stop yourself, you message him.

Cherieoffgrid: How was it?

You ask, pretending you don’t already know. Pretending you weren’t on the other side of that table, staring into his eyes like you were about to fall apart. His reply comes fast:

yourcheriefanboy: Insane lol. I was so nervous. I think I forgot how to talk when I sat down??

You smile softly.

Cherieoffgrid: You looked calm in the selfie yourcheriefanboy: Faking it

He says quickly. Then after a beat:

yourcheriefanboy: One of the members—she looked kinda tired, though. I hope she’s okay.

Your chest tightens. You type slowly:

Cherieoffgrid: She’s probably fine. It’s their job. I wouldn’t worry too much.

You stare at the message as it sends, hating how hollow it feels. How much it sounds like something your manager would say. Jake doesn’t wait long.

yourcheriefanboy: Still… she deserves rest. They all do. They work so hard and care so much. It’s not fair how overworked they are. I hope they get a break soon.

Your throat closes. You blink a few times too fast. You don’t know what to say. So you say nothing. And he keeps talking. Casual again. You let the conversation drift back into warmth. He tells you how he almost missed his train to the fansign. How he waited in line behind a guy with a massive lightstick bouquet and felt like he brought nothing. How he accidentally waved to one of the staff thinking it was a member. You laugh under your breath. And for a moment… it’s easy. Then he types it:

yourcheriefanboy: We should go to one of their pop-ups together sometime. Like meet up. It’d be cool to talk in person.

You freeze. You don’t know how to answer. Of course you can’t. You want to. You really, really want to. But this life you’re trapped inside doesn’t allow things like that. You type:

Cherieoffgrid: I don’t really meet up with people I don’t know… sorry 😅

He doesn’t take it personally. He sends a heart emoji. Then:

yourcheriefanboy: No worries. Maybe someday.

You don’t reply. But you reread it five times before locking your phone and pressing it to your chest.

—

The break begins. No schedules. No cameras. You wear a hoodie two sizes too big, a mask pulled up over your cheeks, a baseball cap hiding your face. Naya and Juna went to the spa. Harin’s sleeping in. You needed out. Air. Coffee. Something that didn’t taste like makeup wipes and lipstick. The café is quiet. Tucked into a side street in Mapo. You order an iced Americano and sit near the window, scrolling through your phone. You don’t mean to check Jake’s account. You just do. Still sweet. Still full of edits. Nothing about you specifically. Then the bell above the door rings. You glance up. Your heart nearly stops. It’s him. Jake.

Real. Taller than you remember. Hoodie sleeves rolled up. That same calm presence. He orders something and steps to the side, waiting. You don’t think. You just watch. You want to say something. You want to rip off your mask and walk up to him and say, It’s me. I’m right here. I’ve been here this whole time. But you can’t. So you sit. Frozen. He turns toward the tables. Your head lowers instinctively. You lift your cup to take a sip and your mask dips slightly below your chin. You don’t notice. But he does. A voice across the room—someone calling your name. A barista. Familiar.

“Hey, isn’t that—?”

Jake’s head turns. Your eyes meet. Everything stills. He tilts his head, squinting. Recognition sparks. You move. Fast. Shoving your cup down, pulling your mask back up, pushing past a couple entering through the door. You run. Out the door. Into the street. Heart pounding. Your phone slips from your hand in the panic. Hits the sidewalk. You don’t notice. Jake does. He hurries forward, calling out. “Wait—hey, you dropped—”

He picks it up. And freezes. The screen is lit. Still open to your messages with him. His own name across the top. His last message glowing blue. His hands go cold. Then— He looks up. And runs. Through the crowd. Across the street. Dodging cars, horns blaring, lungs burning. He turns a corner. And there— There you are. A blur of black hoodie and trembling shoulders turning down an alley, trying to disappear.

“Wait!” he calls, voice cracking. He runs faster. Your name—your real name—is forming on his lips. But you’re already vanishing. You’re breathless by the time you reach your building. Your hoodie’s damp from sweat and nerves, your mask pushed too tight to your lips, heart thrumming so loud it’s in your teeth. You don’t remember the walk back. Only that you left something behind. Your phone. You tear open your bag the second you get through the door, hands trembling, knuckles white. Not there. Panic blooms, jagged and rising.

You rip open your laptop, fingers flying across the keys as you log into the device tracker. The little pulsing dot appears—still close. Just a few blocks from the café. Somewhere by the park. Before you can fully process it, the first notification lights up on your laptop screen.

yourcheriefanboy [6:28PM]: …is it you? yourcheriefanboy [6:30PM]: Please tell me I’m not imagining this. yourcheriefanboy [6:32PM]: Your phone was left on the messages. I know what I saw.

You freeze. Another one appears.

yourcheriefanboy [6:34PM]: I swear I won’t tell anyone. Not a soul. Please. Just talk to me.

Your stomach flips. A cold sweat breaks across your back. Then more, faster:

yourcheriefanboy [6:35PM]: Was it always you? Yeji… well ig that’s not even your name.. Please, you can trust me. I won’t ruin this. I promise. I just want to know if I ever really knew you.

You slam the laptop shut, hands covering your face, trying not to scream. You want to cry, want to laugh, want to disappear. But you need your phone. You take a deep breath, pull the laptop back open.

Cherieoffgrid [6:39PM]: Leave the phone on the bench by the big tree in Seonghwa Park. Text me when it’s there.

His reply is almost instant.

yourcheriefanboy: Can I talk to you? Please. Just for a second.

You hesitate. Your hands curl into fists.

Cherieoffgrid: Just drop it off. Please.

Ten minutes later, you’re crouched behind a retaining wall near the park entrance. Hoodie zipped to your chin, a different mask pulled on, a hat shadowing your eyes. A whole new disguise. You glance down at your laptop.

yourcheriefanboy [6:52PM]: I’m here.

You peer around the stone edge. There he is. Jake. Alone on the bench under the wide, old tree—its branches bare in the late winter dusk, lights from the lamppost casting gold on his shoulders. He doesn’t leave right away. He just sits. His hands rest on his knees. His gaze slowly moves around the park, like maybe—just maybe—he hopes you’re watching. You are. And it hurts. He reaches into his backpack. Sets a small box down on the bench beside him. Stands. Looks around again. Then, without another glance, he walks away. You don’t move until he’s fully gone—until his silhouette disappears between the hedges, swallowed by the street. Then, cautiously, you emerge.

The box is simple. Wrapped in brown paper, like a gift left behind on purpose. You lift the lid. Your phone rests inside. Fully intact. And on top, folded neatly: a note.

You ignore it. You snatch the phone, shove it in your back pocket. You start to close the box… then stop. Your fingers tremble as you reach back for the note. You shove it into the pocket of your jacket without reading it and hurry away, heart hammering like footsteps on marble. What you don’t know is that just beyond the trees, hidden in the shadows behind a park wall— Jake is still watching.

He sees you grab the phone. Sees you hesitate. Sees the exact moment you reach for the note. He exhales softly, barely smiling.

yourcheriefanboy [7:08PM]: Did you get it?

You don’t reply. He waits. Posts a vague message—nothing anyone would notice. Just a sunset picture with a caption that says:

"Some things are real even if you can’t name them."

Still, no reply. Then:

yourcheriefanboy [8:11PM]: I won’t say anything. I swear. Please talk to me. Please.

You stare at the screen for what feels like hours. And then— You press the little heart on his earlier message. Seen. His next text comes seconds later. Then another. Then three more. You let them sit. Unread. The next day, he messages again. The day after that, too. You scroll through them once. Then slowly swipe right. Block. The last message you see before the screen fades is:

yourcheriefanboy [Last seen 10:04PM]: It really is you… isn’t it?

—

It’s been a few days now since you blocked him. You do everything you can not to sign into that account. Then one morning you’re pulling on your coat, still half-asleep, yawning as you stuff chapstick into your pocket when your fingers brush something slightly rough yet thin.

Paper. You pause. Your breath catches. The note. You’d forgotten. You pull it out slowly, carefully, like it might dissolve if handled too fast. Your members are already by the door—Juna calling, “Come on, we’re gonna be late!” You don’t answer. You stare down at the folded note, heart racing. You open it. Jake’s handwriting is cute, a little messy and shaky, yet legible.

“I don’t know if I’m imagining this, but if it really is you— Thank you. For talking to me. For making me feel heard. For being a friend, even if you couldn’t say it out loud. You were always kind. Honest. Warm. Even if I didn’t know your real name, I knew your heart. I’m really glad you’re getting the break you deserve. Rest well. Be safe. You’re someone worth the world.”

Your chest caves a little. Tears burn quietly behind your eyes. You want so badly to run back to that bench. To tell him it was you. That he wasn’t imagining it. That you saw him, too. But instead, you hear your name being called again. You look up. The girls are already piling into the van. You look down at the note once more. Then fold it slowly and tuck it back into your pocket. And walk away.

—

The days stretch long and hollow after the note. You tuck it away like a fragile secret, a warm weight against your heart that you can’t share with anyone—not the members, not your manager, no one.

Blocking Jake had been a reflex—an act of self-preservation more than anything else. You needed space to breathe, to protect the life you’d built behind the mask. But the silence that followed was deafening.

You avoid his secret account altogether, refusing to let yourself stalk or even glance at the one place you once found comfort. It’s too painful to watch, to remember what you’re hiding. Instead, since you blocked him on your “fake” account, you use your real social media—where you’re just the idol everyone expects you to be, nothing more—to quietly check if he’s alright.

His posts are sparse, shy even. Pictures of cafés, sunsets, an occasional thoughtful quote. Nothing about the fan sign, nothing personal. You don’t follow, don’t comment. Just watch from a distance.

Then, the day of the sponsored pop-up event arrives, announced with flashy ads plastered across city billboards and social feeds. You know Jake will see it—he has to. It’s impossible not to. You change into something casual under your oversized hoodie, pulling your hair back loosely, trying to hide the familiar nervous flutter in your chest.

The streets buzz with excitement. Fans gather in tight clusters, laughter and chatter filling the air, mixing with the scent of roasted chestnuts and street food. Bright tents are set up, decorated in the group’s colors, with posters of you and the members smiling widely. Your heart pounds as you slip into the crowd, eyes scanning every face, every possible shadow. For hours, you find nothing. Until—there.

Near the edge of the crowd, leaning against a lamppost with his hands tucked in the pockets of his jacket, is Jake. He’s not close. Not trying to push forward or get attention. Just observing, calm and still. His gaze sweeps the crowd, and then—finally—it locks with yours. The world narrows to the space between your eyes. His cheeks flush pink, faint but unmistakable. His smile softens into something almost shy, as if he’s caught but trying not to be. You feel your breath hitch, your lips parting slightly. He glances away quickly, blinking as if to clear a fog, then looks back, just for a heartbeat more. Your heart aches with the weight of that brief connection. You want to step forward, to reach out, to say I’m still here—but the wall you’ve built tightens again.

Instead, you give the smallest, most fragile smile you can muster. He returns it, gentler now, eyes full of warmth and quiet hope. And then he steps back, melting into the crowd, respectful of the distance, of the silence, of the things you both can’t say. The pop-up is nearing its end when your manager gives you the nod.

“Do you want to go up front for a bit?” he asks gently. “Sign a few things, give the fans a moment?”

You glance at Naya, who’s already talking to a small group near the barricades. Juna’s posing with merch, Harin’s taking Polaroids with staff. All the cameras are off now—this part isn’t meant to be promotional. It’s just for them. For the ones who waited.

You nod. “Yeah,” you say, adjusting your hoodie, tugging the sleeves past your palms. “Just for a little bit.”

The crowd notices immediately when you step closer. Cheers rise—not too loud, but warm. Hands lift albums, posters, phones. Voices call out your name in that way that doesn’t feel scripted. This isn’t like a fansign. It’s more real. Messier. Softer. You move down the line slowly, signing things, offering soft thanks, smiling when someone hands you a hand-lettered note or a charm bracelet they made. Your fingers are cold, but you don’t notice. You’re searching. Where is he? Your eyes scan the crowd again—and finally, there. Jake. Still leaning back against the edge of the sidewalk, arms folded, head tilted slightly as he watches you. His expression is unreadable. Not sad. Not angry. Just… distant. Careful. Your chest twists. You hold his gaze, even as you sign something blindly in front of you. You hope—you pray—that the small, tentative lift of your eyebrows says what your mouth can’t.

Come closer. He shifts. Eyes flick toward the crowd between you. Then back to you. Still not moving. You hold his gaze a second longer, and then—slowly—you glance at the barricade, then back at him again. A silent invitation. Please. He hesitates. Your heart is thudding now, loud in your ears, because you can see the moment he almost steps forward. But he doesn’t. Not yet.

You smile softly—too soft to be fanservice, too personal to be anything else—and nod. Come on. He blinks like he’s waking up. Then finally, he takes a step forward— But it’s too late.

“Alright, let’s wrap it up,” a staff voice calls.

Arms gently usher you away from the edge of the crowd. More voices, more movement, a hand at your back. You glance over your shoulder, desperate, trying to find him again— He’s frozen mid-step. The space between you filled instantly with staff and fans and noise. You don’t get to say anything. You don’t get to see the look on his face as he stops walking. You just walk away.

That night, alone in your room, you sit on the floor with your hoodie pulled over your knees. The fan in your window hums quietly. Your phone’s still buzzing from mentions and updates and schedules. You toss it aside and reach for your laptop instead. You hesitate.

Then slowly, carefully, you type in the username: yourcheriefanboy. Blocked. Still. You breathe in deep. And unblock him. The screen refreshes. Everything floods in. All the messages you’d missed. They aren’t angry. They aren’t desperate. They’re just... him.

yourcheriefanboy [June 6]: Make sure you eat something today, okay? I know breaks get busy too. yourcheriefanboy [June 10]: It’s cold out—bundle up. Hoodie over hoodie, I’m serious. yourcheriefanboy [June 12]: Saw a clip of the pop-up. You looked happy. I hope it’s real. yourcheriefanboy [June 14]: I miss talking to you..

You stare at the screen, your heart heavy in your throat. They go on. Each one a little pocket of care. A soft tether. Your chest aches. You don’t reply. But he notices. Because the next one comes quickly.

yourcheriefanboy [Today 10:28PM]: You unblocked me. I was hoping you’d come around. Still not ready to talk? That’s okay. I can wait.

You don’t know what to say. You want to tell him everything. You want to rewind to the park bench, the alley, the moment you ran and never looked back. But instead, you stare at his words. And let the silence speak for you.

Seen.

—

You haven’t told anyone. Not about Jake. Not about the secret messages. Not about the way your heart nearly beat out of your chest when you saw him again at the pop-up. Not even about the quiet way he said I can wait. You carry it around like a hidden bruise—tender, pulsing, visible only when pressed. It’s been a week since you unblocked him. Since that message. You haven’t replied. But you’ve reread it more times than you can count.

Your phone sits beside you on the dorm’s kitchen table now, screen dark. The girls are gathered around eating late-night snacks after practice, half-laughing, half-exhausted. Instant noodles. Harin’s spilling broth. Juna is on her third can of soda. Naya is scrolling, eyes half-lidded but still sharp. You’re not talking. Again.

“Okay, what is going on with you lately?” Juna finally blurts, waving her chopsticks. “You’ve been, like… possessed. Zoning out every five minutes, walking into walls—like today! You almost ate a mic pack.”

Naya raises an eyebrow without looking up. “That was impressive, honestly.”

You blink out of your daze, cheeks warming. “What? Nothing. I’m just tired.”

“You’ve been tired for like.. two years,” Harin says, giggling to herself softly, flopping across the table dramatically. “But this is new tired. This is like... daydreaming tired.”

You smile faintly and look down at your half-finished noodles. They’re not wrong. You’ve been a mess. Quiet. Distracted. Wandering around the dorm like a ghost that forgot what it’s haunting.

“Okay,” Naya says, sitting up straighter. “Spill.”

You freeze. “What?” you say, but too defensively. All three of them look at you.

“Whatever’s going on,” Juna says gently. “You need to let us in.” And then—something in your chest shifts. A crack forming in the dam. You hesitate. Then you breathe out, slow and shaking. And you tell them everything. It all spills out in waves. The fan account. The late-night chats. The note in the box. The park. The pop-up. The eye contact. The messages after you blocked him. By the time you finish, the room is silent. Your throat is tight. Juna’s eyes are wide. Harin’s mouth is open like she forgot how to close it. Naya’s still, unreadable. You bite your lip.

“I know it’s reckless,” you murmur. “I just… he didn’t know it was me at first. And then when he did, he still didn’t try to use it against me. He just… cared. And I don’t even know why I’m so scared, but it’s like—he sees me. Not the stage version. Not the mask. Me.”

The silence stretches. And then— “Okay,” Harin says, softly. “That’s kinda hot.”

“Harin,” Naya warns, half-laughing.

“I mean!” she holds up her hands. “He made you a fan edit before knowing it was you. That’s next-level devotion.”

Juna turns to you, serious now. “Do you want to talk to him again?”

You don’t answer right away. But you nod. Just once.

Naya crosses her arms, thinking. “Look,” she says carefully, “I’m not going to lie—I don’t love the idea of anyone having leverage over you. It’s risky. But... it sounds like he doesn’t want anything from you except to be in your life. Even just as a friend.”

You nod again, lip trembling slightly.

“And just because we’re idols,” she continues, “doesn’t mean we’re not human. We’re allowed to feel things. We’re allowed to live. Just... be smart. Let us have your back. We’ll protect you.”

You feel your heart twist.

“I love you guys,” you whisper.

Harin throws her chopstick at you. “You better. Now go text your fanboy.”

Later that night, once the dorm is quiet and the lights are off, you lie on your bed, staring at the soft glow of your phone screen. You hover over the message thread. The last thing Jake sent is still there. "I can wait." You bite your lip. Then you type.

Cherieoffgrid [11:42PM]: Hey. Sorry it took me a while. I saw what you said. Thank you for waiting.

There’s no typing bubble for a few seconds. Then— It pops up. You exhale, holding the screen closer.

yourcheriefanboy [11:44PM]: Hey. It’s okay. I didn’t think you would, but… I hoped. Are you okay?

You smile, small but real.

Cherieoffgrid [11:45PM]: Getting there.

—

You don’t expect it to happen all at once. In fact, it doesn’t. But that’s what makes it feel so real. After that first reply—Getting there—Jake doesn’t flood your inbox. He waits a few hours before responding. Then a day. Then another. And then, slowly, it begins.

yourcheriefanboy: Did you get caught in the rain today too? I swear the sky hates Seoul. Cherieoffgrid: I was already home. But I love rain, actually. yourcheriefanboy: That feels like a main character answer.

You start talking again. Mostly late at night. Safe hours. He sends you songs, playlists with cryptic titles like "for no one in particular” and "if you ever look up at the same moon." You send back blurry selfies of your window view, captions like “long day” or “i’m tired but okay.” You don’t talk about the group. You don’t talk about what almost happened. You don’t talk about the fact that your fans still have no idea that the anonymous account you're using is you. But it’s comfortable. Quiet. Easy. Like you never stopped.

One night, long after a rehearsal that leaves your body aching, you find yourself scrolling through Jake’s account. You’ve been avoiding it. But now? You’re ready. And you weren’t expecting what you find. Because while you were gone—while you blocked him, while you ignored him, while you were protecting yourself—Jake didn’t disappear. He thrived.

The profile is still named yourcheriefanboy. But it’s different now. More refined. Still soft and sweet, but less anonymous. He posts dance covers now—full-on polished performances. Your choreo. Clean angles. Warm lighting. His form? Sharp. Intentional. Beautiful. Your jaw drops a little as you scroll through dozens of posts. He’s got rhythm. Style. Stage presence. His energy is magnetic. And the comments? Your fans love him.

“How is this not an official dancer for Cherie?” “Not to be parasocial but he might be my comfort person.” “My dream is for Cherie to do a duet with this fanboy omg.” “No one does their choreo like he does. He gets it.” “Cherie’s #1 fanboy fr.”

Some of them even use his edits to promote your group. And the hashtags? #fanboyforever, #cherieloyal, #jakeisour5thmember

You can’t lie. You’re floored. You smile without meaning to, staring at a video he posted last week: a slowed-down, emotionally-charged rendition of one of your most complex routines. There’s something about the way he moves that reminds you of your own feelings while performing it. The kind you never talk about. The way your knees go weak at the crescendo. The invisible ache in the bridge.

You whisper out loud, “You saw it…” Because he did. Jake saw you—the part that went unseen by everyone else. You text him for the first time that night without waiting for a prompt.

Cherieoffgrid [12:04AM]: i saw your choreo cover. the latest one. you’re… really good.

He responds within seconds.

yourcheriefanboy [12:06AM]: you saw that? wait i mean—thank you. i didn’t think you’d ever look. yourcheriefanboy [12:07AM]: did you like it? Cherieoffgrid [12:08AM]: it made me cry a little. yourcheriefanboy [12:09AM]: now i’m gonna cry.

A few days later, the members catch you smiling into your phone after practice while sitting on the floor with your legs stretched out.

Harin gasps. “Is this about him again?”

Juna drops beside you. “Wait, are you finally talking again?”

You blink up at them. “How did you—?”

“You hum when you text him,” Naya says from behind you. “You never hum.”

“I do not—”

“You do,” all three of them say in unison.

You bury your face in your hands as Juna throws an arm around your shoulders, grinning. “You know what this means, right?”

“What?”

“We’re totally doing a deep dive on his account tonight.”

That night, the dorm is filled with screams, laughter, and Harin aggressively clutching your arm every time a fan calls Jake “the future Cherie husband.”

“THEY’RE SHIPPING YOU,” she screeches, “AND THEY DON’T EVEN KNOW.”

You’re halfway between mortified and soft. Because somewhere inside… you like it. You want them to know. One day. Not yet. But someday.

Cherieoffgrid [2:41AM]: you’re kind of famous now btw. how does it feel to be internet royalty. yourcheriefanboy [2:43AM]: i’m just glad i get to share the things that matter to me. which is you. i mean. your group. your music. you know what i mean. Cherieoffgrid: yeah. i know.

—

It starts with a video. Posted late one night—@yourcheriefanboy. Jake. But this time, he’s not alone. The caption is simple, playful:

“had some help with this one :) tagging my partners in crime below. hope you guys like it <3 #cheriecomeback #cherrychemistrychallenge”

You tap the screen. Your breath catches. Jake, front and center, dances through your latest comeback choreo with six friends. They’re clean, dynamic, sharp—but your eyes never leave him. He’s magnetic. The others flank him like he’s the sun they orbit. And his timing—perfect. Every movement mirrors your group’s intent, every breath like he lived the song in his bones. You sit up in bed, blinking hard. This is not just a cute fan video. This is performance. And the fans know it. You scroll the comments and it’s chaos:

“JAKES ERA STARTS NOW.” “THEY GOT IT DOWN BETTER THAN HALF THE INDUSTRY.” “THIS NEEDS TO BE AN OFFICIAL COLLAB PLEASEEEEE.” “YOUR #1 FANBOY IS YOUR #1 DANCER.”

You’re still in shock when you practically trip out of bed, tablet in hand, stumbling into the kitchen where the others are eating cereal on the floor, in oversized shirts and tangled hair.

“Naya. Juna. Harin.” You hold up the screen. They scream. Like full-body, bowl-dropping screams.

“OH MY GOSH THEY LOOK SO—” “LOOK AT JAKE—” “He’s center. He’s main character-ing—”

Then, you do something you’ve never done before. You repost it. Not just from your private account. From @cherieofficial. No caption. Just a cherry emoji and the reposted clip. The detonation is instant. Jake’s comments explode:

“YOU GOT NOTICED. YOU GOT NOTICED. YOU GOT NOTICED.” “CHERIE KNOWS YOU EXIST. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.” “COLLAB WHEN. COLLAB WHEN. COLLAB WHEN.”

Even your own DMs are filled with fans tagging you, sending clips, screaming in all caps. You’re still watching the comments scroll when a message from him comes in.

yourcheriefanboy [9:01PM]: you reposted it. you didn’t have to, but… thank you. i still can’t believe you did that. Cherieoffgrid: you deserve everything, jake.

You don’t say more. But he does.

yourcheriefanboy [9:05PM]: i hope i can give something back someday.

You smile, not knowing what the next day will bring. The next day begins quiet. Too quiet. The dorm is washed in soft morning light, the scent of cinnamon oatmeal drifting from the kitchen. You’re curled into the far end of the couch in an old hoodie, scrolling through muted videos on your phone, your mind still playing back Jake’s latest post. You’d watched it three times before even blinking. You’ve watched it nine times now. You don’t know why you’re smiling. Or maybe you do. The room is peaceful—until your manager bursts in like a thunderclap. His heavy footsteps pound against the wood floor, and his phone is clutched in one tight fist like it’s a live grenade.

“Naya.”

She startles, spoon halfway to her mouth. “Mm?”

He stops in the center of the living room, panting like he just ran up the stairs. His shirt is wrinkled. His eyes are too bright.

“I want you to do a choreo collab video,” he says, breathless. “With that Jake guy. You know… the yourcheriefanboy person.”

Your heart drops so fast it takes your breath with it. There’s a pause in the room, heavy and sharp. Harin’s spoon clinks against her mug. Juna straightens slowly, frowning, eyes darting to you. Naya lowers her bowl, blinking. “Wait—what?”

Your throat is dry. The air feels thick like humidity before a storm.

“Why me?” Naya asks.

“I’ve already arranged it,” your manager says briskly, flipping his phone screen toward her. “The video went viral. Fans are frothing at the mouth. But we can’t have her involved—” he gestures vaguely toward you “—not yet. It’s too risky. Fans will think theres something there, and we can’t have that.”

Your chest constricts. Risky? You blink once. Hard.

“We need someone safe. Controlled. Professional,” he continues, pacing. “Someone who won’t complicate things.”

“I—” Naya stammers. “But she—”

“She knows the choreo better than anyone,” Juna says, bold.

He cuts her off with a sharp look. “It’s not about the choreo. This is about optics. Strategy. Exposure. And not about spreading baseless rumors.” He’s not looking at you when he says it, but you feel the sting anyway. Like glass behind the ribs.

“We’re going with Naya,” he finishes. Final.

He turns and walks out, leaving silence in his wake. Your lip trembles as you press your thumb into it. You taste iron. You’re still frozen when Naya turns toward you slowly. Her expression is tight, like she’s ashamed.

“I didn’t know,” she whispers.

“It’s okay,” you say. Your voice barely works. But it’s not okay. You spend the rest of the day pretending it is. That night, you’re curled up in bed, blanket over your shoulders, phone glowing dim against your fingers. You hesitate. Then type.

Cherieoffgrid [11:02PM]: Hey. Has anyone contacted you about a collab or something? yourcheriefanboy [11:04PM]: No? Wait, what? Should they have?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard.

Cherieoffgrid: Don’t worry about it. Just wondering.

You stare at the screen until your eyes blur. Then you toss your phone onto the pillow and turn away, curling tighter, like that might make the twist in your stomach disappear. And eventually it does.. That is until you wake up the next morning with more messages from him.

yourcheriefanboy [7:51AM]: HOLY SHIT THEY EMAILED ME I’M GONNA DO A COLLAB CHOREO VIDEO WITH YOU I SAID YES. I’M STILL SHAKING. THIS IS INSANE.

You smile. But it’s a hollow thing. He thinks it’s you. And it should’ve been. Two days pass like a fog you can’t wade through. Then Naya knocks gently on your bedroom door. You glance up. She’s standing there with her phone pressed against her chest.

“I think you should see this.”

You sit up slowly. It’s Jake. No friends. No background. Just him and a studio floor and the spotlight cutting across his figure like stage lighting. He’s dancing your solo choreo. The emotional centerpiece from your last comeback. A piece born from every overworked night, every sleepless breakdown, every cracked smile you wore for the camera. He’s perfect. It’s not just technical. It’s emotional. He feels it.

Your lips part slightly. “He’s…”

“He’s really good,” Naya murmurs. You both go quiet. And then she whispers, “I’m sorry.”

Your voice is barely a breath. “It’s not your fault.” But it still hurts.

—

The day of the shoot finally arrives. You're in the practice room early, but it doesn’t calm the nervous energy buzzing under your skin. You roll your wrists. Breathe. Stretch. Count. Across from you, Naya reties her shoes again. And again. Her hands are shaking. Then she misses a basic warmup move. Twice.

You glance over. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” But she’s pale. Lips pressed tight.

Juna looks at her worriedly. Harin frowns. The door creaks open. Your manager strides in, tapping at his phone.

“Jake will be here in five.”

Naya visibly pales. She sways slightly, then grabs the barre for support.

The manager pauses. “You look off. Are you sick?”

She swallows hard. “No, I’m—”

Then it happens. She claps a hand over her mouth and bolts. The door slams behind her.

“Shit,” your manager hisses. “Is she seriously—?”

Juna immediately runs after her, calling her name. You step forward, concern growing, but Harin suddenly intercepts you, stepping in smoothly with a wide-eyed smile.

“Manager-nim,” she says sweetly, “Naya’s been sick all morning. We thought it’d pass, but it’s not looking good.”

He gapes. “We can’t cancel. This is riding the wave right now.”

Harin tilts her head. “We don’t have to.”

She turns to you and nods. “She can do it. She’s ready.”

Your eyes widen. “Wait, what—”

“She knows the choreo better than anyone. After all.. it’s hers. Not to mention the fans want THEM. He covers all her choreo in every video. Let’s just give them what they want and worry about potential rumors if they come.”

The manager looks you over, panic battling calculation on his face. His phone buzzes again.

He sighs, hard. “Fine. Get her ready.”

You’re rushed down the hall. Hair. Makeup. Fit change. They style you like the comeback video—cherry red accents, sharp liner, silver jewelry. Clean but bold.

It all blurs. You’re ushered to the threshold of the studio— And the door opens at the same time. He steps in. Jake. He freezes. So do you.

The staff’s voices melt into a dull roar. His lips part. Eyes widening. He hadn’t expected this. And it shows. For a second, his expression flickers—confusion, disbelief, awe. Then something softer. You feel your heart lurch. Someone says his name. Someone introduces you both.

“Nice to meet you,” Jake says, almost too quietly.

You nod. “You too.”

But your throat burns with everything unsaid. Practice begins. The track plays. Your body moves without hesitation. So does his. It’s a dance you both know—just not like this. You can feel the heat of his palm before it ever brushes yours. The choreography is sharp, intimate. Not romantic—but connected. It asks for trust. Proximity. Precision. Your movements synchronize like breathing in stereo. When your eyes lock, it’s not just choreo anymore. It’s confession.

There’s electricity in the silence between each beat. In the glide of your fingers near his ribs. In the pivot of his shoulder brushing yours.

He looks at you like he remembers everything you never said. And maybe he does. The camera rolls. One take. No cuts.

The music ends—

—and you’re both frozen in the final pose.

Chest to chest. Breath mingling. His hand still extended just near yours. Silence. Neither of you moves. Then:

“Cut.”

The spell breaks. He smiles first. Not the wide, goofy grin from his fan videos. Something smaller. Something real. You smile back. Barely. But this time, it’s enough. And for the first time, the air between you isn’t a wall. It’s a doorway. The rest of the room doesn’t move when they call cut.

Jake is still standing there, close—too close—his chest lifting with shallow breaths. Yours mirrors his. Neither of you has stepped back yet, even though the final note has long since faded. You’re both just… there. Suspended.

Frozen in the afterglow of something that shouldn’t have felt so much like a goodbye.

The staff starts clapping. Someone shouts, “One take?! That was insane!” Equipment rustles behind you. Lights adjust. The illusion cracks.

You step back first.

The cool air that rushes between you nearly makes you shiver.

Jake blinks like he’s waking up. His lips part like he might say something, but you don’t give him the chance. You turn toward the others as stylists flood the floor, pretending you don’t notice the way he watches you walk away.

But you feel it.

Like gravity.

You're back in the changing room, unzipping your top, when Juna bursts in.

“Oh my gosh,” she hisses, slamming the door behind her. “That was not just dancing. That was practically emotional warfare.”

You give her a look. “Don’t start.”

Harin follows, already mid-cackle. “The way he looked at you,” she says, flopping onto the couch. “Like he was trying to memorize your face.”

Naya peeks around the corner, her bun messy from earlier. Her voice is softer. “You okay?”

You hesitate, holding your reflection in the mirror.

“I don’t know,” you whisper.

Your manager’s still talking to Jake outside when you exit the dressing room. You catch his voice through the wall.

“...really well done. Thank you again for being flexible.”

Jake’s voice is quieter. “Of course. She’s great, I really look up to her and— I mean…” He pauses. “It really meant a lot.”

You freeze behind the door, heart skidding sideways.

Before you can decide whether to walk out or wait, someone opens it from the other side.

It’s him. Jake. And for a split second, you’re alone again. Just the two of you in the hallway. He sees you—and the breath catches in his throat. You try to smile. He does first. It’s shy, but something flickers behind it—like maybe he’s holding something in.

“I didn’t think it’d be you,” he says quietly.

“I didn’t either,” you murmur, voice dry.

A beat of silence.

“I’m glad it was,” he adds.

You open your mouth to answer—but your manager rounds the corner and the moment shatters.

“There you are,” he says, clapping Jake on the shoulder. “Let’s get some photos before you go.”

Jake’s eyes linger on you. You watch him walk away. You can’t remember the last time you hated a goodbye this much. That night, you lie in bed, hood pulled up, phone in hand. He messages you.

yourcheriefanboy [9:47PM]: i don’t know how to say this without sounding dumb but… thank you for today. i’ll never forget it.

You read it three times. You don’t reply. But you hold the phone to your chest like it might stop your heart from breaking.

—

It doesn’t happen all at once. But the internet notices. First. The collab video drops and within minutes—chaos. The comments are feral:

“NO WAY THIS IS REAL??” “THE CHEMISTRY?? i’m on the FLOOR.” “cherie noticed him??? i can’t breathe” “She’s so good but jake?? jake has IT.”

Clips from the collab flood TikTok. Your name trends. So does his username. Fan accounts start dissecting every frame:

—The way you smiled in the background. —How Jake subtly glances off-camera after every move. —The soft electricity in your eyes.

You scroll in the dark, heart pounding. Everywhere you look—

“Youcheriefanboy supremacy.” “HE’S HER #1 FAN FOR A REASON.” “Not to be delusional but this is giving actual love story.”

He hasn’t texted you yet. But he will.

It starts with a message. The kind that comes in late. When the dorm lights are off and the others are asleep. When the air feels heavier, quieter, like the world is giving you permission to be vulnerable.

yourcheriefanboy [1:04AM]: you awake?

You stare at the screen. The profile picture is still that blurry mirror selfie. Still unreadable. Still… safe.

Cherieoffgrid [1:08AM]: i am now

A beat.

yourcheriefanboy: sorry if i’m being annoying. it’s just… i can’t sleep i keep thinking about our collab about you

Your breath catches.

You type. Delete. Type again.

Cherieoffgrid: me too

You can feel his exhale through the screen.

yourcheriefanboy: can i tell you something without it being weird? Cherieoffgrid: go for it yourcheriefanboy: it felt different with you like we already knew each other i don’t know how to explain it but it’s like my body just… remembered yours

Your hand trembles. You hesitate before typing your reply.

Cherieoffgrid: it didn’t feel weird i felt it too

The typing bubble appears. Then disappears. Then comes back.

yourcheriefanboy: i don’t want to do this in DMs anymore can i text you?

You pause.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard. Every warning in your head flashes like a red siren. But your heart? It’s whispering something else.

Cherieoffgrid: okay. here.

You send your number.

The second it leaves your phone, you flip it screen-down and inhale like you just jumped off a cliff.

Seconds later—it vibrates.

Unknown Number: hey. it’s me. jake.

Texting Jake is like exhaling after years of holding your breath.

He’s funny. Smart. Unfiltered. You talk about music. Life. Burnout. He tells you about the time he fell off a stage in high school. You tell him about Naya’s sleep-talking. It’s slow and tender and surprisingly normal.

And then one night:

Jake [11:56PM]: not trying to be bold or anything but… what if we met up? like. really. in person. no cameras. just 2 friends..

You stare at it for a long time.

You [12:03AM]: we can’t. it’s dangerous. you know that. Jake: i know. just had to say it.

—

A week passes. A slow, uneventful, moral questioning week.

And then.. Before you know it.. it somehow happens. Like you just could not resist it any longer.

You’re in a hoodie and sunglasses, sitting beside Jake on a tucked-away bench under a willow tree near the Han River. You haven’t smiled this freely in weeks. He brought you hot tea. The lid has a cat doodle drawn on it. You’re laughing at something dumb he said about idol stage names when he suddenly goes quiet.

“Don’t move,” he whispers.

Your body locks. He shifts forward slightly, his eyes scanning over your shoulder.

“What is it?” you murmur.

He lowers his voice. “There’s a girl across the park. She’s been watching us for five minutes.”

Your stomach drops. He shifts subtly in front of you, shielding your face.

“Phone?” you ask.

“Already out,” he confirms. “She’s pretending to stretch.”

“Shit.”

Jake leans in close, voice barely audible. “We’re gonna walk. Slowly. Don’t look back.”

You nod. He stands first, casually stretching, then offers you a hand. You take it. His grip is firm. Protective. You walk side by side. He murmurs directions like a bodyguard. Turns. Timing. You slip through alleys. Shortcut near a bookstore. Jake pulls his hoodie low.

And then—

A car. His friend. Already waiting. Jake opens the back door and helps you in.

You don’t look up until the door shuts and the car pulls away. Your pulse is thundering. Hands shaking. Jake leans down to the window and taps twice. You don’t roll it down. He mouths: I’m sorry.

You don’t text him that night. You don’t text him for days. But he does.

Jake [9:14AM]: are you okay? please tell me you’re okay i’m so sorry i should’ve known better Jake [next day]: i miss talking to you i’ll stop if you want me to i just… can’t stop thinking about you

You never reply. Until one night. You’re scrolling. Exhausted. Aching. And then it hits. A message. Just one line.

Jake [11:41PM]: when are we gonna stop pretending?

You freeze. You type.

You [11:46PM]: what if i showed up? Jake: i’d open the door. You: no questions? Jake: none. just you.

It’s late. Rain taps the sidewalk in soft rhythms. You’re wearing no disguise. No mask. Just a hoodie pulled over clean skin and tired eyes. You stand at his apartment door. It opens like he was already waiting. Jake stares at you. You stare at him. No one speaks.

You step in. And this time— You stay.

The door closes softly behind you. The room is quiet. Almost too quiet. Jake gestures loosely to the couch, like he’s unsure of what to say. “You, uh… want to sit?” You nod, but neither of you move.

He rubs the back of his neck. “I thought I’d say something clever. But you kind of caught me off guard.”

You huff a laugh. “Me too.”

He finally crosses the room, sits on the far end of the couch. You follow a beat later, leaving a polite, awkward distance between you.

Seconds pass. He taps his knee. You trace a thread on the hem of your sleeve.

It’s not tense—just… fragile. Like the moment might shatter if either of you breathe wrong.

Jake clears his throat. “So… how’ve you been?”

You blink. “Busy. Tired. Being an idol is—well. You know.”

“I don’t, really. Not like that. But… I can imagine.” He pauses. “I saw your interview. The one last week.”

You look at him sideways. “The one where I accidentally zoned out mid-question?”

He smiles. “No one noticed.”

“You did.”

“Always.”

The silence returns, but it’s heavier now. Something flickering just beneath it.

You shift. “I saw your new video.”

His eyes widen slightly. “Yeah?”

You nod. “You’re getting really good. Like, scary good.”

Jake shrugs, ducking his head. “I just… I like it. I like dancing. It’s how I feel close to you. Even if we’re not talking.”

The confession lands between you like a thunderclap—quiet, but impossible to ignore.

You open your mouth. Close it. Then finally whisper, “I watched everything I missed. Every post. Every caption.”

“I didn’t think you would,” he says softly. “After you blocked me.”

“I didn’t want to,” you admit. “But I had to.”

Jake leans back against the cushion, gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Because of the job. The fans. The risk.”

You nod.

“But we’re here anyway,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice quiet, almost breaking. “We are.”

There’s a long beat. Neither of you move. The air is so thick with unsaid things it almost hums.

Jake tilts his head, finally meeting your eyes. “What are we doing?”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

“This,” he gestures between you. “It’s not just texting. It’s not just a collab. And that wasn’t just tea by the river.”

Your breath hitches.

“I know what we should be doing,” he adds. “Keeping distance. Playing it safe. But I can’t stop thinking about you. And I don’t think I want to anymore.”

You exhale shakily, looking down at your hands. “I want to see you. For real. Not behind glasses or masks or through DMs. But…”

Jake waits.

“But I’m scared,” you whisper.

He nods once, slowly. “Me too.”

Your eyes meet again. There’s no fear there. Just understanding. Longing. Quiet defiance.

“I’m not asking for anything,” he says finally. “Not now. Not yet. I just… I want you to know you don’t have to pretend around me.”

Your throat tightens. “That’s the problem. I’ve been pretending so long, I don’t always know when I’m not.”

Jake’s voice drops. “Then let’s figure it out. Together. Slowly.”

A silence settles between you. But this time, it doesn’t feel awkward. It feels like a beginning. You glance down at your hands, then over at his—resting beside him on the couch. Slowly, you reach out. Just pinkies. Barely touching.

His breath stutters. But he doesn’t move away. Neither do you. The lightest touch. Not even a grip. Just the barest brush of your pinkie against his. But it’s enough.

Jake doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. His gaze stays forward, fixed somewhere ahead—but you can feel the way he shifts toward you. Like gravity.

You don’t look at him either. Your heart is pounding too loud. Your throat too tight.

But you don’t pull away.

It’s quiet for a long time. Then softly, so softly, Jake says, “Thank you.”

You glance at him. “For what?”

“For showing up.”

You smile, just barely. “I almost didn’t.”

“I almost didn’t believe you would.”

You look down where your fingers still touch.

And then—his pinkie curls slightly around yours. Just enough to hold.

It makes your stomach turn in the best, slowest way.

“You don’t have to stay long,” Jake says, voice low, almost shy. “I just… didn’t want to end the night wondering.”

You nod slowly. “I’m glad I came.”

He glances at you then, a real look. Eyes searching. “Are you tired?”

You pause. “Always.”

He laughs under his breath. “Want tea? Or water? Or like… the worst instant ramen of your life?”

You laugh, too. “Honestly? Ramen sounds perfect.”

Jake jumps up, nervous energy flickering under the surface. “Okay, but I warned you. This is broke-style desperation cooking. Like, scandalously low-budget.”

You tuck your legs up under you on the couch, watching as he disappears into the kitchen. The clatter of a pot, the hiss of a kettle. It’s domestic. Real. A little surreal.

He’s humming. You don’t recognize the melody, but it sounds like comfort. You let yourself relax.

His place is small—bare, but cozy. There’s a worn hoodie tossed over the back of a chair. A polaroid of a dog stuck to the fridge. A chipped mug on the counter.

You know nothing about his real life, and yet here you are. In the middle of it.

A few minutes later, he brings two bowls over—steaming and wildly uneven in noodle distribution.

“Don’t judge me,” he says, sheepish.

You grin. “I’d never.”

You both sit on the floor with your backs against the couch, bowls in your laps. The steam fogs your glasses briefly, and Jake hands you a napkin without a word.

You eat in silence for a while. Not awkward. Just… quiet.

Jake finishes first and leans his head back against the couch. “Can I ask something?”

You nod. He doesn’t look at you when he speaks. “Is this gonna be it?”

You pause, chopsticks still in your hand.

“Like…” he swallows, “just this one night?”

You don’t answer right away. Because you don’t know. Because you’re scared of what it might mean if you say no. But you also know the truth. So you place your bowl down carefully. And whisper, “I don’t want it to be.”

Jake turns his head slowly. Looks right at you. The softest breath leaves his lips. And then he smiles. Not a wide one. Not excited. Just… relieved. Like he’s been holding his breath, too. You shift slightly closer, knees brushing. Still no kiss. Still no bold confessions.

But something shifts between you in that moment. The air thickens, deepens. And it becomes clear that whatever this is—it’s not ending here. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

—

It starts with small things.

A soft hum in the mornings. A spring in your step during rehearsals. The others notice before you do—how you laugh more. How your eyes light up when your phone buzzes.

They don’t say anything at first. But they see it.

Naya catches you grinning at your phone one night and just tosses a throw pillow at you with a knowing look. “Tell loverboy he’s keeping you up past curfew.”

You snort. “He’s not—”

“Mmhm.”

Still, they help. Every time.

Every cover story. Every excuse. Every well-timed distraction when a staff member walks too close to your room while you're slipping out in a hoodie.

Juna even keeps a spare jacket by the door “just in case someone needs to sneak out fast.”

You’re careful. You have to be. But you’re also the happiest you’ve ever been. And the fans notice. Your fancams hit different now. They flood the comments with things like:

“She’s GLOWING lately??” “Something’s changed, she looks so at peace.” “Whoever’s making her smile like that, thank you.”

At every pop-up, concert, street show—he’s there. Jake never tries to get your attention. Never causes a scene.

But somehow you always find him. His warm gaze in the crowd. The soft nod. That half-smile like he’s rooting for you even from a distance.

You swear your heart beats differently when he’s near. On a gray, wind-swept Tuesday, you meet again.

The girls cover for you without question. You slip out disguised in a bucket hat and oversized jacket, slipping through the back entrance of a quiet neighborhood café where he waits, already seated.

He’s facing the window. When he sees you, he stands, smiling wide. Like it’s the first time, every time. You sit across from him, the table small and warm between you.

“You ordered already?” you ask behind your mask.

Jake nods. “Your usual. I figured you wouldn’t want to be here too long.”

You smile beneath the fabric. “You figured right.”

He hands you the cup, fingertips brushing. Your heart flutters. You sip quietly, the two of you tucked in your little corner of the world. Safe. Hidden. Real.

When you leave, you both take the long way around, weaving through alleys and tree-lined paths.

It’s quiet between you. But not awkward.

Jake’s telling you about a viral dance challenge he got roped into when— He reaches down. And takes your hand.

Like it’s nothing. Like he’s done it a hundred times.

Your steps falter. You look at him, shocked.

But he doesn’t even glance your way. Just smiles to himself, like you’re not the only one who’s been dying to feel this close.

You don’t let go. You can’t.

For hours, you walk. Talking. Laughing. A world away from cameras, costumes, and curfews.

Until the sun starts to dip. You’re about to say goodbye when you feel it. A shift in the air. Jake freezes first. You follow his eyes—and see it.

A girl, no older than a student, standing across the street, phone halfway lifted. You don’t know if she’s aiming it at you. If she recognizes you. But she’s staring. Jake’s hand drops from yours instantly.

You both turn quickly, walking the opposite direction. Fast. Heads low. Adrenaline spiking.Your pulse is a war drum in your throat. Around the corner. Down another alley. Breath hitching.

“She saw,” you whisper, panic flaring. “I know she did—”

Jake hushes you gently. “Just keep walking. I’ll get you a ride.”

He already has his phone out. You duck under a stairwell, breathing hard, pulling your hood up, masking again.

Jake stays with you the whole time, guarding the edge of the sidewalk like a shield. When the car arrives, he opens the door for you.

“Go,” he says softly. “It’ll be okay.”

You look at him. Your fingers ache from not holding his. Your throat aches from the weight of the goodbye. But you nod. And then you’re gone. Later that night, your group’s manager knocks on your door.

“You saw the photo?” he asks flatly.

You freeze.

The photo is grainy. You’re in profile, mostly hidden, but it’s enough.

Just enough to make hearts race.

“Who is she?” “His girlfriend?” “She looks familiar…” “Wait, could it be—?”

The internet is frothing. The photo’s climbing trending tags fast.

Your manager sighs angrily. “Lay low. We’ll handle it. But.. we need to talk.”

You nod slowly, numb. In your room, your phone buzzes.

Jake [9:52PM]: i’m sorry. i swear i didn’t see her. are you okay?

You don’t answer. Not yet. Not until your heart stops sprinting. But deep down, you know this isn’t over. Because secrets can’t stay secret forever. And because the second he took your hand—you knew:

You never wanted to let go again.

—

The next morning, everything collapses.

You’re still in your hoodie from last night, curled on the couch with a half-finished tea cooling beside you. Your head’s resting on Naya’s shoulder as she softly scrolls through her phone, both of you too tired to speak.

Then—

SLAM.

The front door crashes open like a gunshot. You jolt upright.

Your manager’s voice cracks through the dorm like lightning. “WHAT. THE HELL. WERE YOU THINKING?”

Harin drops her cereal with a clang. Juna flinches so hard she spills milk down her leg. Naya straightens immediately, eyes dark. He storms into the room, red-faced and breathing like he’s run a mile. Phone in hand. Screen glowing. Already open to a photo.

A photo you know.

You and Jake.

From the coffee shop. Just before you parted ways. Just before the flash went off.

He holds it up like a weapon. “You think I wouldn’t see this? You think I’m stupid?”

“I—” Your throat closes. “It wasn’t—”

“Don’t,” he snaps. “Do not insult me with some excuse.”

He throws his hand out. “Give me your phone.”

You hesitate. Then Naya puts a hand on your arm. Gently. You pass it over.

He rips it from your grasp.

“You’re off. Hiatus. Immediately. No more social. No press. No rehearsals. No messaging anyone.”

“What?” you whisper.

He doesn’t even blink. “You’re lucky we don’t terminate your contract.”

The silence is suffocating.

“You can’t do that,” Juna says, voice shaking. “You can’t.”

“Watch me,” he hisses, and storms out before anyone else can speak.

You don’t cry at first. You sit still. Frozen. Like your soul has left your body.

The girls hover, frantic.

“Unbelievable,” Harin mutters, pacing the room.

Juna pulls you into a quiet hug, whispering, “It’s gonna be okay.”

That night, she slips you her phone. Her eyes say don’t get caught.

You type only three words:

I miss you.

His reply comes within seconds.

Jake: i’m here. always.

And he means it. You message one more night. Just once. But the third day, it’s over.

He finds out. No one knows how.

Maybe a slip-up. Maybe a tracker on the company Wi-Fi. Maybe he’s just watching everything.

He bans the girls from helping. Juna sobs in the kitchen. Naya throws her shoe at the wall. Harin rips the charger from her phone like it’s the manager’s throat.

But none of it helps. You’re alone again. Two days later the door slams open again—but this time, it’s Naya.

“Look,” she says, voice trembling. “You need to see this.”

She shoves her phone into your hand. Photos. New ones.

From the side. From behind. Someone clearly followed you.

You with Jake. His arm gently touching yours. Your hands interlocking. Your eyes on him, soft.

The article headline reads: “Is Cherie’s main dancer secretly dating her #1 fan?”

The comments are a firestorm.

“THIS is why she’s on hiatus.” “She’s reckless. Unprofessional.” “lol that’s what happens when you get too close to fans.” “I’m so disappointed.”

But then—

“She looks happy. Look at her smile.” “I hope it’s true. She deserves soft love.” “She choreographed half their discography and she can’t even date someone? Y’all are insane.” “This better be real or I’ll cry.” “If she’s with him… she’s winning.”

You read for an hour. The hate is loud. But the support? It's deafening. Your hands shake. You cry again, quietly this time, into the sleeve of Naya’s hoodie.

The next morning, a sudden meeting is called. All four of you stand awkwardly in the studio, tension high. The manager walks in, eyes tired.

“We’re dropping the new single,” he says. “This week.”

Stunned silence.

Your heart leaps for half a second. “Wait… really?”

He doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t even acknowledge your voice.

“Yes. But you’re not part of it.”

The floor falls out beneath you.

“What?” Juna gasps.

“You’re joking,” Harin breathes.

“She choreographed everything,” Naya growls. “The hook, the chorus, the damn bridge—”

“She’s a liability right now,” he snaps. “Too much press. We need clean faces. We’ll push with the three of you.”

“No,” Naya says, loud and firm.

He freezes.

“I said no.”

“We won’t do it,” Harin adds.

“She’s our sister,” Juna says, her voice breaking. “You don’t get to treat her like this.”

“If she’s not in it, we’re not in it.”

A beat of silence. Then he storms out without a word. You collapse back into the dorm, shaking. The girls surround you, soft and warm, full of fire and loyalty.

They make tea. Naya puts on your favorite movie. Juna paints your nails terribly on purpose to make you laugh. Harin makes heart-shaped toast.

And that night, you quietly thank them. You hug them all. And then go to your room. Lock the door. Sit on the edge of your bed. You try not to cry again.

Then—

A knock. You tense.

“Please go away,” you whisper.

Another knock. Silence. Then again.

You snap. Fling the door open— And stop breathing. Jake. In your dorm. In the hallway.

Soaked from rain. Hoodie clinging to his shoulders. Hair curling at his forehead. Breath heavy like he ran the whole way.

Your knees give out. He catches you instantly.

Arms around your waist, tight. Secure. Your face presses into his chest and the floodgates break.

You cry like your bones are splintering.

He holds you through it all.

“I missed you,” you sob. “I missed you so much, Jake. Everything hurts.”

He strokes your hair, voice choked. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

“No—”

“I ruined it. I was your biggest fan and I ruined your career.”

“You didn’t—”

“I just wanted to know you,” he breathes. “I never meant for this. I never wanted to make your life harder.”

You shake your head. “You’re the only good thing that happened.”

He swallows thickly. “I’ll go. I just wanted to say goodbye. I won’t ruin this anymore.”

“No.”

He moves to stand. But your hand darts out—grabs his wrist.

“Don’t,” you whisper. “Please. Don’t go.”

His eyes shine. And you’re already crying again. You tug him gently into your room. He steps in. You shut the door. No cameras. No lies. No disguises. Just you and him. And finally, the quiet love you’ve both been trying to outrun.

But can no longer deny.

—

The apology post goes up a day later. You're the one who types it—but only technically. Every word is scrutinized, softened, sanitized. You're told to be thoughtful. Professional. Grateful. You're told to apologize for "the miscommunication." You're told to remind them that you're "still learning." But between the lines, you slip something in. Something real.

“Even idols are human. I’m still figuring out what that means. Thank you for your patience.”

The comments erupt. Not with hate—but with fire.

“Why is she apologizing for EXISTING???” “She literally did nothing wrong omg let her breathe.” “Let idols love. Let HER love.” “THE MANAGER NEEDS TO BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE”

Your inbox floods with love letters. Fan mail. Support. And hate mail, too—only this time, it's aimed squarely at the company.

“Let your artists live.” “Protect your idols, don’t punish them.” “Stop policing their happiness.”

It builds. Fast. Loud. Global. Enough that your manager finally looks at you in the practice room one night, exhales slowly, and mutters—

“Just… be careful.”

Not a yes. Not a no. But enough. You clutch your phone like it’s holy when it’s returned to your hand. And that night—

You [8:43PM]: Can I come over next week? Jake: Wait what??? YES. YES. you can come over right now if you want. or tomorrow. i’ll clear my whole schedule.

You laugh for the first time in what feels like days. But you don’t go yet. Because you have a plan.

It starts with a knock on Naya’s door.

Then Harin’s. Then Juna’s.

They don’t even hesitate.

They help you pick a chord progression. Fix your lyrics. Harmonize the hook.

It's just a short song. Small. Soft. For him.

Then the day comes.

You ride the train with your guitar strapped to your back, head ducked, heart thudding in your chest the whole way there. You don’t text before you arrive. You just show up.

You lift your hand to knock, but the door’s already open before your knuckles touch wood.

Jake stands there. He looks like he ran. Socks mismatched. Hair a mess. Breathless. He doesn't even greet you. He just pulls you in.

Arms wrapping around you so fast, so tight, like he’s been holding his breath since the last time he saw you.

You drop your bag and cling back. The silence is thick with relief. He pulls back just a little and notices the guitar.

“Wait—what’s this?”

You suddenly forget how to breathe. You’re never nervous to perform. Not for thousands. Not for cameras. But now? Your palms are sweating. Your voice tight in your throat.

You kneel on his living room rug, pulling the guitar from its case. Adjust the strap. Re-tune a string or two. Clear your throat.

Jake sits across from you on the floor, legs criss-crossed, arms resting on his knees. Watching.

Not expectant. Not eager. Just… open. Waiting.

You glance up at him, and then— You begin.

Your fingers pluck soft, trembling notes. A hush falls over the room.

The first lyric slips from your mouth like a secret you’ve never told anyone else.

“you called yourself a fanboy / but you made me feel like more / like i was someone to come home to / someone worth fighting for…”

Jake’s chest rises—slow. His mouth parts slightly. His eyes don’t leave you for a second.

“i was a name in lights / you were a face in the crowd / and somehow… you saw me / when i forgot how”

You look down as you play, afraid if you meet his gaze again, you’ll fall apart.

Your fingers tremble just slightly against the strings, but the melody is clear. Honest. It spills into the space between you like a secret finally brave enough to speak.

The lyrics come softer now, voice barely above a whisper. A line about a boy with stars in his eyes, Another about how he made you feel seen when you were disappearing.

The bridge builds gently, like your heart is learning how to breathe again, like it’s remembering how to feel without fear. Each note feels like confession. Like forgiveness.

And when the final chord fades, your breath catches in your throat.

Silence. No clapping. No smile.

Jake sits motionless on the edge of the couch, hands curled into loose fists on his knees. His chest rises, but he doesn’t exhale. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t speak.

For a second, you think you’ve gone too far. That maybe this was too much.

Then you see it. Just one. A single tear, sliding slow and quiet down his cheek. Your heart drops.

You fumble to set the guitar down and rush toward him, panic blooming in your chest.

“Oh my gosh—Jake, I didn’t mean to—was that weird? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Stop.”

His voice is raw, thick like it’s been buried under too much silence for too long.

You freeze mid-step.

His hand reaches for you, tentative at first, then more certain as it curls gently under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his.

His eyes are red-rimmed, glassy, locked onto yours like they’ve been searching for you across lifetimes.

“Don’t apologize,” he breathes, voice just above a whisper.

And then—

He kisses you. Not soft. Not slow.

It crashes into you like a wave that’s been building since the day he learned your name. Desperate. Fierce. Like every sleepless night, every hidden smile, every text left unsent is behind it.

Your fingers twist into his hoodie, anchoring yourself to him. His hands cup the sides of your face, thumbs brushing away tears you hadn’t noticed had fallen.

He kisses you like the moment will collapse if he stops. Like if he doesn’t taste every second of it, he’ll regret it for the rest of his life.

It’s messy. A little unsteady. But so painfully real.

When you finally part, gasping, lips tingling and hearts racing, he doesn’t move far—his forehead presses against yours, breath warm against your skin.

He still hasn’t let go of your face.

He’s watching you. Carefully. Reverently. Like you’re a galaxy he’s terrified to disturb.

You blink, overwhelmed.

He smiles. A real one. Soft. Shy. Staggering.

“That song…” he murmurs.

You look up at him, unsure if you can handle the weight of whatever comes next. His voice is barely there now. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

And in the stillness that follows—

There is no idol. No fan. No fear. No world to chase or escape from. Just you. And him.

And the quiet, breathless bloom of something finally allowed to take root. Something permanent.

Something yours.

—

You and Jake have settled into a rhythm no one else fully understands. You keep things casual, deliberate—not officially “together,” not publicly seen hand-in-hand, but close enough that the members and a few trusted friends know. The rest? They speculate endlessly. Fans watch your social media, piecing together the hints, the moments he appears just outside the frame of your photos, the way your smiles brighten when he’s near.

At public events, Jake’s usually just a shadow in the crowd—never too close, never too obvious. But your fans notice. They see the subtle warmth in your eyes, the way your steps quicken when he shows up, the quiet moments you steal when no one’s looking. The rumors swirl, but you never confirm or deny. Why spoil the magic?

Your members tease you endlessly. Naya nudges you with a grin, “Girl, we all see it. You’re glowing.”

Juna laughs, “Yeah, it’s like you’re walking on sunshine every time he’s around.”

Harin winks, “Keep playing coy, but you’re basically a walking love song.”

You laugh, cheeks flushed, but there’s a comfort in their knowing smiles. They have your back. You have each other.

Then one evening, at the dorm you’re curled up on the couch, scrolling through fan tweets, half amused, half touched.

"‘She’s finally happy. About time!’" one fan writes. "‘He better treat her right, or else.’" "‘If this is real, I’m here for it.’"

You smile softly and tuck your phone away, unaware that Jake is quietly watching you from the hallway, his heart full and aching in equal measure. He steps inside, a little hesitant but smiling.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

You look up, startled but delighted.

“Hey.”

You fall into easy conversation, voices low, the comfort of presence filling the room. It’s not public, not official, but it’s yours.

—

The afternoon sun poured softly through the sheer curtains, dust motes floating lazily in the warm light. You sat cross-legged on the windowsill of your room, the city skyline stretching out behind you like a familiar, comforting backdrop. Your phone was perched just right on the windowsill, front camera activated, ready for your live stream. The gentle hum of the dorm around you—the clinking of dishes, muffled laughter, the distant sound of music—made the moment feel cozy and real.

Your members were scattered nearby, teasing you playfully off-camera. Juna poked her head into the frame, making exaggerated funny faces that sent you into a soft fit of laughter. Harin waved enthusiastically and mouthed “You got this!” while Naya leaned against the doorframe, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips.

You adjusted the camera slightly, then smiled warmly at the little crowd gathering in the chat box, where thousands of fans eagerly typed questions and compliments. The screen flickered with colorful hearts and messages of love. Your voice was light and casual as you answered questions, shared bits about your day, and gave gentle encouragement to those struggling to get through theirs.

You told a funny story about Naya’s latest kitchen disaster, and the chat exploded with laughing emojis. The tension of weeks past seemed miles away in that room, in that moment — here, you were just you.

Then, suddenly, the sound of the front door swinging open echoed through the dorm. A pair of soft footsteps came down the hall. Your gaze flicked toward the doorway, and there he was.

Jake.

Barefoot, his hair tousled from sleep or a restless afternoon. A steaming cup of coffee cradled in his hands. He wore an oversized hoodie that swallowed his frame in the most endearing way. His eyes caught the gentle glow of your phone screen, flickering with your face.

Time seemed to slow.

Your fingers froze mid-air, heart stuttering like a skipping record.

His eyes widened—surprised, amused—and a slow, sheepish grin spread across his face.

“Shit,” you whispered, instinctively covering the camera lens with your hand, cheeks flaming hotter than the afternoon sun.

“Shit,” he echoed, stepping closer, the soft scrape of his bare feet against the hardwood floor barely audible.

The members peeked around the corner, trying desperately not to laugh at the sudden burst of awkwardness.

Your heart hammered in your chest as the chat exploded:

“OMG IS THAT JAKE???” “GIRL WHY YOU WORRIED? WE ALL KNEW.” “FINALLY, THE SECRET’S OUT!” “Y’ALL ARE SO CUTE.”

Jake’s gaze flicked from your flushed face to the chat window. His eyes crinkled with warmth and quiet affection as he leaned slightly forward, whispering just loud enough for you to hear, “Guess the secret’s out.”

You bit your lip, still blushing, and slowly uncovered the camera. Your smile was shy but real, catching his gaze and holding it.

After the live stream ended, you set the phone aside and scooted down from the windowsill, curling up on the couch beside him. His hand found yours, fingers threading together like a perfect puzzle.

Jake brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear with gentle reverence, his thumb caressing your skin. His voice was low, steady, as he murmured, “Guess we don’t have to hide anymore.”

You tilted your head up, eyes shining with a mix of relief and anticipation. “Not yet,” you whispered, voice trembling with the weight of everything unsaid. “But soon.”

He nodded slowly, the light in his eyes soft and sure. “And when that day comes,” he said, voice husky, “we’ll take it slow. Together.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. The quiet around you was full of promise—of whispered confessions yet to come, shared glances across crowded rooms, the kind of love that grows in the shadows before stepping fully into the light.

Because some stories, you both knew, were meant to be whispered first—before they were ever sung aloud.

——————

EPILOG :)

The final night of the tour was electric, the air thick with anticipation and the collective heartbeat of thousands of fans. The stage lights pulsed in rhythm with the music as the crowd roared, waving light sticks that painted the arena in a sea of colors.

After the last high-energy track, the music faded, but the cheers kept rising, demanding an encore. You stepped back on stage, this time.. just you. Your heart was pounding like a drum. The spotlight found you, crisp and warm against the cool night.

“Thank you all for being with me on this journey,” you began, your voice steady but soft, carrying a weight of meaning. “Tonight, I want to share something special—a song I wrote for someone… very special.”

You paused, your eyes scanning the sea of faces, and then you smiled, the kind of smile that held years of secret stories finally ready to be told.

From the side, a stagehand handed you your guitar, polished and familiar in your hands. You strummed the first gentle chords, the melody weaving through the hush that fell over the crowd. You began to sing softly, strumming lightly. Everyone was silent as the melody filled the air of the venue.

Then, just as the track music began to flow fully, a figure stepped onto the stage’s edge — Jake. His presence was electric but calm, eyes locked on yours as he moved with quiet confidence.

The crowd erupted, screams mixing with cheers as you and Jake shared a glance filled with everything unspoken, everything finally free.

As the song’s rhythm picked up, someone took your guitar and you both began to dance—simple, sweet movements that told a story of connection and trust. His hands found yours, fingers intertwining effortlessly as the music carried you both through every note.

The audience was spellbound, watching two souls finally stepping out of shadows, bathed in the glow of stage lights and genuine love.

When the last note lingered in the air, you and Jake stood side by side, breathless and smiling, the applause crashing over you like a wave of pure joy.

You looked out at the crowd—at the fans who had waited, hoped, and now celebrated with you—and whispered, “This is just the beginning.”

Jake squeezed your hand, eyes sparkling, and together you took a bow, stepping forward into a future no longer hidden but shining bright for all to see.

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