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fgojous · 2 days ago

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silver springs ( satoru g. )

satoru's life was planned down to the very last detail. every clinical rotations, every exam, especially his future—laid out carefully like a surgical procedure. but then you came along—loud, sarcastic and seemed to have no remorse when your ice cold coffee was dripping down his onto white coat—and into his perfectly planned life. and now? he can't stop thinking about you. everything he had planned? yeah, that went sideways.

med student!gojo x pre-med student!reader

tags. romance, fluff, light angst (hehe), hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, slow burn, medical au, college au, age gap, banters (a lot), sexual tension, use of profanities, explicit sexual content, kissing/making out (like a lot too i think? lmao), unprotected sex (pls always use protection), little hair pulling, fingering, p in v, creampie, overstimulation (?), pillow talks | eighteen plus only!

word count. 13.4k

status. completed (one-shot)

note. i know! 13.4k is crazy but i love satoru sm can u blame me. anyway, i can't get enough of med student satoru, he drives me insane. this is kinda self-indulgent (cos yn is a pt student, and me too hihi). btw, satoru is 25 and yn is 20! <3 i think that's all i wanted to say. anyway, i love u <3

Satoru was—safe to say, pissed.

He hasn’t slept for hours. There’s his clinical instructor breathing down his neck. He’s still got to study after this.

Then you, wide your eyes wide, jaw slightly dropped, are just staring at him. Like you were sent by the heavens above to add to his problems today—maybe they said, it wasn’t enough, you had to come.

Fuck this day, really.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” his voice was low, irritation unmistaken.

You blinked, frozen in place, your caramel macchiato—wasted, dripping down his white—very white coat. Does this day get any better than this? You think not.

You stared at the man in front of you. His jaw was clenched and his specs are slightly askew, and there’s obvious irritation dancing in his sharp sapphire eyes, his long white lashes fluttering. Goddamn, he’s tall.

And you are pissing him off.

“Uh—what—you bumped into me!”

His figure was towering over you—his white messy hair caught a glimpse of the fluorescent light.

“Because you weren’t looking. You’re on your phone.”

Well, sorry, if you were stressing about your upcoming long test—but you were here in the hospital instead of studying, accompanying your mother. Maybe she thought it’d be better to string you along in the hospital on the weekends.

“And you’re walking too fast.” you retorted, your chest was brewing. “Can’t you watch where you’re going?”

His lips twitch, almost smirking. You’re so fucking… irritating. “Wow. Was it your mission to irritate me today?”

You scoffed, my god, you hate him already and you don’t even know his name yet.

You reached for a napkin from your purse, attempting to ‘alleviate’ this situation but you know that there is nothing you could do anymore. You were about to dab on his coat when he stepped back.

“Are you seriously going to dab it in?”

“Wow. You’re so grumpy.”

“And you are irritating.”

Yes. You get it.

“Then maybe you should get some more sleep?”

He paused, for a moment, before he laughed. He actually laughed.

Not that loud, but enough for you to ease a bit. He can’t believe that you still have something to say—and yet to say the one thing that he’s waiting for you to say.

“You’re unbelievable.” he muttered, he adjusted his glasses before peeling the coat off. “You owe me. Dry cleaners.”

You blinked, he’s only wearing his dark navy scrubs now, you see his badge clipped on his breast pocket.

Gojo Satoru | Clinical Clerk

His name lingered in your mind longer than it should be. Where have you heard that name again?

But you didn’t have any time to rack your brains out when he handed his white coat to you with care, like it’s something so fragile it almost makes you scoff. But you took it anyway, because taking it to the dry cleaners was the only thing that you could do now—and you know, it’s kind of your fault too.

“Don’t put bleach on it. I’m serious.”

“I know how laundry works.” you rolled your eyes, folding his white coat carefully in your arms.

“Really? You’re not just a spoiled brat who spills coffee on someone’s coat?”

You deadpanned, not bothering to answer him because seriously, you can’t argue with him anymore. You handed him your phone and his brows furrowed, “Your number. How could I give this back to you if I can’t contact you?”

He snatched your phone from your hand, “For once you were actually thinking.”

Oh my god, give me the strength not to wipe his coat on the floor right now.

You just watched him type in his number, he called his phone from yours so he could save your number.

“There.” he says, handing you your phone back. “I expect my coat to be sparkling clean.”

“Yeah, fine.”

He didn’t answer you anymore and just turned to walk away. But before he disappeared into the hallway, he waves over his shoulder.

“Talk about dramatic.”

Three days have passed before he reached out to you.

You had honestly forgotten about the coat—well, you blame the myriad of long tests and practical exams for the past three days. You’d gotten immersed in studying that you forgot that you had to actually give his coat back.

But it was already clean and hanging neatly in a garment bag, just forgotten for a bit.

And honestly? You didn’t know how to face him again without getting embarrassed. You may have been too much of a brat that day.

[grumpy med student | 6:57 PM] where’s my coat i need it

[grumpy med student | 6:58 PM] you’ve thrown it away, didn’t you?

You rolled your eyes, typing on your phone.

[You | 6:59 PM ] i can bring it to you right now, my classes have just finished.

[You | 7:00 PM] i had it cleaned, don’t worry. u asked for bleach, right?

[grumpy med student | 7:01 PM] stop fucking with me. meet me at the ER entrance in 20

You stared at the screen for a bit too long. How in the hell did he manage to annoy you with just a text?

But still, you were there twenty minutes later with his coat draped over your arm. You’re still wearing your white uniform, your ID badge hanging on a lanyard embroidered with the hospital’s name—you’re scrolling through your group chats to read about the practicals that were coming up.

“Huh.” you looked up at the voice, his face etched with surprise as he looked at you, “ You actually look so miserable.”

Your eyes fell on him and there he was with his navy scrubs with a stethoscope slung around his neck and the only thing missing was his white coat that was hanging from your arm.

“Thanks. I just came from a six-hour lecture.” you say, voice laced with sarcasm then you handed him his coat. “Here. We’re even now.”

“Didn’t know we study in the same university,” he says.

How could he even know when you’re in different buildings? And he’s already in med school?

“So, what are you?” He didn’t give you a chance to answer when he reached for your badge, “Physical Therapy, huh?”

You snatched it from his hand, “I’m leaving.”

He smirks, “Don’t trip and spill some coffee on someone else now, YN.”

“Try opening your eyes while you walk, Satoru.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and turned away. God, he was so annoying.

Your mother’s rounds were running longer than usual.

She keeps on insisting you wait for her at the hospital so you could have lunch together. With you, living in the dorms and your long, grueling classes eating up most of your days, this was the only time you get to spend together.

And she’s late. And you’re hungry.

Now, you’re in the hospital cafeteria, eating the chips that you got from the vending machine.

This is the only place you could think of where you could spread your books and notes. You can’t afford not to study right now.

Your mind was full of some terms you’re not even sure you’re understanding. You were muttering words, teaching yourself like it actually helps. You didn’t even notice a group of med students passing by your table until a voice cut through the noise going on in your head.

“Hey, Miss PT.”

You looked up at him.

He looked the same. Glasses perched on top of his nose, same navy scrubs except he was the one holding the coffee now.

“Are you planning to get back at me?”

Satoru stared right at you, eyes flickering between you and your notes, “As much as I’d love to stain your white uniform, fortunate for you, I’m not as clumsy as you.”

“Aren’t you too busy to irritate me right now?” you retorted, looking back down at your notes to… read?

Anything.

Just so you could look away from him.

Then you hear him laugh lightly—annoyingly, before turning away. You stare at his back as he walks away then you see him talk to a dark-haired med student who looked just as tired as he is before disappearing.

Then you look down, something caught at the side of your eyes.

Then you see a small chocolate bar on top of your open notes.

Huh.

You muttered a curse under your breath. How else are you going to go to your dorm when it’s pouring?

A heavy breath escaped your lips as you tuck your arm in your chest, watching the rain splatter down the pavement. The rain was cold, loud—and seemed like it would not stop any time soon.

“Let me guess, you’re trying to catch a cold to miss clinical exams?”

Your head tilted to the side quickly. That familiar voice grazing through your ears.

It has been almost a week since you saw him. He wasn’t wearing scrubs anymore. He’s just wearing his white uniform just like you are, a university hoodie for med students draped on his arm.

“Let me guess, you’re going to annoy me to death now?” you gave him a sarcastic smile, “What are you doing at our building?”

“Had to drop off something. Why? You thought I was looking for you?” a menacing grin tugging on his lips.

Does he really have to be this annoying? And unbelievably good looking?

You ignored his comment, “I don’t suppose you have an umbrella?”

“Nope.” he answered, you just sighed and looked away—you frown a bit as you saw some of the students from different programs were looking your way, you just shrugged it off, trying to wait the rain out.

Satoru stared at you, really stared at you like you’re a mnemonic that he was memorizing—you were hugging yourself, teeth clattering slightly, your hair strands stuck in your cheeks.

“Here.” you glanced back at him, your eyebrows furrowing.

“What?”

“Take it. Don’t want you dying from hypothermia over there.”

It’s his hoodie.

You looked at him and back at the hoodie again. You blinked once trying to comprehend what he’s offering you right now.

Is he really? This grumpy, annoying med student is offering you his hoodie?

“Are you going to take it or not? My arm is killing me.” he says, nudging it closer to you.

You sighed, taking it from him with slight hesitation, if you weren’t so cold right now—but you are, so you swallowed your pride, “Thank you.”

“Huh?” he leaned closer as if he didn’t hear what you said, but you know he did because there’s a smirk pulling on his lips right now. “Didn’t hear what you said. Come again?”

You leaned closer, whispering in his ear. “I said, fuck off.”

You slipped on his hoodie, it was annoyingly soft and smelled like him. That’s actually the first thing that you noticed—and you suddenly realized, you actually know what his scent is.

You actually know what Satoru Gojo smelled like even if you’re not around him that much.

And it pisses you off just a little how nice it felt around you.

“You know you’d have to return that to me, right?”

It’s been two days and you still have his hoodie.

You told yourself you’re going to return it. That’s why you’re here again.

In front of the emergency room entrance, in the middle of the day.

If anyone sees you, maybe you could say that you were going to see your mother.

Or, maybe because your professor had canceled his lecture for today and you had nothing else to do.

You’ve got about two hours before your next subject and you got time to kill. Your friends had already gone to the nearest mall and you had no energy to walk around right now.

That’s why you’re here.

That’s what you’re telling yourself because you’re seeing him so often these days, it’s almost becoming a routine and it weirds you out in a way that you can’t explain.

“Hey.”

You turned and there he was again, tall as ever, just a few steps from you..

“Your hoodie.” you say, lifting it. “Thanks.”

His eyes just flickered to the fabric on your arm then back to your face again. “You busy?”

“Not as busy as you.” you say with a mischievous grin.

He almost rolls his eyes, “Have you eaten yet?”

“No.” you answered, a teasing smile escaping past your lips. “Why? You want to eat with me?”

“You like hospital food?”

And that’s how you ended up in that cafeteria again, except you’re sitting across from him now and his hoodie was still on your arm. So, you set it down on the chair beside you—it’s just sitting there, waiting to be brought up.

You’re twisting the pasta with your fork, and stared at it like it hurt you—how could it look this… bland?

But that’s not what concerns you the most, it’s the fact that the silence between the two of you was more comfortable than it is awkward.

Like you had done this before—or, like this isn’t going to be a one-time thing.

Satoru was about to bite on his sandwich when he looked at you. “Do you always stare at your food like it has done you wrong?”

“Do you always sound this irritating when you’re chewing?”

“Yeah. There’s actually a class in med school for that.” he bites on his sandwich, not shying his blue eyes from you.

You stare back at him, sipping from your cup. “You think you’re so funny, huh?”

“I know I am.” his smugness didn’t escape past you. Annoying.

You huffed a breath, “Should’ve gone with my friends.”

“Uh-huh.” he agreed, nodding his head. “Then I wouldn’t have to sit here and endure this torture.”

You scrunch your nose, glaring at him and he just gives you a sheepish smile.

Isn’t he the one who invited you here? And now he’s acting like you’re the one who interrupts his peace.

You didn’t answer—but you glared at him enough to let him know that he’s an exhausting little prick.

When is the bickering ever going to stop?

You bite back your breath before finally bringing it up, “Aren’t you going to take your hoodie back?”

You couldn’t take the way his hoodie just stares at you. It’s too weird—like it’s really meant for you when it’s not.

It shouldn’t.

“You keep it.”

“Why?”

Satoru looked at you, “So you’ll have to return it again.”

So here you were, in your next class, wearing his damn hoodie because the air conditioning in this lecture hall was on full blast.

“Medicine.” you hear Maki say.

“Huh?”

She pointed at the back of the hoodie with her lips, “You’re wearing a hoodie from the college of medicine and surgery. You’re a med student now?”

“It’s not mine.”

“Then why are you wearing it?”

Yes.

Why?

Why are you wearing it?

It has been two weeks since you last saw him.

Not that you were counting.

Well, maybe, it’s because your mother hasn’t been begging you to eat lunch with her and you had no business being at the hospital.

Not that you were hoping for him to drop something off at your building again. My god, why are you even thinking about him now?

It’s because you were staring at his hoodie right now, just sprawled across the backrest of the seat of your study table. You looked away, reaching for your phone to check if he had messaged you—

No, what business does he have messaging you? You tossed your phone away and buried your face on the pillow.

This is so goddamn embarrassing.

The next day, you were about to finish your last class for the day when your mother had texted you and wanted you to come.

And, fuck, you couldn’t get out of your building fast enough. You were almost sprinting to the hospital.

Then you slowed down… why in the hell are you this excited? Isn’t he annoying to you?

So you walked—tried to walk normally, but you were clearly searching for that white hair as you walked through the hallway.

And then you paused, your heart gradually pounds inside your chest, until the only thing that you could feel was your heart trying to claw its way out of your ribs.

There he was, standing just outside the exam room, reading something on the charts when you sneaked behind him.

“Hey, annoying.”

Satoru pauses for a fraction of a second before looking at you, your eyes met, and he looked like he hasn’t slept for about a year.

“Hey.” he greeted you back, his voice was flat—tired.

You blinked, letting out a faint smirk. “Wow, don’t get so excited now.”

You could almost see that grin tugging on his lips but… none. He just adjusted his glasses and scratched the back of his neck. “Just had a long day.”

You searched his face. Yeah, he looked so tired like he hasn’t slept—which, really he hasn’t. But there was something else.

“Oh, you okay?” you swallowed thickly, clutching on your bag—where his hoodie sits heavy just like that feeling creeping up on you.

“Fine.” he says, “I gotta go back.”

Satoru didn’t give you any chance to answer, he walked past you—not a single grin or snarkiness. He didn’t even give you a second glance.

So, you stood there, words still stuck on your throat, standing there a few more seconds than you should have.

[grumpy med student | 11:58 PM] u still up?

You stared at your phone. The bright light from your laptop screen illuminating the frown etched on your face.

[You |11:59 PM] what do u think

[grumpy med student | 11:59 PM] studying?

[You | 12:00 AM] how else am i supposed to answer the long test tomorrow

[grumpy med student | 12:00 AM] what topic

[You | 12:01 AM] orthopedic conditions

You hated how much you stared at your phone, your conversation still open as if you’re really anticipating everything that he’s going to say.

Then three minutes passed and he still hasn't answered and you thought that he had vanished again. And that was it.

It was three days since he gave you the cold shoulder in the hospital, you were supposed to be mad at him for reasons that you don’t even know—or if you even had the right to, and now you’re just waiting for him to respond—

The shrill ringing of your phone cuts off your thoughts.

You looked at the screen and there was his contact.

grumpy med student Calling…

Don’t answer it, you say. Why is he even calling you this late?

Your fingers hovered over the screen, thinking it over, debating yourself if it’s a good thing that you talk to him right now.

But then you sighed, your finger clicking the answer button.

“Hi.”

You heard him breathe on the other side of the phone, “Sorry.”

“For what?” you were almost whispering, like you couldn’t believe that you were talking to him right now.

“Three days ago. I wasn’t in the mood.”

You didn’t say anything right away.

The silence filled with quiet breathing from either of you.

Why is he saying sorry, even though it wasn’t a big deal?

It really isn’t.

Right?

“Okay.” you say softly, and then it was his turn this time to stay quiet. Then you hear him shift, maybe from his bed.

“You still have my hoodie?”

Then your heart pounds. Because you were wearing it. You’re fucking wearing it. It’s wrapped around you, clinging on your skin along with his scent that still lingers in it.

“No, I threw it out.” then you heard him laugh, a breathy laugh that made you slightly insane. “Cause you pissed me off.”

“I said I’m sorry, didn’t I?” he paused for a bit, “Are you still mad?”

You huffed, “Am I allowed to?”

You hold your breath waiting for his answer. What kind of question is that?

“You are.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. So instead, you say, “I’m hanging up. I’m studying.”

“Wait.”

“What now?”

“I’m studying too.” he says, you can hear shuffling on the other side, “Don’t hang up.”

An irritated groan came out of your mouth, refusing to lift your head up from your desk. If you could get just a minute of sleep you’d be fine.

But there’s someone pissing you off by nudging your arm. Repeatedly, to say.

You haven’t had the chance to sleep, thanks to a certain someone who called you at midnight and kept you talking until your brain turned to mush.

And the nudging doesn’t stop.

You finally lifted your head, your eyes stinging from the lack of sleep. “What?!”

Then you froze, just seeing who it was.

Satoru was standing there, looking down at you with an infuriating smirk on his lips—his eyes flickering down briefly to his hoodie that you were wearing. “Now, you’re the grumpy one.”

“And who’s fault is that?” your brows furrowed as you narrowed your eyes.

Then you suddenly realized, he’s in your building.

In your lecture hall.

Right in front of you—in front of your entire block.

You blinked—a little stunned as he placed a coffee on your desk, with a chocolate bar just like the one he left you last time.

Did he just come all the way here to give you a cup of coffee?

Your eyes darted around slightly, your block mates were already watching—whispering like you’ve brought someone famous. Because how often do you see a third year med student in his scrubs, dropping off some coffee for a second year pre-med student?

Exactly. Never.

Then all of it clicked into place like a perfect puzzle.

Satoru Gojo.

You’ve heard his name before. From all around the campus—from the whispers, he’s that med student your block mates were all talking about.

You just didn’t realize it was him. Took you a month.

“Now we’re even.” he says casually, “Bye.”

Then he left you there, with your mouth slightly open—and with the knowing looks that your block mates were giving you.

Especially the one beside you.

“Oh.” Maki smirks, “So, that’s Satoru Gojo.”

You blinked at her, mouth shut tightly.

“Didn’t know you were dating the med school’s golden boy.”

Dating?

Is she kidding right now?

Your eyes gaze upon the coffee he left for a little too long.

“We’re not—he’s… not—”

“Uh-huh.” Maki nods, now staring at the hoodie that you are wearing. “Sure.”

The one thing that you were wishing as of now was for the ground to swallow you whole.

“You’re being weird.”

There you were, elbows propped on the table, cheeks resting on your palm as you shamelessly stare him down.

It didn’t matter that he was famous in your university and everyone was talking about him, blah blah. It bothers you that it took you this long to realize.

Well, you really don’t pride yourself on engaging in senseless gossip, much less about some handsome someone you don’t even know—well, now you know.

Because you’re eating with him side by side, at the hospital cafeteria, with the shitty food.

“You know they call you the ‘golden boy’, right?”

Then he groaned, poking on his food. “So?”

“How come I didn’t know?” you murmured, “I mean, I always hear them talk about you, I just didn’t realize it was you. I just felt stupid?”

“It’s because you are.” and he said that with a straight face, you glare at him and he smiles, “Can you just eat?”

“Okay, golden boy.”

“Can you stop?”

You scrunch your nose and give him a little smile before snatching a fry from his plate, “Make me.”

“Ah.” he laughs—adjusting his specs before leaning in, “You really want to go there? I don’t think you can handle it if I do.”

It was safe to say that you’re flustered, you tried to hold your ground but something in the way he stared at you made your stomach churn in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

“Shut up.” that’s all you could say before pushing his forehead away using your index finger. “Just eat your food.”

─── MONDAY ───

[grumpy med student | 5:45 PM] i’m outside your lecture hall

[You | 5:46 PM] why? u miss me?

[grumpy med student | 5:46 PM] no. i’m just not irritated enough today, maybe seeing ur face would fix that

You purse your lips, trying so hard not to let a smile slip past your lips. Your professor was still on the last slide of her lecture, wrapping things up.

While you were already shoving things in your bag rather hastily for someone who ‘doesn’t care’ whether he’s there or not—and when your professor said the class was dismissed, you said a quick goodbye to Maki before stepping out the hall.

He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed—hair messy, specs looking unfairly good on him.

He looked up from his phone, “Took you long enough.”

You raised your brows, “Well, I’m sorry if my studies are a bother to you having your need to be extremely irritated today.”

“Apology accepted.” he says, pushing off the wall to step beside you. “Library?”

You started walking, side by side—not minding the looks coming your way. “Uh-huh.”

Maybe you could see now why they called him the golden boy.

It’s not just his looks, but the way he’s so focused—head dipped down on his books like his eyes were glued on the paper. He was scribbling notes, tapping his pen lightly—his lips parted slightly.

You could see why they’re talking.

He’s like an all-in-one package—the looks, talent, skills… the way his face looks intent but calm while he’s studying.

But for you, he’s just the grumpy med student who bumped into you and made you spill your coffee on him.

─── TUESDAY ───

[grumpy med student | 3:12 PM] i think my legs would fall of if i moved

[You | 3:12 PM] why

[grumpy med student | 3:13 PM] they made me stand for 6 hours straight. fuck it, i’m never moving from this gurney

[You | 3:14 PM] aw, poor baby. want me to carry u home? );<

[grumpy med student | 3:15 PM] yes baby

[You | 3:16 PM] fuck u

─── WEDNESDAY ───

[grumpy med student | 6:17 PM] bring highlighters, forgot mine. not YELLOW

[You | 6:17 PM] what’s your beef with yellow

[grumpy med student | 6:17 PM] hurts my eyes

[You | 6:18 PM] you know what hurts your eyes? lack of sleep

He looked up at you when you laid out a bunch of highlighters in front of him, “Don’t worry. Not one of ‘em is yellow.”

“Did you go around and ask a bunch of people for highlighters?” his eyes followed you as you sat in front of him.

You just shrugged your shoulders, opening your own notes—hiding a grin behind the paper.

─── THURSDAY ───

[grumpy med student | 6:45 PM] where are u? some freshmen stole our table. the fuck

[You | 6:46 PM] our prof is still wrapping up

[grumpy med student | 6:47 PM] get here fast

You roll your eyes as you read his text. Your professor ended the class and you stood up almost immediately.

“Going on a date again?”

You glanced at your friend, brows furrowing. “It’s not a date.”

Maki doesn’t know why you’re still fooling her, maybe because you don’t know yourself what this is.

“Oh. Okay. Say hi to Gojo for me.” she says, laughing before stepping out the door. And you just huffed out a breath before picking up your bag.

You walk slowly—just to spite Satoru, and to think about what really is this.

Well, you’re just studying together. There’s nothing wrong with that, right?

─── FRIDAY───

[grumpy med student | 4:45 PM] i forgot to tell u earlier, someone just came up to me and asked if MI stands for mild infection

[You | 4:46 PM] my god

[grumpy med student | 4:46 PM] haha right.

[grumpy med student | 4:46 PM] what time’s your out? lecture just finished

[You | 4:47 PM] i'm here at the 2nd floor lounge w my friends. why?

He didn’t respond after that, you didn’t think much about it. Maybe he got pulled into a case, or he thought it’d be better to annoy his friends other than you.

Not until Maki nudges you with her shoulder, looking at the figure walking up to your table.

And there he was, Satoru Gojo, gracing your building with his presence—still in his lecture uniform, his hands were in his pocket like he’s a walking drama that’s about to happen.

“I don’t think you belong here.” you say as soon as he sat beside you, in front of your friends who’s just looking at him with their jaw slightly dropped.

“Yeah? I was told I could find the most irritating person here. And, yeah. Here she is.”

Your eyes were flickering in between your notes and him.

Because for the past ten minutes, he’s been blinking slowly—nodding off just a little before snapping his eyes back open.

You try not to stare at him but it’s really hard not to.

Satoru shifts in his seat, his cheek dips down on his folded arms—and then, poof, out cold.

Seriously?

You pressed your cheek against your palm and let yourself stare at him. His white hair was messier than usual, his specs almost out of place—his lips are parted slightly, small huffs of breath shuffling out.

He looks so exhausted.

This is so stupid, my god.

Your eyes darted around the library to see if someone else is looking—but they’re caught up in their own world, so you extended your arm, reaching out for his glasses before removing them slowly and placing them neatly on the table.

You should’ve stopped there.

But your fingers lightly grazed his hair strands, brushing it gently out of his face.

It doesn’t make sense why—you’re here tucking his hair like you’re meant to do it. You don’t know why you keep meeting up with him when he’s just supposed to be a stranger you accidentally spilled your coffee to.

It’s like suddenly you’re looped in each other’s orbits and you can’t go on a single day without even talking to each other.

This is so stupid.

You sighed, leaning back on your chair and focused on your notes again.

Twenty minutes later, maybe more, he stirred.

You look up just in time to see him squinting his eyes against the light, he looked at you still a bit disoriented.

“You didn’t leave?” he mumbled—voice hoarse from sleep, now sitting up and stretching his arm.

“No.” you replied, “I’m afraid the librarian might kick you out.”

He lets out a soft laugh before rubbing the back of his neck. His eye catches yours—neither of you says anything for a moment.

You coughed a bit, handing him his glasses. “Here. I thought you might need it.”

[grumpy med student | 6:30 PM] cafe’s too loud

[grumpy med student | 6:30 PM] someone got our table in the library again

[You | 6:31 PM] find another place, we’re almost finished here

[grumpy med student | 6:32 PM] it's all packed

[You | 6:33 PM] are u sure

[grumpy med student | 6:34 PM] ?

[grumpy med student | 6:34 PM] yes im sure, u wanna go check it yourself?

[You | 6:35 PM] ugh so maybe next time?

[grumpy med student | 6:35 PM] how about my place? it’s quiet

You were having a staring contest with your phone again.

His place and quiet didn’t quite add up to you. Your brain was reeling its wheels trying to conjure every possible way going to his place for the first time ever might entail.

It’s not like this is the first time you’re going to be alone together. It’s just that—this feels different, too different.

[grumpy med student | 6:37 PM] unless you don’t want to, it’s fine we can study tomorrow

[You | 6:37 PM] no it’s okay

[grumpy med student | 6:37 PM] okay, i’m outside your lecture hall

And that’s how you ended up in his place, at the living room floor with your notes and books splayed on the coffee table and on the floor—just anywhere near.

His place was surprisingly clean. Not too clean, but enough to surprise you considering he’s too busy. There were a lot of medical textbooks near the coffee table, some takeout containers but that was it.

And there’s definitely his scent that lingers around the air.

It was silent between you two—it’s always like that, not awkward silence but comfortable. You were both flipping through books, handouts and whatnot.

You were scribbling left and right and sometimes mumbling mnemonics like you’ve lost your mind.

Sometimes he’d ask you some questions about anatomy because he needs to recall something—or when you’re spacing out, he’d nudge your knee with his and you’d flick your pen or a yellow highlighter to his direction.

Yeah, well, it was a mix of peaceful yet chaotic.

Satoru looked up from his book, arching his brow when you sprawled on the carpet, your handouts placed above your face.

“If I read the word vertigo one more time, I swear I’ll jump off the balcony,” you say, your voice a little muffled due to the papers that were covering your face.

“Neuro?”

“Uh-huh.” you replied, groaning.

“Okay, I get why you’re being so dramatic now. Take a break?”

You pulled the papers out of your face as you sat up, “Yes. Please.”

You lean the side of your body against the couch, elbows resting on the cushion as you look at him. “So, were you like this when you were in college?”

“Like what?” He removes his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“Uh—annoying?”

“Yeah, it’s innate.” and you both snorted, “It’s a gift, don’t you know?”

You waved your hand off, “But seriously, what were you like?”

He turned, mimicking your position. “Just like this but minus the parties. Kinda reckless. Uh, handsome?”

Then you threw your handouts at him.

“And you, after college are you going straight to med school?”

You hummed, because that was always the plan. It never changed.

“Yeah. That’s always the plan.” you answered, “So, you partied in college, huh? I could see it.”

He raised his brow, a smirk appearing on his lips. “Oh, yeah?”

“Uh-huh.” you narrow your eyes, looking at him carefully like you are analyzing him. “You’re wearing a backwards cap and oversized long sleeves with the first few buttons unbuttoned, probably holding a red cup—then there’s girls hovering over you, while you give your number left and right, did I nail it?”

Satoru blinked for a bit, then he suddenly laughed. “That’s oddly specific. What are you, a witch?”

You snorted a laugh, pointing at the small picture frame on his TV console. It’s a picture of him with his friends at a party—and he was wearing exactly what you had said.

Satoru blinked, looking at the photo then back at you.

Then he suddenly flicks your forehead—not too strong, but enough for you to glare at him. “You saw it earlier, didn’t you?”

“Ouch?!” you winced, a menacing smile slowly creeping up to your lips. “Even if I didn’t, I know you were like that.”

“Okay, miss psychic. But you were wrong about one thing.” he stretched his arms, and you could almost see the electrical field of smugness around him.

“And what is that?”

“I never gave my number to anyone.”

You raised a brow, “And why?”

“Because they wouldn’t stop texting.”

“But you gave your number to me.”

He stops for a bit.

“Yeah, because you have my coat. I was afraid you’ll throw it out of spite,” he smirks.

“You’re so annoying.” you roll your eyes, your lips trying to twitch into a smile. “So you never dated anyone serious?”

He hummed, like he’s trying to think of every girl that he dated and you almost threw a pillow in his direction. “Just the one. But we broke up after a year.”

You were about to speak when he did it first. “How about you? You ever had a boyfriend?”

You shrugged, “I had a boyfriend. First year. For just a few months. But it’s fine, we’re just friends now.”

You swore you saw his grin falter a bit—his jaw clenched slightly before speaking, “Ah. Dark-hair, looks like he hasn’t slept in quite a while, that guy?”

You blinked, “How did you know?”

“That day in the lounge,” he paused, “He was staring at you and he looked pissed when I sat beside you.”

Your brows furrow a bit then you laugh, “He always looks like that.”

“Right.” he paused, he was smirking but his eyes told a different story. “Totally normal.”

Both of you just stared at each other until you looked away and he cleared his throat like there’s something stuck in there that he couldn’t quite say.

“Okay. Break’s over.” he says, and just like that he’s got his specs on and a book on his lap again.

“Yeah.” you mumbled, and reached for your handout then you turned away.

The silence envelops the two of you again. All you could hear was his AC unit humming, his shallow breaths and the papers rustling. You were tapping your fingers on the carpet over and over again while you tried to read what was on the paper.

But all the letters all seemed mushed as you try to comprehend the look he gave you earlier.

What the fuck.

It was ten minutes until you spoke again.

“Satoru.”

“Yeah?” he answers, gaze not leaving the book.

“Let me try the Dix-Hallpike maneuver on you.”

Then he looked up—you were holding the book up to show him the illustration, his eyebrow creased. “You really think you could pull me down without dislocating my neck?”

You thought about it. He’s taller than you, probably a bit heavy. But, hey, there’s no harm in trying, right?

You squint your eyes, “Come on. I just want to practice. It’s for the sake of medicine and my future patients.”

He groaned, removing his glasses, then he stood up to sit on the couch. Thank god his couch is L-shaped, you have plenty of space for him because he is freakishly tall.

You had him on the couch in a long sitting position, then you stood in front of him. Your hands shake a bit when you hold his face on each side, tilting it gently.

Your heart was pounding, how can it not when this six-foot tall med student was staring at your face like you’ve got all the answers in the world—

“You’re shaking.” his voice was low.

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“It’s because you’re annoying, put your weight on me.” you say a little bit pissed, and he just laughs. “I’m going to lean you back now.”

And you tried, like, really tried but his muscle mass and gravity weren’t on your side. He leaned a little bit too enthused, his shoulders were also hanging because you hadn’t calculated the size of this couch.

This maneuver isn’t meant for this couch, really.

He burst out laughing and you did too, “You broke your patient.”

You were still laughing, hands clutching your stomach, he sat up. “Let me try it on you.”

“You don’t even know how.” you say, still giggling.

“I saw you did it, didn’t I? And lucky for you, I’m a fast learner.” he reached out to your book and read the section for a bit.

You just watched as he read for a while, a smile creeping up on your lips. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Don’t break my neck.” you say as a warning.

“Yeah, yeah.” he says, tapping the couch for you to sit on. Then it was your turn.

Your breath hitched when he placed his hand, his palm on your jaw—his thumbs placed on your cheeks, and his fingers were supporting your neck.

Then he leaned you back, your head hanging from the couch—you didn't realize that he was too close until you felt his breath on your cheeks.

“So, tell me,” he says, his voice almost a whisper. “What signs to look out for when your patient is positive for this maneuver?”

“Uh—” you paused, your voice was close to cracking. “Nystagmus.”

“Good.” he mumbles, his breath getting heavy. “For how long?”

Then you tilt your head to look at him, he was still holding you. His thumb was brushing your cheeks.

“For… uh—seconds to minutes…”

My god, this felt like hours.

You could feel the air shift and all the nerves in your body had awakened.

Your gaze locked into each other and it just clicked.

Then he pressed his lips onto yours, not a sliver of hesitation like he was sure he wanted to do this.

The kiss felt inevitable.

Your eyes widened before you closed them, tugging on his shirt to pull him close—his hand moved to the back of your neck before pulling you up without breaking the kiss.

You could feel your body warm up despite the air conditioning being on low temperature—the nerve endings on your skin were working full-time as his fingers grip the back of your neck a little.

Then his back hits the cushion with a soft thud.

His hands settled on your hips—your weight hovering over him as you straddle his lap—he deepened this kiss, biting your lower lip—pushing his tongue in, making you whimper in his mouth.

Your hands travelled to his hair, grasping the locks in between your fingers. His hands were circling in on you now.

He was kissing you like he was being starved—like he wanted to devour you whole.

Then the kiss turned deeper, messier and louder—teeth clashing, lips biting, tongue delving inside just to taste every inch of your mouth—none of it was neat, he was kissing you sloppy.

Satoru groaned into your mouth when you moved your hips a little. You could feel him bulging underneath your clothed sex, he gripped your hips trying to keep you steady.

Then he pulled away—his eyes lidded, lips were swollen as you looked down at him, both your breaths uneven.

He didn’t say anything—just looked at you like he was memorizing the way your lips quiver as you breathe.

“We should stop.” he finally says, his voice rough.

“Why?” you ask softly, chest heaving—your hand still tangled in his hair, your fingers combing his soft locks.

“Because if we don’t,” he swallowed thickly, gripping your hips like he’s holding to what restraint he has left. “I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back anymore.”

Your ears pulsate, your face warms up as you stare at him.

God, you’re making him crazy.

The walk back to your dorm was silent. Not the tense silent kind of thing, where someone is about to throw a fit or cry.

It’s a ‘we-just-full-on-make-out-and-don’t-know-what-to-say’ kind of silence.

The kind that made your footsteps heavy on the sidewalk—you can’t even look at him, and you know he can’t look at you too.

Because he hadn’t said much since he offered to walk you back to your dorm—just took your bag without even saying a word, his skin brushes against you a bit and that was all, that was the last contact that you two ever made.

You were asking when the bickering would stop, and here it is. It stopped.

You used to walk like this together all the time. To the library, to the hospital cafeteria, to the café—bickering, nudging each other, making stupid jokes and annoying the hell out of each other and now it’s just… all gone.

You have no idea what else to do now. It’s like an itch on your brain that you can’t scratch. How are you supposed to act now? How do you even walk normally? How do you even breathe normally?

You swallowed hard, your brain was starting to irritate you. It’s screaming at you over and over again. You kissed him.

Nuh-uh, not just kiss, you made out with him. On his couch. With his hands gripping your waist. His fingers tracing your spine. Your lips clashing, molded into each other like it was the most natural thing in the universe.

You pursed your lip, huffing out a small breath that you wish he didn’t notice. Your thoughts were scattered, you couldn’t even think straight. You couldn’t find any right words to say.

And yet, you caved.

Your eyes looked forward, “You’re awfully quiet.”

“So are you.” he replies, then you look at him and he is staring at you.

And there he was calm. He always looked like that. Like this didn’t shake him.

Was he spiraling too? Is he pretending right now? You don’t know. You can’t even tell.

What now? What are you going to say? Are you going to ask him now what that kiss meant?

You looked away again. Wouldn’t it be better if he said something—maybe joke about it a little or annoy you, tease you—like he always does. But none of that was happening.

He stayed silent. And so did you, until you reached your dorm building.

“This is you.” he finally says, handing your bag to you.

You took it, and his fingers brushed into you again.

You open your mouth to say something but none of the words come out. Your throat felt like something big was stuck in it and you couldn’t spew what you wanted to say.

“Good night,” he said, and you just gave him a faint smile then you nodded.

What even is this? Why can’t you say something—

“Is this going to be weird now?”

He blinked, frozen in place but then he gave you a smile. Not that annoying, smug, teasing smile of his—it was a genuine smile, the kind that makes your heart squeeze.

“Only if you want it to be.”

You wanted to scream because how does he do it? How does he say it so casually while you’re here, like a ticking time bomb, about to explode?

Your fingers tightened around the bag that you were holding.

No, of course, you wouldn’t want it to be weird.

“I don’t want it to be.” you said, almost whispering.

Because that’s the truth. You didn’t want anything to change. Even if you’ve crossed that line. Even if you didn’t know what it meant for the two of you.

You don’t want to lose whatever this is.

He nodded, then stepped forward—placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, YN.”

You just swallowed hard. Your eyes followed his figure while he walked back to his place that was just a few blocks from yours.

Your heart was pounding inside your chest. It’s funny you realize this now—but you know, it’s the truth.

That he’s either going to be the one… or the one you’ll never recover from.

You just didn’t know which is which.

You both said you were just taking a short break.

But now you have no idea how long you’d been like that on the couch.

Your back on the armrest, while he’s above, pressing his body against you—your legs curled up beside him and the other, slightly on him. It was getting kinda hard to breathe—from the kiss but also from the fact that whatever this is, there’s no coming back from this.

Your grip on his hair tightens when his lips trailed down to the side of your lips, to your jaw down to your neck—sucking and licking, “Satoru—don’t… don’t put—mhm!”

Then he presses his lips on yours again, and you could feel him smile—his teeth grazing on your lower lip.

“You know we should be studying, right?” he says in between, breathing heavy, then he was on you again—biting and nibbling on your lips.

“Mhm—hmm.” you hummed into his mouth, pulling him closer, like there’s any space left in between. Your lips were probably swollen—wet, from all the sloppy kisses that he was giving you but you didn’t have any care in the world.

Your notes and books were long forgotten on the floor and on the coffee table.

Your hair was probably a mess, a few buttons on your white uniform were unbuttoned—his white shirt was wrinkled from all the tugging that you did.

His hand moved to your hair, gripping on it a bit to angle your head—you moan into his mouth, and he pushes his tongue, swirling it around then sucks your tongue in—

“Yo. You weren’t answering—oh. OH.”

You both froze, eyes now open and you’re becoming painfully aware that he’s still above you. Then you heard another voice coming in.

“Hey! We brought—my god, we’re so sorry!” Then you heard a soft thud on the floor.

You pushed Satoru off you so fast that you almost hit your head against his. You sat up, fixing your hair and buttoning your white uniform again—while Satoru, this dumbass, was groaning—his back leaned on the couch now.

“For the record,” the tall guy with a dark-hair tied loosely into a bun—the one you saw in the cafeteria, started speaking, “We knocked.”

Satoru was about to speak when a voice cut into the conversation. “Hey, what’s up?”

“What’s happening in here?”

And another.

Now, there’s four of them. Looking back and forth at you and Satoru.

“Hi. I’m Yuki!” the tall blonde girl cracked the awkward silence, she walked towards the couch where you were sitting, then she pointed at her friends. “That’s Choso. Shoko then, the one who interrupted you first was Suguru.”

You smiled at them, still catching your breath—pulling your uniform down slightly, “I—uh… I’m YN.”

Then her eyes widened, “Oh! You’re YN?! The YN?”

Was he talking about you to his friends?

“The YN that spilled a coffee on his coat then he bitched to us about it like a fucking baby?” Shoko—the short-haired girl nudges Satoru to move so she could sit beside you.

Satoru glared at her but he moved anyway. Then slowly they were placing the food here and there, Suguru even handed you a soda.

“He was so dramatic about it,” Choso says, “We almost kicked him out of the group chat.”

You whip your head to look at Satoru, “I can’t believe you told them.”

“What was I supposed to do? I was pissed off.” he says, groaning. “And you didn’t even say sorry!”

“Uh—what? Cause you’re the one who bumped into me like you’re walking with your eyes closed! And I did say sorry!”

Did you? That memory was kind of a blur now.

Satoru laughs, “Uh. If I could remember, the only thing you said to me was I needed to get some sleep.”

And just like that the whole room burst into laughter—they were watching with amusement as you bicker back and forth with their friend, like they haven’t caught you making out with him on this very couch.

They were very loud—but funny, and so comfortable with each other and yet, you didn’t feel left out. Not even for a bit.

Now you’re all on the floor, your back leaning on the couch and Satoru was seated beside you.

Yuki was looping you in on the jokes. Shoko was asking you how pre-med is now and then, Choso and Suguru were asking you a bunch of questions about anatomy like you were in a trivia game.

They like you.

And that made you feel overwhelmed—in a good way, maybe? How are you supposed to feel in this position anyway?

You didn’t even notice the embarrassment gone out of your body like it was nothing. The room was filled with jokes, banters—and god, Satoru’s laugh. His laugh was annoyingly good. It was driving you insane.

You were still laughing when you looked at him and he looked back at you with a faint smile etched on his face.

Then your eyes landed onto his, he was looking at you like there’s something brewing on his mind—like there was something that he wanted to say but he couldn’t.

“You okay?” you asked him, nudging his knee slightly.

“Yeah.” he slung an arm around your shoulder, “Good.”

You smiled and looked away because you can feel something shifted. You can feel something tiny—an ache, pressing onto your ribs that was supposed to be protecting your heart.

You just didn’t know what it was.

Your days felt the same but at the same time it wasn’t.

You were still talking.

He was still messaging you.

You were still studying together—not at his place, but at the library.

And he was quieter than usual.

He wasn’t nudging your knee, flicking your forehead or grumbling about his back-to-back rotations where they made him stand for hours again.

He was just… there. Reading. Writing something in his notebook. Not even sparing you a single glance.

“Are you okay?” you asked and he just hummed, you took a deep breath, “Am I annoying you?”

He stopped for a bit, still not looking. “No.”

You were expecting that his answer would be ‘yes, you’re annoying me. you always do.’ because… that’s how he’s supposed to answer you, right?

With a cocky grin and a teasing tone. That’s how.

Maybe he was just too tired. Maybe his instructor was too much. Maybe he was just… you don’t know what reasons you could come up with anymore just to justify him acting like this.

But still you brushed it off. Holding onto some stupid reason that you don’t even know.

But the next day came. He canceled lunch, saying he was backed up. Rounds were taking too long.

He said he’ll see you later at the café, that he’ll text you once he gets there.

But he didn’t.

But you let it slide, maybe it slipped his mind. Come on, he’s a third year med student, of course, he’s busy.

And for the next two days, he was silent. He wasn’t messaging—and how you hated that every single time you stepped out the lecture hall, you were wishing he was there, leaning on the wall—waiting for you.

But he wasn’t.

So, you’re staring at your phone for the whole lunch break. Contemplating whether to send him a text. Typing then erasing, then typing again—and the cycle just continued until you had the guts to press the send button.

[You | 12:32 PM] u still alive? haha

So, you waited. Until the lunch break finished. Until it was time for your one pm lecture.

None.

Then you check your phone.

[grumpy med student | 4:45 PM] just busy

It took him four hours.

Four. fucking. hours. It was starting to piss you off. Why is he acting like this? Why is he avoiding you like you’re some plague?

Was it something that you did? Was it the kiss?

Your mind can’t comprehend why he’s acting this way. You were good, right?

You were so good. Not just good. Everything felt right, everything was into pieces like a puzzle locked in together and now it shattered, and the pieces were missing.

You already felt like you belonged.

And suddenly, it’s just… this?

[You | 4:55 PM ] okay

And that was the last thing you sent him.

Then a week passed by agonizingly slow—just like this elevator ride up to your mother’s office.

There were days that you found yourself staring at your phone—reading the old texts, and his damn hoodie wrapped around you while you slept, just to fill a large chunk of space that he left.

You hated how much you noticed the space where he was supposed to be. You hated all of it because he wasn’t just ignoring you—he’s making you feel his absence, and no matter what you did—you can’t escape this raw, aching feeling that’s clawing its way to your chest.

Like it wanted to rip your heart and lungs out.

Maybe it was all too much for him? Maybe he regretted it now.

Maybe.

You looked at the elevator door when it opened—

Your breath caught in your throat. Your heart stopped beating for a short while before screaming inside your chest.

There he was—Satoru, standing in front of you, his hair was messy like he ran his fingers through it a lot of times, his specs still perched on top of his nose and a stethoscope was hanging around his neck.

You could see the look on his face—like you’re a ghost that he was trying to avoid. But then he stepped in and stood up a few inches away from you.

You knew this was going to happen if you went to the hospital. You know you’re going to bump into him—the problem is, you didn’t know what to say, you didn’t know how to act anymore.

This was the kind of silence that you hated—it was heavy with the words that you couldn’t utter. Words that you don’t know how to get out.

You wanted to say something.

Open your mouth but all you could do was look straight ahead.

Like he’s just some stranger who you share memories with.

You know he was about to say something by the way he breathed but then the elevator door opened again.

But you didn’t wait—didn't look back, didn’t spare him a glance and just walked out until you were out of his sight.

And that was the moment you realized—it was all gone.

The bickering, the coffee, the waiting outside your lecture hall so you could walk side by side to the library—the mnemonics, the late night calls and—the kiss.

It was all lost.

Just like that.

The cafeteria was just the same. It was a little more crowded than usual but it was just the same.

But instead of him, you sat across from your mother, quietly eating her food while her phone was buzzing nonstop, and she kept looking at her watch while you just poked on your food like it done you wrong.

“Sorry we can’t eat outside,” she sipped on her coffee, “The surgery took longer than I expected and I still have a consult after this.”

“It’s okay.” you answered softly, absentmindedly poking. You hadn’t said much since you saw him earlier.

You hated him for doing this to you.

“You alright?” your mom asked, staring at your face and you lift your head, giving her a faint smile.

You nodded, but something caught the side of your eye and it darted past your mother’s shoulder—to the table at the corner of the cafeteria, why is the universe playing with you today?

There he was, sitting with his friends, and he looked how he was earlier—except he looked like the skies fell on him.

She followed your line of sight, furrowing her brows a bit before turning to you.

“You know Gojo?”

Your ears pulsate with just a mere utterance of his name.

You looked away, “No.”

“I hear he’s a bit popular in the university,” she continued, giving you a look like she was looking out for your reaction, “Even here. One of the top students. Brilliant.”

You just hummed, and she just kept on talking about him—and you just wished she would stop. “He’s in his third year, right? His mom and I were residents together.”

You blinked, looking at her. “Okay. Tell me what happened.”

“It’s nothing.” you puffed out a small breath, and you avoided her gaze. “It’s really… nothing.”

She looked at you, gaze softening as she watched you push your food around. “Hm. Okay, you don’t have to tell me what happened.”

“It’s really nothing, Mom. It’s fine.”

She just chuckled, her hands cupped yours above the table. “If it was nothing then you wouldn’t be looking at him like that.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what he’s doing.

He bought food but he was barely touching it. It was hard to breathe when he knew that you were there—just a few tables from him.

He hated this. He hates himself—he always does this, when everything feels too good—too real, it terrifies him that he turns away.

Except, when he had done this before—he didn’t get hung up, he had protected himself before it got real, before everything went too deep.

He doesn’t just let anyone in, but then you came, you invaded his space—and this barrier between him and his emotions just came crumbling down.

“Satoru,” Suguru called him, tossing a crumpled tissue his way, “You good?”

“Yeah.” he just nodded, a bit distracted.

Yuki was ranting about her rotations when she suddenly stopped, squinting across the room, to the table where you were sitting. “Wait. Isn’t that Dr. LN?”

Shoko and the others followed her gaze, “Yeah. It is.”

“Isn’t that YN with her?” Choso says, turning away and suddenly, all of them were just staring at him—Satoru, like he had done them wrong too.

“What?” he asked, his eyebrows creased.

Yuki waved her hand first, “Wait. Before we get to Satoru’s stupid ass, why is YN eating with Dr. LN?!”

Satoru lifted his head—he couldn’t help but look in your direction, your chin was resting on your hand, you were looking at the food again like it said something that offended you.

He muttered, “Dr. LN’s her mom.”

“Whaaat?” Yuki shrieked and Shoko was taken aback too.

“You’re kidding?”

But he didn’t answer them. He wasn’t surprised at his friends’ reactions because Dr. LN is one of the top surgeons at the hospital, maybe it just shocked them that you’re her daughter.

Well, it wasn’t a surprise. You’re smart—just like her. You’re…

Fuck. Why can’t he look away? He made his decision, right? Why can’t he get you out—

“The fuck was that for?” his train of thoughts vanished when he felt Shoko smack his head. “Are you—”

“You’re a dumbass.” she hissed, and the other three hummed in agreement. “She’s the only girl that we liked. Like, ever.”

“I mean,” Suguru started, “No offense to your past trainwrecks.”

“She just clicked, you know?” Yuki said, sipping on her juice, “I mean, she didn’t even look nervous around us. She laughed with us, she never had that awkward silence, you get me? Like, you could feel her—ah, I’m rambling. Bottomline, you’re fucking stupid.”

He knew that—and that’s what terrified him, you fitted in so easily. You slid so easily in his life like you really belong there.

The problem was never with you.

He used to be content with what you two had—the endless bickering, the studying together quietly—all of it was enough for a person like him. Enough for him who didn’t have time, who couldn’t offer anything more.

Because what if he couldn’t give you what you wanted? What you deserved?

And it scared him when you two kissed for the first time. Because it felt like whatever you two had, could be something more.

But he wasn’t ready for more.

Not when his life was already hanging on a balance with the endless responsibilities, pressure, expectations—he couldn’t bring you into this.

He was hunched into the desk when Suguru placed a paper bag in front of him. He looked at him and frowned. “What is this?”

“Nurses said someone dropped it off. It’s yours.”

Satoru sighed then reached for the bag.

And his heart stopped.

It was his hoodie.

The one that he gave you so that you could have something of his, that you could return—so you could—he could see you again.

He knew what this meant. He knew why you gave it back.

Because he wasn’t going to see you again.

He just stared at it, barely moved, afraid that if he touched it, it would explode. It didn’t smell like him anymore—it smelled like you.

“You know, it’s the first time that I saw you like this.” he looked at Suguru who was leaning on the wall, staring right at him as if watching him come to his senses.

But he didn’t speak, he just looked away as if scared that the truth would hurt him. And it did.

It does.

“She was really good for you,” Suguru added, “I mean, granted that you ditch us for her like an asshole but still, she made you breathe just for a bit.”

Suguru didn’t say this just to be cruel. He was just telling the truth. Because that’s what he saw.

Satoru’s fists clenched, “I didn’t mean for it to get this far.”

“It’s too late for that, you know that, right?”

“And I told you before,” Satoru muttered, “I can’t do this. I don’t have enough time, space—”

“And yet you did.” Suguru pressed, “You made time. You brought her into your space. You let her in, man. She even met all of us. And I know you, you don’t do that.”

Satoru’s breath caught into his throat.

“And it was a mistake.” he says quietly, like he was trying to convince himself. But he’s too smart for that.

They both know it wasn’t. He never regretted it once. He’s just too terrified.

Because you weren’t supposed to matter. But then you started showing up in places where he was. Everywhere he went you were there. Everywhere he looks, he sees you.

Even in his thoughts—you were there.

You were in every goddamn thing that he touches.

And now all of it is just… just.

There’s no more lunch breaks where you kick his leg slightly under the table, no more yellow highlighters flying to his direction just so you could annoy him.

He would never see the crease in your brows again whenever you were muttering mnemonics like the world would end if you didn’t memorize it all.

He would never get irritated now that you’re not here to pester him about practicing something on him—and he’ll say yes anyway.

Now, there’s no more pretending that he wasn’t falling for you. Because he did, he fell hard and he crashed.

There’s no coming back from that.

He really fucked up, huh?

You were about to drift off to sleep when you heard a knock on your door.

You groaned, clutching the paper that was on your face. You hadn’t slept properly in days and of course—of fucking course, just when you’re about to, someone decides to knock on your stupid door.

Great. Just fucking great.

You removed every paper that was on you and set it aside.

You drag yourself up pulling the blanket over your shoulder to cover up the fact that you were only wearing your cami top and shorts—meaning, you’re not to be disturbed, god, it’s late.

You walk to the door, barely awake, cracking it open just to see who it is.

And it’s like a cold bucket of water was splashed onto your face.

Sleep? Gone.

Your heart? Gone. It exploded.

“What are you doing here?”

He was staring at you like you stole all air from him.

You looked around the hallway before pulling him in—shutting the door behind you. You don’t even know how he got in your dorm building—but here he is, interrupting your sleep, your life.

You turned to him, clutching the blanket around you, waiting for him to speak.

“The hoodie,” he whispered, breathing heavily, “You gave it back.”

“That’s what you came here to say? That I gave you your hoodie back?”

He parted his mouth like he wanted to say something. But he didn’t. He just stood there, staring at you like he’s afraid that you were going to slip away.

So you did, “I gave it back because it’s pointless. I gave it back because I know you weren’t going to talk to me anymore. I didn’t want to hold on to something that… that you clearly don't want.”

His heart dropped when your voice cracked.

“YN—”

“What?” your tone was sharp, like you were protecting yourself. “What do you want, Satoru? Are you going to show up again, act like I fucking matter to you and the next few days, ignore me?”

You laughed bitterly, tears cascading down the side of your eyes. You said you weren’t going to cry.

You didn’t cry in the past two weeks that he didn’t talk to you.

But seeing him here, in front of you, it’s like a dam broke inside of you.

“It’s not that—It’s not that I didn’t want to talk to you,” he muttered, trying to step closer but his feet wouldn’t move. “I fucked up.”

“You did!” you snapped, wiping your tears hastily, “So what was it? You were busy? You forgot I existed?”

“No.” he paused, “Because you weren’t part of the plan. You weren’t supposed to happen—I don’t fucking do this, YN. I don’t stay up late with someone, I don’t just eat lunch with someone because I want to—I… fuck.”

“So you just pushed me away? Because life didn’t go the fucking way you want it to?”

He just looked at you, every word that you were saying sits heavy on his chest.

“Because, God forbid, you feel something real?” your voice shatters, “You made me think, I mattered. Then you just up… and leave. You didn’t even say goodbye.”

And that’s what hurt the most. How easily he walked away like none of it meant anything to him.

You buried your face in your palms, sobbing—the blanket that was hugging you pooling on the floor.

“YN.” he stepped forward, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I fucked up. I’m sorry I was such a fucking jerk—”

“You are!” your voice was muffled, your shoulders shaking as you cried. Then you feel him—his arms circling around you to pull you close, the side of your head resting on his chest.

“I didn’t know what to do.” he almost choked, resting his cheek on your head. “I didn’t know how to deal with something like this. You weren’t just a distraction, you weren’t just a girl who flirted with me at a party—you were, you.”

You could feel his hand tremble by the way he held you, but you let him speak. “You were there almost every day. God, you were the first person I think about whenever I hear something funny or someone irritated the fuck out of me.”

“Then I got scared when I saw how easy it was for you to slip into my space, into the people I care about.”

You pull away from him, your hands wiping your tears. Your gaze finds each other.

“When I was watching you laugh with them… I realized that I care so much about you. And that scared me because I don’t want to lose you—I didn’t want that moment to end, and if I said the wrong thing or did something stupid then I would lose you for good? I could not let myself do that.”

“What changed?” you paused, “So, what? You’re not scared now?”

“No. God, I’m scared.” his eyes didn’t leave yours, “But I’m scared of not being with you at all—of walking away, then spending the rest of my life wondering what we could’ve been.”

You didn’t know what else to say.

Or if there is something else to say.

You were just standing there, his hands trembling on your hips—his lips flutter every time he took a breath.

“Kiss me.”

You say but you didn’t even let him react when you tugged on his shirt, pulling him close to press his lips against yours—your teeth grazing his lower lip to let you in.

And he did, he let you in.

“Fuck,” he muttered, breathing heavily before letting you jump into his arms, he carried you to your bed—pushing everything on the floor, the sheets under you rustles as he set you down along with the sound of the papers scattering on the floor.

And just like that, he was all over you again—on top of your body, pressing himself against you.

“I missed you,” you let it slip in between the kisses, in between the whimper into his mouth. “I miss you, Satoru.”

His fingers trail inside your shirt, skimming your waist up to your ribs until he reaches the underside of your breast.

He groaned into your mouth before pulling away, his kisses trail down to the skin of your neck, peppering you with desperate—hungry kisses, “You have no idea how hard it was to stay away.”

“Then don’t.” you gasp as he bites the skin just above your collarbone, “Just stay… with me.”

God, you’re driving him insane.

Then he was back on your lips again. His kisses getting frantic—desperate, he pushed his tongue past your lips—hot and heavy, swirling his tongue inside your mouth like he needed to taste every inch of you.

Because he does. Satoru needed you, he craved you.

You moan against his mouth, his fingers tracing the strap of your camisole before pulling it down—the strap falling flawlessly from your shoulders.

His hand gripped your shoulder—like he was making sure you were okay with his hands all over you, but you reached for his wrist almost immediately and placed it on top of your breast yourself.

Then he froze for a bit, both your eyes opened—until a startled laugh broke out of him—and next, you.

“I thought you were getting shy or something,” you say breathlessly, laughing softly.

“I was being respectful,” he brushed the tip of his nose against yours and yet his hand was still on your breast.

“Don’t you think that went out the window when you stuck your tongue down my throat?”

“Point taken.” he says before his mouth crashes on you again, licking your lips as he starts to knead your chest—he presses soft kisses against your jaw until he is down to your chest, pulling your cami top down with his teeth.

Fuck, he’s so hot.

You catch your breath as he takes your breast into his mouth, his tongue swirling on your nipple while the pad of his thumb brushes over the other.

Your fingers find their way to his hair—gripping it desperately, like you were aching for more, more touch, more of him.

He lets go of your breast with a pop, his eyes staring at you like he was burning your skin.

“Satoru,” you look up at him, your fingers tightened on his hair, “Fuck, please…”

“I know.” his breath stutters when he sees you part your swollen lips, “I got you, baby.”

His lips were back onto yours—greedy, breathless as his hands roam everywhere, he grips on your hips like he’s melding his hand onto your skin. His fingers trace the waistband of your shorts before pulling it down in a swift motion, throwing it on the floor.

His fingers dug into your thighs, coaxing them apart before moving his hands up, his fingers drawing the fabric of your underwear to the side.

You whine against his lips when he slid his finger up and down your folds, his fingers slick with your juices before sliding one finger in, “Mhm—fuck.”

“You like that?” he murmured, his voice was almost reverent—but the smirk tugging on his lip betrays him, your lips part—breathless moan leaches out of your mouth when he adds a finger.

Then he moves his fingers in then out—hooking it just enough to make you tremble and grip his wrist when he moves it fast.

His fingers coated with your wetness creates a hungering sound, he watches as you arch into his hand—and it makes his stomach curl in an animalistic way. He couldn’t even think straight, he was just watching your every gasp and shiver like he was memorizing it.

“Sa—toru! Mhm, fuck, more—please.” you moaned, tugging him close to pull him close just so you could feel him more, it wasn’t enough that his fingers were inside you—you needed more. “I want you. Please.”

“Ah.” he half laughs, breathlessly—almost moaning, his fingers still pumping in and out of your cunt, “You’re driving me crazy.”

“I know.” you lift your head a bit to reach his lower lip, you graze your teeth into the wet skin of his mouth, “Let me—ngh—drive you even crazier.”

“Yeah?” he groans, and you nod, your fingers reaching out for the waistband of his pants, until you reach the button of his pants—your hands reach inside cupping his hard dick with your palm, moving your hands agonizingly—slowly.

“Ah—fuck—” you whimpered when he stopped pumping his fingers—you didn’t even know how he rid himself of his clothes that fast, then he was on top of you again.

Maybe he was just that desperate—and fuck, you know you were too.

His body was hoisted slightly as he stroked his cock above you while pressing sloppy kisses on your mouth.

Then you pulled away, you watched with heavy-lidded eyes as he tilted his head back slightly—your fingers tracing the line of his abs—guttural moans came out of him like he came straight out of porn, his hand still pumping his cock.

You loop your legs on his waist, pulling him close—you both gasp as the tip of his dick almost dips in your cunt. “Impatient, are you?”

“Mhm.” you pull him more—his jaw clenches, eyes darkening at how maddeningly desperate you are.

“Fuuuck. You’re killing me.” he slides his tip up and down, just to tease you—and it loses his mind how you're faltering with even a small touch. He’s ruined.

You ruined him.

“Please—Satoruuu—OH.”

You both gasp when he suddenly pushes in, slowly—deliberately, like he wanted to relish in the way that you clench around him, walls hugging his dick so tight he might’ve come right there and then.

“Shit,” he groans, voice cracking while pushing in deep—until you take all of him, “You’re so—tight, ah, fuck. So good.”

You dip your fingernails into his shoulder, lips apart—your head tilted back slightly. Your eyes flutter shut as you take the abrupt stretch—the pleasure.

“Satoru—mhm, please. Need you to move, baby.”

He groans into your neck—the pet name added to the things cutting into his restraint, he gripped your hips trying to keep you still—god, he couldn’t move. He was getting overwhelmed with the way you feel soft and tight around him.

There was a hitch in your voice when he started moving, slowly—then deeper, faster—harder.

The shaky, uneven—heavy breathing fills the air. The sheets rustle just below you as the bed starts creaking but all you could focus on was how delicious his hips slaps into you—wet, sloppy thrusts fills your ear, making your body ache in ways you didn’t even know.

Your moans grew louder, air catches on your breath with every thrust that he makes.

“Satoru—ah. Fuck!” you close your eyes from the hundreds of pleasure coursing through your body.

He pulls back just a bit, to see your face.

“Look at me,” he breathes, and when your eyes meet his—he loses it. He was all over you—on your mouth, on your face, neck—pressing wet kisses while he rams you into oblivion.

And fuck, how it drove you insane when he gripped your hair and tilted your head just so he could lick your collarbone up to your jaw—then it suddenly hit you like a wave, his name left your mouth broken.

The muscles on your abdomen contract, toes curling into the sheets.

Your grip on him tightens as your thighs quivered, hips arching into him. “Sat—nggh—toru! Feels so good,”

“Fuck, you came?” he groans, his grip on your hips tightens as he fucked you into overstimulation.

You make him crazy. So crazy—he’s losing his mind—you’re going to make him lose his mind until there’s just a scintilla of sanity left on him.

Satoru cursed under his breath—hips curving slightly as he pushed in deep. Your name leaves his lips, strained—low. His hips stutter a bit before he collapses on top of you.

You could feel his chest rise and fall against yours, your breathing in sync.

“You’re heavy.” you muttered, and he just hums—sinking himself deeper against your body.

“I think I just went to heaven.”

You laughed, swatting his back lightly. “You’re so dramatic, you know that?”

“Well, I’m sorry—but you ruined me.” he groans—you let out a whimper when he shifts slightly, aware that he’s still inside you. You both winced when he pulled out, but still not getting off of you.

“I ruined you?” you arch your brow, he places his head on your chest—listening to your heartbeat like it was the only thing grounding him.

“Hmm. Completely ruined—like my coat was.”

You groaned, your fingers absentmindedly playing with his hair. “Are you ever going to let that go?”

He lifts his head and greets you with a smug grin, “No. I’d be annoying you with that forever.”

Forever, huh?

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luna-azzurra · 4 hours ago

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Ways I Show a Character Who Believes They’re the Villain in Everyone Else’s Story

╰ Behavioral Red Flags

They assume the worst intentions in themselves, even when they act out of love. They brought you coffee? Probably just guilt. They helped you move? Must be manipulating you so you "owe" them later. (They just care. But they can't believe that's true.)

They over-apologize for existing. You bump into them and somehow they’re the ones apologizing, looking like they've personally inconvenienced your entire bloodline.

They self-monitor everything. Every joke they make. Every word they say. Every look they give. Constant little glances at people's faces, desperate for signs that they’ve messed up again.

They let people treat them badly because they think they deserve it. Rudeness? Sure. Being overlooked? Of course. Public humiliation? Absolutely par for the course. Standing up for themselves feels wrong, like a thief demanding a refund.

They preemptively distance themselves when things get good. Got a close friendship brewing? Time to pull away before they find out I'm terrible. New romance? Better end it now before they hate me.

They assume jokes about "bad people" are secretly about them. "You know those selfish jerks who never change?" someone says. Their inner monologue: That’s me. They mean me.

They play up their flaws. Self-deprecating humor, but not cute self-roasting, deep, almost aggressive, like they’re trying to hand you the knife before you even think about stabbing.

They struggle to accept forgiveness. Apologizing feels natural. Being forgiven feels alien. Like wearing shoes on the wrong feet.

╰ Thought Patterns That Wreck Them

"Even when I try to do the right thing, I mess it up." Trying doesn't absolve them. Trying just delays the inevitable hurt they’ll cause someone else."People are nice to me because they don't know who I really am." Kindness isn't acceptance to them — it's a ticking time bomb, waiting to explode when the "truth" comes out.

"If someone is angry at me, they must be right." They don't even question it. Anger directed at them must be justified. They deserve it.

"If I succeed, it's by accident. If I fail, it's because I suck." Zero credit for wins. Full credit for losses. The math of their self-esteem is so rigged it should be illegal.

"If I ask for help, I'm manipulating people." Needing something feels like emotional blackmail in their mind. Better to suffer in silence than risk "forcing" someone to care.

╰ The Tiny Physical Tells

Laughing after their own serious statements, as if to soften the blow of speaking honestly.

Keeping their hands visible when talking (subconscious "I'm not a threat" behavior).

Flinching when someone raises their voice, even if it’s not directed at them.

Making themselves physically smaller—shoulders hunched, arms crossed, shrinking into themselves like they can disappear if they just try hard enough.

Dropping eye contact when complimented.

Holding their breath without realizing it when waiting for someone's reaction.

╰The Relationships They Gravitate Toward (And Why):

Fixer-Upper Friendships: They think they have to earn affection by being useful, by helping, by being "the strong one."

Unbalanced Dynamics: They let people use them because "at least I'm being helpful, even if they don't actually care about me."

Romantic Partners Who Validate Their Worst Fears: They often fall for people who treat them like they’re a burden—because it matches the script in their head.

Or... Relationships That Terrify Them: Because if someone genuinely loves them, they’re always waiting for the moment that person "wakes up" and sees the "monster" they believe themselves to be.

╰ How They Might Heal (If They’re Lucky)

(And if the author isn’t an emotional sadist. 👀)

A relationship where mistakes are allowed, not punished.

Someone calling them out, not for being bad, but for being unkind to themselves.

Tiny acts of trust that stick over time, slowly poisoning the idea that they’re inherently toxic.

Learning that being flawed and being villainous are not the same damn thing.

Being told, over and over, "You don't have to earn love by being perfect."

#writerscommunity #writer on tumblr #writing tips #writing advice #character development #writing #writblr #writing help #writer tumblr #write villain #villain oc #writing villains #villain #writer community #writers life #writers #writer things #writer stuff

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treatmelikeasmut · 3 days ago

Text

A Put Together Man

MASTER LIST

There was something in the saying the best view was a quiet, well put together man as he came apart loudly and messily beneath you.

___

PAIRING: Viktor x Fem!Reader

CW: There is no plot in sight, just smut. Handcuffs, p in v, unprotected sex.

WORD COUNT: 1.1k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I didn't have a plan, really, for this one. Also, I finished writing this high as balls, so do with that what you will, lmao I didn't write a second draft like I normally do. I may in the future tho <3

___

There was something in the saying the best view was a quiet, well put together man as he came apart loudly and messily beneath you. Bodies bare and blazing, scorching where they met. Watching as his head lolled back, brow furrowed, desperate whines falling from his mouth. Hips coming up to meet your pace in messy thrusts.

It was, indeed, the best view.

Viktor’s golden eyes fluttered, his hands pulling against where they were cuffed to the head board. Nothing he said was coming through with any sort of coherence. Just the hushed cry of ‘please’ every now and then.

Watching him like this was spellbinding. In spite of everything, Viktor was one of the most well put together people you knew. Always neat. Always witty and sharp. Yet a touch of your hand, a brush of your lips, and that demeanor of his was gone. He completely handed himself over to you.

This was your own personal heaven.

Viktor’s arms shook, his legs quaking as they desperately sought more. More of you, more friction, more of your tight, wet heat. He was nearly crying. You could see it, in those flashes when he found the strength to gaze up at you.

He was far away. Eyes glazed over. His brilliant mind now dulled into a thick slurry of need. It was in the way he took his lip between his teeth, how tightly the skin of his knuckles stretched over the bone as he clenched his fists. The pathetic cry every time he tried to touch you, only to find his hands confined. As if he’d forgotten their bond.

“I - I can't,” he choked, voice hushed and strained.

You grinned. “What’s the matter, pretty boy?”

“Please.” Viktor groaned, arching up into you. Grinding his pelvis abruptly into yours. You gasped, barely able to keep up right. Bracing yourself, you caged his head with your arms. He watched you with hungry eyes. Mouth capturing whatever skin could be reached. “I can’t stand it. Release me. Please. Let me touch you.”

You were satisfied with your work, up to this point. His entire body was flushed with lust fueled fever. Cheeks and ears burning crimson. Purple-red hickeys dotted his neck and chest. Listening as he pleaded, sent extra warmth pooling into your core. Viktor cursed, thrusting up into you again as you clenched.

“If you want it,” you started, slowing your movements. Taking an exaggerated time to lift your hips and sink back down onto him. One hand slid up his chest, slipping gently around his throat. His vocal chords vibrated against your palm as he hummed. “You better beg for it, love.”

Begging out right was not something Viktor did for you. No matter how long you teased, how hard and spent he was without release. He asked please, but he never groveled. Too much pride, you assumed.

Viktor muttered your name, nearly sobbing out another please.

“You’re going to have to do better than that, I’m afraid,” you told him. “Use your words, darling.”

“Fuck,” was all that came out of his mouth.

“Not really what I was looking for.” You were going painfully slow now. Leaning your body so that your entrance only caressed his tip. Shallow thrusts drawing out shallow breaths. “What will you do with your freedom? What do you want to do with me?”

Viktor's hips tried to meet yours, a silent plea to be released from the torture. His eyes were wild now. Wrists tugging at their confines. An animal in a cage waiting to get out. Waiting to bite and claw and claim.

“Release me, woman, please,” Viktor growled weakly.

“Beg for it, pretty boy.”

The look on his face nearly made you giggle. A glare, softened around the edges. Unable to remain as sharp and piercing as intended. Viktor once again pulled against the cuffs. You knew he knew they had safety latches. So it wasn’t as if he was waiting for the key. He wanted your permission, since that was the way of the game.

The real scramble began when you stopped moving all together. When you sat with him nestled deep inside you. You could feel him twitching. He grimaced, trying to move, to jump and thrust. But you settled heavily on his hips, pinning him to the mattress. Those big, glossy eyes stared defiantly up at you.

“You…you are wicked,” he muttered. You clenched around him, pulling a groan from his throat. “Just let me touch you. Let me fuck you. Please, let me have a taste. I cannot stand being restrained a moment longer. - Please. I’m begging you.”

“See?” you teased, “Was that so difficult?”

Viktor murmured something, tucking his face into his arm. New red splotches staining his neck and ears, chest still heaving. You planned on giving him what he asked, finally releasing him. Though it may not have been the way he imagined.

You rolled your hips against his again. A sharp moan came from his throat.

“Don’t worry, honey,” you told him, “you’ll get your release.”

“Wha -”

You set a faster pace this time, thighs burning as you rode him. More strained, sobbing moans filled the room. You could see the words leaving Viktor’s mind right as they formed. You clenched and rutted, putting in effort to actually get him to his climax now. No more teasing.

With each thrust came an obscene wet sound. It seemed to drive Viktor over the edge. It wasn’t long until he finally came with a strangle moan. Fingernails digging into the palm. Eyes pinched shut. Once again sloppily meeting your pelvis with his own, before he stuttered then fell back to the mattress.

You unhooked the latch on the cuffs and Viktor’s arms fell limp onto the pillow. A tremor shook his body. Ever so slowly, his hands found your thighs. Gliding their way to grip the flesh of your hips.

Viktor finally opened his eyes. They still burned with hunger. You couldn’t really say what happened - just that one minute you were sitting on top of him. Then the next you were under him, his dick still inside you. His full weight laid on you.

His lips found your neck and you leaned into the feel. A new thrill of lust peeling through you. Viktor moved his mouth to your ear, hot breath fanning your cheek. Then you felt metal around one wrist, the other gripped in his hand, bringing it over your head.

Viktor pulled back to stare down at you, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips. “Time to return the favor, my love.”

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nothanksofficer · 2 days ago

Text

we are all sinners (imagine)

starring: you, remmick, and bo pairing: remmick/reader & bo/reader warnings: slight nsfw, open-at-your-own-risk, dark romance, vampirism, corruption, moral and literal seduction, temptation, sharing is caring(?), reverse harem(ish), hive-mind, manipulation summary: in this world, there is no grace chow. only y/n chow. and boy, does that have consequences word count: 1k+ list: 0.1 1.0

"because i know everything he knows now. and i want you to let us in there."

"Oh yeah, i know everything now. Even how you like to be licked. I can promise I won't bite too hard."

a/n: pls be kind. this was just a random idea. note that most of the lines are just what i vaguely remember/can find on the original script. for the most part, reader's race is up to your interpretation. bolded lines can be interpreted into any language you want

you are a budding artist who made a name for herself after becoming the town's unofficial sign maker/painter. colors were your art, and its not just how you earned your keep, but it's also how you met bo.

you and bo have been married for almost two years now (sorry lisa don't exist here...yet).

so when smoke comes in one day, asking for some supplies, help, and a new sign in need of painting, that's where you come in

you don't know the twins personally, but you trust bo. and the extra money doesn't hurt for your...future family planning

at the juke club, you and bo are a seamless team, alternating between working and partying. every time you walk by, he's always trying to pull you into his arms. Whether it's for a quick kiss or dance, he never passes on the chance

you briefly overhear the commotion at the door, followed by some singing. after getting a quick peek at the white folk, your eyes meet the banjo player's, who then gives you a wink as bo leads you away. neither of you notice remmick's eyes following you as he does

Remmick first motions at Mary. "How'd she get in?" "She here because she's family." Unconvinced, Remmick makes a show of looking at you and Bo next. "And those two?" This time, it's Smoke who answers. "They're family, too."

later on, when bo comes running over to tell you stack's been killed, you immediately want to leave. you get a really bad feeling and your gut tells you that you can't stay here. after some desperate convincing, bo agrees to get the car

"You wait right here, baby. I'll be right back before you know it," he promises, giving your forehead a kiss. Little do you know, that is the last time you will see your husband. At least the human version of him.

cornbread happens. and stack comes back to life. the entire group has to stop you from leaving to go find bo

"Let me go! I need to go after Bo!" "Careful now. You walk out there, Y/N, you might not walk back in." "I can't just sit here and do nothing! My husband is outside with those—those things!" But Smoke puts his foot down, stopping your argument in its tracks. "Bo can handle himself, Y/N. Besides, you know he wouldn't want to put you at risk either. Bo'd want you here. Inside. Where it's safe."

the group finds the 'dead' body. when sammie and smoke go to throw it outside, remmick's singing and the cheering of former friends and guests, lure you to the entrance, just enough to take a peek. (to your relief, you don't see bo anywhere near them)

after the garlic eating scene, you are left on watch duty at the main entrance. everyone else is resting, or preparing more weapons in the back. you hear gurgling form outside, and out of curiosity, you open the door, only to see cornbread tearing into the 'not-dead' body outside.

you nearly scream to warn the others. that is, until bo appears.

your first instinct is to pull him inside into safety. but...the way he swaggers past cornbread, smiling at you like nothing was wrong, made your heart stop (and not in a good way)

"Hey, baby," he grins, and for a moment, you can almost believe it's actually your husband. Keyword being, almost. "Come on outside. I got the car started for you. Let's go!" "Bo...?" The sound of flesh tearing and squelching makes you nauseous, and you take a step back. Bo frowns, but masks it with a charming smile. "What is it, Y/N?" "Cornbread...he's killing him—" "Oh, don't worry about him, baby. He's just a little hungry, is all," he says offhandedly. "Let's go." Bo winks at you, and you flinch. He's never winked like that at you before. The only one who ever has was— "Come on. I got the car all warmed up." But when you don't make a move to follow, he sighs before sauntering up to the door with a knowing look on his face. "Or...you let me back in there, and we can grab our things and head home?" Bo's eyes flash an inhuman silver as he looms over you from the doorframe. "We can even make a pit stop. Maybe even have some of our own fun on the way back."

when Remmick appears, you nearly sob, realizing this isn't your husband anymore

Still, Bo tries to convince you, nonetheless. "It's better this way, baby. So why don't you go and invite us in?" "You should listen to him, Y/N. Or listen to me. Because I know everything he knows now. And trust me, darling, he really wants you to let us in there," Remmick adds. "That's not true. Bo would never..." "Believe me, baby. I just want you to be free. Like him. Like me," Bo says almost reverently. Lovingly. As if the prospect of becoming one of them was a blessing, rather than a curse. "We can be together again. All you have to do is...Let. Us. In." "Listen to your husband now, darling. Can't you see that he—that we—just want what's best for you?" Despite Remmick's words, you can't tear your eyes away from Bo. "You're not...you're not my husband." Despite the cloudy glow in Bo's eyes, there is no hiding the hurt in them. Remmick, however, only looks at you with condescending disappointment. "Well, that's not very nice of you to say," he tsks. "You did this to him. You...you monster," you hiss. "Me? I just gave him what he wanted. Freedom. A family. In fact, this was his idea, you know. He wanted to change you first," Remmick reveals with a hungry grin. "And who am I to deny him?" "You're lying." "Am I? I know everything he knows. Every little thought. Every single memory. I even know how you like to be licked, darling." Remmick's words shake you. But it's Bo's follow-up that makes you choke. "And we promise we won't bite, baby. Not unless you want it."

a/n: and that's all i have for now. let me know if this is worth continuing. otherwise hope u enjoyed the story

#sinners 2025 #remmick #remmick x reader #remmick x you #bo chow #bo chow x reader #imagine #sinners imagine #sinners fanfiction #dark romance #sinners fic #sinners x reader #x reader #reader insert #fem reader #female reader #sinners movie

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sepptember · 3 days ago

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𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒 — touya todoroki

↳ ꒰ I'ma put some goddamn moves on you, babe, i know you. need it.꒱

#𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒 — touya has never been one for school dances, or school anything, really. but you love them. and he begins to think he might love you.

↳ #𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 — he accidentally hurts readers feelings for like a second, swearing, most definitely ooc touya bc idk how to write him, cheesy content proceed with caution lol.

requested by @rueclfer who's probably touya's #1 fan. mostly smau, but ther3 is a written portion at the end! sorry if it's messy, it's not proofread.

“You look,” You have to pause, your brain cogs turning frantically in search of the right word. “Nice. Like, really fucking nice.”

He scoffs, sending you a look that screams annoyed, but you can tell it's faux. “Yeah? What's What's supposed to mean?”

“It means you look gross most of the time.”

“Wow.”

You laugh, the sound much louder than you intended. “You really are a baby.”

He brings his hand up to your face and pushes you away, earning him a hard swat at the wrist. “Seriously, though. You do look really nice.”

You finally take a moment to look at all of him; the way his silver hair seems less frizzy, the soft hug of his suit around his surprisingly thick arms—holy shit—and you only now realize the color of his suit. “Wait, are you matching me? Is that why you asked to see what I was wearing?”

His gaze doesn't leave you. “Does it matter?”

“I suppose not.”

It did matter, because he came here. The shade isn't even off, the fabric almost identical—he didn't just get it willy nilly, he put thought into it.

“The dance doesn't start till 9? It's 4:30.”

“Pictures.”

“My mother could get us better pictures.” He scoffs again, taking a good look at his surroundings. He ignores the look Keigo throws at him—the one that screams I told you so.

Touya hadn't really planned on this. Not when you asked him for theme ideas, or when you told him about post-prom. But it wasn't a spur of the moment decision. The night he called you, when you started crying and told him about how something so silly had you stressed beyond belief. And it wasn't something silly to you, you liked this stuff, no matter how stupid he thought it was. You enjoyed getting all dolled up, the pictures, the people, the dance and the music, the stupid after-prom or whatever it was.

And he didn't want to admit it until then, but he liked it. He liked the excitement in your voice or the way you ranted on and on about the decoration ideas you'd come up with, the food, the stupid games. And he wanted to see you. He wanted to see you in person, get a long look of how fucking stunning you are in this color.

And when he manages to get his hands on you, now hours later, he doesn't know why he'd been so adamant about not coming to this dance.

You're looking at him—so sweet, so pretty—with your arms wrapped loosely around his neck and he wants to kick himself.

You're smiling at him like he's everything.

“Can I be honest?”

You hum as if you're thinking about it. “I dunno, Touya. Honesty isn't your strong suit.”

“Shut the fuck up, don't ruin this.”

“Sorry, sorry.” You amend yourself, your hand moving to pat his shoulder. “What's up?”

“I like this.” He doesn't miss the way you furrow your brows.

“The dance?” He almost says no.

“I like this.” His hands tighten carefully around your hips, pulling you slightly closer to him. “I like us.”

He says the last part quieter, making sure to move his face closer, the words mumbled against the shell of your ear. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Your smile managed to get so much bigger, your eyes meeting his the second he pulled his head back, and he wouldn't trade the sight for anything.

“Show me.”

He can't help but lean in again, this time for a kiss.

#touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x you #touya x reader #touya x you #touya x y/n #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #mha x y/n #mha x you #mha x reader #bnha x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x reader #my hero academia x reader #mha smau #smau #touya smau #dabi smau

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tranquilreign · 1 day ago

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the next step | oneshot

pairing; jungkook/reader genre: fluff, smut, boyfriend!jk virgin!reader warnings; sexual themes, soft sex, oral (f. receiving), protected sex, awkward moments (it's normal), discomfort, slight pain, swearing, jungkook is so precious in this word count: 5.4k synopsis: you and jungkook have been dating for nearly four months, yet have never taken it to the next step. with valentine's day on the way, you try to fight your nerves and make an attempt to seduce him, with the help of your best friend, seokjin.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

You sat with your face in your hands, peering out through your fingers. Seokjin, your best friend, had dragged you into Victoria's Secret, tossing every piece of lingerie he could find in your size into your hands. You had told him that you were finally ready to take the next step with Jungkook, your boyfriend.

You had been dating for four months, and he couldn't have been more patient with you. He never pushed you to do anything you didn't want, even when you noticed his bulge straining in his trousers.

"Don't worry, baby. I can sort myself out."

He would reassure you that you didn't need to do anything for him, simply because he was turned on. You always felt guilty when you pulled away from his kisses, growing shy at the thought of it going further.

So, who better to go to than your best friend, Seokjin? You had asked him to meet up for coffee and have a catch-up. You had then dropped the question on him.

"No."

"Seokjin, please! I really need your help," you pleaded.

"No offence, Y/n, but you're a lost cause."

You frowned, pulling out 200,000 won. Seokjin stared at you for a moment. He snatched the money out of your hand and quickly counted it through. He hummed, nodding.

"Fine."

"Jinnie, you know red isn't my colour," you whined, holding up a matching set of crimson lingerie.

The sight of the revealing clothes made you blush. You felt mortified at the thought of Jungkook seeing you in something so minimal. Tossing the outfit to the side, you noticed Seokjin standing in front of you with his hands on his hips.

"If you're going to discard every one of my suggestions, I may as well not help you."

"Seokjin, you've thrown everything in this store at me. I don't really know what to do with all this. And I certainly can't afford it all," you explained.

"Well, obviously you're not going to get them all," Seokjin stated as if it were obvious.

You shrank in your seat, feeling embarrassed by his scolding. You were clueless about how to wear the extra pieces. Simply put, you didn’t understand.

Seokjin moved, grabbing one of the sets and holding it up to your chest. After a moment's thought, he threw it at one of the store assistants.

"These are simply no good," he scoffed, throwing another set at the assistant. "Samantha, we're going to need these set in black, white, green and red."

The woman nodded and hurried off to the back of the store. You watched in awe at how quick she complied with his request. You leaned forward slightly, placing your head in your hands.

"Seokjin, I told you red isn't my colour."

"Trust me, Y/n. Red is your colour," he reassured. "Come with me."

Seokjin pulled you up and escorted you to the changing rooms on the other side of the store. Samantha stood, waiting for you to arrive and handed Seokjin the items he had requested.

"Thank you, Samantha," Seokjin muttered, pushing you into one of the changing rooms. "Here." Your friend handed you every single set Samantha had found. "Change. And when you're done, show me."

"W-what?! I'm not going to show you," you stammered, subconsciously covering your chest as if you were already exposed to him.

"Honey, how am I supposed to know what is best for you if I can't see it. Besides, I've known you since we were kids. And the fact I'm gay."

You huffed, drawing the curtain and began to undress. Pulling your top over your head, you glanced at yourself in the mirror. Your bra dug into your sides, and your breasts were spilling out of the cups. You never could find the right size.

You unclasped your bra and picked up the black lingerie beside you. Staring at it, you felt confused about where the extra straps were meant to sit.

"Um, Seokjin, I don't really know how to say this," you confessed shyly. "I don't know how to put this on."

You were quick to cover yourself when the curtain flew open. Samantha had walked in and stared at you. She helped guide your arms into the bra and adjusted the straps, making it more comfortable for you.

"This part sits here," she explained, sorting the extra strap that sat underneath your bust. "And the other ones," she pointed to your breasts. "They are just for decoration; they don't serve any purpose."

"Right, thank you."

Samantha smiled and left the room. You turned around to look at yourself in the mirror. You were surprised at how beautiful your figure looked. Your breasts were perfectly positioned in the cups, and you appreciated that the straps didn't pinch or dig into your skin.

You were quick to put on the underwear, calling on Seokjin when you had finished. He entered, placing a hand under his chin, examining you. You looked around the room, awkwardly waiting for him to say something.

"Good. Next!"

You smiled gleefully, your confidence growing by the second. Seokjin walked out and waited for the next set.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

Two hours had passed by the time you finished trying on lingerie. After going through the many sets that Seokjin had picked out, he finally decided on three: green, black, and red. You attempted to argue with him about the red set, but to no avail; Seokjin's decision was final.

"They are already bought," Seokjin mentioned as you exited the changing room.

"Jinnie, you really didn't need to do that," you pouted.

"It's no big deal, besides, I just used the money you gave me. So really, I wasn't paying for all of it." You rolled your eyes, knowing that would be something Seokjin would do.

"So, where to next?" you asked as you both left the store.

Seokjin stood for a moment, pulling out his phone and texting someone. You were silent, watching him patiently, until he closed his phone and brushed his hair out of his face dramatically.

"We will continue tomorrow. We need to boost your confidence. So I've booked you in for a boudoir session."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't worry, Taehyung will be doing your photoshoot, so he said it was on him," Seokjin casually responded. "I'll see you tomorrow, Y/n."

With that, Seokjin left you on your own, mouth hanging open. Of all the things to help, he had to book you into the most extreme of them all.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

The following day had come around quicker than you had hoped. You were sitting in the waiting area of the boudoir studio while Seokjin was speaking with the receptionist. You fiddled with your cuticles, trying not to pick at them from nervousness.

It was nearly 2:00 PM when Taehyung walked out from the back of the studio to greet Seokjin.

"Hello there, Jin. It's been a while, hasn't it?" Taehyung greeted, giving his friend a tight hug.

"Tae, it's always good to see you. I apologise for this being so last minute, but Y/n here," Seokjin gestured to you, "is having a little trouble having some confidence in herself at the moment."

"I see," Taehyung said softly, observing your posture. "Don't worry, love. By the end of this session, you'll feel like a new woman." Taehyung was gentle and encouraging with his words as he guided you through the back.

You were surprised to see the various toys displayed on a small table to the side of the room. In the centre, multiple sets were arranged, showcasing a bedroom and a kitchen.

"We don't have to use any of the items I have here if you're not comfortable with them. However, once you get started and build some confidence, I think you'll want to give them a try," Taehyung explained.

You remained silent, your eyes scanning the room, absorbing everything. You felt uncertain about how to respond. This situation was so far outside your comfort zone that standing there made you feel foolish.

"Here, love, if you get changed into your lingerie behind the curtain there, I can get the camera set up. And if you'd prefer, there's a robe in there for you to put on over the top of your lingerie, okay?"

You only nodded, shuffling to the small room and glancing around. You were hesitant to change, trying your best to stall the situation at hand. It was only when you heard Seokjin's voice that you started to move.

"Y/n, you can't be wasting Taehyung's time like this. He has other clients today as well."

You had wrapped the robe around you, just as you moved out from behind the curtain. Taehyung smiled at you, placing his hand on the small of your back to bring you to the centre of the room.

"Now we typically do a full face of make-up. But from what Seokjin has told me, you prefer it light. Minimal foundation. However, I would like to do a skin-tint and a smokey eye if that's alright?"

"S-sure."

With that, Taehyung brought you over to a make-up chair and spun you around to look at him. He was quick with his work, but gentle. Applying little pressure to your eyes when he applied the eyeshadow. Not even ten minutes later, you were finished and ready for your photoshoot.

"Now, would you prefer your photos taken in the bedroom or kitchen first. Most ladies who are a little more on the shy side prefer the kitchen to begin with, as it's not as... intimate a room," Taehyung explained.

"We can go to the kitchen."

"Perfect," Taehyung beamed, gently taking your hand and escorting you to the kitchen. "Now, I just want you to relax, okay? I'll help you get into positions so you aren't overthinking anything."

You stayed quiet, trying your hardest to let yourself relax. Taehyung sighed slightly, seeing your stiffness. He approached you and gently grabbed your arms.

"I know this is difficult for you, Y/n. But it will just be harder if you don't work with me. Trust me, I'll take good care of you. That, I promise."

With that, you let your arms drop completely to your sides, nodding. Taehyung smiled, gave you a quick thumbs up, and handed his camera to Seokjin. He motioned for you to take off your robe, and you did so, reluctantly.

"First, we'll get you up onto the counter and have you lying down."

You climbed onto the countertop, following Taehyung's instructions. He asked you to prop yourself up on your elbows, bending your leg furthest from the camera while keeping the other leg straight.

"Perfect, now finally I want you to just let your head fall back, okay? Look straight up at the ceiling," Taehyung finished.

You looked up, staring at nothing in particular. You started to laugh at the awkwardness, but Taehyung loved it.

"Brilliant!" he praised, snapping as many shots as he could.

Over time, your confidence grew as you began to enjoy the photoshoot. As the session continued, you moved from the countertop to one of the chairs, sitting backwards with your legs spread wide.

"Beautiful, Y/n. Beautiful!" Taehyung beamed. "Your partner sure is lucky indeed."

"I would like to take the rest of the photos in the bedroom set, if that's okay?" you asked, smiling hopefully.

"Of course, love. Just make your way over and we'll get the lighting moved for you."

You walked over to the bed and sat down, waiting for everything to get set up. Taehyung once again, instructed you into position, sitting you on the floor to begin with.

"Now, if you could bring your arms up over your head, and bend one across the way. Yup! Perfect."

The camera flashed repeatedly, capturing your beauty from every angle. You had caught sight of Seokjin, who was giving you the thumbs up.

"Great, now if you move onto the bed. Would you like to try some of the toys? Maybe if we have you put on the handcuffs and maybe a blindfold?"

You nodded eagerly, showing your enjoyment. Taehyung and Seokjin laughed as they gathered the necessary items. Taehyung carefully tied the restraints around your wrists, checking in with you from time to time to ensure they weren’t too tight. Lastly, he placed the blindfold over your eyes gently, being careful not to mess up your hair.

"Right, I'll need to move you myself into position. Is that alright with you?" Taehyung asked.

"Of course," you responded.

Taehyung was careful where he touched you, making sure not to touch anywhere above your knees when moving your legs. He stepped away once he had finished, and you heard the snapping of the camera once again.

A few more positions and toys later, you had finally finished your session. Taehyung allowed you to get dressed back into your regular clothing and called you over to look at the photos.

You were stunned by how beautiful you looked. Your confidence shone in the images, and it was clear you were having fun.

"I'll print all of these and send them to you in a couple of days. I just need your address." You wrote your address down on a notepad Taehyung had handed you.

"Thank you so much, Tae. I really appreciate you doing this for me. Are you sure there's no way I can pay you for this?" Taehyung laughed.

"Don't worry about it, Y/n. Working with you was payment enough. You would be an incredible model." You smiled shyly at the compliment. "I'm sorry to rush you both, however, I have another client due in five minutes."

You hurriedly hugged Taehyung and bid him farewell as you and Seokjin exited the building.

"I'm really proud of you, Y/n," Seokjin smiled. "You've already come a long way."

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

A few days later, Seokjin got in touch with you again. This time, dragging you to a salon, having you booked in for a manicure, pedicure and getting your hair styled.

"Jimin~" Seokjin cooed upon entering the salon. You followed behind quietly, allowing the two men to greet each other before introducing yourself.

"Seokjin!" a man beamed. He was shorter than your friend, but a very beautiful man. Shimmer glittered his eyelids and cheekbones, enhancing his features. "And you must be Y/n. I've heard so much about you!"

"It's lovely to meet you," you said, holding out your hand.

"Oh, honey, we don't do that here," Jimin teased, pulling you into a hug. "And I most certainly don't bite."

Jimin escorted you into the salon chair and fluffed your hair, examining it. He hummed quietly to himself, pulling strands of your hair in front of your face, trying to imagine the perfect style for you.

"First, we will get your mani and pedi done. Then I'll have you back here for your hair. Sound good?" You nodded, hopping out of your chair and into one at the manicure section of the salon.

When you returned to Jimin, you had a new set of French-tip nails that matched your pedicure. He beamed upon seeing the matching set, praising his co-workers for their expertise.

"Now, honey, if you just sit tight, I'll get your hair looking brand new. Trust me, you'll love it."

Jimin had begun his work when your phone buzzed. Looking down, you noticed a message from Jungkook. A smile crept onto your face upon seeing his name. You unlocked your phone, opening the message.

'Hi baby, I know you know I don't do Valentine's Day, but I booked us a table at that Japanese restaurant you love so much. xx'

You smiled reading the message. Normally, you would be ecstatic about this reservation. But this time, you wanted to focus on him only.

'Hey. I actually have something planned for us already. Would you mind cancelling the reservation? xx'

Ping. He responded immediately.

'Oh? What are we doing?'

'It's a surprise. xx'

You giggled a little, catching Jimin's attention.

"Is that the boyfriend, honey?"

"Yeah, he's asking what I have planned for us on Valentine's Day," you laughed a little when Jimin grinned.

"Jin informed me of your boudoir session yesterday. He mentioned how well you had done, despite you being so nervous to begin with," Jimin smiled warmly.

"Yeah, I wasn't expecting to have so much fun with it, and to enjoy feeling myself? I guess?"

"Well, from what I've been told, you expressed confidence Seokjin himself had never seen from you. That's a big achievement," Jimin explained, pulling your hair in different directions, making small cuts.

"I honestly wouldn't have any confidence if it weren't for Seokjin and Taehyung. And you, of course."

"Your confidence comes from you. No one else. Taehyung and Seokjin just helped you realise your potential. It was you who made it happen."

It was only ten minutes later when Jimin had finished your hair. You gasped, impressed by his styling and his swiftness.

"You're very lucky, Y/n. You're hair is already so luscious and healthy. I just needed to shape it a little bit," Jimin explained, placing his hands on his hips.

"Thank you so much. I appreciate you doing this for me." You moved to take your purse out when Jimin stopped you.

"Oh no, honey, this is on me."

"I can't have you do that. Taehyung did this yesterday, please. If you won't take a full payment, at least let me tip you," you pleaded, holding out 30,000 won.

"Fine, but that's all you're allowed to pay," Jimin scolded, playfully tapping your head with a magazine. "Now go, enjoy the rest of your day, and have a lovely Valentine's Day."

"Thank you, Jimin. I'll be back next week for my haircut, and all the details," Seokjin called, earning a smack on the arm from you.

"Jinnie!" you frowned.

"Oh, like you won't tell me everything that happens the next day," Seokjin fired back, making you go quiet. "That's what I thought. I am your best friend after all." You laughed lightly.

"That you are Seokjin."

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

Valentine's Day had finally arrived. You paced back and forward in your bedroom, waiting for Jungkook to arrive. Everything that Seokjin had taught you had gone out the window. You were overthinking. It was one thing to be confident in yourself and even find yourself sexy.

But having your partner think that of you was completely different. You had spent forty minutes deciding on what lingerie set to wear, calling Seokjin frantically.

"Y/n. The red one," was all Seokjin said before he hung up, leaving you to yourself. You didn't agree with him, but still put it on nonetheless, trusting his judgement.

Your makeup was simple, yet sultry. A robe was tied loosely around your waist, and your hair was as perfect as the day Jimin had styled it. You looked perfect, but you didn't feel it.

Your head snapped to the sound of the front door opening, indicating Jungkook was home.

"Baby? I'm home."

"Now's not the time to get scared," you told yourself.

Quickly, you tightened the belt around your robe and grabbed the envelope on your bedside table, which held the boudoir photos. You quickly pushed your hair out of your face, sitting down on the bed and crossing your left leg over your right, making sure to expose your thighs.

"Baby?" Jungkook asked, opening the bedroom door.

He stopped when he saw you, surprised to see you the way you were. You attempted to use the envelope to fan your face slowly, but with your nerves getting the better of you, your fanning was becoming more aggressive.

"Are you okay, Y/n? Did you not hear me come in?" Jungkook asked, pulling off his jacket and placing it onto the bed.

"I-I'm fine," you stammered. "Just a little warm," you added.

Jungkook looked at you quizzically. He went to unbutton his shirt when you suddenly stood up. He halted, watching your movements closely.

"I actually have something to show you." Your attempt at sounding sexy was backfiring, making you feel foolish.

You went to untie your robe when you ran into a problem. It was too tight. With your back to Jungkook, you fiddled and tugged at the belt, a poor attempt to untie it. You cursed un your breath.

"Baby? Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine," you responded, your voice failing you as tears began to well in your eyes.

Jungkook recognised the tone of your voice immediately and made his way over to you. You shrugged off his hand when he placed it on your shoulder, growing more frustrated.

"Darling," Jungkook cooed.

You stopped, allowing tears to cascade down your face, accepting you had messed everything up. You spun around, burying your face into Jungkook's chest as you cried. Jungkook was confused, but he stayed silent, running his hand through your hair lovingly.

"Tell me what's wrong, baby," Jungkook comforted, leading you over to the bed and sitting you down. He knelt down in front of you, his heart breaking at your tears.

"I-I just wanted this to be perfect," you choked.

"What did you want to be perfect?"

"I was finally ready. I wanted- I wanted to fully give myself to you," you sobbed, your head hanging low.

Jungkook finally realised what was happening. He couldn't help but smile at your efforts, finding it cute that you would go to such lengths for him. He placed his fingers under your chin and tilted your head up to look at him.

"You don't need to do any of this for me, baby. I love you just the way you are. You're nothing short of perfect."

"But I had done all this for you. I just wanted it to go right," you sighed, wiping away your tears with the sleeve of your robe.

"Well, how about we start again? I'll help you get this untied, and we can go from there. But only if you are sure you want to do this," Jungkook stated, seriousness in his eyes.

"Yes, I want to."

With your verbal consent, he pulled you to your feet and allowed his hands to move from your shoulders to your belt. With ease, he untied the belt. He looked at you one more time, silently asking if he could continue.

You moved your hands to the opening of your robe, pulling it back and allowing it to fall off your shoulders to the floor. Jungkook bit his lip, looking at how perfect you looked.

"You look breathtaking in red," he breathed, his eyes landing on your breasts.

He watched as your chest rose from your nervous breathing, the sight almost making him lose control. He moved his hand up, lightly tracing the back of his forefinger down your cheek. You shivered at the contact, making him smirk. Moving his hand down to your bra, he gently tugged at one of the decorative straps lying over your breast.

"God, you are stunning," he whispered, moving to wrap his arms around your waist.

He pulled you in close, letting his lips ghost yours, leaving you breathless. He moved to your cheek, planting soft kisses down to your shoulder. He moved further down, just above your breasts and kissed the same spot. You let out a quiet moan, feeling him suck and nibble at your skin.

When he pulled away, he smirked at his work. A small hickey was now placed above your left breast. His gaze moved up to your face, taking in your expression. Your eyes were closed, breathing heavy, biting your lip to suppress your moans.

"Can I lie you down on the bed, baby?" he whispered. You nodded.

"Yes."

He lifted you with ease, bringing your round to the side of the bed and lying you down. He stripped himself of his shirt, giving you a moment to stare at him. You had seen him shirtless plenty of times. But now, it was different. You took in every inch of him, admiring every muscle and tattoo. Without thinking, you sat up, placing your hand at the hem of his trousers, sliding upwards toward his neck, kissing his torso as you did so.

He let his head fall backwards, muttering quietly under his breath. Your touch drove him crazy, and he couldn't explain why. How soft your skin was, and your delicate touches. All he wanted was for you to constantly be touching him.

You had pulled back, noticing the bulge in his pants. You brought your hands to his trousers, unbuttoning them slowly, teasingly. He watched you, his gaze intense. Only when you leaned back down onto the bed did he move, removing his trousers in a shift motion and climbing on top of you.

"Please, let me kiss you," he pleaded, his tone taking you by surprise. You had never heard him so needy.

"Of course, Kook."

Jungkook wasted no time closing the gap between the two of you, letting your lips mould with one another. Your breath caught in your throat when his hand traced down to your waist, gripping it tightly. He pulled away, looking over you to make sure you were okay.

"Don't stop," you whispered, pulling his back down.

You felt him slowly begin to grind into you, adding to your excitement. He moved from your lips and peppered kisses down until he reached your stomach. He looked up at you, hooking his fingers around the band of your underwear. You nodded eagerly.

In one swift motion, your underwear was pulled off and discarded on the bedroom floor. He lay flat on the bed, wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you closer to him.

"If there's anything I do that doesn't feel right, let me know, baby," he reassured. You silently agreed. He moved his face closer between your legs. His breath tickled your thighs, making you giggle slightly.

You gasped when Jungkooks lips wrapped around your clit, sucking gently, while his tongue moved up and down in a rhythmic motion. Your hands moved to his hair, back arching as a moan escaped your mouth.

"I-I'm sorry," you panted, flustered.

Jungkook pulled away, chuckling softly at how cute you were. He gently kissed up your inner thigh, then back down.

"There is no need to apologise, baby. If anything, it gives me confidence that I'm making you feel good. So let me hear you moan for me."

Jungkook moved back down between your legs and continued. A string of moans left you as Jungkook pleasured you. Every now and then, he would change his pace, slowing down or speeding up. You grew frustrated with his teasing, whining from the pleasure.

"Please."

Jungkook stopped.

"Please, what?"

"Please, make me come," you pleaded, looking down at him.

His eyes were filled with lust and love, grinning mischievously. He moved back one more time, this time keeping the same pace. He flicked his tongue against your clit, feeling your grip tighten in his hair, he knew you were close.

Jungkook felt you come undone against his tongue, your body shaking in ecstasy. He moved down to your entrance, licking from the bottom up to your clit, tasting you. You jerked at the sensitivity. He breathed out a laugh, the cold air hitting against you.

"Did that feel good, baby?" he asked while kissing your thighs.

"Fuck, yes."

Jungkook took the opportunity to move back up, so he was hovering over you. You avoided eye contact with him, becoming shy at how easily you came. He waited until you looked back at him.

"We can stop here if you-"

"No," you answered a little too quickly. "I-I want to go the whole way."

"That's a good girl," Jungkook smirked, standing up and pulling his boxers off.

You couldn't help but stare as he did so, unable to take your eyes off his size. You swallowed a little, your nerves beginning to return. He reached over to his bedside table and opened the drawer, pulling out a small silver packet.

He tore it open with his teeth, pulling out a condom from the foil. He pulled it over his cock and rolled it down, making sure it sat securely at the base. Jungkook then crawled back on top of you and grabbed hold of himself.

"I'm going to ask one more time. Are you sure?" he asked, noticing how your face changed.

"Y-Yes, I'm sure. I'm just nervous," you replied shyly. Jungkook planted a soft kiss against your forehead.

"It's okay to be nervous, baby," Jungkook soothed. "But I will say, with you still being a virgin, this may hurt a little bit. Okay?"

You nodded in response, wrapping your arms around his neck. Jungkook rubbed his tip against your entrance, coating himself in your wetness.

He was gentle, slowly easing in and out a little bit at a time, getting you used to the feeling. Your eyes scrunched shut when he began to push further in, the stretch becoming painful. Your nails dug into Jungkook's shoulders. He took that moment to stop, allowing you to adjust to his size.

"Please tell me you're almost in," you winced.

"I'm afraid we're only halfway," Jungkook informed. You laughed a little, trying to take your mind off the pain you were feeling below. "You're taking me so well, baby. Just a little further."

Jungkook's words filled you with reassurance, and you gestured for him to move again. With one final push, Jungkook was all the way in. You let out a quiet grunt in pain at the feeling. Like before, Jungkook stayed still, waiting until you were ready.

He kissed your face, attempting to take your mind off the ache. You breathed heavily, trying to allow yourself to relax a little more. Jungkook whispered praises in your ear, telling you how good you were doing.

When you felt that you were finally ready, you nodded, signalling for Jungkook to move. He moved his hand behind your back, raising you up slightly. Slowly, he pulled out and slid back in, making you both moan in unison.

"Fuck," he whispered.

The feeling of you tightening around his cock had him fighting not to finish. He often fantasised about how you felt, but he had never thought you'd feel this good.

"Oh my God," you gasped, feeling him stretch you with every thrust.

He continued his steady pace, sweat beginning to form on his forehead. He moved his hand from your back to your face, making you look at him.

"Will you-" he grunted, "will you come with me?"

You couldn't speak, only nodding in response. He took the opportunity to pick up his pace a little, thrusting deeper. The feeling had you in a state of euphoria, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your orgasm grew closer.

"Fuck, Kook- I'm gonna-" you couldn't finish as you reached your high. You pulled yourself up to his chest, needing to be close to him as he came shortly after. His breathing was uneven, hair sticking to his forehead as he rode out both your highs.

He finally stopped, slowly pulling out of you, and moving to lie on the other side of the bed. You closed your legs, pouting at the sudden loss of contact.

Jungkook rolled off the bed and made his way to the bathroom. Confused, you sat up and waited for him to come back. He returned shortly with a damp washcloth and sat at the bottom of the bed.

"Open your legs for me, baby."

You complied, slowly spreading your legs again. Jungkook brought the cloth to your entrance, gently wiping away any excess saliva and sweat, being careful not to brush your sensitive clit.

"I did rip you a little bit. I'm sorry," Jungkook apologised, wiping away a little bit of blood that had mixed in with your orgasm.

"It's okay," you replied. "Was I- was I okay?" you asked sheepishly.

Jungkook pulled back from you, tilting his head, giving you a knowing look.

"You know you were more than okay. You were perfect. I'm glad you were confident enough to show me all of you," Jungkook praised, leaning forward to cup your cheek in his hand.

"I love you, Kook," you hummed, closing your legs and moving slowly to him. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into him. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, taking in the mixture of your scent and sweat.

"I love you, too, baby."

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

hey there! thank you so much for reading! i will say, I am really proud of this piece, as it's the first time I've wrote smile in a while! please let me know what you think and if I should do more in the future!

if you've made it this far please take a look at my other works. or you're interested in making a request please look at the links below!

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tranquilreign~

#tranquilreign #jungkook x reader #jk #jungkook bts #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jeon jungguk #jungkook #bts jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #bts #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader smut #jungkook x reader fluff #jeon jeongguk

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yunzyoi · 1 day ago

Text

𝐂𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐌𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 (s.jy)

[NSFW] Can't Help Myself - jake x f!reader

𓂃۶ৎ [ 제이크] You and your boyfriend are very close and both have a very healthy relationship. He's very attentive despite having a busy schedule as an Idol. You always tell each other everything like open books in front of each other. But you keep one secret from him.

٠࣪⭑ cw/tags: smut, dom!jake who likes to tease and sub, needy, desperate f!reader. established relationship. stright up porn, face riding, fingering, masturbation, unprotected sex, rough sex, dirty talk, soft overstimulation, p in v, multiple orgasms, a little humilation? pussy eating, teasing, squirting, fluff, aftercare, mdni.

٠࣪⭑cw: 5.5k

where your boyfriend finds out you've been reading unholy things about him! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

୨ৎ

If there was something you loved to do was to scroll on Twitter to see what your boyfriend was doing. It wasn't in a controling way, more in a teasing way. You loved saving certain tweets just to tease him or make fun of him later. Today wasn't the exception. Jake was out with the members, bowling or something, he mentioned in the morning.

You opened the Twitter app as you laid in your bed, having your own fan account and all, with lots of followers and mutuals that would never imagine who's sleeping by your side every single night. You scrolled, interacting with some posts from now and then but nothing really getting your attention. Your stomach flips when you see it: a little ad. an app. an app you knew very well. Tumblr. It brought the memories back immediately and made you bite your lips, nervously, indecisive.

The Twitter app almost closed by itself because of how fast your fingers moved across your screen to find it. There it was, the app that held all your fantasies for years. You closed your eyes. Not only because the thought of it was incredibly embarrassing but because you've had it for a while now, behind Jake's back.

You installed again about a month ago, with a solid, healthy purpose. But oh, when you logged back into your old account and all those fantasies recieved you, you couldn't help it. You read through it, Jake was out that day. Your cheeks burned when you saw all the new filthy things your boyfriend's fans were writting, some accurate, some total delusion, and some a little tempting. But the thing is, you kept doing it, coming back to that app whenever you found yourself alone, sometimes out of boredoom, sometimes just to chill but always ending in the same situation: getting yourself off to fantasies of your own boyfriend.

You scrolled.

Carefully, calculating, keeping it together, for now.

A title catched your attention That Damn Nose. Your stomach did the thing, that delicious little feeling, making you squeeze your thighs togethet. God, you were so embarrassed. But you couldn't help it, you clicked on it, hands a little shaky, and you start reading. You knew you shouldn't be doing it. It was stupid, and you knew you didn't need all this fantasy when the man was literally yours. But your fingers almost moved by themselves.

It happened the same way a month ago, like your hands were possessed. And it kept happened, multiple times after that, just like today. Something would remind you the app was there, that your little fantasies were in that cute little box. All with your boyfriend's name on them. You bite your lip, you miss him.

You keep going, you can feel your own body heating up at the thought of your own boyfriend doing what he was doing in that fanfiction. You whined, softly, almost inaudible, like a prayer, followed by a gasp. You laid back, arching your back a little, your eyes glued to your screen. Shivering, shaking, whining softly. The mere thought of Jake touching you right now burned you from inside out. You squeezed your thighs, fighting it, thinking you could just wait til he was back to seduce him and make him fuck you good without telling him the reason you were so desperate.

But you were way more desperate than you thought. Jake knew this about you, you were so damn sensitive and needy for him. God, you wanted him to be here right now, why was he out with the members anyway. You read a little more, oh the writting was so good and so fucking accurate. That little fan was describing Jake so well, rough but soft, hungry, wild. He was just like that, with you, because he was yours. And it makes you blush even more, the fact that you've been doing this behind his back, for no reason, when he's out, when you miss him, when you need him. Knowing you could just call him, knowing his voice would get you off in seconds.

"God." You whine softly and your hand slides down to your tits, nipples perking, small and soft. "God, Jake—"

You try, you really do try to ground yourself. You could wait, you could just sit there and wait for your man to be back. He'd give it to you with no hesitation. But you're a needy little thing. You can't wait, you can't help yourself. Your hand slides down, before you know it, sliding under the waistband of your shorts and you hiss at the wetness. You're soaked and so are your panties.

So easy, so sensitive, so needy and desperate. No, you can't wait for him, you never can. You need it now. You're halfway the fanfiction, in the middle of the scene where Jake is eating the reader out like a fucking animal, just like you know he would in real life. You arch your back at the tought of it and finally pull your panties to the side, caressing your clit. You moan, loud, no one will hear you.

"Oh, God." You moan again caressing the little bud. You were so wet, so sticky, so perfectly ready for him. You wanted to call him and rush him home, a part of you wanted to wait for him but the needy whore in you just wanted to cum. Your fingers slide down your folds, easily, with a little obscene sound that only turns you on more. Your lashes flicked, wanting to read a bit more. The mere mention of his nose made your stomach flip deliciously again and you shove your fingers in, moaning loud.

Warm, so warm and wet, and thight for him.

"Oh Jake! Yes, yes, yes." You whisper, so fucking lost in the feeling.

You push another finger in, deeper, curling both of them, hitting that sweet spot Jake likes to hit when he's the one using his fingers on you. And again, the memory makes you arch your back, gasping, chocking on a moan. You can't read anymore, your hand is moving desperately, dumbly chasing for that high. Your fingers move fast, deep, desperate, moaning, gasping, dropping your phone and fisting the bedsheets. His name escapes your lips again, and again, and again.

So good, so damn good, not him, but still so good.

"Jake, baby— I miss you." You say desperately, like he could hear you. "Oh, please." You beg, like you always do for him. Imagining his reaction, knowing he goes feral when you beg him to make you cum, when you beg him to move, to go faster, to go deeper. It hits you like a fucking tidal wave. The orgasm. Making your legs shake, cursing through it.

"Oh, fuck!" You say, shaking. You remove your hand from your shorts, fingers wet in your cum and your forearm cramping. "Lord..." You whisper to yourself, staring at the cieling, blushing. "Dumb." You murmur in a whisper, spent, squeezing your legs like your pussy haven’t had enough of it.

Your body tenses when you hear the door open. You have no time to react before Jake is walking in. You quickly hide your phone under your pillow but he sees you, he's fast, he doesn't let anything slide, not with you.

"Hey baby," he says, casual, sweet, lovely, but he can sense something is wrong. He raises an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing, just reading." You try to sound calm, but you know he can hear the little roughness in your throat from moaning his name just monutes ago.

"Yeah?" He hums walking towards the bed. "What were you reading, mmh?" He sits at the edge of the bed looking down at you. You stare back, taking in his pretty features, those brown eyes that are slowly darkening, and those round pink lips, and that damn nose. "I'm talking to you, baby"

You snap out, a knot in your throat. He places his hand on your thigh. Oh, fuck. You shiver, not usual, not if you're in your normal state. He smirks. Oh, he knows, he might not know what you were reading but he for sure knows what you were doing. He knows you too well for your own good.

"Missed me, baby?" He asks, cocky, smirking like he owns you. And he does.

You nod, why would you lie. You know lying to him about this is useless when he can see the way you squeeze your thighs together, how your hips rolled up slightly when his hand moved higher, and that damn blush in your cheeks.

"Oh, my love, doing it all by yourself?" He says, fake pitty. His hand moves a little higher, you gasp and he smirks wider, the corner of his lips curling up in that attractive way that drives you insane.

"Did you cum?" He asks bluntly and you nod. He tsked, disapproval. You know he doesn't like it when you touch yourself all alone. "Without me, baby?"

"I'm sorry" You say softly, feeling small. You knew him, he wasn't gonna let this slide. "I couldn't help it"

"Oh yeah?" His thumb draws circles on your thigh. "You must've been so desperate, baby, so wet, mmh? Like always, so wet for me." And you nod, shamelessly. He had this weird control over you. You couldn't lie to him at all. "What got you so wet, baby?" He asked biting his lip. "What could possible turn my girl in such a little mess when I'm not even home?"

He reaches for your phone under the pillow, almost not giving you time to react but you grab his hand. "Jake" You warn. "Hands off." He warns harder, making you weak, but you keep holding his hand back. "Jake I—"

"I said hands off, didn't I? Mmh?" God he was so strong without getting physically involved.

"Baby, don't, please." You beg, but his eyes are hard on you.

"I'm not gonna ask twice." His voice isn't hard though, it's soft, way too soft and still having a heavy pull on you. You hands weaken a little and his finally reaches your phone, briging it up to his face. Your face burned, God, he was reading it, all the filthy things you had in there. He sticked out his tongue, biting it against his lower lip whike the corners of his lips curled up. Fuck, the view only made your body heat up again.

He hummed, the sound going straight to your pussy, pulsating, making you squeeze your thighs. "Oh baby, you know you could call me when you miss me and I can make you feel good." He chuckles. "Why this instead?"

"I—I couldn't help it." You say softly.

"Just like always." He finishes. "You couldn't help it, you had to get off while reading horny fanfictions about me, huh" He teased, God, you wanted to smack him. "How wet?"

"Huh?"

"How wet are you. I know you're probably soaked, you always are for me." And he was so right. "Let me see" He doesn't let you do anything, his hand is already sliding in your shorts, making you gasp instantly. Silence, like he's in shock, but he isn't really, he's just extremely turned on now. "Jesus. You're fucking dripping." You hiss, because he presses his finger on your entrace through the fabric of your panties.

"Lord, baby, do you want me to eat you out that bad?"

You whine at his words, unable to hold back anymore when his hand is shoved in your shorts and that cocky smirk is on his face. "I asked you a question" His finger presses harder and you arch your back but he uses his free hand to hold your hips down.

"Baby I was just— I'm sorry, I missed you, yes, I—"

"Couldn't help it." He finishes your sentence. "Like the little filthy thing you are for me. Always so wet, not able to walk around me without getting every pair of panties that you own soaked."

You moan. You moan because he was right. You were a mess around him, couldn't control it, he had that effect on you. One look, one slight touch, and your pussy was already soaking your underwear. He knew you, he knew how sensitive and desperate you were and how easy it was to turn you on.

"You still want more." He whispers. "It isn't enough, huh" He leans. Fuck his scent, that damn expensive perfume he recently bought. He notices how he affects you and chuckles mockingly. "You're so pretty when you're this sensitive." He licks his lips, biting them. "I bet you want me to move my fingers" He says it with a mocking tone, teasing you but he doesn't move them. "Oh I bet you want me to shove them inside your precious pussy, mmh? I bet you want them deep, soaked in your own juices"

Your stomach flips at his dirty talk, you loved when he talked dirty. You arch your back again trying to move your hips against his fingers but he doesn't let you. "But do you even deserve that? Do you think you deserve that treatment from your boyfriend when you were jerking off to fanfictions of him?" He drags the words, really driving you insane, you little composure runing out. "I guess you could just read those and get off..."

You hold onto his shoulders gasping softling, almost sobbing. "Jake, baby, don't do this" You beg him like it's the end of the world the fact that he's deciding whether touching you or not. "I just missed you, baby, please, please...I won't do it ever again"

Jake stays silence, fuck he loved to see how down bad youwere for him. There's fire in his eyes. "How desperate" He says, chuckling and leaning lower, his nose nuzzling your cheek. "So cute when you beg"

"Jake—"

"Shhh" He nuzzles your jaw, his hand still in your shorts, not moving, torturing you. "Tell me, out of all those fantasies you got in that app, which one you want me to do the most right now"

Jesus, his question got you literally shaking. He noticed and pressed a kiss to your jaw. "Easy, I'm not doing anything yet"

"Baby— Go down, please" You say, tripping at your words, agitated, needy, digging your nails in his shoulders.

"I do that almost all the time, princess" He says smirking, chuckling.

"Please, Jake, I need it" You beg softly, still feeling his hand in your shorts but not moving it.

"God, you have a thing for it, don't you?" He buries his face in your neck, pressing kisses on your neck, not soft, wet. His tongue draging around that portion of your skin, making you whine. "You love having my face in between your legs, mmh? You love it when my nose and tongue do all the job"

"Jake, please." You beg again. "Please." So soft, so sweet, melting him.

"Fuck, asking so nicely, my love." He says and kisses your chest. "So good for me, mmh?"

You arch your back again. If his dirty talk wasn't enough to turn you on, there was his gentle dirty talk. When he said filthy things in your ear in the most lovely tone, gentle and sweet like he was talking about love. That drove you insane every single time.

Jake moves quick after that, pulling out his hand, his fingers tugging on your shorts and panties, taking them both off in one go. He looked down at how you squeezed your legs.

"Oh look at you" He says, laughing softly. "So fucking desperate"

"Jake—" You're about to beg when he forces your legs open with his hands. Pussy exposed, glistening with your recent orgasm, almost dripping into the bedsheets.

"Jesus" He whispers. His mouth waters, his eyes sparkling. His favorite treat on earth, all messy for him. Right in front of him. "Fuck, baby— Oh God"

If there was something that made Jake weak was your pussy. Jake ate you out like a god. He ate your pussy like it was oxygen for him, like he needed to survive, like an animal, starving, wild, desperate. Just like you had a thing for his nose, he had a thing for your pussy. Perfect match, some would say.

He leans, immediately smelling your arousal, it killed him in the best way. His tongue darts out, hanging, making your legs shake in anticipation. He presses a kiss on your clit, his hair teasing and tickling your thighs. He hums, sending vibrations through your body. You whine softly, his tongue sliding up and down your wet folds. His lips wrap around your clit, already swollen and sensitive from your first orgasm and you let out a sharp moan. Your hand reaching out, your fingers wrapping in his hair.

Jake moans against your pussy, satisfied, like he was the one receiving. He loved eating your pussy. There was not a single time he would refuse. Ever. You arch your back whispering his name breathless when you feel his tongue in your entrace. His tongue goes in. Warm, deep, while his sharp nose presses on your clit. It drives you insane, making you pull on his hair. He groans at the pain that only adds to the preassure building up in his pants.

"I could do this forever" He murmurs, you can barely hear it but you know that's what he said. "Fuck, come here"

Jake pulls back, you can see his hardness in his pants, his cock straining, begging to be freed. But his attention is all on your pussy right now. He pulls you up by your wrist and lays down. You immediately get the hint and crawl on him. He looked so good beneath you. Your heart pounding has you carefully lower yourself. He's too impatient. His tongue darts out, waiting, while his hands go to your hips and his fingers dig in your flesh with such a force that both of you are sure it will leave bruises.

He can't wait, like a starved dog. He pulls you down on him, making you fully sit, putting all your weight on his face. You moan, feeling his nose rub on your swollen clit.

"Oh, Jake—" You moan sharply unable to control the movement of your hips. You start rolling them on his face, grinding, feeling his wet tongue fucking your hole and his nose sliding in between your folds.

You loved riding his face. Something so attractive and sinful in the way he looked up at you while he was laying down. He had a fire in his dark eyes like he wanted to devour you whole. Your hips shift, like a jolt of electricity was cursing through your body. Oh you're so close to mess up that pretty face of his and he knows it because he doubles up his efforts.

His hands hold you down, pressing you against his face and helping you rub. Your moans become sharper, talking a little nonsense, you're at the verge of your orgasm and you forget that what your riding is his face. Your hips move at a desperate rate on his face, not gentle, rough on him, chasing it, until you do and it's the best feeling you both have felt. Your body almost collapses but he rolls you over, staying between your legs and laps up all your cum, licking you clean.

"Fuck, baby, you taste like fucking heaven." He murmurs breathy and presses his face on your pussy. Not moving or doing anything, just resting his face against it like your pussy is his comfort place. You caress his hair a little. He loved that. "You did so good" He says softly and your body shivers at the praise.

He looks up and quickly crawls up your body, hands on each side of your face. He smirks, his chin covered in cum and he kisses you. Deep kiss, charged with feral, primal need. His teeth tease your lips, his tongue darts out licking yours, making you taste yourself and then his lips move to your neck.

"What else?" He asks, his voice rough. "What else have you been reading. Tell me"

You struggle to speak, still shaking from your orgasm. You're embarrassed and he notices. He pulls back, grabbing your chin. "Tell me"

Oh that tone again, so gentke but clearly, so demanding. His hand slides down. "You're such a messy thing" He says grabbing your pussy, cuping it, full hand. And you moan, still sensitive. "God, you really were masturbating to all that? Since when, mmh? For how long?"

"Jake—"

"I'm not mad, baby. I just wanna know for how long has my girlfriend been jerking off to me" He says mockingly.

"A month"

His body tenses, he is mad. The problem wasn't really you reading. More like the fact that you never even once told him you wanted him to do something. What made him mad is how you waited 'till he was gone and ended up like that.

"Why?" Before you could talk he continues. "Couldn't help it? You have no self-control when it comes to me? Not even a little comon sense? You're just a whore for me? Just like that?" His fingers slide between your folders, it's a little torturing, you're beyond sensitive. "I love and hate that thought"

His fingers slide in, easy, you were so wet from your orgasm mixed with new arousal. The way he called you a whore only made you wanna get destroyed by him right there.

"God, the thought of you needing me so bad that you just had to touch yourself..." He says it like it's a fantasy of his. "But why the hell are you doing that, mmh? Never though of telling me?" His fingers move harder. He was mad yet turned on by the thought. You don't even try to understand, that's just how he is. Besides, you're just shaking and whining beneath him.

"You're a fucking mess, you could've told me" He says as he buries his face in your neck while his fingers move roughly. "You know I'd come home and fuck you all night if you asked me to" His fingers just move faster when he hears you moaning loudly. "Fuck" He whispers kissing your neck feeling his hand getting wetter.

You're so stimulated that you can barely think properly. "What a mess" He whispers. "Fuck I swear to God..." His voice sounds rougher, with anger. "I'm gonna fuck you till you forget your own fucking name, you hear me? He asks with a smirk. "I'm gonna fucking ruin you tonight"

That's all you needed for you to explode. You hold onto him, scratching his back through his clothes. Your pussy explodes, squirting all over him, yourself, and the bed. You cry out a moan, teary eyes, unable to stop and he covers your mouth, not to shut you up but to demonstrate how much power he had over you. Then he presses a kiss on your forhead.

"I'm gonna fuck you so good, baby" He whispers pulling back, Hands to his pants. You pant, he's not letting you catch your breath. His pants are off in seconds followed by his shirt. The view of his bare body in front of you made your pussy throb again, hips rolling up unconsciously. "Fuck, you're such a whore" He whispers and you love it.

"Oh, Jake" You moan and he chuckles.

"You love that, don't you? When I call you a whore" He leans down, his naked body pressing against yours. "Isn't that what you are, darling? A little whore who can't help it but get wet at the mere existence of her boyfriend"

You moan at his words and he bites his lips, hand back in your pussy. You shake, you don't think you can handle it again if he doesn't even let you recover first. "Say it" He whispers, thight circles on your sensitive clit. "Say you're just a fucking whore"

You cry out, moaning, mumbling, his fingers press harder. And you nod dumbly. "Yes, yes, baby, I am" You moan. "I'm a whore for you, baby, yes, yes"

Jake nearly cums at your words and leans to kiss your cheek, it's a tender kiss compared to the way he's treating you right now. "Want me to fuck you, darling? You sound so desperate, of course you do. You can't wait"

You moan when he opens your legs settling between them and his hard cock slides up your folds. You moan again, this time scrating his back. Jake hisses in pain and it just adds to the pleasure. He buries his face in your chest, grabbing one of your breats in his big hand and taking the other one in his mouth. You arch off the bed as he starts rocking his hips, getting his length soaked in your slick.

"Fuck, you're so wet" He murmurs nibbling on your nipple and leaving dark marks around it.

"Jake, Oh my God" You moan, feeling desperate to have him inside. "Jake, baby"

"What?" He says roughly but instinctively kisses your neck softly again, like he can't allow himself to be that harsh with you. "Can't wait? Want me to shove it in already?

"Please"

That shaky, teary plea is all it takes for him to take his cock in his hand and shove it inside you in one go, almost leaving you with no air in your lungs. He gasps too, your warmness wrapping around him in such a prefect way. He buries his face in your neck as he starts thrusting, deep and slow at first. His movements making you scream immediately scratching his arms.

"Oh, fuck" You whine, unable to form coherent words at the moment and he smirks against your skin.

"You like that?" He aks and purposely starts thrusting harder, his hips smacking against yours now and all you can hear in the room is the sound of skin crashing against skin and littke cries mixed with gasps.

He doesn't really let you talk, he's going hard, still a little mad. Jake doesn't usually goes so hard on you, but God he can feel his blood boiling whenever he remembers you just choose not to tell him whenever you were needy. He'll show you how good he can make you feel. "After tonight, you better fucking delete that app"

You feel like he's breaking your body from the way he's fucking you. His hips slam against yours, relentless, and you just hold onto him, letting him absolutely deatroy you. Because it doesn't really matter how hard he was going, you liked it, you know you'd let this man destroy you all night if he decides so. You hold onto his arms feeling your orgasm fluttering closer, making you moan louder, his name joining the mix of noises that fill the room and with one last thrust your body shakes beneath his, orgasm hitting like a tidal wave.

"Ahgh fuck" You manage to say before Jake pulls back. He doesn't pull out, he kisses you deeply. Feral, wild, his teeth taking your lower lip in between them, making you whine. Then he pulls back completely, sitting down and grabbing your hips, lifting them off the bed. "Jake!" You scream when he starts thrusting again. The angle only making it easier for his cock to go deeper. "Jake—"

"You can do it" He groans, his hair stuck on his sweaty forehead. "You're gonna take it" His fingers dig in your hips painfully while he thrust into you.

Your body rocks back and forth at the rythm he ser while your tits jiggle. Jake's eyes focus on them, his heart rate increasing at the view and his hands aching to grip them. And he does, his hands gripping your tits hard while he keeps fucking into you like an animal. You scream scratching his arms. "Jake, baby I ca—"

"You can" He whispers, breathless. "You're gonna take it like the fucking whore you are for me"

And there you go, cumming again at his simple words. Squirting on his cock, making a mess of his lower body. His hands lands on your neck, you moan. He never does that, he doesn't like it, but he knows you do. Your eyes roll back into your head as you try to get yourself together. His hips twitch, he isn't done. You moan, knowing he can least long as hell. It excites you and scares you at the same time. He leans down for another wild kiss before pulling out and turning you around effortlessly. Face down, ass up.

He looks down. Your pussy looks like a mess and it makes him wanna bury his face in it but he holds back on that and shoves his cock back in. His hands on your hips while his start moving again. You moan against the bed, so fucking wrecked that you feel like you'll lose your mind at any second.

"Fuck, you're a mess, God, I kove it" he says lost in the feeling of the orgasm that's about to hit him. He holds back, just wanting to wreck you a little more. His hips move relentlessly, and he leans forward, hand in your lower back, pressing you down on the bed. He groans at the noise your pussy makes with every thrust he gives.

"Fuck, Jake I can't—" Your legs shake again, you're over the edge, way too ovestimulated. "Baby, please! Please" You beg, only pushing him closer to his orgasm. He leans forward, his chest pressed against your back.

"Fuck, baby, I love when you beg, you sound so fucking wrecked" He murmurs, his voice weak, he's about to cum. "Cum again, darling, I know you can do it" He says against your ear. "One more for me, princess"

Oh the way he suddenly started talking gentler, he's definetly back to himself. He can't keep up that dominant attitude forever, not when he's a softie for you. You cum, at the way he keeps whispering you to do it in that needy tone. He's waiting for you do it so he can let go. You moan softly against the bed, he grips your hips thighter when you cum, feeling how you shake. Tears roll down into the bedding from the intensity. And finally, he gives in, cumming inside you. You feel his cock twitching inside, thick cum filling you up for way too long.

Jake falls down next to you, eyes still trying to focus because he can't see anything at all. You sob against the bed, no energy to even turn around. You're wrecked, shaky, overstimulated and your body can't really take anything more. Jake's heart drops when he hears you sob, and he immediately pulls you closer. You sob against his chest, not that you didn't enjoy, but you enjoyed way too much. He kisses the top of your head.

"Shhh, you did so good, baby" He whispers reassuringly. "It's okay, I'm here, I've got you" He hugs you thighter and smiles when you start calming down. "That's it, that's my girl"

You whine softly against his chest and try to move closer searching for that comfort that he always provides you. Jake caresses your back, drawing soft circles in it and pulls back a little.

"You okay?" He asks and smiles at your little nod. "That's my girl" He whispers.

"I'm sorry for not...telling you" You whisper softly and he just shakes his head.

"Shh, just get rid of it" He whispers comforting you. "I'm not mad at you, baby, I just love you so much and I hate that you didn't even tell me whenever you needed me"

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I didn't aither"

୨ৎ

Jake is humming a song while caressing your stomach. You're lying on your back, with your phone in your hand right after unstalling the app. He kisses your shoulder softly, looking at your screen while you do other stuff on your phone. He nuzzles your shoulder and you smile knowing he's for sure back to being sweet and lovely and unable to hold back his love for you and his need to be touching you even in a non-sexual way.

"Baby" He says softly but serious. You hum indicating him to continue. "I'm serious, tell me when you feel needy, I'm here for you, I will never deny you anything. Even if I'm out, I'll fucking run back home if you need me to"

You chuckle. "I guess I didn't wanna disturb you when you were out with the boys"

Jake groans. "Baby I'll go to the end of the world and back for you, stop messing with me."

You feel like your heart is going to explode at his words and you just turn around and kiss him softly. His lips quickly following your rythm. A slow loving rythm as his body settles back on top of you and you let him. Because even if you're tired, you'd do anything for him, you'd let him ruin you over and over again. He places gentle kisses on your neck and whispers, leaving a fuzzy sensation within you. "One more?" And you nod against his neck making him giggle. "You got it, love"

#jake smut #sim jake smut #sim jake x reader #jake x reader #jake hard hours #jake hard thoughts #enhypen jake #jake sim #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours

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whisperofwonder · 2 days ago

Text

The Regular

Miya Osamu x f!reader - 1.5k words

Nakano-san is a regular customer at Onigiri Miya. She eats lunch there every day, so she has a front row seat to the relationship growing between you and Osamu. At some point, she decides it's time to take matters into her own hands.

For @dira333, inspired by a prompt she gave ❤️

Nakano-san has been a regular customer of Onigiri Miya practically since the day it opened. She's retired now, and there's nothing she enjoys more than spending the lunch hour in the tidy little shop, sampling the onigiri special of the week, drinking the freshly-brewed barley tea, and reading her newspaper.

The rice he uses is the best in town - she'll tell anyone - and Miya-san is such a nice young man. He always seems to be working hard, but he still takes the time to stop by her table and share a quick chat. She wishes her grandchildren would show the kind of dedication she sees in him. They don't seem to appreciate it when she tells them that.

She's happy to see his business growing. He's hired part time help, college students that come and go, spending most of their time doing the menial work in the kitchen. Then, one day, she steps inside and sees you behind the counter.

"Hello, welcome!" You greet cheerily. "What can I get for you today?"

Miya-san appears behind you. "Hello, Nakano-san," He dips his head in a slight bow. "Nice ta see ya today." He turns to you, "Nakano-san stops in every day. She's gonna have the special and the barley tea. Don't worry, you'll start recognizin' the regulars in no time." You nod, turning to the register and pressing the keys to enter the order.

This is her first day," he explains as you work, introducing you. "She's gonna be helpin' me out with the bookkeeping and such. Things have started gettin' a little out of hand," He admits sheepishly.

"I'm here to worry about the numbers so Miya-san can worry about onigiri," You explain with a smile. Nakano-san likes you already.

As the weeks go by, you're true to your word. The menu slowly grows with new fillings and new meal options, and Nakano-san savors every one. She also can't help enjoying the glimpses she gets of the two of you. More and more often, her newspaper remains folded in her purse. Instead, her entertainment is behind the counter.

It starts out subtly enough. She can't help noticing how seamlessly the two of you work together. Onigiri Miya is a small business, so your job goes beyond just dealing with the books and numbers. The kitchen is cramped, but you weave around each other like a well-oiled machine, completing tasks the other has started and supplying something before the other even has to ask for it. Your conversation is light and easy, the occasional laughter coming from the kitchen bringing a smile to her face. She's lived long enough to know that one doesn't get along so well with just anyone.

Subtlety, however, soon runs its course. She watches in delight as Miya-san's gaze trails after you as you move back and forth behind the counter, resting on you just a beat longer than necessary. You, in turn, watch as he hefts the bags of rice to his shoulder, gaze skittering away the moment you realize you'd been staring. You pull your lip between your teeth, brow lowering as you frown at yourself, and Nakano-san has to suppress a giggle.

One day, she makes her move. Miya-san is out back bringing in the latest delivery of rice, and you're behind the counter, adding to the neat line of numbers on your ledger sheet while waiting for the next customers to arrive. She approaches the counter.

"Oh, Nakano-san!" You set the sheet aside, "How was everything today?"

"Just wonderful, as always," She says with a nod, "It might be one of my favorites."

"That's great," You smile, "I'll be sure to let Miya-san know. He really loves hearing things like that."

Nakano-san rests her fingertips on the counter, leaning in closer. "He's a handsome boy, isn't he?" She's allowed to say that sort of thing, she's an old woman, but the way you stutter in response tells her everything she needs to know.

More time passes, and the two of you certainly become closer. Not just in your relationship - your physical proximity seems to be narrowing every day. She watches you sit, shoulder to shoulder, as you look over order forms and balance sheets, your bent heads nearly brushing. Your fingertips graze his bicep as your hands flutter in conversation. He practically leans into you, arm propping himself up against the wall as he ducks his face closer to yours, intent on your every word.

You both work to remain professional, expressions blankly neutral and conversation rarely straying from the task at hand. You both have a job to do, a job it isn't hard to see you both love. She sees what neither of you do. It's only when your backs are turned that flustered smiles flit across both of your faces. You both only allow your gaze to soften when you're certain the other can't see.

You're both young, she muses. The dedication and hard work she admires so much in both of you are difficult to balance with the more delicate matters of the heart. It's a gamble, she knows, one that puts so much on the line, but she's lived 75 years. That's long enough to recognize when a gamble is worth making.

An opportunity drops into her lap one day when, to her surprise, she finds Miya-san behind the register, instead of your familiar smile.

"Is she alright?" She ventures to ask about you after Miya-san has rung in her order. He nods quickly.

"Oh, yeah. Just came down with somethin'. She said she'll try to be back in tomorrow, but I told her to take as much time as she needs." He confides in the woman who has become one of his favorite customers.

"Ah. Well, I do hope she recovers quickly." Nakano-san pauses. "It's quiet around here without her, isn't it?" She watches Miya-san's face closely, and only notices a slight flicker.

"Sure is," He agrees.

She hesitates for a moment, but age has made her more brash. "Have you told her how you feel?"

His eyes dart around the shop quickly, taking in the two business men in the far corner and the mother with her small son by the window. "How I feel?" He echoes more quietly.

"I'm sorry, that was forward of me, wasn't it?" She tucks her change back into her wallet. "I really shouldn't presume-" She takes an artful pause, glancing back at Miya-san.

"Well, ah," He reaches for the back of his neck. "Yer not wrong. Um." He pauses, dropping his voice again, "I just... don't wanna ruin a good thing. We work well together."

She nods knowingly. "Quite well," She adds with a smile.

"An' at this point, I don't know where the shop'd be without her," He goes on, voicing the justifications he's no doubt tallied up in his head. "It's - complicated."

"Life certainly is," She agrees, "But it's also short. Take it from an old lady like me - sometimes the risk is worth the reward."

Another customer enters the shop then, but Miya-san is clearly turning her words over carefully in his mind. He bows his head and murmurs a quiet thank you as she shuffles her way to her usual table. As she eats, she watches Miya-san flurry around doing the work of two people, brow furrowed in thought. She's done what she can.

You're gone for one more day, but you return after that. For a few days, things continue as normal. Nakano-san watches the two of you dancing around each other, sending you both encouraging smiles when she has the chance. She waits.

Finally, a little more than a week later, things are different. She can tell the moment she enters the shop. Something has changed. You grin at her from behind the register, same as always, but there's something softer in it.

"Hiya, Nakano-san." Miya-san has emerged from the kitchen, and it's impossible to miss his hand resting at the small of your back. "Thank you," He says meaningfully, "Fer coming in today," He adds. You shoot him a questioning look, but he ignores it, letting his hand drop. "I appreciate ya being here every day."

She smiles back at both of you, a twinkle in her eyes. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Later, sipping the last of her tea, she watches you step back into the kitchen. "Order in," You say, handing him the slip. He smiles at you, fond.

"Thanks," He leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

"Samu," She can barely make out your murmured words, "We're at work." You hide your soft giggle in the fabric of his apron.

"Yeah, but I know the boss," He whispers back, tilting your chin up for one last kiss, "I think I can convince 'm to let it slide."

She smiles behind her tea cup. At this point, she really should just leave her newspaper at home.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #miya osamu #miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #moon writes #moon writes hq

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jungkoode · 21 hours ago

Text

死 KKANGPAE | #16 死

† shooting range and dinner †

"When his insomnia slips out, you decide being a useful fuck buddy is part of the arrengement. Even if sleeping is not exactly what you want to do tonight."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 9,3k.

content: jeon taking a nap in j-hope’s office and hobi having none of it, verbal fights between friends, bestie plans being cancelled, shooting range practices that feel like lame excuses to touch, insomnia confessions, sleeping arrangements where both of them fail to simply sleep.

☠ author's note ☠

Y'ALL I'M SCREAMING. Look at my boy Jeon being all emotionally constipated and sleepless and GRUMPY! I cannot with him sometimes (⁠╯⁠°⁠□⁠°⁠)⁠╯⁠︵⁠ ⁠┻⁠━⁠┻

So I'm really exposing my kinks here, but the whole "let's sleep together but actually sleep" trope is just *chef's kiss* perfect. Insomnia-ridden boy who can only sleep well with you nearby? GIVE IT TO ME INTRAVENOUSLY, THANK YOU.

And J-Hope being all "I'm your friend whether you like it or not, you stubborn asshole" is everything I needed today. Their friendship is so beautifully dysfunctional I want to frame it and hang it on my wall.

Meanwhile, you guys in the comments are like "show us Jeon's POV!" and I'm over here like "fine, take his whole entire trauma-riddled brain, are you happy now?!" The answer is yes, you're all trauma vultures just like me. No shame in our game.

I had so much fun writing the shooting range scene though! That whole "let me adjust your stance" trope where they're basically just looking for an excuse to touch you? ICONIC. I will never get tired of it. Sue me.

And don't even get me started on that dinner scene. Jeon actually eating with another human being and not hating it? CHARACTER GROWTH, PEOPLE!

Sorry for leaving you hanging with the spicy bits but... actually no, I'm not sorry at all. The slow boil to explosion is the best part and I'm savoring every moment of your collective suffering (◕‿◕✿)

See you next chapter, you magnificent disaster enablers!

⚔ socials ⚔

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

"Again, Jeon?"

J-Hope's voice hits him as soon as he walks in, but Jungkook can't bring himself to care. His body feels heavy, mind foggy with exhaustion.

The medical ward has become too familiar lately—the sharp smell of antiseptic, the soft hum of medical equipment, the way the afternoon light filters through the blinds.

He grunts in response, already making his way to his usual spot. The stretcher's not comfortable, not really, but it's better than lying awake in his own bed.

"You can't come here every afternoon, you know. I have shit to do and your snoring is not precisely helpful."

Jungkook almost rolls his eyes. He doesn't snore—never has—but arguing takes energy he doesn't have.

"Then put some background music."

"You—"

He doesn't wait for J-Hope to finish, just rolls onto the stretcher, facing the wall. The vinyl covering is cool against his arm, and somehow it's grounding... perhaps in a way he doesn't want to examine too closely.

"Are you for real right now? This is the third day in a row you're taking a nap in my office."

"You said yourself I should nap from time to time." His voice comes out muffled, face half-pressed into the thin pillow.

"Yes, but not in my goddamn office!"

The silence that follows is heavy.

He can picture J-Hope without looking—probably pinching the bridge of his nose, that look of exasperated concern he gets whenever Jeon's being particularly difficult. He hears the medic's chair creak as he leans back.

"Look, Jungkook." The use of his real name makes something in his chest tighten. J-Hope only uses it when he's about to say something Jungkook won't like. "I don't wanna be the one saying this to you, but you need to get your shit together."

"Well I am trying to fall asleep right now." The deflection is weak and they both know it.

"That is not what I mean you dimwit." There's that familiar mix of frustration and worry in J-Hope's voice. "Believe me, I'm glad you're finally trying to get some proper rest. But this—in my office? Just why."

Jungkook quiet, hoping J-Hope will drop it. He doesn't want to think about why he keeps coming here, why his own room feels too empty, too quiet. Why he can't sleep unless he can hear someone else breathing nearby.

(He definitely doesn't want to think about how he slept better in that tent, with y—)

"Jungkook."

Not his real name again.

Something in him snaps.

"Fine. I don't fucking know, okay?" The words come out sharp, defensive. He glares at the wall like it's personally offended him. "I just seem to sleep better in company."

"In company?" He can hear J-Hope's brain working, trying to piece together this new information. "Okay, what—? Elaborate right now."

"No."

The word is final, heavy with all the things he refuses to say.

Like the nightmares that wake him up gasping. Or how silence fucking makes his skin crawl. Or how being alone with his thoughts is becoming unbearable.

About how he hasn't had a decent night's sleep since—

"Whose company, Jungkook? This isn't about little bed-hopping habits, is it?"

It's offensive, the question, really.

But all he does is stare at the wall, trying to ignore how his mind immediately conjures up images of you. Of how he actually slept through the night in that tent.

No nightmares, no cold sweats. Just... sleep.

Four fucking years of insomnia, and the solution was this s̶t̶u̶p̶i̶d̶ simple?

"No, it's not." His fingers curl into a fist against the stretcher, leather creaking under fingers—and the sound grates on his nerves, already frayed from lack of sleep. "I ain't talking about it. Drop it, Hoseok."

Using J-Hope's real name now is a low blow, but Jungkook is too tired to care. He just wants to test his theory—see if sleeping near someone, anyone, will keep the nightmares at bay. He doesn't need J-Hope playing therapist, doesn't need him picking apart why this might be working.

Because that would mean thinking about you, about that night, about how for the first time in years he actually felt—

No.

"I'm your friend, Jungkook. And as a member of the Council of Nine, I have to know if anything... or anyone is becoming a weakness."

Jeon almost laughs.

A weakness? No. This isn't about feelings. This is about finally getting some fucking sleep without having to relive—

He cuts that thought off too. Focuses on the antiseptic smell of the medical ward, the equipment, anything but the memories threatening to surface.

J-Hope's concern is misplaced. This isn't about compromising the gang or breaking rules. It's about finding a solution to a problem that's been haunting him for four years.

So if sleeping near someone help? Fucking fine. He'll take what he can get.

Even if it pisses him off that it took this long to figure it out.

"There is no fucking weakness, you got that?" His eyes feel like lead weights in his skull. "I just need some goddamn sleep. I've gotta be sharp for the mission. That's all you need to know."

He can feel J-Hope's eyes on him, searching for cracks where light would shine through.

There's none.

It's been a long time since there's none.

But the medic knows too much, has seen too much. Was there that night when everything went to shit, when V—

"And after the mission? What then? You keep coming back here for your afternoon siestas or are you gonna be sleeping with that company?"

The implication slices through without sugarcoating. There's another word hovering in the air between them, pressing down on the air like a goddamn vacuum.

Traitor.

It sits there like poison, like the taste of copper in his mouth from that night.

Jeon pushes himself up, muscles tense, anger corroding his veins. His head is pounding from lack of sleep, making everything sharper, harder to control.

"I'll deal with it when it comes. Besides, who the fuck will notice? You gonna bitch about it to the rest of the crew?"

"Watch it, Kook." The use of his nickname is a warning, one that would mean more if he wasn't so fucking tired. "I'm trying to help you, not rat you out. But if you become a liability..."

"I ain't no fucking liability."

He's on his feet now, wrath burning through the exhaustion. His fists clench until he can feel his nails biting into his palms.

The suggestion that he'd risk the gang again, that he'd let himself be compromised like that... He does not appreciate it.

It makes something dark and ugly twist in his chest.

"You think I don't know the stakes? You think I'd let myself become another Sylvia episode?"

"Surely you're more intelligent than that."

The words hit exactly where J-Hope means them to. Because yeah, everyone thought he was intelligent back then too. Look how that turned out.

Jungkook holds J-Hope's gaze, something ugly settling in his chest.

For a moment, he considers telling him about you, about this arrangement that's purely physical—no strings, no complications, just a solution to his sleepless nights.

But the words catch in his throat. Because J-Hope isn't just asking for himself, is he? He's asking for AD too. AD, who still carries Sylvia's ghost like an open wound, who took her death even harder than he did.

Who trusted her, protected her, only to watch her choose Jungkook—and then watch her die for that choice.

The guilt sits like lead in his stomach. He can't do that to AD again. Can't make him watch from the sidelines as another woman gets tangled up with Jungkook, always wondering if history's about to repeat itself.

The weight of Sylvia's death is still a chain around his neck, dragging him down every time he closes his eyes.

So he swallows the truth, lets it burn on its way down. This thing with you—he'll handle it himself. Keep it contained. Control it before it becomes something he can't take back.

His face settles into careful blankness as he meets J-Hope's searching look.

"I fucking am. I don't need your nagging."

It's not even a lie. This isn't like Sylvia. He won't let it be. You're different—safer. You know exactly what this is.

"You sure you don't?" J-Hope's voice rises. "Because from what I recall, you've been a messy piece of shit ever since she's gone."

Something dark and ugly coils in Jeon's chest. "Watch how you sling that shit at me, J-Hope."

"Keeping an eye on it, always. Seems we all gotta tiptoe with our words 'round you, huh? Drop one mention of her, and you're all about throwing punches, no thoughts, just rage. Done you a lick of good, has it?"

"Shut your mouth!"

The words rip out of him before he can stop them, raw and ragged.

Because J-Hope's right, and that's what makes it hurt so much.

Four years, and he still can't hear her name without feeling like he's drowning in it all over again.

"Pull yourself together, Jeon!" J-Hope's voice cracks with frustration. "You've been haunted by those fucking nightmares since she died, and now what? Using someone else's body to quiet them down? Jumping from one disaster straight into another and expecting me to just watch?"

Jungkook's eyes feel like they're burning. "No one's asking for your fucking two cents. Always sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

He wants J-Hope to hit him, to hate him, to stop looking at him with that mix of concern and disappointment.

So his next words are not something he's proud of. But something he feels he needs to do.

"Why don't you go find a bottle to crawl into?"

It's a low blow, and he knows it. Watches J-Hope's hand shake, sees the muscle jump in his jaw.

"Don't you fucking go there, Jeon." The warning in his voice is clear. "I see what you're doing—spiraling because you're losing control. But I'm not playing that game. I'm not V."

"Right, you're not." Jeon's laugh is hollow, bitter. "At least that bastard's honest about not giving a fuck about anyone but himself."

"Jesus fuck, Jeon. You're not the only one carrying shit, you know that?" J-Hope's laugh is all broken glass. "Is that what you want? Me to knock your teeth in? You think that'll fix whatever's going on in that fucked-up head of yours?"

"Whatever. I don't give a shit."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day you'll actually believe it. Pushing everyone away—that's about the only thing you're good at anymore."

"Don't need anyone. Do just fine on my own."

"Really?" J-Hope's voice is sarcasm. "That why you're trying to sleep in my fucking office?"

"Fucking hell, man. Just drop it and let me rest. I'm not digging into your shit, am I? Let me handle mine." His voice comes out raw, desperate, and he hates it.

"You might not see it, but some of us actually give a shit about you, you stubborn asshole." J-Hope's voice softens, and that's worse somehow. "I might share that council seat with you, but I'm also your friend—whether you like it or not. I'm worried, okay? This isn't how you deal with your demons."

Jeon closes his eyes, exhaustion settling into his bones. "Maybe it's exactly how I deal with them."

Maybe he deserves them.

He doesn't say that.

"It's a shit way of dealing with anything, Jungkook." The softness bleeds out of J-Hope's voice, and something in Jeon's chest loosens.

Anger he can handle.

Concern?

That's harder to dodge.

"Fuck, I'm not watching you spiral down that rabbit hole again. You can hate me all you want, but I won't stand here and watch you self-destruct. Not a second time."

"I get it. Like I said—not your cross to bear."

Jungkook can feel J-Hope's eyes on him, cutting through his bullshit like always.

"Fine, Kook. Hoard your secrets. But the moment it fucks with the mission, you're answering to me—and the Council."

Jeon knows that tone. It's not just a threat—it's a lifeline J-Hope's throwing him, begging him to get his shit together before everything falls apart.

The anger sits like acid in his chest, but he swallows it down.

This isn't about him and J-Hope anymore. This is about the mission. About the gang. About not letting his f̶e̶e̶l̶i̶n̶g̶s̶ weakness compromise everything like last time.

"Got it," he mutters, dropping back onto the stretcher and turning to face the wall. The stone is cold against his face, grounding in its indifference.

Behind him, J-Hope's chair scrapes against the floor as he turns back to his work. The sound is harsh, angry.

But it's okay if he's angry. Better that than worried. Better that than watching Jeon like he's a bomb about to go off.

"Fucking Sylvia," J-Hope mutters.

Then, silence drops.

For all his crankiness, J-Hope won't kick him out. Can't, maybe, because under all that anger is the same guy who dragged Jeon's drunk ass home after Sylvia, who patched him up when he picked fights he knew he'd lose.

J-Hope's right to be worried—secrets in Kkangpae have a way of turning lethal. One wrong move, one slip, and everything goes up in flames.

Again.

(But this thing with you isn't like Sylvia. It isn't. He just needs to figure out how to sleep through the night without—)

Jeon closes his eyes, lets the antiseptic smell of the medical ward fill his lungs.

Maybe if he lies here long enough, sleep will finally come.

Maybe this time, he won't dream.

𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝟻. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚛.

The message glares at you from your phone screen, all business and no explanation. Typical Jeon.

𝙹𝚎𝚘𝚗?

．．．

𝘚𝘦𝘦𝘯

Great. He's seen it and can't be bothered to reply. Fantastic.

You stare at your phone, trying to will a response into existence. Nothing. Just that stupid "seen" mocking you. It's like talking to a brick wall, except the wall probably has better communication skills.

Jeon and his one-word texts. The man's got a gift for saying absolutely nothing while still managing to ruin your plans. You had a whole evening of doing absolutely nothing planned, and now? Now you're apparently going to the shooting range. Yay!

You toss your phone onto the bed; angry, petty. It bounces once, screen still lit up with Jeon's oh-so-eloquent message. His profile pic is just a blank space. Of course it is. God forbid he show an actual human emotion. Or, you know, a face.

With a sigh that could probably be heard three floors down, you drag yourself to the bathroom. For once, it's empty. Small mercies, right?

You tie your hair back into a ponytail, all business. Can't have stray hairs getting in the way when you're handling firearms. That's a safety hazard or whatever. Plus, you know Jeon would probably lecture you about it.

Mr. Safety-First-Unless-It's-About-Emotions.

The mirror shows you a face that's equal parts annoyed and resigned.

This is your life now—dropping everything because Jeon decided to grace you with a whole six words. Six! He's feeling chatty today.

You stare at your reflection, wondering for the millionth time how you ended up here. Not just in a gang, but at Jeon's beck and call. The man's like a black hole—impossible to ignore, drawing you in whether you like it or not.

(You like it. You hate that you like it.)

Time to go play with guns, apparently. Because nothing says "fun night out" like potential bullet wounds and Jeon's silent judgment.

This better be good, you think. But with Jeon? It's always a toss-up between mind-blowing and mind-numbing.

Guess you'll find out which one it is tonight.

You finish tying your hair back and grab your phone, typing out a quick message to Yunjin. Your fingers hover over the keys for a second because ugh. You were actually looking forward to dinner with her.

𝙲𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛. 𝙶𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖. 𝚁𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔?

The card reader beeps when you swipe your ID, sound echoing through the empty hallway like some ominous warning bell.

The elevator ride feels like you're being delivered to your doom, each floor passing with total indifference to your impending crisis.

Ding.

Third floor. You step out into a corridor that feels way too quiet. Your sneakers barely make any noise against the floor, which just makes your heartbeat sound louder in your ears.

You reach the shooting range and—because you're not a complete idiot—you don't just barge in. Instead, you peek through the reinforced glass window like some s̶t̶a̶l̶k̶e̶r̶ cautious person.

And fuck.

There he is, in his own little world of violence.

He's wearing his usual dark t-shirt, fabric's stretched across his shoulders in a way that's honestly unfair for every other man. His combat pants are doing that thing where they show off every muscle without being obvious about it, and his boots are planted like he owns the ground he's standing on.

He hasn't spotted you yet. He's too focused on the gun in his hands, handling it with the kind of familiarity that reminds you he does this for a living. The protective gear—ear muffs and glasses—should make him look dorky, but nope. In your brain that simply catalogs as hot.

Each shot he fires is like... well, it's like watching someone who knows what they're doing. Which, you suppose, makes sense.

The recoil doesn't even phase him—his body just absorbs it like it's nothing. Spent casings hit the floor with little metallic pings, and you find yourself weirdly fascinated by the way his fingers adjust on the grip between shots.

(You're definitely not thinking about what else those fingers can do. Absolutely not. That would be unprofessional.)

You watch him reload—movements quick and methodical—like he could do this in his sleep. Probably has, honestly. This is Jeon's comfort zone, after all.

You step inside, and it hits you again how different the air feels in here. Smelling like gunpowder and that underlying tension that always shows up when you're around him.

Jeon doesn't turn around, too focused on whatever target he's destroying. You can't help the little smirk that tugs at your lips because finally—a chance to catch Mr. Perfect off guard. He's so zeroed in on his shooting that he might actually not notice you for once.

(You should know better by now, but hope springs eternal or whatever.)

Your sneakers don't make a sound on the rubber floor as you creep closer. You're already planning it—maybe a sudden clap, or yelling his name. Something to make him jump, even just a little. The thought sends this weird thrill through you, like you're about to get away with something.

You take a deep breath, ready to execute your master plan, when—

"Don't even think about it."

Motherfucker.

He doesn't even turn around. Doesn't move a muscle. Just keeps standing there like some statue of Perfect Shooting Form, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

It's not fair how he does that—makes you feel like you're being predictable without even looking at you.

"You got radar in your head, or what?" you ask, trying to play it off like you weren't just caught being an absolute child.

Your voice comes out light, playful, which feels kind of wrong in a room designed for practicing how to kill people efficiently. But that's kind of your whole thing with Jeon, isn't it? Finding these little moments of tomfoolery in between all the violence and duty.

Sometimes you wonder if he lets you get away with it because he needs those moments too.

Jeon turns around, and as usual, there's this look in his eyes. Could be the fluorescent lights, could be him being a smug bastard.

He sets down his gun with this final-sounding click that somehow makes the room feel too quiet.

"Let's just say I've got a good sense of when someone's lurking in my blind spot."

The corner of his mouth twitches, and you're starting to think he practices that almost-smirk in the mirror.

You watch as he moves to the gun rack, all fluid movements. He picks out this pristine semi-automatic that gleams under the shitty range lights like it's showing off.

"Come on." His voice drops the playful edge. "If we're going to have your back in the field, you need to be able to hold your own. No hesitation this time."

This time.

The words bring back memories of your first shooting lesson with him—how your hands shook, how the gun felt too heavy with the weight of what it could do. You weren't ready then.

But now, with this mission hanging over your heads like a guillotine, you don't have the luxury of not being ready.

You step forward, closing the gap between you. When he hands you the gun, his fingers brush against yours, and even that tiny contact sends electricity up your arm. The metal's cold against your palm, but you grip it like you mean it. Like you're not thinking about how those same hands felt on your skin just days ago.

"Good." He nods, and something warm unfurls in your chest at his approval. "First, your stance—it's all about balance. Feet shoulder-width apart, one foot slightly ahead of the other."

You follow his instructions, hyper-aware of his eyes on you. It feels like being under a microscope, but like, a really hot microscope that you maybe want to kiss again.

You plant your feet, trying to look like you know what you're doing.

"Now, grip. Not too tight—imagine holding someone's hand. Firm, but you're not trying to crush it."

He moves closer, and suddenly the air feels thicker. His comparison makes your brain short-circuit because now all you can think about is holding hands, which leads to thinking about holding other things, which—yeah, nope.

Can't think about that. Not while you're holding a deadly weapon.

His hands come up to adjust your grip, and it should be clinical. Professional.

But there's this undercurrent of something between you, like static electricity looking for a place to ground itself. Like every little touch is loaded with meaning.

You find your rhythm with the breathing, in and out, as Jeon steps back to give you space. He's watching you with that unreadable expression of his, but his eyes are intense, like he's trying to will you into not fucking this up.

"Align the sights." His voice drops low, and fuck, it shouldn't affect you when he's teaching you how to shoot people. "Focus on the front sight—everything else is just background noise. Breathe in, breathe out, and on the exhale—that's when you squeeze the trigger."

You narrow your eyes, zeroing in on the target downrange.

It's not just a paper outline anymore—it's a test.

Another thing you need to prove you can handle in this life you've chosen.

You let out a slow breath, and with it goes some of that nervous energy that's been making your hands shake.

Right now it's just you, the gun, and this need to show Jeon—and yourself—that you're not out of your depth here. That you belong in this world of his, even if it's just at the edges.

The shot cracks through the air like a whip, and the recoil hits your palms. It's jarring but real, solid proof that you're actually doing this. That you're becoming whatever it is you need to be to survive in Kkangpae.

Jeon gives you this little nod, like yeah, okay, maybe you're not completely hopeless. But then—oh. Then his mouth does this thing, curling up at the corners into what might be the most dangerous smile you've ever seen.

"Good job."

Two. Words.

Just two fucking words, but the way he says them—all low and pleased—makes heat pool in your stomach.

It's not fair how he can do that, turn a simple phrase into something that feels like innuendo, voice wrapping around you like smoke, seeping into places it has no business being.

You're starting to think weapons training with Jeon might be hazardous to your mental health. And not for the obvious reasons.

Because the fucker is not just hot—though fuck, he absolutely is—he's something else entirely.

The way he handles a weapon, the easy confidence, how he makes everything look so effortless? It's doing things to you. Things that have nothing to do with training and everything to do with how his hands looked wrapped around that gun.

"Let's try again. This time, focus on consistency. You want to be able to replicate that shot every time."

He moves behind you, and suddenly breathing becomes severely underrated.

You try to focus on the target, but your brain's too busy cataloging every tiny detail—how his breath stirs the baby hairs at your nape, the way his chest is just shy of brushing against your back.

You take a deep breath to steady yourself, but that's a mistake because now all you can smell is him.

Pine and wood and leather.

Jeon.

The gun feels heavy in your hands as you line up another shot, and your attention is split between the target downrange and the way Jeon's presence seems to fill up all the space around you.

The shot immediately cracks through the air, perfect center mass.

You should feel proud—and you do—but mostly you're trying not to think about how close he is, how easy it would be to lean back just a little...

Because you know he's all business, laser-focused on getting you ready for the mission. Completely professional. But there are these tiny tells—the way his fingers linger when he adjusts your stance, how his eyes sometimes drift from the target to your face, staying just a second too long.

It's driving you insane.

Like there's this invisible line neither of you is willing to cross first, even though you both know exactly where this tension is heading.

You've been there before, after all. That night in his tent wasn't that long ago.

You lower the gun, trying to ignore how your hands are shaking—partly from adrenaline, mostly from something else.

The way Jeon's looking at you right now.

"Just like that. Keep it up."

You manage a nod because words? Not happening. Your throat's too dry, and honestly, you're afraid of what might come out if you open your mouth.

Another shot rings out, and you can't help wondering if Jeon feels it too. This crackling tension that makes your skin feel too tight. Or maybe you're just losing it, getting all hot and bothered over a man who's literally just teaching you how to shoot people.

"Reload. Keep your focus sharp."

He hands you a fresh magazine, and your fingers brush against his again—and honestly?

This isn't fair.

You're supposed to be learning important gang shit here, not mentally cataloging how good his hands feel.

Your brain keeps replaying every tiny touch, every moment his body was pressed against yours while "correcting your stance."

Which, by the way? Totally unnecessary.

You're pretty sure proper shooting form doesn't require his chest being that close to your back.

Focus, you tell yourself. You're here to learn how to handle a weapon, not daydream about handling... other things.

You need to prove you belong here, that you're more than just another recruit who can't keep it in their pants around the hot Chief.

(Even if said Chief is making it really hard to think straight right now.)

You grip the gun tighter, channeling all that frustrated energy into your next shot. The bang echoes through the range, and you pretend it drowns out the voice in your head that keeps suggesting alternative uses for this private training session.

The magazine clicks into place with maybe more force than necessary, but whatever. You're determined to get through this without embarrassing yourself. More shots follow, each one a desperate attempt to focus on anything except how good Jeon looks when he's in instructor mode.

(It's not working, but at least you're hitting the target.)

You're about to take another shot when something catches your eye.

Jeon looks... off.

There are shadows under his eyes that makeup can't hide, and his movements are slower than usual.

Most people wouldn't notice, but you've been trained to spot weaknesses.

"You look like shit."

The words slip out before your brain can filter them. Because you're such a professional, apparently. But now that you've started digging this hole, might as well keep going.

"When's the last time you actually slept?"

Dark eyes snap to yours, and you swear something raw flutters behind his eyelashes. Doesn't last long-as never anything really does with him. The walls come slamming back up.

"I'm fine."

His tone screams drop it; the voice in your head screams 'don't.'

Good thing you've always been good at hearing yourself first.

Besides, this isn't exclusively about him anymore.

You set the gun down, turning to face him fully. "Look, I get it—we all have our shit. But if you're walking around half-dead, that's not just your problem. That's how people end up getting killed."

He gives you a death stare, and you're pretty sure he's about to pull rank and shut this conversation down. But then he exhales, and something in his posture just... gives.

"Insomnia's an old friend." An admission that comes out rough, like he had to force the words past his defenses. "Been dealing with it for years. It doesn't affect my work."

"Bullshit." You shouldn't push, but your mouth's apparently on autopilot today. "You slept fine in the tent—"

His eyes narrow, and okay, maybe that was too far. But you're not wrong. You remember how peaceful he looked that morning, no trace of the tension that's radiating off him now.

"That was different."

His voice drops low, warning you away from this topic.

But there's something else there too—like maybe he's trying to convince himself more than you.

He doesn't deny it though.

So you nod, letting the subject drop. But you tuck that little piece of information away like a secret—Jeon sleeps better when he's not alone. When he's with you, specifically. You're not sure what to do with that knowledge yet, but it feels important somehow.

Silence falls. You turn back to the range because it's easier than trying to decode whatever's happening here.

The gun in your hands is simple, straightforward. Point, shoot, repeat. No complicated feelings or midnight revelations to deal with.

You cycle through the weapons Jeon's laid out, each one different but serving the same purpose. Pistols feel natural now, like they belong in your grip. Shotguns still kick like a mule, but you're getting better at handling them. Each shot echoes through the room, filling the space where words should be.

It becomes almost meditative after a while. Load, aim, breathe, squeeze. The routine helps quiet your mind, pushes away thoughts of Jeon and sleep and whatever's going on in that cold brain of his.

You're here to learn how to stay alive, not psychoanalyze your Chief's sleeping habits.

When you switch to the rifle, you can't help sneaking a look at him. He's lurking in the shadows like some kind of sexy gargoyle, watching your every move. Even exhausted, he's still intimidating as hell.

But there's something different about him now—like seeing him tired makes him more... real. Less Chief of Tactical Assassinations, more just Jeon.

The rifle's recoil brings you back to reality. You line up another shot, remembering everything he's taught you.

Breathe in, hold, squeeze, exhale. The bullets hit close together, forming a tight group that would definitely ruin someone's day. Jeon gives you this tiny nod that shouldn't make your stomach flip, but it does anyway.

The sun's starting to set, painting the room in long shadows. Empty casings litter the floor around your feet like tiny brass confessions. Neither of you has said much, but somehow it's not uncomfortable.

You've learned two things today: how to shoot better, and that Jeon trusts you enough to show you some of his cracks, even if he doesn't mean to.

You're not sure which lesson is more dangerous.

(Probably the second one.)

You start packing up, going through the familiar motions of cleaning and storing the weapons.

"It's getting late," you say, mostly to break the silence.

When you turn around, Jeon's standing there with his arms crossed, staring at nothing. Or maybe at something only he can see. He doesn't react to your voice, like he's been aware of every move you've made since you started cleaning up.

The lighting in here is shit, but it's not bad enough to hide how exhausted he looks. The shadows under his eyes are getting deeper, more obvious. You think about what J-Hope would say if he saw Jeon like this—probably something cranky and concerned wrapped in medical jargon.

"If it helps," you start carefully, like you're approaching a wild animal, "we can sleep together again. No bullshit—just sleep. Seems like you could use it."

For a second, his face goes completely blank. It's that perfect mask he wears when he's processing something he doesn't want to deal with.

Then—there.

His shoulders drop just a fraction, like someone's loosened a wire.

"I don't need charity."

The words come out defensive, but they're missing that sharp edge he usually uses to keep people at a distance. You recognize deflection when you hear it—you work in the Seduction Division, after all.

"It's not charity." You click the last weapon case shut, buying time to choose your next words carefully. "Consider it... part of our arrangement. We're no good to each other tense or half-awake."

The silence stretches out so long you start to wonder if you've fucked up. Maybe you pushed too far, got too personal. But then he nods, just barely, like he's trying to convince himself he's not giving in to anything.

"I'll think about it."

His voice is gruff, but there's something else there—a hint of relief, maybe. Like you've given him permission to want something he thinks he shouldn't. You pretend not to notice how his eyes linger on you as you finish packing up, like he's already made up his mind but isn't ready to admit it yet.

You glance at the clock, and shit—it's really fucking late. The castle gets quiet around this time, most people already finished with dinner or working night shifts.

Speaking of dinner... you were supposed to meet Yunjin, but someone had to drag you to impromptu target practice.

A thought hits you, and you can't help the little smile that tugs at your lips. It's probably stupid, definitely pushing your luck, but...

"By the way," you say, closing the weapons case with a satisfying click. "Since it's already so late... How about grabbing some dinner together at the cafeteria?"

Jeon looks at you like you've just suggested robbing a bank in your underwear.

There's this tiny flicker of surprise in his eyes that would be funny if it wasn't kind of sad. Like the concept of eating with someone is completely foreign to him.

"Dinner? I eat alone."

His voice is flat, but it's as though he's actually considering it, even if he'd rather die than admit it.

"I know, but it's late." You shrug, going for casual even though your heart's doing this weird skippy thing. "Few people will be there, and I had plans that got... rearranged."

You give him a pointed look because hey, this is technically his fault.

"Don't feel like eating by myself."

He stares at you for what feels like forever, face doing that blank thing he does when he's processing something unexpected. Then his mouth quirks up at the corner.

"I don't usually do dinner dates."

You actually laugh at that. "You wish.Think of it as a tactical debriefing over food. Can't strategize on an empty stomach, can we?"

His smirk gets a fraction wider—the Jeon equivalent of a full grin. It's rare to see him look actually amused, and something warm unfurls in your chest at being the cause.

"Tactical debriefing, huh? That's a new one."

"Come on, Jeon. It's just dinner." You try to sound nonchalant, like you're not weirdly invested in his answer. "Besides, you're probably starving after all that shooting."

He does that thing where he goes all still, like he's running risk assessments in his head.

Finally, he nods. "Alright, but this isn't a habit we're starting."

"Of course not, you have a reputation to maintain, thundercloud."

You can't help the smirk as you head for the door. The nickname slips out before you can catch it, but whatever. You're already in deep.

"Not like anybody would believe you anyway, sunshine." He rolls his eyes, but follows you out.

The way he says sunshine—like it's both an insult and something else—makes your stomach do a little flip. But you're not going to think about that.

This is just dinner. Just two gang members having a totally normal, professional meal together.

The walk to the cafeteria is weirdly peaceful.

Neither of you says anything, but it's not that awkward silence that makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

It's just... quiet. Your brain's still processing everything—the training, the arrangement, the fact that you're actually going to dinner with Jeon of all people.

The cafeteria's practically empty when you walk in. Just a few night owls scattered around, most of them looking like they're running on coffee and spite.

It's nice, though. No curious eyes, no whispers. Just the soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant clink of dishes.

The buffet spread looks like heaven. Your stomach reminds you that you haven't eaten since lunch, growling at the sight of steaming bulgogi and kimchi jjigae. The castle chefs don't mess around—everything looks magazine-worthy, even at this hour.

You load up your tray like you're preparing for hibernation: bulgogi because duh, japchae because the noodles here are actually insane, kimchi fried rice because comfort food is a thing, and those spicy braised potatoes that make your mouth water just looking at them.

Jeon, for his part, goes straight for the protein—galbi ribs, bibimbap loaded with meat, and bossam like he's got something to prove.

You're about to head for a table when you catch him adding even more bulgogi to his already meat-heavy tray.

"Got enough protein there?" You can't help the teasing tone. "Or are you planning to feed a small army?"

Jeon's mouth does that thing where he's trying not to smile but failing.

"I need to keep up my strength." His eyes flick to yours, dark. "Never know when I might need to pin a smartass against a wall."

The laugh that escapes you is only partly nervous. You lead the way to a corner table, far from the few other diners. It feels weirdly intimate, having dinner with someone who usually eats alone.

The food works its magic. You feel the day's tension melting away with each bite, and even Jeon looks more relaxed. That permanent frown he carries around is smoothing out as he tackles his galbi like it's his division's target.

"Holy shit, this is good," you mumble around a mouthful of noodles.

The chefs here could probably work in any five-star restaurant, but instead they're cooking for a bunch of criminals. Life's weird like that.

Jeon makes this little grunt of agreement, cheeks full like a hamster's. He swallows before speaking because apparently assassins have table manners.

"Only decent perk of this place."

You fall into comfortable silence after that, both focused on demolishing your food.

It's strange how normal this feels—just two people sharing dinner, like you don't kill people for a living, like you haven't had your hands all over each other hours ago.

"That rifle technique you used today was solid. Got good instincts."

Coming from Jeon, that's practically a love letter. You hide your smile behind another bite of food, but can't resist poking the bear.

"Well, I have a good teacher. Even if his people skills need work."

He snorts, stabbing another piece of meat with maybe more force than necessary.

"I don't coddle. You get better by doing, not talking."

"True, but positive reinforcement helps too." You gesture with your chopsticks. "I'm only human, thundercloud."

The look he gives you could melt steel. One eyebrow goes up, and there's something dangerous playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Hmmm. Almost sounds like you want to be coddled, sunshine."

The way he says it makes heat pool in your stomach. Because that wasn't about teaching at all, was it?

You laugh to cover the way your breath catches. "In your dreams, Jeon."

You ball up your napkin and throw it at him, which he catches without even looking because of coursehe does.

Show-off.

"Still," he says, ruining the moment like he's allergic to peace, "your reaction time needs work."

"I'll keep practicing." You shrug, aiming for casual. "Can't have you worrying about me in the field."

"Who said anything about worrying?" But his eyes give him away—that split-second flicker before his face goes blank again.

"Oh please." You wave your chopsticks at him. "You were watching me like a hawk in there. Probably counting my breaths or something equally anal-retentive."

He just shakes his head, suddenly very interested in his food. But you're on a roll now, feeling brave or stupid or both.

"Admit it, you care about my progress." You lean forward, grinning. "It's almost sweet."

Jeon looks up then, and oh. His gaze is intense.

"I care about not getting shot because you can't handle your weapon, sunshine."

You can't help yourself. Really, you can't. "Mhm? Thought I was getting better at handling weapons, thundercloud."

His lips twitch, just barely, but you catch it. It's fascinating, really, how you've somehow stumbled into this easy back-and-forth with him. How beneath all his sharp edges and your sass, there's this... thing.

This rhythm that shouldn't work but does.

Dinner's winding down, and you notice something different about Jeon. The tension he usually carries—the one that makes him look like he's ready to snap someone's neck at any moment—has eased up. Even his face looks softer, less murder-y than usual.

"This was... not terrible," he says, like admitting it physically pains him. His eyes meet yours across the table. "The food, the company... both exceeded my low expectations."

"Oh my god." You press a hand to your chest, going for maximum drama. "Was that a compliment? Should I call J-Hope? Are you feeling okay?"

He snorts, and there's this little uptick at the corner of his mouth that you're starting to recognize as his version of a smile.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get used to it."

"Too late." You stand up, gathering your plates. "I expect this level of praise at every meal now. Maybe we can work up to actual sentences by next week."

"Don't push your luck, sunshine." But he's still got that almost-smile as he gets up too.

"I mean, you already admitted you don't hate my company. That's practically a love confession by your standards."

Jeon shakes his head, but there's something soft in his eyes.

"You're really something else, you know that?"

"So I've been told."

You drop off your dishes, and both head for the elevator, falling into comfortable silence.

You reach for the elevator buttons, aiming for the fourth floor where your room is. But Jeon's arm suddenly appears in your peripheral vision, his chest almost brushing your back as he leans forward. There's this tiny pause—blink and you'd miss it—before he hits the button for the fifth floor instead.

You turn your head just enough to catch his eye, raising an eyebrow. No words needed.

You both know what this is: him taking you up on that offer to help him sleep. Simple as that. Like picking up takeout or scheduling target practice.

The elevator starts moving, and holy shit why is it so slow? The silence should be awkward, but it's not.

Maybe because you both know exactly what this is. No bullshit, no complications. Just sleep. Like you said in the training room—you're no good to each other half-dead from exhaustion.

It's probably stupid, spending the night with your Chief. But you've already crossed that line in his tent, and honestly? If sleeping next to you helps with his insomnia, then whatever.

You're already fuck buddies—might as well be helpful ones.

The doors finally open to the fifth floor, and Jeon steps back. He's giving you space, making it clear this is your call. Which is... weirdly considerate, actually. You step out because why not? This isn't some dramatic decision. It's practical. Logical, even.

The walk to his room feels longer than it should. Your feet are dragging because yeah, you're fucking tired. Today's been a whole thing—training, dinner, and now this weird arrangement that somehow makes perfect sense.

Jeon stops at his door, giving you one last look. Checking if you're sure, probably. You nod because duh. This isn't complicated. You're both adults who sometimes fuck and apparently now sometimes sleep (just sleep) together.

The door clicks shut behind you, and you get your first look at Jeon's private space.

So this is where the Chief of Tactical Assassinations sleeps. You can't help but snoop—it's basically in your job description as a member of Seduction Division.

The room is... exactly what you'd expect from Jeon, honestly. It's like someone took his personality and turned it into interior design.

Everything's black, white, or gray, like he's allergic to color. It matches his whole aesthetic—the guy who sees the world in shades of gray, making calls about who lives and who dies. Maybe the monochrome thing is some kind of metaphor. Or maybe he just really likes black.

There's this massive king-sized bed against one wall, all black sheets and dark gray duvet. The bed's made diligently, but you can see the slight wrinkles that mean he's actually slept in it. Unlike some people who just have fancy beds for show.

Next to it is this super minimal nightstand with just a lamp and—oh. An ashtray. Right. His stress-smoking habit.

The furniture could be from one of those fancy minimalist catalogs. Everything's black wood, clean lines, no fuss. There's a dresser that probably holds his endless supply of black t-shirts, a desk that looks barely used, and a chair that seems more decorative than functional.

What really gets you is how empty it is. No photos, no personal stuff, nothing that says "someone actually lives here."

It's like a really expensive prison cell or one of those model rooms in furniture stores.

You spot a door that has to lead to a private bathroom, and fuck, that's not fair. You're sharing a bathroom with like five other girls while Mr. Chief here gets his own shower? The perks of rank, you guess.

The floor's spotless—like, you could probably eat off it. Not a speck of dust anywhere. The whole place is as buttoned-up as Jeon himself, like maybe if he keeps everything perfectly ordered, the rest of his life will fall into line too.

"Well, it's very... you," you say, because what else can you say about a room that looks like it was decorated by a very organized ghost?

"I don't need anything else." He shrugs.

You hover by the bathroom door, suddenly feeling weirdly out of place. Being in Jeon's private space is... different. Not bad different, just different. Like seeing your teacher at the grocery store, except your teacher is a hot assassin you occasionally fuck.

"Hey," you start, trying to sound casual, "mind if I grab a quick shower first? I always wash up before bed, especially after training." You scrunch your nose. "Pretty sure I don't smell like a spring meadow right now."

Jeon's eyebrow does that thing—that infuriating arch that makes you want to either kiss him or kick him.

"What, you saying I stink, sunshine?"

"We both worked up a sweat today, cloud." You roll your eyes, but you're fighting a smile. "No judgment, just stating facts."

He jerks his head toward the bathroom door. "Go ahead. Towels and shit are in there."

You can't help yourself—really, you can't. As you pass him, you throw out: "Maybe take a page from my book and grab one yourself after. You know, freshen up a bit."

The snort he lets out is almost a laugh. "Watch yourself. I don't take orders in my own quarters."

But his eyes are doing that thing where they get all dark and playful, and you know that look.

Intimately.

"Just a suggestion between... friends."

You draw out the last word, letting it hang there like bait. Because that's what you are now, right? Friends who sometimes sleep together. And sometimes fuck. But tonight's just for sleeping.

(Sure it is.)

"So pushy." His smirk should be illegal. "What, you wanna shower together now? Could've just asked, sunshine."

You roll your eyes because it's easier than admitting how tempting that sounds. "You wish, thundercloud. I can handle washing myself just fine."

You head for the bathroom, but pause at the door because apparently, you hate yourself.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you add: "But you know... my back is kind of hard to reach..."

"Nice try." His voice has dropped lower, rougher. "But we said only sleeping tonight. Go get cleaned up. I'll be here when you're done."

The way he says it—like a promise and a threat wrapped in one—makes you seriously reconsider this whole "just sleeping" thing.

The bathroom is exactly what you expected—black and white everything, minimalist as fuck. It's like the room outside but with more tiles and chrome.

You turn the shower on hot enough to steam up the mirrors and step under the spray, letting it pound against your shoulders.

The water pressure is amazing. Of course it is—Chief privileges and all that. Your shared bathroom on the fourth floor can barely manage a decent drizzle, but this? This is heaven.

You take your sweet time, enjoying the luxury of a private shower where no one's going to bang on the door telling you to hurry up.

When you finally emerge, wrapped in one of Jeon's obscenely fluffy black towels (seriously, where does he get these?), steam billows out behind you like you're making some dramatic entrance. Your hair's twisted up in another towel, water still dripping down your neck.

You feel Jeon's eyes on you before you see him. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, and the weight of his stare makes your skin prickle.

His face is doing that careful blank thing, but his eyes? They're giving him away.

"Shower's free," you say, aiming for casual even though the tension in the room is thick enough to choke on. "You know, if you want it."

He just makes this low humming sound that absolutely does not make heat pool in your stomach.

Instead of moving, he just... looks at you.

His eyes track down your body, slow and deliberate, like he's memorizing every inch.

Like he's thinking about what's under that towel.

You refuse to squirm under his gaze. Two can play this game.

"Like what you see?" You cock an eyebrow, channeling your inner seductress (which is technically your job, so).

His mouth curves into that dangerous almost-smirk. "Maybe I'm just waiting to see if you'll drop that towel."

"You wish."

You turn your back on him (which is definitely not just an excuse to give him a better view) and head for his dresser.

The drawers are organized because of course they are. You find his t-shirts, all neatly folded like some department store display.

"I'm borrowing this," you announce, grabbing a shirt that looks big enough to work as a dress. You glance over your shoulder, catching his eyes again. "Unless you'd prefer me naked?"

His smirk grows, and fuck, that should be illegal.

"Be my guest."

The invitation in his voice makes your skin feel too tight, but you're not giving in that easy. This is a game of chicken now, and you're not about to lose.

Even if losing sounds really, really tempting right now.

You unwind the towel from your hair and toss it at Jeon, aiming for his face but hitting his chest instead.

"Just sleeping, remember? Go shower."

The towel slides down his front, and you catch this tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth—like he wants to smile but his reputation won't let him.

He stands up in that way he does, all fluid grace and barely contained power. Without a word, he heads for the bathroom. The door clicks shut, and soon you hear water running.

You grab his brush (because of course he has one, Mr. Perfect Hair) and start working through your damp hair.

It's weirdly domestic, sitting here in Jeon's room, wearing his shirt, using his stuff. The brush is probably expensive—it glides through your hair like it's made of silk or something.

Speaking of his shirt... You pull it on, and fuck. It smells like him—pine, wood, and smoke.

The fabric drowns you, hanging off one shoulder, falling to mid-thigh. There's something stupidly thrilling about wearing his clothes, like you're getting away with something.

Once your hair's somewhat tamed, you twist it up into a bun. The mirror catches your eye—one of those full-length ones that probably cost more than your monthly salary. You can't help checking yourself out, tugging the shirt down a bit because apparently, you still have modesty or whatever.

That's when you see him in the reflection.

Oh.

Jeon's fresh out of the shower, water still beading on his chest, towel riding low on his hips like it's trying to start something. He's got another towel in his hands, drying his hair as he sits on the bed, but his eyes?

His eyes are locked on your ass like it's his favorite meal.

The mirror gives you a perfect view of his face, and holy shit. The way he's looking at you—it's not subtle. At all. His gaze is heavy, hungry, like he's thinking about all the ways this "just sleeping" arrangement could go very, very wrong.

(Or very, very right, depending on your perspective.)

The temperature in the room spikes, and it's definitely not from the shower steam. You can practically feel the heat of his stare through the mirror.

So much for keeping things platonic tonight. A smirk tugs at your lips as an idea forms. Because if Jeon wants to play this game?

Well, two can definitely play.

You reach up to your bun, pretending to mess with the hair tie.

Oops—it "accidentally" slips through your fingers, falling to the floor with a silent grace that would make your Seduction Division trainers proud.

"Oh no," you say, channeling your best innocent voice. The one that fools absolutely no one but works anyway. "How clumsy of me."

You turn your back to Jeon, and fuck, you can practically feel his eyes burning into you.

Bending down—slowly, because you're nothing if not thorough—you give him a view that you know from experience he can't resist. The borrowed shirt rides up just enough to be interesting.

You take your sweet time "looking" for the hair tie, even though you can see it right there. Your fingers trail across the floor like you're putting on a show, which... yeah, you absolutely are.

When you finally grab it, you throw a look over your shoulder.

Jackpot.

Dark, obscure eyes pin you in place. Absolutely hungry. You'd bet good money that towel isn't hiding much anymore.

"See something you like?" Your voice comes out honey-sweet, but there's nothing innocent about the way you're looking at him.

Before he can compose himself enough to answer, you straighten up and sashay over to the bed. The sway in your hips isn't natural, but who cares about natural when it makes Jeon's breath catch like that?

You slip under the sheets, turning away from him because you're evil like that. The mattress dips as he lies down next to you, and you have to bite back a smile.

"We should get some rest." You keep your voice light, casual, like dismissing every inch of space between you. "Long day tomorrow."

He makes this grunt that could mean anything, but you know him well enough by now to recognize the sound of him wrestling with his self-control.

You can picture his face—brow furrowed, jaw clenched, probably glaring at the ceiling like he wants to shadowbox with it.

You wait, barely breathing.

Maybe you read this wrong.

Maybe he's actually planning to be good tonight.

Maybe he really does just want to sleep.

That's fine. Totally fine. This was his idea anyway, right? Just sleeping.

You're about to give up, admit defeat, when the mattress shifts.

Jeon rolls toward you, and suddenly his chest is pressed against your back, all heat and hard muscle. You fight back a shiver as his hand finds your hip, his thumb drawing lazy circles that make your skin buzz. His breath fans hot against your neck, and fuck, this is so much better than sleeping.

"I need to ease some tension, sunshine."

His voice is pure sin, rough and low right by your ear.

Heat pools in your stomach as you roll onto your back, meeting his gaze. His hand tightens on your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel how much he wants this.

"Oh?" You hold his stare, watching his control slip. "I thought you'd never ask."

You're definitely not getting much sleep tonight.

But hey, that was kind of the point, wasn't it?

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descendant-of-truth · 3 days ago

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While I'm of the opinion that the Re:Coded movie that's in all the collections generally does a better job at giving you all the relevant cutscenes than the Days movie, after playing through the DS game myself, I still think it's a shame how much they left out. Notably, the Castle Oblivion section is... extremely nerfed in the movie.

See, when Roxas tells Sora that he can do whatever he wants when talking to the illusions from his past, he means it. You, the player, are presented with different tasks that come with multiple dialogue options, and there are three possible endings for every "world" you enter. You get a different Ending Card depending on how you act; a Normal Card, an Alternate Card, and an Extra Card.

In the movie, instead of providing you with any kind of choose-your-own-adventure routes that lead to different cutscenes, they just. vaguely animate everyone talking silently to each other, and then have the illusions fade away. Which I think loses a lot of the intrigue, but it also means that relatively few people in the fanbase have even seen any of these routes.

I won't go over every single one because that can easily be done by looking them up on YouTube, but I do want to bring up one route in specific because it's really stuck with me ever since - Wonderland's Extra Ending.

So, in Wonderland, you're presented with a series of dilemmas:

Alice can't remember her name

The White Rabbit drops his pocket watch

The Cheshire cat gives you a riddle that requires you to choose the correct box or else fight a Heartless waiting in the wrong ones

One card soldier asks you to deliver a potion to a second card soldier for him

A third card soldier is weakened and woozy

You get the Normal Ending by doing at least one of these tasks correctly, the Alternate Ending by doing all of them correctly, and the Extra Ending by doing everything wrong.

In order to get the Extra Ending, you must:

Tell Alice that she's the Queen of Hearts

Pick up the White Rabbit's watch (causing Sora to lose sight of him, unable to return it; you're supposed to just tell him where it is)

Give up on the Cheshire Cat's riddle

Give the potion to the third, weakened card soldier, instead of its intended recipient (it turns out he was just hungry, not injured, so you didn't help him. the second card soldier would have given you a sandwich)

No matter what you do, at the end of each route, the Queen of Hearts will grab your attention and accuse you of being the thief who stole her memory. She'll try to back it up with proof, and even when you've done everything right (which she acknowledges), she still concludes with an "off with your head!" which Sora implicitly runs away from, ending the world's story.

Except for in the Extra Ending.

After she recaps everything you've done wrong up to that point, she drops this dialogue that I haven't been able to stop thinking about:

Queen of Hearts: "Don't tell me you were trying to be NICE? Cheering that girl up by telling her she was important? Giving things away because you thought someone else needed them more? Trying to... to own up to your failures!? Bah! Go on! Off with you!" Data Sora: "Not 'off with my head'?" Queen of Hearts: The punishment must match the crime! See how YOU like having something NICE done to you!"

It's hard to describe what it was about this that's still so striking to me months later, but it's just... kind of off-putting, in a way?

Having the Queen of Hearts choose to spare you as a "more fitting punishment" is out of character enough already, but the fact that it's the consequence to you actually doing everything wrong makes it feel all the more pointed. This is somehow supposed to be worse than being beheaded, and it kind of works, because it feels so much more personal than her usual schtick.

And it exists in such an isolated incident, too. The level is completed immediately after this dialogue, and nothing else is changed by getting it, it's just. there.

At the same time, everything about it feels so deliberate that I can't help but feel like it either is or will be relevant elsewhere somehow. It could just be overanalyzing on my part, but the first thing that comes to mind is actually that the Queen's final line could parallel the consequence of Sora misusing the Power of Waking?

He did so for a good cause, after all, but it wasn't what he was supposed to do. He broke a taboo of nature in the process. But his punishment isn't a straightforward death; he's just put somewhere else, somewhere he can't see his friends. "Off with you," the universe says, "see how you like having something nice done to you!"

...but that doesn't really feel like it's getting to the heart of the matter, which is that Data Sora did not need to do any of this. He could have told Alice her real name, on account of it being the default dialogue option, and he could have tried to figure out what was wrong with that card soldier before giving away stuff that wasn't his. He could have tried a little harder at the riddle. These were all fairly low-stakes situations - in particular, he really didn't need to lie to Alice.

The original Sora didn't have much of a choice in what he did. It was either lose his powers and vanish, or leave Kairi shattered and functionally dead. You can't really say he made the wrong decision, or did something immoral for a superficial reason.

So then... will this line remain an isolated slap in the face to completionist DS players, or will there be more to it? Is there already more to it that I'm missing? Where's our parallel to Data Sora "cheering that girl up by telling her she was important"? What are we supposed to make of "see how you like having something nice done to you"?

What does it all mean???

(In conclusion: go check out the DS versions of these cutscenes, they're great)

#kingdom hearts #kh coded #kh recoded #analysis #meta #data sora #kh sora #I'm curious to hear other people's takes on this because I've genuinely never heard anyone talk about these cutscenes before #It's entirely possible that they're not setting anything up and are just there to be interesting alternatives #but... what if they DO mean something #I can't be losing my mind over this all by myself guys

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deandoesthingstome · 2 days ago

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Imagine you're trying so hard to remain restrained for your husband, John, recently returned after almost eight weeks in the field. You know he needs time to decompress. Leave the debrief at base and shift himself into domesticity. It's not easy for him, you know.

And of course you love to talk with him, listen to him discuss any number of topics but what you really want is for him to take you as hard as he can.

Imagine you're stripped to undergarments and propped on your elbows at the end of the bed, knees bent and ankles crossed in the air behind you while he sits on the floor recounting plans for his break. You're humming with desire you hope he can't see, but of course he can. And it can't really be helped that your bra straps have fallen off your shoulders or that the soft flesh of your breasts are pressed together while you watch his lips move, rapt.

If his eyes drop and you see a waiver of his resolution it really can't be helped that your tongue will dart out to wet your lips as his gaze passes back to yours. You'll swear you aren't being impatient, urge him to go on, all while trailing your fingertips up and down the length of his forearms, settled on the bed. He can claim he needs to get in the mood all he wants, and it's not that you're daring him to peek at your lips or tits again, but you know you can help him get there if he'd just let you.

But he wants to do it on his own, so fine. It'll have to be him that finally breaks and leans forward to put his lips against yours and let your tongues meet, soft and slow. Nothing to rush, love. He'll remind you he's home for at least two weeks, maybe longer. Laswell promised, like you ever believe her. And he'll continue on about household projects.

You'll simply have to get him to realize that what you want is what he wants and you'll do that by dropping your mouth to his hand while he speaks, kissing the back of it, letting the soft hair brush against your lips before you slip them around a finger and suck, all while staring directly into his eyes as he goes on about the fence repairs he wants to get to. It's right about the time he mentions finally clearing out the overgrowth in the back west corner of the lot so you can expand the vegetable garden that you've slipped your mouth around a second finger and he realizes that the warm, wet heat would feel so much better around his cock.

Imagine you've lost the plot, and you're no longer listening to him, but instead thinking about that, too. Thinking about the way his skin feels warm against your tongue, the way the tip splits the seam of your lips, the way his girth slides inside to take up space. You're so caught up wishing he was as deep as he could be down your throat that you hardly notice he's finally peeled off his clothes and climbed his knees onto the bed, angling his core toward you so he only has to reach for the side of your face and tilt your head to meet him and you finally have at least one thing you've been urgently missing for the better part of two months.

Imagine he let's you gag on it, but not so much as to be able to call it the true throat fucking you're begging silently for. Runs a hand down your spine so he can slip a finger or two into the waist of your panties and push the fabric down the swell of your ass until he can rest a palm against your skin and squeeze gently with nothing in his way. Slides his hand further down so he can tease a finger at your slit before he presses inside you to pump a few times. Waits till you're drooling on his cock before he pulls away and returns to his seat on the floor and you want to call him mean for taking away one of the things that gives you the most joy, but you keep it to yourself because he decides the pace of this evening and the first night of return from any work trip longer than a week he wants to go slow. Ease back into you only after he's let everything else go. It's not that he doesn't love to fuck your mouth, or slap your pussy, or bully his way into your ass.

But tonight, as with every first return night, he needs something else to start. Needs to be reminded of his humanity. Needs to see you see him, feel your heart beat for him. You will give him that if the last thing you do. Even if it leads to nothing more. So you try to restrain yourself.

Imagine you think he's just going to go back to planning the hardware shopping trip for the new dog house he wants to build and it's only when you hear him say something about returning the favor that you realize he isn't talking about a honey-do list anymore. Well not that one anyway.

Imagine he motions for you to turn, lifting an arm and reaching alongside you like he wants to just grip a thigh and swing you around still on your belly, but he lets you move at your own slow, seductive pace. When you finally put your feet on the floor, you let him pull your underwear down your legs, let him toss it to the side, let him put his mouth against you and fuck if you don't want to drown him in slick right now. But he's not even touching your clit. There is no wide, muscular tongue sweeping along your pussy. There is only a hungry licking against your puckered hole and your mind is exploding with lust. And fuck if you don't produce that slick anyway, even it's just going to waste down your thighs and onto the floor in front of him.

Imagine he notices the mess and soon has you flipped to your back so he can get at the nectar you're producing for him and he sucks it down like a man starved, and you know he is. It's been too long. And as much as you wanted to let him come to you in his own time, even if that meant maybe tomorrow, every inch of you has needed him inside you since he walked through the front door tonight; maybe since you got the touch-down text from him five hours ago. You can't really be blamed that he's the one who invited you to get comfortable in the bedroom while he loosened up. And not that you wouldn't have been happy to take him on the couch if that's where he wanted to relax, but c'mon John. The bedroom? Really?

Imagine you have to bite your tongue when he sits back again after pulling the orgasm from you. He knows better than to think that will slake your thirst for him, but remember? He's got a lot to get off his mind. Your legs dangling off the edge of the bed instead of draped around his shoulders is doing a number on your back, so you scoot up the bed. It's only a stretch to ease the muscle ache, but if he wants to call you a tease for flipping onto your stomach again before taking your knees wide and pressing your hips back toward your heels where your toes touch behind you, arms stretched long in front of you, that's on him. You aren't pressuring him to do anything he doesn't want to. He's welcome to crawl in bed beside you and ease off into a gentle slumber if that's what he needs right now.

Imagine you know that with that view, the only thing he's thinking about now is climbing back onto the bed and hauling your hips into the air so he can slip his throbbing dick right into your glistening folds, taking you from behind and giving you just enough of a rush, but not too much so that you are now forced to lift up onto your hands all on your own and use the press of them against the mattress to help you press back into him, to meet every one of his urgent thrusts with wild abandon until he's grunting and growling and coming right along with you. Finally.

#captain john price #john price #john price cod #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #idek what this is #price fix

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xylatox · 4 hours ago

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New girl next door || ‘02 Line

Rei is back guys and is feeding us with a lovely enha fic (^^ゞ

But then there's this, a blank slate, this house that smells of dust and potential, waiting for you to make it yours. It's a mix of excitement and fear of starting something that feels big and important but full of unknowns. — So glad to be able to read a rei fic again, i missed her words.

I love how the boys are introduced but as the mc rightfully says at the end there really is a strange feeling. Like i feel that you actually captured the vibe well rei :)

Kai and Tyun cameo :(( my babies, they are so cute — "I told you to marry rich," Kai adds, popping a gummy bear into his mouth. — you just have to love Kai

Taehyun smirks. "So which one's the tsundere? There's always one." — i giggled, i just love that he knows

"I see we're operating on shared delusion," you mutter, but you're already stepping aside and holding the door open. "Fine. Come in. But if one of you eats all the Oreos from my pantry, I'm changing the Wi-Fi password you don't even have yet." — i love her

I also love how well you managed to capture the 02z dynamic/vibe

Jake's now halfway through the cookies. "You should join us for dinner sometime. Jay usually cooks. Sunghoon critiques it. I set the mood." — every time jake says something i cant help but laugh

I love the moment with Hoon at night, its actually really sweet despite his distant behaviour.

You learned quickly that mornings with them had their own rhythm: Jay always ordered something complicated with substitutions, Sunghoon barely ate but stole bites from other people's plates, and Jake talked enough for all three of them combined. — i love yapper Jake. I just love how this is written. It makes me so happy.

"Hey. So, um—" He glanced back over his shoulder like he was checking to ensure no one was watching. "Jay's making dinner tonight. Actual dinner, not just ramen and regret." — i love him so bad actually.

Kai let out a low whistle. "It's happening. She's starting a harem." — i laughed out loud, havent heard that word in a while.

"Oh, did you know," he said, resting his chin in his palm like he was about to share state secrets, "that Jay once tried to make gnocchi from scratch and cried when it turned out grey?" — another laugh came out of me, i didnt expect that.

HELLO??? JAKE STARING AT HER??

REI I GASPED. HEESEUNG? MY BABY 😭😭No but my question is, did Hee really just go to the first house he saw and knocked to ask about her?

Jay didn't let him finish. He stepped forward briefly, placing a protective hand on your shoulder. "I'm her boyfriend," he said, his voice carrying a subtle yet undeniable firmness. "Can't I just hang out with my girl and my bros simultaneously without some sleazy ex disturbing us?" — i feel bad for Hee but i laughed. The treatment from all boys is insane

I love how Kai and Tyun are literally the best friends oh my god i love them. I also love how supportive they are of everything.

The kiss was sudden but not rushed. It was warm and searching, the kind that felt like a question and a relief simultaneously. Jake kissed like someone who'd thought about it a lot. Like someone who wasn't sure he'd ever get to. — HELLO????

Somewhere between lips and soft gasps, you led him inside. — oh holy shit???

I love how obvious Jake kinda is because it seems so him to not be able to hide anything.

"Come on." He tilted his head, amused. "I may be dense sometimes, but I'm not blind. Or deaf. You both looked like you'd seen a ghost earlier. That, or you stuck your tongues down each other's throats and forgot to talk about it." — i will always love the way Jay just knows what to say.

"You need to be quiet," he whispered, voice low against your ear. "Unless you want them to know that you're mine for tonight." — oh good lord

He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “Y/N…” His voice cracked a little, and you could see his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You don't need to do that. You don't need to fix anything. You don't have to give me anything." His thumb gently brushed against your wrist, calming you in a way that no words could. "You don't need to make up for anything." — I was shocked from her statement and I got so worried but Sunghoon is such a darling

Oh my god the end hello??? I absolutely love that it remained ambiguous, i love how complicated it was but how the boys literally lessened the complication and didnt make her feel bad. Another great piece from rei :) im so glad youre back

New Girl Next Door I '02 Line

⟢ Pairings: neighbors!02 liners x fem!reader ⟢ Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut (mdni!!) ⟢ Warnings: mature content, explicit language and sexual content, emotional breakdown, multiple smut scenes, oral! (f! rec), p in v, unprotected!sex, protected!sex, creampie! (reader is on birth control but wasn't mentioned), Imk if i missed anything!

Summary: When you move into a quiet neighborhood for a fresh start, the last thing you expect is to live next door to three ridiculously attractive guys. What starts as neighborly banter turns into late-night confessions, stolen kisses, and a complicated tangle of feelings you can't outrun. In the end, which neighbor opens the heart of the new girl next door?

⟢ Word Count: 22.7k

The sun beats down on you as you stand on the sidewalk, the weight of the cardboard box in your arms growing more unbearable by the second. "Kitchen Stuff," it says in bold letters across the side, but right now, it feels more like an anchor than something useful. You try to hold it more comfortably by adjusting your grip, but it's impossible. You can't manage the size of the box by yourself, and the heat is making matters worse. The humid air pressing against your skin makes moving ten times more difficult.

You can't help but think back to why you're here in the first place. This is supposed to be a fresh start. Your first place. The beginning of something new, away from everything you used to know. But standing here, on the edge of this unfamiliar neighborhood, struggling with a box that you swear weighs more than it should, you can't help but feel a pang of uncertainty. A small part of you feels like you're leaving behind something you'll never be able to get back—familiar faces, the comfort of the past, the rhythm of your old life.

You take a deep breath, finally giving up on the box and shifting it to a new angle, but it doesn't get any easier. Just as you're about to make another attempt, a voice cuts through the air, catching your attention.

"Hey! Do you need a hand, or are you trying to fight gravity on your own?"

You blink, startled, and glance up, trying to make sense of the voice that seems to belong to a stranger standing across the street. You can barely make him out through the giant box in your arms, but you see enough: a guy with dark hair, an easy smile, and a casual stance.

You glance back at the door to your new place. You're so close, but this box is just too much. You can feel the sweat dripping down your neck, the heat threatening to overtake you, and something about the guy's voice makes you pause. Maybe it's just relief or a willingness to accept help, but you take a moment before answering.

"I've got it," you say, more out of habit than confidence. You try to shift the box again, but it only seems to get heavier.

He doesn't buy it, of course. "You sure about that? Looks like you're losing the battle to me."

You bite your lip, already feeling the awkwardness of the situation settling in. The guy's not wrong. And you're not sure why, but something in his tone makes you let go of the box just enough for him to swoop in and take it from you, lifting it without a second thought.

"You don't have to do that," you say quickly, but it's too late. Jake's already walking toward your front door.

"Don't worry about it," he calls back, glancing over his shoulder. "What's the point of neighbors if they can't help you carry heavy stuff?"

You can't help but stare after him momentarily, surprised by how easily he just took charge. And maybe, just maybe, the fact that he didn't hesitate to help makes you feel a little less alone in this sea of change.

As he heads toward your door, you hear the soft sound of footsteps from behind, and another voice cuts in, smoother and quieter than the first.

"Doesn't look like you're in control of that situation," says a taller guy with a more deliberate, calculated presence. His voice is calm and measured, and you can't help but feel the difference between him and the first guy. He seems… more reserved. You catch a quick glimpse of him this time—blond hair catching the sunlight, a sharp contrast to the other's dark hair—and it hits you how striking he looks in a quiet, unbothered way.

You look up, meeting his eyes briefly as he walks past, his hand reaching out to grab another box from you. It's a silent gesture, but there's something in the way he moves, so efficient and careful that you almost don't notice until it's too late.

"Thanks," you murmur, more to fill the space than anything else, and it almost feels normal for a moment. Like this could be the kind of neighborhood where people help each other out, where you're not alone in the chaos of moving.

You're about to say something more when you hear a soft chuckle behind you. You turn to see a third guy standing on the porch, leaning casually against the railing, earbuds in and one eyebrow raised in mild amusement.

"Who moves in during a heatwave?" he mutters under his breath, though it's loud enough for you to hear. He's smirking, clearly entertained by the whole scene.

You glance back at him, an eyebrow quirked. "It wasn't exactly my plan."

His lips curl slightly, but he doesn't say anything more, the corners of his eyes crinkling with quiet amusement as he watches the two guys carry your boxes inside.

The dark-haired one—the first to approach you—places the box down gently on your porch and wipes his hands on his shorts before flashing you another wide grin.

"I'm Jake, by the way," he says, sticking out his hand, casual and easygoing. "Welcome to the neighborhood."

You shake his hand, feeling the heat from both the sun and the moment.

The blond guy sets your second box down next to the first and straightens up, nodding slightly. "Jay," he says, his voice as clipped and efficient as his movements.

You nod, repeating their names under your breath to yourself—Jake and Jay. Easy enough.

Jake gestures toward the guy still lounging on the porch. "That grumpy one over there? That’s Sunghoon. Don’t mind the attitude—he's nicer than he looks."

Sunghoon, still smirking, pushes off the railing and gives a lazy little wave, clearly unbothered by the introduction.

"Nice to meet you," you offer, feeling a little out of breath—not just from the heat or the moving, but from the way all three of them seem so effortlessly alive, so rooted in this neighborhood you're only just stepping into.

Jake glances at your door as they finish up, then back at you. "Well, that's all of them. Not bad for a first day, right?"

You're still a little dazed from the whole experience, but you manage a small, tired smile. "Yeah, thanks. I wasn't exactly planning on getting a welcoming committee."

Jake grins, his easygoing nature infectious. "Hey, you don't get to choose your neighbors, but you can definitely make the most of it."

Jay, brushing his pale blond hair out of his eyes, quietly adds, "We've all been there. Moving's never easy."

And then there's Sunghoon, who, without a word, gives you a lazy smile from the porch as he slips his earbuds out. His gaze lingers for a moment before he turns to head back inside, leaving you standing in the doorway, feeling more exposed than you'd like.

Sure, They've helped you, but something in the air about their presence makes you feel like you're already tangled in their lives. And you're not sure if that's a good thing or not.

The quiet hum of your new house surrounds you as you close the door behind you, the weight of the box long gone. But the weight of everything else—the newness, the uncertainty, the fact that you're not entirely sure what's next—settles into your chest.

It's a strange feeling. And you wonder if you'll ever get used to it.

Later at night, the house smells like cardboard and lemon-scented floor cleaner. Somewhere in the chaos, a candle burns on the kitchen counter—your half-hearted attempt at pretending this is home already. The living room is still a jungle of boxes, some half-unpacked, others just… there.

You're sitting cross-legged on the floor, wearing the same sweaty shirt from earlier, your hair tied up in a messy knot. A takeout container sits abandoned at your side, half-eaten. Your phone leans against a ceramic mug, propped up just enough for the screen to catch your face as it rings.

It connects after the third ring. Two familiar faces appear side by side—Taehyun and Hueningkai squished into the frame like some kind of chaotic commentary duo.

"Hey!" Kai chirps immediately, waving like it's been years. "You survived!"

Taehyun just stares at you. "You look like a raccoon that got hit by a moving truck."

You groan and flop backward against a pile of throw blankets. "Because I was hit. By heat. And gravity. And my own bad decisions."

"I told you to hire movers," Taehyun says, smug.

"I told you to marry rich," Kai adds, popping a gummy bear into his mouth.

"I hate both of you," you mutter, smiling despite yourself. "You'll never believe what happened though."

Kai leans closer to the camera. "Don't say you fell in love with your delivery guy. I've already written three fanfics about that scenario in my head."

"Worse," you deadpan. "There's a house across the street. With three guys. All stupidly attractive. All mysteriously helpful, well, two of them were."

That gets their attention. Taehyun raises a brow. "Define 'stupidly attractive.'"

"Like… if someone Photoshopped the members of a boy group into a lifestyle commercial about clean living and emotional repression."

Kai gasps. "You moved into a K-drama."

Taehyun smirks. "So which one's the tsundere? There's always one."

You glance at the ceiling. "His name's Sunghoon. He didn't even help me. Just made fun of me from the porch like some aloof anime rival."

Kai practically squeals. "I knew it. And the charming golden retriever type?"

"That's Jake. He carried the heaviest box like it was made of feathers. Told me gravity was optional."

"And the serious one with good hair?" Taehyun asks knowingly.

"Jay. Quiet. Blonde. Looks like he'd be the type that reads classic literature for fun and judges people for using too much seasoning. Wait, how the fuck are you describing them so accurately?"

Kai clutches his chest. "This has sitcom energy written all over it."

You laugh, rubbing at your face. "It was surreal. They introduced themselves like some unofficial welcome committee. Jake even carried boxes. Jay took one without asking. Sunghoon just… watched like he was grading the situation."

Taehyun tilts his head, a ghost of a smile on his face. "How are you feeling about all this?"

You fall silent for a second, picking at the edge of a moving label on the nearest box. "Weird. Everything's so new. The house doesn't feel like mine yet. I don't have anything figured out. But… when they helped me earlier? For a second, I didn't feel so alone."

Kai softens. "You're not. You've got us. And apparently, three hot neighbors who lift heavy things and emotionally confuse you."

"Don't trip and fall into one of them," Taehyun says, deadpan.

Kai wiggles his eyebrows. "Or do. It'd be iconic."

You smile, warm and tired. "Thanks for the chaos. Seriously."

"Anytime," they echo in unison.

You end the call eventually, but your heart feels a little lighter, your chest a little less heavy. Outside the window, the porch light across the street is still on. Someone walks by it, probably heading inside for the night. You don't know which one of them it was, but something about it feels oddly comforting.

You look around the mess of boxes, tape, and takeout containers. The place still doesn't feel like home. But maybe, just maybe, it's starting to.

It's only been two days, but you've developed an instinct: anytime there's a knock on the door, brace for chaos.

You wipe your hands on your shorts—mid-unpacking again because somehow there are always more boxes—and shuffle over to the front door. The knock comes again. Three sharp raps. Light, but too coordinated to be a delivery guy.

You open the door. And there they are. Again.

Jake stands in the middle, wearing that same easy grin, holding a tin of cookies like a peace offering. Jay is beside him, arms crossed, his face unreadable but not unfriendly. Sunghoon is lingering slightly behind the other two, earbuds slung around his neck this time instead of buried in his ears. His hands are in his pockets, head tilted as if this whole situation mildly amuses him.

"Hi," Jake says brightly, as if this is normal. "We come bearing gifts."

You stare at the tin. Then at them. "Did you bake those yourselves or rob a bakery on the way here?"

Jake gasps—faux offense. "We slaved over a hot oven for... okay, no. We bought them."

You raise an eyebrow and reach out, flipping the tin. The price sticker is still on the bottom. "Huh. Team effort, huh?"

Jake shrugs with zero shame. "Jay drove, Sunghoon carried the bag, and I chose the cookies."

Jake's eyes light up. "You do have Oreos?"

Jay gives him a look. "Focus."

They file inside like they've done this before, scattering across your barely-arranged living room. You mentally brace yourself for judgment, but to your surprise, none comes.

Jake plops onto the floor and opens the cookie tin like it's sacred. "So, how's it going? Still finding mystery boxes labeled 'can be kitchen or bedroom'?"

You gesture vaguely to a corner filled with mismatched mugs, cleaning supplies, and a random lava lamp. "I've made peace with being a functional disaster."

"Same," Jake says around a cookie. "That's why I bought a cactus. Low expectations."

You glance at Sunghoon. He's wandered over to your bookshelves, running a finger along the spines like he's trying to decode your personality through fiction.

He glances at you, then at a copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray. "Oscar Wilde and ramen. You're eclectic."

You cross your arms. "You say that like it's a warning."

Sunghoon smiles faintly. "Just an observation."

Jay, meanwhile, is looking at the thermostat. He points. "That dial's finicky. You'll need to jiggle it clockwise before it actually responds."

You blink. "Are you... giving me house maintenance advice?"

He shrugs. "Better than waiting for it to freeze you out. The water pressure in the upstairs bathroom sucks, too. You'll want to test the downstairs one first."

You study him. Jay doesn't talk much, but when he does, it's like he's already thought the whole thing through twice. There's a quiet kind of attentiveness to him you missed the first time.

"Noted," you murmur, and he nods once, then goes back to inspecting a sticky note on your fridge that says "Buy toilet paper" with the seriousness of someone solving a crime.

Jake's now halfway through the cookies. "You should join us for dinner sometime. Jay usually cooks. Sunghoon critiques it. I set the mood."

You squint. "Define 'set the mood.'"

"Playlist," Jake replies confidently. "Mostly 2000s boy bands. A little Mariah Carey."

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. "You put Pitbull on the last playlist."

"I stand by that."

You shake your head, already regretting asking. But your smile won't go away. It's strange—how easily they occupy a space. You haven't figured out how they feel less like strangers and more like a sitcom cast yet.

Eventually, the cookies are reduced to crumbs, and the boys stand to leave.

Jay's the first to step out, nodding at you like a quiet promise. "Text me if you can't get the thermostat to work. I can walk you through it."

Jake points finger guns on the way out. "Welcome to the neighborhood."

Sunghoon's the last to leave, pausing in your doorway. "If you ever need silence, our rooftop is quiet around 11 p.m."

You blink. "That... was surprisingly thoughtful."

He shrugs one shoulder. "Don't read into it."

Then they're gone. The door clicks shut behind them, and your living room feels a little too quiet.

You stare down at the half-empty tin and snort softly. Store-bought cookies and three very different kinds of neighborly chaos. This whole street might be a fever dream.

Still... you're not complaining.

The street is unusually tranquil tonight.

You hadn't planned on doing anything, really. Maybe finishing the ramen you half-cooked or finally tackling the hellscape that is your bedroom closet. But the trash bag sitting by the front door demanded attention, and now here you are—barefoot, in pajama pants and an old hoodie, holding a slightly torn bag of garbage while the summer night air presses against your skin like a damp towel.

You mutter to yourself as you struggle with the bin lid, fumbling in the dark. "Cool. Glamorous. Totally thriving."

Then, a voice floats from the left—low and amused.

"Hoodie and pajama pants combo. Brave."

You nearly jump out of your skin.

You turn your head sharply and spot him—Sunghoon—leaning against the short wooden fence that divides your yard from the sidewalk. He's in joggers and a fitted t-shirt, sweat darkening the neckline and clinging slightly to his collarbone. His hair's damp, sticking up in the wrong places. There's a sheen of sweat on his skin that catches the moonlight.

You narrow your eyes. "You always sneak up on women taking out the trash?"

He lifts a shoulder in a slow shrug. "Just finished a run. Didn't think I'd interrupt a dramatic garbage disposal."

You roll your eyes, but your mouth twitches. "Are you mocking me or flirting with me? I need to know what I'm working with."

He lets out a quiet laugh. It's short but real.

"I don't flirt in pajama pants hour," he says, adding, "But if I were, I'd at least bring coffee."

You cross your arms, stepping closer to the fence. "Is that your way of saying I should step up my late-night attire game?"

"I mean," he muses, "you did match the hoodie and pants. That's effort." You smile despite yourself. It's the kind of smile that sneaks up on you—gentle, unforced.

There's a long pause. Not uncomfortable, just… quiet. You both linger there, separated only by a few wooden boards and the rare stillness in this city. The kind that hums beneath your skin.

He glances up at the sky. "You can't see much here. Too much light pollution. No real stars."

You follow his gaze. "They're still there. Just hiding."

Another silence. A softer one.

"I like this time of night," he says eventually. "It feels like the world stops pretending."

You blink, surprised at its rawness. "What do you mean?"

He chews on the inside of his cheek. "People don't perform as much at night. It's too quiet to pretend you're fine all the time."

You watch him for a beat, the way his profile softens in the streetlight's glow. Something about it—him—feels real in a way you didn't expect. Not right away.

You toe at the grass under your foot. "Do you always get philosophical after cardio?"

He grins. "Only when the moon's judgmental."

Another pause. You glance toward your house. The light from your living room spills into the yard, casting a warm haze over the porch. Your half-unpacked boxes are still stacked by the entryway. Inside, it feels like chaos. But here? Out here with him? It feels like the eye of the storm.

You lean on the fence a little. "I think I like this time too."

He nods, slow and deliberate. "You can come out here sometimes. If you need quiet."

You tilt your head. "Is this an invitation?"

His eyes flick to yours, something unreadable in them. "It's not a rejection."

That leaves you quiet.

He pushes off the fence after a beat, stretching his arms behind his back. "Anyway. Try not to get eaten by raccoons out here."

"Noted."

"Night, pajama girl."

"Night, cardio boy."

He disappears into his side of the house, and you're left in the quiet again—but it feels different this time.

Fuller. Warmer.

It started small.

One Saturday, Jake stood on your porch wearing sunglasses and an alarming amount of enthusiasm, shaking a to-go coffee at you like a bribe.

"You have to experience the only good brunch spot in this hellhole," he declared as if it was a moral obligation. "It's part of your initiation."

You had still been in your pajama pants, hair half-tied up with a pen, clutching a list of chores you didn't actually want to do. And somehow, despite every intention of saying no, you ended up shoved into the backseat of Jake's car between a box of reusable shopping bags and a stray soccer ball.

Jay was already there when you arrived—leaning against the café's outdoor railing, stirring a coffee with slow, deliberate movements. He barely glanced up as you approached, just giving a slight chin tilt that said both hey and you're late at the same time.

Sunghoon arrived five minutes later, sliding into the seat across from you with his hoodie pulled over his head. His sunglasses covered half his face as if he were recovering from a hangover.

"Is he okay?" you asked, a little concerned.

Jake just laughed. "This is his okay."

Sunghoon flicked a piece of toast at Jake without a word.

You just tried to survive it.

From there, the Saturdays started piling up.

Somehow, without asking permission, they became part of your calendar.

Not an obligation. Not even a real plan. Just... expected.

You ended up at the local flea market one morning, supposedly "just browsing."

Jake, predictably, lost focus immediately.

You found him twenty minutes later trying to convince a vendor to sell him a neon lava lamp for half price.

"It's vintage," Jake argued, clutching it like a trophy.

The vendor, a stone-faced woman in her seventies, was unmoved. "It's tacky."

Jay, appearing behind you with a basket of vinyl records tucked under his arm, deadpanned, "So is he. Let him have it."

Jake beamed at the accidental endorsement.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon had vanished somewhere near the food stands. You spotted him across the way, balancing two cups of iced coffee precariously in one hand while texting with the other. He noticed you looking and offered the tiniest shrug that somehow said, What? I'm a multitasker.

You shook your head, laughing under your breath.

When he finally made it back, he set a cup in front of you without comment—exactly how you liked it. No sugar, extra ice. You blinked, surprised he remembered.

He didn't say anything. He just nudged it toward you casually, like it was no big deal.

Your heart did a weird little somersault.

You told yourself it was just the caffeine kicking in.

Later that afternoon, it was the plant shop.

You wandered between the rows of succulents and spider plants while Jake trailed dramatically behind you, narrating like a nature documentary.

"Observe the wild Y/N in her natural habitat," he whispered loudly. "Drawn instinctively to small, low-commitment life forms."

You smacked him with a fern.

Jay stood by the pots section, analyzing the designs as if they were ancient artifacts. You watched him turn a terracotta pot over in his hands, checking the drainage holes with an almost surgical focus.

"You're taking this very seriously," you said, amused.

Jay glanced at you, one eyebrow raised. "Bad drainage kills the roots. You can't half-ass the foundation."

You stared at him for a beat longer than necessary. Something about how he said it was sticking to your ribs. It's not just about plants, maybe. About everything.

Sunghoon, for his part, picked the most miniature succulent he could find—a tiny thing barely bigger than his thumb—and declared it was "enough commitment for now."

You arched an eyebrow. "Afraid of responsibility?"

He smirked, spinning the pot once between his fingers. "Afraid of overwatering."

You didn't know what to say to that, exactly. It felt like it meant something more.

Maybe everything did with him.

Maybe with all of them.

You ended the afternoon with a pile of plants, an overpriced lava lamp, and a half-melted ice cream cone because Jake insisted that no weekend adventure was complete without dessert.

Back at your house, you all lounged on your front porch, the sun drifting below the rooftops, painting everything in soft gold.

Jay sat cross-legged on the steps, scrolling idly on his phone.

Sunghoon leaned back against the railing, eyes half-closed, humming quietly under his breath.

Jake sprawled across two chairs like he owned the place, tossing pebbles at an invisible target.

You watched them—these three chaotic, complicated, impossible boys—and for the first time in a long time, you felt it.

That tentative thing in your chest.

Like maybe...

Maybe you were allowed to belong somewhere again.

Maybe you didn’t have to keep looking over your shoulder, wondering when you’d have to leave.

The thought scared you a little.

But it also made you smile.

You were halfway through a very glamorous evening of folding laundry and pretending to organize your books when you heard it — three quick raps against the wood, familiar now in a way that made your heart stutter for reasons you refused to unpack.

When you opened the door, Jake stood there, a sheepish grin on his face and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie.

"Hey. So, um—" He glanced back over his shoulder like he was checking to ensure no one was watching. "Jay's making dinner tonight. Actual dinner, not just ramen and regret."

You smiled. "Sounds fancy."

He laughed. "Yeah, well. He got a new recipe from some cooking show, and Sunghoon dared him to try it. This means it's either going to be amazing or we're all going to die dramatically. Wanna come?"

There it was again—that warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest.

"Sure," you said, sounding casual like your brain wasn't already spiraling into what-the-hell-do-I-wear mode.

Jake's whole face lit up. "Awesome. Come hungry. And maybe bring a fire extinguisher. Just in case."

You laughed as he backed down the porch steps, throwing you a wink before jogging across the street.

The moment the door shut, you practically sprinted for your phone.

You flopped onto your bed, FaceTiming Taehyun and Kai, who answered almost immediately.

"What's up, new girl?" Taehyun said, lounging sideways across his couch like a cat.

Kai leaned over his shoulder, grinning. "You look stressed. Bad date? Broken appliance? Existential dread?"

You huffed. "Worse. Dinner invite."

They stared at you.

"You're gonna have to be much more specific, with which one?" Taehyun said.

"With all three of them," you clarified, feeling your face heat. "Tonight. Like—an actual dinner. Jay's cooking."

Taehyun immediately sat up. "Oh my god."

Kai let out a low whistle. "It's happening. She's starting a harem."

You scowled. "Nothing is happening. It's just dinner."

They exchanged the most irritatingly synchronized look you'd ever seen.

"Right," Taehyun said, dragging the word out. "Just dinner with three hot boys who you happen to banter with every day and who happen to look at you like you're the only person on Earth sometimes."

Kai nodded solemnly. "Totally normal. No notes."

You threw a pillow at the screen. "Help me pick an outfit or I'm ending the call."

That got them moving.

Taehyun instructed you to hold up options one by one while he gave devastating critiques, and Kai kept interjecting with commentary like "That top says 'I could fall in love with you by accident,' but the jeans say 'don't talk to me before coffee.'"

Ultimately, you settled on something simple: a soft sweater that made your eyes pop, your favorite jeans, and a necklace you always wore when you needed extra courage.

Not too much. Not too little.

Just... safe.

"You're gonna kill them," Kai said, popping a gummy bear into his mouth.

Taehyun pointed at you through the screen. "Remember, confidence. And if Jay burns the food, pretend to faint from hunger. Drama earns points."

You laughed, feeling the nervous energy settle just a little. "Thanks, guys."

"Anytime," they chorused.

You hung up, checked yourself once in the mirror, and tried to pretend it was no big deal.

You were just going to dinner with your neighbors.

Just dinner.

With 3 absolutely hot neighbors...

The sun had just started dipping by the time you crossed the street.

When you walked in, the dining table was already set—not just a "grab a fork and sit down" set. It had actual placements, folded napkins, and a tiny glass vase in the center with a few delicate white flowers. The soft glow from the warm ceiling light made everything look golden—inviting, even.

"You guys... went full Pinterest," you said, a little stunned.

"Jake," Jay replied dryly from the kitchen without turning around, "raided the neighbor's garden."

"Borrowed," Jake corrected, popping up beside you with a grin. "With an intense respect for nature. And a pair of scissors."

Sunghoon, already sitting with one leg tucked under the other, lifted his water glass. "He asked for help holding the flowers and then nearly cut my thumb off."

You smiled, your nervousness softening under their easy banter. "I feel like I've walked into a dinner party for a queen."

"You're not wrong," Sunghoon said, lips twitching.

Jay emerged from the kitchen carrying a large pan of steaming, delicious-smelling food and placed it in the middle of the table like it was sacred.

"Okay," he said, wiping his hands on a towel, "tonight's main course: soy-garlic glazed chicken thighs with roasted sesame vegetables and rice. Do not insult it. I've already questioned my life choices enough to make it."

You blinked.

Jake leaned in, whispering, "He's been watching that Michelin chef series. Every time they yell at someone, he takes it personally."

Jay rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

Sunghoon was already spooning rice onto his plate with the same seriousness people reserved for surgery.

You sat carefully, letting the moment wash over you—the warm clatter of dishes, the murmur of overlapping voices, the smell of garlic and soy and something subtly sweet.

The food was really good.

"You weren't kidding," you said around a bite of perfectly cooked chicken. "This tastes like you robbed a restaurant."

"That's the only kind of crime I condone," Jake said, pouring you a drink. "Well, that and the emotional kind."

Jay gave him a warning glance. "Don't start."

But Jake already had.

"Oh, did you know," he said, resting his chin in his palm like he was about to share state secrets, "that Jay once tried to make gnocchi from scratch and cried when it turned out grey?"

"It was supposed to be beetroot pink," Jay muttered, scowling at his plate.

"Color doesn't change flavor," Sunghoon added, deadpan. "But his soul was crushed."

"Can't believe you're doing this in front of our guest," Jay muttered, but he didn't really seem mad. His voice was warmer than before. Less guarded. They kept roasting each other, telling half-stories that trailed off in laughter. You listened more than you talked at first, taking in how different they were yet somehow perfectly chaotic.

Jake was the loudest. He always leaned forward, gesturing with a fork and tossing his head back when he laughed.

Sunghoon didn't talk as much, but every time he did, it was to deliver a dry, perfectly timed punchline that had everyone howling.

And Jay... Jay was precise. Quiet, but not cold. The kind of person who only spoke when he had something worth saying—or when he wanted to cut through the noise with something disarmingly honest.

"So," Jake turned to you, mid-meal, "what's your go-to comfort meal?"

You blinked. "Like... childhood favorite? Or post-breakup survival?"

"Both," he grinned.

"Mac and cheese for childhood. And pancakes for heartbreak," you answered.

Sunghoon nodded like that made complete sense. "Sweet over salty. Coping through carbs. Acceptable."

"What about you guys?" you asked, curious now.

Jay answered first, quietly. "My mom's doenjang-jjigae. It's the only thing I ever ask for when I visit."

Jake said, "Spam and rice with ketchup. It sounds cursed, but it hits."

Sunghoon shrugged. "Toast."

You looked at him. "Just... toast?"

He met your gaze evenly. "Emotional damage lowers the bar."

That made you laugh so hard that Jake nearly spit out his drink. Even Jay cracked a genuine smile.

You didn't remember the last time you laughed this much over dinner. The kind of laughter that makes your face ache in the best way.

Somewhere between second helpings and a debate about which anime protagonist would win in a street fight, you caught Jake watching you—not just glancing, watching. And when you looked back, he didn't flinch away.

Neither did you.

Jay noticed, too. You could feel it in the shift of the air.

You looked away.

You weren't ready to face whatever that was. Not yet.

Later, when dinner was over, and everyone was sinking into the couch with soft drinks and sleepy smiles, Jay quietly brought you a mug of hot tea without a word and handed you the blanket Sunghoon had kicked off.

You curled up under it, more aware than ever of how easily your life had started to rearrange itself.

You weren't sure what to do with that knowledge.

The laughter from the living room was light, the kind of easy noise that made you forget all about the stress of unpacking and moving in. You, Jake, and Sunghoon were sprawled out on the couch, half-watching a movie as you chatted about random things, their voices filling the room with comfortable noise. You hadn't even noticed how much time had passed since dinner. It felt like you were finally getting into a groove here, like maybe this whole moving thing wasn't so bad after all.

And then, there was a knock on the door.

It wasn't an urgent knock, just a soft tap, like whoever was on the other side wasn't entirely sure if they should be there. You thought nothing of it for a moment, too wrapped up in the conversation to even register it.

But then Jay, who had been lounging nearby, got up, his blonde hair messy but effortlessly styled as always, and strolled over to the door. You barely had time to process that someone was at the door before Jay opened it.

A man stood on the other side, his back mostly to you, his posture confident and sure, like he was someone who had every right to be here. He spoke first, his voice calm and polite. "Hey, uh... I'm looking for someone."

Jay raised an eyebrow, sizing him up for a moment. "Who are you looking for?"

The man didn't seem fazed by the question. Instead, he offered a small, polite smile before responding, "I heard someone named Y/N moved into the neighborhood recently. Do you know her?"

Jay hesitated momentarily, then gave the man a nod, still blocking the door slightly. "Yeah, she's inside. I'll let her know you're here."

Jay glanced over his shoulder, his voice casual but carrying an undercurrent of something more. "Y/N, someone's here to see you."

You froze mid-laugh, the words taking a moment to register. Your heart gave an unexpected lurch, the sound of your name hanging in the air like a strange omen. You weren't expecting anyone tonight. The weight of Jay's words and the way the room fell silent for just a moment caught you off guard. You stood up, your movements slower than usual, and instinctively turned to Jake and Sunghoon, who had gone quiet, too.

Jake shot you a quick look. "Who is it?"

You shrugged, unsure of how to respond. You weren't expecting visitors. At least, not like this.

Jay stepped aside when you reached the door, allowing you to face the visitor. The guy standing there still had his head looking down, but his posture, his clothes, and his neatness seemed so oddly familiar, like something that didn't belong here in this neighborhood. It made your chest tighten with some unexplainable feeling.

When he finally looked up to face you, everything seemed to freeze.

You immediately recognized him. The man standing there wasn't just any stranger. He was someone you'd known far too well. Your breath hitched, and your heart beat a little faster. It was a feeling you hadn't expected, not here, not now.

It was him.

"Hee?" you whispered, almost too softly for anyone else to hear, your voice catching in the air like it had been waiting for this moment to break free. It was the only thing you could think to say, but the realization hit you like a flood. Your heart stumbled in your chest, suddenly unsure how to process the situation.

He stood there for a split second longer, unsure how to answer you. And then, the same calm smile you remembered so well tugged at the corner of his mouth. His eyes softened, but there was an air of something complicated behind them.

"Yeah, it's me," he said quietly, almost sheepishly.

Jay glanced between the two of you, his eyes flickering with a flicker of something — maybe recognition, maybe just curiosity — before his voice cut through the air once again, sharp but almost forced in its neutrality.

"Do you two know each other?" Jay asked, his tone casual but with a layer of something underneath that you didn't quite catch.

You nodded, though your throat felt tight. "Yeah. We… we know each other," you said, the words coming out quieter than you intended. Your gaze flickered between Jay and the man in the doorway, and you felt the weight of the situation settle heavily on your shoulders.

"Right," Jay said, his gaze shifting back to you. The brief interaction between you and Heeseung hung in the air like something unspoken. You could feel the weight of his gaze, but you barely had time to register it before the man in front of you spoke again, his voice slightly more casual this time.

"I'm here for a work trip. I heard you moved into the area and thought I'd drop by," he said, his tone almost too calm, like he wasn't standing on the threshold of a past you'd both tried to move on from.

The air around you seemed to grow heavier like the past was reaching out to you. Heeseung's presence felt like something you hadn't prepared for, but there he was, looking like he hadn't aged a day since the last time you'd seen him.

Jay, ever the neutral one, gave a quick glance over his shoulder, his voice cutting through the silence. "Well, we're just hanging out. If you need something, I'm sure you can find it elsewhere in the neighborhood."

He wasn't being rude intentionally, but something in his tone made you think Jay was ready for this interaction to be over. He wasn't wrong. You weren't sure how to handle this, how to fit the person from your past into this new life that felt so different from everything that had come before.

For a moment, Heeseung hesitated, as if unsure of what to do next. He stood there for a second, his hands still tucked into his jacket pockets. He didn't push further, but the awkwardness was palpable. He didn't ask to come inside, and you didn't invite him in. He just lingered, standing on the threshold, his gaze never leaving you.

"Are you just visiting?" you asked, your voice too soft and unsure.

Heeseung nodded slowly. "Yeah. Just for a couple of days. It's for work, but I'll be here for a while."

You nodded back, unsure of what else to say. It didn't feel like he was here for some grand reunion, but it didn't feel like a simple neighborly visit either. The lingering question of why he'd chosen tonight—of all nights—to show up hit you like a quiet punch to the gut.

Jay, who had been watching quietly, seemed to sense your discomfort and stepped forward. He crossed his arms, blocking Heeseung from fully entering. His tone was calm but firm.

"Is that it?" Jay said, his voice low but pointed. "You can go now."

Heeseung didn't flinch. Instead, he glanced at Jay, confused but not deterred. "I'm not here to fight," Heeseung said, his eyes softening as he looked back at you. "I just... I wanted to talk. To explain things. We never really got closure, Y/N."

The request hung in the air, too heavy for you to ignore, but you didn't know what to say. Your mind was racing, trying to sort through the mess of emotions that had resurfaced. Before you could respond, Jake and Sunghoon, who had been lounging in the living room, finally noticed the shift and walked over, their expressions unreadable but attentive.

Jake was the first to speak, his tone casual, but the undercurrent of seriousness was unmistakable. "Not the right time, man," he said. "You should go."

Heeseung's eyes darted between the three of you, sensing the subtle but firm boundary you were all setting. He didn't back down immediately, though, his jaw tightening.

"Y/N, please," Heeseung pressed, his voice pleading now, the calmness starting to crack. "I've been thinking about everything. I know I messed up, but I... I want to try again. I just need you to listen—"

Seeing you back up unconsciously, Jay stepped forward without hesitation and raised his voice just enough to cut through the tension. "No. She doesn't need to listen to you. You've had your chance."

Sunghoon leaned in slightly, his voice dry but light. "Did you seriously think she'd be interested in a visit from you right now?" His eyes gleamed with mischief. "Not exactly the warmest welcome, huh?"

Heeseung looked at him, caught off guard by the casual comment, but before he could respond, Jake spoke up. "Who are you, even?" His tone was laced with a mix of curiosity and protectiveness.

Heeseung's eyes flickered between the three of them—Jake, Sunghoon, and Jay—his confusion mounting. "Who are these guys?" he asked, trying to make sense of the situation. "Why are they...?"

The words hit Heeseung harder than expected. His face fell, a mix of hurt and frustration crossing his features, but Jay didn't give him a chance to respond.

Jay kept his gaze locked on Heeseung, not even blinking. "You need to leave," he said again, his tone now dangerously calm.

Heeseung's lips parted as if he was going to argue, but instead, he just sighed, his shoulders sagging. Without another word, he turned away, his footsteps retreating into the quiet night.

The door clicked shut with a finality that made you feel like you could finally breathe again.

There was silence for a few moments. You didn't know what to say, your mind still reeling from the confrontation. Jay moved away from the door, stepping back to stand beside you. He gave you a quiet glance but didn't press you for anything.

You exhaled, your body relaxing slightly as the tension began to dissolve. "I didn't... expect him to show up like that," you murmured, still shaken.

Sunghoon sighs lightly, crossing his arms with a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, you don't have to tell us anything, don't worry, and hey, who would've guessed Jay's got that boyfriend vibe down already?" He chuckled, clearly amused.

Jake leaned back against the couch, arms crossed with an amused glint in his eyes. "Nah, Jay's too smooth for that. He just knew exactly how to handle it."

Jay shrugged, his usual calm composure in place. "I just don't want to see you get hurt, that's all. Wouldn't be a good 'boyfriend' if I didn't defend my girl, you know?" he said softly, his gaze meeting yours for a moment longer than necessary.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. "You guys are ridiculous, you know that?" you muttered, though your voice held no real bite.

Sunghoon winked at you from the side. "We'll keep being ridiculous. You seem to like it, anyway."

You shook your head, the warmth of their teasing finally washing over you. "Yeah, I suppose," you said with a soft sigh.

Jake nudged you with his elbow. "Just don't forget who's got your back, yeah?"

You glanced over at him, then at Sunghoon, who had a sly smile on his face. "I won't forget. Thanks, guys."

Jay raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. "If I were you, I'd make sure Heeseung doesn't return. I'm not giving up this 'boyfriend' role anytime soon."

"Fake boyfriend, don't get too ahead of yourself there," Jake interjects, his tone hinting at something you can't really pinpoint.

You let out a small laugh, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting you. "You're all nuts," you said, but the fondness was evident in your voice.

Sunghoon leaned back, stretching his legs out. "I'm pretty sure we're not the only crazy ones in this room."

The rest of the night was easy and light, with the boys joking and talking. For the first time in a while, you felt like maybe things were starting to feel a little more normal.

The soft rays of the early morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows on the living room floor. You woke up slowly, the warmth of a blanket draped over you, the smell of something delicious filling the air.

You blinked, adjusting to the light. The couch was surprisingly comfortable, and you realized with a start that you had somehow ended up curled up on it. Your body was stiff from the position, but you didn't mind. The night had been an unexpected mix of awkwardness and something more, and you weren't sure if it was the exhaustion or the intimacy of the situation that made you feel so strangely content.

But what caught your attention first wasn't the gentle stirrings of the morning. It was the sound of someone humming softly in the kitchen, the soft clinking of pots and pans. You turned your head and spotted Jay in the kitchen, his back to you as he flipped something in a pan. The light from the windows caught in his hair, and you had to admit—he looked good in the morning light, effortlessly natural, like this was just another day.

You blinked again, still trying to shake off the sleep. The two others—Jake and Sunghoon—were still fast asleep on the couch beside you.

You chuckled softly to yourself. "Well, that's one way to start the day."

Jay turned at the sound of your voice, giving you a smile that was a mix of surprise and something else you couldn't quite place. "Morning, sleepyhead. You slept well?"

You nodded, pulling yourself up into a sitting position. "Yeah, surprisingly. But I need to head back to my house and shower. I've got some chores to do and… I don't know, just need a fresh start to the day."

Jay chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, before you go, you've gotta eat something. I'm making breakfast. Don't leave on an empty stomach."

You hesitated, feeling a slight pang of guilt. "I should really head home, Jay. I can't stay."

"Come on, just a quick bite," he insisted, moving to plate a couple of eggs and toast. "You've been through a lot. Let me take care of you for today."

You gave in, your stomach grumbling at the smell of food. "Okay, fine. But just a little."

Jay smiled as if he'd won a small victory, placing the plate before you. As you sat down at the kitchen island, you couldn't help but notice how effortlessly he moved around the kitchen, the way he worked with a confidence that seemed so natural.

"You sure you don't need help with that?" you asked, eyeing the rest of the cooking.

"Nah, this is easy," he said, shrugging it off. "Besides, you just sit there and enjoy the food."

With that, you dug in. It felt nice to eat something that wasn't takeout or microwaved food, especially after everything that had happened. The simple comfort of a home-cooked meal made you feel grounded, even for a moment.

Jay watched you quietly for a second before his voice broke the silence again. "So, how are you holding up after last night?" he asked casually, though there was a hint of concern in his eyes.

You paused, swallowing your food before answering. "Honestly, I'm a little shaken. It was… unexpected. Heeseung showing up and everything. I wasn't ready for that."

Jay nodded, taking the seat beside you and setting his coffee down. "I get it. It wasn't easy for you. But you handled it well. I'm glad you didn't let him push you around."

You offered him a small smile, grateful for his support. "I don't think I could've if it weren't for you."

Jay waved it off, his usual confident demeanor slipping back in place. "It's no big deal. You know I've got your back, no matter what."

You finished your breakfast quietly, and the tension from the previous day slowly started to lift. As you got up to leave, you couldn't help but notice how Jake and Sunghoon were still fast asleep on the couch, tangled up in a rather ridiculous position. Ironically, Jake's arm was draped over Sunghoon, who had somehow ended up with his head on Jake's chest. They looked utterly oblivious to the world around them, peaceful in their shared slumber.

You chuckled softly to yourself. "They look ridiculous," you muttered under your breath, shaking your head at their unexpected closeness.

Jay raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "You mean to tell me those two aren't a couple? They act like it."

"Definitely not," you said with a laugh, standing up from your seat. "But they seem pretty comfortable."

Jay shrugged, seemingly unbothered by their unusual position. "Whatever works for them. Alright, go on. I'll wake them up later."

You nodded, giving him a grateful smile. "Thanks, Jay. I appreciate it."

With a last glance at the boys, you made your way back to your house, the silence between you and Jay hanging in the air as he saw you out.

The morning light filtered through the trees as you walked back to your front door, and for the first time in days, you felt like things might be okay again.

The boys had done their best to distract you last night—keeping the mood light with inside jokes, teasing, and comfort in a way that only friends who felt like family could. But now, in the quiet of your own home, the buzzing noise in your head returned.

You needed to talk to someone who knew you. The one who had cried to the same two people through breakups, hangovers, panic attacks, and post-midterm breakdowns.

Taehyun and Kai were only a FaceTime away.

You hesitated at first, the weight of the call lingering in your thumb. What were you even going to say? "Hey, so my ex showed up, got wrecked by the new boys next door, and now I'm accidentally sort-of-fake-dating one of them?" It sounded absurd even in your head.

Still, you tapped the call button.

Within seconds, Taehyun's face popped onto the screen, his hair messily styled, the lighting behind him unmistakably warm and homey. He grinned like he'd been waiting for this call all day.

"Y/N!" he sang, dragging out your name with theatrical flair. "There she is. My emotionally unstable yet stunning bestie. What's going on? You look... tired. Did a raccoon break into your house? Or was it another boy this time?"

You rolled your eyes, a tired smile tugging at your lips. "You could say that," you murmured, settling back against the pillows. "Heeseung showed up."

Taehyun blinked. Then blinked again. "Heeseung as in your 'it's not you, it's my emotional immaturity' ex-boyfriend Heeseung?"

"That's the one."

Before he could respond, Kai appeared on screen too, plopping down dramatically beside Taehyun and stealing half the frame. "Wait. What? Heeseung? Like, showed up where? Your house? Your dreams? Or did he slither up through a sewer grate like the snake he is?"

You snorted, your fingers brushing your forehead. "At the boys' house. He came to their door asking for me. I don't even know how he found out I moved here."

Kai gave the camera an exaggerated squint. "Wait, wait. What boys? The hot ones you told us about?"

"Yes, those boys," you said, already regretting how many details you'd given them in past updates.

Taehyun leaned forward like he was watching a drama unfold in real-time. "Okay, okay, but what happened? You can't just drop a bomb and walk away. What did he say? What did you say?"

You hesitated, then let out a breath. "He wanted to talk. Said he missed me. Said he wanted to try again." You winced at the sound of it aloud. "I couldn't even get a word out before Jay stepped in."

Kai gasped with his whole chest. "Jay stepped in?"

You nodded, and your lips twitched at the memory. "Jay stepped in. He opened the door, didn't know who Heeseung was, but as soon as he realized he was asking for me, it was game over."

Taehyun narrowed his eyes. "Details. Don't skip. I want exactly what he said, including tone and any sassy eyebrow raises."

You burst into a laugh but relented. "He said, and I quote: 'I'm her boyfriend. Can't I just hang out with my girl and my bros simultaneously without some sleazy ex disturbing us?'"

Both boys screamed at the same time.

"OH MY GOD."

"HE DID NOT."

"That's so hot. I'm actually mad at you for living this rom-com instead of me," Kai was practically bouncing. "So wait. Heeseung just... believed him? And left?"

You nodded slowly. "Well, there was a lot of glaring, and Heeseung tried to argue. Like, 'Who even are you?' and Jay didn't back down. Jake and Sunghoon came out too. It was kind of intimidating."

"And you?" Kai asked, eyes softening a little. "What did you do?"

You shrugged, voice quieter. "Nothing. I just stood there. I couldn't speak. It all happened so fast. Jay... handled it."

There was a beat of silence. Then Taehyun's voice dropped, gentle. "How did it feel? Seeing Heeseung again?"

You bit your lip, unsure of the answer. "Like my past showed up uninvited. And suddenly, all the work I did to move on didn't feel real anymore."

Kai's teasing melted away as he leaned closer to the camera. "But you didn't let him back in. That's real. That's strength. Don't downplay that."

You swallowed, trying not to get choked up. "I just... I didn't expect Jay to do what he did. It was so fast. Like, suddenly, he was this—protective thing standing in front of me, and I didn't even ask for it."

"And you liked it," Taehyun said gently, not asking—knowing.

You looked away, then back. "Yeah. I did."

There was a silence. Then—

Kai smirked again. "So what you're telling us is... your hot neighbor fake-boyfriended your ex into running off into the night, and now you're feeling things."

Taehyun gasped. "Wait, you are! You're catching feelings! I knew it. You're soft for Blond Hero Boy."

You groaned, pulling a pillow over your face. "I am not! I'm just confused. Okay? He was being nice. People can just be nice sometimes!"

Taehyun snorted. "Jay doesn't seem like the 'just being nice' kind of guy. He seems like the 'I'm gonna mean what I say and say what I mean' kind."

Kai nodded sagely. "That's boyfriend behavior, Your Honor."

You sighed again, pushing the pillow aside. "Okay, so maybe there's something. But I'm not doing this again. I don't want to jump into anything. Not now."

"Then don't," Taehyun said simply. "But don't run from it either. If he's good to you—and I mean really good—then maybe let yourself feel it. Even a little."

Kai added, his voice softer than usual, "No pressure, Y/N. Just take your time. But we've seen you after Heeseung. You were a shell. And now... even when you're tired and shaken, you're glowing a little again."

That hit somewhere deep. You looked at your screen, at your two best friends staring back with nothing but love and belief in their eyes, and something loosened in your chest.

"Thanks, guys," you whispered. "I don't know what I'm doing, but... I'm glad I have you."

Taehyun grinned. "Always. You don't have to figure it all out tonight. Just don't shut us—or them—out."

"And tell Jay he's officially on our radar," Kai added. "He's earned one gold star. We'll be watching."

You laughed through the lump in your throat. "You're the worst."

"We're the best," they said in unison.

You sat there for a moment, hugging your knees to your chest, the emotions swirling but no longer drowning you. Maybe you were still lost. But you weren't alone.

And that counted for something.

As the call wound down, you were just about to press "end" when Taehyun's voice stopped you.

"Wait," he said suddenly, his tone a little different this time—softer, sharper. "Before you go."

You blinked. "...Yeah?"

He leaned in, elbows on what looked like the arm of his couch. His expression had changed—less playful now. More knowing. The kind of look you hated because it meant he was about to say something that would hit you right in the gut.

"You keep talking about Jay," Taehyun said slowly. "But you've also been talking about Jake. And Sunghoon. Like... a lot."

Kai sat up straighter beside him, his brows furrowed in the same curious way.

Taehyun tilted his head. "And it's the way you say their names. Like you don't even realize it. You're not just grateful they're nice, Y/N."

You hesitated. Your breath caught in your throat. You tried to scoff, to deflect like you always did—but nothing came out.

Kai blinked. "Wait—hold on. Oh my god." He leaned toward the screen. "You've got feelings. For all three of them?"

"Wh—No!" you said quickly, too quickly. "I mean—" You buried your face in your hands for a second, groaning. "Maybe. I don't know. I didn't mean to get attached. It just… happened."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the call. Not awkward. Just real. Like they were letting your confession settle.

Taehyun's voice was quiet when he finally spoke again. "You got attached because they treat you like you matter. That's not a crime, Y/N."

You stared at him, blinking against the sting in your eyes.

Kai, ever the mood-breaker, piped up. "Unless you pick the wrong one. Then it's a whole Netflix documentary. 'Small Town Girl, Big Emotions, and the Love Pentagon- wait no- Square Nobody Asked For.'"

You burst into a laugh-sob, tossing a pillow at your phone screen. "Kai, please."

"No, no, seriously!" he grinned. "The true crime vibes. The scandal. The heartbreak. I'm already imagining the moody cover art."

"Let her breathe," Taehyun said, though he was smiling too. Then he looked at you again, his tone gentler. "It's okay to be confused, Y/N. You just got out of something heavy. You moved. Your whole life shifted. Of course, things are messy."

"And they're really good to you," Kai added softly. "That's gotta be confusing too. When you're used to... less."

Your throat tightened. You looked down at your hands. "I just... I don't want to hurt anyone. Or ruin something good before it even starts."

"You won't," Taehyun said. "Not if you're honest. And not if you keep listening to what you want instead of what you're scared of."

You exhaled slowly, like something you'd been holding in for days had finally cracked open.

"Thanks," you said after a beat. "For not laughing. Or making me feel worse."

"Are you kidding?" Kai said. "This is prime drama. I'm invested now. You better give us updates, or I'll report you for emotional withholding."

You couldn't help but smile. "Okay, okay. I will. Just… let me figure things out first."

Taehyun gave you a slight nod. "Take your time. But remember—you're allowed to want good things. Even if they scare you."

You groaned into your hands as they burst out laughing.

"Can I just live in denial for like... two more days?" you muttered.

"Absolutely not," Taehyun grinned. "But you can take your time. Just don't run from it."

Your chest tightened, but you managed a small smile. "Okay. Thanks. For real this time."

Taehyun winked. "Anytime, dummy."

You didn't see the boys that morning after you returned from your house—just a quick wave across the street, through the window when you noticed Jake cleaning their living room. The space was nice. You'd needed a moment to breathe, to let your conversation with Taehyun and Kai sink in without your thoughts getting swallowed by someone else's presence.

But by mid-afternoon, you found yourself hovering at your front door with no real excuse, sipping on an iced coffee that had already melted too much to taste good. The ache in your chest hadn't left, but it had shifted—less grief, more confusion. More… longing.

Your phone buzzed.

Jay: You alive over there? Jake says if you’re ghosting us he's throwing your feel better cupcakes in the trash.

You smiled a little, thumbs already moving.

You: Was planning to. But now I'll come over just to save the cupcakes.

A few seconds later, another text popped up.

Jay: Backyard. It's nice out. Jake's trying to work the grill, says he has to keep the Aussie in him by having shrimps on a barbie.

You chuckle, setting your phone down, and slipped on your sandals before heading next door.

You found Sunghoon first, sitting under the patio umbrella with headphones half-on, scrolling on his phone. He looked up as you approached, and for a second, his usual aloofness cracked into something soft.

"You came back," he said, setting his phone aside.

You shrugged, settling in the chair beside him. "Cupcakes were on the line. I couldn't let that kind of injustice happen."

He smiled faintly, eyes lingering on you a second longer than they needed to.

"They're actually kind of awful," he said. "Don't tell Jake."

You leaned in conspiratorially. "I'm telling him the second I see him."

There was a pause, comfortable but weighted in a way that made your heart flutter just slightly.

"You okay?" Sunghoon asked, voice lower now.

You nodded. "Getting there."

His eyes searched yours for a moment before he gave the slightest nod. "You don't have to pretend with us. You know that, right?"

You didn't respond, just gave him a tiny smile. But your chest squeezed a little tighter when he looked away—like he was trying not to say more.

When you went to the backyard, you could smell a faint… burnt smell.

Jake was by the grill, battling it like it owed him money. His tongue poked out slightly as he focused, a crease between his brows.

"Planning to burn the house down?" you called out.

Jake was startled, clutching his chest dramatically. "You can't just sneak up on a man like that, Y/N! I almost died."

You laughed and leaned on the counter beside him. He grinned, cheeks slightly pink.

"Seriously though, glad you're back," Jake said, more sincere now. "We missed you."

You smiled. "You saw me this morning."

"Yeah, but it's not the same. You didn't wake us up and say bye, plus it's boring without you." His words were light, teasing—but his eyes were sincere.

You tilted your head, touched by how easily Jake could make everything feel lighter. "Thanks, Jake. Really."

He offered you a crooked smile, bumping your shoulder playfully. "Anytime. I'm basically your emotional support golden retriever now."

You laughed, the sound easing some of the lingering tightness in your chest.

“Y/N!” You hear Jay call you as he lounges on his chair, sunglasses on.

Jake returns to batting the grill, "Go hang with Jay for a bit, don't leave your fake boyfriend hanging."

You leave him to battle it out with the grill and walk up to Jay. When he noticed you, he removed his sunglasses and patted the free chair beside him.

"Back from your dramatic self-imposed exile," he teased, his voice warm.

"I'm not that dramatic," you said, settling beside him.

Jay tilted his head thoughtfully. "You ghosted us for five hours and almost rejected my cooking. Kinda dramatic."

You narrowed your eyes playfully. "You practically forced me to eat."

He shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. "I figured you might not eat otherwise. It wasn't great, but the thought counts," Jay leaned back on his palms, watching you carefully. "Last night… I didn't mean to overstep. With the whole boyfriend thing."

You shook your head quickly. "No. You didn't. Actually… it helped."

Jay's gaze sharpened, almost unreadable. "Good. 'Cause I wasn't bluffing."

You blinked, heart catching.

"Protecting you?" he added easily, though his voice had a rougher edge to it now. "I meant that."

The space between you crackled, something fragile and electric.

You licked your lips, your voice smaller than you meant for it to be. "Thanks. For being there."

Jay looked away like it was too much to say more right now. "Always, Y/N."

The air hung heavier after that. Jake called from the grill, and Sunghoon pulled out a speaker to play music. The atmosphere returned to easy banter, but you could still feel the shift, as if an invisible string had tied itself between you and each of them.

You hadn't meant for this to happen.

You hadn't meant to start caring about all of them.

But you had.

And you didn't know what to do about it.

The night had wound down slowly after the backyard hangout, laughter trailing like a warm aftertaste. Jay had gone inside first, muttering about finishing laundry. Sunghoon had followed not long after, faking a dramatic yawn and saying something about beauty sleep.

Jake stayed.

You hadn't planned on walking home with him. You hadn't really planned on anything. But when he nudged your shoulder and said, "Let me walk you to your door," it felt too natural to say no.

The air was cooler now and quiet in the neighborhood. Your sandals clicked softly on the pavement, and the stars were clear—many more than you were used to seeing.

Jake glanced at you a few times, each followed by a quick glance forward again, like he was trying not to stare.

When you reached the little gate to your yard, you stopped. So did he. You turned to him. "Thanks for—"

"You make me feel like I'm in a constant rom-com," he interrupted, voice light but shaky around the edges. "The bad kind. The pining one."

You blinked. "Jake—"

"I mean it," he added, eyes locked on yours now. "You say something, laugh, or even just show up, and it messes with my whole day. In a good way. But also in a really confusing way because I don't know if I'm allowed to want this."

He exhaled, hands half-tucked into his hoodie. "But I do."

It was soft. Honest.

You stepped forward, heart thudding. "You're not the only one confused." Jake's hand brushed against yours like he wasn't sure if he should touch you. You took it.

It deepened quickly—hesitant hands turning bolder, breaths coming quicker, your back bumping lightly against your front door as he murmured your name like a prayer.

Somewhere between lips and soft gasps, you led him inside.

You didn't talk much as you moved through your house. The silence was heavier than awkward—anticipation, nerves, and want all tangled together. His fingers trembled slightly when they brushed your arm. In your room, he paused.

Jake cupped your face, leaning in until his forehead rested against yours. "Tell me if I need to slow down," he whispered. "Or stop. I don't want this to be a mistake."

You looked up at him—Jake, who wore his heart so easily, who made you laugh when you didn't want to, who had just confessed in the softest way.

You kissed him shyly, lips pressed against his as he settled onto your bed, leaning back against the headboard. His hands found your hips and moved you to sit on top of him, soft lips hungry for more of your touch, and his mind went blank. Soon, soft kisses grew more eager as your touch consumed his thoughts. Your hands framed his face, and his wandering hands snuck under your sweater and felt along your spine before swiftly removing it.

Time seemed to blur as you continued kissing passionately, hands exploring but staying within comfortable boundaries. He didn't rush you, even as your effect on him was evident. Instead, he maintained a shared rhythm, making you feel cherished.

Eventually, the intensity of your kisses led you to pull back, your lips tender. His breathing was heavy, and his hair was disheveled. Your hands then moved down his front, taking off his jacket. Though you felt you were undressing him quickly, it wasn't fast enough for him. He turned you onto your back and swiftly pulled off his shirt. You then removed your bottoms, watching as he revealed his entire body.

You leaned back, supporting yourself with your hands, to meet his kiss. As your mouths met and tongues intertwined, his hands moved down your back, deftly unclipping your bra. A soft gasp escaped you, immediately captured by his kiss as he slid the straps off your shoulders, letting your bra fall away. You slowly sank back into the pillows as he trailed kisses down your neck, gently guiding you to lie entirely on your back.

He continued with wet kisses from your neck to your chest, his hands lightly tracing your ribs as you arched towards him, your breath coming in short gasps. A sigh escaped you at his tender touch, and he then cupped your breast, softly squeezing it before his lips found your hardening nipple.

"Is this good?" Jake murmured a hint of shyness in his voice, his tongue briefly touching your nipple as his thumb gently brushed over it, feeling it firm. You were almost speechless as he repeated the gesture a couple of times. You could barely form words to respond when he repeated the actions a few times.

You let out a soft whine, shifting restlessly for more of his touch. He glanced up at you, his hair falling across his eyes, and playfully flicked his tongue against your nipple while his other hand caressed your other breast. Jake then continued his kisses down your stomach. With a slight, frustrated sound, he sat back, his gaze sweeping over your nearly bare body. He then lifted your legs onto his shoulders, sliding the last piece of clothing off you and tossing it onto the floor with the rest.

"Have you been hiding this gorgeous body from me?" Jake murmured, finally pulling down his pants and quickly taking off his briefs at the same time. He barely gave you a moment to take in his body, your eyes briefly drawn to his erection before he leaned in for another kiss. "If I had known your body was as beautiful as your face, I wouldn't have hesitated to tell you how I felt about you."

Clearly captivated by your chest, he returned to your breasts, hungrily latching onto a nipple, abandoning any further words as he immersed himself in your warmth. After you softly whined, he pulled back slightly and lifted your right leg, bending it towards your stomach, which further exposed your aroused state to his eager gaze. The glistening wetness of your folds caught his attention, making him run his tongue along his lower lip.

Jake's attention was entirely on your pussy, his finger tracing the center where your arousal had pooled. The slick fluid coated his finger and your clit. A moan escaped you at the touch, your jaw relaxing as he gripped your hips with his other hand, pressing you firmly against the bed. Ensuring you stayed put, he lowered himself, his face settling between your legs as he sought a taste.

His lips were gentle against you, his eyes fixed on your swollen folds as his tongue traced the pool of your arousal. He practically sucked for a taste, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses on your center. You gripped the sheets tightly, your legs instinctively wanting to close, but his mouth followed your every movement.

Jake's breath hitched, though it seemed unimportant as he nipped and sucked at you, your clit rubbing against the tip of his nose. His focus was singular: your pleasure. He wanted to make you feel incredible, to erase thoughts of anyone else and fill your mind solely with him. Suddenly, his mouth closed over your stiffened clit, and he began to lick and suck, the wetness of your opening slicking his chin as he devoted himself to you.

You tasted incredibly sweet to him, driving him to the edge of his control as his erect cock moved restlessly against the bed. Your head was thrown back, lost in the sensations between your legs, your eyes glazed over as you moaned at the ceiling. Jake watched you surrender to his touch, his hand sliding along your body, feeling the deep breaths that hollowed your stomach as he cupped your breasts. His fingers were slick with your arousal, and he used them to coat your nipples, rubbing them as his mouth continued to pleasure you intimately.

You were consumed by the ecstasy of his mouth on you. You couldn't recall the last time someone had touched you like this, bringing you such pleasure. It certainly hadn't been with your ex, whom you'd stopped being intimate with long before the breakup, and even then, he never made you feel this way.

"Oh—" you moaned softly, your hands in his dark hair, gently holding him close. He remained silent, simply guiding you towards orgasm, feeling the tremors in your legs and the catch in your breath. Your clit pulsed in his mouth, and he soothed the intense sensation with tender lips and gentle lapping of his tongue as you descended from the peak of your pleasure.

"Condom?" you asked, playfully nipping his lower lip. He nodded, and you reached blindly for one in your nightstand drawer.

"Looks like you were prepared," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"You never know what could happen when you have hot men as your neighbors."

He watched as you slid the condom onto his fully erect member, which bounced slightly. He placed a hand at the base as you moved to straddle him. The expression on your face as you lowered yourself onto him was beautiful, and you exuded a confident eagerness that he hadn't seen before.

He resisted the urge to move, wanting this to be pleasurable for you as well and let you adjust. "Jake," you murmured, your hands flat on his chest, which accentuated your breasts. He carefully shifted his hips, pressing just a little deeper.

"That's it, baby," he breathed, watching your hair fall forward as you focused on his thrusts. You ground your hips against him, and he watched your body tremble with pleasure. The way you moved captivated him, and he couldn't help but lean up to kiss one of your breasts as you rode him for the first time.

He then groped your ass, spreading your cheeks and thrusting deeply as you threw your head back with a whimper. "Feels good," you sighed. You wrapped your arms around him, pressing him tightly against your chest as he bounced you, moaning against your nipples and leaving trails of saliva. His nails dug into your skin as he lifted your hips up and down on his cock.

He felt restricted, unable to move his hips as much as he desired. With a low grunt, he rolled you onto your back, your knees digging into the mattress as your legs wrapped around his waist. "Fuck, I can't," he muttered, perhaps meaning he couldn't hold back much longer.

You barely registered his words as Jake began to thrust deeply inside you, grinding his pelvis against yours with each powerful movement. A familiar wave of sensation tightened around his member as your body gripped him. He knew he wouldn't last much longer either.

"Gonna cum for me, baby?" he asked softly, kissing your jaw and holding your waist as he thrust deeply, feeling your nails dig into his back.

"Please," you begged, snuggling into his neck, and his chest tightened with desire. He put more force into his thrusts, bringing you and himself to the brink of climax. Your pleas were too enticing to ignore.

A wave of intense pleasure washed over you, your skin prickling with goosebumps as a shiver ran through you. He held you tightly as you moaned in euphoria, reaching another climax. Jake couldn't hold back any longer, and your legs wrapped around him gave him no choice but to drive the rest of his length into you until he came into the condom.

You lay together for a moment, his fingers gently combed through your hair, and you straightened your sore legs as he pulled out.

You remembered little else besides the growing drowsiness as he cleaned you up thoroughly. He then laid back in bed, pulling the covers over your naked body, and fell asleep with you in his arms.

The sunlight was creeping in through the edges of the curtains, soft and golden, warming the skin on your back. But inside, you were anything but warm.

Jake's arm was still resting loosely over your waist, but his breathing had shifted—less even, more aware. Still, you stayed still, pretending not to notice. Pretending the tangle of thoughts in your head wasn't growing louder with every passing second.

Last night shouldn't have happened. Or maybe it should have. Perhaps that was the problem—you didn't know anymore.

You bit down on your lip, trying not to overthink it, but of course, you were. How could you not? Because, yes, Jake had looked at you like you were the only person in the world. He'd kissed you like he meant it, held you like he wanted to stay. He was sweet, nervous, and kind in a way that made your heart ache.

But that ache wasn't just for him.

It throbbed a little when Jay hovered near you in the quiet when his voice dipped low and protective. It flickered when Sunghoon offered you tea without asking and sat beside you in a silence that felt like understanding.

You weren't supposed to fall. You definitely weren't supposed to fall in three directions at once.

You sighed and slowly pulled the blanket back, slipping out of bed as gently as you could manage. Jake shifted behind you, a soft rustle of sheets and a sleepy exhale.

You padded to the doorway of the bedroom, pausing there as your fingers brushed the frame.

"You're thinking way too hard for this early in the morning," Jake said, voice low and hoarse with sleep.

You turned, startled to see him already sitting up. His hair was a mess, his eyes half-lidded and squinting against the light, but his smile was genuine. Sleepy. Soft.

He rubbed a hand over his face, then met your eyes.

"Pancakes or silence?"

You blinked at him, then let out a breath of a laugh. "I should be the one asking if you want breakfast."

Jake shrugged, swinging his legs over the bed and standing up. "Just figured one of us should say it."

He walked toward you, and for a second, you thought he might kiss you. Instead, he just brushed a hand against your waist as he passed, making his way to the kitchen like it was nothing. Like this could be normal.

And maybe it could be. But that was the part that scared you.

You stood there a moment longer, your heart knotted and heavy in your chest. Last night had been real. Jake had been real.

But so were the butterflies when Jay looked at you like you were a mystery he wanted to solve. And so was the warmth in your chest when Sunghoon noticed the things you never said.

You weren't just in trouble—you were in it.

And you had no idea what to do next.

You were back on their couch again. Same spot. Different atmosphere.

Sunghoon was flipping through a game catalog on the TV, Jay was curled up in the corner scrolling on his phone, and Jake was… somewhere to your right. Close, but not close enough to pretend nothing had changed.

Because something had changed.

You hadn't talked about it. Neither of you had brought it up since this morning. Not the kiss. Not the night. Not the way you'd fallen asleep tangled in each other's arms like something out of a dream.

You were hyper-aware of his presence now—the way his shoulder occasionally brushed yours when he shifted, how his fingers twitched a bit like he wanted to say something and couldn't.

You wanted to say something too. But what? That you didn't regret it? That you did?

You hugged your knees tighter against your chest.

Sunghoon looked over from the floor and blinked. "Did one of you guys fight or something?"

Jay glanced up from his phone. "No. Why?"

Sunghoon made a little gesture between you and Jake. "You're acting weird."

Jake coughed. "What? I'm not weird. You're weird."

"Excellent comeback," Jay muttered under his breath.

"I'm just tired," you added quickly, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Didn't sleep much."

Sunghoon raised a brow, clearly not buying it, but didn't push. "Right."

Jay, meanwhile, didn't say anything—but you could feel his gaze flicker toward you for a second too long. Observing. Thinking. Like he was putting a piece of something together.

Jake shifted beside you, tapping his fingers against his thigh. You knew he wanted to reach for you. Say something. Break the awkward tension before it cracked open the floor.

But he didn't.

And neither did you.

The controller passed hands. The banter continued. But the tension between you and Jake hung thick in the air—a quiet, unspoken question waiting for someone to be brave enough to answer it.

You thought you'd successfully slipped away.

The others had gotten caught up in some co-op game, and you'd taken the opportunity to retreat to the kitchen for water and, if you were being honest, space.

Your fingers curled around the glass a little tighter than necessary.

You didn't regret what happened with Jake. Not really. But now that the weight of it had settled and the quiet had crept in, the real thoughts were crawling up the back of your spine like vines—tangling everything you'd carefully compartmentalized.

Footsteps padded in behind you, and you didn't have to turn around to know who it was.

Jay leaned casually against the fridge, arms crossed, blonde hair slightly messy from lying down.

"So," he said, his voice low and mild. "You and Jake, huh?"

You froze mid-sip. "What?"

You winced. "That's… weirdly specific."

He smirked. "Because it's accurate?"

You didn't answer. You couldn't.

Jay's expression softened just a little. "Look, I'm not trying to pry. I just… noticed. Jake's been looking at you like you hung the stars lately. And now you won't even make eye contact."

You finally met his gaze, lips parted like you might try to defend yourself. But then you stopped. Because what was the point?

"We didn't fight," you said eventually. "It's just… complicated."

Jay nodded slowly, as if he understood more than he was letting on. "He's a good guy. He won't push you. But he's also not gonna pretend it didn't happen."

You blinked. "Are you—are you okay with it?"

He shrugged, glancing away for a moment. "Do I get a say?"

You stared at him, trying to read between the lines. His voice was calm, but there was a flicker of something rawer under the surface.

"I don't know," you said quietly. "Maybe."

Jay exhaled, then gave you a crooked smile. "Well. For what it's worth, you could've done worse."

That made you laugh—a soft, startled sound that briefly broke the tension.

"I just…" you started, but the words tangled. You looked down. "I didn't mean to get attached."

Jay didn't say anything.

"It just… happened."

When you finally glanced back up, Jay was watching you—really watching—with a kind of quiet understanding that made your chest ache.

"I know," he said, following it with a whisper, "just wished it happened to me instead."

And somehow, that was worse than if he'd said nothing at all.

"Yo, are you guys gonna make out in the kitchen or come pick your Mario Kart characters?"

Sunghoon's voice floated in from the living room, teasing and light. He was completely unaware of the emotional bomb that had just gone off between you and Jay, or he did but refused to acknowledge it.

You blinked, startled by the call, then glanced at Jay. He didn't say anything—just pushed off the fridge and gestured toward the door with a subtle tilt of his head.

"Let's go," he said.

You followed, heart suddenly heavy.

The game resumed. Laughter picked up again. Jake nudged your shoulder once when you sat beside him but didn't push when you didn't respond with your usual sass.

You smiled weakly. Tried to play like nothing had changed. But the echo of Jay's voice wouldn't leave your head.

The shift was subtle at first. A lingering glance here. A missed joke there. The group dynamics still flowed, but you could feel it—like something had been shaken and hadn't settled back into place.

Jake didn't press. He still smiled at you, still offered you the last slice of pizza, still handed you the extra controller. But the softness in his eyes was quieter now. Like he was waiting to see what came next.

Jay avoided being alone with you.

Sunghoon seemed to be the only one who hadn't picked up on the tension—or if he had, he had expertly ignored it, choosing to be the glue that kept everything together—the buffer.

You were grateful for him.

But your head was a mess.

And no matter how often you told yourself to figure it out, to pick a lane, your heart kept tugging in three different directions.

It was late. You couldn't sleep. The quiet of your own house felt stifling, and your thoughts were too loud.

So you stepped outside.

The breeze was cool, the streetlights casting soft shadows against the pavement. You wrapped your arms around yourself, intending to sit for a few minutes on your porch step.

But someone was already there.

Jay. He was sitting cross-legged on your porch, hoodie pulled over his head, eyes distant and fixed on the sky.

You stopped mid-step.

He looked over as if he'd known you were coming. "You always sneak out like this?"

A beat passed before you answered. "Only when I'm being chased by my own thoughts."

Your voice came out a little sharper than intended. You walked toward him, stopped in front, but didn't sit yet.

"Finally stopped avoiding me?" you asked, your tone light—too light and a little bitter.

Jay's jaw twitched.

You sighed, dropping your gaze. "Sorry. That was… I didn't mean it like that."

"No, it's fair," he said quietly. "I was avoiding you."

You sat beside him, silence wrapping around the both of you like a blanket stretched too thin.

Then, softly, you broke it. "I like all three of you."

His head turned toward you.

"I didn't mean for it to happen," you added quickly. "I didn't come here expecting to feel anything for anyone. But now I'm just—stuck. Because I care about you. And Jake. And even Sunghoon. I'm not trying to mess with anyone, I swear, I just…"

You exhaled hard.

"I'm overwhelmed," you whispered.

Jay didn't respond right away. Just stared ahead, hands curled into loose fists on his lap.

Finally, he said, "You know what the worst part is?"

You looked at him.

"I still want you," he murmured. "Even if you're not just mine."

The words punched through your ribs, and suddenly, you couldn't stay still.

You reached for him.

And he met you halfway.

The kiss was slow initially, tasting of hesitation and too many unsaid things. But it deepened quickly—days of tension and confusion, unraveling into something heavier. His hand gripped your waist like he couldn't let go.

"Come with me," he said against your lips.

Up the stairs to his room, where he closed the door behind you. Where the only light came from the hallway, casting long shadows across the floor.

He stepped close again. His eyes were darker now, not just with desire, but something more.

"You need to be quiet," he whispered, voice low against your ear. "Unless you want them to know that you're mine for tonight."

The thrill of the night shot through you. You nodded in silent agreement, tightening the coil of anticipation in your stomach. His hand, still warm from your waist, trailed up your arm, sending shivers across your skin despite the cool night air. He cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking the soft curve, and you leaned into his touch, wanting more.

His other hand found the hem of your shirt, and you lifted your arms without a word, allowing him to slide it over your head. The dim light painted your bare skin, and you watched his eyes darken further as they roamed over you. A possessive glint sparked in their depths, a silent claim that sent a shiver of excitement mixed with nervousness down your spine.

He reached for the clasp of your bra, his fingers surprisingly deft, and the delicate lace fell away, freeing your breasts. You held your breath, the air suddenly thick with unspoken desires. His gaze lingered, heavy and intent, before he finally lowered his head, his lips brushing against your collarbone.

"Mine," he murmured against your skin, the word a low rumble that vibrated through you. He trailed kisses along your neck, each touch sending a jolt of heat through your veins. You tilted your head back, offering him more, your fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair. His hands moved lower, tracing the curve of your hips, pulling you closer until you were flush against him. You could feel the hard bulge pressing against your pajama bottoms, a blatant reminder of his desire. A soft gasp escaped your lips.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking with yours. "Are you sure about this?" he whispered, his voice rough with wanting.

You didn't need words. Your hands found the edge of his hoodie, pulling it over his head. His bare chest was revealed, the faint moonlight highlighting the lean muscles. You ran your palms over his warm skin, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

He groaned softly, his hands tightening on your hips. He leaned down, his lips finding yours again, the kiss now urgent and demanding. His tongue plunged into your mouth, tasting of longing and a desperate need to possess.

With a shared urgency, you both began to shed the remaining layers of clothing. His pants were quickly discarded, revealing the thick length straining against his briefs. You fumbled with the drawstring of your pajama bottoms, and they slid down your legs, pooling at your ankles.

He stepped back, his eyes devouring your naked form in the dim light. You felt a flush creep up your neck, a mixture of shyness and arousal. But the possessive look in his eyes fueled a boldness within you. You met his gaze, letting him see the desire that mirrored his own.

He reached for you again, his hands sliding around your waist, lifting you until your legs wrapped around his hips. The sudden friction against his hard length through his briefs made you gasp. He carried you a few steps, until the back of your legs bumped against the edge of his bed.

He didn't break eye contact as he lowered you, your bare skin sliding against his clothed lower half. The contact was electric, a spark that ignited a fire in your core. He leaned down, his lips nuzzling your neck again.

"Tonight," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin, "you're all mine."

And as he finally shed his briefs, revealing the full, throbbing length of his desire, you knew he meant it.

His hands tightened on your thighs, guiding you closer until the slick head of his cock pressed against your wet folds. A gasp hitched in your throat, the intimacy of the contact stealing your breath in the dimly lit room. He paused, his dark eyes searching yours, a silent question swirling between you. You answered with a slow, deliberate nod, your hips instinctively arching, a silent plea urging him closer.

"God, you feel so good already," he breathed, his voice a low, husky tremor against your ear, laced with a raw desire that mirrored your own.

With a low groan that resonated deep in his chest, he finally pressed forward. You squeezed your eyes shut, a sharp intake of breath escaping your lips as his thick length stretched you, filling you completely. A wave of sensation, a potent mix of pleasure and a fleeting moment of intensity, washed over you. He remained still for a heart-stopping moment, allowing your body to adjust to his size, the only sound the soft rustle of the sheets beneath your entangled limbs.

"So tight," he murmured, a possessive edge to his tone, a hint of a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as if claiming a long-desired prize.

Then, he began to move, slow, deliberate thrusts that rocked your hips against his. Each measured slide sent a ripple of heat expanding from your core, an ache that intensified with every inch he pushed deeper inside you. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, your fingernails digging into the firm muscles of his shoulders, clinging to him as if he were your only anchor.

"Jay," you whispered, your voice a breathy plea, raw with the burgeoning sensations he was igniting within you.

His kisses grew more urgent, his mouth claiming yours in a hungry exploration, devouring your soft lips as his pace quickened. The rhythm he established was primal, demanding, a relentless tide pulling you under, and you met him thrust for thrust, your bodies moving together in an ancient, desperate dance of yearning. The air grew thick with your mingled breaths, soft moans escaping your lips like whispered secrets.

He trailed hot, wet kisses down the sensitive curve of your neck, his teeth gently nipping at your skin, sending shivers of pure delight cascading down your spine. His hands roamed freely, possessively cupping your breasts, his thumbs teasing your aching nipples until they were hard, throbbing peaks begging for more of his touch.

"Does that feel good, baby?" he asked, his voice thick with lust, the question more of a statement as he felt your involuntary response.

"Mmm-hmm," you moaned, your head lolling back, arching your back in a silent offering, your hips bucking against his with an increasing, desperate urgency. The friction was exquisite, building a searing pressure deep within you, a coiled spring threatening to shatter your carefully constructed control. A soft cry escaped your lips as the first undeniable wave of pleasure washed over you, your inner muscles clenching around him in a tight embrace.

He felt your release, the intense, shuddering grip around his cock, and his own carefully leashed control began to fray. His thrusts deepened, became faster, driven by a primal need to reach the precipice with you. He groaned against your neck, his body trembling with the force of his impending climax.

"You're driving me fucking crazy," he muttered, his breath hot and ragged against your skin, the words a testament to the intensity of your connection.

With a final, guttural cry that tore from his throat, he plunged deep, burying himself fully within you, holding you so tightly it almost hurt, as his body convulsed with the force of his release. The hot, thick spurts flooded you, a final, intimate claiming that sealed your connection for the night, a silent promise echoing in the darkness. You clung to him, your own body still quivering from the lingering aftershocks of your orgasm, feeling utterly spent, completely sated, and undeniably his at that moment.

He collapsed against you, his breathing ragged and uneven, his heart pounding a wild rhythm against your chest. The silence that followed was heavy with the weight of your shared intimacy, broken only by the soft, contented sighs that escaped your lips. He nuzzled his face into the soft strands of your hair, his arms wrapped around you in a fiercely possessive embrace.

The room was still. Only the faint hum of the streetlights outside and the slow rhythm of Jay's breathing filled the silence now.

You lay tangled in his sheets, your head against his shoulder, the warmth of his skin grounding you even as your mind began to spiral. Everything had been so fast and intense— now it was just quiet.

And in the quiet, the guilt started to set in.

Jay's fingers traced slow, absentminded lines along your spine. But even that gentle comfort couldn't stop the ache from blooming in your chest.

"I should go," you whispered.

His hand stilled. You didn't lift your head, but you felt the shift in his body. "Are you okay?" he asked, voice husky with sleep and something softer.

"Yeah," you said quickly, then shook your head. "No. I mean—I don't know. I just… I can't stay here. I can't face them in the morning. Not like this."

Jay didn't say anything for a moment. Then he exhaled. "Okay."

You looked up at him. "You're not mad?"

He met your eyes, something unreadable flickering in his. "No. I get it. It's a lot. You don't owe me anything more than what you gave tonight."

The knot in your chest tightened. "But I do. I shouldn't have—"

"Don't do that," he cut in gently. "Don't regret it."

You pressed your lips together, your throat tight. "I'm sorry," you said quietly.

He brushed your hair back from your face, fingers careful. "Don't be. I knew what this was."

You weren't sure if that made you feel better or worse.

He sat up slowly, pulling on a hoodie and offering you your clothes with a soft glance. "You want me to walk you back?"

You shook your head. "I'll be okay."

You dressed in silence, both of you moving like you didn't want to disturb whatever fragile peace had been carved out of the night.

At the door, you turned back. Jay leaned against the frame, arms crossed. He didn't look hurt. Just tired.

"Thank you," you said, voice barely audible.

He nodded. "Anytime."

And then you slipped out, into the cool night, back to your house next door.

Alone again.

And full of too many feelings for three boys who had no idea how much space they were taking up in your heart.

You hadn't slept much.

Your own bed, despite being familiar, felt too cold and too quiet. Your body still remembered Jay's touch, the warmth of his skin, and the way his voice had dropped when he told you to be quiet.

You pulled the blanket over your face.

What the hell were you doing?

You'd crossed a line. One you couldn't uncross. Not with Jake. Not with Jay. And the worst part was, Sunghoon's name still lingered somewhere in the back of your mind too.

You stayed in bed for as long as possible, pretending time would fold in on itself and save you from facing any of it.

But eventually, your stomach growled, and the sound of faint laughter and pots clanging across the street reminded you that life didn't stop just because you were emotionally fried.

When you finally made your way back over to the boys' house—barely knocking before letting yourself in like usual—you were met with the smell of eggs and toast, and the sight of Jake and Sunghoon crowded around the stove.

Jake looked up first. "Hey," he greeted, and his smile faltered for just a second—almost imperceptibly—before he forced it back on.

"Morning," you said softly, offering a small wave. You didn't miss the way your eyes slid away from his a beat too fast.

Sunghoon handed you a plate wordlessly, but his gaze lingered a little longer than usual, eyes quietly calculating. Like he was picking up on something you hadn't said yet.

"Where's Jay?" you asked, filling the silence and desperate to sound casual.

"Out back. He's fixing the stupid broken light again," Sunghoon answered, setting his own plate down on the table.

Jake nudged a chair out with his foot, gesturing for you to sit. You took it. The awkwardness swirled like steam from your food.

No one said anything, not for a while. Not until Jake cleared his throat and stood up, grabbing his glass of water even though it was still full.

"I'm gonna help Jay," he muttered.

Neither you nor Sunghoon stopped him.

Once the door shut behind him, you looked down at your untouched plate, then up again—only to find Sunghoon still watching you, fork halfway to his mouth.

"You good?" he asked.

You hesitated. "Yeah. Just tired."

He didn't look convinced, but he nodded anyway.

You both ate in silence for a bit longer, though the air wasn't quite as heavy. But you could feel something shifting. You just didn't know what it meant yet.

You finished about half your plate before pushing it away, appetite lost to the fog settling over your chest. Sunghoon was still eating, but slower now. Like he was waiting for something. Or maybe just giving you time to speak.

“You’re quiet,” he finally said, voice gentle.

“I’m always quiet,” you deflected, eyes darting to the window, where you could just barely see Jake and Jay moving around the back porch.

Sunghoon smiled faintly. “You’re a different kind of quiet today.” That made you pause.

You didn’t know what to say because he wasn’t wrong. You were being careful. Hesitant. Trying not to touch the edges of what happened last night or what it meant for the three boys sitting on the other side of it. But Sunghoon wasn’t pushing. He just kept looking at you like he saw through the layers you were trying to keep up.

“I saw you leave last night,” he said finally, setting down his fork. “You didn’t come back.”

Your throat tightened. “Yeah.”

His voice was still calm. “Was it Jay?”

You looked at him then. Really looked.

And for the first time in days, you saw it—the softness around his mouth that had hardened. The slight crease in his brow. He already knew.

“Yeah,” you whispered.

Sunghoon exhaled, not in anger, but in some resigned version of understanding. His fingers tapped once on the table. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“I know,” you said, your voice small. “But I still feel like I’m screwing everything up.”

He gave you a look filled with more empathy than you deserved. “You’re not screwing it up. It just… hurts a little. That’s all.” You didn’t know what to say to that. So you said nothing.

Jay and Jake returned shortly after, and the rest of the morning blurred into a hazy half-day of almost normal. You all sat together in the living room, watching a movie none of you paid attention to. Jake kept fidgeting with the throw pillow. Jay barely spoke. Sunghoon… he sat the farthest from you.

You hated it. All of it.

The tension in the room felt unbearable, the silence so thick you could practically taste it. Sunghoon and Jake hadn't spoken much, still lost in their thoughts. You couldn't quite bring yourself to face them—especially after last night, after everything that had happened. You were caught in this strange, suffocating space between them, not knowing how to move forward.

The quiet stretched on for what felt like hours, but it was only minutes. You kept stealing glances at them, noticing the awkward glances they'd throw your way when they thought you weren't looking. You could feel the weight of their confusion, the heaviness of the unspoken things between you.

You opened your mouth several times, but the words always felt hard to say.

Finally, unable to stay cooped up inside anymore, you spoke up.

"Hey, Sunghoon," you began, voice small, hesitant. He looked at you, clearly surprised that you were addressing him. "You mentioned the rooftop… a while back. Can I… can I go up there for some air?"

You could hear the reluctance in your own voice, but there was also a desperate need to escape the oppressive tension in the house. You didn't want to be in the same room as any of them right now. Not with everything swirling in your head. Not when your heart was so tangled up in all of them.

Sunghoon hesitated, catching the tone of your voice. He nodded after a beat. "Yeah, of course. I'll show you." He stood from the table, motioning toward the door.

You followed him silently, grateful for the excuse to leave the suffocating atmosphere behind. He led you up the stairs and through the door to the rooftop. The cool evening air hit you immediately, the breeze brushing over your skin as you stepped outside.

It was quiet up here. The city stretched out before you, peaceful and calm in the twilight. But you didn't feel calm. You felt the opposite—a storm swirling inside your chest, the weight of your confusion pressing down on you.

Sunghoon didn't push you to speak. He just stood beside you, leaning against the railing, gazing out over the skyline. But after a while, you couldn't hold it in anymore.

"I—" You stopped yourself, realizing how vulnerable you were. You didn't want to break down here in front of Sunghoon. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't anyone's fault.

"I don't think I can do this right now," you muttered, eyes fixed on the horizon. You didn't know what you were even talking about. Your words felt like they didn't belong in the same sentence. "I can't face them."

Sunghoon turned his head slightly toward you, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean? You can talk to them."

You shook your head, a lump forming in your throat. "I don't think I can. I don't even know what to say to them. Or to you." You let out a shaky breath, shoulders slumping under the weight of it all. "I think… I think I need to be alone. I can't deal with all of this."

You felt his presence linger momentarily, but he didn't press. He simply nodded. "Okay. I'll leave you to it, then. If you need anything, you know where to find me."

And then he left. The door behind you clicked softly, leaving you with your thoughts.

The moment you were truly alone, the walls came crashing down.

You sat there on the cold rooftop, your back against the railing, knees pulled up tightly to your chest. The city spread out before you, but you couldn't see any of it clearly through the fog of your emotions. The tears wouldn't stop.

Everything felt like it was spiraling out of control.

You hadn't meant for any of this to happen. You hadn't meant to let things get this messy. But here you were, caught in a web of emotions that felt too heavy to bear. You felt suffocated by your own thoughts, trapped by everything you couldn't control.

"I'm such a mess," you whispered hoarsely, your voice barely audible above the soft hum of the wind. You hated the way your words sounded. Pathetic. Weak.

But it was true. You were a mess. You'd let things get too tangled with the guys, let your feelings run wild without thinking of the consequences. And now, everything was breaking apart around you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the tears that kept coming, but it was no use. They were unstoppable.

You weren't just crying for the mess between you and the boys. You were crying for yourself. For the way you had let everything slip out of control. You were disgusted with yourself—disgusted that you couldn't make a decision, disgusted that you couldn't keep your emotions in check.

How had you let things get this far? How had you ended up here, drowning in a sea of guilt and regret?

You didn't deserve any of them.

You didn't deserve to be loved by any of them. Not when you couldn't even figure out what you wanted. Not when you had let your emotions run wild and hurt the very people you cared about.

You covered your face with your hands, your chest tightening with each breath. "Why can't I just get it right?" you choked out, your voice breaking. "Why can't I just… know what I want?"

The tears came harder then, and you let them, unable to hold back any longer. You hated the feeling of weakness, hated that you were so torn up inside. You wanted to be strong, to have everything figured out. But you didn't. You were a mess, and you couldn't escape it.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered, the words more for yourself than anyone else. "I'm sorry for being this way."

It was so much. You could feel the weight of it crushing you, suffocating you with each breath. The silence of the rooftop only made it worse, amplifying the noise in your own head. You weren't sure how much more you could take.

And just as you were about to let the tears consume you completely, you heard footsteps behind you.

You wiped at your eyes quickly, trying to gather yourself, but it was too late. Sunghoon had already seen you.

"You shouldn't be out here alone," he said, his voice soft, almost too soft for the weight of the moment. You didn't even turn to face him. You didn't want him to see you like this, broken and vulnerable. But you could hear him moving closer, his footsteps steady and sure.

"I'm fine," you whispered, but it was a lie. You weren't fine. You were far from it.

He didn't say anything at first. Instead, you felt him sit down beside you, the warmth of his body a quiet presence against your cold, shaking form. His silence wasn't uncomfortable, though. It was… soothing. A small comfort in the chaos of your thoughts.

"You don't have to pretend with me, Y/N," he said softly, his tone steady but filled with understanding. "You don't have to hold it all in."

The words hit you like a wave, and before you could stop yourself, a sob broke free from your chest. You hadn't realized how much you needed to hear that. How much you needed to hear that it was okay to fall apart, that it was okay to be weak.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered through your tears. "I'm sorry for everything. For making it so complicated. For hurting everyone. I didn't mean to. I never meant for any of this to happen."

Sunghoon didn't move. He stayed close, letting you cry, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions.

"You're not hurting anyone," he said gently. "But you have to let yourself breathe, Y/N. You can't keep holding all of this in. It's okay to feel what you're feeling."

You shook your head, the tears still coming. "I don't know what to feel. I don't know what to do."

"I know," he said, his voice calm. "But you'll figure it out. You don't have to do it alone."

You laughed bitterly, looking at him then, even though your tears blurred your vision. "Look at me right now. I'm the one who's hurting you. I'm the one causing all of this, and yet here you are, comforting me." You swallowed hard, more tears slipping down your face. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for dragging you into this."

Sunghoon's hand moved to your shoulder, and you could feel the warmth of his touch, grounding you. "You're not dragging me into anything," he said softly. "I'm here because I care. I'm not going anywhere."

You shook your head, feeling a pit in your stomach. "I don't deserve this," you whispered, feeling utterly broken. "I don't deserve to have people like you care about me."

Sunghoon didn't respond immediately. Instead, he sat beside you, silent and steady, as if he were letting you say everything you needed to say, as if he knew that sometimes, there were no words to fix everything.

The tears slowed, but the weight in your chest didn't go away. You felt raw and vulnerable, like you had laid everything out in front of him. But something in the way he sat beside you—his quiet strength, his unwavering support—made it feel a little less like you were drowning.

Finally, Sunghoon spoke again, his voice soft, but full of warmth. "You're not alone in this, Y/N. We'll figure it out. Together."

You nodded, your chest tightening again, but not from sadness this time. It was something else, something soft and almost like relief. The tension in your body didn't disappear, but somehow, it wasn't as heavy.

You swallowed hard, feeling a mix of relief and something else you couldn't quite place. But before you could pull away, Sunghoon's voice stopped you.

"I know what happened with the other two."

Your heart stopped. You looked at him, trying to gauge if he was joking. But there was no teasing in his expression, no sign of anger. Just calm understanding. Your chest tightened, and you felt a lump in your throat.

"I… I didn't mean for things to get so complicated," you whispered, your voice small, ashamed.

Sunghoon nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. "I'm not mad, Y/N. I'm not angry. I understand."

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. You felt your mind spinning, all the thoughts crashing into each other. This—this thing you were doing, the mess you were making—it was all too much. You couldn't handle the guilt, couldn't deal with the weight of it anymore.

You turned your head, your hands shaking as you reached up to tie your hair up. You felt frantic, out of control, and the only thing that came to your mind was to offer something—anything—to make it right. To stop feeling so wrong.

"You—" you started, but your voice was shaky, desperate. "You want me to—want me to give you head? I could—" Your hands were still moving frantically, trying to tie your hair up, anything to stop the overwhelming pressure building in your chest. "I'll make it right, I'll do whatever you want, just… please, tell me what you want, and I'll do it."

You felt the panic rise in your throat, your breathing shallow, as the words tumbled out before you could stop them. The sense of needing to fix everything by any means possible—it was overwhelming.

But Sunghoon's reaction wasn't what you expected. His hand gently caught yours, stopping your movements, and when you looked up at him, his eyes were filled with something softer than you had expected. There was no anger, no judgment. But there was something else—something that made your chest tighten even more.

Your body froze, the reality of what he said hitting you harder than anything else. "But… I… I hurt you, Sunghoon. I hurt you all. I just… I don't know how to make it stop. I don't know how to fix this."

He shook his head softly, his voice quiet but full of emotion. "You don't need to fix anything, Y/N. You're not the problem. You're… you're human. You're allowed to make mistakes. You're allowed to be confused. Just… let yourself be okay with that."

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time, they weren't full of guilt or panic. They were filled with something else. Vulnerability. Acceptance. The weight you'd been carrying felt lighter somehow, but the release of it only made the rawness of your feelings crash in on you harder.

"You don't have to apologize for everything," Sunghoon whispered, his voice soft. "You don't have to be perfect. You just need to let yourself feel. Let yourself breathe."

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the flood of emotions that were threatening to break free, but they came anyway—hot and fast, rolling down your cheeks. You hadn't realized how much you needed someone to say that. To say you didn't have to fix everything, that it was okay to be lost for a while.

You let yourself lean into him then, letting the weight of everything go as he held you close.

Sunghoon didn't let go. He just held you—comforting, steady, as you cried, letting the tears wash away all the guilt and uncertainty you'd been carrying.

When the tears finally slowed, you pulled away, your face flushed from crying. You looked up at him, sniffing and wiping at your eyes, still feeling so vulnerable, so raw.

"I'm sorry," you whispered again, your voice hoarse. "I don't know what I'm doing."

Sunghoon's smile was small but soft, his eyes kind. "You don't have to know. Just… be you. That's enough."

You nodded, feeling a sense of peace that you hadn't expected to find so suddenly. But it was there, soft and comforting in his presence. It was enough.

Sunghoon's grip on your hands tightened just a little, like he was grounding you in this moment, as you slowly calmed down. He looked at you with that same calm and understanding expression, as if he wasn't about to rush you into anything—something that made the overwhelming pressure in your chest ease just a bit more.

"You don't have to make any decisions right now, Y/N," he said softly, his voice steady. "You don't have to choose between us right away." He took a deep breath, his eyes soft and earnest as he spoke, like he was giving you permission to take your time. "I'll talk to the guys. We'll figure this out together, okay? But you need to take some time to think, to breathe. We'll give you space to sort out your feelings. You don't have to make any decisions while you're still… figuring it out."

You swallowed, nodding slowly as his words sunk in. It was like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. You didn't have to rush into anything. You didn't have to make some grand gesture to fix everything. You could just be—take things one step at a time.

His hand brushed against your cheek gently, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen during your moment of vulnerability. The gesture felt so tender, so comforting, like he was there, not to pressure you, but to support you as you figured out what to do next.

"I know it's a mess," Sunghoon said, his voice low, almost apologetic. "But we'll make it work, Y/N. I'm not going anywhere. None of us are." He paused, his gaze never leaving yours. "And neither are you."

You nodded again, this time feeling a bit more at ease. There was a deep part of you that appreciated the way he was handling everything—giving you space, but still offering his support, not expecting you to have it all figured out immediately.

"I'm sorry for making everything so complicated," you murmured, your voice small.

"Hey," Sunghoon said, his tone firm yet gentle, "You don't have to apologize for feeling things. You didn't ask for this mess, and you don't have to fix it all at once. Just… breathe. It's going to be okay."

You felt the last of the tension in your chest slowly start to unwind. His words, his presence, his understanding—they were a comfort, a balm to the rawness you'd been carrying.

"It'll be okay," Sunghoon added quietly, as if to reassure you further. "We'll figure this out. We're all in this together. And you don't have to do it alone."

You let out a shaky breath, feeling a tear slip down your cheek despite the calmness washing over you. But this time, it wasn't sadness—it was relief.

"Thank you," you whispered, the words coming out more heartfelt than you'd expected.

Sunghoon gave you a soft smile, nodding in reassurance. "Anytime, Y/N. Anytime."

For a while, the two of you sat there in silence, just sharing the moment. It wasn't easy, but it was a step toward something. Something that felt like understanding, something that felt like hope. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to lean into that, to let the quiet moment settle in your heart.

Days after that moment with Sunghoon were filled with a haze of sleepless nights and quiet mornings. You'd distanced yourself—not because the boys pushed you away, but because they didn't. They gave you the space Sunghoon had promised. No probing questions. No passive-aggressive comments. Just… distance. And somehow, that hurt even more.

It was strange being in your own house again. The quiet felt unfamiliar. Cold. You had no one laughing in the next room. No shared meals or dumb banter or movies left half-watched on the couch. Just you. Alone with your thoughts.

Which was why, three days later, you found yourself curled up on the bed with your phone pressed to your ear, waiting for the FaceTime to connect.

"Holy finally!" Taehyun's face popped onto the screen, a dramatic groan escaping him as Hueningkai leaned over his shoulder, grinning.

"We thought you died," Kai added, waving. "Or worse—got a boyfriend and forgot about us."

You let out a laugh that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Not exactly."

Taehyun narrowed his eyes immediately. "Okay, what's wrong?"

"I—" You hesitated, fingers curling in the blanket bunched around your knees. "It's been… a lot."

Hueningkai sat up straighter. "This have something to do with the last time you called? The whole Jay-being-your-fake-boyfriend thing?"

You nodded slowly. "It's not fake anymore."

Taehyun's eyebrows shot up, but he stayed quiet, waiting for you to continue.

You swallowed. "Something happened. With Jake. Then… something else happened. With Jay. And then, I… I had a breakdown in front of Sunghoon. And that turned into a whole thing too."

It took a moment, but both of them visibly deflated. The teasing drained from their faces, replaced by concern and understanding.

You explained everything. Every confusing, tangled detail. The kiss at the gate with Jake. That night in your room. The aftermath. Jay on the porch. That night in his room. Sunghoon on the rooftop. The crying. The panic. The shame. All of it spilled out like floodgates had burst open.

By the time you finished, your eyes were glassy, and your throat ached from trying not to cry again.

"They've been nothing but good to me," you whispered. "And I just… keep messing it all up."

Taehyun was quiet for a beat, and then he said, "Y/N, you're not messing anything up. You're just human. This—what you're feeling—it's complicated, sure. But you're allowed to be confused. You're allowed to feel everything you're feeling."

Kai nodded slowly. "Honestly? It doesn't even sound like a love triangle. It's a love circle at this point."

That startled a laugh out of you, wet and breathless. "That's not helping."

"Okay, but listen," Taehyun cut in gently. "You've been through a lot. You moved, you got hit with Heeseung out of nowhere, and suddenly these guys show up who make you feel things you're not ready for. That's a lot."

"And none of them seem angry at you," Kai pointed out. "Which means they're probably feeling the same things you are. Scared. Confused. Maybe a little hopeful."

You looked down. "I feel gross."

"You're not," Taehyun said firmly. "You didn't lead anyone on. You're trying to be honest. It's just… messy. Love is messy. You know that better than anyone."

You let the silence sit for a moment, heart beating unevenly.

"I didn't mean to get attached," you said finally, your voice small, fragile. "I really tried not to. But it's like… it just happened when I wasn't paying attention. One second I was just grateful to have people being nice to me, and then…"

You trailed off, trying to catch your breath as the weight of your own confession settled around you.

Taehyun's expression softened. "And then it felt like home, didn't it?"

Your eyes stung. "Yeah."

Hueningkai leaned forward, his teasing long gone. "You let your guard down. That's not weakness, Y/N. That's trust."

"But that's the problem," you whispered, hands gripping the edge of your blanket. "I trusted too easily. I crossed too many lines. I hurt them. And I hate myself for it."

Taehyun shook his head slowly. "You didn't hurt them by feeling something. You didn't do anything wrong by catching feelings."

You blinked hard, looking away. "But I didn't just catch feelings for one of them. That's the part that makes me feel disgusting."

There was a beat of silence. Then Kai asked gently, "Do you regret any of it?"

Your stomach twisted. You thought about Jake's nervous laughter, Jay's quiet intensity, Sunghoon's unwavering calm.

"No," you admitted, voice cracking. "That's what scares me."

Taehyun's voice was firm but kind. "You got attached because they treated you like you mattered. Because they made you feel seen. That's not something you should punish yourself for."

Kai raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, unless you ghost them all and move to the states. Then maybe we'll judge you a little."

You snorted, wiping your face with your sleeve. "I thought about it."

"Don't," Taehyun said. "You're not broken. You're just… figuring it out. And they clearly care about you enough to give you time to do that. That says a lot."

You looked at both of them, your chest tight. "I don't deserve any of you."

Kai huffed. "Stop that. You do. You just forgot for a little while."

You nodded slowly, a breath catching in your throat. "I guess… I just don't know who I am without all the noise right now."

"Then this is the part where you find out," Taehyun said, his voice low but steady. "Take the time. Ask yourself the real questions. What do you want? Not who wants you. Not who needs you. You."

That settled deep in your bones—something real, something that hurt in a good way.

"Yeah," you whispered. "I will."

"Good," Kai said, relaxing back into the couch on his end of the call. "Because if we don't get a dramatic update soon, I swear to god, I will file a missing person's report. Emotionally."

You laughed wetly. "I love you guys."

"We love you more," Taehyun said, smiling. "Now go figure your shit out. We've got your back."

You hung up with a little more strength in your chest, but the decision still loomed over you like a shadow.

You'd opened your heart.

Now you had to decide what to do with it.

The following days blurred into one another like watercolor bleeding into paper. You existed in the quiet in-between, drifting from your room to the kitchen, out to the porch and back again. No more playful teasing from across couches. No more secondhand warmth in a home that wasn't yours but somehow had become one.

You didn't go over. Not even when you heard their laughter on the other side of the wall. Not even when silence settled in, and it felt like they were waiting.

Instead, you sat with it. All of it.

Your guilt. Your want. Your indecision.

You journaled. You overthought. You laid on the floor and stared at the ceiling for hours, cycling through memories like some self-inflicted highlight reel—Jake's laugh against your skin, Jay's voice in the dark, Sunghoon's arms around you when you were breaking.

How could something that had made you feel so whole also tear you apart like this?

Sometimes you hated them for making you feel seen. Other times, you hated yourself for needing it so badly.

There was no clean answer. No neat conclusion. Only the dull ache in your chest and the knowledge that no matter what choice you made, someone was going to get hurt.

And you would lose something—someone—no matter what.

But you couldn't stay in limbo forever.

One night, just after the sun dipped low enough to tint the sky gold, you stood on your porch and stared at their door. Your feet carried you forward before your brain could protest.

The door opened too fast. Jake.

His eyes widened for a split second, but he stepped aside without a word, jaw tight.

Jay was sitting at the table. Sunghoon leaned against the back wall, arms crossed.

All of them looked like they hadn't slept right in days.

You didn't sit. You stood in the middle of the room and met all three of their gazes one by one. No more hiding.

"I'm sorry," you said first. "For all of it. For not knowing what I wanted. For dragging you through it."

Silence.

Then Jay's voice, low: "You don't have to apologize for feeling something."

"But I do," you insisted, voice cracking. "Because I didn't just feel something. I felt… everything. For all of you. And I didn't know how to stop it. I still don't."

Jake looked down. Sunghoon's jaw tensed. Jay didn't move.

Your throat burned. "I've spent days trying to figure it out. To pick a side. But the truth is… I loved the way Jake made me feel like joy was still possible. I loved how Jay made me feel safe. And I loved the way Sunghoon never asked me to be anything more than exactly what I was."

Jake swallowed hard. "Don't do this just to make us feel better."

"I'm not," you whispered. "I needed to say it. Because I don't know if I get to keep saying anything after tonight."

Still, none of them moved. The tension stretched like a held breath.

You stepped back, chest tight. "I've made my decision."

Their eyes snapped to yours.

"I know now," you said, voice low. Steady. "I know what I want."

The silence was sharper this time, a breath held between all of you.

Jake blinked, eyes searching. Sunghoon's lips parted, like he might speak but thought better of it. Jay looked down, then back up at you.

And then—you said it.

Just a name. Just once. And everything shifted.

Jake looked away first, nodding slowly, jaw tightening. No anger. Just acceptance.

Jay's eyes closed for a second—relief or heartbreak, you couldn't tell.

Sunghoon took the longest to react. He didn't move at all until finally, he exhaled. A soft breath, then a quiet, unreadable smile.

No one cried. No one yelled. No one left.

But you knew it was the beginning of something. And the end of something else.

You just didn't know yet what came after.

The camera was angled awkwardly, bouncing slightly as your phone leaned against the mirror. You were mid–toothbrush, foam clinging to the corners of your mouth, hair a mess from sleep and cheeks still warm from last night.

On-screen, Taehyun and Hueningkai were already in full chaotic mode.

"I'm telling you," Kai was saying, waving a spoon of cereal like it was a weapon, "this guy came up to me at the convenience store and asked if I wanted to buy his mixtape. I said no, and he still shoved it in my hand! Who carries CDs anymore?!"

Taehyun snorted. "You? Apparently."

You laughed through the foam in your mouth, spitting into the sink. "You have 'CD buyer energy,' Kai. Just admit it."

"Wow," he said flatly. "Betrayed by the one person I thought had taste."

As you reached for your towel, something behind you caught Taehyun's eye. He leaned closer to his screen.

"Wait…" he squinted. "Is that… is that an extra toothbrush?"

You froze for half a second. Just a beat. Then casually kept patting your face dry.

"What extra toothbrush?" you asked, too innocently.

Hueningkai leaned in now too. "Oh my god. It is! That's not yours. Yours is the purple one—who's the blue one?!"

"Must be a reflection," you said quickly.

"In the mirror?"

"Wouldn't you two like to know," you smirked, tossing the towel over the edge of the sink.

Taehyun's mouth dropped open. “Y/N—”

"Who is it?" Kai gasped dramatically. "Don't tell me you actually made a choice."

Before you could answer—or deflect again—a voice called faintly from offscreen:

"Babe! Did you see where I left my hoodie?"

You froze for just a second… and then smiled slowly.

"Bye!!" you said sweetly, grabbing your phone.

"WAIT—" Taehyun shouted.

"WHO'S WAITING FOR YOU?!" Kai screamed, full panic in his tone.

But you were already hitting end, cheek sore from grinning.

Somewhere behind you, footsteps padded closer. A soft laugh. And then a warm arm wrapped around your waist as you leaned back into the person you chose.

"Come on, the other two are already waiting for us."

And this time, you didn't feel unsure at all.

Rei's Notes ✎: Uhm... hi? I'm back alive yippie!! I think a 22k fic is enough as an apology for how long I've been gone. To be honest I don't think I'm back at my peak motivation and skill to write yet but I owe you guys a story after a while. I still hope you enjoy it, especially since thees smut again teehee. Trying a new way to approach graphics too!! Decided to write a long one since I’m not sure how long til my next one. As always I'd love to hear your thoughts and how this made you feel so leave a reblog or reply!! <33

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