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jakesimfromstatefarm · 5 months ago

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no doubt ── s. jy

↳ summary ── struggling to balance a world tour, endless responsibilities, and...well, the sting of getting dumped by his girlfriend, jake finds peace & comfort confiding in you—one of his closest friends. what begins as lighthearted late-night phone calls while he's away on tour deepens into something more, quickly pulling you both into uncharted emotional territory. as your connection with jake intensifies, so does your inner turmoil—torn between the comfort of your easy relationship with him and the terrifying possibility of falling for someone you're not even sure you can have in the first place. but jake? jake has absolutely no doubt of what he wants—and spoiler alert? it's you.

↳ pairing ── jake x f!reader, [ft. childhoodbestfriend!jungwon, bestfriends!enha]

↳ genre ── idol!jake, friends to lovers!au || angstttt, fluff, crack

↳ ✎ᝰ. 23.7k [never beating the allegations of getting too attached to my works and having too much fun writing i fear...]

↳ contains ── angst! very angsty but only after a lot of fluff...the cheesy cringe type but then it goes downhill real quick...but happy ending i swear!, mentions of insecurities, maybe one or two curse words, fic starts with jake dating og character named jenn, the use of pet names, jungwon practically plays therapist, jake is absolutely whipped for reader but is terrible at communication and a certified idiot . also jungwon is reader's best friend so the beginning sets up the context for that lolz

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── she's DONEEE [do u hear me crying in the background]...so some backstory lore abt this fic—basically two years ago i had a dream about the ~angsty scene~ of this fic and ever since then, i've had this itch of putting it into words. and when i finally decided to do it, no doubt came out and i thought it was literal fate since the lyrics match the vibe so well...don't tell me it isn't fate guys :') anyways..this is a little different than my typical writing style even though of course i had to include summm crack..but i am still nervous abt how it came out so i really really hope you guys like it :') thank u for all the support and love always <3

↳ update .ᐟ ── check out the sequel series of this fic here!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

You and Yang Jungwon were literally born to be best friends.

Like, there was no other option.

Your mom? Their high school's poster child for academic perfection—top of her class, president of every club imaginable, a certified teacher's pet.

Jungwon's mom? Their high school's unofficial social chair—life of the party, karaoke queen, probably responsible for half the faculty's headaches.

Nothing alike.

So naturally, of course, they were inseparable. By their junior year, they'd already started planning their futures together, including one very specific and totally realistic goal that all teenage girl best friends make when they're young:

"We should have our first kids around the same time and force them to be best friends!"

"Oh my gosh, yes," Jungwon's mom agreed enthusiastically. "Like, we'll make them share everything! Matching outfits, playdates, joint birthday parties!"

But what your moms didn't realize as they were giggling over the playful promise that probably didn't hold any meaning to them at the age of 17?

The universe was taking notes.

So fast forward a couple decades later, and there you were, baby best friends from birth, fulfilling the shared dream of your mothers—the true puppeteers in this scenario.

All your moms had to do was execute their promise as planned, but the rest of it? The rest of it was easy.

You and Jungwon clicked before you even knew what words were, communicating in a series of shared giggles and unintelligible baby noises. By the time you turned two, you were finishing each other's sentences in your made-up gibberish language, and by preschool, the bond was unshakable.

You two—just like your moms—were inseparable.

By high school, everyone knew you were a package deal—where you went, Jungwon followed, and vice versa. So, when he announced your sophomore year that he was leaving to compete on a televised idol survival show, you were, understandably, skeptical.

"Are you sure it's not a scam?" You had asked, rolling lazily around on his bed while he scrambled around his room, packing his bags.

"It's not a scam," Jungwon laughed, carefully folding his clothes.

"Did they ask for your social security number?"

"Y/N."

"Exactly. I'm just saying—if you end up on one of those exposé documentaries about fake talent shows, don't say I didn't warn you."

Despite your teasing, you knew how much this meant to him. Jungwon had been dreaming about being in the music spotlight since he figured out how to work a karaoke machine at the age of six.

So when he eventually did make his debut with his group, you weren't surprised at all—it was inevitable, written in the stars, just like how your friendship with him was.

What did surprise you, though, was how seamlessly you got roped into his new world.

Sure, Jungwon's life got infinitely busier overnight, but there is no universe that exists in which he'd forget about you—his non-conjoined twin, ride-or-die, and ultimate life-long nuisance (his words, not yours).

And so naturally, you became an honorary member of this new life of his. The boys' practice studio might as well be your new home—the endless days camping out on the floor of their dance studio with your head in your textbooks while they drilled their choreography for the hundredth time proved that. Or maybe how you crash on their dorm couch so often that Sunoo coined you your new nickname: their unofficial eighth member.

Which brings you to now: a marketing major by day, unofficial idol by night, and, as always, a certified magnet to chaos.

Case in point? Whatever madness was happening around you at this exact moment.

"Okay, but hear me out," Heeseung says, gesturing dramatically with his pizza slice—one of many scattered across the coffee table everyone was sitting around. "Pineapple is the perfect combination of sweet and savory—"

"It's a crime against humanity," Sunghoon cuts in.

Tomorrow? The boys leave for their five-month tour.

Tonight? Tonight is tradition: the pre-tour pizza bash.

Naturally, it's chaos, as no one has bothered with the last-minute packing they're supposed to be doing.

Not a single bag is packed.

"It's fruit on bread," you scrunch your nose, taking a bite of your own normal pepperoni pizza. "This isn't dessert, Hee."

"Thank you!" Sunghoon reaches across the table to high-five you.

From the couch behind you, Jake chuckles and nudges your back with his knee, "Big talk coming from someone who claims pickles belong on everything."

"Uh, because they do," you whip your head around to glare at him. "Pickles are versatile."

"Versatile my ass," Jungwon mumbles from his spot beside you. "I love you, but you're deranged."

"Look who's talking, Mr. 'I-put-hot-sauce-on-everything'," you shoot back, eyes narrowing at your best friend. Everyone chuckles from around the table at your dramatic, yet endearing, overreaction.

"Hot sauce is different," Jay chimes in without even looking up from his phone. "It's an enhancer."

"Pickles enhance flavor too!"

"By making everything taste like vinegar," Sunoo deadpans from your other side. "Gross."

"Whatever," you roll your eyes. "You're all uncultured."

"And you're a menace," Jake quips from behind you, his voice dripping with amusement. You don't even have to turn around to see the smirk on his face—you can hear it loud and clear.

"Careful, Sim," you say with a sly glance over your shoulder. "Keep talking, and I'll start adding pickle juice to your coffee."

The room fills with laughter, but before Jake can fire back, his phone buzzes aggressively against the couch. You watch him glance down at his screen before his playful smile instantly fades.

"I'll be right back," Jake mutters, getting up and heading towards the kitchen without another word.

You frown as you watch him disappear around the corner, the sudden shift in his mood gnawing at you, and you can't help but wonder what's gotten under his skin.

After a few more minutes of heated debates over pizza toppings—and yet another round of everyone ganging up on your weird pickle obsession—you decide it was time for a drink refill.

Excusing yourself, you step into the kitchen, only to find Jake leaning against the counter, his arms crossed and gaze fixed on the empty wall in front of him. His phone sits abandoned on the counter, screen dark.

"Jake?" You call out softly, approaching slowly.

Your voice breaks through his haze, his expression flickering as he registers you standing in the doorway, your brows furrowed in concern.

"What's going on?" You ask, moving closer to stand in front of him.

"Nothing," Jake says too quickly, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

You give him a look and he knows that you know he's lying, "Jake.."

He exhales, his expression crumbling as he runs a hand through his hair, "Just...Jenn called."

Ah. Of course. Jenn.

You almost flinch at the sound of the name, the weight it carries instantly souring your stomach. Jake's on-again, off-again girlfriend of two years was a constant source of heartbreak—not just for the poor boy, but for the entire group who helped pick up the pieces of his broken heart after every messy break-up…and even messier make-up.

"She broke up with me," Jake admits quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "For real this time. Something about me leaving for tour and how it wasn't going to work out."

Your heart hurts at the sight of him in front of you—shoulders slumped, hands nervously twisting the hem of his shirt, as if trying to distract himself from the conversation.

"Oh, Jake...," you murmur, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder as you lean against the counter next to him.

"I'm fine," he insists, waving it off, but the expression on his face clearly betrays him.

"No, you're not," you say, trying to catch his eyes. "And that's okay."

Jake lets out a shaky breath, finally looking up from the ground to look at you, before shrugging, "I don't even know why I’m surprised. We've been...really off for a while now. Like, more than usual. But still, it sucks."

“Of course, it sucks," you nod, agreeing softly. "You guys were together for a long time. You cared about her."

For a moment, the two of you sit in a heavy silence with an unspoken understanding, the only sounds coming from the muffled chatter and laughter in the other room. You stay close, letting him process without pushing further.

Still, you can't entirely suppress the annoying flare of emotions bubbling in your chest—a tangled knot of sympathy and…something else. Relief, maybe? Not that you would ever wish any sort of pain on Jake—but you hate the way Jenn always leaves him like this: drained, doubting himself, and trying to piece together what went wrong, where he went wrong.

"Come back to the living room," you say finally, nudging his side gently. "Ni-ki is freaking out over which hoodies to pack. And I swear, they're all the same black hoodie."

Jake lets out a small, tired laugh, "You don't need me for that. He's gonna end up packing all of them, just watch."

"You don't know that," you tease. "Besides, I need someone's back up to help me convince him he's not actually going through an emo phase."

His eyes carry a faint smile as he looks at you, the corners of his lips lifting just enough to remind you of the warmth he usually carries.

"Okay," he says in a whisper, pushing himself off the counter.

You start towards the doorway, forgetting about your drink refill entirely, but his voice stops you.

"Y/N?"

You turn to find him still standing there, his eyes filled with warmth and appreciation.

"Thanks," he adds, a small smile on his face. It's such a simple statement, but the way he says it—soft, sincere, and maybe just a little desperate—makes something twist in your stomach. "For just...always being here."

You smile back up at the boy, "Of course, Jake. I'll always be here for you. You know that."

For a moment, he holds your gaze, as if taking a mental note of something. Then he nods, his shoulders relaxing.

"Okay," he says, exhaling as he gestures toward the doorway. "Let's go.”

You follow behind the boy back to the living room, silently hoping he knows just how much you mean your promise to him.

Jake's body is on autopilot at this point.

Another city, another show, another string of flashing lights and deafening cheers. It's a month into tour, and the endless loop of responsibilities has left him no room to just breathe.

And he loves this life—he really does. But tonight, for reasons he can't explain, the adrenaline that usually keeps him afloat isn't enough. Pure exhaustion lingers in his bones, heavier than the applause and screams echoing in his memory, and he just can’t seem to shake it.

When his head finally hits the stiff hotel pillow, Jake exhales with a heavy sigh. The city around him is alive, the neon lights brightly dancing against his windowpane, but he feels none of it.

Instead? He just feels the weight of homesickness and the ache of being alone.

Normally, he would push through, shove these thoughts into the back of his mind, call it a night. But tonight, the ache feels different—sharper, louder—and before he knows it, his phone is in his hand before he can talk himself out of it, his thumb hovering over your name on his screen.

A familiar battle wages in his mind, one he’s been battling more recently ever since tour became a little heavier on him. Slowly, the quiet yearning has been creeping in, and he’s been missing home more and more, craving the feeling of familiarity. But it isn’t just the physical places or the comfort of his regular routine that he craves.

It’s something else, something harder to name.

And for some other reason he can’t seem to explain, he thinks it’s you.

Jake doesn’t know when it started. Maybe it was hearing the sound of your voice through the phone whenever the guys called you to check in every now and then. Or maybe it was the way you would text in their shared group chat, your messages always tinged with humor or a sense of calm that somehow made everything feel a little less overwhelming.

Whatever it was, it stuck with him. He finds himself craving that unexplainable comfort only you seem to bring. He tells himself it’s nothing special, just the natural pull of familiarity. You’re back at home, the place he misses the most, so obviously, through association, it makes sense.

It’s logical. Nothing more.

That’s what he tells himself as his thumb hovers over your name. It’s not about you specifically—it couldn’t be. It’s just the connection to home. The grounding warmth of your voice. The way you somehow make the distance feel a little less suffocating.

Obviously. Nothing more.

He presses call.

Two rings. That's all it takes before your voice cuts through all the static in his head. Groggy, soft, and achingly familiar. Like home.

"Jake? It's late, is everything okay?"

Jake glances at the clock. 10:13PM where he is. Much later for you, he imagines. Guilt stirs, but...

He doesn't want to hang up.

Hearing your voice feels like the first breath of air after surfacing from deep water. He instantly feels more comfortable despite the heaviness in his chest.

"Hey," he mumbles, his voice quiet. "I'm okay. Just...needed to hear a friendly voice, I guess."

"Wow, are the boys that bad that you need to call me?" You tease warmly, despite the sleepiness lingering in your words.

Jake chuckles, the sound low and tired, "Nothing against them, really. It's just...sometimes you need someone who reminds you of home, you know?"

The other end of the line goes quiet for a moment. He can hear you shuffle, and he braces himself for a teasing comment about him being sappy and sentimental. But instead, your voice softens.

"Well, I'm glad I could be that for you," your voice telling him you're smiling brightly on the other side of the screen. "Though if I had a private jet, I'd send it right now. Bring you back instantly."

"A private jet, huh?" Jake's eyes flutter close as he's engulfed into the usual, playful rhythm that's always there between the two of you. "You'd do that for me?"

"Only if you bring back goodies, preferably snacks," you quip back, and the warmth in his chest grows.

There's another pause, the kind that feels comfortable rather than awkward. Jake shifts in his spot and before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make everything feel...lighter. Like, I can’t explain it, but just hearing you makes me feel like I’m not carrying all this stuff by myself.”

Your voice softens at his sudden vulnerability.

“Because you don't have to carry it all on your own, Jake. You know that, right? That’s what friends are for."

Jake hums in response, a low sound of acknowledgement as he keeps his phone pressed close, your voice instantly soothing the heavy emotions he's been carrying.

"You sound exhausted," you say after a beat, your tone cautious but filled with genuine care. "How are you holding up? With everything—the tour, the...break-up, just...you?"

Jake lets out a low groan, his fingers brushing through his hair. "You sound like my mom."

"Well, someone has to," you tease lightly, a relieved laugh slipping into your voice, as if you'd been afraid you overstepped. "Seriously, Jake. Are you doing okay?"

Jake hesitates, the question catching him off guard. He hadn't let himself think too much about Jenn or the breakup since leaving for tour a month ago. The boys knew better than to bring it up, and Jake had been grateful for that—for the distraction.

But now, with you, it feels different.

Safer, easier. Natural.

“Honestly? I don’t know,” he sighs, the sound heavy through the phone. “Some days it feels like I’m fine, like I’ve moved on, and other days...it’s like I’m stuck in this loop of ‘what ifs.’ Like, what if I did something different? Or..."

He trails off to a pause, his throat tight, before he finally admits to you, and himself, "...what if I just wasn't enough?"

“Jake,” you say gentle but firm, cutting through his spiraling thoughts. “You are enough. You've always been enough. Jenn...she just wasn’t the right person for you. That doesn’t mean you did anything wrong.”

He swallows hard, your words settling into the cracks he didn't even realize were there.

"Thanks, Y/N. I mean it. It's just...hard, you know? Haven't really talked about it since it happened. But talking to you helps—a lot."

“I’m glad." He can hear the quiet sincerity in your words. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing an amazing job. With tour, with...everything. You've got this, Jake. I’m really proud of you.”

Jake lets out a breathy laugh, the warmth in your words settling something in his chest—a knot he didn't even realize was there.

“You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“It’s a gift,” you easily reply, and he can hear the grin in your voice, the easy banter making him feel lighter.

"I missed this," the words tumble out before he can stop himself. Then he quickly adds, as if to explain himself, "It's weird not having you around. The boys are great and all, but you give the best advice. Don't tell them that."

You giggle on your end, the sound making Jake's lips curve into a small smile and his heart twists.

In both a comforting and terrifying way.

"I miss it too," your voice quieter now. "But I'm here. You know that, right? Even if you're on the other side of the world, or if you call me at four in the morning like you're doing right now."

Jake lets out a chuckle followed by a sleepy groan, "Sorry about that. But...thank you, Y/N. For picking up."

"Always," you reply, and he hopes you mean it.

A beat passes. Jake knows he should hang up, that he should let you sleep. He tries to convince himself that you need the sleep more than he needs this call.

But he can't help himself.

"You'll yell at me if I don't sleep, won't you?"

"Absolutely. Go to bed, Jake. Or at least try. Zombie mode doesn't suit you."

"Fine," he sighs dramatically, but his eyes feel heavier and he knows he's falling asleep, the tension in his body from before easing away. "But only because you scare me sometimes."

You laugh. "Good. Now get some rest. And call me whenever you need to, okay?"

"Okay," he mumbles into his phone quietly, his mind already slipping into a deep sleep.

"Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Jake."

"Don't you have a bedtime, Sim Jaeyun?" You tease, answering the call. The clock reads 1:27AM, and you should be asleep—you really should—but you smile anyways when Jake's name appears on your screen.

"Bedtime? I don't know her," his voice slightly groggy, but as usual, still warm. "Besides I knew you'd be awake. You don't sleep like a normal person either."

You roll your eyes, knowing fully well he can't see it, "Yeah, well, I don't have to dance around a stage for two hours tomorrow."

"True, but you do have to deal with my constant calls and keep me entertained. That's way harder."

"Oh yeah, obviously," you say with mock seriousness. "Being your emotional support human is a full-time job."

“Emotional support human,” Jake repeats, chuckling softly. “You’re right. I guess I really owe you, huh?”

“Oh, 100%,” you shoot back, a grin in your voice. “I want one of those tour hoodies you guys keep posting with.”

“Done. What size?”

"The oversized one."

Jake pauses. “Let me guess—so you can sleep in it?"

You hesitate, suddenly sheepish at how he knows you too well, “Hey, it's only cozy if it's oversized!"

You hear his soft laugh on the other end of the line.

“Cute. I’ll make sure to steal one for you.”

You try not to overanalyze the way your stomach flips at the word cute, and the easy way he says it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You shake the thought off immediately. This wasn't new, after all, Jake's always warm and easy to talk to. But lately—over the past month of phone calls—the way he says certain things, the tone he says them in, and the way they make you feel? It carried a weight you weren't sure how to hold.

In both a comforting and terrifying way.

“So, how was your day?” you suddenly bring up, trying to redirect your thoughts.

"Tiring," Jake sighs, his voice muffled as he shifts around in bed. "And Jungwon keeps beating me at Mario Kart during our break time. My pride is in shambles, Y/N."

"Let me guess," you smirk, repeating his words from earlier. "He picks Yoshi, and you keep picking Toad because you think he's underrated."

"Excuse me," Jake scoffs. "Toad is underrated. But, for your information, I choose Toad because your go-to character is Toadette."

Your heart does that stupid flip again. His words are light—I mean, you guys are talking about Mario Kart for god's sake—but it's stuff like that that keeps you questioning the true meaning behind his words.

You ignore the feeling, instead, a laugh bubbles up in response, an attempt to sound unaffected.

"You're so weird."

“But you like it,” he quips, voice dipping just slightly, like he’s testing the waters.

You're caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone, but you recover just as quickly.

"Debatable."

“Liar.”

His tone is teasing, but there's something softer behind it, “You wouldn’t still be on the phone with me if you didn’t like me at least a little.”

“Maybe I’m just bored,” you shoot back, though your cheeks are burning at his sudden forwardness, questioning if he’s serious or just messing with you.

You hear him hum in response, "Then I guess I'll have to work harder to keep you interested."

“Oh yeah? How are you planning to do that?” You try to match his teasing tone, but internally, you feel unsteady under the implication of his words.

“By being my usual charming self, duh,” he says, his voice dropping into a smooth tone. “And, you know, calling you every night so you don’t forget about me.”

Your heart squeezes. "You already do that, stupid. You think I'd forget about you?"

“Never,” Jake's reply is immediate, almost instinctive, leaving no room for doubt. “But just in case…I like hearing your voice. Makes me feel like I’m not a million miles away.”

His words linger in the space between you, heavier than the playful banter from earlier. You swallow hard, trying your best to keep your voice steady.

“You’re not a million miles away, Jake.”

“Feels like it,” he murmurs. You hear a pause in his voice, as if he's thinking hard about his next words. “I miss home. I miss...you."

Your chest tightens, and your hands grip the sheets beneath you, as if the fabric could somehow ground you. Your heart is doing that thing again—the erratic, terrifying thing that makes you want to believe in something you're not sure is even real.

And at the same time, your thoughts are scrambling to say something lighthearted before the conversation steers into that dangerous, dangerous territory you were sure you weren't ready for.

Not yet.

"Well, you better win at least one round of Mario Kart for me while you're out there," you force a laugh, trying to mask the tremor in your voice.

Jake laughs, the sound genuine, "I'll try. But if I lose, just know I'm dedicating every race to you."

"Wow, I'm so honored," you try to deadpan, but he can sense the grin in your voice.

"You should be," his voice softens again. "Thanks for picking up tonight, by the way. I know it's late."

He never fails to thank you every night, as if you haven't been picking up every day for the past month and won't be picking up tomorrow, and the next day...and the day after that.

And, somehow, the same, genuine appreciation makes it so hard for you to ignore that weird, warm, fluttering sensation growing inside you every time you talk to him.

But, regardless, you always give him the same reply:

"Always," your voice matching his softness. "Call me whenever, okay?"

"Don’t say that," Jake warns, the teasing edge creeping back into his tone. "I'll actually do it."

"Fine," you giggle. "But if you call me at four in the morning again, I'm putting my phone on Do Not Disturb."

"Deal." He pauses, then adds, "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Jake."

As you hang up, you stare at your phone for a moment longer than you should have, your room feeling oddly quiet and too empty without his voice.

It's just another call, Y/N. Just another call between two friends.

But deep down, a part of you tells you it isn’t that simple anymore.

And maybe—just maybe—he knows it too.

“Are you busy?” Jake’s voice sounds more tired than usual, heavy with an overwhelming amount of tension.

“Never too busy for our calls,” you easily reply without hesitation as you lay back in your bed, phone close to your ear. Your voice is light, a stark contrast to the weariness laced in his, and when he doesn’t respond with his typical chuckle, you immediately sense his mood. “Hard day?”

He exhales slowly, the weary sound answering your question. Today was a lot. Hours of rehearsal followed by a concert, the adrenaline rush of performing, followed by the chaos of having the guys’ hotel information leaked. Crowds of paparazzi and fans swarmed the entrance, the relentless flashes of cameras breaking through whatever little pieces of calm he had left within him. The noise, the pressure, the endless cycle—all spiraled into a mental mess he doesn’t seem to shake.

The second he settled into his hotel room, all Jake knew was that he needed to talk to you—the one person who could steady his racing thoughts.

"I just...I didn't think this would get to me, you know? The cameras, the people, the flashes in my face—I'm just—it's like I'm never alone."

Your heart twists at the vulnerability and rawness in his voice, as if he’s admitting something for the first time—not just to anyone else, but to himself.

"I—I don't know. Sometimes I wish I could just disappear, just for a little while. Just to breathe, you know?"

You close your eyes, your grip on the phone unconsciously tightening as if it could anchor him somehow.

"I know it's not the same," your voice steady, even as you internally ached for him, "but...you can disappear with me, Jake. Even if it's just through the call. No cameras. No noise. Just...you and me."

He lets out an exhale—shaky, but relieved.

"You're really good at this. Making me feel like it's all gonna be okay."

"Because it is going to be okay, Jake," you reply softly. "You're not alone, Jake. Not with me."

"Yeah," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, and he wishes more than anything else in this moment that he actually was with you. “I know.”

"Jake," you groan, sitting cross-legged on your bed, staring at the flustered boy through your laptop screen. "I'm begging you—just wear the black jacket. It's literally impossible to mess up black."

"But what about the beanie?" He whines as he pops back into view, his face scrunched up in genuine distress. "Do you think I can pull it off, or will I look like I'm trying too hard? Be honest, Y/N."

What started as a simple fashion-advice-question over the phone turned into a two-hour wardrobe emergency—all because Jake couldn’t figure out what to wear to the airport the next day (because, apparently, airport fits matter—his words, not yours).

"Jake, you could wear a literal trash bag to the airport and fans would still lose their minds," you tease, biting back a laugh.

He rolls his eyes at you, but the smile tugging at his lips says otherwise.

"Okay, but seriously, you’re trying too hard. Just go with the jacket, no beanie," you add on, just to end this two-hour long madness.

"Hmm," Jake plops on his bed and turns towards his phone camera, and you swear you can see the pout forming on his lips. "But I already posted a preview of the jacket last week. Isn't that, like, repetitive?"

"Jake,” you blink at him, "it's an airport. Not a fashion show."

He stares at you for a beat, then lets out a dramatic sigh, "Fine! Jacket, no beanie. But if I see even one criticizing comment calling me basic, I'm blaming you."

You laugh, shaking your head at his ridiculousness, "Deal. Now go to sleep, Sim Jaeyun."

His grin softens as he adjusts the camera to fully look at you, pout gone, eyes glistening.

"Only because you said so."

"Hey," you say softly, answering the call as you snuggle deeper into your blanket, letting it engulf you completely.

The familiar sound of Jake's quiet breathing fills the space between you, and before he even says a word, you already know.

"Rough day?" You ask gently when he doesn’t say anything after a few seconds.

"Yeah," he murmurs, his voice quieter than usual, almost drowned out by the low hum of background noise. "I just...I don't really feel like talking right now, if that's okay."

"Of course," you reply without hesitation, your tone gentle, no questions asked.

On the other end, Jake presses the phone closer to this ear in an attempt to feel closer to you, instantly feeling better from your pure understanding of how he’s feeling, and he thinks—not for the first time—that you might be his favorite person in the world.

The warm silence engulfs the both of you like a shared blanket, unspoken yet understood. You can hear the faint echoes of his surroundings: the muffled laughter of the boys somewhere nearby, the distant honk of traffic outside his hotel, and then the quiet shuffle of Jake shifting positions in his hotel bed. You catch his breath catching slightly, like he's finally allowing himself to relax—to just be.

You don't try to fill the silence. You know that he needs this—a moment of peace in the chaos. Instead, you similarly press the phone closer to your ear, as if doing so can somehow bridge the miles between you, hoping he can sense your presence reaching out for him.

Minutes pass like this, and for a moment, it’s so quiet you begin to wonder if he's falling asleep. But then, a deep exhale breaks the stillness.

"Thank you, Y/N," he says finally, his voice low but steady, carrying a weight of sincerity that makes your heart clench.

"You don't have to thank me, Jake," your voice matches his softness. "You know that."

"Still," his voice is low, so quiet, it feels like a secret meant only for you. "I appreciate you. More than you probably know."

You smile to yourself, your heart aching in the best way possible, and you desperately try your best to ignore it, no matter how much excitement it brought you.

"Always, Jake."

“Tell me something about you that I don’t already know,” you challenge him, your voice carrying that light and endearing tone over the phone that Jake’s come to crave.

“Hmm,” Jake hums thoughtfully as he lies in his bed, eyes closed, just simply treasuring the small moments, like this one, with you.

Even though it’s definitely 3AM where he is right now. And he definitely has to be up in a few hours for rehearsal.

Oh well, completely irrelevant. Talking about everything and anything with you just felt so right.

“I don’t know,” he eventually exhales, his brain too foggy to think of anything logical right now. “I feel like you know me better than I know myself at this point, Y/N.”

“You’re so corny it physically hurts, Jake,” you scoff, and Jake swears he can feel your exaggerated eye roll from thousands of miles away.

“Oh—wait, wait! I have one,” he perks up, his eyes shooting open as he turns towards the phone in excitement.

“Hit me,” you say, unconsciously smiling at how cute he sounds.

“I’m allergic to flowers.”

The line falls silent for a beat before you erupt into a storm of giggles so wild it makes Jake feel sick from how fast the butterflies in his stomach start fluttering.

“That’s your fun fact? That’s so tragic, Jake,” you gasp through your giggles. “Like, depressingly tragic.”

“Hey! It’s not that sad, it could be worse,” Jake hopes you can hear his pout over the phone (you can).

“So you’re telling me you’ve never bought a girl flowers before?” You tease, smiling to yourself as you stare at your ceiling.

“Guess not,” Jake lets out a laugh, which surprises himself. “Jenn used to always get mad at me for never getting her any, but what am I supposed to do? Show up with a bouquet and an epi-pen? I literally start tearing up whenever I’m around any kind.”

You lose it all over again, your laughter spilling through Jake’s phone like sunshine, and Jake doesn’t even realize he’s smiling so widely until his cheeks start to ache.

But what Jake does realize is something unexpected: for the first time in forever, he can talk about Jenn without a single pang of…anything. No weird tension, no lingering sadness—just a casual mention and then…nothing.

It’s freeing, this feeling of lightness, like an invisible weight he didn’t know he was even carrying has suddenly lifted. He wonders if this is what moving on really feels like, if he’s found his emotional freedom. He wonders when it changed.

He wonders maybe it’s not when—maybe it’s who.

And he wonders if it’s you.

Today was supposed to be Jake’s day off. The golden ticket to rest, recharge, and not think about anything.

Key term: supposed to be.

Instead, Jake found himself knee-deep in the trenches of emotional warfare—and losing spectacularly.

The morning started innocently enough. No alarm, no schedule, just the soft promise of freedom that was so close within his reach. But by noon, Jake came to a harsh realization.

Freedom was a lie.

Because every step, every sight, every breath, was haunted by one inescapable thought: You.

It started with a boutique. Him and the boys had wandered down a cobblestone street in a city that Jake had already forgotten the name of—city number ten or eleven of tour? He barely knew anymore. But then his gaze caught on a mannequin in the window.

Big mistake.

The outfit on display—similar to his mind—had you written all over it. Immediately, his brain spiraled.

Y/N would love that. She'd probably drag me and all the guys in and force me to hold her bag while she tried it on.

He had to physically stop himself from dragging the group inside to purchase it on the spot.

Next? A coffee shop. And there it was: a poster featuring some limited-edition iced peach latte. Jake froze, staring at it like it held the answers to life itself.

You’d love it. You would order it, (well, you'd make Jake order it, because you hate talking to cashiers), sip it, smile, and probably rant about how overpriced it was—even though Jake would pay for it—yet you’d still finish the entire thing.

And then, you'd steal half of his drink, too.

Because you always did.

And Jake always lets you.

The final straw? A cat. Just a random stray, peacefully lounging on a sunny part of sidewalk, looking like it had zero interest in the world around it. And even that didn't escape Jake's you-obsessed filter. Without even thinking, Jake whipped out his phone.

It was instinctual at this point.

Jake [1:06PM]: (attached - one image) Jake [1:06PM]: thought you'd like this one :)

Because obviously, you needed to see that cat. Immediately.

By the time Jake collapses onto his hotel bed that evening, he feels like he’d run a mental marathon—except instead of a finish line, every road led back to you.

He flops onto his bed, hoping sleep would save him from the storm raging in his brain.

Spoiler alert: it doesn't.

Instead, it leads him to the complete opposite. He stares at your name on his phone, your contact picture, your last messages to him.

You texted him two hours ago—a sweet goodnight message that ended with your usual, 'Don't hesitate to call if you need me.'

Casual. Normal.

But it probably didn't mean, 'Hey, please interrupt my sleep from the other side of the world so we can discuss your ongoing emotional crisis over me.'

Don't do it, Jake. The remaining rational brain cells within him beg him to stop. You're being dramatic. She's not the air you need to breathe.

But at the same time, deep down, Jake really thinks you are.

The worst part? You two already had talked on the phone earlier—when Jake had another fashion crisis and couldn't decide what to wear for his day off exploring with the guys. Of course, you laughed at him, teased him, but then helped him pick something out anyways. Typical.

Personally, if it was up to him, he'd spent his whole day off on the phone with you. Talking about everything. Or nothing. Whatever you wanted, Jake would've done it, no hesitation.

Don't do it, Jake, his brain warns him again. What kind of obsessed-lunatic calls the same person twice in one day?

Answer: Jake.

But as Jake lies in his hotel bed, thoughts heavily clouded with the image of you and the sound of your voice, he realizes...this wasn't just a phone call thing. No, this was deeper, worse. And somewhere between staring at the same patch of ceiling and replaying every memory of you on a mental loop, Jake tries to rationalize it.

She’s just a good friend, Jake. A best friend, even! You think about her a lot because she’s cool and funny and…and she has the laugh of a Disney princess...But it’s normal to think about your friends, right? Right??

But the more he tries to downplay it, the clearer it becomes. This was something else.

And then it hits.

Like, really hits.

Oh my god. I like her.

Jake shoots upright, widened eyes filled with horror, as if the realization itself just physically smacked him across the face.

No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.

Jake buries his face in his hands, groaning. But the groan quickly turns into a muffled scream, because the more he thinks about it, the worse it gets.

Because he thinks you're going to be the death of him. He really, really likes you. Not in the vague, 'Oh, she’s cute' way, but in the write-her-name-in-a-heart-and-doodle-little-stars-around-it kind of way. The stare-at-her-texts-like-they’re-poetry kind of way. The imagine-her-laughing-at-your-dad’s-jokes-and-enjoying-your-mom’s-meals-forever kind of way.

And this feeling? It's new. It's terrifying.

It's exhilarating.

Jake realizes in this very moment that he's never experienced this heart-pounding, face-flushing, breath-taking kind of feeling towards anyone. Sure, his past relationship had been meaningful in its own way, but now Jake is realizing that the foundation of his past relationship was tangled up in obligations and unspoken expectations. A tightrope act of Jake having to be the perfect boyfriend, the perfect idol, the perfect...everything. He never realized how suffocating it was until now—until you. Because this feeling with you?

This was pure. Simple, clear, and undeniable.

Your sheer existence proved that it's possible for someone to understand him better than he understands himself. Your laugh had a way of making everything feel lighter, like the weight of the world had been momentarily suspended. Just one look from you alone somehow always manages to make him feel like he was still worthy even on his worst days.

With you, Jake felt...himself, for once. Not Jake Sim, global popstar. Not Jake Sim, the boyfriend of so-and-so. Just...Jake.

Jake's heart pounds as the realization sinks in. He's now transitioned from screaming into his hands to his poor hotel pillow.

Because as clear and strong as this feeling is, the doubt is just as overwhelming. What if you don't feel the same? What if this ruins everything?

But at the same time...what if you do feel the same way?

What if this is his chance? The butterfly effect that changes everything? What if you're it? You have to be.

And so, like an idiot possessed, Jake's finger is one millimeter away from pressing call on your name again.

Because, obviously, the best way to deal with overwhelming feelings is to confess them from a hotel room five countries away.

Obviously.

Because what if he didn't call? What if he spent the rest of his night spiraling into an endless pit of unspoken feelings and overthinking, arms flailing as he knows the only way out of the pit is with your help?

What if his brain explodes with the sheer amount of feelings he has for you and he never has the chance to tell you ever again?

He presses call.

The line rings twice before you answer.

"Jake?" Your voice is soft, laced with surprise and just the faintest trace of sleep. "It's late for you, is everything okay?"

Jake's brain short-circuits. What time even is it for him? He has no idea, and frankly, he doesn't care.

"Yeah," he blurts, far too quickly that he winces at himself. He clears his throat before trying again, "I mean, yeah. Everything's fine. I just...couldn't sleep."

"Oh," you hum softly and Jake swears the sound alone could single-handedly resolve global wars.

Yeah, he definitely likes you.

"Is something stressing you out?" The genuine concern in your voice makes his chest tighten.

"No—well, nothing like that," Jake rushes to assure you, sitting up straighter in bed now, as if you could see him. His voice lowers, almost shy, "I just...I was thinking about you."

Silence. Jake's heart pounds so loudly, he's sure you can hear it through the phone.

"About me?" You finally tease, light and playful, but there's something softer underneath. "What did I do to deserve such an honor?"

Jake lets out a nervous, breathy laugh, running a hand through his hair, “You exist. That’s what.”

Another pause. He hears you exhale softly, and the sound alone sends his heart into overdrive.

"That was smooth," your voice is quiet, soft, as if teetering on the line of teasing and nervousness at the same time. "Ten out of ten, Jake."

"I'm serious," Jake tries his best to keep his voice from cracking, the weight of his feelings pressing down on him. "I was lying here, thinking about everything, and I realized something."

"And what's that?"

Jake's throat goes dry. His heart is screaming at him to say it, but his brain begs him to reconsider.

But Jake's sure he's lost all his rational brain cells for sure at this point, so he swallows hard, and braces himself for impact.

"I like you, Y/N."

The words spill out, raw and unpolished, but so utterly true.

“I mean, I really like you," Jake continues, his voice barely above a whisper now. "More than a friend, more than anything.”

The line goes silent, and for a split second, a lifetime of pure awkwardness and torture of not having you in his life anymore flashes in his vision, and he rushes to fill the void.

"I know this is probably the worst timing ever, and probably really scary...and it's okay if you don't feel the same way," his voice definitely cracks this time, laying everything bare, but he doesn't care anymore. "But I had to tell you. I can't pretend around you, not when being around you feels like the only time I'm really me."

Then, you let out a soft exhale—a disbelieving, breathless sound that makes Jake's heart skip a beat.

"Jake..."

"You're...you're everything, Y/N. You make life better just by being in it. And I haven't even seen you in four months, but you're all I think about," Jake lets out a small laugh, swallowing the remainder of all his pride and dignity. "I promise, when I'm back...I'll prove it to you. I'll show you how much you mean to me. Anything it takes. "

For once in his life, Jake feels completely vulnerable—and yet, strangely, it feels right.

Because he means it, every word.

He's never meant anything more.

The line had gone quiet after Jake’s confession, his words echoing in your ears.

“I like you, Y/N.”

No, not like. Really, really like.

You spent the last few days replaying his words over and over, dissecting every syllable, every tiny inflection in this voice. At first, it didn't even seem real.

A part of you still thinks it isn't—that this is all a cruel dream and you're going to wake up any second now back in the real world. The one where Jake Sim, the boy who turns heads and steals hearts without even trying, didn't just confess his deepest, most vulnerable feelings for you in a single phone call.

But no. He said it, alright. Clear as day.

First, all you felt was pure happiness. Maybe it was hearing his voice everyday, or maybe it was seeing how his face lit up through the screen when you picked up his video calls—but somewhere along the way, you knew it was something deeper.

Something that made your heart skip when his name lit up your phone, something that left you craving his voice to make your day feel complete. And now? Now the boy who’d effortlessly become your favorite part of every day was telling you you’d done the same for him.

But then, came the fear.

Because what if this was just a rebound? What if you were just a soft landing for him, a way to patch up the holes left behind by his past? Here you were, standing at the edge of something terrifyingly real, wondering if you were just a step in his recovery process—a way to fill the cracks, but not the kind of permanence you were beginning to crave.

You weren’t naive enough to see Jake’s past relationship didn’t still linger in the corners of his mind. You’d seen him struggle with it before, how hard he’d tried to convince himself he was fine. What if you were just the next step in his healing, rather than something real—a Band-Aid for a wound that wasn’t even yours to heal?

And worse—what if you let it happen? What if you let yourself fall, only to hit the ground at an alarming speed, and...splat. Not just a regular, embarrassing tumble, no. But the kind that leaves you flattened on the pavement like a cartoon character who ignored every warning sign.

Because that’s exactly what it would feel like, wouldn’t it? Giving it, letting yourself hope—only to crash and burn spectacularly.

Deep down, you knew you weren’t just risking a little heartache. Because Jake? Jake had quietly claimed a permanent spot in your heart at this point.

You were risking everything.

And the worst part?

You were already halfway there.

That was the reason why you told him you needed time. The reason why all you could manage to respond was a meek, 'I just...I need to think about this.' And to his credit, Jake hadn't pushed. Of course, not.

But now, three days later, you were no closer to an answer. If anything, the time apart had made everything worse.

Because as the days stretched on, with every passing hour, every text you didn’t send and every call you didn’t make, one thing became gut-wrenchingly, undeniably clear:

You were already his.

You miss Jake’s voice, his laugh, the way he rambles about the most random things late at night. You miss how, somehow, he made you fall asleep with a smile on your face from the other side of the world. You miss him, that even in his absence, he was still your first thought in your mind when you woke up and the last before you drifted to sleep.

And no amount of overthinking or second-guessing could change the truth that finally settled in your chest like a secret you weren’t ready to admit to yourself:

You were his. Completely.

The only question now was whether you’d let yourself believe he was yours too.

"Y/N?"

"Jungwon," you groan helplessly into your phone. "Help me."

A pause. Then, "Are you sure you meant to call me? It's Jungwon, not Jake," he teases lightly. "I can go get Jake if you meant—"

"Jungwon!" You cut him off, panicked. "I'm being serious. It's about Jake, dummy."

"Oh," his tone shifts instantly as he senses the seriousness in your voice. "Did something happen? Because I swear, for the past three days, Jake's been moping around like a kicked puppy, and I was gonna ask you about it because I know you guys have been talking a lot more, but I didn't want to push, and—"

"That's exactly it, Jungwon!" You wail into your pillow, your voice muffled. Great, now you feel even worse, knowing Jake is moping around, waiting for you.

"What's exactly it?" Your best friend presses, voice curious. "I need specifics, Y/N."

You hesitate, the words clinging to the back of your throat like they're too heavy to admit. Finally, you take a deep breath and force them out.

"Jake told me he likes me, Jungwon. Like really, really likes me. He gave this whole monologue about how I'm all he can think about, and it was so cute, and it made me want to explode from joy and fear all at once, and I don't know what to do!"

A beat of silence.

Jungwon sucks in a dramatic breath and then, "Wait, wait, wait. Back up. First of all, this is not news to me."

You blink, as if he can see your look of shock over the phone, "What?"

"This was obvious, Y/N. The guy's been smitten with you for months. You guys literally have been talking every day since we left."

Your jaw drops, "So what? You and I talk every day! How is this any different?"

Jungwon snorts, "Y/N, we text every day. About minuscule things. Like me reminding you not to forget your keys and you ghosting my last text. But you and Jake? You guys talk for hours—into the illegal hours of the night, mind you. Trust me, I know. Hotel walls are thin."

You feel your cheeks flushing, "That doesn't mean anything."

"Doesn't it?" Jungwon's voice is laced with amusement. "When's the last time you called me just to hear my voice?"

"Jungwon."

"Exactly."

You groan again, "But Jungwon, what if…what if he's not over Jenn? What if I'm just a rebound?"

Jungwon goes quiet for a moment, his tone softening when he finally speaks, “Jake’s not like that, Y/N. You know that. He wouldn’t tell you he likes you unless he meant it.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Look," he interrupts. "Jake’s a lot of things—annoyingly loud, for one—but he’s not the kind of guy who’d use someone, especially you, as a rebound. If he said he likes you, he likes you.”

You bite your lip, his words settling over you like a warm blanket—because you know they're true.

“And for what it’s worth,” Jungwon continues, “I think you like him too.”

“I..,” you falter, your heart hammering in your chest. “I do.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

You sigh, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the nerves coiled in your stomach, “I don’t know. I guess I’m scared.”

“That’s okay,” Jungwon says gently. “But don’t let fear stop you from something that could make you happy. You deserve that, Y/N. And so does Jake.”

You close your eyes, letting Jungwon's words sink in. Deep down, you know he's right, he always is.

"Thanks, Jungwon," you say, your voice softer now, tinged with gratitude.

"Anytime," he replies, and then, with a teasing lilt, "But seriously—you should probably tell him soon. I can't stand watching him mope around like a sad, abandoned puppy. It's seriously tragic, like, to the point where I’m gonna have to start letting him win at Mario Kart."

A small giggle escapes you, light and genuine for the first time in three days, "I know, I know. Eventually."

"Y/N," his voice turns playfully stern, like a parent lecturing their toddler. "Eventually isn't a time. Just call him. You've been thinking about him nonstop, haven't you?"

Unfortunately, Jungwon knows you too well. Your silent response betrays you, and Jungwon lets out a triumphant hum.

"Thought so. Well, you should go. You have a call to make."

You sigh, a mix of nerves and a new determination bubbling, "Okay, okay. But if this goes horribly wrong, I'm blaming you."

"It won't. But deal," his tone is reassuring, confident, like he already knows how this story ends. "You got this, Y/N."

The call ends, and the quiet still of your room taunts you. For a moment, you sit there, staring at your phone, the little icon of Jake's contact picture—a selfie the two of you took together many years ago—staring back at you like a challenge.

Your fingers hover. Your heart races, your palms feel clammy, and your stomach twists.

But then you remember Jungwon's words.

You deserve this.

And so does Jake.

You take a deep breath, then you press down on his name.

The phone doesn't even reach the second ring before he picks up.

"Y/N," Jake’s voice is rushed, a little breathless.

"Hey," you say softly, suddenly unsure where to start. "Um, were you busy?"

"No, no," he quickly responds. "Not at all. You could call me at 3AM, and I still would’ve picked up."

"That's unhealthy, you know," your lips twitch as you lay back in your bed, taking a deep inhale. You missed this—you missed him.

"For you? Worth it," you can hear the smile in his voice, but along with the slight tension just beneath it—the faintest tremor that tells you he's been waiting for this call, maybe agonizing over it just as much as you have.

You swallow hard, gripping the phone tight, "Jake, about...our last call..."

"Take your time," he says gently, though you don't miss the way his voice wavers ever so slightly. "I mean it, Y/N. There's no pressure."

You exhale shakily, closing your eyes, “I’ve been thinking a lot, too. About you. About…us.”

Jake stays silent, but you could hear the faint sound of him shifting, like he was bracing himself.

You squeeze your eyes hard, as you let the words finally come out, "I like you too, Jake. A lot. So much, honestly. It's just..."

"It's just...?" Jake's voice repeats softly, as if that's all he can manage to let out in the midst of his nervousness.

You hold your breath, scared of what you're about to admit—to Jake and to yourself.

"It's just...I'm scared," your voice comes out barely above a whisper, "I'm scared that this is too good to be true. That you're saying all of this because...I don't know—you're trying to move on...from the past, or because you're lonely on tour, or—"

"Y/N,” Jake's voice cuts through firm, but gentle.

"You're not…a rebound, or a distraction, or anything like that," he starts quietly, each word deliberate. "And this isn't about...Jenn, or me being lonely, or whatever else you think. This is about you."

Your breath hitches as you take in his words and open your eyes, hoping that staring at the ceiling above you could somehow ground you.

“You’re the one who makes me laugh when I’ve had the worst day,” Jake continues. “You’re the one I want to talk to, even when I’m running on zero sleep. You’re the one I think about when I’m on stage and wish I could just look into the crowd and see you there. It’s you, Y/N."

His words are overwhelming, too much, and you're unsure how to even process them. Your throat tightens, and you can feel the subconscious tears prickling at the corners of your eyes without even realizing they were forming.

"Are you sure, Jake?"

"More than anything else, Y/N," he says immediately, like the words have been waiting on the tip of his tongue. "And I want to do this right, Y/N. No rushing, no expectations. Just...tell me what you need from me, and I'll do it. Whatever it takes, I'll do it."

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache. You can picture him on the other side of the line, sitting in some unfamiliar hotel room, his brows probably furrowed in that adorable way they always do whenever he tries to find the right words.

You bite your lip, a small laugh escaping despite the tears sliding down your cheeks, “You’re so cheesy, you know that?”

Jake lets out a small laugh, immediately easing from the tension that hung in the air.

"Only for you," he mumbles, his voice soft but steady.

You sigh, the sound reaching Jake on the other side. There's a pause, a moment of mutual understanding in silence, just listening to the quiet, peaceful hum of each other's breathing.

“Jake?” You say finally, your voice trembling.

“Yeah?”

“I think…” You take a deep breath, and you think your heart is about to break out of your chest. “I think I want to try too.”

The silence on the other end was electric, and for a moment, you think maybe the call dropped. Then, you hear the unmistakable sound of Jake’s laugh—soft, relieved, and filled with so much warmth that it instantly makes your own heart feel lighter.

“You're driving me crazy, Y/N,” he says, his voice almost breathless, but tinged with humor.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, a smile clear in his tone.

“I hope I am,” you quip, and it makes him chuckle, the sound warm and full of relief. “Guess I’m stuck with your cheesy lines now huh?”

“Stuck with me?” Jake repeats, pretending to sound offended. “No way. I’m stuck with you, Y/N. And trust me, I’m not going anywhere.”

His words are so simple, yet so full of promise, and it leaves you feeling a little breathless.

“Good,” you whisper, your cheeks warm. “Because I don’t want you to.”

“Hi Jake,” your voice bright as you immediately pick up his call and see his face appear on the screen, his expression softening when he sees you.

“Hey pretty,” he replies, without missing a beat, his voice laced with a soft fondness that never fails to make your stomach flip.

You roll your eyes, failing miserably to hide the blush rising to your cheeks, “Oh, so now I’m pretty, huh?”

Jake smirks at your words, leaning closer to his phone, “Nah, you’ve always been pretty. Just didn’t have the guts to say it to your face before.”

You groan, dramatically planting your face into your pillow as an attempt to bury the smile on your face, your voice muffled, “You’re gonna be the death of me, Jake.”

“Stop that, don’t hide. Let me see your face,” his tone dips somewhere between playful and pleading, and you give in, lifting your head just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your red cheeks.

“Cute,” he says with a knowing grin, leaning back against the headboard of his bed.

“Whatever,” you murmur, but the smile on your face remains. “How was your day today?”

“Mmm, it was good,” Jake says, running a hand through his messy hair. “Busy, but good. I forget how loud the fans get each time. But it’s nice. Makes it feel worth it, you know?”

“I’m glad,” your smile grows as you watch him speak, feeling nothing but proud of him. “You deserve all of it, Jake.”

“Stop,” now he’s groaning, throwing a hand over his face to cover his shy expression. “You’re going to make me blush.”

“Mm, looks like you already are, Jakey,” you shake your head, laughing softly.

“Maybe a little,” he admits as he peeks at you through his fingers, his grin boyish and infectious, and you can’t help but laugh again.

The call falls quiet for a moment, but it’s not awkward—just comfortable, like a shared breath. Jake shifts, turning on his stomach and propping his phone up against some pillows to make sure you can still see him.

“I miss you,” he says suddenly, and there’s something raw in his tone, something unguarded that catches you off guard.

Your heart stutters.

“Jake, I literally called you this morning,” you tease, your tone light and sweet. But still, you can’t resist, “I miss you too.”

“You don’t sound convincing enough,” his eyes narrow at you, the pout forming on his lips quickly turning into a small smirk. “Say it like you mean it.”

“Fine,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “I miss you so, so much Sim Jaeyun, that it’s physically painful and I might conbust on the spot if I don’t see you soon. Happy?”

“Very,” he grins into the camera, making your heart beat faster. Ugh. "But please don't combust for me. Who else am I supposed to call every day?"

"Oh, please, you'd survive," you shoot back, smirking. "I'm sure anyone else would be more than happy to fill the spot."

Jake clicks his tongue, shaking his head dramatically. "Nope, no one could keep with you, Y/N. You're a handful."

"Excuse me?" You scoff, mock offense all over your face. "You're calling me a handful? Jake, who's the one that texts me random song lyrics at 3AM and expects me to interpret their deep meaning like it's poetry?"

"Okay, first of all, they are deep," he argues, his grin widening into something boyish and utterly unfair. "And second of all, I know you secretly love it."

You let out a laugh as you roll onto your side, propping your phone against the pillow next to you.

"Maybe I do," you admit with a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant despite the smile on your face. "Or maybe I don't. That's up to you to find out."

Jake shakes his head, laughing softly, his eyes twinkling as they linger on your face.

"You really are a handful, Y/N," his voice teases while his eyes remain on you through the screen, as if studying you, and it makes your stomach flip.

You glance away, suddenly feeling shy again under his unwavering gaze, "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" His voice is innocent, his eyebrows lifting in feign obliviousness.

"I don't know—like you're trying to memorize my face or something," you mutter, your cheeks burning.

"Maybe I am," his voice dips, low and soft. "Honestly wouldn't complain if that's the last thing I ever got to remember."

His words hit you square in the chest, and despite how ridiculously corny they are, they manage to take your breath away. You don't know if you'll ever get used to this newly discovered side of Jake—the one that speaks so candidly, so sweetly—like you're the only person in his universe.

But honestly? You love it. You love how he makes you feel, how his words wrap around you perfectly like they were tailor made just for you. But as much as you love it, you fear it too.

Because the more you fall into this feeling, the more you wonder if there's anything solid beneath it. Despite all the soft words shared and sweet nothings exchanged, at the end of the day, deep down inside you can't help but ask yourself if his words, if he, is even yours to begin with.

"Jake..."

"Hmm?" His voice is gentle now, the teasing edge in his voice fading.

"You really mean it, don't you?" You ask, your voice quieter now, the question laced with your vulnerability. "You're serious about...this? About us?"

"Of course I am," he answers without hesitation. His soft eyes stay trained on you as he sits up in his spot in bed, as if to show just how serious he is. He lets out an exhale, as if mentally encouraging himself to continue, "I know we're not...whatever this is, officially yet. But I do know that I like what we have."

He brings his phone closer, a small smile on his face, his expression earnest, "And that I like you. A lot."

You swallow hard, his words settling in your chest in the best way possible. Because despite everything—the doubts, the undefined boundaries—you can't deny the truth of how you feel.

"Me too," you admit, your voice steady and honest. "I like what we have too. And I like you."

You pause, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you feel the remainders of your walls crumbling down, "You make me happy, Jake. Like annoyingly happy."

"Good. Because you make me happy too," His smile spreads wide, the kind that is contagious and could light up an entire room. "Annoyingly happy, if we're being specific."

You roll your eyes again, though you're smiling just as much, "We really are insufferable, aren't we?"

"Oh, completely," Jake nods, his tone playful. He's more relaxed, back to leaning against his headboard as he looks at you with a softened gaze. "We'll figure it out, Y/N. I promise. Whatever this is, or whatever it becomes, I'm not going anywhere. And honestly? I just can't wait to see you. Finally."

"Me too," you perk up, your eyes sparkling with excitement as you bring your phone closer, "It feels like it's been forever. This tour feels so much longer than the other ones for some reason."

"It does," Jake hums in agreement, his eyes thoughtful. "But you know what? I think It's because, this time...I actually have something waiting for me. Something—or someone—I want to come home to. And that makes every day feel so much longer."

You think, at this point, you should check yourself into the emergency department for the sheer amount of times you thought your heart was going to pound out of your body from Jake's words alone.

“You're ridiculous," you laugh, the sound bubbling out so naturally you couldn't hold it back even if you tried. "It's getting kind of out of hand how cheesy you are, Jake."

"And yet," he fires back with a smirk, "you love it. Admit it. I've cracked the code."

"Maybe I do," you tease, repeating your words from earlier as the corners of your mouth tug up into a smile you can't suppress. "But don't let it get to your head."

"Too late," he grins. "It's already there."

Jake [2:15AM] : can I call you? Y/N [2:16AM]: jake isnt it like 2AM for you? Jake [2:16AM]: well…yea but I was thinking about you so…

Your feet are kicking before you even realize, and before you can type up a response, your phone lights up with Jake's name and contact picture.

“Hi,” you answer softly, trying not to let the giddy smile growing on your face take over.

“Hey pretty,” he greets, voice warm and easy as he brings a hand through his messy hair. The lights in his room are off, and the dim glow of his phone screen casts a soft light over his features, making him look unfairly good for someone who should be fast asleep.

“You have two seconds to give me a good reason why you’re here talking to me instead of getting a good night’s rest before your concert tomorrow,” your eyes narrow in mock disapproval as you give him a knowing look.

Jake laughs lightly, “Hey! Okay, hear me out. I couldn’t sleep, so I did something.”

You raise an eyebrow, “You did something? That sounds ominous, I’m scared.”

“Yeah. For you,” he states plainly, leaving you even more confused for a second more before he continues. “I made you a playlist.”

Your brain stalls at how simple he says it—so casual, as if not packed with so much meaning.

“A playlist? You—wait, why?”

Jake shrugs, “I don’t know—I guess I just wanted you to hear what I hear when I think about you. Which, by the way, is a lot. So..”

You blink at the screen, your mouth slightly agape at the boy who's watching you with that lopsided grin that makes it practically impossible to function. You scramble to collect yourself, but the more you try, the worse it gets, and by now, you think he definitely took some secret class on how-to-make-Y/N-completely-flustered.

And aced it.

And of course, he notices—because Jake always notices.

“You okay there?” His voice breaks you out of your overwhelming thoughts, his teasing tone laced with curiosity.

“Define okay,” you mutter, rubbing a hand over your face in an attempt to cool down the warmth spreading like wildfire across your cheeks. “Because if it means not feeling like a complete fool over a guy who’s halfway across the world, then no, I’m absolutely not okay.”

Jake lets out a low laugh, the sound affectionate as he leans closer to the camera, the light reflecting off his shining eyes, “If it helps, you’re not the only one losing your mind here.”

“Oh yeah?” you arch an eyebrow, “What’s your excuse, Sim?”

“My excuse?” He tilts his head with a small, exaggerated frown, pretending to think. “Hmm…let’s see…I’m hopelessly into this girl who somehow makes being teased fun, who makes me smile just by hearing my name come out her mouth, and who—“

“Okay! Stop, stop, enough,” your voice strangled as you try to talk through the fit of giggles you couldn’t hold down. “You’re gonna kill me, Jake. Like, actually. I’m not strong enough for this.”

Jake laughs at your flustered reaction, holding up a hand of surrender, “Fine, fine. But seriously, look.”

You hear the sound of faint typing in the background before your phone buzzes with a text containing a link.

“It’s called Songs That Remind Me of Y/N. Creative, right?”

You open the link, and your thoughts are dazed at the sight of the endless playlist of songs. Some new to you, some you recognize—all of them feeling like little pieces of Jake's heart he's handing to you.

"I think it's perfect," you murmur softly, scrolling through the titles, the warmth and appreciation for him now feeling almost too overwhelming.

"Yeah?" Jake's eyes shine with a mixture of pride and hope as he watches your reaction.

"Yeah," you repeat, switching your phone screen back to his face and giving him a genuine smile. "I love it. Thank you, Jake."

Jake hums in response, the look on his eyes gentle as a beat of comfortable silence falls between you two.

"Well, I should probably sleep for real now, but...listen to it when you miss me, okay? Because chances are, I'm probably doing the same."

You pause, letting the weight of his words settle over you—vulnerable, yet undoubtedly honest. "Deal. I'll listen to it right now, then."

"Good," his smile grows, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Because I am too. I miss you, too."

You both linger for a moment, neither wanting to end the call just yet, simply enjoying each other's pure, raw presence.

"Sweet dreams, Jake," you finally say, your voice gentle as you slowly let sleep take over.

"Only if they’re about you," he quips, grinning.

You roll your eyes, your chest feeling lighter, "Go to bed, Sim."

"Yes, ma'am," he winks, and with one last fond look, he ends the call, leaving you smiling at your screen like the absolute fool he's turned you into.

"I can't believe you're finally coming back tomorrow," you murmur into the phone, your voice soft but buzzing with excitement as you take in the sight of Jake sprawled out on his bed. The dim glow of his phone highlights just enough of his face to remind you how impossibly cute he is—even with the pillow creases on his cheek.

"I know," Jake sighs dramatically, flopping onto his side. His head sinks into the pillow, and you hear a soft fwump as he shifts to find a comfortable spot. "I just wish I wasn't landing so late. If I could, I'd come see you the second I land. Like, bags in hand, running to your door."

"You'd probably trip and knock yourself out with your carry-on, Jake," you snort but then smile, the imagine of Jake rushing to get to you playing in your head.

"First of all, I'm very athletic," Jake raises an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. "Second, that's exactly what would happen, but at least I'd be unconscious on your doorstep, which is still closer to you than I've been in months."

Your heart does a little flip at the sound of the sincerity in his voice as you try to keep your tone casual, "It's okay, Jake. I'm not going anywhere. We'll see each other the next day? If you're free, maybe."

Jake's face softens in that stupidly adorable way he always does when he knows you're just trying to play it cool. "Free or not, I'll find a way. Nothing's stopping me from seeing you, Y/N. Not jet lag, not my schedule, not even my manager if he tries to barricade me in the building."

A giggle escapes you, partly at his sheer determination and partly to cover up the butterflies constantly causing the havoc in your stomach when it comes to him. And Jake, of course, looks all smug, like he knows exactly what he's doing to you. Typical Jake—sweet, determined, and impossibly endearing.

But as much as his words make your cheeks warm, there's another reason why you're holding back your smile.

Because, despite what Jake thinks, you're going to see him much sooner than he expects. All thanks to a message you got earlier from the group's manager:

Y/N! Hope you’re doing well! We all miss you and can’t wait to see you soon! As you know, the boys are returning tomorrow late at night, but the staff and I want to plan a little surprise party at their apartment, they have no idea. The team’s already prepping everything. We’d love for you to come—it wouldn’t be the same without you. 10 PM! See you!

You're practically vibrating with excitement, each passing minute on the call with Jake making it harder and harder to not just blurt it out and tell him you'll be seeing him in less than 24 hours. And, somehow, hearing his sleepy voice on the other side of the call, completely oblivious, just makes it even harder to contain yourself.

Jake's brows furrow as he watches you try (and fail) to suppress your grin, "What's up with you? You're smiling so much, and I'm pretty sure I didn't say anything that funny."

"Me?" You blink innocently, even though your heart skips a beat. But you shrug casually, masking your smile with a feigned yawn. "Nothing's up, you've just been acting too cute tonight. That's all."

"You're lucky you're cute," Jake narrows his eyes at you, but even you can see through the dim lighting the red creeping across his face, "And that I'm tired. Or else I'd call you out for how you're gaslighting me right now."

"Gaslighting?!" You sputter out, breaking out into laughter. "How am I gaslighting you for calling you cute?"

"Because I know you're hiding something—" Jake replies, his pout audible in the way his voice drags. He yawns mid-sentence, the soft sound and the image of his eyes fluttering closed making your heart melt. "—and you're using my sleep-deprived state against me. It's not fair."

"I'm not hiding anything!" You protest, your face one second away from cracking into a guilty smile. "Go to sleep—you're barely holding it together over there."

"Like I'd ever fall asleep on you," he mutters, his voice heavy with drowsiness. "You're way too important for that."

His words hit you like a train, and you have to physically restrain yourself from squealing, burying your face in your pillow before you let out a strangled, "Okay, enough sap for one night, Romeo. Go to bed."

"Mmhm, fine, fine," Jake hums before he yawns again. "Goodnight, pretty. Dream sweet dreams, okay?"

You let out a breath, losing the last remaining bits of your composure at this point—but in the best way possible, of course.

"Goodnight, Jakey. I'll see you soon."

The day flies by in a whirlwind of anticipation and sheer chaos, the emotional hurricane brewing up inside you rooting from one source and one source only.

Because ever since you woke up this morning, every step, every sight, every breath was haunted by one inescapable thought:

Jake.

The morning was a blur of pacing around your room like a Sims character who was glitching after being told to "Go Here", overthinking every possible scenario for how tonight—when you finally see Jake in person—could go down.

Because, really—how exactly do you approach the boy you've been friends with for years, who you've fallen for, in a room filled with people, including yours and his closest friends, all while pretending your heart is trying its hardest to not control, alt, delete itself?

Not exactly something you can Google.

Like, do you hug him? Does he hug you? What if he doesn't hug you? (Unacceptable, you decide, before pacing faster.)

By the time afternoon rolls around, you're about 78% sure you've developed three-and-a-half migraines from the sheer pressure of it all. Not to mention, the borderline illegal amount of caffeine coursing through your veins isn't helping—why did you think drinking four cups of coffee was a good idea? (You didn't. Your brain has officially gone rogue.)

And now, here you are. The buzzing apartment of the boys is alive with the sounds of laughter, the crinkle of party streamers being hung up, and two staff members arguing about where to put the over-dramatically large "WELCOME HOME" banner. You, along with everyone else, await for the signal, passing time by keeping up small conversation with the friends and staff you've gotten to know over the years—all the while you desperately try to keep your nerves from causing a mental crash out right here and now.

Eventually, one of the staff gets the alert that the group has landed and is minutes away, the energy immediately shifting, both in the apartment and mentally. You settle in place in the back of the crowd, near the door but not too near the door—because 1) you're 99.99% sure you're not emotionally stable enough to be front and center, and 2) the staff and camera crew are already hogging the entrance as if this was the world's greatest comeback (and spoiler alert—to you, it really is.)

The lights dim, the chatter fades, and the room hums with anticipation. And meanwhile? Your heart won't. Stop. Pounding.

Any second now.

Your nerves bubble up even more than you thought is humanly healthy, and you're not sure if you're about to a) pass out, b) puke, c) or both.

Simultaneously.

The sound of multiple footsteps echoes faintly in the hallway, followed with muffled voices—one of them the unmistakable sound of Jake's laughter. Your breath catches.

And then the door swings open.

"SURPRISE!"

The boys freeze in the doorway, their suitcases still in hand, the looks of genuine, yet pleasant, confusion plastered on all their faces. Sunghoon's eyes dart to the snacks table, Jay looks like he's deciding whether to laugh or roll his eyes, Sunoo is on the verge of tears, and Jake—Jake looks beautifully, stupidly confused.

Your eyes immediately find Jake's face, like some natural gravitational pull you can't fight, and suddenly it hits you: he's here. In front of you. No blurry video calls, no glitchy Wi-Fi interruptions—just Jake.

It feels surreal, like you're living in a sugar-induced dream that you aren't sure of is real yet or not. Last time you saw him in person, he was merely just Jake, one of your best friends, your go-to guy for bad jokes and late-night rants about life. But now? Now he's Jake—the boy who's somehow become the main character of your life (and brain capacity) over the past five months.

Every memory of your late-night calls, every teasing smile, every time his sweet, groggy voice promised he'd prove himself to you—it all comes rushing back. Like those cheesy montage scenes in a rom-com, except instead of a whimsical romantic song playing in the background, it's the sound of your brain, and heart, screaming WHAT NOW Y/N?!

But then, finally, his eyes land on you.

The moment your eyes meet, you think your lungs give up on life. Breathing? Never heard of it. It's like someone hit the pause button on the entire universe, and you're convinced that the only thing to ever exist is Jake looking at you with that soft, unreadable expression.

But you manage half a second of calm—half a second—before that softness on his face disappears. Just as quickly as it appeared, it's replaced by...something else. Something you can't quite put your finger on. Something you've never thought could exist on his face. A flicker of...conflict? Hesitation? Like he's staring straight at you…but also from miles away at the same time.

His jaw tightens slightly—so slightly only you would notice with how intently you're looking at him—and for a split second, his hands fidgets at his side before he quickly clasps it over the handle of his suitcase. And right as you process it, right as you're about to convince yourself it's just the million grams of caffeine rushing through your blood that's making you hallucinate and see things—

He looks away.

He looks away. As if you're not even standing there, as if he didn't just short-circuit your entire brain. His attention shifts to the nearest staff member, greeting them with a quick nod, and suddenly he's smiling and laughing at something they're saying like nothing just happened.

And just like that, the universe hits the play button again, and you're left standing there—staring, blinking, wondering if the last thirty seconds of your life was, indeed, a caffeine-induced hallucination after all. Surely. Right?

Because Jake definitely didn't avoid you on purpose. Nope. Because that would be insane. Insane, you think to yourself, as the invisible angel on your shoulder continues to whisper into your ear the same sweet words Jake's been telling you the past five months about how much he cares for you, how much he likes you—remember all those times he said it?

Right. Right. Of course, he does. But still, you stand there frozen, trying to ground yourself, even though your hands start fidgeting at your sides anyway. Great. Fantastic. Cool, cool, cool. This is fine.

You mentally curse yourself for not being closer to the door after all, and then, you mentally curse every single person in this room for not magically gaining telepathic powers and knowing that you, personally, were trying to have a moment.

It's fine. You'll find him again. He's just too preoccupied with all the staff members and people to greet. Busy Jake. Social Jake. You're just imagining things. Definitely.

Trying to distract yourself, you glance around the apartment, everything suddenly feeling suffocating. Maybe a snack. Maybe a drink. Maybe a portal to another dimension.

Shaking your head out of your spiraling thoughts, you bite the inside of your cheek to ground yourself and turn away from the crowd, quickly settling yourself near the beverage table, pouring yourself a cup of...whatever this is—your mind too cloudy to even bother looking at the sign on the table.

You don't know how much time passes, and frankly, you don't even know if you're fully conscious. Your mind is still living in the past, lingering in that moment where you locked eyes with Jake for the first time in five months, and despite all the overthinking you did this morning of all the possible scenarios that could happen—this was not one of them.

You're about to pour yourself a second drink just to keep your thoughts busy when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

"Y/N!"

Before you can fully turn around, you're engulfed in a warm hug, the familiar scent of Jungwon's cologne immediately grounding you, "Oh god, I missed you. Took me forever to find you with all these people."

"Jungwon!" You exclaim, a genuine smile lighting up your face despite the emotional tug-of-war in your chest, because, of course, leave it to your best friend to immediately ease your inner panic. You squeeze him back, playfully ruffling his hair as you pull away, "I can't believe they made you grow out your hair. Now you actually look older than me for once."

He stares at you, blinking. "Y/N. I am older than you."

"Literally by a week. We all know I'm mentally older," you deadpan, crossing your arms.

"Okay, I take it back. I didn't miss you after all," he scoffs as you laugh, pulling him into another hug for good measure just to annoy him.

"I'm so glad you guys are back," you say as Jungwon grabs the drink in your hand and takes a sip himself as he listens to you. "I was dying of boredom without you guys."

Jungwon raises an eyebrow, "Uh-huh. Definitely didn't sound like boredom all those nights you called Jake at 2AM."

You freeze. Oh. Great. The one topic you were trying to avoid (how you were going to avoid it—given you're at his literal apartment, with his literal group members, and literal staff members that all work for him—you're not sure. Avoidance was a doomed plan from the start, I fear).

But before you could answer, Jungwon continues, "So...are you guys, like, a thing now? I know you guys were just talking this whole time, but now that we're back, are you guys gonna be in a relationship and all that stuff? Because if so, I need a heads-up. As much I love you both, I don't know if I can stand you two being all couple-y right in front of me—oh, and also—"

"Jungwon."

"—if he hurts you in any way, I swear to god I will not hesitate to—"

"Jungwon!"

He stops, wide-eyed, before flashing you a sheepish smile. "Sorry. But seriously, what's happening? You haven't given me any updates!"

You open your mouth to respond, but the words get caught in your throat. Because if he had asked you yesterday—or even an hour ago—you would've been able to answer confidently. But now? After Jake's apparent Olympic-level avoidance of you? You're not so sure anymore.

"I...I don't know," you mumble, the words barely audible. Jungwon tilts his head, leaning closer to catch them.

"What do you mean, you don't know? You guys haven't talked about it?" His brows furrowing as he studies your face, clearly picking up on your hesitation in true best friend fashion.

"I, uh, I haven't...seen him yet," you admit, hoping the crack in your voice doesn't reveal the real reason you haven't approached the boy in question. "Everyone's busy, and I didn't want to get in the way."

Jungwon gives you a look like you just said the earth is flat.

"Get in the way? Y/N, you're insane. This is the guy who's been counting down the days to see you. If anything, everyone else is in his way."

You give him a helpless shrug, but Jungwon isn't having it. He grabs your shoulders and spins you around, pointing across the room to one of the other snack tables past the crowds of people.

"Look. He's right there. Alone. Perfectly free to talk to you. Go."

Your eyes land on Jake, back facing you and Jungwon, casually scooping chips into a bowl. You hesitate, scanning his relaxed posture, and the knot in your stomach tightens. Because that's exactly the problem. He's perfectly free. And if he's so excited to see you, how come he hasn't spoken to you yet?

But before you can voice your doubts, Jungwon gives you a not-so-gentle nudge forward, "Go talk to him before I carry you over there myself."

And next thing you know, Jake's right there. In front of you. His back is to you still, his eyes scanning the various snacks lined on the table, completely unaware of the full-on mental breakdown occurring just behind him.

This is your moment, you tell yourself, despite the endless alarms going off in your brain. Every single nerve in your body is on high alert, screaming at you to abort mission, abort! But before you can give in to your panic, your hand is already reaching out, lightly tapping his shoulder.

"Jake!"

Jake turns around, and for a moment—a fleeting, fragile moment—you catch it. The way his eyes widen slightly at the sight of you. The way his lips part as if they're about to break into that familiar smile you've missed for months. But just as quickly, similar to earlier, it vanishes, replaced by that flicker of hesitation, and it's enough to make your breath catch.

"Y/N."

Your name on his lips used to sound like a warm promise. Now?

Now it feels like an afterthought.

His voice is calm, steady—too steady, stripped of every ounce of emotion, and not at all like someone who's been counting down the days to see you. He rubs the back of his neck, his gaze flickering to the crowd behind you before reluctantly meeting yours, "It's been so long."

Your stomach sinks. That's all he had to say? You were completely wrong. You spent precisely 23 minutes of your morning debating if he was even going to give you a hug—but now? Screw the hug, he won't even give you a full sentence. Something's off, and your mind races to figure out what happened, as if you missed a major chapter of your own life.

Trying to ignore the sharp pang of something lodging itself in your chest, you offer a small smile, hoping to break the tension.

"Are you...okay? I thought...I don't know, I thought you'd be more excited to see me," the words spill out before you can stop them, and you want to crawl into a self-dug hole from how raw and vulnerable you feel.

Jake shifts uncomfortably, glancing at the floor, then at you, "No, yeah, of course I am. I'm just...really tired. The flight, you know. And all this," he pauses to gesture at the environment around you two, "it's a lot."

You stare at him in disbelief, waiting for him to crack—silently begging for some sign of the Jake you thought you knew. But all you get is a shrug.

A shrug.

Suddenly, his words feel like a punch to the gut, let alone the way he can't even fully look you in the eyes. In just those few seconds, the invisible angel on your shoulder—whose voice sounded just like Jake's—whispering those promises into your ears suddenly disappeared with no trace in sight, as if it was never there—as if it was never yours—in the first place. Every late-night call, every whispered promise, every shared laugh.

As if they never belonged to you.

You swallow hard, trying to keep the growing lump in your throat from choking you, hoping your emotional turmoil isn't blatantly obvious to the boy in front of you.

"Right," you murmur, nodding as if his excuse makes perfect sense. But it doesn't. "That's...understandable."

The silence that follows is suffocating. Not the comfortable kind of warm silence you two used to share, but the awkward, unbearable kind that makes you claw at your own skin and makes you wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole right then and there.

Jake shifts again, and for a moment, his eyes meet yours. There's something there—but before you can grasp it, a voice from the crowd calls his name.

"I—I should go," he mutters quickly, stepping back. His voice is quiet, his tone almost apologetic, but his words feel like he's hammering the nails to your coffin. "I'll...see you later though, yeah?"

He doesn't wait for an answer. He's gone before you can say anything, before you can process his words, and for the second time that night, he leaves you standing there with your heart in pieces and your thoughts in chaos.

For a moment, you swear you're paralyzed. You can't move. Can't breathe. Your vision blurs as every doubt you'd buried for months comes rushing back, screaming in your face louder and crueler than ever. You've never felt smaller, more foolish.

Your heart beats erratically now, fighting against the realization of the truth settling in your chest—a heaviness so suffocating it threatens to take you under. The Jake who stood in front of you just now—guarded, distant, a stranger—was so unlike the boy who had made you laugh until your sides ached, who'd stayed up with you on countless late nights, sharing secrets no one else knew.

The Jake who made promises.

Your mind spirals. Maybe...maybe those promises were never meant to be kept. Maybe they were just words to fill the time.

Maybe you were just someone to fill the time.

Your breath starts to pick up and you're frantically scanning the room, desperate for an escape from your thoughts through any familiar face. Your eyes finally land on Ni-ki and Heeseung casually sitting on one of the couches, their carefree laughter a stark contrast to your inner implosion. You beeline to them, forcing a smile on your face as you plop down beside them.

"Y/N!" Ni-ki grins the moment he spots you, scooting over to make room. "Where've you been hiding? Thought you ditched us for good."

"I've been here,“ you give the boys a small smile, praying they don't notice the way your hands tremble as you sit down, “just...mingling."

Heeseung raises an eyebrow at the faint crack in your voice, but doesn't push further, "Well, we all missed you. Pizza pig-out sesh and games tomorrow? You can tell us everything we've been missing out on."

You laugh, trying to keep the conversation light, but it comes out shaky, your voice tight under the weight of your hidden emotions, "I think it's you guys who need to catch me up."

Ni-ki tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at you, "Are you okay? You look...off. What—did someone spill punch on you? Lemme guess, was it Jake?"

At his name, the knife in your stomach twists even deeper, and you look away, hoping they don't notice the way your face falls.

But Heeseung notices. Of course. His gaze sharpens, the playful teasing in his expression replaced with a softened concern, "Y/N...what's going on?"

"I'm fine," you reply a little too quickly, your voice a little too high. You plaster a smile on your face, turning back towards the two boys, concern written all over their faces. "Just tired. Long day."

Neither of them look convinced, but before Heeseung can say anything else, Ni-ki nudges him and gestures towards something across the room.

"Hey...isn't that—"

You follow Ni-ki's gaze, and you immediately wish you didn't.

Because just like that, your world crumbles.

There she is—Jenn.

You're not even wondering when she got here, how she got here, or even why she's here in the first place. No, not even.

Because all that's occupying your mind right now is the way she's there, perched comfortably on Jake's lap on one of the couches in the distance, her arm draped casually over his shoulder.

The way she's laughing freely at something he says, her hand lightly brushing against his as if it's second nature, her fingers briefly pushing a strand of hair away from his face.

The way Jake doesn't even flinch, the way he doesn't pull away.

The way he smiles at her.

That same smile—the one you've spent weeks convincing yourself was yours—now feels like a cruel joke.

And that does it. For the first time that night, despite all you endured, you shatter.

You force yourself to look away, but it's too late. Your chest hollows out deeper and deeper with every passing second, until all you're left with is a final realization:

Maybe you never really had him at all. He was never yours in the first place.

Ni-ki and Heeseung exchange glances before looking at the expression on your face—all the color drained, as if you were merely just a body, paralyzed. Both of them open their mouths, but nothing comes out, clearly unsure of what to say, but you don't give them the chance. You're already standing, grabbing your bag at your side with trembling hands.

"Y/N, wait—" Heeseung starts as both him and Ni-ki stand up with you, but you shake your head, his voice distant and muffled as if he's speaking to you underwater.

"I need some air," you mumble, but you're sure neither of them hear you, your voice barely above a whisper.

Before they can stop you, you're already weaving through the crowd, your vision blurring as you fight the overwhelming urge to break down. You stop at the door, your eyes quickly scanning the cluttered floor for your shoes. For a moment, you think you've made it—escaped the suffocating air and heartbreak clawing at your throat—but a mistake you didn't mean to make stills you.

You glance over your shoulder, and there he is.

Jake's eyes meet yours, and the world comes to a stop. His easy smile slips from his face and is immediately replaced by a flicker of panic, his brows drawing together as if he's just realized something, but you don't stick around to analyze it.

Not when your heart is already in pieces on the floor.

You quickly look the opposite way, fighting the sting of burning tears threatening to spill over as your fingers fumble desperately with the zipper of your coat when you hear a concerned voice from behind you.

"Y/N?" Jungwon's familiar voice cuts through your haze, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. "What—where are you going?"

"Home," you whisper, avoiding his gaze as you finally manage to get your coat on, turning towards the door.

Suddenly, Jungwon steps in front of you, a firm frown on his face, "Hey, hey, what's wrong? Talk to me—"

"Jungwon, I need to go," you look up at him as your voice cracks for the nth time that night, feeling Jake's set of eyes on you still, "Please, Won."

He hesitates, clearly confused but more worried over anything else, "Okay, but I'm driving you."

You sigh, shaking your head, "No, it's fine—"

"I'm driving you," Jungwon repeats, leaving no room for argument as he's already grabbing his coat and walking out the door.

Not bothering to look behind you to see if Jake's still watching, you follow Jungwon out to the hallway, the chill of the air feeling like a fresh wave of emotions crashing over you all at once: embarrassment, anger, heartbreak.

You're too caught up in your spinning thoughts to even notice the sound of frantic footsteps behind you until a voice cuts through the silence.

"Y/N."

His voice is quiet, almost drowned out by the muffled hum of music and laughter seeping from the party you should've escaped from a long time ago.

But still, you hear it anyway—because of course you do. Because it's him. And no matter how much you wish you didn't, you'd silence the entire world just to hear that voice.

And you hate it.

You hate how your entire body freezes mid-step, you hate how every nerve within you comes alive at the sound of his voice, you hate how your heart stumbles, as if trying to root itself in the pain you've been trying so hard to outrun.

You turn around slowly, against every ounce of logic telling you to keep walking. And when your eyes land on him—on the raw, desperate, almost broken look on his face—you hate yourself even more.

Because even now, even after everything, your heart still sinks at the sight. And you hate how you give him the power to break you with just one look.

“Can we talk?” Jake asks, his voice low and unsteady as he takes a small step towards you.

From beside you, Jungwon hesitates, his gaze flickering between you and Jake. After a beat, he nods, "I'll get the car. Wait here."

He spares Jake a final look of warning before nudging you for comfort and stepping into the elevator.

The elevator doors close, leaving you and Jake alone in the hallway, the air thick with unspoken words and emotions.

You swallow hard, your throat tight, but you steel yourself, "What do you want, Jake?"

You shift your weight and instinctively cross your arms, a defensive barrier between you and the boy you spent too long letting into your heart. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the vulnerability in them makes your resolve falter.

He takes a hesitant step towards you before exhaling shakily, running a hand through his hair.

“I—I messed up tonight. I didn’t mean to...," he trails off, his words fumbling, his eyes searching yours in desperation, his heart breaking at the way your tears are a second away from falling over.

"...to completely ignore me all night? Make me feel like nothing?" You finish for him, your quiet voice breaking despite your attempt to stay composed.

"No. God, no. You're not nothing," he says quickly, his voice faltering on the last word. "Y/N, you matter so much to me."

“Well it definitely didn't feel that way,” your voice is barely audible, but you finally look up at him, the hurt finally bubbling to the surface. “After everything you said—promised, everything we talked about…”

"I know, I just—" he hesitates, his voice barely above a whisper. He takes a tentative step closer, his movements slow and careful, like he's afraid you'll break if he gets too close. "I was nervous."

"It’s been so long, and I didn’t know what to say, how to act. I wanted to get it right—to make it perfect—but instead, I just—" he stops, dragging another frustrated hand through his hair. His eyebrows knit together in that familiar way that once made your heart flutter, but now only adds to the ache in your chest.

You let out a hollow laugh, the bitter sound foreign even to your own ears, “Well, congratulations, Jake. You managed to mess it up anyway.”

“Please,” he looks devastated, his hands trembling at his sides. “Y/N, please don’t think I don’t care about you. I do. More than you know. I just—I don't know how to do this. I panicked and I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear."

"Then why was...," you look at him, your eyes still stinging from all the unshed tears as you take a shaky breath, “...why was she all over you tonight? Why didn’t you stop her?”

He falters, his shoulders slumping under the weight of your question, “It wasn’t what it looked like. I didn’t—I couldn’t—”

“You couldn’t,” you echo, the words spilling out in a rush now, each one cutting him deeper. “I should've known. Let me guess, she wants to get back together, right?"

Jake's silence is deafening, and it immediately answers your question. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. The way he looks at you—eyes wide and filled with regret, lips trembling as if searching for the right words—confirms everything you were afraid of.

You squeeze your eyes shut, a shaky breath escaping your lips—a sound caught somewhere between a scoff and a choked sob. No matter how hard you try, the wall holding back your emotions cracks under the weight of it all. The doubts you’ve tried so hard to bury suddenly resurface, crashing over you like waves, each one carrying the sting of every insecurity, every fear you’ve ever had about this moment. Your chest feels tight, your heart splintering under the realization that everything you were afraid of might be true.

"Jake, I can't do this," you whisper, shaking your head. "I can't be the person you lean on while you try to figure out what you want."

"No, no—Y/N, I do know what I want," he pleads, his voice cracking as he tries to step closer. "And it’s you. Always been you, Y/N. Everything I said—I meant it."

His words hang heavy in the air, the faint echo of the party music filtering through the cracks in the door and into the quiet hallway. You look away, refusing to let him see the way your tears finally spill over.

"You promised," you let out softly and slowly, through your sniffles. “You promised you wouldn't hurt me. You said you'd prove that I could trust you, that I didn't have to be scared. You knew I was worried, Jake. And you...you hurt me anyways."

"And I swear I meant every word I said. I still do," Jake says, his voice desperate as he shakes his head. He steps even closer, his hand reaching out and brushing against yours, but you pull back before he can close the distance. "You have to believe me. Please, Y/N. You're the only one."

You shake your head again, the tears now freely rushing down your cheeks despite your best efforts, "I—I don't know if I can believe that anymore, Jake. I want to, I really, really do. But tonight..."

Jake’s face falls, the weight of your pain crashing into him all at once. His lips tremble as he struggles to hold himself together, his eyes turning glassy themselves. The sight of you—broken, because of him—cuts deeper than he thought was humanly ever possible. His voice is barely above a whisper, raw and pleading, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I—God, please. Please give me a chance.”

You look at him—at the boy who became your safe space these past few months—and all you feel is the ache in your heart.

"I can't do this right now, Jake," you finally let out through your broken voice as you take a step back. "I think I just need space."

The words hang in the air like a death sentence. His breath hitches as if your words physically hit him in the face, "Y/N..."

Your phone suddenly buzzes, a text from Jungwon letting you know he's outside. You glance down at it, then back at Jake. For a moment, you hesitate, your heart screaming at you to stay—to give him the chance he's yearning for. But your brain knows better.

"I have to go," you murmur softly, as you take a final step back, turning away before more tears threaten to spill all over again. You force yourself to keep walking, fighting the overwhelming urge to look back—to let him pull you into his arms, where you wished so desperately you belonged.

Frozen, Jake watches helplessly as you walk away, his chest tightening with every step you take. Everything feels like it's caving in, regret clawing at him the more he lets you walk further away. He opens his mouth to say something—anything—but the words fail him, silenced by the weight of his own mistakes.

To Jake, the sounds of the party are now far in the distance, drowned out by the pounding in this ears. Instead, the hallway falls into a haunting silence, broken only by the faint echo of your retreating steps—a cruel reminder of what he's just let slip away.

The car ride starts in complete silence, the only sound between you and Jungwon the soft hum of his engine and the faint sound of whatever playlist he was playing in the background. You stare out the window, watching the city lights blur together, your coat clutched tightly under your grasp as if it's the only thing keeping you sane.

Jungwon glances at you out the corner of his eye, his hands steady on the steering wheel. He doesn't say anything at first, but you know him well enough to sense the storm brewing in his head.

"Okay," he finally says, as if on cue, breaking the silence. "Spill."

You don't respond, your eyes still fixed on the surrounding city breezing by you, as if the passing view could somehow erase the memory of him. Your fingers dig further into the fabric of your coat, your knuckles going numb.

Jungwon gives you a few more moments of silence, but when you don't make any sign of responding, he speaks up again.

"Y/N," his voice softens, but the edge of his concern cuts through. "Don't do that thing where you shut people out. Especially me, you know I hate that."

"I'm not—" you start, but your voice wavers, and the lie dies on the tip of your tongue.

“You are," he exhales sharply from beside you, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "Look, you don't have to tell me everything, but don't pretend you're fine when you're clearly not."

The words sit heavy in the air as you swallow hard, your throat burning as you finally whisper, "It's stupid, Jungwon."

He doesn't take his eyes off the road, but his tone is firm, "I'm sure if it's got you looking like this, it's not stupid."

You want to argue, to tell him to just let it go, but the hurt pressing down on your chest is too much. The ache in your body threatens to take over again, and you hate it. You hate how the tears form again, how you can still see Jake looking at you like that, like you were breaking right in front of him and he didn't know how to stop it.

Jungwon waits. He doesn't push, because he knows you. He knows you're just hurting, struggling to grasp your overwhelming emotions, so he gives you the time you need. But his quiet patience is unbearable, like he's peeling back every layer of your resolve just by being there, and eventually, you give in.

"It's Jake," you finally choke out, the name tumbling from your lips like a curse.

Jungwon doesn't respond immediately, but you can feel the shift in his demeanor. His jaw tightens, and his fingers flex against the wheel, "I figured as much honestly, after what I saw in the hallway, but what exactly happened, Y/N?"

You shake your head, your voice shaky, "It doesn't matter. I—I just feel so stupid, Won. Like, how could I think..."

You trail off, biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood. Jungwon gives you a softened glance, signaling you to continue whenever you're ready to.

You take a deep breath before you speak up again, "How could I ever think I was good enough for him, you know?"

There's a silence that follows after your words and you hear Jungwon take in a deep inhale.

"This isn't on you, Y/N. This has nothing to do with whether you're enough or not," Jungwon's voice is steady, but there's a firm edge to it now. "Look, I don't want to overstep or anything...and I definitely don't want to vouch for him—especially right now but...are you sure he's not just freaking out?"

You tilt your head over at the boy next to you, "Freaking out about what?"

"You," Jungwon says simply like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"That doesn't make any sense," you start shaking your head. "Why would he—"

"Because you're you," Jungwon interrupts, his tone matter-of-fact as he keeps his eyes trained on the road in front of him. "And Jake's a complete idiot, but even idiots get scared when they care about someone as much as he clearly cares about you."

You blink, Jungwon's words sinking into all the cracks formed within you, "You really think he cares about me that much?"

“Are you kidding?” Jungwon scoffs, his expression a mix of disbelief and exasperation. “Y/N, the guy looks at you like you hung his moon and stars. Trust me, I’ve seen it.”

And you don't know what comes over you, but Jungwon's words hit you like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, the tears you've been holding back come rushing forward, hot and relentless. You cover your face with your hands, your body shaking as the sobs you've been swallowing all night finally make their way out.

Jungwon quickly looks over at you and, without hesitation, glances over his shoulder to pull over to the side of the road, the soft clicking of the hazard lights mixing in with your cries. When he finally puts the car in park, he doesn't say anything and just leans back in his seat, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder—close enough to remind you he's there, but not too much to smother you.

"I'm sorry," you manage to gasp out between sobs, your hands going up to wipe your face as all the overwhelming emotions finally take over you.

"Don't," Jungwon says firmly, "Don't apologize for feeling like this."

You take a shaky breath, trying to pull yourself together as your sobs eventually start to slow down, "I just don't understand. If he cares so much, why does this hurt so bad?"

"I don't think it's about how much he cares," Jungwon sighs, as if carrying your pain alongside you. "Sometimes...sometimes people care so much that they don't know what to do with it. They panic. They overthink. And they mess up in the worst ways because they don't know how to handle what they're feeling."

You look up at him, your face still wet with tears, "So you're saying it's an excuse."

"No," Jungwon replies, quickly shaking his head fervently. "Definitely not an excuse. Jake screwed up, Y/N. Big time. And it's 100% on him to fix that, not you. But—"

He pauses and thinks for a second, his words deliberate, "—it doesn't mean his feelings aren't real. Or that he doesn't care about you."

You look away, glancing down at your hands in your lap, fiddling with the hem of your coat as you take in Jungwon's words.

"It's just feels like...like I'm the only one who got hurt here, Won. Like I'm the only one who..," you trail off, unable to form your thoughts into a coherent sentence, but leave it up to Jungwon to always fully understand you.

"You're not the only one," he says softly. "He's hurting too, Y/N. Maybe not in the same way, and maybe he doesn't deserve any sympathy, but I can see it. I've seen it. Jake...Jake isn't Jake without you. And honestly? That idiot is probably tearing himself apart right now."

Your lips part, but the words don't find you. Instead, you let the weight of Jungwon's words sink in, unsure what to do with how true they may be.

"You don't have to forgive him right now," Jungwon adds after a moment. "Hell, you don't even have to forgive him at all. Honestly, that might satisfy me just a bit. But maybe...maybe you owe it to yourself to hear him out. Not for him, but for you."

You turn to Jungwon, your lips forming into the smallest pout, "But what if it just makes everything worse?"

He gives you a faint, grounding smile, equal parts reassuring and honest.

"Then you walk away knowing you did everything you could—for yourself. And if it does come to that," he shrugs lightly, "we'll figure it out together."

You're quiet for a long moment, the thought of walking away from Jake and everything he means to you terrifying you…but you know Jungwon's right. You owe yourself the chance to try—even if the unknown outcome fails you.

With a shaky breath, you nod, brushing away the last of your tears, "Thanks, Jungwon."

"You're welcome," Jungwon hums in acknowledgement before his lips curve into a small grin, the atmosphere lightening slightly, "but, uh, could you at least use the tissues in the glove compartment before my seats turn into a snot rag?"

You manage to let out a small scoff of disbelief as you roll your watery eyes, "You're the worst."

"Nah," Jungwon replies with a cheeky grin as he shifts the car back into drive, but not before he reaches over to ruffle your hair playfully. "C'mon. Let's get you home."

The knocking at Jungwon’s door comes at the worst possible moment.

He’s halfway through organizing his desk—something he only attempts when he’s too frustrated to sit still—and the last thing he expects to see when he swings the door open is Jake, standing there looking like he hasn’t slept a millisecond all night.

Jungwon makes no sign of saying anything or making a move, just staring at the older boy in question. Jakes shifts uncomfortably, running a hand through his messy hair, not used to seeing Jungwon in this sour, expressionless mood.

"Hey," Jake finally says, his voice hesitant.

“What do you want?” Jungwon deadpans, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He knows he sounds harsh, but, frankly, he doesn’t care.

Jake falters for a moment, his gaze dropping to the ground, "I...I need your help."

Jungwon's eyes narrow, "With what, exactly?"

He knows what, but he's not letting Jake off that easily. Not after last night.

"With Y/N," your name hangs in the air between them as Jake's voice cracks, and Jungwon clenches his jaw before he lets out a frustrated sigh.

"I don't think you're in any position to be asking me for help right now."

"I know," Jake says quickly, his hands raising in surrender. "I know, okay? I screwed up big time. I—God, I don't even know where to start, Jungwon. I just...I don't want to make things worse."

Jungwon lets out a bitter, humorless laugh, stepping back and motioning his head to let Jake enter his room, "You've already got a good head start on that, I see."

Jake steps inside, awkwardly hovering near the door as Jungwon moves to sit on the edge of his own bed. He doesn't offer Jake a seat, and Jake doesn't ask for one.

"She cried, you know," Jungwon says after a few moments of silence, his voice stone cold. "I had to pull over because she couldn't even hold it together long enough for me to get her home. I've known her my entire life, and I don't think I've ever seen her cry that hard, Jake."

Jake flinches, the words physically hurting him, "I didn't mean to—"

"Yeah, I know," the younger boy cuts him off, his voice sharp, his anger rising on behalf of you. "You didn't mean to hurt her. But you did. And now you're asking me to help you fix it like it's that easy."

"It's not easy," Jake mutters quietly, his hands fumbling with the edge of his hoodie. "Nothing about this...none of it is easy. But I know I messed up, and I—I can't just leave things like this, I can't lose her, Jungwon. I care about her too much."

Jungwon deadpans at his friend, fighting back the urge to scoff in his face, "If you cared about her, you wouldn't have let her walk out of that party looking like her entire world was falling apart."

Jake looks up, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with something Jungwon can't quite name...desperation, maybe. Or guilt. Or both.

"I didn't know what to do," Jake finally admits, his voice still barely above a whisper, as if admitting to himself for the first time, too. "I saw her, and she looked so...broken. And I—I panicked, I didn't know what to do, and by the time I realized, she was gone."

Jungwon leans back, groaning as he runs a hand over his face. The anger bubbling within him hasn't fully faded, but he knows there's something else now—something softer, something that makes it harder to keep his protective guard for you up.

Because he knows Jake isn't lying.

"You don't get to half-ass this, Jake," Jungwon finally says after he thinks to himself. "She's not some random girl you're trying to impress, she isn't Jenn. This is Y/N. If you want to fix things, you have to be ready to own up to everything. No excuses, no backing out. She deserves that much."

Jake nods quickly, his eyes wide and hopeful at Jungwon's slight change in demeanor, “I will. I swear, I will.”

"And don't think she's going to forgive you right away," Jungwon adds. "She's hurt. You have to give her time. This isn't about what you want—it's about what she needs."

Jake swallows hard, nodding again, “I just want to talk to her. To explain. To tell her I’m sorry and—”

His voice cracks, and he looks down, his hands trembling slightly. Jungwon lets out a sigh, his mixed feelings turning more into something closer to pity. Because as much as he wants to stay mad for your sake, he's known Jake long enough to know that he's a good guy—and that his heart is in the right place.

But even more than that, he knows you. And he knows how much Jake means to you, even if you won't admit it, especially not now more than ever.

"You're actually an idiot," Jungwon says after a few beats, his voice carrying a lighter tone now. "But for some godforsaken reason, knowing her, I think she might actually miss you."

Jake looks up from his hands, his eyes searching Jungwon's face for any flicker of doubt, "You really think so?"

Jungwon shrugs, standing up and moving towards his door, "I think you've got a lot of work to do if you want to earn her trust back. But...I think you still have a chance."

Jake doesn't say anything as he follows Jungwon to the door, but the look on his face says enough—there's a new slight look of hope. It's small, but he's clutching onto it like it’s his lifeline.

“You know," Jungwon says when he reaches the doorway. "Y/N’s not the type to let people in easily. She puts up walls—but with you…she let them down. You’re special to her, Jake, even if she doesn’t say it. Don’t throw that away. For her sake, and yours.”

“I won’t,” Jake promises, his voice steady now. “Thank you, Jungwon.”

Jungwon nods at the older boy before giving him a faint smile, "And just so you know, I defended you yesterday. So don't prove me wrong or I'm actually going to deck you."

Jake lets out a weak laugh as he hangs outside Jungwon's door, "Noted. I promise I won't let her down again."

Jungwon doesn’t respond, just closes the door with a soft click, and hopes—for all their sakes—that Jake means it.

Jake [5:12PM]: hi Y/N Jake [5:12PM]: i know I'm the last person you want to hear from right now. and i don’t blame you at all Jake [5:13PM]: but i cant just stay silent and let this sit between us, and i value you too much to not respect you needing space and just show up at your door Jake [5:14PM]: even though it’s killing me to stay away Jake [5:14PM]: after you left the party last night, i went back inside. i told jenn that whatever we had in the past is exactly that, the past. and i swear to you, Y/N, there’s nothing between us. there hasn’t been for a long time. and it’s my fault for making it seem otherwise. Jake [5:15PM]: and as for how i acted…i don’t even know where to start. i fucked up extremely. nothing will excuse my actions and i don’t expect you to forgive me. but i need to apologize properly, you deserve that much. Jake [5:17PM]: please let me see you, Y/N. i don’t deserve it, and i don’t deserve you. but you mean everything to me, and i hate that i hurt you. and i promise, if you let me, i’ll do everything to make it up to you.

You stare at the phone in your hand, the messages feeling like salt to an open wound. The words on the screen begin to blur together as tears prick your eyes, spilling over before you even realize it. You don't bother wiping them away—the sting in your chest too raw, too heavy. Each word feels like Jake is standing right there in front of you, his voice soft and broken, tangled with regret.

You tell yourself to stop reading. You've already gone through the same messages at least a hundred times in the past ten minutes, overanalyzing each syllable as if they hold the answers to all of your questions.

And yet, you can't stop.

You want to be angry. You are angry. Or, at least, you think. Because beneath the flame of your anger that's already threatening to die out? There's an ache you can't ignore—a small, stubborn part of you that refuses to let go to the sincerity in his words, clinging onto the hope that he's telling you the truth.

You mean everything to me, and I hate that I hurt you. I promise, if you let me, I'll do everything to make it up to you.

The ache twists harder, curling into doubt. What if he means it? What if he's telling the truth?

But of course, the fear rises just as quickly. Because what if he's not? What if you let him back in, and it all falls apart again? What if you let yourself believe in him, giving him the second chance he's asking for, only to have your heart shattered worse than before?

And then, there's Jungwon's voice, soft but steady, cutting through the chaos brewing in your mind: "Even idiots get scared when they care about someone as much as he clearly cares about you."

Your breath catches.

Because that's the worst part. Knowing that maybe—just maybe—Jake really does care. Knowing that maybe he's telling the truth—and you're the one too afraid to take the risk, ready to build up the walls Jake's managed to get through.

Your phone screen suddenly dims, pulling you out of your thoughts and back into the moment. You blink rapidly, wiping at your face, your mind a mess of emotions you can't untangle or describe.

Fear. Hope. Doubt.

And something else—something you're afraid to admit, but you know is unmistakably real.

And it's stronger than the fear churning in your chest—it's something that's pulling you forward.

Your heart pounds almost out of your rib cage as you let out a shaky breath, the weight on your shoulders pressing harder and harder with every second you hesitate. The ache doesn't let up, but neither does your hope.

So you stop thinking altogether, letting your heart take control instead.

You shut your eyes, as if bracing yourself for a crash, take a deep breath, unlock your phone, and let your fingers fly across the screen, each word feeling like a leap off a cliff.

You hit send.

Y/N [5:30PM]: hi jake Y/N [5:30PM]: you can come over

The soft knock at your door startles you, even though you know it’s coming.

“Y/N?”

His voice. Jake’s voice.

Your heart clenches painfully, a conflicting mix of longing and hurt washing over you all at once. It hasn't even been a full day since the party, but the weight of his absence has already hollowed you out, leaving a hole you can't ignore. You know he's the one who caused it—that the cracks in your heart are his doing—but at the same time, the stubborn part of you whispers that he's also the only one who can mend them.

You make your way to the door, your movements hesitant as you crack it open, peek out, and...there he is.

"Hi," Jake says softly.

He's a mess. A beautiful, saddened mess—his hair messy, like he's been running his hands through it all day, his eyes rimmed with the kind of exhaustion that isn't just physical. One hand is buried deep in his jacket, and in the other—

"Flowers?" You ask, raising a brow in surprise.

Jake's ears turn red. "Yeah. Uh, I didn't know if you had a favorite, so I got—"

You open the door wider, revealing the full bouquet—daisies, tulips, roses, all wrapped together in crinkled tissue paper.

"—a little bit of everything," he finishes awkwardly, his voice trailing off, pausing for a second before holding them out to you with a sheepish smile.

Your lips twitch subconsciously, despite everything.

"Jake, you're literally allergic."

His mouth opens, then closes, the redness from his ears now spreading to his cheeks.

"Well, yeah, but—," Jake mumbles, shifting on his feet. "—not, like, deadly or anything dramatic like that."

He pauses, his voice dropping into something softer, more vulnerable, "I just wanted you to have them. That's all."

You feel your insides tighten, the sincerity in his voice getting to you. For a moment, all you can manage to do is stare at him—at the way his eyes are silently pleading, wide and unsure.

You hesitate for a second, then step back and open the door wider.

"Thank you," you say quietly, your fingers brushing against his as you take the bouquet, sending a flicker of warmth through you. "Come in."

Jake hesitates, his eyes searching yours like he's not sure if he's actually allowed to. When you turn away and walk towards your kitchen, he finally steps inside, kicking off his shoes quickly and hovering by the door like he doesn't know what to expect next.

You set the flowers down on the counter, adjusting them carefully before turning back to him. He's still standing there, stiff and uncertain, the distance between you feeling larger than ever before.

"So..." You say, crossing your arms tightly across yourself, shifting your weight as a way to ground yourself—though the lump in your throat makes it feel impossible.

Jake exhales shakily, his hands fidgeting by his sides and gaze darting to the floor before finally landing on you, "I came to apologize. Properly."

You blink at him, expression unreadable, "You already said sorry."

Your voice comes out sharper than intended, surprising even yourself, but the words leave before you can stop them. Jake flinches, just slightly, but he nods, knowing he deserved that.

"Not like I should have," he says, stepping closer, his voice low and careful, like he's afraid you'll run out of your own apartment. "I know I messed up. I hurt you, and I hate that I did. I hate that I made you feel like you weren't enough or that someone else could ever compare to you, Y/N."

Your arms tighten around yourself as if the words might knock the breath out of you as look away, unsure if you can meet the rawness in his eyes.

"Last night," Jake continues, his eyes filling with guilt, "I didn't handle last night right. And not just how I handled Jenn, but I let my own insecurities and stupid fears of being perfect for you get in the way. I let it happen and mess everything up. I let you think that you didn't matter to me, and I will never forgive myself, Y/N."

His words hang in the air, heavy yet sincere, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him as you process his words slowly.

"And I don't expect you to forgive me either, Y/N," Jake's voice wavers before he continues, "but I need you to know that I'm so, so sorry. No excuses. For all of it—for making you feel like anything less than everything, for making you feel like you weren't my first choice. Because you are. You're my only, Y/N."

His words hit you with a force that crashes over the walls you tried so desperately to build. They're overwhelming yet tender, like rediscovering a piece of yourself you hadn't even realized you lost. And you want to let them comfort you, you do. But the pain from last night lingers deep down, reminding you of why you built those walls in the first place.

For a moment, the silence stretches on longer than you intend, the weight of his words settling in the air between you. Jake doesn't look away though—his gaze unwavering, vulnerable, and raw.

As though he's laid himself bare before you, giving you the power to either accept or shatter him completely.

When you finally find your voice, it trembles despite your best efforts, "Jake...I don't know if I can just forget what happened."

"I'm not asking you to forget," he says quickly, taking another step closer until there's only a few feet left between you. "I just want the chance to fix us. I can't lose you like this, Y/N."

Your breath catches at the proximity, his presence pulling you in like gravity. The pain from last night tries to claw its way back into your heart—sharp and bitter—but his warmth reminds you of something else that refuses to be ignored.

That flicker of hope that's demanding your attention, screaming at you to just let him in—not just for his sake, but for you.

You take a deep breath, finally meeting his gaze. "Jake, I don't need you to...to be this perfect person. I don't need you to prove anything to me."

You pause, pushing past the lump in your throat, "Because since the beginning, I always believed you. And...I think I still do. Even after last night, I still believe you, Jake. No matter how hard I try to."

Jake lets out a breath he thinks he's been holding in for hours, "Really?"

"Yeah," you nod slowly, as if reassuring yourself as much as him. "But I don't need any of your promises or proof or any of that. I just...I just need you as you."

His eyes soften at you as he nods so quickly it's almost desperate.

"And I need you to be honest with me, Jake," you continue before he can speak. "If we do this, I need to know I can trust you. Because I don't know if I can do this...this waiting game anymore."

"You can," he says immediately, closing the distance between you two, making your breath hitch. You can see the way his hands are trembling, the slight quiver in his lips. "You can trust me. No more hesitation. I'm all in, Y/N. This is it for me, you're it."

You search his face for any sign of doubt, any speck of hesitation. But all you find is his sincerity—so hopeful and so real—the kind that makes you want to let him in fully and let your walls crumble all over again.

So you do.

"Okay," you say softly, almost as if you're testing the word.

Jake's eyes widen, the relief and hope flooding his features. Slowly, as if asking for permission, he reaches out, his fingers brushing against yours tentatively.

"Okay?" He whispers, his voice barely audible to you as his eyes flicker between your hands and your face.

You nod, your own hand turning over so your fingers curl around his in an instinctive gesture that feels so natural it makes you want to scream. The warmth of his touch feels like the first real comfort you've felt in forever, and it's enough to make your resolve slip.

"But," you add softly, your eyes not leaving the way his hand wraps around yours so perfectly, "this doesn't mean everything's fine. We need to talk. We need to figure out where we stand, and where we go from there."

Jake nods again, his grip on your hand tightening slightly, "We will. Whatever it takes, Y/N, I'll do it. I need you to know how much you mean to me and I'll never stop trying to show you that."

You let out a shaky breath as you take in his words, finally looking up from your intertwined hands to meet his eyes, your own slowly filling with the tears you've been holding back.

"You really hurt me, Jake," you say quietly, your voice breaking from the sheer weight of your vulnerability being laid bare.

Jake's face crumbles instantly, guilt etched into every line of his expression. Without hesitation, his free hand comes up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb light brushing away the tears that fall, as if he's afraid you might pull away.

Your eyes flutter closed at the warmth of his hand, and despite the emotions raging inside you, you let yourself lean into him. It feels both reckless, yet inevitable, like free-falling and trusting—knowing—he'll catch you.

"I know," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion he can't swallow down. "And I'll spend as long as it takes to deserve you, Y/N. I'll never make you feel like that again."

You nod weakly, and before you can think too much, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into the safety of his chest, his chin moving to rest on top of your head as his warmth envelops you completely.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself break, burying your face into his chest as the tears flow freely, the weight of everything finally breaking free as you let yourself melt into his tight embrace.

It's not perfect. It's not a fix-all.

But as Jake holds you close, whispering quiet reassurances into your hair, you know it's a start.

And a start is all you need.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

epilogue:

“Hi, pretty.”

“Hi, Jake.”

On the other end of the call, Jake lets out a playful scoff. Even with the slight lag, you can see his lips twitch into that familiar pout—the one that still gives you butterflies, no matter how many times you've see it now, even a year later.

“After all we’ve been through, you still won’t give me a cute pet name?”

You roll your eyes, biting back a grin, “What do you want me to say? Hi, my handsome, perfect, kindest, funniest, boyfriend in the whole wide world?”

Jake leans closer to the camera, his expression completely serious as if you should already know his answer, "...Yes."

Giggles burst out of you, shaking your head at his antics. “You’re too cute to be doing all that, Jake. Pick a struggle.”

He clutches his chest dramatically, “You know, what? You’re my struggle—I fly across time zones, run on three hours of sleep, and you still won’t give me a crumb of your affection?”

“You’re exhausting.”

“And yet…,” Jake trails off with a teasing smirk, his voice dropping into that playful, yet low lilt that still makes your stomach flip to this day. "Here you are, calling me at 1AM in the morning.”

Your cheeks flush as you glance away from the screen, trying to ignore the way his teasing gaze makes you feel, "Don’t' get confused, it's not like I wanted to or anything. I just figured someone should remind you to go to bed or else you'll look like a zombie tomorrow at the fanmeet."

Jake laughs softly, the sound grounding you in a certain way only he ever can. "You're so thoughtful, babe. My number-one hater and number-one fan, all at once. I'm so lucky."

You send him an air kiss, the teasing grin on your face mirrored by the fond one tugging at his lips. He looks at you like he did in that first-ever call way back then—like you're his whole world, and he can't believe you're real.

"How's the jet lag this time?" You ask, steering the conversation to safer ground.

"It's not so bad," he shrugs, despite the clear exhaustion in his voice. "At least this trip is only for a few days. Then I can come back to the comfort of our bed."

You raise an eyebrow, "My bed."

Jake's eyes narrow, "Our bed. Just admit it—you miss me."

You pause. "Maybe. Just a little."

His grin widens, and for a moment, neither of you say anything, the conversation lulling into an easy silence—the kind of warmth that only comes with knowing someone so well.

Finally, you shift under your blanket, getting comfortable as Jake watches you through this screen, his gaze tender, as though memorizing the curve of your smile, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear.

"You should sleep," you murmur, holding your phone closer to your face. The glow of your phone reflecting off your soft features sends palpations to Jake's chest so loud he almost doesn't hear your words.

"Mm, I really should," Jake sighs, though he doesn't move an inch. "I'll talk to you soon, yeah?"

"Mmhm," you hum, your eyes closing at the softness of his voice.

“Sleep tight. I love you,” his says, voice soft and deliberate, making sure you feel every word.

“Goodnight, Jakey,” you tease, letting the smirk creep into your voice, peeking an eye open just to catch his reaction.

Jake groans dramatically, running a hand down his face, “Y/N…not this again.”

You giggle, the fondness within you growing tenfold as you take in his face—the slight pout of his lips, his messy hair, his eyes shining with unwavering adoration for you.

“I said I love youuu,” he whines, dragging out the last word, his lips tugging into the tiniest of smiles, his entire universe reflecting from his eyes.

Finally, you give in, smiling sweetly.

“I love you, too, Jake. You already know.”

And you’ve never meant anything more.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

Songs that Remind me of Y/N:

From the first call to forever—you've always been my favorite melody. Yours, Jake <3

"As I Am" – Justin Bieber (ft. Khalid)

"Daylight" – Taylor Swift

"DIE 4 YOU" - Dean

"Psycho, Pt. 2" – Russ

"Heaven" – Bazzi

"Every Kind of Way" – H.E.R.

"Off My Face" – Justin Bieber

"Before You" – Benson Boone

"Sunflower" – Post Malone & Swae Lee

"Pink + White" – Frank Ocean

"No Doubt" – Enhypen <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

update! if you enjoyed this and want more of no doubt!jake & y/n, check out my sequel series linked here for drabbles of their relationship <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

the end! if you made it all the way, this is for you:

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡♡♡♡♡♡

p.s. i wanted to leave the ending kinda up to interpretation—hence the time skip to a year later..but lowkey what if i wrote short drabbles/scenes of things jake does to gain Y/N's trust again, from small to big gestures etc etc..lmk if that's something anyone would wanna see !! (update — linked above now!)

<3, addie

m.list here!

tag list (love you all <3):

(i hope it let me tag everyone!)

@thesassy-mia @ikeulove @renaishun @xylatox @puma-riki @blackberryrains @dreamiestay @junislqve @lamin143 @dreamy-carat @etherealhan @vvenusoncasual @belovedsthings @somuchdard @sumzysworld @mirouie @almondtofu006 @fancypeacepersona @vivimura @hollxe1 @missthang600 @sugarikiz @sanasour @enhamonsterghoul @etherealriki

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saymio · 6 months ago

Text

Silent Obsession

Pairing: Hwang In-ho (the front man) x Fem!reader

Summary: your husband was missing, and all you did for days was stay at home crying your eyes out...waiting for your dearest husband to come home. this was until inho had decided to come give you a little visit while you were all alone and vulnerable.

Warning: dead dove: do not eat, noncon, degradation, light bdsm, manipulation, In-ho is obsessed with you, rough sex, mentioned age gap (20 years), cheating (not rlly), there might be more but I'm too lazy to write it.

A/N: not proof read. this takes place during s1. (most/all of the beginning contains junho x reader content)

7.2k Words

...

it was 2015, just a few days ago your boyfriend junho had invited you to meet his family on the day of his brothers birthday. his brother was turning 40 and they were hosting a small party, just a few people... and your boyfriend thought this would be a great time to invite you to meet his mom and brother. he was ecstatic at the thought, he really wanted his family to get to know you since last year he had met yours. and he was really serious about you... but it would be an understatement to say you were nervous. hell, you were scared. you wanted to leave a good impression on his family, this was the man you wanted to marry. if his mom didnt approve of you what could you say? she was wrong? that her opinion didn't matter? these thoughts swarmed your head for hours every day....

junho was driving the two of you from your small shared apartment to his moms place. you were sitting in the passenger seat as you stared out the window of the car, you were shaking... not from the cold but from the anxiousness you were brimming with. your fingers tapped against the interior of the car, your nails making a clicking sound every time they touched the material. "are you cold y/n? I told you itd be cold today..you should've worn a bigger jacket" junho glanced at you for a second before staring back at the road and sighing. he hated when this happened, when youd be so insistent in not 'ruining' your outfit that you wouldn't pay attention to whether you'd be cold or not. this always happens! ..but he always wears a jacket for you. because he knows you'll end up shivering from the cold gusts of wind and he cant stand the thought of you suffering from the freezing temperatures. you let out a small chuckle, it was barely over a whisper but junho heard you loud and clear. "why're you laughing.." he frowned a little, not because he's upset or mad at you but just because you werent taking the situation that seriously. "what if you catch a cold? at least think about me when you dress this way..you know I hate when you're in pain.." the last part of his sentence was soft and quiet, as if he was murmuring to himself..making sure you wouldn't hear him. "stop worrying so much babe...I'm not cold or anything.. just a little jittery, its my first time meeting your family after all." you giggled at his genuine worry for you, he was such a drama queen. making these small actions seem so much more serious then they were..but its something that made you love junho. how kind and protecting he was of the people he cared about. "nervous? you don't have to be nervous y/n...I'm sure they'll love you." junho's right hand made its way to your left hand. holding it tight before giving you a soft gentle smile. his ability to sooth you with just his smile had to be studied, he truly was an angel on earth to you, like he had a halo on his head 24/7. you leaned forward a little and left a quick peck on his cheek, quickly leaning back down to your seat and looking away from him. but at the corner of junhos eyes he could see how red you've gotten...he thought it was adorable. how the two of youve been dating for 2 years but you still got flustered over small kisses. you were so innocent and kind, the exact woman he needed in his life...

but little did junho know, he was right. his family did love you..especially his brother.

you had arrived at his mothers house, .. your nerves were spiking, how should you introduce yourself? what if the cake you made was still raw? what if inho doesn't like his present? these thoughts ran through your head as you two waited for someone to open the door. your finger nails tapping against the box the cake you had made was in. the sound deafening you as you just wanted the damn door to open already. you really just hoped youd make a good impression... after what felt like an eternity the door opened, behind to door revealed the birthday boy himself, Hwang In-ho. junho just shook his hand before you bowed at him slightly before shaking his hand and introducing himself briefly. "happy birthday In-ho, my names y/n" In-ho just nodded coldly at you, if the harsh winds outside didn't freeze you his stares did. he stepped aside, allowing the two of you in. he lead the both of you up the apartment complex stairs, your heels making a loud click sound echo though the staircase with every step you took. after only a bit of walking up stairs you had reached the door to where the party was being hosted.. . . when junho had told you itd be a 'party' you expected a family gathering with like 15 people, but upon arrival you quickly realized..it was truly just him, his brother and mom celebrating inho's birthday today. you were pleasantly surprised, you hated large groups of people..it made you skittish and always super nervous. so just 3 other people being there calmed your nerves down, alot. the apartment was small and cozy, very homey and nice. his mother had made a mini feast with delicious foods and decorated the place with a few balloons and banners. it was a seemingly wholesome sight of a mother doing something nice for her sons special day, it made your heart warm up inside your chest as you took a seat at the table. "hi honey, what's your name?" junho's mother grabbed one of your hands, cupping it with the both of hers. you felt yourself blush and smile, you had barely even been inside yet his mother was being so kind already. her soft gentle voice, and kind soft eyes. it was everything that's junho was. "y/n, what about you miss?" you were trying your best to be as polite as possible, you didn't want to tip her off and cause her to hate you.. but you felt kind of uncomfortable.. inho..he was staring at you alot. and it was like he wasnt trying to hide it, his dark eyes piecing into your soul. as if he were looking for the innocence inside of you... to take it away from you. the entire day just led to you getting more and more uncomfortable. you weren't able to stare into his eyes because you felt if you did he would just jump onto you not giving a shit about his mother and brother being there too. "y/n, what would you say if your favorite thing about junho?" inho spoke, his deep voice sent uncomfortable shivers down your spine.. this entire atmosphere..it was odd. but it was like only you caught onto it. you stared at inho before turning to junho...he was blushing. he tried keeping a stoic face but you could tell he was getting flustered before you even spoke. his ears tinted in a light pink an so was his neck. "ah.. well his kindness..I think its the main reason I fell in love...he's very kind and soft spoken to people. at least until they do something wrong..but either way he's an angel." a gentle smile took over your face, you stared at junho and then at inho to continue your sentence..it was obvious you were head over heels for this man.. "he's just a very likable man." inho smiled at you, not speaking a word but it was like his face said them all for you. but they weren't the words you'd expect a caring older brother to say, it was more like a .. 'wow how nice.' but in a sarcastic tone.. his mother on the other hand.. "aww how sweet! young love, its so beautiful." she clasped her hands together before grabbing your forearm and staring up at you with twinkling eyes, it was like she was already envisioning your wedding and family with junho. "promise me you'll take care of my son, okay?"

it was a little past 10pm by now, everyone had eaten a slice of cake and junho's mother adored it. junho was right, his mom did love you. she was already talking about marriage and how she wouldnt be surprised if you made the wedding cake because the one you had brought today was "just too delicious!" you laughed and giggled at her antics, your face flushed in embarrassment. you turned to look at inho, who was staring at you intensely. your happiness almost instantly vanished as you shuffled in your chair. maybe he was upset you hadn't given him his gift yet...that should do it!! maybe he'd stop once you did. "a- inho, I brought you a gift." his eyes widened and it had seemed like he just heard life changing news, maybe he really was just sulking over a present..it was kind of cute. you grabbed your bag from your feet next to you and shuffled around until you found a yellow box, you pushed it towards inho and smiled. your tried your best to give a genuine, heartfelt smile even though you felt uncomfortable with all his glances and stares. he smiled at you, this time it seemed a little less fake...but still not genuine. he opened the box, it was a watch. a very beautiful one. it was shimmering under the dinning room light, a light white silver with simple but detailed engravings on the band of the watch. it was beautiful and it definitely wasn't the cheapest, you don't remember how much it was exactly since you had bought it the same day junho had told you about his brothers birthday..but you knew it was enough to make you wince at the receipt. "I left the receipt folded under the cloth Incase it isn't to your li-" you were cut off by inhos voice, it was calm, not as cold as it was before..it was rather soothing even.. "no. its perfect." he put the watch on, adjusting it so it fit his wrist perfectly. you felt your lips creep into a wide smile, you were so glad this day was going perfectly. "wow, that's such a pretty watch! it must've costed you a lot." their mother interrupted the two of you, staring at the watch that sat on inhos wrist and then at you. "inho, say thank you! be polite." she hit the back of his head harshly, as if she were scolding a little kid... you laughed at the scene, mothers truly see their children as their babies forever. "no- its okay miss don't wo-" it seemed like today was full of interruptions and cut offs as inho did just it again. "thank you y/n, I appreciate it a lot." his face was blank again, no readable expression was there.. but based off his passed reactions..you felt he was being sincere. . . . "thank you miss, thank you inho." you bowed at the both of them while you stood at the front door with junho, showing your gratitude for their kindness and patience with you and your boyfriend. "of course honey, please come back any time you want." junho's mother grabbed your hand one more time, inho nodded along with her. he wasn't a man of many words but it seemed his scary demeanor had vanished. maybe it was never even there and you were just nervous..either way you were glad you didn't leave the house with a weird feeling about your boyfriends brother. juho's mother then shoo'd the two of you away, telling you it was late and you shouldn't stay up so late at such a young age... you felt happy. a warm feeling sat in your heart and stomach, it was like you had just found your second family.

time skip (5 years)

there you sat in the police station, its been days since youve last seen your husband. you were sobbing into the palm of your hands, the salty liquid dripped onto your long dress as you drained ever drop of water from your body. you were terrified. what happened to him?? where was he?? what had he gotten into? you were devastated to say the least, you explained with a shaky and quaky voice that your husband had just told you he was off to investigate his brothers vanishment and would be back by the night..like always! so when you woke up and he wasn't there you just felt dread. you texted him and texted him all day to no response. when he didn't come back for the second day you reported him missing. you reported this story to the police about 9 times already, everyday since you reported him missing you came to the police station for any clues or help..an obviously everyday they told you the same thing...that they had nothing. the only reason they didn't push you off to the side when you came in was well..because your husband worked for them. he was a police officer under them, it'd feel disrespectful to you and junho if they just told you to give up hope on finding your husband. maybe you'd stop after another week or two..you'd realize whatever fate inho had found was the same junho ended to aswell... and not only that but you were pretty, kind and in obvious distress over your husband. they'd feel like they just kicked a sick puppy in the stomach if they told you to go away. so every day, at 8am you come in. usually in a pretty sundress but your state of mind isn't as pretty. your eye bags were prominent and you seemed to constantly be in a state of dissociation.... "you promise there's nothing? please double check! please..I need my husband back. you don't understand" your words were exasperated and rushed, you wanted answers, your husband, closure, anything! your breaths were getting heavy as you reached your delicate hand to the tissue box on the desk infront of you. you felt yourself breaking down, more and more, every. day. the police officer let out a breathy sigh, he was trying his very best to not tell you off. to tell you to go back to your home and cry there or something. to stop wasting his time every single fucking day.. but he couldn't. and he wouldn't. not when your state was some of the worst he's seen in his years of being an officer. "listen ma'am, there seems to be a dead end a-" you slammed your hand onto the table, one still holding the now damp tissue as you started to cry harder. you shook your head violently, indicating a very obvious no...or in this case obvious denial. "no. there..there isn't a dead end. he's alive and he needs your help!! please..please keep searching i-i'll.." you started to dig into your purse, the same one junho had gifted you for your 5th anniversary not long before this whole ordeal. when you felt what you were looking for you snatched it out your bag, like it was grabbing it, stealing it from your grasp. "h-here..d-dont stop searching please. I'll give you this..p-please.." in between words you started to cry more, tears streaming down your cheeks and dripping off your skin. your head was lowered and you were looking at your lap. you didn't want to stop looking for him. you wouldn't stop until you knew he was safe. "ma'am...you don't have to give me money for doing my job." he slid the stack of money that you had taken from your purse back to you and shook his head in disapproval. "listen.. sigh we're trying our best okay? we arent just laying around doing nothing, he was our coworker and we want to find him as much as you do.." he looked away from your depressing state, you were catching your breath and shaking, your fists were curled into balls. it was clear, even though he was an officer that he didn't want to find junho nearly as much as you did..he didn't think it would even be possible to. "just..take a break. you're overwhelming yourself and it isn't good for you. junho is strong and you know this, so just believe in him and his ability to live..."

the officer opened a drawer that was next to his seat, it was a little pile of candies.. he grabbed a handful and handed you a few. with a shaky hand you took the candies, your eyes were red and puffy. it was painfully obvious that you had just broken down in tears. you didnt want to speak but it was obvious by the way you acted, that all you wanted right now was for your husband to come back into your embrace. "if you want I can step out and let you calm down." the officer stares at you, awaiting the answer that would leave your lips. "no..its okay.. i-...whatever. thank you, I will take a break to calm down and compose myself. please have a good day." you mumbled the first few words, like a scared child who had just gotten caught with their hand in the cookie jar and is now making up an excuse. you let out a loud sigh before you stood up from your chair, rubbing your tired, sore eyes before fixing your hair and grabbing your bag. you turned around right as you were in front of the office door, you bowed at the officer to show your gratitude as you proceeded to touch the cold metal handle of the door and creaked it open. with a click of the door closing you were walking away from the room you had just broken down in.

there you were, sitting on the edge of the bed you and your husband shared. it felt cold every time you sunk your body into the soft mattress..cold and empty. you weren't used to this, you were used to your husband coming home from work and giving you a kiss. slipping into the soft blankets together as you worked as heaters for each other's bodies. you didn't like this. you didn't want this. you flopped your upper torso onto the bed, causing it to make a squeaking sound to the sudden pressure. your legs were dangling off the side of the bed as you stared up into the ceiling. the world around you felt hazy, like everything that surrounded your body was just an empty void of nothingness. the world was meaningless without junho. you felt your eyes getting heavier and heavier...until they had finally closed shut.

knock... knock... knock you jolted up from your bed, who was here at this time? it's like 2am... you stared at the closed bedroom door, thinking about if it was a good idea to open the doorm. you're a young woman alone at her house at 2am...what if it was a sex trafficker trying to kidnap and rape you!!?? knock... knock... knock the loud but slow knocks echoed throughout the house, the knocks took a 3 second pause inbetween..it was so creepy.. it made your skin crawl.. bu...what if...what if the police have clues about junho and came to talk to you about it they heard of it!! or..what if junho had finally come home..... these thoughts rand through your head, you were scared of what might be behind of that door. but not scared enough to not open it. you slowly got up from your bed, making it squeak under the pressure of your body. your soft slippers made a swooshing sound against the wooden floors as you shuffled your way to the front door... knock... knock.... knock there it was...the knocking. you couldn't help but feel this dry lump from in your throat, but you had to do it...you needed to make sure... if it was some stranger you'd just slam the door on them and go and hide in a closet or something.. your swallowed the lump in your throat and placed your palm on the cold metal of the handle, unlocking it with a small click and turning it clockwise so that it opened the door.. you didn't open it alot, just enough to see who was on the other side. your eyes stared at the dark soulless eyes In front of you, it was a random man. you had no idea why he was here or what he wanted..but he looked very familiar..maybe he was an off duty cop that just wanted to check up on you..? "h-hello..? how can I help you..." your voice was small and quiet, barely above a whisper as you used the door as some kind of shield from the strange man. "yes. you can." you stared up at the man with confused puppy dog eyes, what did that even mean?? you furrowed your eyebrows and squinted your eyes as you stared at him..you were about to close the door on the strange man until something clicked inside of you. you recognized where he was from.. "inho?! w-what? what are you.." your judgmental facial expression quickly changed into one of shook and worry, was he here to see junho? how would you break the news that his brother was now missing too?? you raised your small hand to your mouth, covering it in shock..you didn't even know what to do....what should you say..? your eyes started to water and tear up, you were reminded of the harsh reality junho was in..he was seriously missing and now the person he went missing looking for was In front of you...it seemed like everyone was just against you. mocking the disappearance of your husband. "what...are you doing here? a-are you here for junho..he's.." you let out choked sighs after every other word, taking your hands from your mouth to your entire face. you were a crying mess In front of a man you barely knew, it was so embarrassing. you were so pathetic and sad. everyone's been telling you to just get over it but here you are, sobbing for what felt like the 6th time today. a loud sigh snapped you out of your saddened state,, but...it wasn't a sigh of disapproval or frustration...it was like a sigh of...desire. like he was getting off to the sight your sobbing, scared and fragile body. "you're doing this on purpose, you have to be." you stared up at inho with confusion. you eyebrow was raised, as if asking him what the fuck he meant by that. before you could even mutter a word he pushed you, really harshly. you went flying back into your home, head hitting the hard wood. you felt yourself getting dizzier and dizzier for a few seconds...you felt like you couldn't move, speak or even see anymore...your head was spinning and alarms were ringing from the inside of your head..until you were passed out.

you woke up... you were sitting in the middle of the dining room, it seemed like someone had moved the table and other chairs out the way as it was literally only you. you and the chair you were sitting on. the room was barely lit up, you could only see some of your surroundings due to the singular light that was on. the ligh that bulb was right on top of you..it felt like you were about to get interrogated for murder,,you were terrified. for you wanted to scream, cry and just run away from what was happening. but you couldn't. your ankles were tied onto the legs of the chair. your arms and torso were bounded to the chair itself with a thick rope., it was digging into your skin hard..it hurt. alot.. you wanted to squirm around and get yourself free but you knew you'd just end up knocking the chair down and you'd be stuck in an awkward position..you tried to start screaming but you couldnt, you were confused..it was like your mouth was glued shut.....your eyes darted around the room, looking for anyone, anything to help you. it took you a second for you to put the pieces together but.. once you did you realized.. your mouth was duck taped shut. you didn't know what to do, you were overwhelmed and you just wanted your husband back to you. you closed your eyes shut as warm salty tears fell from your eyes. your eyes just couldn't catch a break, could they? they were tired and sore. even when you werent sleepy it hurt to open and close the..a result of crying for days.. you just wanted to feel happiness again. but clearly that wasn't going to happen soon. was your fate going to be the same as your husbands? were his kidnappers after you to sew your mouth shut?? you didn't want to die..at least not because you got closure.. "you shouldn't cry Infront of me. its a bad idea. I have a thing for little girls that look pretty when they cry." your head jumped forward, looking at the figure that had stepped out the shadows surrounding you.. your eyes widened, remembering that inho had been the one that knocked you over and caused you to black out. the same man that had gone missing 5 years ago, the same man that your brother went missing looking for.. what was he doing here? was he here to kill you? to keep you silent? to assault you? thoughts rand through your head as he took large, slow steps towards you. as if he was mocking your frightened state. he reached his right hand out towards you, your eyes landed on the silver watch he was wearing. it seemed so similar to the one you had gifted all those years ago..but no way he would still be wearing it, right? before you could even process another thought his hand gripped at your hair, pulling your head back and forcing you to literally stare up at him. the roughness of his grip made you wince in pain..he didn't come here with intentions of being nice and if you didn't realize that person you definitely realized that now. you tried to scream and kick your feet, you knew the tape and rope would stop your attempts and make them useless but you still tried. your screams just came out as diluted, muffled noises. the tape had stopped you from making any loud noises... the chair under your only shook a little but it wasn't enough to lighten the grip inho had on your hair. his dark, soulless eyes stared you down. they were like black orbs, nothing behind them. he grinned at you, like he was watching a cartoon and a character had did something funny. he was laughing at you. he thought this was funny. "you look so stupid, you do know that the tape will just silence all your screams, right? or are you too young and dumb to understand that yet." he tilted his head at you and gave you a mockingly confused expression. he was having the time of his fucking life while you were here, scared for your damn life. you glared at him, trying to intimidate him..doing anything to scare him...trying to find the little humanity in him that feels sympathy was clearly never going to happen. so you had to try another approach..even if it wasn't going to work either... and your suspicions were right ..

he just smiled at you, another mockingly fake smile... he released his hand from the grip he had on your hair and pinched your cheeks, just as roughly as he did with your hair. leaving a red mark when he let go... it was like he was treating you like you were a pouting child, stomping your feet because your mom didn't let you buy the comically huge lollipop you really wanted. "youre not scary sweetie." the pet name made you want to throw up in your mouth. he knew well you were his sister in law but here he was, calling you pet names with his disgusting voice. " you know..ive had my eyes on you since i met you...you're just so gorgeous..and delicate." he took a short but slow walk around u and stopped to stand behind you. his cold hands reached to your face and covered your eyes. you couldn't see anything but you knew he was leaned up in your ear...you could feel his hot breath making you unnervingly uncomfortable. "I just wanna ruin you." your breathe hitched in your throat, he was going to rape you. you know it, you had to fight back, you had to. you couldn't let a man that wasn't your husband put his dick inside you. inho took his cold hands away from your face and walked back in front of you. you glanced down at his crotch and...there was a bulge...he was getting off to your scared shape. he truly was an emotionless sadist.. he held up his index finger to your covered lips. "shh. make any noise and I wont think twice about killing you and your husband." your eyes widened as you heard the last part...that meant your husband was alive..and he knew where he was. you nodded slowly, complying with his words. he ripped the piece of tape off your mouth, causing you to let out a yelp in pain. you stared at him with a frightened face, you realized you had just made a loud sound...you didn't want to die you didn't..you didn't want your husband to die! "I said. be quiet." the truth with inho was, he had already killed your husband..at least he thought he did. only a day ago did he shot junho, causing him to fall off the side of the island...he probably drowned and is floating lifeless in the sea right now.. but you didnt need to know that...and it was clear you weren't even aware. your mouth was shut and you tried to silence your heavy rapid breathing....you really did love your husband..he wanted to steal that love from junhos grasp. he leaned down, his face was now perfectly aligned with yours... you wanted to say something, you wanted to scream and cry but if you did he'd kill you...you knew he would... his left hand started to rub your cheek, it was gentle and warm but it just made you hate it even more...his fake kindness. you hated it. his lips connected with yours, at first it seemed like he was trying to be gentle but it was obvious he had quickly gotten bored of it before he got rough. your teeth were clashing with each other as he shoved his tongue into your mouth. exploring every inch of it before he started to nip at your lips...he was aggressive and messy. everything junho wasn't.. this wasn't the kind of kiss you wanted or craved. you felt like your eyes were sewn shut the way you refused to open them, you didn't want to stare at inho. you just wanted this to end..maybe once it did you'd finally have your husband back. after what felt like hours of making out he has finally took his chapped lips off of your soft ones. a string of saliva connected the two of you as he caught his breath. you opened your eyes to stare at him, they were watery..your tears were pricking at the corners of your eyes as you caught your breath. to inho you eyes were like glass marbles...and he wanted to shatter them into pieces. you took deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. if you were calm it wouldn't be as bad. you read this inside your mind over and over and over again. you just prayed he would use you quickly and then leave... "you know, that day..the day where junho has brought you to our mothers house for my birthday.." his eyes wandered away from you, as if he were recalling the day in exact detail, scene by scene...

his eyes snapped back to yours, holding intense eye contact until he continued his sentence... "when I asked you what you loved most about junho you told me you loved his kindness. you said he was a soft person..an angel in your eyes." he crouched down, staring at you with intense eyes. his sharp features were like daggers, stabbing one by one into your heart. "you told me you loved something about him that I lacked. I'm not a kind person. and right now..you probably think I'm the devil instead of an angel like my brother.." he smiled at you, it was a cold, fake smile. if you touched his face right now it'd probably be ice cold.. "thats how I knew someone like you would never willingly be with a man like me.. but it's okay, I'll just force myself onto you." you started to cry, the salty liquid streamed down from your cheeks to your chin. your eyes were red and puffy, you didn't know what to do. you didn't want to be with this man, you didn't want this. inhos left head reached to your face, this time he squeezed the both of your cheeks so that your lips were puckered at him. "got it, princess?" he leaned in to kiss you again, this time he went aggressive right away. forcing his tongue into your mouth, some of your tears dripped onto his mouth. letting him taste the saltiness of your sadness. and it was delicious.

there you sat, he had freed your ankles from the restraints on the chair. nipping and licking at your clit. you hated this, you couldn't stop crying. you felt disgusting, a man that wasn't your husband was licking and eating your pussy out. why would you let this happen? at this point death felt better than breaking your husbands heart. you lets out cries and soft no's as he slurped your juices. you hated that it felt good, you hated that he knew what he was doing. your moans and mewls filled the room, followed with wet sloppy sounds of spit and cum mixed together. he's been eating you out for what felt like hours, you've probably came like 3 times already. you were getting tired..your legs were shaky, trying to close in on themselves but inhos arms kept them wide open for you. "p-please stop. I don't like thi-this...ah...please..let me go already..please.." you were begging with him, your eyes were shaky, your face was flushed and your lips were wet from his aggressive kisses. god. the scene of you begging for him to stop as he abused your clit was one he wanted engraved in his mind forever. he let go of your pussy with a loud pop, your juices and his spit was all over his mouth and chin. he looked like a wild animal that had just eaten his prey alive. with his sleeve he wiped off the liquid on his face. 'ruining' his all black jacket. "you want me to stop but your cum is all over my face and lips. you want me to stop but you keep moaning. just admit you're a slut for me." you close your eyes shut, shaking your head viciously, you don't want him. you don't want this. you just want your husband to be safe. that's all you want... inho scoffs at you, as if you were lying to his face. maybe he truly did believe you wanted this..that you wanted him.. but you knew it wasn't true, you knew that you loved junho and that you werent fighting back back because you just wanted him back.. you'd break down in tears in his arms once he comes home, you'll explain it when he's home. he'd understand..right..? you were lost in your thoughts, but reality snapped you out of them.. 2 long fingers were inside of your core, curling and pumping in and out... it hurt so much. it was nothing like you were used to, slow paced and gentle..no..it was fast and rough. you let out a cry, you were in so much pain it made you want to go insane. the rope that was still tied around your arms and waist dug into your skin, burning you as you struggled under the restraints..trying to find a way out. it felt like inhos was trying to split you in half, the rough skin on his finger pads only made it worse. but ofcoourse it had to feel good, because he knew what he was doing. even if it was messy, even if it was rough, even if you didn't like it..he knew how to make a woman feel good past all the pain. he tilted his head up towards you, his dark almond eyes burned holes into yours. "you gonna cum?" instead of a question, it felt like a demand. demanding you to answer yes, scaring you into saying yes.. but you didn't say yes, you said no. you shook your head and mouthed no to inho, not daring to say it out loud..and it obviously made him upset. he sneered at you before grabbing is free hand and pinching your clit before speeding the pace of his fingers. this was something you've never felt before, the pleasure finally overshadowed the pain and it felt like he had just forced your orgasm out of your body. your cum coated his digits, leaving a slightly milky white color on them.. you were catching your breath, it was hard to breath..the pain, anxiety and fear were catching up to you...you felt your throat slowly closing on you..you felt like you couldn't even breath enough air to supply your lungs are this point.. you were so caught up in your own world that you didn't even realize how he was pressing against the bulge that was begging to be freed from his trousers..he stared at you with bleak eyes, there was nothing behind them...nothing but desire and want..you were scared witless of what he would do to your poor body next. and whatever it was, you didn't want it

the bed was creaking under you, the same bed you and juho slept in everyday... you legs were pressing onto your stomach, the skin rubbing against each other. inho was slamming his cock in and out of you.. touching spots you didn't even know could be reached before this. you felt horrible for feeling so good. but you didn't want this. you were a crying moaning mess. your nails were digging onto his hands, the ones that were pressing you down. you were begging for him to stop, you didn't want this..you felt like you were being forced into this. with the life of your husband on the line.. inho let go of your left thigh and reached to your neck. his freezing hand sending shivers through your body as he started to choke you whilst pounding in and out of you..destroying your gummy insides. he lowered his face to you and scoffed, you looked so pathetic. crying and sobbing acting like you weren't enjoying his fat cock. why wouldn't you just admit you liked it for once? "acting like youre the victim while my cocks deep inside of you. is this all women do? complain about everything..just admit you like it. I wont tell." you felt so degrading. you were getting fucked by a man you barely knew on the bed your missing husband and you slept on every day at somepoint. using his life against you and now he's blaming you? was it really your fault? could you have just turned him away and still gotten junho back? was that an option that you weren't told about? you started crying, your weak arms pushing against his chest with no avail. you just wanted it to stop, you were in pain and now you're being told its your fault you're in this situation. you can never win. you began to sob louder, begging him to let you go, louder and louder until you were wailing like a stupid baby. your hand grasped at the tight grip he had on your neck, then to his chest to push him away again. "shut up." he snarled before taking off his hand from your neck, he had left a bruise from how hard he was gripping...with the same hand he harshly slapped you. shutting your cries up quickly. a red spot started to quickly form, your skin was now irritated in what felt like every place on your body.. "you're such a slut. taking the dick of a man 20 years older than you on the very bed your husband would sleep on. do you not feel ashamed? hmm?" he hummed at you, waiting for your reply. but you didn't even mutter a word, nothing. you decided you'll just take it with no noise, if you stay quiet up maybe it'll end faster?.. it should...shouldn't it..you were trying to comfort yourself in your head.. "you can keep trying to tell yourself otherwise but youre nothing but a dirty cheater. taking dick like a good girl. this probably isn't the first time youve done this huh?" he laughed at your now soulless face, he was right when he said he wanted to ruin you. he was doing that, and it got worse with every second that passed. "ffuck I'm close. you better cum or else I'll js' keep on using you until you do." you started to tear up, your clit twitching and your hole began to clench around his cock. you felt good, but terrible at the same time..you doubted he was cumming because he thought you felt good though, it was a factor but it was probably your shape that made him so horny. you were sad, in pain...tired... he got off to it so bad. you let out quiet pants and moans, indicating to inho that you were close too. he started to get sloppy, his pace getting even faster as the wet slapping sound of skin filled your ears to the brim. you felt your clit pulsating, begging for release...once you came you'd be free..you'd be...you'd be....be.. "a-aa.. fuck fuck fuckfck fuck! ouOUGH~" you let out loud, filthy moans. probably for the first time that night, instead of your cries it was your moans and whimpers that the room was now brimming with. inho loved the sound of your noises, your cries, moans, everything. God it made him so horny...once he felt you cum all over his cock he let his go through as well. fucking his orgasm into you deeper, and deeper with a loud groan..

he kept moving slowly, fucking you through your orgasm as your breathes calmed down.. "I want to ruin every inch of kindness and hope for humanity you have left in you. you're so perfect. perfect to corrupt.." his hand raised to your cheek and started to rub it 'lovingly'. you had a feeling he wasn't going to let you go like he had told you he would.

...

Another not: I FINALLY FINISHED YAY took me like all day again but ....yay!! I hope u guys liked it. I'm pretty proud of it but idk if its ooc or not... but SMASH THE LIKE BUTTON N HIT SUBSCRIBE 4 MORE..!!!!!!!

TAGLIST: @pollys-doublelife @gongyoosgf

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thebrazilianfairy · 6 months ago

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How about the "I heard today is telemachus birthday" Au

The suitors are actually nice, and just help penelope around with Telemachus and the kingdom

Odysseus is red with anger just to com home and everyone is helping penelope plan a birthday party to his son and helping her with ithaca while he is gone.

No bloodshed

And he gets to see penelope again and they have their emotional meeting.

The suitors are like

"SO THE KING IS ALIVE"

"I told you we should have belived the queen"

"Telemachus will be so happy to see you here"

"HEY, it became a legend that only you could string that old bow, since then everyohe tried but no one could do, can you show us?"

"Hey, let the king have a moment with his wife, they havent seen eachother in 20 years"

"Hey you two can have your moment alone, we will warn when we see your son boat on the horizon"

And then on their room

"What was that?"

"Oh yeah, telemachus' friends,they are pretty nice, they helped us around the palace."

And odysseus is like: ":0"

#epic the musical #ithaca saga #jorge rivera herrans #odysseus #telemachus #penelope of ithaca #antinous #hold them down #i heard today is telemachus birthday #epic au #suitors are nice AU

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seungkwansflower · 5 months ago

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inspired by: unconditional by jaehyun <3

pairing: husband!s.coups x fem!reader

genre: pure fluff

wc: 349

a/n: uhhhh…this is my first fic EVER, so bear with me folks. i’m thinking of doing drabbles like these for all the members but idk yet. thank you to @injeolmibbingsuu for encouraging me ^^

~~~~~~~~~

Taking off the hair tie that held your ponytail for the tiring work day, you walk into your bedroom. Instead of finding any evidence of your husband’s return from work, a very suspicious bag is placed on your white linens. By “suspicious”, you mean a perky white and black Prada bag. You huff, hair tie thrown on your bed, your phone ringing your husband and slotted between your ear and shoulder. He answers on the second ring as you sit down to take off your heels, a gift given to you by your husband for your previous birthday.

“Choi Seungcheol.”

He lets out a sigh—he knows he’s in trouble now. “Yes, my lovely wife? My darling baby? My queen?” You can picture the face he’s making—as if he was performing aegyo for a fan.

“You know what you did,” you declare, firm and unrelenting.

“Hm, I don’t follow.”

Sighing, “I thought we agreed to start saving more? The vacation to Greece next year? Remember that, Seungcheol?”

You can tell from his voice that he’s pouting at your use of his full name, “Baby! C’mon, your mom and I were shopping today—“

Exclaiming in surprise, “You went out with my mom?”

“Yes, baby. We both were missing you, but that’s not the point.”

You huff as he continues, “We saw this Prada bag and thought it would look great on you. It’s in your style and everything. You know I had to get it. Do you like it?”

You look up at the bag. It just so happens to be the bag you’ve had your eye on for a while now. A beat of silence among the two of you occurs before you reluctantly respond, “Yeah, I guess I do.”

He laughs, “See? I told you so. Your Cheolie knows you well, huh? Stop being so cruel to me, love.”

You hum noncommittally, “Fine, but please, no more expensive purchases for me, I already have enough.”

Your husband lets out a chuckle, “Heh. Too late. Your mom and I found the cutest YSL shoes for you.”

Exasperatedly, “Oh my gosh, Cheol.”

#scoups x reader #seventeen #svt #svt x reader #svt fluff #scoups #choi seungcheol #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #fluff #kpop #kpop fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen scoups #seventeen x reader

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mycameron · 1 year ago

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‎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀࣪𓏲ּ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃

being your boyfriend is rafe's favourite thing.

he does everything for you. whether it was buying you lunch or driving 5 hours just to get you the purse that you really wanted.. he will do it, no matter what.

he likes having you rely on him, depend on him for everything. in fact, he loves it. maybe a little too much. he likes being needed, especially when it came to you. you don't even have to lift a finger, not like rafe would let you anyway. he buys you expensive gifts, takes you on cute dates, gets you flowers, drives you everywhere, he treats you like a queen.

you sat in front of your vanity, looking at yourself in the mirror. rafe sat on the edge of your bed behind you. you were going to a party later tonight to celebrate one of your friend's birthday. running your fingers through your freshly curled hair, you sighed.

"rafe, do you think my hair looks good?", you had spent an hour doing it but it didn't turn out the way you wanted, as per usual.

he looked up from his phone, "of course baby, you could wear a trash bag and you'd still look beautiful."

he always knew what to say, didn't he?

staring at yourself in the mirror you stop worrying about your hair and focus on your outfit. it was supposed to be "casual" but in reality, everyone would be wearing clothes on the fancier side. you make your way to your closet and skim through the collection of dresses, all of which rafe bought you. you pick two out, the first one was a silky dark red dress and the second was a simpler black dress with an open back.

lifting them both up you ask, "which one would fit better for tonight?"

taking a moment to scan the dresses rafe lifts his finger and points to one, "the red dress. 'makes you look hot", he grins.

you walk over to place a kiss on his cheek and he puts his hands around your waist, pulling you in while planting kisses on your neck and making his way down your torso.

"rafe, we have to go soon and i still need to get dressed!" you try to pull away but he tightens his grip.

"tell them we're going to be late then", he says now gliding his hand up your thigh.

you pull out your phone and text your friend.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀིྀི my first fic/blurb (idk?) & def not proofread.. please give me feedback if any!!

#blurbs ♡ ₊˚⊹#boyfriend!rafe #rafe cameron #rafe fanfiction #rafe fic #rafe imagines #rafe blurb #rafe obx #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe x fem!reader #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey #rafe x female!mc #rafe outer banks #outer banks #obx

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nebularsung · 2 months ago

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birthday mayhem | l.dh

chaotic boyfriend!haechan x birthday girl!reader

❝ on your birthday, haechan messed up the delivery address and had to race across the city to get your gifts back. meanwhile, he sent you on a sweet treasure hunt with help from his friends, each giving you cute clues and little surprises. you visited your favorite spots, laughed a lot, and felt how much he really cares. in the end, you found him—tired, messy, and holding your cake and flowers—just before he got down on one knee to propose. ❞

genre. fluff & crack ⭑ word count. 7.5k + 9 screenshots

content. birthday chaos... a lot!, haechan, as always, dragging the boys into his mess, down bad!haechan, fluff fluff fluff, haechan is super dedicated and you're his queen

“No, you’re messing with me!” Haechan let out a strangled laugh, though there was no humor behind it—only rising panic curdling in his chest.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lee, but we delivered to the address you provided,” the delivery man replied, voice steady and professional—completely indifferent to the full-blown crisis Haechan was having on the other end.

He gritted his teeth, fighting to stay calm. “Fine! Then give me the address. I’ll fix this myself.” His free hand clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we can’t disclose—”

“Mark, I’m gonna lose my mind—” Haechan hissed, shoving the phone into Mark’s hands before he did something regrettable, like throw it across the room.

Mark sighed and took over the call, already negotiating with the delivery guy while Haechan paced the living room like a man possessed.

How could he screw up something this important?

He double-checked everything!

Triple-checked!

And now—God—your gifts, your birthday surprise… everything he had spent weeks planning was falling apart.

The ring.

His heart dropped to his stomach.

That stupidly expensive, carefully chosen ring that was supposed to slip onto your pretty finger tonight—gone, sitting somewhere across town in the hands of complete strangers.

He squeezed his eyes shut, cursing under his breath.

He needed to fix this.

Fast.

“Okay, good news and bad news,” Mark said, turning around, holding the phone in one hand, his expression a strange mix of sympathy and amusement. “Which do you want first?”

Haechan was already sitting on the floor, his arms locked tightly around his knees, bouncing slightly like a stressed-out child. His face was crumpled with panic.

“Good first. Please. I need something good,” he muttered into the fabric of his jeans.

“Good news: he gave me the address.” Mark waved the phone triumphantly. “Bad news: it's on the complete opposite side of the city.”

The words hit Haechan like a punch to the gut. He actually winced, clutching his knees tighter. He could swear he heard a crack somewhere inside his heart.

“Oh my God…” he whimpered. “I’m the worst boyfriend in history…” His voice cracked pitifully as he buried his face between his knees. His shoulders sagged as he felt the sting of tears at the corners of his eyes.

Mark stared at him in disbelief. “Dude, I’m starting to think you care more about her birthday than she does.” He crouched down next to Haechan, who looked genuinely on the verge of collapse.

“Of course I do! The day my beloved queen, my goddess, the meaning of my whole existence was born. How could I not?” He said in a dramatic tone, hyperventilating.

Mark rubbed his temple. “Okay, listen. What if we distract her? Y'know, plan something while you run around picking up her gifts?"

A muffled sniff came from Haechan. “Like what…” His voice was hoarse and small, barely audible against his jeans.

Mark paused, searching his brain for something—anything—that wouldn’t result in Haechan combusting from stress. “Didn't you say once that you wanted to do a treasure hunt with her?” he offered cautiously. “Maybe… this is the perfect time? Make it feel intentional?”

He winced a little, expecting the suggestion to somehow make things worse.

But Haechan slowly lifted his head, wide brown eyes gleaming—not just from unshed tears, but from the unmistakable spark of an idea taking root.

A dangerous spark.

“Oh, no. You’re thinking too hard—” Mark muttered, but it was too late.

That mischievous glint was back.

The same one Haechan always got before dragging everyone into his wild, extra ideas.

A crooked, teary smile spread across Haechan’s face. “This is perfect.”

Mark groaned, getting to his feet, scrubbing a hand over his face in defeat. Still, he couldn't help the fondness tugging at his mouth.

“Gross, dude. Your nose is running.” He tossed a crumpled napkin from the kitchen counter at Haechan’s head, wrinkling his nose dramatically.

Haechan laughed weakly, wiping his face, then shot Mark a crooked grin—bright and boyish despite the chaos around him.

And just like that, the mission was back on.

Haechan bounced to his feet, buzzing with frantic energy, grabbing his phone and firing off frantic texts to the group chat.

They were doing this.

He was getting your gifts back.

He was making this the best, most unforgettable birthday of your life.

The soft golden morning light streamed gently through the sheer curtains of your bedroom, casting warm patterns across the walls. You stirred beneath the covers, blinking away sleep as your eyes adjusted to the brightness. The quiet hum of the city outside drifted in faintly through the window, grounding you in the gentle hush of a new day.

You sat up slowly, hands running through your hair as you stretched your arms above your head with a sleepy yawn. There was a certain stillness to the room—a kind that felt like a held breath.

Then, the scent hit you.

Warm, buttery toast. The sweetness of strawberries. A faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

Your chest fluttered with soft recognition.

Of course he was here.

It was your birthday. There was no way Lee Donghyuck—your chaotic, loving, occasionally over-the-top boyfriend—was going to let you wake up alone.

A smile tugged at your lips as you slid out of bed and padded across the cool floor, drawn like a magnet to the source of the scent.

And there he was.

In the kitchen, bathed in the soft glow of the morning light, Haechan stood by the table, carefully placing down two plates like they were fragile glass. He was wearing your favorite hoodie of his—slightly oversized, sleeves pushed up haphazardly. His hair was a little messy, like he'd barely run his fingers through it. But his expression… it was focused. Delicate. Like he was setting up a tiny celebration in your honor with the tenderness it deserved.

He didn’t notice you right away. Not until you leaned against the doorway, your voice still touched with sleep.

“Hyuck…”

His head snapped up.

His whole face lit up—instantly. That boyish grin bloomed like sunrise, and his eyes softened like they always did when they looked at you.

“You’re awake!” he grinned, already crossing the room to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “Happy birthday, sleepyhead.”

You wrapped your arms around his middle, melting into the warmth of his hoodie and the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat. He swayed with you a little, resting his chin on top of your head.

“You made breakfast?” you mumbled into his chest, your smile hidden against the fabric.

“Of course,” he said proudly, pulling away just enough to look into your eyes. “Only the best for the birthday royalty.”

You laughed softly, and he looked so proud of himself that your heart swelled.

The table was beautiful.

Pancakes with strawberries and powdered sugar. Toast with a tiny heart cut into it. A cup of your favorite coffee, made just how you liked it. And even a tiny candle stuck into a single croissant.

You sat down together, sharing soft bites, laughs between sips, kisses peppered on your face, and his pinky brushing yours like a quiet promise.

But after a while, you noticed him glance at the clock—twice. And his knee bounced under the table just a little.

“Hey,” you said gently, setting your fork down. “Is everything okay?”

He blinked, then gave you a sheepish smile. “Yeah—yeah, everything’s perfect. I just…”

He reached for your hand, warm and slightly calloused from guitar strings he plays so often. His thumb rubbed soft circles into your knuckles.

“I actually need to head out soon,” he said carefully, eyes watching your reaction. “But you don’t need to do anything yet. Just… stay in your cute pajamas and wait by the door, okay?”

You tilted your head, suspicious. “Why?”

He grinned, squeezing your hand. “Because Mark’s coming to pick you up.”

Your eyes narrowed playfully. “Mark?”

“Yep. And no, I’m not telling you what he’s doing,” he said before you could ask more. “All I’ll say is—it’s part of your birthday surprise. And I need you to trust me, alright?”

You pouted, and he groaned.

“Don’t give me that face, babe. It’s already hard enough to leave you when you’re sitting here looking all pretty and pouty.”

He stood up, kissing your temple, then your cheek, then your lips—quick, fluttering little pecks that made you giggle.

“Be ready when he arrives,” he said softly, brushing a hand down your arm. “You’re gonna have the best birthday ever. I promise.”

And with one last smile—wide and warm and so Haechan—he grabbed his keys and left with a wink.

And you?

You were left smiling into your coffee, already wondering what chaos he’d planned with his ridiculous, beautiful heart.

You didn’t have to wait long. Barely an hour after Haechan left, your phone buzzed with a message from Mark:

[10:03 AM] Mark Lee 🚗: “Get that pretty birthday self outside. Your knight in slightly wrinkled armor awaits.”

Laughing to yourself, you headed to your bedroom, threw on something cute but comfy—something you knew Haechan would love to see you in later—and stepped out the door.

Mark was leaning against his car in a hoodie and jeans, holding out a bouquet of mismatched wildflowers with a dramatic flourish.

“M’lady,” he said with an exaggerated bow.

“You’re such a dork.”

“It’s my birthday job,” he grinned, opening the passenger door. “Get in. Phase one awaits.”

You buckled in, still smiling as he pulled into traffic. The ride was filled with Mark’s usual nonsense—playlist shuffles between R&B and some chaotic EDM, his one-man commentary show about the drivers around him, and the occasional side-eye when you asked where you were going.

“You’ll see,” he’d say with a wink.

Eventually, you recognized the streets. Your eyes widened as he turned a familiar corner.

The café.

Your café.

The cozy little spot you and Haechan always visited. The one where the baristas already knew your favorite orders and where you'd spent countless rainy afternoons sharing pastries and playful banter in the back booth. The one where one of the baristas had become one of your best friends.

Mark parked and turned off the engine, grinning at you.

“Alright,” he said, turning to face you. “Go inside. They’re expecting you. Oh—” he reached into his jacket and handed you a small envelope, “—take this. You’ll need it after.”

Your heart was already fluttering as you pushed open the café door.

The familiar scent of roasted beans and sugar rushed over you. And waiting behind the counter was Jaemin, flashing you a mischievous smile. You hadn’t even realized he worked today.

“Happy birthday,” he said smoothly, handing you a small pastry box tied with a ribbon.

You blinked. “Wait—did you bake me something?”

“No,” he snorted, already wiping down the counter. “Haechan would fight me.”

You opened the box carefully—and inside was a tiny tart, your favorite. Nestled beside it was a folded note and a small square Polaroid.

Your heart squeezed.

It was a photo of you and Haechan—candid and warm, taken from a slight angle. You were laughing, hand half-raised like you were trying to block the shot, and he was kissing your cheek with his eyes scrunched shut in mock exaggeration.

You swallowed around the emotion in your throat and opened the note.

Clue #1: “Where we first danced in public, remember? I made a fool of myself, and you said it was the best thing you’d ever seen. Renjun’s waiting with your next surprise. P.S. Tell Jaemin he’s not allowed to flirt with you today. Birthday rule.”

You burst out laughing, folding the note as Jaemin raised his eyebrows.

“Tell him I said that’s boring,” Jaemin called out with a smirk.

“I’m telling him you said that,” you shot back, walking out with the Polaroid pressed to your chest, heart already glowing.

Mark was waiting by the car, biting into a croissant like this was the most normal day ever.

“Next stop?” you asked, sliding into the passenger seat.

He gave you a playful look.

“Let’s go see how good your memory is.”

And with that, the adventure continued—your heart racing with excitement and warmth, wondering what Haechan had planned next.

The car ride to the bookstore was filled with the kind of warm anticipation that buzzed quietly beneath your skin. You were holding the Polaroid in your hands still, glancing at it every so often like it might hold some secret code. Mark noticed, but didn’t say anything—he just smiled to himself, clearly enjoying the mystery as much as you were.

Eventually, he pulled up in front of the small independent bookstore tucked between a florist and a vintage clothing shop. You knew this place. You and Haechan had stumbled upon it during a rainy weekend stroll months ago, when you’d ducked inside to avoid the downpour and ended up dancing clumsily between the aisles while soft jazz played overhead.

It was the first time Haechan danced with you in public—a silly, half-spun waltz right by the poetry section.

Mark unlocked your seatbelt with an exaggerated click. “Your next prince is inside. I’ll wait in the car so you don’t feel like you’re being followed by a reality show.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately and pushed open the glass door, a small bell jingling above your head. Inside, the world smelled of old pages, leather bindings, and something sweet—like cinnamon tea.

You looked around slowly. The sunlight poured through the wide windows in gentle streaks, casting golden lines across the hardwood floor and dust particles that danced in the air like little bits of magic.

And there he was—Renjun—standing by the poetry section with a small book in his hand, flipping through it with exaggerated elegance. He glanced up the moment you entered, his lips twitching with the faintest smile like he’d been waiting longer than he’d admit.

“Took you long enough,” he said, slipping the book shut and tucking it neatly back onto the shelf. “I was starting to recite sonnets to myself just to stay awake.”

You laughed softly, walking over. “Please. You love this place more than your apartment.”

He gave you a playful side-eye. “I do, but I don’t love standing around like some enchanted librarian while Haechan plays romantic scavenger hero.”

“Enchanted librarian suits you, though.”

Renjun pretended to gag, but his smile broke through anyway. “Okay, okay. Enough stalling. I’ve got something for you.”

He stepped aside and motioned to a display table behind him. “He told me to pick a book for you. Said it had to be meaningful. I had like… a crisis about it.”

You walked over and found the table set with a single wrapped gift—book-shaped, of course. Beside it was another Polaroid, this time of you and Haechan sitting in this very bookstore, sharing a drink while he dramatically read poetry to you from a worn-out book. Your face was blurry from laughter, mid-giggle, and Haechan’s mouth was wide open mid-line, one hand over his heart.

You smiled, heart swelling.

“Go on,” Renjun urged. “Open it.”

You peeled the wrapping back carefully. Inside was a copy of your favorite childhood novel—the very edition you once told Haechan your mom used to read to you from. He had remembered.

Pressed inside the front cover was another note in his handwriting:

Clue #2: “You always said music speaks when words can't. So I figured your next stop should be somewhere full of voices—even if they’re not saying anything at all. There’s a boy there with headphones always around his neck and the softest smile I’ve ever been jealous of. He’s got your next gift. P.S. Don’t let him be too cool! Don’t look too much, love!”

Renjun snorted behind you. “He called me at 1am crying because the first book he picked had a tragic ending.”

You laughed so hard you had to sit on the edge of the table for a moment, wiping at your eyes.

Before you left, Renjun pulled you into a rare hug, squeezing you a bit and kissing your temple.

“Happy birthday, idiot. He really put his whole soul into this.”

You clutched the book to your chest and headed out with another layer of joy wrapped around your heart.

Mark was already pulling a U-turn when you slid back into the passenger seat.

“Next?”

“The music shop,” you said, smiling.

The bell above the music shop door jingled softly as you stepped inside, a familiar scent of wood, old sheet music, and something slightly metallic greeting you. The cozy space was dimly lit with warm lights, and for a second, it seemed quiet—until, suddenly:

Strum.

A sharp, playful chord echoed across the shop, followed by another. Then—

“Baaaabe!” Jeno’s voice rang out dramatically as he slid into view on his knees, electric guitar in hand, strumming a short, silly but somehow impressive solo. He ended the riff with an exaggerated flourish, grinning like a kid at a talent show.

“You’re finally here!” he said, still kneeling like he’d just performed at a sold-out arena. “And yes, I have been practicing that move for an hour waiting for you, thanks for asking.”

You giggled, unable to help it, covering your face briefly as your cheeks warmed. Jeno chuckled, slinging the guitar behind his back and getting up to dust himself off.

“Alright, alright, now that I’ve thoroughly embarrassed myself,” he said, stepping behind the counter. “Time for the real reason you’re here.”

He pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper, worn at the corners like he’d read it a hundred times. “Donghyuck told me to give you this only after I properly welcomed you, rockstar-style.”

You reached for the page with curious fingers, and when you unfolded it, your heart skipped.

It was a handwritten song—one Haechan had written himself. His unique scrawl filled the page in black ink, little hearts dotting the i’s, and a few musical notes dancing in the margins. The lyrics were gentle, full of intimate lines about quiet mornings, soft laughter, and the way you scrunch your nose when you're thinking. One particular line stood out:

"You are the chorus to every love song I never dared to sing out loud—until now."

Jeno leaned against the counter, watching you with a quiet smile as you read. “He really put his heart into that. Even recorded a demo, but I wasn’t allowed to show you. ‘Too cringey,’ he said.”

You were already biting your lip to fight the smile threatening to stretch across your face. Your eyes watered slightly—overwhelmed, touched, and just incredibly in love.

“Oh, and before I forget,” Jeno added, pulling another paper from his back pocket with a dramatic flourish. “Clue number three. You’re getting close.”

You took it, still holding Haechan’s lyrics carefully in the other hand.

Clue #3: “He says he doesn’t like sunshine, but you’ve seen the way he smiles when the light hits the trees just right. He’s waiting where the trees hum with wind, and kids run free—the park, of course. Your next gift is with Jaemin. P.S. Ask him about the time I challenged him to a cartwheel contest. I pulled something I didn’t know I had.”

Jeno gave you a playful wink. “Good luck, birthday girl. And give Jaemin my regards—but don’t believe anything he tells you about that cartwheel contest.”

You laughed, clutching the song to your chest and heading back out, already wondering what Jaemin—and your boyfriend—had planned next.

Getting back to the car, you slid into the backseat, looking at Mark in the rearview.

“He really outdid himself this time, huh?” you asked, still glancing at the song.

“I fear he did…” he chuckled, shaking his head. “This man loves you more than anything on Earth… You should’ve been used to it by now,” he started the engine, finishing his sentence. “And better be ready for the next birthday, because I’m sure he’ll prepare something even bigger.”

You laughed, knowing this will be true. “This man is only making me worry about his birthday…” you pouted, thinking about how you could do something that big for his birthday.

“Let’s be for real… you’re the only gift he needs, dude.” Mark turned at you. “May I know where we are going next?”

“The Park, my knight in slightly wrinkled armor.” you grinned mockingly as he laughed. “With Jaemin…?”

“Don’t mention it, but he forgot his stop. He wasn’t supposed to be at the café… It’s his day off…” he tells, a hint of embarrassment in his tone while you just laughed.

Yeah, your friends were really sweet.

While you were off following beautifully crafted clues, laughing with his best friends, and slowly unraveling the love-wrapped puzzle he’d orchestrated…

Haechan was sprinting across the city like a man possessed.

The sun beat down on his back as he power-walked through the second apartment complex he’d been to that day. His hair clung to his forehead, cheeks pink from heat and sheer stress. In one hand, he clutched his phone with the cursed email from the delivery service confirming the wrong address he’d given, and in the other hand, he held the bouquet that he’d already fought for at stop number one.

He had retrieved the flowers from a confused elderly neighbor who was more interested in his “soft cheeks” and “nice thighs” than the actual explanation of why he was there. She’d patted his face twice before letting go of the bouquet, claiming he reminded her of her second husband.

It was traumatizing.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part stood in front of him now—arms crossed, hip cocked to the side, sunglasses sliding down her nose. An immaculately dressed woman in heels and a silk robe, tapping her foot as she leaned against her doorframe.

Haechan had survived a lot in his twenty-something years of life. Awkward first dates. A shattered ankle during a dance rehearsal. Once, a bird flew into his open window and pecked his ear. But none of it—none—compared to this.

His heart thundered in his chest as he climbed the creaky stairs to apartment 3C, flowers crushed slightly in his grip and sweat trailing down his spine. He’d been to the florist. And now only one mission remained:

The Ring.

His final boss battle.

He knocked.

The door opened halfway, chain still latched. She peeked through—a woman in her mid-thirties, glowing skin, silk robe, fresh blowout. Sunglasses on indoors. She looked like the type who had a glass of wine with breakfast and named her dog something like Versace.

“Yes?” she said, lifting an arched brow.

Haechan offered the friendliest, tightest, most obviously-fake smile he’d ever forced. “Hi! Good afternoon. I’m really sorry to bother you, but there’s been a huge mistake with a package I ordered. The address was wrong, and the delivery was sent here instead of my apartment. And the package—it’s, um… it’s really important. It’s a ring.”

She didn’t blink. “I received a ring, yes.”

“Oh thank God, okay—” Haechan said again, for the third time, panting like he’d just run a marathon. “But that ring is not for you, ma’am.”

She huffed, raising an eyebrow like a queen being addressed by a peasant. “The label had my address.”

“Yes, because I messed it up!” he pleaded, gesturing to himself in wild frustration. “I’m the idiot here! That doesn’t mean the ring’s yours!”

“I assumed it was from my husband,” she cut him off, nails clicking against the wood of the door. “He travels often. Sends me gifts. I thought he was making up for last week.”

“What happened last week?”

“He told me I shouldn’t buy a second blender.”

Haechan blinked. “I—okay, yeah, anyway, that ring? Not from him.”

“You don’t know that,” she said, already starting to close the door.

“You don’t even know if he’s your husband?!”

She pouted. “You’re very aggressive.”

“I’m in love!” Haechan exploded. “Do you understand?! I am in love with a woman who makes me want to write songs and cook pancakes at 2am and—and commit federal crimes if someone doesn’t give me her ring back!”

That caught her attention. She tilted her head, intrigued. “...Federal crimes?”

“Ma’am,” he said, clutching his chest like he’d been shot, “that ring was custom-made. Do you know how many hours I spent choosing the band? The diamond? I was gonna give it to her during her birthday dinner. With the cake! That you also have, by the way! I made it myself! It has pink frosting and tiny letters that spell out her nickname!”

She tilted her head. “Hmm…”

Haechan threw a hand against it, heart pounding. “Please. Look, I’m begging you. It was meant for my girlfriend. It’s her birthday today. I’ve been running all over the city fixing this mess because I got the address wrong and I can’t—I won’t let her think I forgot, or didn’t care, or didn’t plan everything. I’ve got her friends helping me create this whole treasure hunt, and she’s following clues right now with the biggest smile on her face and—and the ring’s the last one. It has to be perfect.”

“Please,” he added, softly now. “It’s not just a ring. It’s her dream ring. I saved for months. I memorized her Pinterest board. It’s got this little wave etched inside because she said once that I reminded her of the ocean. I’ve never given someone something so important in my life.”

There was a long pause. She tapped her chin thoughtfully, eyeing him up and down.

“I see,” she said. “Well… that’s very romantic.”

“It is,” Haechan said with a breath of relief.

“But also,” she added, folding her arms, “how do I know you’re telling the truth? For all I know, you could be a con artist trying to steal gifts off people’s porches.”

“I look like I run a scam Etsy page, not a crime ring!” he sputtered.

She didn’t move. Instead, she reached for her phone.

“I’m calling my husband.”

“Oh, come on—” he complained exasperated.

“No. If it’s not from him, I’ll return it. If it is, I’m keeping it.”

As she dialed, Haechan paced in circles outside her door, muttering dramatic curses to himself.

“Hello, babe,” she said sweetly into the phone, turning away slightly. “Did you send me a ring?”

Pause.

“No? Are you sure?”

Pause.

“A white gold band with a small sapphire detail inside.”

Longer pause.

“…No, don’t be mad, I thought it was from you!”

Haechan grinned.

Victory.

But then—

“What do you mean ‘give it back’?! It’s already in my jewelry box!”

Haechan’s head snapped up. He could hear the muffled voice on the other end, rising in pitch. She pulled the phone away from her ear, face souring.

Then she turned back to Haechan.

“Fine. I’ll return it. But you owe me.”

He blinked. “Owe you?”

“You interrupted my facial. I was mid-serum.”

“I—I can Venmo you ten bucks and a sorry emoji?”

She stared.

“…And I’ll leave a five-star Yelp review for your building?” he offered.

Finally, she huffed, disappeared inside, and returned with a sleek velvet ring box in one hand and the crumpled bakery box in the other.

“It’s not gluten-free, by the way,” she said, handing him the cake. “I checked.”

“I know.”

“But it’s really good,” she added. “Your girlfriend’s lucky.”

He took the box gently, like it was made of glass. The ring sat nestled inside, shining softly in the light.

“…So am I,” he murmured.

With a grateful bow, a muttered thank you, and a spin on his heel, Haechan bolted out of the building like a man on a mission.

Because now, finally—ring in hand, cake secured, though slightly violated, flowers salvaged—he was ready for the final reveal.

And nothing, nothing, could stop him now.

The soft breeze rustled through the trees as you made your way toward the wide-open park. Children’s laughter echoed in the air, mingling with the distant bark of a dog and the faint melody of someone playing guitar nearby. The path was lined with golden light, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the grass as it dipped closer to the horizon.

You didn’t have to search long.

There he was—Na Jaemin, leaning back lazily against a picnic table bench, hair glowing in the sun, a ridiculous birthday sash over his hoodie that read: “Agent of Love Delivery #4” in sparkly gold letters.

You couldn’t help but smile.

He spotted you, stood up immediately, and with a dramatic bow, held out his arms like a game show host. “You’ve made it, birthday girl!”

“Oh my god, Jaemin…” you laughed. “What are you wearing?”

“Haechan made me. He said it was either this or a banana costume. So if anything, I chose dignity.”

You snorted.

On the table behind him was a little box wrapped in peach paper and tied with a silver ribbon. Next to it, a mason jar filled with wildflowers and one of those tiny Polaroid prints—it was a shot of you and Haechan under a café umbrella, rain misting behind you. He had his arm around you, cheeks squished against yours, both your eyes crinkled with laughter.

“Okay, that’s cheating,” you whispered, already clutching the photo to your chest.

“Yeah, I know,” Jaemin smiled, sitting down beside you on the bench. “He kinda stacked the deck with that one.”

You opened the box next. Inside was a pair of matching beaded bracelets—simple, homemade, with tiny letter charms. Yours had the initials H + (Y) in tiny silver, and his had your name’s first letter alongside his. It was the kind of sweet that punched you in the chest a little.

Jaemin leaned his elbows on the table, watching your expression. “You like them?”

You nodded, biting your lip, a soft warmth blooming in your chest. “He made these?”

Jaemin nodded. “Stayed up till like four a.m. muttering about bead sizes and knot strength. It was like watching someone lose a game of Tetris in real life.”

You laughed, eyes still fixed on the bracelets.

“He really loves you, you know,” Jaemin added, gentler now. “Like, the mushy, ridiculous, ‘I’ll challenge my friends to public cartwheel contests’ kind of love.”

You blinked. “He what?”

Jaemin smirked, rubbing the back of his neck. “He was here this morning. Said the park was a ‘critical love station’ and dared me to a cartwheel contest to ‘fill the air with romantic energy.’ I think he pulled something, but refused to admit it.”

You laughed so hard you had to lean into the table. “Please tell me you won.”

“Barely,” Jaemin grinned. “I’ve got a trick knee. But I had something to prove.”

The two of you sat in the sunlight for a moment longer—you, sipping water Jaemin had thoughtfully brought, him watching the clouds like he was trying to spot hidden heart shapes.

Then he turned toward you with a glint in his eye.

“Ready for your next mission?”

You nodded, excited again.

Jaemin reached into his jacket pocket and handed you a folded envelope. Inside, a hand-drawn doodle of Haechan in stick-figure form, holding a giant tray of chicken nuggets like a trophy.

You read the clue aloud:

Clue #4 "Every birthday queen deserves a royal feast. A place with fries, shakes, and room to breathe. Two noisy gremlins await your arrival— One sings too loud, one eats like a rival. They’ve got your last clue and a sugary bite. Meet them at the mall, under the neon light."

“Chenle and Jisung?” you guessed, grinning.

Jaemin nodded. “Good luck getting a word in between them.”

You slipped the envelope into your bag, already eager to see what chaos awaited you next—and what Haechan had planned for the final surprise.

The mall was buzzing—kids darted around with ice cream cones, couples shared trays of fries under glowing fast-food signs, and the distant echo of someone playing piano on the lower level added a strangely dramatic soundtrack to your search.

But you had a mission.

You scanned the food court until you saw them: Chenle and Jisung, sitting at a table with a comically large balloon bouquet tied to it, one of which had your name spelled wrong on purpose (“HBD Y/N 🐸❤️”)—a Haechan joke if you ever saw one.

Jisung spotted you first. “She’s here!” he shouted, mouth half-full of fries, earning a scolding swat on the arm from Chenle.

“Swallow first, you trash goblin!” Chenle hissed, then turned to you with a blinding smile. “Happy Birthday, Birthday Girl!”

You reached them, immediately greeted by a cupcake shoved toward you with a plastic tiara balanced on top.

“You have to wear this,” Chenle grinned, holding up the tiara. “Haechan’s orders. He said if you didn’t, the whole thing would be null and void.”

You rolled your eyes playfully and placed the tiara on your head. Jisung clapped like you’d won an award.

“Now, before we give you the final clue…” Chenle paused dramatically. “You must pass…”

“…THE BIRTHDAY INTERROGATION!” Jisung declared, pounding the table.

“Oh god.” you murmured to yourself, expecting the worst ever from these two.

“Question one,” Chenle leaned in like a talk show host. “How annoying is Haechan on a scale from 1 to ‘I fear for his safety around sharp objects’?”

You snorted. “Solid eight and a half. But in an endearing way.”

“Respectable answer,” Jisung nodded solemnly, handing you a chicken nugget like it was a prize.

Chenle grinned. “Question two: Do you like cheesy love songs?”

You blinked. “I mean, yeah?”

“Good,” Chenle stood up, dusting off his hands like he’d just completed a job. “Because he wrote you a whole damn EP and plans to sing half of it in falsetto when you walk in.”

You laughed, covering your face with your hands. “You’re joking.”

“Unfortunately, no,” Jisung said. “We’ve heard rehearsals. It’s… passionate.”

“And loud,” Chenle added, handing you a small velvet pouch. Inside, tucked carefully, was a delicate key charm necklace—a symbol for the next stop.

Attached to the pouch was a final envelope. You unfolded it, heart skipping.

Final Clue “You’ve danced through laughter, photos, crumbs, and clues, Now it’s time to find the one who planned it all for you. Not a prince, but a loud-mouthed fool in love, Waiting where stars shine through the ceiling above. Penthouse suite, the view’s a delight— Come find me, my love. We’ll end the night right. 💛 — Your forever idiot, Haechan”

You held the note close to your chest, heart full.

“Ready?” Chenle grinned.

“Let’s go get your idiot,” Jisung added, wiggling his brows.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the top floor of Haechan’s penthouse—and right in the center of the room stood your boyfriend, panting like he’d just outrun a bus.

And maybe he had.

His shirt was wrinkled and half-untucked, his hair disheveled and clinging to his forehead with sweat. In one hand, he clutched a sad-looking bouquet, the flowers clearly once beautiful but now crumpled from their journey—one was bent sideways like it had tried to escape. In the other hand was a slice of cake on a plastic plate, frosting sliding precariously off the side. Written in shaky red icing, clearly done in a moving car or under duress, were the words:

"HAPPY BRITHDAY (Y/N)"

He looked like a romantic wreck—disastrous but devoted, with the most relieved expression breaking over his face the second he saw you.

“Hey,” he breathed, voice raspy from the chaos of the day, “Surprise?”

You didn’t laugh at the misspelled cake. You didn’t point out the crushed petals or the fact that he looked like he’d been mugged by the wind.

You just ran straight into his arms, nearly knocking the plate to the floor as he caught you in a tight, sweaty, messy hug.

“I missed you so much today,” you murmured against his shoulder.

“I missed you more,” he whispered back, arms locking around your waist. “I swear I fought off at least two minor gods to get your cake back.”

“Oh my GOD, finally!” Chenle shouted from the couch. “You look like a wet dog, Lee Donghyuck.”

“I told you we should’ve wiped him down at the door,” Jisung added, wincing at the sight of Haechan’s ruined shirt.

“I think the cake’s bleeding,” Jaemin observed, poking the sagging icing with the end of a fork.

“Shut up!” Haechan barked over your shoulder, too tired to glare properly. “It’s romantic suffering, okay?!”

Mark walked over with a clean towel and patted Haechan’s face like a doting grandmother. “There, there. You did your best, champ.”

“I got the ring back,” Haechan mumbled into your hair, breath still fast. “That crazy lady tried to pretend it was hers—her husband chased me with a slipper, babe, I was nearly a crime statistic—”

“But you’re here,” you said gently, pulling back to look at him with a soft smile. “And you’re mine. And I love you.”

He stared at you for a second—dazed, overwhelmed, completely undone—and then gave you the most Haechan smile of all: crooked, tired, but absolutely bursting with affection.

“I love you more,” he said. “And next time, I’m triple-checking the delivery address.”

The boys groaned.

“You better!” Jeno called out, raising a soda can in mock salute. “Because none of us are doing this scavenger mission again!”

“Speak for yourself,” Jaemin said, smirking. “I got free cartwheels and cake out of it.”

“And I got to eat half the second cake,” Chenle added smugly.

“Wait, what—FIRST cake?” Renjun gawked.

But you were already pulling him by the hand toward the cozy setup at the balcony—a table full of candles, soft music, photos of your relationship strung like stars, and your friends shouting and laughing like they were born to make noise.

And amid the beautiful mess of the evening, you looked at Haechan—your ridiculous, stubborn, chaotic soulmate—and realized this was perfect.

Laughter still echoed from the living room—Chenle shouting over Jaemin about cake crumbs on the couch, Jeno and Jisung in a mock fight over the last soda, and Mark trying to get everyone to just sit down for one second.

But you and Haechan were out on the penthouse balcony, the door shut behind you, blocking out the noise.

It was quiet out here.

You leaned against the cool glass railing, the night breeze brushing your skin. Behind you, Haechan stood a step away, his hands stuffed in his pockets, face still flushed from the whirlwind of the day.

“Hey,” he said gently.

You turned, catching the way the city lights reflected in his eyes—warm, full of unspoken things.

He stepped closer, not saying anything for a beat. Just watching you. His breath slower now, but you could feel the tension humming beneath his skin, like something big was about to happen. Something he had been thinking about for a long time.

“I was gonna do this earlier,” he admitted softly, “but, you know… ring fiasco, stolen cake, getting chased with a slipper…” he rolled his eyes.

You laughed lightly, but your heart beat a little faster.

“But now…” Haechan exhaled and reached into his jacket pocket. Slowly. Carefully. His fingers shook a little as he pulled out a small velvet box—not in perfect condition, slightly dented from the day’s chaos, but clearly loved and protected.

He opened it with trembling hands. Inside sat the most beautiful ring—simple, elegant, glowing in the warm light of the city behind you.

“I bought this months ago,” he said, eyes never leaving yours. “I practiced speeches. Even wrote a dumb poem about it. Thought I’d have this perfect moment, you know? But today was anything but perfect.”

He laughed at himself, a soft, breathless sound. Then, his voice grew steadier. Lower. More serious.

“But I realized… I don’t care about perfect. I care about you. And I’d do this in a thunderstorm or while hanging from a helicopter if that’s what it took.”

He dropped to one knee, and suddenly the world around you fell completely silent.

Your breath caught.

His eyes were wide and shining, vulnerable in a way you’d only seen when he was really, truly open with you.

“I would chase down every wrong delivery, run across the city, fight a hundred angry husbands—hell, I’d go to the moon and back to bring you the stupidest plushie if it made you smile. Because you make my life feel like the best kind of chaos. The kind I want forever.”

He held the ring up to you with both hands, almost like an offering.

“Will you marry me?”

Tears welled in your eyes, heart thrumming wildly against your ribs.

And in that second, it didn’t matter that the cake was a disaster, or the flowers were half-dead, or that Haechan was still wearing mismatched socks.

Because here he was—yours, messy and beautiful and completely sincere.

“Yes,” you breathed, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Of course I will.”

He let out the loudest, happiest laugh—the kind that crinkled his whole face—before standing up and wrapping you in the tightest hug, spinning you around with such giddy energy you forgot your feet ever touched the ground.

Behind the glass door, a chorus of cheering exploded. You glanced back to see your friends pressed against the windows, jumping and shouting and slapping each other’s backs.

“HE IS ENGAGED!” Chenle screamed.

“Who’s baking the wedding cake?!” Jaemin yelled.

“I CALL BEST MAN!” Jisung cried, while Mark smacked him on the head.

But all you heard was Haechan’s voice, close to your ear, whispering:

“You just made me the happiest idiot on Earth.”

The penthouse had finally quieted.

After all the shouting, teasing, cake-smearing, and an impromptu dance battle that involved Jeno trying to moonwalk in socks and almost breaking a vase—everyone had left, or crashed in the guest rooms.

But Haechan stayed wide awake.

You found him in the living room after your shower, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a blanket around his shoulders, hair still slightly damp from when Jisung tried to pour soda over him "in celebration." He was scrolling through the photos from the day on his phone—zooming into your reactions, his friends’ dumb expressions, and a few blurry moments that somehow felt more special than the perfectly framed ones.

He looked up when you entered, and his face softened like it always did when it was just you two.

“Hey,” he murmured, holding his hand out to you.

You walked over, taking it, and he immediately tugged you into his lap, wrapping both arms around you tightly, like he needed to feel every part of this was real.

You leaned back against his chest, his heartbeat thudding steady and warm under your ear.

It was quiet. Safe.

After a long moment, he whispered, “You really said yes.”

You smiled softly, fingers tracing over the fabric of his shirt. “I really did.”

“Even after I showed up panting like a dog, with half a cake and flowers that looked like roadkill?”

You laughed, your head tilting to look at him. “Especially after that.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners, but they were glassy—emotions still high, the weight of the day slowly settling into him.

He pressed his lips against your temple, lingering there. “I wanted it to be perfect,” he said again, barely above a whisper. “I wanted everything to go right.”

“But it did,” you said, shifting to look at him fully now. “Because I got you at the end of it. A little sweaty, mildly traumatized, but still you.”

Haechan grinned, a breathy sound escaping him—part laugh, part disbelief.

“I think I love you more than I’m supposed to,” he said suddenly. “Like… dangerously. Like, I’d sell my liver on the black market if it meant getting you a second ring just to match the first.”

You snorted. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re marrying me,” he teased, eyes gleaming.

He brought your hand up to his lips and kissed the ring now resting there. Carefully. Reverently. Like it was a secret only you two shared.

After a long pause, he murmured, “I know I joke a lot. I mess up. I say dumb stuff all the time. But this…” His voice caught a little. “This is the most serious thing I’ve ever felt. I want to build something with you. A life. A forever. Even if we mess it up a little.”

You tilted his chin toward you, brushing your nose against his. “I don’t want perfect. I want you. Just like this.”

He kissed you—slow and full of everything he hadn’t been able to say with words. And when you pulled away, the grin returned, softer this time.

“Okay,” he said, tugging the blanket higher around both of you. “Then let’s mess up the world together.”

That night, you fell asleep curled into Haechan’s arms, your ring hand resting on his chest, the city lights painting lazy patterns on the ceiling. And for the first time in your life, the future didn’t feel like a question mark.

It felt like home.

BONUS:

☆ masterlist + notes. this one goes to my pretty @vanesycho my lovely birthday girl! hope you like it baby! i had so much fun writing it!!

★ @lyvhie @spacejip @zhapire @onriyuview @dinosaurtoothbrushwithninjasauce

#haechan.jpg ★#divider by cafekitsune #nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct dream imagines #nct dream fanfic #haechan fanfic #haechan imagines

661 notes · View notes

seijorhi · 2 months ago

Text

Divine Rights

for my beloved wife @iwaasfairy as a somewhat late, sort of birthday present aka the royal fic y'all have been waiting weeks for oikawa tooru x female reader w.c 5.6k tw: non-con, yandere themes, blood and a little gore, murder, violence, abuse, pregnancy & childbirth, breeding kink, smut, nsfw

“Miyuki forgot to bring me my tea this afternoon.” At the blank look you get in response, you hasten to clarify, “The maid– the new one, I mean. She always brings it after lunch, but today she forgot.”

Guilt needles you with every word. You like Miyuki. Quiet as a mouse, most of the time she can hardly bring herself to meet your eye, much less talk with you, but on the days she finishes her tasks quickly enough – the days the guards aren’t watching the clock – she’ll sit with you while you sew or practice your reading. For a brief moment, you can imagine her a friend. Perhaps if you were her friend, or at least a better friend, you’d ignore the gnawing unease in the pit of your stomach, keep your mouth shut and spare her.

Because there will be consequences, of that you’re certain. Whatever grace the King affords you on a whim does not extend to the servants scurrying throughout the castle. Most especially those few he allows within your presence.

Stretched out languidly beside you, Oikawa arches an eyebrow. “Your tea?” he repeats.

Your cheeks flame. What you’d give right now to squirm away from him, crawl out of his bed, this room, and disappear entirely just to avoid him and this mortifying conversation.

There’s a voice in the back of your head that reminds you that there’s a decent chance Oikawa’s ignorant of all of it. Why should he have to concern himself with trivialities like contraception or pulling out? He’s the King, there’ll always be those who trail along after him, cleaning up his messes. No royal bastards. No loose ends when the blacksmith’s youngest disappears behind the walls of the castle keep.

“So that we don’t– there’s no chance of a– a baby. I meant to say something earlier, but…” you trail off, the slow trickle of his seed oozing from the raw ache between your legs speaking for itself.

With your oldest sister and her husband, it’d taken months for her to fall pregnant. Newlyweds don’t always conceive within the first year. If every accidental slip left women pregnant, the streets by the brothels would run riot with unclaimed bastards. It’ll be fine.

You drank the tea Miyuki brought you yesterday, so long as she brings it shortly, and you take it as normal again tomorrow–

Long, elegant fingers coax at your chin, derailing the runaway thought in its tracks. His chuckle, deep and low, registers a split second before the kiss. “Not a mistake,” he tells you, murmuring against your lips. “You’re going to give me an heir, sweet girl. Two, actually. An heir and a spare, and maybe a few after that, if you’re very, very good for me.” He says it indulgently, his own breath catching on a low shudder when his index and middle fingers curl up into your pussy, pushing his spend back inside of you, “Where it belongs,” he whispers.

You seize his forearm, “T-Tooru–” you gasp.

He has to be joking. You can’t– He wouldn’t–

The tea made sense. You’ve no title, you’re not his wife nor his Queen, not a Lady of the court or the daughter of some important, foreign dignitary. Outside the walls of these chambers, you do not exist at all. You aren’t anyone, anything beyond what he desires you to be.

You cannot have his child.

“Please, I don’t want this. I’m not– I’m not ready.” Your nails are digging half moon circles into his skin, and the prickle of tears unshed and the lump in your throat make your voice thick and strained, but the King meets your panicked gaze with a twinkle in his eye.

“You are,” he kisses your forehead, “and you will,” your mouth, sucking on your lower lip. “Trust in your King, love. Everything is as it’s meant to be.”

The woman who brings your meals the next day doesn’t linger, she scurries about, shoulders drawn, flinching when you ask her name.

There’s no tea – not that afternoon, or any that follow.

—

When you were younger, you used to pretend you lived in the castle up on the hill.

Your two older brothers would fight over which would play King while you and your sisters danced and sipped honeyed drinks and pretended to give your favour to one or the other, only to order them about once they’d been crowned. You imagined dances and feasts and thrilling hunts, tournaments with brave knights and roaring crowds. Never a dull moment.

A life of luxury forever out of reach.

Until it was forced upon you, but only a shadow.

You eat delicacies you could only have dreamed of, taste rich, heady wine on the King’s tongue – once, a mouthful from his lips, Oikawa laving up the droplet that spilled down your chin.

But while you hear the distant, muted melodies that play somewhere down below, you’ve never sat in the hall by his side. Only a few of the names he rattles off you recognise. The others remain blurry figures in your head, characters in a play you’ve yet to attend. Won’t ever attend, if the King has his way.

The court gossip you learn in dribs and drabs, never enough to paint a complete picture, and for all that he chatters away in your ear, Oikawa shares little. You aren’t privy to the schemes that run through the castle, the kingdom at large, from its highest echelon. Nothing for you to trouble your pretty little head over.

It should come as no surprise then that news of his upcoming nuptials doesn’t come from the King himself.

“I imagine they’ll be moving you,” the maid – Miyuki’s replacement – says one afternoon, out of the blue. And it might not come as such a shock if she’d ever spoken to you before that, if the comments weren’t accompanied by a wide eyed, frantic look at odds with her stilted delivery, if you had any idea what she was on about to begin with.

You blink at her. “Moving me?”

She nods, a shaking jut of her chin. “When the King marries at week’s end. If he decides to keep you, it won’t be here.”

If.

Oikawa’s never bothered with sweet lies. Every vow he’s ever made to you, he’s followed through on, every threat delivered – no matter your tears. In that, at least, you trust him. When he withheld the tea and told you he wanted you to give him an heir, you believed it. He had no reason to lie.

Your mind spins, trying in vain to pluck the threads of an unravelling tapestry; the colours wrong and the image distorted.

A Queen doesn’t bode well. Moving you would be the logical step; there’s no doubt a plethora of nooks and crannies he could lock you away in until he’s gotten what he wants – but now that makes even less sense than before.

A cold feeling prickles at the nape of your neck.

And then what? What happens when you give him the child he wants? What happens when you outlive your usefulness?

You’ve become stone, blank faced, frozen if not for the slight tremor in your – the hand she seizes by your wrist, fingers digging in tight. Dropping all pretence, she steps closer, voice lowering to a frightened whisper, “You need to leave. Whatever you think you’re gaining from this, you aren’t. He’ll kill us all before–”

“Enough.”

The maid snaps back like she’s been scalded, dropping into a hasty curtsy, eyes fixed to the floor as one of Oikawa’s Royal Guards – knights in their own right – Matsukawa, strides into the room, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

He spares you only a glance, a quick, cursory look to determine you’re unharmed. A laughable notion, really, when one considers his King’s penchant for manhandling.

“She didn’t do anything wrong.”

“She had her hands on you,” he counters. And the King will not abide that.

You bite your tongue, sinking down onto the bed as Matsukawa steps aside and the maid – she never told you her name, never answered when you asked – all but flees with a hand to her mouth, muffling a sob. Matsukawa leaves behind her, the door quietly shut in his wake.

For a long time after that you sit in silence.

Eventually, the door opens again – a boy this time, no older than seven, carrying a tray from the kitchens. He stares with wide, awe filled eyes, and bows and stammers out an apology, cheeks flushed apple red. Only the ache in your chest draws the corners of your lips upwards into a paper-thin smile.

Your sister’s boys would’ve been his age.

If, if, if–

“I hear you’ve had an exciting day, my love.”

The sun has set. The King has returned home to roost.

“Is that why?” you ask, hardly glancing up as he makes his way over towards you.

“Why what?”

“I-is she barren? Hideous? Too old to bear children, or too– too–” you can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. Cruel, heartless and selfish he may be, you have to believe there’s at least one boundary he wouldn’t cross. “What happens to me when all this is done? When you have your heirs, or you grow weary of this– of… me?” you ask instead.

You don’t realise tears are rolling down your face until he’s looming over you, having pushed his way between your legs, cupping your cheeks to wipe them away. The gesture could almost be construed as something comforting, something genuine, if not for the preening satisfaction behind his sigh.

“My stubborn, sensitive girl, twisting yourself into knots over things that aren’t yours to worry about. We’d both be much happier if you just left well enough alone and trusted me, hm? You know I can’t stand to see you cry.” Liar. “But if it will ease that tender heart of yours, know that she’s a whining cunt, I have a sizeable new merchant fleet courtesy of her father, and there is no scenario, in this or any other life–” his expression doesn’t waver, but every trace of levity bleeds from his voice as his thumb slides between your lips, “–where I will ever be done with you, do you understand?”

You nod. With his thumb hooked in your mouth, pressing against your tongue, it’s all you can do.

“Good girl. Always so good for me.”

It isn’t unexpected when his other hand moves to unlace his breeches and fish out his cock.

“Get it wet,” he breathes.

When he’s feeling generous, your King’s the one to sink between your knees, tongue and fingers working at your core until you’re panting, dizzy on the edge of pleasure, warm and welcoming, dripping with a need that’s his to sate.

But the King isn’t feeling generous tonight. Gathering your hair in his fist, he lets out an anticipatory breath, a near hiss, when your fingers curl around him and you lean in, lips obediently parting. Your tongue swirls around the velvety head giving it a light, experimental suck, and his hips buck, chasing the sensation.

Usually, Oikawa enjoys your mouth almost as much as your pussy, preferring to draw it out, edge himself, let you demonstrate your ardent devotion to your King, your love – but there’s none of that now. Your scalp screams for relief when he tightens his grip, and though you should have been expecting it, the sudden thrust into your mouth takes you by surprise, eyes shooting wide, choking on the intrusion.

It’s rough and graceless, the wet, gagging sounds that spill out amidst his panting, the tears that spring to your eyes and the burn in the back of your throat. You barely have the presence of mind to work your tongue, hollow your cheeks. Suck like he wants you to.

The reprieve comes without warning, Oikawa yanking you off by your hair. True enough, every inch of his thick, flushed cock shines with your spit, gleaming in the flickering candlelight.

“Lie back,” he orders.

You sprawl back onto the bed.

None of your earlier nerves have eased, but the tremor in your heart has everything to do with the naked desire that bleeds across his expression as he finishes ridding himself of his clothes. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”

You shake your head, fingers fluttering in the sheets either side of you.

“No?” he purrs. “You don’t wish it were you I were putting in a crown–” Your insides twist into knots as he crawls onto the bed taking an ankle in his grip. A soft whine escapes, but he simply trails his fingers lovingly along your calf, pushing your shift up and sliding closer. “–pledging myself to in the eyes of God and our Countrymen?”

Your breath hitches. He knocks your legs wider, slotting himself into the open space. “I–I wouldn’t dare to be so bold. I’m already yours, that’s… that’s enough for me.”

He laughs darkly, pressing a kiss to your knee and lifting it to his shoulder. “You are mine, but if you want a crown, I’ll give you one.”

You seize the sheets, gasping for air when his cock slides into you in a slow, punishing thrust.

“I’ll give you a crown, the dress, all the pretty diamonds and rubies you like so long as I can have you like this you while wear them– fuck,” he moans, eyes closing, head tilted back as he savours the tight warmth of your pussy, squeezing at his cock.

He leans down, seeking the taste of your swollen lips. With his tongue licking greedily into the open seam of your mouth, he rolls his hips and falls into a rhythm which leaves you writhing and squirming beneath him. The drag of his cock stings. The King’s never cared that it hurts and it doesn’t affect him now, his fingers digging into the meat of your thigh, dragging you closer, shifting your hips so the angle is better. Deeper. Every inch of you claimed, every inch of you his.

“I’ll marry you too, if that’s what you want,” he pants.

Each whimper, sharp, stuttered breath, plea for clemency, for a second’s reprieve – they spur him on. Drive him to the brink. You’re sweltering from inside out. Sweat forms at your forehead, beading along the nape of your neck – through hazy eyes, you watch a droplet trickle down Oikawa’s bare chest, struck with the strangest desire to push yourself up and lap at it, all the while the King’s cock rocks inside of you, deep, hard strokes that rob you of sense.

Your bones rattle with each slam of his hips against the cradle of your thighs, your cries swallowed by his tongue, soothed with a kiss. Pain and pleasure war, bleeding over until they’re indiscernible from one another. “We’ll do it in the Old Ways,” he tells you, his eyes alight, his smile almost savage in its raw pleasure. “Oaths sealed in blood and fucking, witnessed by a Priest. I wouldn’t let any of those old fucks anywhere near you, but Iwa should suffice.”

All you can do is cry out, clutching at his forearm. You’re sure that your nails break the skin, but it only urges Oikawa on.

“You want Iwa to come watch me split you apart on my cock, hm?” His weight drops, leaning over and nearly folding you in two, and on the next thrust you see stars that blink out your vision. “You want him to marry us?” You shatter beneath him, eyes rolling back, body shuddering as pleasure explodes inside of you, fizzing through your veins til every part of you is alight with it.

The King swears violently, the heat of your spasming cunt driving him over the edge. With his forehead pressed against yours, he cums with a gritted out moan, fucking his release deep inside of you. Where it belongs.

—

The disparity between the two of you is never so stark as when Oikawa dons his regalia. From the deep teal of his fur-lined cloak, clasped with chains of gold, to the glittering gemstones set into his crown, he wears finery like a second skin. Even his leather boots would fetch more money at market than your family had ever seen in their lives.

You, meanwhile, are barefoot, hair unbound, wearing a shift stained with last night’s blood. Oikawa smiles down at you with a fond sort of benevolence while you fiddle with the last of his fastenings. At one point of time, he must’ve had a servant to help him with this sort of thing.

Now, he has you, and seems all the more pleased for it.

“Are you coming back tonight?” you ask.

He catches your hands when you pull away, bringing them back to rest on his chest. “Where else would I go?”

These are, of course, his chambers.

“And… her?” you choke out, refusing to meet his gaze.

“You mean the blushing bride to be?” He laughs, the sound grating on your already fraught nerves. “You wouldn’t happen to be jealous, darling, would you?”

If he fucks her here tonight, with you in the room, you might actually vomit.

Biting down on the tip of your tongue, you force a nod. It earns another laugh from the King, “My little liar,” he croons. “How quick you are to forget the promises we made to each other.” Like a dance, he spins you to draw your back flush to his chest, turning you both to face the mirror.

The reflection paints a stark, ugly picture. Baleful eyes shadowed and drawn. Skin sapped of its healthy glow. You might’ve been a great beauty once – in the eye of certain beholders – in the King’s covetous embrace, there’s something hollow that stares back, aching and endless. A stranger plucked from the wilds.

Oikawa rests his cheek against your hair and smiles at your reflection, tugging at the top of your shift until it slips low enough to reveal the marred flesh above your breast. He hums appreciatively. “The Queen isn’t your concern. She won’t be setting foot in here.”

The finality in his tone stops you from prying deeper.

That, and the sharp double rap at the door.

A quiet curse tumbles from his mouth. For a split second, his grip tightens, the beginnings of a scowl flitting across his handsome face before he smooths it out with a huff. “Later,” he promises, dragging himself away like it pains him to do so.

Rather than leaving, though, you watch as he steps aside to allow someone else entry – a guard.

Kyoutani. Mad Dog.

Presumably nicknamed for his scowling, vicious mien and the rabidity of his temperament, of all the Royal Guard, he is definitely the last you’d pick to be alone in a room with. Somewhat darkly, you wonder if that’s the sole reason Oikawa says what he does next. “I think we’ve been a little too lax with your safety, my love. Mad Dog will be here to keep a closer eye on you for the foreseeable future.”

Honey brown eyes bear down on you, sharp and shrewd, and a chill rolls down your spine.

“Be good for him, won’t you?”

—

True to his word, she never appeared in his bedchambers; he returned alone, cheeks flushed, eyes glazed and handsy, tugging at your shift with clumsy hands and a sloppy grin before you’d fully roused.

Nothing changes – with the exception of your new guard.

Gone is any semblance of privacy. For every moment that your King does not dog your every waking breath, Kyoutani takes up watch. You cannot ignore him. You cannot relax, pinned under his stare like a rabbit in a trap. If you thought your maids were nervous before, it’s nothing to the unbridled panic the latest exudes working under the eye of the King’s loyal hound, walking on eggshells like he’s one wrong breath away from snapping her spine.

After Matsukawa and her predecessor, you’re not entirely sure she’s wrong. With the way he watches you, tracking your every move with narrowed eyes and a perpetual scowl, you’re more afraid that when he snaps – when Oikawa loosens that leash ever so slightly – it’ll be your neck that finds its way between his salivating jaws. That maybe this is your end, and he’s making you face it day in, day out.

You believe Oikawa, and the oaths he made – but only to a point.

It’s why the morning they bring you eggs for breakfast and the smell sends you hurtling to the bathroom, it isn’t a sense of relief or happiness that fills you. While Oikawa rubs soothingly at your back, kissing your neck, your hair – whatever parts of you he can reach, cooing praise that goes in one ear and out the other, there’s an edge of hysteria that winds its way through your chest and constricts util it feels like you’ll choke under the pressure of it all.

In your womb, a noose and a lifeline.

“I want my sisters. I want to see them.”

Breakfast long forgotten, lying in bed covered solely by the fine sheen of sweat sticking to your skin, you take his hand in yours and guide it to your stomach. It’ll be months before you show, but that doesn’t stop his eyes from flicking down, the hunger that pools at the reminder of the life that’ll grow there. Your child; his heir.

“Please, Tooru. I haven’t– it’s been months. Let me see them. Five minutes, that’s all I ask.”

His eyes return to yours, pityingly, his hand stays where it is, thumb stroking bare flesh. “My love, they won’t see you.”

He might as well have slapped you. “What? Why wouldn’t they see me? You– you promised you wouldn’t–”

“I haven’t laid a finger on them,” he assures you. “They… blame you for what happened. Your parents and brothers. Their husbands. The boys. Even if I allowed the guards to permit you entry, they’d only lash out and hurt you. I wouldn’t put you through that, not for anything.”

Rationality rebels against this. Whatever your faults and missteps, you never asked for the King’s attention, you wouldn’t have tried to run if you’d known the cost. He did this, not you. But rationality gets lost entirely, drowned beneath the wave of grief that sweeps you up. It coils around you and sinks down into your bones. Grief becomes the air you breathe, the blood in your veins. It’s agony and heartbreak and the first sob that leaves you feels like it’s cleaving you in two.

They blame you.

You don’t fight him, not anymore. You sit pretty and spread your legs, let him fill you with rot over and over and over again, all to keep the King’s ire from touching them further.

They live and breathe at your behest while you’ve become a broodmare, and they hate you for it.

The cracks within grow wide and deep.

Still cradling your belly, the King laments, “I’m sorry, my love. I’d have kept you from that knowledge if I could.”

If, if, if–

—

Your breasts swell and grow tender, your middle fills out.

A simple gold band on the King’s left hand marks their marriage, but within the walls of your gilded cage, the new Queen does not exist. Beyond them, you don’t.

She breaks that tentative impasse only once.

The day itself is unremarkable. The King left hours ago, you’re on the chaise, trying, as per usual, to ignore Kyoutani’s overbearing presence with your drawing book when you hear the muffled conversation filtering through the door.

At first, you pay it no mind. While your maid is usually the only one permitted access, servants come and go throughout the day, the guards change rotation, every so often this Lord or that Lord will come seeking the ear of the King. None of them gain entry, and so you’ve learned to mostly tune the noise out.

But the voices get louder, distractingly so.

You recognise Makki’s, the other’s foreign to you. Female, you can discern that much, and with each passing exchange, her soft, dulcet tone morphs into something sharp and shrill.

From the corner of your eye, you spy Mad Dog stiffening, a clenching of his jaw. Without necessarily meaning to, you abandon the quill pen, folding your half-finished sketch shut, one hand drifting to flutter nervously over your stomach.

“– hiding his pet whore! Let me in, or so help me–”

The door thumps violently, rattling the lock and you jump with it. A snarl tears through the chamber – not from Makki or the Queen, but Kyoutani, eyes ablaze, who stalks towards you, seizes you by your arm and hauls you to your feet roughly.

For months he’s prowled on the edge of an invisible barrier he’s erected around you. He smashes through it now without care, calloused fingers digging in through the cotton of your dress while you stumble behind him, struggling to keep up with his long, angry strides.

“In the bedroom. Now,” he growls, as though you aren’t already at the door.

You expect him to toss you inside and slam the door shut behind you, with him on the other side. He doesn’t. He drags you to the huge bed, pushing you – almost gently – back onto the mattress and stomps to stand guard by its foot without so much as a word of explanation. The door swings closed of its own accord, but not before you catch the screeching wail that cuts off with another loud thump.

The silence grows heavy after that.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’d entertained the possibility that whatever it was Oikawa was plotting with you and her, the Queen was in on it. Content enough with her crown not to care where her husband buried his cock each night or that her own bed remained cold and empty.

She, after all, would remain once your part in this was done.

But even if she was just a simple fool, tossed into this game at the whims of the men in her life, you imagined she’d be untouchable. Protected in a way you’d never been afforded.

If the Queen – pretty idiot, scheming bitch – is not safe from the King’s violence, what hope is there for you?

Your eyes drift to the sword on Mad Dog’s hip, and you do a very good job of pretending that when your hands curl around your stomach, they aren’t shaking, that the lie doesn’t taste bitter on your tongue when you whisper, “It’s okay, little one. We’re gonna be okay.”

When the King returns shortly thereafter, he doesn’t utter a word about the incident. Dismissing Kyoutani with a flick of his wrist, he cups your cheeks in warm, tender palms, marvelling at the tears that shine there as though he isn’t perfectly aware he’s their cause.

“Give me a son,” he says lowly, a secret just for the two of you, “and I promise we’ll only have to go through this once more.”

—

You know it before the first contraction, before your water breaks, soaking the sheets beneath.

The physician’s called, your maid pulled from her rest to attend you as the King refuses to allow any more eyes into the room. For hours, you wait out your contractions, breathing through the pain while the King paces and the physician flits between examining you and whispering in his ear.

Eventually, though, he rises from your bedside and nods at the King.

“Makki, fetch the Queen. Iwaizumi, too,” he orders. To you, he says, “She’s had such a difficult pregnancy, can hardly get out of bed these days, the poor thing. She deserves to be here for the birth of her child, don’t you think?”

Your chin bobs in agreement, too terrified to speak.

Within minutes the door to the chambers opens again, the Lord Chancellor stepping through, followed by Makki with the Queen in tow.

Mortification stirs within your chest at the sight of the King’s right hand, and you’re quick to divert your gaze to the Queen instead. She stands behind Hanamaki, pallid and thin – certainly not pregnant – and she might have been beautiful, had her expression not been pinched in a sneer.

A whining cunt, Oikawa had said. But no amount of imperiousness can hide the nervous way her eyes dart between you, the King, and the gathered guards.

“Your Grace,” she utters stiffly.

She isn’t wearing a crown. No jewels or pretty dresses. Her hair’s loosely braided and she wears a shift dress not dissimilar to your own. Hardly the picture of royalty.

What strikes you, though, is that she looks passably similar to you.

“Kneel.”

Another contraction hits, stealing your attention. You squeeze your eyes shut and suck in a breath through clenched teeth, waiting for the rippling pain to abate.

“Don’t look at her,” Oikawa drawls. “Kneel.”

When your eyes flutter open again, the Queen’s on her knees, the edge of Makki’s blade resting upon her shoulder. Your heart lurches.

You don’t understand what’s happening, why they’re here, but the panic rising up inside of you threatens to sweep you away and you cannot help the tears that spring to your eyes or the lump that forms in your throat. Your mother should be here. Your sisters. They’d help you through this, guide you with steady hands and keep you calm – but your mother burned with your home, and your sisters, who despise you anyway, now traitors to the Crown.

The bed’s been turned to give you the smallest semblance of privacy, but there’s no escaping the prying eyes across the room. In a room full of voyeurs, you’ve never been more alone. More terrified. You don’t want to give birth in front of them. You don’t want your children taken from you.

You don’t want to die like this, an animal on display.

“Tooru–” you gasp, curling in on yourself as another contraction hits.

He’s at your side in an instant, hand in yours, the other stroking your hair. He shushes you gently as the physician peers between your legs and tells you that it’s time to push.

—

There’s no more proof needed of the divine right of kings than in the two healthy baby boys the physician presents to Oikawa.

An heir and a spare.

The Queen still kneels on the ground at Makki’s feet. Your maid’s fussing with sheets, Iwaizumi and Kyoutani surveying from the corner, straight backed. Alert. Waiting.

Every eye but the Queen’s is fixed on Oikawa and his sons.

“Can… Can I hold them? Please?”

You’ll beg if you have to. Those boys are yours. He can kill you now, throw you in the dungeons below with your sisters – he can erase you from the story entirely, but those two perfect boys belong to you, and you’ll haunt him to the grave if he robs you of the chance to kiss them goodbye.

As though the entire room isn’t holding their breath, dangling on the edge of a knife, Oikawa returns to your side, carefully laying the two swaddled bundles in your arms, and presses a kiss to your trembling lips. “My perfect, perfect girl,” he marvels, smoothing your hair back from your sweaty forehead. “You did so well. Better than I could’ve possibly hoped.”

One of the babies yawns, squirming into the warmth of your chest, the other blinks curiously at you, his tiny brown eyes a mirror image of his father’s. They’ll need to be fed soon.

Rather than snatching them back as you fear, the King eases down onto the bed beside you, careful as to not disturb either Prince, and tucks you into his side. Unable to hold it back any longer, a sob wrenches its way free, and Oikawa sighs with such exasperated fondness that it breaks you a little more.

“Iwa, she’s crying.”

The Lord Chancellor grunts in agreement. “You seem to have that effect.”

Oikawa laughs, the tip of his finger running down his son’s nose. “Women die in childbirth every day. It’s a small miracle, my love,” his lips brush your cheek, nuzzling close, “that you were spared that, especially with twins. The Queen wasn’t so fortunate.”

At first, you think he’s referring to his own mother – it’s common knowledge that there were complications when she delivered the King’s younger brother and neither survived – until you catch a glint of steel from the corner of your eye. On instinct, you turn to follow it, and witness the exact moment the Queen’s head is cleaved from her body and tumbles to the floor.

Her body – kneeling in forced supplication, blood spurting from her still pumping heart – hangs there for a moment, as if waiting for the shock to register, for everyone to drink their fill of the grisly scene, before it too topples to the ground.

An echo, playing out for you once more.

Your maid screams, Kyoutani darting to wrench her back before she can flee. The physician pales. Startled by the sudden noise and the commotion in the room, two near identical wails break within moments of each other, your sons making their displeasure known, wriggling about and crying in your arms. You draw them closer, eyes wide, trembling like a leaf, to press a kiss against both their foreheads as you choke back a sob of your own.

“And the woman?” Iwa asks.

Oikawa, head on your shoulder, utterly absorbed in his children’s outbursts, doesn’t even bother looking up. He waves his fingers in front of their little faces and coos when they scrunch up in response.

“We’ll need someone to clean up the blood. Take her tongue instead.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa x reader #yandere oikawa #yandere oikawa tooru x reader #yandere oikawa tooru #tw: noncon

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solxamber · 8 months ago

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Trash Novel Chronicles - Stealing the Plot for Drama || Jamil Viper

The book you've been looking forward to turns out to be a piece of crap, and you have the bad luck of getting pulled into it as the villainess. So you decide to steal the main character's show, just for sport.

Series Masterlist

It’s your birthday, and you’re over the moon. You’ve been frugal, cutting out fancy coffee and takeout for weeks, all to splurge on this one, glorious, limited-edition novel from your favorite author. The packaging is pristine, the book jacket glimmering like a beacon of literary greatness. Today is the day. You’ve built this moment up for weeks—you’re practically vibrating as you sign for the delivery.

You tear into the package like it’s Christmas morning, clutching the book to your chest, grinning ear to ear. You settle in with a cup of tea, your coziest blanket, and crack open the book, fully expecting your soul to ascend to a higher plane of literary enlightenment.

It takes precisely three pages for your entire existence to collapse. This is bad. So bad, you can feel your spirit shriveling. Your entire life is a lie.

The book is like a train wreck—every sentence is a mangled piece of steel, but you can’t look away. Tears start forming in your eyes, not from emotional depth, but from sheer despair. It’s like the author forgot how to write in between winning their last award and releasing this... dumpster fire of a novel. But you’re not a quitter. You’ve made it this far—you’re not going down without a fight.

You turn the page with trembling hands, determined to push through.

The plot is standard—heroine is a saintess (yawn), love interest is the Duke of the North (ugh, of course), and the second male lead is the Prince (because originality is apparently dead). But then the villainess shows up. Finally, some promise. You grip the book a little tighter—maybe this will be it! The saving grace! The villainess is the queen of high society, beloved and powerful, absolute girlboss vibes. She runs everything with an iron fist and sharp wit, but then…

Then it happens.

The heroine’s hair comes loose. The villainess, in a rare moment of kindness, gently points out that her hair is falling out of its bun. And what happens? Does she get thanked for her thoughtfulness? No. No. The heroine goes, “You must be jealous of me,” and everyone agrees.

What. The. Hell.

You blink once, then twice. Is this…is this supposed to be a serious plot point? The villainess, this badass social queen, gets ostracized for suggesting a quick touch-up? Is this a joke? You flip back a few pages. Surely, there’s a mistake. Maybe you missed something. You didn’t miss anything. This book missed you with anything resembling logic.

So now, this powerful woman, once the queen of high society, is branded as jealous and bitter. She’s exiled from everything she’s ever known, her entire life crumbling because the heroine’s fragile ego couldn’t handle a little advice. And she’s not even the worst part. No, because guess what?

The only person who stays with her through it all? Her fiancé, Jamil Viper. Jamil, a baron she helped rise to the position of Duke, the man she loved, is by her side while everyone else abandons her. The romance potential is there. It’s right there. You’re practically shaking the book at this point.

And what does the author do with this beautiful setup? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The villainess, broken and misunderstood, alienates herself from Jamil. She pushes him away. And then—just to really twist the knife—she dies alone.

You drop the book onto your lap, staring at the ceiling. Infinite romance potential, wasted. You can feel your soul leaving your body. Jamil could’ve saved her. They could’ve had it all. But no. She dies alone, unloved, in the most tragic yet pointless way possible.

And that’s when it happens.

Something absurd. Something so stupid, it feels like divine punishment for buying this book. Maybe it's the way your body tenses in sheer disbelief at the plot; maybe the universe decides to play its cruel hand, but you feel a sharp pain in your chest.

Suddenly, the room spins, and your vision goes black. As the world fades around you, your final thought isn’t about your family, your friends, or the countless dreams you had for the future. No.

Your last thought is:

“Really??? On my goddamn birthday?”

And then, you die.

You wake up, stretch, and feel… odd. You glance at your hands and freeze. Your nails aren’t chipped? Your cuticles are trimmed? In this economy? You sniff the air. Lavender? Something’s very wrong here. You sit up and take in your surroundings. Ornate tapestries, a bed so massive it could host a small nation, and a freaking chandelier.

Oh no.

First thought: Have I been kidnapped? But hold up—what kind of kidnapper does their victim’s manicure? You wave your polished hand around like it's suddenly sprouted five extra fingers. This is definitely not normal.

And then your gaze lands on the giant, gilded mirror at the side of the room. You stumble towards it, ready to face the worst, and when you see your reflection, the realization knocks the wind right out of you.

“Fuck my life… I’m the villainess.”

Panic mode: activated. But then you pause, staring at your impossibly gorgeous reflection. No need to lose your shit just yet. You've read enough of these novel-turned-isekai tales to know the drill. It’s bad, yes, but it could be worse.

You’re not the heroine, which means less plot armor, but you are rich. Villainess rich. The kind of rich where you don’t even know how much a loaf of bread costs anymore. There’s power in that, right?

Alright, you just need to avoid the male leads like they have the dragon pox or something equally contagious and unattractive. If they even sneeze in your direction, you’re running faster than a Black Friday shopper in a sale.

Best course of action? Stick to your fiancé, Jamil Viper. He clearly liked the original villainess in the book, and you’re betting you can use that connection to survive this ridiculous plot.

Oh, and because this novel’s plotline literally killed you, you’re taking the queen of high society title back. Out of spite. It’s petty, but who cares? You're gonna be shady, throw aristocratic shade like you’re handing out party favors, and maybe casually humiliate the heroine for fun. She can't be that saintly.

But before anything else? Shopping.

You are now rich in a fantasy world, and you are not going to waste this opportunity. First order of business? Find a dress so stunning it could make a commoner drop dead on the spot. The kind of outfit that makes peasants weep and enemies tremble.

As you stride to the wardrobe, you can't help but feel a little smug. Sure, you're the villainess, but damn, you're gonna be a well-dressed one.

Your first shopping spree as a villainess. And not just that—there are maids! You stare at them wide-eyed as they begin dressing you in silks and satins, and you can’t help but think, “Holy shit, I have maids now.”

They fuss over you with a precision that can only be described as obsessive, tieing ribbons, adjusting jewelry, and brushing your hair like it’s a rare silk. You check yourself in the mirror, and honestly? Damn. The heroine's got nothing on you.

You twirl, and every inch of you screams hot and dangerous. It's like the universe is apologizing for killing you off with that god-awful book by giving you this absolute glow-up. You’re feeling unstoppable, like you could bench-press societal expectations and then strut away in heels.

But then your butler approaches, bowing as if you’re some untouchable deity. “My Lady, your fiancé, Lord Jamil Viper, has arrived to see you.”

Wait, what? Jamil is here? THE Jamil?? The only person with an ounce of brain cells in that trash fire of a novel? The one man who actually made sense? Please let him be hot.

You take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself. God, I hope he looks exactly like he was described.

When the doors open, you nearly pass out on the spot. Correction. He’s hotter. Infinitely hotter. If Jamil Viper was a fire hazard in the book, in person, he’s a full-on inferno. You’re almost thankful you died just so you could see him. He greets you, and his voice? Sexier than advertised. You’ve hit the isekai jackpot.

Without a second thought, you grin, loop your arm through his, and drag him toward the carriage. You’re already imagining the two of you showing up to the next ball in matching outfits, causing hearts to break and jaws to drop. Jamil is a little confused by your sudden enthusiasm, but like a champ, he just goes along with it.

As the carriage rolls down the cobbled streets, you casually drop, “By the way, I’m done moping about being ostracized by high society. I want revenge on the heroine.”

His eyes darken, and there’s an unmistakable gleam in them. He leans back, smirking. “Good. I hate the Prince anyway. The number of problems he caused me while I was trying to rise through the ranks? I’d love nothing more than to ruin them both.”

And you? You’re in. Oh, you’re so in. Why not? Why not when Jamil Viper looks so attractive while plotting the downfall of others?

He pauses his scheming for just a second, looking at you with a rare softness. “Thank you… for recognizing my talents. I wouldn’t have had the chance to even think about insulting a prince if you weren’t by my side.”

Your heart does a little flip, and you take his hand in yours, a silent promise forming in your mind. You’re going to make the original villainess proud. You’re going to destroy the heroine.

For what this book did.

And also because, well… revenge is sexy when Jamil Viper’s involved.

You both stride into the store, ready to make a statement. But, of course, because the universe is a petty comedian, there she is—the heroine, acting like she’s never seen a price tag before. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly accept such an extravagant gift!” she gushes loudly enough for the entire store to hear.

Meanwhile, the Duke—Mr. "I-have-no-emotions"—is doing his signature act: standing there, looking aloof, but you can tell he’s mentally calculating how impressed everyone is supposed to be.

Jamil doesn’t even need to speak. You both share a glance, a silent conversation filled with mutual disdain. "These people suck." It's not even a question. It's a fact.

“I’ll take everything here,” you say suddenly, your voice loud enough to cut through the heroine’s overly sweet prattling. The shopkeeper’s eyes widen as they hurriedly approach, unsure if they heard you correctly.

“Everything?” they stammer.

You nod casually, like buying an entire store’s worth of clothing is a daily occurrence. “Yes, everything.”

From the corner of your eye, you can see the Duke’s facade slip for just a moment—his cold mask cracking ever so slightly as he glances at you. The heroine looks like she’s about to choke on her own words. You flash them a bright, borderline condescending smile. "Oh, I hope I didn’t interrupt something. You were saying?"

Jamil steps closer, his hand resting on the small of your back as he coolly adds, “Also, we’d like matching outfits. Something… striking.” His tone is as indifferent as ever, but you can feel the smug satisfaction radiating off him.

The heroine looks utterly flustered, her hands fidgeting as she glances between you and the Duke, who is doing his best to act unbothered. But you can tell he’s silently fuming, his pride taking a serious hit.

Jamil leans in slightly, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “A power couple move? Bold. I approve.”

You grin. “I thought we’d show them how it’s really done.”

A short while later, you and Jamil emerge from the dressing rooms in outfits that would make gods weep with envy. You glance at yourselves in the mirror, and wow. You two don’t just look good—you look devastatingly unstoppable. The kind of couple people would kill to look like in their wildest dreams.

The heroine looks on with wide eyes, clearly trying to mask her jealousy, while the Duke’s cold expression cracks further, his irritation almost palpable. He probably thought he was the only one who could pull off the whole “I’m-rich-and-powerful” vibe. Sorry, buddy. You’re just not in the same league.

Jamil gives you a rare, genuine smile, one that’s laced with quiet triumph. “Not bad,” he says casually, though his eyes linger on you a moment longer than necessary.

As you step out of the store—victory sealed—you take Jamil’s hand without thinking, your mind already moving on to your next move. “Now,” you say, eyes focused on the road ahead, “about that revenge plan. I’m thinking we start by—”

But as you plot and scheme, you don’t notice that Jamil isn’t looking at the road. His gaze is on you—quiet, intense, and filled with something deeper.

"Whatever it is," he murmurs, "I'm in."

Power couple goals, indeed.

The ball is here, and, like any self-respecting villainess, you’re not about to let the opportunity for chaos slip by. If you’re going to be stuck in the plot of a novel, might as well make it entertaining, right?

As your maids fuss over your dress, they spill some of the hottest gossip yet. Apparently, the prince? The one who’s always preening like a peacock and acting like he’s too good for everyone?

Yeah, he got caught trying to serenade his tutor’s cat—and failed. He’s tone-deaf, and worse, the tutor is furious because the cat’s been hiding in her curtains for days, traumatized. You nearly choke on air.

“Oh, this is going to be a biblical shitstorm,” you murmur, your eyes practically sparkling as you imagine the carnage that’s about to go down tonight.

By the time you meet Jamil outside, you’re practically vibrating with excitement. And speaking of Jamil—holy hell. He’s standing by the carriage in a sleek, dark suit, looking all brooding and mysterious like he was custom-made to steal hearts.

"Wow," you say, openly staring at him. "You’re killing me right now. How are you real?"

Jamil shifts, tugging at his collar like he’s trying to downplay how good he looks. “Stop,” he mutters, his face ever-so-slightly flushed, but the tiny smile tugging at his lips gives him away.

“No, seriously,” you press, circling him with an exaggerated critical eye. “Is this what ‘stunning’ looks like in person? I need to know because I feel like I’m about to pass out.”

“You’re impossible.” He shakes his head but doesn’t make eye contact, probably because he knows he’ll crack. But he’s smiling, and that’s all the confirmation you need.

When you arrive at the ballroom, it doesn’t take long before you spot Kalim. He’s practically bouncing with excitement, waving as if you weren’t already heading his way.

"You guys look amazing!" he cheers, pulling both of you into a hug before you can protest. He’s so enthusiastic, you almost forget you have a mission. Almost.

You lower your voice conspiratorially. "Kalim, did you hear about the prince?"

He blinks. “No? What happened?”

Jamil side-eyes you like he knows exactly where this is going, but he doesn’t stop you. He’s in on this. “Well, apparently, our dear prince has been… spending some quality time trying to serenade his tutor’s cat.”

There’s a pause, then Kalim’s eyes widen in shock. “WAIT, REALLY?”

You and Jamil barely manage to suppress your laughter. Kalim just broadcasted that to half the ballroom. Mission success.

From there, you and Jamil strategically split up to mingle with the nobles, making sure the gossip spreads like wildfire. Every time someone asks, you pretend to hesitate, then whisper it to them like it’s the juiciest secret in the world. By the time the prince arrives, the entire ballroom is buzzing with whispers.

You grab two drinks and take your spot in a corner where you have the perfect view of the incoming storm. Jamil joins you, leaning casually against the wall, but you can see the amusement in his eyes. “I’d say we did well,” he says softly, as you hand him one of the drinks.

“Too well,” you say, grinning wickedly. “I can’t wait to see how this plays out.”

The prince enters, completely oblivious to the fact that everyone is staring at him like he just walked in with toilet paper stuck to his shoe. The imperial family follows behind him, sensing that something is off, but they keep up appearances, declaring the ball open.

Then, the dancing begins. And oh, the rejection. The prince approaches lady after lady, only to be turned down one by one, each with some flimsy excuse. You’re cackling into your drink at this point, nearly spilling it as you watch the absolute carnage unfold.

And then—oh, this is the best part—the heroine finally arrives, blissfully unaware of the prince’s latest scandal. She’s practically glowing as the prince, desperate and clearly not understanding the situation, asks her to dance. She accepts with a delighted smile, preening at all the attention she thinks they’re getting.

The whispers intensify.

Jamil watches, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "I’m impressed," he murmurs. "That spread faster than I expected."

"Never underestimate the power of pettiness," you reply, clinking your glasses together.

Across the room, the king’s aide is whispering something to him, and the poor man looks like he’s just aged ten years. He shoots a glance at the prince and then at the heroine, his expression screaming “I can’t believe I have to deal with this.”

Then comes the final nail in the coffin. After the dance, a group of younger noblewomen approaches the heroine, and she’s clearly expecting them to fawn over her for dancing with the prince. But instead, they absolutely rip into her. “How could you dance with him after what he did?” one of them demands, while another makes a snide comment about the cat.

The heroine, bless her heart, has no idea what they’re talking about and stumbles over her words, trying to defend herself. But she just makes it worse. Within minutes, she’s in tears, running from the ballroom in a dramatic scene worthy of an award.

The Duke—her Duke—chases after her, looking like he’s reconsidering all his life choices.

You’re laughing so hard now that you’re practically leaning on Jamil for support. "This is better than I could’ve ever hoped for," you gasp, wiping away a tear.

Jamil chuckles softly, his gaze focused entirely on you. “Glad you’re having fun.”

“Oh, I’m having the time of my life,” you reply between giggles, clutching his arm. "But seriously, this is gold!"

Jamil smiles, but there’s a softness in his eyes as he watches you. "Whatever you want to do, I’m in." His voice is quiet, but there’s a sincerity in it that makes your heart skip a beat.

And you know, with him by your side, this is only the beginning.

The quiet clatter of quills and the shuffle of paper fill the room as you and Jamil work side by side. It's supposed to be a normal afternoon—just the two of you getting through the absolutely thrilling task of making plans to merge your estates after your marriage.

Riveting stuff. But there’s a certain coziness to it, like you’ve finally settled into this life together. A faint smile tugs at your lips as you glance at Jamil, whose attention is currently fixed on a particularly dense contract.

He glances up, noticing your stare. “Do you want some tea?” he asks casually, already reaching for the bell to summon the butler.

You nod, and in moments, the butler arrives, bowing politely before leaving to retrieve the tea. But as the tray comes in, Jamil pauses, scanning the selection like he’s some kind of beverage connoisseur. He frowns—frowns—and turns to the butler. “Get the other blend. The one she likes."

The butler stutters for a second, then hurries off to fix the apparent blasphemy of tea serving. You’re too amused to even process how sweet the whole thing is.

“Did you really just send him back to get another blend?”

Jamil shrugs, not meeting your eyes, focused instead on stirring the exact amount of sugar and milk you always put in your cup. “You prefer it this way,” he says, his tone nonchalant, but there’s a softness to his expression.

And you’re just sitting there, heart doing weird flips because—he noticed. He’s been watching you, memorizing the tiny details like how you take your tea. Your chest warms as you realize just how deeply he pays attention to you, even in the most mundane things.

“You’re so—” you start, but then you stop yourself, realizing you’re dangerously close to getting all gooey and sappy. “Ridiculous. You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

He shoots you a deadpan look, but the corners of his lips twitch upward. “You’re welcome.”

You laugh, sipping the tea he prepared exactly how you like it, the moment stretching out in peaceful harmony. That is until—

THUD.

You nearly spill your tea as Jamil suddenly launches himself away from his desk, eyes wide in utter horror, looking as though someone just told him he’s been forced to join a Kalim-led dance troupe.

“What—what happened?” you ask, a little alarmed.

He doesn’t answer, instead standing stiffly a good five feet from his chair, eyes fixated on something on the floor. You glance over, curious, and there it is—a massive spider, just chilling on his desk like it’s there to collect taxes.

You stare. He stares. The spider doesn’t move, but the tension in the room could cut steel.

"That thing could eat me," Jamil mutters under his breath, still rooted to the spot like a cat who just saw a cucumber.

You take a deep breath, rolling up your sleeves with all the confidence of someone who has faced worse, like nobles who talk about land taxes at dinner parties. “Alright, let’s do this,” you mumble to yourself.

Grabbing a piece of paper, you march toward the eight-legged horror with all the grace of someone about to tackle a dragon. There’s no elegance, no finesse. You scoop up the spider—your hands a bit shaky—and march over to the window, tossing it outside with a not-so-dignified “Go in peace, demon.”

There’s a beat of silence as you wipe your brow, feeling like you’ve just saved the world. When you turn around, Jamil is staring at you like you’ve just descended from the heavens, all in slow motion, with angelic choir music playing in the background.

“What?” you ask, still catching your breath.

“I was going to handle it,” he says, but the way his voice wavers betrays the fact that he absolutely was not. He glances away, still avoiding the spot where the spider used to be.

You raise an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Sure you were. I bet you were gonna make friends with it too.”

He opens his mouth to argue but then just chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re something else.”

You walk over and bump his shoulder lightly. “And you’re lucky to have me. Spider exterminator extraordinaire.”

Jamil finally lets out a real laugh, the sound filling the room in a way that feels warm and right. When you both settle back into your paperwork, there’s an undeniable sense of something more growing between you, a feeling that neither of you says out loud, but is there nonetheless.

You look over at him again, your heart feeling too big for your chest. He meets your gaze and smiles, the unspoken affection hanging between you like a comfortable silence. Whatever’s coming next in your future, you know one thing for sure—there’s no one you’d rather handle paperwork (or spiders) with than him.

It was a fine day for chaos, and you had a brilliant, absolutely ridiculous idea: a dance competition. The heroine was boasting loudly again, this time about her “dazzling” ballroom skills, fluttering around like a pigeon trying to impress the Duke. You leaned over to Jamil, raising a brow.

“I bet I can make her regret that,” you whispered, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Jamil sighed, eyes flicking over to the heroine, who was twirling like she was the queen of the ball already. “You really want to stir this up?” he asked, his voice dripping with his usual calm exasperation.

“Absolutely. It’ll be hilarious,” you said with a grin. “Just trust me.”

“Those are usually your most dangerous words,” he muttered, but the little twitch at the corner of his lips told you he was more than ready to see how this would play out.

You sauntered up to the heroine, who was mid-spin, nearly knocking over a servant carrying a tray of wine glasses. “Oh my, such grace!” you exclaimed, voice layered with just the right amount of false admiration. “You must be the best dancer here. How about we make it a little more interesting?”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, clearly sensing a trap but too vain to back down. “What are you proposing?” she asked, puffing up like a puffin in a tutu.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, just a little friendly dance-off. You, me, the floor. We’ll let the crowd decide who’s the real star of the ball.”

The Duke, standing behind her, snorted, clearly thinking there was no way his precious heroine could lose. You could practically hear his thoughts: What could go wrong?

Jamil, now standing at the edge of the growing crowd, looked at you with an expression that screamed Why are you like this? You shot him a quick wink.

The heroine smiled smugly, already envisioning her inevitable triumph. “Fine,” she declared, loud enough for the entire ballroom to hear. “But don’t cry when you lose.”

Oh, sweetheart, you thought, grinning like a Cheshire cat. You have no idea what’s coming.

The music swelled. The crowd parted, forming a perfect circle around the two of you. The heroine began her routine, performing a series of twirls and steps that were technically fine but lacked any real flair. She was all stiff arms and forced elegance, like a bird trying to pretend it was an elegant swan but failing spectacularly.

“Wow, she’s… uh, something,” you heard Jamil mutter from the sidelines, barely able to contain his laughter.

When it was your turn, you decided to dial it up to eleven. You started off slow, a simple waltz that quickly escalated into an absurd series of moves that defied both logic and physics.

At one point, you grabbed a nearby tablecloth, twirling it like a cape as if you were part ballroom dancer, part magician. The crowd was gasping and laughing all at once. You even threw in a couple of exaggerated backflips—just for dramatic effect, of course.

Jamil, still trying to remain composed, was leaning against a pillar, shaking his head with a mix of pride and disbelief. “This is insane,” he muttered, but you caught the faintest smile playing at his lips. He was definitely entertained.

The finale? You did a sliding split across the marble floor, popping up dramatically at the end to a round of thunderous applause. The heroine, meanwhile, looked like she had swallowed a lemon. Her face was pale, and her jaw had dropped halfway through your performance and never quite recovered.

“Not bad for a warm-up,” you said casually, dusting off your sleeves. “Want to go again?”

The heroine stammered something unintelligible, while the Duke shot you both a venomous glare. You, however, were far too busy basking in the crowd’s cheers to care.

Jamil approached, his expression unreadable as he handed you a glass of wine. “You’re unbelievable,” he said, though there was a mirth in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“I know,” you replied with a smirk, taking the glass from him. “But you love it.”

He let out a small, reluctant chuckle. “Unfortunately.”

As you took a sip, the heroine stormed off, dragging the Duke behind her, muttering something about “cheating” and “unfair advantages.” You couldn’t help but laugh.

“You realize you’ve just made yourself the villain of the entire evening, right?” Jamil remarked, glancing around at the nobles, who were still talking animatedly about your performance.

“Good,” you replied, a glint of mischief in your eyes. “Villains always have more fun.”

Jamil raised an eyebrow. “And what are you planning to do next?”

You gave him a sly smile. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll challenge her to a sword fight next?”

Jamil’s eyes widened. “Please don’t.”

You just laughed, leaning into him. “Relax. I’m kidding. Mostly.”

He sighed but didn’t push you away, clearly resigned to whatever madness you had planned next. As the two of you walked away from the scene, hand-in-hand, the nobles whispered behind you, wondering just how deep your relationship ran, how formidable of a pair you truly were.

But all Jamil cared about in that moment was that you were smiling beside him, radiating with confidence and joy. He didn’t care if the heroine hated you or if the Duke was sulking somewhere in the corner. As long as he had you, the rest of the world could fall into chaos.

And honestly, with you around, it probably would.

You gave Jamil a quick glance, noticing the soft, adoring look in his eyes, and nudged him playfully. “Hey, stop looking at me like I’m your entire world.”

“Too late,” he shot back, the smallest smile on his lips.

“Ugh,” you groaned dramatically, but the blush on your cheeks betrayed you. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he added, leaning in just a little closer, “you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, taking his hand. “Let’s go cause more trouble.”

The plan had been perfectly crafted. You and Jamil had spent hours scheming, laughing at the thought of humiliating the Duke during the archery and horseback competition.

Your excitement grew with every passing minute as you imagined his arrogant face faltering. But when the Duke not only kept his composure but nailed each target while galloping on horseback, you felt your competitive spirit surge.

There was no way you were going to let him win. Not today.

So, of course, you went all in—because why wouldn’t you? Leaning into your impulsive nature, you urged your horse into a full-speed sprint, adrenaline surging through your veins.

And then, because you’re apparently half-crazy, you decided standing on your saddle while your horse bolted forward would be the best course of action.

The world slowed as you drew your bow, the wind whipping through your hair. You could hear the crowd’s gasps, see the Duke's smug expression turning into something more surprised, and feel Jamil's tense gaze on you. In that moment, you released the arrow.

Bullseye.

The crowd erupted into shock and awe, but you were too busy grinning like a complete idiot to care. You dismounted with all the grace of someone who just pulled off a dangerous trick, your steps light as you practically skipped over to Jamil.

"Did you see that?" you beamed, heart still racing. "I totally nailed it—"

But instead of matching your excitement, Jamil’s expression was stormy. His usually composed features were twisted in a way you hadn’t seen before—part fear, part anger, and all worry. Without warning, he grabbed your shoulders, his fingers digging in just a little too tight.

"What the hell were you thinking?” His voice was sharp, laced with panic. “Are you out of your mind? You could’ve gotten hurt, or worse!”

You blinked, surprised. “I… I was trying to win?"

“Trying to win?! You were trying to break your neck!” His grip tightened as he almost shook you, frustration evident in every word. “That wasn’t worth it. Nothing is worth risking your life like that!”

It dawned on you then that he wasn’t just mad—he was terrified. You reached up slowly, cupping his face with both hands, and his expression softened, though the storm in his eyes didn’t fully dissipate.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, the wind knocked out of you by just how much he cared. “I got carried away. But hey—” You grinned a little, trying to lighten the mood. “I looked cool, right?”

Jamil groaned, exasperated, but the corners of his mouth twitched into a reluctant smile. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though his grip on your shoulders relaxed. His forehead dropped against yours, and for a moment, the world around you melted away. It was just the two of you, breathing the same air, sharing the same space.

“I know,” you whispered back, closing your eyes. “But you love me for it.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, his hands slid down to your arms, his touch lingering as if grounding himself after the scare. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, his breath steadying as he leaned into you. It was such a sweet, unspoken moment, and you felt your heart swell.

All around you, whispers started to spread like wildfire among the nobles.

"Oh, they're perfect together."

“They’re like something out of a romance novel.”

Meanwhile, the Duke—who had watched the whole display—stood fuming, while the heroine, eyes narrowed, looked like she was seconds away from throwing a tantrum. But you didn’t care. All you cared about was the way Jamil was holding onto you, as if letting go wasn’t an option.

“Let’s go,” Jamil finally whispered, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze was softer now, more relaxed, though still tinged with concern. “No more dangerous tricks. Promise me.”

You smiled softly and nodded. “No more. I promise.”

He huffed, clearly not entirely convinced, but he let it go. You leaned against him for a moment, basking in the warmth of his presence, completely oblivious to the fact that half the noble court was watching the two of you with admiration—or that the other half was stewing in jealousy.

As you both walked away, hand in hand, it was clear that whatever plan you and Jamil had originally devised, the real victory was this: him, you, and the world falling away as the two of you found something far more precious than winning a competition.

The nobleman’s sneer was so potent you could practically taste it in the air. “Ah, yes,” he drawled, looking down his nose at Jamil. “Nouveau riche, how quaint. No matter how much money you accumulate, you’ll never have the refinement or bloodline of true nobility.”

Jamil stood there, bored as ever, giving the man about as much attention as one would to a pesky fly. But you? You were vibrating with the sheer intensity of your rage. And then you heard it—her.

The heroine chimed in, her voice drenched in faux sincerity. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it? The Duke has been managing the North so well—keeping everything running smoothly for years. Not everyone has the skills required for such a delicate task.”

Your eye twitched. Oh no. Oh no.

Jamil had been single-handedly keeping the kingdom’s economy afloat, using his brilliance to ensure food and resources flowed into the North during the harsh winters. He had done more in the span of a few years than these fools had done in their entire blood-soaked lineages. And this… this… buffoon had the nerve to look down on him?

The Duke, sensing the incoming storm, began discreetly tugging at the heroine’s sleeve, but she was as oblivious as ever. The prince, bless his spineless little heart, looked like he was ready to faint from second-hand embarrassment.

And that was your breaking point.

You stepped forward, a smile that could only be described as a harbinger of doom plastered across your face. “Oh, dear,” you cooed, your voice as sweet as poison. “Did I hear you correctly? You think the Duke is managing the North?”

The heroine blinked, clearly not catching the danger. “Well, of course! He’s—”

“Managing to exist in the North without Jamil’s trade routes, maybe,” you interrupted sharply, turning your gaze to the Duke, who now looked like he wanted to crawl into the nearest hole. “You should be on your knees, thanking Jamil for saving your people from starvation every winter. But no, please, continue on about how ‘delicate’ your situation is. Maybe you’ll convince yourself one day.”

“How dare you,” you snapped, your voice rising as you turned to the heroine. “And you. Sitting here, all wide-eyed and clueless, nodding along like you understand the gravity of the situation. You wouldn’t last a week managing a pantry, let alone a region.”

You didn’t give her a chance to reply before turning your sights on the nobleman. “And you,” you started, eyes narrowing as you stepped closer, “talking down to Jamil like you’ve ever lifted a finger to actually do something useful. Do you think your bloodline is going to rescue you when your estate crumbles from your own incompetence? If you spent half as much time working on something productive instead of sneering at people better than you, maybe you wouldn’t be such a leech on society.”

The nobleman’s face went red with anger, but before he could sputter a reply, you had already turned to the prince.

“And as for you,” you said, fixing him with a look of pure disdain. “What exactly is your contribution to this little scene, hm? Standing there, wringing your hands like a wet sponge. Do you have any idea what Jamil has done for your kingdom, or are you too busy polishing your tiara to notice?”

The prince opened his mouth, but no sound came out. It was glorious.

You turned back to Jamil, who was watching you with an amused but unreadable expression. “We’re done here,” you said, grabbing his arm and marching out of the room without a backward glance.

The carriage ride back was thick with silence, the weight of your outburst pressing down on you. Jamil hadn’t said a word, but you could feel his eyes on you, sharp and calculating. You kept your gaze fixed on your hands, guilt creeping up your spine.

“I— I didn’t mean to make it look like you couldn’t defend yourself,” you started, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a rush. “I just couldn’t stand the way they were talking about you—”

Before you could finish, Jamil’s hand gently tilted your chin up, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours. It wasn’t soft or tentative—no, it was a kiss that made your heart race and your mind go blank.

When he pulled away, you were breathless. “I found it hot,” he murmured, smirking.

You blinked, utterly thrown off by the confession. “What?”

He kissed you again, slower this time, and when he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You have no idea how much I love you,” he whispered.

You let out a shaky laugh, still trying to process everything. “I love you too,” you whispered back, your voice full of emotion.

Jamil’s eyes softened, and without another word, Jamil swept you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly in a bridal carry as the carriage pulled up to your manor. He carried you inside, past the stunned servants, and straight to the bedroom, where the door closed with a soft click behind you.

As he laid you gently on the bed, you could only smile up at him, the weight of everything melting away in the warmth of his gaze.

And for once, the world beyond the two of you didn’t matter at all.

The scandal erupted at the royal ball like a badly timed burp during a quiet opera.

The heroine—bless her, she meant well, but her foot was permanently lodged in her mouth—had done the unthinkable. You and Jamil watched from across the ballroom as she stood before the fae delegation, attempting to “honor” their centuries-old traditions.

But instead of the elegant gesture of goodwill she was supposed to offer, she made a noise that can only be described as an awkward impersonation of a dying goose and proceeded to bow backwards.

That alone wasn’t even the worst part.

“Oh no,” Jamil whispered under his breath, eyes wide with disbelief as he took in the scene. “She’s about to—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the heroine reached into her dress and produced… a bouquet of mushrooms. Not just any mushrooms. The fae’s sacred mushrooms, rumored to be foraged under the light of a blood moon and infused with mystical properties.

She shoved them at the fae emissary like a child offering wilted flowers to a stranger, and then—oh gods, why—she patted his head.

Dead silence fell across the ballroom.

The emissary, who had remained calm despite the bowing fiasco, now stared down at the mushrooms with a look of profound insult and horror. His fellow fae were vibrating, their wings fluttering ominously, as though on the verge of launching an interdimensional war over a bouquet of fungi.

You snorted, barely containing your laughter. “She’s done it now.”

Jamil, ever the diplomat, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you know what those mushrooms symbolize to the fae?”

“No, but I’m assuming it’s not ‘Congratulations on your promotion’ or ‘Get well soon’?”

“Death,” Jamil muttered, casting a glance at you that screamed please don’t laugh. “She just handed them a bouquet that says, ‘I wish for your demise and the utter destruction of your family line.’”

At that, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. A small laugh escaped before you slapped your hand over your mouth, trying—and failing—to keep your composure. Jamil shot you a warning glare, but even he looked like he might break. The absurdity of it all was too much.

The fae emissary spoke, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. “This is an outrage. We demand recompense for this offense.”

The king and prince rushed over, trying to smooth things over with promises of reparations, apologies, anything to keep the fae from turning the court into a smoking crater. But the damage was done. The fae delegation was livid, and rightfully so. There were whispers of broken treaties, wars brewing, diplomatic chaos that would take decades to resolve.

And who did they turn to for help?

You and Jamil, of course.

Later that evening, as you lounged comfortably in your private manor, feet propped up on an ottoman, there was a frantic knock on the door. You exchanged a look with Jamil, who was reclining next to you, casually sipping his tea as though the kingdom wasn’t on the brink of a magical apocalypse.

The door swung open, and the king, the prince, and a handful of stressed-out nobles barged in, their faces pale with desperation.

“You two!” the prince bellowed, his voice barely keeping it together. “You’ve dealt with the fae before! Fix this!”

Jamil didn’t even look up from his tea. “No.”

The prince blinked. “Excuse me?”

Jamil sipped again, then casually set his cup down on the table. “I said no. I’m done. We’re done.”

You nodded, not even bothering to hide your amusement. “I think the heroine has this under control. She’s doing great.”

“She insulted the fae. She gave them a bouquet of death mushrooms!” the prince cried, waving his arms dramatically like a man in the throes of a panic-induced breakdown. “They’re going to declare war!”

“Sounds like a you problem,” you quipped, grinning.

The king, who had remained uncharacteristically silent, took a step forward, his eyes pleading. “Please, for the sake of the kingdom…”

Jamil sighed deeply, finally turning his attention to the royal mess in your doorway. “We’ve dealt with more than enough idiocy for one lifetime. How about this? You let the heroine finish what she started. If she can bungle her way into this disaster, surely she can find a way out.”

The prince spluttered, incredulous. “But you—”

“Nope,” you interrupted, standing up and stretching lazily. “We’re officially on vacation. Jamil, pack the bags.”

Jamil stood with a casual grace that belied the utter chaos unfolding behind him. “Already done.”

The king’s jaw dropped. “Vacation?! Now?! The kingdom is on the verge of collapse!”

You grabbed your coat and slung it over your shoulder with a smirk. “Well then, I’d suggest you start learning how to negotiate with the fae. Maybe start by not giving them death mushrooms.”

With that, you and Jamil strolled out of the manor, leaving the baffled royals standing in your doorway like confused children. The sound of the prince’s sputtering protests faded behind you as you made your way down the garden path, the night air cool and refreshing against your skin.

Jamil chuckled beside you, his hand slipping into yours as you walked. “Do you think they’ll manage?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” you said with a laugh. “But we deserve this. Let them figure it out for once.”

“And maybe…” you paused, letting the words hang in the air for a moment. “Maybe we should make it official while we’re at it.”

Jamil stopped in his tracks, turning to look at you, his brows lifting in surprise. “You mean… get married?”

You smiled, leaning into him. “Why not? We’ll be far away from prying eyes, just the two of us, in the summer hours. It sounds perfect.”

For a moment, the world stood still. Then Jamil’s lips curved into the softest smile you’d ever seen. “I think that sounds perfect too.”

And so, you and Jamil left the court and its catastrophes behind, fleeing to the countryside like two fugitives on the run from royal idiocy. The villa you’d chosen was perfect—nestled in the hills, far away from the fae, the heroine, and the ridiculous drama that followed her like a bad smell.

The first morning, as you lay in bed next to Jamil, sunlight streaming through the open windows, he turned to you with a grin.

“So, what now? Do we just… hide out here forever?”

You shrugged, pulling him closer. “Why not? We can start a goat farm. I’ll name all the goats after the people we hate.”

Jamil laughed, burying his face in your neck. “A herd of royal goats. Perfect.”

And somewhere, in the distance, the kingdom probably crumbled. The heroine probably insulted more magical creatures. But for once, it wasn’t your problem.

You and Jamil had found peace in the countryside.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d throw a wedding in between all the goat naming.

The days that followed were blissfully quiet, each one blending into the next in a haze of sun-soaked afternoons and peaceful nights. You and Jamil fell into an easy rhythm—waking with the sun, wandering through the countryside, sharing meals beneath the open sky. It was simple, and that simplicity was a balm to both your souls.

The court sent letters, of course—pleading, begging for your return. But each one went unanswered. The Fae situation had likely escalated, the heroine’s blunder growing more disastrous by the day, but it wasn’t your problem anymore. Let them sort out the mess. You and Jamil had something far more important now—a life of your own making.

One evening, as you sat together on the porch of the villa, watching the sunset, Jamil leaned over and whispered, “Do you think they’ve figured it out yet?”

You laughed softly, leaning into him. “That we’re never coming back?”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yes.”

“They’ll figure it out eventually,” you said, your voice light, but filled with certainty. “But by then, we’ll be long gone.”

And you were. Far from the court, from the games of power and politics, from the endless demands and expectations. You had found your own path, one where the only thing that mattered was each other.

In the end, the kingdom survived. The heroine, somehow, managed to blunder her way through the Fae negotiations, though the details remained hazy in the few letters you received from old acquaintances. The Duke, as always, remained by her side, a constant fixture in a world you no longer had to care about.

But as for you and Jamil? You stayed in the countryside, living in the warmth of each day, far from the reach of courtly drama. And when the summer finally faded into autumn, you knew, without a doubt, that you had made the right choice.

Together, you had built a life out of love, quiet and unassuming, but richer than anything the court could have ever offered. And in the end, that was more than enough

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

The next one is Floyd!

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #jamil viper x reader #jamil x reader #jamil #jamil viper #jamil viper x you #jamil x you #trash novel chronicles

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smutoperator · 28 days ago

Text

A Day With a Superstar

Im YoonA x Male Reader (special guests: YoonA's personal trainer, Choi Sooyoung)

Part of Legends series

Tags: aerial spit roasting, anal, backshots, biggest fan, carry fucking, dirty talk, facesitting, (lots of) facials, floor sex, gym, high intensity sex, insatiable mommy, lingerie, mating press, prone bone, sex on the stairs, squatting, strip teasing, threesomes (MMF and FFM)

Word count: 9887.

Chapter 1 - Morning Workout

YoonA wanted to celebrate her 35th birthday in style. She knew she had to do something special for this milestone, as she remained one of the most popular girls in her country nearly two decades into her career. So she decided to hold a contest.

YoonA sent a message to her fans that she would hold a competition to see who her biggest fan was. Through the lead-up to her birthday, she had them answering questions about the most obscure details of her career until a winner was finally crowned.

"Congratulations," YoonA sent you a message as you won her contest. "For being such an incredible fan, you will get the chance to spend a whole day with me. Come spend your time with your favorite superstar during her birthday. Greetings, Im YoonA," she said in the message sent to you.

You arrived at the place YoonA told you to meet her. At first, you didn't understand why she decided to choose the gym where she does her daily training to stay fit as she ages like a fine wine, but soon you would find out why.

"Good morning," YoonA said as she greeted you with a kiss. "Come inside, it's my birthday, but I'm the one who has a surprise for you," she said. "Sure," you answered her, still starstruck and still pinching yourself trying to check it was just not a dream. You were really with YoonA, the face of the nation's girl group.

YoonA led you inside the gym as she crossed the public area into her VIP room. "So you have a room all by yourself to train? How expensive! You surely are the it girl," you said to her. "Thank you," she answered. "It took me years of hard work, and now I wanted to share it with my biggest fan," she continued.

"That's my personal trainer," YoonA said as a bulky guy entered the room. You were surely a strong dude, but he was no slouch either. "Are you ready to have a training session with us?" she asked. "Of course, anything for my beautiful queen," you replied, showing how much you worshipped her.

YoonA started exercising, sharing kisses with you in between. Her trainer slowly took her jacket off and started massaging her around her tits, YoonA moaning as he ran his hands on her. "I'm gonna need some good training today, if you know what I mean," she said.

The trainer kept touching YoonA, as you just watched, before making your first moves and kissing her while touching her. In one go, the trainer ripped her jacket, YoonA letting out a shocking awe as her long torso popped out right in your sight.

YoonA got on her knees and started showing what she really wanted, massaging both your bulges under your and the trainer's shorts. "Oh shit," she said, pulling your shorts in one go to suck your cock, the trainer pulling yours to get his pole sucked too. YoonA started taking turns between both cocks. "Oh shit, baby, that's what I want to see," the trainer said.

You pushed YoonA's pretty face against her trainer's cock, enjoying her getting stuffed by his massive pole while you waited your turn. YoonA quickly switched the attention to your cock next. "So you're really nasty when the cameras are turned off, aren't you?" you asked her. "Yes, I am," she answered.

YoonA kept taking turns between both cocks. "Swallow that dick," the trainer commanded her. "You like that? Seeing my pretty face covered in spit?" she asked him, increasing the speed of her jerking his cock off and then licking yours. She kept stroking both shafts hard.

"Choke on his fucking dick," you told YoonA as her trainer grabbed her pretty face and made her bob her head on his cock. YoonA made sloppy sounds and then dove to his balls. "Such a sexy baby," you said to her, giving the first spank on her ass as YoonA kept worshipping her trainer's balls.

You popped your cock in and out of YoonA's pretty face, then enjoyed as you watched her give you a no-hands blowjob. "You look so fucking beautiful all stuffed up with that cock," you told her. YoonA also dove to suck your balls before giving you a soul-sucking deepthroat.

"Suck that motherfucking dick, make it wet," YoonA's trainer said, shoving her head against your cock. YoonA kept picking up the pace, gagging hard on your cock and stroking it fast. "Open your mouth and suck that cock," her trainer kept dictating to her.

The more YoonA sucked both cocks, the hungrier she got. Soon, she started taking both in her mouth at the same time, licking both tips like crazy and savoring it. "You like that?" she asked them. "God, my pussy is so wet already," she continued as she stroked both cocks at the same time.

"I want these cocks taking turns in my fucking pussy; you guys better give it to me," YoonA commanded as she got back into a standing position. "Take it off," she commanded to both of you as she got stripped naked in a hurry. Soon, you dove between her long legs, burying your face in YoonA's ass as you started eating one of Korea's most valuable pussies.

"Fucking eat that pussy," YoonA commanded as you savored her juices while her trainer fucked her pretty face and she spat on his cock. "All that nasty fucking spit getting that cock wet," she said, jerking it off just as you started the motion to shove your cock inside her pink pussy, unable to resist the urge as the amazing scent of her fuckhole already turned you into a slave for YoonA's majestic pussy.

You slowly penetrated YoonA from behind, her knowing what was coming and arching her back to get your cock deep in her pussy while she hugged her trainer. "HOLY FUCK, AHHHHH, OH MY GOD, HOLY SHIT, HOLY SHIT, OH MY GOD," YoonA started screaming as you fitted your whole nine inches of length and seven inches of girth inside her loose mommy pussy. But little did she know taking that massive cock all the way deep would be the easiest part.

You lifted YoonA's slender, tall body in the air and started pumping her pussy as hard as possible from the get-go, fucking her in an unusual but very hot aerial spit roast, YoonA clinging to your legs as she got manhandled by cocks on both sides of her body, you enjoying as she gagged on her trainer's cock while you used her pussy like a fleshlight.

"OH SHIT, OH MY GOD, UHHHHHh" YoonA moaned as you put her back on her feet but barely gave her any room to breathe, attacking her pussy at full speed in a standing position. She held onto her trainer's shoulder, trying not to lose her balance as you were using her like no guy had done before. "SHIT," she kept moaning, switching sides and letting her trainer give a pounding of her pussy while she choked herself on your cock and tasted her hole from it.

"OH MY GOD, THAT'S SO MUCH COCK, OH SHIT, OH SHIT, OH SHIT," YoonA kept moaning as you grabbed her and started carry-fucking her. Not even five minutes had passed, and all you wanted to do was fuck the shit out of her, making her cheeks clap hard as she moaned and her body bounced. "AH, AH, AH, AH, FUCK," she moaned, you pumping her pussy hard.

"OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD," YoonA kept moaning as she kept getting passed around like a hot potato, her trainer taking her on a standing doggy as soon as you dropped her back to the floor. "OH FUCK," YoonA screamed, arching her body down. You two kept taking turns on her, spinning YoonA's body from one side to another and penetrating her like crazy. "Is that what you want, you fucking slut?" you asked her.

"YES, YES, THAT'S WHAT I WANT," YoonA answered as you pinned her against one of the gym's pieces of equipment, lifting her long legs. "It's a free-for-all, boys," she said, indicating she wanted to get used like a bitch from both your cocks. "THAT'S GOOD, THAT'S GOOD," she moaned, you putting her leg upwards as she clung onto the equipment and looked at you with sexy eyes. "Get all that fucking dick in that pussy," YoonA begged, licking her chops as she stretched her legs while you two stretched her pussy.

"Get on the floor and ride this cock," you told YoonA, who promptly obliged as she sat on your pole and looked up to her trainer. "Am I riding it good?" she asked him, you spanking her ass as you pumped your cock up her pussy while she sucked her trainer's cock. "Spread that fucking ass," she told you as you did it, pounding her very hard and clapping her cheeks, YoonA answering with crazy squats on your cock, matching your intensity. "OH FUCK," she moaned as you two dueled against each other.

YoonA got herself on all fours, turned her backside towards her trainer as he shoved his cock in her pussy. You stayed on that floor, YoonA sucking and stroking your dick as her trainer slapped her ass. "I'm a bad girl, bad girl, FUCK," she moaned. The trainer grabbed her waist and took her cock further up her pussy. "That dick is so fucking deep, give it to me hard and deep," she commanded.

"Make me take it," YoonA commanded as her trainer grabbed her hair and fucked her even harder. She dropped her head down and dove into your balls. "Lick those fucking balls," you commanded. "FUCK," she screamed, her trainer giving her deep thrusts that hit her cervix nonstop.

You pushed YoonA back in your direction, pumping her pussy hard from down on the floor and reaching to finger her clit. "OH SHITTTTTT!" she screamed as she got ragdolled. YoonA quickly answered, riding your cock before you put up even more heat, destroying her loose pussy with fast thrusts, her trainer muffling her moans with his cock.

"Give it to me," YoonA commanded as you continued to thrust in her pussy. Her trainer grabbed her head, the only sounds coming from the room being her moans and your cock clapping against her pale skin. "OH FUCK THAT'S DEEP," she screamed. "You like that, bitch?" her trainer asks, YoonA nodding positively.

"YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, AH, AH, AH," YoonA continued to moan as she went from riding one cock to another, squatting harder on her trainer. "Bet you like this training," YoonA said to him, bouncing on his cock as you now stuffed her mouth. "Get it, bitch," you said to her, the trainer spreading her ass and pounding her hard.

YoonA kept squatting on her trainer's cock. "OH FUCK," she moaned, spitting on your cock as the trainer hit her deep. "Spin around," the trainer told her, YoonA smiling at you. "Wanna watch that pussy get destroyed just like you did to me?" she asked, her trainer pumping her loose cunt hard.

"Fuck, my pussy is so fucking full, give me all that cock," YoonA said as she started riding her trainer's hard. You kissed her, stroking your cock and eventually shoving it in her mouth as YoonA got destroyed. "Slap that cock in my fucking face," YoonA begged.

Quickly you would want a piece of her too, as you yanked YoonA from her trainer's grasp and grabbed her for another round of carry-fucking. "Destroy that fucking pussy, take me," she begged. You turned her to her trainer, him pounding her in a standing position with YoonA standing on just one leg. "OH MY GOD, OH SHIT, GIVE IT TO ME, THAT DICK IS FUCKING DEEP, I'M SO FUCKING WET," she moaned.

"Just shut up and suck my cock," you said to YoonA as she clung to it not to lose her balance. Her trainer kept grabbing her hair, pushing her body in his direction as he used her hard. YoonA moved her hips, meeting his thrusts as she licked your torso.

"I could do backshots all day on this bitch," the trainer said, but YoonA had different plans, getting on her knees and tasting her incredible pussy, whose scent was all over those two cocks. "That's what I'm talking about, so fucking hot," you said. YoonA bobbed her head all over her trainer's shaft, you groping her tits from behind as she sucked his dick.

"We want more of that pussy," YoonA's trainer said, taking her on all fours in a hot spit roast. "I love that tongue all over my cock," you told her, grabbing YoonA's head and fucking her face. "TAKE IT, MAKE ME FUCKING TAKE IT, FUCK, THAT'S WHAT I FUCKING WANT, FUCKING GIVE IT TO ME," YoonA begs, you two still flipping her around and taking turns fucking her on all fours.

You keep testing new angles to penetrate YoonA's pussy, pounding her in a tilted motion as you stretch her pussy out. "Give it to me, pound that fucking pussy with that big fat cock. You like that shit, don't you?" she says as you take control of her slutty body, her trainer pushing her body against yours as she chokes on his dick and her pussy queefs.

The spit-roasting on all fours keeps going. "OH FUCK, AH YEAH, SHIT," YoonA says as her trainer spanks her ass. "Get in there, slut," she says. "I can't feel my fucking legs; I'm so fucking numb with so much cock," YoonA says. She moves in your direction, squatting on your cock. "Get it, motherfucker," she says. You have different plans, lifting her lower body and diving between her legs to eat her amazing pussy while she lays her head on her floor and sucks her trainer's cock.

YoonA moans as her holes get worshipped on both sides. You give her pussy a little tap before her trainer pins her against the floor. "OH FUCK," she moans, moving her hips against his cock. "Get those big fucking hands in my ass and fuck my pussy," she says. You two take turns giving YoonA a nice round of fucking and spanking. "OH, THAT'S FUCKING DEEP IN MY PUSSY," she screams from time to time.

YoonA puts her ass up and face down as you fuck her. "I love how you fucking spank me," she says as you pick up the intensity and aim to make her ass red. "You like watching that?" she asks her trainer. "Yes," he answers. "Then watch this," she replies.

YoonA drops to the floor, letting you mount on top of her in a prone bone position as her trainer watches. The slippery gym mat gets more and more drenched in sweat as you press her sexy body against it, showing her who owns her pussy. "Give it to me; I want all that fucking cock," she begs. "Stroke for me," she commands to her trainer as he watches you two fucking.

"That dick is so good," YoonA tells you. "You like it deep inside you, pussy?" you ask her. "Yes, take it all the way," she begs. You completely top her like an alpha man. "I AM GONNA FUCKING CUM ALL OVER THAT COCK," she screams, barely able to move as you stuff your cock hard and deep inside her. You two share kisses. "I love the way you fuck me so deep, ahhhhh," she moans.

You pick up the speed, YoonA's cheeks getting clapped hard. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," she repeatedly moans. "I take a good dick, don't I?" she asks. "Turn my fucking pussy into your free-use hole," she begs, while still looking at her trainer and commanding him to stroke his dick as she watched you bring YoonA into total submission.

"You like watching him destroy my pussy? It looks so fucking lovely," YoonA asks her trainer. "Come destroy it too," she says, you letting him take his turn as he wraps his arms around her body. "OH GOD, PUSH IT, FUCK," she moans as she looks at you up top, the roles now reversed. "I like that; I like getting fucked like a whore on the floor by those big fucking cocks, oh fuck," YoonA says.

"RIGHT THERE, RIGHT THERE," YoonA commands as she is completely immobilized on the floor. She licks the sweat that falls from her body. "Stroke it for me, watch me be fucking nasty, AH, AH, AH, YES BABY FUCKING TAKE IT," YoonA moans, getting closer and closer to her orgasm. "Did I take it good?" she asks you. "Hell yeah," you answer.

"Keep sharing this fucking pussy," YoonA says as you get back on top of her. YoonA can barely think straight; she just turned into a fleshlight. "Get in that fucking pussy," she says. You attack her pussy hard, pressing her body to the fullest against the floor. "GIVE IT TO ME, GIVE IT TO ME, YES, YES," she begs. She grabs her trainer's legs as your hard thrusts make her cheeks recoil. You hump your body against hers, taking full advantage of your favorite girl.

"I love cumming all over that big fucking cock, SHIT, SHIT," YoonA says. "I'm so spoiled from taking all this fucking cock, I want you to destroy me until I can't walk tomorrow, make me take every fucking inch of it, turn me into your fucking slut," she begs, the whole nine inches of your cock balls deep in her pussy. "Yeah, right there, right there, that's the fucking spot, pound that fucking pussy, shit, shit," she continues to beg.

"Look at that big, fat, fucking cock using my pussy," YoonA says to her trainer, sharing more kisses with you. "TAKE IT, TAKE IT, TAKE IT," she begs, you attacking her pussy harder than ever. "I'M FUCKING COMING," she screams. "FUCK YES, FUCK YES," she continues to scream, both of you closer than ever to orgasming.

"You wanna cum in my face? Cum in my pretty face? I earned it, giving that fucking cum. Give it to me," YoonA begs and promptly gets it, you pulling out and painting her beautiful face white as soon as she says those words. Her trainer follows suit, YoonA taking two huge loads in her face and letting them drip down her body, sucking both cocks one last time, and milking every last drop.

"Thank you for such an amazing morning of hot, sweaty sex," she says, heading towards taking a shower. The day is just starting, and she has much more to offer to you.

Chapter 2 - Anal Dessert

YoonA took you to her ample home, looking as if she was brand new despite a nice session of sweaty sex. As lunchtime was nearing, she started cooking for you and served you a nice meal. "Thank you," you answered. "If you eat it all like a good boy, you'll get a nice dessert," she replied.

You did just as YoonA asked, eating all of her delicious lunch. "Good boy, the dessert will be on the way," she said. But instead of starting to prepare it, YoonA went upstairs, confusing you about what trick she had up her sleeve next. And boy, it was an incredible one.

YoonA descended down the stairs. Her outfit was truly jaw-dropping, her wearing just red lingerie with knee-high black socks and high heels. She started teasing you first, dancing a bit in her amazing outfit, making very seductive moves as she looked at you with her sexy eyes. She moved her ass, shaking it and arching it in your direction, before doing some squats. You weren't aware this was a spoiler of what was about to come.

The stripteasing kept going, YoonA showing you all her sexiness and slowly getting you hard. She pulled her bra to the side, exposing her bare tits and smashing them against each other, before fully taking her bra off and tossing it aside. Next, she started spreading her cheeks, making sexy moves with her butt, and playing with her garters. She walked in your direction, taking off the garter support and leaving herself wearing just her panties, socks, and heels.

YoonA went to the stairs of her house, playing with her panties and touching herself. "You like what you see, baby boy? Does this turn you on? Those pretty red panties?" she asked. "They make me feel so sexy; if you treat me well, you can take them as a trophy," she says.

You are insanely horny and can't resist YoonA's tease as you start touching her ass. "You wanna play?" she asks, hitting your hand just as it grabs her butt. You answer with a couple spanks of your own, grabbing YoonA's panties by her string. "What about these?" she asks, turning around and letting you touch her tits. "Wanna squeeze them? Grope them?" she asks.

You put your thumb in YoonA's mouth, getting it wet as you slowly move down her body. "Good boy, tease my pussy," she says, pulling her panties to the side and letting her touch the hole you had destroyed just a couple of hours ago and that is as wet as ever. You pinch her firm mound. "Come here," she says, you getting close to her and sharing kisses with YoonA, touching her beautiful, firm ass while doing so and hitting it a couple times, making her smile.

You dive to suck YoonA's tits and kiss her neck; the vixen quickly reacts and gets back control. You pull her thong to the side, exposing her tight asshole. She takes your shirt off and starts kissing and licking your torso, slowly getting down as she searches for that bulge under your pants, kissing it while still clothed, before she yanks your belt off, kissing your belly before your cock pops out.

YoonA licks the tip of your already hard cock, teasing it as you take your pants off. She puts it in her mouth, taking it very slow and performing a very sloppy and sensual blowjob. "Oh yeah," she moans, licking your shaft a few times from your balls to the tip. She strokes it, paying extra attention to your sack. "Does it feel good?" she asks. "It feels amazing," you answer her as she takes a bit more of your cock in her mouth.

"Sit down," YoonA commands, and you follow, sitting on the stairs. She gets on all fours, her ass already up as she crawls in your direction for another round of cock-sucking, you opening her legs and stroking your cock as she dives right between them, taking it deep in her throat. "Oh yeah," you moan, YoonA throating and jerking your cock off, getting it very wet and preparing it for that special afternoon, your cock getting bigger and bigger as YoonA works her magic on it, taking it balls deep in her mouth.

"Stay right there," YoonA says as she gets back up. You stretch your arms and pull her panties down, tossing them out as she gets ready to sit on your cock, taking it deep and twerking on it from the get-go before giving it some straight bounces. "Oh yeah," she says.

You push your cock up YoonA's needy mommy cunt and spank her ass while doing so. "Yes, baby, fuck that pussy," she says, taking it like a champion as you pick up right where you left off in the morning. But this time, YoonA is more prepared, retaking control and squatting nicely on your cock while leaving her tits towards your mouth.

You keep hitting YoonA's butt, which only makes her push harder. "Oh shit, fuck me," she moans, pressing her hands against your torso as she bounces perfectly on your cock. You try to counter her, grabbing her ass and pushing your cock upwards. But YoonA shows she can take it well, tilting her body and showing she's gonna come out on top. "Fuck me, fuck me hard, give it to me," she begs, riding you like an Amazon.

"I want you to fuck me right here," YoonA says, getting herself up and putting her right leg on the handrail. Her loose pussy is wide open, and you take advantage of it, quickly putting it back as you grab her hair with one hand and her ass with another, fucking her hard at the handrail.

"YES, RIGHT THERE, AHHHH, AHHH, AHH, OH MY GOD, OH FUCK, OH SHIT, YEAH, YEAH, YOU LIKE THAT, BABY BOY?" YoonA moans as you use her well, just like you did at the gym in the morning. You pick up the speed, spanking her ass and clapping her cheeks nonstop. "LIKE THAT, LIKE THAT, OHHHHH," she moans, putting both her legs back on the ground to cope with the fast thrusts you give to her pussy.

"You're fucking amazing," you tell YoonA. "I know, I've got the best pussy in the whole country," she says, bragging. She moves her hips to meet your thrusts, but you quickly grab her ass and waist and put her in her place. You pull out and spread her cheeks, eating her pussy out. "Yes, baby, worship that pussy and lick that ass," she says, noticing your tongue also sweeping her butthole.

"Get your dick back and spread that ass, oh shit, oh my god," YoonA moans as you pump her pussy hard, groaning as you grope her tits. You kiss her back, grabbing her ass while YoonA arches herself, getting further apart from the handrail. "Yes, fuck it, holy shit," she commands, tilting her body against the handrail.

"AH, AH, YEAH, AHHHHHH," YoonA screams loudly as you keep fucking her pussy nonstop. "Come taste it," you tell her, YoonA turning around and deepthroating your cock nicely. "I taste so sweet on that cock," she says.

"Come upstairs, I have a surprise for you, the dessert you were waiting for," YoonA says. You follow her, amazed by her ass cheeks bouncing up and down as she quickly climbs upstairs despite her high heels. You are ready to do anything this beautiful woman asks, as she gets you to a little room right after the stairs and says the words that would drive you crazy.

"I want you to fuck my ass," YoonA goes straight to the point, stroking your cock as you kiss her. You ramp up the intensity, sucking her tits as she plays with your shaft, paying special attention to the area against the tip.

"Be gentle, baby, my ass is really tight, I'm very selective, only the best boys get to fuck it" YoonA says. "Then I'm gonna fuck that pussy a couple more times before," you say, carrying YoonA and putting your cock back inside her wet cunt, fucking her once again in one of your favorite positions.

"OHHHHHHH," YoonA screams as you clap her cheeks hard. She masterfully bounces on your cock while her body is lifted up. You quickly try to counter, you two dueling like two horny demons. "You're so fucking wet," you tell her. YoonA gets back on the ground, sucking your cock and tasting herself one more time.

"Are you ready? I know I'm ready for you." YoonA teases you. She lies on the couch, spreading her long legs, her pink, used-up pussy contrasting with her very tiny asshole as she fingers herself. You spread her ass, trying to gape it before you put your cock in there.

"Play with my ass, warm it up; that nice pretty ring is all yours now," YoonA says as you stick your tongue out to lick her rectum. "Oh shit, yeah, put your tongue in it," she says, rubbing her clit as she watches you work that tongue all the way deep in her anus.

"That feels fucking great, baby," YoonA says. "You like eating my ass, don't you, baby?" She asks. "Get it ready for that big cock," she keeps commanding, you now extremely focused on eating YoonA's cherry-flavored butthole as best as you can, wiping her ass in your face.

"Put your finger in my ass," YoonA commands as you oblige, sticking your left index finger in her butthole. "Fuck, it feels so soft," you tell her, penetrating it with your finger and thinking of your cock going down that dark tunnel of hers. You switch to your middle finger and tease her. "You wanna take up your asshole?" you ask her. "Yes, give it to me," YoonA answers.

Before you go inside YoonA's backdoor, you push your finger into her mouth and let her taste her anus. She closes her eyes, enjoying as she takes it all, smiling to you as you give a few extra tongueings in her asshole. "Slide your fingers in and out of my ass nice and slow," YoonA commands, letting you tease her for a little bit more. "That feels so good," she says.

"Are you gonna finally stuff that big, fat cock in my ass?" YoonA asks, spreading her cheeks. You struggle at first, but quickly her needy hole swallows your cock up. "Yes, just like that," YoonA says as she enjoys your monster shaft disappearing under her dark hole. "There you go, push all that cock in my ass," she says.

You take it very slow at first, amazed by the extreme tightness of YoonA's ring. "You like that tight little ass all for you?" she asks you. "Work it just like that, nice and slow, push it all the way deep, make me take all that cock," she commands. "HOLY SHIT," she screams as you do so, catching her a bit off guard with your massive size.

"Is that good?" you ask YoonA as she reaches to finger her clit. "Yes, baby, that's good," she answers. "OH MY GOD, OH MY FUCKING GOD, OH SHIT, OH SHIT, YEAH, YEAH," she loudly moans. "Make me take all that fucking dick, give it all to me," she continues, you attacking her ass hard now and making the first clapping sounds.

"You like that, a good fucking ass for you? You like how I spread my long legs for your cock to fuck my tight ass?" YoonA asks as she talks dirty to you. "Keep going, stuff that cock in my fucking ass, oh shit, that feels so good," she moans.

"My ass is all nice and opened up for you," YoonA says as you keep pushing. You bring her legs together, adjusting their position to push your cock even deeper. "YEAH, OH MY GOD, THAT'S FUCKING GOD, AHHHH, OH SHITTTTT," she screams. "OH MY GOD I'M GONNA FUCKING CUM," she continues to scream, her body shaking and bouncing with your hard thrusts, her perky tits jiggling.

"I FUCKING LOVE THAT DICK IN MY ASS," YoonA announces it loudly. You make sure she loves it even more, continuing to push hard as she fingers herself. "You like it too, opening that ass up with your big fucking cock and making me your bitch," she says. She lifts her legs up, offering you her feet for you to taste while you fuck her. "Suck that fucking feet too," she says.

"Lick my fucking toes, they are all for you," YoonA says as you continue to fuck her. She takes her heels off as you start licking her feet. "You like that, dirty boy, don't you?" she asks, shoving her feet in your face. "SHIT," she curses, spreading her cheeks for you. "Such a good fucking cock," she says.

"Take it in your fucking mouth," you say to YoonA, who gets on her knees to suck your cock. "My ass tastes so good," she says, taking a little time to savor it. "You want some more?" you ask her. "Of course," she answers. "Then get to the floor," you reply.

YoonA lies on the floor, you penetrating her backdoor in a spooning position and pounding her hard from the start and making her cheeks clap. "AH, AH, AH, OH MY GOD, YES, SPREAD THAT SHIT, FUCK THAT ASS," she begs. "Are you noticing my goosebumps? It's because it feels so fucking good," she says. You grab her right leg, attacking her ass nonstop. "OH MY FUCKING GOD, YES, THAT'S FUCKING DEEP IN MY ASS, YES, FUCK," she screams.

"THAT'S A LOT OF COCK IN MY FUCKING ASS, OH SHIT," YoonA continues to scream as you fuck her butthole balls deep while groping, pinching, and slapping her tits. "Yes, baby, smack my nipple while you make me take all that dick," she commands. You kiss her boobs and her pretty mouth. "My dirty fucking boy, who loves to stuff his big fucking dick in my ass and make me his dirty bitch," she says, giving you a sexy look.

"Let's go, baby, play with that pussy while you fuck my ass," YoonA says as you finger her cunt and insert a couple of fingers down it. The hard pounding keeps going, YoonA praying to God as she enjoys the hard anal drilling she receives. You spread her cheeks. "You love that fucking ass, don't you?" she asks.

"Oh my God, that fucking big cock is so amazing in my ass," YoonA says, spanking her own cheeks as she gets fucked. "OH YES," she screams. "I wanna ride that big fucking cock," she says. You lie on the floor, YoonA impaling her ass full of your cock in a reverse cowgirl position and smiling as she gets ready to ride.

"Stuff it in there," YoonA says as she takes your cock in her ass. She just spreads her legs and lets you pump upwards as hard as you can. "Yeah, that's good," she says, trying to keep her balance amidst your hard thrusts. "OH MY GOD THAT'S FUCKING GOOD, HOLY SHIT," she moans as her cheeks get clapped hard, you making her body giggle like crazy.

"YOU'RE TRYING TO MAKE ME FUCKING CUM, AREN'T YOU?" YoonA asks loudly. She starts bouncing hard on your cock as you take a little break from your hard thrusting, only to quickly come back with full force. "Look at you, baby boy, you want that fucking asshole so bad you can't stop fucking me hard," she says, taking a massive pounding like a champion.

"TAKE MY LITTLE FUCKING ASSHOLE," YoonA commands as your cock tries as hard as possible to destroy it. YoonA teases you, spinning on your cock for a bit only for you to attack her butthole. "Fucking fill my asshole, spread it open," she begs, you fingering her pussy as you pump her backdoor.

"I'm gonna cum again, FUCK!" YoonA moans as you put a pair of fingers in her cunt. "My pussy is soaking wet because I love dick in my ass," she says, you moving your hand from her pussy straight to her mouth for her to taste. "Keep going, put your fingers in my pussy, I want to feel full," she says. You do just as she wants, finger-fucking her wet cunt. "Let me taste, let me taste it," she begs.

YoonA keeps getting her asshole drilled hard. You now put her under a full nelson and just plow her to loud clapping sounds of your balls into her skin. "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD," she screams as you use her. "You love all my holes, don't you, baby boy? My pussy, my ass, my mouth—you love using them like I'm a good fuck toy," she says.

"Stay there," YoonA says, pulling out as she sits on your face and moves to perform a nice 69 on your fat cock, taking it deep down her throat and tasting the flavor of her ass. "I love stuffing it down my throat balls deep," she says as she does so. She crawls back to the couch, getting on all fours and teasing you, pushing some of her fingers up her asshole.

"I want you to cum all over my pretty face again, but first, I want one more round of you fucking my ass," YoonA says. You promptly oblige, stuffing your cock up her butt in a hurry, grabbing her ass, and fucking it really fast. "Yes, like this," she says.

"Spread that ass open," YoonA says as you tease her asshole going in and out. "Pull my fucking hair," she says, you doing it as she moves her hips against your cock. You spank her butt hard. "That's it, that's what I want, OH FUCK YEAH," she moans. "Take that fucking ass, make me take it like a dirty fucking whore, like the nasty bitch I am," she says, you giving YoonA the best ass-fucking of her life.

"BEG FOR MY FUCKING CUM, BABY BOY," YoonA says as she starts squirting on the couch. "OHHHHHH," she screams loudly, your cock pumping her ass at full speed. "You like when my tight ass squeezes your big fucking cock?" she asks, looking at you. "I can't help myself; that cock is so good. I love cumming all over it, like a fucking nasty girl," she says.

"Push it all the way in, take that cock balls deep in my ass," YoonA says. "I like that, feeling all that cock up my guts," she says. You pull out a bit to look at her beautiful gape. "Admiring your good work, baby boy?" she asks.

"Fuck my ass until you cum in my face, dirty fucking boy," YoonA commands as you get closer and closer. You grab her butt, stuffing her ass full of her cock. You grab her hair, just fucking her with no regard. "USE MY FUCKING ASS TO MAKE YOU NUT, I WANT THAT CUM ALL OVER MY FUCKING FACE, USE THAT FUCKING ASS, MAKE YOURSELF FUCKING CUM, USE IT AS HARD AS YOU WANT, I CAN FUCKING TAKE IT, THAT'S FUCKING RIGHT," she commands, enjoying every second of your hard pounding.

"GIVE ME THAT HOT FUCKING LOAD ALL OVER MY PRETTY FUCKING FACE," YoonA begs as you fuck her so hard you can't take it anymore. You grab her waist hard and pound her at full speed. Her ass finally milks you as you pull out and unload another big load in her face. "Your milk tastes so good," she says as she takes it in her mouth and swallows it all.

"Don't think it's over yet, baby boy; there is still the dinner to go," YoonA says.

Chapter 3 - My Friend for Dinner feat. Sooyoung

YoonA takes her time as she starts to prepare the dinner. You try to kiss and cuddle her, but she rejects your advances. "Don't distract me," she says, not distracted at all, just wanting you to save all the horniness in your hot young body for her dinner surprise.

The doorbell rings just as YoonA has finished making the dinner. "Greet our guest," she tells you as you oblige and open the door for her longtime friend Sooyoung. "Hello, pretty boy, looks like YoonA got a nice gift for her birthday," Sooyoung says as she sees you, greeting you with a couple kisses.

Sooyoung, YoonA, and you have a nice dinner with lots of good food and a couple of glasses of wine and champagne. After all things are done, you three seem to be full, but that can't be further from the truth for YoonA.

"Do you guys want to go to my bedroom?" YoonA asks. "Sure, it's my favorite place in your house, YoonA," Sooyoung says. YoonA kisses you as she opens the door of her bedroom for you to see it for the first time. YoonA opens another bottle of champagne, and you three drink it on her bed. "You know why I invited you here, don't you?" YoonA asks Sooyoung.

"Yes, you can't fool me, YoonA," Sooyoung says. She takes off her shirt and shows you and YoonA her lingerie. "You came well prepared, such a good friend," she says.

YoonA starts massaging your already hard cock, desperate to fuck her in her bed. "I think she likes it," she says with a big smile on her face and looking at Sooyoung. She massages your bulge a little bit, teasing her friend. "Come here," she says, giving the sign to Sooyoung.

Sooyoung and YoonA share some kisses in front of you as a little tease before both of them move to touch your bulging erection. You offer your thumb for Sooyoung to suck, the way she does it already telling you she can suck a dick like a pro. YoonA unveils your massive cock to her friend as it pops out in one go, licking the tip and sucking it a couple times.

"Wanna taste it?" YoonA asks Sooyoung, who takes it deep in her mouth. You thought things couldn't get better, but having two beautiful members of your favorite group with their mouths all over your cock was something you wouldn't expect even in your wildest dreams.

Sooyoung takes your cock deep in her throat masterfully, not using her hands to give you a hot blowjob, smiling at you as she stuffs her mouth full of cock. "Is she good?" YoonA asks as she kisses you. "Well, she's amazing," you answer. "Such a good girl, isn't she?" YoonA asks. "Absolutely," you ask.

"I love that cock; you always manage to find some fine, thick, large cocks, YoonA," Sooyoung says. "Then suck it harder," she tells Sooyoung, pushing her friend's head against your shaft. Sooyoung takes it with ease, choking all over your dick and sending shivers down her spine with her incredible cock-sucking lips.

YoonA takes Sooyoung's lingerie off, stripping her friend naked as she keeps sucking you hard and deep, her face buried between her legs. "If you are loving her mouth this much, wait until you see her pussy," YoonA says as she keeps watching Sooyoung bob her head on your cock. But YoonA wants a piece of it too, taking your cock in her mouth as you get yourself naked in front of both girls.

Sooyoung dives down on your balls as YoonA gives you a perfect no-hands head-bobbing blowjob. "Oh yes," you say as both girls team up on your cock, YoonA licking your tip and then sharing kisses with Sooyoung. "It's been a while since I've seen such a good, big, fat cock, with all due respect to my boyfriend, his is really small compared to this one," Sooyoung says.

"Give me your tongue," YoonA says to Sooyoung as both girls team up to lick your tip together. The girls shove you to the bed, YoonA spitting on your cock as they taste it like ice cream. "I wanna see that tongue going up and down this cock," YoonA says, Sooyoung taking the bottom of your shaft while YoonA takes the top. The two girls then switch. "Suck it," YoonA says, pushing Sooyoung's face against your shaft.

"You like that?" YoonA asks as Sooyoung keeps moving up and down your shaft. "Oh yeah," you answer. "Keep stuffing your mouth on that cock, suck that big fucking dick, you nasty girl," she says to Sooyoung, pushing her face harder down your cock. "Give it to me, let me taste it too," YoonA says, each girl licking one side of your shaft.

"You look so pretty with that cock in your mouth," YoonA says to Sooyoung. "You wanna feel her pussy?" she then asks you, sharing some more kisses. "Get on that fucking cock, ride it," YoonA commands, stripping herself naked too, jerking your cock off and guiding it inside Sooyoung's pussy.

"Ohhhhh my God, it's so big," Sooyoung says, but she starts riding it hard from the get-go, YoonA watching it as she slaps her friend's ass and pushes her to go hard. "That dick is so good in your fucking pussy," YoonA says, letting Sooyoung bounce like a good slut, kissing her friend as she sits in your face.

"Grind on that fucking cock," YoonA tells Sooyoung, who does it just as she asks, moving sensually open and down your cock. "Eat my fucking pussy while she rides you," YoonA commands, her folds all over your mouth.

You feel in heaven, Sooyoung's pussy in your cock and YoonA's in your mouth. "I wanna taste it. Give it to me. Give me that fucking cock; it's mine," YoonA says, pulling your cock out of her friend's pussy to taste the amazing flavor. "Stuff it back in your pussy," she says, spitting on it and making Sooyoung ride it hard as she keeps pushing her body down your shaft. "Take it, take it," she says.

"Ahhh, ahhhh, ahhhhh, ahhhh," YoonA starts moaning as your tongue in her folds makes her feel amazing. You choke Sooyoung while she rides your cock. "Spread that ass," YoonA says, diving to lick her friend's asshole as you start pounding Sooyoung from down low. "That's so fucking sexy, that big fat cock working all over that pussy," she says.

"OH YEAH, THAT'S SO FUCKING AMAZING," Sooyoung screams. She squats hard on your cock, YoonA spanking her ass. "You like that? That big fucking cock in your pink pussy?" YoonA asks her friend. "YES, IT'S SO BIG," Sooyoung answers as she closes her eyes and moans loudly, getting more spanks from YoonA, who now dives to worship your balls.

"Pretty girl, pretty girl, bouncing on that cock," YoonA says as she grinds her pussy in your face and kisses Sooyoung, leaving you the opening to pump up her friend's pussy. "Go sit on his face," she says, the girls swapping positions, YoonA taking your cock in her pussy and grinding hard on it while Sooyoung grinds her ass in her face.

"Ah, ah, ah, ah, oh, shit," YoonA moans as she bounces on your cock. "Ride that fucking face," she says to Sooyoung, stretching to spank her ass. You can't resist and pump your cock up her pussy. "That dick is so fucking good, I can't say that enough times," she says, fingering her clit as she takes your pumping. "Oh, fuck, oh God," she moans.

"Cum all over his fucking face, cover him with fucking pussy juice, ah, ah, ah, ah," YoonA commands to Sooyoung as her friend ramps up the intensity of her grinding on your face. YoonA closes her eyes, riding your big fat cock to perfection, her moans driving you insane. "Nice and deep, nice and deep," she repeats. You reach to grab her ass while she reaches to grab Sooyoung's neck.

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me like I'm your pretty bitch," YoonA begs as you attack her pussy, hammering it as hard as possible. "OH FUCK," YoonA screams. "You wanna pound that fucking pussy hard and deep?" she asks you. Sooyoung decides to watch, licking YoonA's pussy as she enjoys her friend getting stuffed full of your cock.

"You want that for you too, don't you, bitch?" YoonA talks dirty to Sooyoung as her friend dives into her pussy. You grab YoonA's legs, pushing her in your direction for a full nelson pounding while Sooyoung takes more of her friend's clit. "Oh, she wants that pussy. I can't blame her; it tastes so fucking good," YoonA says as you lock her long legs with your arms and pound her hard and fast, Sooyoung's tongue all over her clit.

Sooyoung takes your cock out of YoonA's pussy for a little tasting, spitting on it. "Stroke his cock into my pussy, put it back inside, and stroke it, stroke it, stroke it, good girl," YoonA commands as Sooyoung follows her instructions to perfection. "Now give it to me," YoonA says, putting her legs up for another hard pounding, giving Sooyoung the perfect view of your cock pumping her like a piston.

"You know I like the way you fuck me hard, the way you use me like a bitch, OH FUCKKKKKK," YoonA moans. "Make me cum," she begs, sharing kisses with Sooyoung as her friends rub her belly. YoonA lets Sooyoung taste your cock, pushing Sooyoung's head down your shaft using her feet. "I wanna taste it too," YoonA says, both girls fighting hard for every inch of your big dick.

"I want you to bend over like a good girl," YoonA tells Sooyoung, who obliges. "Let's get her," YoonA says, putting Sooyoung's face down and ass up while you grind your cock against Sooyoung's ass crack. YoonA sucks your cock all the way deep, preparing you for more of Sooyoung's pussy, your cock sliding in easy as she watches it. "That's so pretty," YoonA says.

YoonA tongues Sooyoung's asshole as you feed your cock to her between thrusts into Sooyoung's cunt. "You wanna come, bitch?" YoonA asks her friend, Are you enjoying the perfect view of your cock going in and out of Sooyoung's pussy. "She wants to cum all over that cock," YoonA says, you choking her while spanking Sooyoung's ass.

"Make her take it," YoonA commands as she gets on top of Sooyoung. "I'm so close," Sooyoung moans as you increase the pressure, pumping her hard and firmly grabbing her waist. You take turns spanking both girls' asses. "AH, AH, AH, FUCK," Sooyoung screams. "Yes, take that cock, you pretty bitch, take that big dick; that's a good girl," YoonA talks dirty to her.

"Spank it," YoonA tells you as you oblige and hit Sooyoung's pale ass. The spank makes Sooyoung's brain tilt, her moving her hips up and down your shaft as YoonA watches. You continue to spank her. "Stuff it in her fucking pussy," YoonA says. "I'm so fucking close," Sooyoung tells her. "Then spread that fucking ass," YoonA commands, grabbing Sooyoung's cheeks and pushing her against your massive shaft.

"OH MY GOD, AHHHHHH," Sooyoung moans as her ass recoils hard when pressed against your crotch. "Give it to her, make her cum all over that fucking dick," YoonA says, rubbing Sooyoung's tits as you give her friend very hard thrusts. Sooyoung's hair is now very messy, all over her face. "She wants to cum all over that cock, baby boy," YoonA says.

"Bounce on it, bounce on it," YoonA commands as Sooyoung follows, moving her hips hard to take your pole as deep as possible. "Wrap that pussy all over that cock," YoonA continues to command. "Look at how sexy she is bouncing on that dick, oh shit," YoonA says, you sucking her boobs while fucking Sooyoung.

"OH MY GOD, I'M GONNA FUCKING CUM," Sooyoung screams as she coats YoonA's bedsheets. "Look at that juicy pussy. wanna see it?" YoonA asks as she tastes your cock straight from Sooyoung's cunt, spreading her friend's meaty lips for you to see that pink hole you just used very well. "Look at that pink little pussy all spread for you," YoonA says.

"Such a beautiful pussy, I want it on my face. Sit on my fucking face with that pretty pink pussy," YoonA commands, lying on her bed as Sooyoung gets on top of her. "Ahhhh, ohhh," Sooyoung moans as YoonA starts eating her out. You put one of your legs on the bed, taking YoonA into a mating press position as you get ready to fuck her pussy as hard as possible one more time.

"HMMMM, HMMMMM, HMMMM," YoonA moans on Sooyoung's pussy as you start fucking her. "Ah, fuck, ah, fuck," Sooyoung also moans as YoonA eats her out. You use all your strength, attacking YoonA's pussy at the fullest. "OH SHIT, OH SHIT, AHH, AHHH, AHHH," YoonA moans, clinging to Sooyoung's pussy as she grinds her face on her friend.

You and Sooyoung share kisses as YoonA keeps getting pounded hard. "Fill that fucking pussy, baby," YoonA begs as Sooyoung gets out of her face and decides to watch you destroying her friend's hole. YoonA puts her legs up. "OH FUCK YEAH, SHIT," she moans as Sooyoung kisses her.

"THAT'S FUCKING DEEP, I'M GONNA CUM, I'M GONNA FUCKING CUM," YoonA moans as you slap her bouncy tits and make her body swing with your hard thrusts. You get on top of her, sharing some kisses with her. "You wanna watch that pussy spread for that fucking cock?" she asks Sooyoung. "Yes, I love watching you two fuck," her friend answers.

"Your cock is so fucking nice and hard in my pussy," YoonA says. Sooyoung comes in to taste it a bit. "Yes, taste that juicy pussy, such a good girl," YoonA says as Sooyoung spits all over your cock. "Put it back, nasty girl," YoonA commands, spanking Sooyoung's ass as she guides your cock back inside.

"Oh, it feels so big," YoonA moans as you go back to slowly fuck her. Sooyoung stays there, rubbing her friend's pussy as the two share some kisses. "Spread my fucking legs and make me take it," YoonA commands. "OH YES, OH YES, MAKE ME FUCKING CUM ON THAT DICK," YoonA moans, clinging to Sooyoung's body as she gets pounded. "FUCK YES, FUCK YES, OH SHIT, she screams.

"Keep going, work on that pussy, yes, yes, yes," Yoon moans. You bring her body closer to yours. Sooyoung just admires the view as you keep pounding her friend. "OH, OH, OH," YoonA moans, wet sounds coming out of her pussy as her legs tremble in orgasm. You get close to her, giving YoonA passionate kisses as you continue to fuck her good. "Spread my pussy wide open," she begs.

You take a little break to eat YoonA's pussy out. "You like to lick that amazing pussy, don't you, baby boy?" she asks. You put it back inside, Sooyoung. "That's fucking deep, oh god," YoonA moans, clenching her legs as she gets more and more sensitive. You slap your cock against her clit. "OH FUCK," she moans, squirting all over her bedsheets.

"Suck that fucking cock," YoonA commands to Sooyung, who obliges, closing her eyes and bobbing her head on your shaft using no hands as she tastes her friend's wet juices. YoonA comes to the side to watch, pushing your cock deep inside Sooyoung's mouth. "You like it down your throat, don't you, slut?" she asks.

"Give me that pussy," YoonA tells Sooyoung, spreading her friend's legs as both of you team up to eat her out. YoonA gets your cock wet, moving her head sideways as you insert it back inside Sooyoung's pussy. "OH FUCK, IT'S SO BIG," Sooyoung screams. "Right, isn't it?" YoonA asks, teasing her friend and kissing her.

"Are you scared of him getting deep in your pussy?" YoonA asks Sooyoung, fingering her clit. "So big, so deep in your fucking pussy, huh?" YoonA teases her friend. "OH FUCK," Sooyoung screams, closing her eyes as you hit her cervix. "Take it all in your fucking pussy," YoonA commands, enjoying Sooyoung getting pounded into oblivion while she kisses you. "That pussy is tight, isn't it?" she asks you.

"OHHHHHHH," Sooyoung moans as you give her a deep mating press. "Take it like a good girl," YoonA tells her. "IT'S. SO. FUCKING. DEEP." Sooyoung screams, barely able to handle the heat you give into her pussy. YoonA enjoys her friend getting pounded. "TAKE IT ALL, PLEASE, AHHHH," Sooyoung screams. "OH YES, YES, YES, YES," Sooyoung continues to moan. "AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHHH," more screams come out of her mouth, YoonA just loving it. "You like that?" she asks her friend, Sooyoung, so wasted she can barely breathe. You two kiss each other as you use Sooyoung like a fuck toy, sticking your cock as deep as possible in her pussy.

YoonA puts her butt in Sooyoung's face and offers you to lick her holes as you fuck her friend. But watching her pussy wide open gives you a different idea, as you stick your cock back inside YoonA and mount on top of her while Sooyoung eats her pussy. "OH YEAH," YoonA moans. You fuck Sooyoung's face to help you with some spit. "Fuck her pretty face," YoonA says, enjoying your cock attacking her pussy deep while Sooyoung's tongue does some great work.

"AH, AH, AH, YES, YES, YES, OH SHIT," YoonA moans. You take turns fucking her pussy and Sooyoung's face. "Does it feel good sticking your cock deep in her throat?" YoonA asks. "Obviously, you answer.

"Fuck that little pussy," YoonA commands as you keep pounding her. Sooyoung now uses both her tongue and hands. "THAT'S IT, THAT'S IT, FUCK, FUCK FUCK," YoonA moans. "Give it to me, give it to me," she begs. Sooyoung looks at the view of your cock drilling her friend's pussy, grabbing you for a little more tasting.

"Stuff it back in," YoonA commands as Sooyoung hands your cock back inside her friend's pussy. She closes her eyes and just lets you fuck her hard. You spank her ass. "I love when you spank it," she says. You two share some kisses. Sooyoung worships your balls. "Lick his fucking balls, good girl," YoonA says.

"That's good, that's good. You wanna make me fucking cum, don't you?" YoonA asks, you pounding her harder than ever and pressing her body against her bedsheets. "Oh, fuck yeah," you start groaning, getting closer and closer to your orgasm. "AHH, AHH, AHHH, AHHH," YoonA screams.

"You wanna let him cum in your mouth?" YoonA asks Sooyoung. You pull out of YoonA, sliding your cock between their mouths as you prepare to cum. Sooyoung bobs her head on your cock as YoonA licks your balls. "Come here," you say, stroking your cock and pointing it at Sooyoung's face.

"I wanna see your cum all over her pretty face," YoonA tells you, getting her wish rather quickly as you ejaculate in Sooyoung's mouth as soon as she says those words. "Look at that boy, tasty juicy cum all over your mouth," YoonA says as Sooyoung enjoys it, kissing the tip of your cock to thank you. "Share with me," YoonA commands, Sooyoung dropping your cum into her mouth as the two share kisses and swap it in front of you. "Swallow," YoonA says, Sooyoung obliging. "What a good girl," YoonA continues, taking your cock in her mouth one last time.

The day with YoonA is over, and what a day it was. You take your belongings and leave her house, already missing her as you walk across the street. You are ready to take a taxi back home until a luxurious car stops in front of you.

"Get in there," YoonA says, you taking the backseat as Sooyoung and she are at the front.

"Where are you taking me?" you ask YoonA. "You'll find out soon," she answers.

YoonA stops the car close to a house where you can already hear the loud noises of a party building up. She arrives, and a group of 6 more girls comes to greet her. "You're late, birthday girl," Taeyeon says. "But now the party can truly begin," she continues.

"We have a surprise you're really going to enjoy, YoonA," Yuri says to her. "Hell yeah, Tiffany, can you please make the announcement?" Seohyun says.

"BRING THE BOYS OUT!!!!" Tiffany screams on the microphone. A bunch of dudes appear out of nowhere, one for each girl, as they start to take their clothes off in front of the girls.

"Are you ready for an all night orgy?" Taeyeon asks YoonA.

"You didn't even need to ask, unnie."

#yoona smut #sooyoung smut #girls generation smut #snsd smut #kpop smut #female idol smut #girl group smut #male reader smut

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