#(... i need like a name for this group now too lol)

[moonriizing]

Rewrite the Stars | j.sc (18+)

Ghostwriting fanfics about a KPOP group you barely know? All fun and easy money, until one of them walks into your life and refuses to leave. When fiction meets reality, neither of you is ready for the rewrite.

Genre: idol au, strangers-to-lovers, smut Pairing: RIIZE Jung Sungchan x afab!reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+) MDNI Notes: 16k words. Listening to Rewrite the Stars from the movie, The Greatest Showman. I have never written an idol AU before, and by choice because I didn't wanna cross that line. But I've been thinking about this plotline for a while now, and the only way it would stop bothering me is if I wrote it. Lol. Hope you like it! Disclaimer: I do not know them, nor claim they would ever in real life behave the way they were portrayed in this fic. If you see the same exact fic in a different blog, for SEVENTEEN, that is me. I did not plagiarize myself; otherwise, lmk.

You were a ghost writer employed by an online blogger to write fanfiction for them. Not your first choice of profession, but after two years of trying—with no luck—to land a decent job using the Creative Writing degree you were once so proud of, you had no choice but to take what you could. Ghostwriting gigs paid the bills. That was enough.

You got it. Life was tough. You knew that better than anyone. And even though you were an orphan with big dreams riding on a full scholarship at a local community college, you foolishly believed you didn’t need to spend four years studying something practical just to get a guaranteed paycheck.

Your passion was writing—pouring your heart and soul into stories, unleashing your endless imagination into literary masterpieces that would touch hearts and change lives.

But in hindsight? Yeah. Maybe you should’ve been more realistic. If you had been, maybe you wouldn’t be stuck writing for some random influencer who ran a popular Tumblr page posting fanfictions about a K-pop boy group you barely knew. Maybe you wouldn’t have to sit there watching people praise her for stories you wrote.

“It pays the bills, hon,” you muttered, squinting at your screen as your fingers tapped briskly across the keyboard. “Suck it up.”

You really shouldn’t be complaining. You took the job willingly, and the pay wasn’t bad. Twenty bucks per thousand words. And with this blogger, you were locked into writing at least 15,000 words every three weeks. A walk in the park—usually.

Except on days like today.

You had five days left to finish the latest fic. This time, you and your employer had agreed on a 20,000-word college AU starring someone named Anton Lee. Easy enough, if not for the fact that you were completely out of inspiration.

You weren’t a procrastinator, not by nature. That was how Jasmin had managed to milk two full-length fics out of you each month. But every now and then, you’d hit a wall. And today, the wall was Anton.

Still, you had to ‘power through’—so Jasmin said.

“Your mind is a bottomless vault of infinite ideas and masterful works,” she told you this morning when you called to confess your writer’s block. “Writer’s block is just your brain taking a quick nap from the alternate universes you’ve built brick by brick out of literally nothing but your genius. You got this. I believe in you.”

Of course, Jasmin, your employer, had an eloquent tongue. She used to post her own original works before the blog blew up, and she needed someone else to crank out 20k-word epics about emotionally constipated idols falling in love at college. Hence, you.

“Come on, Anton!” you groaned at your screen. “Say something already!”

You stared. Typed a line. Deleted it. Typed another. Deleted that too.

Eventually, you slumped back in your chair, peeled your fingers off the keyboard, and slammed your laptop shut with the force of someone about to dramatically quit their job.

You met someone’s gaze the moment you slammed your laptop shut.

He was mid-step toward a nearby table, a to-go cup in one hand, and your sudden outburst had made him pause, blinking at you like a deer caught in high-definition LED headlights.

You blinked back. He looked vaguely familiar. You tilted your head at him, trying to place where exactly you’d seen him before. He looked like someone you’d passed a few times in the same space but never actually acknowledged. You were pretty sure you'd seen him sitting at the corner table with an Iced Americano and something on his screen that made him smile to himself.

Meanwhile, he stood frozen for a second longer, clearly waiting for some kind of reaction—like maybe you’d scream, or ask for a selfie, or launch into an unsolicited compliment about his jawline.

But instead, you said, “...Sorry. Did I scare you?”

That broke whatever spell he was under. He smiled, a little sheepish. “A little. But it’s okay. That was a pretty solid slam.”

You raised your coffee cup in mock salute. “Creative frustration.”

“I figured,” he said, stepping past you toward his usual spot by the wall. He sat down, took a sip of his drink, and pulled out his phone—but not before casting one last glance your way.

You turned back to your now-shut laptop.

You didn’t know his name, but you’d seen him around from time to time. Always past ten. Always quiet. A hat or hoodie on, head ducked low. He was probably a student. Or a night-shift worker. Or someone who just hated mornings as much as you did.

What you didn’t know was that he’d noticed you too.

Sungchan had been coming to this café occasionally, drawn by its ambiance, the indie jazz playlist, and the simple fact that no one ever bothered him here. Least of all you.

You, who was always glued to your screen, typing like your rent depended on it. You never spared him more than a glance. Never whispered about him or sneakily took a photo. He liked that.

He liked it so much, in fact, that he’d started timing his late-night coffee runs to match yours. Not on purpose. At first.

And now here you were, laptop finally closed, looking at him like he was just some guy who got caught in your dramatic breakdown. Which—he kind of was.

Sungchan smiled and lifted his cup in acknowledgment of you. You smiled back just as you were standing up to pack your things away and leave.

Funny. You’d never noticed how nice his smile was until now.

You didn’t mean to start talking to him. It just happened.

He was in line behind you at the counter the next night when the barista told you they’d run out of oat milk, and you turned around to groan dramatically into the nearest stranger’s personal space.

“Oh my god, this is the third time this week,” you said. “Being lactose intolerant is the worst.”

The guy behind you wearing a ball cap, hoodie, and a handsome face, chuckled. “Maybe the universe wants you to build tolerance.”

You squinted at him. “Tried that. It was a disaster. Trust me.”

He smiled. “Then I guess you’ll have to suffer with almond milk like the rest of us.”

That was the first real interaction. It was short and mostly unremarkable. But when you sat down at your usual spot later that night and saw him settling into the table across from you, you gave him a polite nod. And he smiled like he was hoping you’d notice.

The next time, it was raining, and he asked if he could share your outlet. And the time after that, he asked your name.

You told him without much hesitation. “You?”

“Chan.”

“Chan?” you repeated, waiting. “Chan what? Just Chan?”

There was a pause. His gaze flicked to his phone screen, which had just lit up with a message from someone. “Song,” he said quickly. “Chan… Song.”

You stared at him. “Chan Song?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “It’s Korean.”

“I figured,” you replied, shrugging. You took a sip of your drink to hide your amusement. “Well, Chan Song, welcome to the sad people café. Everyone here’s avoiding something. Deadlines, heartbreak, lactose.”

He grinned. “What are you avoiding?”

“Deadlines. And dairy, apparently.”

“Good combo.”

“Thanks. What about you?”

He looked like he wanted to lie, but then shrugged. “Just insomnia.”

You nodded in understanding, even though something about his face still itched at your memory.

You didn’t think much of him for the next three days—too busy cramming 20,000 words into a fanfic you still weren’t sure made sense. One night, he said hi, and you said hi back, but that was the extent of it.

Until, finally, you looked up from your laptop—and at the same time, he lifted his head from his phone. Your gaze met. You didn’t speak.

You raised your cup. He raised his back. Then you exchanged smiles before you went back to your work.

The whole night, you were so deep into your writing that you barely noticed the world around you. It wasn’t until a plate landed next to your laptop that you looked up and blinked in confusion. It was a pastry with a paper napkin folded neatly beside it.

Your gaze followed the hand that had placed it down.

Chan was already zipping up his hoodie, one strap of his backpack slung over his shoulder, clearly on his way out.

You opened your mouth. “What’s this?”

“You looked like you needed it,” he said with a small grin. “I saw you eat the same one last week. You mumbled something about ‘crisis carbs.’”

Crisis carbs. Right. 

You looked at him again, a little stunned. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, already backing toward the door. “Good luck with… whatever it is.”

Two days later, you were a new person. Your deadline was met, the fic submitted, the invoice sent. You’d even replied to Jasmin’s unnecessarily emotional ‘thank you’ voice memo with a heart emojis and treated yourself to a full eight hours of sleep for the first time in a week.

Tonight, the café was quieter than usual. But the soft drone of the espresso machine and a slow playlist of lo-fi piano wasn’t any less therapeutic.

You didn’t come to write. You weren’t even pretending to write. You were just sitting there, enjoying your overpriced drink and the feeling of having absolutely nothing due.

So when Sungchan walked through the doors, you noticed him right away. This time, you waved first.

He raised an eyebrow, amused, but made his way over anyway.

“Wow,” he said, looking at your closed laptop. “No laptop tonight? I almost couldn’t believe it was you.”

“Deadlines are dead,” you announced dramatically. “Long live the part where I get a whole week of being idle.”

He laughed and slid into the seat across from you like it was the most natural thing in the world. “So what is it you write, exactly?”

You took a sip of your drink, leaned forward, and smiled. “You sure you want to know?”

“Yeah, why not?” he replied, smiling. “Is it fiction?”

“Fanfiction,” you said bluntly, watching him for the usual wince or awkward pause.

But he didn’t flinch. He just blinked. “For what? Books? Movies? Musicians? Anyone I’d know?”

You squinted at him. “I mean… probably? They’re a K-pop group.”

“Oh.” He took a slow sip of his drink. “Which group?”

“RIIZE.”

He choked on his coffee and started coughing hard. Alarmed, you sat up straighter. “You okay?”

“Yeah—hot coffee,” he managed, rubbing his chest with the back of his hand. “So… uh, you like them?”

You shrugged. “Not really. I don’t actually follow them.”

His brows furrowed. “But… you write about them?”

“Yup. I treat them like original characters, pretty much. It’s all AU stuff. College tropes, office romances, vampire boyfriends. That kind of thing.”

You figured he was just curious, like most people. So you kept talking.

Jasmin’s fanfic blog was dedicated to RIIZE—a group that, apparently, was popular. And it’s not like you lived under a rock. You knew K-pop existed. You’d heard of BTS and BLACKPINK. You even followed Jennie on Instagram. But you didn’t care much for the industry, and what little you did know came from the occasional trending tweet or article.

“I’m confused,” Sungchan said, laughing softly.

You gave him a knowing look. “Yeah, I get that a lot. I’m actually just the ghostwriter. It’s not even my blog—I get paid to write that stuff.”

He blinked. “Wait, someone pays you to write fanfiction?”

You smirked. “It’s a very popular blog, Chan. I’m talking ten thousand followers. Twenty-thousand notes per post. That kind of popular.”

He leaned back, trying to wrap his head around it. “But… why would someone pay for something people can just read for free?”

You laughed. “That’s the thing. She’s not paying me for the content. She’s paying me to keep up the content. The blog pulls traffic, and that traffic drives her Etsy store. She sells handcrafted RIIZE merch, advertises through the blog, and makes real money off it.”

Sungchan’s expression shifted from confusion to dawning comprehension. “So the blog is basically her marketing campaign.”

“Exactly.” You showed your phone to him, toggled your screen, and scrolled through posts under the ‘riizefanfic’ tag. “See this? Your average Tumblr fanfic gets around 1,000 to 3,000 notes. That’s considered decent.”

He nodded, eyes scanning the dashboard as you toggled to your employer’s blog next. You missed the way he froze when your arm brushed against his.

You pulled up a random post. “And this one? Over 30,000. That’s a lot of people.”

He nodded again, just as you scooted away. He cleared his throat before saying, “Still doesn’t explain why she’d pay that much for a ghostwriter. She’s not making money off the posts directly, right?”

“No. That’d violate fair use. But indirectly? Absolutely. People love her work—well, my work, technically—and that love turns into support for her shop. And if you know anything about custom merch,” you added, sipping your drink, “you’d know it’s not cheap to make… or buy.”

He gave a small laugh and leaned back. “Wow. That’s actually kind of brilliant.”

You smiled. “It is, isn’t it?”

He was quiet for a moment, just watching you look at your screen. Then he asked, “Why don’t you just make your own blog? Post your own stuff?”

You looked up from your drink, already knowing this question would come. “I could,” you admitted. “But there’s no point.”

“No point?”

You leaned back in your seat. “First of all, I’m not a fan of RIIZE. Or any K-pop group, really. So I’m not writing these stories out of love for the group—I’m writing them because it’s a job. That’s reason one.”

He nodded slowly. “And two?”

“Two is the hype,” you said simply. “Jasmin already has a huge following. Ten, maybe fifteen thousand regulars, not counting the casuals who reblog. When she posts something, it blows up by default. I could post the exact same fic on my own blog and it’d probably get a hundred notes. Maybe two hundred if I begged.”

Sungchan let out a small laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Lastly, and most importantly,” you said, raising a brow, “is that Jasmin pays me. If I made my own blog, that same fic would be up there for free. And no offense to RIIZE or their fans, but I don’t care about them enough to write 20,000 words for free.”

That was the most honest answer you had. You weren’t trying to be rude. You just didn’t see the point in devoting hours of effort into something you didn’t believe in—unless there was compensation.

Sungchan didn’t respond immediately. He just stared down at the rim of his coffee cup, brows knit.

“…That’s oddly upsetting,” he said after a moment, scoffing in a self-deprecating way.

You tilted your head, surprised. “What is?”

He hesitated. “Hearing you say you don’t care enough about RIIZE.”

“Oh, I don’t care about them at all!”

Sungchan’s chuckle came out strained. “Okay. I heard you the first time. It’s just… I don’t know. The idea of someone writing about people—real people—like that, but not actually caring about them is kinda sad.”

You blinked at him, unsure how to respond. “It’s not personal,” you said after a pause. “It’s just work.”

“I know.” He looked away, but you could still see the slight pout forming on his lips.

You frowned. “Stop it. I feel like I’m hurting your feelings.”

He smirked faintly. “Why would you be hurting my feelings?”

“Exactly! It’s not like I’m saying I don’t care about you.” You chuckled incredulously. “But you’re scoffing and pouting, like, are you RIIZE or somethi—”

You paused, seemingly coming to a realization. You stared at him, mouth gaping open. Sungchan straightened in his seat, bracing himself for the words that were about to come out of your mouth.

“Oh my god,” you blurted, hand covering your mouth in shock. “Chan, are you...”

Sungchan could feel his heart picking up pace, beating harder and harder the longer you stared at him, holding back on blurting out exactly what—or who—he was.

“...Are you a BRIIZE?”

Sungchan choked, turning away to cough into his hand. You reached over and patted his back, frowning. “You okay?”

He cleared his throat and recovered. “BRIIZE?!” he croaked, blinking at you with wide eyes.

You nodded, completely serious. “Yeah. That’s what RIIZE calls their fans.”

Sungchan laughed in disbelief and then cleared his throat again before leaning on his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “So you know about BRIIZE but don’t know the members?”

You shrugged. “I don’t see how those correlate. Jasmin calls herself a BRIIZE all the time, of course, I’ve heard it.”

Sungchan chuckled, shaking his head as he scrambled to change the subject.

“So you don’t…” he gestured vaguely, “…look them up? Just to see what they look like before writing about them?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I did once. But I don’t like doing that.”

“Why not?”

You sat back in your chair, fingers curled around your mug. “Because I write mostly on inspiration. And I like to think I’m writing for my own renown, not someone else’s fantasy. It’s important to me that I don’t picture someone else’s face in the image of a character I created. Especially not a guy—or guys—I know nothing about.”

Sungchan tilted his head. “Wouldn’t it help, though? Having a visual?”

“I have all the visuals I need right here,” you said, tapping the side of your head with a small grin. “Trust me. My brain’s got better casting than Netflix.”

He laughed. Genuinely. Then leaned forward a bit. “So if I told you I knew RIIZE… like, personally…”

You narrowed your eyes. “I’d say good for you, and tell you I know Beyonce. She’s on my speed dial.”

He grinned, but didn’t push. “Fair enough.”

Sungchan: guys wake up. she writes fanfic. about US. she doesn’t even like us 😭 Shotaro: wait WHAT who is she send her @ Anton: is this the café girl again? Sungchan: yes. her. she thinks i’m just some guy named Chan Song Also she thinks i’m a BRIIZE 💀 Wonbin: Chan song? You’re joking that’s the fake name you used? Eunseok: Chan Song. Sungchan LMAO Anton: dude he used ur last name lol Eunseok: YOOO?? WTF! Shotaro: wait so she writes about US but doesn’t KNOW it’s YOU while TALKING to YOU this is like a fanfic inside a fanfic Sungchan: guys this is not funny i think i like her Anton: don’t simp. Investigate. Sohee: does she write good stuff tho 👀 Sungchan: its literally so good I think I fell in love with myself reading one I'm scared Shotaro: bro Eunseok: bro 💀 Anton: she could be lying. stop seeing her Sungchan: idc she's cute Wonbin: btw when are you flying back? Shotaro: he hasn't even been gone a week clingy ass

He was just about to type another reply when a shadow fell over the table. He glanced up and nearly dropped his phone.

“Hey,” you said, smiling as you slid into the seat across from him. “You’re uncharacteristically early.”

Sungchan fumbled with his phone, locking it so fast it almost flung out of his hand. “Oh—hi. Yeah. No. I mean—yes. Early. Breakfast. I’m getting breakfast.”

You raised a brow at him, amused. “It’s noon.”

“Brunch,” he said quickly, coughing into his drink.

You sipped your drink, watching him with a soft laugh. “Cool. Me too.”

Sungchan tried not to look like he was malfunctioning. The words “i think i like her” were still visible in his recent messages, glowing up at him from his screen.

You sat there scrolling through your phone for a minute, while he watched you cautiously. Then, clearing his throat, he broke the ice.

“So, um,” he began, taking a sip of his drink before continuing, “I read one of your works last night.”

You blinked. “You did?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “It was really good. The one where this college guy was childhood friends with the girl and had been in love with her since they were little?”

“Oh, the Jung Sungchan one,” you replied, smiling proudly.

“Right, that one.” Sungchan shifted in his seat, trying to act casual. “That version of, um, Sungchan, is super flirty. But it was a great story.”

“Thank you,” you said, pleased. “I thought you said you weren’t a fan?”

“I’m not,” he said quickly, then paused. “I just wanted to check out your work, which, by the way, your stories are… engaging. And interesting.”

You chuckled, sipping your drink. “You think my version of Sungchan is too good to be true?”

“No, no,” he insisted. “Just… maybe a little bold. His game was unreal. No one I know is that smooth.”

You snorted. “Yeah, well. That’s fiction for you.”

“Anyway, I gotta learn from him. Or, from you,” he said, pointing at you with a crooked grin. “You wrote him, after all.”

You let out a soft laugh. “I did write him, but I can’t help you. Just because I can write charm doesn’t mean I have it.”

He tilted his head. “No? You’re pretty charming to me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me, Chan Song?”

“Is it working?” he asked back, tilting his head at an angle that highlights his jawline.

“Try harder,” you replied, sipping your drink. He laughed again, and somehow, the conversation didn’t end.

You started seeing him more often after that. At first, you told yourself it was a coincidence—same café, same hours, nothing unusual. But Sungchan—or Chan, as you still knew him—always seemed to show up within ten minutes of you settling in. Sometimes earlier. Sometimes already there, waiting at a different table before casually strolling over to ask if he could join you.

You’d asked him questions he found weird sometimes. Like, “If you could live in any fictional universe, where would you go?”

But he never hesitated to indulge you each time. “Probably the one where people don’t cancel you for the smallest things.”

You had nodded solemnly. “So… a fantasy world.”

Sungchan laughed then. “Exactly.”

Other times, he asked things that caught you off guard, like, “Do you ever wish you wrote under your own name?”

You paused. “All the time. But honestly? Right now, being paid and anonymous isn’t so bad, I get to put my skills to work and practice until I find something I want to write about in my own name. I can’t just sit around and wait for my big break to magically land in my lap.”

He didn’t argue. He just looked at you like he understood.

He told you about his dream of becoming a pro footballer as a kid. You told him about dreaming of being a novelist before you accidentally became a ghost. He laughed at that, and you told him that, no, you meant ghostwriter—but honestly? Same thing.

You told him you liked waking up early, that the air before sunrise felt like it hadn’t been breathed in yet. He made a face and told you you were always in this cafe pulling all-nighters or just hanging out by yourself.

You said, “That’s what writers do. And I said I liked waking up early, not that I do wake up early every day.”

He laughed then. “You always have to have an answer to everything, don’t you? Bet you don’t ever let anyone have the last line.”

“I always get the last piece of pizza too,” you smirked. “I’m competitive like that.”

Some nights, you were both quiet, lost in your own screens. Others, you filled hours with nonsense—debating which ramen flavor was superior, naming the pigeon that always hovered outside the window, wondering whether ghosts ever got bored of haunting the same house.

Sometimes you get into deep conversations about existence and life. Other times, you debated over the silliest things. But overall, it felt nice to hang out with him. You weren’t sure when it started, but you began looking up every time the cafe doors opened. And you started smiling at the sight of his face.

You didn’t think much of it the first night he wasn’t there. Maybe he had something to do. People have real lives to live. Surely, you didn’t expect him to spend every single night in the cafe like he didn’t have a life outside of it.

But then came night two. Maybe work was keeping him busy. And then three. Maybe he finally got sick of overpriced drinks and jazz playlists.

And by the fourth, you caught yourself glancing up every time the door opened—only to pretend you hadn’t. You stayed a little longer that night, ordered an extra drink you didn’t even want, hoping maybe he was just late.

He wasn’t. He didn’t show. The same way he didn’t for the last three nights.

You went through your past conversations in your head, trying to remember if he’d said anything. A mention of a trip, a warning, a see-you-later. But there was nothing. You thought maybe you’d scared him off. Did something that turned him off. It could be anything.

“Maybe you talked his ears off,” said Isla, your roommate. “I mean, you can talk a little too much sometimes, if I’m being honest.”

You squinted at your ceiling. “Yeah, but, really? He hated it so much that he ghosted me?”

Isla sighed from her bed on the other side of the room, exasperated. “Girl, it’s three in the morning. Please. Can we do this in the morning?”

“Right,” you said sheepishly. “Sorry. Go back to sleep.”

“Thank you,” she blurted, covering her face with her blanket. “I love you. But I really need to sleep right now.”

“I know.”

You tried not to overthink it. Maybe it wasn’t something you did. Maybe he got bored. Maybe he was just passing through. People drift. Especially people you never really knew in the first place.

So you went back to writing. Half-heartedly. You kept the same table, kept sipping the same drinks, kept pretending it didn’t feel a little colder without him there. 

And then, nearly a week later, the barista called your name as you were packing up.

“Hey,” he said, jogging after you with something in his hands. “Sorry. Totally forgot. This was left for you.”

You turned, confused. He was holding a small box, taped shut, with your name scribbled in all caps on the lid.

“This… what?” you asked, taking it from him.

“Guy in a hoodie left it. Chan. You know, the one you always hung out with,” the barista said, looking apologetic. “Like, days ago. Said it was for you. My bad. It got shoved behind the register.”

You stared at the box. Your chest suddenly felt too tight for how small it was. Funny how something that small could make your chest feel so full. You sat back down and smiled at the barista. “Thanks.”

The café had cleared out by now. The playlist had looped back to something familiar. You peeled the tape off slowly, your mind racing with thoughts and feelings you couldn’t quite make out, but mostly relief.

Inside, there was a neatly folded note and a small keychain—the kind you’d find in a gift shop. It was shaped like a pen. Silver, a little cheesy, but weirdly thoughtful.

You unfolded the note.

Sorry, I didn’t get to say goodbye. Something urgent came up at work. I’ll be back soon. –Chan (P.S. That’s my number on the back of the tag. In case you miss me a little. I’ll wait for you to reach out.)

You stared at the handwriting for a long time. Then flipped the keychain over. And there it was. An international phone number, and three words: Your Chan Song.

You let out a soft laugh. It didn’t even feel as simple as relief. More like... oxygen, after holding your breath for too long without realizing it. You tucked the box into your bag and stared at your phone for a long moment.

You started texting him that same night. Just a short message—casual and nonchalant, like you weren’t sitting cross-legged on your bed, anxiously watching your phone the moment you hit send.

He replied within ten minutes. And just like that, a new part of your daily routine began. It wasn’t constant. You weren’t glued to your phones. But the messages came often enough that you started to expect them.

A photo of some pastry with the caption: “your favorite lol.”A sleepy update at 2 a.m.: “can’t sleep. what u up to?”

Some mornings, he’d text first, asking if you’d eaten. Other times, he’d disappear for hours with nothing but a quick “brb. work thing.” Still, you found yourself scrolling back through old messages more often than you’d like to admit, re-reading lines that made you laugh or feel some sort of giddy feeling in your stomach.

By the fifth day, he hadn’t texted yet.

You found yourself glancing at your phone more than usual. You even opened your chat, typed something, deleted it, then placed your phone face down on the table—like that would stop you from thinking about it.

He messaged late that night.

Sungchan: Did you miss me? I hope you did. Long day. Tell me something good?

You smiled and almost started jumping up and down on your bed. Only to slap yourself on the face and tell yourself to calm the heck down. “He’s just a guy,” you chastised yourself.

You: The café pigeon is back. Sungchan: I miss the pigeon. And the girl who talks to him like he understands English. You: He does understand English. He just pretends he doesn’t. Sungchan: Smart bird.

That was the last message for the night. You didn’t hear from him the next day. Not that you were counting. But part of you kind of was.

Some nights, while you worked on a new story, you couldn’t focus because you were waiting for his message. Other nights, he’d fall asleep mid-conversation and text you a sheepish “oops” the next day. And even though you still didn’t know what he did for work or why he kept disappearing without warning, you didn’t pry. You just kept texting him anyway.

Because for now, that little corner of connection—between the deadlines and the doubts—was enough.

And besides, you were starting to miss him more than just a little.

“Chocolate chip or matcha?” you asked no one in particular, peering through the glass display with your hands stuffed into your jacket pockets.

“Matcha,” said a very familiar voice beside you.

You froze. Then turned. And there he was—standing just close enough, eyes already crinkling with a smile.

Your heart picked up speed almost embarrassingly fast. Something about hearing his voice again felt like plunging into a cool pool on a hot summer day. Jarring. Refreshing. Kind of impossible to recover from.

“Chocolate chip’s safe,” he continued, nonchalantly like this wasn’t the first time you were seeing each other again after two whole months, “but matcha has ambition.”

You blinked at him, then raised a brow, crossing your arms and pretending like you weren’t actively losing your mind. “Matcha tastes like grass and regret.”

He gasped—actually gasped—and put a hand to his chest, wounded. “Take that back.”

“Never,” you said, grabbing a packet of chocolate chip cookies and walking away with a smirk. Half-hoping he’d follow. 

And knowing he would.

You didn’t have to look behind you to know he was still there. He was matching his steps with yours as you made your way to the counter, pretending like this was any other night and not the moment you’d replayed in your head at least a dozen times since he left.

Sungchan set down his drink next to yours while you paid for the cookies. Then he nodded toward the corner table you always claimed and said, “Still your spot?”

You shrugged like your heart wasn’t doing cartwheels. “Unless you’ve suddenly grown too cool to sit there.”

He smiled. “Not a chance.”

You both slipped into your usual seats. And it was quiet between you for a moment. But not the kind that was awkward and tense, but the kind that happens when someone’s absence had been loud, and now their presence feels even louder.

“So, Chan,” you said, peeling open the cookie packet. “Vanished off the face of the earth, huh?”

Sungchan winced, but not dramatically. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

You nodded slowly, chewing thoughtfully. “I almost thought you’d ghosted me.”

“I didn’t want to,” he said quickly, and you looked up at him. “Had to leave last minute. Didn’t have a way to reach you. Though technically, you were the one who took a while to reach out.”

“Me?” you blurted, scowling, but then you remembered how the barista ‘forgot’ to give you the note Sungchan left you. You glanced over your shoulder, glaring at the oblivious barista. “Yeah, well… turns out someone forgot to give me your note.”

“It’s fine.” Sungchan chuckled, and you turned back to him. “I did think you didn’t wanna bother reaching out at all, but you did eventually, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t glad you did.”

“Flirting on your first day back?” you said, raising an eyebrow as you brought your cup to your lips. “Calm down, Chan Song.”

Sungchan leaned his head back and groaned in feigned distress. “Is it not working? I practiced hard while I was gone!”

That made you laugh. “Where were you anyway?”

“Places,” he replied casually, placing his elbows on the table. “I was swamped with work. This, um, project I was working on took a while. And it’s not done yet, but I can do it remotely in the meantime.”

“What’s the project?”

“Can’t tell you. Confidentiality clause and all.”

You narrowed your eyes at him in playful suspicion. “Is this your way of telling me you’re in the CIA?”

He laughed, and the sound reverberated beautifully in your ears. “No. Definitely not cool enough for that.” 

Then he looked at you—really looked at you. The golden café lights caught in his eyes, turning them to amber, and his usual half-smile was soft and warm. For a moment, it felt like time paused around your little corner of the world. You weren’t thinking about pigeons or playlists or the months in between—you were just watching him, and thinking stupid things like: This is the face I’d give a love interest if I ever wrote a story with me as the heroine.

God, you were so down bad.

“But I did miss this,” he said gently. “You. The coffee. Jazz. The pigeon updates.”

You blinked, pulling yourself back into your body. “He got a girlfriend while you were gone,” you said, exhaling a laugh to cover the way your heart was racing.

Sungchan gasped. “No way.”

“Way. They sit on the third lamp post now. Real estate upgrade.”

He shook his head in mock devastation. “I miss one month and everything changes.”

“Two months,” you corrected, before you could stop yourself.

He smirked teasingly. “You were counting? You did miss me.”

You did, but you weren’t about to admit that, so you rolled your eyes. “I’m a writer. I keep track of time in coffee cups and cafe playlists. Hard not to notice the gaps.”

You lingered in the cafe longer that night. The conversation continued to flow, never quite running out. Something about being back in each other’s presence felt too rare to cut short. You watched the way Sungchan leaned back in his chair, the way his fingers curled around his cup, how his gaze sometimes softened when it landed on you. And maybe it was the mellow jazz or the cookie sugar in your system or the fact that you missed him so much more than you admitted—but the moment soon started to feel intimate.

The café lights had dimmed hours past midnight, and only two other customers remained, tucked into their corners, half-asleep. When even they decided it was time to call it a night, you realized you couldn’t stay forever.

Sungchan glanced at the clock, then at you. “You gonna keep holding this table hostage ‘til morning?”

“No,” you said, sipping from your empty cup. “But I like it here.”

He smiled. “Wanna come over instead? I live five minutes from here.”

Your heart stuttered a little. He said it casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. And maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just two friends, too wired to sleep, choosing to stay in each other’s company a little longer.

So you nodded. “Yeah. Why not?”

He didn’t say anything else and just stood up, slid his phone into his pocket, and waited for you to gather your things. When he offered to carry it for you, you didn’t hesitate to hand it over.

The walk was comfortable. You talked about nothing. About the weather, about the stupid pigeon, about how you used to hate lo-fi but now kind of love it. His apartment was small but clean, set up like a showroom for a studio condo. It was well-kept and didn’t really look lived in. But it kind of made sense. He’d been gone for a while after all.

He tossed his keys onto the counter and flicked on a soft lamp near the couch. Warm light filled the room.

“Tea?” he asked.

“Sure,” you said, not because you wanted tea, but because you weren’t ready to sit down yet. Not ready for whatever this was becoming.

You watched him move through the kitchen, sleeves rolled to his elbows, looking so relaxed and handsome, and that was when it hit you.

You liked him.

God, you really liked him; your heart wouldn’t shut up about it.

He sat beside you on the couch, knees brushing, the cushion dipping with his weight. It was the first time you really noticed how small you looked next to him. You’d always known he was tall—but now, seated this close, it hit you that he was also broad. Solid, and larger than you were.

Somehow, that realization made the nerves all over your skin tingle.

You didn’t drink your tea. Neither did he. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge or the occasional sound of the city outside. You sat side by side, not touching anymore, but still close enough that your body remembered the warmth from just seconds ago.

Neither of you spoke, but you could feel him glancing your way now and then. All while you kept your eyes on the mug in your hands like it was the most fascinating object in the world.

Eventually, you broke the silence, just to say something. Anything. Just to shake off the static.

“You could’ve texted,” you said softly. “That you were coming back today.”

Sungchan didn’t answer right away. You turned your head to look at him and caught him already looking at you. Then, quietly—like he didn’t even mean to say it out loud—he replied, “I was nervous.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“Because I knew if I saw you again, I’d want to do this.”

You didn’t have time to ask what “this” meant because he was already leaning in and kissing you.

It was a tentative one, testing your reaction. And the second your mouth moved against his, he sighed against your lips and kissed you deeper. Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him closer. His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your jaw, holding you steady. 

You set your mug down without looking. His was abandoned somewhere on the floor. Your knees brushed again, then his hand slid to your waist, pulling you onto his lap.

“You’re warm,” he whispered, wrapping strong arms around your waist, pulling you closer against his own body. “Warmer than you look.”

“Did you think I’d be cold?” you smarted.

That made him grin. I didn’t say that. I said warmer, meaning I already thought you were warm, but you turned out to be warmer than I expected.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Okay, let’s not argue about semantics right now. We have far more pressing matters to—OH!”

Sungchan flipped you onto the couch with one swift movement, immediately hovering over you and kissing you like it wasn’t a decision, but a pull—like gravity.

You didn’t stop him. You didn’t want to.

His hands slid under your thighs as he pulled you closer, your bodies fitting together like this had always been inevitable. His mouth never left yours for too long, just long enough to murmur your name or breathe out a soft curse when your nails dug into his back.

His fingers slipped beneath your shirt, and his lips trailed down your throat. He touched you like he already knew you, like every inch of you had already been memorized in his head and he was just retracing it now, slowly and thoroughly.

Clothes disappeared in the quietest, clumsiest kind of way, in between laughter and breathless silences. He kissed your shoulder when you trembled, grinned into your skin when you sighed, and talked you through it gently, though his pace was anything but.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. Messy, clumsy, with a touch of awkwardness here and there, but it was amazing. And at the end of it, when you both curled up into each other, tangled limb by limb and breathing in each other’s skin, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so warm.

Or so wanted.

That night with Sungchan changed everything—and nothing at all. 

You still saw each other at the café, still sat at your usual spot in the corner, still argued about nonsense like whether black coffee was superior to lattes or if matcha was real and not just the new social construct these days (like Pumpkin Spice Latte once was). But more often now, you’d find yourself at his apartment instead.

His apartment became the new favorite spot. Mornings, nights, entire afternoons together on that couch, in his bed, in the shower, on the kitchen counter. There was no routine—only instinct, desire, and passion.

There were days you didn’t even bother getting dressed, moving from bed to fridge in one of his shirts, hair a mess, legs still aching from the night before. He’d pull you in again anyway, say something stupid like, “You’re distracting me from feeding you,” only to set the food aside five minutes later because, well, you were both starving—but not for lunch.

You lost track of how many times it happened. Just that it always started the same—him reaching for you like it was second nature, like your body had become his default setting. And maybe it had. Your shirt lifted before your coffee cooled. His fingers trailing your spine while you brushed your teeth. The two of you under the sheets, out of breath, half-laughing, completely undone.

But it wasn’t just that.

Sometimes you cooked together. Ramen, argued over whether ketchup belonged on eggs, more ramen. Sometimes you fell asleep on his chest mid-movie, only to wake up to him still there, scrolling his phone with one hand, the other resting lightly on your hip like he didn’t even notice he was holding you.

There was no talk about what it meant. No confessions, no “what are we doing?” panic. There was only a growing comfort that settled between your bones like muscle memory.

You told yourself it was just physical. But the way he brushed your hair behind your ear before kissing your forehead said otherwise.

And maybe he knew it too. But neither of you said a word. Because if there was anything stronger than your chemistry, it was your shared refusal to ruin a good thing by naming it.

But of course, things couldn’t just stay that way forever.

One day, you were on his couch again, legs crossed, half-listening to his playlist while you typed away on the laptop resting on your thighs.

“What are you writing?” Sungchan asked out of nowhere, walking into the living room with a bowl of what you assumed was his breakfast cereal.

You shrugged. “Not really writing yet, just brainstorming this new idea for a plot.”

He joined you on the couch, draping one arm on the backrest behind you. “You should write about us.”

You paused. “Why would I do that?”

“Why not?” he said, nudging your leg with his knee. “Come on. Writer girl meets charming cafe stranger who turned out to be an amazing lover.”

You snorted, giving him a look before turning back to your screen. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not? You don’t think I’m an amazing lover?” he said teasingly, leaning in to kiss your cheek while his hand slid into the hem of your shirt.

You rolled your eyes and swatted his hand away. “You are amazing. But you’re not my lover.”

He looked confused, so you said, “I don’t write about myself. And besides, a lover is more than someone who warms my bed. He’s…” You shrugged. “The boyfriend type. You know?”

Sungchan tilted his head, interested now. “So a lover’s a boyfriend?”

“For me? Yeah. I don’t use that word lightly. If I say lover, I mean he’s mine. Officially. Not just in my bed, but in my life.”

You glanced back at him and saw a thoughtful flicker on his face, replaced quickly by a smug grin. “So…” he said slowly, “this your way of asking me to be your boyfriend?”

You flushed, surprised by the turn of the conversation. “Absolutely not.”

"Why not?" He grinned, leaning closer. “Because I will. No questions asked. Just say the word.”

You stared at him, then laughed softly. “God, you’re serious?”

“I am,” he said, and there was no lilt of teasing in his voice. “I understand why labels are important. It’s better to have some sort of agreement making things official, rather than just cruising with it.”

You were speechless for a moment, watching him look at you with the same fondness in his eyes and the small smile on his lips.

And then, shyly, you said, “Okay.”

His smile widened, and he kissed you—quick and sweet—before whispering, “About time.”

From then on, something had changed. You still hung out the same, still ended up in his bed more often than not, but there was something more certain about it now. Your toothbrush joined his in the cup. Your jackets ended up in his closet. He called you his girlfriend, casually at first, and then like it had always been the case.

And maybe the biggest surprise of all? You started writing a plot about it.

Not in full detail, not everything. But the bones of it. The gist of how it began. How you met this guy at a café and didn’t expect him to stay. How he made you laugh when you were stuck, how he kept you glowing and smiling, and how he now warms your nights with his embrace.

Sungchan left again the following week.

He didn’t want to. That much was obvious in the way he lingered in the doorway, kissing you one too many times, pulling you into one last hug before muttering “I really don’t wanna go” against your hair. But work called, and his time off had already stretched longer than planned.

This time, he didn’t disappear without warning. He told you exactly where he was going, for how long, and promised to call whenever he could. You didn’t ask too many questions. You knew what he did now—not the specifics, but enough. And you didn’t need the whole story to understand the parts that mattered.

You stayed in his apartment for a few nights after he left. It still smelled like him. Your laptop stayed open, pages half-written, but your thoughts kept circling back to him.

On the fourth day, Jasmin messaged you.

Jasmin: Hey! Do you think you can do Sungchan next? Haven’t posted any fic for him in a while, and I think you’d kill it. Something soft and light, maybe? I’m thinking comfort character vibes.”

You stared at the screen, smiling because you had only been working on one plot outline all week. You typed in a reply.

You: Absolutely! I have just the plot for this.

You picked up your laptop and opened a new document. Sat cross-legged in the middle of his bed with the scent of his laundry on your skin. And for the first time, you didn’t write about a character you made up. You wrote about him.

The charming stranger who sat beside you in a café. The man who touched you like he already knew you. The boy who made you laugh as easily as breathing.You didn’t use his name—not really. This was still a fanfic for Jung Sungchan, but every word belonged to your boyfriend, Chan.

Chan came back like he always did—without much warning but with his arms around you before you could ask what took him so long.

“I only have five days,” he said, forehead pressed against yours like he was apologizing in advance. “Work’s close by. I’m technically still on the clock.”

You didn’t ask for details. You knew by now that his version of “close by” meant another country, and “on the clock” meant being shuffled between hotel rooms and planes. But you also knew that if Sungchan had five days off, he’d use all five of them on you.

So you spent time with him. In his apartment. In his bed. In your world, like he’d never left in the first place.

“So… what’s the mystery project this time?”

He smiled at his coffee, noncommittal as ever. “Just work. Same old.”

You gave him a look. “You do know that’s the least convincing answer in the history of ever, right?”

“It’s the only one I can give you right now,” he said, and even though it was vague, he kissed your temple right after. So you let it go, because he was here.

And maybe five days wasn’t forever—but it was still five mornings waking up tangled in his arms, five nights of late conversations and whispered nothings, five chances to pretend that the clock wasn’t ticking.

The first night, he didn’t want to talk. Just kissed you the moment the door shut behind him, backing you into the nearest wall with all the urgency of someone who’d been craving this for weeks. He touched you like he was trying to memorize the feel of you all over again.

The second day, he slept. Like, did nothing and just slept for hours. You spent the afternoon working on his bed, glancing at him every now and then to make sure he was still breathing. He looked peaceful for once—none of that usual tension he carried in his shoulders. Just Chan, with his big arms wrapped around your torso, face buried on your side, and long legs curled into his chest.

You couldn’t help reaching for your phone to snap a photo of him like that—like he wasn’t an actual grown man curling up like a baby.

On the third day, you tried to cook and nearly set off the fire alarm trying to make pancakes, and he teased you about it until you flicked batter at his arm. It turned into a flour war, which turned into a makeout session by the sink, which then delayed breakfast by another two hours.

The fourth day was quiet. He sprawled out on your couch while you sat cross-legged nearby, laptop open, fingers moving across the keys.

He glanced over mid-scroll through his phone and asked, “What are you working on?”

“The usual.”

“Fanfic?” He raised a brow. “For which member is it this time?”

You turned your screen toward him slightly, curious to see if he’d have any reaction. Maybe he'd know the member, you thought. Maybe he'd laugh.

Instead, his smile dropped. His posture stiffened almost imperceptibly, and his gaze locked on the name at the top of your document.

“Sungchan?” he said, voice suddenly tight.

You blinked. “Yeah. Apparently another member of RIIZE.”

He stared at the screen. At the words Jung Sungchan in the title bar. At the bullet point list underneath: Soft-spoken. Thoughtful. Says things like “I’ll wait for you” and means it.

Then he chuckled and leaned back on the couch, casual as ever. “For a second there, I thought you were finally writing about me.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m writing for Sungchan, not Chan Song. Both names sound oddly similar for some reason, but no. Not about you.”

“Right,” he said, grinning. “You’re very defensive.”

He was right, you were. While you did decide to write about your own story, you didn’t wanna tell him that because it was lowkey embarrassing.

You threw a pillow at him. He caught it and hugged it to his chest, smug. “Can I read it?”

“Nope.”

“Not even a line?”

“Nope.”

He pouted and rested his chin on your shoulder anyway. “I’ll read it when it’s posted, then,” he whispered.

You didn’t say anything to that. Just kept typing, trying to ignore the way your heart stuttered a little from having him so close.

On the fifth day, it rained. You didn’t leave the apartment. Barely left the bed. You lay tangled together, limbs sore and words soft, talking about everything and nothing. And when the clock struck midnight, you realized his five days were up.

The seasons blurred before you noticed how much time had passed.

Chan still came and went, and you stayed. Not in the way that you were waiting around for him—no, you had your own work, your own life. But somehow, everything always fell back into place the moment he walked through the cafe doors again. As if time outside of each other didn’t really count.

He still kept things vague. His work, whatever it was, still dragged him away. You knew the time zones changed depending on where he was texting from, but he never gave names of cities. Or clients. Or what exactly he did that involved so many trips and deadlines and a phone that never stopped buzzing.

You didn’t push. Not because you weren’t curious, but because pushing never worked with Chan. He was gentle with your questions—deflecting, redirecting, charming his way around the answers until you forgot why you asked in the first place.

And maybe, for a while, you didn’t need to know more. Because he always came back to you.

You knew his apartment better than he did. Knew where he kept the extra towels, knew how to wiggle the bathroom window when it jammed, knew the name of the neighbor downstairs and which flavor of cup ramen he always kept stocked.

You knew he slept best with one arm under the pillow and the other over you. That he couldn’t stand not working out at least once a day. He liked trying different flavors of smoothies and had a weird addiction to everything matcha.

You also knew he dodged your questions whenever they got too specific. “What’s your schedule like next month?” “Do you miss Korea?” “Will I ever meet your friends?”

He never answered directly. Just grinned or kissed you, or said something sweet to reroute your thoughts. Sometimes, the doubt crept in. Slipped into the silence between goodnights. But most of the time, you were too busy wrapped up in him to notice.

Literally, most of the time.

Like now, for example. He was stretched out across the couch, arms wrapped around your middle, head buried into your chest like a human-sized house cat. You absentmindedly ran your fingers through his hair, the TV humming quietly in the background.

“You’re too tall for this,” you mumbled, shifting under his weight.

“I’m perfectly sized,” he said, his voice muffled against your shirt.

“Mm. Sure. Perfectly sized to be called a Tiny Giant.”

You felt him stiffen slightly. Then he pulled back, blinking up at you with dramatic offense. “Tiny what?”

You grinned. “That’s what your contact name is in my phone.”

“Me? Tiny Giant?” he asked, pointing to himself like he couldn’t believe it.

You nodded. “You’re a giant man who likes to be babied. You literally curl up into me like you’re five foot.”

He scoffed, feigning offense. “So what? Just because I’m tall, I can’t ask to be cuddled by my girlfriend?”

“I did not say that,” you giggled.

“You know what? Call it what you want to.” He pouted, then snuggled back into your chest. “I am a full-grown man. There’s nothing tiny about me.”

You grinned, enjoying his reaction. “A full-grown man who steals only my green skittles and says ‘yummy’ while doing it.”

“You’re a bully,” he huffed, then pulled you close, mumbling into your shoulder, “I like it though. Don’t change it.”

Moments like that made it easy to forget the cracks.

Like how you never saw any family photos. Or how he always changed the subject when you mentioned having Korea in your bucket list of places you wanted to visit. Or how once, you walked in while he was mid-call, speaking Korean in a clipped, professional tone and he hung up the second he saw you.

You wanted to trust him. And most days, you did. But some nights, when he was gone for too long and all you had were his cryptic texts and charming excuses, you wondered who exactly you were sharing your heart with—and your body, and your very soul.

“You’re really warm tonight,” he murmured. 

You were curled into him, naked under the sheets, one arm slung over his chest, your cheek pressed against the warm skin of his shoulder. He played with your hair absentmindedly, twirling it around his finger and bringing it to his nose.

“You say that every time.”

“I mean it every time.”

You smiled into his skin. “Maybe you’re just cold-blooded. Lizard man.”

He chuckled and gave your hip a lazy squeeze. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just…always warm.”

You hummed at that, sleep tugging at your eyelids. He saw that and cupped your cheek to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Wanna wash up before we sleep?”

“I should,” you groaned, hugging him tighter. “But I’m too tired. My legs aren’t working.”

He chuckled softly. “Can’t say I’m sorry. How about I go take a shower and wipe you down? You can stay here and wait for me.”

“But it’s cold,” you grimaced.

“Either that or be stuck feeling gross all night.”

“You say that like you’re not the one who made me gross,” you mumbled.

Sungchan laughed and kissed you again. Then he climbed out of bed, tugging on his sweatpants and stretching his arms overhead as he padded toward the bathroom.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he warned, pointing at you from the doorway, already smiling. “I’ll be right back.”

“No promises,” you yawned, grabbing the nearest pillow to hug against your chest.

The bathroom door clicked shut. Water began to run. You stared at the ceiling for a while, letting the sounds lull you into that dreamy space between sleep and thought. His phone buzzed once. Then again. 

You glanced over instinctively. It was on the nightstand, vibrating against the wood with an incoming call. 

“Chan?” you called out, voice still hoarse from earlier. “Chan, baby, someone’s calling,” you called out half-heartedly. No answer. He probably couldn’t hear you over the water.

The phone kept buzzing. You didn’t move to answer it—of course not. You weren’t that kind of girlfriend. You just leaned over and peeked at the screen, just to check the caller ID in case it was one of his clients or something important.

The phone stopped ringing before you could read it. You didn’t catch the name. But you saw the wallpaper.

It wasn’t the usual blank black background he always swore was “less distracting.” It was a photo—taken in a studio, professionally lit and filtered.

At first, it was the image itself that caught your eye: seven men standing against a concrete wall, each turned slightly sideways, looking over their shoulders. All dressed in metallic silver jerseys, black gloves, and baggy pants. Sharp styling. Photo-shoot quality. A group shot, you assumed.

But then your gaze landed on him. Same height. Same shoulders. Same side profile you’d kissed a thousand times.

He was looking right at the camera, a half-smile tugging at his lips. The same lips that kissed your forehead goodnight. The same lips that whispered sweet nothings while tangled up in your sheets.

And on his pants was big block letters spelling one word—RIIZE.

You sat up straighter, leaning in without meaning to. Squinting. You didn’t need to zoom in to know it was him. No makeup or hairstyle in the world could change that bone structure, that posture, that slightly tilted way he always carried his chin.

Your Chan.

The bathroom door opened then, and Chan stepped out with a damp towel in one hand, hair still wet, a bead of water trailing down his chest.

“Baby,” he said, voice warm and carefree, “you really should get in the shower. The water is so warm, you’re gonna love it.”

“Chan Song,” you mumbled, making him pause.

He hummed inquiringly. You looked up at him, confusion written all over your face. “Chan Song. Is that your name?”

He froze. Then, with a slow breath, he smiled and said, “Great name, isn’t it? Very main character.”

You squinted down at him. “Is that your real name?”

A second passed, and you could see his smile faltering. “It’s a name.”

“Chan.”

He took a step closer, lifting the towel. “Why are you asking—”

“Don’t.”

You stood, the sheet still tangled around your legs, your body still warm from where he’d touched it. You gestured vaguely at the phone, where the screen had since gone black.

“That’s you. Isn’t it?” you demanded, picking up the phone, tapping on the screen, and showing it to him as soon as it lit up. “Right there. That’s you in the picture.”

His hand dropped. So did the towel. There was a long beat of silence. Then, finally, with his chest still bare and the scent of your skin still clinging to his—he nodded.

“…Yeah.” His voice was almost a whisper. “That’s me.”

You exhaled slowly. “So your name isn’t Chan Song.”

“No,” he said, quieter now. “It’s Jung Sungchan.”

You blinked. Once. Twice. Like your brain was still trying to reconfigure what it all meant.

“How long were you planning to lie to me?” you asked, though your voice didn’t rise. If anything, it dropped lower.

“I wasn’t lying,” he said quickly. “I just… didn’t say anything. I wasn’t ready for you to know.”

“Because what?” you snapped. “What did you think would happen if I found out?”

“I don’t know…” he muttered, looking away like he was ashamed to say that.

Heat prickled at your eyelids, and a lump started forming in your throat with all the emotions flooding you. “So, what? What’s all this, then? A double life? A temporary fix? A social experiment to see what it’s like having a foreign girlfriend and living a regular, not-a-celebrity life?”

“No, baby, that’s not what this is. You have to believe me.” He looked at you then, wanting to move closer, like he wanted to fix it with just a word, but you stepped back.

“This whole time,” you whispered. “I thought I knew who you were.”

“You do know me—”

“No, I know Chan Song. The guy who’s gentle and clumsy and curls up on my chest like a six-foot toddler. I don’t know this guy.” You motioned to the phone. “I don’t know him.”

Silence fell over the room again. You waited for him to say anything, but he just kept his head down, sighing deeply every now and then. You swallowed hard and turned away, reaching for your clothes in a daze.

“Wait—baby, wait,” he said, stepping forward as you grabbed your shirt from the floor. “Don’t go. Please, let’s talk about this. Just let me explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain,” you said, voice sharp now. “You’re not who you said you were. And I—I can’t do this right now.”

“You’re not even dressed—can you just—please, just talk to me.”

You pulled on your jeans, fingers trembling. “I can’t look at you right now, Sungchan.”

That stopped him in his tracks. The first time you’d ever called him that. You pulled your top over your head and bent down for your phone. You didn’t look at him—not even once—because if you did, your resolve would crack.

He stepped forward again, helplessly hugging you from behind and burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Don’t leave like this. Please. Stay.”

“Would you?” you whispered, staring right at the door. “If it were you in this position, being lied to for almost a year by someone you thought you could trust, someone you love, would you stay?”

He didn’t say anything; he just froze. Then a few seconds later, his embrace loosened. You took the chance to pull away, reaching for the knob and pulling the door open.

And then you were gone, the door clicking shut behind you.

You couldn’t believe it. You really, genuinely couldn’t believe it. But at the same time—God—it made so much sense.

The ambiguity. The secrecy. His habit of dancing around questions with just enough charm to distract you from asking harder. The newly furnished apartment that felt like a hotel suite more than a home. The obscure description of his job. The time zone differences, the weeks—months—where he vanished and only texted in vague updates. All of it.

All of it made sense now.

You sat alone on your bed, still in the jeans you barely managed to tug on before storming out of his place. Your phone buzzed a few times on the table beside you, but you didn’t check it. You knew who it was. You knew he’d call. Probably say all the right things. Probably beg you to understand.

And the worst part? It might work. You’d been so caught up in your feelings, so drawn to his warmth, his stupid smile, the way he held you like he never wanted to let go—how could you not fall for that? He was kind. Sweet. Goofy, even. He made you feel like you were the only person in the world who ever really mattered. But he lied.

And not a small lie, either. Not the kind you could write off as a white lie, or a protective omission, or something forgivable in the name of love. No. He lied about his entire identity. About who he was. What he did. Everything that came before he walked into that café the first time and sat beside you like a perfectly normal guy.

You buried your face in your hands. Let out a laugh that sounded too bitter to be funny. Now here you were—heart broken, pride shattered, and a phone full of messages from someone who wasn’t even real.

Chan Song didn’t exist. Not for real, anyway. There was only Jung Sungchan. And you had no idea who the hell he was.

You didn’t see or talk to him for the rest of the week. And he tried—God, he tried. The messages came nonstop. First through text. Then calls. Then emails. DMs. He even left a comment under your most recent post on your locked side account.

“Please. Just talk to me.”

You deleted it without replying.

Back then, it had felt odd how you never gave him your address. But then again, why would you? You spent most nights at his place anyway. Now, it felt like the smartest thing you’d ever done. There was an odd sense of safety in being unreachable. Emotionally, that is.

You turned off your notifications and buried yourself in writing—not the story you’d been working on about him, of course. You couldn’t even look at that draft without your heart clenching. So you opened something else. Something mindless and cliché, just to stay busy. Just to not think about his face.

Jasmin: Hey! Just checking in—any updates on the Sungchan fic? No pressure, just wondering when you think you’ll be done.

You stared at the message, thumb hovering over your screen. A hundred different responses came to mind. You could tell her the truth. You could say, “Actually, I’ve been hooking up with the real Sungchan for almost a year and just found out who he is.” But you didn’t.

Because even if she did believe you, what then? You’d seen the way some fans reacted to rumors. You weren’t delusional—you knew exactly what kind of firestorm that could bring down on you. On him.

And despite everything, you weren’t trying to ruin him. So you replied with the simplest thing you could.

You: Actually, just finished it. Doing some editing rn, should be ready in a few hours.

Jasmin replied with a sticker of a little bear holding a pencil and a “fighting!!” message. You set your phone down and exhaled slowly. The ache in your chest didn’t lessen, but it dulled a little. Enough to let you breathe through it all.

The next day, at the cafe, you ran into him, which, in retrospect, you should have known would happen. The universe had it out for you, after all.

Right when you finally decided it was enough hiding and you needed to get out of your apartment after a week of holing up inside, you went to your favorite cafe and Sungchan just happened to be there. Of course, he’d be there.

Sungchan was sitting at your usual corner, hunched over a half-finished drink, his fingers absently tracing the rim of the glass like he’d been waiting for something. Or someone. When his eyes lifted and met yours, he recognized you immediately.

His face softened as he stood up. “Baby.”

You turned, already on instinct, but he was quicker. “Wait—please.”

You sighed, not turning back around yet. “Chan, I really don’t wanna—”

“I just want to talk.” His voice was gentle but desperate. “Five minutes. Please.”

You glanced over your shoulder. He looked… awful, actually. Not unkempt or anything. He was, still handsome, still put-together, but there were dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders were sagged like you’d never seen before. That made you pause.

You crossed your arms. “Fine.”

He swallowed. “Maybe… maybe back at my place? Just so we can have some privacy?”

You scoffed, loud enough for the nearby barista to flinch. “Oh, right. So you can charm your way into my pants again and avoid the actual conversation like you always do?”

His mouth opened, then closed. He looked down, ashamed. “No. I didn’t mean—okay. Here is fine.”

You picked the furthest table in the corner, where no one else was seated. He followed you like a scolded child. You didn’t speak and neither did he. The silence stretched too long, and you were the first to break it with a pointed remark, “If you don’t start talking in the next five seconds, I’m leaving.”

He looked up, alarmed, then nodded. “Okay. Okay.”

He took a breath. “I’m sorry. I know it was messed up, but I really didn’t mean for any of this to happen. When we were getting to know each other, you told me you were a RIIZE fanfic write. And I just… I wanted to be friends, but didn’t wanna tell you I was… you know, an idol—the idol you’d been writing about.”

You scoffed. “So instead, you just… pretended to be someone else.”

“I didn’t pretend—”

“You literally gave me a fake name.”

“It wasn’t fake. It’s just…” He faltered. “It’s my name too, in a way. A version of it.”

You didn’t respond. You just stared, dumbfounded by his statement. He continued. “It’s a me who was your friend, and fell in love with you later on. I swear, I wanted to tell you. So many times. But things just kept getting deeper between us and I… I didn’t want it to change.”

“You say that,” you said flatly, “but if you could lie about something as big as your identity, what else did you lie about? Did you mean it when you said I was the only one? Did you mean it when you said I made you feel like home? When you said you were in love with me?”

“I did. I do.”

You let out a bitter laugh, one that didn’t sound like you. “Right. Of course. So now you’re lying straight to my face. Oh—wait. You’ve been doing that since the very start.”

Sungchan looked like he’d just been punched in the chest. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. You stood. He stood with you, like he still thought there was a chance you’d change your mind.

“Go home, Jung Sungchan,” you said firmly, brows furrowed, your throat tight and eyes stinging.

He staggered a half-step after you, with a pained expression, like he might fall to his knees any moment now and beg.

“And don’t say you’re home right now,” you added, voice barely above a whisper. “Because we both know you could never have one here.” And with that, you turned and walked away.

You went home and cried—again. It was starting to feel like all your tears had his name at the root. You hated that. Hated how heavy your chest felt, how empty and hollow it was.

You quit ghostwriting that same week. Not just for RIIZE, but altogether. Jasmin didn’t argue. You hadn’t given her a real reason, and she hadn’t pressed for one. She simply said it was about time she got back into writing and thanked you for your service of over a year.

You thought that would be it. That you’d cut ties, burn the bridge, and move on. Except you didn’t.

Instead, you found yourself falling down a YouTube rabbit hole—starting with a random RIIZE music video that popped up on your homepage. You clicked on it out of morbid curiosity, expecting it to be bad, just some overrated visuals and fan-hyped mediocrity.

But it wasn’t. Not even close.

Sungchan was radiant and confident. Moving with precision, singing with excellence, and rapping with a good flow. The same body you knew so well suddenly transformed under the lights. You kept watching these videos, exploring the contents, and surprisingly enjoying them. 

Your roommate noticed by the third day. “Didn’t peg you for a K-pop fan,” she said from the kitchen as you replayed one of their dance practice videos for the third time.

“I’m not,” you called back, eyes still on the screen. “Just watching to see how awful they are.”

But they weren’t awful. The more you watched, the worse it got. You learned their names. Their dynamics. Their strengths. Sohee’s bubbly charm. Anton’s oddly relatable humor. Shotaro’s work ethic. Wonbin’s magnetism. Eunseok’s visuals. Seunghan’s charisma. And of course, Sungchan.

You learned to separate the boy you loved from the idol on stage, but the overlap hurt because now you were seeing pieces of him he’d never shown you. Not because he didn’t want to—but because he couldn’t. Not as Chan Song.

You started seeing the boys differently too. The ones you used to write about like they were plot devices. Archetypes. Playthings for fandoms to project fantasies onto. You hadn’t questioned it before. Never thought twice about why it was okay to give them made-up pasts, invented traumas, perfect romance arcs. Everyone did it. It was normal.

But now? Now you knew their voices. Their faces. Their idol personas—the little ticks and quirks you could never have invented. They weren’t movie characters or book protagonists crafted for the sole purpose of being consumed. They were people. People with careers, pressure, families, real-life stakes. You’d never felt weird writing about fictional characters before. Superheroes, fantasy leads, actors from dramas—you could fictionalize them because the boundary was clear. Fiction was fiction.

And it made you cringe because Sungchan had seen some of your works. Had read them. Had probably imagined what it was like to be fictionalized and flattened, turned into someone else’s daydream.

You remembered the time he’d jokingly said, “You should write about us. Or me.”

You had. Except you hadn’t known who he really was then. And now that you did, it wasn’t funny anymore.

Did he lie when he said they were good? You wondered. He’d read some of your stories and gave you his thoughts. He even pointed out how some of the dynamics didn’t quite fit. You remembered him laughing at one of the lines and saying, “Anton would never say that,” tapping the screen with his knuckle. “He’s too shy for that.”

You’d argued, of course. “Well, maybe fanfic Anton is a little more confident.”

“Yeah, maybe. But that’s not him,” he’d said with a shrug and a smile.

“And you know this because?”

He’d shrugged then, brushing it off casually. “Gut feeling. Have you seen his face? He looks like a dork.”

The memory made you laugh a little under your breath. Laughing about it made you miss him. Missing him made your chest hurt.

You tried to push through it, maybe clean up the dishes or open a new tab on your laptop. But it hit you all at once, like a freight train—this grief you hadn’t fully registered yet. You curled up and a sob escaped before you could catch it. Another followed, louder, more broken.

And then you were crying loudly, uncontrollably, the kind of crying that made your head hurt and your breath hitch.

Your roommate came running from the bedroom, barefoot and wide-eyed. “What happened? Are you okay?”

You couldn’t even answer. You just sat there on the rug with your arms wrapped around yourself like that might stop the aching. It didn’t. “I miss him,” you choked out between gasps. “I miss him so much it hurts.”

Isla crossed the room, crouched beside you, and wrapped her arms around your shoulders. You felt her hand stroking the back of your head gently, shushing you like a child caught in the middle of a nightmare.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

You didn’t answer. You just cried harder, buried in the warmth of someone who didn’t need explanations.

The next day, you were alone in the apartment. Isla was out for work, and you hadn’t moved from the couch in hours, legs curled under you, your thumb hovering over the screen, staring at the contact name—My Tiny Giant. Still saved the same way you always had.

That was what he was, after all. Your Tiny Giant. All six feet and something inches of him, always curled up against you like he didn’t have a whole wingspan to spare. Snuggled into your chest for as long as you’d allow him. Loving it when you hugged him from behind like he wasn’t a whole head taller than you

You missed him. God, you missed him. Your thumb hovered over the call button, then pressed. 

It rang once. Twice. Thrice. And a few times more. You were seconds from hanging up when it finally connected. There was a pause, then a groggy voice, low and confused.

“Did I wake you?” you asked.

There was shuffling on the other end. “Who—” He paused, then his voice sharpened. “Baby?”

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Baby, is that you?”

You let out a sob. “Yes.”

You heard a loud thud, something crashing to the floor, and then more movement—Sungchan cursing softly under his breath, fumbling for something.

“Sorry, baby,” he said, a little breathless now, his voice clearing. “Are you—are you still there?”

“I’m right here.”

“Oh, good. Good,” he paused, let out a soft shaky sigh. “Good.”

You didn’t know what else to say. Neither did he. The silence stretch long, filled only by the sound of his breathing from the other line. You had expected to say or hear a lot of things. But right now, in the silence, it felt like there was plenty to say and nothing at all.

“What time is it there?” he asked softly, finally breaking the quiet.

“Early. It’s 10 am.”

He hummed. “Did you eat?”

You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see you. “Yeah.”

“What did you have?”

You shrugged. “Coffee and a bagel.”

“Mm. Still eating like a writer, I see,” he quipped.

He asked about your week. What you’d been doing. If you were eating enough. If your roommate was around. If the weather was nice. You answered in soft, gentle tones, short replies, nods he couldn’t see, but you were listening. You were both trying.

Eventually, his voice began to slow, the spaces between his words stretching further apart until it faded completely.

You didn’t hang up for a while, and just listened to the sound of his breathing, steady and deep, like a heartbeat on the other end of the line.

For the first time in a while, your heart was at ease. You always found it odd when people said the best cure to any pain was what caused it in the first place. But now, you realize they were right.

Sungchan woke up to the first ring of his alarm, but didn’t move. The digital clock blared at his bedside, but he lay still—eyes open, unfocused, fixed on the blank wall across from him.

It felt like something had happened. Something important. But his brain is fogged. He didn’t know if he’d dreamed it, or if you had really called him in the middle of the night with your voice trembling on the other end.

A loud series of knocks made him glance at the door.

“Hyung,” Sohee’s muffled voice said through the door, “your alarm’s been going off for five years. Turn it off.”

Sungchan didn’t answer. Instead, he turned his head and reached for his phone on the nightstand. When he didn’t find it there, he searched for it on his bed, in the sheets, under the pillows. His fingers swiped at the screen as soon as he found it. The light made his eyes squint, but he blinked past it, thumb tapping into his call history.

There it was. My Lovely Writer. Call duration: 2 hours, 17 minutes.

He let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. It wasn’t a dream. You really had called him last night.

The door swung open, revealing an annoyed Sohee. “Hyung, are you deaf or—” Sohee cut himself off mid-sentence, staring at Sungchan who was grinning from ear-to-ear. “Are you okay?”

Sungchan didn’t look up. He just slowly, quietly turned off his alarm. Sohee blinked at the silence, then narrowed his eyes. “What got you smiling like that?”

Sungchan didn’t answer that either. He simply smiled wider, dazed and quiet, still staring at your name on his phone like it was already the best thing that had happened all day.

And then—without a word—he pulled Sohee into a hug. 

“Okay, you’re being weird,” Sohee muttered, stiff as a board in his arms.

Sungchan just hummed. A low sound, somewhere between a laugh and a breath of relief. Then he got up, still wearing that strange, faraway smile, and walked out of the room with his phone in hand—already drafting a message to you.

He walked into the kitchen like he hadn’t spent the past week stomping around like a sleep-deprived ghost with a broken heart. Like he hadn’t just been curled up on the living room couch two days ago rewatching Totoro in the dark.

He was humming. Everyone turned to stare.

“…No way,” Anton said from the fridge, holding a half-empty juice carton.

“Holy shit,” Eunseok whispered dramatically. “It’s alive.”

Wonbin blinked, midway through his skincare routine. “Is he humming?”

“He’s humming,” Shotaro confirmed, poking his head out of the hallway. “And smiling. Jesus. Someone check the weather. Is hell frozen?”

Sungchan just gave them a sleepy grin and reached for a mug. “Good morning, children.”

“What the hell happened?” Shotaro asked.

Anton squinted suspiciously. “Did you win the lottery?”

“Better,” Sohee said, joining everyone in the kitchen. “I think they made up.”

Sungchan didn’t answer, but his grin gave him away.

“Oh my god,” Eunseok gasped. “He’s back. He’s so back.”

“I told you he’d cheer up eventually,” Sohee cheered, slapping Anton’s arm like this was a bet he’d won. “You owe me ten.”

“Alright, spill,” Shotaro said. “What did she say? Did she take you back? Did you cry? Did you cry?”

“I didn’t cry,” Sungchan denied.

“He definitely cried,” Wonbin mumbled.

“He sobbed,” Eunseok said. “He probably started crying the second he heard her voice.”

“I did not cry,” Sungchan said, smiling so hard now it looked like it hurt.

Shotaro slung an arm around his shoulders and shook him like a wet rag. “You did, didn’t you! Oh my god, you cried. I’m so proud of you.”

“No, I didn’t, though, I almost did,” he admitted. “But she called. And I heard her voice. That’s all.”

The teasing died down for a moment. Then, gently, Shotaro clapped him on the back. “You’ve been walking around here like your dog died for a week,” he said. “It’s good to see you alive again.”

Sungchan laughed. “Thanks.”

Wonbin pointed at him dramatically. “Just don’t screw it up this time, lover boy. I really like her.”

“You haven’t even met her,” Sungchan said.

“Yeah, but I like her better than you,” Wonbin said smugly, crossing his arms. “Her Wonbin stuff was impressive. Almost like she knew me personally.”

Everyone groaned. “She made you delusional,” Sohee muttered.

Sungchan didn’t say much after that. He just sipped his coffee, phone in hand, thumb absently brushing over your name on the screen. He straightened up when your reply came in, then he left his mug on the counter and ran back into his bedroom.

“...He’s running. Did she text back?”

“I think so.”

“Godspeed, king,” said Anton, not even looking up.

Sungchan: Back in town, baby. Wanted to see u first but didn’t know where you’d be 🙁 My door’s unlocked if you wanna come over Maybe we could meet at the cafe? Lmk babygirl Babe :( text me back i miss you Pretty girl Baby girlll Where are youuuuu my loveeee????

You didn’t bother knocking. Didn’t even tell him you were coming. You’d rushed out of your apartment and took the first cab to his place. But you stood outside his unit for a few minutes, trying to steady your breath and make sure you didn’t appear like you were too eager to see him again.

Then, after wiping your sweat and checking your reflection in the elevator doors, you stepped into his apartment.

It was clean, dimly lit, and quiet. It still smelled like him—matcha, laundry, a hint of sandalwood body wash—and the scent wrapped around you like a familiar hug. You didn’t realize how much you’d missed it until your lungs started to ache.

You’d barely taken a step inside when hurried footsteps thundered down the hall, and Sungchan popped out from the door with his eyes wide. 

“Baby!” he exclaimed, darting from the bedroom door to the foyer where you were kicking off your shoes.

He stopped himself from pulling you into a hug, clenching his fists at his side like he wanted to wait for you to make the first move. He watched you move quietly, like he was scared one wrong breath would scare you off again.

You kept your eyes on him, not quite smiling, but not looking upset either.

“Hi,” he greeted sheepishly.

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

His eyes widened slightly, confused but then he played it cool with a nervous chuckle. “No, but I… well, I didn’t wanna… overstep.”

You scoffed then crossed the room slowly. He stayed still until you were close enough to touch, but he didn’t reach out just yet. He was about to, but he stopped himself again.

“I said I’d give you as much space as you need,” he said, hiding his hands behind his back.

You chuckled, dropping your keys on the counter and your bag on the floor. With your hands now free, you open your arms wide for him. “Come here, you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. The second your arms opened, he was already in them—hugging you like he’d spent years without the feel of your body against his instead of just a few weeks. His arms wrapped tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a ragged breath.

“I missed you,” he murmured, almost like it hurt to say. “I missed you so much.”

Your fingers curled into the back of his shirt, gripping him like you couldn’t believe he was real again. That warmth, that scent, that heartbeat thudding against your chest—it was everything you had almost lost to pride and prejudice.

Your hands came up to cup his face, and he looked at you like he was melting under your touch.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to. You just kissed him hard and fast and desperate and feverish—like you hadn’t done so in years instead of weeks. Like nothing else mattered except the way your lips found his, over and over again. He kissed you back like a man starving, stumbling forward as you tugged at his collar, your bodies crashing together in the middle of the room.

Neither of you broke the kiss as he backed you into the hallway, bumping into walls, fumbling for direction, your hands already slipping beneath his shirt. He laughed into your mouth when you accidentally hit your hip against the hallway cabinet, but you didn’t stop. Not even for a second.

You reached the bedroom with matching gasps, half-laughs, your kisses turning sloppier with every step. Your clothes were peeled away with every step—his hoodie first, then your top, followed by your skirt, then him shimmying out of his jeans. His hands found your waist, your back, your thighs—every familiar curve he’d been aching to hold again.

By the time you tumbled onto the bed, only your underwear remained. You bounced on the mattress, but neither of you noticed. You were too busy chasing each other’s mouths, tracing skin, fingers threading through his hair as he kissed down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone.

“I love you,” he murmured against your skin, and you felt your heart do a cartwheel in your chest.

His lips crashed into yours again, harder this time. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them open around his hips, grinding against you with a soft groan that made your skin prickle.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your lips. “Missed you so bad.”

Your nails dug into his back as you bucked your hips against him, the friction sending heat all over your spine and low in your belly. You tugged at the waistband of his boxers, fingers slipping under, pulling until he helped you push them down. He leaned up just long enough to kick them off, then reached for your underwear, eyes locked on yours for permission.

You nodded. Breathless. Barely able to think.

He dragged them down slowly, eyes never leaving your face as he dropped them to the floor. His hands returned to your thighs, trailing upward, fingers brushing where you needed him most, making you gasp.

“Can I—”

“Yes!” you whispered back before he could even finish his question. “Yes, please, Chan. Touch me.”

He chuckled lowly and leaned down again, kissing the hollow between your breasts before taking your nipple into his mouth. You moaned, legs tightening around his waist, desperate for more, desperate to feel him again in the way that made your world tilt.

His hand moved expertly between your legs, circling, pressing, flicking. Fingers going in and making you gasp. He continued to ravage your boobs, moving from one to the other, all while playing with your sex like he’d memorized exactly how you liked it—he had.

“Chan,” you cried, voice broken and needy. Your hand slipped down his toned chest, reaching to wrap your fingers around his manhood. “Inside, please.”

“Yeah?” he rasped, mouth wet against your skin. “Need me that bad, baby?”

You grabbed his face, pulling him into another dizzying kiss. “Sungchan,” you said, breath broken. “Now.”

He reached between you, stroking himself once, twice, before lining up. He slid into you in one long, slow thrust—so deep, so perfect it knocked the air out of your lungs. You clung to him, gasping into his shoulder, nails digging into his skin.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head dropping to your neck. “Perfect. So perfect.”

He moved slowly at first, like he wanted to savor it—every inch, every gasp, every whimper you let out against his ear. Your bodies moved in sync, your hips rising to meet his, and every thrust had your thoughts scattering, your mind teetering to the edge of insanity.

“Sungchan—” you moaned, breath catching.

“Yes, yes,” he breathed, eyes locked into yours, his thrusts never faltering. “Say it, baby. Say my name.”

“Sungchan—AH!” 

He picked up the pace, rolling his hips deeper, faster, making you cry out. Your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, dragging him closer, keeping him there. His name echoed from your lips again and again like a mantra. He kissed you through it—sloppy, hot kisses broken by moans and the sound of skin slamming against skin.

You felt him everywhere. In your chest. In your stomach. Between your legs. In the tears burning at the corners of your eyes because you’d missed this—missed him—so much it hurt.

It was messy. Beautiful. Too much and not enough. He touched you like he was trying to rewrite every memory of the last week—like if he held you hard enough, long enough, the world might go back to how it was. And you let him. You let him love you the only way he knew how right now.

Your body tightened beneath him, euphoria catching up fast, and he felt it. He whispered encouragements against your neck, his thrusts turning desperate.

“Come for me, baby,” he begged. 

You cried out, body arching, eyes squeezing shut as release crashed through you. He followed with a broken moan, thrusting once, twice, then spilling into you with a deep groan of your name.

The aftershocks made your body tremble. He didn’t pull away right away—just collapsed against you, face buried in your neck, both of you breathing hard.

You didn’t speak yet. Not because you didn’t have anything to say. But because neither of you wanted to break the fragile, golden silence that had finally returned. The moment between the storm and the cleanup.

The one where you both got to breathe.

The room was warm. Your skin was still buzzing, lungs still trying to remember how to breathe at a normal pace. Sungchan hadn’t moved much—just rolled onto his side so he wouldn’t crush you, one arm still draped over your stomach, his face pressed into your shoulder like he had no plans of going anywhere.

You stared up at the ceiling, blinking slowly, your chest rising and falling with every breath. Everything felt heavy. Not physically, but emotionally. And not sadly, just, generally heavy. Like having a question you wanted answered so so desperately.

He let out a breath, soft and shaky, then murmured, “We can talk about it… If you want.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “We should.”

You turned on your side so you were face to face with him. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth sooner? Were you ever going to? Did you ever plan for this to become serious?”

He chuckled heartily, kissing your knuckles. “How about one question at a time?”

You didn’t respond, instead, you just furrowed your brows at him. He sighed. “Okay. Fine. Everything at once.”

You tutted. “Stop weaseling your way out of this.”

“I’m not. I really wanted to tell you the truth sooner,” he said finally, eyes flickering to the ceiling like it held answers. “So many times. Especially when we started getting serious. I just… I couldn’t figure out how. Every time I thought about telling you, I got scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“That it would change everything,” he said, sighing. “That you’d stop seeing me and just start seeing… him. Jung Sungchan. RIIZE. The idol. The fantasy. Not the guy who loved curling up in your lap and eating green Skittles out of your hand.”

You stared at him, lips parting slightly.

“I was stupid,” he added, before you could say anything. “I know that now.”

You were quiet for a moment, taking in the sincerity on his face and his voice. Then you said, “I didn’t fall in love with Sungchan from RIIZE.”

He looked at you, confused but expectant. You smiled, continuing, “You know exactly who I fell for. Chan Song, some tall, handsome, adorable dork.”

He chuckled, but didn’t say anything.

“And I’m still in love with him, with you,” you confessed, and it felt like the easiest thing you’d ever said. Sungchan’s mouth parted, surprise painting his expression. 

You reached out to cup his cheek. “I just wanted to know if, even if you lied about who you were, was everything else real?”

He held your hand against his cheek. “It was. It still is.”

“I need to hear that you knew it was wrong. That you’re sorry.”

“I am. I’m so sorry,” he said instantly. “I’m so fucking sorry. Not just for lying, but for not trusting you enough to tell you the truth.”

His grip of your hand tightened, and he intertwined your fingers carefully, as if afraid you might pull away.

“I love you,” he said. “I don’t know if I deserve you, but I love you. I don’t want to lie ever again. So if you want to ask me anything—anything at all—I’ll tell you everything. Honestly.”

“Okay,” you said softly.

Sungchan leaned in to kiss you, hand cupping the back of your head, eyes closed and savoring it like it was the first time. When he pulled away, he had a contented smile on his lips. You smiled back and planted a soft kiss on the tip of his nose.

“I still don’t know everything about you,” you whispered.

“That’s okay. You know the important parts.” He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know later.”

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m still mad,” you said, lips twitching.

“Totally fair.”

“And you’re still on thin ice.”

“Understood,” he nodded solemnly.

You tilted your head toward him and finally smiled. “But I love you too, Jung Sungchan.”

He let out a relieved exhale. “Oh, damn. Can you say it again? My name?”

“Jung Sungchan?”

He closed his eyes, humming, and it seemed to relax something in him. “Shit. I think I might bust a nut.”

You chuckled and then hit his chest playfully. “Stop overreacting!”

Sungchan just grinned, pulled you back into his arms, and locked you in a tight embrace. “I love you so much, please don't go bald.”

That made you laugh, and he did too. You spent the night like that, laughing, giggling, and talking like no time had passed at all. Like nothing outside of that small bedroom ever mattered.

That was just wishful thinking. You knew there would be a whole lot of things you'd need to face, a whole lot of adjustments now that you knew who he was. But you'll worry about those later. For now, you'll focus on this moment right here.

[fin]

[time-teller]

vent again, just.. UGHG I'M GOING TO WRING HIS FUCKING NECK WHEN I FIND HIM

[bmpmp3]

Talking about kanru hua like he's my own personal todd howard.

[w1f1n1ghtm4r3]

and now the main group is also redesigned!

sekai movie inspired me to pick up my old oc unit and rework it and redesign the characters....... started off with the miku and luka because i thought their designs held up the best and mostly just needed minor tweaks :) original designs are from february 2022, new designs are from now!

[leriexoxo]

Unknown Number

Idol! Chan x Stay! Reader

Tags: strangers to something more, voice kink, phone sex, anonymous sexting, slow reveal, idol!Chan is lurking, dirty talk, mystery man AU, smut 18+, blindfolds, unprotected sex, thigh riding, dom chan, praise kink, oral (f receiving) fingering

Word count: 5.4k

Summary: It starts with a text. A no-name number. A bold stranger in the dark. He saw your comment in a chaotic Stay group chat—“those fingers could ruin my life”—and now he won’t leave you alone. But maybe you don’t want him to. Because his texts are flirty, filthy, and just the right kind of fucked up. Because his voice notes make your thighs press together. Because he talks like he already knows what you sound like when you come. And the worst part? His voice sounds dangerously familiar.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The first text came at 12:43 AM.

Unknown Number:

hey. you awake?

You didn’t recognize it. No name. No contact photo. Just numbers. But something about the timing—and the boldness—had your curiosity flaring.

You hesitated, thumb hovering. Then answered.

You:

who’s this?

Unknown Number:

just a bored stranger. saw your number in that stay gc. figured you wouldn’t mind the company.

You blinked. That group had been pure chaos, a flood of usernames and selfies and people throwing their numbers around like confetti. You almost forgot you’d joined it in the first place.

You:

wow. bold of you to admit you’re creeping in there like that lol

also… which one were you? i don’t remember you posting anything

A pause.

Then—

Unknown Number:

i didn’t

i like watching more than talking

especially when the girls are that pretty

Your stomach dipped.

Flirty. Shameless. You should’ve blocked him.

Instead, your lips curled.

You:

so what—you just stalked and picked the first girl who looked like she’d be down to text a stranger?

Unknown Number:

no. i picked the one who made that comment about chan’s hands during that encore stage.

you said, “those fingers could ruin my life” and i haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

You froze.

Your heart stuttered. You remembered typing that. The GC had been flying, no way to know who’d even seen it. And now it was echoing back at you from some faceless man in the dark.

You:

you’re a menace.

admit it. you get off on lurking. Chan would be horrified.

Another pause.

Unknown Number:

maybe, but i think he’d understand

You:

oh yeah? why’s that?

Unknown Number:

because if i were him, i’d want to know exactly who says that kind of stuff about me.

especially if she meant it.

Your breath caught.

You:

…and do you?

mean it?

Unknown Number:

every word.

but you tell me—should i be worried you’re the type to flirt with strangers this easily?

You smirked at your screen, heartbeat kicking faster.

You:

maybe i just have a thing for mystery

or maybe i like the idea that some stranger out there is thinking about me when he should be sleeping

Unknown Number:

you should stop saying things like that

You:

why?

Unknown Number:

because now i’m wondering how you sound when you’re out of breath

You stared at the message a beat too long. It’s not even what he said—it’s the way he said it. Like he already knew he could be the one to pull that sound out of you.

You:

that’s a bold thing to say to someone you’ve never met. you don’t even know what i look like

Unknown Number:

don’t need to.

i like your brain first.

your mouth second.

the rest is just a bonus.

Your breath stuttered in your chest. Who was this guy?

You:

you talk like you’ve done this before

seducing strangers through a screen

Unknown Number:

i don’t.

just bored. and maybe a little curious.

You:

curious about what?

Unknown Number:

what kind of girl sends texts like that about chan’s fingers

and whether she texts even filthier things when she’s comfortable

You bit your lip, grinning.

You:

maybe you’ll find out if you don’t scare me off first

Unknown Number:

oh baby, if you scare easy… you wouldn’t have replied to me at all

The way he called you baby shouldn’t have made your stomach flip like it did. It wasn’t even a real person. You didn’t know who was on the other end. And yet—you couldn’t stop.

⸻

Day 3

Unknown Number:

still thinking about the way you said “ruin my life”

i wonder how far you’d really let someone take that

You:

depends on who it is

Unknown Number:

so if it were chan? you’d let him?

You:

you ask a lot of questions for someone hiding behind a fake number

Unknown Number:

maybe i’m just trying to find the perfect way to ruin you myself

Day 6

The texting hadn’t stopped.

It was not constant—but it was regular. Little things. Late-night provocations. Random check-ins. Sometimes he was sweet. Sometimes unhinged. But always flirtatious. Always suggestive. And always reading you too well.

Unknown Number:

you at work?

You:

yeah, bored af… why?

Unknown Number:

just picturing you trying to act normal after everything you said last night

like a good girl pretending she didn’t admit she wanted to be choked

Your fingers paused mid-typing.

You:

you’re twisted

i like it

Unknown Number:

i know you do

you’re just as fucked up as me and i haven’t even told you the worst parts yet

A few seconds of his typing bubble coming and going, before the next text dropped.

Unknown Number:

what’s the dirtiest thing you’ve ever imagined about him?

No warning. No easing into it. Just dropped into your messages like a match on gasoline.

You stared at the screen, thumb hovering. You could’ve played coy. Could’ve brushed it off. But it was late, your inhibitions were low, and this was him—your anonymous stranger, your chaos comfort. The one person who let you say anything without judgement.

So, you gave him the truth.

You:

i think about riding his thigh way too much, like full on grinding in his studio, late at night.

headphones on, shirt off, music playing like nothing’s wrong, but i’m coming on his leg while he pretends to mix tracks

There was silence after that. No typing bubble. Nothing.

For a minute, you wondered if you’d finally gone too far. Made it too real. But then your screen lit up again—except this time, not with a message.

A voice note.

You stared at it.

The little waveform pulsed quietly, like it was waiting. And before you could think twice, you pressed play.

It started with a low breath. Like someone trying to keep their cool and failing.

Then—

“Fuck… you’re gonna kill me.”

The voice was deep. Gravel and heat and something so raw it skated straight down your spine. Familiar. Not too familiar—but something about it made your skin prickle.

“I shouldn’t be imagining it, but now I am,” the voice continued. Rough. Lazy. Wrecked. “You bouncing on my thigh, making those soft little noises you don’t even know you make…”

A pause.

Then a quiet, throaty chuckle.

“…and you expect me to sit still and pretend nothing’s happening? Baby, if you ever climbed on me like that, you wouldn’t be leaving the studio for hours.”

The recording cut off with the sound of a sharp inhale, like he was about to say more—but stopped himself.

Your heart pounded.

It wasn’t just the filth. Wasn’t just the way he said baby like he already owned your body. It was the tone. Something in it that teased the edges of recognition, like a song you couldn’t quite place. Not a perfect match—but a ghost of one. You frowned, replayed the voice in your mind, again and again.

And failed to ignore the stupid, impossible thought that whispered— No. It couldn’t be.

Could it?

You:

that voice

have we met before?

The message stayed unread for a few minutes.

And then—

Unknown Number:

not yet

—

You shouldn’t have replayed the voice note.

But you did.

Over and over. Lying in bed with your knees pulled to your chest, phone pressed to your ear like it held answers. And maybe it did—just not the kind that made sense. Because that voice did something to you. Tugged on a thread you didn’t know was loose.

Low. Deep. That exact kind of rough that spilled into your dreams when you thought about Chan whispering filth behind your ear.

Except… this wasn’t a fantasy anymore.

You’d said his name in front of a stranger. Described yourself melting on Chan’s thigh. And he hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t pulled away.

He’d responded like he’d wanted it. Like he was the one holding your hips down.

And God—that voice.

You tapped open a random behind-the-scenes video. Just to compare. Just to check.

Your breath hitched.

No. No way. Not possible. You were being insane.

Still… your chest felt too tight.

You:

i’m spiraling, don’t mind me

just casually obsessing over that voice note. you sound so familiar it’s driving me crazy

No reply. For hours.

But what you didn’t know—what you couldn’t know—was that while you were busy unraveling, so was he.

Because you’d told him your name once. Offhanded. Way back on Day Two, when he called you baby girl in a text and you laughed, saying—

“you don’t even know me, my guy. it’s [Y/N], by the way.”

And that was all it took.

He went looking. Lurking. He searched through the GC again, found your profile. Clicked your socials.

And then he saw you.

Saw the face behind the dirty little texts. The smile that curled when you teased. The thighs you said you wanted to ride his with. The lips. The eyes. The one bikini pic you posted with zero shame and a caption that said “it’s too hot out” like you didn’t just set his whole body on fire.

He stared at your selfies so long he forgot to breathe.

And when he finally responded— It wasn’t with a text.

It was another voice note.

You saw the waveform and your stomach flipped.

Pressed play.

“Just saw your page.”

His voice came out lower this time. Slower. Like smoke and honey and trouble.

“You’re real pretty, y’know that?”

A pause. You could almost feel him grinning.

“Exactly my type. That mouth of yours would look even better wrapped around my fingers.”

You choked on air.

“If I had you in front of me right now, baby… I’d ruin you. You’d be soaked just from hearing the way I breathe your name.”

Your pulse skipped.

“Should I say it? Should I moan it for you next time?”

Click. It ended there.

You stared at your screen like it had slapped you. Your thighs pressed together on instinct, heat crawling up your neck. He knew now. He’d seen you. And suddenly, it wasn’t just a game anymore.

It felt like a trap.

And you were walking right into it.

You:

what else did you see?

Unknown Number:

enough to want more

every. single. night.

You didn’t respond right away.

You needed time to breathe, time to cool down—except, you didn’t. Not really.

You were already wet before the voice note ended.

Already playing it back in your head like it was your favorite late-night playlist. That voice, so low and thick in your ears. That cocky little pause before he asked if he should moan your name.

You almost said yes.

Almost begged for it.

But instead, you smiled—schemed.

You weren’t stupid. He’d seen your socials. He was definitely stalking now. You had no doubt he’d clocked your Chan obsession.

So you decided to play a little.

Test the limits.

You:

i keep wondering what you’d sound like really moaning my name

like… if i had my mouth on you

would you curse? or say something soft in… korean maybe?

Three dots. Then nothing.

A beat.

Then the voice note came in. You didn’t even hesitate this time.

Click.

“…you’d hear both,” he rasped, already sounding out of breath. “I’d be praising you in English and cursing in Korean. You’d earn every damn syllable.”

Your mouth went dry.

“But you’d have to beg for it,” he added. “On your knees. All needy, telling me exactly what you want. Exactly how deep.”

Click.

Your core throbbed.

Still—you had a goal tonight. And it wasn’t just soaking your panties.

So you pushed further.

You:

you’re so good at dirty talk

you sure you’re not some secret idol who’s had media training or something?

you kinda sound like you know how to use a mic

You smiled as you sent it. Waited.

Unknown Number:

haha! you’re cute

That’s it? No voice note this time. You narrowed your eyes, smirking.

You:

i’m serious though, i listened to one of chan’s old vlives today

he’s got a sexy ass voice, kinda deep like yours when you talk slow. you two could be twins

You watched the “read” receipt pop up instantly.

No response.

You:

wait…you’re not him, right?

imagine

Nothing.

Your phone stayed silent for almost ten whole minutes.

And then it buzzed again—another voice note.

You could already feel the grin spreading across your face as you hit play.

“I’m not him,” the voice crooned, low and slow like warm silk. “But if I was… you think I’d let you get away with saying shit like that without consequences?”

You bit your lip hard. The recording continued.

“You’d be bent over that couch before you finished the sentence, baby. Face down. Ass up. I’d remind you exactly what my voice sounds like when you’re full of me.”

Click.

You didn’t realize your thighs had clenched together until your muscles ached.

And still—you weren’t done.

You:

you’re really good at this

whoever you are

maybe too good, maybe i should be scared

Unknown Number:

then stop teasing or i’ll make you say my name while you come

Your pulse jumped.

And for the first time all night… you wondered if maybe, just maybe, you already had.

⸻

Your legs were already trembling.

You’d been edging yourself for the past ten minutes—hand under the sheets, replaying that voice note like it was a playlist you couldn’t live without. Every time he said baby in that ruined growl, your fingers slipped lower. Every time he whispered what he’d do to you, your breath hitched.

And then you got brave.

Your thumb hovered over the record icon. You didn’t think. You just pressed.

You let the silence hang for a second—just your breathing, soft and needy. You let him feel how real it was.

Then you whispered, voice hushed, drenched in heat:

“Wanna know how I sound when I imagine Chan fucking me?”

Another pause. Then a soft, teasing whimper. Just enough to make his imagination snap.

“I moan his name like it’s the only word I know,” you purred. “I picture him grabbing my throat, whispering dirty things in that deep voice and accent, and I can’t help it. I’m already dripping.”

You let your breath hitch again. Just once. Just enough.

“I imagine him pushing me up against the wall in his studio, whispering ‘good girl’ against my mouth, and I lose it. I come just from his voice.”

Click.

You stared at the screen, heartbeat in your throat. No regrets.

He didn’t answer immediately.

But when he did—oh, God.

It was instant.

Unknown Number:

baby.

Another voice note dropped in seconds later.

You didn’t even brace yourself this time. You wanted to hear him break.

Click.

“You really wanna play that game?” His voice was pure gravel now, thick with restraint. You could hear the tension, the crack in it.

“Do you have any idea what you just did to me?”

You bit your lip.

“I’m not gonna last if you keep saying shit like that. Fuck—you’re dangerous.”

Another pause. A breath. Something almost like a growl.

“You wanna take this further?”

Your breath caught.

“Take a chance on me. Meet me. Let me ruin you for real.”

You blinked, heart hammering now for a different reason.

Then the final blow—

“I’ll tell you my name in person,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper. “But you’ll be screaming it by the end of the night anyway.”

Click.

You stared at your phone, stunned. Soaked. Shaking.

Unknown Number:

yes or no

one word baby, and i’ll tell you where to find me

You didn’t text back. You couldn’t. Your hands were shaking too hard to type. So you hit the call button.

Just like that.

Your thumb hovered for half a second before it connected. And then it rang. Once. Twice.

He picked up.

“Fuck,” he breathed—just that.

And it hit you low.

His voice—real, not filtered through a voice note. It filled your ear like silk-wrapped sin, deep and slick and raw.

“You really called me,” he said, almost laughing under his breath, like he couldn’t believe it either. “God, you sound—”

“Wrecked,” you rasped. “I sound completely wrecked.”

His inhale was sharp. You could barely get words out.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” you whispered. “Your voice—your fucking voice—it’s like every fantasy I’ve ever had about Chan, but worse.”

He choked. “Worse?”

You whimpered softly, dragging your palm across your soaked core, no longer caring if he could hear.

“He ruins me,” you breathed. “In my head, he’s so mean. Doesn’t even give me time to adjust. Just whispers, ‘take it,’ and—”

“Jesus Christ,” he growled.

“—And I do. I take it like a good girl. Like I’m supposed to.”

He was silent. But you could hear his breathing—heavy, desperate. Like his hand was wrapped around himself already.

You swallowed, voice dipping lower. “I imagine riding his thigh and crying when he doesn’t let me come. You think I’m sick for that?”

“…No,” he rasped. “I think I wanna see it.”

You bit your lip hard. “You’d really watch me fuck myself stupid over your voice?”

“I’d hold your hips down,” he said. “Make you say please. Make you scream.”

And you moaned. Right into the speaker.

Soft. Real. Honest.

He gasped—just a little. That sound did something to him. You felt it.

“Say it again,” he whispered. “Say my name.”

“Chan—” It slipped. You didn’t even think.

And he shuddered.

“Fucking hell. Say it again.”

“Chan—” breathy, broken.

“Keep going.”

“Chan, please,” you whimpered. “Please, I need—fuck—I need you inside me, I can’t—”

His voice broke, cracked, fractured in your ear. You still didn’t hear it. You didn’t notice.

Because in your head, this wasn’t real. There was no way your ultimate fantasy, your favorite idol, the man who owned your soul with one smirk on stage—was the stranger breathing ragged into your phone right now.

There was no way Chan could be real. No way he’d call you baby in that exact voice. No way he’d whisper—

“Say yes.”

Your lashes fluttered.

“To what?” you asked, dizzy.

“Say yes,” he repeated. “To seeing me. Let me prove what I’ll do to you.”

You swallowed hard. You wanted it. All of it.

Still clueless. Still soaked. Still talking to the one man you thought was impossible.

“yes.”

⸻

The car ride felt longer than it was.

Your thighs stayed pressed together the whole time, hands fidgeting in your lap. You kept reapplying lip balm even though it was perfect. Kept checking your phone even though he hadn’t messaged again—not since you said yes.

Just one message. “Penthouse” One pin drop location.

No name still. No other clue.

But you went. You had to.

You reached the building—quiet street, upscale high-rise. Your heels clicked softly against polished marble floors as you made your way through the lobby, every step heavier than the last.

Penthouse suite.

Of course.

He had money. You knew that already. The voice, the confidence, the way he said he’d show you what your fantasies felt like in real life—he wasn’t bluffing.

You stopped in front of the door.

Stared.

And then, hand trembling, you raised your knuckles and knocked once.

Silence.

And then—

The door opened. Your heart stopped.

The man standing there was familiar.

Too familiar.

Too—

“…Chan?” you whispered, eyes wide, stomach lurching.

He leaned against the doorframe, black hoodie hanging off one shoulder, hair messy like he’d been running his fingers through it for hours. His chain glinted in the soft hallway light.

One corner of his mouth curved up.

And that voice—that voice that had ruined you all night—slid through your skull like molten sin.

“Surprise, baby.”

You froze.

Mouth parted. Eyes locked on his. Brain not catching up.

You were standing face to face with Bang Chan.

Your idol. Your obsession. Your late-night fantasy.

The man who whispered filth into your ear like it was made for you.

“You’re—” You choked. “No way. There’s no fucking way—”

Chan stepped closer. Just one slow, predatory step.

“You called me Chan when you moaned,” he said, dark eyes locked on your lips. “You knew.”

“I—I thought I was just—I didn’t think—”

He laughed softly, jaw flexing. “But it was always right there in front of you baby”

You backed up a step, but his hand shot out—gripped your waist. Firm. Steady. Possessive.

“I’ve been dying to touch you since the second I saw your profile, Y/N. You think I didn’t notice the way you talk about me online? You practically begged me to ruin you.”

Your knees buckled slightly.

“Now,” he murmured, dragging you inside and shutting the door behind you, “I’m gonna make good on every filthy thing we both said.”

Your back hit the wall.

“But this time,” he whispered, voice all gravel and heat, “you won’t be able to pretend it’s just a fantasy.”

His mouth hovered inches from yours. Pupils blown.

Close enough to feel the heat, to smell the faint trace of his cologne—clean, smoky, dark. Your pulse thudded in your ears, wild and loud. You still couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t breathe.

Chan’s hand slid from your waist to your jaw, slow and steady, like he was testing how much of you he was allowed to own. His thumb grazed your bottom lip, tugged it slightly, eyes never leaving yours.

“Still think this is a dream?”

You shook your head, barely.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because I don’t want you waking up anytime soon.”

You leaned in, lips parted, waiting—begging—for his mouth.

But he smirked. Didn’t kiss you.

Instead, he leaned to your ear, breath hot against your skin, and whispered—

“You thought about me in this hoodie, didn’t you?

Your stomach dropped.

“Imagined me pulling it off, pressing you into my mattress—making you forget your own name.”

You whimpered, thighs clenching together.

“I heard every sound you made earlier,” he murmured. “You didn’t even try to hide how wet you were.”

“Chan—” you whispered, but it cracked.

“Mm. Just like that. Say it again.”

“Chan—”

He groaned.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he muttered, leaning back just enough to look you over. His gaze dragged down your body—slow, heavy, hungry. “Fuck, you’re exactly my type. Pretty little mouth, skin I wanna bite, and thighs begging to be spread.”

You shivered, hands gripping the front of his hoodie.

“Touch me,” you whispered.

“Not yet.”

You blinked. “W-What?”

His mouth was at your neck now, barely brushing your skin. Not kissing. Not biting. Just hovering.

“You already gave me everything over the phone, didn’t you? Your moans. Your voice. Every filthy thing you wanted me to do.”

His voice dropped to a sinful purr.

“So now I wanna watch you beg.”

You gasped.

“You gonna let me see how desperate you get for me? Right here, baby. Against this wall.”

You swallowed hard. Your hands slid down his chest, fingers trembling.

He grabbed your wrists—lightly, but enough to stop you.

“Mm-mm,” he hummed, lips brushing your cheek. “I said beg.”

“Chan, please,” you whimpered, arching your back just slightly, pushing your chest against his. “You don’t know how badly I need you.”

“No,” he said, low and lethal. “I do. And that’s why I’m not giving it to you yet.”

His hand slid up your thigh—almost. Almost.

Then it stopped.

“You think I’m cruel now?” he whispered. “Wait until I’m inside you and still not letting you come.”

You whined—loud.

And he laughed, dark and breathless. “There she is.”

Then finally—finally—he kissed you.

Not soft, Not sweet.

Claiming.

Tongue first. No warning. Hands gripping your hips like he owned them. You barely got a breath in before he pressed you harder into the wall, lips devouring yours like he’d been waiting a lifetime.

You moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed it whole.

And then—he pulled back, chest heaving.

“One more chance to back out, baby,” he said, voice wrecked. “Because after tonight, things are gonna be different.”

“Please—”

He led you down the hallway with his hand on your lower back—no words, no teasing now, just heat radiating off his body like it was built to burn you.

The lights were low, but his room still felt rich. Sleek lines, black sheets, cool-toned walls. And you—blinking at your reflection in the floor-length mirror across from the bed—trying to remember how to breathe.

“Sit,” he said, and you did.

The bed dipped beneath your weight, silk beneath your fingers. He stood in front of you, hoodie still on, eyes dark and patient like a man who already knew how the night would end.

But then—you stilled when you saw what was in his hand.

A blindfold.

You looked up at him, breath catching.

“Trust me?” he asked softly.

You nodded. He stepped closer, brushing hair away from your face before tying the fabric around your eyes. Not too tight. Not uncomfortable. But enough to change everything.

“You don’t need to see me tonight,” he whispered against your cheek. “You’ve heard me. Felt me. Begged for me.”

He guided you backward, hands careful on your shoulders, until you were flat on the bed.

“Tonight,” he whispered, breath ghosting your throat, “you only get sound. And touch. And need.”

You whimpered, arching instinctively, trying to find his mouth, his hands, anything—

But he just laughed. Dark. Low. Almost cruel.

“Desperate already?” he murmured.

“Chan, please—”

“Mm. That’s the one.”

Then his hands—warm, wide—slid down your sides. Slowly. Reverently. But he still hadn’t really touched you.

Until— He moved.

Positioned you without a word. Straddled his thigh between your legs, gripped your waist, and pulled you flush against him.

You gasped—sharp, involuntary.

The muscle flexed beneath you. Solid. Hot. Right where you needed him.

“There,” he whispered. “Didn’t you say you thought about this?”

You nodded frantically, blindfolded and panting.

“Riding my thigh while I whisper all the things I’d do to you?”

“Fuck,” you whimpered, already grinding.

“That’s it, baby. Show me.”

He let you move. Just watched. Let you use him, breath heavy and dirty in your ear as he spoke.

“You’re soaked, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you cried.

“Messing up my pants like a good girl. Gonna leave a stain right there, huh?”

He flexed again.

You whined.

His lips brushed your ear.

“You want my cock already, but I’m making you come just like this. Wanna hear how greedy you sound.”

You moaned—loud, desperate.

“Shh,” he whispered. “Or I’ll stop. We don’t come until I say so.”

“Chan, please—please—”

But he stayed still, hand pressing lightly on your lower back.

“You’ll come when I let you. Not a second before.”

And that broke you.

Your body shook, thighs trembling as he slowed you down, holding you in place.

“You wanna be good for me, baby?” he breathed, lips against your neck. “Take the blindfold off and get on all fours.”

You froze.

He tugged the blindfold free.

You blinked, dazed, ruined.

“Turn around,” he said. “Now.”

And you did.

Hands on the sheets. Ass up. Back arched.

You looked over your shoulder—heart stuttering when you saw him standing there, hoodie off, black tank hugging his chest, chain catching the light.

“You’re gonna take me now,” he growled, stepping closer, voice low and possessive. “Every inch. Every word. Every fantasy.”

“And after that?” you whispered, eyes wide, skin burning.

His smile turned sinful.

“You’ll never think of me as your idol again.”

You felt his body behind you before you heard him move.

A warm palm smoothed over your back, from the dip of your spine to the curve of your ass. Gentle. Reverent. Worshipping. He breathed slow, like he was grounding himself. Like if he wasn’t careful, he’d devour you whole before he even got inside.

“You’re perfect like this,” he murmured. “Fuck, baby. Do you even know what you’re doing to me?”

You tried to answer, but the words melted on your tongue when he leaned down—chest grazing your back, lips brushing your neck.

“You let me hear you. Let me tease you. Let me own your body before I ever saw your face.”

His fingers slid under the waistband of your underwear, dragging slow.

“And now that I have all of you…” He kissed your shoulder. “You’re not leaving my bed until I’ve ruined you.”

You whimpered.

He laughed, breath hot and low.

“Still so shy? After everything you said to me?”

You turned your head, lips parted. “I want it. All of it.”

That broke him.

The sound he made wasn’t human.

He tore your underwear down and off in one swift pull. Fingers gripped your thighs—tight. Spreading them wide. Exposing you completely.

“Fuck me…” he breathed. “So wet. And you haven’t even been touched yet.”

“Chan—”

He dropped to his knees behind you.

And licked a stripe up your center.

You screamed.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled against you. “Sing for me.”

He devoured like a man starved—tongue precise, relentless, cruel. Two fingers slipped inside, curling just right. Your moans turned messy, hips jerking, hands clawing the sheets.

“That spot?” he rasped. “Right there?”

“Yes—yes—please—”

He spanked your ass once, hard.

“Then take it.”

You shattered—body convulsing, legs trembling, gasping his name like a lifeline. But even through your orgasm, he didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Didn’t let you rest.

“One more,” he ordered. “I want you crying before I even fuck you.”

Your vision blurred. Your thighs trembled. You came again—harder, louder, incoherent.

And then— He pulled away.

You blinked back into the world to see him standing over you, eyes blown black, jaw clenched.

He grabbed your hips, dragged you up and back, and lined himself at your entrance.

“Last chance to run.”

You shook your head, tears on your lashes. “Want you.”

He thrusted in—slow, deep, unrelenting.

You both moaned—his hands squeezing your hips so tight you knew you’d bruise.

“So fucking tight,” he growled. “Like you were made for me.”

You whined, head dropping.

He started slow. Intentional. Torturous.

Then leaned over, mouth at your ear, one hand wrapping around your throat.

“Gonna fuck you so deep you’ll forget your name. Gonna fill you so full you’ll know who you belong to.”

Your moans spiraled into sobs. You were wrecked. Completely gone.

And still—he praised.

“Good girl. Taking me so well. Look at that pretty pussy swallowing me whole. Just for me.”

You lost track of time. Of the room. Of anything but the sound of your bodies slapping together and his voice dragging you through every layer of hell.

Then he flipped you. Straddled you.

Fucked you facing him. Eyes locked. One hand holding your face.

“I wanna see you come again,” he whispered. “Right here. Look at me while I ruin you.”

You nodded, tears spilling, body ready to shatter.

He slammed into you—hard, deep, ruthless.

“Now,” he ordered. “Now.”

And you screamed.

Came harder than you ever had. Back arched. Vision gone. World spinning.

He held you through it—kissed your forehead—whispered filth you couldn’t even process.

Then he followed you—coming with a groan so low and raw it vibrated through your bones.

He collapsed over you, breath tangled in your skin.

You lay there, chest heaving, both of you coated in sweat and bliss and something dangerous.

Then— A kiss to your temple.

—

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was dangerous.

Your bare skin still touched his, tangled in sheets that smelled like sex, sweat, and the kind of risk you weren’t supposed to crave. His fingers traced lazy lines down your spine, like he didn’t want to let go. Like he was still memorizing how you felt stretched around him.

Neither of you spoke.

Because what the fuck was there to say? He wasn’t your friend. He wasn’t just a stranger. He wasn’t even just some faceless number anymore.

He was him.

And he knew exactly who you were now too. You could feel it in the way he looked at you. Like you were something forbidden he couldn’t stop tasting.

You shifted, chest rising and falling against his, still breathless.

“I probably should go,” you murmured.

His hand flattened against your lower back.

“Should you?” he said.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t let go. Didn’t stop you either.

You pulled away slowly. Found your shirt in a messy heap on the floor, sliding it over your head without bothering to fix your hair. Your thighs still ached. The inside of them still sticky. You weren’t sure if you were shaking from pleasure or adrenaline or both.

“Is this the part where I pretend this didn’t happen?” you asked, voice light but not teasing.

He propped himself up on one elbow, eyes dragging across your figure.

“You don’t have to pretend.”

A beat passed.

Then another. And then—

“I probably should’ve stopped this,” he added, quieter this time.

“But you didn’t.”

You turned to face him fully now, shirt barely covering anything, mouth still swollen from the way he kissed you like he wanted to destroy you.

“No,” he said. “I didn’t.”

You stepped toward him, slow.

Deliberate.

He watched you like prey—like the only reason he hadn’t pounced again was because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop the second time.

“I’m not asking for anything,” you said, standing between his knees now. “I know what this is.”

His gaze flicked up.

“What is it?”

Your lips twitched.

“Stupid. Risky. Completely fucking insane.”

He smiled.

And fuck, that smile—you could feel it between your legs.

“But you want more,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

“I do,” you breathed.

“So do I.”

You swallowed hard.

The air between you practically buzzed.

No confessions. No declarations.

Just need.

And beneath it all, the low, simmering thrill of getting away with something you shouldn’t.

“So what happens now?” you whispered.

His hand slid up your thigh. Not possessive—familiar.

“You wait for me to text you,” he said. “Then you come back. Let me fuck that fantasy out of you again.”

Your breath hitched.

“And if I don’t?”

He smirked.

“Then I’ll send you a reminder.”

His fingers dipped between your legs through your shirt, slow and cruel, and you nearly collapsed right there.

“I’ll see you again,” he added, voice rough against your throat now. “You know I will.”

You kissed him. Hard. Brief. Addictive.

Then slipped from his grip like a storm cloud—messy, dark, full of promise.

You didn’t say goodbye. You didn’t need to.

The second the door shut behind you, your phone lit up.

Unknown Number:

Next time, I want you riding my face before you even say hi.

Your smile was sinful. And your reply came fast.

You:

Next time’s too far away.

-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: ‘Unknown number’ portrays one of my most vivid imaginations about how i wanna meet Chan 😩 we’re all delulu so dont look at me like that! But yeah, Chan is always lurking? Well i hope he lurks and finds this fic too 😏😏❤️❤️

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @universeyuto @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki @justwonder113 @mbioooo0000

[hyuckiefluff]

nasty habits | park jisung

pairing: pervy!jisung x camgirl! reader

genre: smut, a little bit of fluff at the end

summary: what happens when you find out that your top spender as a cam girl isn’t some rich old guy, but an awkward boy from your campus?

wc: 20k+

warnings: cam girl activities, usage of sex toys, cursing, loss of virginity, sub!jisung, masturbation (like a lot of it), oral sex (fem.receiving), jisung is his usual introverted self (and only loud during sex), a lot of sexualization and just overall horniness lol. lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: heeey loves! i was absolutely floored with the amount of love that my latest fic got, so here i am with another one for you. this is my first jisung fic so im excited but also nervous bc jisung is one of my biases. idk why it took me so long to write him. but anyways i hope you all enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it. ps; y/n is terrible at recognizing people or remembering names and i’m only putting that here bc it comes out a few times in the fic lol (she’s just like me fr), ALSO, this is loosely inspired by BJ Alex. oh and one last thing, the idea for this fic or at least the characters’ dynamic was inspired by this tweet.

your college days have been, for the most part, unremarkable in the best way. you pulled decent grades, had a solid group of friends, and were generally well-liked.

but despite being somewhat popular, you managed to keep a lot about yourself private.

and by that, you mean the secret life that only a handful of your closest friends knew about.

after all, being a cam girl wasn’t exactly your average college hobby.

you don’t remember how it started, it was likely on a whim born from equal parts boredom and curiosity. at first, you had no idea what you were doing. your streams were awkward, your lighting was bad, and your concept was nonexistent. but after a few months, you found your niche and became kind of a big deal on the platform.

granted, the website you streamed on was pretty obscure. it was the kind of place you could name in public, and nobody would so much as glance your way. still, you made decent money. enough to pay for your first two years of college entirely out of pocket.

you never flaunted it, and most of your friends didn’t care to pry. they only ever joked about it, like they were doing now after you casually mentioned how much you’d earned last month.

“girl, what the hell. maybe i should start camming too,” giselle said, eyes wide as she stared at the number on your screen.

“you say that like it’s a joke, but i’m dead serious,” karina chimed in, striking a dramatic pose in front of the mirror. “i checked my bank account yesterday and almost cried.”

“i mean, i’m not saying you should, but if you need pointers…” you teased, shooting them a wink

“for real though, you’ve gotten so much confidence from this,” giselle pointed out, leaning back against the bed frame.

“oh yeah, nothing boosts your self-esteem like a 60 year old man telling you your ‘princess bits’ are so pretty he busted one in his pants,” you deadpanned, propping your chin on your hand.

“okay, they can’t all be old men,” karina snorted “like can you see their profiles or anything?” she asked, abandoning the mirror and flopping onto the bed beside you.

“not really. just their usernames and how much they’ve spent on my channel.”

“wait, check your top supporter!” giselle said, bouncing a little in excitement.

you scrolled through the dashboard until his username popped up. the moment your friends saw how much he’d spent on you this year, they both let out a loud gasp.

“what in the sugar daddy is this?” karina said, laughing in disbelief. “eighteen thousand dollars? that’s literally my entire tuition!”

“i don’t get the full amount, though. the site takes a cut, then there’s taxes and all that,” you clarified, shrugging.

“still! that’s insane,” giselle said, shaking her head. “honestly, i don’t feel bad about you paying for our sushi nights anymore.”

you laughed, leaning back into your pillows.

“but aren’t you even a little curious about who this…” karina squinted at the screen, “andyp4rk02 is? i need to know everything about this man.”

“i mean, of course i’m curious. but there’s no way to find out,” you said, twirling a strand of hair absentmindedly.

“unless…” giselle said, dragging the word out with a sly grin.

you raised a brow. “unless what?”

“haechan.”

you frowned. “what about him?”

“he could probably hack into this thing,” she said with a casual wave of her hand, as if that wasn’t a completely ridiculous suggestion.

“giselle, he’s a computer science major, not a dark web hacker,” karina said, rolling her eyes.

“okay, but remember when i got locked out of my netflix? he did some tech magic on his computer and got my account back.”

“yeah, because recovering a netflix account is exactly the same as hacking into a cam site,” you said dryly.

“i’m just saying, have you seen his setup? it’s literally something out of a spy movie,” giselle insisted.

karina shrugged. “it wouldn’t hurt to ask him…”

you hesitated, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “i don’t know, guys…”

“oh, come on,” karina said, nudging your shoulder. “don’t you want to know who this guy is?”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

they somehow managed to convince you, which was how you found yourself shivering outside haechan’s dorm, rubbing your arms to keep warm. the air was biting, and as always, haechan wasn’t picking up his phone.

“when he opens this door, i’m kicking him straight in the balls,” you muttered, bouncing on your toes to stave off the cold. giselle was furiously rubbing her hands up and down your arms and karina’s, trying to share what little warmth she had.

“we should’ve called earlier,” karina said through chattering teeth, her lower lip trembling. “he might not even be in.”

giselle huffed dramatically. “okay, this is ridiculous.” she stepped back and cupped her hands around her mouth. “lee haechan, come out right now!” her voice echoed down the street, startling a group of students walking by.

“haechan! get your ass down here!” you joined in, your voice cracking slightly in the cold.

karina gave a small, pitiful laugh. “he lives on the second floor… there’s no way he heard that.”

before she could finish, the door creaked open, revealing one of his roommates. you recognized him immediately but, as usual, couldn’t recall his name. he was younger than you by a year and usually kept to himself whenever you visited.

“uh… hey?” he said, blinking at the sight of the three of you standing there like frostbitten strays. he leaned awkwardly against the doorframe, clearly wondering why three girls were yelling outside their dorm at 9 p.m. on a tuesday.

giselle, ever the charmer, broke into a dazzling smile. “hi! thank you! we’re here for haechan.”

“okay,” he said quietly, still eyeing you all with suspicion. “he’s probably in his room playing league or something.” he stepped aside slowly, letting you in.

“thank you,” you muttered as you walked past, catching the way his gaze immediately dropped to the floor when you made eye contact.

once inside, you didn’t waste any time. storming up to haechan’s door, you knocked violently before pushing it open without waiting for an answer.

“what the hell—” haechan swiveled in his gaming chair, his startled expression melting into a sly grin as soon as he saw you. “hii, girls. to what do i owe the pleasure?” his tone shifted into his mock customer service voice as he leaned back, giving you his most charming smile.

giselle jabbed a finger into his shoulder, making him wince. “were you jerking off, or is your phone shoved up your ass? why didn’t you answer our calls?”

“sorry, i was mid-round, and my phone was on silent,” he said, rubbing his shoulder and smiling sheepishly.

karina folded her arms and sat on the edge of his bed, only to spring back up with a grimace. “ugh, have you even left your room this week?” she asked, glaring at the mountain of empty takeout containers and water bottles scattered across the floor.

“it’s winter break,” haechan said, turning back to his computer and clicking out of the game. “of course i haven’t.”

giselle gestured dramatically at the mess. “you’re one step away from being in a hoarders episode, dude.”

haechan ignored her, spinning in his chair to face you again. “so, what brings such beautiful company to my humble abode?” his eyes lingered on you pointedly.

“he only looked at y/n while saying that. wow.” giselle placed a hand on her chest in mock offense.

“she’s not gonna suck your dick, haechan,” karina said flatly, shaking her head.

“i didn’t even say anything!” he protested, deflating slightly in his chair, his pout almost comical.

“anyway,” you interrupted, rolling your eyes. “i need a favor.”

haechan perked up immediately. “anything for you,” he said with a wink, which earned an exaggerated gagging noise from karina.

you crossed your arms, leaning against the desk. “okay, first: how’s your hacking game these days?”

“eh… like a seven. why?”

“do you think you could, uh, hack into angel corner?”

his eyebrows shot up. “oh, oh.” he swiveled back to his computer, clearly intrigued. “i mean, i’m not super familiar with their system—it depends on their encryption layers and backend coding. but…” he trailed off, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the desk. “it shouldn’t be too hard. why do you want me to hack them, though?”

you fiddled with the hem of your sweater, trying to look as innocent as possible. “just… curious about one of my subscribers.”

giselle chimed in unhelpfully. “her top subscriber.”

haechan spun his chair back around, narrowing his eyes. “and what exactly do you want to know?”

you hesitated, glancing at karina and giselle. the truth was, you hadn’t really thought this through.

“everything,” karina said firmly, her eyes glinting with a kind of mischievous excitement.

haechan smirked, leaning back in his chair. “okay, but what’s in it for me?”

giselle thought for a second and then grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “y/n will sit on your lap while you do your nerdy shit.”

haechan shot out of his chair, clapping his hands. “deal!”

“huh?! i did not agree to this.” you immediately protested.

“c’mooon,” giselle said with a pout. “don’t you want to know?”

haechan patted his lap smugly. “don’t worry, baby. i don’t bite.”

groaning, you finally gave in, muttering curses under your breath as you sat on his lap. he sighed contentedly, spinning back toward his computer. with a few quick clicks, he opened a screen that looked straight out of a movie just as giselle said before. lines of code and strange tabs you didn’t recognize.

“how do you even know how to do this?” you asked, leaning slightly to the side to avoid touching his chest.

“self-taught,” he replied with a shrug.

“great,” you muttered. “i’m trusting a bootleg hacker to invade my subscriber’s privacy. that’s just fantastic.”

“hey, relax,” haechan said, grinning. “you’re in good hands.”

“can we get this over with so i can get off you?” you groaned, shifting uncomfortably on haechan’s lap.

“why? i’m cozy,” he said with a cheeky grin, snuggling into your back. you retaliated with a flick to his forehead.

“ow!” he yelped, immediately rubbing the spot. “i’m so nice to you and all you do is hurt me.”

“you’ll cope. now, what’s this?” you asked, pointing at the maze of numbers and codes flickering across the screen.

“this,” he said, his brows knitting in concentration, “is me trying to break through their firewall… which is a lot more complicated than i thought.”

“well, obviously,” karina chimed in from behind you, inspecting her nails, only half invested in the conversation. “that site probably has CEOs and politicians on it. maybe one of them is your top subscriber, because who else has eighteen thousand dollars to blow on a cam girl?”

“what?!” haechan yelled, whipping around so fast you nearly fell off his lap. “eighteen thousand?!”

“that was my ear,” you muttered, steadying yourself.

he cleared his throat dramatically, but his ears flushed pink. “right, sorry. anyway—oh, wait, i’m in!”

“wait, really?!” you leaned forward in excitement, your hands clutching the edge of his desk. “oh my god, that’s so cool, i could kiss you right now!”

“please do,” haechan replied, staring at you with wide, hopeful eyes.

“be a man,” karina said, smacking him on the back of his head as she moved closer.

“okay, so… bad news or good news first?” haechan asked, his smug grin returning as he reclined slightly in his chair.

“just rip the band-aid off,” you said, crossing your arms. “what’s the bad news?”

“your top spender is smart. like, annoyingly smart. the only personal info he filled out was his gender, and for his name he used a zelda character.”

“what a virgin,” he added with a laugh.

“look who’s talking,” giselle shot back.

“hey, i’m not the one spending thousands on a cam girl who wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole,” haechan retorted, his tone defensive. “and for the record, i do get some action, thank you very much.”

“sure you do,” karina muttered, rolling her eyes. “anyway, what’s the good news?”

haechan grinned like a cat who’d caught a particularly juicy mouse. “i can get his IP address.”

“wait, for real? what are you waiting for?” giselle leaned in, her eyes darting to the screen.

“hold on.” you hesitated, guilt prickling at the edges of your excitement. “isn’t this… a bit much? like, it feels illegal.”

giselle waved a hand dismissively. “please. we’ve come this far… we can’t leave with just this. we already knew he was a guy. only a man would be that desperate.”

“and besides,” karina added, “you’ve been sitting on this nerd’s lap for twenty minutes. make it worth something.”

“touché,” giselle said, nodding. “by the way, you can get up now.”

“yeah, but…” you paused, shifting slightly. “he was right—his lap is cozy.”

“told ya,” haechan said smugly, shooting you a wink. “so, should i pull up his IP or what?”

you sighed covering your face with your hands, hoping it would make the shame and ethical gray area feel a little less overwhelming “ugh. fine. just do it.”

haechan’s fingers flew across the keyboard, a blur of taps and clicks as lines of code scrolled rapidly across the screen. within three minutes, he sat back triumphantly.

“got it,” he said. but then his smile faltered, his brows knitting together in confusion. “wait… that can’t be right.”

“what?” you dropped your hands and leaned forward. “what’s wrong?”

karina’s eyes widened as she stared at the screen. “isn’t that…?”

giselle’s voice was barely above a whisper. “isn’t that this dorm?”

you all stared at the address blinking on the screen. it was the exact building you were sitting in.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“you’ve all been staring at me for the past three minutes, and i’m feeling very threatened right now,” haechan said, his voice trembling.

the three of you stood in front of him, arms crossed and glares locked onto his soul.

“well, we just think it’s way too much of a freaky coincidence that her top spender just so happens to live here,” giselle said, her tone accusatory. “care to explain?”

“wait, wait, wait,” haechan stammered, his hands flying up in surrender. “you’re not seriously implying i’m the top spender, right? cause that’s just—” he laughed nervously, “—ridiculous!”

“oh, is it?” karina quipped, raising a perfectly arched brow. “you’re always flirting with y/n and acting like a simp. what’s a few thousand dollars for your ‘queen’?”

“oh, come on!” haechan groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “i’m naturally a flirty guy. that’s my thing! and where do you guys think i’d even get that kind of money?”

he gestured around the room to back up his claim. the pile of ramen cups and the stack of free campus hoodies spoke louder than he ever could.

“besides,” he added, dropping his arms, “i’m not even subscribed to her channel. i admit i checked it out a few times after y/n told me about it, but i promise i’m not a weirdo or anything. you’re my best friend, y/n.”

his voice softened at the end, and you felt yourself relaxing slightly. haechan might be a flirt, a tease, and a relentless pain in the ass, but he wasn’t the kind of person to keep something like this hidden from you.

“he’s telling the truth, you guys,” you said finally, breaking the tension.

karina tilted her head, sizing him up. “yeah, i didn’t think a bum like him would drop that much money on you anyway.” she scoffed, crossing her arms tighter. “he asked me for five dollars the other day… by the way, give me back my money.”

“dude, it was five bucks! let it go,”

“let it go?” karina shot back. “i could’ve gotten a latte with that!”

“okay, okay,” giselle cut in, waving her hands to calm them down. “if it’s not haechan, who else could it be? is there anyone in this dorm who’s… obsessed with you?”

you blinked, thinking hard. “not that i know of. i mean, i don’t really talk to anyone here except for haechan.”

“how many guys live here?” giselle asked, turning to haechan.

“including me? 5,” he said, counting on his fingers. “but i’m pretty sure jeno has a girlfriend... so that leaves mark, jaemin, and jisung.”

“since when has having a girlfriend ever stopped a man from doing something shady?” karina deadpanned, crossing her arms.

“true,” haechan admitted with a shrug, “but let’s be real, girls… all of them are full-time students barely scraping by with part-time jobs. i doubt any of them have that kind of cash to drop freely.”

“you never know,” giselle chimed in. “isn’t mark’s brother the dealer on campus? maybe he borrowed some money.”

karina snorted. “you’re forgetting mark is practically a saint. the guy’s too religious and too much of a goody two-shoes to even think about something like that.”

“okay, what about jaemin?” giselle countered. “he’s always wearing designer stuff. what if he’s secretly loaded?”

karina gave her an incredulous look. “have you seen jaemin? he’s got a different girl drooling over his shoulder every other day. i don’t think he needs to subscribe to a cam girl to satisfy himself and i’m sure all those were gifts from desperate girls”

“then that leaves jisung,” you said slowly, the name clicking into place. “wait… isn’t he the one who let us in earlier? the freshman?”

karina nodded. “oh right, the tall awkward kid. that would explain why he couldn’t even look at you.”

“wait, jisung?” haechan burst out laughing. “no way. the kid’s barely in his twenties! you’re telling me he somehow scraped together eighteen thousand dollars to spend on y/n?”

“well, he does live in this building so that makes him a suspect…” giselle reasoned, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

“ugh, this is getting too weird,” you muttered, pacing the small room. “are we really saying jisung might be the guy?”

“i mean, you never know,” karina said with a smirk. “quiet ones are always full of surprises.”

haechan groaned, flopping back into his chair. “this is turning into a bad episode of CSI”

“if he’s the top spender, that means he has a thing for y/n,” giselle said, grinning. “we should just ask him directly.”

“absolutely not,” you said quickly, your face heating up.

“why not?” karina teased. “we’re already halfway to solving this mystery. might as well get the confession.”

“no, i think this has already gotten out of control… you guys are too caught up on finding who it is but personally i don’t care that much, i’m fine with not knowing”

“really, even after finding out he’s living in this very dorm?” karina asked walking up to you.

“yeah. i don’t care.” you were lying and they could probably tell by your face but, surprisingly, they didn’t press you.

“okay, fine. let’s go home.”

“i think we should have a sleepover. what do you think, girls?” haechan said and you responded by throwing a pillow at him as you exited the room.

“damn, not even a thank you.” he said, rubbing his head.

you sprinted back into the room and gave him a quick peck on his cheek. “thank you!” you said sweetly.

“and clean your room, it stinks!” you yelled from the hallway.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

winter break had ended, and after coming back from visiting your family, you’d mostly forgotten about the fact that your top spender lived in one of your best friend’s dorms.

but your dismissive attitude disappeared as soon as the new term started.

suddenly, you were hyper-aware of every one of haechan’s roommates. even the ones you’d previously ruled out. like, why was jeno suddenly smiling at you from across the dining hall? and was that… a smirk you saw on mark’s face as you walked by? certainly not—you had to be imagining things. you were just being extremely paranoid.

“hey, gorg!!!” giselle greeted you with extra enthusiasm, practically bouncing into the room.

“you’re happy today,” karina observed, raising an eyebrow.

“i am! i really think i cracked this case, y’all.”

you sighed, already bracing yourself. “enlighten us,” you said flatly.

karina rolled her eyes. “you do know no one cares anymore, right?”

giselle ignored her and continued. “by the way, how were you guys’ breaks?” she asked casually before immediately cutting herself off. “never mind, we’ll get to that later. listen, i was in line for food earlier, and guess who i saw?”

when neither of you spoke, she dramatically continued, “jaemin.”

“fork found in kitchen. of course he’d be at the cafeteria during lunch,” you said, unimpressed.

“no, but listen! i said hi to him, and he flinched so hard he nearly dropped his phone. then he tried to hide it.”

“maybe somebody sent him nudes or something,” karina said, shrugging.

giselle shook her head, leaning in conspiratorially. “no, but catch this… he asked if i was here alone, and when i pointed at you”—she turned to you with a wide grin—“he blushed furiously.”

you tsked, slumping back in your chair. “that still proves nothing.”

“okay, but isn’t it suspicious?” giselle pressed. “why would he blush that hard just because i mentioned you?”

“because he’s a human being with a working circulatory system?” you shot back.

karina snorted. “for real. giselle, you’re acting like you just uncovered a government conspiracy.”

“you guys are just blind,” giselle huffed, crossing her arms. “mark my words… it’s him. jaemin’s the one.”

“even if it was him, what am i supposed to do with that information? march up to him and say, ‘hey, thanks for the eighteen grand’?”

“you should,” karina said with a smirk. “at least get him to buy you lunch.”

giselle sighed dramatically, feeling like she was surrounded by fools. “fine. don’t believe me. but when this all comes out, just remember i called it first.”

“boo!”

haechan’s voice was directly in your ear, and you jumped so hard you nearly spilled your coffee all over yourself.

“what the hell! i almost ruined my new skirt,” you snapped, quickly checking to make sure no drops had actually landed on the fabric.

“did you buy that with jaemin’s allowance?” he teased, a grin stretching across his face.

you responded by flipping him off, which only made him laugh as he slid into the seat next to you.

“you heard everything?” karina asked, giving him an unimpressed look.

“hard not to,” he replied casually. “in case you didn’t know, gi, your discreet voice is about as discreet as a foghorn.”

giselle rolled her eyes. “thanks for the input, hacker boy.”

“i’ve already said to drop the topic,” you cut in, frustrated. “what if one of them hears? and! you guys are being so obvious about it… don’t think i haven’t noticed the pointed stares you keep giving to every guy from the dorm. i’m sure they’ve noticed, too.”

“we’re just trying to help,” giselle said, stabbing at her salad with unnecessary force.

“and i do appreciate it,” you replied, though your tight smile probably said otherwise, “but i’d appreciate it even more if we all just moved on.”

your tone made it clear that the discussion was over, and the table fell into an awkward silence.

you felt a little bad about shutting them down so abruptly, but the truth was, you didn’t want them to figure out who your top spender was. not because you cared about protecting his identity, exactly… but because you feared that, in the process, they’d also find out the full truth:

you’d already interacted with him before.

not just casually, either. your top spender had paid for private sessions. more than once.

you still didn’t know what he looked like since he’d never turned on his camera but you could probably recognize his voice. a voice that, no matter how much you tried to ignore it, had been replaying in your head ever since that night you found out he was likely a student in this university. a deep voice that had a habit of making your heart race despite your best efforts to stay professional.

“i know you said to drop it, but is it just me or does hae’s nerdy friend keep looking this way every few seconds?” karina asked, nodding subtly toward a table a few feet away.

you turned your head, catching a glimpse of jisung sitting by himself, fiddling with his phone. “maybe he wants to sit with us,” you shrugged. “call him over, hae.”

“yo, jisung!” haechan called, raising a hand to wave the taller boy over.

jisung froze in place, his eyes widening briefly before he hastily shoved on his headphones and scurried away like a startled deer.

you frowned, puzzled. “what was that about?”

“that was so weird,” giselle snorted, biting back a laugh.

“ah, he’s just awkward like that,” haechan said with a casual wave of his hand. “probably saw me sitting with gorgeous girls” he locked eyes with you as he said this “and got scared.”

“anyways,” you rolled your eyes, but the slight twitch at the corner of your lips betrayed your amusement. “i have to go.”

“part-time obligations?” karina asked, raising an eyebrow knowingly.

“possibly,” you shrugged nonchalantly as you got up.

“can i come?” haechan asked.

you rolled your eyes at haechan’s hopeful grin as he stood up. “you wish,” you said, pushing him back into his seat before grabbing your bag and heading out.

your destination wasn’t your dorm or the library. instead, you made your way to the small studio you rented off-campus, tucked far enough away to avoid suspicion.

the studio was modest, just big enough to fit a bed, a desk, a small bathroom, and your filming setup. the air smelled faintly of vanilla, thanks to the diffuser you kept running to set the mood. locking the door behind you, you exhaled deeply and began preparing for the night.

the routine was familiar, almost comforting. you hopped into the shower, letting the warm water relax your muscles as you mentally ran through the checklist. after drying off, you slipped into your costume for the night—a delicate white lace dress with baby blue accents that hugged your body in all the right places.

at the vanity, you carefully applied your makeup, adding just enough to transform yourself into collette, your cam girl persona and paired with a small mask that covered your eyes and half of your nose. the wig was the final touch, a wavy style that framed your face perfectly, making you almost unrecognizable from your day-to-day self.

“let’s see,” you adjusted the camera angle to capture the bed and the soft glow of the fairy lights behind it.

you glanced at the table beside the bed, where the new toys you’d promised to showcase were neatly arranged. taking one last look in the mirror, you marveled at how different you looked.

“all right,” you muttered to yourself, glancing at your reflection one last time. “let’s get this show started.”

you hit start on your stream, and the chat immediately flooded with messages, emojis, and tips.

“hi, guys!” you greeted, your voice shifting into a higher, sweeter tone. “missed you all so much during the break.”

the messages came in rapid-fire:

“omg collette’s back!”

“you look stunning as always.”

“been waiting for this for weeks!”

you giggled, leaning closer to the camera so that your cleavage filled the frame. “you’re all too sweet. did you miss me that much?”

the chat practically exploded with affirmations, and the pings of tips coming in made you smile wider.

“i see you guys like the new outfit,” you teased, slowly standing to give them a full view of your legs, moisturized and shimmering under the warm light. “but i didn’t just dress up for no reason. i have a surprise for you tonight.”

you reached for the toys on the desk, holding one up for the camera. “look what i got during the break,” you said, biting your lip playfully. “i thought you’d want to help me break them in.”

the tips surged as viewers expressed their excitement, but one notification caught your eye. andyp4rk02 has tipped $100.

you grinned, recognizing the username instantly. “hi, andy,” you said, your tone dropping to something more intimate. “you’re late today. i thought you’d ditched me for someone else.”

a new ping followed, this time $50, accompanied by a highlighted message: “sorry ;) private livestream later to make it up to you?”

you laughed softly, leaning back on the bed. “hmm,” you tapped your chin thoughtfully. “i think i can squeeze you in on my busy schedule.” with a wink, you moved to grab one of the toys, careful not to linger too long on a single viewer.

“shall we begin?” you asked, spreading your legs slightly to reveal that you were wearing nothing underneath the flimsy lace dress.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

on the other side of the screen, jisung sat in his dimly lit dorm, his face illuminated only by the glow of his computer. he’d barely made it back in time, his breath still heavy from the sprint across campus. it didn’t help that the second he clicked into your livestream, you were already spread out on the bed, teasing the camera with that perfect smile.

he adjusted his glasses nervously, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. his heart was racing, but not from the run. no, it was from you. when you spread your legs, his breath hitched, and he felt his stomach tighten.

“you’re late today,” you’d said, and jisung shivered. god, it was like you were talking directly to him. well, you technically were, but still.

almost as if on autopilot, he unbuckled his belt and pushed his pants down. his fingers wrapped around himself, and he leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the screen.

the angle of the camera was perfect. from his perspective, it was easy to imagine that it wasn’t the pink dildo but his own dick sliding in and out of you.

“fuck,” he whispered under his breath as you slid the dildo inside yourself, your lips parting in a perfect "o" shape as you let out a soft moan.

“feels so good,” you breathed into the camera, your lashes fluttering. “can you make me feel good, too?”

“yes,” jisung groaned, his voice shaky as he gripped himself tighter. “god, yes.”

your moans grew louder, your body arching in a way that made his pulse skyrocket. his brows furrowed, and he bit down on his lip, trying to keep quiet so none of his roommates would hear.

you tilted your head back, the camera catching the curve of your neck and the way your chest rose and fell with each breath. “don’t stop,” you whimpered.

as your voice came through his headphones, sultry and sweet, he muttered to himself, “so perfect. so perfect it’s insane.”

his hand moved faster, his mind filled with nothing but the image of you—so close, yet so untouchable.

he leaned closer, his breath fogging the screen for a moment. “god… i can make you feel so much better than that piece of plastic,” he muttered, his tone almost resentful.

“you don’t even know what i’d do to you,” he whispered

in a minute, jisung came hard, his entire body jerking as his cum shot up and splattered directly onto his keyboard and monitor. he barely registered the mess he made until he heard the faint crackle of his PC struggling under the assault.

“no, no, no—fuck!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking as he scrambled to wipe the pc with the sleeve of his hoodie.

it was too late. the screen flickered, the image of you mid-moan freezing for a few painful seconds before the whole system shorted out with a pathetic wheeze and went black. jisung sat there in stunned silence for a moment, his hand still clutching the stained hoodie sleeve.

“shit…” he muttered, not out of concern for his destroyed PC but because he was now going to miss the rest of your live.

this wasn’t the first time this happened. clearly, his setup was already on its last legs from similar incidents but it still sent a wave of frustration through him.

he slumped back in his chair, running a hand through his damp hair. “guess i’ll just have to catch the replay,” he mumbled, though the thought didn’t satisfy him nearly as much.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the first day of the semester loomed the next morning. you had promised yourself this was the year you’d start fresh. on time to every class, taking meticulous notes, and becoming the academic weapon you’d always meant to be.

of course, none of that happened.

you didn’t hear your alarm because you’d been up until 3 a.m. doing private livestreams for your top subscribers. normally, private sessions didn’t last more than 20 minutes, but andy had an uncanny way of distracting you with his playful, teasing messages, keeping you hooked well past the scheduled time.

you ran into your first class fifteen minutes late, panting slightly and trying not to look as frazzled as you felt. the professor shot you a disapproving look, but a quick apologetic smile from you had him stammering and waving you off. men are so simple, you thought smugly.

after quickly scanning the room, you noticed all the front-row seats were taken which left you with no choice but to settle near the back. you sighed and headed to an open seat in the second-to-last row, cursing your luck.

on your right sat some frat guy you vaguely recognized from the same house as karina’s boyfriend. his name escaped you, but since he was already asleep with his mouth hanging open, you didn’t bother introducing yourself.

on your left, the person was less immediately recognizable. he was hunched over, hoodie drawn tight around his face, typing furiously on his laptop. his long, slender fingers flew across the keyboard with precision, but he didn’t seem remotely aware of your presence.

you cleared your throat softly, hoping to get his attention. nothing.

you tried again, slightly louder this time, but his focus didn’t waver. finally, you tapped his shoulder lightly.

“excuse me, did i miss anything important?”

his fingers froze mid-typing, but he still didn’t look at you. instead, he tilted his laptop slightly in your direction, revealing a neatly formatted list of bullet points. most likely corrections to the syllabus the professor went over at the start of class.

“oh,” you said, caught off guard. “can i take a pic of that?”

he gave a small nod, still not meeting your eyes.

you quickly snapped a photo and smiled. “thank you so much,” you said, your tone warm as you instinctively squeezed his forearm in gratitude.

you felt his entire body stiffen under your touch, his arm tense as if you’d zapped him.

“mhm…” he finally muttered, his voice low and rough from disuse.

you glanced at him again, catching a glimpse of his side profile as he adjusted his hoodie. sharp jawline, glasses slightly askew, and lips pressed into a thin line as he quickly returned his focus to his laptop.

you tilted your head slightly, curiosity piqued. something about him seemed familiar, but you couldn’t quite place it.

“well, thanks again,” you said softly, giving him one last smile before turning back to face the professor.

behind his laptop, jisung exhaled shakily, the spot where you’d touched him burning.

jisung knew you were one of haechan’s friends. he’d watched you walk in and out of the dorm more times than he cared to admit. you were always laughing, tossing your hair over your shoulder in a way that made jisung’s eyes land on you unavoidably.

normally, he wouldn’t even glance twice at the girls his roommates brought around. they were all the same: loud, shallow, and obsessed with their reflection in any shiny surface.

but you weren’t like them.

he’d noticed it the first time you came over. how your voice was softer, more melodic, how you smelled like warm vanilla instead of the overpowering floral perfumes he hated. he remembered catching a glimpse of you bending down to grab something off the floor and how his gaze lingered too long on the curve of your legs before he snapped his head away.

since then, it had only gotten worse. it annoyed him that his brain seemed to remember every little detail about you. the way your lips always looked plump and shiny, as if you’d just licked them. how your laugh was this low, throaty sound that made his chest feel tight.

it was frustrating, how easily you wormed your way into his thoughts.

and now, here you were, sitting next to him. jisung felt trapped, his senses overwhelmed by your closeness. the faint rustle of your skirt, the way your knee accidentally grazed his thigh, the soft, almost unintentional hum you made as you shifted in your seat.

he knew it was all normal, just small, insignificant things. but to him, it felt like you were doing it on purpose. when you tapped his shoulder, jisung’s heart practically jumped out of his chest. his first thought was how warm your hand was.

his second thought was how unfair it was that you could touch him so casually.

“did i miss anything important?” you asked, your voice sweet, your smile even sweeter.

jisung didn’t respond right away. he was too busy trying not to look at the way your lips curved when you spoke. he knew if he opened his mouth, something embarrassing would come out. so instead, he tilted his laptop screen toward you, his fingers twitching against the keyboard. you asked if you could take a picture, and normally he didn’t like sharing his notes but he nodded before he could even stop himself.

“thank you so much,” you said, your voice dripping with warmth. and then, as if to kill him on the spot, you squeezed his forearm lightly.

jisung felt like static electricity was zipping through his body. his skin tingled where you touched him, and he stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge how his breath hitched.

she doesn’t even know what she’s doing, he thought bitterly, his jaw tightening. so damn oblivious.

when you crossed your legs, jisung’s eyes flickered downward before he could stop himself. he caught the briefest glimpse of skin, the hem of your skirt riding up just enough to reveal more of your thigh, and his face flushed.

stop it, he scolded himself, tearing his gaze away.

but he couldn’t help it. he hated himself for it, but he couldn’t stop the way his imagination spiraled. he wondered what it would feel like if you touched him for more than a second. if your fingers lingered. if you looked at him the way you looked at your stupid phone.

his hands curled into fists under the desk, nails digging into his palms. he shifted uncomfortably, trying to will his body into behaving, but your proximity was making it impossible to think straight.

when the professor announced that these would be your assigned seats for the semester, jisung nearly groaned out loud. six months. six months of sitting next to you, of your bare legs grazing his, of your infuriatingly sweet perfume clouding his brain.

how am i supposed to survive this?

jisung clenched his jaw, his gaze flicking to the faint sparkle of lotion on your legs again.

she probably doesn’t even know how many guys in this room would kill to sit where i’m sitting right now, he thought, biting the inside of his cheek.

and yet, despite everything, jisung couldn’t help but feel a sick sort of satisfaction at being this close to you. like he was privy to something no one else was.

and as messed up as it was, he liked that you didn’t know. that you had no idea how much space you took up in his mind.

he glanced sideways at you again, the corner of his lip twitching as you absentmindedly adjusted your skirt.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

jisung bought a new pc, but it wouldn’t be delivered until the end of the week due to delays in the post office. he hated waiting. the old one had been perfect for watching your livestreams but now he was stuck with his laptop. the smaller screen didn’t do you justice. everything felt cramped and wrong, your image reduced to something far too small and impersonal. it frustrated him to no end.

so, in his growing desperation, jisung resorted to something he swore he wouldn’t do: borrowing haechan’s pc. at first, he only asked when he knew haechan would be out for hours, spinning some lie about needing to work on assignments that required a better setup for coding. surprisingly, haechan didn’t question him. he barely seemed to care, too busy running off to hang out with you and your group of friends. lately, you all seemed closer than ever, constantly whispering and giggling amongst yourselves.

not that jisung cared, of course.

but ever since you’d started sitting next to him in class, he couldn’t help but notice you even more. the way you crossed and uncrossed your legs every six or seven minutes or tapped your temple when the professor talked about a complicated topic. he hated that he was paying attention to things he usually wouldn’t. it was a complete waste of time.

today, jisung was forcing himself to focus. he had an essay due tomorrow, and he’d been putting it off for way too long, distracted by you (clearly) and everything Collette— streams, photos, even the grainy replays he managed to dig up online. last night was supposed to be productive, but instead, he’d spent hours rewatching one of the camgirl’s older private streams. by the time he passed out, his laptop was dangerously close to falling off his bed, his boxers halfway down his legs, and his dick sore after a night of relentless jerking off.

he made his way to the library, determined to lock himself in one of the private study rooms and finally finish his work. he needed to focus. no distractions, no excuses.

but when he opened the door to the room he’d booked, all of his resolve shattered.

you were there.

your books and laptop scattered across the table, and you were leaning over, reaching for something just out of your grasp. jisung froze in the doorway, his breath catching as his eyes landed on you. or, more specifically, the strip of black lace peeking out from under your skirt.

he knew he should look away. but his body didn’t seem to get the memo. instead, his eyes remained fixed on the sight, his chest tightening as if someone had sucked all the air out of the room.

his fingers twitched at his side, gripping the strap of his bag until his knuckles turned white. why are you wearing that? he thought, the question racing through his mind before he could stop it. are you wearing it for someone?

you shifted slightly, turning your head as if you sensed someone behind you, and that was enough to snap him out of his trance.

“uh—sorry,” jisung croaked, his voice cracking embarrassingly. he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat. “i—uh—this is... my room. i mean, the room i booked.”

you turned fully to him, startled at first, but then your expression softened into a smile when you realized it was him.

“oh, jisung!” you said brightly, smoothing down your skirt. “i didn’t realize this room was taken. sorry, i’ve just been so distracted, i guess i wasn’t paying attention.”

he forced himself to meet your eyes, his heart hammering in his chest. you recognized him now. during the first week of the semester, you’d seemed to be trying to place him in your mind, but he figured you finally connected the dots and realized he was haechan’s roommate after all.

“it’s... fine,” he muttered, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him. the sound echoed louder than it should have, making him wince. “i didn’t know anyone would be here.”

“well, i can leave if you want,” you offered, gesturing toward your scattered books and notes. “but if you don’t mind sharing, i really need to finish studying for a test tomorrow.”

jisung hesitated, his mind racing. on one hand, the idea of sharing a small, enclosed space with you was borderline terrifying. but on the other hand, the thought of you leaving made his stomach twist in a way he didn’t like to think too hard about.

“no need,” he mumbled, setting his bag down at the far end of the table. “you can stay.”

you beamed at him, and he felt a weird mix of pride and dread settle in his chest.

“thanks! you’re a lifesaver.”

you turned back to your laptop, leaving him to settle into his seat. jisung tried his best to focus on his essay, but his eyes kept drifting to you: the way you twirled your pen between your fingers, the way your lips pursed as you concentrated, the way your skirt kept riding up with every slight movement.

he bit the inside of his cheek, forcing his gaze back to his screen. his essay wasn’t going to write itself, and the sooner he finished, the sooner he could escape this.

but as jisung stared blankly at the screen, the words refused to come to him. his mind was too fogged up, the image of your black lace panties flashing at him. he could still feel the phantom heat pooling uncomfortably low in his stomach.

he adjusted his glasses for the tenth time in five minutes, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie sleeve. he needed to concentrate, needed to shove every inappropriate thought out of his head and focus on the stupid essay that was due in less than twelve hours.

but every tap of your pen, every soft sigh as you read your notes pulled his attention like a magnet. he could feel his skin prickling under the weight of his own thoughts, and it was starting to make him nauseous.

you shifted in your chair, crossing one leg over the other, and jisung caught a glimpse of your bare thighs again. he wondered how soft they’d feel under his fingers. he clenched his jaw, staring harder at the blinking cursor on his laptop. just focus. just write.

“hey,” you said suddenly, your voice soft but startling in the quiet room. jisung’s head snapped up so fast his glasses slipped down his nose.

“yeah?” he croaked, his voice coming out embarrassingly hoarse. he cleared his throat and tried again. “what’s up?”

you held up a book. “do you know anything about this? it’s for my history class, but i’m kind of lost on what the professor’s looking for.”

jisung blinked at the book, trying to register the title through the haze clouding his brain. the sight of your manicured fingers gripping the edge of the hardcover didn’t help his focus.

“uh… yeah, i think so,” he mumbled, his words fumbling over themselves. “i took that class last semester. what’s the assignment?”

you slid your chair closer to his, flipping the book open to a highlighted section. jisung stiffened as you leaned in, your shoulder brushing against his.

he could smell your perfume better now. it made his head swim, and his palms sweat.

“here,” you said, pointing to a passage. “i’m supposed to write an analysis on this, but honestly, it’s not making any sense to me.”

jisung forced himself to look at the page, his eyes skimming over the text even though he couldn’t process a single word. your proximity was unbearable, and the way you tilted your head to look at him made him hyper-aware of every inch of space between you.

“um,” he started, his voice cracking again. “it’s… about, uh, symbolism, i think. like how they use imagery to—”

his words faltered as your leg shifted, pressing briefly against his under the table.

“oh, i get it now!” you said, your eyes lighting up as you turned back to the book. “thanks, jisung, you’re really helpful.”

he swallowed hard, nodding stiffly as you returned to your side of the table. his hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his laptop, trying desperately to block out the lingering warmth of your touch.

as the first hour dragged on, jisung realized he’d barely touched his essay. instead, he found himself cataloging every little thing you did, learning more about your quirks and mannerisms than the topic he was supposed to be researching.

he noticed the way you squinted slightly when reading something closely. do you need glasses? the thought struck him out of nowhere, and the idea of you wearing a pair made his throat tighten and his dick stir to life.

you only seemed to use blue highlighters and matching blue post-it notes. the monochrome dedication was oddly satisfying to watch. jisung noticed you had a habit of twirling the highlighter between your fingers when you were deep in thought, the motion almost hypnotic.

when you weren’t sipping on your drink or snacking on something you’d fidget endlessly, picking up your phone, or tapping your nails on the table in an uneven rhythm. once, you opened an app but closed it just as quickly, as if scolding yourself for getting distracted. jisung smirked at that.

he noticed the way you pouted while typing, your lips forming a subtle, natural curve. every time you got stuck on something, you’d grab a blank page from your notebook and start scribbling aimlessly sometimes doodling stars or flowers in the margins, other times writing the same word over and over like you were trying to etch it into your brain.

you also had a habit of adjusting your necklace every few minutes, fiddling with the pendant as if grounding yourself. jisung wondered if it had some kind of sentimental value.

and then there was the small gasp you let out every time you found a passage you liked, quickly followed by you underlining it with almost comical precision. jisung thought it was cute, though he tried to push that thought away.

by the time the second hour rolled around, he was practically vibrating with tension. not just from the overwhelming presence of you, but from his own failure to accomplish anything.

you sighed softly and closed your laptop, stretching in your seat with a lazy grace that made his stomach flip. the movement caused your shirt to ride up slightly, exposing a sliver of skin and a tiny birthmark just above your hip bone.

jisung’s eyes widened. it was a small, and it was a flushed, pinkish hue, vaguely resembling the shape of a flower petal—or maybe a heart if he squinted.

why does that look so familiar?

he frowned, his brain scrambling to piece together the connection. it snagged at him, like an itch he couldn’t quite reach. had he seen it on you before? no, that didn’t make sense.

and then it hit him.

his heart stuttered as he remembered one of the streams he’d watched not long ago… collette’s stream. she’d been wearing lingerie that night, black with sheer panels, and at one point, she’d adjusted the waistband, revealing a glimpse of a tiny birthmark right above the hip.

holy shit.

jisung’s face burned as he realized the truth, his hands clenching into fists under the table. he couldn’t believe it. the girl he’d been obsessing over online, the one he’d jerked off to more times than he could count, was sitting right next to him.

he stumbled out of his seat, movements clumsy and frantic as he fumbled to gather his things. his hands trembled slightly as he zipped his backpack and he mumbled some half-formed excuse about having plans with haechan. the words tumbled out so quickly they were barely coherent. before you could even process what he was saying, let alone respond, he was already at the door, practically tripping over himself in his rush to leave.

“what an odd kid,” you giggled to yourself, shaking your head at his bizarre behavior.

he was strange, sure, but undeniably cute in his awkwardness. you’d always had a soft spot for guys who didn’t know what to do with themselves, and jisung was no exception. there was something endearing about the way he seemed perpetually out of place, like he wasn’t entirely comfortable in his own skin. but beneath the oversized hoodies and baggy sweatpants, you could tell he was hiding something.

he had broad shoulders that stretched the fabric of his clothes in a way that made you want to see more, and you still hadn’t forgotten the time he’d stripped off his hoodie on that unbearably hot day. the hem of his shirt had lifted with it, giving you the briefest glimpse of his waist, narrow and impossibly toned. you’d been thinking about that moment more often than you’d like to admit.

sitting next to him in class had only amplified things. you didn’t miss the way his eyes darted toward you every few minutes, his gaze lingering on your legs before he quickly looked away, as if he thought you wouldn’t notice. that’s exactly why you made it a point to only wear skirts to that class; short ones, ones that made it impossible for him not to look. it was a game, one you were starting to enjoy far too much.

you liked his hands too. he had large hands with long, slender fingers that flew clumsily over the keys of his laptop. you caught yourself staring at them during class, imagining how they’d feel against your skin, the way they’d grip your waist or tangle in your hair. you wondered if they were soft or if they’d leave a pleasant roughness behind.

his glasses added to the appeal, big-framed and slightly crooked on his nose. they couldn’t hide his soft, pretty eyes, though, or the moles scattered across his pale skin. every detail about him seemed perfectly crafted to make him irresistible in the most unassuming way.

but then there was the question that had been gnawing at the back of your mind, the one you couldn’t seem to shake: was jisung really your top spender? your friends had been so sure, pointing out all the coincidences, and you couldn’t deny that it was starting to feel like too much to ignore.

you smiled to yourself at the thought, unable to help the way your lips curled into something slightly wicked. haechan had mentioned how much time jisung spent in his room, his activities hardly a secret if you listened to the muffled sounds that occasionally slipped through the walls.

the idea made your pulse quicken, a thrill running down your spine as you considered how to take things to the next level. if jisung was your top spender then he was already yours in ways he probably didn’t even realize.

you toyed with the idea of making the first move, testing the waters to see just how far you could push him. he was skittish, easily flustered, and you had no doubt that one well-placed touch or whispered word would send him into a complete meltdown.

you suspected that if you really went for it, jisung might just have a heart attack on the spot. and for some reason, that thought only made you want to do it more.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the next time you met him in class, you decided it was time to confirm once and for all if he was into you. you dressed for the occasion, a skirt that showed just enough leg to make him squirm, paired with a low-cut top and your favorite push-up bra, the one that made your boobs look perfect. you threw on a sweater for good measure, unzipping it casually when you sat next to him, just enough to reveal the curve of your collarbones and the top of your cleavage.

“hey, jisung!” you said, your voice soft and lilting.

he barely looked at you, his lips moving in what you assumed was a greeting, but it was so quiet you couldn’t make out the words. he didn’t hold your gaze for more than a second, and from the way he kept staring at his laptop, you wondered if he’d even noticed the effort you put into your outfit.

you leaned in slightly, catching the faint scent of his detergent mixed with something musky. “sungie?” you whispered, your voice low and sweet.

his jaw clenched at the nickname, and his hands froze over his laptop keys. “hm?” he finally managed, his eyes flickering up to your face for the briefest of moments before darting away again.

“do you want to work on the project together?” you asked, tilting your head innocently.

his brows furrowed as he blinked at you, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and panic. “what… what project?” he stammered, his voice shaky, his breath audibly hitching when his gaze unintentionally dropped to your chest.

“the one he just announced,” you said, nodding toward the screen where the professor had outlined the details of the group assignment.

you watched as his Adam's apple bobbed with a nervous swallow, and he peeled his eyes away from you with visible effort. “oh… uh…” he trailed off, biting his lip. the gesture drew your attention to just how plush and soft they looked.

“if you don’t want to, it’s okay,” you said, leaning back slightly, your pout deliberate and perfectly executed. “i just thought since you helped me with my assignment last time, you’d be a good partner.”

he glanced at you again, his gaze lingering this time, as if trying to gauge your expression. your wide, hopeful eyes seemed to make his decision for him. “okay…” he mumbled, the word barely audible.

“really? yay!” you said, your voice bright with excitement as you reached out and wrapped your hands around his arm in a playful squeeze. the movement was quick, but enough for your chest to press lightly against him, the warmth of your body radiating through his hoodie.

jisung stiffened immediately, every nerve in his body firing off alarms. the combination of your softness and the faint scent of vanilla clinging to your skin was almost enough to send him over the edge. he inhaled deeply, trying to keep his composure, but the air felt thick and suffocating, and he was perilously close to letting out a moan that would’ve humiliated him in front of the entire room.

“i promise i won’t be a burden,” you added, flashing him a dazzling smile that showcased your perfectly sized teeth. “i’ll do my part, i swear.”

he nodded mechanically, his brain too messed up with the feel of your body against his and the lingering image of your lips curling into that smile. “y-yeah…” he muttered, his voice cracking slightly.

as you turned your attention back to the professor, jisung exhaled slowly, his pulse racing. his hands gripped his laptop so tightly his knuckles turned white, and he realized with growing dread that this partnership might actually kill him.

when class ended, you stayed behind, which was unusual since you were usually one of the first to dart out the door. as jisung zipped up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder, he noticed you looking at him expectantly. he panicked. did he have something of yours?

jisung glanced nervously at his belongings, double-checking as if your pencil or notebook might have somehow ended up with him. but you didn’t say anything. the silence stretched awkwardly until you finally stood up.

since the rows were so narrow, your movement brought you close… too close. jisung gulped as you stepped into his space, your perfume wrapping around him. he tightened his grip on his backpack straps.

“do you wanna start working on the project now? i have classes every day, and my evenings are pretty busy, so…” your voice trailed off meaningfully. jisung knew. oh, he knew. your evenings were reserved for livestreams. his evenings were also reserved for your livestreams. obviously, the project couldn’t cut into those sacred hours.

“uh, okay… do you wanna go to the library?” he managed, pushing his glasses up his nose. they kept sliding down because he had to crane his neck to look at you from this close distance.

“sure! next time, we can work at your dorm. i’d offer mine, but we have a strict no-boys policy in the apartment,” you said with a laugh, then added, “though my roommates break that rule all the time.”

“what about you?” the question tumbled out of jisung’s mouth before his brain could intercept it. his eyes widened as if he couldn’t believe he asked that

but you didn’t seem fazed. instead, you grinned. “you know, a lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” you teased, throwing in a wink that made his brain implode just a little.

as you spoke, jisung’s gaze flitted over you again—your mannerisms, your voice, that unmistakable charisma. the longer he looked, the more it hit him like a sledgehammer to the face. how had he not recognized you as collette sooner? sure, you wore a mask on the streams, and your hair was styled differently, but it was unmistakable now. you were her. and yet, standing here in front of him, you felt even more unattainable.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

at the library again, you couldn’t find a private room since you hadn’t booked ahead, so you settled for a secluded table tucked into the corner of the study area. it was jisung’s favorite spot on campus, not that he’d ever admit that to you. he didn’t want to look more like a loser than he already did.

you’d tied your hair up in a ponytail, and jisung wished you hadn’t. the simple change opened up your neck and collarbones, exposing more skin for his eyes to betray him over. he swore he could count the faint freckles scattered across your shoulders if he stared long enough. and, god, did he want to.

jisung sighed, pressing his palms into his eyes in an attempt to reset his brain. he needed to focus. if he was going to make it through this study session, he needed to stop thinking about your freckles or how your lip gloss shimmered every time your mouth moved.

focus, jisung. he started mentally listing the least sexy things he could think of: spongebob, frogs, khaki jeans, loud chewing. he even dredged up the memory of his fourth-grade math teacher, a grumpy woman he was convinced secretly hated him. it worked, until he realized you were talking to him, and he’d been staring straight past you like an idiot.

“sorry, what was that?” he blurted, blinking rapidly and focusing in on your glossy lips forming the last word of whatever you’d said.

you tilted your head slightly, your ponytail swaying with the movement. “i said, do you want to split up the research? or do you just want to work on the same section together?”

“uh…” jisung’s brain scrambled for footing, his face heating up again. “splitting it up is fine. yeah. let’s do that.”

you smiled at him, and he swore it felt like the library got ten degrees hotter. “great! i’ll take the first half, and you can take the second?”

“sure,” he mumbled, fumbling to pull out his laptop. as you turned back to your notes, jisung caught himself glancing at your neck and down to your cleavage again. frogs, he thought desperately. frogs. khaki jeans. loud chewing. but none of it helped.

he needed a cold shower. desperately. every time you leaned into him, jisung’s resolve cracked a little more. he was barely hanging on as it was, his left hand glued to his lap, pressing down in a feeble attempt to hide the semi he’d been sporting for the last twenty minutes.

“what do you think of this?” you asked, sliding your laptop toward him. your voice was sweet, your tone light and inviting, but jisung couldn’t focus on anything except how close you were.

“that’s good,” he mumbled quickly, trying to sound casual even though his throat felt like sandpaper.

“really?” you tilted your head, eyeing him skeptically. “you say that about everything i show you.”

“cause you’re really good at this,” he blurted out. he pressed harder on his lap, his fingers twitching in frustration.

you laughed softly, the sound making his heart stutter. then, to his horror, you gave him a slow once-over, your eyes narrowing slightly as you studied him. “you okay? you look tense.”

“yup, all good,” he said too quickly, his voice high-pitched. he glued his eyes to his laptop, pretending to focus on the passage in front of him, though the words blurred together into an unintelligible mess. please stop looking at me, he begged silently. please.

but instead, you cocked your head, resting your chin in your hand. “you know,” you began thoughtfully, “you sound like someone i know.”

jisung froze. fuck.

his mind went blank, panic flooding his system. his ears burned, and he felt a bead of sweat slide down the back of his neck. did you figure it out? do you know?

“but it couldn’t possibly be,” you said, shaking your head slightly as you turned back to your notes. “you’re too different.”

he released a shaky breath, his heart pounding so violently it felt like it might burst through his ribs. his lips pressed into a tight line as he risked a glance at you. so you did remember andy. jisung had assumed that with so many followers, even your most loyal supporter might fade into the background of your memory. but the private livestreams, the filthy words jisung had whispered that made you moan harder, all the praises and compliments he showered you with—it seemed those had stuck with you. because you remembered his voice.

“i’m gonna use the restroom really quick,” you said, standing up abruptly.

jisung’s eyes followed you as you walked away, the sway of your hips distracting him momentarily before reality snapped back into focus. as soon as you were out of sight, he groaned, his shoulders slumping as he looked down at his lap and the unmistakable tent that had formed there.

he needed to take care of this. now.

standing up, jisung winced at the sensitivity and began making his way toward the bathroom, his head down in an attempt to avoid eye contact with anyone. but just as he approached the hallway, he caught the sound of muffled voices. one of them raised, the other low and pleading. his steps faltered when he recognized your voice.

he crept closer and pressed himself against the wall, just barely peeking around the corner. there you were, gesturing wildly, your brows furrowed in anger as you stood toe-to-toe with someone jisung instantly recognized as sungchan, the captain of the basketball team.

“i told you to leave me alone,” you snapped, your voice sharp. “texting me from taro’s phone? really? now you’re dragging other people into this? why can’t you just understand that i want nothing to do with you anymore?”

“y/n, please,” sungchan said, his tone dripping with desperation. “i don’t know what else you want me to do. i’ve apologized a million times, and i’ve cut all communication with her. i haven’t seen her in months.”

he took a step closer, but you shoved him back by the chest.

“you should’ve done that before fucking her, don’t you think?” you laughed bitterly, shaking your head in disbelief.

“hey, it didn’t mean a thing to me, you know that,” sungchan said, his voice softening as he reached for your hip and squeezed. “you’re the only one i want.”

your body stiffened at his touch, and you glared up at him. “don’t touch me,” you hissed, but he didn’t move, his grip firm.

jisung’s jaw clenched. his fists balled at his sides as his eye twitched. why the hell was this guy touching you when it was clear you didn’t want him to?

“c’mon, baby,” sungchan purred, leaning in dangerously close to your neck. “you know i’m the only one who can make you feel good.”

before jisung could stop himself, he was stepping out from behind the corner. he cleared his throat loudly. the sound startled no one, so he did it again, this time pairing it with a sharp, “hey.”

his voice came out deeper than he expected, reverberating in the narrow hallway.

sungchan’s head snapped up, pulling away from your neck as he turned to look at the interruption. your eyes widened when they landed on jisung, standing there taller than usual, his broad shoulders squared.

“just wanted to check if you were alright,” jisung said, his gaze fixed on you, his voice steady.

sungchan’s expression darkened as his grip on your hip tightened. “and who the hell are you?” he spat, his tone venomous.

jisung didn’t flinch at sungchan’s hostility. his dark eyes flickered to your hip, where sungchan’s hand still rested, and then back to sungchan’s face.

“her partner,” jisung said evenly, his tone calm yet carrying a subtle edge. technically, he wasn’t lying, you were his group partner. “and she doesn’t look too comfortable right now.”

you glanced at jisung, your lips parting in surprise. sungchan let out a dry laugh, his hand finally dropping from your hip as he turned to fully face jisung. he towered over most people, but jisung stood his ground, unbothered by the difference in height.

“you’re her partner?” sungchan sneered, looking jisung up and down with a smirk that screamed condescension. “you don’t seem like her type.”

jisung’s jaw tightened, but his expression remained neutral. he looked at you instead, his voice softening slightly. “you sure you’re okay?”

your lips pressed together as you nodded quickly, your hands fidgeting at your sides. “i’m fine, jisung. really.”

but sungchan wasn’t done. “jisung, huh?” he repeated, his smirk widening. “sounds familiar. oh, wait—” he tilted his head, mockingly stroking his chin. “aren’t you that quiet little nobody who’s always hiding in haechan’s shadow?”

jisung didn’t react to the insult, though his nails dug into his palms. “that’s me,” he said with a shrug, his voice still maddeningly steady. “and you’re the guy who can’t take a hint and harasses girls.”

sungchan’s smirk dropped instantly, his expression hardening. “what did you just say?”

“you heard me,” jisung replied, his voice low. he adjusted his glasses with one hand, his confidence only making sungchan’s irritation grow. “she asked you to leave her alone, didn’t she? or was that too complicated for you to understand?”

you blinked at jisung, momentarily stunned at his boldness. sungchan, on the other hand, took a step forward, his fists clenching.

“listen here, you little shi—”

“stop!” your voice cut through the tension. both jisung and sungchan turned to look at you. you stepped between them, your expression firm as you faced sungchan. “i meant what i said, sungchan. this is over. stop calling me, stop texting me, stop showing up where i am. just—stop. i don’t want to see you anymore.”

sungchan’s jaw tightened, his nostrils flaring as he stared at you. “fine,” he finally said, his voice clipped. “but don’t come crawling back when you realize no one else is gonna treat you like i did.”

jisung couldn’t hold back the quiet scoff that escaped him, and sungchan shot him a glare before storming off down the hallway.

as the echo of sungchan’s footsteps faded, the tension in your shoulders eased slightly. you turned to jisung, your expression both grateful and embarrassed.

“thanks,” you said softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “you didn’t have to do that.”

jisung shrugged, his face a little pink as he adjusted his glasses again. “it’s no big deal. i just… couldn’t stand there and do nothing.”

“still, i appreciate it. my knight in shining glasses” you gave him a small smile.

jisung’s ears burned at the nickname, and he looked away, suddenly very interested in the floor. “ha, yeah.”

you laughed lightly “c’mon,” you said, gesturing toward the library’s main area. “let’s continue working”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

you continued having sessions for the project after class, and slowly, jisung started coming out of his shell. he still mumbled and stuttered every now and then, especially when your attention lingered on him for too long, but he was starting to hold actual conversations now. and once he got going, it was hard to stop him. he’d gush about the most random things, like his favorite video game characters or how much he hated remakes of old horror movies. sometimes, he’d pull up conspiracy theory videos about aliens on his phone, his voice picking up speed as he rambled about the possibility of extraterrestrial life.

“i mean, think about it… how could we be the only ones in this massive universe? that’s just statistically improbable,” he’d say, adjusting his glasses as he leaned closer to show you grainy footage of a supposed UFO. you’d nod along, amused by his enthusiasm, even if half of it went over your head.

you also learned jisung had a thing for metal music. he shyly pulled out his phone one day to show you his collection of signed albums from bands you’d never even heard of. “this one’s from when they did a secret show in busan,” he explained, his fingers tracing the signatures like they were sacred artifacts. “and this? their first album. impossible to find in good condition.”

“wow, you’re really into this,” you said, smirking as you scrolled through the pictures. “so... are you in a band or something?”

he flushed immediately, shaking his head. “no, no! i’m not cool enough for that,” he muttered.

you couldn’t help but smile. “i think you’re cool,” you said simply, and his ears turned pink.

but jisung’s curiosity didn’t stop at music or aliens. he was fascinated by the simplest things. one time, you brought a new lip gloss to class—the kind that didn’t smudge or rub off no matter what. jisung had been so impressed that he begged you to show him how it worked.

“wait, so it stays on? like, even if you eat something? how?” he asked, eyes wide as you swiped some on the back of your hand.

“even if i kissed you right now it wouldn’t come off”

“oh… w-what’s in it? do you have the ingredients list?” he stuttered, his hand coming up to his face to hide the blush on his cheeks.

you laughed. “are you serious right now?”

“yes! this is pretty cool,” he said shyly. “i need to know.”

he was, all in all, a total nerd. but you found that endearing. you liked how he could get so passionate about the smallest details, even if he didn’t realize how cute he looked when he did it.

what you wanted to know most, though, was if he was really loaded. after all, someone had to be, to spend eighteen thousand dollars like that. one particular evening, while you were working on the project at a cafe, you decided to subtly bring it up.

“so... you said you tutor a lot of students, right?” you asked, stirring your iced coffee.

jisung nodded, flipping through his notes. “yeah. it’s decent money, especially before exams.”

“and you... do homework for them too?” you added, raising an eyebrow.

he hesitated, looking a little guilty. “only when they pay extra,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “but yeah. it’s not a big deal.”

“huh,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “you must be really good at it to make that much money.”

“i mean, i guess,” he mumbled, avoiding your gaze. “but it’s not that much.”

“you sure about that?” you teased, giving him a knowing look. “because eighteen thousand isn’t exactly chump change.”

his head snapped up, and for a moment, he looked like a scared hamster. “w-what?” he stammered.

“nothing,” you said, smiling innocently.

he went back to his notes, but you didn’t miss the way his hand trembled slightly as he flipped the page. interesting.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the next time jisung almost had a heart attack because of you was after one particularly grueling day of tutoring half of sungchan’s frat. he’d spent hours going over equations with guys who clearly had no interest in learning and had been on edge the whole time, doing his best to avoid running into sungchan himself. all the bravery he’d mustered at the library had definitely worn off.

he finally made it back to his dorm, exhausted and ready to collapse, only to freeze in the doorway at the sight of you sitting prettily on the edge of his bed, flipping through one of the XXX magazines sitting on his desk. his eyes widened, and his mouth opened to say something, but no words came out.

you noticed him and laughed at his expression. “one of your roommates let me in,” you said, your voice light and teasing. “i think his name’s jaemin?”

jisung blinked, his brain struggling to process. “uh… yeah, jaemin,” he managed to stammer.

“i came to see haechan, but he wasn’t in,” you explained, crossing your legs in a way jisung was so familiar with now. “so i thought i’d pay my new best friend a visit.”

his stomach did a full somersault as he realized you were talking about him. “oh… uhm, hi” he said weakly, scratching the back of his head as he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.

“hi,” you echoed with a grin, holding up the magazine. “some interesting reading material you’ve got here.”

“t-that’s not mine,” he blurted out, his face flushing red. “it’s haechan’s. i swear.”

you tilted your head, clearly unconvinced but too amused to care. “no need to be embarrassed,” you said casually, placing the magazine back on his desk. “you’re not the first boy in whose room i’ve found porn.”

jisung’s ears burned, and he had no idea how to respond to that. “right…” he muttered, shifting awkwardly.

“your room’s cleaner than i expected,” you added, glancing around.

“did you think i’d be messy?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“hmm, more like… sloppy,” you said, arching a brow in a way that could only be described as suggestive.

jisung swallowed hard, unsure if you were flirting or just messing with him. either way, his brain was short-circuiting. “oh?” he said, his voice coming out higher than he intended.

you laughed and leaned back on your hands, watching him with that same playful glint in your eyes. “relax, jisung. i’m just messing with you.”

he let out a small, nervous chuckle and stepped further into the room, trying to act like your presence wasn’t completely throwing him off. “so, uh… what brings you here?” he asked, carefully setting his backpack down.

“just bored,” you said with a shrug. “and since you’re my new best friend, i figured you’d entertain me.”

he blinked. “entertain?” shit, he almost got hard just hearing that.

“obviously,” you said, grinning. “you’re way more fun than haechan anyway.”

jisung doubted that, but he wasn’t about to argue. instead, he sat down at his desk, desperately trying to ignore how pretty you looked sitting on his bed.

“how about you show me how to play that game you talked about?” you asked, walking over to him and resting your arm on his gaming chair.

jisung blinked up at you, startled. “you wanna learn how to play League of Legends?” he asked, his eyebrows shooting up.

“sure. it sounded fun when you told me about it,” you said with a casual shrug.

“uhm, okay then,” jisung said, his voice a little higher than usual as he leaned to flip the power switch on his PC. then he paused, realizing he didn’t have an extra chair. “wait, let me go borrow haechan’s chair,” he said quickly, jogging out of the room.

when jisung returned, chair in hand, his steps faltered. you were leaning over his desk, your skirt riding up just enough to show him what color were your panties today. his first thought, entirely unhelpful, was how badly he wanted to bend you over that desk. his second thought, unfortunately delayed, was that you had turned on his monitor.

and on the screen, clear as day, was his account page.

“so, it was you,” you said, the tone of your voice laced with triumph.

jisung’s eyes widened, panic flaring to life. “what—what are you talking about?” he stammered, dropping the chair with a clatter.

“andyp4rk02,” you said, your voice lilting with satisfaction as you turned to face him, crossing your arms. “i felt it was you. but i’m glad to have a confirmation now.”

jisung froze, his breath catching in his throat as his brain scrambled for something to say. “i—uh—what—”

“you’re not even gonna try to deny it?” you teased, stepping closer to him, the corner of your mouth quirking up in a smirk. “honestly, i was starting to think i was crazy. but you just confirmed it.”

“i—it’s not—” jisung’s voice cracked as he tried to speak, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

you tilted your head, watching him struggle with an almost predatory gleam in your eyes. “relax, jisung. i’m not mad,” you said, your tone softer now, though it didn’t erase the teasing edge. “in fact…” you took another step closer, your voice lowering slightly. “i’m intrigued.”

“huh?” jisung’s voice was barely above a whisper, his throat dry as he tried to process what you were saying.

“the one thing i’m most curious about,” you said, taking a step closer, your tone casual but your gaze sharp, “is how you… a freshman, who doesn’t seem to have a job besides tutoring, managed to splurge thousands of dollars on me?”

jisung swallowed hard, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. “i just…” he mumbled, looking away, his ears burning as he avoided your piercing gaze.

“c’mon, don’t be shy.” you leaned in slightly, your smirk widening. “andy would’ve bent me over that desk over there and started spilling every single thing i asked for.”

jisung’s eyes snapped up to your face, wide with shock. how did you know exactly what had flashed through his mind mere seconds ago?

“s-sorry,” jisung stammered, looking like he wanted to shrink into the floor. “this is just… are you really not uncomfortable? with me, i mean?”

“why would i be?” you asked, tilting your head as though the question itself was ridiculous. “i’ve gotten to know you better now. i know you’re not a weirdo or anything.”

jisung blinked, staring at you like you’d just told him the sky wasn’t blue. “but i—i mean, with everything i said to you before… all of that—”

“all of that was online,” you cut him off smoothly, your tone light. “and honestly? i think it’s kinda cute how much you adored me. well, adore me,” you corrected with a sly grin.

jisung’s jaw dropped slightly, his face somehow heating even more. “you… think it’s cute?”

“of course,” you said with a soft shrug, your tone so casual it was almost disarming. “you’ve been sweet this whole time, even when you were trying so hard to hide it. honestly, i’m flattered.”

your lips curled into a teasing smile as you leaned in just slightly. “but now, i want to know—” your voice dipped lower, warm and slow. your eyes locked with his, drawing him in without effort. “how did you manage it? the money, i mean.”

jisung swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he struggled to form a coherent response. “well… uhm…” he shifted nervously, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “i… saved up a lot of money since i was a kid,” he began, his voice quiet but steady as he forced himself to meet your gaze.

“i made a system,” he continued, his words gaining a bit more confidence as he explained. “i cashed a lot of favors, even in school. i’ve been doing other people’s homework since primary, practically. also…” he hesitated, his eyes flickering to the ground for a moment before darting back to you. “my dad… he started giving me an allowance every month when i was 14, and i never really used it for anything. so… i’ve just been saving. for a long time.”

you tilted your head slightly, clearly intrigued. “wow,” you murmured, crossing your arms in thought. the movement wasn’t intentional—or maybe it was—but it pushed your cleavage up just enough to make jisung’s brain stutter.

his eyes flickered down for half a second before he froze, his face turning crimson. his chest tightened, his breath shallow, because he was sure that if he so much as brushed against you right now, he’d moan like some desperate, pathetic fool.

“that’s… impressive,” you added, breaking the silence, though your tone had shifted, tinged with something almost playful. “you must’ve been really dedicated to saving all that up.” your words hung in the air, light and teasing, but your gaze lingered, as if searching for something deeper.

“y-yeah,” jisung stammered, his hands fidgeting by his sides. “i guess i’ve just… always been good with managing money.”

“clearly,” you said with a grin. you leaned in slightly, your voice dropping just enough to send his heart into overdrive. “it’s kinda sexy, you know.”

jisung’s brain went blank, his entire body tensing as if he couldn’t process what he’d just heard. sexy? he repeated in his mind, struggling not to outwardly combust. his mouth opened as if to respond, but no words came out, and the only sound was the faint hum of his computer in the background.

“you okay?” you asked, your smile widening as you noticed his wide-eyed expression.

“y-yeah,” he managed to croak out, though his voice cracked slightly.

“relax, jisung,” you said, stepping closer, your fingers brushing the edge of his sleeve. his breath hitched, and you couldn’t help but smile at how utterly helpless he looked under your gaze.

“i-i am,” he stammered, but the way he gripped the desk behind him for support said otherwise.

you laughed softly, tilting your head as your hand slid up his arm, fingers ghosting over his bicep before trailing down to rest lightly on his chest. “sure you are,” you murmured, leaning in so your lips were just inches from his ear. “you’ve been nervous since you entered the room.”

“i… i’m not nervous,” he said, his voice cracking slightly.

“oh, really?” you teased, letting your hand slip under the hem of his shirt. your fingertips grazed the warm skin of his stomach, and he jolted, sucking in a sharp breath. “but you’re trembling.”

“t-that’s not—” his words were cut off when your other hand came up to brush the hair out of his face, your touch gentle yet firm as you tilted his chin up to meet your eyes.

“you’re so cute,” you whispered, your thumb lightly grazing his jawline. his eyes widened, his lips parting slightly.

“you’ve been so sweet to me, sungie,” you continued, your voice dropping lower. “how could i not want to thank you?”

“t-thank me?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

you didn’t answer right away. instead, you leaned in, pressing a featherlight kiss to his cheek, so close to the corner of his mouth that he let out an involuntary whimper. “mhmm,” you hummed, your lips brushing against his skin as you moved to the other side, leaving a trail of soft kisses along his jawline.

jisung’s breathing was ragged now, his chest rising and falling rapidly as your hand slid further up his shirt, your nails grazing lightly against his ribs. “is this okay?” you asked softly, your lips hovering near his ear.

“y-yeah,” he managed to choke out, his voice trembling.

“good,” you murmured, pressing a kiss just below his ear, then another on the side of his neck. his hands gripped the edge of the desk so tightly his knuckles were white, and he let out a shaky breath, his head tilting slightly to give you more access.

you smirked, trailing your lips back up to his cheek, stopping just short of his lips. “you’re so quiet now,” you teased, your fingers lightly tracing circles on his stomach. “no more stuttering?”

“i… i don’t…” jisung panted, his words trailing off as your lips brushed against the corner of his mouth.

“you don’t what?” you asked, pulling back just enough to meet his dazed gaze. his eyes were half-lidded, his face flushed, and his lips parted as he struggled to catch his breath.

before he could answer, the sharp buzz of your phone vibrating broke the moment. you blinked, startled, and jisung let out a shaky exhale, his head dropping back against the wall in relief… or frustration.

“hold that thought,” you said, your voice still low as you reached into your pocket. your fingers lingered on his stomach for a moment before you pulled away completely.

jisung watched in a daze as you checked your phone, your lips pressing together. “looks like i’ve got to go,” you said, slipping the device back into your pocket.

“w-what?” he stammered, his voice cracking again as he stared at you in disbelief. “y-you’re leaving?”

“for now,” you said with a wink, stepping back and smoothing your skirt. “don’t miss me too much, okay?”

jisung could only nod dumbly, still leaning against the desk like his legs might give out at any moment.

“oh, and jisung?” you added, pausing at the door. he looked up, his wide eyes meeting yours. “you might want to take care of… that.” your gaze flicked downward for just a moment, and his face turned a brilliant shade of red as he scrambled to adjust his shirt.

you laughed, shooting him one last playful smile before disappearing out the door, leaving him flustered, breathless, and utterly unable to think about anything else but how good your lips felt on his skin.

that night, jisung lost count of how many times he jerked off. by the time he was done, he was so spent he didn’t even bother cleaning up properly. he passed out with a mess of cum smeared across his abdomen, his sheets damp and sticking to his skin.

the sound of retching woke him up.

he groaned, squinting as the sunlight poured directly onto his face. blinking sleepily, he turned his head to see haechan standing at the foot of his bed, his face twisted into an expression of pure disgust.

“look at the state of you…” haechan said, shaking his head like a disappointed parent. “seriously, dude, your dick’s gonna disintegrate if you keep going like this.”

“get out,” jisung groaned, voice hoarse. he rolled over, pulling the blanket halfway over his head to shield himself from both the sunlight and his roommate’s judgment.

“i would, but i have a message from y/n,”

jisung sat up at the sound of your name. his heart pounding as if he’d been jolted with electricity.

“she said she can’t meet you at the library today…”

jisung froze, the sudden buzz of energy deflating into cold panic. “oh,” he said softly, his voice laced with disappointment.

his mind immediately began spiraling. were you avoiding him? now that you knew he was andy, did you think he was a creep? were you disgusted? did you regret what happened yesterday? every terrible scenario played in his head as he stared blankly ahead, anxiety tightening its grip on his chest.

before he could spiral further, haechan continued, dragging out his words for dramatic effect.

“…she said she wants to meet you somewhere else instead.”

jisung’s head snapped toward him. “what?”

“she said she sent you the address and tried calling, but your phone’s off.”

his eyes darted to the floor where his phone lay facedown. practically leaping out of bed, he stumbled over the blanket, barely managing to stay upright as he grabbed the phone and plugged it into the charger.

“relax, dude. she’s not breaking up with you,” haechan said with a smirk.

“shut up,” jisung muttered, his focus entirely on the phone as it turned back on. when the screen finally lit up, he saw your message waiting for him.

his thumb hovered over it before he opened it. the address you’d sent was for a studio about thirty minutes away from campus. jisung frowned, his mind racing again. why there? what kind of place was it? and more importantly, how was he supposed to get there?

he groaned, already planning how he could convince jeno to lend him his car for the evening. but before he could get too far into his thoughts, he noticed haechan still standing there, arms crossed and a suspicious look on his face.

“what?” jisung asked, narrowing his eyes.

“nothing,” haechan said, but the grin spreading across his face said otherwise. “have fun tonight.”

with a wink, haechan strolled out of the room, leaving jisung standing there, equal parts nervous and excited, as he tried to figure out just what you had planned.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

by the time jisung reached the address you sent, he was soaked through to the bone. his hair sticking to his forehead, dripping rainwater down his face, and his clothes clung to his skin, cold and uncomfortable. jeno had flat-out refused to lend him his car, so jisung had to take the bus. the bus stop was two blocks away, and by the time he’d sprinted there in the pouring rain, his sneakers squelched with every step.

he stood now, breathless and drenched, staring up at the old building in front of him. the windows were grimy, and the exterior had an eerie, almost abandoned feel to it. with a reluctant sigh, he pushed the heavy door open and stepped into the lobby. it was completely quiet. the reception desk was empty, and no one was in sight, so he made his way up the narrow staircase to the third floor.

when he reached the door, his heart was hammering. should he have texted to let you know he was here? was he being too forward? after a beat of hesitation, he knocked, his knuckles tapping softly against the wood.

the door swung open after his third knock.

there you were, looking impossibly beautiful. your pink flowy dress caught the light, the fabric swirling around your legs as you smiled up at him. he’d never seen you wear a dress like that before. your makeup was flawless, more than usual, and the sight made his breath catch in his throat.

"you’re really punctual," you said with a soft smile, stepping aside to let him in.

but jisung didn’t move at first. his eyes scanned the space around him as he took it all in.

“is this…” he breathed in disbelief.

“welcome to collette’s studio.” you patted him lightly on the back, gently pushing him further inside.

“i wanted you to see it,” you continued, walking ahead, your fingers brushing against the smooth white sheets of the bed that dominated the center of the room. you glanced back at him with an expectant look.

jisung felt like he’d been dropped into one of his wet dreams. "i’m…" his words faltered as his senses overloaded, trying to catch up with what was happening.

"in shock?" you giggled softly, the sound light and airy. "you’re the first person i bring here."

"really?" he asked, his backpack slipping off his shoulder and falling to the floor with a soft thud.

“you brought your notes?” you asked, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

"yeah…" he stammered, feeling foolish now. "aren’t we gonna finish… the project?"

your gaze locked with his as you moved closer, your presence drawing him in. his eyes flicked nervously to the neon sign hanging on the wall.

"hm, we can… or we could do something more fun?" you suggested, your voice a soft temptation. you stepped closer, until there was barely any space between you two.

jisung tried to keep his composure, but his body betrayed him. every inch of him stiffened as you moved into his personal space.

"i have a proposal for you, sungie," you said, your voice lowering, honeyed and sweet. your hand found its way to the back of his neck, your fingers tracing the skin there lightly, coaxing a soft sigh from his lips.

"y-yeah?" he breathed out, eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment at the sensation of your touch.

"would you like to guest on my channel?"

jisung’s eyes snapped open, disbelief painting his expression. “what?… y-you mean… do a livestream with you?”

he could barely comprehend what you were saying, his brain scrambling to process the words. "but you… you never do that… it’s always just collette."

you smiled softly, a glint of something mysterious dancing in your eyes. "you’re right, but for a while, i’ve been thinking of changing that. i just never found anyone i trusted enough for it."

jisung’s mind was racing. he couldn’t believe this was happening. you, asking him? how many times had he imagined being in this room, taking you in that very bed? but now that the opportunity was right in front of him, he was frozen. what if he wasn’t enough? what if he couldn’t satisfy you like you wanted?

“it’s okay if you don’t want to… it was pretty sudden of me to ask this,” you said, sensing his hesitation. you slowly withdrew your hand from his neck, leaving him cold and wanting more.

jisung panicked. he didn’t want you to think he was rejecting you, but the fear of embarrassing himself in front of not only you but a whole audience gripped him tight. what if he couldn’t live up to your expectations?

but then again, the thought of you finding someone else to do this with made his stomach twist with anxiety. he couldn’t back down now.

with shaky hands, he finally nodded, his voice barely a whisper. "i’ll do it."

“really?” you asked, your voice tinged with genuine surprise. you hadn’t expected him to agree. jisung didn’t exactly strike you as the type to willingly step into the spotlight, let alone in this particular way. this had every potential to go sideways.

but there he was, standing in front of you, his expression a blend of nervousness and determination. he looked like he was trying to keep himself from bolting.

you extended your hand toward him, watching as his gaze flickered down to it. he hesitated, just for a moment, before his much larger hand engulfed yours. his touch was clammy, his grip tentative, but it was enough.

“have you done this before?” you asked, glancing back at him as you led him toward the bed.

he looked utterly petrified, like a deer caught in headlights, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. “a livestream, you mean? uh… yeah, i’ve—uh—seen a few… i mean, no! not seen, done! wait, i mean—”

you chuckled softly, cutting off his flustered rambling. “no, silly. i meant… is this your first time having sex?”

your tone was so casual and devoid of any judgment that it caught him completely off guard. his entire face went up in flames. he nodded slowly, his lips pressed into a tight line.

your smile softened, and you stepped closer, placing your hands lightly on his chest. “then, we should practice before turning the camera on, don’t you think?”

he swallowed hard, his lips parting in a nervous attempt to respond, but no words came out. he simply nodded, his breaths shallow and uneven when you pushed him down onto the bed.

you reached for the straps of your dress and slid them off your shoulders, the fabric slipping down your body and pooling at your feet. jisung’s eyes went wide, his lips slightly parted as he stared at you. his gaze flickered nervously, starting at your feet and slowly working its way up, lingering on the delicate white lace of your underwear. he looked like he was on the verge of tearing up.

you moved closer, settling yourself onto his lap. the sudden pressure made him suck in a sharp breath, his hands hovering awkwardly at his sides.

“tell me what you like,” you murmured, leaning in just enough for your lips to ghost over the shell of his ear.

“w-what do you mean?” his voice cracked, and he looked up at you with wide, panicked eyes. his hands were still frozen in place, unsure of what to do, so you gently took them and placed them on your waist.

“you can touch me,” you said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair out of his face. “when you watch my streams… what do you like?”

his whole body tensed, his fingers spreading hesitantly over your waist. he looked like he wanted to crawl out of his skin, but at the same time, he couldn’t seem to look away. “uhm… i-i don’t know… i… i pretty much like everything,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“do you like when i use the toys?” you asked, your lips brushing against his as you spoke.

“y-yes,” he breathed, the word coming out shaky and unsteady.

“do you like it more when i lay down or when i sit?” you asked, trailing your hands under the hem of his shirt and tugging it up.

his breath hitched as you motioned for him to stand. he obeyed, his movements clumsy as he pulled off his shirt and hesitated with his pants. his hands trembled as he pushed them down, leaving him standing there in just his boxers, his face burning crimson.

“uhm” he started, his voice cracking. he swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the floor before flicking back to you. “when you sit?”

the second the words left his mouth, you pushed him gently, and he stumbled back onto the bed with a gasp. the flush on his cheeks deepened, spreading to the tips of his ears, as he looked up at you with anticipation.

“good,” you murmured, your fingers trailing along his chest. “then let’s see if you like this more.”

the sight of you straddling his lap made jisung’s throat go dry, his mouth parting slightly as his breath quickened. was this really happening? was he actually about to lose his virginity with the girl he had spent countless nights fantasizing about? every inch of him buzzed with nervous energy, and for a fleeting moment, he thought he might actually cry—happy tears, of course, but still tears.

before his mind could spiral further, he felt the soft press of your lips against his. the sensation was so unexpected and overwhelming that he whimpered without meaning to. the sound would’ve embarrassed him any other time, but he was too lost in the moment to care. his lips parted instinctively, allowing your tongue to slide into his mouth, deepening the kiss.

your fingers threaded into his hair, massaging his scalp, and a low moan escaped him. the warmth of your touch was intoxicating, but then your hips shifted, brushing against the hardness in his boxers, and jisung gasped into your mouth.

“shit,” he whispered, his voice shaky as his hips jerked up in response, pressing himself against your core. the friction drew a needy, broken moan from you that he immediately wished he could record and replay for the rest of his life. his head fell back slightly, breaking the kiss.

“how does that feel?” you murmured, grinding your hips against him again. “hm?”

“g-good… so… go—” his words trailed off, his eyes snapping open as he caught you unclasping your bra. the sight of you now bare from the waist up making him forget how to breathe.

he’d seen you topless before on your livestreams, but this was something else entirely. now, you were right in front of him, real and tangible. your breasts were perfect, even better than his wildest dreams, and his hands twitched on your hips, desperate to touch but unsure if he even had the right to.

“go ahead,” you said softly, as if you’d read his mind.

jisung hesitated, the thought flashing through his mind: am i even worthy of this? but before doubt could take hold, you grabbed his hands, guiding them to your chest.

“fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his fingers trembling as they cupped the warm, supple flesh. the softness beneath his palms made his head spin, and he instinctively squeezed, earning a quiet hum of approval from you. “so… perfect,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, shyness seeping into his tone.

you smiled at him and leaned in closer, pushing your chest into his hands. his thumbs grazed over your nipples, and you bit your lip, the simple action making his heart feel like it might pound out of his chest.

“you’re doing so well, sungie,” you praised, your words wrapping around him like a warm blanket. he felt his confidence grow just a little, his hands becoming bolder as he continued to touch you, mesmerized by how soft and warm you were.

“c-can i…?” he trailed off, his lips brushing against your collarbone as he spoke.

“go ahead,” you encouraged, and his mouth descended hesitantly, leaving a tentative kiss on the curve of your breast. the feeling was so new that he couldn’t stop the soft groan that escaped him.

jisung pressed his lips against your skin again, this time lingering a little longer. he felt the soft rise and fall of your chest beneath him, and it was mesmerizing. the warmth, the way you smelled faintly of vanilla, and the soft sighs you let out as he kissed along the curve of your breast—it was too much for him, and not enough all at once.

you tilted your head back slightly, giving him more room, your fingers still tangled in his hair as he kissed lower. his tongue darted out, shyly tracing your skin, and he heard you hum in approval. the sound sent a jolt straight through him, and his hips involuntarily bucked up into yours, pressing against your core.

“that’s it, sungie,” you murmured, your voice like velvet, guiding him. “you can touch more if you want. i don’t bite”

the teasing lilt in your voice made his entire face flush, but it also spurred him on. he let one hand wander, sliding up your side hesitantly before it cupped your other breast. his touch was still timid, his thumb brushing over your nipple experimentally. when you gasped softly and your hips shifted against his, jisung nearly lost it.

“does that feel good?” he asked, his voice barely audible, shaky and full of nerves.

“mhmm,” you nodded, your lips ghosting over the shell of his ear. “you’re doing so well.”

the praise made him braver, and he leaned back slightly to look at you. your hair was slightly mussed, your lips parted, and your eyes were hooded as you gazed down at him. you looked like a dream, like something he’d only ever dared to imagine in the privacy of his own room.

jisung’s breath came in shallow pants as he watched you. your skin was soft, and your scent filled his senses, making it impossible for him to think about anything else.

“take these off too,” you murmured, your fingers tugging lightly at the waistband of his boxers.

his entire face burned crimson as he nodded, his hands shaking slightly as he hooked his thumbs under the fabric and began to slide them down. his heart was pounding so hard he thought it wasn’t normal, but the thought of stopping never even crossed his mind.

you leaned back just enough to give him room, watching as he pushed the boxers down his hips, his movements awkward and nervous. once he kicked them off completely, he sat there, completely bare before you, his hands fidgeting at his sides as he avoided your gaze.

“hey,” you said softly, reaching out to tilt his chin up so he’d look at you. “don’t be shy. you’re perfect, sungie.”

his eyes widened slightly at your words, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

“you’re really cute when you’re flustered, you know that?” you teased, leaning in to kiss him again. this time, the kiss was slower, deeper, and jisung melted into it, his hands finally moving to rest on your waist.

you shifted in his lap, pressing your core against him, and he gasped into your mouth, his hips jerking up instinctively.

“s-sorry,” he stammered, pulling back slightly, his face a deep shade of red.

“don’t apologize,” you said, brushing your fingers through his hair. “you’re doing so well.”

your praise made his chest swell, and he swallowed hard, his eyes flicking down to where your bodies were pressed together.

“touch me more, sungie,” you encouraged, taking his hands and guiding them up your sides, over your ribs, until they were back on your chest.

his fingers trembled as they cupped you, his thumbs brushing over your nipples experimentally. when you let out a soft moan, his confidence grew, and he leaned down to kiss your neck, his lips trailing lower until they found the curve of your breast.

“just like that,” you whispered, your fingers threading through his hair again as he continued exploring your body.

your hands slid down his back, your nails grazing his skin lightly, and jisung shivered under your touch. his own hands started to roam more boldly, tracing the curve of your waist, the small of your back, and finally settling on your ass.

you shifted again, grinding down against him, and he let out a choked moan, his head falling against your shoulder as he tried to catch his breath.

“you’re so sensitive,” you murmured, kissing the side of his neck.

“i… i c-can’t help it,” he stuttered, his voice shaky. “you’re… you’re just…”

you smiled, pressing a finger to his lips to hush him. “it’s okay, sungie. just let me take care of you.”

he nodded, his hands gripping your hips tighter as you continued to move against him. every touch, every kiss, every sound you made drove him closer to the edge, and he didn’t know how much more he could take.

you leaned back slightly, reaching between your bodies to tug your panties down, and jisung watched with wide eyes as you discarded them. he couldn’t believe this was happening, like any moment he might wake up in his bed, alone and frustrated.

“are you okay?” you asked, your voice soft as you looked at him.

“y-yeah,” he said quickly, nodding. i just can’t believe this is real, he wanted to say but he was scared he’d sound like a loser.

“wait a second,” you said, sliding off his lap, the sudden loss of your weight making jisung let out a soft, involuntary hiss.

his eyes darted down, and he realized—much to his horror—that his dick was now standing proudly at full attention, no longer constrained by his boxers. in his mind, it was almost mocking him, like it was giving him a thumbs-up for finally letting his hand rest after all those nights of longing for you. jisung felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over him, and his first instinct was to grab a blanket or pillow to cover himself.

just as he was about to reach for one, his attention was drawn to you. you were bent over by your bedside drawer, rummaging through it with an air of purpose. then, you pulled something out, holding it up for him to see… a shiny silver wrapper.

a condom.

jisung felt like his heart stopped beating for a second as he stared at the little package in your hands. something about seeing it made everything feel impossibly, undeniably real.

“ultrathin… so you can feel everything,” you said casually, your voice laced with amusement as you turned back toward him.

goodness, she’s gonna kill me. jisung thought, swallowing hard as he swore his dick twitched at your words.

“you’re quite big, sungie…” you mused, crawling back onto the bed with a grace that made his breath hitch. you moved toward him slowly, your eyes dark with intent. the way you approached him reminded him of a lioness stalking her prey.

“let’s see if it fits,” you added, a playful smile on your lips as you straddled his thighs.

jisung was completely frozen, his pulse pounding in his ears as he watched you unwrapping the condom with practiced ease. your hands moved so skillfully, the shiny material glinting faintly in the light. then you paused, looking up at him with a question in your eyes.

“may i?” you asked softly, your voice almost sweet, though your expression held that same predatory confidence.

“y-yeah,” he stammered, the word barely audible as he nodded frantically. in his mind, he was screaming, please, yes, god, yes.

the corner of your mouth quirked up as you leaned forward. your fingers were gentle but firm as you grasped his dick, and jisung couldn’t stop the shuddering gasp that escaped his lips. you slid the condom over him with ease, the mix of precum and the lubricant on the condom making it glide smoothly down his shaft.

it fit perfectly.

“fits you like a glove,” you murmured, your tone teasing as you leaned back to admire your handiwork.

jisung didn’t know what to do. his hands twitched at his sides, his mouth slightly open as he tried to breathe through the overwhelming sensations coursing through him.

then, without warning, you slid up his body, settling back onto his lap. the sudden pressure against his dick made him let out a low, shaky moan.

“ready?” you asked, your voice softer now, your hands resting on his chest as you leaned forward.

jisung swallowed hard, his wide eyes meeting yours. “y-yeah,” he croaked, his voice cracking slightly.

you lifted yourself slightly, aligning him with your entrance. jisung was trembling under you, his hands gripping the sheets as if holding on for dear life.

"breathe, sungie," you whispered, stroking his chest gently. his wide, panicked eyes met yours, and you smiled softly to reassure him.

he nodded quickly, forcing himself to take a shaky breath. when he exhaled, you sank down just a little, the tip of him slipping inside. his whole body jerked in response, a desperate, broken moan escaping his lips.

“fuck…” he muttered, his head falling back against the pillow. his grip on the sheets tightened, his knuckles turning white. the heat, the wetness, the feeling of you was unlike anything he’d ever imagined.

“good?” you asked, tilting your head as you hovered above him, testing his reaction.

“s-so good,” jisung gasped, his voice trembling. “so… tight… warm…”

you couldn’t help but smirk at his reaction, but you didn’t tease him. instead, you lowered yourself further, slowly taking him inch by inch. jisung’s breathing grew heavier with every movement, his hips twitching upward involuntarily as if his body couldn’t help but chase the sensation.

"easy," you murmured, pressing a hand against his chest to still him. "let me take care of you."

jisung nodded dumbly, biting his lip as he tried to stay still. his eyes were fixed on you, watching every little movement you made in adoration.

when you finally took all of him, you let out a soft sigh of relief, adjusting to the stretch. jisung, on the other hand, looked like he was seconds away from imploding.

"you're... you're perfect," he blurted out, his voice breaking with emotion.

you laughed softly, leaning down to brush your lips against his. “you’re pretty perfect yourself, sungie.”

you gave him a moment to catch his breath, your hands gently running up and down his sides to calm him. when you started to move, lifting yourself slowly and sinking back down, his head shot up from the pillow.

“oh my god—” jisung groaned, his hands flying to your hips instinctively. “oh my god, oh my god…”

his grip was unsure, as if he didn’t know whether to hold on tighter or let go. his hips bucked slightly beneath you, and you gasped at the unexpected movement.

"you're doing so well," you encouraged him, your voice breathy but soothing. you leaned forward, kissing the corner of his mouth before nipping at his jaw.

jisung whimpered at the praise, his hands sliding up your sides as he tried to ground himself. his lips found yours again, and this time, he kissed you with a bit more confidence, his tongue shyly seeking yours.

you rolled your hips against him, drawing a strangled moan from deep in his chest. his reactions were so genuine, so raw. it made your heart race just as much as his.

“faster,” he whispered against your lips, surprising both you and himself. his cheeks flushed red immediately after the word left his mouth.

you smiled, pressing your forehead against his as you obliged, picking up the pace. his grip on your hips tightened as he tried to meet your movements, his breaths coming faster and more uneven.

“you’re close, aren’t you?” you asked softly, brushing his damp hair out of his face.

jisung nodded rapidly, his eyes squeezed shut as his whole body tensed beneath you. “i—i can’t… i can’t hold it,” he stammered, his voice breaking with desperation.

“it’s okay,” you reassured him, your voice gentle. “let go for me, sungie.”

the permission was all he needed. with a choked cry, jisung’s hips jerked upward, and he came harder than he ever thought possible. his whole body trembled as he gripped you tightly, burying his face in your shoulder as he rode out the waves of pleasure.

you held him through it, running your fingers through his hair and whispering soft words of encouragement. when his breathing finally started to slow, you leaned back slightly to look at him.

his face was flushed, his chest heaving, and his eyes glazed over as he tried to process what just happened.

“you okay?” you asked, stroking his cheek gently.

jisung blinked up at you, a dazed but blissful smile spreading across his face. “y-yeah,” he breathed, his voice hoarse. “that was… amazing.”

you laughed softly, leaning down to kiss him again. “you did so well, sungie.”

he blushed at the praise, his hands resting on your thighs as he tried to steady himself. “thank you,” he mumbled shyly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“don’t thank me yet,” you teased. “we’re just getting started.”

the next day...

“sungie,” you said, your voice soft and slightly breathless. you were sprawled out on your couch, your notes and research scattered across the coffee table, all but forgotten.

“last night’s livestream got the most views i’ve had in months,” you murmured, looking down at him. “they must like you.”

jisung looked up from between your legs, his glasses fogged and slightly crooked on his face. his lips were swollen and glistening with your arousal, his cheeks flushed a deep red.

“really?” he asked, only half-interested. but before you could respond, he dove back down, his eager mouth finding your folds once again.

a sharp gasp left your lips as his tongue traced over you. this was already the second time today he’d eaten you out, and he’d only gotten better since his first attempt this morning.

earlier, you’d guided him through it, patiently showing him what felt good, what didn’t, and how to read the reactions of your body.

jisung’s long tongue worked wonders, licking and teasing in ways that had you gripping the cushions for dear life. when he sucked gently on your clit and flicked his tongue over it in quick succession, your thighs quivered against his head. he took note of the way your hips bucked involuntarily, doubling down on the action and making you cry out.

“you’re such a quick learner,” you panted, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging lightly to spur him on.

he hummed against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your core. the sound was almost self-satisfied, as though he was proud of the way he had you unraveling beneath him.

the combination of his inexperience and raw enthusiasm was intoxicating. jisung wasn’t just doing this to please you. he genuinely wanted to understand every inch of you, to learn what made you tick and what brought you to the edge.

and he was succeeding.

your thighs clenched around his head, your body arching off the couch as he alternated between languid strokes of his tongue and quick flicks against your most sensitive spot. “s-sungie, oh my god,” you whimpered, your grip on his hair tightening.

he pulled back just enough to look up at you, his glasses messier than ever. “does that mean i’m doing good?” he asked, his voice slightly muffled, and for a second, his shy, eager-to-please demeanor broke through.

you let out a breathless laugh, your hand cupping his cheek affectionately. “you’re doing amazing, baby.”

his lips quirked into a bashful smile before he returned his attention to your core, determined to coax another round of trembling moans from your lips.

jisung park, you thought as you teetered on the edge of bliss, was quickly becoming an overachiever in the best way possible.

a/n: my inbox is always open for any comments about the fic! thank you for reading <3

[wafflefries13]

Asking Out the Twisted Wonderland Cast (Multi TWST cast X Reader)

Summary: Sometimes, you can't just wait for good things to happen to you. Time to screw your courage to the sticking place and finally ask out that boy you like!

AN: I meant for these each to be like 200 word drabbles. Some of them kind of got away from me, lol.

Cross-posted on my AO3 TheGhostInTheKitchen

Warnings: Fluff, AFAB reader with she/her pronouns.

Part 2: First Dates

The sounds of the NRC cafeteria clattered around the group of first years. Utensils scraping on plates, sizzling from the open window to the kitchen, a hundred different conversations from all sides. Their small group sat clustered around their table, nestled close together to be heard over the general din. 

“I’m just saying,” Ace said, mouth half full. 

“You’re always ‘just saying’,” Deuce said. 

Ace shoved him. “I’m just saying, if you want to try out for the anchor position on the track team you have to actually ask for it. Get Coach Vargas and don’t stop bugging him until he sees what you can do! No one’s going to just wait for it to happen.” 

“And I’m saying it doesn't do any good to be a nuisance when I don’t even know if I’m good enough yet. I might as well wait till tryouts next semester.” 

“No, no, he’s right,” (Y/N) said, distantly. 

“Yeah!” Ace said. “Wait, right about what?” 

“You can’t just wait for stuff to happen to you. If you really want something you have to go and take it for yourself.” She stood abruptly, face determined. “I need to ask something.” 

Ace:

“Ace!” 

Ace jumped, brushing off crumbs from his jacket. “What? What did I do now?” 

“Do you want to go out with me?” 

Epel choked, Jack thumping him on the back. Deuce looked like she had just insulted his mother. Sebek rolled his eyes as he took another bite. Ortho gasped, leaning forward, eyes wide and excited. 

“I-What?” Ace stuttered, his face rapidly turning red. “Where the heck did that come from?” 

“You were just saying you shouldn’t wait for something you want. I like you, I have for a while now. So, do you want to go out?” 

Ace stuttered out a reply, slapping on his normal cocky smile but decidedly not meeting (Y/N)’s eyes. “I mean, yeah, of course you fell for me! It’s about time you said something. But, um, yeah, I’d like that. A lot.” 

“Well,” Deuce said, rolling his eyes. “It’s about time one of you said something.” 

“Hey!” Ace shouted. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

(Y/N) playfully shoved him. “Oh, please, don’t act like I haven’t noticed that you like me too. You’re not subtle about it.” 

“What made you think that?” 

“Ace, within the first week of me being here you asked to sleep in the same bed as me twice.” 

From another table, definitely not eavesdropping, Riddle fainted. 

Deuce:

“Deuce!” Deuce jumped at (Y/N) suddenly shouting his name. “I need your help with something. Can you come with me for a second?” 

“Oh, yeah, sure, of course.” Deuce ignored Ace’s pointed look. Deuce followed (Y/N) out of the cafeteria down the halls. “Where are we going?” 

(Y/N) suddenly turned around, Deuce almost colliding with her. Before he could apologize, she took his hands, looking up into his eyes as he felt blood rush to his cheeks. 

“I just wanted somewhere more private,” She said. “Deuce, I really like you. Will you go out with me?” 

“I-huh?! I mean, yeah, yes! I like you, too!” He rubbed the back of his head and looked away shyly. “Man, I wanted to ask you out first.” 

(Y/N) grinned. “Really? How were you going to do it?” 

“Well, my mom said that when my dad first asked her out he got her this big bouquet of flowers. But he ended up being allergic to them so he kept sneezing the whole time. She took him to the infirmary at their school and he had to write it down since his face was too swollen to talk.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say no to flowers. Maybe we can skip the rest of that, though.” 

Deuce marched over to the cut out window of the hallway, opening out onto the quad. Reaching over, he plucked a fluffy pink peony from one of the bushes. He came back to (Y/N), suddenly very flustered, and held it out to her. 

“(Y/N),” He began. 

She clasped her hands together. “Yes?” 

“Would you do me the honor of - Ah!” Deuce yelped as a bee flew out of the peony blossom, shooting for Deuce’s face to sting him. 

Turns out, they did spend time in the infirmary. But, after (Y/N) kissed his cheek and gently held the flower, Deuce didn’t seem to mind too much. 

Trey: 

“Ow!” 

Trey paused outside the Heartslabyul kitchen as he heard the exclamation from inside. He was planning on testing out a new bread recipe his parents had sent him and wasn’t expecting anyone else to be using the kitchen that day. He peaked in, seeing (Y/N), Grim, Ace, and Deuce crowded around the island in the middle. (Y/N) was blowing on a burn on her hand, Grim rifling through the pantry for various sweets, and Ace and Deuce waving away smoke from a burnt pastry freshly pulled from the oven. 

“I told you!” (Y/N) said. “You can’t just raise the temperature for it to cook faster, it’ll just burn!” 

“Well, sorry for trying to make your confession go faster before you chicken out,” Ace said. 

“I’m not going to chicken out! Probably. Maybe. What if the pie burning is an omen?” 

“I wouldn’t read too deeply into it,” Trey said, entering the kitchen. The first years jumped, (Y/N)’s eyes going wide and she stared at the floor. 

“Well!” Deuce said, grabbing Ace and Grim and hurrying them out the door. “Omen or not, that’s our cue to leave. Good luck, (Y/N)!” 

Silence echoed around the two of them as the door of the kitchen thunked closed. (Y/N) fiddled with her fingers, still not looking up. Trey walked around the island, looking at the smoldering pie. There was a mostly neat lattice across the bubbling fruit, with extra crust cut into letters around the rim. 

“‘Trey,’” He read. “‘Will you-’”

“Ah! No, wait!” (Y/N) jumped forward, covering it with her hands. She jumped back as her palm accidentally hit the hot pie tin, giving her another burn. 

“Oh, wait, hang on.” Trey quickly went over to the sink, grabbing a clean towel and soaking it in cold water. He gently took her hand, pressing it to the burn. (Y/N) chewed her lip. “You know, I’d be happy to help if you want to try again. I’ve been wanting to try this new butter pie crust that’s good with custards and-”

“I really like you!” (Y/N) blurted out, face going as hot as the burn on her hand. “Would you want to go out with me? Please?” 

Trey tightened his grip on her hand, careful to avoid the injury. He smiled, laughing. “I was wondering if I should say it first. I guess you beat me to it. Yes, (Y/N), I’d love to go out with you.”  

Cater: 

Cater was relaxing in the Heartslabyul gardens, a can of red paint discarded beside him. He hummed something the pop music club had been working on as he scrolled through Magicam. He took a quick selfie, winking, tongue out with a peace sign, before refreshing his feed. 

He paused when he saw (Y/N) come across his dash. She was smiling brightly, one arm arched above her head and the other held down at an angle to create half a heart. The word ‘Will’ was written in bubbly cartoon letters in the middle. A few posts later, there was a second photo, an almost perfect mirror of the first to complete the heart. The word ‘You’ was written in the middle of this one. 

Cater almost felt like he was solving a puzzle as he searched the rest of his feed for more posts. Each had (Y/N) in a dramatic pose, adding another word to complete the sentence, ‘Go,’ ‘Out,’ ‘With’, ‘Me.’ When he realized it was a request to ask someone out, he couldn’t help but feel a little deflated. He shook his head. Of course (Y/N) would be crushing on someone. With all the adventures she had gone on during their time at NRC, it would make sense to develop strong feelings. He tried to quiet the voice in his head that hoped those strong feelings would go his way. Well, whatever, that just meant he had to keep a close eye on whoever had earned her affections, maybe give them a good threatening to treat her right while he was at it. 

Cater tapped on her name, taking him to her Magicam profile. It felt like just the other day when he was helping her set it up. He sighed at the happy memory. For a second, it occurred to him that the message (Y/N) had been spelling out in pictures didn’t end with a question mark. He thought it was weird. Was it a mistake? Then his eye caught on the latest picture, posted just a second before. 

It was a selfie of (Y/N) holding a large bouquet of yellow and orange flowers, marigolds, daisies, and buttercups. The majority of the frame was over her shoulder, showing Cater himself sitting against the hedges. His name was drawn in the same cartoon font with a question mark, surrounded by a heart.  

Cater snapped up, whirling around. He quickly whipped away the happy tears budding at the corner of his eyes as he saw (Y/N) waiting for him. The flowers were crushed between them as he scooped her up in a tight hug, both of them laughing. 

(They both carefully rearranged the flowers after to be presentable for the mandatory #TogetherForever couple photoshoot after.) 

Riddle: 

Riddle frowned at the commotion building from the Heartslabyul common room. He could make out the familiar rising sounds of Ace and Deuce’s voices. He began marching to the source of the racket, faltering a little when he heard (Y/N)’s voice joining in. Mentally scolding himself from eavesdropping  (it wasn’t eavesdropping, he was keeping tabs on his dorm mates, that’s it) he hovered near the cracked open door. 

“No, wait!” (Y/N) said. “We can’t use coral roses! I said pink!” 

Ace huffed. “What’s the difference?” 

(Y/N) tapped a small dark red book she was holding. “Coral roses symbolize desire, pink roses mean admiration and happiness. I’m not trying to scare him off before I can even ask him out!” 

Before he could even think about it, Riddle threw open the door, shouting, “Just what is going on here?” 

Everyone inside jumped. Riddle swept his eyes across the room, taking in the bundles and bundles of roses in multiple colors carefully poised on every surface. Ace and Deuce were meticulously balancing a bouquet in the chandelier, plucking out the offending coral colored roses. Cater was smirking in the corner, phone poised to capture everything. Trey chuckled behind his own large bouquet of yellow roses.. 

“Um,” She said, startled by his interruption. Taking a deep breath, she set the book down and picked up a bouquet of lavender roses, shoving them in Riddle’s direction. 

‘Lavender,’ He thought. ‘Love at first sight.’ 

“Riddle!” She said, probably a little too loudly. “I really like you! Would you go out with me?” 

The silence that followed was deafening. Cater tried to break the tension with a laugh. “Aww, (Y/N),” He said. “What happened to that whole speech you had?” 

“He surprised me!” She said. “Oh, wait, hang on, I still have it.” Without thinking, she shoved the bouquet in Riddle’s arms, searching her pockets to pull out a neatly folded piece of notebook paper. “Ahem. Riddle, I have struggled in vain and I can bear it no longer. These past few months have been a torment. I came to Heartslabuyl with the single objective to see you. I-” 

“Everyone out!” Riddle shouted. As the group scuttled to the door, he pointed at (Y/N). “Not you.” 

The door thudded behind them, Ace and Deuce giving a quick thumbs up and what was supposed to be a confident smile as they left. (Y/N) crinkled the paper in her hands. 

“It gets better,” She said meekly. “The speech. Although I guess in the movie it ends with a rejection too. I should have used the one from the end, or Shakespeare maybe. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more - well, I guess you're not very temperate. Wait, let me try again.” 

“(Y/N),” He said. He held the lavender flowers tightly. “You know what this means?” 

“Oh, the flowers? Yeah, I, um, I’ve been studying.” She picked the book back up, shyly holding it up. Riddle could read the title now: The Queen of Hearts Guide to Courtship and Love. 

“You,” Riddle said, feeling his face heat up. He held up the flowers. “You mean it? Really?” 

(Y/N) took a step towards him, understanding softening the worry on her face. “Of course. I wanted to ask you out and I thought, well,” She waved at the multicolored roses, laughing. “Go big or go home, right?” 

“It certainly is a statement.” Riddle picked up a yellow rose with red tipping the petals and handed it to her. (Y/N) recognized the colors immediately as meaning ‘Falling in love.’ She gasped in happiness, jumping forward to wrap Riddle in a tight hug. 

Leona: 

“Ruggie!” Ruggie paused as he heard (Y/N) call his name. She jogged over to him where he held Leona’s typical boxed lunch order. “Hey, that’s for Leona, right? Do you mind if I bring it to him? There’s something important I have to talk to him about.” Ruggie considered it for a moment before shrugging and handing it over, but not before stealing a couple of chips to pop into his mouth as he strolled away. 

(Y/N) found Leona in his normal spot, a hidden alcove in the gardens in the biodome. He was laying on his back, arms crossed behind his head, and eyes closed as he dozed. He cracked his eye open as (Y/N) approached. 

“Hi,” She said, kneeling down beside him. 

“Hmm,” He replied. 

“I have something important to ask you.” 

“Are you going to try and make me get up?” “No.” 

“Alright, ask away.” 

“Will you go out with me?” 

Leona’s eyes snapped open. He pushed himself up on his elbows to stare at (Y/N), smiling sincerely at him, and maybe holding his lunch hostage until she got an answer. 

“I really like you,” She continued. “You’re brave and confident and know exactly who you are. Sure, you can be stubborn as hell, but you also really care about people close to you. Don’t make that face, you can’t fool me. You could have easily thrown me out when Grim and I needed someplace to stay when Azul took over Ramshackle, but you didn’t. You didn’t even kick us out when we were making so much noise and annoying you, you helped us break Azul’s contracts instead. You joined the Culinary Crucible because Epel did and you wanted to keep an eye on your team mate. Please, as if you ever need to learn how to cook, I know you can’t even use a microwave. And you pretend not to notice when Ruggie steals your credit card. And there was that time you followed all of us to Playful Land because you were worried we were going to get scammed. You didn’t have to do that, but you did. You’ve got a big heart of gold under that spiky exterior. And I really admire you for that. I… I really love you, Leona.” 

“Well,” Leona said, laying back down, tail flicking. “I suppose going on a date wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” (Y/N) decided not to point out the content smile stretching across his face. She made a move to stand up, but Leona shot an arm out to hook around her waist, pulling her down next to him with an “Oof.” “Now don’t tell anyone else about all that,” Leona grumbled without any real heat. 

Ruggie: 

Ruggie was in Leona’s room, folding laundry while the house warden took a nap behind him. Ruggie stretched his arms above his head, sighing when there was a satisfying pop in his back. Suddenly, the door to the room slammed open. Ruggie yelped and Leona woke with an undignified snort. 

“Gah, what now?” Leona mumbled. 

“Ruggie!” (Y/N) said, standing in the doorway. She was panting as if she had just run across campus (she had). 

“Uh, what? Yeah? Whatever it was, I didn’t take it!” 

Unperturbed, (Y/N) marched over to him, taking both his hands in hers. “You did take something.” Ruggie frantically tried to remember if he had stolen anything from Ramshackle recently. He tried not to, knowing (Y/N) was pretty much as broke as he was. It didn’t seem fair. And maybe he liked her a little too much to swipe something. “You stole my heart!” (Y/N) continued dramatically. “Will you go out with me?” 

Behind them, Leona coughed to unconvincingly cover up a laugh. 

Ruggie’s ears flattened to his head in shock. He reached back and batted at his tail as if that would get it to stop wagging. “I - what? Are you sure? Me? What?” 

“Of course! You’re resourceful, you work hard, you’re clever, and you care a lot about your family back home. I really admire all that about you and more! Not to mention you’re super cute. So, will you go out with me?” 

“Oh, just say yes already, Ruggie,” Leona said, settling down to continue his nap. “At least then I won’t have to hear you being such a sap all the time.” 

Ruggie let out his signature laugh. He tightened his grip on (Y/N)’s hands. “Well, sure then, why not? As long as you’re paying, right?” 

Jack: 

Jack and Vil were out on their daily morning run. The sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon, casting the Night Raven College campus in a warm golden light. At their halfway point, they took a break, Vil stretching in his cooldown. 

“You sure you don’t want to keep going with me?” Jack asked. 

“No,” Vil said. “I’d rather stay slim than bulk up like you. I have my status to maintain. And besides, it looks like I would be interrupting something rather important.” He smiled knowingly and pointed with his chin a little ways down the sidewalk. 

Jack turned. He felt his tail start to wag on its own when he saw (Y/N) standing by one of the Great Seven statues, drawing circles in the ground with her foot. She looked up, breaking out in a warm smile when she saw him. Vil chuckled under his breath and waved as he headed back to Pomfiore. 

Jack clenched his jaw, willing his tail to stay still as he approached her. “Good morning. You’re not usually up this early, right? Is everything okay?” 

(Y/N) jutted her arms out completely straight, offering up the flowering Chin cactus in her hands. “Jack!” She said. “I really like you. I love how brave you are. I love how you’re dedicated to the people you care about. I love how you can be sweet and kind even when you try to act tough all the time. Would you go out with me?” 

“Yes!” Jack replied, almost before the words had even left (Y/N)’s mouth. He put his hands over hers, cradling the cactus. “I mean, yes, I would like to go out with you. Very much.” 

Azul: 

Azul jumped as (Y/N) slammed her hands on his desk in the VIP room of the Monstro Lounge. He quickly gathered his composer, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Well, Prefect, to what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“I have a deal for you,” She said confidently. 

“Oh? I’d love to hear it.” 

Smiling, she whipped out a sheet of paper and slapped it on top of the other documents Azul had spread over his desk. On the top of the page in an elegant script were the words ‘Contract of First Date.’ Azul felt a lump form in his throat as his heart sped up. He quickly scanned over the rest of the ‘contract,’ outlining the proposed date. 

“Terms of the deal,” (Y/N) continued. “You, me, romantic night out. I know a guy in Craneport who said we could use one of their rowboats and I found this really cool pond with all these willow trees and fireflies. Plus I have this cute picnic basket all set up. Jamil has been teaching me how to cook, you know? Can’t say it’ll be as good as his, if we’re being honest about the terms of agreement. And the contract leaves an opening for future dates depending on the success of this one! Of course, success is not really a super definable term but you get what I mean. So, do we have a deal?” 

Azul covered his face with one hand, trying desperately to ignore how red his face must be at this point. He couldn’t seem to meet her enthusiastic and twinkling eyes. 

“I, uh,” (Y/N) continued, shyer this time as Azul scanned over the contract. “I really like you, Azul. A lot. So, will you go out with me?” 

He looked back down at the contract where her name was written in elegant script at the bottom with space for his next to it. He cleared his throat, bringing back his practiced (definitely not shady) businessman smile. With a sweep of his pen, he said, “It’s a deal.” 

Jade: 

(Y/N) marched across the cafeteria, determination in her eyes. She stopped in front of a table with Jade, Floyd, and Azul. “Hi!” She said, maybe a little too loudly with nerves. Jade and Azul looked up from their conversation, Floyd pausing his efforts in making a castle out of mashed potatoes. “Jade, I really like you. Do you want to go out with me?” 

“Oh?” Jade said, a brief moment of genuine surprise crossing his face before he schooled his features back into pleasant neutrality. “Well, what a pleasant surprise.” 

Floyd snorted and elbowed his brother. “Shrimpy’s got a crush,” He said in a sing-song voice. 

“I must admit,” Jade said, pouting with one hand on his cheek. “I always did imagine a more theatrical confession. Nonetheless, I happily acc-” 

“I can do that!” (Y/N) interrupted. Holding on to Floyd’s shoulder for balance, she climbed on top of the table. She clapped her hands loudly, shouting, “Attention! Attention, please, everyone! I have an announcement!” She cleared her throat as the room fell silent. “I would like to declare my unequivocal, utter devotion and love for Jade Leech.” She heard a choking sound below her but continued on. “I am hopelessly in love, helplessly enraptured, and absolutely head over heels. And it is my deepest hope that he could return my affections. Thank you.” With that, she hopped down, beaming. There was a smattering of applause and laughter from around the room. Epel whooped from back at the first year table. 

Jade’s hands covered his blushing face, fierce sharp eyes peeking out between his fingers. His mouth was split in a wide smile, sharp teeth glinting in a mixture of bashfulness, excitement, and desire. 

“Congratulations, (Y/N),” Azul said. “I can barely remember that last time Jade was actually flustered.” 

“Aww, look at him, he’s speechless!” Floyd teased. 

(Y/N) winced. “Sorry, was that too far?” 

Jade shot out with lightning speed, crushing her in his tight eel grip. “I should let you know,” He whispered to her. “I expect this level of dedication for the entirety of our relationship.” 

Floyd: 

Floyd darted through the stacks of the library. He could have sworn he saw Goldfish in here earlier, and he was in the mood to mess with the easily angered boy. And, while he didn’t find Riddle, he did pause as he saw (Y/N) between the books. He paused, pushing a few books aside to rest his chin on the shelf, an easy smile crossing his face as he spied on her. 

She was hunched over one of the study tables, a large book propped up and open in front of her. She was diligently working on something in her hands, tongue poking out between her lips (lips that Floyd found himself thinking about more often than he would admit), looking back up at the book in front of her every so often. 

Dropping down low, Floyd carefully made his way behind her, silent on his feet. Rising up to his full height behind her, unsuspecting, he jolted forward, wrapping her in a backward hug and pulling her back so the chair careened back on two legs. 

“Shrimpy!” He said, taking delight in her startled squeal. “Whatcha doin’?” 

“God, Floyd,” (Y/N) said, putting a hand to her chest to calm her raging heart. Her eyes suddenly went wide and she lunged forward to cover what she was working on with her arms. “Ah! Don’t look, don’t look! It’s not done!” 

Floyd grinned again. “Aww, it’s not nice to keep secrets.” His hands shot out, pulling out the thing she was hiding. (Y/N) covered her face as Floyd inspected the object. It was a thick piece of twine, various polished shells, sea glass, and dried shiny scales strung throughout. Although it wasn’t exactly neat, the way it caught the sunlight cast tiny rainbows and simmers around the library. Floyd peered at the open book. It was a cultural history of merpeople in the Coral Sea. The opened chapter described mer courting rituals and marriage traditions. Floyd started cackling as (Y/N) buried her face further in her hands.  

“How old is this thing?” Floyd asked, poking at the book. “I don’t even think my grandparents made courting charms.” 

“Shut up,” (Y/N) mumbled. “I was trying to… Forget it.” 

Floyd slipped the haphazard necklace over his neck, prying her hands away to hold them tightly in his. “I accept!” He said brightly. “This was for me, right? It better be, Shrimpy.” 

She smiled and flicked his forehead. “Possibly against my better judgment, I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else, Floyd.” 

Kalim: 

Kalim knew he should probably be studying, but every time he opened a text book or looked at the notes Jamil had oh-so-carefully marked and tabbed for him, he felt his eyes start to droop and mind get fuzzy. A good after lunch walk was just what he needed, and he definitely wasn’t just saying that to put off work. 

He stopped when he realized he had wandered outside Ramshackle dorm. Was that on purpose? Did he subconsciously come here, with the hope he might see (Y/N)? Kalim walked up to the front door, knocking before opening the door and calling inside. 

“Hello! It’s Kalim! Can I come in?” 

There was a squawk of surprise from the front sitting room. (Y/N) poked her head around the corner, flustered. 

“Hi. Sure, come on in. Uh, sorry, I’m kind of in the middle of something.” 

“Can I help?” Kalim asked, walking over to her. Peering into the sitting room, Kalim’s face lit up. Every available surface, and a few unavailable surfaces, were covered in colored and patterned paper. There were stacks and crowds of tiny paper birds littered between everything. 

“I don’t know if it counts if more people make them.” 

Kalim sat on one of the plush chairs, picking up a flowery piece of paper. “If what will count?” 

“It’s an old superstition from my world. If you can fold 1000 paper cranes, your wish will come true. Or something like that.” 

“Ooh, origami! I’ve made decorations using that before! I’m not super good at it, but I’ll help if you want.” 

(Y/N) smiled and sat next to him and Kalim felt his heart flip. “Yeah, I’d like the company.” 

They lost track of time folding cranes, the sun beginning to set high above the dilapidated house. They talked the whole time, jumping from topic to topic, joke to joke, without any real sense of flow. It was warm, there in the small room, not only due to the crackling fireplace. 

“So,” Kalim asked eventually. “What wish were you wanting to make? If this dosen’t work out, I can help you with it!” 

(Y/N) suddenly went bashful, turning away to pay extra attention to the folds of her bird. “I…” She muttered. She took a deep breath, turning to fully face Kalim. “I was going to ask you out. You have all these elaborate decorations and parties all the time. I was going to string all of these together and hang them in your room then ask you out. But, now that you’re here… Kalim, would you go out with me?” 

Kalim dropped the paper crane, flinging himself across the couch to wrap her in a tight hug. “Yes! Yes, yes yes! Oh, I would love to! Huh, I guess that means I need to cancel that order of doves now. That’s how I was going to ask you out next week. Hey, we both thought of birds! That must mean we definitely belong together, right?” 

Jamil: 

“Be right back,” (Y/N) said, standing from the first year cafeteria table. She walked across the cafeteria until she stopped in front of Kalim and Jamil. 

Jamil was shoving a napkin at Kalim. “Careful, you’re going to get sauce all over your shirt.” 

“It’s fine, I’ll be careful! And besides, it’s a pretty color, right? Oh, hey, (Y/N)!” 

“Hi,” She said, looking solely at Jamil. “Jamil, I really like you. Would you want to go out with me?” 

Kalim gasped, hands to his cheeks as he looked excitedly from Jamil to (Y/N). Jamil sucked in a sharp breath, clenching his hands. “I…” He started. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). I can’t.” 

“Oh.” Jamil looked down, but not before he caught the hurt confusion on (Y/N) face. “That’s okay. Thanks for hearing me out. Bye, guys.” She walked back to her table. 

Jamil only looked up again when Kalim slapped his arm. “Jamil! That was your chance!” 

Jamil scowled. “There is no chance. I said no, she accepted it. Drop it.” 

“But you told me you liked her!” 

“I said no such thing.” 

Kalim waved his hand dismissively. “I read between the lines.” 

“There were no lines!” 

“Jamil.” He looked up at Kalim. It wasn’t often the other boy used such a serious voice, or had such a set expression on his face. “You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep yourself from being happy because you feel like you don’t deserve it.” 

Jamil flinched back, standing suddenly. A million retorts zipped through this mind at once, all of them falling flat and dying on his tongue. Before he could say something he would regret, heart thundering in his ears, he fled the cafeteria, ignoring the stabbing looks from the first year table as (Y/N)’s friends gave her sympathetic pats on the back. 

Jamil couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in his bed, listening to the soft, even breathing of his roommate. Huffing in annoyance, he threw off the covers and left his room. He thought he would just take a walk, just get some fresh air. Without paying attention, Jamil’s feet took him out of Scarabia, across campus, and, before he knew it, in front of Ramshackle dorm. His fist hovered in front of the door, internally debating whether or not he should knock. He startled when he heard talking behind him, spotting (Y/N) and Malleus making their way up the pathway. 

(Y/N) stopped when she saw him. “Oh. Hi, Jamil.” 

“Hi,” Jamil said, limply lifting a hand in greeting. 

Malleus looked down at Jamil, glaring. “Viper.” It sounded more like an insult than his name. 

“Did you need something?” (Y/N) asked. “It’s kind of late. Is everything okay?” 

“I-” Jamil started. “I need to talk to you.” 

Malleus stepped in front of (Y/N), but stopped when (Y/N) put a hand on his arm. They had a quick and quiet conversation, Malleus nodded and walked away. (Y/N) came up to the front door, opening it for him. 

“I’ll make some tea,” She said as they stepped into the entryway. 

“Wait-” Jamil said, catching her hand. Everything tumbled out of him all at once. “I wanted to go out with you. I like you, so much so that it scares me sometimes. That’s why I said no earlier. I just think - I thought you would - should - do better than me, after everything that’s happened. But I -” He paused, only realizing now how out of breath he was. (Y/N) looked up at him and he felt breathless all over again. “I want to do better. I want to be better, for you if not for anything else. I know I probably don’t deserve it but, (Y/N), will you go out with me?” 

(Y/N) laughed, wiping away tears at the corners of her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Yes, I’d like that a lot.” 

Vil: 

Something was wrong, Vil could feel it. After all the chaos of his time at Night Raven College, he had almost developed a sixth sense for this type of thing. 

Vil narrowed his eyes, sweeping them over the Pomfiore sitting room. A group of students were sitting around one of the tables, studying. A few others were in front of the fireplace. A couple others were performing some viral dance for a Magicam reel. Nothing seemed amiss here. 

Vil walked down the hall of the dorm, heels clicking against the marble floor. With a missed step, Vil realized he hadn’t seen Epel or Rook in quite some time. That was… concerning. He quickened his walk. 

Vil almost gave himself whiplash as he passed by the ballroom. The door was cracked open ever so slightly so he could peer through. He felt slightly ridiculous, eavesdropping as if he wasn’t the caretaker for the dorm and all those in it. But his thoughts faltered as he observed the scene inside. He found Epel and Rook, as well as several other Pomfiore students, constructing elaborate sets out of painted cardboard and repurposed decorations from the dorm. Was that…? Something about this all seemed eerily familiar. 

“Wait, wait! You’re early!” (Y/N) said. She appeared in front of him, waving her hands to try and block his view. She grabbed his hand, tugging him out of the room. “Don’t look!” She pushed him back into the hall, disappearing back into the ballroom. A second later, she emerged with a chair, setting it down and waving to it. “Just another few minutes.” The door clicked closed behind her before Vil could say anything. He thought about barging in, demanding an explanation. But his curiosity got the better of him. And besides, he always loved to see what (Y/N) got up to. Huffing in amusement, he sat down, crossing his legs at the ankles. 

A while later, Epel, Rook, and the other students fled the ballroom, giving Vil knowing looks as they passed. With skepticism, Vil stood up and made his way inside. Standing in the doorway, he was suddenly hit with a wave of nostalgia. Taking a better look, he recognized the replica set. It was from one of his first ever movies, a children’s adventure called The Heist of the Everlasting Rose. This particular scene was set in a museum where the Everlasting Rose was kept. It had been a supporting role, where, ironically, he had played a child actor in part of a crew to steal the titular Rose to pay for the main character’s sister’s surgery, or some other such justifiable nonsense like that. It was his first big screen production, although it was a relatively low-budget and minor movie. He remembered after the film had come out he and his father would pour over reviews praising his performance. At that moment, he felt like he was on top of the world. 

Vil was brought out of his reminiscing by (Y/N)’s voice. “Hello, sir!” She said. She had put on a tour guide’s jacket, once again modeled after the one in the film. “Welcome to the museum! We have our prized exhibit right this way.” Vil smirked, humoring her, if nothing else than to see where this was all going. Linking their arms, (Y/N) brought him through the makeshift museum. “Legend has it that this rose was given by a cursed prince to his beloved, who saved him from the brink of death with its magical powers. Since then, it has been a symbol of pure and everlasting love.” She carefully lifted the cloche from the silk flower, tiny fairy lights arranged around the base. She held it out to him, one hand dramatically pressed to her chest. “And now, I’d like to give it to you, Vil, to profess my everlasting love. Would you go out with me?” 

Vil couldn’t help it, it was all too much. The extravagant set, (Y/N) memorizing specific passages from such an old and now obscure film, the entire production. He burst out laughing, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth, eyes closed. “Well,” He said, catching his breath. “After such a wonderful effort, how could I possibly say no? Yes, my dearest (Y/N), I would love nothing more than to be with you.” 

Rook: 

“(Y/N), you’re gonna shoot your eye out.” 

“No, it’ll be fine. You have to take risks for the sake of love.” 

“Oh, Seven, we don’t need two of you.” 

Rook’s ears picked up, hearing Epel and (Y/N) talking in the back gardens of the Pomefiore dorm. Smiling, he crept around to (definitely not) spy on them. (Y/N) was struggling with a large bow, an arrow flopping around as she tried to aim it. Pomfiore had a small target practice area set up in the back of the dorm. (Y/N) was trying, emphasis on trying, to shoot arrows at one of the red and white round targets. After her latest arrow struck the ground in front of the target, Epel sighed and walked to the target, collecting other fallen arrows. He stabbed them into the target in the shape of a heart, a letter with Rook’s name pinned to the bullseye. 

“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” Epel said. 

“Oh? And what favor are you performing, Monsieur Pommette?” Both of them jumped, Rook smiling wider at the surprised squeak (Y/N) made. 

“You’re on your own, (Y/N)!” Epel said before rushing off. 

(Y/N) huffed. “Traitor,” She said under her breath. She turned to Rook. “Hi.” 

“Bonjour, Trickster.” 

“You’re, uh, early. I thought you were going to be at your club for a while longer.” 

Rook waved a hand. “There was an unexpected explosion and we had to evacuate. But I am much more interested in what you’re up to here.” 

“Ah, well…” She trailed off, limply pointing to the letter stabbed in the target. She covered her face with her hands, heat rushing to her cheeks as Rook elegantly plucked the letter up and began reading. 

(Y/N) could basically see the hearts forming in his eyes as he finished reading her confession. He dramatically clutched the love letter to his chest, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. “Oh, mon amour le plus cher! Comme c’est merveilleux de lire vos sentiments les plus caret! Je n’ai jamais vu quelque chose d’aussi beau!” 

“So,” (Y/N) asked nervously. “Is that a yes?” 

“Oui, oui! One thousand times oui!” He cheered as he gathered her in a swinging hug. 

Epel: 

Epel found the first note the day after (Y/N)’s announcement in the cafeteria. Whatever she had wanted to do was apparently pretty important, as she had grabbed Grim and they left immediately. Epel hadn’t seen her the rest of the day, but he would recognize that handwriting on the paper wrapped around his dorm room handle anywhere. 

He looked around to make sure no one was watching before unfolding the paper and reading. ‘Epel, I have something important I need to ask, but before that I have a simple task. Take this first note of the set and go to the place we first met. Love, (Y/N).’ Epel tried not to think too much about that ‘Love’ part. Where did he and (Y/N) first meet? At this point it almost felt like they had known eachother forever. 

Would that be, maybe, the well in the quad? Epel remembered meeting her, Ace, Deuce, and Grim there when he was rehearsing singing, using the well’s acoustics. But, no, they had seen each other somewhere else first. Epel blushed in embarrassment at the memory. He had been crying, frustrated to hell and back with Vil’s lectures right after coming back from winter break. He’d run into them at the Great Seven statues. 

Epel went to the statues, deciding if he didn’t find anything there he would try the well. But, lo and behold, another note was waiting at the base of the Fairest Queen’s statue. He read, ‘Epel, Congrats on finding your second clue! By now you have an idea of what to do. For the next place I want you to go, think of the place we lived side by side before the show. Love, (Y/N).’ 

That one was easy, Ramshackle dorm. As Epel sprinted across campus, both notes held tightly in his fist, he reminisced about spending his days training for the VDC in Ramshackle. Most of the time there seemed like torture, running endless dancing drills, feeling constricted by Vil’s lessons whose purpose he still didn’t fully understand at the time, worrying about the whole dorm falling down around his ears at any moment. But there were plenty of good moments too. (Y/N) making them - Vil approved - breakfast in the morning, her encouragement at each of their rehearsals, how she would slip them treats when Vil and Rook’s backs were turned to help boost their mood. 

Sure enough, Epel found his next note on the Ramshackle front gate. There was another rhyme instructing him to go to another location, also connected to his and (Y/N)’s relationship and past. That lead to another and to another and another, each unlocking a precious memory between the two. Eventually, he unfolded the final note, the sun just starting to set, casting NRC in beautiful golden light. ‘Epel, I hope by now you get to see exactly how much you mean to me. We’ve been through a lot and I’ve enjoyed every and I’ve enjoyed every second, and… Okay, I can’t come up with any more rhymes. Just turn around!’ 

Lowering the paper, Epel turned, opening his arms just in time to catch (Y/N) in a big hug. They spun around each other for a second with the momentum, finally coming to a stop and looking to each other's eyes. 

“Hi,” (Y/N) said. “Did you like my scavenger hunt?” 

“You’re bad at rhyming,” Epel said with a crooked smile. 

She wacked his shoulder. “Hey, I meant what I wrote, though. I really like you, Epel. Would you go out with me?” 

Epel squeaked her tight. “Only if you promise not to write any more poetry.” 

Idia: 

Idia was holding out in his room, huddled under a blanket, his phone clutched tight in his hand. He was watching a live stream from his favorite idol group, Premo. He smiled as the group answered fan questions, talked about their upcoming tour, and demonstrated how to perform some of their most famous dance moves. 

The viewer chat scrolled across the side of the screen. Donations and chat reactions popped up in various animations across the screen. Idia hit the donate button, sending a flurry of roses blooming along the edges of the screen. He smiled as the idols thanked Gloomurai for his support. 

One of the idols leaned over, checking the chat feed. She gasped, flapping a hand at the others and enthusiastically pointing at what she was reading. They all started smiling and giggling, whispering to each other. Idia shuffled closer, as if that would let him read whatever message they had gotten. 

“Hey, everyone!” One of them said. “We’ve got a super special shout-out! This is from (Username) to… Gloomurai!” 

Idia’s heart raced as he sat up in bed, blanket draped over him. (Username), (Username)... Wait, he recognized that. That was your username! He had helped you set up your account to the MMO he played a while ago. He remembered helping you through the intro stages, stumbling over the tutorials. He had laughed at your frustrated frown as you died on the same boss for the third time. 

“Aww,” The second idol said. “This is sweet. It says, ‘Gloomurai, I thought about telling you this in person, but I wasn’t sure when that would actually be. And sometimes big feelings require big gestures. I like you, I really, really like you. I think I have for a long time. I love your smile, I love your hair, I love your brain, I love that you’re such an amazing big brother. Will you go out with me?’ Well, Gloomurai? Tell us your answer! We’re waiting on pins and needles here!” 

“Oh, wait,” The third idol said. “There’s more. It says, ‘PS, check your door.’” 

Idia yelped as he shot up, the blanket falling to a heap on the floor. Heart thundering in his chest and head starting to go fuzzy. He almost felt like he was in a daze as he walked with trepidation to his door. Slowly opening it, Idia saw a basket placed just in front. It was filled with his favorite snacks, small acrylic standees of characters from his favorite games and anime, and studded with bluebells, irises, and blue asters. A large paper heart was pinned to the front with her and his initials drawn in the middle. Hair flaring pink, he quickly brought the basket back into his room before any of his dorm mates would notice. 

He heard commotion from his phone, Premo and the chat all eagerly awaiting his response. He sent in another donation with a simple, “Yes.” The idols cheered and squealed. 

He swiped out of the livestream, opening his messaging app. (Y/N)’s name popped up with a new message, a cheering emoticon with three blue hearts. 

He subconsciously covered his face as he smiled wide, typing back, “You’re so cringe. Can’t wait for the date.” 

Silver: 

(Y/N) sprinted across campus, heading whipping around to try and catch a familiar shimmer of silver white hair. She skidded to a stop when she saw a black Diasamonia coat draped over a low tree branch, a pair of shined boots sticking out behind the trunk. 

(Y/N) rounded the old oak tree. “Silv-! Oh, sorry.” 

Silver was reclining against the tree, hands folded across his stomach, chest rising and falling with deep even breaths, eyes closed and lips slightly parted as he slept. A few songbirds and a pair of squirrels congregated around him, looking up with big eyes at the newcomer. 

(Y/N) shifted her weight from foot to foot before screwing up her courage and sitting down next to Silver. She shuffled down so she laid next to him, still leaving enough room to not cause too much of a scandal if anyone walked by. She settled down, closing her eyes and relaxing, taking in the sounds of the woodland animals around them, the talking of other students in the distance, the wind whispering through the trees. 

A short while later, she heard stirring next to her. (Y/N) blinked awake quickly, propping herself up and leaning back on her hands as Silver woke up beside her. 

“Hi,” She said. “Would  you want to go out with me?” 

Silver blinked the sleep out of his eyes, looking up at her. “I must still be dreaming,” He muttered. “If I am, then…” He reached forward, cupping the back of her head and pulling her down. She gasped as their lips brushed. Silver’s eyes suddenly shot open and he jerked back from her as if burned. “I- uh-” He studded, pale skin turning a ruby red. 

(Y/N) giggled at his embarrassment. “Well, I guess that’s a yes, right?” 

Sebek: 

“Be right back!” (Y/N) said as she suddenly stood from the first year cafeteria table. Before anyone had a chance to say anything, she was off like a shot. 

“Any idea what that was about?” Epel asked. The others shrugged. 

Grim reached over to snag half (Y/N)’s sandwich from her discarded tray. “Probably going to go ask out that boy she keeps talking about,” He said nonchalantly, mouth full. 

Sebek choked, standing fast and slamming his hands on the table so all their plates and cutlery clattered. “What!” 

“Chill, man,” Ace said, waving him down as people across the cafeteria turned to stare. Ace smirked. “Unless you’re particularly invested in (Y/N)’s love life?” 

Sebek blushed and slammed back into his seat. He picked his knife and fork back up and started sawing at his Salisbury steak. “No,” He snapped. “(Y/N) can do whatever she wants. What do I care?” 

“Sure,” Epel said. 

(Y/N) reappeared in the cafeteria a short while later, Malleus in tow. She was talking with him, gesturing with her hands. Malleus had a wide, amused smile, nodding along. 

Sebek stood again, at attention for his prince. “Good afternoon, Lord Malleus!” He said. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence?” He scowled at the other first years rolling their eyes at his formality. 

“Hello, Sebek. I’ve come to give my blessing.” 

“Blessing?” 

“Sebek!” (Y/N) said brightly. She took both his hands in hers as he sputtered and blushed. “I really like you. Would you go out with me?” 

For once, Sebek was speechless, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. (Y/N) squeezed his hands tighter as Malleus chuckled next to them. “Well, Sebek? It’s not polite to keep a lady waiting.” 

Life seized back into the knight. He tightened his grasp on (Y/N), pulling her closer. “Yes! Absolutely! I mean, ahem, I accept your offer of courting, since you went so far to get my lord’s blessing, after all.” 

Lilia: 

Lilia wouldn’t call what he was doing skulking, exactly. More like surprise chaperoning, keeping an eye on the youngsters of Night Raven College like a good upperclassman should. And, if he just so happened to pop out and scare the living daylights out of whatever unfortunate student happened to be nearby, well, more fun for him. 

So it wasn’t especially surprising when he heard Silver and (Y/N) talking to each other in the courtyard. As a sly smile stretched across his face, he floated to a hiding place in the shadows of the flying buttresses, resting on his stomach to kick his feet, chin resting in his hands, as he observed the two. 

“You want my permission?” Silver asked, an amused smile on his face. 

“Of course!” (Y/N) replied. “I wouldn’t want to make it weird by dating him while we’re all still students together.” 

Lilia faltered. That was the problem with spying, sometimes you heard things you didn’t want to. So the Prefect was romantically interested in someone, eh? And if they were asking Silver for permission, it must be someone close to him. Sebek, maybe? Or, oh dear, Malleus? Lilia knew for a fact that both of the boys thought of (Y/N) as a close and dear friend and nothing more. His heart panged in sympathy at the idea of rejection. And, if he was being honest with himself, it panged with something else as well. 

“You don’t think he’s a little old for you?” Silver asked teasingly. 

“Maybe I like a silver fox,” (Y/N) teased right back. 

Silver laughed. “I don’t think I ever want to hear my father described as a silver fox ever again.” 

Lilia lost his concentration, falling with a yelp against one of the chandeliers hanging in the hallway. 

“Lilia?” (Y/N) asked with a gasp. 

Lilia smiled, trying to regain poise as he floated down to them. “Looks like I’m not as slick as I used to be. Now, what were you two discussing just now?” 

(Y/N) look startled. Silver gave her shoulder a reassuring pat and left with a wave. Just the two of them now, (Y/N) took a deep breath, building up her courage. 

“Lilia!” She said, probably a little too loudly with nerves. “I really like you! Would you go out with me?” 

Lilia chuckled, leaning close to enjoy the shy and flustered look on her face. “Well, if you have my son’s blessing, how am I to refuse? Besides, I think I rather like being called a, what was it you said? A silver fox?” 

Malleus: 

Malleus looked up from his book, looking around his room for the source of the noise that disturbed his studying. There, another sharp ‘ping’ from across the room. He looked to the window, noticing a small pebble hitting the glass. He walked over and opened the window, dodging just in time to miss another pebble. 

“Oops! Sorry, Horton!” He looked down, a smile automatically crossing his face at (Y/N)’s voice. But his expression quickly changed to puzzlement as he looked down at her. (Y/N) was standing in the courtyard of the Diasomonia dorm, inside a giant heart made of dozens of tiny tea candles. 

In a swirl of green light, Malleus appeared next to her on the ground floor. She jumped a little bit at his sudden appearance, but quickly recovered herself and beamed up at him. He felt his heart flip in that pleasant way it always did when he was near her. 

“What’s all this?” 

She cleared her throat dramatically, dropping to one knee. “Dearest Horton, you have bewitched me body and soul. I would like to officially court you. Would you do me the absolute pleasure of accompanying me on a date this weekend?” 

Malleus blinked down at her for a moment, basking in the admiration and adoration filling her eyes. He laughed, reaching down to take her hand and pull her to standing. “My, how formal,” He said. 

She smiled, shrugging. “I wanted it to be memorable. Couldn’t manage the fireworks, though. Sorry.” 

“I can rectify that.” With an elegant sweep of his hand, sparks erupted from Malleus’s fingertips, shooting into the dark sky around the dorm to explode in fantastic colors. Students from in the dorm leaned out windows to admire the impromptu show. 

Malleus drew (Y/N) closer to him, admiring the multicolor flashes playing across her face. “I would adore being anywhere with you.”

[satoruan]

BORED N’ IGNORED w/Jujutsu Kaisean

( TW ) f!reader, explicit content, bored!Sukuna & Toji, Ignored!Gojo & Choso cunnilingus, thigh riding, blow job, humiliation, face fucking, fingering, reader snaps a pic of gojo and sends it to her friend, sub!Choso or is he just a pleasure dom…?

Featuring: Gojo Satoru, Ryomen Sukuna, Choso Kamo + Toji Fushiguro 

authors note: I re-wrote this like 10 times so pls ignore any mistakes. also, me posting everyone but Geto on his birthday is criminal...

☾ CHOSO KAMO 

“Haha! I got the kill! Finally,” You cheer. “Oh shit, someone's chasing me.” You move your controller, focused on getting yourself to safety, ignoring your boyfriend who's underneath your desk eating you out like a starved man.  

Choso just wants to make you cum. He knows he's in the doghouse for what he did last night so he’s trying to make it up to you. He didn’t know you were going to treat him like some common whore though. You won’t even acknowledge that he’s eating you out on the cold hard floor. He wants to scream but he knows you’d be even more angry, so he makes it his mission to make you cum so hard you have no choice but to talk to him.  

He sucks your clit harder, rubbing his fingers inside your gummy walls. You clench around them but show no sign on the outside that you’re about to cum. He knows his girl though. Knows you better than you know yourself. He smirks into your clit. 

“Shit—oh fuck—they won’t get off my tail—oh my god!” You scream at the game, trying and failing to mask your pleasure. Choso adds another finger into your cunt, stretching you good you almost drop the controller on his head.  

Choso picks up the pace, sucking on your clit so hard he’s scared he might leave a bruise—and finally, you acknowledge him.

“m’gonna cum! Choso!” you cry, reaching down to pull his hair as you cum all over his face.

☾ RYOMEN SUKUNA 

“Look at me!” You cry, kissing up and down his shaft before taking him back into your mouth You go as deep as you can before gagging. You pull back up and suck on his tip. You look up at Sukuna who doesn’t even look affected, staring at the TV. You dig your nails into his thighs. He doesn't react. 

“Kuna!” You scream, grabbing his jaw and forcing him to look down at you. He stares at you with disinterest. “What?” 

“Why aren’t you paying attention to me?” You hiccup, sitting back on your knees and grabbing his cock. You squeeze it. 

“You want my attention little one?” He grins down at you. You sniffle and nod, bending down to kiss the tick of his cock. He pats you head and you almost cry in relief.  

“Oh, so damned touch starved—upset ‘ve been ignoring you? I apologize little one. I'll make it up to you.” He grabs your head with both hands, guiding you to his cock. You open your mouth and take him in again. He grunts, pushing you to the hilt even as you gag and try to pull yourself up. He lifts your head back up before slamming it down on his cock. You claw at his thighs. “Giving you all my attention now. Gonna face fuck you ‘til you don’t remember your fucking own name.” 

☾ GOJO SATORU 

Satoru holds onto your thighs as he pushes his leaky cock into you. He needed this so bad after the day he had. He didn’t even pay mind to what you were doing before throwing his clothes off and climbing onto the bed. 

“Fuck—Feel good, Angel?” Gojo questions as he thrusts into you from his place above you. You don’t hear him though, too busy texting your friend about the latest drama that happened in your friend group.  

“Angel, did you hear me?” Satoru moves his hands from your waist to your tits. He pinches hard. You grunt, the grip on your phone wavering. Satoru’s harsh thrusts distract you for a second before you come back to your senses and read your friend's text. ‘Why are you making so many spelling mistakes LOL?’ You grin, clicking the camera and turning it to Satoru who looks down at you half angry and half pussy drunk. You snap a blurry picture of his sweaty abs and V-line before clicking send. Your friend laughs. 

“Angel,” Satoru whines grabbing your phone. “Stop treating me like some crapy dildo machine!” He holds the phone over his head with one hand, the other holding you down by the tummy. 

“Toru! I was having an important conversation,” You moan, wrapping your legs around his hips, digging your heels into his ass. He grunts his heavy hand on your tummy moving to squeeze your side. “Please, baby? Just gotta send one more text then I'm all yours—promise.”  

☾ TOJI FUSHIGURO 

You hold onto Toji’s bicep as you ride his thigh. You grind your pussy harder onto his leg, making sure your clit drags over the hard material of his pants. You moan and look down at the dark patch your slick is making. 

“Can you quiet down princess? Need to finish this application and you're distracting me.” Toji says, erasing the sentence he knows is incomprehensible. You moan louder. Throwing your head back and arching your tits up in his face. He grunts, turning to the side to rewrite his response.  

You huff, if he wants to play like that. "You better not ask me to get you off later today.” You grumble, moving your own hands up to twist and tug your nipples. Your legs tighten around his thick thigh. You feel yourself getting closer.  You grind down harder, pussy clenching around nothing.  

“Gonna cum! Ahh—feels so good, you feel s’good!” You slur, legs shaking as an orgasm washes over you. You slump down against Toji’s big chest. Toji’s face heats. He doesn't know whether to be pissed off or turned on that you just came all over his thigh like that. He grumbles something inaudible, bringing a hand down to grab a handful of your ass as he presses submit. “Oh, you’re fucking on princess.” 

[dumpywrites]

Plus One, Minus Feelings - Jeon Jungkook

Prompt: The classic let's pretend to be a couple for just a while. Nothing bad will happen, right?

Prompt request: HERE

Genre/tags: Fluff, friends to lovers, fake dating, jealous! Jungkook, goofball! Jungkook, reader is into another person for the first half (spoiler: Yoongi)

Pairing: Jungkook x she/her reader

Word count: 7.4k

a/n: this Jungkook has the personality of someone I know, so it's really easy to imagine him in this scenario lol

It was Saturday night at Jin’s house. A casual get-together routine in your friend group. His apartment condo being the biggest one out of everyone, it was natural that his place became the go-to base camp. 

You were on your third yapping session with Jihyo, with your feet crossed sitting on the floor, and your hands moving expressively. The girl was listening to your rambles, looking at you while sitting on the sofa and sipping her smoothie. You were about to enter your fourth story when you heard Jin calling your name from across the room. The man walked towards where you and Jihyo were, with another guy beside him, Jungkook. 

“You’re single, right?” The guy asked out of the blue. 

“Me?” You pointed to yourself, while still sitting on the floor. 

“Who else? Jihyo has a boyfriend.” He rolled his eyes sassily. 

You folded your arms. “You came here just to mock me?!”

“See! She’s single.” He told Jungkook with a sly smile. 

You raised one of your eyebrows. “Are you seriously trying to…”

“No, geez.” Jin chuckled. “Just ask her.” He said to the other guy. 

“Can you help me out? I need a plus one on a wedding.” Jungkook suddenly said. 

“Who’s getting married? And why me though???”

“My brother.”

“Oh, yeah hell no. I’m not going.” You quickly said. 

“Wha— Why??? I haven’t even told you the whole reason!” He said, lips trying so hard not to form a pout. 

“I don’t wanna get interviewed by your family, duh??? I’ll be fine if it’s just Jin’s wedding or something.”

“Yeah, we’re not gonna see that any time soon though…” Jihyo giggled. 

Jungkook ignored Jin’s loud protests and continued. “I made a bet with my brother and he said he’ll buy me the new Switch if I somehow bring someone to his wedding.” 

“I still don’t want to get interrogated by your parents, Kook.” You sighed. 

“Don’t worry! I’ll tell them. It’s just to fool my brother and all.” He nodded eagerly, hoping you’d buy his reasoning. “Please? I’ll even let you try the switch first.” 

“That’s not a good offer?!” You said in a high pitched voice. 

“I’ll get you one of those cute blind boxes…?” Jungkook offered in an unsure tone.

“Yeah, um… I like those but no.” 

“I’ll throw in a dozen of Krispy Kreme.”

“Deal.”

“That’s what gets you???” Jihyo laughed. 

“I was on Jungkook’s side, but yeah, what the hell?!” Jin joined. 

You shrugged. “I love donuts.” 

“Thank you so much!!!” Jungkook bent down on your level on the floor and side hugged you playfully.

“When is this wedding anyway?” You cringed and pushed him to the side. 

“Two weeks from now.”

You sighed, regretting your decision already. “Awesome.”

**

“Uh, what are you doing here?”

6PM on a Thursday night. The night air was chilly, but not too cold. You just stepped out from your office building, ready to head home, when you noticed Jungkook waiting outside. He was smoking, one hand holding his bud and the other was tucked inside the pocket of his extremely baggy pants. 

He immediately squeezed the unfinished cigarette on the trash can next to him as soon as you were on sight. He clapped his hands to together, cleaning the debris, and straightened his posture. With a pleading look, he flashed you a grin. 

“Please come to my family dinner tonight.”

“Tonight?” You looked at him, processing. “What do you mean by tonight?!”

“It will convince my brother!”

“This wasn’t in any part of our deal…” You said in a warning tone. 

“I know! I’m so sorry, but I accidentally told him early that I’m bringing someone…” 

“Not exactly my problem now, is it?” You sighed and folded your arms. “Attending his wedding is one thing. We wouldn’t even get that many chances to talk with him. But a dinner??? I’ll die.”

“Please? Please???” He clasped his hands together, begging with big eyes. 

You sighed. “No.”

“Uh, please?” He closed one eye and the other peeking at you. A nervous smile on his lips.

“You really didn’t think this through, huh?” His expression almost made you crack. 

“No, I didn’t.” He slumped down. “Pretty please? With another dozen of Krispy Kreme on top and I’ll even buy them for you tonight?” He batted his eyelashes at you. 

“You didn’t just do that to me…” You pointed at him and bit your inner cheek. “I hate you.”

“Is that a yes?” He grinned. 

“I don’t know!” You replied in frustration. 

“Please? I won’t stop begging until you agree.” 

It was as if his eyes got bigger every time he said please. 

“You’re insane.” You groaned. “Whatever let’s just go.”

“Yes!” He threw his fist in the air, celebrating with a loud voice. 

“God bless whoever’s gonna be actually dating you.” You rolled your eyes, smiling nonetheless at his antics. 

“I love you too.” He giggled and pinched your cheeks. You swatted away his hand immediately. “I’ll pick you up tonight!” 

And so he picked you up at your place later on with his parent’s car instead of his Harley. Said he wanted you to be able to dress prettily and not having your hair messed up by the helmet. Also because he just ordered the donuts, like promised. He knew there was a possibility of you actually bailing on him if he failed to do so. 

You were nervous, but he assured you that he had informed his parents about the whole thing, so the only people to fool were his brother and his soon-to-be wife. 

“You think I look okay?” 

You asked the guy, turning around to show him your whole outfit. You were wearing a simple blouse and a pair of flared trousers. You weren’t quite sure if it was too formal or too underdressed for the occasion. 

“I barely see you in anything other than t-shirts and baggy pants.”

“As if you’re not the same.” You shook your head and looked at him. He was in fact, still with his usual baggy jeans and oversized tee. “It doesn't look pretentious or anything, right?” 

“It’s cute.” He assured. “Let's go.”

The compliment just rolled out from his tongue so naturally it almost took you off guard. 

Arriving at Jungkook’s house, the first thing you noticed was a scooter that was parked in front of the fences. You didn’t further question it though as a wave of nervousness washed over you. The reality quickly sank on you that you were going to act as if you were dating your friend to fool his brother.

“Remember we’ve been dating for three months.” Jungkook said to you as he turned off the car engine. 

“And we’re just taking things slow, no pressure.” You continued. “I’m actually so nervous.” You confessed.

He took a closer look at your face. “I mean hey, if you’re that uncomfortable, I’ll take you back home. It’s okay. I can just tell him that you still have work or something…”

“No, it’s fine.” You took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “Let’s get this over with.”

“You sure?”

You nodded and stepped out of the vehicle. 

As soon as you entered, you were welcomed by Jungkook’s mom, who had a beautiful smile on when she greeted you. You quickly noticed his brother Junghyun and his partner Yoora, sitting on a nearby sofa, eyes clearly on you, in which you quickly flashed a smile in return. You noticed an unknown man present though. He had medium length hair, fair skin, and a very comfy looking hoodie on. 

“I see Jungkook wasn’t lying.” His brother grinned and shook your hand, introducing himself and then his partner. 

You gulped, but kept your cool. “Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, that’s Yoongi by the way. He’s an old friend of mine.” He pointed at the guy standing at the corner and called him to join you. 

The man walked towards your direction and shook your hand, giving you a very short greeting. You quickly smiled at the guy as well, before turning your head at the sound of Jungkook’s mom calling you all to the table. 

“So how long have you guys been dating?” Jungkook’s brother asked.

“Three months.” Both of you said in unison. You cleared your throat, feeling awkward. 

“Where did you meet?”

“Jimin introduced—“

Both of you spoke at the same time again. You looked at Jungkook in annoyance while he grinned apologetically. His mom giggled next to him, seeing the two of you. 

“You guys are actually cute it’s disgusting.” The brother laughed. 

You were glad for whatever that was, it did more good than harm in convincing the man. 

“You guys should introduce Yoongi to someone too, he’s been single since forever.” He continued, earning an audible groan from the friend. 

“Shut up, I do go on dates.” Yoongi protested. 

“Hinge matches that you’ve never met in person don’t count, Yoongi.”

“I don’t have the time.” The man protested. 

“He’s single? I’m surprised.” You said to Jungkook in a whisper. 

“Why is that surprising?” Jungkook replied back in the same volume. 

“He’s lowkey hot.” You said without thinking.

Jungkook looked back at you with big eyes and crunched his nose. Before he had the chance to react further, his brother spoke again. 

“Any of your lady friends single?” Junghyun turned to you. 

“I’m sure we don’t need to pressure the poor guy like that.” You smiled. 

“Yeah, I didn’t wanna date before I met her too. You can’t force these things.” Jungkook said proudly. You almost rolled your eyes at the acting. 

“Ew, who are you again?” The older brother laughed at his sibling’s words. “Y/N, I’m truly impressed. How did you even manage to tame this animal?”

“He’s actually really sweet and caring at times.” You giggled, gazing at him playfully.

“Hopefully that makes up for him being a brat most of the time?” Yoora looked at you with a smile. 

“Hmm… that I’m not sure.” You chuckled. 

“Oh, is that so?” Jungkook pinched your cheek with a big grin on his face. He knew you couldn’t slap his hand away when everyone was looking. 

“You should join our party this weekend!” Junghyun said to you. “We have a couple of friends coming, it’s gonna be fun.”

“Uh, she’s kinda busy on the weekends… no?” Jungkook looked at you with worry. 

You shook your head with a smile. Everyone had been very nice and welcoming to you. You would be lying to say that you were busy on the weekends. Wouldn’t want to add more lies on top of another lie. 

“I know you don’t wanna go but don’t lie for her like that.” Junghyun eyed his brother.  

Jungkook looked at you, perplexed. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I have nothing better to do anyway.”

After dinner the parents decided to hit the hay first, while Junghyun suggested to hangout at the back porch, having bought beers and all. You and Jungkook volunteered to fetch some cokes and snacks at the mini mart nearby. 

“Seriously, Yoongi?” Jungkook suddenly said as both of you were browsing an aisle. 

You gave your friend a side eye. “Are you judging my taste in men?!”

“You’re into nerds?”

“You’re one to talk.” You threw a bag of Doritos at his direction, that he caught just in time. 

“I still go out and socialize.” He shrugged with a smug smile. 

“Good for you.” You rolled your eyes and walked past him. 

“He barely talks.”

“And you talk too much.”

“Ouch.” Jungkook dramatically put his hands on his chest. 

“You’re taking it way too seriously, I just think he’s hot. I don’t know him.” You pushed him by his shoulder playfully. 

“How about you get to know him then?” He suddenly suggested. You could practically see a broken lightbulb lit up above his head. “I’ll make sure you get to spend some time with him later.”

“You sure switch your lanes fast.” You shook your head. “We’re supposed to be a couple too, so that doesn’t help.”

“Just tell him, he’s chill.” He dismissed. “Knowing him, he probably doesn’t give two shits about it anyway. Besides, it’s not like I’m planning on lying to my brother forever.”

“You don’t think it’s weird?” You thought it was weird too that you actually were considering making a move. 

“He’s a nerd but he’s alright. Decent person.” He made an upside down u with his lips, nodding. “If that’s what you’re into, who am I to judge?”

“You suck.” You threw another snack at him, making him laugh. 

After some chit chats and a few embarrassing stories later, it was almost twelve and at this point everyone just sat down enjoying the night sky. The couple seemed like they were enjoying themselves, cuddling up with each other on the other side of the porch, while you were left with a few more cans or beer with Jungkook and Yoongi. 

Jungkook started to eye you weirdly, signaling you to say something to the awfully quiet man beside you. You looked at him, shaking your head. The boy just smirked at you before suddenly standing up. 

“Gotta hit the bathroom real quick.”

“Jungkook…” You pulled him by his t-shirt, eyeing him. 

“Don’t be too clingy now.” He chuckled and walked away, holding his laughter. 

You sighed and turned to Yoongi, who was now looking at you after Jungkook leaving you alone with him. He took another can and twisted the handle open. 

“You must have the patience of a saint to be with him.” He suddenly said. 

Your eyes widened slightly at the comment, surprising he was starting a conversation. You shook your head, smiling. You didn’t know exactly where to start on the topic. 

“Let me guess, he paid you to act?” 

You gasped, covering your mouth. “Not too loud!”

“They’re asleep.” 

You looked to your right, and a sigh of relief came out as you saw the couple sleeping on the couch. 

“So it’s true?” Yoongi nonchalantly asked as he took more sips of the beer. 

“Well, he didn’t pay me like that… He got me some donuts and I’m just doing him a favor.” 

“You’re doing it for donuts?” 

It was the first time you hear his chuckle, it sounded beautiful. 

“You get a couple of donuts and he gets a brand new Nintendo Switch? That sounds fair.”

“I love doing things for the plot, I guess.” You smiled bashfully. 

He hummed, still with a small smile on his lips. “What’s your favorite movie?”

“Huh? What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I judge people’s character by their favorite movie.”

You giggled. “Jungkook was right.”

Yoongi looked at you questioningly. 

“You’re a nerd.” 

“Oh.” He voiced, seemingly lightly offended.

“It’s Midsommar and Inception.” You answered. 

Instead of reacting, Yoongi just gulped the beer can, this time finishing it. 

“So… what does that say about my personality?” 

“You’re not dating Jungkook, right?”

You were once again surprised. “Depends on who’s asking.” You replied, testing the waters. 

“I’m asking.” He said bluntly. 

You grinned. “Then no, I’m not.”

You had a few more chats before Jungkook came back from his so-called toilet break. You had no idea where he went or what he actually did, but you made a mental note to thank him later for the small favor. 

Jungkook drove you back home that night. The cheeky grin you had the entire ride was giving it away. 

“You look creepy. I assume things went well?” Jungkook asked with eyes still on the road. 

You shrugged but failed to wipe the smirk off your face. “I guess? You were right though…”

“About what?”

“He is a nerd… a cute one.” You giggled. 

“Disgusting.” Jungkook shook his head. “Please keep your act at the wedding.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t betray you like that.” You patted his shoulder from the passenger seat. “After all, you did help me so I could talk to him. So, thank you.”

“Hey, thank you too for even agreeing to whatever this bullshit is.” He sighed. “You know you don’t have to go to that party too.”

“It’s okay, your brother and his girl are good people, I enjoy the company.” You paused then grinned. “Plus, I’ll get to see Yoongi again.”

“If he shows up, that is.” Jungkook laughed. “You better pray cause that man hates parties.”

**

You stared at the reflection in your mirror, fixing the wrinkles on the clothes, you twisted your body to the left and to the right. You were not so sure if wearing a mini skirt was a right choice for the party. You could easily go with your usual baggy jeans and crop top combo, but there was a possibility of Yoongi showing up and you wanted to look pretty. At the very least. Dunking your lip gloss and tint in your purse, you threw in your perfume as well. 

The look Jungkook gave you once he saw you opening the car door was hard to miss. His mouth was ever so slightly gaped and his eyebrows furrowed. You would had guessed that he was insulting you, but his head nodded afterwards, lips turning into thin line as he did. He appeared to be amazed by what he saw. 

“You dressed up well.” He said as you took a seat and closed the door. 

“I’m still betting on Yoongi showing up, remember?”

“Ah yes, of course.” He clicked his tongue. “You don’t need to doll up for him, he’ll show up in a hoodie and bucket hat or something.”

“He doesn’t have to try.” You shrugged.

“Wow, calm down.” He looked at you with judging eyes. “This is you being sarcastic, right?”

You shrugged again, smirking. 

One hour into the party and there was still no sign of your crush at the function. Jungkook’s brother was opening a second bottle of Jägermeister, pouring it for everyone, mixing it with cans of Red Bulls. 

Your supposed boyfriend had already gulped multiple glasses down, his cheeks were glowing pink and he was even more chatty. 

“Looks like your man isn’t coming.” He said to you. 

“It is what it is.” You sighed, downing a shot. 

“At least you look cute today.”

“You think so?” You eyed him with an amused smirk. You wondered if it was already the alcohol doing its thing. 

“Yeah.” He agreed casually. 

You chuckled. “I thought your tolerance was better than this.”

“I’m not drunk yet.” He rolled his eyes. “Wanna go get some fresh air?”

You looked around and saw everyon on the table was dancing around, pretty much tipsy if not drunk already. 

“Can we?” You asked him. 

Instead of answering, Jungkook went to his brother. “We’re going to catch some fresh air for a bit, is that good?”

“Alright, use protection kiddos.” The older man laughed and patted his shoulder. 

“That’s not—“ The man was already back on the dance floor without letting his little brother finish the sentence. 

Jungkook turned to you. “He thinks we’re off to fuck, but we’re good to go.”

“Ew.” You cringed but followed the man out from the club. 

Jungkook sighed heavily as soon as you were at the front of the club. “I thought I was gonna turn deaf.”

“Yeah.” I chuckled. “Your brother parties well it seems.”

“He loves it. He’s borderline alcoholic.” Jungkook shook his head. “I think he likes you.”

“How do you know?”

“He knows my ex from two years ago. He was still bugging me on inviting her even after I told you were gonna show up at our dinner.” He sighed. “I don’t see her, I guess it worked out.”

“Is she someone I know?” You asked with a careful tone. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever introduced her to any of you guys… Jimin knows her though.”

“I see…” You looked away, suddenly feeling awkward on the topic. 

He eyed you and laughed, nudging you before he spoke. “It’s okay to ask, I don’t feel anything for her anymore.” 

You stayed quiet and observed his demeanor, searching for doubts. 

“Seriously! It wasn’t anything bad. We just wanted different things and it didn’t work out. My brother likes her though, so that’s why.” He laughed again, but it slowly faded as he was lost in thoughts on something. “Fuck, if I think about it, he’s gonna be so pissed once he finds out.”

“Is it really worth the Switch?”

“Totally.” He answered without hesitation, laughing. “You on the other hand, I just know it’s not worth the donuts.”

“It’s not that bad. I don’t hate it.” 

“You’re just saying that because you met Yoongi.” He smirked.

“It is a nice bonus!” You cackled, looking up at the sky. “Everyone’s nice and I don’t hate hanging out with you.” 

“Wow.” He rolled his eyes but a smile found his lips. “You know what, let’s go eat some good steak after the wedding!”

“Really?” Your eyes beamed with excitement. 

He nodded. “I don’t hate hanging out with you either.” The grin on his lips was almost blinding.  

Both of you wounded up talking some more. You didn't know that you enjoyed talking basically about shit nothings with him. You never really had the chance to spend time much time alone with him before, given you always met him with the group and you were more close to Jihyo and Jimin. You liked how silly and random he could be and the way he laughed sounded soothing. You were not sure why you came into that conclusion but you decided to stick with it.

Until a certain man stopped in front both of you.  

“Why are you guys outside?”

“Yoongi?” You called, surprised upon seeing the guy. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

The man flattened his lips, trying to appear indifferent. He had his hands inside his pockets and everything. One thing you quickly noticed was how put together he looked. He looked very different from the guy you talked with at the back porch. His hair was sleeked back neatly and you could smell his perfume from where you stood. The black button up shirt fit his physique so well. Surely, no hoodie nor bucket hat like what Jungkook had mentioned. 

Jungkook who seemingly aware of how starstruck you were, let out an audible groan at the scene. 

“I had some work today, I thought of ditching actually.” Yoongi said while looking at you. 

“What changed your mind?” You curiously asked. 

The man shrugged nonchalantly. “Heard you’re invited.”

“Oh.” Your mouth went slightly ajar. You almost couldn’t believe his words. 

“Y’all are disgusting. I’m heading in.” Jungkook walked right through the middle of you and Yoongi, storming right back into the club. 

“Huh.” Yoongi voiced, eyes following Jungkook’s figure disappearing at the door. “Does he know?”

“He knows. It was even his idea…”You confessed. “He went to the toilet on purpose just so we could talk that night.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Nah, don’t worry. He’s just a pouty brat.” You dismissed. “Let’s go in?”

Yoongi nodded and followed you from behind. 

The moment you and Yoongi arrived at the reserved table, Jungkook was doing two shots of something that one of his brother’s friend handed him. Your eyes met for a split second on his first shot, before he ignored you and chugged another one. Here you thought he was done drinking already. Did he forget that he drove you here?

You had known Jungkook for a while and you knew he could handle his alcohol. You had no problem switching place and drove him. So you kept conversing with Yoongi, thinking your fake boyfriend would be fine, just having a bit more fun wouldn’t hurt him. 

Something was definitely wrong when you saw the lad slurring and excusing himself to puke. 

“Kook? You alright?”

“No.” He replied from the toilet stall. 

You heard another gagging sound before he pressed the flush button. He came out soon after, looking very flushed and unwell. 

“I thought you were done drinking for the night.” You approached him, patting his back. 

“I was being stupid.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can drive back…”

“It’s okay, I’ll drive you and just take uber back.” You assured him. 

Jungkook muttered a low “thanks” before trailing you from behind, back to the table.

“You alright, dude?” Yoongi looked at the guy with sympathy. 

“Yup.” Jungkook did an okay sign, with half closed lids. “At least I can still form a thought.”

“Geez, how will you get home?” Yoongi looked at your direction. 

“I can drive him and take a cab back.” You replied. 

“I can take you home.” The man said sternly. “I’ll meet you at his apartment complex.”

“Oh, you don’t have to!” You widened your eyes, refusing politely. “You just got here too…”

“I insist.” Yoongi grabbed your shoulder, stopping you from rambling further. “Let’s go.”

You followed Yoongi and walked to bid goodbyes to the party host, letting him know the reasoning before heading to the parking lot. 

The tatted man was pretty quiet and calm the whole ride, except for the very few short verbal responses he gave out when you asked him something. Occasionally he would hum like a little kid. You were just glad he was not that drunk to the point where it was impossible to handle. He could still walk by himself properly, but you walked him to his room just in case. 

You were greeted by an over excited Bam, Jungkook’s dog, jumping up to you. It had been quite some time since last you saw the big Doberman. You were glad at least he didn’t think of you as a stranger. Once Jungkook had sat down on the couch, you went back to pet the dog. 

“Did I tell you that you look cute today?”

You looked back at the man who was staring at you innocently. Finally getting to experience first hand on his drunk baby behavior instead of just hearing stories from Taehyung was something else. 

“Yes, you did.” You said without looking at him. Your attention was still on the giant dog. 

“Did Yoongi tell you that too?”

You halted and thought to yourself. That question definitely made you think. Yoongi did not mention anything about how your appearance whatsoever. Did he really have to though? 

“No, he didn’t…”

“You’ve tried your best and he didn’t even say anything?!” 

“Well, at least you noticed.” You smiled. 

“You’re damn right I did.” He grinned proudly. 

You shook your head at the nonsense. “Good night, Kook.”

“Night, cutie.” 

When you got out, Yoongi was already waiting for you. You panned out exchanging numbers after he dropped you off.

**

“This might be the very last favor I’m gonna ask you before it’s finally done for real.”

“What is it again now?”

“Spend the night at the venue hotel with me? Please? My brother booked a room for the family and apparently he added an extra room for us…”

You could hear his voice begging over the phone call. 

“What’s in it for me? I don’t wanna end up like that time you hit Jimin in his sleep.”

“Free breakfast and an awesome roomie that will try his best not to accidentally kick you in your sleep.” His chuckles slowly faded.

“So you’re basically offering nothing.”

“Please?” You could almost picture his exact facial expression.

“I guess a little staycation won’t hurt.” You sighed. It seemed like you couldn't find yourself to reject him. “We’ve already gone too far anyway, might as well just finish this.”

“Thank you so much!” The man shouted from the other line. “I’ll try my best not to hit you while I sleep.”

“You better be.”

So that was how you were now up binge watching unsolved crimes on YouTube, with your pretend boyfriend, who had a newly opened bottle of wine right in his hand, pouring it down onto a glass. 

“You sure your brother wouldn’t mind us taking one of his wines?” 

“Nah, this was gifted anyway.” He waved.

“If you say so.” 

You took the freshly poured glass and slumped on the bed, enjoying the cool feeling of the bedsheets on your skin. Jungkook was lying down next to you, over the bed cover. Both of you had changed into your pajamas and all.

On the fifth video playing, you finally got a text back from Yoongi after you informed him about your small sleepover situation. It could be the lack of emojis used in the replies, but he seemed chill about the whole thing, only telling you to call him right away if anything cynical were ever to occur.  

You didn’t realize but soon your attention was taken by the small screen in your hands, instead of the huge television in the room. But when it finally came into your attention, you quickly put down your phone. You had always disliked people playing with their phones when hanging out with you, figured you would not want to do the same thing. 

“I just told Yoongi that I’m staying the night here.” 

Jungkook’s eyes were already at you when you looked up from your phone. 

He turned back to the screen, going back to take another chip from the bag on his hand. “What did he say?”

“He seems cool with it. Told me to call him straight up if you try anything fishy.”

“Are you guys like a thing now?” 

“Eh, we’ve texted back and forth for days but that’s all.” You shrugged.

The man shifted his position to your direction. “So… do you like him?”

“I mean, I guess he seems like a perfect textbook boyfriend.”

“Whose textbook?” Jungkook raised one of his eyebrows. 

“Well, mine?” You chuckled. “Guess I really do like nerds.” 

“Oh, wow.” Jungkook said in a straight tone, unamused.

“I mean he’s nice and cute, what more can you ask for?” 

The man sighed. “Well, if that’s the case then I guess good for you.” 

“You don’t sound too happy about it.” You noticed the shift in his voice. 

“I’m not excited to see you being all gross with him after this.” He rolled his eyes and pushed the snack to your direction. 

You took one chip and chuckled. “He could just be flirting for fun.”

“Yoongi doesn’t do that.” Jungkook replied with his mouth full. “Bro barely flirts in general.”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” 

Suddenly a big thunder flashed, making a loud noise that shocked both of you. You jumped from your seat to look by the hotel window. It was suddenly pouring heavy outside. Jungkook followed you shortly, peeking next to you. 

You pulled the curtains open, enjoying the calming rain atmosphere. “We’re gonna sleep so good tonight.” 

“Lights on or lights off?” The man asked. 

“Off, all of them.”

“I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.” Jungkook went in for a hi-five. 

You crossed your leg and sat on the floor, eyes on the crazy weather outside. Once again, Jungkook mimicked and joined you on the floor. 

“What’s on your mind?” He asked.

“Nothing, it’s just really nice.” You sighed. “Do you have any nosy relatives?”

“The old ones from my dad’s side are sometimes a bit, but nothing too crazy. Why? Ah… you’re scared you’re gonna get interrogated tomorrow?” 

“Sorta, yeah.” You chuckled. “I don’t do well with new people.”

“You’re gonna be fine, they’ll like you.” He assured. “I’ll do the talk, you’ll just have to smile and look pretty.”

“You think I look pretty?” You pointed at yourself, grinning. 

“I’ve told you before.”

You suddenly remember that night when he was drunk. “Oh, you remember that? You told me I looked cute though not—“

“I remember what I said.” He cut you off with a slight annoyed tone.

“Uh, thanks…” You said, suddenly feeling awkward. You didn’t know why he suddenly seemed so serious about it. 

“You don’t believe it, do you?”

“Well, you were drunk and I know you, you love to say a lot of shit nothings.” 

“I’m not drunk now so…” He puffed his cheeks. 

“We were just drinking wine?” You replied. 

Jungkook groaned. “Shut up.”

“Alright, I believe you.” You laughed. Your cheeks feeling ever so slightly warm. You decided it was due to the glass of wine instead of thinking of other possibilities. 

Jungkook laughed as well, after he rolled his eyes at you. Your eyes met for a short second, but you quickly broke it off and looked back at the window. You were not quite sure why, but you felt the urge to lean your head on the boy’s shoulder. Figuring it wouldn’t be weird, you did so. After all, you did it all the time with Jimin too.

You could tell his shoulder stiffened at first, but it quickly loosened and relaxed. A few seconds later he leaned back his head on top of yours, and both of you just stayed like that for minutes, only the sound of the downpour filling up the room. 

“Hey, look at the sky.”

“Huh?” You suddenly straightened your position and looked up. “What is—“

Then your mind blanked. In a split second Jungkook launched an attack, giving you a surprise kiss on your right cheek. You heard it making a loud smooch noise, despite the rain blaring in the background. You looked at him with your hand now holding your cheek. Would you believe that, the man just looked at you with a big grin as if he was innocent, his eyes turned into thin lines, his lip piercing glared under the moonlight. 

“Did you just kiss me???”

“On your cheek, yes.” He nodded like a kid. The smug grin was still there, proudly. 

“You told me to look at the sky!” You whined. 

“That was the most classic move in the book.” He laughed. 

“Whose book is this?!” You retorted. Weirdly enough, you didn��t seem to mind it that much.

“We need to both review our books it seems like.” He chuckled. “I’m sorry, you just looked very pretty under the moon and all, it was very dramatic in my eyes.” 

“Is this the alcohol talking again?”

“Stop blaming the alcohol and start taking my compliments seriously.” He folded his arms, the muscles flexed as he did. 

Great. Now how in the heavens were you suppose to sleep again?

Thankfully, things somehow managed to cool down after that, and both of you soon retrieved to the bed after cleaning up. 

You were glad the man next to you was a heavy sleeper, so he wouldn’t notice you tossing and turning. Should you be overthinking on Jungkook’s behavior? You knew he was a flirty being, you were sure he did things like this all the time. After all, he fell asleep almost instantly like nothing had ever happened, so it must be true. 

The next morning when you woke up, the left side of the bed was already empty. You were glad that at least no accidents happened during your sleep. It would suck to go to the celebration with a blue eye. You still remembered Jimin’s pain that one time you went camping. 

Assuming Jungkook was off to the gym, you got up and took a shower. By the time you were done, there was a sweaty bare back facing you, sitting on the edge of the bed, gulping down a bottled water. 

Last time you saw Jungkook shirtless was a few months back, maybe even a year ago. Jihyo had this immaculate idea of a beach day, only for it to end up raining. You and her stayed inside the cottage the entire time. But the boys? They didn’t care. Every single one of them ended up catching the cold too. 

That being said, at that period of time, Jungkook was already muscular, but he sure as hell wasn’t as this big. Maybe it was the amount of Twinkies he ate on his free time doing wonders on his bulking. 

“Oh, you’re done?” Jungkook suddenly turned, clutching the t-shirt he had on his hand to his chest. It was almost funny how big his eyes popped open. 

“Yeah.” You wondered why he got flustered all of the sudden. 

“I may stink a bit.” He sheepishly laughed. “I’ll shower and we’ll get breakfast after?”

**

And before you knew it, you were on the table with the Jeons. A flared floral dress clung on your body, heels hanging on your left foot as you crossed your legs, sitting prettily as what Jungkook had asked you. 

You were thankful he kept his words. Here you were, giggling at Jungkook’s aunt, telling you a story about how when he was a baby he used to cry every time upon seeing a literal piece of broccoli. You barely need to say anything. Jungkook kept the conversation going and would always wittily shift the conversation away from turning into public interrogation. 

When the main celebration was over, he didn’t stop you from going to converse with Yoongi. Nor he did when the man kindly asked to swap dance partners. Maybe it was just how he didn’t need any more convincing or anything to prove. The job was already done. 

You found yourself questioning on why he didn’t though, on why he just let you be. You questioned yourself on why you never really felt the butterflies around Yoongi. But at this point, you began to realize something was up. He would say something and all you could think of was how Jungkook would react over the top, make a dumb pun, and dance around like an idiot instead. Yoongi was exactly how you would imagine your perfect guy. But was it also a mental block that made you think you felt something for him other than mild admiration? 

“You’re zoning out.”

“Oh! I was?” You jumped slightly, hearing Yoongi’s comment. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you looking for him?”

“I was just wondering where he went, I haven’t seen him since the dance…”

“I didn’t say a name.” 

You were taken aback. Yoongi’s expression was a mixture of amusement and light disappointment. 

“I’m sorry, my head’s been all over the place…” You replied in a low voice. 

The man sighed, crossing his hands. “Don’t apologize. Don’t worry about it. 

“But, Yoongi…”

“Think about it. Would you say yes if any other person asked you to do this ridiculous favor just for donuts? And why does Jungkook even need to do this so badly?! He could afford the console himself if he wanted to.”

Huh. 

He sighed again, but this time there was a small smile on his lips. “Go. Before I like you even more.”

“I’m so sorry, Yoongi.”

“Just go.”

And with that push, you picked up your feet and searched. He was nowhere near his family table and nowhere at dessert bar. And you knew it wasn’t like him to not camp in the dessert area like a hungry child. You texted him but there was no immediate response. You weren’t sure if calling would be a good idea. You figured he must had ran back to the hotel room.

Your assumption was correct when you found him lying on the floor, with arms and legs stretched out like a starfish, tie discarded next to him. He only spared a look at you for a few seconds, before going back on focusing his vision up at the ceiling. 

“Jungkook, what the hell are you doing…” You couldn’t help a smile forming on your lips. 

“Comforting myself.” He grinned with eyes closed shut. “Wanna join?”

You looked at him and shook your head in disbelief. It took you merely five seconds of decision making before giving up and laid on your side next to him. Jungkook quickly turned his body to your direction once he felt your presence close by. With his arm under his head for support, there was that boyish grin plastered on his face looking at you again. 

“So what are we doing on the floor again?”

“Dunno.” He bit his inner cheeks as he spoke. “You look really pretty today.” He mentioned unpromptly. 

“Stop saying that.” You looked away. 

“Just in case Yoongi hasn’t told you.” He grinned. “Why are you here? You should be at the party…”

“And you don’t?! I thought you want that new switch?” 

“I do, it’s just… I can’t really give a damn about that right now, honestly.” He scoffed. “You shouldn’t be here, though.”

“And why is that?”

“It’s giving me hope.” He turned his body and laid on his back, facing the ceiling again. “This sucks balls but I have to admit that I’m jealous.”

You froze in place. Your eyes still glued to him, looking at his side profile as he continued to talk without meeting your eyes. 

“Yoongi is exactly your type. The whole hot nerd vibe. Smart, broody, quiet. He’s what you go for.” He chuckled. “I’m gonna sound so pick me after this, but I’m not that. I’m dumb and loud. And I hate it.”

“Jungkook…”

“I know this is fake. But it didn’t feel fake.” His voice dropped. “Not to me. Holding you, laughing until we can’t breathe, and last night with the rain???” He smiled in defeat. “I guess somewhere along the line, I just stopped pretending. I stopped thinking about the switch. Hell, fuck the switch. Haven’t thought about it even once after that night at the club…” He shook his head vigorously like a dog, as if wanting to get rid of his thoughts. “I got so jealous that night I started drinking like an idiot.”

Your heart thudded painfully. “You know I liked Yoongi.” 

Words coming out from your mouth shocked him, especially the way you were using past tense. His eyes glimmered in hope. Once again you were amazed by his big rounded eyeballs. 

“But even when I was with him, I kept missing you. I kept wondering how you’d react, thinking about how you’d crack a lame joke, how you’d try to tease me about it…” 

He blinked a few times. “Wait, really???”

“Yeah.”You chuckled, a bit flustered by exposing yourself. “I thought I was doing it for Krispy Kreme, but honest to heavens no one would actually be this dumb. I thought I was at least, but even Yoongi told me that this is just beyond ridiculous.” You sighed. “I wouldn’t be here if I don’t actually enjoy being with you.” 

Jungkook’s expression softened. He too let out a heavy breath. He scooted closer to you with his pair of black boba eyes looking straight at you like a giant puppy. 

“You mean it?”

“I mean, I did have one glass of champagne before coming up here…” You giggled. 

The guy pouted. “Not funny.” 

You reached for his nose and booped it, making him flinch. You took his left hand and placed it on your chest, where your heart was literally beating out of your rib cage. The eye contact didn’t last long as you broke it off, feeling your stomach twisted into a knot. 

And Jungkook wasted zero second after that confirmation. He brought both of his palms and grabbed your face close. His soft lips found yours instantly. Your gasp was muffled by his mouth and it took you no time to melt into his touch though. The kiss was short, nothing too much. You were the first to broke it off, but he did leaned over to chase your lips once more. You caught a glimpse of his proud grin before he pulled you into a hug, stuffing your face into his embrace. 

“Do we really have to do this on the floor?” You protested, but your jaw was basically hurt from smiling. 

“You’re mine you’re mine you’re mine.” He chanted like a possessed individual. He buried his face in your hair and laughed freely. 

“You’re insane.” You giggled. 

“Insanely into you, yeah.” He proudly grinned. 

“Oh my god, don’t make regret this.” You rolled your eyes playfully, finding his antics endearing. 

“You’re mine!!!” He declared again, almost shouting while squeezing you. 

“You haven’t asked anything though.” You backed away, raising your eyebrows at him. 

His eyes widened and his mouth went slightly ajar. "Oh yeah, you’re right, I haven’t asked properly. Well then…” He leaned in a bit closer and took your hand in his, looking into your eyes with sincerity. He inhaled and then, “Do you want to eat wagyu steak with me tonight?”

You pushed him off and whined. 

He laughed, holding his stomach as he did. “Let’s get up first. I’m not asking you to be my girlfriend on the floor.” 

Thank you for reading! 💐

[yenhan]

TF141 X Retail worker!Reader

Masterlist

a/n: tf141 x retail worker!reader because the international student au reader is busy, lol

Synopsis: Kyle is the best customer you could ask for, but his teammates aren't as easy.

At first, London seemed like a dream. Hustle, grit, fashion week, the chaos of creativity all bottled into a city that never took a breath. Too bad the reality was different. It wasn’t the long hours that crushed you, it was the people, the endless ladder climbing, the sneers hidden behind faux-kind smiles, the stinging burn of rejection from agencies that only saw numbers, not vision. For someone like you, soft around the edges, it was suffocating. So, you left. “I didn’t fail,” you told yourself. “I just chose something else.”

Now, you were here, in a sleepy tiny town tucked far from madness, working in retail in a cozy boutique on the corner of a cobbled high street. The shop had charm. All reclaimed wood shelves and vintage Edison bulbs, racks lined with pre-loved jackets, silk scarves, old military coats with stories stitched into their hems. Some days were slow. Most were, but you liked the pace. You liked knowing the regulars by name, their styles by heart.

Your signature Ferrari bomber jacket hung over your shoulder, bright red, bold white racing stripes down the sleeves. It had survived seven years and at least three attempted red wine assassinations. Half the people who walked in complimented it. The other half gave you a knowing look when they spotted the prancing horse.

“I know,�� you’d sigh with a smirk. “Being a Ferrari fan is practically a tragic personality trait.” The jacket made people smile. It made you smile. And in your world, that was enough.

Your favorite customers were a group of four men who’d started showing up sometime last year. You didn’t know how they found you, though it wasn’t surprising. Most of your customers came from word-of-mouth; a recommendation from a friend, or sheer luck during a caffeine-fueled detour. Either way, once they got in, they kept coming back.

Kyle was the first. Friendly, easygoing, with a sparkle of curiosity behind those warm chocolate eyes. He liked trying new styles, often picked your brain about fabrics and cuts, and wasn’t shy about flipping through racks with genuine enthusiasm. The two of you hit it off quickly. You’d talk fashion—designers, eras, tailoring techniques, so on and so forth. Every now and then, you’d catch him scribbling notes into his phone like he didn’t want to forget what you’d said. You had a stupid smile plastered on your face for the rest of the shift.

Johnny followed soon after. Something about his roguish charm and mischief wrapped in a thick Scottish accent made your heart flip. He made a game of flirting with you, asking which shirt made him look like a rockstar, which trousers “hugged the right bits.” You didn’t mind. It wasn’t sleazy and disgustingly creepy like Mr. Lambert’s comments; it was just cheeky. “’s fun, right, hen?”

The Scot had been through something, there was a scar that curved into his hairline, and sometimes, you caught him checking exits a little too carefully, but he always smiled at you as if the world wasn’t heavy on his back.

One day, Kyle told you the others would drop by the shop for a quick tour. “The captain and lieutenant,” he explained, hanging a pressed crimson sweater on the rack. “Figured you might help. Price—John—needs to stop dressing like a dad who bought a motorcycle to impress his ex. And Ghost... well, he’s allergic to color. I won’t be there, love. Good luck.”

You laughed, finding his concerns exaggerated. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

And oh boy, you did.

—

The bell above the door chimed, and in walked two figures whose attires screamed ‘suspicious crime syndicate members.’ One was broad-shouldered, bearded, and wore a low cap over his brow. The other looming shadow wore black jeans and a hoodie, eyes unreadable under a dark skull-printed mask.

“Y’alright?” John Price’s voice was gravel and warmth, all wrapped in one delicious burrito. “You’re the one tryin’ to make us fashionable?”

“I try to guide people. Whether they listen is another matter.” You corrected him.

Ghost didn’t say anything. He stood by the door like a gothic statue, gazing from wall to window to floor, like the entire place might collapse under the weight of vintage cardigans. You offered him a polite smile. He didn’t return it.

So. That was Simon, you’d find out his birth name much much later.

Gaz had warned you. But warnings didn’t quite prepare you for the presence of someone who could dissolve into a shadow if he really wanted to. You felt your smile falter a little. “Be gentle with the lieutenant, bonnie. He’s got the fashion sense of a funeral director. Easily spooked, tha’ one.” You remembered Johnny saying it. That Hulk of a man didn’t really seem easily spooked or affected by anything at all. But you’d learned not to trust the Scotsman’s judgement on people. Last time he said your newborn nephew looked like Sid from Ice Age and you’d never felt so offended.

“Well, let me know if anything makes you feel like you’re on a runway show,” you offered lightly, mostly to Price. “Or at least less of a fashion crime.”

That earned you a huff of amusement from the captain. “That obvious, huh?”

You studied him openly, eyes running over his old leather jacket, faded jeans, boots that looked like they’d seen more mud than pavement. “I'm getting 'I'm about to start a podcast about whisky and post-divorce toxic masculinity' vibes.”

Ghost let out a short snort. Yes, that sound had come from him. Price, on the other hand, barked a laugh and pointed a finger at you.

“Cheeky. Sorry for the trouble, birdie.”

—

The next thirty minutes were… interesting.

Price started by rejecting everything. Every coat was too soft, every shirt too ‘bloody posh’, every jumper looked like something his dad would’ve worn to the pub. But he kept trying them on, kept letting you adjust the collar, roll up sleeves, hold a mirror just right. “Don’t see what’s wrong with the leather one I’ve got.”

“John, you don’t want women to guess you’re divorced and why just by your looks.” You deadpanned behind a rack. The man stopped complaining after that.

“Tell me the truth,” he inquired once, eyeing a fitted navy peacoat. “Do I look like someone who owns a boat?”

“You look like someone who pretends to own a boat to impress his Tinder date.”

He gave you a mildly confused look. “What’s Tinder?”

Meanwhile, Ghost hadn’t moved an inch. You tried subtle nudges. Held up a long black coat with silver snap buttons. No response. Picked out a designer knit jumper with a high neck. Nothing. Finally, you took a risk.

You stepped closer, gentle but not meek. “Look, I’m not gonna try and make you wear lime green or anything. But you’re a tall guy. Broad frame. You could make half of this stuff look terrifying in a clever way.”

He tilted his head just enough to make the skull motif shift with him. “Not here to impress anyone.”

“Fair. But comfort isn’t just about fabric. It’s about feeling like yourself. Or... the version of you that you don’t mind being seen.”

Silence. Again. After a moment, he reached out and you had to stifle your holy hell as he plucked the coat you’d offered off the rack. Then he disappeared into the changing room.

You turned back to Price, whose eyes held something vaguely amused. “I owe Kyle a pint,” he winked.

Ghost walked out of the fitting room, and the entire shop seemed to still for a moment. The coat suited him like it had been tailored specifically for his bulk. The wool draped across his shoulders and the belt cinched just enough to emphasize the lean strength of his torso.

…

“Could be worse.”

You beamed. That was a five-star review coming from him.

Eventually, both men found something they liked. Price left with the peacoat and a rugged forest green henley. Ghost kept the long coat and to your absolute delight, picked up a navy blue shirt as they were checking out. You didn’t mention it. You figured calling attention to it might break the spell.

At the register, Price handed over his card with a smirk. “Suppose I owe you an apology, birdie. Thought this’d be a waste of time...”

“Don’t worry. I’ll pretend you were a nightmare and insulted my entire stock.”

“Attagirl.”

—

Later that evening, Kyle poked his head back in while you tidied the place back into shape. “They liked you,” he cheered.

“I’m irresistible.”

“Nah, seriously. You made Ghost wear something that wasn’t from a tactical catalog. That’s magic.” You rolled your eyes. However, when he left and you locked the door behind him, a little glow lingered in your chest.

[lupinqs]

CRUSH CULTURE ━━ paige bueckers x reader

☆ ━ summary: paige has a hopeless crush on you, a cheerleader

☆ ━ word count: 5.4K

☆ ━ warnings: alcohol consumption, kissing, this one’s tame

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, inspired by this request (lol i know this was forever ago)

☆ ━ author’s note: hiii i hope y’all enjoy—lemme know if you guys want a part 2 and if so send in ideas for it!!! i have been hopelessly uncreative recently!!! also yes i have been writing tmtc and safe and sound i promise—new chapter of tmtc should be out sometime this weekend, no idea on safe and sound because goddamn that fic takes me forever to write

PAIGE HAS ALWAYS noticed you—though, funny enough, at first it wasn’t because you cheered. That part didn’t even register until her junior year, when she started paying attention to things off the court. But she’d first noticed you back in her sophomore year, in that one class she didn’t feel like she needed at all. She’d often zone out, either doodling in the margins of her notebook or letting her eyes drift around the room as she let her mind wander. Her gaze would skip over classmates until, one day, it stopped on you.

And, God, she remembers that moment. The way she’d blinked, like she needed to reset her brain for a second because… well, you. It wasn’t anything specific, nothing she could even name at the time. But there was this something about you that made her stomach flip. From then on, whenever she zoned out, her eyes would find you before she even realized it. You’d be focused on your notes or lost in thought, completely unaware, and Paige would catch herself staring just a little too long.

She’d think about talking to you, but for some reason, you made her nervous. And that wasn’t something Paige was used to feeling—not with girls. She’d been confident her whole life, even a little cocky when it came to flirting, and her reputation certainly proceeded her. But with you, all of that confidence vanished. Her brain would go blank, her hands would fidget, and her heart would pound just watching you, sitting across the room. The idea of walking up to you, striking up a conversation, felt almost laughable. You’d somehow managed to turn her, Paige Bueckers, into a stammering mess with just a look.

And then there was the other part—the part that kept her from making a move even when she managed to work up the nerve. You looked so…straight. She knows it’s a stupid assumption, but something about the way you carried yourself—she’d convinced herself that you had to be straight. Maybe it was the way you fit in with the other girls, how they flocked around you like they were all in some effortlessly straight, picture-perfect group. Whatever it was, Paige felt certain you’d never look at her the way she looked at you.

So she let it go, or at least, she tried to. But you kept slipping into her thoughts, distracting her in that class, making her mind wander back to you when she least expected it. Her silly little crush on you lingered all through sophomore year, and even when summer rolled around, she found herself thinking of you every now and then, imagining what it might have been like to know you outside of that class.

Then junior year rolled around, and her whole world changed with that ACL tear. Benched for the season, her focus shifted in ways she never anticipated. Instead of charging down the court, she found herself sitting on the sidelines, watching, observing things she normally wouldn’t have noticed. And it was during one of those games, one of those long, frustrating nights when she just wanted to play, that she saw you again—this time, on the court as one of the cheerleaders.

At first, she couldn’t believe it. She actually had to blink a few times, like her brain was trying to catch up with what her eyes were seeing. This was her third year at UConn, and she hadn’t noticed you were a cheerleader ever. Maybe she really was just unobservant, but it truly shocked her. You looked completely different from how you did in class—more animated, more alive, like you were in your element. And when you started that long, impressive tumbling pass down the court, her jaw dropped. She didn’t even know you could do that, and it left her staring, heart hammering in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. (And maybe the tiny little uniform helped speed it up, too.)

From then on, Paige couldn’t keep her eyes off you during games. She’d always find herself watching you, wondering if you’d somehow feel her gaze, hoping that maybe, just once, you’d look her way. She spent so many games like that—sneaking glances, letting her mind wander, imagining what it might be like to finally work up the nerve to talk to you. But game after game, you never seemed to notice her, too focused on your routines, your teammates, and the cheering crowd around you.

And Paige? She knew she was hopelessly stuck. She’d sit there on the sidelines, feeling ridiculous, pining after a girl she couldn’t even talk to, a girl she thought she’d never really have a chance with. It was her worst crush yet—the kind that left her feeling off-balance, stumbling over her own thoughts, trying to convince herself that it didn’t matter—and she’d never even spoken to you. But each time she saw you out there, smiling, moving with that same effortless grace, she’d feel that same pull, that same quiet, persistent ache.

It’s senior year now, and Paige has one thing on her mind: basketball. It’s been more than a year since she’s played, and she’s determined to make this season count. All summer, she told herself the same thing over and over: Stay focused. Don’t get distracted. No more drifting thoughts, no more daydreams, and absolutely no more pointless crushes on girls she can’t have. And especially no crushes on you.

You, the cheerleader she’d spent too many junior year games staring at from the sidelines. You, the girl she still thought about when her mind wandered late at night, even though she knew better. No, this year, she was locking in. She’d worked too hard, too long, to let her head get all twisted up over you again. She was here to play basketball, not to chase after some unattainable crush.

But as she jogs onto the court for warm-ups, trying to ignore the butterflies that come with her first game back, her eyes somehow find you anyway. Just like they always do. And it’s like no time has passed at all. You’re laughing with the other cheerleaders, your hair perfectly styled in a half-up-half-down, a bow nestled in it, your uniform hugging you just right. The lights catch on your skin, giving you this soft glow, and your smile—God, that smile, so open and sweet and painfully distracting—has her heart skipping a beat before she even realizes it. Paige quickly snaps her eyes away, reminding herself she’s here to play, not to get lost in some imaginary world where she has a chance with you. This is her first game back, and even if it’s just an exhibition against Dayton, she’s got to make it count.

With a deep breath, she manages to brush you off. The pregame excitement kicks in, and her focus sharpens as the game begins. And it’s everything she’s been waiting for—the sounds of the court, the rush of the crowd, the thrill of moving with the ball in her hands again. She’s finally back, and for the first quarter, she’s locked in, feeling the rhythm of the game, feeling unstoppable.

Then it happens. KK makes a bad pass, and Paige is already in motion, chasing down the ball to save it from going out of bounds. She dives, stretching to reach it, but it’s just out of reach. Before she can stop herself, she’s crashing full speed into the sidelines—right into the cheerleaders.

Right into you.

The impact is quick and jarring, and she scrambles to her feet as fast as she can, heart hammering in her chest. She’s prepared to rattle off an apology when she realizes who she’s just barreled into. You’re significantly smaller than her, and her stomach drops as she takes in your wide eyes and the faint wince that flickers across your face. But you handle it with the same grace she’d always admired from afar, waving her off with a laugh and saying, “It’s fine! You’re good!” Your smile is easy, casual, and she’s even more mortified by how sweet you’re being about it.

She tries to apologize again, but you’re already brushing it off with that smile, and she feels her face heating up as she mumbles something unintelligible before hurrying back onto the court. But now her head’s a mess, all her carefully built-up focus gone, replaced by the embarrassing replay of what just happened. She tells herself to get it together, but it’s no use. Her mind keeps drifting back to the look on your face, to the sound of your laugh, to the softness in your smile when you waved her off.

The rest of the game passes in a frustrating blur. She’s off her rhythm, missing open shots she’d normally sink with ease, getting caught in rotations she usually anticipates. By the end, she’s only scored eight points—a painfully low number, especially for her—and she feels the weight of it like a stone in her stomach. She should be thinking about the game, her missed shots, how to get her focus back. But as she sits on the bench, watching the last few minutes tick away, all she can think about is you standing there, laughing off her clumsy collision, looking up at her with that easy, unbothered smile.

So much for not getting distracted.

After the game, Paige is still kicking herself over how sloppy her performance was. She lingers in the locker room, hoping to avoid any unwanted run-ins. But finally, when she’s convinced she’s given it enough time for everyone to clear out, she heads out into the quiet halls of Gampel Pavilion.

Except, of course, her luck isn’t that great. Just as she’s walking out, she spots you—still in your cheer uniform but with a UConn sweatshirt thrown over it, heading down the hall, cheer bag on your back. Her first instinct is to turn around, bolt back into the locker room, and hope to avoid any more humiliation, but it’s already too late. You look up, and your eyes meet, and suddenly she’s frozen in place, panicking because she’s actually staring straight into your eyes.

And then you smile at her. That smile, the one that sends her brain into a meltdown every time. But it’s so much worse now because your smile is directed at her. And, suddenly, you’re walking up to her and saying, “Hey, good game tonight,” and Paige is pretty sure her heart has stopped.

She tries to seem casual, to play it cool, but all she can manage is a shrug and a half-hearted, “Eh, wasn’t my best.” She’s hoping you don’t notice her stutter, but her cheeks are burning, giving her away.

You just wave it off, your dimple showing as you grin up at her. “Nah, this was just your warm-up. You haven’t played in, like, over a year. Next game you’ll drop thirty.”

Paige blinks, and the fact that you know she’s good at basketball—even though everyone knows she’s good at basketball—is enough to send her into a coma, she thinks. “Oh, gosh,” she says, rubbing the back of her neck, struggling to find words. “Gonna have to now, just for you.” The second it’s out of her mouth, she mentally facepalms. That totally sounds like she’s trying to flirt with you.

But you just laugh, eyes crinkling as you look at her, completely unfazed. “I’ll hold you to it,” you say, and that smile doesn’t waver.

There’s a pause, and Paige knows this is where you’re about to say goodbye, and she panics because, after two years of thinking and practically obsessing over you, she’s finally talking to you, and it feels too short, too fleeting. Before she can second-guess herself, she blurts, “Oh—uh, hey, about earlier… when I ran into you. I’m… really sorry about that.”

You shake your head, smiling even wider, brushing it off with an easy laugh. “Don’t worry about it. Happens all the time; more than you’d think.”

There’s something so casual and warm about the way you say it, and she feels herself relax a little, caught up in the fact that you’re looking right at her, not at all bothered, almost… endeared? And for some reason, seeing your dimpled smile has her stammering like she’s never done before.

“So… uh…” Paige stumbles, her words failing, her confidence gone. “Are you, um, going to Ted’s tonight?” She bites her lip the moment it’s out, but she presses on. “You know, a lot of people go there after the first game—it’s kinda, like, a…thing. Which, y’know, I guess you probably already know about because… you’re, like, not a freshman…” She sounds so stupid. God.

You tilt your head slightly, considering, before you smile at her again. “I wasn’t really planning on going, but…” You pause, looking at her with a bit of a spark in your eyes, and for a second, she feels like she might actually combust. “Should I?”

Paige’s eyes widen, and she’s nodding before she can stop herself. “Y-yes! I—I think you’d have a good time.” She mentally scolds herself for the stutter, but you’re just nodding, still smiling, still looking so effortlessly at ease while she’s a nervous mess.

You laugh softly, a sound she’s sure she’ll replay in her head all night, and say, “Alright. I’ll think about it. And if I do decide to go, I’ll see you there, Bueckers.”

And with one last smile, you turn and walk away, leaving her standing there in shock, her heart racing and her mind replaying every word you just said. She’s tempted to pinch herself, convinced this has to be some elaborate daydream because there’s no way she actually just talked to you.

She doesn’t move for a long moment, replaying the way you said her name, the sound of your laugh, and the chance that she might actually see you tonight.

IT’S LATER in the night at Ted’s, and Paige is doing her best to stay composed, talking with one of the guys from the men’s team. Dirty Shirley in hand, she’s feeling just the faintest buzz, not enough to loosen her grip on reality but just enough to feel the edges of her confidence soften. She’s nodding along to something the guy’s saying when, over his shoulder, she spots you walking in.

Paige’s attention falters as she takes you in. You’re in baggy jeans that hang low on your hips, and a leather tube top that clings in all the right places, dipping enough to make her gaze lower slightly. She can barely tear her gaze away as you head over to the bar with a couple of friends, both of whom Paige recognizes from the cheer team. You’re laughing, leaning into one of them, completely at ease, and she can’t stop watching.

She realizes she’s staring a little too long, so she quickly excuses herself, not to talk to you—God, no, she can’t even think straight around you—but to hide by her teammates before she does something stupid. Her teammates notice her the moment she approaches, grinning as they watch her flustered expression.

“You see who just walked in, P?” Azzi teases, nudging her.

Paige groans, cheeks burning. “Don’t start.”

But they’re all laughing, and Ice is elbowing KK with a smirk. Nika, who’s been listening with a barely disguised grin, rolls her eyes. “Okay, this is ridiculous. You’ve had a crush on this girl since, like, forever. Go talk to her.”

“Are you kidding? I can’t. She’s—” Paige doesn’t even finish the sentence, glancing over her shoulder just in time to see you at the bar, waiting for your drink. She’d be lying if she said her confidence hadn’t evaporated the moment you walked in, looking like that.

“Girl boo,” KK sighs dramatically, before grabbing Paige’s wrist and dragging her toward the bar. Paige stumbles after her, mumbling weak protests, but KK is determined, practically hauling her across the crowded floor until they’re standing right next to you. KK orders a Sprite, leaning casually on the bar and glancing over at you with a grin. “Hey, girly pop! You cheer, right?”

You smile, looking more at Paige than at KK, and Paige’s heart thuds against her ribs. “Yeah, I do,” you say, introducing yourself and holding out a hand to KK, but your gaze flickers right back to Paige, who’s half-hiding behind her friend, cheeks pink and looking slightly caught. “Hi, Paige.”

Paige’s voice comes out a little sheepish. “Hey.”

KK smirks, clearly satisfied, and gives Paige a quick wink before excusing herself, leaving Paige standing there alone with you.

There’s a beat of awkward silence as Paige shifts on her feet, trying to keep herself from looking like an idiot, which is hard considering how aware she is of every single thing about you—your posture, your smile, the way you’re leaning in just close enough that she can catch a faint hint of your perfume.

“So,” Paige says, trying for casual. “You glad you came?”

You tilt your head, your lips quirking up. “Hmm, not sure yet. I’m not too impressed so far.”

She nods, stifling a wince, feeling more awkward than she can ever remember. And yet, her mind’s racing, urging her to just go for it, because this is her moment. She’s Paige Bueckers—she’s supposed to be confident. She always is. Besides, if you’re not interested, at least she’ll know. And if you are…

She hesitates, then swallows, trying to keep her voice steady as she says, “Um… can I buy you a drink?”

There’s a flicker of something in your eyes—maybe amusement, maybe surprise—and she’s mentally bracing herself for you to say no when you glance at the bar and say, “Actually, I just ordered one.” Her heart sinks a little, but she forces a smile, trying to play it off. Of course you’re not interested; she should have known better—

Then you’re leaning closer, nudging her elbow with yours, and you smirk, your voice soft and playful. “But you can buy my next one, if you want.”

Paige’s brain short-circuits as your words settle in, her mouth going dry as she realizes what you just said. “Uh, y-yeah, totally,” she manages, trying to keep from looking as giddy as she feels. “I…I’d love to.”

Your smirk turns into a grin, and you’re looking at her like she’s the only person in the room. She’s trying to come up with something smooth to say when, suddenly, one of your friends pops ups beside you and Paige, tugging on your arm, pulling you off the barstool and towards the crowd with a teasing, “Come on!”

Paige opens her mouth to protest, but before she knows it, you’re being swallowed up into the throng of people—not before you send her a quick, apologetic look over your shoulder, your friend still dragging you. Paige frowns, a little disappointed, but quickly catches herself. It’s fine, she thinks, though a twinge of regret lingers. She pushes it aside, grabbing her drink from the bar and returning back to her table, telling herself to focus on celebrating. She’s finally back on the court, and after such a long, difficult recovery, tonight is meant to be about unwinding. So she does, letting her team hype her up as they cheer and clink their drinks in her honor, pulling her deeper into the night.

As the time passes, Paige’s frustration eases, replaced by a warm buzz that dulls everything except the elation of being surrounded by her friends. But even as she sips her drink, she can’t help but think about where you’ve disappeared to, if you’re still here, still laughing with your friends somewhere across the bar. She finds herself scanning the crowd more than once, looking for a glimpse of you. She tries to push it down, laugh it off with another round, but every time she looks around, her gaze seems to search for you.

Eventually, the heat of the crowded bar gets to her. She feels flushed, dizzy from the alcohol and the mass of people, so she slips out the back door for some air. The cool breeze hits her face, and she closes her eyes for a second, sighing as the sounds of the bar fade behind her. She barely has a moment to herself before she notices a figure sitting just a few feet away.

It’s you, sitting on the curb, looking down at your hands as if lost in thought. Paige blinks, unsure if she’s seeing things. But then you look up at the sound of the door closing and smile, that familiar, gentle smile that makes her heart stutter. You seem just as surprised to see her, but your expression softens, like you’re genuinely happy she’s there. And that’s all the encouragement Paige needs.

“You care if I join?” she asks, trying to sound casual, even though her heart’s racing.

“Not at all,” you reply, and she takes a seat beside you, a bit closer than she planned. She feels your warmth even in the night air, and it makes her head spin in a way she can’t blame on the alcohol.

There’s a pause, a comfortable silence stretching between you. Paige watches as you draw patterns in the gravel with your fingers, the lights from the bar casting a soft glow over your face. She swallows, summoning up the nerve to say something—anything that might keep you sitting here with her.

“Why you out here?” she starts, genuinely curious.

You shrug, glancing back toward the bar. “Got a little claustrophobic in there,” you say, voice soft.

“Yeah… me too,” Paige nods, grateful for the fresh air and this quiet moment with you. The silence returns, but this time, it’s charged, heavy with something she can’t quite put into words.

Finally, Paige finds her voice again, her words slipping out before she can think them over. “You’re a good cheerleader, y’know. You do all those flips and shit—it’s impressive.”

You let out a small laugh, looking away for a second as if flattered. Paige is almost certain she sees a faint blush on your cheeks, and the sight makes her smile a little, lips curving upward. “Didn’t know you really paid attention to the cheerleaders,” you respond, teasing.

Paige scoffs, shrugging as if it isn’t a big deal, even though she feels like she’s been caught in some sort of confession—which, she kinda has. “Well, I did sit out for a year, so… I had to find something to watch.”

You tilt your head, smirking as you ask, “So you chose to watch me?”

Paige’s cheeks warm, and she silently thanks the alcohol for the courage that lets her meet your gaze. “Yeah,” she murmurs, watching as you look away, biting your lip as if trying to hide a smile. The sight makes her heart skip in a way that’s both exhilarating and terrifying.

After a moment, Paige adds, “I think we… had a class together, couple years ago?”

You nod, eyes lighting up at the memory. “Yeah, we did. Sociology, right?” you reaffirm, nodding in tandem with her. “’M surprised you remember that—you always seemed so disinterested.”

Paige nearly blanches, genuinely surprised you’d noticed her too. She didn’t think you’d have remembered her, much less noticed her back then. The notion gives her some of her usual confidence beck and she manages a chuckle, shaking her head and tilting it slightly toward you as she murmurs, “Ah, so you were watching me too, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you as you nudge her shoulder. “Shut up,” you mutter, but the blush on your face doesn’t go unnoticed.

There’s another pause, the two of you sitting side by side in the quiet, both of you lingering on the edge of something unsaid. Finally, you break the silence, voice soft and hesitant. “How come you never said anything before?”

Paige swallows, the question catching her off guard. She doesn’t know how to answer without giving herself away, without admitting the way her stomach twists every time she sees you around campus. So instead, she asks, turning the question back on you, “How come you never did?”

You don’t seem to mind that she didn’t really give you an answer. Instead, you just shrug, looking down at your hands. “I don’t know… you make me kinda nervous.”

The confession makes Paige’s heart alight, feeling like it’s on fire and might spread throughout her whole body. She’s used to people being in awe of her for basketball, for her skills on the court. But hearing you say that you feel that way too, like she’s someone more than just her reputation, shakes her. Besides, you’ve always seemed so incredibly at ease around her, never even bothering to look her way. So, almost incredulously, she asks, “Why?”

You scoff, looking at her like she’s missing something obvious. “Um, because you’re Paige Bueckers. Basketball prodigy, campus celebrity.” You raise your eyebrows at her. “I think most people would be.”

Paige feels a rush of warmth at your words, the way you say her name like it means something special. She searches your face, feeling the air grow thick around you, heavy with something she couldn’t quite name. And maybe it’s the alcohol in her system, maybe it’s the way you’re looking at her like she’s somehow both intimidating and endearing at the same time, but she’s feeling bold. Bold enough to keep this conversation going, to see where this moment might lead.

She clears her throat, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Well, if it helps… you make me nervous.”

You laugh, a little breathless, clearly surprised. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious,” Paige insists. “You ain’t see the way I stuttered around you earlier? Ion know, ma, you just kinda fuck with my head.”

She watches, grin widening, as you blush at her words, the color blooming across your cheeks. It’s addictive, seeing you react like that—because of her. She doesn’t even try to hide her amusement when you ask, gaze set out in front of you instead of on her, “Why would I fuck with your head?”

It’s a good question, one Paige asked herself for a long time. It never took her long to figure out the answer. Though, she’s a little nervous to explain herself.

And she gets even more nervous when your gaze slides back onto hers, your head turning towards her. Paige’s smile falters, just slightly, at the eye contact. It’s intense, the kind that feels like it’s holding the world still for a second. Paige’s heart is a drum in her chest, each beat vibrating through her veins. Her eyes slide across your face, your features, tracing the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, the faint shimmer glitter swiped along your eyelids. She catalogues every detail as if she’s never going to get this close again—a very real possibility if she doesn’t up her game.

Finally, she leans in—just slightly—her voice low and steady as she answers you. “You got this positive energy that makes you just… stand out in front of a crowd. Big smile. Bright eyes. Mm, I just… like seeing that in people.”

The words settle in the space between you, warm and lingering. Paige hesitates, letting them wrap around you both before adding, her voice dipping lower, her boldness shooting upward, “And it doesn’t help that you’re too beautiful for your own good.”

You blush deeper this time, cheeks tinted more red than pink, and it makes Paige’s heart skip. She can’t help the way her lips twitch into a grin. She’s waited so long to see this—see you flustered because of her. It’s everything she imagined and more.

“Stop,” you protest, fighting a smile as you push at her hands, your tone not carrying any weight behind the word. Paige just laughs, soft and easy, catching your hand in hers before you can pull away. She lifts it slightly, letting her thumb brush over your knuckles as she murmurs, “Nah, really.”

It’s then that the air changes—shifting into something heavier. The space between the two of you is practically nonexistent at this point, your sides tucked right into each other. You’re staring at one another, and Paige can’t help it when her gaze flickers down to your lips, just for a second. But it turns out to be enough. Because then she sees your eyes dart to her mouth in return, lingering there. And that’s when Paige knows.

Still holding your hand, she locks her gaze on yours, her voice firm but soft when she repeats, “Really.”

It’s like that word unlocks something between you because suddenly you’re leaning in, and Paige is doing the same, her breath catching the moment your lips touch hers. It’s soft, tentative at first, like neither of you are quite sure if this is real. But then you press into her just slightly, and Paige swears the whole world tilts on its axis.

The kiss deepens, slow but deliberate, and Paige feels her whole body light up. Your lips are warm, soft, and you taste faintly of tequila and strawberry chapstick. It’s intoxicating, the way you move against her, gentle but with enough purpose to make her head spin. Paige’s hand slides up to cradle your jaw, her thumb brushing against your cheekbone.

Your fingers grab at her bicep, holding on like you don’t want to let go, and it sends a thrill through her. Paige’s lips part slightly, and when you follow, letting her slip her tongue into your mouth, it’s like a fire ignites somewhere deep inside her. The kiss isn’t frantic or messy—it’s unhurried, like the two of you have all the time in the world to explore this. She can feel the heat of your skin where her hand cups your face, and she wants to memorize every second, every sensation.

The way you tilt your head just a little, giving her more access, nearly undoes her. Paige tilts her own in response, deepening the kiss further, her fingers slipping from your jaw to the back of your neck. The touch is light, almost reverent, but the closeness makes her heart race.

Your other hand moves, grazing against her side before resting lightly on her hip. Paige’s stomach flips at the contact, her body leaning instinctively closer to yours. She swears she can feel the warmth of your breath between kisses, the subtle hitch when she nips at your bottom lip.

It’s slow, it’s sweet, but it’s intoxicating. Paige swears she’s never kissed anyone like this before, never felt this much just from simple lip-locking. When you pull back slightly—not breaking the kiss entirely, just catching your breath—she can’t help herself. She follows you instinctively, her mouth chasing yours in a way that feels both vulnerable and utterly fearless. You allow her to, tongues half entwined between your swollen lips.

When you finally part, Paige keeps close, her forehead gently pressing against yours, her hand still cradling your neck. Neither of you moves far, the space between you so small your breaths still mingle, soft and warm against each other’s lips. Paige’s eyes flutter open, but she doesn’t look away from you, her gaze locked on yours like you’re the only thing in the world that matters—which, right now, you might as well be.

Her voice comes out lower than she intends, husky and laced with something she can’t quite hide as she murmurs, “You gonna let me buy you that drink now?”

Your lips curve into a slow, easy grin, and Paige feels her chest tighten, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of it. You’re so close she can see the faint glimmer of mischief in your eyes, the way they soften as you look at her.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice soft but sure, “I’d like that.”

The way you say it, the way your smile widens just slightly after, makes Paige’s heart race all over again. She can’t help the small, satisfied smile that spreads across her face. Paige leans back just enough to take in the sight of you—your flushed cheeks, the way your hair’s slightly mussed, and that lingering, breathtaking smile she knows will haunt her in the best way.

“Good,” she murmurs, her thumb brushing your jaw lightly one last time before she pulls away completely, standing up and offering you her hand. When you take it, she holds on a little longer than necessary, leading you back into the bar, already planning how she’s going to keep you smiling for the rest of the night—and, hopefully, much longer afterwards.

[howtodisappear444]

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ 🦌

below are some of my favorite fanfics! (i’m creating a list also for me because it’s getting out of hand lol) rahhhh i love these fanfics so much LIKE. this isn’t even half of it loll

don’t forget to show these authors some love and support!! ily guys!! 💞 i appreciate you. for taking the time to write and craft an amazing story!! <33 (IMPORTANT) always check any warnings if presented before reading!!!

MARVEL

→ BOB REYNOLDS:

standalones:

the good side: @cosmictheo

summary: bob loves you so much that he slowly begins to transform into a house-husband for you. and he loves it.

heavenly: @cosmictheo

summary: it’s the first time you’re wearing your new suit as an official (new) avenger and bob is a little too excited about it.

got worried sick: @iovesentry

summary: you went on a quick errand to the grocery store near you and bob's apartment. unfortunately it started pouring heavily and bob noticed you left your umbrella.

summer love: @ang3ltine

summary: a get away from the city turns into something more special when the boy you had been crushing on, finally confesses.

the boy is mine: @stargrillzz

summary: you were never one to share what was yours, and Bob...he's yours.

the popcorn incident: @gyugraphy

summary: you hate Bob Reynolds. Or at least, that's what you keep telling yourself — ever since he pulled away and got closer to Yelena. Now you spend most of your time ranting about him to Bucky...

count to twenty-two: @wayeasier

summary: You're working under Valentina Allegra de Fontaine. Now, trapped miles under the Utah's desert in a strange vault, surrounded by even stranger people. You're forced to team up with this group of strangers. Among them is one particular stranger. A brown-haired man with slightly overgrown hair, who is quiet and noticeably nervous. But for some reason, he's drawn to you. More than he should be.

you drew stars around my scars: @flowersforbucky

summary: you show bob that he doesn't need to be insecure about anything with you.

three words and eight letters: @swordgrace

summary: bob tells you that he loves you.

between book pages and baked pie: @gyugraphy

summary: He came in on Thursdays. Always looking for new books to read. Always smiled like he didn't quite belong anywhere. Then, you asked him to pretend to be your boyfriend for one night. And he said yes.

to build a home: @cherriready

summary: The Watchtower is full of noise— until Bob finds quiet in her presence. In the middle of chaos, he chooses the quiet. And she chooses him. A slow, tender unraveling of memory, meaning, and the ways we choose to stay.

project get over bob: @hyoer

summary: Bob likes someone that's not you and now it's up to you to begin Project Get Over Bob.

one day i am gonna grow wings: @abbysbenchpr

summary: the forced move back into the new avengers tower is hard. good thing you have bob.

the complete knock: @sunsburns

summary: you're only here to try and understand why bucky's suddenly gone off the rails and joined a new team, leaving you, sam and joaquín in radio silence. the last thing you expected was to find comfort in a stranger. a kind stranger named bob.

dreamwalker: @roanofarcc

summary: you use your dreamwalking abilities to try to soothe the storm in bob's head.

can i keep you?: @tom-whore-dleston

summary: You loved working as a barista at a dog cafe and Bob gives you another reason to love your job.

too fucking close: @houseofaegon

summary: jealous bob reynolds…

where soft things grow: @violetrainbow412-blog

summary: when Bob's therapist asks him to find an activity that will help him gain some control, he's forced to turn to you. that's just the first step in a series of events he never thought would happen.

series:

dust and desire series (cowboy bob reynolds): @houseofaegon (personal fave it’s so good ahhh!!)

enchantress bob reynolds/void series: @houseofaegon

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

→ BUCKY BARNES:

standalones:

i think i love you: @danysdaughter

summary: You agreed to keep it casual-just sex, no feelings. But when loving Bucky in silence begins to break you, walking away is the only thing you can do... even if it destroys you both.

dead of night: @bruisedboys

summary: bucky calls you, his loyal assistant, in the middle of the night, asking for your help. he's got four assassins with him and they need a place to hide. you're too in love with him to say no.

a thousand times before: @marvelstoriesepic

summary: Bucky travels to an alternate universe for the sake of a mission. But he doesn't expect to come face to face with a version of you that loves him, completely and openly. Back in his own world, he is left with a truth he can't keep to himself anymore. (I LOVE this so much.)

series:

power isn’t dominance: @houseofaegon

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

→ JOAQUIN TORRES:

standalones:

for the love of near death experiences: @swordgrace

plus one: @fireinmoonshot

summary: You help Joaquin get ready for a gala that he and Sam are attending - though because of the no plus ones' rule, Joaquin would rather stay with you instead... and he intends to convince you to let him.

heavy: @love-chx

home safe: @fireinmoonshot

summary: Joaquin's friends call you to come and pick him up after a night out at the bar where he can't stop talking about you.

touchy: @fireinmoonshot

summary: Joaquin has a thing where he always likes to have a hand on you whenever you're together - holding your waist, holding your hand, a hand resting on your thigh You finally decide to confront him about why.

friday night dinner: @love-chx

summary: your roommate ambushes you in your own home with congressman bucky and captain america sam. chaos ensues as joaquin convinces you to let them stay for dinner.

he is in love: @astraljedi

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

LESSONS IN CHEMISTRY

late nights in laboratory: @spaceycat

summary: you are new to hastings laboratory, being placed on a search for different materials around the lab. you entered calvin's laboratory without knocking, and arguments ensue.

a fraction of a second: @voidsxntry

summary: one morning walk. one wrong step.

please please me: @gothicgaycowboy

summary: you persuade Calvin to spend a little less time at the lab and a lot more time with you.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

OUTER RANGE

standalones:

baby if you only knew: @rhettabbotts

summary: tensions boil over and everything changes for you and rhett one night at a rancher's event you attend.

gentle, rough, and loving: @sebsxphia

summary: rhett abbott's aftercare is the final piece to the puzzle you need.

guilt and hangovers: @sebsxphia

summary: rhett soothes your worries from the night before.

meet cute: @withahappyrefrain

home and promises: @sebsxphia

summary: you're childhood sweethearts with rhett, but things change, people change.

knockin’ on heavens door: @freak-accident419

dead of night: @houseofaegon

the nanny (ra): @neverinadream

summary: rhett just wants to spend a little time alone with amy's nanny after spending his day trying to fix the fence the tielersons had damaged.

what do you mean you paid for it?: @girlcowboy

save a bull, ride a cowboy: @vivianfiles

series:

call it what you want: @rhettabbotts

million dollar man: @lewmagoo

summary: a series detailing the life of a silver haired cowboy and his sweet little darlin'.

wildflower, wildfire: @sebsxphia

summary: a smutty and soft series of rhett abbott finding someone who's as sweet as a wildflower and as heated as a wildfire.

west coast: @houseofaegon

give me grace: @thecowboyfiles

we ran from midnight: @enyalius

i hope you enjoy these fanfics just as i do :) don’t forget to check out their other works as well! 💞

much love,

Mari !💋🦢

[curseluvr]

WRONG TEXT, RIGHT PERSON

You thought sleeping with someone else might help you get over your friend with benefits. But when a reckless drunk text gets under his skin, Satoru shows up at your door, ready to remind you exactly who’s been on your mind.

warnings: fem!reader, light dom!gojo, fwb trope, phone sex to real sex pipeline, petty jealousy, choking, praise, biting, pussy slapping, creampie, swearing, mentions of alcohol, they’re down bad

wc: 2.2k

[12:41 am] you: yk i was on some guy’s dick last week and i was imagining it was yours

[1:05 am] satoru: swear?

[1:11 am] satoru: don’t play with me baby

[9:02 am] you: oh ignore that, wrong person lol i was drunk sry

[9:05 am] satoru: too late, i’m thinking about it now

And that’s why Satoru shows up at your door one hour later. You weren’t lying when you told him you were thinking of him during your last hookup. In fact, you had to picture the white-haired man just to finish. But you would never admit that to him, God forbid you feed into his huge ego. You couldn’t even admit you were sleeping with him to your friends. 

“Do you need something?” you ask, confused why he’s on your doorstep. 

His blue eyes rake over you. “So you were thinking about me while getting railed by some loser.”

You groan, already closing the door when he wedges his foot in. 

“I’ll break your foot,” you threaten, but both of you know it’s an empty promise. 

“And I could break your back just how you like it if you let me in,” Satoru says with his shit-eating grin.

“I told you it was a mistake.”

“Okay. And I told you not to play with me, but only one of us is lying.”

Your breath catches. He would know if you’re lying, no matter how hard you try. Satoru could see right through you, just like how he knows your body inside and out. 

It hadn’t always been this way. When you first met him through mutual friends, you immediately pegged him as the jester of the group. You rolled your eyes at his jokes and told him he was annoying, no matter how attractive he was. Satoru had teased you the way he teased every one of your friends, so much so that you didn’t take him seriously when he first tried to make a move on you. He would flirt, you would brush it off and laugh, and both of you would move on. You thought things would end there, until one random Sunday night. 

It started with a dumb conversation over text that turned into something riskier. Satoru called you after texting back and forth for an hour. You’d had a bad day, and for once, his voice—usually so obnoxious—felt like a lifeline. One joke turned into a compliment. It was subtle at first, just an one offhand comment in a flirtier tone. But then he said something that made you pause:

"Bet you sound even prettier when you're whining for me."

You laughed it off. Told him he was disgusting. He didn’t apologize.

"Come on," he said, voice low now, softer. "You ever just wanna let go a little? Just... try something with me."

You didn’t answer right away, conflicted about ruining the friendship. But you knew how his voice made your stomach twist, how you were warm even though you were alone. How safe he somehow made you feel—promising your friends wouldn’t find out if you didn’t want them to. And when you finally gave in and followed his voice, he didn’t laugh or gloat. Before you could change your mind Satoru’s raspy voice was in your ear telling you all the ways he could make you feel good.

He praised you in all the ways you needed. Told you how pretty you sounded. How good you were for him. How long he’d wanted to hear you like this. Satoru never once asked for pictures or rushed you. Just talked you through every wave, his voice low and steady, like he was right there with you. Like he could see you.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything, that it was a one-time thing. But after that, you couldn’t unhear all the filthy things he promised. Couldn’t forget how easily he unraveled you with nothing but his words. The way he moaned your name and called you a good girl.

His words would echo through your thoughts at work, while folding laundry. Even while out with friends—someone would say something innocent and suddenly you were back there, thighs pressed together, hearing Satoru growl, "Bet you're dripping right now."

You wanted to forget. But Gojo Satoru left his fingerprints on your mind and he wasn’t going anywhere.

You both acted normal after that night. He still sent you memes at 2 a.m., still poked fun at your taste in music, still made dumb comments in the group chat that had you rolling your eyes.

But something had changed. Every time his name lit up your screen, your stomach flipped. You thought about how he’d sounded—breathless and low, like he was holding himself back just for you. You remembered what he said right before you came, how gently he told you to let go.

But Satoru? He acted like he was waiting. Like he knew it was only a matter of time. And he was right. It happened two weeks later on another late night with your friends. You’d both been drinking—not enough to be drunk, just enough to feel bold. He offered to walk you home. You told him he didn’t need to, but he did anyway.

The second the door closed behind you, the air changed. He didn’t make a move right away. Just leaned against the wall, watching you fumble with your keys like he hadn’t already mapped out what you looked like coming apart for him.

"You think about it too, right?" he asked.

You didn’t answer, didn’t need to. You kissed him first. Pulled him in like you’d been waiting to do it for years, and maybe you had. Satoru took his time like he had something to prove, like he wanted to make sure you’d never forget the difference between what you imagined and what it actually felt like to have him inside you. After that night, you couldn’t. Satoru made sure of that. 

That’s how you ended up here, trying to get over Satoru’s hold on you by getting under someone else. But it backfired, and now Satoru’s in your home, bending you over the arm of your sofa. His fingers are rubbing your pussy while he leans down and whispers in your ear.

“Tell me the truth, baby,” he demands. “If you do, I’ll fuck you the way you wished that guy had.”

“It wasn’t an accident,” you confess easily. 

If both of you were clothed or in public, you simply would’ve told him to fuck off. But your body listened to Satoru more than it did to you, and you would do anything to relieve the throbbing ache in your core. 

“Good girl,” Satoru coos, but his fingers don’t move the way you want them to. He circles your clit slowly, deliberately, like he’s thinking about being merciful but hasn’t decided yet.

Your hips twitch toward his hand, desperate for more, but he pulls away slightly, just enough to make you whimper.

"Tch. So needy now, huh?" he murmurs, dragging the pads of his fingers down your soaked folds but never dipping in. "How do you think I felt after you sent me that filthy little message? Think it’s funny to tease me?"

You open your mouth to argue, but he hushes you with a firm grip around your throat—not choking, just a warning.

"Nah, sweetheart." His lips brush your ear. "You really gave this pussy to someone else. That earns you a little lesson, don’t you think?"

He slaps your pussy lightly, and you jolt forward with a gasp. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

You have no real reason to be sorry, considering you two weren’t dating. While nothing exclusive was ever established, neither of you mentioned seeing other people. Until now.

"Count if you wanna come tonight," Satoru commands.

“One,” you breathe, and his fingers slide through your slick, comforting your weeping entrance.

But they’re gone again before you can feel relief.

"Two," you whisper after the next one, thighs squeezing together.

Satoru chuckles darkly behind you. “So polite all of a sudden."

You get to five before he presses a kiss to the back of your neck.

"That’s enough." His tone softens—just a bit. "I don’t wanna ruin you just yet."

Satoru grabs your hips and yanks you back against him, and you feel the hard line of his cock through his sweats. Your mouth goes dry.

"You want it raw?" he asks, as if you two have ever used a condom.

You nod frantically. "Yes! Please, Toru."

"Beg prettier," he warns, rubbing his tip against your entrance but not pushing in. "Or I’ll just jerk off right here and make you watch."

Your dignity is long gone.

"Please, Satoru, fuck me. I need it, I swear I’ll be good—"

"You will be," he says with a chuckle.

And then he’s pushing inside you and the last of your composure shatters as he fills you in one slow, punishing thrust. 

“Oh, fuck!” you cry out, intoxicated with the feeling of him stretching out your cunt. 

Satoru’s not doing much better than you. “God, baby, fucking love this pussy,” he groans.

He bottoms out in one long thrust, the stretch burning just enough to make you cry out. But it’s his groan that unravels you—that low, desperate sound in your ear like he’s the one being ruined.

"You feel that?" Satoru breathes, voice shaking. "This pussy knows who it belongs to."

His fingers dig into your hips, holding you still while he grinds his cock as deep as he can go, thick base stretching your pussy lips. It's like he’s trying to carve himself into your body, as if he’s mad you even tried to forget him.

"You think that guy could fuck you like this?" he scoffs, snapping his hips forward, making you choke on a moan. "You think he could make you scream like I do?"

You’re already shaking, drool slicking your bottom lip, eyes rolling back as he sets a brutal pace—fucking you into the arm of the couch like he’s trying to punish you and himself at the same time.

"No," you gasp. "Only you, Toru, I swear—"

He grabs your hair, yanking your head back so he can hear every moan and filthy little cry. "Say it again."

"Yours," you whimper. "I’m yours—fuck—"

He lets out a ragged laugh, more unhinged than cocky now. "That’s right, baby. Mine. Always been mine. Quit lying to yourself."

The wet sounds of your bodies crashing together echo through the room, shameless and obscene. He’s not holding back anymore—fucking you like he means to break you open, like he needs you to feel it every time you sit down tomorrow.

Your legs give out and he catches you by the waist, not slowing down, not letting up. He’s breathing harsh against your shoulder now, sweat dripping onto your back.

"Wanted to be gentle," Satoru pants. "But you—fuck—you make me crazy."

And you love it. You love that the one man who pretended not to care is fucking you like he’d die if he couldn’t. He bends down to trail kisses down your spine, and somewhere in the back of your fucked-out mind, you melt.

"Tell me why you sent that text," he says before biting into the crook of your neck. 

“Wanted you,” you admit between gasps. “Needed you again.”

Satoru bites down harder, and you can feel his smug expression against your skin. “Thought so. Baby wanted my cum again? You’ll take all of it.” 

You’re already close, body spasming under him, and the thought of him filling you up does you in. The way he says it like a threat—sends you spiraling. You cry out as your orgasm hits, clenching down around him so tight he curses and nearly folds over you.

He fucks you through it, brutal and hungry, ignoring your overstimulated cries. Then he groans—a deep, raw sound—and spills inside you with a final thrust that has you gasping all over again.

You both stay like that for a second—bent over the couch, his chest pressed to your back, your legs trembling, and your breath still trying to catch up with you. Satoru’s the first to move, pulling out with a hiss like he wasn’t ready to stop.

“Damn,” he mutters, dragging his hand through his snowy hair. “You sure that text wasn’t meant for someone else? ’Cause that sounded like a girl who missed me.”

You groan into the couch cushion. “You’re literally still inside me, and you’re talking shit. Get off, I can’t breathe.”

“You love it.”

He smacks your ass lightly before walking off like he owns the place. You stand up on wobbly legs, trying to gather whatever scraps of dignity are left on your living room floor. When he comes back, he tosses you a water bottle and helps you clean up before he flops onto your couch like he lives there.

“So,” Satoru says, like he didn’t just fuck you stupid two minutes ago, “what’s this guy’s name? The one you used to fantasize about me?”

You throw a pillow at him. He catches it easily, laughing.

“Don’t worry,” he says, propping it behind his head. “I forgive you. Next time just come straight to the source, yeah?”

All rights reserved © curseluvr. Do not repost, copy, translate, or plagiarize my work.

[farfromharry]

back together and it feels so good

Summary: You and Lando broke up because of his gruelling schedule, but at a friend’s birthday one night the two of you are brought together again and feelings are spilled. Were you always meant to be together?

w/c 3026

Lando Norris x Reader

a/n clearly i cant write small blurbs anymore lol, reblogs are everything <3

━━━━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━━━━

Your breakup with Lando was mutual… sorta. Clashing schedules meant you rarely got time to be together and too many rumours surrounding him were making you paranoid. Lonely and fearful were no way to be in a relationship. So you ended things and promised to stay friends. He understood. His lifestyle was… different than most. He couldn’t expect you to wait for him all the time. It wasn’t fair. There was no bad blood. There was certainly awkward tension though.

You were in the same friend group, so it was no surprise when you had to see each other all the time. The last thing you expected was to still feel that flutter in your chest when you saw him.

Max’s birthday party was the next event coming up and you were dreading it. He had the whole thing planned out. A fancy dinner with the group of you, followed by a night out at one of London’s most prestigious clubs. You didn’t think you, alcohol and a confined space were going to mix well with the ex you were trying to get over.

Obviously you still loved Lando, you were reminded of that every time you saw his face or someone mentioned his name. He was Lando, he was hard not to love. How were you ever supposed to get over him if all you did was spend time with him?

So, your plan was to try and get out of going to Max’s party. It was a shitty thing to do as a friend and he would probably see through you right away, but it was worth a try.

You tried to play the sick card. The morning of the party you called him, preparing yourself to perform the best acting of your life.

He picked up on the 3rd ring. “Hello?”

You sniffled. “Max, hi. Look, bad news.” Cough. Cough. “I’m really ill, I don’t think I’m going to be able to come tonight.”

There was silence on the other end. For a minute you thought he’d hung up on you. You even pulled your phone away from your ear just to check the call was still connected. When you saw his name still staring at you from the screen, your brow furrowed.

“Max?”

He scoffed. “That’s bullshit. You have to get over this fear of seeing him, Y/N. You’re both acting like children.” He was sick and tired of dealing with both of you. Lando was exactly the same, making excuses to try and get out of any event that would include seeing you. He needed you both to get over whatever this was and realise you were hopelessly in love with each other. Being just friends was never going to work. “You were friends before, you can be friends after. Stop being so selfish.”

It was like a slap to the face. You couldn’t be angry that he was talking to you like this because he was right. You sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. So you’re gonna be there?”

“I’ll be there.”

As soon as the call was over she tossed her phone onto her bed and screamed into her pillow. Tonight was going to be painful. It was mid-scream that Max’s words echoed in her head. You’re both acting like children. Had he already spoken to Lando? Was he saying the same thing? The idea that he might be avoiding you hurt your feelings, even if technically you were doing the same thing. God your love life was so fucked up.

Your heart was in your throat walking into the restaurant. You hoped he hadn’t arrived yet so you could have some liquid courage before he got here.

A table full of your friends was easy to spot, especially considering all the balloons decorating the table, probably there just to embarrass Max.

To your joy, the table was Lando-less for now.

Max grinned at the sight of you. You gave him a quick hug and handed off his present, nothing special. “Glad you could make it.” There was a teasing tone to his voice that made you swat his arm when you stepped back.

“Shut up.”

After saying your hellos to all your other friends that had arrived, you took a seat at the opposite side of the table to the birthday boy. And when the waiter came around you ordered the biggest glass of wine they had. Hopefully by the time your ex arrived you’d be tipsy enough to stand it.

When Lando entered, albeit late like normal, your friends cheered, shouting out things relating to his terrible timekeeping. He rolled his eyes, waving them off and moving to say hello to the birthday boy, offering up his gift also. The two hugged and then the younger man scanned the table for an empty chair. Unfortunately for you, it just so happened to be next to you.

You froze, body tensing and eyes darting to Max as if silently asking if this was his doing. He expertly avoided your gaze but the smirk on his face told you everything you needed to know.

Clearly Lando was having the same reaction. He had no idea how he was supposed to spend the entire dinner sitting by your side without making a fool of himself.

He awkwardly cleared his throat, pulling out the chair and taking the seat with a greeting nod to you. “How have you been, Y/N?” That was probably the first time he’d actually spoken your name in months. He liked to avoid the topic of you wherever possible.

You smiled. “Good. You?”

“Yeah, good.”

Things went silent after that. Awkward. Everyone else around you was already stuck in conversation with someone, probably another one of Max’s doings. So your options were to sit in silence or make uncomfortable conversation with your ex. Weirdly, you chose the latter.

“How’s racing going?” You didn’t need him to tell you. You had watched every race since you broke up, like you always did, but you wouldn’t admit that. It was you who broke up with him, because of racing, you couldn’t let him know that you still took an interest in him.

He frowned, but quickly tried to cover it up with a tight-lipped smile. “It’s okay. Won the first race of the season, doing pretty well.”

“That’s really good.”

Conversation used to flow so easily between you and now everything you said was a dead end. You hated it. It was strange how you can go from being so compatible with someone to not even knowing what to talk about in such a short amount of time. This was your fault. You had messed this whole thing up with him. And sitting here now, you regretted it.

Then the drinks started flowing.

Turns out all it took was a bit of alcohol and you and Lando were back to your old ways. The stories were nostalgic and the inside jokes came back naturally. You couldn’t remember the last time you laughed this hard. Why had you ever given this up?

You were so lost in your giggling with him that you didn’t notice your friends packing up with plans to head to the club next.

“You lovebirds coming?” Max teased.

Lando gave him a middle finger and you simply rolled your eyes. At any other time his comment would have made you angry, but right now you were too joyous (from the alcohol) to care about what he was saying. “We’re coming.”

At some point in the club his hand settled on your lower back, just how it used to, and didn’t move for the rest of the night. He wanted you close, to be touching you. When might he ever get this chance again? He spent the whole night glued to your side.

Around 2am you were officially ready to tap out for the night. Drunk, happy and practically overheating, you decided you were ready for bed.

Rather than calling an Uber you made a beeline for Lando, like you used to. He had been on water for a while, a warning from his trainer when he’d mentioned his best friend’s birthday; don’t get too drunk, was the advice he’d been given. The last thing he wanted was a punishment in the form of extra training, so he would respect Jon’s wishes.

Your arms wrapped around his neck when you were close enough. Logically he should have pushed you away. You weren’t together and you were drunk, he was basically taking advantage. But having your arms around him again felt so nice. He had been longing for it ever since the day you broke up. And you were smiling at him, the kind of smile that made his heart race.

“You having fun?” he asked, smiling right back at you as his hands moved to settle on your waist.

He barely heard you hum, but you did. “Tired. Will you take me home?”

There was no way he would have ever been able to resist the puppy eyes you aimed his way. For a second he could have convinced himself that the 2 of you were still together. It was just like old times.

“Of course.”

In your drunken state you had forgotten to consider that he might have wanted to stay longer, that you were ending his night prematurely. But he hadn’t even hesitated. He didn’t think about himself once.

It was only in the car, with you drunkenly mumbling at his side, that he started to think this might have been a bad idea. He was so in love with you and he was somehow supposed to keep that to himself.

You should have known it was a bad idea letting him take you home, but by that point you’d had far too much to drink to care. You wanted someone comfortable to be with you and that’s exactly what he was. Of course being in a confined space with him was going to bring up feelings you were trying so hard to bury.

You found yourself watching him as he drove, something you used to do a lot when you were together. He was handsome like that, pretty. You couldn’t help admiring him.

He had 4 buttons undone on his shirt and the skin looked enticing. His arms were straining the material and his jaw was clenched, probably to keep himself from saying anything stupid in your presence. It was taking everything in him not to make a love confession right now. With the way you looked tonight, the way you tossed your head back when you laughed, how you swayed to the music in the club, he was surprised he hadn’t done it already.

When he parked the car outside your flat it felt all too soon. This was the most time you had spent together one on one in months, even if you were sitting in silence. You didn’t want it to end yet.

“Do you want to come in for a drink?”

He didn’t look at you, he knew if he did there was no way he would be able to say no. He was trying to find the words to say no, but he didn’t want to.

So he didn’t say anything. He switched off the car, silently giving you the answer you craved so much. You smiled.

The pair of you made the walk up to your apartment like you’d done a thousand times. He couldn’t have possibly forgotten the way, it was basically ingrained in his brain. He used to stay here more than his own flat when he was back in London. He always claimed it was more homey— really he just wanted to spend as much time with you as possible before he had to get back to work.

It wasn’t necessary to ask him what he wanted to drink. You already knew.

You poured yourself and him a drink and then set them on the coffee table wordlessly. For a second you hesitated before sitting down. How close was too close? You didn’t want to get in his space or overstep any unspoken boundaries, but where else were you supposed to go?

“You can sit, Y/N. I’m not gonna bite.”

Your face burned. You were being silly. It was just Lando, the same one you had always known.

Sitting next to him in such close proximity, in a quieter environment just sent your brain haywire. It was barely even a conscious decision to launch yourself into his lap and lock your lips with his.

He was caught off guard but he did briefly kiss you back. Until he realised it was breaking his heart to do it. He pulled back, dropping his head. “We should talk about this,” he sighed. He didn’t want to push you away, but he also wasn’t willing to get his heart broken again. He didn’t have it in him to just be here when you wanted him, he needed you to want him all the time. If he couldn’t have you back 100% then he didn’t want you back. He was doing it to save his own feelings.

The look on your face was one of complete rejection. It made his chest ache. But it had to be done. You cleared your throat, awkwardly climbing out of his lap and sitting beside him again.

Your voice was quiet when you spoke. “Why don’t you want to kiss me?”

The dark haired man sighed. “It’s not that. It’s just… I can’t stop loving you,” he confessed, his voice wavering like he was just a breath away from breaking down. “I’m hung up on you, Y/N, and I can’t let you play around with my feelings because you’re drunk and bored.”

The implication that you may be playing with his feelings stung. You hadn’t meant to intentionally hurt him, not tonight anyway. “I’m not.”

He frowned. “You might not think you are, but-“ He ran his hands over his face in exasperation. This wasn’t a conversation either of you should be having when it was late and you were intoxicated. “What happens after tonight? Do we go back to avoiding each other at social gatherings, or keep having awkward conversations once every 3 months that we both want to escape from?”

It was true. He was making all fair points. All things you hadn’t thought about. “I didn’t mean to.” Your voice was so small and you were practically folding in on yourself to make your stature smaller too. “I just wanted to kiss you. Missed you.”

He smiled sadly. “I know. That’s the worst part.”

You were both silent for a little bit. He was worried that he’d upset you and you were thinking over his words. He had been honest with you and you appreciated that, but now you didn’t know what to do. Your thoughts and your feelings were all over the place.

“Do you ever think about if we didn’t break up?” The words spilled out of your mouth without you even thinking. Of course he would have. He was sitting here telling you this was painful for him and yet you were wondering if he thought about you.

He laughed, but there was no amusement in it. “Every day.” There was a longing look in his eyes when he turned his head your way. He needed you to know he meant every word he was saying. “You’re it for me. I don’t know who I am without you. The day you ended it, I, I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

His words hit you like a ton of bricks. Maybe you had been selfish, too hasty in your decision to end things. You knew what you were signing up for when you agreed to be his girlfriend and yet you acted as though you couldn’t handle it. Lots of people managed to have successful relationships with his fellow drivers or past drivers, things worked for them. Surely there was a way to make it work, something he had begged you to try before you ended it. The longing that had been building in your chest all these months was only growing stronger as you stood here with him.

When you didn’t say anything but grew visibly emotional, he leaned forward. He waited for any sign of rejection before he took a chance and cupped your face with his large hands. He felt it as you leaned into his touch.

“I love you. I don’t want to keep pretending that I don’t.” He was pouring his heart out to you. How were you ever supposed to just walk away?

“Maybe we shouldn’t be friends anymore.”

His face fell. It felt like his heart was being stomped on. “What?” He didn’t truly believe that you could have just stopped loving him that easily. What you had back then was real, wasn’t it? Or was this just your way of ending things before you got too involved again.

“Lando, I think we should try again.”

By the look on his face he was finding it hard to believe the words that had just left your mouth. “Y/N.” If this was a joke, it sure would be an evil one. He didn’t think you were that cruel.

One of your hands came up to settle over his. “I mean it. I was selfish and you probably deserve better than me after ending things like that.” It was true, but he didn’t think that. He wouldn’t want anyone else. “I love you and I will spend however long it takes to make it up to you.”

That sounded like a pretty good plan to him. He probably shouldn’t give in so easily considering the emotions he’d been going through for the past few months, but how was he ever supposed to say no to you? He never could and he probably never would. He finally cracked a smile. “I’m expecting a hell of a lot of grovelling I’ll have you know.”

Your heart fluttered. “No problem.”

Max was totally gonna take credit for this.

━━━━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━━━━

[leeechin]

☆ he got that in him

shy bf jungwon ! (18+) 🪽 🦢 ☀️ 🫧

a/n: i feel like this isn't rlly jungwon :( !! but it's all just fiction 🙄 and i just love this man sooo much. please do let me know if there are typos! i do go over before i publish but i sometimes miss it 😢 reqs are open !! don't be afraid to ask :)

✧ pairing: idol!jungwon x influencer!reader + warnings: smut with plot YAYYY. dom!jungwon x subfem!reader, unprotected sex (don't do that), jungwon hits it from the back lol, riding, ass slapping, degradation (use of the words whore, slut, etc), pet names (baby, won, wonnie, etc), size kink, orgasm denial (so mean jungwon), rough sex, jungwon is such a shy guy wrapped around your finger in public, but is such a freak in bed it’s insane.

word count: [2.8K]

♡ enha m.list | post queue | navigation

you quite literally needed jungwon every second in your life. your attachment to him was so strong it was sometimes concerning.

"are you sure you don't want to just go with me in my car?" your boyfriend asks, walking out of your bathroom with a towel wrapped around his lower waist.

you didn't respond but instead stared at the muscles on his stomach, watching how his lower abdomen sucked in a little bit and you were so entranced by the sight infront of you, mouth watering slightly. your whole world stopped for a bit to just simply admire yang jungwon.

you're finishing up some assignments for class. you decided that you're joining jungwon at his group's house gathering an hour or two later than the time he's arriving. you didn't have to worry about missing out too much, the gathering will be going on for a while.

it was jake who decided to throw a mini gathering, including all of the members, and a few other people including you. the gathering including your favorite, an outdoor barbecue and bonfire.

"yeah won." you frown, "have to finish this thesis or else professor jeong will not give me the end of it." scoffing at the mention of your professor. you turn around and your eyes nearly pop out of your socket at what you see. "actually.. are you sure we even have to go..?" you tease, now standing infront of your boyfriend and teasing the sides of the towel that could be down with one small tug, wanting to pull it off your boyfriend.

"quit it perv!" jungwon jokes, "you'll get what's under this towel later tonight." he winks, wrapping a hand around your waist to give you a kiss, you whined when he pulled his soft lips away. "now be a good girl and finish your assignments, i'll see you there in couple hours." patting the back off your ass playfully. going to the closet and picking out an outfit.

you curiously watch your boyfriend style his hair, focus completely shifted from the work you had left with school. "don't you have some assignments to finish?" eyebrows raising at your eyes not blinking once.

"yeahyeah your right." you respond a little flustered, a slight tint flowing on your cheeks. jungwon walks over to your desk, placing a kiss on the top of your head. "see you later baby." then he walked out of your room.

you sigh, already missing the presence of your jungwon. it takes another hour and a half before you're finished with all of your assignments for the week. closing your laptop aggressively, victory filling in your head as you don't have to worry about completing your work this weekend.

you're quick to change out of jungwon's t-shirt, putting on a pair of dark green cargo shorts that hugged your thighs perfectly, and a simple white baby tee with the brands cute logo on the back. grabbing your keys on the counter by the door, dashing out the door, to your car. you had a feeling that you wouldn't be returning home tonight, instead staying over at enhypen's house.

"what's that look on your face jungwon? missing y/n huh?" jake teases him. "she's got him wrapped around her finger! see how she always initiates everything!" jay adds on. "she probably controls ALL the shit that goes on in bed!" someone else says.

"i am NOT talking to you guys about my bed activities." the members laughing at jungwon's quick defense. knowing they're right, atleast they think so.

arriving at the house, you might've underestimated the weather, feeling a little bit cold as you welcomed yourself in, kicking your shoes off at the entrance, carrying them with you to the backyard to put them on again.

"look who's here! we were just talking about you!" ni-ki greets you. "nothing bad i hope." you respond, "don't worry it wasn't anything bad! just talked about how you've practically got jungwon wrapped around your finger." sunoo says, maybe he ran his mouth a little too much, sunghoon glaring at him as sunoo placed both of his hands over his mouth.

you laugh in response to that, "jungwon's just such a loving boyfriend. i really hit the jackpot with this one." beaming at jungwon, you were being held with one arm around your waist. jay started the barbecue and the rest of the members went to help with setting up everything.

jungwon noticed your body slightly shivering. "are you cold sweetheart?" "mm, just a little bit" murmuring that as a reply. your boyfriend taking off his sweatshirt that he was wearing and putting it on you. "i'm not that cold anyways. gotta go help set up stuff, karina's by the pool chairs." he gives you a kiss on your cheek.

"nice arms" you tease, moving one of your hands to squeeze his now bare biceps. you were definitely going to thank heesung later for urging jungwon to frequent the gym more. that white t-shirt was hugging all the right parts of jungwon's upper half.

"not right now baby." he speaks in a low voice to you, "can't help it you look so hot right now." whining and looking up to your boyfriend. jungwon leans down to give you a quick kiss on your lips. karina's waving over to you as you walk towards the poolside, giving a quick turn to see your boyfriend immediately jump in to help with setting up the table.

"girl you have been oogling and staring at your boyfriend for the past five minutes now, without saying anything!" karina says, waving her hand in front of you, making you finally blink again for the first time in a few minutes. "seriously thank your brother for me. he's been taking jungwon to the gym more often." your best friend just scoffs at you in amusement.

"dude, y/n has not looked one second away from you." sunghoon points out, nudging jungwon with his elbow. the members snicker at jungwon's flustered reaction, going back to setting up the table.

"jungwon!" you call out, jungwon jumps at the sudden sound of your voice. "yeah babe what's up!" he exclaims, nearly stuttering at every word. "were you guys bullying my boyfriend." you frown at his fellow members, "because he only gets like this when someone's been teasing him."

"no definitely did NOT!"

"sure, sure." you roll your eyes jokingly, turning to jungwon with a mischievous glint. now he knew that you were up to something.

"won, i think i left something in your room when i was staying with you a few days ago, can i go look for it?" "yeah i'll help you find it pretty." the other members not noticing you and jungwon disappearing, too focused on the food grilling on the barbecue and setting up the table.

walking into the house, your eyes are set on the entrance of jungwon's room, looking behind you and throwing a smirk at jungwon, quickening your pace to his room door. but you felt yourself being tugged into the bathroom.

"do you enjoy teasing me infront of everybody?" he growls, using a hand to hold both your cheeks and turn you to face the bathroom mirror infront of the counter, his other hand gripping your asscheek. you don't respond, eager for jungwon to bend you over the counter and just fuck the shit out of you.

"i asked you a question baby." jungwon says, staring directly at you on the mirror. hand gripping your asscheek a little tighter. you whine and push your hips back, feeling his bulge rub against your clothed ass, shorts rising up and you continued your movements. "need you so bad wonnie please." your boyfriend laughs at your neediness. using both of his hands to grip your waist and hold you in place.

"i don't know sweetheart. you've been teasing the fuck out of me since you've got here." jungwon murmurs, unbuttoning your cargos shorts, sliding your panties down to your knees and moving two of his digits to collect your wetness. "please jungwon! i can't help it that you feel so good everytime!" you babble attempting to wiggle your hips side to side. jungwon finds you so desperate for him to be so amusing.

"you enjoy being a needy whore for me don't you? the way you're dripping around my fingers show me that you do." humiliation tints on your face as you look at yourself on the mirror. it's thrown away when you feel two of jungwon's digits enter you all of a sudden.

you let out a gasp at the intrusion, the stretch of his two fingers hitting you so deep as jungwon already sets a relentless pace, his other hand moving up to push your hair to the side, trailing soft kisses on your exposed collarbone.

"oh shit wonnie, feels so good!" you moan, shutting your eyes as you revel in the feeling of jungwon's fingers working wonders deep inside your cunt. your small noises spurring jungwon to add a third finger.

the feeling of him scissoring and hitting your g spot repeatedly made the pleasure feel so overwhelming. "you gonna close baby?" jungwon noticing the way your pussy tighten and swirled around his fingers. in response, you nodded.

feeling jungwon's pace fasten, your pussy clenches around his digits so tightly, you felt that knot in your stomach about to be undone, but wait… that feeling fades when jungwon pulls his fingers out abruptly, laughing at your pathetic attempt to grind back against him.

"two more hours until i fuck the absolute shit out of you." your eyes widen as you whine at your boyfriend's words. jungwon helped you pull your panties back up, along with your cargo shorts. he gives your ass a playful smack, making you turn around and throw a pout at him.

"you're so mean." your lips curl into a frown looking at the way jungwon has no remorse.

. ✦ · .

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀˚ ⊹ ˚

⠀⠀ ⊹

the sounds of your and jungwon's lips smacking against each other filled the room. everyone else being long asleep, as it was pretty late in the night and the gathering ending a couple hours ago.

all that was left on your was your bra, thin material barely holding together your tits that jungwon adored and worshipped so much. the straps slid off your shoulders, being pulled down and showing your lucious tits. with your bra not even being properly off, jungwon's hands grabbing at your boobs, nipples in between his fingers as he twisted and fondled at them.

you let out low sighs of pleasure, feeling like jelly from your standing position, you would've fell down if it wasn't for jungwon's tight hold. "fuck baby, i would have you blow me right now but i need to fuck that sweet pussy of yours." your boyfriend manhandles you onto your front, onto the bed.

"arch that back for me pretty." jungwon says cursing at the slight of your slick dripping out of your spent pussy, down your legs. if only his fellow members knew he had you wrapped around his finger like this. the way you begged for him to fill you up with his thick cock that sent you into an overdrive of pleasure, fat tears streaming down your face as you go thru an intense orgasm.

and you didn't care to conceal or cover your sounds. jungwon completely forgot about that.. only focused on ruining you tonight.

but before all of this, he gave you a prior orgasm by eating you out. the sight of your needy hole throbbing, practically looking like it was ready to pull his cock in made jungwon let out a long groan.

loosing all of his patience to tease you any further. jungwon's hands are on the side of your hips guiding you to the position. you turn your head, tears slightly fogging your vision, seeing how jungwon slid off his boxers and gave his cock a few harsh strokes, you admired the veins that were decorated along his length, his pre-cum oozing out of his mushroom tip. you were entranced by the sight, mouth watering as you watch jungwon align his tip with your entrance.

circling his tip around your wetness, collecting it on his tip to use as lube. he pushes into you, one hand on your hip, and the other pushing your face into the pillow to try to suppress your loud shrieks and moans of his name. it didn't really help much because the walls were quite thin.. and the sounds of his hips smacking against the the soft plush skin of your ass echoing around the room.

you really tried to contain your sounds, hips pushing back to feel more of jungwon's cock stuffed deep into you. a hard smack lands on your left ass cheek. "naughty girl, is this not enough for you?" you mouth shapes into an 'o' as you felt jungwon increase his pace, relentless strokes hitting all parts of your body so so good.

"oh shit." you groan, eyes rolling head spinning at the sensation. it was nearly impossible with the speed jungwon's cock kept sliding in and out of you. "such a fucking pretty cockslut for me." jungwon groans, the feeling of your walls tightening around him from his words. he moves his hands to spread your asscheeks to see the way your tight walls you envelop his dick over and over again.

you let out a particularly loud moan when you feel your orgasm approaching, jungwon stopping his movements briefly to pull your head up, "shush baby, you don't want everyone hearing you like the cockwhore you are do you?"

"ngh no! too good wonnie i'm close pleaseplease?" you beg, attempting to move your hips back, jungwon's grip was too tight, just simply laughing at your state. he goes back to his moment, one hand pushing your face into the pillows, but the sounds were still quite loud, your muffled moans only spurred jungwon on more.

you lift your face up from the pillow telling jungwon that you're close, he knows by the way your body is tensing up, cunt clenching around his length so impossibly tight.

his fingers moving to your clit and rubbing your pearl as your release approaches, the coil in your stomach finally snapping around jungwon as you drop your body back onto the mattress, arms giving out and just leaving your whole upper body to rest on the sheets.

a laugh falls out of jungwon's mouth as he look at the state of you, slowing down his pace as he finishes inside of you, pulling out and seeing his cum dripping down the insides of your thighs. patting your ass softly, jungwon leans over you mumbling against your ear, "just one more pretty. i want you to ride me."

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀˚ ⊹ ˚

"oh shit" you moan as jungwon finally bottoms out in you, your walls flutter around his walls causing him to throw his head back and groan at the feeling of you. hands placed on both of your hips in a tight grip, moving you up and down on his cock. another moan escapes your lips when one of his hands move to slap one of your ass cheeks, his hand easing the sight pain afterwards. "ride me like you mean it pretty."

jungwon's hands leaving your hips and rests behind his head, enjoying the sight in front of you, your eyebrows furrowed as you try to find a good pace, soft moans of his name repeating like a prayer over and over, it was all just too good.

finally finding a good pace, you feel tired as your pace slows, jungwon groans at the feeling of his cock practically splitting you open. finally giving you some help and moving his hands back to your hips as he moves you up and down.

"mmph jungwon! m' close!" your hands find placement on both sides of his shoulders, velvety walls tightening around his length again.

"come for me y/n." was all it took for you as your eyes rolled back, nails digging into his shoulder as jungwon finishes at the same time as you, stilling his movements and painting your walls white.

⠀⠀ ⊹

your body is sprawled on the sheets, eyes half lidded as your boyfriend brings you up to help you redress yourself in a new set of clothes.

"you're insane." you sigh, knowing the next morning that your legs will be limp. jungwon laughs at you, giving you a small kiss and lays himself beside you.

as the morning comes, jungwon greets the other members a good morning, but an awkward silence is met. jungwon raises and eyebrow at the silence and the way his fellow members looked at him.

"holy shit jungwon! we didn't know you got that in you!"

[meganegatari]

EATING ELLIE OUT FROM THE BACKKK!!

idk if you’ve written this but omg she’d be the biggest mess crying into her pillow

eek sorry for the wait!! have been sitting on this for a while, but the loveliest, most genius ever @bloodstainedsapphic helped out SO MUCH by offering her skills to create a backstory and introduction + proofread the rest! once again i need to see yall showing her all the love or else, kay? i luv u lyssbug ♡

nsfw drabble—what the ask says, lol. dom!reader x sub!ellie, bratty!ellie, horndog!ellie acting up in public, praise & degradation, restraints ("scratchy rope"), fingering + oral, slight spanking (like once), edging, overstimulation...all e! receiving. this is so filthy i'm almost embarrassed...jfc. ++ 2k wc.

it had all started during dinner with your friends, earlier in the evening. your group was tucked into a corner booth, sharing stories and spouting nonsense like usual. you had noticed something…off, about ellie tonight, to say the least. not that she ever was miss sunshine, but her attitude all throughout was surly, dishing out tons of lip for the most innocuous comments and tamest teases.

you shot her a side-long glance and quirked your brow while your friends were distracted, trying to decipher the stick clearly lodged up her ass. ellie stares dead ahead, chewing on her lip, intent on avoiding your silent wrath.

you let it slide. for the moment.

but then, a few minutes later, the hand she’d casually snaked behind you—resting harmlessly on your hip—suddenly tightened. her fingers dug in without warning, then slid down your thigh in one brash sweep, topped with a cocky little squeeze. you’d have leapt from your seat and yelped had it not been for your audience. 

she liked to keep a hand on you, but this? the deliberately possessive gesture was far too much for a dinner with your unassuming friends.

“ellie? what the fuck is wrong with you tonight?” you turn on her the second the restaurant door clicks shut behind you two, ready to head back to your place.

ellie gives you an eyeroll. “jesus. dramatic much? i have no clue what you’re talking about.”

oh. that wasn’t going to work on you, not one bit. you tugged at her shirt sleeve, yanking her to face you. “ellie..”

her green-speckled eyes flicked to yours, paired with the rush of pink blossoming on her cheeks that told on her. her insolence? the brattiness? it had all been an act. a test to goad your patience.

“so what? i just got bored, okay? i wanted to go home.”

“and what, ellie? go home and do what?” your lips tipped into a sly smirk. “you need something, baby?”

ellie’s throat bobs, like she can’t convince herself to admit to you what she had really been craving all night long. that she was needy for. you lean in, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“you wanted to act like a brat tonight? just to get my attention?”

a pause. a heartbeat. her silence is answer enough.

“mm. cute.”

ellie avoids eye contact, fisting her pajama shorts, shifting uncomfortably against herself. she's mumbling under her breath—a feeble attempt to preserve some dignity. she starts to shrug off her clothes, not even attempting to hide her neediness under the previously defined attitude. 

you give in.“yeah, okay. but turn around. ass up ellie, c'mon now.” 

and now you're here, with ellie's body bare as the day she was born beneath you, her pert ass up in the air and pretty face shoved into the first pillow you grabbed. her wrists are tied and fighting against the scratchy restraints. you eye her dripping hole and trace your hand along the curve of her back, pushing her arch deeper.

the dim lamplight highlights just how badly she needs you, globs of glistening slick running down the back of her exposed freckly thighs, legs trembling ever so slightly. you can hear her whimpering already, if you strain.

“need me that bad, huh? wow, such a slut.” you sneer at the girl, taunting her to work her up even more. when the degrading name hits ellie's ears, she keens forward, mewling into the fabric, hands madly fidgeting against the rope. her tone is already raw, needy, and you haven't even touched her yet. 

“will you do it already?” she asks you, twisting her torso around so she can glare daggers your way; or at least that's what energy she thinks she's giving off. ellie's willow green eyes are watering and her mouth is pursed, her doll-like features knitted into a purely pathetic expression. you were having a hard time not giving in and pleasing her, but the way she acted still hung heavy at the forefront of your mind. 

“we're gonna do this my way, alright? be patient.” to emphasize the seriousness of your words, you give her a light smack on her ass cheek, to act as a warning. she yelps at the sudden contact, but keeps pushing. ellie was so full of attitude sometimes, you wonder where it all fits within her frame. she turns back to stuff her face in the pillow and grumbles, “fuck you, you've got me tied up and all bent over like this…jeez. the least you could is—fuck me, ahh—!!” you cut her off by shoving your middle two digits inside her sopping pussy, filling her up to the knuckle.

your own tone deepens, and you warn her again. but more sternly, “watch your mouth.”

“mmf- fine. just— keep going, please.” you could almost hear her eyes rolling back in her skull, even though you couldn't see her face.

your mouth curls into a mean smirk at her immediate submission, she was so easy to mold and you loved that about her. little touches would send her into the state immediately; toying with her was just the most fun. you're grateful she's turned away, because seeing how much you're enjoying this would cause her to hold back—and that's the very last thing you'd ever want. after all, her pleasure is your pleasure. every whine, every moan and whimper and cry…pure divinity.

ellie's breathing picks up, you see her shift in position as well, ever so slightly, just so she could covertly get you in deeper. her statuesque arch wanes while she pushes her perky chest into the mattress, her bent knees shifting further apart, simultaneously angling the front of her pelvis more outward for you.

such a feisty being, who knew she was such a whore for you?

she sighs at your intrusion, lightly squirming to get some friction. wordlessly, you let her, your free hand joining and making contact with her swollen bud—the most gentle touch on top, lighter than a feather or a summer breeze. her facade cracks even more, “please- more, i need it,”

but because ellie is, well, ellie, she summons what little fight in her she has left to throw at you with a light toss of her ass, “hahh—c'mon, you know you want to.”

your patience thins, and you exercise your control over her by bending your fingers inside her to find the spongy spot that makes her drool and you poke at it—she cracks.

dribbles of sweet slick continue to pour out of her and coat your hand, paired with whiny, high pitched moans. “thats it, fuck- yeah—right there…right there…mmh…”

you're almost concerned she's somehow going to break the restraints holding her wrists together, the way she's wiggling about. you continue your onslaught inside her, the squelching sounds of her soaked core damn near overpowering her inconsolable cries into the pillow.

she begins to shake and beg you even louder than before, “please—fuck- , yeah! ah, ah, ah-!” you watch her intently and feel the way her velvety walls clench around your digits, so you know she's close to the sweet release she's been craving all this time. you on the other hand, wanted to fuck with her some more—literally and figuratively. her stressed hole pulses, almost trapping your fingers inside her and she pushes back against you, impudently leaking like a faucet.

a moan gets caught in her throat but before she has a chance to fall off that pleasurable edge you pull out—leaving her empty and squeezing around nothing but air. she slurs into the pillow, her voice breaking mid-sob, “what the fuck...you evil bitch, i was about to cum…” oh she was pissed. 

her body trembles once more, but more from the sexual craving than anything else. “you will, you will. patience, babe. remember?” you lean forward on top of her so your chest is flush against her clammy, speckled back and you whisper, “we're doing this my way.”

she sighs and gives up protesting, you hear a little sound of defeat. with a fed up groan, “i'm sorry, okay? jeez, fuck. i'll be more patient.”

“good girl, that's what i wanted to hear.” you clap your palms around the swell of her hips, pulling her ass towards you. time to get your meal. you bury your face in her heat, your mouth filling with the sweet taste of her syrupy anticipation.

your nose prods at her tight hole while your tongue works away at her cushy folds, your hands kneading her supple thighs and keeping her nice and spread wide for you. and ellie? she's just about losing her damn mind. squealing and shivering— the sensations reverberating through her.

the earlier teasing had made her so sensitive, you could feel her core fluttering against your skilled mouth already. bordering on screaming, she writhes and deepens her catlike arch even more, showcasing flexibility you didn't know she possessed. 

she was still burying her face into the pillow, soaking it with salty tears and crying into it like a bitch in heat. you finally gave her throbbing clit some attention, pressing on the burning bundle of nerves with the pad of your thumb. whatever she's trying to tell you has morphed into unintelligible babbles paired with the most raunchy whines, you didn't understand a thing. but you knew how to read her body language. she was about to reach the peak once more, her cries turning shrill and needy at the overstimulation. her taste is getting stronger too, going from dainty and saccharine to rich and ambrosial; yet another telltale sign.

“fuck! wait— ohmygod…hhhhn” she careens forward again, succumbing to the mind-numbing pleasure. the orgasm rips through her lithe frame, ricocheting at such a force that would make armored knights submit. her warm release bubbles out of her overworked pussy and coats your face, coming out in ragged spurts. the pillow does next to nothing when it comes to muffling her noises, she was still so, so loud. the lungs on this woman, you thought.

pistoning your tongue in and out of her, simultaneously rubbing her flushed clit works her through the waves of ecstasy—but you weren't done yet.

you ease up on the pressure but keep your caresses the same speed, until within no time at all she shrieks and squirts all over you, slick dripping down your fingers and her legs, even running down your neck.

the scene was so animalistic, so raw and lustful, it was almost shameful. at this point she's wrung of all she can produce, shaking like a leaf and weakly weeping. you snapped out of your pussydrunk haze, smoothing your palms over her rather tense muscles. 

ellie looks angelic. laid on the bed like this, ass to the heavens, a sheen of sweat coating her speckled body—as ethereal as can be. 

you quickly undo the rope around her wrists, bending over to kiss the sore, irritated skin. taking notice of her deep breathing, she seemed at peace now—all fucked out. definitely learned her lesson. 

you soothe some more, “did so good for me els, so good.” 

she moves into a comfortable position and lets you cuddle up with her, giggling like her head is in the clouds. 

but of course, her attitude returns momentarily. “had i known that was my ‘punishment’ for being silly,” she adds air quotes around the stressed word, “i'd act up even more.”

she was being cocky, considering the way she was certainly conjuring up a noise complaint and sniveling like crazy.

a guffaw tears itself from you. did she really want to hold you to that?

taglist: @limerlove @ch6douin @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2 @littlefallenangel111 @witchyblade @sinfulprayerss @lvlymicha @sunnsh1ne @marsworlddd @caszzine @ashaynep @angelynn-nicole @aylabv02108 @melsmunch @e11williamsgf @imdrowningindespair @sevyscoven @culuvr @meow4510 @antobooh @valiantcycleflower @flowrmoth @liddysflyer @fortune777 @brunaedn @infiniteinquiries @mimasroom2 @thekill3randthefinalgirl @kissyslut @autisticintr0vert @mellifluousgirll @uhhscarr @sozvuchiy @kaykeryyy @zzombiegirl @jbimsorry @dearangxl @spncrrdlvr @thatgyalfisher @moony143 @vahnilla @ally-all-around @roseannih @viscupcakezz @ustakesis @lovelyy-moonlight @xysbree @abbysunderwear @i-dont-know-00 @lyzaxoxo