#and to all of you for the endless support <3< /div>
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Yes, you need music for holotropic breathwork.




Since I started sharing about holotropic breathwork, one question keeps coming up over and over:
“Can I do holotropic breathwork without music?”
My honest answer? No.
And i was like "Did didn't explain properly the importance of music in my post? I was genuinely shocked to see how many people recommend doing it in silence or with white noise, pink noise, or theta/alpha waves. Sorry to disappoint you, but music is an integral part of true holotropic breathwork.
If you’re just breathing fast with no intentional soundscape, you are practicing controlled hyperventilation, which can be interesting, but it is not holotropic breathwork since holotropic breathwork has a very particular structure. And no, putting on a random theta track, alpha beats, or brown noise is not enough to recreate what holotropic breathwork was designed to do.
So let’s explain all of this properly, especially in the context of shifting, where you want to reach a powerful altered state which can be really ideal with this breattwork:
1) Why is music so important in holotropic breathwork?
Holotropic breathwork was developed to combine breathing + body awareness + music to create a therapeutic, profound altered state (close to the psychedelic effect). The music acts as a guide, a kind of emotional and symbolic container. It literally shapes the journey of the subconscious, just like a hypnotic script shapes a trance.
Without music, you’re missing one-third of the process (yes you lose that much of that experience!) you lose the emotional stimulation and narrative that helps the subconscious let go. The brain uses rhythm and melody to process, to connect, to build images. That’s why properly chosen music is absolutely vital if you want to trigger the deep surrender needed to reach a void-like or shifting state or even visions or releasing shifting blockages.

2) What body position should you use?
If you want to maximize your chance to shift after doing holotropic breathwork, you need to completely let go physically.
Lay flat on your back
Arms loose
Legs slightly open
Head supported by a pillow
Eyes covered if possible
This posture helps your nervous system relax, even while your breathing is ramping up. It’s way more effective than sitting up, which can cause tension. You want the body to fade into the background so the music + breath can take you further. You can still adjust it slightly, for example by putting a cushion on the lower back if you have too much pain, that's what i personally did because breathing can bring out small pain or corporal blocages.

Typically this kind of position with a possible mask on your eyes and earphones/headphones.
3) What music should you choose?
This is crucial. Holotropic breathwork music is not random:
It starts slow and grounding
Moves into a more intense, tribal, or percussive build-up
Peaks with emotional and powerful beat
Then calms down to integration music
Think of it like a hypnotic induction. If you skip these stages, your subconscious will not process the journey the same way. Shifting needs that progressive arc to pull you deeper.
A curated playlist is far more effective than some endless white noise loop. It gives your mind “permission” to let go and creates a story/a narrative your subconscious can follow, a key for accessing states like the void.
youtube
youtube
youtube
I really like the music of Into the Deep. I invite you to go see their YouTube channel and choose according to the atmosphere you want. Their music follows the three essential phases.You can also make a playlist (without lyrics) that follows the three phases.
4) What is controlled hyperventilation, actually?
Let’s clear this up. When you do “holotropic breathwork” without the proper music, what you’re actually doing is controlled hyperventilation:
You increase your oxygen intake
You lower CO2
You activate your nervous system
You might get tingling, visuals, body distortions
That all can be powerful, yes. But it lacks the emotional and narrative structure of holotropic breathwork. Think of it like the difference between random deep breathing vs. a proper hypnotic induction script: it is not the same.
5) How to use music as an anchor (and why white/pink noise isn’t enough)?
Music is a powerful anchor. Your subconscious reacts to rhythm, melody, harmonics etc.... these are millennia-old tools humans have used for trance and altered states.
White noise, pink noise, even theta waves are too static and lack a narrative arc. They do not “tell a story” to the subconscious, and so they cannot guide you as deeply. If you want to use your breathwork as a doorway to shifting or void states, you need a proper musical structure to build trust and openness.

I recommend you read this article which talks in more detail about the benefits of music.
6) What precautions should you take for real holotropic breathwork?
Preparation: no heavy meals, no drugs, no alcohol
Space: safe, quiet, comfortable, ideally lying down
Supervision is adviced if you have trauma or mental health issues
Intention: know what you want to explore, don’t go in “empty”
Aftercare: journal, hydrate, rest, meditate
If you skip these, you raise your risk of panic, dissociation, or overwhelm. And yes, that can block shifting instead of helping it, because you’ll be too destabilized to transition smoothly.
7) What are the true advantages of music you can’t get with random sounds?
Emotional release (catharsis)
symbolic journey
Anchoring safety during intense breathwork
Supporting your subconscious with a coherent storyline
Allowing proper integration after the peak
That’s why holotropic breathwork is so powerful: it uses music as medicine. In the shifting community, this can be the missing link that helps you push beyond your comfort zone and reach states you never thought possible.
8) Why holotropic breathwork is ideal for preparing for the void or shifting, but not for directly entering it(even if you can do it technically)
Holotropic breathwork can absolutely be a powerful preparation for accessing the void or shifting. It helps:
-open your subconscious
- loosen rigid beliefs
- release pent-up emotional blocks
- activate altered states of awareness
All of these are perfect for priming yourself before a shifting attempt or for strengthening your confidence.
However, I do not recommend trying to jump straight from holotropic breathwork directly into the void. The reason? After intense breathwork, your nervous system is still adapting to the oxygen and CO2 shifts, you might feel lightheaded or too physically stimulated, and it can actually disrupt the deep stillness the void requires.
It is far wiser to see holotropic breathwork as a powerful warm-up, to release tension and expand your mind, then let your body rest, ground yourself, and approach the void or shifting attempt afterward with a calm, centered state.
In short, let the breathwork do its clearing job, then give yourself time to stabilize before moving toward entering the void directly. That way, you’ll be working with your subconscious instead of overwhelming it.
youtube
You can listen to this kind of guided meditation right after
In short, yes you need music for holotropic breathwork. Without it, you are just hyperventilating, which might still help in some ways, but it will not deliver the same layered, deep subconscious processing that makes holotropic breathwork so effective for altered states like the void or advanced shifting.
#Youtube#void success#void state#void#fulfillment#shifting#reality shifting community#reality shifting#self concept#shiftinconsciousness#shifting methods#shifting help#dr self#desired reality#manifestabundance#loalo#loablr#loa tumblr#shifter#shifters#reality shifter#anti shifters dni#black shifters#kpop shifting#marvel shifting#shiftblr#shiftblr community#shifting advice#shifting antis dni#shifting blog
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Ellis Twilight ~ 3rd Birthday Story
Chapter 3
This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Villains. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories!
No Warnings for this part, but it does become NSFW in later parts, so MDNI
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Epilogue
“…Hey Kate, wake up.”
I was in a deep sleep, but his voice woke me up.
When I opened my heavy eyelids, Ellis was pointing outside the window with a happy look on his face.
Kate: “Good morning…”
Ellis: “Kate, look outside.”
Hearing the cheerful voice, I raised myself up and looked out the window where a dazzling light caught my eye—
Kate: “It’s sunny!”
My sleepiness disappeared in an instant and I met his gaze.
(I need to get ready quickly!)
Seeing me hastily jump off the bed, Ellis also stood up and started getting ready.
Ellis: “Hey, I woke you up, didn’t I?”
Kate: “Yes, thank you. As expected of you, Ellis.”
He smiled at me and I thanked him as I tied up my hair.
Then, Ellis put his jacket over my shoulders.
Ellis: “It’s still cold outside, so put on my jacket.”
After we finished getting ready together, Ellis held out his big hand to me.
Ellis: “Are you ready?”
Kate: “What about you, Ellis?”
Ellis: “Once I hold hands with you, I’ll be ready.”
With a sweet smile and his offered hand, he looked just like a prince.
The corners of my mouth curled into a smile as I took his hand.
Kate: “I’m ready now too!”
Then Ellis’ smile deepened, and he took my hand and lead me out the door.
Ellis: “Let’s go.”
We began our walk through the quiet morning town.
About 20 minutes’ walk from town, a vast flower field appeared before us.
Kate: “It’s supposed to be at the back of this flower garden… but I can’t see it from here yet.”
As I walked ahead of Ellis, still holding his hand, he stopped in his tracks.
Ellis: “Ah, I saw it.”
Kate: “Oh, really?”
Ellis: “Look, there…”
I looked towards where he was pointing, but it was only natural that the view was different given the difference in our heights…
(I can’t see it, I’ll need to get closer.”
I moved my feet again and approached it.
Ellis: “Oh, look. There’s lavender lying around, do you think someone picked it?”
He picked up some lavender stalks that had fallen to the ground and held them out in front of my face.
Kate: “Hehe, even just a few is pretty.”
Squinting at the scent of the lavender, I too began searching for fallen lavender on the ground.
As we got closer to the field, the color of the soil disappeared and it was completely covered with purple flowers. It was so beautiful.
I looked up as a strong wind blew, sending the scent of lavender floating up into the air.
As the petals fluttered up, a beautiful sight unfolded—
Kate: “Wow, that’s so pretty—wha?”
Ellis: “Kate!”
The moment I took another step, my feet got stuck in the mud and the blue sky completely filled my field of vision.
(I’m falling.)
Thinking I would be falling to the ground, I closed my eyes tightly.
But suddenly my body was floating in the air—
When I opened my eyes, I was being held by Ellis.
Ellis: “That surprised me. Are you okay?”
Kate: “Y-yeah, I’m okay…thank you.”
I couldn’t answer properly because the lavender fields spread breathtakingly as far as the eye could see.
And in the center of it all, my lover was smiling.
The endless sea of purple matched the color of his eyes very well.
A beautiful color, like the sky at twilight, just as night begins to fall.
It was my beloved Ellis’ color.
Ellis: “We finally got to see the lavender fields.”
He smiled happily and gazed deeply into my eyes.
Kate: “…Are you really looking?”
I asked him, feeling that I was the only one being reflected in his eyes, but he replied as if completely unfazed.
Ellis: “Yeah, I see it. I see the lavender in your eyes.”
Kate: “Really…”
I was happy, but also a little embarrassed, so I put my arms around his neck and looked back into his twilight eyes.
In his eyes, I could only see myself, with my cheeks flushed red.
I truly felt that I was happy.
Kate: “Happy birthday, Ellis.”
Kate: “Every day I spend with you is so happy…”
Kate: “There have been more than a few times when I thought that it could have been my last day.”
(Even now.)
I felt like I could have this moment last forever.
I felt extremely happy.
(But, the end surely isn’t here.)
Kate: “But when I’m with you, Ellis, the greatest happiness is constantly renewed.”
Kate: “That’s why I don’t want things to end yet.”
Because our happiness would surely continue from now on.
Kate: “I want to keep recreating the happiest moments together with you, Ellis. Forever and ever.”
Ellis: “Kate…”
After hearing what I said, Ellis bit his lip slightly and narrowed his eyes.
Ellis: “…I never knew what I wanted to do until now.”
Ellis: “I thought it was nice to see someone happy, but I didn’t really know what I wanted to do.”
Ellis: “Thanks to you, Kate, I’ve become a little more selfish, but…”
Ellis: “But right now, there’s something I want to do—a big selfish wish of my own.”
Kate: “Huh?”
A fresh early summer breeze blew, and small flowers floated up, carrying their fragrance.
He just stared at me.
Ellis: “I want to be involved in everything that makes you happy.”
Ellis: “I want all your happiness to come from me.”
Ellis: “That’s my big, selfish wish.”
He tilted his head, and the corners of his mouth relaxed.
Ellis: “Is that crazy?”
He spoke, narrowing his eyes again.
Little by little, he’d become more selfish, and now he’d shared one big selfish request.
That alone was more than enough to make me happy.
(I can’t believe that his request was about me…)
--I felt like I could burst into tears at any second.
Kate: “It’s not crazy, but… it might already be happening.”
Ellis: “Huh?”
Kate: “Because without you, Ellis, I can’t be happy.”
I didn’t think I could be happy without him, but I guess it was too late now.
Ellis: “Hey, Kate.”
His sweet smile captivated me and his barbed love spread around me, making it impossible to go back.
Ellis: “Until the moment I take your life, I want you to be happy.”
I probably wouldn’t be able to live without him anymore.
But that’s exactly what he wanted.
--His one big, selfish request.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Epilogue
#ikemen villains#ikevil#ikemen villains translation#ikevil translation#Ellis Twilight#ikevil Ellis#ikevil Ellis Twilight#ikemen villains Ellis#ikemen villains Ellis Twilight
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It's Winds of Blessing: An Akeshuake Travel Zine release day💕
Thank you @shuaketravelszine for the cover opportunity to draw my two boys documenting happy memories. Please consider supporting this project made with lots of love!⤵️
🗓️ Jul 1 - Aug 1 🛒shuaketravels.bigcartel.com
#myart#persona 5#persona 5 royal#akeshu#shuake#ren amamiya#goro akechi#akira kusuru#its here!!! come see lovely travel memories with akeshuake#this is a project made with so much love - please consider supporting if you can <3#i had a lot of fun drawing akeshuake being doting parents to nuis - can you find them all? hehe#anyway manifesting BIG success bc i will cry endless tears if i do not get the messenger bag i will cry SO HARD!!!#shuake travels zine
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can i get this tattooed on me please?? please??? probably my favorite comment i've ever gotten on one of my fics.
@chilling-seavey got me over here weeping into my hands!!
#save#save tag#i aspire to be the queen/overseer of pierresteban#but no fr ily omg#thank you for all of your endless support even when i am being a little shitball#you're a real one and i appreciate you lots <3.
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no doubt ── s. jy
↳ summary ── struggling to balance a world tour, endless responsibilities, and...well, the sting of getting dumped by his girlfriend, jake finds peace & comfort confiding in you—one of his closest friends. what begins as lighthearted late-night phone calls while he's away on tour deepens into something more, quickly pulling you both into uncharted emotional territory. as your connection with jake intensifies, so does your inner turmoil—torn between the comfort of your easy relationship with him and the terrifying possibility of falling for someone you're not even sure you can have in the first place. but jake? jake has absolutely no doubt of what he wants—and spoiler alert? it's you.
↳ pairing ── jake x f!reader, [ft. childhoodbestfriend!jungwon, bestfriends!enha]
↳ genre ── idol!jake, friends to lovers!au || angstttt, fluff, crack
↳ ✎ᝰ. 23.7k [never beating the allegations of getting too attached to my works and having too much fun writing i fear...]
↳ contains ── angst! very angsty but only after a lot of fluff...the cheesy cringe type but then it goes downhill real quick...but happy ending i swear!, mentions of insecurities, maybe one or two curse words, fic starts with jake dating og character named jenn, the use of pet names, jungwon practically plays therapist, jake is absolutely whipped for reader but is terrible at communication and a certified idiot . also jungwon is reader's best friend so the beginning sets up the context for that lolz
↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── she's DONEEE [do u hear me crying in the background]...so some backstory lore abt this fic—basically two years ago i had a dream about the ~angsty scene~ of this fic and ever since then, i've had this itch of putting it into words. and when i finally decided to do it, no doubt came out and i thought it was literal fate since the lyrics match the vibe so well...don't tell me it isn't fate guys :') anyways..this is a little different than my typical writing style even though of course i had to include summm crack..but i am still nervous abt how it came out so i really really hope you guys like it :') thank u for all the support and love always <3
↳ update .ᐟ ── check out the sequel series of this fic here!
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・
You and Yang Jungwon were literally born to be best friends.
Like, there was no other option.
Your mom? Their high school's poster child for academic perfection—top of her class, president of every club imaginable, a certified teacher's pet.
Jungwon's mom? Their high school's unofficial social chair—life of the party, karaoke queen, probably responsible for half the faculty's headaches.
Nothing alike.
So naturally, of course, they were inseparable. By their junior year, they'd already started planning their futures together, including one very specific and totally realistic goal that all teenage girl best friends make when they're young:
"We should have our first kids around the same time and force them to be best friends!"
"Oh my gosh, yes," Jungwon's mom agreed enthusiastically. "Like, we'll make them share everything! Matching outfits, playdates, joint birthday parties!"
But what your moms didn't realize as they were giggling over the playful promise that probably didn't hold any meaning to them at the age of 17?
The universe was taking notes.
So fast forward a couple decades later, and there you were, baby best friends from birth, fulfilling the shared dream of your mothers—the true puppeteers in this scenario.
All your moms had to do was execute their promise as planned, but the rest of it? The rest of it was easy.
You and Jungwon clicked before you even knew what words were, communicating in a series of shared giggles and unintelligible baby noises. By the time you turned two, you were finishing each other's sentences in your made-up gibberish language, and by preschool, the bond was unshakable.
You two—just like your moms—were inseparable.
By high school, everyone knew you were a package deal—where you went, Jungwon followed, and vice versa. So, when he announced your sophomore year that he was leaving to compete on a televised idol survival show, you were, understandably, skeptical.
"Are you sure it's not a scam?" You had asked, rolling lazily around on his bed while he scrambled around his room, packing his bags.
"It's not a scam," Jungwon laughed, carefully folding his clothes.
"Did they ask for your social security number?"
"Y/N."
"Exactly. I'm just saying—if you end up on one of those exposé documentaries about fake talent shows, don't say I didn't warn you."
Despite your teasing, you knew how much this meant to him. Jungwon had been dreaming about being in the music spotlight since he figured out how to work a karaoke machine at the age of six.
So when he eventually did make his debut with his group, you weren't surprised at all—it was inevitable, written in the stars, just like how your friendship with him was.
What did surprise you, though, was how seamlessly you got roped into his new world.
Sure, Jungwon's life got infinitely busier overnight, but there is no universe that exists in which he'd forget about you—his non-conjoined twin, ride-or-die, and ultimate life-long nuisance (his words, not yours).
And so naturally, you became an honorary member of this new life of his. The boys' practice studio might as well be your new home—the endless days camping out on the floor of their dance studio with your head in your textbooks while they drilled their choreography for the hundredth time proved that. Or maybe how you crash on their dorm couch so often that Sunoo coined you your new nickname: their unofficial eighth member.
Which brings you to now: a marketing major by day, unofficial idol by night, and, as always, a certified magnet to chaos.
Case in point? Whatever madness was happening around you at this exact moment.
"Okay, but hear me out," Heeseung says, gesturing dramatically with his pizza slice—one of many scattered across the coffee table everyone was sitting around. "Pineapple is the perfect combination of sweet and savory—"
"It's a crime against humanity," Sunghoon cuts in.
Tomorrow? The boys leave for their five-month tour.
Tonight? Tonight is tradition: the pre-tour pizza bash.
Naturally, it's chaos, as no one has bothered with the last-minute packing they're supposed to be doing.
Not a single bag is packed.
"It's fruit on bread," you scrunch your nose, taking a bite of your own normal pepperoni pizza. "This isn't dessert, Hee."
"Thank you!" Sunghoon reaches across the table to high-five you.
From the couch behind you, Jake chuckles and nudges your back with his knee, "Big talk coming from someone who claims pickles belong on everything."
"Uh, because they do," you whip your head around to glare at him. "Pickles are versatile."
"Versatile my ass," Jungwon mumbles from his spot beside you. "I love you, but you're deranged."
"Look who's talking, Mr. 'I-put-hot-sauce-on-everything'," you shoot back, eyes narrowing at your best friend. Everyone chuckles from around the table at your dramatic, yet endearing, overreaction.
"Hot sauce is different," Jay chimes in without even looking up from his phone. "It's an enhancer."
"Pickles enhance flavor too!"
"By making everything taste like vinegar," Sunoo deadpans from your other side. "Gross."
"Whatever," you roll your eyes. "You're all uncultured."
"And you're a menace," Jake quips from behind you, his voice dripping with amusement. You don't even have to turn around to see the smirk on his face—you can hear it loud and clear.
"Careful, Sim," you say with a sly glance over your shoulder. "Keep talking, and I'll start adding pickle juice to your coffee."
The room fills with laughter, but before Jake can fire back, his phone buzzes aggressively against the couch. You watch him glance down at his screen before his playful smile instantly fades.
"I'll be right back," Jake mutters, getting up and heading towards the kitchen without another word.
You frown as you watch him disappear around the corner, the sudden shift in his mood gnawing at you, and you can't help but wonder what's gotten under his skin.
After a few more minutes of heated debates over pizza toppings—and yet another round of everyone ganging up on your weird pickle obsession—you decide it was time for a drink refill.
Excusing yourself, you step into the kitchen, only to find Jake leaning against the counter, his arms crossed and gaze fixed on the empty wall in front of him. His phone sits abandoned on the counter, screen dark.
"Jake?" You call out softly, approaching slowly.
Your voice breaks through his haze, his expression flickering as he registers you standing in the doorway, your brows furrowed in concern.
"What's going on?" You ask, moving closer to stand in front of him.
"Nothing," Jake says too quickly, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
You give him a look and he knows that you know he's lying, "Jake.."
He exhales, his expression crumbling as he runs a hand through his hair, "Just...Jenn called."
Ah. Of course. Jenn.
You almost flinch at the sound of the name, the weight it carries instantly souring your stomach. Jake's on-again, off-again girlfriend of two years was a constant source of heartbreak—not just for the poor boy, but for the entire group who helped pick up the pieces of his broken heart after every messy break-up…and even messier make-up.
"She broke up with me," Jake admits quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "For real this time. Something about me leaving for tour and how it wasn't going to work out."
Your heart hurts at the sight of him in front of you—shoulders slumped, hands nervously twisting the hem of his shirt, as if trying to distract himself from the conversation.
"Oh, Jake...," you murmur, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder as you lean against the counter next to him.
"I'm fine," he insists, waving it off, but the expression on his face clearly betrays him.
"No, you're not," you say, trying to catch his eyes. "And that's okay."
Jake lets out a shaky breath, finally looking up from the ground to look at you, before shrugging, "I don't even know why I’m surprised. We've been...really off for a while now. Like, more than usual. But still, it sucks."
“Of course, it sucks," you nod, agreeing softly. "You guys were together for a long time. You cared about her."
For a moment, the two of you sit in a heavy silence with an unspoken understanding, the only sounds coming from the muffled chatter and laughter in the other room. You stay close, letting him process without pushing further.
Still, you can't entirely suppress the annoying flare of emotions bubbling in your chest—a tangled knot of sympathy and…something else. Relief, maybe? Not that you would ever wish any sort of pain on Jake—but you hate the way Jenn always leaves him like this: drained, doubting himself, and trying to piece together what went wrong, where he went wrong.
"Come back to the living room," you say finally, nudging his side gently. "Ni-ki is freaking out over which hoodies to pack. And I swear, they're all the same black hoodie."
Jake lets out a small, tired laugh, "You don't need me for that. He's gonna end up packing all of them, just watch."
"You don't know that," you tease. "Besides, I need someone's back up to help me convince him he's not actually going through an emo phase."
His eyes carry a faint smile as he looks at you, the corners of his lips lifting just enough to remind you of the warmth he usually carries.
"Okay," he says in a whisper, pushing himself off the counter.
You start towards the doorway, forgetting about your drink refill entirely, but his voice stops you.
"Y/N?"
You turn to find him still standing there, his eyes filled with warmth and appreciation.
"Thanks," he adds, a small smile on his face. It's such a simple statement, but the way he says it—soft, sincere, and maybe just a little desperate—makes something twist in your stomach. "For just...always being here."
You smile back up at the boy, "Of course, Jake. I'll always be here for you. You know that."
For a moment, he holds your gaze, as if taking a mental note of something. Then he nods, his shoulders relaxing.
"Okay," he says, exhaling as he gestures toward the doorway. "Let's go.”
You follow behind the boy back to the living room, silently hoping he knows just how much you mean your promise to him.
Jake's body is on autopilot at this point.
Another city, another show, another string of flashing lights and deafening cheers. It's a month into tour, and the endless loop of responsibilities has left him no room to just breathe.
And he loves this life—he really does. But tonight, for reasons he can't explain, the adrenaline that usually keeps him afloat isn't enough. Pure exhaustion lingers in his bones, heavier than the applause and screams echoing in his memory, and he just can’t seem to shake it.
When his head finally hits the stiff hotel pillow, Jake exhales with a heavy sigh. The city around him is alive, the neon lights brightly dancing against his windowpane, but he feels none of it.
Instead? He just feels the weight of homesickness and the ache of being alone.
Normally, he would push through, shove these thoughts into the back of his mind, call it a night. But tonight, the ache feels different—sharper, louder—and before he knows it, his phone is in his hand before he can talk himself out of it, his thumb hovering over your name on his screen.
A familiar battle wages in his mind, one he’s been battling more recently ever since tour became a little heavier on him. Slowly, the quiet yearning has been creeping in, and he’s been missing home more and more, craving the feeling of familiarity. But it isn’t just the physical places or the comfort of his regular routine that he craves.
It’s something else, something harder to name.
And for some other reason he can’t seem to explain, he thinks it’s you.
Jake doesn’t know when it started. Maybe it was hearing the sound of your voice through the phone whenever the guys called you to check in every now and then. Or maybe it was the way you would text in their shared group chat, your messages always tinged with humor or a sense of calm that somehow made everything feel a little less overwhelming.
Whatever it was, it stuck with him. He finds himself craving that unexplainable comfort only you seem to bring. He tells himself it’s nothing special, just the natural pull of familiarity. You’re back at home, the place he misses the most, so obviously, through association, it makes sense.
It’s logical. Nothing more.
That’s what he tells himself as his thumb hovers over your name. It’s not about you specifically—it couldn’t be. It’s just the connection to home. The grounding warmth of your voice. The way you somehow make the distance feel a little less suffocating.
Obviously. Nothing more.
He presses call.
Two rings. That's all it takes before your voice cuts through all the static in his head. Groggy, soft, and achingly familiar. Like home.
"Jake? It's late, is everything okay?"
Jake glances at the clock. 10:13PM where he is. Much later for you, he imagines. Guilt stirs, but...
He doesn't want to hang up.
Hearing your voice feels like the first breath of air after surfacing from deep water. He instantly feels more comfortable despite the heaviness in his chest.
"Hey," he mumbles, his voice quiet. "I'm okay. Just...needed to hear a friendly voice, I guess."
"Wow, are the boys that bad that you need to call me?" You tease warmly, despite the sleepiness lingering in your words.
Jake chuckles, the sound low and tired, "Nothing against them, really. It's just...sometimes you need someone who reminds you of home, you know?"
The other end of the line goes quiet for a moment. He can hear you shuffle, and he braces himself for a teasing comment about him being sappy and sentimental. But instead, your voice softens.
"Well, I'm glad I could be that for you," your voice telling him you're smiling brightly on the other side of the screen. "Though if I had a private jet, I'd send it right now. Bring you back instantly."
"A private jet, huh?" Jake's eyes flutter close as he's engulfed into the usual, playful rhythm that's always there between the two of you. "You'd do that for me?"
"Only if you bring back goodies, preferably snacks," you quip back, and the warmth in his chest grows.
There's another pause, the kind that feels comfortable rather than awkward. Jake shifts in his spot and before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Make everything feel...lighter. Like, I can’t explain it, but just hearing you makes me feel like I’m not carrying all this stuff by myself.”
Your voice softens at his sudden vulnerability.
“Because you don't have to carry it all on your own, Jake. You know that, right? That’s what friends are for."
Jake hums in response, a low sound of acknowledgement as he keeps his phone pressed close, your voice instantly soothing the heavy emotions he's been carrying.
"You sound exhausted," you say after a beat, your tone cautious but filled with genuine care. "How are you holding up? With everything—the tour, the...break-up, just...you?"
Jake lets out a low groan, his fingers brushing through his hair. "You sound like my mom."
"Well, someone has to," you tease lightly, a relieved laugh slipping into your voice, as if you'd been afraid you overstepped. "Seriously, Jake. Are you doing okay?"
Jake hesitates, the question catching him off guard. He hadn't let himself think too much about Jenn or the breakup since leaving for tour a month ago. The boys knew better than to bring it up, and Jake had been grateful for that—for the distraction.
But now, with you, it feels different.
Safer, easier. Natural.
“Honestly? I don’t know,” he sighs, the sound heavy through the phone. “Some days it feels like I’m fine, like I’ve moved on, and other days...it’s like I’m stuck in this loop of ‘what ifs.’ Like, what if I did something different? Or..."
He trails off to a pause, his throat tight, before he finally admits to you, and himself, "...what if I just wasn't enough?"
“Jake,” you say gentle but firm, cutting through his spiraling thoughts. “You are enough. You've always been enough. Jenn...she just wasn’t the right person for you. That doesn’t mean you did anything wrong.”
He swallows hard, your words settling into the cracks he didn't even realize were there.
"Thanks, Y/N. I mean it. It's just...hard, you know? Haven't really talked about it since it happened. But talking to you helps—a lot."
“I’m glad." He can hear the quiet sincerity in your words. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing an amazing job. With tour, with...everything. You've got this, Jake. I’m really proud of you.”
Jake lets out a breathy laugh, the warmth in your words settling something in his chest—a knot he didn't even realize was there.
“You always know what to say, don’t you?”
“It’s a gift,” you easily reply, and he can hear the grin in your voice, the easy banter making him feel lighter.
"I missed this," the words tumble out before he can stop himself. Then he quickly adds, as if to explain himself, "It's weird not having you around. The boys are great and all, but you give the best advice. Don't tell them that."
You giggle on your end, the sound making Jake's lips curve into a small smile and his heart twists.
In both a comforting and terrifying way.
"I miss it too," your voice quieter now. "But I'm here. You know that, right? Even if you're on the other side of the world, or if you call me at four in the morning like you're doing right now."
Jake lets out a chuckle followed by a sleepy groan, "Sorry about that. But...thank you, Y/N. For picking up."
"Always," you reply, and he hopes you mean it.
A beat passes. Jake knows he should hang up, that he should let you sleep. He tries to convince himself that you need the sleep more than he needs this call.
But he can't help himself.
"You'll yell at me if I don't sleep, won't you?"
"Absolutely. Go to bed, Jake. Or at least try. Zombie mode doesn't suit you."
"Fine," he sighs dramatically, but his eyes feel heavier and he knows he's falling asleep, the tension in his body from before easing away. "But only because you scare me sometimes."
You laugh. "Good. Now get some rest. And call me whenever you need to, okay?"
"Okay," he mumbles into his phone quietly, his mind already slipping into a deep sleep.
"Goodnight, Y/N."
"Goodnight, Jake."
"Don't you have a bedtime, Sim Jaeyun?" You tease, answering the call. The clock reads 1:27AM, and you should be asleep—you really should—but you smile anyways when Jake's name appears on your screen.
"Bedtime? I don't know her," his voice slightly groggy, but as usual, still warm. "Besides I knew you'd be awake. You don't sleep like a normal person either."
You roll your eyes, knowing fully well he can't see it, "Yeah, well, I don't have to dance around a stage for two hours tomorrow."
"True, but you do have to deal with my constant calls and keep me entertained. That's way harder."
"Oh yeah, obviously," you say with mock seriousness. "Being your emotional support human is a full-time job."
“Emotional support human,” Jake repeats, chuckling softly. “You’re right. I guess I really owe you, huh?”
“Oh, 100%,” you shoot back, a grin in your voice. “I want one of those tour hoodies you guys keep posting with.”
“Done. What size?”
"The oversized one."
Jake pauses. “Let me guess—so you can sleep in it?"
You hesitate, suddenly sheepish at how he knows you too well, “Hey, it's only cozy if it's oversized!"
You hear his soft laugh on the other end of the line.
“Cute. I’ll make sure to steal one for you.”
You try not to overanalyze the way your stomach flips at the word cute, and the easy way he says it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
You shake the thought off immediately. This wasn't new, after all, Jake's always warm and easy to talk to. But lately—over the past month of phone calls—the way he says certain things, the tone he says them in, and the way they make you feel? It carried a weight you weren't sure how to hold.
In both a comforting and terrifying way.
“So, how was your day?” you suddenly bring up, trying to redirect your thoughts.
"Tiring," Jake sighs, his voice muffled as he shifts around in bed. "And Jungwon keeps beating me at Mario Kart during our break time. My pride is in shambles, Y/N."
"Let me guess," you smirk, repeating his words from earlier. "He picks Yoshi, and you keep picking Toad because you think he's underrated."
"Excuse me," Jake scoffs. "Toad is underrated. But, for your information, I choose Toad because your go-to character is Toadette."
Your heart does that stupid flip again. His words are light—I mean, you guys are talking about Mario Kart for god's sake—but it's stuff like that that keeps you questioning the true meaning behind his words.
You ignore the feeling, instead, a laugh bubbles up in response, an attempt to sound unaffected.
"You're so weird."
“But you like it,” he quips, voice dipping just slightly, like he’s testing the waters.
You're caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone, but you recover just as quickly.
"Debatable."
“Liar.”
His tone is teasing, but there's something softer behind it, “You wouldn’t still be on the phone with me if you didn’t like me at least a little.”
“Maybe I’m just bored,” you shoot back, though your cheeks are burning at his sudden forwardness, questioning if he’s serious or just messing with you.
You hear him hum in response, "Then I guess I'll have to work harder to keep you interested."
“Oh yeah? How are you planning to do that?” You try to match his teasing tone, but internally, you feel unsteady under the implication of his words.
“By being my usual charming self, duh,” he says, his voice dropping into a smooth tone. “And, you know, calling you every night so you don’t forget about me.”
Your heart squeezes. "You already do that, stupid. You think I'd forget about you?"
“Never,” Jake's reply is immediate, almost instinctive, leaving no room for doubt. “But just in case…I like hearing your voice. Makes me feel like I’m not a million miles away.”
His words linger in the space between you, heavier than the playful banter from earlier. You swallow hard, trying your best to keep your voice steady.
“You’re not a million miles away, Jake.”
“Feels like it,” he murmurs. You hear a pause in his voice, as if he's thinking hard about his next words. “I miss home. I miss...you."
Your chest tightens, and your hands grip the sheets beneath you, as if the fabric could somehow ground you. Your heart is doing that thing again—the erratic, terrifying thing that makes you want to believe in something you're not sure is even real.
And at the same time, your thoughts are scrambling to say something lighthearted before the conversation steers into that dangerous, dangerous territory you were sure you weren't ready for.
Not yet.
"Well, you better win at least one round of Mario Kart for me while you're out there," you force a laugh, trying to mask the tremor in your voice.
Jake laughs, the sound genuine, "I'll try. But if I lose, just know I'm dedicating every race to you."
"Wow, I'm so honored," you try to deadpan, but he can sense the grin in your voice.
"You should be," his voice softens again. "Thanks for picking up tonight, by the way. I know it's late."
He never fails to thank you every night, as if you haven't been picking up every day for the past month and won't be picking up tomorrow, and the next day...and the day after that.
And, somehow, the same, genuine appreciation makes it so hard for you to ignore that weird, warm, fluttering sensation growing inside you every time you talk to him.
But, regardless, you always give him the same reply:
"Always," your voice matching his softness. "Call me whenever, okay?"
"Don’t say that," Jake warns, the teasing edge creeping back into his tone. "I'll actually do it."
"Fine," you giggle. "But if you call me at four in the morning again, I'm putting my phone on Do Not Disturb."
"Deal." He pauses, then adds, "Goodnight, Y/N."
"Goodnight, Jake."
As you hang up, you stare at your phone for a moment longer than you should have, your room feeling oddly quiet and too empty without his voice.
It's just another call, Y/N. Just another call between two friends.
But deep down, a part of you tells you it isn’t that simple anymore.
And maybe—just maybe—he knows it too.
“Are you busy?” Jake’s voice sounds more tired than usual, heavy with an overwhelming amount of tension.
“Never too busy for our calls,” you easily reply without hesitation as you lay back in your bed, phone close to your ear. Your voice is light, a stark contrast to the weariness laced in his, and when he doesn’t respond with his typical chuckle, you immediately sense his mood. “Hard day?”
He exhales slowly, the weary sound answering your question. Today was a lot. Hours of rehearsal followed by a concert, the adrenaline rush of performing, followed by the chaos of having the guys’ hotel information leaked. Crowds of paparazzi and fans swarmed the entrance, the relentless flashes of cameras breaking through whatever little pieces of calm he had left within him. The noise, the pressure, the endless cycle—all spiraled into a mental mess he doesn’t seem to shake.
The second he settled into his hotel room, all Jake knew was that he needed to talk to you—the one person who could steady his racing thoughts.
"I just...I didn't think this would get to me, you know? The cameras, the people, the flashes in my face—I'm just—it's like I'm never alone."
Your heart twists at the vulnerability and rawness in his voice, as if he’s admitting something for the first time—not just to anyone else, but to himself.
"I—I don't know. Sometimes I wish I could just disappear, just for a little while. Just to breathe, you know?"
You close your eyes, your grip on the phone unconsciously tightening as if it could anchor him somehow.
"I know it's not the same," your voice steady, even as you internally ached for him, "but...you can disappear with me, Jake. Even if it's just through the call. No cameras. No noise. Just...you and me."
He lets out an exhale—shaky, but relieved.
"You're really good at this. Making me feel like it's all gonna be okay."
"Because it is going to be okay, Jake," you reply softly. "You're not alone, Jake. Not with me."
"Yeah," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, and he wishes more than anything else in this moment that he actually was with you. “I know.”
"Jake," you groan, sitting cross-legged on your bed, staring at the flustered boy through your laptop screen. "I'm begging you—just wear the black jacket. It's literally impossible to mess up black."
"But what about the beanie?" He whines as he pops back into view, his face scrunched up in genuine distress. "Do you think I can pull it off, or will I look like I'm trying too hard? Be honest, Y/N."
What started as a simple fashion-advice-question over the phone turned into a two-hour wardrobe emergency—all because Jake couldn’t figure out what to wear to the airport the next day (because, apparently, airport fits matter—his words, not yours).
"Jake, you could wear a literal trash bag to the airport and fans would still lose their minds," you tease, biting back a laugh.
He rolls his eyes at you, but the smile tugging at his lips says otherwise.
"Okay, but seriously, you’re trying too hard. Just go with the jacket, no beanie," you add on, just to end this two-hour long madness.
"Hmm," Jake plops on his bed and turns towards his phone camera, and you swear you can see the pout forming on his lips. "But I already posted a preview of the jacket last week. Isn't that, like, repetitive?"
"Jake,” you blink at him, "it's an airport. Not a fashion show."
He stares at you for a beat, then lets out a dramatic sigh, "Fine! Jacket, no beanie. But if I see even one criticizing comment calling me basic, I'm blaming you."
You laugh, shaking your head at his ridiculousness, "Deal. Now go to sleep, Sim Jaeyun."
His grin softens as he adjusts the camera to fully look at you, pout gone, eyes glistening.
"Only because you said so."
"Hey," you say softly, answering the call as you snuggle deeper into your blanket, letting it engulf you completely.
The familiar sound of Jake's quiet breathing fills the space between you, and before he even says a word, you already know.
"Rough day?" You ask gently when he doesn’t say anything after a few seconds.
"Yeah," he murmurs, his voice quieter than usual, almost drowned out by the low hum of background noise. "I just...I don't really feel like talking right now, if that's okay."
"Of course," you reply without hesitation, your tone gentle, no questions asked.
On the other end, Jake presses the phone closer to this ear in an attempt to feel closer to you, instantly feeling better from your pure understanding of how he’s feeling, and he thinks—not for the first time—that you might be his favorite person in the world.
The warm silence engulfs the both of you like a shared blanket, unspoken yet understood. You can hear the faint echoes of his surroundings: the muffled laughter of the boys somewhere nearby, the distant honk of traffic outside his hotel, and then the quiet shuffle of Jake shifting positions in his hotel bed. You catch his breath catching slightly, like he's finally allowing himself to relax—to just be.
You don't try to fill the silence. You know that he needs this—a moment of peace in the chaos. Instead, you similarly press the phone closer to your ear, as if doing so can somehow bridge the miles between you, hoping he can sense your presence reaching out for him.
Minutes pass like this, and for a moment, it’s so quiet you begin to wonder if he's falling asleep. But then, a deep exhale breaks the stillness.
"Thank you, Y/N," he says finally, his voice low but steady, carrying a weight of sincerity that makes your heart clench.
"You don't have to thank me, Jake," your voice matches his softness. "You know that."
"Still," his voice is low, so quiet, it feels like a secret meant only for you. "I appreciate you. More than you probably know."
You smile to yourself, your heart aching in the best way possible, and you desperately try your best to ignore it, no matter how much excitement it brought you.
"Always, Jake."
“Tell me something about you that I don’t already know,” you challenge him, your voice carrying that light and endearing tone over the phone that Jake’s come to crave.
“Hmm,” Jake hums thoughtfully as he lies in his bed, eyes closed, just simply treasuring the small moments, like this one, with you.
Even though it’s definitely 3AM where he is right now. And he definitely has to be up in a few hours for rehearsal.
Oh well, completely irrelevant. Talking about everything and anything with you just felt so right.
“I don’t know,” he eventually exhales, his brain too foggy to think of anything logical right now. “I feel like you know me better than I know myself at this point, Y/N.”
“You’re so corny it physically hurts, Jake,” you scoff, and Jake swears he can feel your exaggerated eye roll from thousands of miles away.
“Oh—wait, wait! I have one,” he perks up, his eyes shooting open as he turns towards the phone in excitement.
“Hit me,” you say, unconsciously smiling at how cute he sounds.
“I’m allergic to flowers.”
The line falls silent for a beat before you erupt into a storm of giggles so wild it makes Jake feel sick from how fast the butterflies in his stomach start fluttering.
“That’s your fun fact? That’s so tragic, Jake,” you gasp through your giggles. “Like, depressingly tragic.”
“Hey! It’s not that sad, it could be worse,” Jake hopes you can hear his pout over the phone (you can).
“So you’re telling me you’ve never bought a girl flowers before?” You tease, smiling to yourself as you stare at your ceiling.
“Guess not,” Jake lets out a laugh, which surprises himself. “Jenn used to always get mad at me for never getting her any, but what am I supposed to do? Show up with a bouquet and an epi-pen? I literally start tearing up whenever I’m around any kind.”
You lose it all over again, your laughter spilling through Jake’s phone like sunshine, and Jake doesn’t even realize he’s smiling so widely until his cheeks start to ache.
But what Jake does realize is something unexpected: for the first time in forever, he can talk about Jenn without a single pang of…anything. No weird tension, no lingering sadness—just a casual mention and then…nothing.
It’s freeing, this feeling of lightness, like an invisible weight he didn’t know he was even carrying has suddenly lifted. He wonders if this is what moving on really feels like, if he’s found his emotional freedom. He wonders when it changed.
He wonders maybe it’s not when—maybe it’s who.
And he wonders if it’s you.
Today was supposed to be Jake’s day off. The golden ticket to rest, recharge, and not think about anything.
Key term: supposed to be.
Instead, Jake found himself knee-deep in the trenches of emotional warfare—and losing spectacularly.
The morning started innocently enough. No alarm, no schedule, just the soft promise of freedom that was so close within his reach. But by noon, Jake came to a harsh realization.
Freedom was a lie.
Because every step, every sight, every breath, was haunted by one inescapable thought: You.
It started with a boutique. Him and the boys had wandered down a cobblestone street in a city that Jake had already forgotten the name of��city number ten or eleven of tour? He barely knew anymore. But then his gaze caught on a mannequin in the window.
Big mistake.
The outfit on display—similar to his mind—had you written all over it. Immediately, his brain spiraled.
Y/N would love that. She'd probably drag me and all the guys in and force me to hold her bag while she tried it on.
He had to physically stop himself from dragging the group inside to purchase it on the spot.
Next? A coffee shop. And there it was: a poster featuring some limited-edition iced peach latte. Jake froze, staring at it like it held the answers to life itself.
You’d love it. You would order it, (well, you'd make Jake order it, because you hate talking to cashiers), sip it, smile, and probably rant about how overpriced it was—even though Jake would pay for it—yet you’d still finish the entire thing.
And then, you'd steal half of his drink, too.
Because you always did.
And Jake always lets you.
The final straw? A cat. Just a random stray, peacefully lounging on a sunny part of sidewalk, looking like it had zero interest in the world around it. And even that didn't escape Jake's you-obsessed filter. Without even thinking, Jake whipped out his phone.
It was instinctual at this point.
Jake [1:06PM]: (attached - one image) Jake [1:06PM]: thought you'd like this one :)
Because obviously, you needed to see that cat. Immediately.
By the time Jake collapses onto his hotel bed that evening, he feels like he’d run a mental marathon—except instead of a finish line, every road led back to you.
He flops onto his bed, hoping sleep would save him from the storm raging in his brain.
Spoiler alert: it doesn't.
Instead, it leads him to the complete opposite. He stares at your name on his phone, your contact picture, your last messages to him.
You texted him two hours ago—a sweet goodnight message that ended with your usual, 'Don't hesitate to call if you need me.'
Casual. Normal.
But it probably didn't mean, 'Hey, please interrupt my sleep from the other side of the world so we can discuss your ongoing emotional crisis over me.'
Don't do it, Jake. The remaining rational brain cells within him beg him to stop. You're being dramatic. She's not the air you need to breathe.
But at the same time, deep down, Jake really thinks you are.
The worst part? You two already had talked on the phone earlier—when Jake had another fashion crisis and couldn't decide what to wear for his day off exploring with the guys. Of course, you laughed at him, teased him, but then helped him pick something out anyways. Typical.
Personally, if it was up to him, he'd spent his whole day off on the phone with you. Talking about everything. Or nothing. Whatever you wanted, Jake would've done it, no hesitation.
Don't do it, Jake, his brain warns him again. What kind of obsessed-lunatic calls the same person twice in one day?
Answer: Jake.
But as Jake lies in his hotel bed, thoughts heavily clouded with the image of you and the sound of your voice, he realizes...this wasn't just a phone call thing. No, this was deeper, worse. And somewhere between staring at the same patch of ceiling and replaying every memory of you on a mental loop, Jake tries to rationalize it.
She’s just a good friend, Jake. A best friend, even! You think about her a lot because she’s cool and funny and…and she has the laugh of a Disney princess...But it’s normal to think about your friends, right? Right??
But the more he tries to downplay it, the clearer it becomes. This was something else.
And then it hits.
Like, really hits.
Oh my god. I like her.
Jake shoots upright, widened eyes filled with horror, as if the realization itself just physically smacked him across the face.
No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.
Jake buries his face in his hands, groaning. But the groan quickly turns into a muffled scream, because the more he thinks about it, the worse it gets.
Because he thinks you're going to be the death of him. He really, really likes you. Not in the vague, 'Oh, she’s cute' way, but in the write-her-name-in-a-heart-and-doodle-little-stars-around-it kind of way. The stare-at-her-texts-like-they’re-poetry kind of way. The imagine-her-laughing-at-your-dad’s-jokes-and-enjoying-your-mom’s-meals-forever kind of way.
And this feeling? It's new. It's terrifying.
It's exhilarating.
Jake realizes in this very moment that he's never experienced this heart-pounding, face-flushing, breath-taking kind of feeling towards anyone. Sure, his past relationship had been meaningful in its own way, but now Jake is realizing that the foundation of his past relationship was tangled up in obligations and unspoken expectations. A tightrope act of Jake having to be the perfect boyfriend, the perfect idol, the perfect...everything. He never realized how suffocating it was until now—until you. Because this feeling with you?
This was pure. Simple, clear, and undeniable.
Your sheer existence proved that it's possible for someone to understand him better than he understands himself. Your laugh had a way of making everything feel lighter, like the weight of the world had been momentarily suspended. Just one look from you alone somehow always manages to make him feel like he was still worthy even on his worst days.
With you, Jake felt...himself, for once. Not Jake Sim, global popstar. Not Jake Sim, the boyfriend of so-and-so. Just...Jake.
Jake's heart pounds as the realization sinks in. He's now transitioned from screaming into his hands to his poor hotel pillow.
Because as clear and strong as this feeling is, the doubt is just as overwhelming. What if you don't feel the same? What if this ruins everything?
But at the same time...what if you do feel the same way?
What if this is his chance? The butterfly effect that changes everything? What if you're it? You have to be.
And so, like an idiot possessed, Jake's finger is one millimeter away from pressing call on your name again.
Because, obviously, the best way to deal with overwhelming feelings is to confess them from a hotel room five countries away.
Obviously.
Because what if he didn't call? What if he spent the rest of his night spiraling into an endless pit of unspoken feelings and overthinking, arms flailing as he knows the only way out of the pit is with your help?
What if his brain explodes with the sheer amount of feelings he has for you and he never has the chance to tell you ever again?
He presses call.
The line rings twice before you answer.
"Jake?" Your voice is soft, laced with surprise and just the faintest trace of sleep. "It's late for you, is everything okay?"
Jake's brain short-circuits. What time even is it for him? He has no idea, and frankly, he doesn't care.
"Yeah," he blurts, far too quickly that he winces at himself. He clears his throat before trying again, "I mean, yeah. Everything's fine. I just...couldn't sleep."
"Oh," you hum softly and Jake swears the sound alone could single-handedly resolve global wars.
Yeah, he definitely likes you.
"Is something stressing you out?" The genuine concern in your voice makes his chest tighten.
"No—well, nothing like that," Jake rushes to assure you, sitting up straighter in bed now, as if you could see him. His voice lowers, almost shy, "I just...I was thinking about you."
Silence. Jake's heart pounds so loudly, he's sure you can hear it through the phone.
"About me?" You finally tease, light and playful, but there's something softer underneath. "What did I do to deserve such an honor?"
Jake lets out a nervous, breathy laugh, running a hand through his hair, “You exist. That’s what.”
Another pause. He hears you exhale softly, and the sound alone sends his heart into overdrive.
"That was smooth," your voice is quiet, soft, as if teetering on the line of teasing and nervousness at the same time. "Ten out of ten, Jake."
"I'm serious," Jake tries his best to keep his voice from cracking, the weight of his feelings pressing down on him. "I was lying here, thinking about everything, and I realized something."
"And what's that?"
Jake's throat goes dry. His heart is screaming at him to say it, but his brain begs him to reconsider.
But Jake's sure he's lost all his rational brain cells for sure at this point, so he swallows hard, and braces himself for impact.
"I like you, Y/N."
The words spill out, raw and unpolished, but so utterly true.
“I mean, I really like you," Jake continues, his voice barely above a whisper now. "More than a friend, more than anything.”
The line goes silent, and for a split second, a lifetime of pure awkwardness and torture of not having you in his life anymore flashes in his vision, and he rushes to fill the void.
"I know this is probably the worst timing ever, and probably really scary...and it's okay if you don't feel the same way," his voice definitely cracks this time, laying everything bare, but he doesn't care anymore. "But I had to tell you. I can't pretend around you, not when being around you feels like the only time I'm really me."
Then, you let out a soft exhale—a disbelieving, breathless sound that makes Jake's heart skip a beat.
"Jake..."
"You're...you're everything, Y/N. You make life better just by being in it. And I haven't even seen you in four months, but you're all I think about," Jake lets out a small laugh, swallowing the remainder of all his pride and dignity. "I promise, when I'm back...I'll prove it to you. I'll show you how much you mean to me. Anything it takes. "
For once in his life, Jake feels completely vulnerable—and yet, strangely, it feels right.
Because he means it, every word.
He's never meant anything more.
The line had gone quiet after Jake’s confession, his words echoing in your ears.
“I like you, Y/N.”
No, not like. Really, really like.
You spent the last few days replaying his words over and over, dissecting every syllable, every tiny inflection in this voice. At first, it didn't even seem real.
A part of you still thinks it isn't—that this is all a cruel dream and you're going to wake up any second now back in the real world. The one where Jake Sim, the boy who turns heads and steals hearts without even trying, didn't just confess his deepest, most vulnerable feelings for you in a single phone call.
But no. He said it, alright. Clear as day.
First, all you felt was pure happiness. Maybe it was hearing his voice everyday, or maybe it was seeing how his face lit up through the screen when you picked up his video calls—but somewhere along the way, you knew it was something deeper.
Something that made your heart skip when his name lit up your phone, something that left you craving his voice to make your day feel complete. And now? Now the boy who’d effortlessly become your favorite part of every day was telling you you’d done the same for him.
But then, came the fear.
Because what if this was just a rebound? What if you were just a soft landing for him, a way to patch up the holes left behind by his past? Here you were, standing at the edge of something terrifyingly real, wondering if you were just a step in his recovery process—a way to fill the cracks, but not the kind of permanence you were beginning to crave.
You weren’t naive enough to see Jake’s past relationship didn’t still linger in the corners of his mind. You’d seen him struggle with it before, how hard he’d tried to convince himself he was fine. What if you were just the next step in his healing, rather than something real—a Band-Aid for a wound that wasn’t even yours to heal?
And worse—what if you let it happen? What if you let yourself fall, only to hit the ground at an alarming speed, and...splat. Not just a regular, embarrassing tumble, no. But the kind that leaves you flattened on the pavement like a cartoon character who ignored every warning sign.
Because that’s exactly what it would feel like, wouldn’t it? Giving it, letting yourself hope—only to crash and burn spectacularly.
Deep down, you knew you weren’t just risking a little heartache. Because Jake? Jake had quietly claimed a permanent spot in your heart at this point.
You were risking everything.
And the worst part?
You were already halfway there.
That was the reason why you told him you needed time. The reason why all you could manage to respond was a meek, 'I just...I need to think about this.' And to his credit, Jake hadn't pushed. Of course, not.
But now, three days later, you were no closer to an answer. If anything, the time apart had made everything worse.
Because as the days stretched on, with every passing hour, every text you didn’t send and every call you didn’t make, one thing became gut-wrenchingly, undeniably clear:
You were already his.
You miss Jake’s voice, his laugh, the way he rambles about the most random things late at night. You miss how, somehow, he made you fall asleep with a smile on your face from the other side of the world. You miss him, that even in his absence, he was still your first thought in your mind when you woke up and the last before you drifted to sleep.
And no amount of overthinking or second-guessing could change the truth that finally settled in your chest like a secret you weren’t ready to admit to yourself:
You were his. Completely.
The only question now was whether you’d let yourself believe he was yours too.
"Y/N?"
"Jungwon," you groan helplessly into your phone. "Help me."
A pause. Then, "Are you sure you meant to call me? It's Jungwon, not Jake," he teases lightly. "I can go get Jake if you meant—"
"Jungwon!" You cut him off, panicked. "I'm being serious. It's about Jake, dummy."
"Oh," his tone shifts instantly as he senses the seriousness in your voice. "Did something happen? Because I swear, for the past three days, Jake's been moping around like a kicked puppy, and I was gonna ask you about it because I know you guys have been talking a lot more, but I didn't want to push, and—"
"That's exactly it, Jungwon!" You wail into your pillow, your voice muffled. Great, now you feel even worse, knowing Jake is moping around, waiting for you.
"What's exactly it?" Your best friend presses, voice curious. "I need specifics, Y/N."
You hesitate, the words clinging to the back of your throat like they're too heavy to admit. Finally, you take a deep breath and force them out.
"Jake told me he likes me, Jungwon. Like really, really likes me. He gave this whole monologue about how I'm all he can think about, and it was so cute, and it made me want to explode from joy and fear all at once, and I don't know what to do!"
A beat of silence.
Jungwon sucks in a dramatic breath and then, "Wait, wait, wait. Back up. First of all, this is not news to me."
You blink, as if he can see your look of shock over the phone, "What?"
"This was obvious, Y/N. The guy's been smitten with you for months. You guys literally have been talking every day since we left."
Your jaw drops, "So what? You and I talk every day! How is this any different?"
Jungwon snorts, "Y/N, we text every day. About minuscule things. Like me reminding you not to forget your keys and you ghosting my last text. But you and Jake? You guys talk for hours—into the illegal hours of the night, mind you. Trust me, I know. Hotel walls are thin."
You feel your cheeks flushing, "That doesn't mean anything."
"Doesn't it?" Jungwon's voice is laced with amusement. "When's the last time you called me just to hear my voice?"
"Jungwon."
"Exactly."
You groan again, "But Jungwon, what if���what if he's not over Jenn? What if I'm just a rebound?"
Jungwon goes quiet for a moment, his tone softening when he finally speaks, “Jake’s not like that, Y/N. You know that. He wouldn’t tell you he likes you unless he meant it.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Look," he interrupts. "Jake’s a lot of things—annoyingly loud, for one—but he’s not the kind of guy who’d use someone, especially you, as a rebound. If he said he likes you, he likes you.”
You bite your lip, his words settling over you like a warm blanket—because you know they're true.
“And for what it’s worth,” Jungwon continues, “I think you like him too.”
“I..,” you falter, your heart hammering in your chest. “I do.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
You sigh, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the nerves coiled in your stomach, “I don’t know. I guess I’m scared.”
“That’s okay,” Jungwon says gently. “But don’t let fear stop you from something that could make you happy. You deserve that, Y/N. And so does Jake.”
You close your eyes, letting Jungwon's words sink in. Deep down, you know he's right, he always is.
"Thanks, Jungwon," you say, your voice softer now, tinged with gratitude.
"Anytime," he replies, and then, with a teasing lilt, "But seriously—you should probably tell him soon. I can't stand watching him mope around like a sad, abandoned puppy. It's seriously tragic, like, to the point where I’m gonna have to start letting him win at Mario Kart."
A small giggle escapes you, light and genuine for the first time in three days, "I know, I know. Eventually."
"Y/N," his voice turns playfully stern, like a parent lecturing their toddler. "Eventually isn't a time. Just call him. You've been thinking about him nonstop, haven't you?"
Unfortunately, Jungwon knows you too well. Your silent response betrays you, and Jungwon lets out a triumphant hum.
"Thought so. Well, you should go. You have a call to make."
You sigh, a mix of nerves and a new determination bubbling, "Okay, okay. But if this goes horribly wrong, I'm blaming you."
"It won't. But deal," his tone is reassuring, confident, like he already knows how this story ends. "You got this, Y/N."
The call ends, and the quiet still of your room taunts you. For a moment, you sit there, staring at your phone, the little icon of Jake's contact picture—a selfie the two of you took together many years ago—staring back at you like a challenge.
Your fingers hover. Your heart races, your palms feel clammy, and your stomach twists.
But then you remember Jungwon's words.
You deserve this.
And so does Jake.
You take a deep breath, then you press down on his name.
The phone doesn't even reach the second ring before he picks up.
"Y/N," Jake’s voice is rushed, a little breathless.
"Hey," you say softly, suddenly unsure where to start. "Um, were you busy?"
"No, no," he quickly responds. "Not at all. You could call me at 3AM, and I still would’ve picked up."
"That's unhealthy, you know," your lips twitch as you lay back in your bed, taking a deep inhale. You missed this—you missed him.
"For you? Worth it," you can hear the smile in his voice, but along with the slight tension just beneath it—the faintest tremor that tells you he's been waiting for this call, maybe agonizing over it just as much as you have.
You swallow hard, gripping the phone tight, "Jake, about...our last call..."
"Take your time," he says gently, though you don't miss the way his voice wavers ever so slightly. "I mean it, Y/N. There's no pressure."
You exhale shakily, closing your eyes, “I’ve been thinking a lot, too. About you. About…us.”
Jake stays silent, but you could hear the faint sound of him shifting, like he was bracing himself.
You squeeze your eyes hard, as you let the words finally come out, "I like you too, Jake. A lot. So much, honestly. It's just..."
"It's just...?" Jake's voice repeats softly, as if that's all he can manage to let out in the midst of his nervousness.
You hold your breath, scared of what you're about to admit—to Jake and to yourself.
"It's just...I'm scared," your voice comes out barely above a whisper, "I'm scared that this is too good to be true. That you're saying all of this because...I don't know—you're trying to move on...from the past, or because you're lonely on tour, or—"
"Y/N,” Jake's voice cuts through firm, but gentle.
"You're not…a rebound, or a distraction, or anything like that," he starts quietly, each word deliberate. "And this isn't about...Jenn, or me being lonely, or whatever else you think. This is about you."
Your breath hitches as you take in his words and open your eyes, hoping that staring at the ceiling above you could somehow ground you.
“You’re the one who makes me laugh when I’ve had the worst day,” Jake continues. “You’re the one I want to talk to, even when I’m running on zero sleep. You’re the one I think about when I’m on stage and wish I could just look into the crowd and see you there. It’s you, Y/N."
His words are overwhelming, too much, and you're unsure how to even process them. Your throat tightens, and you can feel the subconscious tears prickling at the corners of your eyes without even realizing they were forming.
"Are you sure, Jake?"
"More than anything else, Y/N," he says immediately, like the words have been waiting on the tip of his tongue. "And I want to do this right, Y/N. No rushing, no expectations. Just...tell me what you need from me, and I'll do it. Whatever it takes, I'll do it."
The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache. You can picture him on the other side of the line, sitting in some unfamiliar hotel room, his brows probably furrowed in that adorable way they always do whenever he tries to find the right words.
You bite your lip, a small laugh escaping despite the tears sliding down your cheeks, “You’re so cheesy, you know that?”
Jake lets out a small laugh, immediately easing from the tension that hung in the air.
"Only for you," he mumbles, his voice soft but steady.
You sigh, the sound reaching Jake on the other side. There's a pause, a moment of mutual understanding in silence, just listening to the quiet, peaceful hum of each other's breathing.
“Jake?” You say finally, your voice trembling.
“Yeah?”
“I think…” You take a deep breath, and you think your heart is about to break out of your chest. “I think I want to try too.”
The silence on the other end was electric, and for a moment, you think maybe the call dropped. Then, you hear the unmistakable sound of Jake’s laugh—soft, relieved, and filled with so much warmth that it instantly makes your own heart feel lighter.
“You're driving me crazy, Y/N,” he says, his voice almost breathless, but tinged with humor.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says, a smile clear in his tone.
“I hope I am,” you quip, and it makes him chuckle, the sound warm and full of relief. “Guess I’m stuck with your cheesy lines now huh?”
“Stuck with me?” Jake repeats, pretending to sound offended. “No way. I’m stuck with you, Y/N. And trust me, I’m not going anywhere.”
His words are so simple, yet so full of promise, and it leaves you feeling a little breathless.
“Good,” you whisper, your cheeks warm. “Because I don’t want you to.”
“Hi Jake,” your voice bright as you immediately pick up his call and see his face appear on the screen, his expression softening when he sees you.
“Hey pretty,” he replies, without missing a beat, his voice laced with a soft fondness that never fails to make your stomach flip.
You roll your eyes, failing miserably to hide the blush rising to your cheeks, “Oh, so now I’m pretty, huh?”
Jake smirks at your words, leaning closer to his phone, “Nah, you’ve always been pretty. Just didn’t have the guts to say it to your face before.”
You groan, dramatically planting your face into your pillow as an attempt to bury the smile on your face, your voice muffled, “You’re gonna be the death of me, Jake.”
“Stop that, don’t hide. Let me see your face,” his tone dips somewhere between playful and pleading, and you give in, lifting your head just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your red cheeks.
“Cute,” he says with a knowing grin, leaning back against the headboard of his bed.
“Whatever,” you murmur, but the smile on your face remains. “How was your day today?”
“Mmm, it was good,” Jake says, running a hand through his messy hair. “Busy, but good. I forget how loud the fans get each time. But it’s nice. Makes it feel worth it, you know?”
“I’m glad,” your smile grows as you watch him speak, feeling nothing but proud of him. “You deserve all of it, Jake.”
“Stop,” now he’s groaning, throwing a hand over his face to cover his shy expression. “You’re going to make me blush.”
“Mm, looks like you already are, Jakey,” you shake your head, laughing softly.
“Maybe a little,” he admits as he peeks at you through his fingers, his grin boyish and infectious, and you can’t help but laugh again.
The call falls quiet for a moment, but it’s not awkward—just comfortable, like a shared breath. Jake shifts, turning on his stomach and propping his phone up against some pillows to make sure you can still see him.
“I miss you,” he says suddenly, and there’s something raw in his tone, something unguarded that catches you off guard.
Your heart stutters.
“Jake, I literally called you this morning,” you tease, your tone light and sweet. But still, you can’t resist, “I miss you too.”
“You don’t sound convincing enough,” his eyes narrow at you, the pout forming on his lips quickly turning into a small smirk. “Say it like you mean it.”
“Fine,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “I miss you so, so much Sim Jaeyun, that it’s physically painful and I might conbust on the spot if I don’t see you soon. Happy?”
“Very,” he grins into the camera, making your heart beat faster. Ugh. "But please don't combust for me. Who else am I supposed to call every day?"
"Oh, please, you'd survive," you shoot back, smirking. "I'm sure anyone else would be more than happy to fill the spot."
Jake clicks his tongue, shaking his head dramatically. "Nope, no one could keep with you, Y/N. You're a handful."
"Excuse me?" You scoff, mock offense all over your face. "You're calling me a handful? Jake, who's the one that texts me random song lyrics at 3AM and expects me to interpret their deep meaning like it's poetry?"
"Okay, first of all, they are deep," he argues, his grin widening into something boyish and utterly unfair. "And second of all, I know you secretly love it."
You let out a laugh as you roll onto your side, propping your phone against the pillow next to you.
"Maybe I do," you admit with a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant despite the smile on your face. "Or maybe I don't. That's up to you to find out."
Jake shakes his head, laughing softly, his eyes twinkling as they linger on your face.
"You really are a handful, Y/N," his voice teases while his eyes remain on you through the screen, as if studying you, and it makes your stomach flip.
You glance away, suddenly feeling shy again under his unwavering gaze, "Stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?" His voice is innocent, his eyebrows lifting in feign obliviousness.
"I don't know—like you're trying to memorize my face or something," you mutter, your cheeks burning.
"Maybe I am," his voice dips, low and soft. "Honestly wouldn't complain if that's the last thing I ever got to remember."
His words hit you square in the chest, and despite how ridiculously corny they are, they manage to take your breath away. You don't know if you'll ever get used to this newly discovered side of Jake—the one that speaks so candidly, so sweetly—like you're the only person in his universe.
But honestly? You love it. You love how he makes you feel, how his words wrap around you perfectly like they were tailor made just for you. But as much as you love it, you fear it too.
Because the more you fall into this feeling, the more you wonder if there's anything solid beneath it. Despite all the soft words shared and sweet nothings exchanged, at the end of the day, deep down inside you can't help but ask yourself if his words, if he, is even yours to begin with.
"Jake..."
"Hmm?" His voice is gentle now, the teasing edge in his voice fading.
"You really mean it, don't you?" You ask, your voice quieter now, the question laced with your vulnerability. "You're serious about...this? About us?"
"Of course I am," he answers without hesitation. His soft eyes stay trained on you as he sits up in his spot in bed, as if to show just how serious he is. He lets out an exhale, as if mentally encouraging himself to continue, "I know we're not...whatever this is, officially yet. But I do know that I like what we have."
He brings his phone closer, a small smile on his face, his expression earnest, "And that I like you. A lot."
You swallow hard, his words settling in your chest in the best way possible. Because despite everything—the doubts, the undefined boundaries—you can't deny the truth of how you feel.
"Me too," you admit, your voice steady and honest. "I like what we have too. And I like you."
You pause, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you feel the remainders of your walls crumbling down, "You make me happy, Jake. Like annoyingly happy."
"Good. Because you make me happy too," His smile spreads wide, the kind that is contagious and could light up an entire room. "Annoyingly happy, if we're being specific."
You roll your eyes again, though you're smiling just as much, "We really are insufferable, aren't we?"
"Oh, completely," Jake nods, his tone playful. He's more relaxed, back to leaning against his headboard as he looks at you with a softened gaze. "We'll figure it out, Y/N. I promise. Whatever this is, or whatever it becomes, I'm not going anywhere. And honestly? I just can't wait to see you. Finally."
"Me too," you perk up, your eyes sparkling with excitement as you bring your phone closer, "It feels like it's been forever. This tour feels so much longer than the other ones for some reason."
"It does," Jake hums in agreement, his eyes thoughtful. "But you know what? I think It's because, this time...I actually have something waiting for me. Something—or someone—I want to come home to. And that makes every day feel so much longer."
You think, at this point, you should check yourself into the emergency department for the sheer amount of times you thought your heart was going to pound out of your body from Jake's words alone.
“You're ridiculous," you laugh, the sound bubbling out so naturally you couldn't hold it back even if you tried. "It's getting kind of out of hand how cheesy you are, Jake."
"And yet," he fires back with a smirk, "you love it. Admit it. I've cracked the code."
"Maybe I do," you tease, repeating your words from earlier as the corners of your mouth tug up into a smile you can't suppress. "But don't let it get to your head."
"Too late," he grins. "It's already there."
Jake [2:15AM] : can I call you? Y/N [2:16AM]: jake isnt it like 2AM for you? Jake [2:16AM]: well…yea but I was thinking about you so…
Your feet are kicking before you even realize, and before you can type up a response, your phone lights up with Jake's name and contact picture.
“Hi,” you answer softly, trying not to let the giddy smile growing on your face take over.
“Hey pretty,” he greets, voice warm and easy as he brings a hand through his messy hair. The lights in his room are off, and the dim glow of his phone screen casts a soft light over his features, making him look unfairly good for someone who should be fast asleep.
“You have two seconds to give me a good reason why you’re here talking to me instead of getting a good night’s rest before your concert tomorrow,” your eyes narrow in mock disapproval as you give him a knowing look.
Jake laughs lightly, “Hey! Okay, hear me out. I couldn’t sleep, so I did something.”
You raise an eyebrow, “You did something? That sounds ominous, I’m scared.”
“Yeah. For you,” he states plainly, leaving you even more confused for a second more before he continues. “I made you a playlist.”
Your brain stalls at how simple he says it—so casual, as if not packed with so much meaning.
“A playlist? You—wait, why?”
Jake shrugs, “I don’t know—I guess I just wanted you to hear what I hear when I think about you. Which, by the way, is a lot. So..”
You blink at the screen, your mouth slightly agape at the boy who's watching you with that lopsided grin that makes it practically impossible to function. You scramble to collect yourself, but the more you try, the worse it gets, and by now, you think he definitely took some secret class on how-to-make-Y/N-completely-flustered.
And aced it.
And of course, he notices—because Jake always notices.
“You okay there?” His voice breaks you out of your overwhelming thoughts, his teasing tone laced with curiosity.
“Define okay,” you mutter, rubbing a hand over your face in an attempt to cool down the warmth spreading like wildfire across your cheeks. “Because if it means not feeling like a complete fool over a guy who’s halfway across the world, then no, I’m absolutely not okay.”
Jake lets out a low laugh, the sound affectionate as he leans closer to the camera, the light reflecting off his shining eyes, “If it helps, you’re not the only one losing your mind here.”
“Oh yeah?” you arch an eyebrow, “What’s your excuse, Sim?”
“My excuse?” He tilts his head with a small, exaggerated frown, pretending to think. “Hmm…let’s see…I’m hopelessly into this girl who somehow makes being teased fun, who makes me smile just by hearing my name come out her mouth, and who—“
“Okay! Stop, stop, enough,” your voice strangled as you try to talk through the fit of giggles you couldn’t hold down. “You’re gonna kill me, Jake. Like, actually. I’m not strong enough for this.”
Jake laughs at your flustered reaction, holding up a hand of surrender, “Fine, fine. But seriously, look.”
You hear the sound of faint typing in the background before your phone buzzes with a text containing a link.
“It’s called Songs That Remind Me of Y/N. Creative, right?”
You open the link, and your thoughts are dazed at the sight of the endless playlist of songs. Some new to you, some you recognize—all of them feeling like little pieces of Jake's heart he's handing to you.
"I think it's perfect," you murmur softly, scrolling through the titles, the warmth and appreciation for him now feeling almost too overwhelming.
"Yeah?" Jake's eyes shine with a mixture of pride and hope as he watches your reaction.
"Yeah," you repeat, switching your phone screen back to his face and giving him a genuine smile. "I love it. Thank you, Jake."
Jake hums in response, the look on his eyes gentle as a beat of comfortable silence falls between you two.
"Well, I should probably sleep for real now, but...listen to it when you miss me, okay? Because chances are, I'm probably doing the same."
You pause, letting the weight of his words settle over you—vulnerable, yet undoubtedly honest. "Deal. I'll listen to it right now, then."
"Good," his smile grows, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Because I am too. I miss you, too."
You both linger for a moment, neither wanting to end the call just yet, simply enjoying each other's pure, raw presence.
"Sweet dreams, Jake," you finally say, your voice gentle as you slowly let sleep take over.
"Only if they’re about you," he quips, grinning.
You roll your eyes, your chest feeling lighter, "Go to bed, Sim."
"Yes, ma'am," he winks, and with one last fond look, he ends the call, leaving you smiling at your screen like the absolute fool he's turned you into.
"I can't believe you're finally coming back tomorrow," you murmur into the phone, your voice soft but buzzing with excitement as you take in the sight of Jake sprawled out on his bed. The dim glow of his phone highlights just enough of his face to remind you how impossibly cute he is—even with the pillow creases on his cheek.
"I know," Jake sighs dramatically, flopping onto his side. His head sinks into the pillow, and you hear a soft fwump as he shifts to find a comfortable spot. "I just wish I wasn't landing so late. If I could, I'd come see you the second I land. Like, bags in hand, running to your door."
"You'd probably trip and knock yourself out with your carry-on, Jake," you snort but then smile, the imagine of Jake rushing to get to you playing in your head.
"First of all, I'm very athletic," Jake raises an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. "Second, that's exactly what would happen, but at least I'd be unconscious on your doorstep, which is still closer to you than I've been in months."
Your heart does a little flip at the sound of the sincerity in his voice as you try to keep your tone casual, "It's okay, Jake. I'm not going anywhere. We'll see each other the next day? If you're free, maybe."
Jake's face softens in that stupidly adorable way he always does when he knows you're just trying to play it cool. "Free or not, I'll find a way. Nothing's stopping me from seeing you, Y/N. Not jet lag, not my schedule, not even my manager if he tries to barricade me in the building."
A giggle escapes you, partly at his sheer determination and partly to cover up the butterflies constantly causing the havoc in your stomach when it comes to him. And Jake, of course, looks all smug, like he knows exactly what he's doing to you. Typical Jake—sweet, determined, and impossibly endearing.
But as much as his words make your cheeks warm, there's another reason why you're holding back your smile.
Because, despite what Jake thinks, you're going to see him much sooner than he expects. All thanks to a message you got earlier from the group's manager:
Y/N! Hope you’re doing well! We all miss you and can’t wait to see you soon! As you know, the boys are returning tomorrow late at night, but the staff and I want to plan a little surprise party at their apartment, they have no idea. The team’s already prepping everything. We’d love for you to come—it wouldn’t be the same without you. 10 PM! See you!
You're practically vibrating with excitement, each passing minute on the call with Jake making it harder and harder to not just blurt it out and tell him you'll be seeing him in less than 24 hours. And, somehow, hearing his sleepy voice on the other side of the call, completely oblivious, just makes it even harder to contain yourself.
Jake's brows furrow as he watches you try (and fail) to suppress your grin, "What's up with you? You're smiling so much, and I'm pretty sure I didn't say anything that funny."
"Me?" You blink innocently, even though your heart skips a beat. But you shrug casually, masking your smile with a feigned yawn. "Nothing's up, you've just been acting too cute tonight. That's all."
"You're lucky you're cute," Jake narrows his eyes at you, but even you can see through the dim lighting the red creeping across his face, "And that I'm tired. Or else I'd call you out for how you're gaslighting me right now."
"Gaslighting?!" You sputter out, breaking out into laughter. "How am I gaslighting you for calling you cute?"
"Because I know you're hiding something—" Jake replies, his pout audible in the way his voice drags. He yawns mid-sentence, the soft sound and the image of his eyes fluttering closed making your heart melt. "—and you're using my sleep-deprived state against me. It's not fair."
"I'm not hiding anything!" You protest, your face one second away from cracking into a guilty smile. "Go to sleep—you're barely holding it together over there."
"Like I'd ever fall asleep on you," he mutters, his voice heavy with drowsiness. "You're way too important for that."
His words hit you like a train, and you have to physically restrain yourself from squealing, burying your face in your pillow before you let out a strangled, "Okay, enough sap for one night, Romeo. Go to bed."
"Mmhm, fine, fine," Jake hums before he yawns again. "Goodnight, pretty. Dream sweet dreams, okay?"
You let out a breath, losing the last remaining bits of your composure at this point—but in the best way possible, of course.
"Goodnight, Jakey. I'll see you soon."
The day flies by in a whirlwind of anticipation and sheer chaos, the emotional hurricane brewing up inside you rooting from one source and one source only.
Because ever since you woke up this morning, every step, every sight, every breath was haunted by one inescapable thought:
Jake.
The morning was a blur of pacing around your room like a Sims character who was glitching after being told to "Go Here", overthinking every possible scenario for how tonight—when you finally see Jake in person—could go down.
Because, really—how exactly do you approach the boy you've been friends with for years, who you've fallen for, in a room filled with people, including yours and his closest friends, all while pretending your heart is trying its hardest to not control, alt, delete itself?
Not exactly something you can Google.
Like, do you hug him? Does he hug you? What if he doesn't hug you? (Unacceptable, you decide, before pacing faster.)
By the time afternoon rolls around, you're about 78% sure you've developed three-and-a-half migraines from the sheer pressure of it all. Not to mention, the borderline illegal amount of caffeine coursing through your veins isn't helping—why did you think drinking four cups of coffee was a good idea? (You didn't. Your brain has officially gone rogue.)
And now, here you are. The buzzing apartment of the boys is alive with the sounds of laughter, the crinkle of party streamers being hung up, and two staff members arguing about where to put the over-dramatically large "WELCOME HOME" banner. You, along with everyone else, await for the signal, passing time by keeping up small conversation with the friends and staff you've gotten to know over the years—all the while you desperately try to keep your nerves from causing a mental crash out right here and now.
Eventually, one of the staff gets the alert that the group has landed and is minutes away, the energy immediately shifting, both in the apartment and mentally. You settle in place in the back of the crowd, near the door but not too near the door—because 1) you're 99.99% sure you're not emotionally stable enough to be front and center, and 2) the staff and camera crew are already hogging the entrance as if this was the world's greatest comeback (and spoiler alert—to you, it really is.)
The lights dim, the chatter fades, and the room hums with anticipation. And meanwhile? Your heart won't. Stop. Pounding.
Any second now.
Your nerves bubble up even more than you thought is humanly healthy, and you're not sure if you're about to a) pass out, b) puke, c) or both.
Simultaneously.
The sound of multiple footsteps echoes faintly in the hallway, followed with muffled voices—one of them the unmistakable sound of Jake's laughter. Your breath catches.
And then the door swings open.
"SURPRISE!"
The boys freeze in the doorway, their suitcases still in hand, the looks of genuine, yet pleasant, confusion plastered on all their faces. Sunghoon's eyes dart to the snacks table, Jay looks like he's deciding whether to laugh or roll his eyes, Sunoo is on the verge of tears, and Jake—Jake looks beautifully, stupidly confused.
Your eyes immediately find Jake's face, like some natural gravitational pull you can't fight, and suddenly it hits you: he's here. In front of you. No blurry video calls, no glitchy Wi-Fi interruptions—just Jake.
It feels surreal, like you're living in a sugar-induced dream that you aren't sure of is real yet or not. Last time you saw him in person, he was merely just Jake, one of your best friends, your go-to guy for bad jokes and late-night rants about life. But now? Now he's Jake—the boy who's somehow become the main character of your life (and brain capacity) over the past five months.
Every memory of your late-night calls, every teasing smile, every time his sweet, groggy voice promised he'd prove himself to you—it all comes rushing back. Like those cheesy montage scenes in a rom-com, except instead of a whimsical romantic song playing in the background, it's the sound of your brain, and heart, screaming WHAT NOW Y/N?!
But then, finally, his eyes land on you.
The moment your eyes meet, you think your lungs give up on life. Breathing? Never heard of it. It's like someone hit the pause button on the entire universe, and you're convinced that the only thing to ever exist is Jake looking at you with that soft, unreadable expression.
But you manage half a second of calm—half a second—before that softness on his face disappears. Just as quickly as it appeared, it's replaced by...something else. Something you can't quite put your finger on. Something you've never thought could exist on his face. A flicker of...conflict? Hesitation? Like he's staring straight at you…but also from miles away at the same time.
His jaw tightens slightly—so slightly only you would notice with how intently you're looking at him—and for a split second, his hands fidgets at his side before he quickly clasps it over the handle of his suitcase. And right as you process it, right as you're about to convince yourself it's just the million grams of caffeine rushing through your blood that's making you hallucinate and see things—
He looks away.
He looks away.
He looks away. As if you're not even standing there, as if he didn't just short-circuit your entire brain. His attention shifts to the nearest staff member, greeting them with a quick nod, and suddenly he's smiling and laughing at something they're saying like nothing just happened.
And just like that, the universe hits the play button again, and you're left standing there—staring, blinking, wondering if the last thirty seconds of your life was, indeed, a caffeine-induced hallucination after all. Surely. Right?
Because Jake definitely didn't avoid you on purpose. Nope. Because that would be insane. Insane, you think to yourself, as the invisible angel on your shoulder continues to whisper into your ear the same sweet words Jake's been telling you the past five months about how much he cares for you, how much he likes you—remember all those times he said it?
Right. Right. Of course, he does. But still, you stand there frozen, trying to ground yourself, even though your hands start fidgeting at your sides anyway. Great. Fantastic. Cool, cool, cool. This is fine.
You mentally curse yourself for not being closer to the door after all, and then, you mentally curse every single person in this room for not magically gaining telepathic powers and knowing that you, personally, were trying to have a moment.
It's fine. You'll find him again. He's just too preoccupied with all the staff members and people to greet. Busy Jake. Social Jake. You're just imagining things. Definitely.
Trying to distract yourself, you glance around the apartment, everything suddenly feeling suffocating. Maybe a snack. Maybe a drink. Maybe a portal to another dimension.
Shaking your head out of your spiraling thoughts, you bite the inside of your cheek to ground yourself and turn away from the crowd, quickly settling yourself near the beverage table, pouring yourself a cup of...whatever this is—your mind too cloudy to even bother looking at the sign on the table.
You don't know how much time passes, and frankly, you don't even know if you're fully conscious. Your mind is still living in the past, lingering in that moment where you locked eyes with Jake for the first time in five months, and despite all the overthinking you did this morning of all the possible scenarios that could happen—this was not one of them.
You're about to pour yourself a second drink just to keep your thoughts busy when you feel a tap on your shoulder.
"Y/N!"
Before you can fully turn around, you're engulfed in a warm hug, the familiar scent of Jungwon's cologne immediately grounding you, "Oh god, I missed you. Took me forever to find you with all these people."
"Jungwon!" You exclaim, a genuine smile lighting up your face despite the emotional tug-of-war in your chest, because, of course, leave it to your best friend to immediately ease your inner panic. You squeeze him back, playfully ruffling his hair as you pull away, "I can't believe they made you grow out your hair. Now you actually look older than me for once."
He stares at you, blinking. "Y/N. I am older than you."
"Literally by a week. We all know I'm mentally older," you deadpan, crossing your arms.
"Okay, I take it back. I didn't miss you after all," he scoffs as you laugh, pulling him into another hug for good measure just to annoy him.
"I'm so glad you guys are back," you say as Jungwon grabs the drink in your hand and takes a sip himself as he listens to you. "I was dying of boredom without you guys."
Jungwon raises an eyebrow, "Uh-huh. Definitely didn't sound like boredom all those nights you called Jake at 2AM."
You freeze. Oh. Great. The one topic you were trying to avoid (how you were going to avoid it—given you're at his literal apartment, with his literal group members, and literal staff members that all work for him—you're not sure. Avoidance was a doomed plan from the start, I fear).
But before you could answer, Jungwon continues, "So...are you guys, like, a thing now? I know you guys were just talking this whole time, but now that we're back, are you guys gonna be in a relationship and all that stuff? Because if so, I need a heads-up. As much I love you both, I don't know if I can stand you two being all couple-y right in front of me—oh, and also—"
"Jungwon."
"—if he hurts you in any way, I swear to god I will not hesitate to—"
"Jungwon!"
He stops, wide-eyed, before flashing you a sheepish smile. "Sorry. But seriously, what's happening? You haven't given me any updates!"
You open your mouth to respond, but the words get caught in your throat. Because if he had asked you yesterday—or even an hour ago—you would've been able to answer confidently. But now? After Jake's apparent Olympic-level avoidance of you? You're not so sure anymore.
"I...I don't know," you mumble, the words barely audible. Jungwon tilts his head, leaning closer to catch them.
"What do you mean, you don't know? You guys haven't talked about it?" His brows furrowing as he studies your face, clearly picking up on your hesitation in true best friend fashion.
"I, uh, I haven't...seen him yet," you admit, hoping the crack in your voice doesn't reveal the real reason you haven't approached the boy in question. "Everyone's busy, and I didn't want to get in the way."
Jungwon gives you a look like you just said the earth is flat.
"Get in the way? Y/N, you're insane. This is the guy who's been counting down the days to see you. If anything, everyone else is in his way."
You give him a helpless shrug, but Jungwon isn't having it. He grabs your shoulders and spins you around, pointing across the room to one of the other snack tables past the crowds of people.
"Look. He's right there. Alone. Perfectly free to talk to you. Go."
Your eyes land on Jake, back facing you and Jungwon, casually scooping chips into a bowl. You hesitate, scanning his relaxed posture, and the knot in your stomach tightens. Because that's exactly the problem. He's perfectly free. And if he's so excited to see you, how come he hasn't spoken to you yet?
But before you can voice your doubts, Jungwon gives you a not-so-gentle nudge forward, "Go talk to him before I carry you over there myself."
And next thing you know, Jake's right there. In front of you. His back is to you still, his eyes scanning the various snacks lined on the table, completely unaware of the full-on mental breakdown occurring just behind him.
This is your moment, you tell yourself, despite the endless alarms going off in your brain. Every single nerve in your body is on high alert, screaming at you to abort mission, abort! But before you can give in to your panic, your hand is already reaching out, lightly tapping his shoulder.
"Jake!"
Jake turns around, and for a moment—a fleeting, fragile moment—you catch it. The way his eyes widen slightly at the sight of you. The way his lips part as if they're about to break into that familiar smile you've missed for months. But just as quickly, similar to earlier, it vanishes, replaced by that flicker of hesitation, and it's enough to make your breath catch.
"Y/N."
Your name on his lips used to sound like a warm promise. Now?
Now it feels like an afterthought.
His voice is calm, steady—too steady, stripped of every ounce of emotion, and not at all like someone who's been counting down the days to see you. He rubs the back of his neck, his gaze flickering to the crowd behind you before reluctantly meeting yours, "It's been so long."
Your stomach sinks. That's all he had to say? You were completely wrong. You spent precisely 23 minutes of your morning debating if he was even going to give you a hug—but now? Screw the hug, he won't even give you a full sentence. Something's off, and your mind races to figure out what happened, as if you missed a major chapter of your own life.
Trying to ignore the sharp pang of something lodging itself in your chest, you offer a small smile, hoping to break the tension.
"Are you...okay? I thought...I don't know, I thought you'd be more excited to see me," the words spill out before you can stop them, and you want to crawl into a self-dug hole from how raw and vulnerable you feel.
Jake shifts uncomfortably, glancing at the floor, then at you, "No, yeah, of course I am. I'm just...really tired. The flight, you know. And all this," he pauses to gesture at the environment around you two, "it's a lot."
You stare at him in disbelief, waiting for him to crack—silently begging for some sign of the Jake you thought you knew. But all you get is a shrug.
A shrug.
Suddenly, his words feel like a punch to the gut, let alone the way he can't even fully look you in the eyes. In just those few seconds, the invisible angel on your shoulder—whose voice sounded just like Jake's—whispering those promises into your ears suddenly disappeared with no trace in sight, as if it was never there—as if it was never yours—in the first place. Every late-night call, every whispered promise, every shared laugh.
As if they never belonged to you.
You swallow hard, trying to keep the growing lump in your throat from choking you, hoping your emotional turmoil isn't blatantly obvious to the boy in front of you.
"Right," you murmur, nodding as if his excuse makes perfect sense. But it doesn't. "That's...understandable."
The silence that follows is suffocating. Not the comfortable kind of warm silence you two used to share, but the awkward, unbearable kind that makes you claw at your own skin and makes you wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole right then and there.
Jake shifts again, and for a moment, his eyes meet yours. There's something there—but before you can grasp it, a voice from the crowd calls his name.
"I—I should go," he mutters quickly, stepping back. His voice is quiet, his tone almost apologetic, but his words feel like he's hammering the nails to your coffin. "I'll...see you later though, yeah?"
He doesn't wait for an answer. He's gone before you can say anything, before you can process his words, and for the second time that night, he leaves you standing there with your heart in pieces and your thoughts in chaos.
For a moment, you swear you're paralyzed. You can't move. Can't breathe. Your vision blurs as every doubt you'd buried for months comes rushing back, screaming in your face louder and crueler than ever. You've never felt smaller, more foolish.
Your heart beats erratically now, fighting against the realization of the truth settling in your chest—a heaviness so suffocating it threatens to take you under. The Jake who stood in front of you just now—guarded, distant, a stranger—was so unlike the boy who had made you laugh until your sides ached, who'd stayed up with you on countless late nights, sharing secrets no one else knew.
The Jake who made promises.
Your mind spirals. Maybe...maybe those promises were never meant to be kept. Maybe they were just words to fill the time.
Maybe you were just someone to fill the time.
Your breath starts to pick up and you're frantically scanning the room, desperate for an escape from your thoughts through any familiar face. Your eyes finally land on Ni-ki and Heeseung casually sitting on one of the couches, their carefree laughter a stark contrast to your inner implosion. You beeline to them, forcing a smile on your face as you plop down beside them.
"Y/N!" Ni-ki grins the moment he spots you, scooting over to make room. "Where've you been hiding? Thought you ditched us for good."
"I've been here,“ you give the boys a small smile, praying they don't notice the way your hands tremble as you sit down, “just...mingling."
Heeseung raises an eyebrow at the faint crack in your voice, but doesn't push further, "Well, we all missed you. Pizza pig-out sesh and games tomorrow? You can tell us everything we've been missing out on."
You laugh, trying to keep the conversation light, but it comes out shaky, your voice tight under the weight of your hidden emotions, "I think it's you guys who need to catch me up."
Ni-ki tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at you, "Are you okay? You look...off. What—did someone spill punch on you? Lemme guess, was it Jake?"
At his name, the knife in your stomach twists even deeper, and you look away, hoping they don't notice the way your face falls.
But Heeseung notices. Of course. His gaze sharpens, the playful teasing in his expression replaced with a softened concern, "Y/N...what's going on?"
"I'm fine," you reply a little too quickly, your voice a little too high. You plaster a smile on your face, turning back towards the two boys, concern written all over their faces. "Just tired. Long day."
Neither of them look convinced, but before Heeseung can say anything else, Ni-ki nudges him and gestures towards something across the room.
"Hey...isn't that—"
You follow Ni-ki's gaze, and you immediately wish you didn't.
Because just like that, your world crumbles.
There she is—Jenn.
You're not even wondering when she got here, how she got here, or even why she's here in the first place. No, not even.
Because all that's occupying your mind right now is the way she's there, perched comfortably on Jake's lap on one of the couches in the distance, her arm draped casually over his shoulder.
The way she's laughing freely at something he says, her hand lightly brushing against his as if it's second nature, her fingers briefly pushing a strand of hair away from his face.
The way Jake doesn't even flinch, the way he doesn't pull away.
The way he smiles at her.
That same smile—the one you've spent weeks convincing yourself was yours—now feels like a cruel joke.
And that does it. For the first time that night, despite all you endured, you shatter.
You force yourself to look away, but it's too late. Your chest hollows out deeper and deeper with every passing second, until all you're left with is a final realization:
Maybe you never really had him at all. He was never yours in the first place.
Ni-ki and Heeseung exchange glances before looking at the expression on your face—all the color drained, as if you were merely just a body, paralyzed. Both of them open their mouths, but nothing comes out, clearly unsure of what to say, but you don't give them the chance. You're already standing, grabbing your bag at your side with trembling hands.
"Y/N, wait—" Heeseung starts as both him and Ni-ki stand up with you, but you shake your head, his voice distant and muffled as if he's speaking to you underwater.
"I need some air," you mumble, but you're sure neither of them hear you, your voice barely above a whisper.
Before they can stop you, you're already weaving through the crowd, your vision blurring as you fight the overwhelming urge to break down. You stop at the door, your eyes quickly scanning the cluttered floor for your shoes. For a moment, you think you've made it—escaped the suffocating air and heartbreak clawing at your throat—but a mistake you didn't mean to make stills you.
You glance over your shoulder, and there he is.
Jake's eyes meet yours, and the world comes to a stop. His easy smile slips from his face and is immediately replaced by a flicker of panic, his brows drawing together as if he's just realized something, but you don't stick around to analyze it.
Not when your heart is already in pieces on the floor.
You quickly look the opposite way, fighting the sting of burning tears threatening to spill over as your fingers fumble desperately with the zipper of your coat when you hear a concerned voice from behind you.
"Y/N?" Jungwon's familiar voice cuts through your haze, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. "What—where are you going?"
"Home," you whisper, avoiding his gaze as you finally manage to get your coat on, turning towards the door.
Suddenly, Jungwon steps in front of you, a firm frown on his face, "Hey, hey, what's wrong? Talk to me—"
"Jungwon, I need to go," you look up at him as your voice cracks for the nth time that night, feeling Jake's set of eyes on you still, "Please, Won."
He hesitates, clearly confused but more worried over anything else, "Okay, but I'm driving you."
You sigh, shaking your head, "No, it's fine—"
"I'm driving you," Jungwon repeats, leaving no room for argument as he's already grabbing his coat and walking out the door.
Not bothering to look behind you to see if Jake's still watching, you follow Jungwon out to the hallway, the chill of the air feeling like a fresh wave of emotions crashing over you all at once: embarrassment, anger, heartbreak.
You're too caught up in your spinning thoughts to even notice the sound of frantic footsteps behind you until a voice cuts through the silence.
"Y/N."
His voice is quiet, almost drowned out by the muffled hum of music and laughter seeping from the party you should've escaped from a long time ago.
But still, you hear it anyway—because of course you do. Because it's him. And no matter how much you wish you didn't, you'd silence the entire world just to hear that voice.
And you hate it.
You hate how your entire body freezes mid-step, you hate how every nerve within you comes alive at the sound of his voice, you hate how your heart stumbles, as if trying to root itself in the pain you've been trying so hard to outrun.
You turn around slowly, against every ounce of logic telling you to keep walking. And when your eyes land on him—on the raw, desperate, almost broken look on his face—you hate yourself even more.
Because even now, even after everything, your heart still sinks at the sight. And you hate how you give him the power to break you with just one look.
“Can we talk?” Jake asks, his voice low and unsteady as he takes a small step towards you.
From beside you, Jungwon hesitates, his gaze flickering between you and Jake. After a beat, he nods, "I'll get the car. Wait here."
He spares Jake a final look of warning before nudging you for comfort and stepping into the elevator.
The elevator doors close, leaving you and Jake alone in the hallway, the air thick with unspoken words and emotions.
You swallow hard, your throat tight, but you steel yourself, "What do you want, Jake?"
You shift your weight and instinctively cross your arms, a defensive barrier between you and the boy you spent too long letting into your heart. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the vulnerability in them makes your resolve falter.
He takes a hesitant step towards you before exhaling shakily, running a hand through his hair.
“I—I messed up tonight. I didn’t mean to...," he trails off, his words fumbling, his eyes searching yours in desperation, his heart breaking at the way your tears are a second away from falling over.
"...to completely ignore me all night? Make me feel like nothing?" You finish for him, your quiet voice breaking despite your attempt to stay composed.
"No. God, no. You're not nothing," he says quickly, his voice faltering on the last word. "Y/N, you matter so much to me."
“Well it definitely didn't feel that way,” your voice is barely audible, but you finally look up at him, the hurt finally bubbling to the surface. “After everything you said—promised, everything we talked about…”
"I know, I just—" he hesitates, his voice barely above a whisper. He takes a tentative step closer, his movements slow and careful, like he's afraid you'll break if he gets too close. "I was nervous."
"It’s been so long, and I didn’t know what to say, how to act. I wanted to get it right—to make it perfect—but instead, I just—" he stops, dragging another frustrated hand through his hair. His eyebrows knit together in that familiar way that once made your heart flutter, but now only adds to the ache in your chest.
You let out a hollow laugh, the bitter sound foreign even to your own ears, “Well, congratulations, Jake. You managed to mess it up anyway.”
“Please,” he looks devastated, his hands trembling at his sides. “Y/N, please don’t think I don’t care about you. I do. More than you know. I just—I don't know how to do this. I panicked and I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear."
"Then why was...," you look at him, your eyes still stinging from all the unshed tears as you take a shaky breath, “...why was she all over you tonight? Why didn’t you stop her?”
He falters, his shoulders slumping under the weight of your question, “It wasn’t what it looked like. I didn’t—I couldn’t—”
“You couldn’t,” you echo, the words spilling out in a rush now, each one cutting him deeper. “I should've known. Let me guess, she wants to get back together, right?"
Jake's silence is deafening, and it immediately answers your question. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. The way he looks at you—eyes wide and filled with regret, lips trembling as if searching for the right words—confirms everything you were afraid of.
You squeeze your eyes shut, a shaky breath escaping your lips—a sound caught somewhere between a scoff and a choked sob. No matter how hard you try, the wall holding back your emotions cracks under the weight of it all. The doubts you’ve tried so hard to bury suddenly resurface, crashing over you like waves, each one carrying the sting of every insecurity, every fear you’ve ever had about this moment. Your chest feels tight, your heart splintering under the realization that everything you were afraid of might be true.
"Jake, I can't do this," you whisper, shaking your head. "I can't be the person you lean on while you try to figure out what you want."
"No, no—Y/N, I do know what I want," he pleads, his voice cracking as he tries to step closer. "And it’s you. Always been you, Y/N. Everything I said—I meant it."
His words hang heavy in the air, the faint echo of the party music filtering through the cracks in the door and into the quiet hallway. You look away, refusing to let him see the way your tears finally spill over.
"You promised," you let out softly and slowly, through your sniffles. “You promised you wouldn't hurt me. You said you'd prove that I could trust you, that I didn't have to be scared. You knew I was worried, Jake. And you...you hurt me anyways."
"And I swear I meant every word I said. I still do," Jake says, his voice desperate as he shakes his head. He steps even closer, his hand reaching out and brushing against yours, but you pull back before he can close the distance. "You have to believe me. Please, Y/N. You're the only one."
You shake your head again, the tears now freely rushing down your cheeks despite your best efforts, "I—I don't know if I can believe that anymore, Jake. I want to, I really, really do. But tonight..."
Jake’s face falls, the weight of your pain crashing into him all at once. His lips tremble as he struggles to hold himself together, his eyes turning glassy themselves. The sight of you—broken, because of him—cuts deeper than he thought was humanly ever possible. His voice is barely above a whisper, raw and pleading, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I—God, please. Please give me a chance.”
You look at him—at the boy who became your safe space these past few months—and all you feel is the ache in your heart.
"I can't do this right now, Jake," you finally let out through your broken voice as you take a step back. "I think I just need space."
The words hang in the air like a death sentence. His breath hitches as if your words physically hit him in the face, "Y/N..."
Your phone suddenly buzzes, a text from Jungwon letting you know he's outside. You glance down at it, then back at Jake. For a moment, you hesitate, your heart screaming at you to stay—to give him the chance he's yearning for. But your brain knows better.
"I have to go," you murmur softly, as you take a final step back, turning away before more tears threaten to spill all over again. You force yourself to keep walking, fighting the overwhelming urge to look back—to let him pull you into his arms, where you wished so desperately you belonged.
Frozen, Jake watches helplessly as you walk away, his chest tightening with every step you take. Everything feels like it's caving in, regret clawing at him the more he lets you walk further away. He opens his mouth to say something—anything—but the words fail him, silenced by the weight of his own mistakes.
To Jake, the sounds of the party are now far in the distance, drowned out by the pounding in this ears. Instead, the hallway falls into a haunting silence, broken only by the faint echo of your retreating steps—a cruel reminder of what he's just let slip away.
The car ride starts in complete silence, the only sound between you and Jungwon the soft hum of his engine and the faint sound of whatever playlist he was playing in the background. You stare out the window, watching the city lights blur together, your coat clutched tightly under your grasp as if it's the only thing keeping you sane.
Jungwon glances at you out the corner of his eye, his hands steady on the steering wheel. He doesn't say anything at first, but you know him well enough to sense the storm brewing in his head.
"Okay," he finally says, as if on cue, breaking the silence. "Spill."
You don't respond, your eyes still fixed on the surrounding city breezing by you, as if the passing view could somehow erase the memory of him. Your fingers dig further into the fabric of your coat, your knuckles going numb.
Jungwon gives you a few more moments of silence, but when you don't make any sign of responding, he speaks up again.
"Y/N," his voice softens, but the edge of his concern cuts through. "Don't do that thing where you shut people out. Especially me, you know I hate that."
"I'm not—" you start, but your voice wavers, and the lie dies on the tip of your tongue.
“You are," he exhales sharply from beside you, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "Look, you don't have to tell me everything, but don't pretend you're fine when you're clearly not."
The words sit heavy in the air as you swallow hard, your throat burning as you finally whisper, "It's stupid, Jungwon."
He doesn't take his eyes off the road, but his tone is firm, "I'm sure if it's got you looking like this, it's not stupid."
You want to argue, to tell him to just let it go, but the hurt pressing down on your chest is too much. The ache in your body threatens to take over again, and you hate it. You hate how the tears form again, how you can still see Jake looking at you like that, like you were breaking right in front of him and he didn't know how to stop it.
Jungwon waits. He doesn't push, because he knows you. He knows you're just hurting, struggling to grasp your overwhelming emotions, so he gives you the time you need. But his quiet patience is unbearable, like he's peeling back every layer of your resolve just by being there, and eventually, you give in.
"It's Jake," you finally choke out, the name tumbling from your lips like a curse.
Jungwon doesn't respond immediately, but you can feel the shift in his demeanor. His jaw tightens, and his fingers flex against the wheel, "I figured as much honestly, after what I saw in the hallway, but what exactly happened, Y/N?"
You shake your head, your voice shaky, "It doesn't matter. I—I just feel so stupid, Won. Like, how could I think..."
You trail off, biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood. Jungwon gives you a softened glance, signaling you to continue whenever you're ready to.
You take a deep breath before you speak up again, "How could I ever think I was good enough for him, you know?"
There's a silence that follows after your words and you hear Jungwon take in a deep inhale.
"This isn't on you, Y/N. This has nothing to do with whether you're enough or not," Jungwon's voice is steady, but there's a firm edge to it now. "Look, I don't want to overstep or anything...and I definitely don't want to vouch for him—especially right now but...are you sure he's not just freaking out?"
You tilt your head over at the boy next to you, "Freaking out about what?"
"You," Jungwon says simply like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"That doesn't make any sense," you start shaking your head. "Why would he—"
"Because you're you," Jungwon interrupts, his tone matter-of-fact as he keeps his eyes trained on the road in front of him. "And Jake's a complete idiot, but even idiots get scared when they care about someone as much as he clearly cares about you."
You blink, Jungwon's words sinking into all the cracks formed within you, "You really think he cares about me that much?"
“Are you kidding?” Jungwon scoffs, his expression a mix of disbelief and exasperation. “Y/N, the guy looks at you like you hung his moon and stars. Trust me, I’ve seen it.”
And you don't know what comes over you, but Jungwon's words hit you like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, the tears you've been holding back come rushing forward, hot and relentless. You cover your face with your hands, your body shaking as the sobs you've been swallowing all night finally make their way out.
Jungwon quickly looks over at you and, without hesitation, glances over his shoulder to pull over to the side of the road, the soft clicking of the hazard lights mixing in with your cries. When he finally puts the car in park, he doesn't say anything and just leans back in his seat, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder—close enough to remind you he's there, but not too much to smother you.
"I'm sorry," you manage to gasp out between sobs, your hands going up to wipe your face as all the overwhelming emotions finally take over you.
"Don't," Jungwon says firmly, "Don't apologize for feeling like this."
You take a shaky breath, trying to pull yourself together as your sobs eventually start to slow down, "I just don't understand. If he cares so much, why does this hurt so bad?"
"I don't think it's about how much he cares," Jungwon sighs, as if carrying your pain alongside you. "Sometimes...sometimes people care so much that they don't know what to do with it. They panic. They overthink. And they mess up in the worst ways because they don't know how to handle what they're feeling."
You look up at him, your face still wet with tears, "So you're saying it's an excuse."
"No," Jungwon replies, quickly shaking his head fervently. "Definitely not an excuse. Jake screwed up, Y/N. Big time. And it's 100% on him to fix that, not you. But—"
He pauses and thinks for a second, his words deliberate, "—it doesn't mean his feelings aren't real. Or that he doesn't care about you."
You look away, glancing down at your hands in your lap, fiddling with the hem of your coat as you take in Jungwon's words.
"It's just feels like...like I'm the only one who got hurt here, Won. Like I'm the only one who..," you trail off, unable to form your thoughts into a coherent sentence, but leave it up to Jungwon to always fully understand you.
"You're not the only one," he says softly. "He's hurting too, Y/N. Maybe not in the same way, and maybe he doesn't deserve any sympathy, but I can see it. I've seen it. Jake...Jake isn't Jake without you. And honestly? That idiot is probably tearing himself apart right now."
Your lips part, but the words don't find you. Instead, you let the weight of Jungwon's words sink in, unsure what to do with how true they may be.
"You don't have to forgive him right now," Jungwon adds after a moment. "Hell, you don't even have to forgive him at all. Honestly, that might satisfy me just a bit. But maybe...maybe you owe it to yourself to hear him out. Not for him, but for you."
You turn to Jungwon, your lips forming into the smallest pout, "But what if it just makes everything worse?"
He gives you a faint, grounding smile, equal parts reassuring and honest.
"Then you walk away knowing you did everything you could—for yourself. And if it does come to that," he shrugs lightly, "we'll figure it out together."
You're quiet for a long moment, the thought of walking away from Jake and everything he means to you terrifying you…but you know Jungwon's right. You owe yourself the chance to try—even if the unknown outcome fails you.
With a shaky breath, you nod, brushing away the last of your tears, "Thanks, Jungwon."
"You're welcome," Jungwon hums in acknowledgement before his lips curve into a small grin, the atmosphere lightening slightly, "but, uh, could you at least use the tissues in the glove compartment before my seats turn into a snot rag?"
You manage to let out a small scoff of disbelief as you roll your watery eyes, "You're the worst."
"Nah," Jungwon replies with a cheeky grin as he shifts the car back into drive, but not before he reaches over to ruffle your hair playfully. "C'mon. Let's get you home."
The knocking at Jungwon’s door comes at the worst possible moment.
He’s halfway through organizing his desk—something he only attempts when he’s too frustrated to sit still—and the last thing he expects to see when he swings the door open is Jake, standing there looking like he hasn’t slept a millisecond all night.
Jungwon makes no sign of saying anything or making a move, just staring at the older boy in question. Jakes shifts uncomfortably, running a hand through his messy hair, not used to seeing Jungwon in this sour, expressionless mood.
"Hey," Jake finally says, his voice hesitant.
“What do you want?” Jungwon deadpans, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He knows he sounds harsh, but, frankly, he doesn’t care.
Jake falters for a moment, his gaze dropping to the ground, "I...I need your help."
Jungwon's eyes narrow, "With what, exactly?"
He knows what, but he's not letting Jake off that easily. Not after last night.
"With Y/N," your name hangs in the air between them as Jake's voice cracks, and Jungwon clenches his jaw before he lets out a frustrated sigh.
"I don't think you're in any position to be asking me for help right now."
"I know," Jake says quickly, his hands raising in surrender. "I know, okay? I screwed up big time. I—God, I don't even know where to start, Jungwon. I just...I don't want to make things worse."
Jungwon lets out a bitter, humorless laugh, stepping back and motioning his head to let Jake enter his room, "You've already got a good head start on that, I see."
Jake steps inside, awkwardly hovering near the door as Jungwon moves to sit on the edge of his own bed. He doesn't offer Jake a seat, and Jake doesn't ask for one.
"She cried, you know," Jungwon says after a few moments of silence, his voice stone cold. "I had to pull over because she couldn't even hold it together long enough for me to get her home. I've known her my entire life, and I don't think I've ever seen her cry that hard, Jake."
Jake flinches, the words physically hurting him, "I didn't mean to—"
"Yeah, I know," the younger boy cuts him off, his voice sharp, his anger rising on behalf of you. "You didn't mean to hurt her. But you did. And now you're asking me to help you fix it like it's that easy."
"It's not easy," Jake mutters quietly, his hands fumbling with the edge of his hoodie. "Nothing about this...none of it is easy. But I know I messed up, and I—I can't just leave things like this, I can't lose her, Jungwon. I care about her too much."
Jungwon deadpans at his friend, fighting back the urge to scoff in his face, "If you cared about her, you wouldn't have let her walk out of that party looking like her entire world was falling apart."
Jake looks up, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with something Jungwon can't quite name...desperation, maybe. Or guilt. Or both.
"I didn't know what to do," Jake finally admits, his voice still barely above a whisper, as if admitting to himself for the first time, too. "I saw her, and she looked so...broken. And I—I panicked, I didn't know what to do, and by the time I realized, she was gone."
Jungwon leans back, groaning as he runs a hand over his face. The anger bubbling within him hasn't fully faded, but he knows there's something else now—something softer, something that makes it harder to keep his protective guard for you up.
Because he knows Jake isn't lying.
"You don't get to half-ass this, Jake," Jungwon finally says after he thinks to himself. "She's not some random girl you're trying to impress, she isn't Jenn. This is Y/N. If you want to fix things, you have to be ready to own up to everything. No excuses, no backing out. She deserves that much."
Jake nods quickly, his eyes wide and hopeful at Jungwon's slight change in demeanor, “I will. I swear, I will.”
"And don't think she's going to forgive you right away," Jungwon adds. "She's hurt. You have to give her time. This isn't about what you want—it's about what she needs."
Jake swallows hard, nodding again, “I just want to talk to her. To explain. To tell her I’m sorry and—”
His voice cracks, and he looks down, his hands trembling slightly. Jungwon lets out a sigh, his mixed feelings turning more into something closer to pity. Because as much as he wants to stay mad for your sake, he's known Jake long enough to know that he's a good guy—and that his heart is in the right place.
But even more than that, he knows you. And he knows how much Jake means to you, even if you won't admit it, especially not now more than ever.
"You're actually an idiot," Jungwon says after a few beats, his voice carrying a lighter tone now. "But for some godforsaken reason, knowing her, I think she might actually miss you."
Jake looks up from his hands, his eyes searching Jungwon's face for any flicker of doubt, "You really think so?"
Jungwon shrugs, standing up and moving towards his door, "I think you've got a lot of work to do if you want to earn her trust back. But...I think you still have a chance."
Jake doesn't say anything as he follows Jungwon to the door, but the look on his face says enough—there's a new slight look of hope. It's small, but he's clutching onto it like it’s his lifeline.
“You know," Jungwon says when he reaches the doorway. "Y/N’s not the type to let people in easily. She puts up walls—but with you…she let them down. You’re special to her, Jake, even if she doesn’t say it. Don’t throw that away. For her sake, and yours.”
“I won’t,” Jake promises, his voice steady now. “Thank you, Jungwon.”
Jungwon nods at the older boy before giving him a faint smile, "And just so you know, I defended you yesterday. So don't prove me wrong or I'm actually going to deck you."
Jake lets out a weak laugh as he hangs outside Jungwon's door, "Noted. I promise I won't let her down again."
Jungwon doesn’t respond, just closes the door with a soft click, and hopes—for all their sakes—that Jake means it.
Jake [5:12PM]: hi Y/N Jake [5:12PM]: i know I'm the last person you want to hear from right now. and i don’t blame you at all Jake [5:13PM]: but i cant just stay silent and let this sit between us, and i value you too much to not respect you needing space and just show up at your door Jake [5:14PM]: even though it’s killing me to stay away Jake [5:14PM]: after you left the party last night, i went back inside. i told jenn that whatever we had in the past is exactly that, the past. and i swear to you, Y/N, there’s nothing between us. there hasn’t been for a long time. and it’s my fault for making it seem otherwise. Jake [5:15PM]: and as for how i acted…i don’t even know where to start. i fucked up extremely. nothing will excuse my actions and i don’t expect you to forgive me. but i need to apologize properly, you deserve that much. Jake [5:17PM]: please let me see you, Y/N. i don’t deserve it, and i don’t deserve you. but you mean everything to me, and i hate that i hurt you. and i promise, if you let me, i’ll do everything to make it up to you.
You stare at the phone in your hand, the messages feeling like salt to an open wound. The words on the screen begin to blur together as tears prick your eyes, spilling over before you even realize it. You don't bother wiping them away—the sting in your chest too raw, too heavy. Each word feels like Jake is standing right there in front of you, his voice soft and broken, tangled with regret.
You tell yourself to stop reading. You've already gone through the same messages at least a hundred times in the past ten minutes, overanalyzing each syllable as if they hold the answers to all of your questions.
And yet, you can't stop.
You want to be angry. You are angry. Or, at least, you think. Because beneath the flame of your anger that's already threatening to die out? There's an ache you can't ignore—a small, stubborn part of you that refuses to let go to the sincerity in his words, clinging onto the hope that he's telling you the truth.
You mean everything to me, and I hate that I hurt you. I promise, if you let me, I'll do everything to make it up to you.
The ache twists harder, curling into doubt. What if he means it? What if he's telling the truth?
But of course, the fear rises just as quickly. Because what if he's not? What if you let him back in, and it all falls apart again? What if you let yourself believe in him, giving him the second chance he's asking for, only to have your heart shattered worse than before?
And then, there's Jungwon's voice, soft but steady, cutting through the chaos brewing in your mind: "Even idiots get scared when they care about someone as much as he clearly cares about you."
Your breath catches.
Because that's the worst part. Knowing that maybe—just maybe—Jake really does care. Knowing that maybe he's telling the truth—and you're the one too afraid to take the risk, ready to build up the walls Jake's managed to get through.
Your phone screen suddenly dims, pulling you out of your thoughts and back into the moment. You blink rapidly, wiping at your face, your mind a mess of emotions you can't untangle or describe.
Fear. Hope. Doubt.
And something else—something you're afraid to admit, but you know is unmistakably real.
And it's stronger than the fear churning in your chest—it's something that's pulling you forward.
Your heart pounds almost out of your rib cage as you let out a shaky breath, the weight on your shoulders pressing harder and harder with every second you hesitate. The ache doesn't let up, but neither does your hope.
So you stop thinking altogether, letting your heart take control instead.
You shut your eyes, as if bracing yourself for a crash, take a deep breath, unlock your phone, and let your fingers fly across the screen, each word feeling like a leap off a cliff.
You hit send.
Y/N [5:30PM]: hi jake Y/N [5:30PM]: you can come over
The soft knock at your door startles you, even though you know it’s coming.
“Y/N?”
His voice. Jake’s voice.
Your heart clenches painfully, a conflicting mix of longing and hurt washing over you all at once. It hasn't even been a full day since the party, but the weight of his absence has already hollowed you out, leaving a hole you can't ignore. You know he's the one who caused it—that the cracks in your heart are his doing—but at the same time, the stubborn part of you whispers that he's also the only one who can mend them.
You make your way to the door, your movements hesitant as you crack it open, peek out, and...there he is.
"Hi," Jake says softly.
He's a mess. A beautiful, saddened mess—his hair messy, like he's been running his hands through it all day, his eyes rimmed with the kind of exhaustion that isn't just physical. One hand is buried deep in his jacket, and in the other—
"Flowers?" You ask, raising a brow in surprise.
Jake's ears turn red. "Yeah. Uh, I didn't know if you had a favorite, so I got—"
You open the door wider, revealing the full bouquet—daisies, tulips, roses, all wrapped together in crinkled tissue paper.
"—a little bit of everything," he finishes awkwardly, his voice trailing off, pausing for a second before holding them out to you with a sheepish smile.
Your lips twitch subconsciously, despite everything.
"Jake, you're literally allergic."
His mouth opens, then closes, the redness from his ears now spreading to his cheeks.
"Well, yeah, but—," Jake mumbles, shifting on his feet. "—not, like, deadly or anything dramatic like that."
He pauses, his voice dropping into something softer, more vulnerable, "I just wanted you to have them. That's all."
You feel your insides tighten, the sincerity in his voice getting to you. For a moment, all you can manage to do is stare at him—at the way his eyes are silently pleading, wide and unsure.
You hesitate for a second, then step back and open the door wider.
"Thank you," you say quietly, your fingers brushing against his as you take the bouquet, sending a flicker of warmth through you. "Come in."
Jake hesitates, his eyes searching yours like he's not sure if he's actually allowed to. When you turn away and walk towards your kitchen, he finally steps inside, kicking off his shoes quickly and hovering by the door like he doesn't know what to expect next.
You set the flowers down on the counter, adjusting them carefully before turning back to him. He's still standing there, stiff and uncertain, the distance between you feeling larger than ever before.
"So..." You say, crossing your arms tightly across yourself, shifting your weight as a way to ground yourself—though the lump in your throat makes it feel impossible.
Jake exhales shakily, his hands fidgeting by his sides and gaze darting to the floor before finally landing on you, "I came to apologize. Properly."
You blink at him, expression unreadable, "You already said sorry."
Your voice comes out sharper than intended, surprising even yourself, but the words leave before you can stop them. Jake flinches, just slightly, but he nods, knowing he deserved that.
"Not like I should have," he says, stepping closer, his voice low and careful, like he's afraid you'll run out of your own apartment. "I know I messed up. I hurt you, and I hate that I did. I hate that I made you feel like you weren't enough or that someone else could ever compare to you, Y/N."
Your arms tighten around yourself as if the words might knock the breath out of you as look away, unsure if you can meet the rawness in his eyes.
"Last night," Jake continues, his eyes filling with guilt, "I didn't handle last night right. And not just how I handled Jenn, but I let my own insecurities and stupid fears of being perfect for you get in the way. I let it happen and mess everything up. I let you think that you didn't matter to me, and I will never forgive myself, Y/N."
His words hang in the air, heavy yet sincere, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him as you process his words slowly.
"And I don't expect you to forgive me either, Y/N," Jake's voice wavers before he continues, "but I need you to know that I'm so, so sorry. No excuses. For all of it—for making you feel like anything less than everything, for making you feel like you weren't my first choice. Because you are. You're my only, Y/N."
His words hit you with a force that crashes over the walls you tried so desperately to build. They're overwhelming yet tender, like rediscovering a piece of yourself you hadn't even realized you lost. And you want to let them comfort you, you do. But the pain from last night lingers deep down, reminding you of why you built those walls in the first place.
For a moment, the silence stretches on longer than you intend, the weight of his words settling in the air between you. Jake doesn't look away though—his gaze unwavering, vulnerable, and raw.
As though he's laid himself bare before you, giving you the power to either accept or shatter him completely.
When you finally find your voice, it trembles despite your best efforts, "Jake...I don't know if I can just forget what happened."
"I'm not asking you to forget," he says quickly, taking another step closer until there's only a few feet left between you. "I just want the chance to fix us. I can't lose you like this, Y/N."
Your breath catches at the proximity, his presence pulling you in like gravity. The pain from last night tries to claw its way back into your heart—sharp and bitter—but his warmth reminds you of something else that refuses to be ignored.
That flicker of hope that's demanding your attention, screaming at you to just let him in—not just for his sake, but for you.
You take a deep breath, finally meeting his gaze. "Jake, I don't need you to...to be this perfect person. I don't need you to prove anything to me."
You pause, pushing past the lump in your throat, "Because since the beginning, I always believed you. And...I think I still do. Even after last night, I still believe you, Jake. No matter how hard I try to."
Jake lets out a breath he thinks he's been holding in for hours, "Really?"
"Yeah," you nod slowly, as if reassuring yourself as much as him. "But I don't need any of your promises or proof or any of that. I just...I just need you as you."
His eyes soften at you as he nods so quickly it's almost desperate.
"And I need you to be honest with me, Jake," you continue before he can speak. "If we do this, I need to know I can trust you. Because I don't know if I can do this...this waiting game anymore."
"You can," he says immediately, closing the distance between you two, making your breath hitch. You can see the way his hands are trembling, the slight quiver in his lips. "You can trust me. No more hesitation. I'm all in, Y/N. This is it for me, you're it."
You search his face for any sign of doubt, any speck of hesitation. But all you find is his sincerity—so hopeful and so real—the kind that makes you want to let him in fully and let your walls crumble all over again.
So you do.
"Okay," you say softly, almost as if you're testing the word.
Jake's eyes widen, the relief and hope flooding his features. Slowly, as if asking for permission, he reaches out, his fingers brushing against yours tentatively.
"Okay?" He whispers, his voice barely audible to you as his eyes flicker between your hands and your face.
You nod, your own hand turning over so your fingers curl around his in an instinctive gesture that feels so natural it makes you want to scream. The warmth of his touch feels like the first real comfort you've felt in forever, and it's enough to make your resolve slip.
"But," you add softly, your eyes not leaving the way his hand wraps around yours so perfectly, "this doesn't mean everything's fine. We need to talk. We need to figure out where we stand, and where we go from there."
Jake nods again, his grip on your hand tightening slightly, "We will. Whatever it takes, Y/N, I'll do it. I need you to know how much you mean to me and I'll never stop trying to show you that."
You let out a shaky breath as you take in his words, finally looking up from your intertwined hands to meet his eyes, your own slowly filling with the tears you've been holding back.
"You really hurt me, Jake," you say quietly, your voice breaking from the sheer weight of your vulnerability being laid bare.
Jake's face crumbles instantly, guilt etched into every line of his expression. Without hesitation, his free hand comes up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb light brushing away the tears that fall, as if he's afraid you might pull away.
Your eyes flutter closed at the warmth of his hand, and despite the emotions raging inside you, you let yourself lean into him. It feels both reckless, yet inevitable, like free-falling and trusting—knowing—he'll catch you.
"I know," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion he can't swallow down. "And I'll spend as long as it takes to deserve you, Y/N. I'll never make you feel like that again."
You nod weakly, and before you can think too much, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into the safety of his chest, his chin moving to rest on top of your head as his warmth envelops you completely.
And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself break, burying your face into his chest as the tears flow freely, the weight of everything finally breaking free as you let yourself melt into his tight embrace.
It's not perfect. It's not a fix-all.
But as Jake holds you close, whispering quiet reassurances into your hair, you know it's a start.
And a start is all you need.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・
epilogue:
“Hi, pretty.”
“Hi, Jake.”
On the other end of the call, Jake lets out a playful scoff. Even with the slight lag, you can see his lips twitch into that familiar pout—the one that still gives you butterflies, no matter how many times you've see it now, even a year later.
“After all we’ve been through, you still won’t give me a cute pet name?”
You roll your eyes, biting back a grin, “What do you want me to say? Hi, my handsome, perfect, kindest, funniest, boyfriend in the whole wide world?”
Jake leans closer to the camera, his expression completely serious as if you should already know his answer, "...Yes."
Giggles burst out of you, shaking your head at his antics. “You’re too cute to be doing all that, Jake. Pick a struggle.”
He clutches his chest dramatically, “You know, what? You’re my struggle—I fly across time zones, run on three hours of sleep, and you still won’t give me a crumb of your affection?”
“You’re exhausting.”
“And yet…,” Jake trails off with a teasing smirk, his voice dropping into that playful, yet low lilt that still makes your stomach flip to this day. "Here you are, calling me at 1AM in the morning.”
Your cheeks flush as you glance away from the screen, trying to ignore the way his teasing gaze makes you feel, "Don’t' get confused, it's not like I wanted to or anything. I just figured someone should remind you to go to bed or else you'll look like a zombie tomorrow at the fanmeet."
Jake laughs softly, the sound grounding you in a certain way only he ever can. "You're so thoughtful, babe. My number-one hater and number-one fan, all at once. I'm so lucky."
You send him an air kiss, the teasing grin on your face mirrored by the fond one tugging at his lips. He looks at you like he did in that first-ever call way back then—like you're his whole world, and he can't believe you're real.
"How's the jet lag this time?" You ask, steering the conversation to safer ground.
"It's not so bad," he shrugs, despite the clear exhaustion in his voice. "At least this trip is only for a few days. Then I can come back to the comfort of our bed."
You raise an eyebrow, "My bed."
Jake's eyes narrow, "Our bed. Just admit it—you miss me."
You pause. "Maybe. Just a little."
His grin widens, and for a moment, neither of you say anything, the conversation lulling into an easy silence—the kind of warmth that only comes with knowing someone so well.
Finally, you shift under your blanket, getting comfortable as Jake watches you through this screen, his gaze tender, as though memorizing the curve of your smile, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear.
"You should sleep," you murmur, holding your phone closer to your face. The glow of your phone reflecting off your soft features sends palpations to Jake's chest so loud he almost doesn't hear your words.
"Mm, I really should," Jake sighs, though he doesn't move an inch. "I'll talk to you soon, yeah?"
"Mmhm," you hum, your eyes closing at the softness of his voice.
“Sleep tight. I love you,” his says, voice soft and deliberate, making sure you feel every word.
“Goodnight, Jakey,” you tease, letting the smirk creep into your voice, peeking an eye open just to catch his reaction.
Jake groans dramatically, running a hand down his face, “Y/N…not this again.”
You giggle, the fondness within you growing tenfold as you take in his face—the slight pout of his lips, his messy hair, his eyes shining with unwavering adoration for you.
“I said I love youuu,” he whines, dragging out the last word, his lips tugging into the tiniest of smiles, his entire universe reflecting from his eyes.
Finally, you give in, smiling sweetly.
“I love you, too, Jake. You already know.”
And you’ve never meant anything more.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・
Songs that Remind me of Y/N:
From the first call to forever—you've always been my favorite melody. Yours, Jake <3
"As I Am" – Justin Bieber (ft. Khalid)
"Daylight" – Taylor Swift
"DIE 4 YOU" - Dean
"Psycho, Pt. 2" – Russ
"Heaven" – Bazzi
"Every Kind of Way" – H.E.R.
"Off My Face" – Justin Bieber
"Before You" – Benson Boone
"Sunflower" – Post Malone & Swae Lee
"Pink + White" – Frank Ocean
"No Doubt" – Enhypen <3
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・
update! if you enjoyed this and want more of no doubt!jake & y/n, check out my sequel series linked here for drabbles of their relationship <3
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・
the end! if you made it all the way, this is for you:
⸜(。˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡♡♡♡♡♡
p.s. i wanted to leave the ending kinda up to interpretation—hence the time skip to a year later..but lowkey what if i wrote short drabbles/scenes of things jake does to gain Y/N's trust again, from small to big gestures etc etc..lmk if that's something anyone would wanna see !! (update — linked above now!)
<3, addie
m.list here!
tag list (love you all <3):
(i hope it let me tag everyone!)
@thesassy-mia @ikeulove @renaishun @xylatox @puma-riki @blackberryrains @dreamiestay @junislqve @lamin143 @dreamy-carat @etherealhan @vvenusoncasual @belovedsthings @somuchdard @sumzysworld @mirouie @almondtofu006 @fancypeacepersona @vivimura @hollxe1 @missthang600 @sugarikiz @sanasour @enhamonsterghoul @etherealriki
#enhypen x reader#enhypen angst#enhypen jake#enhypen#jake sim#enhypen fics#enhypen jake sim#enhypen imagines#enhypen fluff#enhypen scenarios#enha x reader#enha imagines#enha fluff#enha scenarios#jake sim x reader#jake sim imagines#jake sim fluff#sim jake x reader#sim jake imagines#sim jake fluff#jake#sim jaeyun fluff#sim jaeyun imagines#sim jaeyun x reader#sim jaeyun#enha#jake enhypen#engene#heeseung enhypen#ficrecs
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pairing: james potter x bsf!fem!reader
summary: for years, james potter thought he was chasing love. sirius black knew better — he’d been holding it all along.
warnings: fluff fluff fluff, friends to lovers, idiots in love, james calls reader love, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language
word count: 11.3k
a/n: it was probably the longest idea to write and edit. i rewrote every moment a bunch of times trying to bring it all to perfection. therefore, this time I hope more than ever that you will like it and you will support me with a like, comment or reblog. have a nice time reading this work! love u <3
ᯓ★ now playing…
slaves – footprints

You left your mark on me like footprints in the snow
Would you promise me you'll never let me go
November 15, 1971 My dear best friend, Hogwarts is brilliant! You should see the castle; it’s massive, with these moving staircases that sometimes take you to places you didn’t even mean to go! I tried to get to Charms class last week and ended up in the Trophy Room instead. Sirius says it’s part of the fun, and I’m starting to agree. Speaking of fun, I made a new friend! His name’s Sirius Black, and he’s a bit of a troublemaker like me. Don’t tell Mum, but we might’ve let some Filibuster’s Fireworks off in the Great Hall during lunch. The teachers were furious, but the look on their faces was worth it. How’s Beauxbatons? Is it true your castle is magical in a totally different way? Sirius said something about unicorns roaming the grounds. Is that real? Write me everything—I want to know what it’s like over there. Hope you’re having as much fun as I am. Forever yours, Jamie
SIRIUS BLACK WAS UTTERLY SPENT. Not the charming, rakish kind of spent he might brag about after a late night of mischief, but truly, completely, soul-drainingly done. The journey to the Potter family cottage, which should have been a brisk jaunt, had turned into a Herculean trial. Blame the snowstorm that had swept through magical London like some vengeful Norse curse, burying everything in its path under heaps of frosty misery.
It started with a delayed train — no, not delayed, imprisoned. Sirius and James were already aboard when the announcement came, trapping them in a stuffy carriage surrounded by loudly complaining wizards and at least one crying baby. And because the universe clearly found Sirius’ misery entertaining, the train came to a jolting halt halfway to their destination, snow packing the tracks so thickly that it took hours of magical clearing before they moved again.
When they finally arrived at the station, they discovered that Mr. Potter, their much-needed savior with a warm car and a better attitude than either of them, had been delayed at work. Thus, Sirius and James were left to trudge through the snow-laden countryside, dragging their trunks behind them, with James’ endless chatter about Lily Evans ringing in Sirius’ ears like a persistent curse.
“Her smile, Padfoot,” James had sighed dreamily at least seventeen times, his glasses fogging up as if even thinking about Lily caused them to malfunction. “And the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s concentrating—”
By the sixteenth sigh, Sirius had been sorely tempted to shove a fistful of snow into James’ face. By the seventeenth, he was mentally composing a list of Unforgivable Curses and ranking them by efficiency. Yet, even as he grumbled under his breath, Sirius couldn’t bring himself to abandon the trek. The Potters were the closest thing he had to a family, and spending Christmas anywhere else — no matter how dire the journey — was unthinkable.
When they finally reached the Potter home, Sirius didn’t so much step inside as collapse into it. He shoved the front door open with the dramatic flair of a man escaping death itself and sprawled across the polished wooden floor like a martyr for his own cause. His trunk fell beside him with a satisfying thud.
“Home at last,” he groaned, voice muffled against the rug. “Tell me, Prongs, do they serve last rites before cinnamon rolls, or do we skip straight to the feast?”
The cottage, of course, was as warm and welcoming as Sirius remembered. Strings of fairy lights twinkled across the beams, casting a cozy glow of red, gold, and green. A holly wreath hung crookedly on the wall — lil’James’ handiwork, no doubt — and the scent of pine mingled with the tantalizing aroma of cinnamon, butter, and something sweet. Sirius’ stomach growled audibly.
“Oi, shut it, you ungrateful mutt,” James shot back with a grin, though Sirius could see his friend’s eyes darting toward the kitchen. “You’re embarrassing us in front of the wreath.”
James hadn’t even set his trunk down before a figure appeared in the doorway.
At first, Sirius barely registered her presence. He was too busy muttering about the injustice of underage magic restrictions. But then — oh, then — she stepped fully into view.
A girl.
Not just any girl, but you.
You moved with a kind of quiet confidence that Sirius instantly clocked, your steps unhurried, your presence undeniable. The golden glow of the fairy lights danced across your hair, giving it a shimmer that seemed almost unreal. You were wrapped in a deep blue jumper — Sirius realized this after a moment’s brain lag — and your cheeks were rosy, likely from the heat of the kitchen.
You carried a tray of steaming cinnamon rolls, the scent of melted sugar and spice trailing after you like some kind of domestic enchantment. Sirius’ mouth went dry, and for the first time in years, he was at a loss for words.
“Well,” he managed after a beat, hauling himself upright and trying for a semblance of decorum. “Now I see why you were so keen to come home, Prongs. You’ve got cinnamon-roll-bearing angels dropping out of the sky.”
You laughed, soft and melodic, the sound so unguarded it seemed to wrap the room in warmth. Sirius couldn’t help but notice the way your lips curled into a smile that was equal parts inviting and mysterious.
“Hello to you too, Sirius,” you said, your voice carrying a familiarity that made his ears perk up.
Sirius blinked. Wait. Of course. This wasn’t some celestial being summoned to his rescue; this was James’ childhood best friend. The one James had vaguely mentioned — just a handful of times over the years, always in passing and with a strange softness that Sirius hadn’t thought to question before.
And yet, here you were. In the flesh. Standing in the middle of the Potters’ living room with a tray of baked goods and a smile that Sirius suspected had the power to stop traffic.
“Well, well, Jamie-boy,” Sirius drawled, nudging James with his elbow and watching his friend with amused curiosity. “You never told me the famous cinnamon-roll angel was also — what’s the word? Ah, yes — real.”
You raised an eyebrow at Sirius’ antics, though your smile didn’t falter. Instead, you glanced toward James, who looked like he’d been hit with a Confundus Charm.
Sirius smirked. “James, mate, you alright? You’ve gone all... slack-jawed.”
But James wasn’t paying him any attention. His hazel eyes were locked on you, wide and brimming with something Sirius couldn’t quite place. He watched as James' gaze traced over the streak of flour smudged on your cheek, the stray strands of hair escaping from your ponytail, and the red apron dusted with flour and cinnamon.
Sirius almost snorted aloud. This was the James Potter who couldn’t shut up about Lily Evans — the boy who spent half his waking hours plotting ways to win her over. And yet, here he was, staring at you like you’d just descended from the heavens.
“Jamie,” you said softly, setting the tray down on the nearby table.
It was just one word, but the way you said it — warm, tender, and utterly unguarded — sent a jolt through Sirius.
Before he could process what was happening, James crossed the room in a few long strides and swept you into his arms. You squealed in surprise, and the sound was pure delight, echoing off the walls.
Sirius blinked, startled. The way James held you — hands firm on your waist, his head dipping into the crook of your neck — wasn’t friendly, not by a long shot. Sirius had known James since he was eleven years old, had seen him charm and flirt with half of Hogwarts, but he had never seen this.
“Missed me, Jamie?” you teased, your fingers slipping into his unruly hair with the kind of ease that spoke of years of familiarity.
“Always,” James murmured, so quietly Sirius barely caught it.
“Bloody hell,” Sirius muttered under his breath.
He glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to explain this baffling scene, but it was just him, James, and you, wrapped up in some intimate little bubble that made Sirius feel like an intruder.
James murmured something into your shoulder — too soft for Sirius to catch — and you laughed, your voice light and unrestrained. The sound pulled James’ head up, and Sirius couldn’t miss the way his eyes traced your face with a kind of devotion Sirius had only read about in sappy romance novels.
It was then that the memories began to click into place. The scattered mentions over the years, the odd tone James always took when he talked about you. “She’s not like anyone else, Padfoot. She just gets it.” Or that one summer when James had come back to Hogwarts looking utterly miserable and wouldn’t explain why. Sirius had teased him about it for weeks, thinking it was Lily-related. But now, seeing the way James looked at you...
“Wait a minute,” Sirius blurted, his grin widening as realization dawned. “You’re the one. The one he’s always sneaking off to write letters to, the one he’s all secretive about.”
James shot him a glare, his cheeks burning bright red.
“Padfoot—”
“—the one who sent him that hideous scarf last Christmas!” Sirius continued, thoroughly enjoying himself now. “I knew there had to be someone. Prongs doesn’t just get that moony-eyed look over just anyone.”
You laughed again, covering your face with your hands, while James muttered something about strangling Sirius later.
Before Sirius could needle him further, the kitchen door creaked open, and Euphemia Potter swept into the room. She was radiant as always, her cheeks rosy from the cold, her dark hair streaked with silver. Her eyes lit up the moment she saw James.
“There’s my boy!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug before he could even attempt to protest.
“Hi, Mum,” James mumbled, his voice muffled against her shoulder.
Euphemia pulled back, cupping his face in her hands as though memorizing every detail. “It’s been too long, Jamie. Too long. You’re far too skinny — have you been eating properly at school? And what have you done with your hair?”
James groaned, though his smile was fond.
Then her eyes fell on Sirius, and the warmth in her expression grew tenfold.
“Sirius, my dear,” she said, moving toward him with open arms. “I’m so glad you’re home, too.”
Sirius froze for a moment, caught off guard. He wasn’t used to this — the genuine affection, the way Euphemia made him feel like he belonged.
When her arms wrapped around him, the embrace firm and filled with love, Sirius felt an odd lump form in his throat. He couldn’t help but think of his own mother’s cold, perfunctory hugs, her disdainful gaze, and the way her affection always felt like a transaction.
“You’ve grown even handsomer,” Euphemia said, pulling back to study him. “Fleamont’s going to be jealous.”
Sirius managed a crooked grin, the lump in his throat still stubbornly there. “That’s the goal, Mrs. Potter. Keep him on his toes.”
Euphemia laughed, her eyes twinkling, before cupping his cheek briefly. “You’re family now, Sirius. Never forget that.”
Satisfied, Euphemia turned her attention to you. Her face softened even more, and she reached out to squeeze your hands. “Oh, there you are, dear. I was wondering where my helper had gone. The mince pies won’t bake themselves, you know”
You shot James a quick, playful glance before following Euphemia toward the door. “I’ll be back in a bit,” you said, your smile lingering.
As Mrs. Potter ushered you toward the door to finish the pies, Sirius remained rooted to the spot. The warmth from her hug lingered, and for a fleeting moment, he thought of how lucky James was to have parents like that — and how lucky he was to have stumbled into their lives.
James watched you leave, his gaze following you until you were out of sight. Sirius couldn’t help but laugh.
“Mate,” he said, clapping James on the shoulder. “You’re a goner.”
James huffed, shoving him away, but the goofy grin on his face was impossible to hide.
And Sirius? Sirius couldn’t wait to see how this played out.
July 2, 1973 My Love, Summer’s only just started, and I can’t wait to see you. Mum’s already planning another one of her “legendary” tea parties, which means she’ll fuss over you endlessly. You’ll smile politely and charm her like always, and she’ll end up spoiling you with biscuits to take back to Beauxbatons. I’ve got so much to tell you. Sirius and I found this secret passageway that leads straight to Hogsmeade. We’ve been practicing spells to make it even harder for Filch to find us. Remus is shaking his head, but I think he secretly loves our schemes. Oh, and Lily—she’s still brilliant. She’s got the most incredible laugh. But you, my love, I bet your laugh would still outshine hers any day.
Do you still walk in those Beauxbatons gardens at sunset? I can imagine you there, glowing in the soft light. It suits you. Write me back quickly, won’t you? The days are always better when I hear from you. Forever yours, Jamie
SIRIUS BLACK HAD ALWAYS KNOWN JAMES POTTER WAS A TACTILE PERSON. James spoke fluently in the language of touch — claps on the back that lingered just a second too long, overly enthusiastic shoulder bumps that almost knocked you off your feet, and the occasional arm slung around your shoulders like he was staking a claim. But this? This was something else entirely.
It wasn’t just the way James touched you. It was the way he seemed to orbit you, like some lovesick moon drawn to its planet. Wherever you were, James was never far behind — hovering, grinning, completely and utterly besotted without even realizing it. And for someone so allegedly brilliant, he was astoundingly stupid about it.
Sirius noticed it within minutes of their arrival at the Potter cottage for the holidays. As the snow settled outside, so did James — right beside you, always beside you. If you were arranging the flowers Euphemia had insisted on, James was there offering suggestions like he’d suddenly become an expert on floral arrangements. If you were curled up in the drawing room with a book, James was sprawled across the nearest sofa, pretending to read but actually just watching you out of the corner of his eye like some hopeless romantic idiot in a badly written Muggle novel.
Sirius had been rolling his eyes so much, they were practically stuck in the back of his head.
THE SECOND MORNING WAS WHEN THINGS REALLY CLICKED. Sirius had woken up earlier than usual — a rare and uncomfortable event for him. He had no plans to do anything productive, of course, but the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway intrigued him. Padding out of his room, he peeked around the corner just in time to see James sneaking toward the kitchen.
Naturally, Sirius followed. He found James standing at the counter, sleeves rolled up like some kind of domestic god, arranging breakfast with the precision of someone preparing an offering to Merlin himself. There was a plate of toast with cream cheese and thinly sliced avocado, a bowl of berries that looked like they’d been picked by woodland elves, and a steaming cup of coffee. The smell alone was enough to make Sirius reconsider his usual disdain for mornings.
“Fancy,” Sirius said, leaning lazily against the doorframe, voice still scratchy from sleep.
James jumped slightly but recovered quickly, flashing Sirius a sheepish grin. “Morning, Pads. Coffee’s on the counter.”
Sirius eyed the tray suspiciously. “Is this for you, or is it for your favorite person in the world aka me?”
James’s ears turned pink. “It’s for her,” he admitted, almost bashfully, like he hadn’t just spent ten minutes crafting the most meticulous breakfast Sirius had ever seen.
“Of course it is,” Sirius muttered with a smirk, grabbing a mug for himself. “You realize this is bordering on embarrassing, yeah?”
James shot him a look, but before he could respond, you appeared in the doorway, still looking half-asleep. Your hair was mussed, and the oversized jumper you’d borrowed from James was slipping off one shoulder, but you somehow managed to look effortlessly radiant. Sirius rolled his eyes again.
“Morning, love,” James said, his voice soft and warm in a way Sirius had never heard before.
“Morning, Jamie,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep as you shuffled into the kitchen.
James practically tripped over himself to hand you the coffee. Sirius watched, amused, as James’s fingers brushed yours in the exchange, his entire face lighting up like someone had cast Lumos Maxima directly on it.
You took a long sip of the coffee, humming in contentment. “Perfect, as always,” you murmured, looking up at James with a sleepy smile that could have melted a Dementor.
And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
Sirius nearly choked on his coffee. He wasn’t sure what was more painful — the nauseating sweetness of the moment or the fact that neither of you seemed to realize how completely ridiculous you were.
“Right, well, I’ll just... leave you two to it,” Sirius said, waving his mug in mock surrender as he backed out of the room. “Try not to get married while I’m gone.”
“Shut up, Sirius,” James called after him, but the way his voice wavered slightly betrayed his embarrassment.
By the time Sirius reached the living room, Euphemia and Fleamont were already seated by the fireplace, exchanging knowing glances like they’d seen this coming a mile away.
“Is he making her breakfast again?” Euphemia asked with a smile that was far too pleased for Sirius’s liking.
“Every detail,” Sirius confirmed, sinking into an armchair. “I’m starting to think he’s auditioning for Witch Weekly’s ‘Most Devoted Boyfriend’ feature.”
“Don’t tease him too much,” Euphemia said with a chuckle. “He’s just like his father was with me.”
“Merlin, it’s contagious,” Sirius groaned, dramatically throwing an arm over his face. “If I start acting like that, someone put me out of my misery.”
But even as he joked, Sirius couldn’t help but smile. Because for all his teasing, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that James was hopelessly gone for you. And judging by the way you looked at him, Sirius had a feeling the feeling was mutual — even if neither of you was bright enough to figure it out.
AND THEN THERE WERE THE SMALL, INTIMATE TOUCHES SIRIUS COULDN’T IGNORE, no matter how much he wanted to. James’s hand resting on the small of your back as he guided you through a doorway, like you might somehow lose your way without him. The way his fingers traced lazy patterns on your knee under the dinner table, as though the contact grounded him. Or how he’d tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just long enough to make Sirius roll his eyes and fight back a gag.
It was maddening to watch, really. Not because Sirius minded the affection — no, James deserved a bit of softness in his life, and you were undeniably good for him. It was maddening because you were both so oblivious. James was a goner, sure, but you weren’t far behind. Every time you leaned into his touch, smiled up at him like he hung the stars, or called him Jamie in that soft, teasing tone, it was like watching two wizards tiptoe around a cauldron, waiting for it to explode.
One evening, as the three of you lounged in the living room, the dynamic was on full display. The Potters had insisted on a family movie night — Euphemia’s idea, of course, because family time was important. Sirius couldn’t say no to the fire roaring in the hearth, the massive bowl of popcorn, and the ridiculous Muggle Christmas film flickering on the screen. But as the minutes passed, he started to regret not escaping upstairs.
James had situated himself squarely in the middle of the sofa, with you tucked neatly under his arm. His hand played absently with the ends of your hair, fingers twisting the strands like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. You had your legs curled beneath you, leaning into him with the kind of comfort Sirius had only ever seen in old couples who had been together for decades. James pressed a kiss to your temple, murmuring something Sirius couldn’t quite catch.
It was unbearable.
“Oi, lovebirds,” Sirius interrupted, launching a piece of popcorn at James. It hit him square in the forehead, a small but satisfying victory. “Some of us are trying to watch the movie without choking on all this sap.”
You burst into laughter, sitting up just enough to toss a handful of popcorn back at him. “You’re just jealous, Black.”
“Jealous? Me?” Sirius placed a hand over his chest, mock-offended. “Of what, exactly? Watching James Potter transform into a human puddle before my very eyes? No thanks. I’ll pass.”
James didn’t even flinch. He just grinned, looking every bit the lovesick fool he was. “You’ll get it one day, Pads,” he said with infuriating calm.
Sirius snorted, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing it into his mouth. “Right. Because what I’m really missing in my life is the chance to turn into that.” He gestured at the two of you with a dramatic wave of his hand.
But despite his teasing, Sirius couldn’t ignore the warmth spreading in his chest as he watched the scene unfold. James, the arrogant, Quidditch-obsessed, devil-may-care prankster he’d known all his life, was utterly, completely, hopelessly in love. And the worst — or perhaps best — part? He didn’t even seem to realize it.
BY THE END OF THESE COUPLE OF DAYS VACK AT THE POTTER COTTAGE, SIRIUS KNEW. James Potter wasn’t in love with Lily Evans — not really, not anymore and maybe not ever. He was in love with you. It wasn’t in the dramatic declarations Sirius had once teased James about making to Lily. No, this was quieter, deeper. It was in the way James’s gaze softened whenever you spoke, like he couldn’t believe you were real. In the way his hand always seemed to find yours, even when there was no need for it. And in the way his entire being lit up when you smiled at him.
And you? You weren’t much better. You laughed at his terrible jokes, poked fun at him with an ease Sirius envied, and looked at James like he was the center of the universe. It was so obvious it made Sirius want to scream.
“This isn’t normal, you know,” Sirius said later that night, cornering James in the kitchen as he made tea.
“What’s not normal?” James asked, far too casually for Sirius’s liking.
“You and her. You’re not just friends. Stop pretending you are.”
James frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. “We are just friends. She’s my best mate, Pads. You know that.”
Sirius laughed, loud and sharp, shaking his head. “Oh, Prongsie. You’re an idiot.”
“Am not,” James shot back, but there was a flicker of doubt in his voice.
Sirius leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “If you’re just friends, then I’m a unicorn. Face it, Potter — you’re in love.”
James opened his mouth, probably to argue, but then you walked into the room, yawning and looking for all the world like you belonged there. James’s expression softened immediately, his gaze lingering on you like you were the only thing that mattered.
Sirius didn’t say another word. He didn’t need to.
Because James Potter was already lost, and for once, Sirius didn’t mind watching his best mate fall.
March 30, 1975
My Love, It’s been ages since your last letter, and I miss you like mad. Exams are coming up, and I’m hopeless at concentrating without your words to keep me sane. The Marauders are in full swing, though—our latest adventure involved sneaking a swamp into one of the corridors. Filch is still grumbling about it. I told you before how Lily has the most beautiful laugh, right? Well, I think she might finally be warming up to me. I’m playing it cool, but honestly, every time she looks at me, I feel like a kid with a new broomstick. And yet... you’re still the one I write to when I want to share everything. Funny, isn’t it? How’s the ballet going? I remember you mentioned your school recital. I wish I could see you dance. You’d be like a dream on stage, graceful and bright. Maybe one day. Forever yours, Jamie
SIRIUS BLACK WASN’T ONE TO BELIEVE IN LOVE — not the kind spun into poetry or whispered in secret corners of libraries. Sweet words, fleeting touches, long glances… all of it sounded like an elaborate prank. A fantasy created by people who hadn’t tasted the bitterness of the world.
How could anyone believe in love when raised in a house where affection was a weapon and the family motto might as well have been stab first, smile later? The Black family had given Sirius many things: wealth, privilege, and a last name dripping in infamy. But love? That was a foreign concept, spoken in a dialect he’d never been taught.
And yet, Sirius Black — child of darkness and rebellion — had found light. That light had a name: James Potter. From the moment James had barreled into Sirius’s life, grinning like the sun itself, everything had shifted. James had yanked him out of the shadows and dragged him into a world Sirius didn’t know existed — a world filled with warmth, laughter, and actual hugs.
It wasn’t just James, though. It was the whole bloody Potter family. Euphemia and Fleamont were like characters out of a Muggle holiday film. Euphemia, with her soft, unrelenting affection, had made it her personal mission to drown Sirius in love and sweaters. Fleamont’s laughter could fill a room, a deep, belly-shaking sound that warmed Sirius from the inside out. Together, they moved through the world as though their love was an unshakable force, a steady undercurrent in every shared look and word.
“Darling,” Fleamont would call from across the kitchen, leaning over the counter with a newspaper in hand.
“Yes, Fleamont?” Euphemia would reply, her smile soft and teasing as she stirred whatever heavenly dish she was making.
Never by name. Always darling.
Still, if love like that was rare, James bloody Potter seemed hell-bent on stumbling into it without even realizing.
James and you had been dancing around each other for years, so oblivious it was borderline painful. Sirius sometimes wondered if you two were practicing for a comedy sketch, the way you acted like best mates while exuding the kind of tension that could make a Dementor blush. If Sirius had a Galleon for every time James looked at you like you were the only person in the room, he could have bought his own Quidditch team by now. And he's only been watching you for a couple of days.
IT WAS THE FOURT DAY OF HIS CHRISTMAS STAY AT THE POTTER HOME, and the dynamic was impossible to ignore. You and James were practically inseparable, moving through the house like two planets caught in the same orbit. You helped Euphemia with the decorations while James carried boxes of ornaments up from the cellar, always hovering nearby like he was afraid you might vanish if he looked away.
“You know,” Sirius said, leaning casually against the doorway, “most people don’t need to supervise someone hanging tinsel.”
James didn’t even glance back. “She’s not most people, Pads.”
Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “For Merlin’s sake, just marry her already.”
James froze, an ornament dangling from his hand. “What are you on about? We’re just friends.”
“Sure, and I’m a Muggle,” Sirius shot back, rolling his eyes.
You, blissfully unaware of the conversation, turned from where you were perched on a stepstool. “What are you two arguing about now?”
“Nothing,” James said quickly, his cheeks tinged pink. “Sirius is just being Sirius.”
“That’s never good,” you teased, smirking at Sirius.
“Oi! I’ll have you know I’m delightful company.” Sirius crossed his arms, feigning offense. “But if you’re not careful, pretty, you’ll end up trapped in Potter’s web of undying devotion.”
You raised an eyebrow, stepping down from the stool. “Potter’s web of what now?”
James shot Sirius a warning glare, but Sirius just grinned. “Oh, nothing. Just that James here is—”
“Hungry!” James interrupted, loudly and awkwardly. “Right, Pads? Didn’t you say you were starving?”
Sirius barked a laugh, shaking his head as James practically shoved him out of the room. “Subtle as ever, Prongs.”
From Sirius’s vantage point, it was painfully obvious. James was hopelessly, stupidly in love with you. And you? You weren’t much better. The way you smiled at him, teased him, trusted him without question — it was all the evidence Sirius needed. And yet, you were both blissfully, idiotically unaware.
One evening, as Sirius sprawled on the sofa in the Potters’ living room, he couldn’t help but notice the way you and James interacted. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, rifling through a box of Christmas decorations Euphemia had set out.
“Jamie, hand me the gold bauble,” you said, tossing him a quick glance over your shoulder.
James, who had been half-heartedly untangling a string of lights, immediately perked up. “Which one?”
You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “The one in your hand, genius.”
James laughed, tossing it gently toward you. It missed entirely, landing with a soft thud on the carpet.
“Good aim, Prongs,” Sirius drawled from his spot on the couch. “Truly inspiring.”
“Shut it, Padfoot,” James shot back, but his grin never faltered. He turned to you, sheepish. “Sorry, love.”
Love. Sirius didn’t miss the way the word slipped out so naturally, like James had been saying it his whole life. And he definitely didn’t miss the way your cheeks flushed as you ducked your head, pretending to focus on the decorations.
LATER THAT EVENING, SIRIUS FOUND HIMSELF LAYING ON THE SOFA IN THE LIVING ROOM AGAIN (it probably was his favorite place in the house by now), a book abandoned on his chest as he watched Euphemia and Fleamont dancing in the kitchen once, a slow, swaying movement that didn’t match the upbeat Muggle music crackling from the wireless. Euphemia had rested her head on Fleamont’s chest, his arms wrapped around her like it was the only place in the world she belonged. It wasn’t dramatic or flashy — just simple and unshakable. And it made Sirius ache in ways he didn’t understand.
And a moment later they were in the same kitchen, preparing tea and laughing softly as they worked.
“Darling, pass me the sugar, would you?” Fleamont said, his voice warm and affectionate.
Euphemia handed him the sugar bowl without looking up, her smile soft. “Here you go, darlin'.”
It was the kind of exchange that Sirius might have mocked once. But now, as he watched the way Fleamont leaned in to kiss Euphemia’s cheek, or how she swatted him away with a laugh when he tried to sneak a biscuit, he felt something unfamiliar tugging at his chest.
“They’re sickeningly sweet, aren’t they?”
Sirius turned to see you standing in the doorway, a mug of hot chocolate in your hands.
“They are,” he admitted, sitting up and motioning for you to join him. “But it’s sort of... nice. In a vomit-inducing way.”
You laughed, settling beside him. “I think it’s lovely. They’re so in tune with each other, you know? Like they’ve been dancing to the same song for decades.”
Sirius tilted his head, watching you as you spoke. “And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Do you want that? The whole ‘dancing to the same song’ thing?”
You hesitated, your fingers tracing the rim of your mug. “I don’t know. I suppose it would be nice, but... I’m not sure it’s in the cards for me.”
Sirius frowned. “Why not?”
You shrugged, a wistful smile tugging at your lips. “Because my dance partner’s too busy tripping over his own feet to notice I’m right here.”
Sirius stared at you, his mind racing. Did you mean James? Surely you meant James. But before he could say anything, James walked in, ruffling his hair like he always did.
“Alright, what are you two plotting?”
“World domination,” Sirius replied without missing a beat. “Want in?”
James grinned, flopping onto the sofa and immediately throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Always.”
Sirius watched as you leaned into James, your head resting against his shoulder. James turned to look at you, his expression soft and unguarded.
And that’s when Sirius knew — again, because he seemed to be realizing this every ten minutes — just how much trouble you two were in.
DAYS LATER, SIRIUS WAS STANDING BY THE WINDOW OF THE POTTER COTTAGE, a steaming mug of hot chocolate warming his hands. The world outside was a vision of winter — snow blanketed the ground in pristine white, the trees bowed under its weight, and the air held a sharp, crystalline stillness. Inside, the house was alive with warmth: the crackle of the fire, the gentle hum of Euphemia’s humming, and Fleamont’s cheerful banter as he set up a chessboard by the hearth.
But Sirius wasn’t watching any of that. His attention was fixed on the two figures trudging down the snow-covered path just beyond the window.
You and James walked side by side, your mittened hands brushing against each other with the kind of unconscious familiarity that spoke volumes. The path ahead glittered in the weak afternoon sun, the frost catching the light like scattered diamonds. Clouds of breath curled into the frosty air as you laughed at something James said, the sound clear and bright, even from a distance.
Sirius couldn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. He saw everything in the way James turned his head toward you, his face lit with the sort of joy that was impossible to fake.
Then it happened — your foot slipped on a patch of hidden ice. Sirius’s grip on his mug tightened for half a heartbeat, but James was already there. His hand shot out, steadying you before you could fall, as if the world might crumble if he didn’t catch you in time.
“Careful there, love,” James said, his voice carrying easily through the crisp winter air.
You laughed, brushing snow from your coat as your cheeks turned pink — not just from the cold, Sirius was sure. “You’d think I’d have learned how to walk by now.”
James grinned, tugging you a little closer to his side. “Good thing you’ve got me.”
“Good thing indeed,” you replied, your eyes crinkling at the corners, your voice soft and full of affection.
And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, James reached out to brush a stray snowflake from your hair. His fingers lingered for just a moment, his expression open and unguarded, filled with something so pure that Sirius had to look away for a second.
It wasn’t the first time Sirius had seen that look on James’s face. It was the same quiet, awestruck gaze he’d noticed a thousand times when James thought no one was watching. But seeing it now, against the backdrop of snow and laughter, it struck Sirius like a Bludger to the chest.
That’s how Fleamont looked at Euphemia, Sirius realized. He’d seen it that very morning, when Euphemia had walked into the kitchen with a sleepy smile and Fleamont had paused mid-sentence, his face lighting up as if she were the sunrise itself.
Sirius took a long sip of his hot chocolate, the sweetness of it sharp against the lump forming in his throat. He muttered to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips, “Never by name. Always love.”
“What are you smiling about, Sirius?” Euphemia’s voice broke the quiet, warm and curious. She stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on a tea towel.
He turned, raising his mug in a mock toast. “Oh, nothing, Mrs. P. Just watching James make a right fool of himself in the snow. Again.”
Euphemia chuckled, stepping closer to peer out the window. Her gaze softened as she spotted you and James, now engaged in some sort of playful shoving match, James clearly letting you win.
“Hopeless,” Sirius added, shaking his head.
“Like father, like son,” Euphemia said with a knowing smile.
Sirius huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Exactly like that.”
They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching the scene outside. Sirius’s gaze lingered on James’s hand as it rested on your shoulder, the ease of the gesture speaking louder than words.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Sirius allowed himself to believe. Not just in the love he saw in James’s face or the easy affection between Fleamont and Euphemia. But in the idea that maybe—just maybe—love wasn’t the cruel, twisted thing his family had tried to make him believe.
Maybe love, real love, was something entirely different.
November 27, 1976
My Jamie, Winter has settled over Beauxbatons, and the mountains are kissed with snow. I wish you could see how the frost sparkles on the trees. I think of you often, imagining the mischief you’re up to at Hogwarts. I heard you’re Quidditch Captain now — congratulations! I can already picture you soaring through the air, the wind in your hair and that unstoppable grin. You were born to lead, Jamie, and I’m so proud of you. Your mum wrote me again last week. She’s sent another scarf, this one in Gryffindor colors. She says it’ll keep me close to you. It does, in a way — I wrap it around myself when I miss you most. Do you think of me as much as I think of you? You’re my constant, my warmth on the coldest days. Soon it’ll be Christmas, and we’ll have the stars and endless nights to talk about everything. Until then, stay safe, my Jamie. Forever yours, Love
THE CHRISTMAS CHAOS AT THE POTTER HOUSE STARTED BEFORE SIRIUS EVEN HAD A CHANCE TO GRUMBLE ABOUT THE HOUR. The sun wasn’t up yet, but Fleamont Potter most certainly was, barreling into James’s room with the energy of a man half his age. Before Sirius could properly complain — or hide under the covers — he and James were unceremoniously hauled to the garage. Their mission? Assembling the absurdly large Christmas table that Euphemia insisted on every year.
Sirius swore under his breath, wrestling with the oversized wooden monstrosity. “You know,” he grumbled, glaring at James, “if your parents had just gone for a nice, normal-sized table, we wouldn’t be out here freezing our—”
“Language, Sirius!” Fleamont interrupted cheerfully, though there was a definite glint of amusement in his eyes.
Sirius rolled his eyes but complied, though only because Euphemia’s kitchen smelled like heaven, and he was determined to earn his way to a plate of whatever was roasting in the oven.
Inside, the house was a picture of festive perfection: holly strung along the bannisters, twinkling fairy lights glowing softly in the corners, and a wireless by the fireplace playing carols just loud enough to make Sirius hum along when no one was listening. Euphemia’s soft laughter echoed from the kitchen, mingling with yours as the two of you prepared a feast fit for kings — or in this case, a house full of Marauders.
And James? Well, James wasn’t himself.
Sirius noticed it almost immediately. His best mate was usually a hurricane of enthusiasm during the holidays, cracking jokes, sneaking sweets from the kitchen, and generally making a nuisance of himself. But today, James kept glancing toward the kitchen like a puppy waiting for its owner to come home.
The idiot was besotted.
Every time your laughter drifted into the room, James’s head whipped around like he was under some sort of spell. If you so much as said his name, he’d stop mid-sentence, his eyes lighting up like the Christmas tree in the corner. Sirius would’ve teased him mercilessly if it weren’t so... obvious. Painfully, ridiculously obvious.
LATER THAT AFTERNOON, WHEN JAMES AND FLEAMONT HAD VANISHED TO THE GARAGE — probably to charm something they had no business charming — Sirius found himself tasked with tidying up James’s room. He grumbled the whole time, of course. Cleaning wasn’t his style, and James’s room was a disaster zone: Quidditch magazines spilling off the desk, parchment crumpled in corners, and socks scattered in ways that defied the laws of physics.
“Honestly, Prongs,” Sirius muttered, holding up a suspiciously stiff sock with the tips of his fingers. “How are you supposed to woo Evans — or anyone, for that matter — when your room smells like the wrong end of a hippogriff?”
As he moved to clear a particularly cluttered shelf, a box caught his eye. It was tucked in the far corner, partially hidden behind an old textbook. Sirius raised an eyebrow. Anything stashed away like that was bound to be interesting. With a mischievous grin, he reached for it, only for the entire thing to tumble off the shelf, spilling its contents across the floor.
“Bloody hell,” he swore, crouching to pick up the mess. His hand froze mid-reach when he realized what had fallen out: letters. Dozens of them, bundled in ribbons of various colors.
Sirius sat back on his heels, eyeing the pile. His curiosity, as always, got the better of him. With a glance at the door to ensure James wasn’t about to barge in, he grabbed the nearest stack and plopped himself onto the bed, cross-legged and grinning like a kid about to open a box of Zonko’s best tricks.
The first letter he unfolded smelled faintly of vanilla. Your scent, Sirius realized, and his grin faltered for just a moment.
October 7, 1971 Beauxbatons is so different from Hogwarts. The professors here are so strict, James, sometimes it feels like I’m being watched all the time! I miss the feeling of freedom you must have at Hogwarts, even if you’re always getting into trouble with Sirius. Do you ever just wish you could escape the rules and run wild?
Sirius chuckled softly, his eyes scanning the elegant handwriting. “Trouble? Me? Never,” he muttered, his tone dripping with mock innocence.
But as he reread the letter, a strange tightness settled in his chest. The way you wrote about Hogwarts — it wasn’t just about the school. It was about James. Even miles away, you saw him as something larger than life, as the embodiment of freedom and adventure.
And James? The idiot probably thought you were just being polite.
February 21, 1971 Sirius sounds like a bit of a handful, but I bet he’s hilarious. I think I’d like him, even if he does cause chaos. You all sound like you’re constantly up to something, but I imagine you get into trouble a lot, don’t you? Anyway, I’d love to hear more about his pranks— I’m sure you and him must make a great team!
Sirius barked a laugh. “A handful? Pretty, you have no idea.”
Still, the words struck a chord. He could see it so clearly now: the way you’d woven yourself into James’s world with every playful question and teasing remark. You weren’t just curious about his adventures; you wanted to be a part of them, to understand the boy behind the Quidditch bravado and the wild schemes.
Then came the letters about Lily.
March 25, 1973 James, you always talk about Lily, and I think it’s sweet that you have such admiration for her. I bet she doesn’t even know how much you like her. She sounds like she’d be really hard to win over, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Just don’t forget to have fun along the way, yeah?
Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Merlin’s saggy pants, Prongs, how thick can you be?”
He could almost picture you writing those words, the careful balance between encouragement and self-sacrifice. Even as you pushed James toward Lily, your letters were saturated with love — pure, unguarded, and heartbreakingly unspoken.
It was infuriating. How could two people so obviously meant for each other be so oblivious?
By the time Sirius reached the later letters, the humor had drained from his face.
December 5, 1974 Your mum sent me another gift! She’s so sweet, and I can’t believe how kind she is to me. It always makes me feel so loved. You know, when I’m away from you, it’s like I’m missing something... like the best part of my day. I never want to take our friendship for granted.
The parchment crinkled slightly as Sirius’s grip tightened. That wasn’t just gratitude — it was devotion, raw and aching. The kind of love that didn’t need fireworks or grand declarations because it was already woven into every moment, every memory.
And James? Sirius shook his head, a pang of frustration mixing with pity. James had spent years chasing the idea of love, blind to the fact that he already had it.
The final letter undid him.
December 12, 1975 I was thinking about you today, and how you’ve always been there for me — whether it was listening to me complain about the Beauxbatons professors or laughing with me when I’m in a bad mood. You’re always there, and I think that’s why I trust you more than anyone else. You’ll never know how much that means to me, Jamie.
Sirius closed his eyes, letting the words sink in. You didn’t just see James; you knew him. The real James — the boy who laughed too loudly, who lived for Quidditch, who couldn’t resist a good prank. You loved James, not the idealized version he tried to be for Lily or anyone else.
Sirius exhaled sharply, folding the letter with a reverence he didn’t usually bother with. His heart ached — not for himself, but for you, for James, for the years you’d both spent dancing around the truth.
“Merlin, you’re both idiots,” he muttered, though his voice was softer now.
Sirius ran a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it further into disarray, his mind replaying what he’d just uncovered. The letters — those bloody letters — had been the key. Now everything fell into place: James’s barely-there smiles over the past few days, the way his gaze lingered when you entered the room, the softness in his laugh when you said something clever. James Potter, his brash, unrelenting, wildfire of a best friend, was utterly transformed around you.
Balanced. Grounded. Sincere.
It was unbearably obvious now, as if someone had pulled back the curtain.
And yet, the idiot still had Lily Evans’s picture on his bedside table in his dorm.
Sirius’s gaze fell on the stack of letters once more, neatly tied with a ribbons that seemed far too delicate for James’s usual chaos. He could have left it alone, let James figure things out in his own thick-headed way — but that wasn’t Sirius Black’s style. If there was one thing he’d learned from years of pranks, broken curfews, and bending the rules until they snapped, it was this: sometimes people needed a push, even if it stung a little.
Sirius exhaled and leaned back against the headboard, the letters still in hand. "You're a fucking idiot," he muttered under his breath.
A slow smirk tugged at his lips. Oh, the look on James’s face when he confronted him — it would be priceless. Sirius wasn’t one for sentiment, but for you? For James? Maybe, just maybe, he’d make an exception.
The door creaked open, and James stumbled into the room, his steps heavy with exhaustion. Sirius watched as his best friend all but collapsed into the armchair by the bookcase, running a hand through his already-messy hair. He looked like he’d been wrestling dragons all day — or, more likely, his dad’s endless list of chores.
But there was something else, too. A tension in his jaw, a restless energy that practically vibrated off him. Sirius could see it plain as day: James hadn’t seen her all day, and it was driving him mad. She was so close — just a staircase or two away — and yet untouchable.
Sirius cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “So, Prongs, is this why you’ve been obsessing over the owl schedule for years? Didn’t peg you as the secret pen-pal type.”
James’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes narrowing in confusion. They darted to the bed, where the stack of letters lay exposed, and then to the shelf where the box had clearly been moved. He froze for a second before letting out a long, resigned sigh.
“Pads,” James said, his voice low and uneven, heavy with an edge Sirius rarely heard. “It’s not cool to read someone else’s letters.”
The room seemed to still, the words settling into the air like dust, soft but laden with weight. James’s eyes — those unmistakable hazel orbs that always held a spark of mischief — were guarded now, a flicker of something raw and unspoken behind them.
Sirius leaned forward, a grin stretching across his face like the blade of a knife, sharp and unapologetic. “Not cool,” he echoed, his voice laced with mockery, “is keeping this from me for six bloody years. Care to explain, or should I guess?”
James flinched, the tension in his shoulders visible even through the soft knit of his jumper. He moved toward the bed with the slow, deliberate steps of someone walking a tightrope, balancing the fragile threads of anger and restraint. The dim light of the room cast long shadows over his frame, making him seem taller, older — more vulnerable.
He reached for one of the letters, his hand hesitating for the briefest moment before his fingers curled around the parchment. His thumb brushed over the faded ink, tracing the loops of her handwriting like a blind man reading Braille. The edges of the letter were frayed, softened by years of touch, and as he lifted it to his face, Sirius caught the faintest smile tugging at James’s lips.
It was a small, private thing, that smile. Reverent. It wasn’t the boyish grin Sirius knew so well, the one James wielded like a weapon to charm or disarm. No, this was different — softer, as though the mere act of holding the letter in his hand brought James closer to something sacred.
Sirius felt his chest tighten. He’d seen James in every possible state — triumphant on the Quidditch pitch, livid after a prank gone wrong, devastated when the world seemed too heavy — but this? This was new. This was James Potter unguarded.
“She’s different, isn’t she?” Sirius said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle.
James didn’t look up. He sat on the edge of the bed, sorting the letters with a precision that bordered on ritual. Each movement was deliberate, his fingers careful not to smudge the ink or crease the paper. Sirius had never seen him handle anything with such care — not his broomstick, not his glasses, not even the Marauder’s Map.
“It’s not what you think,” James murmured, but the words lacked conviction, as though he knew they’d crumble under scrutiny.
Sirius scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an exasperated snort. “Not what I think? Mate, I think you’re in love with her and too much of an idiot to admit it. Am I wrong?”
James froze mid-motion, the ribbon he was tying slipping from his fingers. For a moment, he didn’t speak, didn’t move — just stared at the letters as if they might answer for him.
“She’s…” He trailed off, his voice barely audible. “She’s different, Pads. She’s… everything.”
There it was. The confession, raw and trembling in the space between them. Sirius leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his expression unusually serious.
“Yeah,” Sirius said softly. “She is. And that’s exactly why you’re a bloody idiot for pretending she’s not.”
James let out a bitter laugh, the sound low and fractured. He raked a hand through his already-messy hair, his movements frenetic, as though he were trying to shake off the weight of the moment.
“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice cracking under the strain. “It’s not that simple.”
“Like hell it isn’t,” Sirius shot back, his tone sharp but not cruel. “I’ve watched you for years, Prongs. You talk about Evans like she’s some kind of bloody trophy, but her? You look at her like she’s the air you breathe. Like without her, you’d suffocate. And you’re sitting here telling me it’s complicated?”
James’s laugh turned hollow, empty. “Lily’s… safe. She’s who I’m supposed to want. She’s not my bloody childhood best friend.”
The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Sirius said nothing. Then, he barked out a laugh, loud and biting.
“Safe?” he repeated, incredulous. “Since when have you ever played it safe, James Potter? Love’s not supposed to be safe. It’s messy, terrifying, and completely bloody worth it. Or are you seriously telling me you’d rather be ‘safe’ than happy?”
James looked up at him then, and Sirius’s breath caught. His best friend’s hazel eyes, usually so full of fire and mischief, were red-rimmed and glistening with unshed tears.
“Do you think…” James’s voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “Do you think she feels the same?”
Sirius’s grin returned, slow and wolfish. “Mate, judging by these letters? She’s just as much of an idiot in love as you are.”
For a moment, James didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. And then, like a dam breaking, he laughed — a shaky, unsteady sound that grew louder, freer, until it filled the room.
“What do I do?” James asked, his voice raw and trembling with vulnerability.
Sirius stood, crossing the room to clap a hand on James’s shoulder. “You start by telling her everything. No more hiding. No more pretending. You owe her — and yourself — more than that.”
James nodded slowly, the faintest glimmer of determination flickering in his eyes. “You’re right.”
“Of course I’m right,” Sirius said, smirking. “I’m always right.”
As James reached for the letters, carefully tucking them back into their box, Sirius watched him with a rare sense of pride. This wasn’t just James Potter, the fearless Quidditch captain, the prankster extraordinaire. This was James Potter, a boy on the cusp of something extraordinary.
And for once, Sirius Black wasn’t just causing chaos — he was helping someone find their way through it.
THE SNOW OUTSIDE FELL IN HEAVY, DELIBERATE FLAKES, BLANKETING THE WORLD IN A SOFT, UNBROKEN QUIET. Sirius stood on the second-floor landing of the Potter home, a mug of hot coffee cradled in his hands. The rich aroma mingled with the faint scent of pine and cinnamon wafting from the decorated tree below. The whole house seemed to hum with a kind of warmth that Sirius rarely allowed himself to imagine, let alone experience.
From his vantage point, he had a perfect view of the living room below. The fire in the hearth crackled gently, casting golden shadows across the walls. Mr. Potter sat on the sofa with an arm draped around Mrs. Potter, the two of them cocooned under a soft plaid blanket. A book rested on Fleamont’s lap as he read aloud, his voice low and steady. Euphemia’s head rested against his shoulder, her eyes half-closed in serene contentment. Every so often, she’d smile at something he read or reach up to adjust her husband’s glasses, her touch so light and familiar it made Sirius’s chest ache with longing — not jealousy, but something softer. A wistfulness for this kind of unshakable bond.
But his gaze didn’t linger on the Potters for long. It drifted to the corner of the room, where the Christmas tree’s twinkling lights bathed two figures in a kaleidoscope of warm colors. You and James sat on the floor amidst the chaos of torn wrapping paper and open boxes. The morning’s gifts had already been exchanged, but it seemed James had saved something special for last.
Even from here, Sirius could see the faint nervousness in his best friend’s posture. James wasn’t one to fidget, yet his hands moved restlessly, smoothing invisible creases on his trousers, brushing imaginary dust from the tree skirt. His eyes, though, were unwavering as they watched you. You were cross-legged on the fluffy white rug, your hair falling in soft waves over your shoulder as you picked idly at a ribbon. Sirius noticed how your gaze lingered on James, curious and full of quiet affection.
James leaned closer, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable lilt of mischief. “One of the owls was late,” he said, holding up a slightly weathered envelope. The parchment looked a little worse for wear, its edges crumpled as if it had been handled too often. “It dropped this off this morning… asked me to give it to the most beautiful girl in the world.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head as you reached for the envelope. “Still using that line, are you, Potter?”
“Can you blame me? It’s worked wonders so far.” His grin was cocky, but Sirius saw the faintest flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he handed it over.
You rolled your eyes, but the way you bit your lip betrayed your own anticipation. Turning the envelope over in your hands, you ran your fingers along the black-inked scrawl of your name before carefully breaking the seal. Sirius leaned forward slightly, his coffee forgotten as he watched the scene unfold.
The moment the letter emerged, the air seemed to shift. Your eyes darted across the page, your expression softening with each word. Sirius could see the precise moment the meaning settled in — the way your lips parted in surprise, the way your shoulders tensed, then relaxed, as if letting the weight of something long unspoken sink in. James’s hand rested on your knee, his thumb moving in small, nervous circles.
“Love?” James’s voice was barely above a whisper, his usual bravado stripped away. He was watching you as though the world rested on your reaction, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around yours. “You’re awfully quiet. Should I be worried? Say something. Anything.”
You didn’t answer immediately. Your eyes stayed fixed on the page, even as a tear slipped down your cheek, catching the light like a tiny diamond. James froze, his face paling slightly.
“Hey, hey, no…” His voice cracked. “Don’t cry. If it’s rubbish, just say so and we can forget it. Burn it, even.” He laughed nervously, though it sounded forced. “I’ll… I’ll pretend it never happened.”
That’s when you looked up, meeting his gaze with eyes so full of emotion it made Sirius’s breath hitch even from across the room. You didn’t say anything. Instead, you reached out, cupping James’s face in your hands. He stilled under your touch, his wide-eyed surprise melting into something softer as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.
It wasn’t the kind of kiss Sirius might have teased him about — not fiery or impulsive. It was quiet, deliberate, and full of a tenderness that made Sirius feel like an intruder, even though he couldn’t look away. James’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer as though you might slip away if he let go.
Sirius smiled to himself, feeling a rare swell of pride. James had always been the heart of their little group, the one who wore his feelings openly. And now, here he was, finding a kind of love that Sirius knew would anchor him forever.
A sharp click shattered the moment, and both of you turned your heads to find Sirius standing at the bottom of the stairs, a wide grin plastered across his face as he waved a freshly developed photo in the air.
“Perfect!” he announced, shaking the picture. “This one’s going in the family album. And when my godchildren ask how their parents got together, I’ll tell them Uncle Sirius orchestrated the whole thing.”
You laughed, leaning your forehead against James’s shoulder, while James groaned, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “You’re a menace, Pads,” he said, though his voice held no bite.
“A charming menace,” Sirius replied, retreating toward the couch where the elder Potters were watching the scene unfold with amused smiles.
“Everything alright, dear?” Euphemia asked, her eyes twinkling with affection as she glanced between you and James.
James nodded, his hand still firmly clasping yours. “Yeah, Mum. Everything’s perfect.”
Mrs. Potter’s smile widened, and she reached over to pat your hand. “Welcome to the family, my dear. Though, truth be told, you’ve always been part of it.”
“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion.
THE REST OF THE DAY PASSED IN A GOLDEN HAZE OF LAUGHTER AND WARMTH. Euphemia roped you into helping her in the kitchen, insisting you learn the secret to her mulled wine. Sirius watched from the doorway, sipping his coffee and grinning as you tried to follow her directions, only for James to sneak in and steal a taste from the pot, earning himself a playful swat on the arm.
By evening, the fire burned low, and the snow outside had blanketed the world in an even deeper hush. Sirius sat in his favorite armchair, a blanket draped over his legs as he watched the scene before him. You and James were curled up together on the rug, a cozy tangle of limbs as you whispered to each other, your laughter soft and unguarded. The Potters sat nearby, sharing quiet conversation, their hands intertwined.
For a moment, Sirius closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the room and the sounds of contentment wash over him. He thought of his own childhood Christmases — cold, sterile affairs devoid of joy. And then he thought of this… the home James had built, not just for himself but for everyone he cared about. It was the kind of love Sirius had always believed was out of reach. Until now.
“Merry Christmas, Prongs,” he murmured, raising his empty mug in a toast to his best friend.
James glanced up, catching his eye. “Merry Christmas, Pads,” he replied, his grin soft but unmistakably James.
James had turned to you, his hand cradling your cheek as he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. You smiled up at him, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his arm.
"Merry Christmas, love," James murmured, his voice low and filled with a tenderness that made Sirius’s chest tighten.
"Merry Christmas, Jamie," you replied, resting your forehead against his.
Sirius chuckled, settling back into his chair, the warmth of the moment settling deep in his bones. The world outside might be cold and uncertain, but here, in this house, surrounded by love and laughter, everything felt exactly as it should be.
He thought about how James Potter had once given him the home and warmth he never had. And now, it seemed, Sirius Black had helped his best friend find his way home, too.
FROM THE ARCHIVE OF SIRIUS BLACK:
To my future, undoubtedly brilliant, devilishly handsome, and wildly talented nephews,
Listen up, you little rascals. You don’t know me yet, but let me make one thing very clear: I’m the reason you even exist. That’s right, your ridiculously perfect Uncle Sirius is the mastermind behind it all. Without my charm, wit, and expert meddling, your parents might still be doing the whole "will-they-won't-they" nonsense.
So, when you’re out there ruling the world, remember to thank yours truly. The coolest, suavest, and most humble uncle you'll ever have — Sirius Black. You're welcome.
December 25, 1976 My Love, It’s Christmas, and the house is quiet now, the soft hum of the tree lights the only sound. I’ve been sitting here for hours, staring at this parchment, trying to find words big enough for what I feel, but they don’t exist. Still, I need to try. Love, I see it now—what I’ve been too blind to see all along. I’ve always thought of myself as brave, fearless even. But when it came to you, I was a coward. I didn’t want to risk losing you. You, who have been the brightest part of my life since the moment we met. You, who’ve filled every corner of my world with warmth and light, even when we were miles apart. Every summer, when you stepped into my life again, it was like the sun breaking through a storm. You’d sit by the lake with that book you never quite finished because I was always distracting you. You’d laugh at my terrible jokes, your nose crinkling just so. And you’d hum when you thought no one was listening, always off-key but somehow more perfect than any melody I’ve ever heard. I thought I was looking for the kind of love my parents have — their unshakable bond, the way they look at each other like the world begins and ends with them. And all this time, it was right here, under my nose. You were under my nose. I think I was afraid, love. Afraid that if I let myself feel what’s always been there, I’d ruin us. That I’d lose the only person who’s ever truly known me, the only one who can look past the pranks, the bravado, and see me—the real me. But Sirius, being Sirius, knocked some sense into me. He said I’ve been acting like a fool, and for once, he’s right. Rereading our letters with him was like seeing my life laid out before me, and every line, every word pointed to you. Even when you were far away, you were my everything. The letters you sent were more than ink on parchment; they were lifelines. When Hogwarts felt too big, too chaotic, you were the quiet in the storm. When I felt lost, you reminded me who I am. Do you know how many times I reread your words, just to feel close to you? I kept your letters in my trunk, hidden from the others like a secret treasure. Because that’s what you’ve always been — my treasure. How could I have been so blind? How could I have wasted so much time thinking it was Lily I wanted when it’s always been you? I’ve spent so long chasing a dream when the real thing was right in front of me. I see it now, clearer than I’ve ever seen anything. You are my stars, my moon, my sun. You’re the laugh that makes everything brighter, the voice that feels like home.
I love you. I love the way your handwriting gets messier when you’re excited. I love the way you argue with me over the silliest things just to see me smile. I love the way you hum when you’re nervous and how you always know exactly what to say to pull me out of my worst days. I love you. I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I hope with everything in me that you do. And if you don’t, I’ll understand. Because having you in my life, even just as my friend, has been the greatest gift I could ever ask for. But if there’s even the smallest chance you might love me too, then I promise to spend the rest of my life proving I deserve you. Merry Christmas, my love. You’ve been my greatest gift every day since I met you. Forever yours, Jamie
thankx for reading <3
god, this is my biggest work and I was so afraid to publish it, cause it seems to me that no one reads such long fics (I myself adore long fics).
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#– santi 🪐#james potter fluff#james potter fic#james potter x reader#james potter#james potter x you#james potter imagine#james potter x y/n#james potter fanfiction#bsf!james potter#james potter x fem!reader
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The Crimson Pact | Part 4
Characterizations | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
SoulBond!AU
Pairings: Yandere!Saja Boys x F!Reader
Synopsis: You were never supposed to remember them.
Four hundred years ago, a pact was made—a blood-soaked bond tying five demons to one human soul: yours.
They’ve waited lifetimes for your reincarnation, cursed with obsession, tethered by fate.
And now that you’ve returned?
They’ll burn the world before they let you go again.
Warnings: Soul bond with the Saja Boys, Yandere themes!, obsessive behavior / possessiveness, romantic psychological tension, mentions of implied past death / reincarnation, intense emotional fixation, yearning, dark romance, hurt/comfort
A/N: Another chapter for my lovely readers! Thank you for the support! I hope you enjoy this one. <3 I'll also be cross-posting to AO3 now that this chapter is written.
───────── ༺🜃༻ ─────────
The Saja boys are all demons.
They are wrath and ruin. Jealousy and death.
And yet, before her, they kneel.
Because she is the Heart. Because her soul is what keeps them from unraveling into true monsters. Because they were bound by her love and her curse.
They don’t just crave her—they depend on her. Without her presence, their minds deteriorate. Their bodies decay. Their hunger becomes unbearable.
Only Y/N’s touch tames the demon inside.
────────── ⚘ ──────────
Part 4:
What They Would Give
The dream was silk and shadow.
Gold candlelight flickered across paper walls. A bipa hummed in the distance, low and mournful, each note a whisper from another life. Your bare feet pressed against cold stone floors, hem of your hanbok brushing the ground as you moved silently through the eastern wing of the palace. You knew this place. Knew every turn, every tile, every secret door the nobles thought you were too stupid to notice.
But you weren’t stupid. And he always knew that.
“Yeobo,” a voice breathed behind you—low, reverent, broken. You turned.
Jinu stood beneath the moonlight, hair tied back, royal silks stained with dirt. His face was young—so achingly young—but those eyes held lifetimes. They always had.
He reached for you, and when you didn’t flinch, his hand cupped your cheek like you were something made of music and prayers. “You shouldn’t be here.”
You smiled, teasing, like always. “Neither should you.”
He laughed softly. God, that sound.
“Did they find out?” you asked, voice quieter now. “About us?”
His silence was answer enough.
The dream shifted. You were in his private room now, tucked between scrolls and incense and the scent of him. He knelt beside you, watching as you dabbed the scrape on his hand.
“I’m not worth the blood you spill,” you whispered once. And he had looked at you like you’d torn open the sky. “Don’t say that.”
“Then don’t let them hurt you for me.”
Another shift. Rain pounded against palace tiles. The smell of smoke. The wail of women in the distance. He held you against his chest—his heartbeat frantic as yours slowed.
“Stay awake,” he begged.
But the poison was already in your lungs. You tried to speak, to tell him you weren’t afraid. That it wasn’t his fault. But all that came out was blood. And he had screamed your name like it would call your soul back.
The dream cracked.
You stood in the palace courtyard now. Alone. Wind howling. Your breath fogged before you. A mirror rippled in the dark—a still pool once used by concubines for beauty rituals.
You stepped forward. Looked in. And saw him.
Not Jinu.
Not exactly.
His face was his, but darker. Skin a cold hue of purple or blue- you couldn’t tell. Patterns twisted across his neck and flawless face like vines. They glowed a faint violet. His eyes—black and gold, molten and endless. Clawed hands. No blood on them—but you knew there had been. His silks were gone, replaced by flowing black garments that moved like smoke.
He looked up at you. And he smiled.
You screamed.
And woke up. Gasping, drenched in sweat, your sheets tangled around you like vines. Your breath came in sharp bursts. Faint morning light filtered through the blinds, soft against the sheen on your skin.
What the hell was that?
The memories weren’t yours. Couldn’t be yours. You’d never worn a hanbok. At least, not since you were a little girl. Never kissed Jinu beneath the stars or held his trembling hands in a candlelit room. So why did it feel more real than anything else in your life?
You sat up, pressing a shaking hand to your chest. Then—
Knock, knock. Your head snapped toward the door. A voice. Gentle. Familiar.
“Y/N?” Jinu.
You swallowed, heart still pounding. “I… I’m fine,” you said. Too fast. Too high.
Silence.
Then, “Alright. If you need anything… I’m right outside.”
You exhaled. Slowly. A beat passed. Your hand stayed pressed over your chest. But your thoughts drifted back—not to the kiss, or the palace, or even the blood.
No.
They stayed on that reflection. The patterns. The eyes.
Was that Jinu?
And more terrifying—
Why aren’t you scared of him?
────────── ⚘ ──────────
You padded into the kitchen wrapped in silence and Jinu’s hoodie.
The boys were already there—some seated, some standing—bathed in morning sunlight and the smell of eggs and something sweet. Pancakes maybe? Abby was at the stove, flipping something with surprising delicacy. Baby lounged in the corner seat, head resting lazily against the glass. Mystery sat curled up in his seat like a housecat, eating fruit with his fingers. Romance leaned against the counter, cradling a mug like it was a stage prop he was dramatically rehearsing with.
And Jinu—
Jinu sat at the head of the table, reading a folded newspaper like he hadn’t held you for hours last night, lips pressed against your forehead while your body trembled in remembrance. Before sleep had taken you into that haunting dream.
His eyes flicked up when you entered. “Morning,” he said softly.
You nodded. “Morning.”
You could feel it—the heat of their gazes, the air shifting around you like invisible fingers brushing your skin. There was a gentleness in their posture. A quietness. But also… something else.
Caution.
They were being careful with you. Too careful.
You sat down in the seat Mystery scooted out for you. His cheek brushed your arm and he inhaled like he was starved for it. Your heart did a small, weird flutter. You avoided Jinu’s eyes.
Did they know? Did they see? They were demons. They probably felt it. The bond. The kiss.
Your face burned as you accepted a plate from Abby, who set it down with too much force. His eyes flicked to your neck for half a second before looking away. You could feel the tension rippling through his shoulders.
Oh god. They did know.
Romance was the first to speak. Of course he was. “Sleep well, sweetheart?” he purred, voice warm and slippery. “You look flushed.”
“I’m fine,” you mumbled, stabbing your pancake with unnecessary aggression. “Just hot.”
“Hmm,” he said with a smirk, “I bet you are.”
You flinched. They definitely knew.
Your thoughts spiraled. One kiss. Just one. You didn’t even mean for it to happen. But now— Were you supposed to kiss them all? Were they expecting that? Were they mad?
A clatter drew your eyes—Baby had dropped his fork. He didn’t pick it up. Just stared at you, elbow on the table, jaw resting against his hand. His black eyes flicked down to your mouth.
You quickly looked away.
“I didn’t mean—” you blurted, then froze. “I mean. I… I don’t know what I’m doing. With any of this. With you. With the bond.”
A pause. And then Jinu spoke—gentle, but unshakeable. “You don’t have to do anything.”
You blinked.
“You don’t owe us anything,” he added, folding his paper. “The bond… it’s not a leash. It’s a thread. You pull when you’re ready.”
Mystery leaned against your side, nuzzling your shoulder. “We’ll wait,” he whispered, voice soft. “We always do.”
Romance tilted his head, smiling faintly—but there was something sharper beneath it. “We’ll be patient. But not passive. We still want you to choose us.”
Abby sat beside you, jaw tense. “You don’t have to split yourself up,” he muttered. “You don’t have to kiss anyone until you want to. Really want to.”
You stared down at your plate. Your hands shook. “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” you whispered. “It’s just… too much. Too fast.”
“No one’s hurt,” Jinu said. “We’ve waited four hundred years. We can wait a little longer.”
“You’re not gonna disappear again,” Mystery whispered, holding the edge of your sleeve like he was afraid you might.
“And when you do come to us,” Romance added with a sly glint, “we’d prefer it if it’s because you’re burning for us. Not because you feel guilty.”
You swallowed. Baby’s voice was last to join, quiet but absolute. “We’ve already had your soul. We want your heart now. The rest… can come later.”
You stared at them. Five monsters. Five men. All of them impossibly patient. All of them aching. And still willing to wait for you to fall in love again.
Your throat tightened. You nodded. “Thank you.”
Romance lifted his mug. “Anytime, darling.”
Baby smiled faintly. Abby grunted. Mystery purred. And Jinu just watched you with the softest expression you’d ever seen.
You took a bite of the pancakes Abby had stacked on your plate and paused. Your eyes widened. “Wait… these are actually good.”
Abby raised a brow. “What do you mean actually?”
Sheepishly, you stabbed another forkful. “I just didn’t expect a demon to know how to make pancakes.”
He scoffed, flicking batter from the spatula. “I’ve been alive for centuries. You think I wouldn’t know how to scramble an egg or flip a damn pancake?”
Romance leaned in, chin on his palm. “He’s particularly good with his hands, if you’re wondering.”
You choked. “I’m not—”
“I have a very diverse skillset,” Abby interrupted smugly. You rolled your eyes—but your smile faltered. Because just then, the warmth of the kitchen, the golden sunlight on the tile, the smell of syrup and coffee—it all fell away.
You remembered silk. And blood. And a flicker of something with glowing eyes staring back at you in a polished palace floor. Your fork paused halfway to your lips. “Hey… can I ask you something?”
All of them stilled. Jinu looked up from his mug. “Of course.”
Your voice dropped, uncertain. “Last night. I saw something. In my dream. It was… dark. I think it was you. But not you.”
Jinu’s fingers tightened slightly around his cup. The others were still. Tense. “I think… I saw your demon form,” you said softly.
Romance’s smile vanished. Mystery immediately tucked himself tighter against your side. Baby stared at you, silent and unmoving, his gaze like ice.
You looked around the table. “I just… What are you? What do you look like?”
For a long moment, no one spoke. Then Jinu sighed. “We’re not hiding anything from you.”
“We just…” Abby scratched the back of his neck. “We’re not exactly cuddly in those forms.”
“She’d still like me,” Mystery mumbled into his fruit.
“You don’t know that,” Abby grunted.
“I do.”
“We literally glow purple and get creepy marks all over our face—”
“She thinks they’re cool!”
“Your eyes turn gold like a cursed cat, bro.”
“She likes cats!”
“Boys,” Jinu said firmly, not looking up from his tea. They went quiet instantly. He turned back to you. “We will show you. In time.”
Romance’s voice was softer than usual. “You’ve already seen us in your dreams. But dreams are hazy. Romantic. We’re… not.”
“We don’t want to scare you,” Jinu said.
“I’m not scared,” you said too quickly.
Five sets of eyes landed on you at once. You shrank a little in your seat. “Okay. Maybe a little.”
Romance smiled sadly. “We’d rather you see us when you’re ready. When the bond is strong enough that you feel what we are before you ever have to see it.”
Jinu reached for your hand gently. “When you’re ready,” he said again. “And when you are… we’ll show you. All of us.”
You swallowed. Nodded. And returned to your pancakes, even though they didn’t taste quite as sweet anymore.
After breakfast, you’re slipping on your coat when a warm hand wraps gently around your wrist. You turn—and Jinu’s already pulling you into the hallway beside the kitchen, just out of view of the others.
“Jinu?” you ask, heartbeat stuttering. His touch isn’t rough. But it isn’t something you can ignore either. He says nothing for a moment. Just watches you in the soft light. His gaze flickers to your lips, then to your throat, then back to your eyes.
“I heard you wake up around five,” he says, voice low. “Your breathing changed.”
You blink. “You… heard me?”
“I always hear you.” His thumb brushes over your wrist, tender. Like he’s memorizing the pulse there. “Even in my sleep.”
Your cheeks flush, and for a second you look down—but Jinu lifts your chin with two fingers. “You didn’t come out of the room,” he says. “Did the dream scare you?”
You hesitate.
“It’s okay,” he adds, gentler now. “You don’t have to tell me. I just… wanted to see you before you left.”
“I’m fine,” you whisper. “Really.”
His eyes narrow like he doesn’t quite believe you—but he lets it go. For now. “I just needed to know,” he murmurs, stepping closer, “that you didn’t regret last night.”
Your breath catches.
Jinu’s face is barely an inch from yours now. His voice is like velvet wrapped in steel. “Because if you did… I’d find a way to make you forget the regret. I’d replace it with something else.”
You don’t move. Can’t.
His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing your skin like it’s sacred. “I know I said I’d go slow,” he says, head tilting, “and I will. But when you kissed me—Y/N, I’ve waited four hundred years to feel that again. If you ever change your mind… just know I won’t stop you next time.”
Your heart slams against your ribs. And then—he leans forward. But he doesn’t kiss your lips. His lips graze your forehead, soft, reverent.
A mark. A brand. A promise. When he pulls back, his smile is small—but there’s fire behind it.
“Be careful out there,” Jinu says, brushing a loose hair from your face. “Don’t talk to anyone who looks at you too long.”
You raise a brow. “Is that a threat?”
“No,” he says softly. “It’s a warning. For their sake.” And then he lets you go.
But as you step out the front door, you feel it: his gaze burning into your back like a tether. Like he’s already counting the seconds until you return.
────────── ⚘ ──────────
The morning air nipped at your cheeks as you walked beside Abby down the sleepy Seoul street. The hem of your coat brushed your knees, and your fingers were wrapped tight around the coffee Abby insisted you hold—even if you were about to clock into a café that sold twenty variations of the same drink.
“I still don’t get why you have to work here,” Abby muttered for the third time this morning, tugging the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder like it offended him. “You should be sleeping in. Eating fruit someone peeled for you. Or being worshipped. Like a normal girl.”
You glanced up at him. “A normal girl?”
“Well, a normal soulbound girl. Obviously.”
You snorted. “Not helping your argument.”
He didn’t laugh. Just walked closer, his frame blocking the wind like a personal fortress.
At the café, he waited until you stepped safely inside before crossing his arms and glaring through the glass like the windows were one sneeze away from shattering. You pretended not to notice.
By midmorning, the scent of caramel and burnt espresso clung to your skin, and the line was a manageable trickle. Mystery had popped in an hour ago to leave a pack of honey biscuits on the counter (“In case you didn’t eat enough.”) and Baby had passed by too—not entering, just lingering outside like a ghost in the reflection of the glass. You couldn’t be sure, but you thought he was watching your manager. You tried not to think about it.
Then, of course, there was Romance.
He swept in at 11:47, in sunglasses and smugness, murmuring something about how coffee tastes better when you're watching the love of your life make it. You’d rolled your eyes and told him to sit in the corner and stop causing a scene. He winked and obeyed.
Everything was going smoothly.
Until it wasn’t.
The bell above the café door jingled sharply—and something inside you prickled. The new customer wasn’t odd at first glance: young, tall, dressed like a college student. But there was something off. Something in the way he looked around the café, not like a customer, but like he was searching.
You stiffened. Then he looked directly at you—and smiled. Your stomach dropped.
He walked to the counter, but didn’t order. Just leaned in a little too close. “Y/N, right?” he asked.
You blinked. “Do… do I know you?”
“Nah,” he said. “But I know you. Been seeing your name around. Cute face, too. You’ve got fans, you know.”
Something about his voice scraped at your nerves. You took a small step back. “Sorry, you’ll have to order something if you’re not here to—”
“You smell different than I expected,” he said suddenly, nostrils flaring. “Sweeter. Almost... too sweet.”
Your blood ran cold. He wasn’t human. Before you could say another word, a deep growl split the air. And then Abby was there.
You didn’t see the door open. Didn’t hear him enter.
But suddenly, your coworker was shoved behind the counter, Romance was standing from his corner seat with eyes glowing faintly gold—and Abby had the stranger by the collar, slammed against the nearest wall with a crash that rattled the syrup bottles.
“You have five seconds,” Abby snarled, voice low and rumbling, “to explain why a low-tier, trashborn demon thought it was smart to walk within ten feet of her.”
The stranger choked on his breath, writhing under the hold. “I didn’t—I was just curious—! The scent—she’s—”
“You looked at her,” Abby snapped. “You spoke to her.”
“She doesn’t even know what she is—!” The air changed. Abby’s eyes darkened. Not just with anger. With promise. He leaned in, and his voice was a whisper made of knives.
“Then let me teach you what I am.”
The café was silent. Your coworkers frozen. Romance stepped between you and the others like a shield, hand on your lower back.
“Close your eyes, baby,” he murmured.
“Abby,” you called—panicked now. “Abby, stop.”
And maybe it was your voice that pulled him back. Or maybe it was the fact that the stranger was already whimpering, nose bloodied, eyes wide with terror.
Abby let him go. The demon crashed to the floor, wheezing. “Leave,” Abby said. “Before I finish what I started.”
The demon scrambled, vanished out the door with supernatural speed. And still Abby stood there, fists clenched, chest heaving. His eyes scanned your face. “Are you okay?”
You nodded, throat tight. “Yeah. I think so.”
Romance brushed your hair back, but didn’t smile. “You’re not supposed to be seen. Not like that. Word’s spreading.”
“I’m… sorry,” you mumbled.
Abby looked like he wanted to punch something else. “Not your fault.”
Romance’s jaw tightened. “We’ll talk later.”
But something was clear now. Crystal clear. You weren’t safe. Even here.
And the boys? They’d burn the world to make sure you were.
────────── ⚘ ──────────
The boys don’t notice them, but Huntrix watches.
Perched across the street from the café, tucked behind a rusted bus stop, Zoey chews on her gum like it’s the last sin in Seoul.
They see it all. Abby bursting into the café without a sound. Romance standing from his seat like a prince with knives in his mouth. Y/N, frozen in confusion and fear, wide-eyed behind the counter.
And then it happens. Abby slams another demon against the wall so hard the menu board rattles. Mira’s hand twitches toward her weapon on instinct—but she doesn’t move.
“She’s… still with them,” Mira says tightly, eyes fixed on the scene.
“Not just with them,” Zoey mutters. “They’re protecting her.”
“No,” Mira says, trying to convince herself. “They’re using her. Shielding their asset.”
Zoey shakes her head, frowning. “Then why did he just attack another demon? That guy wasn’t even hostile. Just sniffing around.”
“She’s human,” Rumi says softly, still watching. “I’ve scanned her three times. She’s not cursed. Not altered. No patterns. She’s… just a girl.”
“So why are five demons orbiting her like she’s the goddamn sun?” Zoey exclaims.
None of them answer.
Inside the café, the tension breaks. The intruder flees. Abby stays between Y/N and the rest of the world like her bodyguard—or her beast. They watch Romance reach for her shoulder.
They’re not acting. They’re not pretending. This isn’t manipulation. It’s something far more dangerous.
“They care about her,” Rumi says finally. “Or… they think they do.”
Mira scoffs. “Demons don’t care. They hunger. They cling to whatever they’re trying to own.”
Rumi stays silent. But her hands are white-knuckled inside her sleeves, fists clenched so tight they tremble. Because she’s seen something the others haven’t. A memory she wasn’t supposed to find.
Tucked deep in the bottom of a chest meant to stay locked—a yellowed letter, written in ink faded with age and smudged by something darker. She found it years ago, back when she was still trying to piece together who her mother really was. A letter written in a language she’d never been taught, yet somehow… understood.
A demon’s handwriting. The words bled longing. Grief. Worship. She remembered reading the last line over and over: “If I burn for you, let me burn.”
Celine never talked about it. When Rumi asked about her mother, Celine only told her the same thing every time: “She was a hunter. A good one. Until she got too close to what we kill.”
Back then, Rumi believed her. She had to. Celine saved her. Raised her. Trained her. Taught her to never trust a demon’s smile or a monster’s promise. But now…
Now she watches Abby hover by Y/N’s side, tension rippling under his skin every time a customer raises their voice at her. She watches Romance hover near like he’s her loyal shadow. She saw Jinu the other day—calm, regal, protective—glance at the girl like she’s a prayer he’s still waiting to be answered.
It doesn’t make sense. Demons don’t protect humans. Demons don’t get soft eyes and careful hands. Demons don’t love.
Except… maybe they do.
Jinu once told her—in one of their secret meetings, just the two of them, when she let her guard slip for one second—“Demons feel. Some of us wish we didn’t.”
She thought it was a line. Another ploy. But watching him now… watching them… She wonders if it was the truth. And if it is—if demons can really feel like this—then maybe her mother hadn’t been weak. Maybe she hadn’t been tricked. Maybe she’d been in love.
And maybe what terrifies Rumi the most is the look on Y/N’s face when the boys are near. Because it looks like recognition. It looks like longing. It looks… mutual.
And for the first time in her life, Rumi is unsure of everything she was taught to fight for.
────────── ⚘ ──────────
Back at the apartment, the mood was sharp—too sharp.
The moment the front door closed behind you, the air thickened like static before a lightning strike. The boys didn’t say anything at first. They just stared. Watched you kick off your shoes, shrug off your coat. Watched the way your hands shook slightly when you went to pour water into a glass.
Then Romance stepped forward. “You need to quit,” he said.
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Your job,” Jinu added, arms crossed. “It’s too dangerous now.”
You laughed, but it came out awkward and dry. “You’re all being dramatic. It wasn’t that serious—Abby handled it. I was fine.”
Abby stiffened beside you, jaw clenched. Jinu’s expression didn’t move.
“It’s the second time,” Mystery said quietly from the corner, curled on the windowsill. Your stomach dropped. “What?”
“Two days ago,” Baby murmured, arms folded and expression unreadable. “There was demon scent on the café’s back door. We didn't tell you. We thought it was just a scout.”
“I confirmed it,” Jinu said. “He was watching you. You never saw him.”
Romance’s eyes darkened, gold flickering like candlelight. “And now one tries to make contact in broad daylight. You think that’s nothing?”
You looked between them, suddenly very, very aware of how much you hadn’t been told.
“You’re not safe there,” Jinu said firmly. “Not when we can’t be around every second.”
You bristled. “Okay, but you are around. Literally all the time. I feel like I’ve got an army shadowing me every shift—”
“Because you do,” Baby said bluntly. “And it’s still not enough.”
You blink at him. “So I just… give up my life?”
Romance softens instantly, like he’s pulling back on a leash. “What he means is—we don’t want to see anything happen to you. That café’s a risk. You’re vulnerable there. You don’t need to be.”
You hesitate. And then—click—your mind makes a connection. Their protectiveness. Their control. And something that never quite sat right with you.
You lift your eyes. “...What happened to Jae?”
The question silences the room. Romance doesn’t miss a beat. He smiles gently. “Ah. The guy from the club?”
“Yeah,” you say. “He was weird, but you didn’t have to—what did you even do to him?”
“Nothing permanent,” Romance says smoothly.
Your gaze sharpens. “Romance.”
He smiles too easily, all charm and warmth stretched over something colder. “I offered him a very friendly warning. Abby may have been more… direct.”
You narrow your eyes. “Is he okay?”
Romance tilts his head, fake-thinking. “He probably won’t remember anything. A touch of glamour and a sprained wrist. Maybe a dislocated ego.”
You stare harder. “That’s not funny.”
“But it’s true,” he counters, smile curling. “And effective. He won’t bother you again.”
There’s a glint in his eye—something too smooth, too polished. Manipulation wrapped in silk.
“You’re lying,” you murmur. The air shifts.
“I told you,” Abby growls, stepping forward. “He touched you.”
You glance at his clenched fists. “What did you do to him?”
“He doesn’t matter,” Abby says flatly. “He was going to hurt you. I saw it. I felt it.”
“That’s not your call to make!”
“Everything about you is my call,” he growls. “Because I’ll do what you won’t. I’ll cross the lines. So you don’t have to.”
Your breath catches. You suddenly realize how close Abby is and the intensity of his stare.
“Okay,” Jinu says tightly. “Enough.”
Romance straightens his collar. “Let Abby calm her down. She’s overwhelmed.”
Jinu doesn’t argue. He just nods once at Abby and you sigh, letting Abby’s large frame usher you to your room. You wanted to have a word with him in private anyways.
Once the door was firmly shut, the four shared a knowing look with each other in the livingroom.
“She won’t quit on her own,” Romance says.
Jinu doesn’t respond. He’s staring out the window, pensive.
“She thinks it’s her choice. That’s adorable,” Romance continues with a bitter smile. “But this situation—it’s pulling demons to her like flies. They’ve always been curious, but now that they know where she is and that she’s real.” Romance sneers. “Their curiosity is going to kill them. And every one of them is a threat.”
Mystery’s eyes narrow. “You want to scare her.”
“No,” Romance says smoothly. “I want to guide her. Nudge her toward the life she deserves. One where she’s surrounded by people who love her more than air.”
“And you’ll decide how that looks?” Jinu’s voice is quiet. Dangerous.
Romance’s expression darkens just slightly. “You saw her a minute ago. She’s already cracking. All I’m doing is accelerating the inevitable.”
Baby finally speaks, voice a low echo: “What do you want us to do?”
Romance’s smile returns—cold and wicked. “Nothing direct. Just… let the pieces fall. Let the café fall apart.”
Jinu sighs and turns. “No fire.”
“No blood,” Mystery adds. “She wouldn’t like that.”
Romance raises a hand, smug. “Of course not. I’m not stupid. She’ll leave on her own. And when she does…” His gaze sharpens. “She’ll see that we’re the only constant.”
────────── ⚘ ──────────
Abby shuts the bedroom door behind him. Not with a slam—but with finality.
You don’t resist when he gently guides you toward the bed. He doesn’t say much at first. Just pulls you into his arms, into the warmth of his chest like it’s instinct. You don’t know if he means to, but his grip is tight. Fierce. His hand curls around the back of your head, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks too long.
“I don’t want to fight with you,” he mutters.
“I know,” you whisper. You gaze at his arms that were wrapped tightly around you- the ones he’d use to inflict whatever violence necessary for your sake. Your eyes trail up his muscled limbs to his broad shoulders. There was a moment of silence before you spoke.
“I don’t get it,” you whisper. “Why are you like this?”
“Like what?”
“This…” You wave your hand vaguely. “Overprotective. Overbearing. Intense. It’s like you can’t breathe unless I’m under lock and key.”
“I can’t,” he says. Your heart skips. His voice is quiet. No teasing. No growl. Just truth. “I can’t breathe when you’re not safe.”
You stare at him.
“I don’t know how to do this slow,” Abby says. “I try, I swear I do. Jinu says wait. Mystery whines when I get too close. Baby glares like he’ll gut me if I scare you. But I see you, and all I wanna do is keep you close. Wrap you in my arms and keep every bad thing away. Rip this world apart if it even thinks of touching you.”
You don’t know what to say, so he keeps going.
“I wasn't always like this. Wasn’t always... this thing you see now.”
You shift slightly in his arms, but his hold keeps you anchored. He exhales sharply and looks away. Not because he’s ashamed—because the memory still burns. Your heart tugs at the expression on his beautiful face. Tortured. Pained.
“Two hundred fifty years ago,” he begins, “I was a general. Loyal to the court. Feared on the battlefield. A war dog for men in silk robes who never dirtied their hands.” You feel his fingers twitch against your back, like he’s gripping a blade only he can see.
“I bled for them. Killed for them. And the moment I became inconvenient, they left me to die in the mud. A spear through my gut. My men gone. My name forgotten.” His jaw tightens. You can hear the snarl he’s holding back.
“I would’ve died. But I begged. Not to the heavens—because the heavens never answered me. I begged whatever thing was listening in the dark.” He turns his face, voice like ash. “And Gwi Ma answered.” He’s silent for a beat. Your breath catches.
“I didn’t die,” he says bitterly. “But I wasn’t human anymore either.” You feel his body tense beneath you as he continues, slower this time. “I wandered. Fed on pain. Destroyed anything that looked like mercy. Until I collapsed outside a village. Thought maybe I’d die for real.”
He goes still. “And then you found me.”
Your heart stutters. His voice goes softer. Fragile, like something made of glass. “You were a healer. Young. Too good. Too gentle. You knew I wasn’t right. You saw the glow in my eyes, felt the heat in my skin—but you stayed anyway.”
Your throat tightens. “You stitched my wounds. You made me soup. You made me laugh. And I didn’t even remember how.”
His voice breaks. “You reminded me I used to be human. I think… you made me want to be one again.”
You say nothing. Just hold onto him tighter and let him tell you the story of how he came to be this way. You wished you remembered- like last night with Jinu. You wished you could share his pain.
“When bandits came, I snapped. I didn’t even think. I just—protected you. The village. Everyone.” A pause. “But I lost control. The fire… it spread.”
Your blood goes cold.
“You died in my arms, Y/N. Crying. You told me you weren’t afraid. That you knew I tried to protect you.” He swallows. “But that doesn’t matter. Because I still killed you.”
You feel his hand press flat against your back like he could memorize the shape of you all over again. He tilts his forehead to yours, voice raw and trembling.
“I’d die a thousand times before I ever let that happen again.” Abby’s voice is barely a whisper. “And so I’m sorry… if you think I’m too much. I just—” He swallows hard, jaw trembling. “I can’t bear the thought of failing you again. Of standing by while the world takes you from me a second time.”
His hand moves to your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye like he’s memorizing every freckle, every blink. “I’ve spent centuries reliving that moment,” he murmurs. “Centuries regretting every second I didn’t hold you tighter. Protect you harder. Love you more.”
You feel the weight in his touch—the devotion that borders on madness. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to the world.
And maybe you are.
His arms are still wrapped around you. His heartbeat loud against your ear. You feel his chest rise and fall—deep, like he’s trying to calm a storm. There’s a long silence before he speaks again, voice low against your hair.
“…There’s something I want you to know,” he murmurs. “My name. My real one. From before.”
You lift your head, eyes searching his. He looks almost… shy. No—vulnerable. Like this is the final part of himself he’s never dared to offer.
“I wasn’t always ‘Abby.’ That’s just a stage name. I find it kind of funny actually” He chuckles lightly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.
You nod gently, your hand resting against his bare chest. “So tell me,” you whisper.
He swallows. “It was Haneul,” he says. “That was my name, when I was still human.”
Haneul. The sound lingers on your tongue like silk and smoke. You let it roll in your mouth before saying it aloud:
“…Haneul.”
He shudders.
It’s so soft, the reaction—so raw. His grip tightens around you instinctively. His lips part like you just breathed life into him. “Say it again,” he whispers. “Please. Say it again.”
You lean in, brushing your lips to his cheek. “Haneul.”
A sharp breath escapes him. His eyes flutter shut, lashes trembling. You kiss the corner of his eye, your voice barely audible.
“Haneul.”
He exhales like he’s unraveling, hands fisting into your waist to keep himself steady. To keep you close. Like the name is both breaking him and putting him back together.
You kiss the other cheek, so softly he nearly flinches from how much it hurts. “Haneul.”
And then—just before your lips meet his—you say it again. For him. Only him.
“Haneul.”
He snaps.
Abby—Haneul—surges forward and devours you in a kiss. It’s not gentle. It’s not tame. It’s a claiming, centuries in the making. His mouth slants over yours with aching hunger, hands pulling you into his lap like you belong there, like you’ve always belonged there.
You do.
And he kisses you like your voice saying his name was the only salvation left in the world. And maybe… maybe it was. He groans against your mouth, like the feel of you hurts.
His hands tremble as they cradle your face, your neck, your back—as if he still doesn’t believe you’re real. You feel his restraint—barely holding himself back, like if he slips for even a second, he’ll ruin everything. But it’s all so gentle. Worshipful. Like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he loves you too hard.
His shirt comes off in a rush of movement, as if it was the last thing keeping him distant. You press your palms to his bare chest—warm, solid, steady—and he shudders beneath your touch.
He lowers you both to the bed again, but this time you’re tangled together. Your legs brush. His skin grazes yours and he gasps like it burns in the best way.
He leans in, lips brushing your throat. He murmurs your name there like a prayer. Like a curse. Like a lifeline.
“I’ll never let anyone touch you,” he whispers, breath hot. “I don’t care who I have to kill. I don’t care if the world calls me a monster. If it means keeping you safe, I’ll be all of it.”
You feel your heart trip over itself. It should scare you. But it doesn’t. Because when he looks at you, when he touches you like this… it doesn’t feel like obsession. It feels like truth.
Your fingers slide into his hair, clutching like he’s the only thing holding you together. He leans into your touch like he’s starving for it.
“Say you forgive me,” he chokes. “Say I’m not too late.”
You meet his gaze—and it’s everything. Burning. Desperate. Holy. And so full of ruinous love it steals the air from your lungs.
“You’re not too late,” you whisper, voice cracking. “I’m here.”
And Abby—no, Haneul.
Haneul lets out a sound you’ve never heard from him before. A small, broken thing. A sob and a breath all at once. Then he kisses you again—deeper, slower, like the world’s ending and this is the only moment that matters. His hands press into your waist like he’s grounding himself there. Like you are his redemption. His punishment. His salvation. And for the first time in centuries… Haneul lets himself believe he might deserve to hold you again.
Your fingers ghost over his chest, and he shivers. The planes of his body are carved like stone beneath your hands, warm and trembling under your touch—as if you’re something sacred, something he never thought he’d feel again.
Your lips part from his only to trail down the sharp line of his jaw, to the tense muscle of his neck. You kiss him softly there, and he lets out a hiss through his teeth. It’s the kind of sound that curls heat through your spine. You don’t stop. You kiss lower, slow and reverent, letting your lips brush the warm skin of his throat. He tips his head back, helpless.
“Haneul,” you murmur, pressing your lips to his collarbone.
He groans. His entire body bows toward you like he’s being pulled by gravity. Like your voice is the only anchor in a world he no longer trusts. You trail your hands down the ridges of his chest, the faint scars of old wounds hidden beneath his skin. He watches you, eyes wild with devotion.
“I dreamed of your hands,” he whispers hoarsely. “I used to wake up clawing at my own skin because I missed the way you touched me.”
You kiss the center of his chest and feel his heart stutter beneath your lips. His hands slide beneath your shirt now, palms warm, reverent as they explore your waist like he’s memorizing the shape of you. He ducks his head to your neck, brushes his lips down the slope of it—and then kisses the spot where your pulse flutters.
You gasp. And that’s all it takes.
A low growl tears from his throat and he bites—not hard, but enough to claim. Enough to make you gasp again, and this time his name spills from your lips like it’s the only thing you know.
His breath is ragged now, and his control is slipping. “Say it again,” he begs, lips against your throat. “Just once more.”
“Haneul,” you moan, and the way he shudders beneath you is almost violent. You feel the darkness curling at the edge of him—the demon just beneath the surface, the possessive, desperate thing that would burn kingdoms for you. But he holds it back.
His forehead presses to yours. Your breath mingles. Your chests rise and fall in perfect sync. His thumb brushes along your cheek as he cradles you like you’re made of glass and starlight.
His voice is low. Gravel and longing. “I’ll wait,” he breathes, fingers curling possessively around your waist. “As long as you need. But don’t think for a second I won’t claim you. One way or another, you’re mine.”
You stare at him. At the burn in his eyes. The way his body shakes beneath your touch—not from fear, but from restraint. Centuries of guilt. Of hunger. Of aching to be close and never having the right.
“I do want you,” you whisper, lips brushing his. “Just… not all at once.”
His eyes flutter shut. His jaw clenches like he’s holding back something feral. “Then I’ll take what you give,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “And I’ll make you crave the rest.”
He kisses your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth. Then rests his forehead to yours—your breath, your warmth, your heartbeat the only thing grounding him. And in that silence, in the hush of your skin against his, you feel the bond ignite again—hotter now, needier. A thread wrapped around your ribs, pulling tighter. Claiming.
No more running. Not from him. Not from this.
Just you. In his lap. In his arms.
Exactly where he’s always known you belong.
TO BE CONTINUED
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A/N: Huahh Abby or (Haneul) got his turn! I wanted to give them each real names and not just stage names. I chose Haneul for Abby because it means “sky” or “heaven.” It’s poetic, gentle, and deeply symbolic. It's meant to tie into Abby’s protector nature — someone who once soared high as a general but fell and now claws his way back for the one he loves. His love is vast, all-encompassing, eternal — like the sky. And there’s an irony too: he fell from grace (heaven to hell), yet his name remains a tether to what he once was.
Let me know if you guys enjoyed this one! Comments, Likes, Reposts, I see them all and really appreciate all the support! Till Next Time!
Willa x.
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i cant belive that you of all people are at risk of homelessness >:(
homelessness isnt a problem that should exist in general, but you, specifically, should have like a million dollars from the star trek novels alone
(chuckle) Wouldn't that be lovely! (And it's kind of you to be thinking that way.)
But alas, that's not how it works.
When you're working in/for other licensed universes—which is always on a work-for-hire basis—the only really significant payment(s) you're likely to see will happen when you've turned in a given book and it's been formally accepted. And even then, the payment's rarely going to be higher than low-to-mid five figures... which (after your literary agent gets their cut, and after your taxes on the income get paid) won't take you very far even in a single year, let alone the years that follow.
If you're very lucky in your publisher, or have a very good agent—which I do—you may even manage to get some royalties on such a novel. But they'll be at the low end of the scale—maybe 2-3% of the cover price. (Bearing in mind that even for original novels in one's own universe, an author rarely gets more than 8-10% of a given book's cover price in royalties.) And when the book goes out of print, the royalties stop.
So just because the owner of the IP makes a lot of money off it, doesn't mean that any significant amount of it necessarily trickles down to the writer. (sigh) Nor does the fact that a book is good, or the writer is good, or both, make any significant difference in this branch of mathematics. Eventually, pretty much inevitably, sooner or later sales of a book drop off and the publisher lets it go out of print.
(shrug) It's not like I didn't know this was eventually going to happen when I wrote my Star Trek work. I did that because I loved Trek (and still do), and I was sure I could write a better Trek novel than anyone else had up until that point. (And maybe that was even true. Who knows.) To have done the work was the thing that primarily mattered.
But let this be a reminder to folks that only a low percentage of writers make enough from their writing alone to live on: and that something like 90% of writers at times live at or near the poverty line and sometimes slip below it. ...And for all of us, even for strong writers who seem moderately successful and have other income streams, bare patches happen: times when publishers don't pay (for example, I still haven't been paid anything for Disney/Marvel's reissue of my Spider-Man books), times when you can't work, or times when accident or illness or other unexpected circumstance eats the cash you've stashed away to serve as a cushion.
This is not a safe lifestyle. With talent and luck and endless slogging away at/over the writing mechanism of your choice, and with the support of your readers (whom I'm very much thinking of at the moment!—and thanks again to the Ebooks Direct customers and Ko-Fi friends who just now saved our butts), it can be survived. Which, from day to day, @petermorwood and I do our best to keep on doing.
...In any case: people who even at this end of time can say things about my work such as you did at the top of this, make me feel like about a million dollars. 🙂 (And since today I have both an upper respiratory infection and laryngitis, that's quite a trick!) ...So thanks.
ETA: for those curious, to deal with local physical issues I am now making this chicken soup, which—whether or not it has any actual therapeutic benefit—is still going to be very nice. ...It annoys the shit out of me that I have to leave out the onions and garlic, which would quickly trigger my IBS and subject me to an entirely different level of pain; but such is life. We've got all the other ingredients on hand sans the fresh turmeric, and if there's one thing this soup's short on, it's chilies. Which around here, believe me, is a deficiency that Peter's well positioned to remedy. :)
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My patreon page is turning 3 years!!🎉🎉🎉🎉
We are celebrating with a deal 25% off on my most exclusive tier. Get access to all my content. more than 200+ videos. only for limited time.
Thank you for your endless support.
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Top 24 of 2024
Well, well, well, look what we have here. If it isn’t 52 weeks’ worth of data drawn from the exemplary original posts you’ve been producing day in, day out, combined with the likes, reblogs, and search data—all of it weighed, ranked, and presented here for your viewing pleasure. In news that will come as a shock to no one at all, 2024 was the year of Artists on Tumblr. But quite right, too, as just a cursory scroll through the fanart, illustrations, digital pieces, paintings, textiles, and more will attest. It’s a goldmine. But this ain’t just any goldmine, this is your goldmine, and we’ve got abundant gratitude for the wonderful work you’ve shared this last year.
Dungeon Meshi won hearts and minds with its cozy feel, its cookery, its cast of eclectic, likable characters, and a delightfully off-center vibe. Farcille made for the sapphic love story we didn’t know we needed—and the inspiration for endless, exquisite fanart. There was much appreciation for season one, and excitement abounds for season two. But there were endings as well as beginnings, sadly, as the much-loved Jujutsu Kaisen brought six years of sublime storytelling to a close with Chapter 271. Good faced Evil, a nephew faced an uncle, and some really liked it, and others really did not. Discourse ensued, as discourse is wont to do.
Television! And lots of it! 2024 was the year in which animation ruled supreme with an embarrassment of riches to plunder. Gravity Falls and The Book of Bill became your fall fixations and simply refused to stop trending for seemingly an age (a Good Thing). Bill Cipher and Stanford Pines both made the Top 24 in their own right as you shipped them to high hell, with Billford coming top of Ships for 2024. Speaking of Hell, Hazbin Hotel was the new kid on the block. And, after a five-year wait, the new kid charmed—it was filthier, funnier, raunchier, and more heartfelt than you could have hoped for.
When it comes to hope, the times continue to be challenging, and the news can threaten to overwhelm. 2024 was no different. But you all painted the dash every color of the rainbow, stood loud and proud, and supported your ever-growing community online and offline in the struggle for LGBTQIA+ rights. While folks continue to voice their distress and concern for the ongoing crisis in Palestine, they also fight the good fight with activism and fundraising efforts across the dash. These may be dark days, but you all work tirelessly for the greater good as only you know how.
Looking after oneself is vital in these trying times, and you’ve all done just that in your own inimitable fashion. Cats still rule Tumblr as bears still poop in woods, and everyone has taken essential time to peruse the dashboard’s plethora of cat GIFs, cat art, boopin’ cats, cats of yore, and so on. You’re keeping things similarly wholesome with some more Tumblr mainstays: cottagecore, and its sister aesthetic, naturecore, imagine a simpler, greener, and quieter time. A time where the breeze billows softly through the long grass and gently turns the blades of the windmill; a time where we, too, might poop in woods.
The only thing more important than looking after oneself is treating oneself, and what better way to do that than gaming? Baldur’s Gate 3 made a most impressive leap from #21 last year to #7 in 2024, as the need for sexy monsters and beautiful beasties becomes ever more imperative with each passing year. Pokémon may have dropped a little from five to 11, but these games and shows still hold a dear place in your hearts—as demonstrated by your bountiful and beautiful fanart.
Here are the 24 most-mentioned things on Tumblr in 2024.
Artists on Tumblr
Palestine
Dungeon Meshi
Gravity Falls
Hazbin Hotel
Baldur's Gate 3
Cats of Tumblr
Jujutsu Kaisen
The Batman Universe
Pokémon
One Piece
Good Omens
Marcille Donato | Dungeon Meshi
Laios Touden | Dungeon Meshi
Cottagecore
Hermitcraft
LGBTQIA+
Bill Cipher | Gravity Falls
Naturecore
Doctor Who
Percy Jackson
Falin Touden | Dungeon Meshi
Stanford Pines | Gravity Falls
Jason Todd | the DC universe
Feeling inspired? Want to create a dedicated place to discuss the things you love with the other people who love them? Create a Community here on Tumblr to do just that.
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Still Life: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Synopsis: Jack always expects the unexpected, both as a doctor and a partner. But when your water breaks during a citywide blackout, the pressure to deliver your baby safely grows with each contraction, trapping you, him and Robby in a single, still moment of life and loss.

Warnings: Angst, as always; Pregnant reader; Features a graphic, traumatic birth > Similar to the birth scene in the show. Pls don’t read if this sounds too heavy for you!! (everyone lives)
Word count: 2.7k+
A/n: Yes, this is a cliché baby-born-in-an-elevator story, but the show gave us Abbot/Robby x Elevator and Collins mentioned getting stuck while giving birth, sooo what can I say, we're here now, aren't we. Something something about the enclosed space being a metaphor for birth etc. I’m also very passionate about raising awareness for birth trauma / birth related injuries + these are my emotional support sad boys, so I had to… Enjoy <3
“I’m not giving my baby an old white guy name” you deadpan, leaning against the nurses' station, glancing up at the board with a playful grin. Ellis and Shen chuckle at your honesty, Princess and Perlah enjoying the show from a distance.
As if summoned, “Oh I know you’re not talking about us” Robby counters, him and Jack suddenly appearing next to you.
“Well I know she’s not talking about me!” Jack adds lightly with that dry humor you love so much.
"All I'm saying is, Frank is a great name for a little boy." Langdon argues from his side of the station, hands on his hips. "Frankie. Frankie Jr., the possibilities are endless..."
You roll your eyes, though you can't help but smile fondly at the camaraderie, a warm feeling growing in your stomach.
Though it might be something else.
"Maybe we should go for a name that doesn't sound like he's already retired", Jack quips, his eyes meeting yours. Something about the way you're leaning against the station, catches his attention, worry flickering in his eyes.
The storm outside has been growing since the start of your shift, a low rumble in the distance interrupts the friendly work banter.
As if on cue, you feel another tightening in your lower abdomen, this time a sharp stab that makes you wince. You brace yourself against the counter, careful not to let anyone notice.
You're 40 weeks pregnant, but you know it's not active labor... yet.
Jack is already so prepared, so meticulous. You don't want to worry him more than necessary.
“Well, my vote’s for something classic”, Robby says cheerfully. “Like, um… Robby. Simple, strong.”
"Good thing you don't get one." Jack raises an eyebrow as he steps behind you, putting an arm around your waist instinctively. With ease he holds up your belly, taking some of the weight off your back. He gently pecks your cheek, whispering into your ear. "You okay?"
You lean into his embrace, taking a breath of relief, as you feel the pressure building inside you again.
Before you can respond, the storm outside shifts from a distant rumble to something more urgent. You hear the first crack of thunder, followed by a flash of lightning that lights up the hospital windows.
“So much for having a quiet night”, Shen laughs.
You instantly shush him, loudly. Everyone's reaction's are instantaneous, Princess and Perlah cursing in Tagalog.
Ellis: "Fuuuck!" Langdon: "You always do this!"
As usual, Shen manages to jinx whatever team is unlucky enough to work his shift.
The elevator doors close with a jarring ding. The tightness in your belly flares again, but you grit your teeth and try to ignore it.
Jack and Robby stand by the doors, arms crossed, like they're guarding something precious.
You lean back against the cold metal walls, the tightening growing again, unable to find a position that's comfortable.
Even in this enclosed space, you can hear the wind howling from outside. The lights flicker, then, without warning, the power cuts out entirely, as the elevator halts to a stop.
You hear Robby curse as the emergency lights turn on, their blue glow casting everything in a surreal light. The elevator now feels even smaller, almost womb-like.
Fuck.
You groan softly, hoping Jack doesn’t catch on.
But of course, he does.
“What was that?” He turns to look directly at you, concern written across his face.
You avoid his gaze. “Nothing, I’m fine."
You say it so unconvincingly, you almost laugh at yourself.
“I can see that.” It's the same skeptical tone he uses with Santos and the other interns. It's charming actually.
“When did you start having contractions?” Robby asks, like he’s already claimed you as his patient.
You hesitate, but there's no point lying. “This morning.”
“You’re joking.” Jack is by your side in a heartbeat, torn between putting a hand on your belly or pulling out his stethoscope. Torn between being doctor, partner or father-to-be.
“I’m okay. Really.” You try to reassure him, gently touching his forearm.
That’s when you feel the warm liquid rushing down your legs, a puddle growing beneath you.
Jack and Robby's eyes drop to your feet, then up at each other. They exchange a look, no words needed. This is happening.
“I- I didn’t realize…” You breathe, dazed.
“You didn’t realize you were in pain?” Jack asks, incredulous.
“I’m always in pain, Jack", you bite back. “Ever since you knocked me up!”
You groan, turning around to lean your elbows against the wall, letting your head drop. Your breath is already ragged.
Jack’s hand finds your back, rubbing slow, grounding circles.
“I’m not having our baby in an elevator…” you pant.
“I’m afraid, we are, love.” Jack whispers gently, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead.
You let out another sharp groan.
“I need to examine you. Is that alright?” Jack’s voice shifts into professional gear. He pulls gloves from the pocket of his trousers, swiftly slipping them onto his hands.
You nod, squeezing your eyes tightly shut.
He lines up behind you, slipping a hand into the back of your scrubs and reaching down.
Once he’s measured with his fingers, Jack’s eyes flick up to find Robby’s, a mixture of panic and surprise flashing across his features.
Robby reads him instantly. He steps in without a word, steadying your shoulders. His grip is firm and reassuring.
“What?” You gasp.
Jack leans in close to your ear, voice soothing, but urgent. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your already burning cheek. “Honey, listen to me. We’re having this baby now.”
You groan again, louder this time.
Robby’s frown line softens, his lips forming a genuine smile. He and Jack share a warm look, full of excitement.
“No. No!” You shake your head. "Not here."
No prenatal bag. No birthing playlist. No epidural.
“I need to have a proper look, okay?” Jack says calmly, though his hands move quickly.
“Wonderful." You laugh through a groan. "This’ll make a great story for group therapy.”
Nothing says professional boundaries like giving birth in front of your boss.
“I won't look." Robby promises, quickly turning away. "But I am a doctor, you know", he chuckles.
"Not mine, you're not." Your lips form a playful smirk. "This will do wonders for your patient satisfaction scores", you add with a wink.
The air suddenly feels a bit lighter.
Jack kneels down, gently parting your legs and slipping your pants down to your knees.
His eyes widen, before whispering. "You're in active labour, baby", his voice softer now.
Robby doesn't hesitate, rushing to the elevator doors, trying to pry them open. With a metallic screech, they slide just wide enough for people to pass supplies and equipment through. But you haven’t quite reached the next floor.
“Not enough to get her out,” Jack mutters.
You lean forward and peek through the small opening.
Your cervix is probably bigger than that…
“Dana!” Robby yells.
Dana appears instantly, dropping to her stomach to peek inside. She finds you leaning against the wall, pants down, legs shaking. Jack holding you up.
“Jesus. Y’all got terrible timing you know that!”
“We need fresh gloves, blankets, a BOA kit, baby warmer, fetal monitor, anything you can pass through.” Robby orders.
Dana’s already on it, shouting over her shoulder.
Jack turns to you again. “Do you want to sit or get on your knees? What feels more comfortable?”
“I- I don’t think comfortable is the word I’d use right now." You groan. "Feels like I’m being split open front to back.”
“I know. I know." Jack’s hands are already guiding you down. "Let’s get you on the floor okay?”
You drop to all fours.
It’s so goddamn hot.
Your hair sticks to your face, salty water stinging in your eyes, the vein in your forehead threatening to pop.
You tug at your scrub top and Jack understands instantly, pulling it over your head. You sway back and forth, now only in your bra, nothing else.
Groaning. Panting. Cursing.
Jack is beside you, gently massaging your back. He moves with you, trying to match your rhythm.
He’s grateful Robby takes command, barking orders to the team above, in full doctor mode. Focused, clinical.
“You’re doing so good.” Jack whispers.
Another contraction rips through you.
Jack glances at his watch, then over to Robby, who places a surgical blanket on the floor, hooks you up to cables and machines to monitor your and the baby’s vitals.
You curse loudly. “What the hell did you do to me, Abbot!”
“I’m sorry. You can do this.” He takes your hand, squeezes. “Let's meet our boy.”
The next contraction comes fast, stealing your breath. Jack doesn’t need to look at his watch, he knows.
It’s time.
Robby positions himself behind you, breaking his earlier promise. But you forgive him, if it means having your husband by your side and not two doctors competing for who's running this.
“She’s crowning.” Robby announces. His hand applies gentle but firm pressure, to keep the baby from delivering too fast and to prevent tearing.
Jack’s hand trembles slightly in yours.
“Y/N, I can see the head. I need you to push on the next contraction okay?”
You nod your head, almost frantically.
Jack takes a deep breath, for both of you, instructing you to follow his rhythm.
A deep, guttural growl tears from your chest as you push.
And push again.
The sensation overwhelms you. The burning, the tingling, the stinging.
The ring of fire.
“That’s it. Catch your breath before the next one.” Robby's steady but kind voice anchors you. “I need one more big push. Three, two…”
Jack’s voice is soothing in your ear, but you barely register it. You’ve never experienced anything like it.
You’re not even fully in your body anymore.
How long has it been? Minutes? Hours?
You feel another contraction approaching, but Robby suddenly halts you.
“Stop. Y/N, don’t push! Not this time."
“I- I have to.” You groan, almost sobbing.
“No.” Robby's voice is low, sharp.
Jack’s head snaps up.
Something's wrong.
“Baby’s shoulder is stuck on your pelvic bone. I need to release it.”
Jack turns pale, tightening the grip on your arms, preparing for the inevitable.
“I’m sorry,” Robby mutters, but before you can react, his hand breaches your entrance.
The pain is unimaginable.
Is he rearranging your organs?
You scream into Jack’s chest, muffled and desperate. He tightens his arms around you, attempting to ease your pain.
“J- Jack…”
“I know, I know, I’ve got you.” Jack's voice breaks. “Robby…"
“Hang on…” He's still rummaging in there.
"I'm sorry", tears streaking down your face. You look up to find Jack's eyes. "This is my fault... I should've-"
“Look at me. Hey,” Jack says, commanding your gaze. “We’re okay. You hear me? You and me. We’ve got this.”
“What’s going on down there?” Dana shouts from above.
“I need you to lie on your back, Y/N” Robby instructs. But before you can register his words, Jack has already flipped you around. Your bottom lowered against the floor, Jack sliding behind you to brace you in his lap. His arms wrap around your legs, pulling them up and in.
“Lean into me, baby.” Jack’s voice is soft. He closes any distance between you. Practically melting into your body.
“Okay”, Robby breathes, applying suprapubic pressure. “Let’s take a deep breath.”
You feel his hands, firm against your lower abdomen, pushing the baby downward.
“Dana! Call Dr. Ingram, from the NICU, we need him.” Robby shouts towards the elevator doors.
You swallow hard. “Please... Please tell me I'm not having a fucking c-section in an elevator.”
Robby glances up briefly. His voice is low, focused. “Not planning on it.”
He reaches in again, one hand sliding beneath the baby’s head, working carefully to release the shoulder.
Another sharp stab rips through your abdomen. It feels like someone's clawing their way out from the inside, making your vision blur.
“Fuck Robby!" You cry out, voice breaking. "Please stop.”
Though you know he can't.
“Got it.” He suddenly announces. “On the next contraction, you push again.”
Your head feels light, but you know you can’t give up. Not now. Not yet.
3, 2, 1….
You push. With everything. Every muscle. Every breath. Every part of your being.
Until...
A sound cuts through the air.
Crying. Tiny, fragile, crying.
Not yours.
Not Jack’s.
Definitely not Robby’s.
Your eyes snap open. And there he is.
Your baby boy.
Robby lifts him carefully, umbilical still attached, assessing, drying and finally, placing him gently on your chest.
You can feel an unfamiliar but indescribable warmth flood you.
A sob escapes your lips, but this time not from pain.
You've never felt a love like this. Pure and sweet. Instant.
Jack leans in, showering your forehead in kisses, then your boy.
“You did so good, my love." Jack whispers. "So fucking good.” He wraps a blanket around you both, trying to shield you from the cold, from the storm, from everything.
Robby watches the three of you, his own emotions evident in the way his eyes glimmer in the light. He waits a few moments before he's back in professional mode, clamping the cord and letting Jack cut through it.
But they know it's not over. You do too.
You feel another contraction coming…
"The placenta", you murmur.
Robby nods. “One more push for me. Ready?”
He presses into your lower abdomen, a familiar pain ripping through you again.
“There we go." Robby says quietly. "Congratulations mom and dad.”
But...
The moment of bliss suddenly turns into horror.
The world around you starts to fade.
You feel Jack’s arms tense as Robby rips your baby from your chest, passing him through the narrow gap in the elevator doors to Dana’s waiting hands above. You feel the cold breeze against your exposed chest, the loss of warmth from your boy.
What the fuck is he doing? Skin-to-skin is supposed to be longer than this!
You want to argue. Shout at him, but your body won’t let you.
Why are you lying flat on the floor? Where's Jack?
You stare at the ceiling. Your heart starts to race.
You know what this means.
You hear Robby’s voice change. Tighter. Urgent. Then Jack’s voice joins him, both of them shifting into clinical, practiced motion.
Massive blood loss.
If they can’t stop it you’ll need a hysterectomy.
Or worse.
Their words are distant, blending into the chaos of your wandering mind.
“Spike a liter of saline.” “Starting uterine massage.” “Dana! Two units from the blood bank.” "Balloon is past the cervix."
Panic rises in your belly. It travels up to your chest, then your head.
Robby’s movement are frantic now. Jack's too, eyes wide with terror.
Their hands are on you, moving, pushing, pulling, trying to keep you from slipping away.
Jack drops to his knees beside you, instantly at your face, cupping your cheeks with gloved hands slick with sweat and... blood? “Hey,Y/N? Hey.”
You blink slowly, your breath shallow.
“What- what if we name him after my dad?” Jack suggests with an unserious grin.
His deadbeat, boys-don’t-cry, toxic-masculinity-in-person father?
Another time you’d have burst into laughter. And that’s what he’s trying for. A reaction. Anything.
You blink up at him, your lips twitching. It’s a fragile smile, but it’s real.
"Michael.” You whisper.
"I'm here", Robby reassures, working steadily.
No. You gesture weakly. "Th-the baby. Mikey for short."
There’s only one Robby, so that’s the next best thing.
You and Jack want Robby to be the godfather, though he doesn't know yet. He's an important person in both of your lives. And now he's brought your son into this world.
You're glad he's there. For you. And your boys.
Especially if this goes badly...
Jack snorts, but quickly realizes you’re serious. Robby's eyes widen.
“Yeah. I like that.” Jack says softly, nodding, overwhelmed with love and fear.
Jack gently places an oxygen mask over your face, hands trembling as he brushes the soaked hair from your forehead, trying to comfort you in any way he can.
Your eyes flutter open, finding his. Memorizing him.
Jack leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours, whispering things you don’t hear.
Then he feels it. The absence of your breath.
The stillness.
A moment frozen in time, reflecting the fragile balance between life and loss.
Jack's eyes shoot to Robby's, desperate.
But Robby doesn’t stop. Not for a second.
He’ll do whatever it takes to bring you back.
Back to Jack.
Back to your boys.
And he wiiilll. As promised, everyone lives. But I had to end it here - for the drama lolz... Pls lmk what you think <3
Part 2: Still Alive
#the pitt#jack abbot#jack abbot x reader#dr abbot x you#dr abbot x reader#shawn hatosy#the pitt hbo#michael robinavitch#dr robby#jack abbott#jack abbott x reader#dr abbott x reader#noah wyle
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not for sale 💳 mingyu x reader. (3)
celebrity!mingyu and small business owner!reader. check out 🛒 not for sale's masterlist.
You can’t bring yourself to end the call.
Your phone is overheating. You’re below the acceptable battery threshold of twenty percent. And the dark-haired boy on the other end of the screen looks more asleep than awake.
You should end this call, but you can’t.
Mingyu doesn’t seem keen on ending it either. His eyes are drooping and his head has begun to loll every so often. He’d spent the first couple minutes of the call talking about his day— the seemingly endless rotation of engagements that came with being a celebrity.
Sometimes, it still strikes you as odd that this is the life you now lead. Being on FaceTime with somebody that hundreds, maybe thousands of people fawned over.
But you were friends… right? And friends called each other. Friends texted.
This is friendly, a small voice in the back of your head tries to convince you. So very, very friendly.
The conversation has since mellowed out. Mingyu makes good on his word; he falls quiet, observing your work like it’s some form of entertainment for him. At one point, you even forget he’s watching.
It’s why you’re a bit jolted when he absentmindedly mumbles, “You have nice hands.”
You pause in the middle of bubble wrapping an order. One cursory glance at your screen, and you see that Mingyu is absolutely fighting for his life to stay awake. The sight almost makes you smile.
“You should head to bed soon,” you say instead of addressing his compliment. “We’ve been on call for— what? Two hours, I think.”
Mingyu says something too low for you to catch. You give a noncommittal hum of ‘hmm?’, prompting him to repeat what he’d said.
And maybe he’s just tired enough to decide fuck it. Maybe it’s past midnight and that makes everything fair game.
Because Mingyu breathes out a quiet “not enough,” and you swear something screeches to a halt in your brain. Two hours. Not enough.
You swallow. He’s out of it, you think to yourself, your fingers quivering a bit as you cut, tape, seal. He’s sleep-deprived and talking out of his ass.
That’s what gives you the audacity to ask what’s been on your mind for days now.
“Mingyu,” you ask, “why do you want to be an ambassador for Bittersweet?”
A beat. One that stretches long enough for you to wonder if Mingyu had finally succumbed to his exhaustion.
But then, his voice— quiet, but not any less sincere— rings over the line. “Because I like your jewelry.”
Plain and simple. You’re not sure why you expected more.
He goes on, his tone a little softer, slower. “I like what you’ve done with the business. I like… how hard you work. Your passion. All that.”
Mingyu pauses to yawn. You glance over to see him smiling into his phone, his half-lidded gaze trained on your hands moving over your workbench. It makes his next words a one-two punch on your poor heart.
“Your brand may be called ‘Bittersweet’,” he says, “but you’re as sweet as they come.”
EXCERPTS FROM "MINGYU opens up on being named Rising Star of the Year"
Q: Earlier this year, the Internet fell in love with you for being an ‘advocate for small businesses.’ You’ve seemed to take it a step further, though.
MINGYU: [laughs] Is that what they’ve been saying? I had no idea. But, yes— the pieces I have on right now are from a small business. It’s called Bittersweet Jewelry, and it’s something I found one day while scrolling through SNS.
Q: You didn’t know the seller prior to purchasing?
MINGYU: No, not at all. They didn’t even know it was me. I used an alias for a while.
Q: I see. A lot of people believe your support has been reflective of your personality. Being caring, considerate.
MINGYU: That’s very nice. I appreciate that. Although, if I’m being honest, I’m just a guy who likes good jewelry. I admire consistency, quality. [holds up his rings] These have it in spades.
Q: That’s why you keep coming back to brands like Bittersweet.
MINGYU: Sure. We could say that.
[...]
THE TOP FIVE SONGS MINGYU HAS BEEN PLAYING ON REPEAT LATELY
Love Me Like That by Sam Kim
Linger by The Cranberries
Tadhana by Up Dharma Down
If You Do by GOT7
LMLY by Jackson Wang
[...]
Q: What do you look for in a partner?
MINGYU: Now, Minghao… [laughs]
Q: Sorry. The readers want to know.
MINGYU: I’m never going to escape this question, am I? Give me a minute to think about it.
Q: Sure.
MINGYU: [after a moment] I’d like somebody dedicated and passionate. Someone sweet. And…
Q: And?
MINGYU: Someone with nice hands, I guess. [smiles]
› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao
#mingyu x reader#mingyu text imagines#mingyu fluff#mingyu imagines#svt x reader#seventeen x reader#svt fluff#svt imagines#seventeen imagines#svt smau#seventeen smau#mingyu smau#── ᵎᵎ ✦ mine#── ᵎᵎ ✦ series: nfs
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after lots of reflection with my time off, i decided im not going to have a schedule when i post anymore. having a schedule makes this account feel more like a job rather than a hobby i enjoy. instead of posting every other day, im going to post whenever i want, that might be once a week, that might be every day of the week—
—i love posting on here, but i need to challenge my ocd before i start resenting what i do, therefore the schedule is demolished!! im sorry if this isn’t news u want to hear, but before u comment or send anything in my inbox remember i am a person just like you, i have needs and responsibilities too!! i want this to be a fun and safe space for me and that cant continue if i keep treating this like a job
ANYWHOOO!! im still in need of a break from my little situation, so ill be back after halloween ^.^ i love and cherish all of you so much for the endless support u continue to give me, ill keep putting out banger smaus and fics for u guys as thanks <3
(thank you sm for all the comments and messages/dms i’ve been getting on my hiatus, u have no idea how good it feels to see all that support MUAH MUAH MUAH)
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BATBOYS HCS ON YOUR PERIOD ── .✦
a/n: so basically this is a request by a anon (here) and anyways I’m gonna try to be very active from now on actually and like try to post 3 times a day too and answer requests too!
Tags: ( batboys x reader)
DICK GRAYSON ── .✦
The overthinker final boss: Dick keeps a stash of everything you might need pads, tampons, heating pads, chocolate, and tea. He probably Googled “best snacks for periods” and stocked up on all of them.
Mr. Optimism: He tries to cheer you up with jokes or funny stories from his day. If you’re too grumpy, he’ll settle for giving you a massage instead.
Walks it Off with You: If cramps aren’t too bad, he’ll suggest going on a short walk to “get the blood flowing” (pun not intended he swears).
Endless Compliments: “You’re glowing. No, I’m serious. Period or not, you’re stunning.”
JASON TODD ── .✦
Silent Supporter: Jason isn’t the type to fuss over you, but he’ll quietly do everything to make you comfortable like bringing you your favorite snacks, handing you the remote, or lighting a candle in the room.
Cramps Battle Plan: “Heating pad or Tylenol? Pick your weapon.” He’s very no-nonsense about getting rid of your pain.
Comfort Food King: He’ll whip up your favorite comfort meal, and if he doesn’t know how to cook it, he’ll spend hours watching YouTube tutorials to get it right.
Protective Mode Activated: If anyone so much as annoys you while you’re on your period, Jason’s ready to pick a fight. “You’re messing with her today? Leave her the fuck alone.”
TIM DRAKE ── .✦
The Researcher: Tim has read every article about periods and cramp relief. He’s got tips you’ve never even heard of, like drinking tart cherry juice or lying in a specific position to ease the pain.
Sleep Enforcer: “You need rest. I’ll handle everything.” He’ll make sure you get enough sleep, even if it means carrying his laptop into the bedroom to work quietly by your side.
Subtle Humor: When you’re cranky, Tim knows how to make you laugh without crossing the line. “I guess Batman didn’t prepare me for this kind of monthly chaos.”
Midnight Run Specialist: If you casually mention craving something like fries or ice cream, he’s already putting on his shoes to go get it.
DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦
Efficient and Direct: Damian doesn’t dance around the topic. “What do you need? Tell me, and I’ll get it.” He’ll ensure you have everything from snacks to painkillers.
A Little Awkward at First: If it’s his first time dealing with your period, he might be slightly flustered but determined to be helpful. Expect a lot of practical solutions.
Healthy Solutions Advocate: He’ll try to make you herbal teas or suggest yoga stretches that can relieve cramps. “This pose is known to improve blood flow. Try it.”
Protective Little Bean: If anyone upsets you while you’re on your period, Damian will glare at them like they’ve personally offended his family. “Apologize to her. Now.”
BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦
Regular guy: Bruce has handled every kind of crisis imaginable and he does have daughters/ female colleagues and close friends so he isn’t truly like clueless, so this is no different to him. He’ll make sure you’re stocked up on everything and keep the Batkids in check so they don’t annoy you.
Comfort King: He’s surprisingly good at creating a calming environment dim lighting, soothing music, and plenty of blankets. (But please never ask him to decorate for the love of god😭 h/j)
Subtle Affection: Bruce isn’t overly emotional, but he’ll quietly make sure you’re okay, checking in on you with a simple, “Do you need anything?”
#jason todd#jason todd x reader#batboys#dc#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson#jason todd headcanon#jason todd imagine#dick grayson imagine#dick grayson headcanon#red hood#red hood x reader#red hood imagine#red hood headcanon#tim drake x reader#tim drake#tim drake imagine#tim drake headcanon#red robin headcanon#red robin x reader#red robin#red robin imagine#damian wayne#damian wayne x reader#dcu#bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne#bruce wayne headcanon#batman x reader#damian al ghul x reader
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౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ brat-tamer!toji
authors note: no thots, just him. this is just pure smut, sorry lollllll. need him so bad u don’t understand. with that being said, minors dni, 18+ ! thank you for the love on my first few posts! i appreciate it all of it <3 i'm not ignoring my messages btw, just extremely busy with my studies! ♡

⋆ ˚。⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚。⋆
brat-tamer!toji who notices you acting up and simply asks, “cranky because you ain’t got dick today?”
brat-tamer!toji who only looks at you with a raised brow and (huge) arms across his chest when you purposely try to piss him off. so cute.
brat-tamer!toji who purposely puts his entire body weight on top of you when you beg him to stop due to overstimulation. he tugs you even closer, just laughing in your face.
brat-tamer!toji who stops thinking coherent thoughts when he sees you in a sundress.
brat-tamer!toji who rewards your good behavior with head (lets you squirt) and also punishes your bad behavior with head (denies you relief, gives in eventually, sometimes).
brat-tamer!toji who loooovessssss shoving your face into the pillow while you whine, pant, and moan. he loves to put your head into a headlock with his bicep, as drool escapes your lips, and you’re babbling like an idiot while he’s hitting it from the back.
brat-tamer!toji who casually lifts you up and fucks you in the air as if just anyone can do it. “such a perfect little pocket pussy,” he snickers.
brat-tamer!toji who gets you cock drunk so often (he’s starting to think that it’s your normal state).
brat-tamer!toji who likes to make you count every time he spanks the fat of your ass when arched up across his lap. slap! “24…” you say with a slight moan, biting your bottom lip in, as he soothes the red outline forming on your cheek. he grins above you, “should’ve known a cock-bent whore like you would take this as pleasurable rather than punishment.”
brat-tamer!toji who makes a safe word with you early on (which you tease him for doing so early, he only tsks because he knows YOU know how much you mean to him and he puts your well-being above anything else).
brat-tamer!toji who has a hidden collection of pictures on his phone with you smiling, his cum decorating your face.
brat-tamer!toji who grips your face in the middle of a make out session, pulling away as he notices your fucked out, panting expression. “open.” you quickly open up your mouth as he slowly lets spit hit onto your tongue. he lightly chuckles. “obedient slut.” you look at him, eyebrows furrowed and eyes wanting more. “swallow.”
brat-tamer!toji who finds his favorite position to be when his massive balls are hitting your clit and he mercilessly pounds, abusing your little cunt from the back as he strings profanity out of his mouth. or a full nelson where he just tells you to, “shut the fuck up and take it.” or even a mating press where he can pummel his cum into you while seeing your face contort in pure bliss. “y-yeah. ‘ust let loose. go dumb on this dick.”
brat-tamer!toji who regularly calls you; “slut, (needy or cock) whore, vixen, pretty, disgusting, (stupid) bitch, brat, bad girl, good girl, perfect, beautiful, gorgeous, princess, angel, (sex or fuck) toy, doll, bunny, cum-slut, cum-dumpster, sugar… etc”
brat-tamer!toji who gets annoyed at your endless ramblings about your day, he sighs and tells you to get on your knees. you promptly do that, but to push his buttons you don’t stop rambling on and on and on. somehow, this man manages to get his 8 (girthy) inches down your throat. “cant complain with my cock in your mouth, huh?” he only smirks as you become teary-eyed, moaning a little at his statement, lapping your tongue up and down like a starving dog. he throws his head back, forearms supporting him while you bob your head back and forth on his thick length. “hey… never said that my cock doesn’t appreciate your tongue. s’ch a good girl when you do what you’re made for. unh!”
brat-tamer!toji who presses against you into a mirror, his broader, massive frame encasing you while he stares into your soul. “i-i don’t understand what i did?” you look up at him feigning innocence, batting your eyelashes. fingers caress his forearms, down his hard bicep, and lightly trace his hardened outline. his eyes never leave yours, a stern, menacing look to the average person, but you can tell he’s about to have you praying for mercy in another way. “of course you don’t understand what you did.” you whine slightly when his fingers suddenly grab a fist full of your hair, burning your scalp, his voice turns mockingly softer. “all you know in that pretty, empty, head of yours is just fucking. nothing else.” he quickly releases you, eliciting a gasp, magically flipping you around in an instant so you’re staring at yourself in the mirror now. “told you not to play with yourself until i came home. but you just haaad to be difficult.” he gripped the vibrator in one hand that was tucked away, pressing it against your lips. “spit.” you spat on it, eyes full of want. he only snickered and smirked. “good luck thinking I’m going to let you cum. stare in the mirror while I do this.” he turned the toy on, a vibrating tune humming throughout the room. “need you to realize how pathetic you look begging.” you gasped slightly, “b-but-" he proceeds to pry your legs apart with one massive thigh, his hand gripping the front of your neck, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror. “push your skirt up. you lost your right to cum, stupid whore. cum without permission, see what happens.”
brat-tamer!toji who loves to fuck you on his fingers. he loves the lewd noise it makes while ramming his two middle fingers in and out, or up and down. he loves to see your jaw go slack as you beg him to stop. “i-it’s… uhhhhhh! t-to- ah! -ji, toooooo-uhhh much!” he never loses focus, “yeah? yeah?” he presses his hand on your lower abdomen, “quite honestly, don’t care what you think.” he only licks his lips, his scarred lip grins with anticipation to finally taste you when you unfold.
brat-tamer!toji who degrades you like it’s a living but LIVES for your filthy mouth. he loves that you talk back, he’ll never admit it. he loves putting cum sluts like you in their place.
˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖
brat-tamer!toji who weirdly… gets needy at times when you finish. he’ll hold you from behind, shutting his eyes while his arms are wrapped around, practically glued to your torso, the backside of your body molds perfectly to the front of his. legs intertwined, your head against his chest, a moment of pure bliss shared between you two. “who knew the big bad toji likes to cuddle?” “shut up.”
(silly toji! i need him to ruin me)
#jjk smut#jjk fanfic#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#toji x reader#toji smut#toji x you#jjk toji#toji fushiguro#toji x y/n#toji fushigro x reader#toji fushiguro smut#toji fushiguro x you#toji fushiguro x reader#sexbot300 writes
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Girl I'm Into It
NSFW- WC- 1.4k- Request for heavy petting w/Gojo! College AU, lots of dry humping, touching, and teasing, Virgin Gojo blushing and whimpering for reasons lol <3
"Holy fuck the party's cramped." You mumble, sipping on this godawful punch in the middle of a rather insane frat party. The scent of smoke and cloyingly sweet liquor mixes with the endless amounts of men's axe body spray and cheap perfume. You look at Satoru then, shaking your head at him. "You really joining the frat, Toru?"
"Yeah, I mean why not? Suguru and Kento are."
"I know but... we play Digimon, Toru."
"Hush!" Satoru covers your mouth up quickly, looking around nervously, making you both laugh then. "You're the nerd."
"Me!?"
"You. Hey man, watch it!" Satoru shoves a dude who has bumped into you out of the way now, sighing as there are just far too many people, watching as you get nervous. "Wanna go to a room? Get away?"
"Yeah, if you don't mind?" You and Satoru had been friends forever, including now that you're in college of course, but parties weren't your thing, especially frat parties. But, you want to support Satoru in whatever he does. He leads you down the halls now, opening a room and peeking in, seeing a couple on the bed.
"Shit, sorry!" He closes the door, now opening another, grinning down at you brightly, his pretty blue eyes glittering under snowy lashes. "Got it."
"Thanks, Toru." You murmur, as he leads you in the room and shuts the door behind you both, the bed looks... questionable, so he instead sits on a big recliner, patting his long leg. You blush at the thought, hoping he can't see.
"Seat right here. The bed looks diseased." He says with a shiver of disgust, you laugh then, sitting on his thigh. You all had done this before at parties, you were good friends and it wasn't crazy but...
But Satoru's leg feels so good between your thighs.
So good you're nervous he can sense your heat, as you've both gotten older you've had more and more feelings for him. But now he's at this university, going to be in a frat, and you're over at an art school, he's right in saying you are a nerd...
"What's wrong silly?" He asks then, peeking at his phone, popping on a song, you try to relax a bit when his big hand is on your bare thigh so casually, he's leaning back to get comfortable, long legs sprawled out, pressing his thigh up even more.
"Um..." You gasp then, when your hips shift, and you feel your panties getting wet, panicking. He has on jeans thank god, maybe he doesn't notice!?
"Recharge that social battery." He teases, and you turn your head again, shifting your hips experimentally, he pauses now, lips parted, pouty pink ones you want to kiss so damn bad. "Fuck... you're..."
"Sorry, shit." You stand now, then look down in horror at the wet spot on his light blue jeans, covering your face in embarrassment. He gulps then, running a thumb over the sticky wetness, exhaling, blue eyes locked on it. "I'll leave-"
"Stop, it's normal yeah?" He laps it up on his thumb, moaning, and your pussy throbs around nothing. "Fuck it's... sweet?"
"It is?" You whisper, he nods then, looking up at you under those long snowy lashes, taking your hips carefully and spinning you towards him. "Gojo I've never..."
"Me either." You gasp at that, eyes wide, and he's blushing now, cheeks flushed pink on his perfect skin.
"How!? You're so popular, and gorgeous-"
"You think I'm gorgeous?" He asks, thin white brows drawn together, now you're between his thighs, his hands pressing into your hips, your entire body is reacting, your breaths quicker and quicker.
"Of course I do, Toru."
"Well I think you're pretty. So pretty." He says softly, and suddenly your hand is running through his silky white locks, as the other rests on a strong bicep over his long sleeved shirt.
"You do?" You manage to whisper, he nods, pulling you on his lap then, your thighs on either side, shaking as you kneel over him. "Toru what are..."
"Can we kiss? Please? Pretty please?" He bats his lashes, pouting, and you nod with a little nervous laugh. "I've done some things if you want me to show you?"
"Like kiss?" You whisper, lips pressing against his now, Satoru moans against your lips, you feel them, plush and firm against yours, his hot tongue slipping inside your mouth, you gasp then. You cling to his shoulders as your panties now brush against his lap, and you sink down, crying out at how good it feels, his hardness between your dripping folds.
"You're a good kisser." He murmurs, pulling back, pressing you down firmer now, and you're soaking your panties, ruining them completely, earning his groan. "I can feel how hot you are. She's so needy, hmm?" His tone goes husky, your lips part at it, gasping, your head falling back as you roll your hips again, grinding on his cock over his clothes.
"Satoru... need more." You whimper when he's kissing the tops of your breasts, then up your throat, licking and biting, bucking his hips up then, earning another cry of pleasure, heat pooling in your core. "Ngh!"
"Those sounds you make, fuck..." Satoru picks you up by your hips then, slipping a finger to your swollen clit over your panties. "They're soaked."
"Embarrassing... ah!" Satoru's little hum of satisfaction just makes you wetter, he's looking right at you, and you're drowning in that gaze, in the swirling blue depths of his eyes.
"Let me make you cum." He whispers, slipping past the elastic of your panties now, finding your soaking wet pussy with his fingers, you nearly fall apart at it, pausing your movements. He moans, hard cock shoving up more. "No, keep rocking on me."
"Y-you sure?" He nods eagerly, so you rock more on Satoru's cock, his finger rolling on your clit now in little circles, watching you, flushed cheeks, parted full lips. You kiss them as you cry out, grinding helplessly while he keeps rolling circles, then starts flicking back and forth. "Toru!"
"So wet, oh my god... so pretty..." He is urging you on more and more with every breath, every kiss, until you're about to fall, and he's sensing it, free hand grabbing your ass, shoving you further on his clothed cock, panties a sticky mess. You're dripping all the way down his finger as he's moaning, harder and harder between your lips. "Let go, I've got you."
"Toru I-"
"Cum." You scream out then, as if on command, shuddering as your wetness gushes all over, as you throb around nothing, making a mess of his finger, your panties, his jeans. He moans now, sucking on his finger before kissing you, grinding up more and more, gasping as you're trembling, clinging to him, wanting more and more...
suddenly the door knocks, and you both curse. "Go away." He grumbles, you giggle then, hips moving just a bit, and Satoru is now slipping down his zipper, you watch with a gulp as his cock is revealed, a sticky wet spot on his boxers as his pretty cock springs free, long and curved, making you wetter. " Can I... rub it on you?" He asks, you nod nervously, and Satoru now has slipped his pretty pink tip into your panties, rubbing on your engorged clit.
"Satoru!" You're gushing more and more, and he groans then, all flushed, clinging to your ass as he fucks your panties.
"F-fuck you're too wet, too hot I- ah- oh my god..." You feel something hot and sticky against you now, and you flush, looking down to see Satoru's cock is spurting hot white ropes of sticky cum agaisnt you. He rests his head on your chest, whimpering. "Fuck I'm sorry. Shit, shit shit..."
"Toru... it's okay." You whisper then, he is blushing as bad as you are when he tilts back, looking up, cupping your face gently. You place your hand down and lap some of it up, moaning. "You're yummy too."
"Fuck... let me..." Satoru picks you up then, taking off the panties he'd cum in, laughing a little nervously as you watch him, only for him to turn you and sit you on the seat, pushing your thighs apart. He fingers the sticky cum on your pussy lips, kneeling then.
"W-what are you doing?" You whisper, and he looks up at you with dilated eyes, kissing up your inner thigh.
"Gonna clean up my mess."
Virgin Toru is new for me aha, but he's adorableee
#satoru gojo#gojo smut#satoru x reader#jjk gojo#satoru gojo smut#satoru smut#jujutsu kaisen#gojo x y/n#satoru x y/n#jujustu kaisen#satoru x you
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