#without realizing or acknowledging what studies are used for

[hoiststowline]

_streetwise x reader

[a/n: this sorta turned into a character study, similar to a hot spot one I did here!]

having been somewhat accustomed to being let down, if only to save himself the moping period, he’s learned to not become attached to persons, places, or things. it was not an easy habit to break, it took discipline and the expectation of disappointment to alleviate the brunt of the hit. after some time, the vicious cycle of attachment and heartache left, leaving some unhappiness in it’s disappearance, but not enough to sidetrack him from the task at hand. 

it became an even more difficult tendency to ignore upon settling into routine. Streetwise would begrudgingly admit that he’s gotten comfortable, acclimatized to a lax schedule and an onboard of familiar faces on the daily. even if he butts heads with some of his teammates, he trusts them and finds a sense of normalcy in a somewhat chaotic situation. 

Streetwise hadn’t realized the extent of his newfound ease until just the other day. it happened mid-sentence, pausing in surprise as if to reinspect if he’d just spoken the words he thought he did. 

“What’s with the face?” Rook asks, appearing a bit concerned at Streetwises’ abrupt stop. “I can cover for you, I don’t mind.” 

“I-” he starts, but promptly shakes the shock from his shoulders. “Thank you. I’ll owe you one.” 

the casualness is lost to him, but it’s immensely appreciated nonetheless. he doesn’t like to make shift changes often, vying to hold firm in the idea that he should complete his tasks first before seeking your company. 

some days, though, he’s beginning to find it extremely arduous. especially when he’s away or you’ve become busy, unable to see each other for lengthy periods of time. phone calls are even few and far in between lately, dwindled that Streetwise has decided he’s had enough. 

“Streetwise?” 

pulled from his thoughts prematurely, on reflex his rearview mirror tilts downwards, towards the drivers seat. sure enough, you’re staring right at it, maintaining a focused but worried expression. 

realizing that he’s acknowledging you without uttering a word, you continue. “Are you okay? You seem a little…distracted.”

even if it perfectly defines how he’s felt as of late, it’s not a characteristic he would ever use to describe himself in conversation. Streetwise supposes he finally has experienced how Hot Spot constantly feels, tugged in six different directions and then some. such a burden he’s been shielded from, and to perceive such an overwhelming sense of intrusion into his priorities drives him a little crazy.

so pulling you from your much earned downtime because he’s missed you terribly is not a justifiable exchange, unable to be rationalized. it arrives with an awareness that he’s asked much of you lately, even if your smile upon meeting up with him subsides some of that self-reproach momentarily. 

Streetwise isn’t blind to the copious amount of favors he bargains, not an inordinate quantity, but certainly disproportionate to what he has to offer in return. there’s guilt there, even after you’ve insisted you’d complete his proposition without a second thought. hell, half the time you do it without seeking a reason, simply knowing that something was required to alleviate a stressful situation he’s found himself in. 

that isn’t fair, and he knows it. expresses his concerns about it all the time, ensuring that you never feel cornered. he’d never forgive himself, knowing that you’ve most definitely cashed in personal favors, switching schedules and moving things around so as to better accommodate them and their timetables. you appear to have no qualms in regards to it, an indifferent shrug of your shoulders and the same small smile. “I don’t mind,” 

even if you appear to be unbothered by it, he’s constantly interrogating you to ensure you sincerely aren’t. if there’s something he can’t afford to lose this time, it’s most definitely your trust and relationship, as him being infatuated with you is well beyond an understatement. 

Streetwise discerns himself as a difficult study, so for you to be able to observe his worries is something marvelous and frightening all the same. the latter only because he knows he’s rapidly approaching the point of no return, if not already there, and has come to terms that he is absolutely in love with you. so the give on your end makes him feel abusive of your kindness, as nothing he can do will make the circumstance feel good, per se, as he’s so terrified to lose you. 

eventually, he remembers to answer. 

“I’m fine.” he hums, struggling to sound sincere. “Sorry. I swear, I didn’t intend to ignore you when I asked if you were busy.”

you carefully assess his words, mouth opening to answer, but he beats you to it. “Okay, maybe I am a little distracted.” 

“Something on your mind?” you return, a familiar genuineness permeating. “I’m here to talk, if you’d like.” “Hey, that’s my line,” a jest, followed by a warm laugh. “I do feel a little bad about dragging you out tonight. Actually, a lot of bad. It’s late, and I’m sure you have things to do tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to feel bad,” you insist, fingers finding the leather of the seat, meant in a comforting gesture. “I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t want to.”

in turn, Streetwise studies your words carefully, before mumbling a single word. “Promise?”

“I promise,” you respond, that beautiful smile never wavering. “I did miss you.”  something hitches, likely his voice box. “Kinda the reason for my call. I missed you so much.”

[focsle]

Do people who don’t read the article but have something snarky to say about the article realize that it makes them look…..deeply unclever…

[streetsandsodiumlights]

(tags from @no-1-rosalind-lang-apologist)

By the way "some aroace people still date and have sex" and "it's weird how internet spaces makes every single aroace character romance and sex favourable" can and should co-exist. Sincerely, an aroace person

[dollfacefantasy]

caleb x fem!reader

you and caleb used to play fight a lot, but things are different now that you're older

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, fauxcest, dry humping

a/n: um hehe just a small drabble cause i've been thinking... also i like the pipsqueak thing idgaf kiss me about it. imagine this takes place when she’s staying with him.

"isn't this around the time you'd usually cry mercy, pipsqueak?" he breathes, his smooth voice warming the air next to your ear.

a small grunt escapes you as you try to lift your arm to shove him off. your effort is pointless though. his grip tightens around your wrist, and he brings your limb back down to the floor without much effort.

“caleb, quit it!” you whine.

he just laughs at you. his body doesn’t move away an inch. he stays right where he his, hovering over your smaller frame.

the two of you used to play fight all the time as kids. you’d squabble over the remote or your toys. whiny arguments would morph into a small scuffle, a test of wills. so it felt natural today to lunge at him when he held the book you wanted to read just out of reach. getting physical made sense. you’d been so agitated with him keeping you here, you needed to blow off some steam. it just didn’t feel so good when reality set in as he wrestled you down to the floor like always.

“it’s not funny,” you say and try to jam your knee up into his abs.

he dodges the move and continues to smirk at you. “maybe not to you. but it’s pretty funny from up here. pretty cute too,” he teases.

you scowl, squirming some more. in your younger years, you’d always been able to fight back a little. you’d lose in the end, sure, but victory had been in reach a few times. now, caleb is stronger. he’s bigger, and he doesn’t fight like a scrappy high school kid but rather someone with training. you’re starting to realize you have no chance now, and part of you wonders if you ever did. or maybe he’d been going easy on you.

as if to taunt you, he slides your arms up above your head and grabs both your wrists with one hand. even with his other one free, he keeps you pinned with the same amount of force. it’s fucking humiliating. you feel your cheeks starting to heat up as he drags the back of his fingers along your jaw, cooing at you.

“you always used to get so angry like this too. so frustrated. you’d think you would’ve learned not to start fights you can’t win,” he mocks.

his thumb comes to sweep along your cheekbone, back in forth in slow strokes. he stares into your eyes while he does, almost studying you. it gets you heated for a whole other reason you don’t even want to acknowledge.

“get off of me,” you squeak, your voice much less aggressive now.

“maybe i will if you beg enough,” he taunts, “if you use your manners and say please like a good girl, i’ll consider it.”

“shut up!” you say. you kick a few more times and buck your hips to try and get loose.

in response, he grabs your hip with his free hand and slams it back to the ground. you let out a little growl, assuming you’ll have to restrategize. but then he pushes his pelvis down on top of yours.

you gasp. all the fight leaves you in a harsh blow because now, unlike any of the other times you play fought with him, you feel a solid bulge pressing between your legs.

your eyes widen, and you sputter. you’re sure you look totally stupid right now. but you don’t know what else to do. there’s no question about it. he’s got a boner, and he’s rubbing it right up against you.

“i told you. you’re not gonna win. might as well surrender,” he says. he speaks in a completely even tone, as if nothing is different.

“c-caleb. what are you doing?” you start, “don’t be weird.”

“i’m not being weird,” he defends with feigned innocence, “we always used to mess around like this. what’s got you all shy now?”

you know why he’s asking. because he knows you won’t say it. the answer is so easy, yet you can’t bring the words to leave your lips.

“you know what,” you whine softly.

he chuckles and leans in even closer to your face. “maybe i do. but i don’t think that it’s weird. we’re not kids anymore. you can’t whine and wriggle around like that and expect me not to react,” he murmurs.

your heart beats harder in your chest. you can feel every thump. before you can say anything in return, he grinds his hips again, rolling his hardened length right up against you. and this time, it feels good.

“i- caleb- we can’t,” you whimper, biting your lip.

“we can’t? we can’t what? we’re not doing anything,” he says before grinning at you, “it doesn’t count if it’s over the clothes.”

you want to smack him, but both your arms are still immobile.

“it’s still weird. we’ve never- i don’t see you like this,” you insist, though the last statement is a complete lie.

he tsks and shakes his head before pushing his erection between your legs for another time. this one draws a whine out of you. his hips jump forward at the sound, but he doesn’t let his face show that burst of desire.

“what do you see me like then?” he whispers.

silence fills the air between the two of you as you fail to answer. you know what you see him as. you know your crush on him goes back years. you know what fantasies fill your head at night when you’re alone.

but you also know how you want to see him. what you’re supposed to see him as. what you’ve tried to limit his role to for so long.

“it’s ok,” he finally says, “i won’t make you say it if it’s that hard. but i know you like this. i know you, remember?”

he grinds against you again, but this time it’s not only once. now he sets himself into a rhythm, consistent swings of his hips against your center.

“i know when you’re happy, when you’re sad, when you’re ashamed,” he says, “i know when you want something, but you’re too scared to ask.”

ducking in, he kisses your neck. you moan in response, putting no effort into suppressing the noise now.

“that’s right, princess. your big brother knows you better than anyone, doesn’t he?” he coos mockingly.

“caleb!” you whine. you internally cringe at both titles, but outwardly, your face still contorts with pleasure.

“what?” he laughs, “that’s what you were gonna say before, wasn’t it?”

“but i didn’t,” you whimper.

“but you thought it, and it’s all the same to me,” he teases.

he refocuses his mouth on your neck again. his lips move over the column of your throat while his cock continues pressing right on your pussy. it feels better by the second. maybe it’s because he’s kissing your neck too, you’re not really sure. all you know is the hot, sparkling feeling in your stomach is building.

nipping at your pulse point, he then sucks on the skin like he wants to leave a mark. his tongue laves at it for a few moments before he pulls off.

“i’m gonna let go of your arms. you’re gonna behave, ok?” he mumbles against your skin.

“mhm,” you whimper and nod. the overt submission feels pathetic, but losing the feeling of him would be even worse.

“good girl,” he praises.

he keeps his word and releases his hold on your wrists. the air feels cool on your skin that’s all warmed up from his hands. now with his other arm in use, he can snake one around your ass and boost your hips. the new angle allows him to thrust against you harder.

“fuck, baby,” he grunts. you feel his lashes brush your neck as his eyes flutter.

your arms loop over his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer. more little mewls spill from your lips. you can feel his stiff length sliding right up against your folds through your clothes. every swipe brings a blissful burst of friction to your poor throbbing clit.

“there you go. i got you. big brother’s got you,” he mumbles mindlessly. he chokes out a moan into your shoulder as his hips move like they have a mind of their own.

your body starts to squirm more. that hot feeling inside is reaching a boiling point. you clutch at his shirt, your nails digging in so hard they threaten to tear the fabric. the constant push and pull of his lower half is nearly hypnotic. it seems like you’ll be under him forever while also on the brink of letting go.

after a few moments more, he pulls back to look at you. his eyelids hang low, heavy with his desire for you.

“god, you’re so pretty. so fuckin’ beautiful now,” he says and presses his forehead to yours. his eyes shut while your breaths mingle. “i knew you wanted this too. just look at you. almost falling apart, and i haven’t even really touched you. i knew no one else could do this better.”

all you can do is whimper softly and cling to him harder. you pull on him as if trying to pull him into your body, to meld your two beings into one. the pressure down below feels dull and muted, but it’s blooming nonetheless.

“yeah… you’re gonna cum all over your pretty panties,” he mutters, “get ‘em all nice and wet so i can have some fun with ‘em later.”

“caleb…” you whine, useful words falling out of your grasp in this moment. one of your hands flies up and laces in his hair. your fingers clench into a fist, giving the strands a sharp tug.

he groans and bucks his hips extra hard. “c’mon. cum for me, baby. let me make my sweet little angel cum,” he murmurs.

it really doesn’t take much to get you there. the friction burn he’s rutting you both into works, and you feel yourself hit the high. euphoria rushes through you. a little breathy whine erupts from your lips. your back arches off the floor, but he keeps you cradled against him securely.

the whole time you’re cumming, he’s still humping you like his life depends on it. it’s when you start to come down, that he finally explodes. he buries his face in your neck, letting out the loudest moan you’ve heard so far. his arms tighten up around your frame as his fingers dig into your malleable flesh.

his hips jolt forward in random twitches now, chasing the last remnants of release while he spills inside his pants.

when he’s done, his breaths are harsh and labored. he nuzzles the crook of your neck before kissing your cheek and receding off your body. his palm runs over his face lazily.

“fuck, i gotta change now,” he says, not bothering to look down at the dark patch at the front of his pants.

without even really thinking about it, you reach forward for the waistline. you’re already craving more of him. but before your hand can get there, he takes your wrist.

“not so fast, pipsqueak. i think you should actually beat me before i let you have the real thing,” he smirks.

[holeforzenin]

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ACCIDENTALLY CALLS ROOMMATE TOJI “DAD”

It had been a long day but the moment you walked through the door, a sense of pride bubbled up inside you.

You had just gotten your test results back and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you had accomplished something. You’d worked hard for this— studied late nights, pushed through doubts and it had paid off. The grade was a lot higher than you’d expected and you couldn’t wait to show Toji.

You tossed your bag onto the couch and hurried into the kitchen where Toji was leaning against the counter, casually scrolling through his phone.

“Hey, Toji!” you called out, unable to hide the grin on your face. You pulled the test paper from your bag and held it up with a flourishment. “Guess who passed the test!”

Toji didn’t even look up from his phone at first, but the excitement in your voice caught his attention. He raised an eyebrow, finally focusing on you. “Oh yeah? Let me see".

You handed the paper over to him, your grin widening as he examined the score. It was a solid pass and the grade was far better than what you’d expected. You could feel the weight of the stress you’d been carrying for weeks starting to melt away.

Toji looked at the test and then back at you, his usual smirk tugging at his lips. “Not bad, Kid. Looks like all that late-night studying paid off".

You stood there, waiting for his reaction, your heart beating just a little faster. You were always used to Toji’s tough exterior but the moments when he showed approval when he acknowledged your hard work, it meant a lot to you.

Toji gave a low chuckle before reaching out and gently patting your head, his large hand ruffling your hair in an affectionate, almost fatherly way. “Good job, kid,” he said, his voice soft but laced with a sense of pride that made your chest swell with warmth. “You did really good”.

Your heart skipped at his words. You weren’t used to hearing that kind of praise from anyone, let alone Toji. It felt oddly comforting and a little overwhelming like a piece of the puzzle that had been missing had just clicked into place.

Before you could think, the words slipped out before you could stop them. “Thanks, Dad”, you said, your voice quiet but filled with warmth.

You froze the instant you realized what you had said. Your eyes widened in panic and you quickly looked up at him, expecting him to react with surprise or annoyance.

Toji paused, his hand still resting on your head for a second longer as he processed your words. Then without missing a beat, he chuckled lowly, his smirk growing wider. “Did you just call me dad?” he asked, his voice amused but still genuine.

Your face went red in an instant. “I— I didn’t mean to!” you stammered, quickly pulling away from his touch. “I just… It’s just that you were all nice and… and I don’t know”.

Toji leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest as he gave you a teasing yet soft smile. “It’s fine,” he said, his tone light and playful. “You’re just grateful. I get it”.

Your embarrassment only deepened as you tried to recover from the slip-up. “I really didn’t mean it like that Toji, I swear”. You fidgeted, unsure of how to fix the situation.

He chuckled again, his voice low and soothing. “Relax kid. You don’t need to apologize. You did well. I’m proud of you. So don’t get all worked up over a little slip of the tongue”. He stepped forward, his hand gently ruffling your hair again, this time in a more comforting manner. “You’re still a good girl”.

You nodded, feeling a wave of warmth wash over you despite the awkwardness. You still couldn’t believe you’d said it but Toji wasn’t making a big deal out of it. He seemed to understand what you meant, even if the words hadn’t come out the way you’d intended.

“Thank you, Toji”, you murmured, feeling a sense of relief now that the tension had passed. You still couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed but his casual, nonchalant attitude made everything feel less awkward.

“Anytime kid”, Toji replied. His usual smirk back. “But next time, try not to confuse me with your old man, alright?”

You laughed nervously, nodding. “Yeah, I’ll try”.

[dearlenore]

JUST LIKE DADDY • S.REID

SUMMARY: most people are delighted when their children take after their spouses, however none of them had a child with Spencer Reid. In your case, having two smart asses around is giving you a headache. A very adorable, sweet, headache.

PAIRING: mom!reader x dad!spencer

tags: PURE FLUFF, reader wears sundresses, no mentions of pregnancy (so u can imagine baby is adopted) , team doesn’t know about your or your daughter, mentions of autism and ableism (no hate crimes , just ignorance) season5!spencer

a/n: dad spencer is all that’s in my pea brain rn I should probably study tho… also you guessed it, peds surgeon reader 🥹

w/c: 1.8k

“HARPER COME HERE,” you called, glancing over your shoulder as you finished plating breakfast.

The sound of small footsteps pattering against the hardwood floor followed, but she didn’t respond right away. Instead, she wandered into the kitchen, her little nose buried deep in a book, turning pages with quiet fascination. You sighed, shaking your head with a knowing smile.

“Harper,” you said again, a little firmer this time.

She finally looked up, blinking at you with the same wide-eyed, unfocused expression her father wore whenever he was deep in thought. It was uncanny—like looking at a mini version of your boyfriend.

“Come here, baby,” you chuckled, reaching for her. She barely acknowledged you as you lifted both her and the book in one smooth motion, hoisting her onto your hip.

“Are you hungry?” you asked, shifting her weight so you could grab a forkful of scrambled eggs from your plate.

Without hesitation, she opened her mouth, happily taking the bite before reaching for more. You laughed, sitting her on the counter as her father finally wandered in, rubbing his eyes and stretching with a yawn. His hair was a mess, the result of a night spent tossing and turning, and he still looked half-asleep.

You smirked. “I forgot about the boy band you joined.”

Spencer frowned slightly, confused in his sleepy state, before realizing his hair must be sticking up in every direction. He attempted to smooth it down with one hand as he walked over to the counter, where you slid a plate of eggs in his direction.

“Daddy!” Harper beamed, momentarily abandoning her book to reach for him.

But instead of waiting for him to pick her up, she grabbed a handful of your scrambled eggs and stuffed them into her mouth.

“Wow, okay—yep, you know what? Enjoy that, honey,” you sighed, watching in amusement as she happily devoured your breakfast with zero shame.

Spencer sat beside her, sipping his coffee with a small smile as he watched her eat. You shook your head, adjusting your scrubs and tying your hair up as you muttered, “I’ve never seen a baby eat so much…”

Spencer, ever the encyclopedia of knowledge, didn’t miss a beat. “Actually, at this age, children experience growth spurts that can significantly increase their appetite. The brain alone uses about 50% of a toddler’s energy intake, which makes sense considering how much she’s learning and developing every day. So, really, it’s not just eating—it’s fueling her cognitive expansion.”

You shot him a blank stare. “Spencer, she just ate my breakfast with her bare hands.”

He smirked, ruffling Harper’s hair as she reached for another bite. “And at this rate, we might need a second fridge.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Remind me to get on that one.”

Leaning over, you kissed him softly, savoring the warmth of the moment before glancing at your watch. Reality settled in as you sighed. “I gotta go—one of my patients just had another seizure, which means surgery got pushed up.”

Spencer’s expression shifted immediately, concern flickering in his eyes as he reached for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll do great,” he murmured.

You squeezed his hand back before pulling away, ruffling Harper’s curls on your way out. “Love you both. Try not to let her talk you into giving her ice cream for breakfast again.”

“No promises,” Spencer called after you, Harper giggling beside him.

As you left, you could already hear Harper asking, “Daddy, can we read now?”

And, of course, you knew what his answer would be.

“Enjoy your special day off with daddy Harper, you’re very lucky,” you giggled, kissing Harper on the nose. “Promise to try and get out before dinner?” Spencer frowned.

“Oh, Baby…I have interns. After this surgery I leave whenever the hell i want, should only take 7 hours,” you shrugged. “So I can expect you by 3-4PM?” He smiled, Harper on his hip.

“Fingers crossed!” You called out to him, closing and locking the door behind you.

THANKFULLY, LUCK MUST’VE been on your side. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were home on time. You quietly unlocked the door, hoping to surprise your fiancé and daughter, and were immediately greeted by the soft sound of giggles echoing from the kitchen.

You smiled to yourself, slipping off your shoes as you followed the sound.

“Whoa, is that me?” Spencer’s voice was full of delight.

Standing in the doorway, you saw him leaning over Harper’s small frame, his hands gently resting on the edge of the counter as he studied her latest masterpiece. In front of her was a cookie slathered in colorful frosting, a wobbly yet unmistakable attempt at drawing their little family. Harper beamed proudly, nodding as Spencer adjusted a tiny smudge of icing with his fingertip.

“And is that you and Mom?” he asked, his smile widening as he pointed to two smaller figures beside the taller one.

Harper nodded again, her curls bouncing with the movement.

Your heart melted at the sight.

For a long time, you and Spencer had worried about Harper’s speech. She had been a quiet baby, slow to start speaking, and for months, you’d both second-guessed yourselves, wondering if you were doing something wrong. And then—one day—she had started talking, and she hadn’t stopped since.

Often times people would comment in stores, they’d question if she was autistic, in their words ‘like her daddy,’ which pissed you off to no end. Not that you were ashamed of either of them but for the sole fact it wasn’t their business.

“Is that for me?” you gasped, stepping into the kitchen.

Harper turned toward you so quickly she nearly knocked over a bowl of sprinkles. “Mommy! Look what I drew!” she giggled, holding up her cookie proudly.

You raised a brow as you inspected the chaotic yet adorable frosting mess. “That’s beautiful, baby. You even gave Daddy his new haircut”

Spencer let out a soft laugh, running a hand through his already-messy curls as Harper nodded eagerly. “We’ve been going over proper grammar all day,” he explained with amusement.

That made you smile knowingly. You and Spencer had agreed early on not to use baby talk with Harper. He had read several studies on how children learned language through immersion, picking up sentence structures and vocabulary from full, adult-level conversations.

“In order for her to develop a strong linguistic foundation, it’s important that she hears full sentences and proper word usage,” Spencer had once told you, mid-ramble, as you rocked a six-month-old Harper to sleep. “Children’s brains are like sponges. The more complex language they’re exposed to, the more their neural connections develop. It’s how they build cognitive associations—”

And yet, despite all his research, Harper still loved to test his patience by making up her own grammar rules.

“I drawed it myself!” she announced proudly, smearing frosting on her cheek in the process.

Spencer sighed dramatically, though the fondness in his eyes was unmistakable. “Drew, sweetheart. You drew it yourself.”

Harper scrunched up her nose, contemplating that for a moment before repeating, “I drewed it myself.”

You snorted as Spencer let out a defeated sigh.

“Close enough,” he muttered, kissing the top of her head.

You leaned against the counter, watching the two of them with warmth spreading through your chest. “I think it’s perfect,” you said, pressing a kiss to Harper’s frosting-covered cheek before turning to Spencer. “And clearly made with love by a little artist”

Spencer nodded, wrapping an arm around your waist as Harper reached for more sprinkles. “An artist and a linguist, apparently.”

Harper looked up at you both, eyes twinkling. “I’m a genius,” she declared.

Spencer chuckled, squeezing your waist. “Well, she’s definitely my daughter.”

“Don’t get me started. It’s like there’s two of you.” You scoffed playfully. Spencer’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?” He crosses his arms and leans on the counter.

You raised an eyebrow, pausing mid-sip of the coffee you’d just taken from your boyfriend. “Spence. Seriously?”

He blinked at you, waiting. Oh, he was serious.

You set your mug down with a sigh, crossing your arms as you leaned against the counter. “Okay. Well, for starters, she walks around with a book in her hands everywhere—to the point where I’ve had to physically guide her away from furniture so she doesn’t run into things. Sound familiar?”

Spencer tilted his head, processing.

“And let’s talk about her memory. The other day, I told her we could get ice cream if she took a nap, and when I picked her up from daycare two days later, she said, ‘Mommy, you owe me ice cream.’ TWO. DAYS. She remembered the exact words I said, which, by the way, is something you do all the time, and it’s terrifying.”

Spencer opened his mouth, probably to say something about the hippocampus and memory retention, but you held up a finger. “Nope. I’m not done.”

Harper, now licking frosting off her fingers, was watching you both with amusement.

“She uses logic to try and win arguments. Do you know how hard it is to reason with a toddler who says, ‘But technically, you did say I could have another cookie yesterday’?” You waved your hands for emphasis. “She technically me’d into giving her another cookie, Spencer. She’s FIVE.”

Spencer rubbed his hand thoughtfully, as if considering his own genetic responsibility in this matter.

“Oh, and let’s not forget the fact that she infodumps—about things she just learned. The other day, I made an offhand comment about birds flying south for the winter, and now she’s been telling everyone about migratory patterns. The cashier at the grocery store did not ask for that information, but she sure got it.”

Spencer’s lips twitched, clearly amused. “So what you’re saying is… she’s highly intelligent, observant, and logical?”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Oh my God. Yes, Spencer, your genes are very strong.”

Before you could say more, Harper perked up, pointing a frosting-covered finger at you. “Mommy, did you know some birds don’t actually migrate, they just move to different parts of the same area?”

Spencer’s grin widened as he leaned toward you. “See? She’s just expanding on a topic she finds fascinating.”

You huffed, shaking your head before leaning down to kiss Harper’s sticky cheek. “You two are gonna drive me insane.”

Harper giggled, and Spencer simply pressed a kiss to your temple. “But you love us.”

You sighed dramatically before melting into his embrace. “Yeah, yeah. I love you both. Even if you’re teaming up to outsmart me.”

Harper beamed. “It’s ‘cause we’re genies, Mommy.” You snickered.

“So how many wishes do I get?”

[starmapz]

what you know - ch6: intoxicated || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. implied injury. family trauma. mutual pining. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic (attacks). mentions of difficulty eating. vomit. tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 12.7k.

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Brushing the snow from his jacket, Sukuna flips his hood down and runs a hand through his disheveled hair. He’d gotten up early enough to work out before taking the kids to school, but in usual fashion, his overly-excitable little brother had been such a handful that Sukuna didn’t get a chance to finish getting ready. He opted for a shower and just threw on the first set of clothes he could find.

He blows a breath out through his nose, scanning the lunch hall. He hasn’t exactly worked out what the hell he’s planning on saying to you after last night, but a promise is a promise and he swore to join you for lunch. He’s failed you enough times.

He trudges up to your usual table with his hands in his pockets, his usual aloof expression plastered across his features, though it twists to confusion as he realizes you aren’t there.

Haibara’s the first to notice him as he pauses a small distance behind your blonde friend. Kento, Sukuna thinks?

“Hey, Sukuna!”

He grunts in reply, before inquiring about your whereabouts.

Shoko and Kento exchange a glance that Sukuna recognizes as cautionary. “She’s sick,” Shoko’s eyes twitch as she narrows her gaze on him suspiciously. “She is sick, right Sukuna?”

Although he doesn’t mind Shoko, he doesn’t like what she’s insinuating, even if she is right. Clenching his fists in his coat pockets, he scowls at her with a tense jaw. “How the hell should I know?”

Shoko’s gaze lingers a moment longer before she sighs, giving in. “She said she was studying at home today. She doesn’t want anyone getting sick before finals,” Shoko explains, swinging her fork around as she speaks.

“That’s nice of her,” Sukuna comments, shooting a pointed glance at Kento who won’t stop glaring at him, which only serves to piss him off further.

With a final nod of acknowledgement intended primarily for Shoko and Haibara, Sukuna turns on his heel and heads back out into the snow. He loathes the strange sensation lingering in the back of his mind that he’s retreating from Shoko and Kento’s scrutiny like a dog with its tail between its legs, but what other option does he have? He’s not about to fight with them. Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, he heads towards the library with the intention of sending you an email.

Once isolated in the cold again, he lets out a sigh as his breath billows into the freezing winter air. Contritefully, he watches as snowflakes fall slowly and dissolve on the sleeve of his coat.

Fuck.

Shoko had every right to drag him through the mud the way she had, he knows she’s right. You’re not sick. He would have believed it if you were still watching over his sick little brother, but that hasn’t been the case for a while. You’re avoiding him. Without classes, you chose to stay home and avoid the possibility of running into Sukuna.

Lightly kicking a rock as he steps through the snow, the burly man pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. He should be studying in the small amount of spare time he has. He should take extra shifts. He should go Christmas shopping for his brothers. He should meal prep. He should be doing anything other than skulking around campus thinking about the things going wrong in his life.

The worst part? Aside from one very large and glaring issue, you’re the source of all of his problems. Well, no, that’s not fair to you. You just happen to be at the center of all of them, but if he’s honest with himself, he knows there’s more to it than that.

You may be the source of all of his problems, but Sukuna is the cause of each and every one of them.

Taking a step towards the rock he kicked earlier, he sends it flying into the brick of the library with a satisfying thunk before ducking into the building.

Settling quietly in the corner of the library, Sukuna pulls out his laptop and opens his email, doing his best not to think too hard about what he’s typing.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Friday, 12:11 PM heard youre sick. you okay?

After hitting send, he leans over the table, running his hands over his face to mentally reset himself before diving into his studies.

To Sukuna’s relief, you do reply to his email just over an hour into his studies. He knows he fucked up, but at least you’re still acknowledging him this time.

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Friday, 1:34 PM Yeah, sorry. I forgot to tell you.

He frowns at the sight of your email. It’s an awfully dry response in comparison to your usual bright demeanor. His fingers rest idly over his keyboard as he contemplates his reply.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Friday, 1:38 PM right. need anything

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Friday, 1:38 PM ?

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Friday, 1:59 PM I’m not going to ask you for soup, Sukuna.

Okay, so you’re at least a little bit mad at him. He slumps back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

He could bring you soup.

He could. He remembers you liking the bowl from the cafe he took you to.

He clenches his hand into a fist while biting down hard enough on his lip to draw blood. What the fuck is he thinking? Finals are next week, he’s hardly studied, he has to pick up his brothers in an hour and he has work all weekend.

He doesn’t have time to chase after his frayed connection to you.

His eyes trail across the speckled library ceiling. There’s a water stain just to the left of where he sits. He remembers thinking those sorts of marks were coffee when he was a kid. In retrospect, that makes no sense.

Hell, it makes about as much sense as Sukuna’s obsession with you as of late. He doesn’t have the time, nor the mental capacity to be sitting here stewing over an email that he could be reading too much into.

Leaning forward over the table with a huff, his fingers run across the keys on his laptop as he formulates a reply that’s painfully him.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Friday, 2:09 PM feel better

It doesn’t shock him that you don’t reply this time.

–

For the better part of the week, a feeling of unease seems to follow Sukuna like a fly he can’t seem to swat away. Even through finals, he finds himself wanting nothing more than to slam his head against his desk in hopes that thoughts of his fuck up might finally leave.

Yet the taste of you always remains on his tongue.

Bittersweet, like the sweetest memory tainted with the reminder that it never should have happened.

It was a mistake.

Throwing his hood up over his head, he leaves the school with one thing in mind.

Your fratboy friend is throwing his end of finals party tonight and Sukuna has every intention to drink to forget. To forget about the lawsuit, to forget about the ways he’s failed his little brothers, and most importantly: to forget about you.

He knows the feeling won’t last forever, but shit, it’ll be worth the way that he pleaded with Choso’s friend’s mother to take Yuji for the night too for a sleepover.

He just needs to escape for the night. He can worry about mentally resetting himself tomorrow morning when he wakes up with a killer hangover on some disgusting couch in Gojo’s ridiculous and over-decorated house.

Until then, he’ll continue on with his day as usual, picking up his brothers from school and cooking something to eat.

“Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna-”

“What?”

“- Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna-”

“Brat! What do you want?” He shoots a look of irritation at his little brother as the youngest Itadori bounds up to him with some sort of craft in his hand.

Sukuna sets his spatula down, leaning down to get a better view of the beaded creation in Yuji’s hand. There’s a yellow lizard dappled in black spots proudly seated atop his outstretched hand as though he’s a mad scientist showing off his greatest creation.

“It’s a lizard.”

“It’s a gecko,” the little boy proudly corrects him.

Sukuna’s nose wrinkles in exasperation. “Same thing.”

“No. They’re not.” This, of course, launches into a five minute explanation of the difference between lizards and geckos, which Sukuna hums along to as he rises back to his full height to continue cooking dinner.

“- so geckos are lizards but they’re not the same as lizards,” Yuji finishes his explanation, tugging at his older brother’s hoodie to hold out his gecko again. “This one’s a leopard gecko.”

“Didn’t know you liked lizards so much, Yu.” Sukuna’s tone is mild, a calm expression plastered on his face. Yuji’s interests change by the day, the only constant seeming to be pokemon and sports, though he’s gone from basketball to tennis to hockey over the course of the last year. Not that Sukuna can afford his interest in hockey, and cautiously pushed him back towards basketball.

Turns out when you’re five, all you need is for your cool older brother to install a basketball net on the back of your door and lift you up to do a slam dunk to be enthralled with the sport again. Sukuna thanks god for that.

“I love lizards!” He beams.

Sukuna hums, a rare smile pulling at his lips. “It’s a nice bead gecko.”

“Leopard gecko. Thanks Kuna! Guess who showed us how to make them?”

The corner of his lip twitches as he stares down at the spotted bead lizard. There’s no shock when Yuji says your name. The shock comes from the dreadful feeling that sits like a stone in the base of his stomach at just the sound of your name.

Fuck, he needs a drink.

“Can I show her?”

“No, Yu.”

“Please?”

“No-”

“Please? Pleeeeeeeaaaaaase?”

This has been a repeating situation practically all week. Yuji seemed to want to show every little thing to you and won’t relent until Sukuna sends an email. He would demand to know what you replied each and every time, and while there’s a part of Sukuna that’s grateful it gave him an excuse to reach out and hold onto your tense relationship, it equally caused him to relive his guilty conscience.

Sukuna sighs, giving in to the relentless pleading of his youngest brother.

“Fine. Let me finish dinner.”

With a cheer, Yuji runs off excitedly to inform Choso to prepare his best lizard to send a photo.

Sukuna’s shoulders rise and fall heavily as he lets out a breath. He stares down at the pan in front of him, the sizzling of gnocchi and tomato sauce offering little distraction from his wandering thoughts.

It seemed no matter what he did, you were so ingrained in his life that he couldn’t escape you.

To say that’s what he wanted in the first place would be a lie. No, he never wanted to escape. He still doesn’t. He just wants things to go back to the way they were before he let his dick do all the thinking and kissed you.

If he wanted to escape, he wouldn’t have searched for you in the crowds during finals. He wouldn’t have frustratedly tossed his textbook on his desk with a thump that made Choso jump and come check on him. Your words echoed in his mind as he feigned a smirk and sent the boy away.

He’s worried about you.

Choso’s too smart for his age. He should be playing games with his friends, begging to see a PG-13 rated movie, anything but worrying about his own guardian.

The pop of tomato sauce brings him back to the present, and he hisses at the feeling of the boiling liquid hitting his forearm. He sets the spatula aside, shutting off the stove and wiping the sauce off with his thumb, popping it into his mouth with a pop!

He needs to get his shit together.

He calls the kids into the dining area for dinner, and before long he’s sitting in front of his laptop, the screen pointed at his brothers, waiting for Choso and Yuji to position themselves in front of the camera with big smiles. In Yuji’s hand is the leopard gecko that he figures you must have told him about, proudly displayed with a toothy smile. Choso’s lizard is a dark purple with a white stripe, his smile more reserved but his eyes shine just as bright.

Sukuna snaps the photo, pulling his laptop back towards him. Yuji clambers onto Sukuna’s lap, met with a grunt and a mildly irritated “enough, Yu.” Choso peers at the laptop screen quietly, watching as Sukuna opens his email chain with you. The last few emails between you both are almost the same as this one, typing out that the kids wanted to show you their lizards.

Your replies to his brothers’ antics have been more positive than your replies to him. He wonders if you knew they were constantly asking about your responses or if the rift between you was healing, but he assumes the former. You’re good with his brothers. They adore you, and you seem to feel the same towards them.

“Tell her my new favorite lizard is um-” Yuji pauses to think, pulling Sukuna back to the present. It seems he’s lost in thought a lot lately. “A frilled lizard!”

“Mm.” He glances at Choso, urging the young boy to choose one as well.

“I like… iguanas.”

Sukuna nods, typing out the boys’ message to you before hitting send. “There. Now go get ready for your sleepover.”

He lets out a sigh as his brothers restlessly go bursting out the door back to their rooms to pack a bag, ensuring they bring just about every unnecessary toy and game and no toothbrush or toothpaste to be found. Exhausted from his finals, he drags himself along after them, packing jackets, gloves, extra socks and toiletries in their stead with a lazy scolding to be more careful.

He’s beyond burnt out and while he usually resents the mother of Choso’s friend for her obviously pitious comments towards Sukuna’s situation, for once he’s glad for her sympathy. If it means he gets just one full night to himself where he can fuck off and forget about all his problems, then he’ll take it. He’ll run with it and he won’t look back.

Once he’s loaded their backpacks into the lady’s car and provided his neighbor’s number in case of emergencies, he finds himself slumping back in his bed in relief. Despite his solace, the silence carries with it an eerie sense of foreboding. He doesn’t think he’s been alone in the comfort of his own home in almost three years now, and it should be a freeing feeling, yet he’s filled with trepidation in place of relaxation.

“Fuck this,” he mutters, dragging his hands down his face. He’s never been early to a party before but fuck it, he needs to dull the sharp edges of worry and doubt with alcohol. Grabbing his keys, he opens his locked bedside table drawer, violently shoving aside ripped legal papers to grab a few blunts and a shooter of Jack Daniels. His hand hovers over a small bottle of Everclear, but he opts to keep it for a later date, certain he’ll need the hard liquor another time.

Shutting and locking the drawer, he languidly begins getting ready, moving at a sluggish pace as he runs gel through his hair in order to get it spiked just how he prefers. He grabs a Danzig shirt, the sleeves chopped at the sides with arm holes deep enough that anyone could get a peek at his abs and chest. Topping it off with a black denim long sleeve and a pair of gray joggers, he rolls his sleeves up to his elbows and throws on some cologne.

He pauses before heading out the door, his laptop seeming to loom over him like a ghost, begging him to check his email.

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Friday, 7:51 PM Yuji!! Choso!! Those both look amazing!! You’re both so creative, it looks like it runs in the family :) Iguanas and frilled lizards are great choices. Maybe if you can steal your big brother’s laptop for a bit, you can find a bead frog tutorial. My favorite is the desert rain frog! They kind of remind me of your brother. ;)

It reminds you of him? A frog?

A quick google search has him scowling at his screen, an equally grumpy looking frog staring back at him.

Stupid. It’s stupid. He shouldn’t have looked.

Shutting the search window, his eyes train once more on your message to his brothers. Despite the fact that he wrote the email, you still seem to be upset with him, choosing to answer as though his brothers wrote it. At least you still teased him about looking like a frog.

Even if it’s stupid. It’s a stupid frog.

Slamming his laptop shut, he tosses his coat on, pockets his broken lighter in the side that isn’t singed, and makes his way out the door towards campus and Gojo’s frat house.

The weather has warmed up significantly over the past week to the point where he can’t see his breath anymore, although the ground is still coated in a thick layer of snow. Pulling out a blunt from his pocket between two deft fingers, he sets it between his lips, lighting the end and inhaling deeply.

Among the many poor decisions Sukuna has made throughout his life, he didn’t mind adding tonight to his list if it meant drinking to forget and smoking to feel calm.

Although he’s earlier than most of the crowd, the music is already pumping loudly through speakers, bass booming through the ground beneath his feet as he makes his way up the porch stairs. He doesn’t recognize the frat boy letting people in, but one disinterested glare from Sukuna is all it takes for him to step aside. After all, who wouldn’t recognize Sukuna?

Swapping his lighter to his joggers’ pocket, he tosses his jacket over a coat rack and heads further into the house in search of something hard to get him buzzed as soon as possible. He blows smoke over the heads of most of the crowd, one of the perks of being nearly seven feet tall, as he heads towards the back of the house where he knows he’ll find the kitchen.

The further he moves from the makeshift dance floor in the front living area, the more reasonable the music volume becomes. College students chatter amongst each other, speaking loudly over the pumping bass, when a familiar voice grabs his attention.

“You made it!”

“Hey, buddy.”

“Well, well, look who decided to show his face.”

Sharp crimson irises flit between Uraume and Atsuya, who greet him casually, landing lastly on none other than Toji Zenin. Always at odds with Sukuna with a shit-eating grin as he pushes the pink-haired man’s buttons just a little bit too far.

“Uraume. Atsuya. Toji.”

It’s a miracle he still considers Toji a friend. Well, maybe an acquaintance. He certainly won’t bring Toji into the fray that is his life any time soon.

And Atsuya, well… The Kusakabe family is known for wealth, so Sukuna likes to keep him at arms’ length as well. Still, he enjoys his company. Uraume is easily his closest friend and he won’t deny that seeing them seems to ease his tension, even if only a little bit.

“So, finally decided we’re worth your time again? Or did you mess shit up with your girl?” Toji barks out a laugh, as though anything he’s saying is humorous.

“She ain’t my girl,” Sukuna growls, making a point of blowing smoke towards him.

“Dunno, you two seemed pretty close at lunch last week.” The scar on the corner of his lip stretches as he grins, taking a sip of whatever concoction is in his solo cup.

“Fuck off, Zenin,” Sukuna grumbles with a roll of his eyes. Toji should consider himself lucky he isn’t about to be at the center of Sukuna’s anger, saved only by the cannabis circling Sukuna’s system and dulling his thoughts, his anger, his mind. With a huff, Sukuna heads towards the kitchen to grab a drink.

“I see he still enjoys getting on your nerves,” Uraume observes, falling into step with him.

“Mm. Dunno how ya tolerate that asshole so much,” he comments, coming to a stop in the kitchen where he stubs out his blunt in an ashtray and opens the first bottle of rum he can find, pouring himself a rum and coke.

That is, if you can consider something that’s sixty percent rum a ‘rum and coke’.

“Me too, please,” Uraume requests. Sukuna hums, pouring a much more reasonable split of alcohol for them. “You can complain as much as you would like about Toji, but I know you two used to be close. Even if he can be a pain, I can tell you aren’t as bothered as you wish for him to believe.”

It’s true. Back in high school, the two were inseparable. Toji didn’t even mind when Sukuna’s father asked the two to take young Choso along to a basketball court or movie, so long as it was appropriate. Their issues came when Sukuna’s father passed away in their first year of college and he refused to speak with his best friend about it, choosing instead to take on mountains of stress on his own. As usual, Sukuna was the cause of his own problems.

Moving out of the dorms and finding a place for his two kid brothers to stay with him, that was a whole other challenge. Learning to change diapers, figuring out a schedule that worked both for the kids’ school and his education, that was what nearly dragged Sukuna to an early grave when he got horribly sick.

That’s where Uraume stepped in, helping to alleviate some of his classwork by taking on additional project work for him. They always expected something in return, but that’s just the way Sukuna preferred to make deals. They helped him get into the swing of taking care of two young kids.

Somewhere along that path, he came to the realization that they’d also had a big piece in both his and Choso’s recovery from grief. Sukuna had grown angry and Choso hardly spoke a word. Although still irritable, Sukuna is generally more reasonable nowadays and although still quiet, Choso is more talkative than he has been in a long time.

In particular with you. He knows Choso adores you, although he’s not as loud as Yuji is about it. Yuji may as well scream it from the tops of buildings.

Taking an unreasonably large sip of his drink, he wills away thoughts of you, replacing what he gulped down with more rum.

Uraume’s brow raises. “Difficult day?”

“Somethin’ like that,” he grumbles, alcohol and cannabis running through his veins and sending his mind into a haze so that he just might be able to handle Toji. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m relieved finals are over,” Uraume takes a sip of their drink with a small smile. “And it’s good to see you around again.”

“I saw you two days ago,” Sukuna points out, arching a brow.

They hum. “Yes, but Toji has a point. You’ve been spending more time with your project partner than us, which is unusual for you.”

He sighs. “Shit, guess I have.”

“Don’t misunderstand me, Sukuna. I know you’re busy, and I can see she means a lot to you, but-”

“She’s just a project partner.”

Uraume purses their lips as they side-eye him. “... Right. Remind me, when did your project end?”

Sukuna’s jaw clenches, shooting them a sharp look.

“As I was saying, I can see that she means a lot to you, so I don’t mind. I do wish you would get a new phone as I do miss texting, but our friendship won’t change.” They shoot him a reassuring smile, one that Sukuna lowers his defenses at the sight of.

“However Toji and Atsuya aren’t aware of your situation, which makes it appear as though you’re spending all of your time with her.” Uraume takes a sip of their drink, carding a hand through their snowy locks.

“Mm.” Sukuna runs his tongue over his lower lip as they approach the couch that Toji’s splayed himself over, manspreading with a bottle of beer held in one fist. He recognizes Toji’s cousin Naoya Zenin on the other end of the couch, surprised the two can even stand to be within five feet of one another. Toji may be an asshole, but somewhere buried beneath all that muscle is a fairly genuine person. Naoya, on the other hand, is the kind of person Sukuna wouldn’t mind socking in the face once or twice.

“So,” Toji starts, that infuriating grin returning. “Tell us ‘bout your girl.”

Sukuna chooses to stand between Atsuya and Uraume, his two friends who are decidedly less irritating. It’s a wonder him and Toji were ever close to begin with, though Sukuna supposes he was a lot different back when they hung out more.

The world had changed Sukuna, hardened him into a shell of what he once was.

“I told you, Zenin,” Sukuna hisses, “she’s not my girl.”

Toji scoffs, a wide grin across his face. “Yeah right. Ya got fuckin’ heart-eyes for her. Holdin’ her hand in the lunch hall n’ shit.”

Sukuna downs more of his rum, relishing in the burn as it slides down his throat. “We were studying, shithead. I owe her a favor, that’s all.”

“Yeah? You gonna bring her home n’ cuddle all cute-like?” The raven-headed man teases.

Atsuya sighs at Sukuna’s side, chewing idly on a toothpick. “Can you two shut up?” He grumbles, knuckles white as he grips his beer bottle tighter at the grating sound of their argument. “Giving me a damn headache.”

“C’mon Atsuya, I know ya saw it too,” Toji eggs both men on.

“Toji, enough,” Uraume scolds.

“Nah, I know Atsuya saw it.”

A muscle ticks in Sukuna’s jaw, his teeth grinding as he does what he can to push his frustrations aside. Turns out a full solo cup and blunt aren’t enough to dull Sukuna’s senses to the point where he can tolerate this conversation.

He’s supposed to be forgetting, yet here Toji is pushing the thought of you back in his face, infuriating him.

He downs the rest of his rum in two gulps, staring at the empty cup with a scowl, completely dazed as he tunes out the sound of his friends.

Heart-eyes. As-fucking-if. He scoffs to himself at the thought, staring back over the heads of the crowd towards the kitchen. He needs something harder after all. He should have brought the Everclear.

His relationship with you is similar to that of him and Uraume, he’s sure of it. It doesn’t go beyond that.

So why is he drinking to forget you?

Finally pulled from his thoughts, he turns on his heel to get something harder when he realizes where the conversation has turned in his absence.

Naoya questioningly tilts his head at Toji, a sleazy grin on his face as your name leaves his lips. Sukuna’s lip instinctively curls in disgust at the sound of your name leaving his lips. That’s not where it belongs, and Sukuna doesn’t dare imagine a world where this asshole so much as looks at you, because he thinks it just might give him an aneurysm.

Hell, he thinks an aneurysm would be kinder than the thought of Naoya Zenin ever looking your way.

“She’s fuckin’ hot, she’d look sexy as hell under-” Naoya’s gaze seems to search the crowd for you, a predatory gleam in his eyes. Toji interrupts with a distasteful snarl, but it’s Sukuna’s words that seem to cut the crowd, red hot rage boiling in his chest.

“Don’t you dare fucking finish that sentence,” Sukuna barks, his tone low as he takes a step towards the vile excuse for a human being.

Naoya hardly seems phased by Sukuna’s outburst, although the throng of the crowd has dimmed in the face of Sukuna’s fury. “Aw, is she claimed, Sukuna? Is she your little playth-”

Sukuna barrels forward, not offering Naoya the time of day to speak.

Naoya’s eyes widen as Sukuna’s fist raises, barely managing to cower out of the way in time as Sukuna’s knuckles narrowly miss the blonde’s face and collide with the back of the couch. His eyes swirl with a ferocity that his friends haven’t seen before as they all leap towards him. Atsuya and Toji grab either of his arms and with a harsh pull from Toji, Sukuna stumbles backwards. They’re lucky he’s tipsy and not as stable as usual.

“Woah buddy, I’m all for teaching him a lesson, but let’s not start shit right now.” Atsuya speaks from a place of reason, but Sukuna knows he simply doesn’t want their group to get thrown out by Gojo.

… Again.

At least last time, it was Toji who started shit with Naoya.

Sukuna’s teeth are gritted as his friends hold him back. Naoya’s face has twisted from barely disguised fear into a satisfied smirk. “Did I touch a nerve, big guy?”

Sukuna lunges forward, stumbling back into the wall behind him as Toji pulls him back harshly. He grunts as his back collides with the wall, venom dripping from each syllable as he speaks in a dangerous tone. “If I hear you talkin’ about anyone like that again, I won’t hesitate to throw you through the nearest fucking wall.” Sukuna stares down at his knuckles that collided with the wooden back of the couch. They’re not bleeding, but they’ll bruise.

Naoya opens his mouth to retort, but his words die in his throat when Sukuna pushes off the wall, standing at his full height. Naoya’s tall, but Sukuna makes everyone look short. His usual smug expression falls as he chooses the cowardly option and slips away with an irritated grumble. The crowd that had gathered to watch the spat slowly begins to return to their conversations again, not daring to shoot a glance at the monstrous man spitting threats at the back of the room.

Sukuna huffs, flexing his hand as he moves past his friends to head back towards the kitchen, shoving his way through the crowd. He’s tipsy, but fuck, it’s not enough.

His brothers, his friends, even Naoya, why does everything constantly lead back to you? It’s like you’re some sort of succubus with your claws buried deep within the recesses of his mind that he can’t escape. Yet even as he spins the cap off of a bottle of Jack, he realizes it's his resentment of the way you’re so deeply ingrained in his life that’s causing him to think such a thing.

You’re not a succubus, you’re more like a fairy. Soft, sweet, and kind.

Sukuna pauses his motions, staring down at the bottle. His fingers drum lightly on the stem of the glass as something akin to distress stirs deep within him. He grips the bottle with white knuckles, his throat tight. Before he has time to consider what it is that you mean to him, Toji comes jogging over.

“Hey, everythin’ alright, man?”

The look on his face reminds Sukuna of a time long past. Of late nights at barely-lit skateparks as Sukuna learned the ropes of graffiti. Of long afternoons chatting as they passed a basketball back and forth in the late afternoon sun. It wasn’t so long ago but it feels like a lifetime after the battering Sukuna’s last few years have caused him.

“Why the hell is he even invited?” The pink-haired brute gruffs rather than offering a reply to Toji.

No, he’s not okay.

“Everyone’s invited, Ryo.”

Sukuna shoots him a glare. Everyone’s gotta have a nickname for him, don’t they? He sighs heavily, letting out a long breath before downing several gulps of Jack straight from the bottle. Just once, he wishes he was a lightweight.

He just wants his mind to go blank. He wants the racing thoughts to stop.

“Woah, let’s pace ourselves, yeah?” Toji reaches out to grab the bottle with a grimace, eyeing his long-time friend as he sets the Jack down and pours them both much more reasonable looking ratios of rum to coke. “Alright, so I guess you’re not okay. That’s fine,” he mumbles as he passes Sukuna a cup. “Let’s jus’ go have some drinks, forget about my cousin, yeah?”

With a barely veiled huff, Sukuna pushes off the counter as he follows after Toji.

Sitting alongside Toji and Uraume, a haze begins to settle over his mind that finally leaves him more comfortable. His anger dissipates and he eases more casually into conversation with his friends, something he’s needed more than ever before.

Finally, even if only for a night, he can forget.

–

“Shoko, this goes so low,” you whisper as though saying it any louder might proclaim it to the entire world.

“Yeah, that’s the point,” she retorts, grinning at you in the mirror.

“But it’s winter,” you whine, staring in the mirror at the black dress that, admittedly, does hug your curves just right, but god you feel exposed. It’s also not your usual style, and you know exactly what Shoko’s doing and why.

Ever since you mentioned being sick, she’s been on your ass about what Sukuna did, regardless of how adamant you are that he did nothing.

It’s a lie and you haven’t fooled a soul.

Sukuna did hurt you.

Again.

This time, though, there’s a certain trepidation that sits alongside the pang of hurt. Like you’re not quite sure that you’re allowed to feel hurt, so you hide it behind a smile and a lie that Sukuna did nothing wrong.

No amount of stewing over what happened in Sukuna’s bedroom has given you any answers. You’re stuck somewhere in between feeling guilty for ever expecting anything romantic from him and feeling hurt that his best attempt to reach out was a sad ‘feel better’.

Hours of wondering if all you are to him is another warm body in his bed, even though the rational part of you knows it doesn’t make sense when no one knows his reality except you. Hours of wondering if he feels anything towards you at all or if he simply doesn’t care.

Yet your mind clung to one thing, one thin string that seemed to tie to an impossible ideal. Still, you couldn’t push the thought away.

If you really mean nothing to Sukuna, why is he acting weird? Why won’t he reach out properly, hiding behind his brothers? Why hasn’t he completely pushed you away?

If you were nothing more than a babysitter, he wouldn’t bother reaching out, right?

But if you were nothing more than a warm body to him, why hasn’t he pushed you away?

Shoko scoffs, the sound grounding you to the present. “Girl, you know Gojo will let us use his closet for our jackets. That’s your worst excuse yet.” She rolls her eyes, tossing your winter coat at you. “No more complaining, we’re going.”

You cast one more glance at the frilly black dress that barely reaches your knees and follow after Shoko.

The air is warmer than you expect, making your argument even less valid the moment you’re outside. You don’t bother to refute Shoko’s triumphant teasing, even as she mentions all the people you’ll surely attract in that dress.

Your stomach stirs uneasily at the thought.

As the staple at Gojo’s parties that you two are, the frat boy at the entrance shoots you both a kind grin as he lets you through. Why they bother with a bouncer at a party everyone on campus received an invite for is beyond you, but you return the smile regardless.

The thrum of music and thick scent of liquor, weed, and perspiration suffocates your senses as you enter the house. It’s familiar, and you know exactly where Gojo and Geto will be tucked away. Nanami and Haibara headed home practically the moment finals ended.

Making your way past the kitchen and grabbing a cooler, you slip past a game of beer pong and peer out the patio to the backyard. Sure enough, the snow’s been cleared and a massive fire pit is raging in the corner. Geto and Gojo are sitting around the fire alongside a few other frat members you recognize and some women very obviously vying for a place on one of their arms.

“My two favorite ladies!” Satoru calls out as you carefully make your way over the packed snow, trying desperately not to slip in your heels. You wrap your arms around yourself, thankful for the raging fire as you and Shoko take your seats between Satoru and Suguru.

“Why do you wanna sit outside?” You mumble, holding your hands out to the fire.

Suguru chuckles beside you. “I tried to convince him otherwise, but he wouldn’t have it.”

“It’s warm tonight!” The snowy-haired man insists with an overdramatic pout.

“Just because it’s not freezing doesn’t make it warm, dumbass,” Shoko rolls her eyes, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. She offers them to the group, though only Suguru takes one. She leans over you to light it for him, smoke billowing in the air around you.

With a drink in your hand and your friends at your side, conversation comes easily and you all keep close to the fire, stoking it often to keep a steady flame. Eventually, the mix of the flame and the alcohol warms you up and with toasty cheeks, you’re staring at the fire with a steady buzz.

“How do you think your finals went?” Suguru inquires, leaning back in his camping chair.

“Killed it,” you reply confidently, eyes glazed with the thrill of vodka. “I even think I nailed history,” you proudly tell him, straightening your posture with a gleam in your eyes.

“Mmm, would a particular history major have to do with that?” He asks, a teasing lilt to his smooth voice. Your proud stance falters, your cheeks heating up further as you can only offer him a shy smile, too inebriated to defend yourself as your stomach jumps at the mere thought of him. Suguru chuckles. “I see. I’m just teasing, I won’t push like Shoko does.”

“Hey! I’m a great friend,” she narrows her eyes in a playful scowl, though Suguru just grins.

After the busy last month of the semester, not to mention finals, you’re relieved to share warm moments like these with your friends, reveling in the jokes and laughter filling the air around you.

Being able to indulge in partying is a relief too. Although Satoru does it every second or third day, you can’t partake in the same luxuries and still expect to pass. Life isn’t quite as kind to you as it seems to be for the blue-eyed campus royalty. Between your studies and looking after Choso and Yuji, you’ve had your time well-occupied for the past month.

That’s not even beginning to mention the resumes you’ve been editing for some quick cash, on top of your own.

Not that it’ll be enough extra cash to get you home for Christmas. You know your parents tried, but they’re already doing their best to pay for your apartment and day-to-day expenses. At the end of the day, you can’t sacrifice any of your savings for a trip home, as much as you would like to.

You just have to hold onto the fact that you’ll see them once you start working. Most of your friends will go home for Christmas, but that’s okay. Nanami even offered to pay your way home and have you join him and Haibara, but that just didn’t seem fair, as much as you wanted to take him up on his offer.

You’ll enjoy your time video chatting and maybe take some time to visit Satoru and Suguru’s families, who’ve kindly invited you along.

“Deep in thought?”

“Hm?”

Suguru smiles, amused. “Distracted, are we?”

Your cheeks heat up, embarrassed. “Sorry. What were you saying?” You offer him a kind smile.

“I was offering another drink, would you like me to grab you something?” He taps your empty can.

“Oh! Actually, I’ll come with you I think.”

Suguru hums, leading the way back towards Satoru’s kitchen with a much wider gait than your own. “What are you having?”

“Just whatever cooler is fine,” you shrug as he leans down into the fridge. He pulls out a couple of coolers to give you options, returning to the fridge with the can you choose not to take.

Your eyes scan the crowd from the kitchen with a mirthful, albeit dazed expression that falters when you come face-to-face with the one person who’s been a constant in your thoughts for the past week.

He’s hard to miss, towering over the crowd with a head of pink hair and sharp tattoos decorating his features. Your heart pounds in your chest at the mere sight of him. Clearly a week away from him has done your heart no favors.

Sukuna looks good. You’re so accustomed to seeing him exhausted in deep blue coveralls or a big hoodie with wet, disheveled hair and a frown that seeing him with a relaxed smirk, his hair pushed back out of his face and a chain sat around his neck, he looks handsome.

You bite your lip, tearing your gaze away from him to turn back to Suguru. A knowing smirk has found its way onto Suguru’s face and he chuckles. “Go talk to him.”

Of course, he doesn’t know about the strange fissure sitting soundly between you and Sukuna, but you appreciate his encouragement nonetheless. Even if his tone is teasing, he does have a much more genuine way of handling things than Satoru would have.

For a moment, you do consider Suguru’s encouragement, turning back to Sukuna in the corner of the house, but your heart drops as the crowd shifts.

Standing in front of Sukuna is a tall woman with long, blonde hair. You recognize her from the Volleyball team, she’s gorgeous and Sukuna’s leaning down, his lips close to her ear as he blatantly flirts with her. His eyes are lidded and tinged in red, likely both drunk and high, and he chuckles along to something the blonde says.

Blinking a couple of times, you feel your heart sinking, green with envy. You appreciate Suguru’s encouragement, but maybe you should resign yourself to a world where your feelings remain unrequited and you’re just friends with Sukuna. That is, if he even still wants to be around you. He’s so difficult and hard to read and that’s not to mention the fact he hasn’t even attempted to talk about the heated kiss- 

Sukuna’s eyes flicker upwards, meeting yours and stopping. His lidded expression falters, lips pursed. His brow furrows as the woman tugs on his shirt to get his attention and pull him closer, his gaze flickering between her and you.

You tear your gaze from him, turning back to Suguru. With a light touch to his bicep to get his attention as he pours himself something, you force a smile. “I think I’m gonna go find a quiet corner to get some air,” you tell him, slinking away before he can protest. With one final glance back at Sukuna, who’s returned his attention to the blonde, you slip into the crowd.

Pushing through sweaty bodies, the bass and crowd seems to box you in. Your heart is racing too fast, your mind too buzzed, your world too hazy to be trying to handle this many people.

Finding the stairs brings with it a sense of relief, no longer suffocated by the loud music and overwhelming smell of liquor. On the top floor, several of the rooms are shut, telltale signs of couples finding makeshift privacy and you don’t dare peek into any of them. You head straight for Satoru’s room, knowing well that it’ll be locked, and knowing equally well that you have the digital code to get in.

2-3-7-8.

B-E-S-T.

Cocky as ever.

Slipping inside, you shut the door behind you and take a breath as the ringing in your ears gradually begins to mute. Taking a seat on the edge of Gojo’s bed, you let out a long breath. You’ve spent hours on end in this exact spot, watching Satoru and Suguru compete in Super Smash Bros long after you and Shoko had been knocked out.

It doesn’t usually feel so lonely.

Pulling out your phone from within your bra, the only place you could store it, you find yourself doom-scrolling whatever social media has new content. It’s a poor effort to return to the happy state you’d found yourself in only a few minutes ago, and unsurprisingly it doesn’t return.

You’re not sure how long you sit in that spot, but with nothing left to scroll, you get to your feet and pad slowly towards the window, staring out towards the balcony that overlooks the backyard. Flipping the lock, you step out into the chill air, but it hardly seems to touch you, protected by the warmth of liquor in your veins.

You should probably get a coat given that the alcohol won’t really protect you and you’re not close enough to the fire to bask in its heat, but you don’t think you care enough. Not if it means seeing the one person whose presence suffocates you. The crowd is one thing, but Sukuna seems to outweigh every single one of them with just one glance. He crowds your world in a way a group of sweaty unknown college students can’t.

You wonder if maybe you had found him earlier in the night, if maybe you would have had the courage to ask about the kiss. Liquid courage maybe, but courage nonetheless.

You wonder if he would have told you it meant nothing and to move on from him. You wonder if he would have told you to fuck off. If you’re nothing to him.

Yet somehow those don’t seem to scratch the surface of the complicated canyon of emotions that holds you both at arms’ length. Each possibility is too simple.

With a sigh, you cross your arms over the balcony, letting the cold metal raise goosebumps along your skin as you rest your chin on them. Down below, your friends seem like they’re having a good time. Shoko’s attention is on another brunette you recognize from your history class while Satoru and Suguru joke alongside some other frat members.

You long to be a part of that, but you know you would be feigning a smile if you returned.

You shouldn’t be this drunk and this jealous when Sukuna isn’t yours and never has been. Hell, he hasn’t even spoken to you in-person since the kiss.

Maybe you’re this jealous because you’re this drunk.

“Need a jacket?”

You startle at the sound of Sukuna’s voice, a mix of dread, uncertainty, and jealousy raging in your system.

“You scared me,” you murmur, standing upright. Great, just who you want to see.

Sukuna hums. “My bad.” Shutting the balcony door behind him, he takes a couple of steps forward until he’s next to you, though he keeps an uneasy distance between you.

The drop-off between you is so evident it’s almost as though it’s real and physically repelling you from one another. Sukuna shuffles, the silence unbearable to his inebriated mind as he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“I didn’t fuck her.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes as the shed in the corner of the yard suddenly becomes of great interest. “Don’t say it like that…” you mumble, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“I didn’t have sex with ‘er.”

You sigh again. The phrasing wasn’t really the point behind your words, but he’s either too drunk, too high, or too focused on the way you took a step away from him to notice. “It’s none of my business, Sukuna.”

He doesn’t know what to say to fix this. You’re talking to him, and that’s a start, but he’s way too far gone to soundly come up with an apology that makes sense, so his mouth just starts running.

“My apartment’s overrun with lizards.”

Even upset, you crack a smile. It’s hard not to at the thought of his little brothers absolutely littering his place in little bead lizards, all because you showed them the trick to the feet.

“The lil’ brat lectured me on the difference between lizards n’ geckos,” he pauses, a noticeable slur to his drunken speech. “Still think they’re pretty much th’same.”

“They’re a species and a subspecies,” you reply monotonously.

Sukuna doesn’t like your tone, devoid of any emotion. He shuffles slightly towards you. You look hot, but Sukuna knows better now than to blindly follow his desires, even in his completely intoxicated state. “Jus’ because you added ‘sub’ t’the word doesn’ make ‘em different.”

You let out a long sigh. “Are we not gonna talk about it, Sukuna?” You wrap your arms tighter around yourself as you turn to face him.

He straightens, pinned in place by your conflicted scowl. Your eyes are glazed, you’re drunk too, and you seem more upset than your emails lead him to believe. Maybe it’s just the alcohol clouding his ability to grasp your expressions.

“‘M sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” You echo his apology, a brow quirked.

“Yeah. It was a mistake.”

That hits you like a slap in the face and you purse your lips, staring at the ground as you take one, two steps back from him, with the intention of heading back inside. No, with the intention of going home. 

“Fuck, no, no. Wait.” Sukuna’s jaw hangs ajar as he follows your stride, walking two steps towards you. His tongue runs across his lower lip as he hesitates, brushing a hand through his hair. “That’s not what I meant.”

Your throat is tight as you fight back tears. You can’t help but wish you weren’t drunk while having this conversation, then maybe the tears wouldn’t be so quick.

“I-” Sukuna fights with himself, “- I was thinkin’ with the wrong head.”

Right. So he’s doubling down on it being a mistake. You nod slowly, turning away with a sharp intake of breath.

“Wait, shit. Wait. ‘M sorry, I’m way too fuckin’ drunk n’ high n’ shit to be doin’ this right now,” he scrambles with his words, taking another step after you. You stop again, giving him another chance to explain himself. You’ve always been too kind and patient with him.

Grappling with the thoughts running through his mind, he shuts his eyes for a moment with a deeply furrowed brow, red eyes dilating as the light of Gojo’s bedroom behind you illuminates your silhouette. Your dress suits you and frames your curves so well that it’s driving him insane, jumbling his thoughts even further. These thoughts are what got him into this situation to begin with.

“There was so much shit goin’ on n’ I wasn’t thinkin’ straight,” he slurs, red eyes flickering between yours. He can see the hurt in your eyes and he’s far too inebriated to even begin thinking about why it is that you’re so hurt he would refer to the kiss as a mistake. That’s a can of worms he can’t possibly begin to wrap his brain around in this state. “I was jus’... I dunno. I was chasin’ somethin’ I shoudn-” he pauses as his words slur, “- I shouldn’t have.”

You let out a scoff of disbelief. It doesn’t matter how many different ways he words it, at the end of the day it’s clear as mud. It was a mistake. His excuse, though? That’s just pitiful and insulting.

“Do you think I don’t have a lot going on? Do you think that somehow my problems aren’t worth as much just because I don’t have two jobs and kids?” Your words are sharp, and they take a moment to sink in.

“No. Fuck. I jus-” He pauses again, knuckles white as he balls his hands into fists at his sides, his jaw clenching in frustration. He could use a dictionary right about now. Maybe just a whole damn linguist. Hell, he needs someone to read his mind because everything is coming out jumbled and it’s pissing him the fuck off, when all he really wants to say is, “Fuck, I jus’… don’t wan’ the kids to lose ya.” He swallows hard. “I don’t wanna lose ya.”

Your shoulders fall, your defenses crumbling. What? “What?”

Now that he has your attention again, he turns back to the balcony, hunching over it. The cool metal railing lulls his heated skin. Soothes the burning anger with his own inability to process a single thought. Maybe drinking to forget wasn’t his brightest idea.

He says your name quietly. It sounds foreign, vulnerable, when it falls from his lips that way. “I’m losin’ the kids.”

You take a step towards him, tilting your head to get a better view of his face. His expression is solemn, but you’re not sure you understand where he’s going with this. They seemed pretty fond of him when you saw them last week. Choso surely wouldn’t be expressing his worries to you if he didn’t love Sukuna.

“What do you mean?”

“Their fuckin’ mother slapped me with court orders. She’s takin’ ‘em.”

Your blood runs cold, eyes widening. The legal documents. You’d always assumed it was some foolish run-in Sukuna must have had with someone with a bit too much power or money, but never once had you stopped to consider that it could be something like this.

“No, what? You’re gonna fight for them, aren’t you?” You ask, voice strained.

“The hell ‘m I supposed to do?” He barks, turning to face you with a snarl. The look on his face isn’t one of anger, however. It’s distress. “Pull money outta my ass to pay f’r a lawyer?”

You frown. “Maybe you can find a pro-bono attorney?”

Sukuna’s too drunk for this. “Free? That’s free, right?”

You nod.

“The fuck’s a shitty free attorney gonna do? Convince the court that the older brother with two jobs, school, n’ tattoos c’n take better care of two brats than the person who birthed ‘em?”

“Sukuna, come on-”

He doesn’t stop there. “No court’s stupid enough to say no when she pushed ‘em out-”

“Eugh, don’t say that.”

“- that’s not even mentionin’ the fact that she practically shits cash with how much she’s got-”

“Sukuna! Okay, I get it.” You set a hand on his bicep, grounding him as he stares at it. Your touch is searing. He’s not sure if it’s because of the cold, his anger, or something else entirely. He’s not in the state of mind to think about it. His chest heaves as your steady voice speaks so softly to him that it does manage to calm him, even if only a bit. “How much water have you had tonight?”

He huffs. “None.”

“That… makes sense,” you chuckle lightly, shooting him a tired smile. “Why don’t we start there?”

Had one of his friends asked a half hour ago, he would have rolled his eyes and downed the Jack Daniels in his pocket. After his beyond frustrating last few minutes where he couldn’t seem to get a single word out, it doesn’t sound nearly as bad.

“Fine,” he agrees, following after you as you turn to lead the way back to Gojo’s room, only to pause at the door.

“You didn’t lock the door behind you, did you?”

“What? No.” He peers over you, wrinkling his nose at the sight of a couple tangled in one another on Gojo’s bed.

You can only pray he didn’t notice you and Sukuna up on the balcony at all, he’d kill you if he knew what was going on.

“How convenient,” Sukuna deadpans, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as he shields you from the couple with his body, ducking through the room as quickly as possible and shutting the door behind him. His grip on your shoulder doesn’t relent as he keeps you close to his body while heading down the stairs, through the crowd and towards the kitchen, shielding you from the sweaty dance floor.

You scramble to keep up with him, needing to move at almost double your walking pace just to keep up with him as he drags you along. Your cheeks are burning and whether that’s from the alcohol or his touch, you’re not sure.

Once you’re in the kitchen, he loosens his grip on your shoulder and watches silently as you move around the cabinets and fridges, filling a glass of water for him.

He hums in acknowledgement, leaning back against the counter. You hop up on the marble beside him, watching as he slowly sips on the water, staring down at the liquid that vibrates with the thump of the bass.

“So,” you begin, pulling his attention back to you. “You don’t wanna lose me, huh?”

Sukuna’s sharp eyes narrow into a glare, but it dissipates as he realizes you aren’t teasing. You’re lucky he’s drunk, because there’s no other circumstance where you would get such a direct answer from him. “No.”

“Is that why you didn’t reach out to talk about it?”

He returns his gaze to the water in his hand, rippling in the glass. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what t’ say. I overstepped boundaries.”

You sigh, glad he’s found a more eloquent way of putting how he really feels rather than just labelling the whole thing as ‘a mistake’. You wish he started with that, but obviously drunk, high, and in a panic to keep you from walking away, his words failed him. You can accept that he doesn’t see you romantically but values your friendship.

“It’s okay, Sukuna. We… both… overstepped boundaries,” you offer with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. It’s clear that what Sukuna needs right now is a friend, someone to support him and look out for him when he needs it most. You’ll be that for him, even if it means leaving your feelings for him at the door.

His eyes narrow again as he looks at you, irises flickering between your pupils as though he’s trying to make sense of something, but he lets it go to down some water, turning to the sink to refill his glass.

You don’t bring up the kids with people flooding the kitchen around you, keeping the conversation casual. Sukuna points out his friends in the corner at one point, telling you he’ll introduce you when Toji’s not drunk because apparently ‘he’s a prick’. You recognize Uraume’s name from a while ago when they had watched the kids so that Sukuna could be there to get your grade for your project. Sukuna tells you that he thinks you’ll get along well.

It’s gradual, but his speech eventually stops slurring and he joins you on the counter, though his head and shoulder hit the cabinet behind him and he hardly fits.

“Wait- that was today?”

“Mhm. I probably woulda been kicked out if Toji and Atsuya didn’t hold me back.” He flashes you his knuckles that are, as he expected, beginning to bruise.

“Something tells me you say that from experience,” you giggle.

“Somethin’ like that. Last time, it was Toji’s fault, though,” he shrugs, downing more water. You’re both now just comfortably buzzed and Sukuna doesn’t seem nearly as tense as when you were up on the balcony.

“Sounds like I should be glad I’ve never met this Naoya guy.”

“Tch. If you even see that slimebag look at you, head the other way. Guy’s a walking red flag.”

“Noted.” You kick your feet, staring down at your black heels dangling from them. “Oh, by the way, have you ever tried that diner near your place?”

“What diner?” He’s staring down at your feet as well, watching the movement as they gently sway.

“The one like a block over from your apartment, with the blue and pink logo?”

Sukuna stifles a laugh, but it still bubbles up in his chest and he snorts. “That’s a fuckin’ strip club, princess.”

“No it isn’t!” You insist with certainty.

“It’s literally called Strip Joint.” He points out with a smug grin.

“Kuna. They make chicken strips. It’s a joke, they’re a chicken strip joint.”

His lips part in disbelief as he tilts his head to look at you. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m dead serious,” you giggle. “How did you not know?”

“What do you mean ‘how did I not know’? How did you know?” He waves his hand out in the air like it isn’t quite as obvious as it seems. He’s got a point, it absolutely looks the part of a strip club with a dark outside and bright neon sign, but that only makes you laugh harder.

“You know what, now that I think about it, I actually think I know that because Satoru took us there for his birthday and thought it was a strip club,” you ponder the time you first visited, but can’t place if that was your first visit for sure.

“See!” He’s grinning, his cheeks dusted in a shade of red that suits him, just as well as his smirk does. Another one of those rare moments where you think you’re seeing the real Sukuna, even in the midst of everything bogging him down. It’s a good look on him, one that sends your heart soaring. “I’m sure the frat boy loved that.”

“You know, he wasn’t as upset as you would think he’d be,” you giggle, shaking your head.

Sukuna hums, glancing around momentarily. “Can’t believe I live right next to a chicken finger place and the boys don’t know. They’d love that shit.”

Your heart falls, but you do what you can to mask it at the mention of his little brothers. “Let’s check it out.”

“We can do that sometime,” he agrees, yawning.

“No, I mean why don’t we go now?”

Sukuna’s brow arches. “You wanna take my drunk and high ass to a chicken finger shop?”

“I think that makes it funnier, honestly,” you grin, hopping down off the counter. Sukuna contemplates your request for a moment, before dropping down to his feet with a thump.

“Fine,” he huffs, shoving his hands into his jogger pockets as he follows after you. You both pull your jackets from the front coat rack and closet and step back out into the cold. Considerably less drunk than last time you were outside, it’s markedly colder.

Thank god Sukuna’s apartment isn’t too far from campus, unlike yours. You’d had every intention of crashing at Shoko’s overnight, so you’d likely just head back to her place when the night ends if you can get a hold of her.

Heels probably weren’t your greatest call with all the snow, but you manage to keep yourself from slipping by walking slower. It’s a snail’s pace for Sukuna, but as much as he grumbles and gripes about it, he’ll be more than okay.

Jogging up to the door, you pull it open with a shiver and thank every god you can think of that it’s open at one in the morning.

Just as you had said, it’s a diner that specialises in chicken strips, classically decorated in reds to go with the otherwise grayscale diner colors. Off to one side lies a row of red leather booths, while there’s a faded red counter with patches of bare oak where forearms and plates have worn the color from the wood. The lights are dim, with one at the back of the diner flickering softly.

The restaurant is empty aside from one employee and an older man drinking coffee at the counter before her.

“Have a seat wherever, dears.” The kind old employee smiles softly at you, gesturing to the booths. You return her smile, leading Sukuna to a booth in the center of the diner, a couple away from the flickering light.

Sukuna shuffles into the booth, shrugging off his coat and leaning against his bent elbow. He yawns, grunting in thanks when the employee leaves menus before you. He doesn’t look as disinterested as usual, but tired hardly cuts the dark circles lining his eyes.

You peruse the menu for a moment, glancing up at Sukuna. His eyes are skimming the menu, his fingers drumming lightly on the white table lined in metallic silver.

“What do you think you’re gonna get?”

Sukuna’s brow arches. “Chicken.”

“Alright, smartass,” you giggle. “I’m thinking of having ice cream.”

Sukuna’s gaze narrows. “You complained about it being cold the whole way here.”

“Yeah, but doesn’t that sound good?”

“Chicken sounds good,” he mumbles.

“You’re just high.”

“You’re just drunk,” he counters, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. He shuts the menu after a moment, setting it at the side of the table to get the waitress’ attention. The kind woman rounds the bar and pulls out a small notepad and pen.

“What can I get you?”

“I’ll have the six piece meal,” Sukuna starts, holding his hand out for you to go next.

“I’ll have the chocolate ice cream.”

“You were serious?” Disbelief drips from Sukuna’s tone as he shoots you a look like you’ve gone mad before the waitress can even confirm your orders. You kick his shin lightly under the table and he shuts his mouth with a grimace, muttering a ‘thanks’ when the waitress confirms your orders and heads back to the bar. “You were serious?” He repeats once she’s gone.

“Of course! Doesn’t that sound good?”

“Not really,” he chuckles, still leaning against his palm.

“Well, I think it sounds great.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever the princess wants, she gets.”

You grin at him as your stomach flutters at the nickname, following his gaze outside. The street lamps cast an eerie yellow light over the otherwise still roads, your fresh footprints the only sign of life out there. No cars pass by the side road at such early hours of the morning, the hustle and bustle of city life momentarily paused as most people settle in the warmth of their homes for rest.

“What are you gonna do, Sukuna?”

He yawns, wiping tears from his eyes. “‘Bout what?”

“The kids.”

“Mm.” He sighs, leaning back in the booth. It’s a bit short for him and he has to slump down for any amount of back support. “Dunno. Not sure I can do much.”

“What about the pro-bono idea?”

“Maybe,” he hums, a little more level-headed as you inquire this time around. “I don’t think some free attorney off the streets is gonna do many favors against whatever expensive asshole their mom’s payin’ for, though.”

“Maybe, but you never know. It’s better than self-defense,” you shrug.

“Unless I find Daredevil on the streets, I get the feelin’ it won’t really matter.” The defeat hanging around him like a spectre seems to weigh heavily on him as he stares out the window.

“You can’t just give up.”

He throws his hands up in frustration, though he’s too tired to back it up with words. He supposes you can take that however you’d like, he’s not about to fight with you about this, not when this lawsuit almost cost your friendship all because his dumbass step-mother chose to deliver the legal papers at the most inconvenient time.

“They need you, Kuna. Where’s their mom been all this time, anyway?” Your brow furrows at the thought. Why does Sukuna have his brothers if their mom’s still around?

“Dunno. Overseas or some shit. She took a high-paying position and our dad refused to move us with her. When he passed, I tried to get a hold of anyone on her side of the family. Not a single word. Even the lawyers couldn’t reach any of ‘em.” He shrugs, reaching up to scratch his jaw as his gaze remains fixed out the window.

“Huh. What about your mom?”

Either Sukuna’s feeling kind today, or he’s too tired to fight your nosiness. Whatever it is, he shrugs again in reply. “Dunno about her either. I was an accident. My dad was nineteen when they had me, she signed me away the moment I was born.”

You suppose his statement from the other night about his father ‘knowing how to pick them’ makes more sense with this context. It seemed neither woman had done any of his sons any favors.

“I’m sorry, Sukuna.” “It’s whatever,” he mutters through a yawn.

“Hey, what about the law students or professors?”

He tilts his head, leaning over the table on both of his forearms. “What about them?”

“Have you spoken to them?”

“No. I dunno any of ‘em and I’m not about to get anyone involved.”

“Don’t you think it’s worth it? For Yuji and Choso?”

Sukuna parts his lips to reply, pausing momentarily when your ice cream and his chicken arrive. You both quietly thank the waitress before he continues. “‘Course, but I’m not gettin’ my hopes up.”

You frown, spooning some ice cream into your mouth. After your first bite, you chew on your lip in thought. “Would you consider talking to a law student? I know you would need to tell them what’s going on and that isn’t what you want, but…” You trail off, not really sure there’s a sound ‘but’ behind your insistence on helping him.

He sighs, finishing a chicken strip in only a couple of bites. “You think it’s worth it?”

You nod, swallowing another bite of ice cream. “I just know if I were in your position, I would be trying everything. I couldn’t possibly let go of them.”

Sukuna’s heart twists and he runs a hand through his hair. There it is again, that uncomfortable sensation of being outside of his own body as panic grips him. It’s the same feeling from when you mentioned him being their hero. It’s like you’ve dropped something on him that he doesn’t quite know how to handle.

He stares down at his plates, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

“Sukuna?”

“I’m fine,” he mumbles, strained. He subconsciously slides his foot out until he finds yours, as though he’s seeking your presence for comfort again like the night spent in his room. You set your spoon down, watching as he shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath.

You open your mouth to voice your concern, but he interrupts before you can.

“You know one? A law student?”

You chew on your lip briefly, taking in his distant expression. As though being high, buzzed on alcohol, tired, and mildly hungover isn’t all enough for one person, now he also hardly seems present.

“I don’t, but one of Kento’s friends is in the program.”

“Great,” Sukuna mutters, rolling his eyes as he jabs his chicken a little bit too harshly in plum sauce. “My biggest fan.” You knock his foot beside you, which seems to bring him back to the present somewhat.

“You know, I think if you explain to him what’s going on, he might not be so cold to you.”

The pink-haired man makes a show out of his disdain for including Kento with a dramatic groan. “If it makes it easier with the law student, then sure, but,” he pauses, shooting you a glance, “I choose what I share.”

You pick up your spoon again, shoveling more ice cream into your mouth. “I wouldn’t share any of your secrets. Kento doesn’t know about your brothers.”

He doesn’t doubt that’s true, otherwise he thinks he may have garnered just a little bit more sympathy from the blonde. He’s fairly sure the only reason he’s still just barely on Shoko’s good side is the fact that she knows he’s taking care of two snot-nosed brats.

He mutters out a barely audible thanks before focusing on his food. Even as he eats, he’s running out of steam, just barely managing to stay awake as comfortable silence hangs between you. It’s a stark contrast from a few hours ago, the rift patched and stitched with a nice little bow to top it all off and for that he’s beyond grateful.

“Do you wanna try some?” You hold out your spoon as he sets his plate aside, wiped clean.

He reaches out, taking the spoon and popping it in his mouth. “That’s pretty good. I thought it was just Breyers or some shit.”

You shake your head, staring down at the couple of remaining scoops. “I think it’s made in-house.”

He hums in agreement, leaning over the table with a yawn and you get the feeling it’s time to go home. Waving the waitress over, you request the bills with a polite smile.

“Together or separate?” She inquires with a kind smile in return.

“Together.”

“Separate.”

“Together,” Sukuna doubles down, pulling out his wallet.

“Are you sure?”

He scoffs at the question. “You got one ice cream, I think I’ll manage.”

Giving in, you nod at the waitress.

“Thank you, Kuna.”

“Mm,” he hums as he pulls out his credit card, paying quickly before sliding out of the booth and throwing his coat on. You follow suit, thanking the waitress and heading back out into the cold.

“You promise you’re okay with me reaching out to Kento about this? It probably won’t be until after Christmas, he’s back in our hometown with family,” you explain.

“It’s fine. Worth a shot, right?”

You smile at his willingness to work with you. He’s shown you an awful lot of vulnerability all night, and you appreciate his honesty, even if there’s still a pang of disappointment that your feelings for him aren’t mutual.

“You need me to walk you back to the frat house?”

Your nose wrinkles at the thought. You really don’t want to stay there if you don’t have to, and your buzz has completely faded. You have no desire to return to the party, which you would need to do if you wanted to crash with Shoko. “That’s alright, I think I’ll head home.”

Sukuna rolls his shoulders backwards, fighting a yawn. “Uber? Busses aren’t running this late.”

“Yeah, I’ll get one now.”

“I’m comin’ with you.”

“Sukuna, you’ve been yawning for the better part of the last two hours. You look like you’re ready to pass out,” you point out, reaching forward to poke him in a similar fashion to back when you first met his brothers and teasingly shoved him to prove a point.

Marginally more awake than your first encounter with his brothers, Sukuna grabs your wrist before you can poke him. “Nice try, princess. It’s two in the morning, I just wanna make sure you make it home. I’ll walk back after.”

Your heart should not be soaring like it is right now given the fact that he openly admitted to you that he overstepped boundaries, but you can’t help the way it races. “Okay,” you smile meekly, waiting alongside him for the car you hailed to pull up.

The ride is an odd one as Sukuna struggles to stay awake while the driver recounts his night, but his presence is comforting in what would otherwise be an awkward ride.

Arriving back at your apartment, you open the app and add a secondary destination, keying in Sukuna’s apartment. He sluggishly goes to get out but you dash around the car as best as you can in your heels to block him.

“Thanks for getting me home, now I’m getting you home.”

He’s too drained to start something with you for being too kind when he could just walk home, returning to his seat with resignation and a mildly contemptful expression.

“Thanks,” he grumbles, though he’s internally much more grateful than he’d have you believe.

“Text- uh- email me when you get home.”

He blows air from his nose, amused. “Yeah. Night, princess.”

“Goodnight, Kuna.”

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❦ a/n ; i hope you guys enjoyed the chicken strip conversation as much as i did, maybe i'm just tired but i though it was toooo cute something about writing sukuna fumbling through his day-to-day life is so enjoyable, this poor poor man. i love him sm 😭 as always, thank you for reading and a huge shoutout to each and every one of you who's interacted with my posts, you guys seriously make my day and are a big part of the reason i'm having so much fun sharing this story with you all. thank you all <33

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[chogiwow]

the law of unintended consequences. | jake sim (part two)

→ posits that actions often have unforeseen and unanticipated effects, which may be positive, negative, or neutral, that are not part of the actor's original intent. MASTERLIST | PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

pairing: astrophysicist jake x assistant reader

genre: co-workers to lovers

wc: part 1 – 20k | part 2 – 17.3k

warnings: even more slowburn than before lol, topics of abandonment issues, jake has his first kiss, makeouts, some touching (that's as far as it goes), cheesy ass astronomy rizz :'D

a/n: part 2 finally here !!!! guys, i think i'll complete it in one more part, we haven't even got to the juicy parts, they're both still Realising their feelings for each other i'm really taking the slowburn to another level :'D posting this now since i have a busy weekend ahead and it'll take some time for the final part to come out, so enjoy <3

nine.

jake wasn't sure when he started noticing the small things.

it wasn't dramatic. it wasn't some grand realization, some epiphany that crashed into him like a runaway train. no, it was more like a slow leak in the ceiling – subtle at first, barely noticeable, until one day, he looked up and realized the whole thing was caving in.

you were still there. still at your desk. still doing your job. but something had changed.

for one, you no longer lingered.

before, you used to wait by his desk after reminding him of a meeting, hovering until he actually got up because you knew how prone he was to getting lost in his own head. you used to place his coffee just within reach of his right hand, knowing that he’d grab it without looking. you used to let out these small sighs when he worked through lunch, before eventually caving and placing a takeout container beside him with an exasperated, “at least eat before you starve.”

but now? now, you just told him his schedule and left. you still got his lunch, but it was left on the side of his desk, impersonal. you still reminded him about meetings, but you never waited for him to actually stand up. and the worst part? he knew it was because of him. because he had snapped at you. because he had made you feel like you had overstepped when, in reality, you were just doing what you had always done – taking care of him.

the guilt sat heavy in his stomach.

well, he had got what he had wanted, right? he had told you to stop caring, to make yourself scarce, and you were doing just that. you were back to being background noise again, the week before had probably just been a blip in time. maybe none of it had even happened – he hadn’t been late to his meeting, he hadn’t spent an entire evening with you sorting through his emails, he hadn’t brought you coffee like a delirious fool. he hadn’t snapped at you – acknowledged your efforts and put you down regardless.

there’s a law in physics, the law of unintended consequences.

jake had spent his life studying the rules that governed the universe. he had built entire theories on cause and effect, on how one action – one force – could change the course of everything around it. but there was a gap in every equation, an unpredictable variable that not even the most meticulous calculations could predict.

it was a rule he had known but never thought to apply to his own life.

and yet, here he was, watching as you followed the letter of his words but not the spirit. he had wanted distance. he had told you as much in sharp, thoughtless words. he had thought, idiotically, that space would bring things back to how they used to be.

instead, it had set something irreversible in motion.

at first, he told himself it was fine. he had bigger things to focus on, deadlines to meet, research papers to finalize. but the problem with noticing something was that you couldn’t stop noticing it. you were efficient, precise, the perfect assistant; exactly as you had been before.

except now, he felt the absence of you.

before, he never had to wonder if he’d make it to meetings on time. you would wait, standing by his desk with that look, the one that told him you knew he’d ignore you if you gave him even a second of leeway. but now? you simply reminded him and left. no hovering. no pointed sighs. no exasperated nudges to get moving.

and then there was the coffee.

it was a small thing, but jake noticed. before, the cup would be exactly where he needed it, always within reach of his dominant hand. a quiet, unconscious act of care. now? it was placed neatly at the edge of his desk, just out of immediate reach. he had to go out of his way to grab it.

it was ridiculous, the way these tiny details unsettled him.

he told himself it didn’t matter. that he had asked for this. that he shouldn’t be so thrown off by things he never even realized he relied on.

and yet.

he wasn’t sure what did it.

maybe it was the moment he saw you cleaning up a stack of files and, in your hurry, ran your hand along the sharp edge of a paper cutter. you barely reacted, shaking off the small drop of blood, about to move on like nothing happened. but something in jake stilled.

something made him sit still and watch like a creep through the crack of his door as you paused in your actions and moved your finger to your lips, gently sucking on the wound till the bleeding stopped.

it was such a small act. so innocent, something akin to a first aid, but his breath hitched. his breath hitched when his eyes tracked your actions, your hand going back to sorting through files, your wound long forgotten.

his body moved before his mind could catch up, his chair scraping against the floor as he stood.

for the first time in days, you actually looked surprised when he placed a bandaid in your palm instead of just tossing it onto your desk.

“you should be more careful,” he said, his voice coming out gruff, almost scolding.

you blinked at him, clearly thrown off, before your expression shuttered back into polite professionalism. “it’s just a small cut.”

jake clenched his jaw. he knew that. of course he knew that. but that wasn’t the point, was it?

still, you thanked him with a nod, applied the bandaid, and carried on like nothing had happened.

and that should have been the end of it.

but it wasn’t.

because jake, who had always been so good at solving problems, had stumbled upon one that didn’t fit neatly into any equation.

the unintended consequence of his distance wasn’t just that you stopped lingering. it was that he now felt like an observer in his own life, watching as something essential slipped away, and—

and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

jake had never been one to believe in regret. he made decisions, and he lived with them. he adjusted. he recalibrated. he hadn’t cared much when only his mom could make it to his annual school competitions, doing her best to cheer louder, to compensate for the missing person in his life. he hadn’t given two shits when people in high school had stared and pointed at him like he had been an anomaly. not when his overbearing aunts had disguised their praises for him as something he should inherently be able to do to make up for the absence of the person in his life.

he hadn’t wasted time pondering upon silly questions like ‘was i not enough?’ or ‘was i not lovable enough for him to stay?’.

even in his young mind, those had seemed futile questions, ones he would never have an answer to and therefore, not worth his time.

but now, he was finding himself staring too long at the empty space you used to fill. he was realizing that, for someone who prided himself on understanding the fundamental laws of the universe, he had overlooked the most important one.

he had always thought that if he pushed something away, it would eventually return to its natural place. like gravity pulling a comet back into orbit.

but now, he wasn’t so sure.

now he was actually questioning things – emotions, feelings, hurt.

had he hurt you?

but why would he care? why would he start now? why would you care about him to the point that you would let his ineptitude hurt you?

jake didn’t consider himself the kind of person who fixated on things. he was methodical, pragmatic, someone who could compartmentalize problems into neat little boxes and only open them when absolutely necessary.

but this?

this was a crack in the foundation he hadn’t accounted for.

he told himself it was fine – your distance, your absence, the way you had begun to retreat from him in increments so small he might not have noticed if he weren’t already looking for them. he told himself he had wanted this, and that it didn’t matter.

and yet.

jake found himself watching. noticing. keeping track of the subtle ways you had begun to slip from his periphery, like sand through his fingers.

before, he had always known where you were. even if he wasn’t actively looking, you were just there, orbiting around him in a way that felt natural, unshakable. but now? now, he caught himself scanning the office for you, only to realize you were nowhere nearby. it wasn’t that you weren’t working – you were still efficient, still meticulous, still the perfect assistant – but you were no longer his constant.

the worst part? he had no idea why it bothered him so much.

he kept trying to rationalize it, to shove the thought into a mental folder labeled irrelevant and move on. but it was harder than he expected.

because there were moments, tiny and fleeting, where he thought he caught glimpses of something deeper beneath your polite professionalism. a hesitation before answering him. the way your lips pressed together just slightly when he handed you a stack of papers without so much as a please or thank you. the way you never quite met his eyes for too long anymore.

it had been a series of choices, he realized. small, inconsequential decisions that had snowballed into something much bigger than he had ever intended.

like the way he had dismissed you, snapping at you in a moment of frustration. he hadn’t thought twice about it then – just another conversation, another fleeting exchange in the middle of an exhausting day. but the weight of it lingered, heavy and suffocating, because now he could see the ripple effect in real time.

he had thought pushing you away would return things to normal. instead, it had left him standing in the ruins of something he hadn’t even realized was important to him.

and the most frustrating part? he didn’t know how to fix it.

jake wasn’t used to being at a loss. he had built his life around solutions, around having the answers before anyone even knew there was a problem. but this? this wasn’t a puzzle he could solve with logic or calculations. this was different. this was messy and human and something he didn’t even fully understand himself.

so he did what he always did when faced with something he couldn’t control – he observed.

he started paying closer attention. he told himself it wasn’t because of you, not really, just a vague curiosity that had no deeper meaning. but then he noticed how you laughed more with others now. how you lingered in conversations with coworkers, how your shoulders relaxed when you weren’t around him.

it was disorienting, realizing that you had found ways to exist outside of him. that you had always been capable of doing so, but he had just never seen it before.

and maybe that was what unsettled him the most.

one afternoon, he caught himself staring at the untouched coffee on his desk. it had gone cold. the same coffee you had placed there earlier, just slightly out of reach, like an afterthought.

jake had always taken for granted that it would be there. he had never even considered the effort behind it, the simple, thoughtless care that had gone into something as small as placing it within easy reach.

but now, staring at the lukewarm liquid, he felt something uncomfortable twist in his chest.

he didn’t like it.

he didn’t like how things felt off-kilter. how he had let something slip between his fingers without even realizing what it was. he didn’t like how aware he was of your absence now, how much space you had unknowingly occupied in his life before you started retreating.

it was frustrating, this gnawing feeling of wrongness.

so he did something stupid.

“hey,” he said one evening, catching you just as you were gathering your things to leave.

you blinked at him, clearly surprised. “yes?”

he hesitated for a fraction of a second. he hadn’t actually thought this far ahead.

“i—” he cleared his throat. “did you—uh. did you send the reports to finance?”

your brows furrowed slightly. “yes. i emailed them over earlier.”

“right. okay.” he shifted, feeling uncharacteristically awkward. “thanks.”

you nodded, waiting for a beat. when he didn’t say anything else, you adjusted your bag on your shoulder. “alright. goodnight, dr. sim.”

and then you were gone.

jake exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. what the fuck was that?

that wasn’t what he had meant to say. it wasn’t what he wanted to ask. but the words had lodged themselves in his throat, heavy and unfamiliar.

because what had he wanted to say?

had he wanted to tell you he noticed? that he missed something he couldn’t even name? that for someone who prided himself on understanding the fundamental laws of the universe, he had failed to account for the one thing he should have seen coming?

gravity.

every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

he had pushed you away. and now, he wasn’t sure how to pull you back in.

jake sat back in his chair, staring at the empty doorway where you had just been.

he needed to fix this. he needed to rise up from his inability to form human bonds or interact like a normal functioning adult. he had never felt the need to do so before, but for once – he wanted to. at least try and make amends.

because  jake never meant to offend anyone, much rather put them down. but he had done, willingly so this time around. but he wasn’t so broken as to not hold on to the semblance of a decent human being and not apologise.

he needed to fix this. he just didn’t know how yet.

ten.

its 10:09 am when the phone on your desk rings.

your fingers hesitate for a second before picking it up, already half-expecting it to be a mundane request from another department. but the voice on the other end is unfamiliar.

“hello, this is dr. sim’s office, correct?”

you straighten slightly at the mention of jake’s name. “yes, this is his assistant speaking. how can i help you?”

the woman on the other end exhales, relief threading through her voice. “oh, thank god. i’ve been trying to reach him, but he’s not answering his cell. can you please tell him his mother is calling? it’s urgent.”

your breath stills. his mother? you’ve never spoken to her before, but something about the way she sounds – strained, worried – has your heart clenching instinctively.

“of course, ma’am. please hold for a moment.”

you press the receiver against your chest as you rise from your desk, walking toward jake’s office with quick steps. when you push the door open, you find him at his desk, eyes glued to his monitor, expression unreadable.

“dr. sim,” you say carefully. he barely glances up. “your mother is on the line.”

that gets his attention.

his head snaps up so fast it looks like it might hurt, and the second he sees your expression – neutral but carefully watching – something in his own face shifts. a split-second crack in his usual control.

his mother wouldn’t call the office unless something was wrong.

you see it the moment his mind catches up to the implication. his face goes pale, and he pushes back his chair roughly, standing so fast it scrapes against the floor.

“transfer it,” he says, voice clipped, but his hands are already trembling as he reaches for the phone on his desk.

you nod and return to yours, quickly pressing the button to connect the call. as soon as it clicks over, you hear his voice – lower now, tight with something close to dread.

“mom?”

you should turn away. you should focus on your work, give him the privacy he needs. but something keeps your gaze locked on him, even as you try not to make it obvious.

there’s a pause. then, whatever his mother says has the color draining from his face entirely.

his fingers clench around the phone. his jaw sets tight, lips parting slightly like he wants to say something, but no words come out.

then, finally, he exhales.

“when?” his voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it, a sharpness that makes your stomach twist.

another pause. then he nods, even though she can’t see him. “okay. i’ll be there.”

he hangs up.

for a moment, he just stands there, fingers still curled around the receiver like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. his head is slightly bowed, his shoulders tense.

and then he turns.

his eyes meet yours. and for the first time in a long time, you see something raw and unguarded in them. not frustration. not cold professionalism. something else entirely.

something that makes you forget, for just a moment, that things have been different between you. that there’s been an invisible wall between the two of you, made of everything unspoken.

“is everything—” you catch yourself. it’s not your place to ask. but the words are already out there. “is everything alright?”

he swallows. a muscle in his jaw jumps. he looks like he wants to say no. but he doesn’t.

instead, he exhales slowly, like he’s trying to ground himself. “i need to leave for a bit.”

“of course.” you hesitate, but then add, “do you need me to reschedule anything?”

he nods once, curtly. “yes. i’ll send you a list.”

the phone call had been brief – too brief for how he looked now. his face was pale, fingers twitching slightly at his sides as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them. the usual sharp focus in his eyes was gone, replaced with something unsettled, something raw.

you had barely heard what he’d said when he hung up. just a quiet, clipped response before he set the phone down with unnatural care, as if it might shatter in his hands. then silence. a long, heavy silence that made you shift in your seat.

he’s already reaching for his coat, but the way he moves – it’s not the usual controlled efficiency he carries himself with. his hands are stiff, his grip on the fabric just a little too tight. like he’s barely holding himself together.

“…dr. sim?”

jake didn’t respond.

you hesitated, glancing toward the doorway of his office. no one else was around – just the two of you in this unsettling quiet. you had been ready to move on, to keep things professional, to pretend you weren’t still hyper-aware of the strange coldness that had settled between you both. but this? this wasn’t something you could ignore.

you took a step forward. “jake.”

his head snapped up.

it took you off guard, the way his gaze sharpened at the sound of his name. but then, just as quickly, the tension in his shoulders collapsed. his expression flickered – like a fault line deep underground, cracking beneath pressure.

you tried again, softer this time. “what happened?”

jake inhaled, but the breath barely reached his lungs. “it’s my mom.”

your stomach twisted.

you had remembered jake’s phone call with her a few days ago. how he had sounded so agitated back then. jake never spoke much about his family, but you knew enough to understand that she was important to him in ways he didn’t know how to express. that, for all his cold rationality, all his carefully measured distance, she was a gravitational force in his life that he could never quite pull away from.

“what’s wrong?” you asked, your voice gentle.

jake didn’t answer right away. he looked at his hands – like he wasn’t sure when they had started shaking. when he finally spoke, his voice was low, nearly inaudible.

“she’s in the hospital.”

something in your chest tightened. “jake…”

he shook his head once, as if physically stopping himself from unraveling. “i—i need to go,” he said, already reaching for his coat, movements stiff. “i don’t—i can’t just sit here.”

“of course,” you said immediately. “do you want me to call someone? arrange a flight?”

“no,” he said, too quickly. he pressed his fingers to his temple, exhaling hard. “i’ll handle it.”

you watched him, watched the way he was barely keeping himself together. and despite everything, the growing distance, the unsaid things, you couldn’t just let him go like this.

“jake,” you said carefully, stepping closer. “let me help.”

for the first time in weeks, he met your gaze directly. and for the first time in weeks, you saw something unguarded in his eyes.

not calculation. not control.

just fear.

his throat bobbed. he looked like he wanted to say something – like he didn’t know how. but then his jaw clenched, and he nodded once, just slightly.

you reached for your phone. “i’ll book the next flight.”

jake exhaled slowly, as if grounding himself. he didn’t thank you – not verbally. but the way his shoulders loosened just slightly, the way his hands stopped trembling—

it was enough.

the drive to the airport was quiet.

jake was in the passenger seat, fingers curled into fists on his lap. he had barely spoken since leaving the office, only responding in brief nods or single words when necessary. the weight of the unknown pressed heavy between you both, thick like fog.

you had booked the first flight you could find, mere hours from the phone call and you had made sure he had gone back home immediately to pack his necessities. you knew you had a hard time coming with all the meetings and deadlines that needed to be pushed back, but that could wait. you had to make sure he was fine first.

you were in half a mind to offer to go along with him, but that would be crossing a line, right? afterall, you both were still at crossroads, still just assistant and employer. you couldn’t possibly even dare to suggest this in the first place.

when you pulled into the departure lane, you hesitated before reaching for his bag in the backseat. “are you sure you don’t want me to—”

“no,” jake said, shaking his head. his voice was hoarse. “you’ve done enough.”

you swallowed. he wasn’t saying it unkindly – just…tiredly. hollow in a way that didn’t suit him.

still, you lingered. you weren’t sure why. maybe it was because of the way he gripped the strap of his bag too tightly. maybe it was the way his breath came uneven, like he was bracing for something.

maybe it was because, for the first time, jake sim looked small.

he was out of his lab coat for the first time, a hastily found hoodie on his frame but his eyes. they looked so lost, so panicked and scared all at the same time, you couldn't even start to think what was going on in his mind. but you know for once that it hadn’t got anything to do with numbers and the universe.

you don’t know how to comfort him, not without knowing the situation and you definitely do not want to feed him empty reassurances. he would see right through them, the logical man that he was, he would probably even scoff at you for being presumptuous. so you do the best you can with the situation.

“i hope she’s okay,” you said quietly. “let me know when you land.”

he hesitated. then, finally, “yeah.”

“and don’t worry about work, i promise i’ll reschedule everything, take as much as you need.”

this, you mean too. because you will make sure of this, it’s the only thing you can do, to be quite honest. so you decide that you will, and you’ll give it your all.

you didn’t expect more. and yet, just as he was about to turn away, he stopped.

for a second, he looked like he might say something else. like he might let something slip through the cracks of whatever walls he had built between you both.

but then he just inhaled sharply and stepped away from the car, disappearing into the terminal without another word.

and you were left there, watching him go, wondering why it felt like something in you had gone with him.

eleven.

jake sat in his old car, the one his mom drove now. he had tried to convince her to buy a new one, but she insisted on using this beaten up junk he had used for most of his university life.

his day had been hectic, to say the least. he had touched down within two hours of leaving, all because you had managed to book him the earliest flight possible. his first stop had been the hospital where his mother had been admitted. she had fainted apparently, in the middle of a grocery store. someone had helped her and when she had come to, she had called jake immediately.

of course, as an understanding woman, she had hesitated before calling, but then she figured she’d be abandoning her son the way his father had, so without a second thought, she had called. she had buried the feeling that she was being a burden and explained to jake what had happened.

something very minor, a quick surgery would fix it, she’d be up and about in a week, but she would require someone by her side for that time.

jake talked to the doctors, a decision was made almost immediately, whatever his mother needed, he would do it. the surgery was in three days, she would not be in any major danger till then.

and then he had called you. well, he had called his front desk and asked to be transferred to you because he did not have your number.

“dr. sim?” your voice sounded distant and it only hurt a little that you didn’t call him by his first name like you had back then.

a long silence. then, his voice – low, rough, exhausted.

“she needs surgery.”

you had straightened in your chair. “surgery?”

“a minor procedure,” he clarified, though his voice sounded anything but reassured. “the doctors said she’ll be fine, but…”

he trailed off. you waited.

“but i don’t know if she wants me here.”

that was the part that made your stomach twist. not the surgery, not the hospital – those were tangible things, things jake could analyze and categorize, things with numbers and statistics and measurable risks. but this? the unspoken weight of old wounds, of things left unresolved between him and his mother?

this was something jake couldn’t quantify.

“dr. sim…” you started, hesitating. you weren’t sure if he wanted comfort, if he would even accept it. “i’m sure she’s glad you’re there.”

a dry, humorless chuckle crackled through the receiver. “i have been pushing her away for so long, i won’t blame her if she doesn't want me here.”

and he had done the same to you too. he had convinced himself that you did not need him or have any requirement of him in your life for it to function.

you closed your eyes. “have you talked to her?”

another pause. “not really.”

the admission had made something in your chest tighten.

“i don’t know what to say,” he muttered. “i don’t know if i should even be here.”

you exhaled slowly, gripping your phone tighter. “dr. sim, she called you.”

that made him pause.

“she called you,” you had repeated, softer this time. “if she didn’t want you there, she wouldn’t have.”

for a long time, there was nothing. just his breathing on the other end, slow and uneven. then, finally—

“maybe.”

it wasn’t certain, but it wasn’t dismissal either.

you had glanced down at your planner, at the list of tasks you still needed to get through before the day ended. none of them had seemed as important then.

“if you need anything,” you had said, voice steady, “just let me know.”

jake hadn’t responded right away. but when he finally did, it was quieter, softer than before.

“yeah,” he murmured. “thanks.”

and then the line went dead.

his hands rested now on the wheel, unmoving, but his mind was anything but still. he had been sitting there for ten minutes now, staring at the house in front of him, telling his mother to go on first, that he would follow soon after. it was the same house he had grown up in, the same porch light flickering against the damp evening air, the same worn-out welcome mat his mother refused to replace because she said it held memories.

memories.

jake hated memories.

but lately, they kept creeping in, unwelcome and persistent, just like the thoughts of you that he couldn’t seem to shake. he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before finally stepping out of the car. the moment he knocked on the door, it swung open almost immediately.

“come on in, i was starting to think you’d spend the night in that old thing.” his mother’s voice was warm but held that gentle chiding tone only mothers could master. she must have been waiting.

“yeah,” jake muttered, stepping inside. “sorry.”

his mother gave him a knowing look but didn’t push. instead, she motioned for him to sit at the kitchen table. it was strange, being back home. the familiarity was both comforting and suffocating.

they ate in silence for a while, the only sounds coming from the occasional clink of cutlery against ceramic. his mother had made all his favorite dishes, even before she knew he was coming like it was something she did regardless of whether or not her son was in town, and he hated how easily that made his chest tighten.

“so,” she finally said, breaking the quiet. “how’s jay? sunghoon?”

jake nodded. “they’re good.”

his mother hummed, waiting. jake knew she wasn’t just asking about them.

“and you?” she prompted.

“i’m fine,” he answered automatically.

her eyes softened, but she didn’t call him out on the lie. instead, she reached for his empty plate and stood to rinse it. that was always how it was between them. no forced conversations, no prying. just patience. it used to drive him crazy.

“you don’t visit as much anymore,” she said casually, but jake could hear the weight in her voice.

jake leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple. “i’ve been busy.”

“too busy for your mother?”

his throat felt tight. “that’s not—” he sighed. “i don’t know.”

she shut off the sink and turned to him, drying her hands on a dish towel. “you’ve been running, jake.”

the words struck deep, hitting something raw inside him. he opened his mouth to deny it, but what was the point? she saw through him, as she always had.

“ever since your father left,” she continued, voice gentle but firm, “you’ve been running from anything that makes you feel too much. you push people away before they can leave you first.”

jake clenched his jaw. “that’s not true.”

her expression didn’t change. “isn’t it?”

he wanted to argue, but flashes of his past screamed otherwise. his father’s car pulling out of the driveway, his mother’s silent tears in the kitchen, the way he had stopped asking when his father would come back. how he had pulled away – from her, from the warmth she tried so hard to keep alive in their home. because what was the point? if his own father could leave so easily, then wasn’t everything temporary?

his mother sighed, walking over to sit beside him. “i don’t bring this up to hurt you, sweetheart. but i see the way you hold yourself back. you’ve always done that, even when you were a boy. you care, but you don’t let yourself feel it too deeply.”

jake exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around the edge of the kitchen table. the weight of his mother’s words settled heavily in his chest, pressing against old wounds he’d buried for too long.

“maybe,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

his mother didn’t gloat, didn’t press. she only gave him that quiet, patient look that somehow made him feel both seen and uncomfortably exposed. it was always like this with her – gentle in the ways that hurt the most.

“i know why you’ve been distant,” she said softly, moving back to the table. “and i know it’s not just about me.”

jake stilled. he knew what was coming next. he could feel it in the way his mother studied him, in the way her eyes carried an understanding he wasn’t ready to face.

“you always bottle things up,” she continued, her voice steady. “you don’t let yourself get attached. you let people slip away before they even have the chance to stay.” she paused, letting her words settle.

then— “but there’s someone you don’t want to let go of, isn’t there?”

jake’s breath hitched. his immediate instinct was to deny it, to shut down the conversation before it could go any further. but the words refused to form.

because she was right.

because for the first time in years, there was someone – someone who had slipped into his life so effortlessly, so quietly, that he hadn’t noticed until the absence of their presence started to eat away at him. someone whose voice still echoed in his head, whose absence left a hollowness he couldn’t explain away.

you.

his mother didn’t push. she just waited, as she always had, offering a space that was safe even when it didn’t feel like it. and maybe it was the exhaustion from the past few days, or maybe it was the fact that, for once, he didn’t want to run from this conversation.

jake exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “i don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

his mother simply hummed, waiting.

“i’m… off,” he admitted, hesitating. “lately, everything feels – wrong. like i’m forgetting something important, like i’m missing something. but i don’t know what to do about it.”

his mother tilted her head slightly. “and does this have something to do with the person you called earlier?”

jake’s fingers twitched against the table. “i didn’t call her directly,” he muttered, because even now, he wasn’t sure if he could handle what saying your name out loud would do to him. “i had to go through the front desk to reach her.”

his mother smiled knowingly. “that’s not the point, sweetheart.”

jake swallowed. he knew. he knew exactly what she was getting at.

“it’s just… she’s just been there,” he found himself saying, his voice hesitant. “always so put together, always knowing exactly what i need before i even have to ask. it’s like she—” he stopped himself before he could say too much, but his mother was already watching him with an expression that told him she understood more than he wanted her to.

“she takes care of you.”

jake’s jaw clenched. “yeah.”

“and you don’t know what to do with that.”

his laugh was hollow, humorless. “i don’t think i deserve it.”

his mother sighed, her eyes soft. “jake.”

he shook his head, leaning back against the chair. “i hurt her.”

the words felt heavier than he expected. saying them out loud made them real, made them impossible to ignore.

his mother didn’t look surprised. “how?”

jake hesitated. he wasn’t sure where to begin. it wasn’t just one thing – it was everything. the way he’d dismissed you, the way he’d taken you for granted, the way he’d let you become part of his routine without ever stopping to consider what that meant.

“i pushed her away,” he admitted, his voice tight. “i didn’t even realize i was doing it until it was too late. and now…”

his mother’s gaze was patient, understanding. “and now?”

jake exhaled slowly. “now, i feel like i’m losing my mind.”

his mother’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “because change terrifies you. and she’s become part of your life in a way you never expected.”

jake stared at the table, his thoughts a tangled mess. “i don’t even know when it happened,” he murmured. “i just… one day, she was there. and now, when she’s not – it feels wrong.”

his mother reached across the table, placing a gentle hand over his. “that sounds a lot like caring, jake.”

he let out a slow, shaky breath. “maybe.”

his mother squeezed his hand. “sweetheart, i’ve watched you close yourself off for so long. and i know you think it’s safer that way. but it’s okay to let people in. it’s okay to care.”

jake closed his eyes. he wanted to believe that. he really did.

“i don’t know how to fix this.”

his mother’s smile was sad but encouraging. “then start by not running away.”

jake swallowed hard, her words settling deep inside him. for the first time in a long while, he felt like maybe – just maybe – he didn’t want to run anymore.

jake’s fingers curled against the table. “i don’t know how i feel about this.”

his mother reached out, resting a hand over his. “that’s okay. but don’t let your fear stop you from figuring it out.”

jake didn’t respond. he didn’t know how.

his mother sighed, squeezing his hand once before letting go. “just don’t push her away, jake. don’t make the same mistake your father did.”

the words hit harder than he expected. he wasn’t like his father. he refused to be. but deep down, he knew – he had spent so much time trying to avoid being hurt that he had been the one keeping others at arm’s length.

maybe that needed to change.

later that night, as he lay in his childhood bedroom staring at the ceiling, his thoughts kept drifting back to you. the way you carried yourself, the way you fought for your place, the way you—

the way you made him feel.

jake turned onto his side, exhaling heavily. maybe it was time to stop running. maybe, for once, he needed to stay.

twelve.

you sat at your desk, staring at the chaotic schedule in front of you. jake had only been gone a few days, but it felt like an entire month’s worth of work had piled up. between rescheduling meetings, handling review dates, and ensuring the interns didn’t completely destroy the office system, your plate was overflowing. but that was your job. and you were good at it.

jake’s absence, however, made things feel heavier.

you had never been more aware of how much of your day revolved around him until he wasn’t here. normally, he’d be in his office, shooting you the occasional exasperated look over paperwork, or stepping out to ask for another coffee despite already having two. you had gotten used to the rhythm of his presence, the way it filled spaces without needing to demand attention.

now, that presence was gone, and you were left to make sure everything didn’t completely fall apart before he returned.

you let out a sigh, rubbing your temples before picking up your phone. another call, another problem to solve.

by the time jake’s return was only a few days away, you were running on caffeine and sheer determination. you had managed to keep everything under control, but it had taken everything out of you. your mind barely had space to wander – except for the brief moments when you remembered your last conversation with jake. the way his voice had sounded so lost, the hesitation behind his words.

but you couldn’t dwell on that. he wasn’t here. and when he came back, things would fall back into place.

a knock on your office door snapped you from your thoughts. you looked up to see one of your colleagues peeking in.

“hey, dr. sim called. he asked for you specifically.”

you blinked. “me?”

“yeah. said he wanted to check in.”

you hesitated for a moment before grabbing the office phone and dialing the number.

it barely rang once before he picked up. “y/n.”

his voice was different. not as tired as before, but still carrying something heavy. you straightened in your chair. “dr. sim. you called?”

a pause. then, “yeah. i just… wanted to check in. how’s everything?”

you glanced at the never-ending list on your screen. “under control.”

jake let out a small huff, almost like a laugh. “of course it is.”

silence stretched between you, and for a moment, you weren’t sure what else to say. but then his voice softened. “thank you. for everything. i know it’s been a lot.”

you smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “that’s my job, dr. sim.”

jake inhaled sharply, like the words had physically hurt him.

your job.

like this was just a role, a duty to fulfill. like you were only here because of professional obligation, not because you had ever cared beyond that.

and maybe that was the worst part – knowing that at some point, you had cared. that at some point, he had meant more to you. but now, all that remained was distance, formality.

“right,” he said after a moment, his voice unreadable. “i’ll be back soon.”

“of course. safe travels.”

the call ended before either of you could say more, but the weight of it lingered. you sat there for a long time, staring at your desk, trying to push away the uneasy feeling settling in your chest.

meanwhile, on the other end of the line, jake sat in his childhood home, gripping his phone tighter than necessary. for the first time in a long time, he felt like he had lost something important.

and he had no idea how to get it back.

jay keeps him updated, the way you’re single handedly managing his schedule, making sure kang doesn’t fire his ass straight up (not that he would, jake’s too much of a genius for that to happen). but more than that, jay spoke of the way you kept things running, how you barely took a break, how you worked yourself to exhaustion, making sure everything was still intact for when jake returned.

jake listened in silence, the pit in his stomach growing heavier with each passing word. you had always been efficient, always been reliable. but there was something about the way jay talked about you now – how you were overextending yourself, how you hardly left your desk unless necessary – that made him uneasy.

by the time he finally stepped back into the office, the weight of unfinished conversations, of unspoken words, was pressing heavily on his shoulders. his absence had given him clarity, but clarity didn’t mean anything if he didn’t act on it.

when jake does come back, it’s a surprise to you too. he hadn’t called in advance, hadn’t mentioned anything, hadn’t even asked you to book a flight. just shown up to work on a thursday like he hadn’t been on a leave the past week.

it surprised you, you thought you were hallucinating.

jake was the same, yet different. he was still dressed impeccably, his dark suit fitted just right, his tie slightly loosened as if he had already had a long morning. but his eyes – those damn eyes – were sharp when they landed on you, scanning you like he was seeing you for the first time in months, not weeks.

“morning.” his voice was smooth, composed. if he was affected by anything, he didn’t let it show.

you forced herself to breathe. “morning.”

a pause later, you added, “how’s your mom?”

jake smiles, faintly. he looks tired, but also like he was well rested. like the week away from his office had given him the rest he had deserved.

“she’s fine,” he says, and you realise you had missed the warmth of his voice, “she’s recovering pretty fast.”

you nod, thankful that things were alright. you want to say something more, ask him how he was doing, ask him ask him if he’s really okay.

the words sit on your tongue, hesitant, unwilling to be spoken. you don't know if you have the right to ask anymore.

jake, for his part, watches you like he’s waiting for something. like he’s expecting you to say more, but when you don’t, he only nods. there’s something restrained in his expression, something that makes you feel like there’s more he wants to say too – but neither of you does.

instead, the moment passes.

“i should—” you gesture vaguely to your desk, to the endless tasks that had piled up in his absence. “i didn’t know you were coming back today, if you want , i can set your schedule up today. maybe a meeting in an hour with director kang, if you’re up for it, and then a review session with the legal team later in the afternoon. i can send the details to your email.”

jake exhales, eyes flickering to his office door. you’re rambling and he finds it amusing. or endearing. the thought of the latter feeling makes him tighten his hold over his bag, but he doesn’t look away, just nods along to whatever you say.

afterall, you know what’s best.

“right. i’ll look through it.”

you nod once, curt, and then turn back to your screen, as if that conversation hadn’t just been something fragile, something that could’ve cracked open if you had let it. you think that’s the end of it. that he’ll walk away, go back to his office, and things will return to the way they were.

but jake doesn’t move.

he lingers.

and then, in a voice softer than before, he says, “thank you, y/n.”

your fingers pause over your keyboard.

it’s not the words themselves that make your breath hitch – it’s the way he says them. the way they aren’t just polite acknowledgments, aren’t just an empty phrase meant to brush past the weight of everything left unsaid. no, this is different.

this is him meaning it.

this is gratitude in its truest form, held in his voice like it’s something delicate.

you inhale slowly, schooling your expression before you look up at him again. “of course,” you reply, but the words feel distant, like they don’t quite match the way your heart stumbles against your ribs.

jake’s lips press together, as if he wants to say something more. but then jay appears, calling out to him from the other side of the office, and the moment snaps in half.

just like that, he’s gone.

for most part of the day though, jake is drowning in work.

it had been that way since he got back – nonstop reviews, overflowing emails, projects that had stalled in his absence. the moment he stepped into the office, he had been pulled in every direction, barely given room to breathe. and he let it happen. work was easier to focus on. it was something he could control.

but every now and then, between the numbers and the reports, he felt it – the weight of your presence just beyond his reach.

you were there. moving around the office, talking to coworkers, slipping in and out of the conference room with files in hand. he caught glimpses of you in passing, his eyes drawn to you more times than he could count. you weren’t avoiding him anymore, not like before, but the distance was still there – an unspoken, lingering thing between you both.

he wanted to talk to you. he really did. but every time he so much as turned in your direction, something else demanded his attention – a call, an urgent email, a meeting running longer than expected. so he buried himself in work, knowing that if he just got through all of it, if he could just clear his plate, then maybe he could finally sit down with you. no interruptions. no distractions. just you and him.

but the day passed, and the timing was never right. not until lunch.

he didn’t notice at first – too caught up in his screen, typing away furiously. but when he finally leaned back to stretch, his eyes landed on your figure, knuckles raised against his door as if you were just about to knock.

your eyes widen as if you had been caught doing something scandalous, but you school your expression, clearing your throat hastily.

“you should eat,” you said, voice careful. “it’s been a long day, and it's only going to get busier later. dr. lee called for an impromptu review at four pm.”

you sound apologetic, almost as if you’re the one who put him through this predicament, especially after his first day back.

for a second, he just stared at you. it had been so long since you had done something like this for him. since you had even looked at him like this – cautious, hesitant, but still caring. and for the first time in what felt like forever, the words weren’t automatic, weren’t distant.

jake exhales, pushing away from his desk. his shoulders ache, his mind heavy from the sheer amount of work waiting for him, but for the first time today, his focus shifts entirely – to you.

you’re still standing there, waiting for his response.

his gaze flickers over your expression, taking in the way you hover, like you’re unsure if you should even be here. like you’re debating whether you should have said anything at all.

and suddenly, he doesn’t want you to leave just yet.

jake clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “have you eaten?”

you blink, clearly thrown off.

“uh,” you hesitate. “no, not yet.”

jake nods once, contemplative. then, without overthinking it, he pushes back his chair, standing to grab his coat.

“let’s go, then.”

your brain stutters. “go where?”

“lunch.” he says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. like it’s not entirely unprecedented and completely out of character for him to suggest something like this.

you stare at him, almost suspicious. “like, together?”

a corner of his mouth twitches, though he quickly tamps it down. “yes, y/n. together.”

you should say no. you should.

because this? this is dangerous territory. jake doesn’t ask you to lunch. he doesn’t ask you for anything, really – at least, nothing that doesn’t pertain to work.

but then he tilts his head ever so slightly, waiting. and maybe it’s the exhaustion talking, maybe it’s the way your stomach actually growls at the worst possible moment, or maybe it’s just that he’s looking at you like that.

like he’s trying.

“…okay,” you say before you can stop yourself.

jake nods, satisfied, before leading the way out of his office.

thirteen.

the café jake picked was a little ways away from the office, tucked into a quieter street lined with small shops. it wasn’t anything extravagant – just a cozy place with warm lighting and a surprisingly extensive menu. you weren’t sure what you expected, but it definitely wasn’t this.

“you come here often?” you asked as you both settled into a table near the window.

jake hummed, glancing over the menu. “not really. but i figured somewhere away from the office would be better.”

you blinked, caught off guard by his thoughtfulness. “oh.”

he didn’t elaborate, just focused on the menu like this was something normal. like he hadn’t just, for the first time in forever, actively chosen to spend time with you outside of work.

the waitress arrived, and after a quick back-and-forth (in which jake somehow convinced you to order something other than your usual go-to sandwich), you were left with nothing but your drinks and the thick air of unspoken words.

“so,” you started, wrapping your hands around your cup. “how’s your mom doing?”

jake leaned back slightly, fingers tapping idly against the table. “better. still recovering, but she’s been more energetic these past few days.”

“that’s good to hear.”

“she actually told me to stop hovering over her,” he added, lips twitching in amusement. “said i was more of a nuisance than a help.”

you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “i can imagine. you don’t seem like the type to sit still when you’re worried.”

jake’s brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t deny it. “you’re not wrong.”

there was a beat of silence, comfortable this time. jake studied you for a moment before tilting his head slightly. “what about you?”

you frowned. “what about me?”

he shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “how have you been? you’ve basically been running the office while i was gone.”

“it’s nothing i couldn’t handle,” you said, brushing it off.

jake wasn’t convinced. “jay made it sound like you barely had time to breathe.”

you huffed, shaking your head. “jay exaggerates.”

“does he?”

you hesitated. “okay, maybe a little. but it’s my job. it’s what i do.”

something flickered in his expression, but before you could dissect it, he changed the subject. “what do you do after work?”

you blinked. “huh?”

“when you’re not running the office or making sure i don’t completely destroy my schedule—what do you do?”

you narrowed your eyes, suspicious. “why do you want to know?”

jake smirked slightly, but there was a sincerity behind it. “just curious.”

you hesitated for a moment before sighing. “not much, honestly. i usually just go home, maybe read a little. sometimes i go out with friends, but it depends on the day.”

jake hummed, nodding. “sounds… peaceful.”

“sometimes.” you tilted your head. “what about you? when you’re not buried in research papers or ignoring kang’s calls?”

jake exhaled a laugh. “ignoring kang is a full-time job in itself.”

you snorted, shaking your head. but you’re also slightly malfunctioning. never in a million years would you have even imagined that you’d be sitting across jake sim, making small talk. is this a dream?

“but,” he continued, “i guess i read, too. or watch documentaries. i used to play soccer more, but it’s been a while.”

your brows lifted slightly. “soccer? really?”

jake smirked. “what, don’t believe me?”

this side of him is new. the smirk, the unguarded laughs, the way he sometimes bites his lips. you will yourself to stay calm, clench your fingers in your lap and exhale slowly.

you shrugged. “i just can’t picture you running around on a field when you’re usually glued to your computer.”

“i contain multitudes,” he said, mock-offended.

you rolled your eyes, but the smile lingered.

then, seemingly out of nowhere, he asked, “so, are you seeing anyone?”

your entire brain short-circuited.

“wh—what?”

jake leaned back, utterly unbothered. “you know. dating. boyfriend, girlfriend, situationship. whatever people call it these days.”

you stared at him. “why do you want to know?”

he shrugged, playing it cool. “just making conversation.”

your eyes narrowed slightly, but you answered anyway. “no. not at the moment.”

jake nodded slowly, almost like he was committing that information to memory.

you crossed your arms. “and you?”

his expression didn’t change. “no.”

“not even someone waiting for you to finally look up from your research and realize they exist?”

jake exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “not that i know of.”

you hummed, unconvinced, but let it go.

for a moment, the conversation lulled, and then you found yourself blurting, “why did you choose astrophysics?”

jake glanced up, slightly surprised by the question. but after a beat, his lips curled up faintly. “you really want to know?”

you shrugged. “i wouldn’t have asked if i didn’t.”

he leaned forward slightly, his voice taking on that familiar, passionate undertone he always had when he spoke about his field. “i guess it started when i was a kid. i always liked figuring things out, but space… space is different. it’s infinite, unpredictable. the more you learn, the more you realize how much you don’t know.”

you watched him, absorbed by the way his eyes lit up as he spoke.

“it’s terrifying,” he admitted, a small grin playing on his lips. “but it’s also incredible. there are entire galaxies out there, black holes that warp time, planets that could be habitable. the laws of physics as we know them could be completely different somewhere else.”

you smiled slightly, resting your chin on your hand. “you sound like you’re in love with it.”

jake blinked at you, momentarily thrown off.

then, he huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “maybe i am.”

and for some reason, something about that made your chest feel oddly tight.

the food arrived then, breaking the moment. but as you both ate, the conversation continued – easier now, lighter. and you didn’t miss the way jake kept looking at you, like he was memorizing this, like he was finally realizing that outside of the office, outside of schedules and meetings and deadlines, there was you.

and maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to miss out on that anymore.

jake walks beside you as you both make your way back to the office, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his coat. the lunch had been... nice. unexpected, but nice. and now, as the two of you walk in comfortable silence, he seems more at ease than you’ve seen him in a long time.

then, without warning, he speaks.

"did you know that if you fell into a black hole, time would slow down for you compared to someone watching from the outside?" his voice is contemplative, as if he’s only now realizing he said it out loud.

you blink, caught off guard. "um. no?"

jake nods, as if he expected that. "yeah. it’s called time dilation. the closer you get to the event horizon – the point of no return – the slower time moves for you, relative to everyone else. so technically, if you could somehow escape, you’d find that far more time had passed for the rest of the universe than for you."

you process his words, lips twitching. "so what you're saying is... if i ever want to time travel, i should just jump into a black hole?"

jake huffs out a laugh. "not unless you want to be spaghettified."

you stop mid-step. "spaghettified?"

he turns his head, eyes glinting with amusement. "yeah. because of the intense gravitational pull, your body would stretch into thin strands, like spaghetti. it’s called ‘spaghettification.’"

you let out a short laugh, shaking your head. "you’re messing with me."

"i swear i’m not." he grins, and for a moment, you see a different version of him – one without the weight of responsibilities or expectations pressing down on him. "the gravitational pull at your feet would be much stronger than at your head, so you’d get stretched out like a noodle before—" he snaps his fingers. "—being ripped apart."

you stare at him, utterly baffled. "what a horrifying way to go."

"oh, absolutely," he says, like it's the most natural thing in the world. "but theoretically, if the black hole was big enough, you might not even notice you’d crossed the event horizon. you’d just... fall. forever."

you don’t know what’s funnier – the fact that he’s so nonchalant about it, or the fact that he’s clearly enjoying this little tangent.

"so, the moral of the story," you say, crossing your arms, "avoid black holes."

jake chuckles, the sound low and genuine. "exactly."

for a moment, the two of you just walk, and you realize something – you actually like listening to him talk about this. there’s something comforting about the way he explains things, the way he gets lost in his own thoughts, his usual guardedness slipping away as he speaks about something he genuinely loves.

you glance at him, curious. you suddenly wonder about the jake sim you don’t know about. the one who apparently plays soccer and reads for leisure at home. what does he read? books on astrophysics? does he read fiction? does he have a favourite soccer team? does he still watch matches?

the more you imagine, the more you want to know.

who is jake sim outside of the brilliant astrophysicist you’re an assistant to?

but you don’t have to wonder too long. you’re already at the office doors and jake pushes them open first, holding them so you can step inside before him.

and that’s when jay sees you.

he’s standing near the entrance of the cafeteria, cup of coffee in hand, and the moment he spots the two of you stepping in together, his brows shoot up to his hairline. his eyes flicker between you and jake, and then – because he’s jay – his lips curl into a knowing smirk.

"well, well," he drawls, taking a slow sip of his coffee. "look who decided to have a little lunch date."

you freeze. "it wasn’t a—"

jake, to your surprise, doesn’t even flinch. he merely tugs off his coat, shrugging. "we were hungry."

jay’s smirk deepens. "uh-huh. sure."

you roll your eyes and push past him, but not before catching the way jay mouths "okay, i see y’all" at you behind jake’s back.

you ignore him.

you ignore the warmth in your chest too. however, if you know jay, you’d know that he’s anything but dismissive. that’s how you find yourself cornered in the printer room not even twenty minutes later.

jake had barely settled back into his office when you made your way to the printer room, hoping to grab some reports before his next meeting. it was supposed to be a quick trip – get in, get out, avoid any unnecessary interactions. but, of course, jay had other plans.

you didn’t even hear him coming.

“so.”

you nearly jumped out of your skin. “jesus—”

jay leaned against the printer, arms crossed, watching you with an all-too-knowing look.

you should’ve known. the moment you and jake had stepped into the office together, jay had been watching. his eyes had flickered between the two of you, brows raised ever so slightly, but he hadn’t said anything much at the time. which, in retrospect, had been a warning in itself.

and now, here he was, looking way too entertained for your liking.

“what do you want?” you asked, feigning nonchalance as you grabbed the stack of papers.

jay grinned. “oh, i don’t know. just wondering how your little lunch date went.”

you almost dropped the reports. “it wasn’t a date.”

“sure,” he nodded sagely. “just two colleagues, having lunch together, alone, outside the office, for the first time ever.”

you exhaled sharply, fixing him with a look. “he asked. i said yes. that’s it.”

jay hummed, unconvinced. “and what did you two talk about?”

“nothing special.”

“uh-huh. so, just to be clear,” jay continued, tilting his head, “jake sim—our very own resident workaholic, who has never once asked you out to lunch—randomly decides to do so today, and you think that means nothing?”

you shifted, feeling cornered. “jay—”

“because, and hear me out,” he interrupted, grinning wider, “it kinda seems like he’s making an effort.”

you blinked, lips parting slightly, but no words came out.

jay watched as realization flickered across your face, the way your fingers tightened around the papers in your grasp. and then he smirked, patting your shoulder before sauntering off, leaving you standing there, replaying the conversation in your head.

making an effort.

no. no way.

…right?

fourteen.

it started, as most things did between you and jake, with work.

you had long since grown used to your role as his assistant, leaving meticulous reminders on his desk so that he wouldn’t conveniently forget to review reports or attend meetings. it was a well-oiled system by now. you left him a note, he (sometimes) actually followed through, and the world kept spinning.

but now there was a comfortable dynamic starting to form between you two.

now jake would stop by your desk for a whole minute, greeting you warmly and in fact, he had started receiving his coffee from you at your desk itself.

there was always a polite but warm ‘good morning’ and ‘thanks for the coffee’ greeting you. and you liked it. you liked that jake would mirror your smile. the first time he had smiled at you – like, openly grinned, with his eyes crinkling – you had been blindsighted. you were probably too shocked to even return the gesture, sitting still for a whole minute, imprinting and memorizing the sight you had just been graced with in your memory.

turns out, you didn’t have to memorise it, because you were suddenly a regular recipient of it. every damn morning. well, it certainly was one reason to start looking forward to your mondays.

this was still jake, he was still the same old sleeves rolled up deep in calculations person inside his office. but when he passed by you? or when you entered his office? a permanent grin etched on his face. those eyes that had been focused on some report? positively sparkling behind his thick rimmed glasses.

he was suddenly starting to resemble a puppy in you reyes and the more you sneaked glances at him, the more you were concerned of this comparison.

so when you left a neatly written sticky note on his desk one evening—"reminder: review kang’s quarterly report before 10 am meeting tomorrow."— you thought nothing of it.

the next morning, you arrived to find the note on your desk. only, something had been added beneath your writing, in jake’s neat, slanted script:

"did you know that the universe is expanding at an accelerating rate? just like kang’s expectations."

you blinked. then blinked again. what the hell?

you turned your head toward his office, where the glass door remained shut, jake nowhere in sight. he had to have done this late last night. and he hadn’t even addressed your reminder – just hit you with a completely random space fact.

you thought it was a one time thing. maybe he saw the post notes on your desk and decided to leave one for the fun of it?

the next evening, after finishing up your reports, you left another note on his desk: "don’t forget to go through the intern evaluations before friday."

when you returned the next morning, there was another addition:

"forwarded you the evals.” below it, in his slightly scratchy handwriting was an addition: “incidentally, did you know that time moves slower in stronger gravitational fields? maybe that’s why this week feels endless."

you covered your mouth, suppressing a laugh. this man.

and just like that, it became a thing.

it started slow, with simple reminders laced with cosmic facts, but then it evolved. jake’s responses became more elaborate, slipping in more than just dry science.

one day, you left: "you need to approve the lab’s funding proposal by end of day. no exceptions!"

by the next morning, jake’s response was waiting for you: "did you know that some stars shine brighter when they have a companion? also, the proposal is on your desk, don’t nag."

your heart stuttered for an entirely different reason that day.

but jake never acknowledged it out loud. when you interacted in person, he was the same – calm, composed, occasionally brooding but never ignoring your reminders anymore. yet, on paper, in these little sticky notes, something else simmered beneath his usual cool demeanor.

it was a language only the two of you seemed to understand.

the next time you found a note, you stared at it a little longer than usual before pressing your lips together to suppress a smile.

"scientists believe there’s a ninth planet in our solar system, but we haven’t been able to find it yet. kind of like how i never see you taking breaks. go home on time for once."

like he’s one to speak, pulling long hours on days you leave on time anyway. regardless, you read it three times, warmth unfurling in your chest before tucking the note away in your drawer – right next to all the others you had kept. because you were keeping them now.

even if he didn’t catch you in the act of placing them carefully in one of your drawers, you had a feeling jake knew.

sometimes he was straight up funny, or so you thought. it was a side that you could usually only see through these notes because jake sim in person? he never said stuff like this.

once you reminded him of  a deadline: “the research proposal deadline is on friday. let me know if you need anything."

he replied: "there’s a giant storm on jupiter that has been raging for over 300 years. that’s still shorter than some of the meetings we sit through."

you had laughed. you had tried to be discreet about it but you couldn’t help the chuckle that had tumbled out and jake had caught you in that moment.

it was unfair, really. how easily he managed to make you smile. how effortlessly he turned something as mundane as sticky notes into something… else.

your cheeks had warmed up and very sheepishly, you looked away. but you missed the way jake had smiled to himself, pushing his glasses up and scratching his ears. cute, he had thought.

and proceeded to malfunction the rest of the day.

and of course jay noticed. of course he had something to say.

he started with jake first, because believe it or not, his friend was an absolute loser.

jay had been watching jake all morning. well, technically, he’d been watching jake for weeks now, but today was different.

jake was fidgeting.

now, jake sim did not fidget. he was the type of guy who could stare at a complex data set for hours without breaking concentration, but today? today, his pen was twirling between his fingers with a sort of nervous energy, his glasses had been pushed up his nose at least five times in the last two minutes, and most damning of all, he kept sneaking glances at your desk.

jay smirked, leaning back in his chair, watching the way jake’s ears tinged pink every time you so much as moved.

“oh, this is so good,” he muttered to himself.

jake ignored him, as he usually did. but jay knew the truth.

he wasn’t the only one who had noticed the sticky note exchanges. it had started small, easy to brush off as just another one of jake’s quirks, but then jay had seen you laughing at a note one morning, your eyes lingering a little too long on the writing before tucking it away. tucking it away. as in, keeping it.

jay, of course, had confronted jake immediately.

“you like her,” he’d accused one evening as they left the office.

jake had barely given him a glance. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“oh, come on, dude. you’re writing her space facts like it’s some secret code for flirting.”

jake had hesitated then, the barest of pauses in his step before he scoffed. “it’s not flirting. it’s just… facts.”

jay had groaned. “you absolute loser.”

the worst part is, jay actually reads one of those notes. 

you don’t even notice. he was leaning against your desk, waiting for you to find him one of those empty files you usually kept handy when he saw it. the yellow paper peeking out from under your keyboard.

you hear him scoff.

you turn just in time to see him pluck the sticky note off your desk, holding it between two fingers like it’s the most scandalous piece of evidence he’s ever seen.

“really?” he deadpans, reading the words aloud. “fact: the andromeda galaxy is on a collision course with the milky way. kind of like how you’re on a collision course with burnout if you keep staying past office hours. go home, y/n. – jake’”

he blinks. then looks at you. long. hard. smug.

you snatch the note back. “mind your business.”

“oh, no, no,” jay grins, crossing his arms. “this is my business. because you–” he points at you, then at your drawer, which probably has a whole stash of jake’s little science notes, “are clearly stockpiling these. and he” —cue the dramatic hand gesture in the direction of jake’s office— “is clearly trying to rizz you up with astrophysics.”

your soul leaves your body. “he is not!”

jay just laughs. “oh, honey. he is. and the fact that you’re keeping them? you’re down bad.”

you groan, pressing a hand to your forehead. “please shut up.”

“but like—are you guys flirting through the cosmos?” he’s grinning so hard, it’s physically painful to witness. “is this—interstellar rizz?”

“jay…”

“a universal love story?”

“jay.”

“gravitational attraction?”

“oh my god!”

fifteen.

it's been a whole entire month now. an entire month from the day you had been venting to jay about how you were just a paperclip to jake. a whole month since you quietly but seamlessly made your presence known in jake’s daily routine.

funny, how things change.

jake’s never been good with change though. 

it unsettles him – the way you’ve become this constant, the way he’s started to notice you in ways he never used to. at first, it was just small things. the way you always showed up in the lab before him, already setting up for the day. how you somehow remembered his preferred coffee order better than he did. the way your presence always lingered in the room, even when you weren’t speaking.

but then, those small things started becoming something more.

like how he started looking for you before even realizing he was doing it. how your voice, your laughter – hell, even the way you sighed when you were frustrated – started threading itself into the fabric of his days.

and the worst part? he let it happen.

jake liked routines, formulas, things that followed a set pattern. he liked knowing what to expect. but you? you were anything but predictable. and yet, somehow, you were still there, right in the middle of everything, shifting the entire equation of his life without permission.

how your presence had become something…expected.

jake didn’t like expecting things. expectations led to disappointments. people left, and routines shattered. he had learned that early on, and he had learned it well.

jake hadn’t meant to think of you. really.

he had been sitting at his desk, staring at the notes sprawled out before him, running calculations and double-checking measurements for the upcoming visit to the observatory. it was standard procedure – his advisor had asked him to review the telescope’s latest readings, compare them with the simulations, and ensure everything was in order before they proceeded with the next phase of their research. it was work he could do on autopilot, something he’d done dozens of times before.

and yet, he found himself pausing.

because for the first time in a long time, he didn’t want to go alone.

it wasn’t unusual for jake to make solo visits to the observatory – he actually preferred it that way. it was quiet, isolated, just him and the endless expanse of the universe stretched out before him. no distractions, no expectations. just the comfort of knowing that the stars above would always remain as they were – constant, unmoving, predictable.

but ever since you had slipped into his life, disrupting the structure he had so carefully built, everything felt different.

the observatory had always been his space. a place where he could think, where the world made sense. it was the last place he should be considering bringing someone else. and yet, the idea had wormed its way into his head and refused to leave.

he frowned, tapping his pen against the desk.

why did he want you there?

it wasn’t logical. you weren’t a physicist. you had nothing to gain from being in the observatory, nothing to contribute to the calculations or the data collection. the rational part of his mind told him there was no reason to invite you.

still, he found himself gripping his pen a little tighter, watching you from the corner of his eye as he wondered what you would say if he asked. but technically, he could use an extra pair of hands. he needed to cross check some numbers anyway, maybe you would be willing to help?

or is he rationalises his thoughts and actions as he finally makes his way over to you. it seemed, lately he had been doing a lot of that – seeking you out at your desk. 

“are you busy this evening?”

you looked up from your notes, brow arching slightly. “depends. are you about to ask me to do something tedious?”

jake scoffed lightly. “define tedious.”

you narrowed your eyes. “dr.  sim, you’re asking me to stay back after work. that email disaster was a one-time thing, but if you’re going to make me stay late to organize more files or proofread another hundred pages of data sheets, i will be charging overtime.”

jake huffed out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “it’s not that.”

you tilted your head, waiting for him to continue.

he shifted his weight slightly, gripping the edge of your desk like he needed something solid to keep himself grounded. “i need to check something at the observatory tonight. cross-check some numbers, recalibrate a few things.” a pause. “figured an extra pair of hands wouldn’t hurt.”

you blinked. “and i’m the extra pair of hands?”

jake nodded. “yeah.”

you stared at him for a long moment, trying to decipher his expression. you weren’t exactly well-versed in astrophysics, and you were pretty sure there wasn’t much you could actually do to help. but jake wouldn’t be asking if he didn’t think you were at least somewhat useful, he wasn’t the type to waste time.

still, something about this felt… off. not in a bad way, just unusual. jake rarely asked for company, let alone your company outside of work hours.

you leaned back in your chair, arms crossed. “i’m not sure how an assistant is supposed to be helpful at an observatory.”

jake shrugged, nonchalant. “moral support.”

you gave him a flat look. “moral support?”

“yeah. you know. in case i get emotionally overwhelmed by all the equations.”

you snorted, shaking your head. “right. that definitely sounds like something you’d struggle with.”

there was a glint in his eyes, like he was amused by your skepticism, but he didn’t argue. just watched you, waiting for your answer.

you exhaled through your nose, considering. the observatory wasn’t exactly your idea of an exciting evening, but… you couldn’t deny you were curious.

and maybe – just maybe – a small part of you liked the fact that he had asked.

“…fine,” you relented. “but if i get bored, i’m leaving.”

jake smirked. “noted.”

which brings you to now.

the observatory was quieter than you expected. it stood at the edge of campus, slightly isolated, its large dome stretching into the night sky, a dark canvas dotted with stars, and though you've never really considered yourself someone particularly enthralled by space, you can't deny the way the sight steals your breath.

in the center of the room, a massive telescope stands like something out of a sci-fi movie, its lenses gleaming under the soft glow of the control panel. but what steals your breath is the view beyond the glass ceiling – an entire universe stretched out above you, vast and infinite.

you exhale, stunned. “wow.”

jake watches you, something unreadable in his expression. “yeah,” he murmurs. “i thought you’d like it.”

there’s something about the way he says it – soft, almost hesitant – that makes your pulse skip.

jake was already setting up, his movements methodical. you hovered near the entrance, taking in the scene before finally making your way to him.

“so, what now?” you asked, clearing your throat.

he glanced at you, then gestured to a set of notes on the table. “just cross-check these while i calibrate the telescope.”

you nodded, flipping through the pages. silence settled between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. just the soft rustling of paper, the occasional click of buttons, and the steady sound of jake adjusting the equipment.

after a while, you looked up, watching him in his element. his brows were slightly furrowed in concentration, his fingers moving deftly over the controls. there was something almost peaceful about seeing him like this, completely immersed in his work.

“so.” you clear your throat, still taking in the sky. “this is where you go when you disappear for hours?”

“sometimes,” he admits. “it’s quiet here. no emails. no meetings. just… this.”

he moves to the telescope, adjusting the dials with practiced ease before glancing at you. “want to see?”

you hesitate for only a second before stepping closer.

jake’s hands brush against yours as he guides you to the eyepiece, and you pretend not to notice the way your skin hums from the contact.

you peer in, and suddenly, it’s just you and the stars.

it’s breathtaking. planets and constellations in sharp clarity, galaxies swirling in a cosmic dance.

“this is insane,” you whisper.

jake chuckles. “insane in a good way?”

“in the best way.” your voice reduces to a whisper on its own accord. through the eyepiece, you feel like you’re experiencing something intimate, only for your eyes. “i think i’m starting to understand why you like doing this work.”

you don’t know what motivates you to actually say it out aloud, but the comfortable silence that had settled between you may have been a catalyst.

jake laughs a tiny little laugh, almost quietly as if he wanted to preserve the sanctity of this moment. nothing but the hum of the machines surround you now and he can hear the way your clothes rustle when you adjust yourself to the telescope.

“it makes sense,” he said simply.

you tilted your head. “more than people do?”

his hands stilled.

for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. but then, he let out a quiet breath, gaze still fixed on the telescope.

“people aren’t predictable,” he said finally. “science is.”

you set the notes down, stepping closer. “predictability isn’t everything sometimes.”

he turned to look at you then, something unreadable in his expression. the air between you felt heavier, charged with something neither of you could name. the way his gaze lingered made your stomach twist, and for a second, you thought he might say something – something important.

there’s a beat of silence before he speaks again, voice quieter. “you ever think about it?”

“think about what?”

“how small we are,” he muses. “how, in the grand scheme of the universe, we’re just specks of dust on a floating rock.”

you pull away from the telescope to look at him, but his gaze is fixed upward.

“you’re telling me,” you start, amused, “that we came all the way here so you could have an existential crisis?”

jake huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “no. i just—” he hesitates, choosing his words. “i guess i wanted to show you why i love this.”

you don’t know why, but that confession makes something tighten in your chest.

you watch him for a moment – how the glow of the dim lights casts a soft halo around his face, how his brows furrow ever so slightly in thought. the glasses sit on the bridge of his nose, reflecting the stars above you. how his eyes shine behind those glasses, holding things you didn’t dare to ask him about. the soft smile tugging on the corners of his lips as his neck craned up in familiar appreciation.

for once, you don’t feel like an outsider in his world.

“this is where it started for me,” he said suddenly, his voice quieter than usual.

you turned to him, curious. “what did?”

his lips curved, not quite a smile, but something softer. “my obsession with space. the stars. everything.”

you waited, sensing that he wasn’t finished. and after a beat, he exhaled, tilting his head back as if he could reach into the past and pluck the memory right from the sky.

“i was ten the first time i saw saturn through a telescope,” he murmured. “my mom took me to an observatory for my birthday. she—” he hesitated for a fraction of a second before continuing. “she wasn’t exactly the type to understand science, but she knew i loved it. so she made the trip just for me.”

you watched him, noting the way his fingers twitched slightly before curling into his palm.

“she let me stay up late,” he went on, voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “and i remember looking through that telescope and seeing saturn’s rings for the first time. it didn’t feel real. it was just this perfect thing, floating out there in the dark. and i thought, ‘if something this beautiful exists so far away, what else is out there?’”

you felt your heart twist at the wonder in his tone, the lingering traces of a child who had once stared at the universe with wide-eyed fascination.

“she sounds like she really cared,” you said gently.

jake’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “yeah,” he admitted. “she did.”

a comfortable silence stretched between you, the weight of nostalgia settling in. when he spoke again, his voice was a touch lighter. “anyway, that’s how it all started. one night, one telescope, and a planet millions of miles away.”

you smiled. “and now you’re here. making it your whole life.”

he huffed a soft laugh. “yeah, guess so.”

the two of you stood there for a while longer, the silence stretching between you – not awkward, not uncertain, just there. comfortable. quiet. something unspoken settling in the air between you like stardust.

and when jake finally broke the silence, it wasn’t with another question. it was with a quiet, thoughtful, almost teasing murmur—

“you know, saturn’s rings are actually disappearing.”

you turned to him, eyebrows raised, almost alarmed. “what?”

he smirked, a knowing glint in his eyes. “slowly, of course. give it a hundred million years.”

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small, amused smile that pulled at your lips. typical.

jake had been careful in his explanations at first, as if gauging whether you were truly interested or simply indulging him. but the moment he realized you actually wanted to listen, something in him loosened. the words started flowing, effortless, unfiltered. he spoke of nebulae and galaxies colliding, of stars that lived and died before the earth had even existed. he pointed out constellations, filling the silence with a quiet reverence that made you feel like you were standing on the edge of something infinite.

you wonder if anyone else has ever seen this side of him.

not the researcher, not the reserved and often too-intense scholar, but the man who could speak about the cosmos with a fascination so deep it bled into his voice. the man who, for all his cool detachment, still carried the kind of awe that made you believe in something bigger than yourself.

and that’s when it happens. that’s when you feel it.

that slow, creeping realization that something has shifted. that this isn’t just about your inherent respect for this man. no, it was more than that. sure, you had started this month with a reluctant motivation to make this person acknowledge your existence.

but now that he is? it does something to you.

a quiet, unsettling shift that settles deep in your bones, in the spaces between your ribs where your heart beats just a little too fast. the realization slinks in slow, insidious – like the tide rolling in, creeping past where you thought the shore ended, until suddenly, you’re in deeper than you meant to be.

jake is still speaking, voice steady and sure, filling the silence with his quiet reverence. you barely hear the words anymore. something about the life cycle of stars, about the sheer immensity of time itself – how the light from some of these constellations has taken millions of years to reach earth, how when you look up, you are peering into the past.

it should be overwhelming. it should make you feel small.

but instead, all you can think about is the man beside you. talking so animatedly, his lips splitting into a grin, his teeth biting into the flesh every once in a while when he pointed out another constellation to you.

the paperwork you were here for in the first place remained forgotten. insignificant, almost as if you hadn’t really been required for it in the first place.

because you realize, then, that this isn’t just admiration anymore. this isn’t just you being awed by his mind, by the way he sees the universe with such unguarded wonder. it’s not just about the way he listens when you speak, or how he’s begun to answer your notes with scribbled facts, or how he’s been looking at you lately, with something unreadable in his gaze.

it’s him.

jake, with his impossible knowledge and even more impossible depth, the way his fascination bleeds into his voice when he speaks of things so much bigger than himself. the way his eyes are fixed on the sky, dark and gleaming, reflecting galaxies you’ll never touch but somehow feel closer to just by standing here next to him.

and it terrifies you.

because this isn’t what you planned. you were supposed to break down the walls between you, supposed to demand acknowledgment, supposed to pull him out of that self-imposed solitude and make him see you.

but now that he does?

now that he’s speaking to you like this, sharing this piece of himself so freely, without reservation?

now that you’re standing here, heart stuttering in your chest, wondering if maybe – just maybe – you don’t want him to see you just as his assistant anymore?

the thought makes your breath hitch.

“—are you listening?”

jake’s voice cuts through the haze of your thoughts, and you blink, snapping back to the present. he’s turned toward you now, brows raised in mild amusement, but there’s something else in his eyes, too – something patient, expectant, like he’s waiting for you to catch up to whatever just shifted between you.

you clear your throat hastily. “yeah. of course.”

his gaze lingers for a moment, like he doesn’t quite believe you. but then he huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he looks back toward the sky.

“good,” he murmurs. “i’d hate to bore you.”

as if he could.

you don’t say it out loud. instead, you let your gaze drift up to the stars, to the vastness of everything above you.

and you let the realization settle, no matter how terrifying it is. because something’s happening. something has happened in the span of a month already. you have an inkling as to what it is, but you’re not going to admit to it. not yet.

the tiny voice in the back of your mind is here to support you on that cause it seems, chanting in tiny font: just an assistant, just an assistant, just an assistant.

but when jake shifts closer, his shoulder brushing yours ever so slightly, you’re not sure who you’re trying to convince anymore

sixteen.

the office is eerily quiet at this hour, save for the rhythmic scratch of a marker against the whiteboard. the usual hum of ringing phones and hurried conversations has long since died down, leaving behind an almost sacred kind of stillness.

you glance at the clock in jake’s office – 7:34 pm. way past your office hours, but jake’s still in his office.

jake should have gone home hours ago. so should you. and yet, here you are, perched on the edge of his desk, watching as he works through whatever calculations are currently consuming his mind.

you’ve seen this scene play out before, too many times now.

it used to be just an observation. a fleeting thought that it couldn’t be healthy to spend so many hours so completely submerged in work. but lately, that thought has settled into something heavier, something almost akin to concern.

he’s been stuck for the last twenty minutes. you can tell because he’s frowning at the whiteboard like it personally offended him, one hand on his hip, the other tapping the marker absently against his thigh. you can practically see the gears turning in his head, equations unraveling and reforming, one possibility after another spinning behind his sharp gaze.

you don’t know when you started caring like this. you really don’t.

but you do.

so, as you hover near his desk, watching him scribble something with an almost frantic energy, you decide – he needs a break. and you, apparently, have taken it upon yourself to make sure he gets one.

“dr. sim,” you say, but it barely registers. his pen doesn’t even pause. nothing.

with a sigh, you reach forward and pluck the pen right out of his hand.

that gets his attention.

he blinks, finally looking up at you, and you don’t miss the way his brows furrow, like he’s only just realizing you’ve been standing there this whole time. you would have laughed at the way he looks at you like a kicked puppy. like you just snatched his lollipop right from his hands. although, given the situation, that’s an accurate comparison.

“what are you doing?” he asks, voice slightly rough from lack of use.

“saving you from yourself.” you twirl the pen between your fingers, giving him your best unimpressed look. “when’s the last time you took a break?”

he exhales sharply, rubbing his temples. “i don’t have time for a break.”

you shake your head. “that’s not an answer.”

jake lets out a quiet groan, leaning back in his chair. “i just need to finish this.”

“that’s what you said two hours ago.” you glance at the clock pointedly.

his lips press together, but you see the way exhaustion flickers across his features. he’s wearing himself down, the way he always does, and for some reason, that doesn’t sit right with you anymore.

“you look like you’re about to fight that thing,” you tease, breaking the silence.

jake exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “might as well. it’s being stubborn.”

you tilt your head, pretending to examine the mess of symbols and numbers scrawled across the board. you don’t understand a fraction of it, but that’s never stopped you from trying. “have you tried… asking nicely?”

jake gives you a flat look, and you grin, making your way over to the whiteboard in question.

“or,” you continue, voice laced with mischief, “you could let me help. i’m very good at doodling. that squiggly line right there?” you gesture vaguely toward the board. “desperately needs a smiley face.”

for a second, he just stares at you, expression unreadable. then, to your surprise, the corner of his mouth twitches. “that’s not a squiggly line. it’s a sigma notation.”

“yeah, well, i think it would be a lot friendlier if it had some personality.” before he can protest, you lean forward, swiping the marker from his hand. with a few quick strokes, you turn the apparently very serious mathematical symbol into a little doodle of a face, complete with tiny arms raised in triumph.

jake huffs out something that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “that’s sacrilegious.”

“it’s art,” you correct, grinning as you cap the marker and toss it back to him. “you’re welcome.”

he shakes his head, but there’s a softness there, something warm and reluctant in the way he looks at you. like he can’t quite believe you’re here, in his space, disrupting his routine with something as simple as a smiley face on a whiteboard.

like he hasn’t just surprised himself by not losing his mind over the fact that you just doodled on his very important notes. like he doesn’t even mind.

for a long moment, he just stands there, marker still loosely gripped in his fingers. then, with a quiet sigh, he lifts it and – to your utter delight – draws something beside your doodle.

he started with a small star in the corner – sharp, clean lines. then, next to it, he hesitated before adding another one. then another.

you tilted your head, watching him with something warm in your gaze. “what are you drawing?”

he glanced at you, then back at the board. “…orion’s belt.”

a slow smile stretched across your lips. “of course.”

jake didn’t know why the warmth in your voice made his pulse stutter, but it did. and when you stepped closer, your shoulder brushing his ever so slightly, he felt it even more acutely – the soft graze of fabric against fabric, the fleeting press of warmth before it vanished again

he doesn’t know when he started paying attention to things like this. the way your laughter fills up a room, how effortlessly it winds its way into the air, sinking into the corners of his office like it belongs there. the way you nudge him – not just physically, but emotionally, mentally, in ways no one else ever has.

he doesn’t know when it started, but he knows now that he’s in too deep to ignore it.

because right now, he’s standing at the whiteboard, marker in hand, with you beside him, doodling what can only be described as a catastrophically inaccurate solar system.

and somehow, impossibly, he’s smiling.

actually smiling.

he catches himself in the reflection of the glass across the room, and it startles him a little. he looks different. softer, somehow. the lines of his face, not weighed down by calculations or theories, but by something lighter. something he doesn’t quite have a name for yet.

jake doesn't know how long he stands there, marker in hand, staring at the mess of doodles you've scattered across his once-pristine whiteboard. he should be appalled, maybe even annoyed, but he's neither. if anything, he feels... lighter.

your laughter still lingers in the air, curling around the edges of the quiet like something tangible, something warm. and when you shift beside him, stretching lazily with a satisfied hum, he catches a faint trace of your perfume, something soft and familiar, something he has no right to associate with comfort but does anyway.

"i think we did some great work here," you say, stepping back to admire your collective masterpiece. "a true collaboration between genius and artist."

jake huffs a laugh, shaking his head. "you mean vandalism."

"semantics," you counter easily, nudging his elbow playfully. your touch is fleeting, barely there, but jake still feels it long after you've moved away. he grips the marker tighter than necessary.

you glance at him then, a knowing glint in your eyes. "alright, dr. sim. time for your verdict. did my artistic intervention help at all?"

he exhales slowly, letting his gaze sweep over the board again. and maybe it’s the exhaustion, or maybe it’s you, but he realizes that, somehow, the problem no longer seems as daunting as it did twenty minutes ago. the frantic mess of calculations, the numbers that had refused to align, don’t feel as suffocating now.

it’s absurd. it’s ridiculous. but somehow, your ridiculous doodles make the whole thing feel less intimidating.

jake turns his head slightly, watching you from the corner of his eye. you’re still looking at the board, a pleased little smile on your lips, completely oblivious to the way his mind is currently betraying him.

when did this start? when did you start creeping into his thoughts, into his space, into his carefully structured life with your easy laughter and casual touches? when did your presence start feeling like a constant, like something that belonged?

the realization unsettles him.

he clears his throat, looking away. "it’s… better."

your smile widens, and for some reason, jake has to fight the urge to look away again. "see? i told you i’m helpful."

he rolls his eyes, but there’s no real exasperation behind it. if anything, it’s just an excuse to look at something other than your stupidly pleased expression, which, annoyingly enough, does things to him he’d rather not analyze right now.

"well," you say, clapping your hands together, "my work here is done. i’ve successfully distracted you from overworking yourself into an early grave. i should get a raise."

jake snorts, shaking his head. "you’re already overpaid."

"lies and slander," you gasp dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. "i should report you to hr for emotional damage."

he’s about to retort when you suddenly step forward, reaching for the marker in his hand. jake’s breath hitches – completely involuntarily, because that’s the only explanation – as your fingers brush against his.

it’s brief. a fraction of a second, really. but it’s enough.

jake freezes.

the touch is light, barely there, but his mind registers it in excruciating detail – the faint press of your skin against his, the subtle warmth of your fingertips. it’s nothing. it’s everything. it’s enough to send his brain into a sudden, inexplicable shutdown.

you don’t seem to notice. or if you do, you pretend not to. you just pluck the marker from his hand and uncap it, adding one final detail to your masterpiece.

jake watches, still unnervingly aware of the ghost of your touch lingering on his skin. his fingers curl slightly, as if trying to hold onto something that’s no longer there.

you step back with a satisfied nod, capping the marker with a flourish. "there. perfect."

he barely registers what you’ve added – a tiny shooting star trailing behind orion’s belt – because he’s too busy trying to school his expression into something neutral, something that doesn’t betray the way his heart is currently behaving like it’s lost all sense of reason.

silence stretches between you for a beat too long. jake wonders if you can hear it – the way his pulse feels too loud, the way his carefully structured composure feels like it’s cracking at the edges.

then, mercifully, you step away, stretching again as you let out a small yawn. "alright, for real this time. i should go before i become permanently attached to this office."

jake nods, not trusting himself to speak just yet.

you glance at him one last time before heading for the door but for a moment, you just stand there, your fingers hovering over the doorknob. then you turn, looking at him with something softer in your gaze. something thoughtful.

"you should go home soon too, dr. sim."

it’s the first time you’ve said his name like that. no teasing, no playful lilt. just quiet. just sincere. jake’s heart clenches, aching to hear you call him but his first name. but he doesn’t say anything. not yet.

and for reasons he can’t quite explain, it sends something dangerously warm curling in his chest.

jake swallows. he nods.

you smile – soft, small, something just for him – and then you’re gone, the sound of the door clicking shut behind you somehow louder than it should be.

jake exhales slowly, staring at the empty space you left behind.

then, finally, he looks back at the whiteboard.

the equations are still there, unsolved. the numbers are still a mess, waiting for him to untangle them. but in the midst of all that, there’s something else now. doodles and stars and smiley faces. a small, stupidly drawn solar system that doesn’t belong in a room like this, in a world like his.

and yet.

jake lifts a hand, absentmindedly tracing a fingertip over the edge of one of your stars.

and yet, somehow, impossibly…it fits.

jake wonders if maybe, just maybe, not everything in his world has to be so rigid, so calculated. maybe some things – some people – aren’t meant to be neatly solved, but simply felt. and as his fingers linger over the soft curve of your drawn star, he realizes, with quiet certainty, that you’re the first anomaly he doesn’t want to solve.

[justladders]

To everyone in the art community, please:

Tracing is effective. But only as a learning tool. Telling people "never trace" can be robbing them of methods that could have been effective to their learning process if they'd known about them.

The "art of using tracing" is a bit looked over, so I have five points:

(it's a long one)

1: AS A RULE OF THUMB, DO NOT POST/SHARE TRACED AND STOLEN ARTWORK. This is not only lying to anyone you show it to, if you're trying to come off as, "I'm so good, look at what I did," but most importantly, it's lying to yourself. You'll trick yourself into not needing to get any better, and you will stagnate if you start to rely on tracing as a form of stealing. If you come to realize that you are, you should stop using any tracing methods altogether to keep yourself from abusing it. It's a slippery slope for beginners, and a big reason why you’ll hear almost everyone echo that you just shouldn’t trace at all. The issue is that this ignores the ways that tracing can actually be good.

2: Tracing sets the stage for motor skills/hand-eye coordination. I've seen so many early-stage beginner artists get upset that the art that they make of their favorite character/oc is messy, or maybe they just don't even know what they want to draw and can’t "make themselves mindlessly doodle.” These early arists then become completely disheartened and upset, especially if they start to look at other people for comparison. Tracing over work or even over photos is a way to train your hand to hold and wield a pencil/stylus properly without you being worried about the finished product. Think of it like a way to dip your toe into learning the process of what making art feels like, without having to get overwhelmed with searching up pointers and people telling you, "10 quick tips to become a master artist!!!!!!!" (<- please ignore those) If you’re just beginning, your hand-eye coordination needs to be trained, and you shouldn't bog yourself down so much thinking about end products just yet, so if tracing is the way to get you started, go for it. If you're a bit more experienced, tracing and drawing over reference can also help you warm up without being committal or stressing your art brain too much.

3: Practice "mindful tracing." While I said the previous point was targeted more at beginners, this point is actually about something that experts in their field use. Doing "mindful tracing" over art means that you aren't worried about getting the lines "correct," you're studying why those lines are there. You're taking note of where the shadows meet the highlights based on the light source, how it shows off the forms, and how sharp or soft the lighting is; you're going over the lines of action in the piece to see how your eye is guided by the artist's intention and planning; you're seeing how characters may be stylized into shapes and the feeling that those shapes can give; you're noting how the artist uses line weight or weird blocks of color or stark breaks to split up the art or separate ideas within it; you're experiencing the flow of the poses within the artwork to grasp how that kind of thing feels; you're breaking down the overall composition like in a thumbnail sketch; and the list goes on.

"Mindful tracing" ends up looking like you've marked up an English essay: it should be messy, because the intent with it is not to copy or replicate, it's to notate. It's like how literally writing notes on things helps you remember better than if you only read it. You're acknowledging instead of just looking. And you can always learn, even from styles that you don't intend on actually using. As you get to be more experienced, you may come to realize that you can do "mindful tracing" analyses on artwork without having to literally write over top of the piece, which is great: that means you're improving your creative brain, and prepping it to be able to break down your own works in this way as you make them.

4: Trace for specific character or style studying. For this point, I want to especially stress that this is what makes everyone say, "don't trace," because this is what tracing is most commonly associated with: art theft. There's really no excusable reason to repost someone's art in this way.

I feel like you have to be a bit more experienced to properly use tracing specifically for style studies. The benefits that come with tracing a certain style is that it can quite literally teach your hand/brain to recognize the patterns that are present. You get a feel for how far apart a specific characters eyes are, how big their hands are, how the shapes of the body make up their form, how the exaggeration in the expressions feel, and when traced you know you have all of these proportions correct. This makes it so much easier to start drawing the specific character on your own if you know that you have a correct baseline (and of course you should still use reference from then on). When you study many different characters of the same style, you can start to grasp what actually makes up this style that you're studying, where -similar to point #3- you train your art brain to recognize the original artists' intentions and ideas. I would even argue that doing this is MORE IMPORTANT than using reference at the very beginning of a style study, because it makes you worry less about if you're pulling from the reference correctly and instead lets you focus on the original art by thinking through it during the process; this kind of thing is done by professionals. Although tracing can net you these benefits for studies, it is not a way to get around the rest of the learning process, which is the pitfall that normally ends up making tracing ineffective.

5: Lastly, I actually kind of lied about tracing "only being good as a learning tool." The other case where tracing gets used is within the process of making hand drawn animation, and I do mean the professional stuff. Model guides are constantly used in classic animation as reference to keep by the animator's side so that characters stay on model, but sometimes there are unnoticeable parts of a character that just get straight-up traced from either the model sheet or a different scene that's already animated. When used smartly and sparingly, this keeps the character on model, is unidentifiable to the audience, and takes up less time for the animators to work (and by "used smartly" I don't mean moments where characters blatantly have 5 seconds of reused animation). I can basically guarantee that this practice was done throughout the making of any 2D project you can think of.

In digital hand drawn art, key frames between points in an animation may get the "shift and trace" treatment, where the tween frame is just a smudged-around-version of the key frames until it looks about right, and then it get traced over. Backgrounds get traced all the time by artists in the professional field through modelling a 3D render of the space, going over it so they have the layout, and then painting on top of it. When drawing characters, people will take photos of themselves and trace the pose, then keep it to the side as reference. And this is all without even mentioning rotoscoping.

When people say, "don't trace," what they actually mean is, "don't trace as a substitute for experience."

The issue is that people blanketly state, "x thing is bad," because then people that aren't learned in the field go, "oh, okay, x thing is bad, it will always be bad, I shouldn't look into it or consider it any more, and I should correct/disgrace anyone that thinks otherwise or does x thing."

So please. Trace. Tell other people to trace. But remember: trace mindfully. :)

[ttjisung]

lover is a day. na jaemin

ex!jaemin x fem!reader

in which jaemin tries his best to make it up to you after months of being apart.

cw: smut ofc... mdni! riding, missionary, he cries while he's inside, p in v (it's not mentioned but they use protection), hurt no comfort :/, angst, the ending isn't happy beware... (wc: 2.8k)

It had been two months and three weeks since Jaemin had seen you, and it felt like he was going insane. Admittedly, it was his fault, considering he was the one who invited you over one night to randomly break up with you after a year and a half together. He wasn’t sure why he did it, all he knew now was how badly he regretted it.

Jaemin was unaware of how boring life would be without the long rants about your favorite show, the lazy naps you’d take together cuddled up, the homemade meals that he tried desperately to recreate in hopes of reigniting past memories – he painfully realized that they didn’t taste the same without you. 

The intention behind his actions was never to cut you out of his life completely, he just felt suffocated at times. You were affectionate, which was an attribute he was once obsessed with; you never failed to make him feel loved, yet it eventually became too much, making him feel as though he was trapped. 

Jaemin could recall the night it happened. He had been at his university’s library, trying to study for an upcoming quiz and it proved difficult when his phone kept buzzing with new messages. He was frustrated, to say the least, when the people around him began to share judging side-looks at the noise. After two more annoyingly loud notifications, a stupid video of a pair of cats hugging with an accompanying ‘us’, he was done. Aggressively stuffing his textbooks back into his bag, he typed out a message asking you to come over before entering his car and speeding to his apartment. 

When he first opened the door for you, you were sporting a smile, immediately throwing your bag on the couch to rush in for a hug. He didn’t reciprocate when you wrapped your arms around him, and after an awkward sequence of pulling away and looking up at him, you noticed the unfamiliar scowl on his face. “What’s wrong?” You immediately asked, stepping closer to place your hands on his face. The action set him off, and before he knew it, he was ripping your hands off of him, whispering the words under his breath yet loud enough for you to hear. I think we should take a break. 

The guilt came almost instantly, seeing you shakily cry as you wiped tears off, reluctantly stepping away from him and leaning over the couch to grab your bag. You never said a word, simply nodding and shuffling to the door to leave. As Jaemin remembers that night, he wishes you would have said something. He wishes you would have yelled at him, acknowledged the fact that he just wanted a break – nothing permanent, begged him to take his words back, anything, yet you did nothing. 

It only took ten minutes for the realization that you were gone to kick in, and his regret to activate as well. He was quick to find his phone, trying to call you and make you come back, so he could apologize and you could be happy together again, yet you didn’t answer his calls. He tried to reach out to you everywhere he could, texting you on every app, calling you on other people’s phones once the paranoia that you might’ve blocked him blossomed, yet all he was met with was radio silence. That was when his depression kicked in.

Jaemin wasn’t eating well, he wasn’t sleeping well, he began to skip out on the gym, and eventually even missed his lectures that he once stressed about eagerly. He didn’t have the motivation to do anything, not when you were out of his life and there was nothing he could do to fix it. Every night, he’d open his phone and scroll past the countless unanswered messages he had sent you begging you to come back, until he’d reach the video of the cats you sent him. He’d embarrassingly watch it on repeat all night, silently crying into his pillow as he realized he could’ve been hugging you like the cats were right now, instead of basking in the loneliness of his cold, messy bed. 

He hadn’t fucked anyone since you – he’s not fully sure he’d be able to even if he tried. Every night, he’d lay in bed with his hand lazily stroking himself, his eyes emotionlessly staring at his ceiling as he tried to feel something, yet it never happened. The only times he was able to cum was when he’d reopen his folder of pictures you had sent him when you were together. After a month, it began to feel creepy so he stopped. He didn’t dare erase the photos though, afraid he’d forget how you looked after a while, so he hid the folder instead. 

It was a rainy day when Jaemin decided to go out again for the first time in a while. The sky was gloomy and grey as his feet led him towards the closest local cafe. His plan of ordering a scone alongside a coffee to take home quickly deteriorated when he stepped into the room, his eyes immediately landing on you. You were alone in a booth, typing something quickly on your laptop while taking a sip of a drink. Jaemin’s heart clenched at the noticeable tired look in your eyes. You looked as miserable as him, probably even worse considering he broke up with you. 

You looked sad, and before he could even think about it, Jaemin rushed up to you, placing a hand on your shoulder to get your attention. He didn’t like the way your expression shifted to panic when you looked up at him, nor did he like the way you lightly shook with nerves as you let out a tiny hi. He felt bad, knowing this was the first time you had ever regarded him with such hesitance. It was your pained expression that reminded him that he was the bad guy in your story, and it made him regret ever even thinking of ending things.

“Hey… It’s been a while.” You awkwardly nodded at his words, avoiding eye contact. Truth be told, you were far from moving on, a part of you shocked because you never thought you’d see him again. You were embarrassed about the ordeal, remembering how annoyed he looked during the last hug you had given him. It made you want to cry when his harsh words would spiral in your head, looping over for hours. You weren’t ready to see him, you didn’t think you’d ever be. This didn’t stop Jaemin from taking the seat in front of you, staring at you intensely with pleading eyes. “Can… Can we talk?” You didn’t want to, but it was hard to decline when he was already leaning over the table, his hands twitching with a desire to reach out and hold yours. 

You nodded your head, appeasing to his request just how you did when he mentioned the break. He breathed out loudly when you agreed, his body flooding with butterflies – this was his chance to apologize and convince you to take him back, and he would rather die than mess it up. 

“How have you been?” He treaded lightly at first, offering small talk to ease you into the conversation but the efforts had the opposite effect as they made you feel more nervous than before. You opted for a small fine, before asking him the same question. Jaemin mirrored your response, neither of you acknowledging the irony behind the answer - the both of you were far from fine. 

“I’m not sure where to start, but I miss you, N/n. So, so much. I… I don’t know if you’ve been getting my messages?” He stopped for a second to gouge your reaction, yet you didn’t respond, looking down at your lap instead with a frown, “I get it. I was really mean, but… But I’m so sorry. I regret it so much, and I want to make it up to you. I really haven’t been the same without you.” You continued to look at your lap, dissociating for a second as you tried your hardest to hold in the tears slowly forming. It was a battle you lost as they began to flow down your cheeks. Jaemin’s heart dropped when you finally looked back up, your eyes swelling up. 

He moved his hands quickly to hold your face, placing his upper body over the table to stabilize himself before he wiped your tears away desperately. You shouldn’t have, but you let him, even leaning into his touch when his movements grew stronger.

The next hour passed in a blur as he moved next to you, letting you cry into his arms for as long as you needed to, walking you back to your apartment when you realized the small cafe wasn’t the place to break down in. You're not sure if it was your loneliness, or the fact that you hadn’t slept with anyone else either, yet you found it easy to melt in his hold as he led you to your bed, placing you down gently.

Jaemin knew this was probably his last chance to convince you to come back with him, yet the hope fluttering in his heart quickly overshined the fear of losing you for good. He let himself drift away from his conflicted emotions as he passionately kissed down your neck, dragging his hand towards the hem of your shirt until he was able to pull it right off. 

You gasped as he lowered himself onto your body, kissing and sucking anywhere he could. It had been so long, and he refused to let any doubt cloud either of your minds. He became determined, deciding the only way he could show you how much he missed you was to fuck you senseless. 

“Need you so bad, baby. I… fuck, I really missed you.” His warm words contrasted the way he moved you around roughly, stripping your clothes off quickly along his as his hands found your waist, pulling your bare body on top of his. 

Jaemin’s back was pushed against the headboard, strands of hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead as he pulled you into a heated kiss on his lap. You reciprocated, smaller hands finding the way to his shoulders, scratching them harshly as he finally pushed into you completely. His moves were calculated yet eager, thrusting into you like his life depended on it – in a way, it did. He knew that if he messed up and ruined the moment, you’d probably decide to avoid him again. 

The thought began to plague him as he ran a hand up your waist, holding you in place as it moved towards the small of your back. He put pressure on your skin, pushing you as close as you could be to him, which made you shift. Jaemin’s mouth opened widely as a moan escaped him due to the added friction when you moved on top of him. 

The familiar feeling of his climax began to flood his mind as he continued to buck his hips into you, pushing his hard cock sloppily inside of your cunt, forcing your back to arch into him. He was so close, too close, when his mind began to run, replacing all of his worries with the overwhelming love he felt at the moment – he finally had his soulmate back.

Perking up, Jaemin leaned into your neck, offering small words of affection alongside his deep thrusts. “I’m so happy you’re back, I haven’t been able to do this without you.” You leaned away from him, nodding your head, “Me neither… I…” You struggled to speak as his pace grew harder, clenching around him in a way that had his mind reeling, “I… Wish this wasn’t the last time.” Jaemin’s hips faltered, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he came to a stop. “W-what?” 

You frowned at the way his actions stilled, trying to initiate contact by grinding against him yet failing as his large hands moved back onto your hips, pulling you down onto him to stop you completely as well. “Jaemin, what are you doing-” “What do you mean last time?” His voice was frantic, along with his wide eyes that were trying to find yours. 

“Why did you stop-” “Y/n, please… What do you mean by last time?” The panic in his voice grew as he moved his face in an attempt to get closer to you. His feelings began to spread to you as you pushed yourself away from him, trying to further the distance. “I just… Well, you broke up with me so… We can’t do this again, you know?” You tried to appear calm and collected, yet the grip he had on your hips increased, and his breath grew uneven. 

When you finally gained the courage to look back at him, his head was shaking, small tears swelling in his eyes as he mindlessly sniffled. There was a flip in the atmosphere as he began to cry out, “Y/n… Baby please, you can’t do this. I-I love you… This can’t be the last time.” He was disheveled, holding your body as close as he could. Your arms that rested on his shoulders hesitantly moved until you weren’t touching him anymore. You weren’t hugging him back. The choked sobs he let out festered in the air as he held you tightly, your arms unsure of where to go. It felt like hell for Jaemin – maybe he was being punished for what he did to you, the ironic scene reminding him of when he refused to return your affection, taking it for granted and not realizing that he would be deprived of it for too long. 

“I thought you knew we… We weren’t going to get back together.” Your quiet words did nothing but tear his heart more, the finality in your tone feeling like a punch to his gut. It wasn’t until you began to shift uncomfortably that he noticed he was still inside of you, his hands not letting you go.

“I can show you, baby… I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” Jaemin begged you to consider what he was saying, an anxious pit in his stomach forming when you didn’t respond. It was then that he finally moved again, this time gently as he shifted the both of you around until you were under him. 

You hummed lightly in surprise as his hips met yours again, his rough pace now completely replaced by softer movements when he leaned down into you, his face hovering right above yours, eyes drilling into your own. His lips met yours, passionate yet caring as his cock pushed in and out of you slowly. It was hard to act like you couldn’t hear the small I love you’s he muttered beneath his breath with every snap of his hips. One arm being used to balance on top of you, his other moved to your face, cupping your cheek.

The way he fucked you tenderly reminded you of when he’d come home from a long lecture, releasing his stress by making love to you. It was intimate, something you had forgotten about during the months you were apart. You tried to ignore the way tears rolled down his cheeks, mixing with your own. You tried to ignore the way he held you closely as you both came. The hardest part to ignore was after, when he moved to lay next to you on the large mattress, holding you close how he used to when you were together. You missed it as much as he did, yet the weariness never faded as he cuddled into you, refusing to leave until you both fell asleep. 

Jaemin felt his world collapsing when he woke up to an empty bed, the lack of your warmth imminent. Your room was silent, the small chirps of a bird outside of the window providing the only noise he could hear as he stood up frantically, searching for you. You weren’t there, though, as he fell back into your bed, tears overwhelming him again. 

With labored steps, it took Jaemin an hour to find the effort to finally get up and leave your apartment. He took the familiar key from under your doormat, locking the door behind him. His movements were sluggish, similar to how he had felt ever since you slipped away from him the first time. 

It wasn’t until he finally reached his own home that he let himself go, tears falling rapidly as he threw himself onto his own bed, clutching the pillow on the right side of the mattress – what used to be your side. He had refused to even touch the pillow before, fearing the comforting scent of your perfume would disappear, yet now he couldn’t hold himself back, clutching the fabric in his arms as he tried his best to imagine it was you he was caressing. The pillow laid flat against him, resembling the way your arms draped next to you when he hugged you close for the last time, unreciprocated and cold.  

a/n: if any of you have read my other stories you’ll think i’m real repetitive bc i’ve overdoneeee the hell out of this trope it’s getting out of hand… that being said i might make a part 2 with a happy ending if the people ask for it :3

[odileeclipse]

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 26

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You exhaled, frustrated with the careful wording. “But-”

“I understand why you sought certainty elsewhere,” he continued, not quite meeting your eyes. “It is not a crime to desire clarity.” 

Your heart twisted. He was trying to let you off the hook. To take the logical approach, the reasonable stance. But the distance in his words, the way he refused to acknowledge the ache beneath it all that was what stung.

“Okay, but-” You swallowed, shifting from one foot to the other. “That doesn’t mean it didn’t bother you.” 

He was silent for a long moment. His golden eyes were steady, unreadable. But beneath the quiet composure, there was something softer, something unread.

“…I am not immune to such things,” he admitted, so quietly that you almost missed it. Your breath caught. It was subtle. Barely a crack in the mask. But it was real. You took a step forward, hesitant. 

But he had already exhaled, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, the walls were back in place. “We need not dwell on it,” he murmured. “Unless you wish to.”

Your fingers clenched at your sides. He was frustrating. Even now, even when you could feel the tension between you, he still left the decision in your hands. He still gave you the choice. You wanted to push. To demand an answer, to hear him say outright that it did matter to him, that he did feel something more than composed acceptance. 

But part of you, that small, cautious part was afraid of what you’d do if he actually said it. So instead, you sighed, running a hand through your hair. “…No. We don’t have to dwell on it.” 

His expression didn’t change, but you thought you saw something ease in his posture. You chewed the inside of your cheek, suddenly feeling small in the weight of the quiet. “…But if it does bother you, I want you to tell me.”

Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a long moment. Then, without a word, he gave a single, slow nod. A promise. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The silence between you stretched taut, thin like thread pulled too tightly. Shadow Milk Cookie hadn’t rejected your words outright, hadn’t turned away or brushed them off with his usual grace. And yet, he wasn’t answering you either. That alone made your stomach twist. You could almost convince yourself to let it go. Almost. If not for the very distinct, very loud voice of Chai Latte Cookie echoing in your head…

"Oh, so you just walked away? Just like that? Gods, you are hopeless…"

And nope, you were not dealing with that tonight. You exhaled sharply through your nose, squaring your shoulders. “You say you’re not mad,” you started, keeping your voice even, “but I know when something’s bothering you.”

A blink. A slow tilt of his head. “I have never concealed the truth from you,” he said calmly.

“That doesn’t mean you tell me everything,” you shot back, quick. A flicker of something passed through his gaze, there and gone before you could name it. “…What is it that you want me to say?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, throwing your hands up. “I just” You ran a hand through your hair, trying to keep the frustration at bay. “It just feels like something’s wrong. And you’re not saying it.” 

Shadow Milk studied you carefully, fingers laced together in his lap. “Would you feel better if I gave it words?” Yes. No. Maybe. You hesitated. He watched the conflict cross your face, then, softer almost gently he asked,

“…Would naming it change what you already know?” You swallowed. He wasn’t denying it. He wasn’t telling you no. He was just making you work for the truth, again.

“Stars above, you are infuriating,” you groaned, pressing your palms to your face.

“Undoubtedly,” he agreed. You let out a heavy sigh, then, before you could lose the momentum, you asked “…Did it hurt?”

Another silence. This time, it wasn’t because he was thinking of the right words to use. It was because he already knew them. When he finally spoke, it was quiet, measured “…Yes.”

No flourish. No philosophical musings. No metaphor spun from light and knowledge. Just one word. You searched his face for something, anything, but he had already composed himself again, golden eyes steady, patient, waiting. 

“…Okay,” you murmured. You still didn’t know what to do with this. What this changed. If it changed anything at all. But for once, you had the answer you wanted. You let out a breath, your shoulders sagging as the weight of his honesty settled over you.

He had answered you. Had admitted to the hurt but what were you supposed to do with that? You chewed the inside of your cheek, staring at him, feeling the helplessness rise in your chest. You were expecting something cryptic, something layered, something you could untangle later. But he had just… said it. Plain and clear. And you had no idea what to do with it.

“…Okay,” you murmured again, softer this time. You looked away, fingers tightening in your lap. “I” A pause, a slow exhale. “I don’t know what to do with that.”

Shadow Milk Cookie’s expression didn’t change, but you could feel the way he studied you, taking in every flicker of uncertainty, every hesitance in your voice. You huffed, rubbing a hand over your face. “What can I do?” You looked back at him, brows drawn together, frustration tinged with something raw. “So you’re not hurting?” He didn’t answer right away.

It sucked, not knowing what to do, not knowing how to fix this. You were a mess of emotions, but at least you felt them fully, unguarded, reckless in your own way. He was careful, composed, measured, even in this. 

You let out another sigh, shaking your head. “Chai Latte usually knows what to do,” you muttered, more to yourself than him. “But unfortunately, she’s not here.” The words barely left your lips before you huffed out a weak laugh, running a hand through your hair. “Not that she could fix this.” There was another beat of silence before he spoke, voice quiet but steady.

“You are not required to fix everything,” he murmured. “Nor am I asking you to.” You swallowed, but something in his words still made your chest ache. “…Then what are you asking?”

He watched you carefully, his expression unreadable, but his next words were softer than before “For you to understand.” You felt the weight of that settle deep in your ribs. Maybe that was the closest thing to an answer you were going to get. You inhaled sharply, catching yourself before you could default to humor; to deflection.

It was instinct, really, to try and soften the edges of something too sharp, to push aside the weight pressing against your chest with something light, something easier. But this wasn’t easy. And trying to make it so would only cheapen it. So instead, you swallowed the urge to brush it off and met his gaze fully.

“…What do you want me to understand?” you asked, voice steadier than you expected. “Because I do want to understand.”

 Shadow Milk Cookie studied you, his eyes as unreadable as ever. But there was something in them you could almost decipher, not distant, but careful. Like he was measuring his words, measuring you. 

“What did I do?” you pressed, leaning forward slightly. “I mean, I know something upset you. I know that. But I don’t want to assume. I don’t want to sit here and untangle riddles and guesses when I could just…just ask you. So tell me.”

His fingers twitched slightly against his desk, and you didn’t miss the way his jaw tensed for the briefest moment. It was subtle, controlled, but it was there. “You turned to someone else,” he finally said, his voice as measured as ever, but you could feel the weight behind it. “For clarity. For certainty.”

 Your breath caught in your throat. “And you feel like I shouldn’t have?” 

His gaze didn’t waver. “I feel as though you believe I could not provide what you sought.” 

You blinked, your stomach twisting. “That’s not-” You exhaled sharply. “It’s not that I don’t think you could, it’s that you wouldn’t.” 

His brows furrowed slightly, just enough for you to notice. You ran a hand through your hair, frustration bleeding into your voice. “You never give me a straight answer. You always ask me more questions, always make me figure things out myself. And I get it, I do that’s who you are. You guide, you lead people to truth rather than hand it to them.” You swallowed, looking down at your hands. “But sometimes… sometimes I just need something certain. Something I don’t have to search for.”

There was a silence between you, thick and heavy. And then, softer than before “You already have it.” Your head snapped up, eyes wide. “You seek certainty,” he murmured. “But you fail to see that you already possess it.” You opened your mouth, but no words came. His gaze held yours, unwavering.

“I would not remain by your side if I did not wish to.” Your breath stilled. “Nor would I offer my hand if I intended to let go.”

The weight of his words pressed into you, a truth undeniable. Something in your chest ached. Your brows furrowed, confusion knitting its way across your face. 

“That’s” you started, but stopped, shaking your head. “That’s not fair.” Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head ever so slightly, unreadable as always, but you could feel the weight behind his gaze, the way it pressed into you like a question unspoken. 

You swallowed, exhaling sharply. “Look, I-I hear you. I want to hear you. But I’m only human. And sometimes I don’t see what’s right in front of me.” You gestured vaguely between the two of you, frustration creeping into your tone. “If I knew, if it was so obvious, then I wouldn’t be standing here trying to figure it out, would I?”

The silence that followed was thick, a quiet so full it threatened to suffocate. Your chest tightened as the words tumbled from your lips before you could stop them. “Earl Grey is one of the very few friends that I love-” You froze. The second you said it, you knew. You knew how it sounded. Your breath caught in your throat, and without thinking, you immediately waved your hands as if that could physically push the word back into the void. “I mean, not like that!” you blurted out, scrambling to fix your own mistake. “Not, not in that way! I just I mean, I love him, but not like that, that would be weird”

Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t move, didn’t even blink. But you felt it the shift, the tightening of something just beneath the surface. You swallowed hard, heat crawling up your neck as you kept spiraling. “What I meant is, he’s my friend, like Chai Latte Cookie and Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, because we grew up together, and he’s-he’s someone I trust someone who always gives me a straight answer”

Your voice trailed off, the weight of the moment crashing down on you. Shadow Milk Cookie was silent. And that made it worse.

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. “I just… I don’t think it’s fair to assume I should already know where we stand.” 

Your voice wavered, frustration mingling with something raw. “Because I don’t. And if I did, then we wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place, would we? A-And to top it off all he was doing was supporting me it’s not like I told him hey what do you think me and shadow milk are define it for me in five different languages please” 

Still, he said nothing. You swallowed, something almost desperate threading into your tone. “So if I did something wrong, tell me. If I’m missing something, tell me because I want to understand, I want to fix it, but I can’t do that if you just expect me to figure it out on my own.” 

Your heart pounded, pulse hammering against your ribs. And then, at last, Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled. Slow. Measured. The tension in the air thickened, something shifting in Shadow Milk Cookie’s expression something rare, something sharp. His composure, always so steady, finally wavered.

“You needed someone to say it?” His voice was low, quiet, but lined with something unmistakable. Frustration. “You needed someone to define it for you? So you turned to him?” You flinched at the way he said it him like the word alone was bitter on his tongue.

“I-” Shadow Milk Cookie got up from his chair took a step closer, his golden eyes dark with something you had never seen before. “Tell me, did it feel real then?” His tone wasn’t cruel, not exactly, but it carried an edge that cut all the same. 

“Did holding his hands make you feel certain of what you wanted? Did his words finally name the thing you claim to be so unsure of?” Your throat tightened.

“That’s not-”

“You seek my truths,” he interrupted, voice clipped. “But when it comes to this us you look elsewhere. Why is that?” 

The words hit harder than you expected, and you had to take a breath before responding. “…Okay. Fair.” You exhaled shakily, pressing your fingers against your forehead. “I deserved that.” 

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything. You forced a humorless laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “I know what it looked like. And I won’t sit here and act like it didn’t look bad. But you need to understand…I wasn’t looking for something better than what you could give me. I was looking for something clear.”

Shadow Milk Cookie remained silent, watching you carefully, his breathing measured but not entirely even. “I didn’t go to him because I wanted him,” you continued, voice steady now. “I went to him because I trust him. Because he knows me, because he’s been around long enough to see me flounder through every uncertainty in my life. And I thought” 

You swallowed. “I thought that maybe, for once, someone else could put it into words instead of me having to reach for something I still don’t know how to hold.”

He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders shifting, but not entirely easing. You met his gaze, unflinching. “You’re right to be mad,” you admitted. “I should have come to you first. But you have to admit you don’t make this easy.”

A pause. A long, heavy one.

Then, finally, Shadow Milk Cookie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No,” he said, exasperated. “I suppose I do not.”

You let out a breath, the weight between you shifting just slightly. It wasn’t fixed, not entirely. But at least now, the words were out. You exhaled sharply, raking a hand through your hair, trying to figure out where to even start. 

“Okay context” you said, voice tinged with frustration, mostly at yourself. “Because I feel like you’re imagining something way more dramatic than what actually happened.” Shadow Milk Cookie remained silent, watching you carefully, his expression unreadable but the tension in his posture still firm. 

You inhaled again, steeling yourself. “So, it started because Chai Latte asked me about us. She asked what was going on, what we were…if we were anything at all.”

His expression didn’t change, but you caught the slightest flicker in his golden gaze. You continued, shifting your weight uneasily. “And I didn’t really know what to tell her, because I don’t know. So I said that we’re… close. That we have this understanding, this rhythm. But there’s still this barrier, this thing we don’t talk about, and it’s starting to feel like it’s keeping us from something.” Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze didn’t waver. He didn’t speak. He just listened.

“And then Earl Grey…” You hesitated, feeling yourself losing your footing again, but forced yourself forward. “He said maybe you were waiting for me to define it. That maybe you were giving me room, instead of putting pressure on it.” 

Still, no response. But you saw something shift subtle, beneath the layers of his composure. You bit your lip. “And then Chai Latte asked me if not knowing still hurt, and yeah. Yeah, it does. Because it’s like we’re pretending the line isn’t there, but we both know it is. And it’s frustrating, and confusing, and I just. I needed someone to tell me I wasn’t making it up in my head.”

Your voice had become quieter, the words trailing off into the space between you. “That’s all I was looking for. I wasn’t asking Earl Grey for something you wouldn’t give me. I wasn’t” You sighed. “I wasn’t choosing him over you.”

Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders shifting, though not entirely easing. His gaze remained steady, searching yours, as if weighing your words, measuring them against something unspoken. You swallowed, feeling like you were walking on thin ice. “I wasn’t looking for something better than what we have. Just something clear. And maybe that’s unfair to you, but I-” You shook your head. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

A long silence stretched between you.

Then, finally soft, measured, but undeniably firm Shadow Milk Cookie spoke.

“…And do you have your answer now?”

You opened your mouth, then hesitated.  Because what was the answer? That you still didn’t know? That you were still standing at the same threshold, waiting for something, anything, to push you forward? “I don’t know,” you admitted finally, voice almost reluctant. “Not completely.”

His gaze didn’t falter. “Then what will you do with what you do know?” 

You let out a short, almost incredulous laugh. “Gods, this again?” You threw your hands up. “I ask a question, you answer with another question…I swear you do this on purpose.” Something softened in his expression just barely, just enough that the irritation drained from your chest slightly.

You sighed, running a hand down your face. “What do you want me to understand?” you asked finally, your voice quieter. “Because I do want to understand.” Shadow Milk Cookie studied you for a long moment, his golden eyes searching yours in that way that always made you feel like he could see every inch of your soul.

Then, at last, he exhaled a slow, deliberate breath. And he said, “That you were never meant to seek certainty in someone else.” Shadow Milk Cookie remained still, his golden gaze locked onto yours, the weight of his presence heavy yet unreadable. The tension in the room lingered, an unspoken verdict hanging in the air. You shifted, exhaling slowly before speaking again, voice softer now.

"Okay," you murmured, as if sealing something sacred between you both. "Then… when it comes to this whatever we are I won’t seek answers anywhere else." The promise felt heavier than you expected. It settled deep in your chest, final in a way you hadn’t prepared for. No more looking to Earl Grey Cookie, no more second-guessing with Chai Latte Cookie or Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie….just the two of you, stumbling through this uncertainty together.

"But," you continued, voice lilting into something more playful, "please don’t stay mad at Earl Grey. I need him. Sometimes, if I bribe him enough, he does my homework."

For a moment, there was silence. Then, against all odds, Shadow Milk Cookie let out a quiet, breathy exhale not quite a laugh, but something near it. His head tilted slightly, as if amused despite himself. "Does he now?" he mused, voice still measured but laced with something lighter.

You grinned, encouraged by the shift in the air. "Yeah. And I worked really hard to build up my bribery system. I offer him peace and quiet in the library, sometimes I even make him tea" You leaned in just slightly, as if confessing something devious. "One time I even stole a pastry for him."

"A criminal enterprise," Shadow Milk murmured, gaze flickering with something indecipherable.

"Exactly!" You huffed dramatically. "So if you hold this against him, my whole operation collapses. And then who’s going to keep me from failing numerical alchemy?"

He hummed, considering. "A tragic fate indeed."

"You’re telling me."

There was a pause brief but filled with something unspoken, something easier now. The tension between you had not entirely faded, but it had shifted, no longer sharp, no longer an open wound. You weren’t fixed…this wasn’t fixed. But it was something.

Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled slowly, then, after a moment, inclined his head. "I will not hold it against him."

You blinked. "Wait, really?"

"Yes," he said, tilting his head just slightly. "On one condition."

You narrowed your eyes playfully. "What condition?"

He leaned forward just enough that the space between you felt smaller, his gaze steady. "That next time you have questions about us," he said, low and sure, "you ask me first."

Your breath hitched slightly, heart stuttering at the sheer weight of the words.

Slowly, carefully, you nodded. "Deal."

And just like that, the barrier between you both thinned just a little more.

You hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward, wrapping your arms around him in a firm, earnest embrace. It wasn’t hesitant or unsure it was the kind of hug that sought to pull down whatever walls still lingered, the kind that said, I don’t want to be at odds with you.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, voice muffled slightly against the fabric of his clothes. "I don’t want to be upset with you. I never did." For a long moment, he didn’t move. But then, slowly, you felt his arms come around you, careful but firm, as if grounding himself in your presence. His touch was warm, steady like something meant to last. You swallowed, the words pressing against your throat before you could second-guess them.

"But…" You exhaled softly, fingers curling slightly. "I need to know. What are we?" You felt his breath hitch, ever so slightly. "If we’re partners, then say it," you continued, voice quieter now. "Or if you want us to stay undefined, then tell me that too. But I" You swallowed. "I want to know what you want. I want to hear you say it."

Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulled back just enough to look at you properly, golden eyes searching yours with that same quiet intensity that always made your heart feel unsteady. His hands remained on you, warm against your shoulders, holding you there not keeping you, not trapping you, but anchoring you.

And then, finally, he spoke.

"I do not seek mere companionship," he murmured. His voice was soft, but there was an unmistakable weight to it. "I do not walk beside you simply because it is convenient or pleasant."

Your chest tightened.

"I will exist for a long time," he continued, his gaze unwavering. "And yet, I find myself wanting for nothing else but this." 

His thumb brushed absentmindedly against your sleeve, as if mapping the moment into memory. "If you would have me, then I would be yours as a partner, as more, as whatever name you would wish to give it."

Your breath caught.

"But only if it is what you want," he added, voice gentler now, as if afraid to ask too much. Your heart pounded in your chest, the weight of the moment pressing into you, warm and consuming. There were no riddles this time, no half-answers hidden behind layers of philosophy. 

This was just him. Your lips parted, but no words came at first, just breath just the realization of everything he'd just offered. Everything you both had been too afraid to name until now. And then, with a small, quiet laugh one filled with something like relief, like understanding you nodded.

"Yeah," you murmured. "Yeah, I think I’d like that." Shadow Milk Cookie’s fingers tightened, just slightly, against your arms. Maybe the barrier between you truly disappeared. You shifted slightly in his hold, tilting your head up to look at him, trying to ease the weight in the air with something lighter something that made this moment feel less fragile, less like a thread you might snap if you weren’t careful.

"So," you said, a playful lilt creeping into your tone, "on a scale of one to ten, how mad were you? And more importantly who were you mad at?" You waggled your brows for extra effect. 

"Be honest. Was it me? Earl Grey? The concept of human interaction?" Shadow Milk Cookie sighed one of those long, tired ones that felt like it belonged to someone who had lived far too many years and still had yet to understand why mortals acted the way they did. His grip on you didn’t loosen, but his eyes half-lidded with something unreadable.

"You truly wish for me to quantify my frustration?" he mused, arching a delicate brow.

You grinned. "Absolutely."

A pause. Then, with alarming precision, he replied, "Seven."

Your mouth dropped open. "Seven?! That's high! I was expecting, like, a four, maybe a five! Six if you were being dramatic."

Shadow Milk Cookie gave you a slow, pointed look. "Seven."

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. "Okay, okay, fine. Who was it aimed at? Me? Earl Grey? The entire notion of emotionally repressed scholars trying to navigate their relationships without imploding?" 

He exhaled slowly, and for a moment, you thought he might actually let the joke slide. But instead ever the scholar he answered you plainly. "Four points belong to you."

You gasped. "Excuse me?! I get a four?! For what? Trying to sort out my emotions? For wanting clarity?!"

"You sought clarity," he corrected smoothly, "but you sought it elsewhere." He tilted his head, as if studying you like a particularly challenging text. "That is where the four comes from."

Your lips pressed into a thin line. Okay. Fair. Fair.

You crossed your arms. "And the other three?"

Shadow Milk Cookie's lips curled ever so slightly. "Earl Grey."

You snorted, then immediately clamped a hand over your mouth. "Oh no."

He did not elaborate.

You took a careful step back, watching the unreadable glint in his golden gaze. "Okay, but you’re not going to, like… sabotage his tea leaves or anything, right?"

"I am above such pettiness."

"...You hesitated."

"I did not."

"You did, I heard it!"

He merely hummed, a noise that sounded both knowing and entirely too neutral for your comfort. You sighed dramatically, shaking your head. "Alright, alright. I get it. I deserve my four. But can I earn my way back to a three? Or even a respectable two-point-five? Because I would really like to lower my crimes in the court of Shadow Milk." 

He regarded you for a moment, then, with unnerving smoothness, said, "I accept bribes."

You gaped at him. You huffed, crossing your arms with exaggerated indignation. “Fine,” you drawled, tilting your head with mock exasperation. “If we’re playing this game, then what do you want? Name your price, oh great and wise one. What must I sacrifice to lessen my crimes?”

Shadow Milk Cookie hummed, eyes gleaming as he took his time considering, tapping his fingers idly against his sleeve. He was enjoying this far too much, if you had to guess.

“A proper bribe must be proportional to the severity of the offense,” he mused, tilting his head slightly as if weighing his options. “And yours, I recall, ranked at a seven.”

You groaned. “You’re really sticking to that number, huh?”

“I am nothing if not precise.” You muttered something incoherent under your breath, but Shadow Milk didn’t seem remotely fazed. If anything, he looked downright pleased with himself.

“Alright,” he continued, regarding you with that unreadable yet slightly mischievous expression of his. “If you wish to lower your score… I will accept one of three offerings.”

You squinted suspiciously. “Oh, three offerings? So now I choose my punishment?”

“I am nothing if not generous.”

You rolled your eyes, but gestured for him to go on. “Alright, lay them on me. What are my options?” Shadow Milk Cookie’s lips curled ever so slightly, a whisper of amusement passing through his gaze. “Option one: an essay. Minimum ten pages. On the subject of why seeking truth from unreliable sources is a grave mistake.”

Your mouth fell open in absolute horror. “TEN PAGES?” He inclined his head. “Minimum.”

“Absolutely not,” you said immediately. “What else you got?”

“Option two.” He held up a single, elegant finger. “You may publicly declare that I am always right, in front of all our friends. And,” he added smoothly, “that you were terribly mistaken to ever doubt me.”

You made a scandalized noise. “Oh, you would enjoy that, wouldn’t you?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

You sighed, pressing your palms together. “Alright, third option, oh merciful one?” Shadow Milk Cookie leaned forward ever so slightly, a glint of something far too entertained flickering across his features. “A kiss,” he said simply.

You choked. “Excuse me?” He arched a single brow. “A kiss,” he repeated, entirely unaffected by the way your face had surely turned crimson. “One that is freely given, of course. I would never demand an unwilling tribute.”

“Oh, tribute now?” you sputtered, half-wheezing, half-wondering how you ever got yourself into this. “You’re actually serious?”

“I would not have offered it otherwise,” he said smoothly. You gawked at him, heart hammering, mind scrambling for anything to counter with. But he merely leaned back, utterly unbothered, utterly composed as he watched you flounder.

“Well?” he prompted, entirely too pleased with himself. “Which shall it be?” You slipped out of his arms, pacing a small circle around his office like a scholar on the verge of an intellectual breakthrough. 

Hands clasped behind your back, you hummed thoughtfully, nodding to yourself as if the weight of your impending verdict was a matter of utmost importance. Shadow Milk Cookie watched, entirely composed, one brow arched in clear amusement. He didn’t interrupt didn’t press you for an answer just observed with that knowing glint in his eyes, as if he already knew the conclusion you would come to. You, of course, already knew too.

But for the sake of theatrics, you had to pretend to struggle with your options. You rubbed your chin, adopting a dramatically serious expression. 

“Now, let’s analyze this logically.” You began to pace again. “A ten-page essay on why I should never doubt you?” You let out a loud scoff, throwing your hands in the air. “Impossible! An insurmountable task! I’d perish before I reached the third page!”

Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t so much as blink. “Unfortunate.” You ignored him, continuing your performance.

“The second option: a public declaration of your undeniable correctness, and a full admission of my egregious mistake.”

You placed a hand over your heart, as if wounded. “Ah, but alas! To speak such words before witnesses, to willingly feed your ego in front of Chai Latte Cookie, Earl Grey Cookie, and Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie? I would never recover!”

“Fascinating,” he mused. Your pacing slowed. You turned on your heel, finally facing him, your expression shifting from exaggerated suffering to something more calculated. More certain.

“That leaves only one option,” you murmured.

His golden gaze was steady, unshaken. “Indeed.”

A pause. Then, ever so casually “Well, I guess I’ll start drafting that essay-”

Before you could take another step, Shadow Milk Cookie reached out, fingers curling gently around your wrist. Not tight not demanding just enough to halt your retreat, just enough to keep you in place. You stilled, heart stuttering. His touch was warm. Steady. You met his eyes, and suddenly, the theatrics didn’t feel as necessary anymore. There was something in his gaze that made the moment feel weightless. 

As if, beneath all the teasing, beneath all the playful back-and-forth, there was a quiet invitation in the way he held you there. Not a demand. Not an expectation. Just… waiting.

You exhaled slowly, your pulse a restless rhythm against your ribs. Then, with a sigh of faux defeat, you let yourself be pulled back toward him. “Fine,” you murmured, lips curling slightly. “You win.”

“I usually do,” he murmured back.

And before he could say another infuriating word, you leaned in and kissed him. You pulled back just slightly, not far enough to break the warmth between you, but enough to catch the flicker of something unguarded in his eyes. His golden gaze, always so sharp, so knowing, had softened just a little. Like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the moment you’d handed him. You studied him for a beat, then tilted your head, your voice a quiet tease but carrying a weight beneath it.

“Well?” you asked, lips barely suppressing a smirk. “Are you happy with yourself?” Shadow Milk Cookie blinked once, slow and measured, as if truly considering it. Then, his lips curled not into his usual knowing smirk, not into something grand or theatrical, but into something softer. Something real.

“…Yes,” he murmured. “Immensely.” Your chest ached not in a painful way, but in that annoying, wonderful way that came from realizing just how much you felt for him. Still, you refused to let him have the last word so easily. 

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “Ugh. You’re so smug about it.”

“I believe the proper term is vindicated,” he corrected smoothly. You groaned, dramatically slumping against him like the weight of his self-satisfaction was simply too much to bear. “I take it back. I should have just written the essay.”

He chuckled, a rare, low sound, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “I would have graded it ruthlessly.”

“Of course you would have,” you mumbled, your forehead still resting against his shoulder.

His hand found the small of your back, resting there like a quiet reassurance. “But you chose the wiser path.”

You sighed dramatically. “I suppose.” He hummed, and the sound was almost fond. “You suppose?” You lifted your head just enough to meet his gaze again, feeling warmth creep up your neck. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it.”

His fingers curled just slightly against your back, his voice dipping to something quieter. “No promises.” You leaned back just enough to take him in, eyes flickering over his features composed, unreadable, yet carrying the smallest flicker of something beneath the surface. Smug, as always. Secure in his victory. Well. That simply wouldn’t do. So, on pure impulse, without warning, without pretense. 

You kissed him again. It was nothing grand, nothing calculated or poetic. Just a soft press of your lips against his, a decision made without hesitation. And this time, it worked. You felt him freeze. The smirk he had been carrying so effortlessly vanished like mist under the sun, his composure breaking in a way you’d never seen before. His breath hitched, his fingers twitched slightly where they rested against you, he looked utterly caught off guard.

His face bloomed in warmth, color rushing to his cheeks in a way that felt almost surreal. Shadow Milk Cookie the Sage of Truth, the Fount of Knowledge, the ever-unshaken scholar was blushing. You pulled back just slightly, blinking at him. And then you grinned.

“Oh,” you mused, utterly delighted. “Oh. You’re flustered.” Shadow Milk Cookie cleared his throat, turning his face slightly, though the betrayal of color on his skin remained. “I-” He exhaled sharply, golden eyes darting away for a brief moment, as if trying to recollect himself. “That was unprompted.”

You laughed, light, full of something almost victorious. “Was it?” His gaze snapped back to you, sharp, narrowed but that warmth hadn’t left him. “You-” He exhaled again, softer this time, and lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, as if trying to summon some divine patience. 

You merely rocked back slightly, resting your chin on your palm, studying him with all the amusement in the world. “I take it that means I won this round?”

His lips parted likely to counter with something witty, something to salvage his pride but no words came. Instead, after a long pause, he sighed. “You are…” He trailed off, as if searching for the exact right phrase, before shaking his head slightly, voice quieter when he finally spoke.

“…Absolutely impossible.”

You smiled. “So I’m told.” His gaze softened, and though the warmth hadn’t faded from his cheeks, there was something else in his expression now.

Something fond.

“…Indeed,” he murmured.

 That was perhaps the real victory. Your victorious grin lingered for a moment longer before, suddenly, realization struck like a bolt of lightning. Your eyes widened. “Oh!” Shadow Milk Cookie barely had time to react before you grabbed his hands, your excitement surging in an instant. “The Spire!”

He blinked, momentarily caught off guard by your sudden shift in energy. “…What about it?” You nearly bounced in place, your earlier mischief momentarily forgotten. “We got in! All of us! Me, Chai Latte, Earl Grey, Hazelnut Biscotti all of us got into the Spire of Knowledge!” 

“…You did.”

You beamed at him, nodding rapidly. “We did! I mean, I knew the others would get in, but me?” You laughed, somewhere between exhilarated and still slightly stunned. “I honestly thought I’d be scraping by if I got in at all. But then, bam my name was right there on the list.”

You squeezed his hands lightly, eyes shining. “It had to be your recommendation letter. That’s what did it.”

His brow arched slightly. “And here I thought your own merit played a role in it.” 

You scoffed playfully, nudging him with your shoulder. “Oh, please. We both know I was struggling not too long ago. The only reason I didn’t flunk my way straight into academic exile is because you’re a ridiculously good tutor.”

His lips curved ever so slightly, but his tone remained measured. “I recall saying you had potential. You simply needed guidance.”

“And, oh, what guidance it was,” you teased. “Your incredible patience, your endless wisdom your unparalleled ability to confuse me with riddles until I understood the material out of sheer spite” 

He let out a quiet hum, shaking his head in amusement. “I do not recall ‘spite-driven comprehension’ being a recognized academic method.”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” He chuckled, and stars, you wished you could capture that sound, tuck it away somewhere safe. 

Your grin softened slightly, your excitement still bubbling beneath the surface but with something else now something grateful. “…Thank you,” you said, quieter this time. “Really. I wouldn’t be here without you.” 

Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a long moment, his golden eyes steady, warm. Then, with a voice equally as soft, he murmured,

“I simply illuminated the path. You were the one who walked it.” And damn it, he always had to make things sound poetic, didn’t he? You huffed, but your smile didn’t waver. Instead, you squeezed his hands once more, rocking back on your heels. “Okay, okay, enough of that should we celebrate? Because I personally think this calls for excessive amounts of dessert.”

Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled, though his expression betrayed his amusement. “Excessive, you say?”

“Absolutely excessive,” you confirmed, determined. “We’re talking at least three pastries and a cup of tea so sweet it should be illegal.”

He tilted his head slightly, considering. “…And if I were to decline?”

You gasped, feigning offense. “I’d simply have to make up for your share. A sacrifice, truly, but one I’d be willing to bear.”

A soft chuckle escaped him, and finally he nodded.

“Very well,” he said, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Lead the way, then.” And just like that, your victory tasted even sweeter. 

As you entered the dining hall, the first thing you noticed was complete and utter chaos.

“HAZELNUT BISCUOTTI COOKIE, YOU ABSOLUTE FIEND GET BACK HERE!”

Chai Latte Cookie’s furious voice rang through the air, followed by the thunderous sound of running footsteps. Students instinctively cleared out of the way as Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie sprinted past the tables, a guilty grin stretched across his face and a half-eaten pastry clutched in one hand.

You blinked.

Shadow Milk Cookie, standing beside you, exhaled deeply, already looking regretful about following you here. Your gaze landed on Earl Grey Cookie, who stood completely unfazed near the buffet station, watching the scene unfold with all the emotional investment of someone observing a light drizzle. 

You approached him cautiously. “What’s going on?” Without missing a beat, Earl Grey Cookie, still holding his tray with perfect balance, responded, “Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie took the last almond puff pastry. Chai Latte Cookie was two seconds too late.”

You looked at him incredulously. “So, she’s trying to kill him over a pastry?”

“She’s making a point,” he corrected smoothly.

“I called dibs!” Chai Latte Cookie shouted, narrowly avoiding knocking over an entire stack of plates as she chased Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie in circles around the tables.

“It was a suggestion at best!” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie called back, absolutely delighted with himself.

“You knew I was going to get it!” she seethed.

Earl Grey Cookie gave a slight shrug. “She did mention it before we got here.” Shadow Milk Cookie, watching this absurd display, muttered under his breath, “I should not have come. I’ll turn a blind eye and walk off.” 

You patted his arm, grinning. “No, no. This is exactly what you needed.” Before he could reply, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie made the fatal mistake of slowing down just enough for Chai Latte Cookie to pounce. With a dramatic yelp, he toppled forward, and the remains of the pastry flew from his hands, landing unceremoniously on the floor. A collective gasp echoed across the dining hall.

Chai Latte Cookie froze. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie stared at the ruined pastry, his expression one of deep regret. “No,” he whispered. Earl Grey Cookie sighed. “This is a tragedy.” Chai Latte Cookie slowly turned to Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, expression unreadable.

“You fool,” she murmured. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie lifted his hands in surrender. “Okay. Now, before you do anything-” She lunged.

You sighed, shaking your head. 

Shadow Milk looked your way “Are they always like this?” Earl Grey Cookie took a calm sip of tea. “It happens more often than it should.”

Shadow Milk Cookie ignored him  massaging his temples, clearly questioning every decision that had led him to this moment. You nudged him playfully. “See? This is what a real meal looks like. A little food, a little fighting, a little public humiliation.” 

Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing at the commotion. “…This is why I take my meals alone.” You grinned. “Not today.” And with one last dramatic wail from Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie as Chai Latte Cookie rattled him by the collar, you led Shadow Milk Cookie forward straight into the madness.

The dining hall was alive, buzzing with the usual lunchtime chaos, but something about it felt warmer like an extension of something familiar. Shadow Milk Cookie, despite his usual air of composure, looked somewhat out of place at first, standing among the whirlwind that was your friends.

But then, the small things settled in the way Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie patted his back in greeting like he was just another one of you, the way Earl Grey Cookie shifted slightly to make room at the table without a second thought, the way Chai Latte Cookie practically threw an extra pastry on his plate as if daring him not to eat it. It was seamless. 

Effortless. Like he belonged. For a moment, you glanced at him just to see if he felt it too. His expression was unreadable, but there was something softer in his posture, in the way his fingers rested lightly against the edge of the table rather than retreating into his sleeves. Then, of course, Chai Latte Cookie ruined the moment.

“So,” she drawled, elbow on the table, chin resting in her hand, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Is the lover’s quarrel over?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie choked on his drink. Earl Grey Cookie let out a tired sigh, already looking as if he wished to be anywhere else. 

Your entire body stiffened. Shadow Milk Cookie, to his credit, merely lifted an eyebrow, calm but unimpressed. You, however, absolutely did not have his composure.

“Chai” you hissed, eyes widening in horror.

“What?” She blinked at you innocently, as if she hadn’t just set fire to the table with her words. “I’m just checking in. You stormed off after him. Came back visibly shaken. Left again and now you return together? The narrative is narrating itself, babe.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, recovering from his near-death experience, grinned. “To be fair, she’s got a point.”

“She does not have a point,” you sputtered. “We-we weren’t even fighting-”

“Oh?” Chai Latte Cookie’s smile widened. “So, you were having a lovers’ moment then?” Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled deeply, reaching for his tea in a way that definitely suggested he was questioning his life choices. You, however, were floundering.

“That’s No That’s not-” 

You turned to Earl Grey Cookie, eyes pleading. “Say something.” Earl Grey Cookie, traitor that he was, simply took a slow sip of tea and said, “I think this is best left between you two.” 

Chai Latte Cookie beamed, satisfied. You groaned, dropping your head against the table. “I hate all of you.”

Shadow Milk Cookie, finally speaking, murmured with mild amusement, “I believe that is untrue.” You peeked up at him, only to find the faintest trace of a smirk at the corner of his lips. Your stomach flipped. Chai Latte Cookie wiggled her eyebrows. “See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded sagely. “Undeniable.” You let out the longest sigh of your life.

This was going to be a long lunch. You lifted your head just in time to see Chai Latte Cookie grinning like the embodiment of mischief itself, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie looking way too entertained, and Earl Grey Cookie sipping his tea with the kind of serene detachment that only came from thinking he was above this nonsense but still enjoying the spectacle. 

Shadow Milk Cookie, however, was the wild card. Because he was looking at you calm, measured but there was something in his gaze. Something knowing.

Something dangerous. “Well,” he mused, setting down his tea with an infuriating amount of elegance. “If we are to entertain the notion of a lover’s quarrel, one must consider the root of the conflict.” 

You froze. Chai Latte Cookie perked up. “Go on.”

“I have merely been waiting,” Shadow Milk Cookie continued smoothly, “for our dear scholar to provide an explanation. After all, there was a rather… passionate pursuit through the corridors earlier. And an equally passionate moment of hesitation.” 

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie whistled. “Passionate, huh?” Your face burned. “That’s not what happened-”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Earl Grey Cookie finally chimed in, setting his cup down with practiced grace. “I seem to recall you gripping my hands rather fervently last night. Wouldn’t you say so?” Shadow milk cast him a glare.

You snapped toward him. “You are not helping!”

“I’m simply recounting the events as they happened,” Earl Grey Cookie replied, expression entirely neutral except for the slightest twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. Chai Latte Cookie gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her chest.

“Wait, wait, wait- so you were caught in a love triangle moment?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie leaned in. “Are you telling us we had front-row seats to some academic level romantic tension and nobody informed us?”

“There is no love triangle,” you said frantically, waving your hands in protest. “I just…Earl Grey Cookie is a good friend! I needed guidance! I-I-” You turned to Shadow Milk Cookie, desperate. “Help me out here!”

But he simply tilted his head, expression unreadable. “…I fail to see the problem,” he murmured. You stared at him. “You fail to see the problem?” you repeated, betrayed.

“I fail to see how I have said anything untrue,” he replied smoothly. “After all, it is not I who reached for Earl Grey Cookie’s hands with such desperate longing”

“WHAT” You threw your arms up, half-ready to ascend into the astral plane out of sheer mortification. “YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE ON MY SIDE.”

“Oh, I am,” Shadow Milk Cookie said, with the kind of smile that immediately set off alarms in your head. “Which is why I would never deny you your moment of reflection.”

“Oh my god” Chai Latte Cookie cackled. “Betrayal from within! I love it.” 

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie wiped away a fake tear. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Earl Grey Cookie, traitor supreme, simply sipped his tea again, the very picture of composure. You buried your face in your hands.

“I hate all of you,” you groaned, muffled. Shadow Milk Cookie leaned in, voice as infuriatingly composed as ever. “Untrue,” he murmured, way too close to your ear. Your entire body betrayed you, heat crawling up your neck as you jerked upright and shoved your chair back.

“Absolutely not.”

Chai Latte Cookie gasped again, clutching Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie’s arm. “That! that was blushing. Tell me you saw that.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded rapidly. “Oh, absolutely saw that.”

“I don’t blush,” you lied through your teeth.

Earl Grey Cookie raised a brow. “Curious, then, that your face is rather warm-looking at the moment.” 

You pointed an accusatory finger at Shadow Milk Cookie. “You-you are supposed to be wise and dignified and not a menace” He blinked at you, completely unbothered. “And yet, I have never made such a claim.” 

You gaped at him. Chai Latte Cookie laughed so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes. Shadow Milk Cookie simply picked up his tea again, utterly victorious. And you swore to the gods that one day, somehow, you’d get back at him for this.

You let out a dramatic sigh, slumping back against your chair. “I thought your wrath was over,” you bemoaned, shooting a glance at Shadow Milk Cookie, who was taking an unhurried sip of his tea. 

“But clearly, you still have some lingering feelings.” He lowered his cup, tilting his head slightly, golden eyes watching you with something unreadable but undeniably intentional. “Lingering feelings?” he echoed, voice laced with an infuriating amount of amusement. “A fascinating observation.”

Chai Latte Cookie let out a quiet hmm of delight, already sensing where this was going. “Oh, I love when he gets like this.” 

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, who had been mid-bite into his pastry, nudged Chai Latte conspiratorially. “This is definitely payback.” You shot them both a glare before turning back to Shadow Milk Cookie, exasperated. “You can’t seriously still be upset.”

“I can and I am,” he replied smoothly, setting his cup down with a deliberate clink. He turned his gaze to Earl Grey Cookie who, for once, was watching carefully, as if weighing the gravity of what was about to be said. “I would prefer if what I saw between you and my stargazer never happened again.”

The air around the table grew still. Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed, met his gaze levelly. “Duly noted.” 

Your jaw dropped. “Duly noted?!” you spluttered. “That’s it?” 

Earl Grey simply picked up his tea again, utterly unshaken. “Would you rather I start a debate?” Chai Latte Cookie’s eyes widened slightly before she turned her entire attention onto you, a slow, devious grin spreading across her face. “Hold on. Hold on. What did he just call you?”

Your brain stalled. “What?” you blinked.

“What. Did. He. Just. Call. You?” Chai Latte Cookie repeated, leaning forward with the intensity of someone thriving off gossip. You turned to Shadow Milk Cookie, only now realizing what exactly had left his lips.

“My Stargazer.” He repeated relishing in your humiliation. Your stomach dropped.

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie whooped, clapping his hands together. “Oh, this is fantastic.” Chai Latte Cookie smacked the table, eyes gleaming with glee. “This is the best thing to happen all week.” You, meanwhile, were reeling.

You held up a hand. “What does that even mean?” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you with a look so smugly composed that it made you want to combust. “I assume you are capable of deciphering meaning from context, Stargazer.”

You gaped. “You’re doing this on purpose.” His lips twitched at the edges, and that was when you knew. Oh, he was enjoying this. He was deliberately making a show of this. And worse? Everyone else was enjoying it too.

“See, this is why he’s terrifying,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie laughed. “One moment, you think you’ve got control, and the next? He’s got you spinning in his little mind games.” 

Earl Grey Cookie, sipping his tea with the air of someone distantly entertained, merely hummed. “Impressive, really.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I hate it here.” Shadow Milk Cookie leaned just slightly toward you, voice low, calculated, teasing. “And yet,” he murmured, “you stay.” Your ears burned.

Chai Latte Cookie all but exploded into laughter, while Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie pounded the table in delight.Eventually, the laughter settled, the teasing ebbing into a comfortable hum of conversation. You exhaled, pressing your palms against your cheeks to dispel the lingering warmth of your embarrassment. Shadow Milk Cookie, still composed, still infuriatingly pleased with himself, had returned to sipping his tea as if nothing had happened at all. You cleared your throat, shifting in your seat. “So,” you said, forcing your voice into something normal. “The Spire.”

Chai Latte Cookie hummed, stretching her arms behind her head. “Finally switching to a serious topic?” she teased. 

You shot her a look before turning back to Shadow Milk Cookie. “What’s it going to be like? I mean, being the Fount of Knowledge.” His expression didn’t shift, but something flickered in his golden eyes, something thoughtful. He set his cup down, folding his hands neatly in front of him. “That remains to be seen.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie quirked a brow. “You don’t know?”

“There is no precedent,” Shadow Milk Cookie replied smoothly. “The Spire of Knowledge is newly established. It is an extension of the Academy, but unlike the traditional institutions, it will serve as a hub of research and discourse that reaches beyond these halls across lands, scholars, disciplines.” His fingers traced the rim of his cup absentmindedly. “A place where knowledge is meant to be ever-expanding. And with that, comes the responsibility of guiding it forward.”

Earl Grey Cookie studied him carefully. “That’s… a lot,” he said plainly. Shadow Milk Cookie nodded. “It is.” You leaned forward, resting your chin against your palm. “And the title? Fount of Knowledge…that’s permanent?”

“Presumably.”

You frowned. “That’s kind of a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” Chai Latte Cookie chimed in. “Your name is going to be tied to an entire institution forever. No pressure.” Shadow Milk Cookie remained unbothered, but his pause was just long enough for you to notice.

“…Do you want that?” you asked softly. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face. “It is an honor,” he said after a moment.

“That’s not an answer.”

His gaze met yours, steady, unwavering. “Would you rather I embellish the truth?” You opened your mouth, then closed it. Fair point. 

Earl Grey Cookie took a measured sip of his tea before speaking. “Regardless of how you feel about it, you’re still becoming it. That means something.” 

Shadow Milk Cookie let out a quiet breath. “It does.” For a moment, the weight of it settled over the table. The reality of what was coming not just for him, but for all of you. The Spire was new, unknown, a place of possibility and uncertainty. You were entering it as students. 

He was stepping into it as something more. You tapped your fingers against the wood. “…Well,” you said, “at least you’ll have us there to pester you.”

Chai Latte Cookie grinned. “And that’s a promise.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nudged you. “We’ll make sure you don’t get too pretentious with your big fancy title.” 

Shadow Milk Cookie arched a brow. “You assume I am not already pretentious.” 

Earl Grey Cookie smirked faintly. “A fair assumption.” Laughter bubbled at the table again, and for a moment, the weight of everything felt lighter. The future was uncertain, the Spire was uncharted, but at least, in this moment, you were all still together. The conversation ebbed and flowed around the table, shifting between teasing and genuine curiosity, but beneath it all, there was something unspoken.

Shadow Milk Cookie was here. He was sitting here, in a space that was so effortlessly filled with warmth and chaos, with inside jokes and knowing glances, with hands brushing over the last piece of bread as if it were a sacred prize. 

He was here and though he was composed, though he was himself, there was still a subtle distance in the way he carried his presence. Not an unwillingness to be here. No, he had chosen to be here. But a quiet awareness that he was not entirely part of it. 

And your friends knew that. They had always known that. And yet, they tried. Not because he was the Sage of Truth. Not because he held a title that would soon be carved into the foundation of the Spire itself. Not because he was important in the way scholars wrote about in books. But because he was important to you.

It was subtle, the way they met him halfway. Earl Grey Cookie addressed him with the same sharp wit he used on the rest of you, never deferential, never intimidated, just equal, as if daring him to rise to the occasion. Though with some hesitation. 

Chai Latte Cookie, who had no fear of the grand or the dramatic, leaned into their teasing, calling him things like our resident philosopher with an easy kind of humor, even when she watched him with an assessing gaze, as if still deciding how to place him within your orbit. 

And Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie? He was the most obvious nudging your arm, casting you knowing grins, making bold declarations about keeping Shadow Milk humble despite his grand title, never quite treating him as some untouchable figure. 

If anything, he was the most comfortable in pulling him into the ridiculous mess that was your world. And for all that Shadow Milk Cookie carried; the weight of his wisdom. For all that he was; a being of patience and intellect and elegance he was unprepared for this.

For them.

For you.

You could see it in the way he listened, his fingers curled lightly around the edge of his cup, his posture perfectly composed but his eyes thoughtful. He did not interrupt. He did not reject their attempts.

But you could tell he was not used to this. To the way friendship could be as simple as being handed the last piece of bread without asking. To the way people could tease you because they liked you, not because they sought to challenge you. 

To the way belonging was sometimes built not on shared knowledge, but on effort on the way your friends tried to include him, on the way they adjusted the shape of your group, not to fit him in, but to make room for him. For you, this had always been normal. For him this was new.

You studied him for a moment, watching the way he processed it all the small gestures, the familiar touches, the way Chai Latte bumped your shoulder as she spoke, the way Hazelnut Biscotti stole a sip from your cup like it was second nature. And then, without thinking, you reached for Shadow Milk’s hand beneath the table.

It was a simple thing.

A touch. A reassurance.

But it was also a bridge.

His fingers curled around yours after only a moment’s hesitation, as if testing the weight of fit then settling, anchoring. He did not look at you, but he did not need to. The conversation continued. Your friends laughed. The table felt full. And Shadow Milk Cookie, for all his distance, for all his unreadable nature stayed.

A/N as you all can see even when I was studying I was working on this diligently, this really was one of the few things keeping me sane this exam season...I was going to do a summer semester but I'm good without it...

Anyways...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥

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𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⇢ 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐬𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐦, 𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐛 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 (??), 𝐨𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐥𝐚𝐛 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞

𝐚/𝐧: 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 (𝐢'𝐦 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫), 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧. 𝐀𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲!!

The laboratory smelled of scorched metal and ozone, the air thick with the hum of something unnatural. Hextech pulsed faintly in the dimness, the glow of unstable energy illuminating the sprawl of unfinished blueprints, half-formed constructs, and tools scattered across the workspace. The place was Viktor’s mind made manifest—chaotic, brilliant, dangerous.

And you had walked straight into it.

You should have turned back the moment the reinforced door slid shut behind you, sealing you inside with him. But curiosity had always been your weakness. That, and something deeper—something you weren’t quite ready to name.

Viktor hadn’t looked up immediately. He was hunched over his latest project, fingers deftly adjusting a glowing green component embedded in what looked like a modified prosthetic. The energy arced sharply as he worked, momentarily illuminating the sharp planes of his face, the mess of dark hair that curled over the edge of his golden ocular implants.

It wasn’t until you took another step forward that he finally acknowledged your presence.

“Curious, are we?”

His voice slid through the dimness like a blade, smooth and sharp. He still hadn’t turned, but you knew he had been aware of you the moment you entered. The way his shoulders tensed slightly, the way his fingers stilled for half a second before continuing their work—it was enough.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way his presence made the air feel heavier. “I was looking for you.”

That earned a reaction. His head tilted, just slightly. A pause. Then, finally, he turned.

His gaze was impossible to hold. The glow of his mechanical eye cast eerie reflections across his face, half in shadow, half illuminated by something unnatural. His real eye was unreadable, dark and gleaming beneath the mess of his hair.

“And now you have found me.”

There was something wrong with the way he said it. Like you had fallen into a carefully laid trap and only now realized the bars had locked behind you.

You tried not to react as he stepped closer.

Viktor never moved without purpose. Every shift of his weight, every subtle tilt of his head—it was all calculated, measured. And now, with the way his gaze dragged over you, slow and dissecting, you felt like a specimen under a magnifying glass.

His voice was almost amused when he spoke again. “You are trembling.”

You hadn’t noticed until now. The realization made your stomach tighten, shame curling in the back of your throat. You weren’t afraid of him. At least, you didn’t think you were. And yet—

His gloved fingers reached out, brushing the side of your throat. A light touch. Testing.

You gasped.

He smiled.

“Fascinating.”

The word sent a shiver down your spine. Because Viktor did not waste time on things that were not useful to him. If he was fascinated, it was because he was studying you.

You took a step back. A mistake. His expression didn’t change, but you felt the shift in the air, the way something unseen coiled tighter between you.

“You flinch,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Yet you do not leave. Why?”

The words shouldn’t have had weight. But coming from him—razor-sharp, peeling you apart layer by layer—they made something in you falter.

“I—” He was in front of you before you could finish “Shhh.”

The command was soft. Almost gentle. His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his. The glow of his lenses pulsed slightly, shifting as he cataloged your reaction, as he watched your breath hitch.

“I have been patient,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly against your lower lip. “So very patient.”

Something dark flickered behind his eyes. The kind of hunger that wasn’t born overnight.

“Tell me” he breathed, his voice a slow, curling heat against your skin, “how long do you intend to test my restraint?”

Your stomach dropped.

The moment stretched, taut and fragile. His grip on your chin wasn’t tight, but it was unrelenting. Unyielding.

And you—gods help you—you didn’t move away.

That was all the permission he needed.

The next breath you took was stolen from your lungs as he moved—fast. One moment, you were standing. The next, your back hit the cool metal of the nearest worktable, sending scattered blueprints fluttering to the ground.

His hand was at your throat now—not squeezing, not yet. Just resting. Feeling the frantic pulse beneath his fingers.

“I wonder,” he mused, his voice maddeningly calm as he leaned in, his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear, “do you truly not understand the danger you are in?”

You sucked in a breath, but it was shallow. Not enough. He was too close. The scent of metal and oil and something darker surrounded you, wrapped around your senses like a vice.

“Or…” He tilted his head, dragging his nose along the curve of your jaw, inhaling slowly. “Is it that you do?”

You whimpered. The sound was humiliatingly soft, but it didn’t escape him.

He smiled against your skin. “Ah. That is it, isn’t it?”

His hand moved, gliding lower, over the curve of your waist, the dip of your hip. Testing. Mapping. The way his fingers dragged over your clothes felt obscene, a slow unraveling of something inevitable.

“You wish to play human games,” he murmured, dragging his lips down, just over the curve of your throat, “but you forget—I am no longer a man who plays by such rules.”

Heat pooled between your thighs, unwelcome and delicious. You tried to squeeze them together, but his leg slotted between yours before you could, pinning you against the table. The pressure sent a sharp jolt of sensation through you, your breath hitching as he pressed just slightly—just enough to feel what he was doing to you.

He chuckled. Low. Dark.

“So soft,” he murmured, his grip tightening on your waist. “So eager.”

He rocked against you, slow and purposeful. The sensation sent a shock of pleasure through your core, a gasp ripping from your throat before you could stop it.

“Look at you.” His voice was almost reverent, his lips ghosting against the corner of your mouth. “So willing to be ruined.”

Your head was spinning. You knew you should stop this. You knew. And yet— You turned your head. Just slightly. Just enough.

And Viktor took exactly what you offered.

His lips crashed against yours.

Not a kiss—a claim.

You moaned, and that was all it took for him to deepen it, devouring every sound you made. His metal hand gripped your hip, fingers digging in as he rocked against you again, harder this time, pressing himself between your legs with slow, maddening precision.

“You are mine now,” he rasped against your lips. “And I do not intend to let you go.”

His words barely had time to settle before Viktor moved.

You barely registered the sharp scrape of metal against the edge of the table before you were hauled up, your thighs spreading around his waist as he slotted himself between them. The rough press of his uniform scraped against your inner thighs, and the realization hit—you were caged now, caught in the unforgiving grip of a man who had long since abandoned human restraint.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Viktor rasped, his voice a dark whisper against your lips. His hips rolled—slow, deliberate. The thick press of his cock, still confined by layers of fabric, ground against your cunt with enough pressure to have your head falling back against the table.

“Yes,” he breathed, watching you. Cataloging.

His metal fingers dug into your thigh, spreading you obscenely wide, while his gloved hand slid beneath your chin, tilting your face up until your breath hitched.

“I have waited,” he murmured, dragging his nose along your cheek. “I have suffered in silence—”

The next grind of his hips against your aching cunt made you writhe, the friction bordering on unbearable. Your breath broke into a gasp, hands flying to clutch at his shoulders, his neck—anything to ground yourself.

His hand snapped to your wrist, pinning it back against the metal surface with unforgiving force.

“But I suffer no longer.”

Your stomach tightened at the raw hunger in his voice. His lenses flickered, scanning your flushed skin, your parted lips, the way your chest rose and fell in shallow, desperate breaths.

He wanted to consume you. And he would.

“This—” His metal fingers tore at the fabric of your clothes, ripping away the layers with impatient efficiency. The air hit your exposed skin, a sharp contrast to the heat pooling between your legs ”—is mine.”

Your head fell back with a cry as his hand found you, his fingers dragging over your slick folds with slow, taunting precision.

“So eager,” he murmured, pressing a gloved finger inside without warning.

Your body arched, your legs attempting to close around his waist, but he would not allow it. His metal grip tightened, forcing you to remain open—to be seen.

“Do you think I have not noticed?” His voice was calm, but there was a sharp edge beneath it—a controlled fury. “The way you watch me? The way your breath catches whenever I draw near?”

He withdrew his finger, only to drag it achingly slow against your throbbing clit, coating you in the evidence of your own betrayal.

“You pretend you fear me.”

His cock pressed against your entrance now, still shielded by fabric, but so dangerously close.

“But this?” He rocked against you, the thick pressure of his length gliding over your cunt, making you shudder beneath him.

“This tells me the truth.”

You wanted him.

And Viktor had never been a man to deny himself what he was owed.

“This?” Viktor’s voice was velvet-wrapped steel, his accent thickened by hunger. His cock dragged against your drenched slit, separated only by the thin barrier of his uniform. The friction sent a delicious, maddening shock through your core. Your fingers clenched against the table’s edge, your body betraying you with a whimpering shudder.

Viktor chuckled—low, dark, victorious.

“You shiver beneath me, yet pretend resistance.”

His metal hand traced the inside of your thigh, a cold contrast to the burning heat pooling between them.

“Perhaps you need further convincing?”

The next grind of his hips sent wetness spilling onto the coarse fabric of his pants. He growled, feeling it—evidence of your surrender smearing against his clothed length.

“I feel you” he breathed, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “Soaking me like a little whore, yet still you tremble?”

Your breath caught as his gloved fingers found your clit again, this time with no patience, no teasing—just ruthless, practiced intent. He pressed firm circles against the swollen bud, his gaze locked onto yours, drinking in every twitch, every sharp inhale, every helpless little jerk of your hips.

“Such a delicate thing,” Viktor mused. “So easily unraveled.”

You tried to close your legs against the intensity, but his metal grip shot out, forcing you apart again.

“No,” he snapped, voice sharp. “You will take everything I give.”

Your thighs trembled in his hold.

“Yes,” he purred, drinking in your helplessness. “That’s it. Good girl.”

The praise was nearly mocking, but your body reacted anyway, a fresh wave of slick dripping down your folds.

“Ahh—look at this mess.” Viktor’s gloved hand slipped lower, his fingers spreading you open. Inspecting. “Do you see? Your body betrays you. It begs me to ruin you.”

Your walls clenched around nothing, desperate and aching.

“Hnn—Viktor—”

A sharp slap against your clit made you yelp, the sting sharp and deliciously cruel.

“Try again.” His voice was soft, but the command beneath it was undeniable.

“Please,” you gasped, back arching, hips rolling against his fingers.

Viktor hummed in approval, his metal hand moving to grip your jaw, forcing your gaze onto him.

“Good girl.”

Then—he moved.

Your world tilted as he flipped you onto your stomach in one motion, your chest pressing against the cold metal of his worktable. His hand pushed down on your back, arching you, forcing you to present yourself.

“Look at you,” he rasped, pulling his belt slowly, the leather hissing through the loops. The sound made your breath stutter—anticipation spiking through your veins.

“Do you know how long I have waited for this?”

A sharp tug and his pants dropped just enough to free his cock, the thick length pressing against your soaked entrance.

Your nails scraped against the table, your body tensing in anticipation.

“Do you know,” Viktor continued, his tip teasing, rubbing against your swollen folds, “how many nights I have imagined you like this? Bent over, begging for me?”

The desperation clawed at your throat.

“Viktor—please—”

His metal hand snapped up, gripping your throat, arching you back against his chest.

“Shhh.” He kissed the corner of your jaw, his cockhead pressing just against your fluttering entrance.

“Do not rush me.”

And then—he pushed in.

Your breath broke into a strangled cry as Viktor pushed inside, his cock splitting you open with an unrelenting, slow precision. The stretch was intense, bordering on unbearable—your walls clenched instinctively, trying to accommodate him, but he was thick, every inch of him sinking into you with a maddening patience.

“Aww” he cooed, his metal hand tightening around your throat. His lips dragged against the shell of your ear, his breath hot, teasing. “You can take it. I know you can.”

Your fingers scrabbled against the table, seeking purchase, something to ground yourself against the overwhelming intrusion. He was so deep, pressing against something achingly tender, and he wasn’t even fully inside yet.

“You are squeezing me so tight..” Viktor groaned, his free hand spreading your ass, watching the way your pretty cunt struggled to take him. His hips rolled, shallow thrusts, forcing you to stretch little by little.

“V-Viktor—” You whimpered, your body trembling, torn between pleasure and torment.

“Hnn, yes—say my name,” he murmured, his tongue flicking against your sweat-damp skin. His hand slid down, pressing against your lower belly, feeling the way his cock bulged inside you.

“So small,” he mused, a dark chuckle vibrating through his chest. “So tight around me.”

His hips drew back, and for a brief, blissful second, you thought he might ease up—

But then, he slammed forward.

The force sent a sharp shockwave through your body, your mouth falling open in a silent scream as he buried himself to the hilt.

“Ahhh—!”

“There it is,” Viktor growled, his fingers gripping your waist, holding you in place as he pulled back and drove in again.

Again.

A gain.

“You take me so well,” he purred, his voice thick with praise and possession. “Like you were made for this—made for me.”

His pace quickened, brutal and merciless, his cock dragging against your g-spot with every deep thrust. Your toes curled, your back arching, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing through the dimly lit workshop.

“So desperate,” Viktor mused, his metal hand gripping your hair, yanking your head back just enough for his teeth to scrape against your exposed throat.

“Your body begs me to ruin it.”

You cried out, your fingers curling, your walls clenching down around him too hard—

“Ah” Viktor hissed, his grip tightening as he slammed into you harder, rougher. “You think I will let you come so easily?”

His fingers abandoned your throat, slipping down to your aching clit, circling, taunting.

“Tell me,” he rasped. “Tell me who owns you.”

Your mind spun, every nerve in your body on fire. The pressure built, coiling so tight, so intense, you thought you might break apart—

“Say it.”

“Y-you—Viktor—!”

His pace faltered, just for a moment—like the words had satisfied something dark inside him.

Then—he fucked into you harder.

“Good girl,” he gritted out, his breath coming in ragged groans. His movements grew sloppy, more desperate, his fingers still tormenting your clit.

“Now—come for me.”

The command sent you spiraling.

Your body locked up, your vision going white as the orgasm crashed into you, waves of blinding, raw pleasure tearing through every inch of you. Your walls spasmed, milking his cock, your cries broken, breathless.

“Yes—yes, that’s it,” Viktor groaned, his own rhythm stuttering, faltering—

And then—he buried himself deep, his hips jerking as he spilled inside you.

A low, guttural moan tore from his throat, his body shuddering against yours as he filled you with hot, thick ropes of cum.

His grip eased, his breathing heavy against your skin. For a moment, neither of you moved, the only sound in the workshop the erratic pounding of your hearts.

Then—Viktor let out a low chuckle, his hands trailing over your trembling body.

“I knew you would break for me,” he murmured.

His cock twitched, still half-hard inside you.

“But I am not done yet.”

[spencersmopbucket]

(Un)Reciprocated | Cedric Diggory

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Reader Summary: You and Cedric were childhood best friends – growing up side by side, close as can be. When 5th year came around and Cedric began dating, you watched but never picked up the same habits, preferring a more independent life. When you begin developing feelings for your best and closest friend, after he goes back on an important promise, its nothing short of complicated.

Your childhood was amazing.

It was full of candy, toys, love and affection. It was full of luck, good marks in class, and playing tag until you were utterly breathless. And mostly, it was full of Cedric.

You did everything together – you had the same classes, the same goals, played the same sports, even had the same bloody wand when you got into Hogwarts. You were inseparable. You were never seen without the other, and every sentence where one was mentioned, the other was too.

"Yeah, Ced and Y/N.."

"Well, Y/N and Cedric were.."

You were certain it would last forever. You were certain that the two of you would never separate, even into adulthood.

When you got into your 5th year, you accepted peacefully that your thoughts were simply based on comfort, not reality. Cedric began to take a different path – girls, parties, popularity. You were very different, though you never resented him.

You were quiet, kept to yourself, and stuck to Quidditch and your studies. You had no use for the company of boys or the consumption of Firewhisky. You preferred a quiet life, wrapped up in a blanket by the Hufflepuff hearth and reading a book.

The first time you noticed the shift, it was a Tuesday.

Cedric had always been the type to linger after Quidditch practice —helping to stow brooms, chatting with teammates, tossing an arm around your shoulders as you both trudged back to the castle, still buzzing with adrenaline. But that evening, he’d disappeared before you could even unbuckle your knee pads.

You found him in the courtyard, surrounded by a gaggle of giggling fourth-years, his head thrown back in laughter at something you hadn’t heard. His hair was still damp from the showers, curling slightly at the nape of his neck, and his cheeks were flushed from the cold. He looked happy.

You turned on your heel and left before he could spot you.

Not because you were bothered by it, but because you had no interest in interrupting.. whatever that was. You blew your hair out of your face, walking to your dorm.

The common room was quiet when you arrived, the fire crackling low in the hearth. A few first-years huddled near the warmth, whispering over a game of Exploding Snap, but they paid you no mind as you trudged up the stairs to your dorm.

You told yourself you weren’t bothered.

So what if Cedric had ditched you after practice? So what if he’d rather entertain a flock of admirers than walk back with you like he always had? It didn’t matter. You weren’t the clingy type. You had better things to do than stand around waiting for him to remember you existed.

(Except you had waited. Just for a minute. Just long enough to realize he wasn’t coming back.)

You shoved open the door to your room harder than necessary, startling your roommate, who glanced up from her Potions essay.

“Rough practice?” she asked, eyeing the dirt smudged on your knees.

“The usual,” you muttered, tossing your gear onto your trunk.

You could still hear the echo of his laughter in your head — bright, carefree, so different from the way he laughed with you. With you, it was softer, quieter, like he was letting you in on a secret.

The jealousy you felt (you were very emotionally aware) confused you. So what if Cedric was entertaining girls? You didn't have to be into the same exact things anymore. It wasn't your scene. Doesn't mean it wasn't Cedric's, you rationalized.

Biting your lip, you gathered your toiletries and clothes and went to shower. The hot water ran over your sore muscles, but you couldn't even acknowledge the pleasurable feeling.

You couldn't ignore the burning feeling in your chest.

Groaning, you just washed up and got out.

—

Dinner in the Great Hall was a subdued affair.

You sat at the Hufflepuff table, picking at your shepherd’s pie, half-listening to the chatter around you. The seat beside you — his seat — remained conspicuously empty.

“Diggory’s late,” someone remarked.

You didn’t look up. “Not my problem.”

But then the doors swung open, and there he was, striding in with that effortless confidence that made half the Hall turn to look. His hair was still slightly damp, his cheeks pink from the cold, and he was grinning at something one of his teammates had said.

You tried to keep it down, you really did. You knew it wasn't right to be irritated. You didn't even know why you bloody felt this way.

He spotted you almost immediately, his smile flickering for just a second before he made his way over.

“Hey,” he said, sliding into the seat beside you like nothing had happened.

You didn’t answer.

He nudged your shoulder. “You okay?”

“Peachy,” you said flatly.

A beat of silence. Then, quieter: “You left before I could find you after practice.”

You finally turned to look at him, arching a brow. “Oh? I figured you were busy. I wasn't going to sit there and look stupid while you giggled to your posse.”

His expression faltered. “It wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—”

“Relax, Ced,” you said, forcing a smirk. “I’m not your keeper. Do what you want.”

His jaw tightened, but before he could respond, a group of fourth-years called his name from further down the table, waving him over.

He hesitated, glancing at you.

“Go on,” you said, shoveling a bite of pie into your mouth. “Wouldn’t want to keep your fans waiting.”

For a second, you thought he might argue. But then he sighed, pushing back from the table.

“We’ll talk later,” he murmured.

You didn’t watch him walk away.

Your fork clattered against your plate, the sound sharp in the hum of the Great Hall. You stood abruptly, ignoring the curious glances from nearby Hufflepuffs as you carried your half-eaten dinner toward the enchanted trash bins at the end of the table.

You knew you were being ugly.

The thought gnawed at you as you dumped your food, the remnants of your shepherd’s pie vanishing with a soft poof. That wasn’t you —snapping at Cedric, tossing out petty jabs like you were trying to wound him. You weren’t the jealous type. You weren’t.

(So why did it feel like your chest was full of broken glass every time he laughed with someone else?)

You exhaled sharply through your nose, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you muttered to yourself.

With that, you left the Great Hall and headed straight for your dorm. Without a word to anyone, you changed your clothes and headed straight to bed, throwing the covers over your head frustratedly.

Maybe some sleep would curve whatever the hell was wrong with you. Jealousy? Over Cedric?

You scoffed to yourself under the covers.

It wasn't like you loved him or something. Well, you did, but not like that.

Did you?

A pang of anxiety hit your stomach.

You rolled over and forced yourself to sleep before you could throw up.

—

You woke to the sound of hushed whispers and the rustling of robes. Sunlight streamed through the windows, far too cheerful for the storm brewing in your head.

Your roommate peeked over at you as you sat up, her eyebrows raised.

“You look like hell,” she said bluntly.

You groaned, rubbing your face. “Feel like it too.”

She tossed a piece of toast at you, which you caught on reflex. “Eat something. You’ll feel better.”

You doubted it.

The Great Hall was already buzzing when you arrived, students clustered together in excited chatter. You hesitated in the doorway, scanning the Hufflepuff table for a familiar head of tousled dark hair—

No.

You weren’t doing this. You weren’t looking for him.

You squared your shoulders and marched to the opposite end of the table, as far from Cedric’s usual spot as possible.

“Have you heard?”

A third-year leaned across the table, eyes wide with gossip. “They’re announcing the Triwizard Tournament today!”

You blinked. “What?”

“It’s true!” another student chimed in. “Dumbledore’s making the announcement after breakfast. They’re bringing back the tournament!”

A murmur of excitement rippled through the Hall. You barely registered it.

Your gaze flickered, against your will, toward the other end of the table — where Cedric sat, surrounded by friends, his face alight with the same eager curiosity as everyone else.

Of course he’d want to compete.

Your stomach twisted.

The entire school had gathered, students packed shoulder-to-shoulder as Dumbledore stood at the top of the marble staircase, his arms raised for silence.

“This year,” he began, his voice carrying effortlessly through the crowd, “Hogwarts will play host to a event not seen in over a century…”

You barely heard the rest.

Your attention was fixed on the back of Cedric’s head, just a few rows ahead of you. He stood tall, his posture straight with anticipation, his fingers tapping absently against his thigh.

You knew that tell. He was already planning his entry.

“—the Triwizard Tournament!”

The crowd erupted into cheers. Cedric turned slightly, scanning the sea of faces behind him — searching.

Your breath caught.

Then his eyes found yours.

For a heartbeat, the noise around you faded.

He grinned — bright, boyish, yours — and your traitorous heart stuttered in response.

You looked away first.

After the festivities, you almost floated out of the castle, moving too quick for anyone to notice. Or so you thought.

You needed air.

The pitch was empty, the stands silent, the only sound the wind whistling through the goalposts. You sat on the grass, your knees pulled to your chest, watching the clouds drift lazily across the sky.

“Knew I’d find you here.”

You didn’t turn. “Go away, Cedric.”

He ignored you, dropping onto the grass beside you with a huff. “Not until you tell me what’s going on with you.”

“Nothing’s going on.”

“Bullshit.” He plucked a blade of grass, twirling it between his fingers. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks. And don’t say you haven’t,” he added when you opened your mouth to argue. “I know you too well.”

You swallowed.

Tell him.

Just say it.

But the words stuck in your throat.

Instead, you nodded toward the castle. “You’re going to enter, aren’t you? The tournament.”

He hesitated, then sighed. “Yeah. I think so.”

Of course.

The tournament was unsafe. In some cases, it could be fatal. You and Cedric had both agreed that if you were presented the chance, you wouldn't enter. You'd stay safe, side by side.

You forced a smile. “You’ll win.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” you said softly. “Because you’re you.”

Cedric studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, quietly: “Would you hate me if I did?”

The question caught you off guard.

“What?”

“If I entered.” His voice was careful, like he was treading on thin ice. “Would you hate me?”

Never, you wanted to say. I could never hate you.

But what came out was: “I don’t know.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then Cedric stood, brushing the grass from his robes.

“Right,” he said stiffly. “Guess I’ll find out.”

And just like that, he walked away.

You wanted to slap yourself. Why were you being such an asshole? You didn't know.

Yes you did.

You loved Cedric. The thought made you want to jump into the black lagoon and be eaten by mermaids. Or admit it right away to Cedric, like one of the secrets you'd never been able to keep from him. Or hide it forever and live in misery.

You chose to hide it.

The days blurred together after that.

You threw yourself into classes, into Quidditch, into anything that would keep your mind off the growing chasm between you and Cedric. It was easier this way—safer. If you didn’t think about him, you wouldn’t have to face the truth.

(But you always thought about him.)

The night of the selection came quickly.

The Great Hall was packed, buzzing with anticipation as the Goblet of Fire flickered in the center of the room. You sat with your housemates, your fingers drumming restlessly against the table, your gaze fixed stubbornly on your lap.

You hadn’t spoken to Cedric since the pitch.

“Champions will be chosen momentarily,” Dumbledore announced, his voice echoing through the hall. “Once selected, please proceed to the adjoining chamber for further instructions.”

A hush fell over the crowd.

The Goblet’s flames flared—once, twice—then spat out the first name.

“The Durmstrang champion is Viktor Krum!”

Applause erupted as Krum stood, his expression unreadable, and disappeared through the side door.

Another burst of fire.

“The Beauxbatons champion is Fleur Delacour!”

More cheers. Fleur rose gracefully, her silver-blonde hair shimmering under the candlelight as she followed Krum out.

Then — silence.

The Goblet flickered, the flames licking higher, twisting violently as if struggling with its final decision.

Your chest tightened.

Not him. Please, not him.

The fire roared, and a third slip of parchment shot into Dumbledore’s waiting hand.

“The Hogwarts champion…”

A beat.

“Cedric Diggory!”

The Hufflepuff table exploded. Whistles, shouts, the thunder of hands pounding against wood — all of it faded into white noise as you watched Cedric stand, his face a mix of shock and dawning pride.

He didn’t look at you as he passed.

You weren’t sure why you’d expected him to.

The rest of the day was a blur, until the party.

The party had been going all afternoon, but later into the night, it became alcoholic.

Only 16 and older were allowed — you came with your roommate. You don't know why you allowed her to convince you. Maybe you wanted to torture yourself with seeing Cedric. Maybe you just wanted to drink the pain away. Both probably.

When you got there, uncharacteristically of you, you immediately dove into a shot of Firewhisky.

"Damn! L/N is finally loosening up?" One of your classmates whooped. You managed a halfhearted smirk as cheers erupted.

Another shot. Another. After another. You were encouraged, cheered on by your roommate and your friends. They'd never seen you like this — but they couldn't detect the inner turmoil. Only Ced could. And he was nowhere to be found.

You were probably just too drunk to see him, to be honest.

The world had taken on a hazy, golden glow — the kind that made everything feel slightly unreal, like you were floating outside your own body. The firewhisky burned its way down your throat, settling warm and heavy in your stomach, but it did nothing to dull the ache in your chest.

“Another!” your roommate crowed, slamming a fresh shot in front of you.

The crowd around you erupted in cheers as you threw it back without hesitation. The taste was sharp, bitter, but you welcomed it. Maybe if you drank enough, you could forget the way Cedric’s face had looked when he walked away from you at the lake. Maybe you could forget the way your heart had splintered when he didn’t even glance at you after being named champion.

Pathetic.

You reached for another shot, but someone snatched it away before your fingers could close around the glass.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

The voice was low, familiar, and it sent a jolt through you despite the alcohol clouding your senses.

You turned your head — slowly, too slowly — and there he was.

Cedric.

His grey eyes were dark in the flickering candlelight, his jaw set in a hard line. He looked unfairly good, even now — his hair slightly mussed, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the faintest flush high on his cheeks from whatever he’d been drinking.

You scowled. “Since when do you care?”

His expression tightened. “Since you’re about two seconds away from passing out.”

“I’m fine,” you slurred, waving a hand dismissively. “Go back to your adoring fans, Champion. And give me my fucking shot back.”

The word came out sharper than you’d intended, laced with a bitterness you hadn’t meant to let slip.

Cedric’s gaze flickered over your face, searching for something. Whatever he saw made his shoulders tense.

“We need to talk,” he said quietly.

“No, we don’t.” You pushed yourself up from the table, swaying slightly as the room tilted around you. “I’m going to bed.”

You didn’t make it two steps before his hand closed around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“Y/N.” His voice was rough, urgent. “Please.”

Something in his tone made your breath catch.

You turned.

For a long moment, you just stared at each other — the noise of the party fading into the background, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

Then, without a word, Cedric tugged you toward the door.

The cold night air hit you like a slap, sobering you just enough to realize what a terrible idea this was.

You yanked your arm free. “What the hell, Cedric?”

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “You’re drunk.”

“And you’re ruining my buzz.”

“Because you won’t talk to me!” His voice cracked, raw with frustration. “Merlin’s beard, Y/N, what do you want from me? You’ve been pushing me away for weeks, and I don’t even know why!”

The words hung between you, heavy and suffocating.

You opened your mouth — to snap, to deflect, to lie — but the alcohol had stripped away your defenses, leaving nothing but the truth.

"Something's changed. With me, with you, I don't fucking know." You cracked, eyes welling up with frustrated tears. You fought the slur in your words. "I can't stop being an asshole."

Cedric stared at you, stunned into silence.

The kind of silence that wasn’t angry or judgmental — just broken. Hurt.

“You think I care about that?” he finally said, voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “You think I haven’t noticed something’s been eating you alive? You think I’d ever walk away from you just because you’ve been… distant, or angry, or—”

“Cold?” you cut in bitterly. “Sharp-tongued? Emotionally stunted?”

“Human,” he said firmly. “And scared.”

You laughed — a bitter, ugly sound. “Don’t flatter me.”

“I’m not.�� He took a step closer, voice cracking just slightly. “You’ve been different, yeah. But I stuck around because I know you. And I care about you. And it’s driving me mad that you won’t just tell me what’s wrong.”

You could feel it bubbling up — all the confusion and pain and fear — the thing you hadn’t dared to admit even to yourself.

"Look," you said, squeezing and loosening your fists, "I'm drunk. I'm tired. I'm going back to the dorm."

With that, you tried to march away.

But you didn’t get far.

Cedric caught your wrist again — not hard, not forceful, just enough to stop you, just enough to make your breath catch.

"Please. Don't walk away from me. Not again. You're my best friend and you're treating me like a stranger."

You froze.

The words hit harder than they should have — best friend — and yet, they cracked something deep inside you. Not because they were untrue, but because they used to be everything. Because somewhere along the way, being his best friend had stopped being enough, and you’d hated yourself for it.

You didn’t turn around. Couldn’t. Not yet.

"Maybe that's the problem." You almost sobbed out, looking up at the sky. "I don't want to be your best friend, Cedric. Not anymore. I fucking love you, okay?!"

The confession tore out of you like a storm — raw, unfiltered, soaked in every ache you’d tried to drink away.

Silence fell.

The kind of silence that made your ears ring, that made the world feel like it had stopped turning.

A tear fell from your eye. You sniffled.

"I'm so stupid. And so drunk. Goodnight, Cedric."

You marched away. You didn't hear him ask you back. You didn't hear a response at all. Just pure, blank silence.

When your reached the dorm, you cried yourself to sleep.

The weeks that followed were hollow.

You avoided him at all costs — skipping meals if he was in the Great Hall, changing routes between classes, ducking into alcoves or behind statues just to avoid seeing his face.

And the worst part?

He let you.

Not once did Cedric chase after you. Not once did he corner you in the hallway or try to pull you aside after class. No notes. No explanations. No apologies.

It was like you’d ceased to exist.

Your friends didn’t understand. Hell, you didn’t understand. You’d confessed your feelings, humiliated yourself — handed your heart to him — and he hadn’t even had the decency to break it properly. Just silence. A gaping, agonizing silence.

You buried yourself in schoolwork, tried to find distractions, but nothing stuck. Nothing made the ache fade. You’d never felt so invisible.

Not even Firewhisky could touch it now.

You'd even tried. You were drunk at every party, desperately trying to forget how embarrassed you felt and how much you missed Cedric.

And then came the day of the final task. The Maze.

The air was electric, thick with nerves and anticipation. Everyone buzzed about Cedric and Harry, Fleur and Krum — four champions entering the unknown. You stood on the edge of the crowd with your arms crossed, shoulders tight with dread. You hadn’t spoken to Cedric in weeks, hadn’t even looked at him if you could help it… but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t terrified.

He might not care about you anymore — if he ever did — but that didn’t stop you from caring about him.

The Maze loomed like a breathing thing, its hedges impossibly tall, its rustling leaves whispering secrets. You watched him walk toward it, flanked by cheers and camera flashes, and for a moment, just a moment, he looked back over his shoulder.

At you.

Your breath caught.

Then he was gone.

The chaos came later.

Screams. Shouting. Rumors flying like hexes. Harry was back, clutching the Triwizard Cup and Cedric’s arm — but something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

Cedric wasn’t moving.

You pushed through the crowd, frantic, not caring who you elbowed or stepped on. Harry was screaming something about Voldemort, about portkeys, about Death Eaters — and all you could see was Cedric lying in the grass like a discarded doll.

But then — then — he moved.

A shallow breath. A twitch of his hand. A groan.

You fell to your knees beside him as Madam Pomfrey and the professors swarmed, your shaking fingers brushing over his cold one before they ushered you back.

He lived.

Barely, but he lived.

You didn’t sleep for two nights.

You hovered outside the Hospital Wing, waited for word, snapped at anyone who told you to rest. You weren’t sure why — he hadn’t spoken to you in weeks — but some part of you needed to know he was okay. Even if you’d never speak again.

It was late when Madam Pomfrey finally relented and let you in.

He looked pale, drawn, but awake. Eyes open, hazy with potions and pain, but still that same warm, stormy gray.

You stood in the doorway, frozen.

He blinked. “Y/N?”

You hated that his voice still made something deep in your chest crack.

“I… shouldn’t be here,” you said. “I just wanted to see if you were—if you—” You turned, heart hammering, already retreating.

“Don’t,” he rasped. “Please. Don’t go.” His voice cracked. Tears glossed his eyes over — not quite gathering, but still there.

You hesitated, back still to him.

"I'm begging you. I just want to hold your hand. To touch you. Just for a second, yeah? Please, Y/N."

The rawness in his voice undid you.

Not the words — those you could have ignored. But the way he said them. Cracked and trembling, like a boy clinging to a ledge by his fingertips. Like saying your name was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

You turned, slowly.

Cedric looked so unlike himself it hurt — his golden skin washed out, the sharp cut of his cheekbone shadowed and sunken, that usual quiet confidence gone. But those eyes…

They were still his. Still stormy. Still yours.

You came back slowly. His pale hand outstretched — you placed yours into it, like he'd asked. The entire room flooded with the aura of relief. Cedric squeezed his eyes shut, an exhale leaving him.

He didn’t say anything right away.

He just held your hand like it anchored him. Like it was the only thing tethering him to the moment, to the world, to you. His fingers were cold — not deathly, just lacking the usual heat you remembered so well. But they wrapped around yours with the same gentleness you’d missed more than you could bear.

When he opened his eyes again, they shimmered.

“I thought I’d dreamed you,” he said, voice low, rough. “That night. After the maze. I thought… maybe I’d imagined the sound of your voice.”

Your throat tightened. “I was there.”

“I know that now,” he said, giving your hand a light tug, just enough to pull you closer to the bed. “You were always there. Even when you weren’t.”

You were silent again. Then you spoke.

"What the hell happened?"

Cedric’s jaw tensed. For a moment, he didn’t speak. His thumb kept brushing over your knuckles — a grounding motion, or maybe just something to do with his hands so he wouldn’t fall apart.

“I don’t remember all of it,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Not clearly. The maze — it was dark, and twisted. Everything felt wrong. Like it was watching me.”

You moved closer without thinking, perching on the edge of the bed now, still clutching his hand.

He swallowed hard, gaze distant. “There were enchantments, creatures, traps… things meant to disorient us. I was doing okay. Then—” He paused, breath catching. “Then the Portkey. I didn’t know what it was, just that it wasn’t part of the maze.”

You nodded slowly. “We were all watching. Then you vanished.”

“I landed in a graveyard.” His voice went flat. “I wasn’t alone.”

You felt your heart stutter in your chest.

Cedric looked at you now. Not through you. Not around you. At you. “There was someone there. Someone powerful. Masked. I—I couldn’t fight him. He cursed me. Said it was a warning, not a killing. Said I was just the ‘first stone in the avalanche.’ Then he left. Just like that. Like I was… insignificant.”

Your breath shook. “Cedric…”

He gave a small, humorless laugh. “I wasn’t brave. I just got lucky.”

You touched his cheek before you could stop yourself. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Downplay what you survived. You weren’t lucky, you were strong. You’re here, aren’t you? You made it back.”

“Barely,” he murmured.

“But you did.” Your voice cracked now. “And I’m so—so glad. I was terrified. Every day you didn’t wake up, I thought…” You blinked rapidly, unable to finish.

His hand covered yours now, anchoring it to his cheek. He leaned into your touch.

“I’m sorry you went through that,” he whispered. “Alone.”

“You’re not alone now.”

He nodded. “Neither are you.”

You sat in that fragile stillness for a long time. No longer strangers to the silence, but companions to it. Letting it speak where words couldn’t.

Finally, Cedric shifted slightly. “Stay?”

You looked at him — pale, trembling, but alive — and nodded. “Of course.”

You curled into the chair beside his bed, still holding his hand.

He didn’t let go.

Hours later, Madam Pomfrey returned. Surprisingly, she went into a soft smile when she saw you sleeping silently in the chair — arm still outstretched to Cedric, who was sleeping soundly finally — his hand clutching yours tightly.

She didn’t wake you.

Madam Pomfrey, for all her grumbles and strict rules, had been at Hogwarts long enough to recognize the kind of sleep born from exhaustion and heartbreak. The kind of sleep that stitched two fractured souls back together, thread by trembling thread.

With a gentle flick of her wand, she dimmed the lights and conjured a blanket, draping it over your shoulders. She didn’t touch Cedric — just checked the potions levels, made a quiet note on her chart, and slipped out of the room.

When you stirred hours later, it was still quiet. The world hadn’t ended, though it had come close. You blinked slowly, adjusting to the gray morning light streaming through the hospital wing’s tall windows.

You were still holding his hand.

More importantly — he was still holding yours.

You turned your head, just slightly, and saw Cedric watching you. His eyes were clearer now. Tired, yes — but calm. Solid. Real.

“Morning,” he whispered.

Your voice came out hoarse. “Hey.”

“Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

“I said I would be,” you replied quietly. “You really think I’d leave again?”

“No,” he said, his thumb brushing over your hand again. “But part of me’s still scared I’ll wake up and this will be gone.”

You sat up straighter, brushing the sleep from your eyes. “It’s not.”

A long pause.

“I thought about you,” Cedric said. “When I was stuck in that maze. When I was hurt. When I woke up alone in here. I kept thinking—‘I didn’t tell her.’ Not really.”

“Didn’t tell me what?” you asked gently.

“That I love you.”

Your breath caught.

“I love you,” he repeated, firmer this time. “And I’m sorry it took almost dying to say it. I should’ve said it that night. When you did. But I panicked. I—I couldn’t believe you’d actually—”

“I did,” you whispered. “I do.”

Cedric’s expression broke into something fragile and luminous, something that made you feel like you could finally breathe after weeks underwater.

He squeezed your hand again.

“I think we’ve wasted enough time, don’t you?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

Soft sunlight broke through the clouds beyond the windows, casting a pale gold glow across the room. And as Cedric smiled up at you, tired but whole, you realized this wasn’t the end of your story.

"You said you'd never date. Now look at you.. Loser." Cedric snorted weakly.

It was true. You'd said that at the beginning of 5th year.

Rolling your eyes, you smirked.

"I wouldn't call it dating. I'd call it unlabeled, pure devotion."

Cedric laughed, a low, broken sound that still somehow managed to sound like music. His thumb brushed yours as he held your hand a little tighter.

“Oh, that’s what we’re calling it?” he murmured, smile lazy, eyes gleaming just a bit. “Unlabeled, pure devotion?”

You shrugged, that smirk playing on your lips again. “It’s more romantic that way. Tragic. Poetic.”

“Right,” he said with mock-seriousness. “So when people ask, I’ll just say I’m in a deeply emotional, undefined entanglement with a sarcastic cynic who pretends she doesn’t love me stupid.”

You shot him a glare, but your heart fluttered.

“And I’ll say I’m spiritually tethered to a bleeding-heart Hufflepuff who almost died just to make me realize I’m in love with him.”

Cedric’s eyes locked with yours then — no teasing now, just a quiet, overwhelming sort of tenderness. Like everything had shifted and finally, finally landed right where it was meant to.

“Then I guess we deserve each other,” he whispered.

You nodded. “Unfortunately for you.”

He thought for a moment.

"C'mere." He muttered, opening his arms.

You raised an eyebrow. "But Madam Pomf—"

"She'll be fine. She loves me."

You huffed a laugh, trying to hide the fact that your chest had just caved in a little.

“She loves everyone,” you said, but you were already rising from the chair.

Cedric gave a weak but triumphant grin as you carefully slipped into the narrow hospital bed beside him, minding the bandages and bruises. His arms wrapped around you the second you were close enough — warm, shaky, and maybe a little too tight, like he still didn’t quite believe this was real.

You melted into him anyway.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t comfortable. The mattress was stiff, your knees bumped, and his shoulder was still sore — but somehow, it was perfect.

“You smell like antiseptic,” you muttered into his collarbone.

“You smell like regret and firewhisky,” he murmured back.

You snorted. “Fair.”

For a while, you both just lay there, tangled in silence. His hand moved slowly across your back, your cheek pressed against the beat of his heart. There were a hundred conversations left to have — about the maze, about what came next, about the weeks of silence and the confession you still weren’t sure he’d heard properly.

But for now, this was enough.

Safe. Warm. Alive.

“I’m not letting you go again,” Cedric whispered suddenly, so quietly you almost missed it.

You lifted your head. “Then don’t.”

He looked at you like you’d just given him the answer to every riddle he’d ever been asked.

It happened without fanfare.

No dramatic music. No roaring winds or trembling ground.

Just the two of you, breathing in the same space, your foreheads touching as the late-afternoon sun traced gold across the white sheets and Cedric’s bruised knuckles.

He looked at you like he had all the time in the world — like he was memorizing every curve of your face, every flicker of doubt behind your eyes. His hand came up, fingers brushing your cheek, reverent. Almost disbelieving.

“I'd like to seal our 'unlabeled, pure devotion'' with a kiss, yeah?” he murmured.

You swallowed, heart thudding. “Then do it.”

His lips found yours gently — not rushed, not hungry, just soft. Certain. A question and an answer, all in one breath.

It was warm and a little shaky, a kiss you could feel in your ribs, in your fingertips, in every inch of skin that remembered what it meant to be close to him.

When he pulled back, barely an inch, his eyes were still closed.

“I'm an absolute fool for you,” he whispered, voice a little hoarse. “But it was definitely worth almost dying for.”

You laughed, and then you kissed him again.

[obeymeshallwedateaddict]

Hey, I enjoy your writing and was curious if I could request the brothers reacting to an MC who gets quietly flustered if they hear the brothers growl or speak demonic/infernal near them? (I kinda headcanon that it's a fairly growly language) I'll leave the length up to you and if you're up for it I wouldn't mind some NSFW. Hope you're having a good day!

Okay yes it did take me too long to write this but I've been busy! I'm sorry! I'll try to be more dedicated next time when writing.. anyway I hope you enjoy this one.

Summary: The brothers let out a demonic growl that MC enjoys a little too much..

Contains: NSFW

Warnings: 18+ (Minors do not interact)

Fem!reader x each of the brothers.

You can find more of my work here: Masterlist

Demonic rumbles and desire

Lucifer

It was late into he night. You were keeping the eldest company while he was doing paperwork in his study. Suddenly Lucifer’s deep, instinctive growl rumbled through the room as he encountered yet another frustrating report. Without looking up, he felt your eyes on him, your slightly flushed cheeks giving you away. He let his growl linger a moment longer, enjoying the way it makes you fidget. You felt a shiver run down your spine and a warm sensation spread through your body. You're cheeks were flushed red and you had a feeling that to every growl the demon let out the colour of your cheeks turned into a darker shade. Realizing how much his dark, authoritative tone is affecting you, he chuckled and shook his head.

-"Enjoying the sound of my voice, are you?" –The demon spoke as he finished writing another sentence before leaving the pen on the desk and looking up at you. You manage out and awkward smile, trying to hide exactly how much the sound of his growl had turned you on. But it's no use. Lucifer is so used to reading your body language that it's almost like he knows what you're feeling. He chuckled again.

-"It's no use trying to hide it, MC." –He spoke again, the sound of his voice more demonic, deep and intimidating than it already was. It was obvious that he was trying to get a reaction out of you. And it was no surprise to neither one of you that you clearly and visualy expressed admiration and arousal to the forsaken sound of the demon's voice. He raised from his seat and slowly made his way to you. You swear you can almost hear your heart pumping in your chest. Your breathing was faster and more shallow, expressing your excitement even more.

-"Don't stare at me like that, MC.." –He murmured as his hands found your hips and pulled you flush against his body.

-"Not at least if you don't want me to lose control." –You quickly look away from him which earns you a low chuckle. With his right hand he grasps your chin and turns your head to face him before crashing his lips onto yours. The kiss was deep and desperate, full of pent up tension Lucifer had stored for a few days. Soon enough be pulled away with a growl before throwing you over his shoulder and emerging from the study onto his way to his room.

-"Heyy!! What are you doing?? What about your paperwork??" –You question to which you earn a demonic grunt.

-"Paperwork is going to have to wait. It isn't my main priority anyway." – You feel your cheeks heat up even more to his words.You hold onto the demon for dear life as he carries you. Upon reaching the bed in his room you're fast thrown onto it and before you can acknowledge your surroundings Lucifer is on top of you, his hands wandering, taking off clothes and ripping fabrics that keep you away from him. And after a few kisses he planted from your neck down to your tummy he finds himself between your legs, feasting on your juices like a starving man. At this moment he felt like he understood Beel. Understood what true hunger felt like. His skilled tongue lapped at your folds, eating you out. One of his hands crept up your inner thigh before finding it's way to your entrance. The demon pushed two fingers inside to which you let out a satisfied moan. He chuckled against your cunt and continued his assault to your pussy. His fingers pumping in and out of you as his tongue, skillfully attended to your bundle of nerves. You could feel him smile at every sound you let out but made sure to bite down on your clit on a few particularly louder ones.

And so as the night continued Lucifer brought you to a climax countless times before both you and him were properly satisfied.

Mammon

You decided to accompany the second oldest to the casino today since toh had nothing else better to do plus Lucifer wasn't home to scold you for going with Mammon. An amazing opportunity right? You were sitting in the cushion couch, scrolling mindlessly on your phone while the demon placed bets on the horse riding machine. Suddenly his frustration hit a peak when he lost another bet, a throaty growl escaped before he even realized it. You stopper in your tracks, cheeks reddening but you didn't look up, hoping the demon wouldn't notice. But you couldn't really hide this from the Avatar of Greed now could you? When he glanced over and saw your flustered expression, he suddenly forgot all about his losses. -“So, ya like it when I’m a little rough, huh?” He grins, his voice dropping as he lets a few demonic words slip.

-"Never said I do." –You try to act nonchalant, typing away something in the calculator of your phone but your pink cheeks are giving you away. And you know it even if you deny it at every opportunity you get.

-"Then why're ya flustered, huh?" –He asks and takes a few steps closer to you with his hands crossed over his chest and head easier high into the sky.

-"Flustered? No. It's just that the temperatures are high here. Damn can't somebody open a window in this casino?? – You lie but failed to notice how close Mammon had come and he chuckles to your dumbfounded expression.

-"Whatcha calculatin'? How much I'm turning ya on?" –He asks and takes a seat next to you, grabbing the phone from your hands.

-"It's not what it looks like! Give me my phone back!!" –You speak and reach to grab your phone from Mammon's hands but he moves it out of reach.

-"Perhaps I should make you pay for that phone if ya want it back hm?" – He says with a mischievous look on his face. You groan and roll your eyes.

-"What is it?" –You ask.

-"Do tell, MC. Does my voice turn you on?" –He speaks again making sure to add the forsaken demonic note in his voice you so love.

-"Isn't it obvious or are you too stupid to notice?"

-"Who you callin' stupid, huh? Hm. I think I have a better price to win tonight rather than money..." – With those words the demon grabs your arm and pulls you along with him to the VIP rooms. Upon closing the door he yanks you to him and crashes his lips to yours in a heated kiss while walking you to the couch at the end of the room. He pushes you down onto it and undressed himself before moving onto you. He hurriedly takes off your clothes while leaving desperate kisses all over your neck, jaw and face. His hands explore your body, finding your most sensitive places with ease. His fingers grace the skin of your inner thighs before moving up to your aching pussy. His smile widens upon seeing that you're already ready for him and he doesn't waste any time before delving his fingers inside you. You let out a sharp moan as he hits all the right spots with his surprisingly skilled fingers. He continued pumping them in and out of you while leaving desperate kisses all over. It didn't take long at all before you became a squirming and whimpering mess below the demon of greed.

Leviathan

You were in the third-born's room, gaming with him. It was late into the night. You guys were on the fifth game for the night. You weren't tired, in fact you wer ready to face another few games and so was Leviathan. But this game was harder than the other four you had played tonight. You'd usually spend around ten minutes before beating the game yet you weren't even half way through when the 30 minutes hit. You were loosing and loosing. It was getting irritating for the both of you. And even if you remained composed, letting out an irritated sigh from time to time the demon didn't seem to be the same. And when you lost again he finally snapped, letting out a low, irritated, demonic growl and throwing the controller to the ground. You felt your cheeks redden at the sound. It wasn't like anything you've ever heard before from Levi. It sounded so dominant, so demonic and so.. soo sexy. You swallowed and looked away from the demon in an attempt to hide your blush. But that didn't remain unnoticed by the third born. He immediately turned to you, with a concerned look in his eyes.

-"MC? What's wrong..? Did I.. scare you?" –He asked with a gentle tone in his voice, trying not to let out a sound that could have the same effect on you as the last one.

-"Scare me? No, Levi. Not at all." –You say and look down at your hands, fidgeting your fingers, hoping the demon would just drop the topic.

-"Then why do you look like this? Usually I'm the one that's all awkward and embarrassed.." –He mumbled as his concerned gaze loomed over you.

-"It's just that.. the growl you let out kind of.. turned me on.." –You say, desperately hoping you didn't sound like Asmodeus. The demon's cheeks immediately turned red and he looked away from you. He mumbled something to himself before letting out a shaky sigh.

-"It.. it t-t-turned you o-o-on..? Y-you mean my.. g-growl?" –He stuttered, staring emptily at the screen in front of you.

-"Yeah.. it just sounded so.. demonic.. so.. manly.. you don't even know.." –You words echo through the room, followed by an awkward chuckle, hoping you didn't complicate things with your overly inappropriate comment.

-"So.. my.. my demonic voice t-turns you on..?" –He spoke in that same low and intimidating voice that could make shivers run down the spines of simple people.

-"It does.." –You bite your lip and finally gain the courage to look back at the demon. He still had that red blush on his cheeks though he looked more... Rough and dominant in a way.

-"You know..this situation kind of reminds me of that one anime I watched not too long ago.. Do you know what followed after the heroine confessed her attraction to the main lead's voice?" –He asked, his form creeping closer and closer to you.

-"What?" –You breathe, watching his every move intently.

-"They did it.. and by did it.. you know exactly what I mean... So don't ask.." –He reached you and drags his fingers down your arm which causes shivers to run down your spine. Suddenly you feel bold and move so youre sitting onto the demon's lap. His cheeks took a deeper shade of red though he didn't disappoint and moved his hands to your hips. You leaned down and captured his lips in a passionate kiss, full of longing which he returned. You slowly took off his clothes, caressing his skin and admiring the view. He had an amazing body for a shut-in. You couldn't deny that. The touch of your fingers against his abdomen stirred a feeling of longing inside the demon. He let out another demonic growl before taking the shirt off of your body, followed by your pants and underwear. He didn't waste any time before pushing his dick inside you which caused you to see stars though his cheeks remained that same deep red colour as before. He was sensual. Slow and gentle. He usually wasn't one to fuck like an animal unlike some of his brothers though his movements were frantic and unsure. Nonetheless he managed to bring you to that desired peak just as he intended.

Satan

On one peaceful afternoon you were keeping Satan company while he was reading. You sat there next to him, admiring the features on his focused face. He looked so composed and peaceful. As well as really handsome. Just like always. That's when suddenly you heard deep, dangerous growl leave his mouth which left you wide-eyed. You stared at the fourth-born with shock in your eyes yet you could feel your cheeks heat up. You've never heard him make such a sound before yet it was the most attractive thing you've ever heard. Satan wasn't usually one to be rough and dominant. Most of the time he'd be gentle and caring which of course is his charm and you weren't complaining but this new side of him wasn't unwelcome as well. After a short while he noticed you staring and stopped reading to look at you.

-"Sorry, MC. It's just this book is testing my patience. I hope I didn't scare you." He speaks in the usual gentle voice that usually makes you smile though this time it was different.

-"No you didn't scare me at all.. actually it sounded.. umm.. n-nice?" –The blush on your cheeks became more prominent upon saying those words and you watched as the demon froze in his tracks.

-"Oh so it's like that huh? You like the sound of my voice, MC?" –He spoke in that same demonic way that could make you weak in the knees and close his book, leaving it next to him on the couch. His eyes were shining with newfound lust he usually doesn't make obvious. You took a deep breath to compose yourself before speaking.

-"Yes.. I think you sound attractive.."

-"Attractive? You say? I'm flattered, MC." –He got closer to you and his hands found their way to your hips. You swallowed a limp that was forming in your throat as shivers ran down your spine from the sensation of his touch. It was like fire was burning through you. A fire that you couldn't stop. And you were pretty sure that Satan was feeling the same.

With one swift motion he moved you onto his lap as his lips found yours in a heated, desperate kiss.

-"I've been wanting to blow off some steam.. and you seem like the perfect way to do so.." –He mumbles as his lips move down your jaw to your neck, peppering you with warm kisses and red love marks. You were pretty sure that your cheeks couldn't get to a deeper blush but the demon of wrath proved you wrong once again. He gently traced the skin under your clothes, squeezing and caressing your curves before he got to that desired point where you wanted him the most. He swiftly teased you, not touching exactly where you wanted him to. His touch was as light as feather, driving you just the right amount of crazy. And when you finally thought you've had enough and had almost reached a point of overstimulation he stuck one of his fingers inside you, moving it in and out, his long finger hitting all the right places. Soon enough he added another one, provoking a moan out of you. The sensation was unlike something you've ever felt before. It was the best thing you've ever experienced. The most pleasure you've ever felt. And you knew this wouldn't be the end of it. Not even close.

By the end of the evening the demon brought you to many climaxes, always with that uncharacteristic pride in his eyes and fire in his touch.

Asmodeus

You and the fifth-born were getting ready to go out together. Or rather.. you were waiting for him to get ready since you were already done. You sat on his bed, scrolling on your phone while he was doing his makeup. Suddenly a low, irritated demon growl comes out of his mouth which stops you in your tracks. You glance up and look at him in the mirror with pink cheeks. The demon's eyeliner had smudged again for maybe the 7th time today and Asmo was getting to his peak. It's always annoying when you have to re-do one thing over and over again. Especially when it comes to make up. But the thing is that you've never heard such a sound come out of Asmo's mouth. It sounded so hot.. so demanding.. so rough... Which wasn't one of Asmo's characteristics. He's usually gentle, taking his time with you, praising you with the lustiest voice he could manage. It's rare when he's rougher than how he usually is. And then he noticed you staring. He looked into your eyes through the reflection of the mirror, the irritation that was gnawing on his face just seconds ago was gone and replaced by his usual flirtatious, lustful gaze that could make anyone melt away.

-"You're blushing, MC? So you like it when I'm rough hm?" –The demon chuckled and closed his eyeliner, leaving it on the table. He turned his chair towards you and crossed his legs, gazing at you with a curiously, lustful look.

-"It's just.. I..I've never heard you make such a s-sound before." –You mutter, stuttering and looking away in an attempt to hide the blush that was spreading on your cheeks.

-"Awh my sweet MC~ there is no need to be shy.. Come on, hon. Look at me~" –He said as he slowly stood up and made his way to the bed where you were sitting. He reached and grabbed you chin, turning it towards himself, rougher than usual. You swear you could feel shivers run through you and fire from the trace of his fingers that caressed your arm. He traced your bottom lip with his thumb gently before forcefully pulling you closer into a heated kiss. It was full of passion and an unusual longing. Perhaps because deep down he's always wanted to be rough with you. And now it's like a dream come true to him.

He pushed you down onto the bed and climbed on too of you before hurriedly unbuttoning the buttons of your shirt. Not long after the shirt falls off of your chest and pools over your shoulders but Asmodeus pulls it off. He breaks the kiss and looks at you with undeniable passion and longing in his eyes. You knew if you tried to change the topic you probably wouldn't succeed so you remained silent while his hands quickly removed the rest of your clothing as well as his. Soon enough you found yourself gasping, panting and beginning him to touch you but he continued to tease youz leaving hungry kisses all over your body but not where you wanted them. Sucking on parts of your skin, leaving tiny love bites. His fingers were gracing your skin just enough to send shivers down your spine but now enough to bring you to the big of ecstasy. Though the demon seemed to enjoy it. And finally after a long time of pleading and whimpering he decided to drive his fingers down your slit, making you gasp. His fingers were working on your clit while his mouth was all over your neck, collarbone and chest. It all felt almost too much. He knew exactly where and how to touch you to make you see stars which was so irritating but oh it felt so good. His fingers dove inside you, working you in and out, reaching that one spot inside you that finally brought you over the edge. It's needless to say that not only Asmo but you as well were pleased tonight.

Beelzebub

It was late in the evening, and you found yourself in the kitchen with Beelzebub, a quiet moment that quickly became charged. His stomach growled loudly, the sound echoing like a beast’s roar, and your cheeks flushed as his own low, rumbling growl followed. Beel’s violet eyes flicked to you, darkened with something more than hunger.

Noticing your reaction, he hesitated, his smile shy for a moment—until the more demonic side of him took over. “You look like something I could devour,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a tone that made your pulse race.

Before you could respond, his large hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him. His touch was possessive, his heat overwhelming, and his lips brushed your ear as he whispered in infernal. The dark, guttural sounds sent shivers through your body, their meaning lost, but the intent all too clear.

Beel trailed kisses down your neck, his growls deepening as he tasted your skin. His sharp teeth grazed lightly, a teasing contrast to his gentle kisses, and your breath hitched. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” he asked, his voice rough, his hands exploring with growing urgency.

Your whispered response was all it took for his restraint to snap. With a growl that was all hunger and desire, he lifted you easily, setting you on the countertop. His lips crashed into yours, the kiss desperate and consuming, his tongue claiming you in a way that left you breathless.

His hands made quick work of your clothes, his growls turning frustrated at each barrier until you were bare before him. “You’re sweeter than anything I’ve ever tasted,” he murmured, his lips brushing your skin as he kissed his way lower.

When his mouth found your inner thigh, he nipped playfully, soothing the bite with his tongue. Your whimper spurred him on, his gaze locking onto yours as he settled between your legs. “Patience,” he growled, though his own restraint was clearly slipping. “I want to savor you.”

His tongue met your sensitive folds, and the pleasure was instant, a gasp escaping your lips. Beel devoured you like you were his favorite meal, his growls vibrating against you as he worked. His fingers joined in, curling perfectly, and the combination of his skill and hunger had you clutching the counter for support.

Your cries of pleasure only seemed to fuel him, his growls turning into pleased chuckles as he pushed you closer to the edge. “You taste better than anything I’ve ever had,” he muttered, before diving back in, his relentless hunger leaving you trembling beneath him.

When he finally let you collapse in his arms, his usual sweetness returned as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I told you I was hungry,” he teased, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

Belphegor

It was late in the afternoon, and you sat quietly beside Belphegor, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest as he napped. Suddenly, a low, guttural growl slipped from his throat as he stirred awake, his eyes opening just enough to catch the blush painting your cheeks. A lazy, mischievous smile spread across his lips.

“Hmm? Did I wake you with that?” he murmured, his voice husky and thick with sleep, the growl in his tone deliberate now. He stretched languidly, his movements slow and teasing, before hooking an arm around your waist and tugging you down into bed with him.

You gasped as your back hit the soft mattress, Belphie rolling onto his side to press you beneath him. His half-lidded gaze drank you in, his lips curling into a smirk as he leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You’re blushing,” he murmured, his deep, rumbling voice sending shivers down your spine.

The first kiss he pressed to your neck was slow and soft, but as his lips lingered, you could feel the tension building in the way his teeth grazed your skin. He let out another growl, the sound vibrating against you, and began murmuring in demonic, the words incomprehensible but dripping with intent. The sinful edge to his voice made your breath hitch, which only spurred him on.

“You’re so sensitive,” he teased, his hand slipping under your shirt, fingers tracing the soft skin of your stomach before trailing higher. His lips never left your neck, alternating between kisses and playful nips, each one followed by a low rumble that made you arch beneath him.

Belphie’s smirk widened as his hand slid lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants. “Let me wake you up properly,” he muttered, his voice heavy with desire. He pressed his palm against your heat, a satisfied chuckle escaping him as he felt your body react. “See? You’re already so eager for me.”

Before you could respond, his lips captured yours in a kiss that was anything but lazy, his tongue claiming you with slow, deliberate strokes. His fingers moved expertly between your legs, teasing your folds until you were squirming under his touch. The groan he let out was dark and needy as he pushed a finger inside you, his pace torturously slow.

“You’re making it so hard to stay sleepy,” he murmured, his voice full of mock complaint as his thumb found your clit, rubbing slow circles that made your head spin. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breaths shallow and warm against your lips as he watched every expression you made. “I want to hear you, MC. Don’t hold back.”

You whimpered as his pace quickened, his growls growing more frequent as his fingers worked you closer to the edge. When he added another finger, curling them just right, your moan pulled a satisfied laugh from him. “That’s it,” he said, his voice a lazy purr, though his actions were anything but. “Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

As your climax washed over you, Belphie leaned down, kissing you deeply to swallow your cries. He didn’t stop, his fingers slowing just enough to draw out every last wave of pleasure before pulling away. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, “See? Who needs sleep when we can spend the day like this?”

The glint in his eye told you he had no intention of stopping anytime soon.

[simplygojo]

Friend-Of-A-Friend ⸺ Chapter Eight

author's note ⸺ This chapter was very personal to me and I hope that many of you find this somewhat relatable in your own ways. I LOVE Y'ALL!! Lmk your thoughts on this chapter once you read it <3 Also exciting news: I will be publishing a nerdjo x reader multi-chapter fic in June!! So stay tuned!! pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader content ⸺ corporate-worker!reader, emotional tension, modern au, the good-ole-days trope, reader uses female pronouns, smoking, drug use, themes of substance abuse, taglist at end, 3.7k, this is an 18+ series - mdni

divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai

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“But—” His gaze found yours again. This time, he didn’t look away.

And you felt it. The weight of it. 

His thumb drifted along the curve of the mug, slow and deliberate, the motion steadying in a way that suggested he wasn’t quite at rest.

“Is it so wrong if I just wanted some good company?”

Your heartbeat faltered at his words. There was no bravado in it. No performance. Just a small truth, placed gently between you like an offering. 

You were his idea of good company.

Your fingers curled tighter around your own mug, warmth pressed into your palms but not quite reaching the center of you. Your heart kicked up—not loudly, but like a shift in tempo you could feel in your throat. 

He was still watching you, eyes steady, but there was something vulnerable in the way he waited. 

Your lips parted on a breath that felt quieter than the room deserved.

“No,” you said, your voice low. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”

The smallest smile passed between you—his first, yours answering. Not wide, not bright. Just enough to acknowledge something unnamed.

You shifted slightly, enough that your knee brushed the edge of the coffee table. The mugs between you sent up gentle curls of steam, barely moving.

“That’s what university friends are for, after all.”

His smile faltered—barely. 

A twitch at the corner of his mouth, a breath that didn’t quite follow through. If you hadn’t been looking right at him, you might’ve missed it altogether.

But it was there.

His gaze dipped—not away, not shy, just lower. Toward his hands, still resting around the mug, though his grip had loosened. The steam touched his chin, rose past his cheek, caught briefly in the ends of his hair.

The air between you held still, suspended.

He nodded once, slowly, in that way people do when they don’t quite agree but don’t plan to correct you. A soft hum followed, the sound barely reaching the space between you.

Outside, the rain thickened, blurring the world past the window into motionless grey. Inside, your eyes were still on him—watching the way his shoulders eased against the back cushion, the way his thumb returned to that same slow trace along the mug, steady again.

Not at rest. But steady.

Whatever had flickered across his face, it was gone—tucked back into that familiar calm. But something in the room had shifted, just slightly. Not tense. Not cold.

Just… stilled.

A tightness gathered in your chest—not sharp, not sudden. Just a low, creeping pressure, settling in the space between your ribs. Like you’d said the wrong thing without realizing it. Like a misstep in a dark room.

You tried to place it, tried to trace it back, but the moment had already passed.

Geto didn’t look at you right away. His gaze had drifted again, this time toward the balcony door, where the glass was misted faintly from the temperature shift.

His voice, when it came, was soft. Unhurried. “Do you still smoke?”

Nope.

“Yep, thin's changed.” 

You quit smoking right after graduation. Both cigarettes and weed. 

You had always been pretty good at doing things ‘cold-turkey’ as they say. It hadn’t even been dramatic—just a slow detachment, a habit you didn’t need anymore.

But tonight didn’t feel like a night for the truth.

Plus, you'd already lied...

His eyes flicked back to yours, studying your answer for a beat longer than necessary. If he noticed the lie, he didn’t say anything.

Instead, he gave a small, satisfied nod.

“Good,” he said, rising from the couch with the kind of ease that made you think he’d been waiting for the moment. “Been needing a smoking buddy…let’s go out. Well…I guess only if your balcony’s covered.”

He stood, brushing past the table with a steady, measured step. No rush—just done sitting still.

You pushed out a dry laugh and got to your feet, nodding toward the balcony. “Don’t worry. It’s covered…one of the best things about this place.”

He gave a small nod, subtle but certain. 

As he moved across the room, you followed without thinking, footsteps quiet on the floor. The air between you had gone heavier—not hostile, just dense with something unnamed, something that felt like it should be acknowledged but wasn't.

At the balcony door, he hesitated, one hand resting on the frame, his back turned to you.

Without saying anything, you stepped up beside him, he turned his head just slightly, just enough that you caught the edge of his profile. The dip of his brow, the faintest press of his lips—not quite a smile, not quite not.

Then he slid the door open.

The sound was soft: the low shuffle of glass against its track, the hush of the rain deepening. A wind, cool and wet, brushed into the room like breath.

You followed him out.

The balcony was small, barely more than a ledge dressed in an old chair and a potted plant that hadn’t quite made it through last winter. But the overhang held, and the air under it was dry enough, close enough.

Geto faced the street, resting his elbows on the railing, the rain just beyond the reach of his sleeve. You took your place beside him, resting your back on the cool railing and crossing your arms over your chest.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

The city below was muted—just the hush of tires through water, the hum of distant traffic, the occasional splash of a passing bus. 

You could hear the rain more than you could see it. A sheet of sound, steady and relentless.

He exhaled slow, then reached into his coat pocket.

You weren’t surprised when he pulled out a box of cigarettes and slid one out. It looked nearly untouched—he must’ve bought the box today. 

He held the dart loosely between two fingers, almost uncertain.

“I try not to smoke anymore,” he murmured. “I don’t do it as often now. Just...sometimes.”

You didn’t ask what sometimes meant. You didn’t need to.

The wet air kissed your cheeks, your jaw, and you welcomed it—something grounding, something that didn’t ask anything back.

He lit the cigarette with a practiced flick of his lighter. The flame flared, brief and golden, then died.

He didn’t smoke right away. Just held it there, watching the tip, watching the rain.

“So, how was your weekend?” He asked, voice low, roughened just slightly by disuse and rain.

You glanced at him, then down at the cigarette between his fingers. You gave a small nod toward it—a silent ask.

He looked at you, eyes catching yours for a beat before passing it over without a word.

You took it gently, brought it to your lips and nhaled slowly.

The taste hit the back of your throat—acrid, familiar, not exactly missed. But there was a strange comfort in it. A muscle memory. Something from a version of you that used to exist, still flickering somewhere in the corners.

You exhaled toward the street, smoke curling into the wet air, disappearing into rain.

“It was good,” you said, still looking outward. 

He shifted slightly, fishing into his coat pocket with his free hand. The sound of crinkling cellophane, then the softer, telltale click of a lighter again.

When you finally looked over, he wasn’t watching you—he was focused on the joint between his fingers, bringing it to life with a slow inhale. 

The smell changed almost immediately. Warmer. Thicker. Earthy, familiar, and oddly grounding.

He took a drag, held it, then exhaled slow—upward, toward the overhang above your heads. The smoke gathered there a moment, then faded with the breeze.

“Mostly just…chores around the house. Ran a few errands. Ended up being pretty convenient that I cleaned, y’know, since you went ahead and invited yourself on over.” You cast him a sideways glance, the hint of a smile tugging at your mouth. 

He chuckled without looking at you, low and genuine, flashing a glimpse of perfect teeth. “Well, now you’re making it seem like I’m not welcome here.”

Your smile deepened, barely. You took another drag, slower this time, eyes back on the city.

“I didn’t say that.”

The words hung there between you, light on the surface—but underlined with something quieter, something real. 

“Trade you…” He said, gesturing lazily with the joint between two fingers, eyes flicking to your lips—or I guess more likely the cigarette resting between your lips.

You gave a soft hum, considering. The rain had thinned to a mist now, no longer loud, just steady. A hush against the concrete.

You took one last drag, then you pulled it from your mouth and turned to hand it to him.

It wasn’t until it left your fingers that you noticed it—that faint, smudged stain on the filter. A soft pink, barely there, pressed from your tinted lip balm. Innocuous. Ordinary.

But his eyes found it instantly.

Just a flicker. A pause.

His gaze caught on the mark as he took the cigarette from your hand, and you saw something subtle shift in his face. Nothing overt—just the smallest tension in his jaw, the way his fingers curled slightly tighter around the paper.

He didn’t comment. Didn’t even meet your eyes right away.

He took the cigarette, turned it gently between his fingers, then brought it to his lips in one smooth motion. Inhaled once, eyes still lowered, as if reading something written in the imprint you left behind.

You accepted the joint in return, the warm tip grazing your palm as it passed between you. 

You didn’t say anything, just raised it to your lips, took a puff.

The pull was easy—too easy.

The taste was sharp, earthy at the edges, thick in a way that settled fast like a fog behind your eyes.

Warmth slid in low through your ribs, slow and syrupy, like a door creaking open somewhere you hadn’t meant to revisit.

You held the smoke a second longer than necessary. Let it press into your lungs. And when you exhaled, it left like a sigh you didn’t know you’d been holding onto.

The relief came quickly. Expected in a way that unsettled you—not loud, not dizzying, just nice. Just good. A gentle hum beneath your skin, a softness in your chest, like the evening had finally remembered how to breathe.

And for a moment, you didn’t mind how much you liked it.

Your head tipped slightly back, eyes half-lidded to the street below, and you let the feeling settle. The rain was still falling, but quieter now—like background music, like it had always been there. The city lights blinked lazy and soft through the mist.

You took another drag.

Slower. Deeper.

And it hit the same—pleasant, indulgent, that precise kind of calm that was once your to answer to everything.

It almost made you smile.

Almost.

But when you glanced at him again, he was watching you.

Not in the obvious way. Not full-on.

Just that same glance from the corner of his eye, lazy on the surface—but heavy underneath. 

And when he brought the cigarette back to his mouth, it was deliberate. You knew it must’ve been.

He twisted the cigarette between his fingers, aligning it perfectly to the spot. That same spot. The one your lips had marked.

He inhaled again, slower this time. 

A deeper pull. And though he didn’t say anything, you saw it—the way his eyes fluttered shut just slightly, the way his brow smoothed. Like whatever sharpness had caught in him earlier had been gentled. Calmed.

Maybe it was the nicotine. Maybe it was you.

You looked away before your gaze could make the moment into something it wasn’t meant to be. 

Your hand rested on the damp railing again, fingers curling against the chill of the metal, still faintly buzzing from the hit. The high was spreading in that quiet way it always used to—like warm hands up your spine, like pressure leaving your bones one vertebra at a time.

You hadn’t touched this stuff in over a year.

Hadn’t even really thought about it, not seriously.

But now, in the dim orange spill of streetlights and the hush of rainfall, it was like no time had passed at all. The joint burned evenly between your fingers. Your muscles remembered this. Your breath did. 

You blinked slowly, eyes heavy-lidded, the weight behind them not unpleasant. But you could feel it in your chest, too—a tug. A whisper of something you hadn’t wanted to hear again.

Still, you took another hit.

And didn’t stop yourself.

Beside you, Geto leaned forward slightly, arms braced on the railing. His cigarette dangled lazily between two fingers now, smoke curling up past his wrist in slow spirals. You watched the city together in silence, not speaking, not needing to.

But it didn’t last long.

Eventually, you broke it—soft, careful, your voice curved with a lazy edge.

“So,” you murmured, watching headlights crawl through the wet street below, “how was your weekend?”

His lips quirked, barely.

“Do anything better than chores and errands?” You teased.

He glanced sideways at you, the corner of his mouth still curved like he was trying not to smile too much.

There was a pause.

Then: “Mm… not really.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Not even one thrilling adventure?”

He gave a soft huff of breath, the closest thing to a laugh, and looked back out at the street.

“Not even one,” he said. “Unless you count reorganizing my spice rack.”

You snorted, quiet and amused, smoke catching faintly in your throat.

“Very thrilling.”

“Reckless, even,” he added, and you heard the warmth in it. The ease. “How’s the job hunt going?”

Your fingers tightened at the question, just slightly.

Instead of answering, you lifted the joint to your lips again.

The inhale came slow. Heat filled your lungs, stretching the seconds out. Let the silence stretch just enough to feel like control, not avoidance.

Then came the exhale, steady and quiet, smoke lifting into the air like it might carry the dreadful question away.

“It’s… going,” you said finally, voice soft.

Not a lie, exactly. But not much of an answer either.

He nodded once. Didn’t push. Just shifted his weight on the railing again, the movement quiet, patient.

You watched his profile from the corner of your eye—how his brow stayed smooth, how he didn’t look at you like he was waiting for more. Just listening. Just holding the space.

You wet your lips, thumb rolling over the seam of the joint between your fingers.

“I sent out a bunch of stuff last week,” you added, more to the night air than to him. “But, to be honest with you, I don’t even know what I’m applying for.”

That made him glance over—not sharply, not surprised. Just a soft turn of the head, eyes dark and steady under the lazy curve of his lashes.

“None of these jobs are…” Your fingers opened slightly. Then closed again. “They’re not things I want to do. I don’t even know what I do want. I just—” You broke off, shrugging. “—can’t tell if I’m lost or just tired.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It moved, slow and full like a tide pulling back.

Geto didn’t rush to fill it. He leaned his arms on the railing, wrists loose. His voice came after a beat—low, unintrusive.

“That’s not nothing. Knowing what you don’t want is at least something.”

His tone wasn’t placating. No hollow comfort. Just a truth, offered to you quietly.

You exhaled through your nose, not quite a laugh. “Well it feels like nothing. Doesn’t really help when every realistic job option sounds like a slightly twisted version of the same thing.”

He nodded again, slow this time. The city noise buzzed beneath you both—distant horns, a siren off somewhere, the soft shuffle of wind over brick.

“People make it sound like you’re supposed to know,” he said. “Have a plan. A five-year vision. Some neat little road map with checkboxes.” 

His mouth curved, faint and crooked. “But most of the people I know just picked something and hoped they’d grow into it…You don’t have to want something extraordinary,” he added. “You just have to want something that feels yours.”

His soft-spoken words landed like pressure on a bruise—quiet, but hard. Your jaw tightened before your head turned away from him.

“The thing is, Geto, lots of people did grow into it. Gojo’s out here in his glass-walled office, pitching brand deals and loving every second of it. Shoko’s practically sleepwalking through med school and still managing to thrive. Even you—you’re doing actual good in the world, and don’t pretend like you couldn’t have walked into any job you wanted after university.”

A breath caught in your chest and didn’t know where to go from here. 

“I just don’t want to pick wrong,” you said.

“And be stuck. Like—I keep having these dreams where I wake up and everything around me is beige. Beige house. Beige job. Beige life!” You paused and finally looked at him again.

“A completely beige life! And it’s mine. And I chose it. And there’s no way out.”

Wow, you did not expect to say all that…

He didn’t answer right away. 

The glowing end of the lip-stained cigarette pulsed once more before he pulled the last drag, fingers steady even as smoke curled between them. Then he flicked it over the edge of the railing and leaned forward on his elbows, voice low.

“You’re allowed to change your mind, you know.”

The joint had gone out between your fingers—it was basically dead anyways—and you weren’t going to bother relighting it.

“But that feels like failing,” you said.

Something about saying it aloud made your stomach twist, like you’d just admitted to a crack in the foundation that everyone else had somehow managed to patch up.

He shifted his weight slightly, forearms braced on the edge of the balcony. The cotton of his sleeve brushed yours—just barely—but he didn’t pull away. And we both know you didn’t either…

“Is there nothing you’ve ever had a dream of?” He asked, voice soft but steady.

You blinked. Let the question hang there, raw and too close.

“I don’t know,” you said eventually, eyes fixed on the blurry constellation of taillights below. “I used to want things. Or I thought I did. But now it’s like—I can’t tell what was mine and what was just… momentum. Expectations. Stuff I thought I was supposed to want.”

His expression didn’t shift, but something in the line of his body—shoulders easing, jaw relaxing—held quiet understanding.

“I wanted to be a lawyer once,” you added, not sure why. “Not because I liked the idea of it. I just… thought it sounded impressive. Like something that made people listen to you.”

He nodded. No judgment. Just an acknowledgment, a gentle thread of attention.

“And you know,” you continued, voice tapering off at the edges, “now that I’m thinking about it…I think I just really wanted people to listen to me.”

You didn’t expect a response, and none came. Just the soft sound of traffic below, the distant hum of someone’s TV flickering through a half-open window.

“I don’t even really need to be thinking about this on a Sunday night,” you said, almost to yourself. 

He made a small sound beside you—something between a breath and a murmur—and then, gently:

“It’s okay.”

You didn’t look at him, but the quiet weight of it settled somewhere behind your ribs.

You stubbed out the joint on the railing, letting the butt of it fall to the empty street below, then pushed open the balcony door. Warm apartment air met your skin, the faint smell of old incense and herbal undertones from the soaked tea leaves still sitting on the counter.

Geto followed you inside. The door clicked shut behind him with a soft finality.

Inside, the apartment felt dim and close, like everything was exhaling at once. You stretched your arms overhead, spine cracking with the movement.

“I’m gonna hate myself tomorrow, usually I’m in bed by 10pm,” you muttered, scrubbing a hand down your face and glaring at the clock on your oven: 11:44pm

He leaned against the back of the couch. “You working in-office?”

“Unfortunately,” you said dryly. “Which means I get to play subway sardines at 8:30 a.m. again.”

He made a low noise—sympathy or shared suffering, you weren’t sure. “I’ve got a client downtown at nine. If I leave late, I’ll spend the whole ride with my face in someone’s armpit.”

“God. That’s bleak.”

“It’s reality.”

You pulled a face, half grimace, half grin. “We should unionize.”

Geto laughed—quiet and unhurried, the sound low in his chest. It wasn’t loud or showy, but it curled at the edges like warmth creeping in from a cold windowpane. 

He tipped his head back slightly, the light from the kitchen catching on his jaw, and when his bloodshot eyes met yours once more, there was such a warmth in his clouded gaze that you could feel it spreading through your chest.

“God, you’re pretty funny,” he said, voice like dry silk, soft but certain. Not teasing. Like he meant it. Like it was something he’d only just noticed, and was tucking away for later.

Your cheeks flushed—a slow bloom of warmth that caught you off guard. You looked down, caught between annoyance and something softer.

“Glad you finally caught on,” you muttered, voice low.

He smiled then—a slow, quiet curve of his lips that carried a thousand unspoken things. It wasn’t a showy grin, but the kind that softened the space between you, folding the silence into something almost tangible.

After a moment, he shrugged into his jacket, the damp fabric clinging briefly before settling over his broad shoulders. 

The weight of it shifted as he moved, a subtle reminder of the rain outside lingering with him.

You stepped toward the door, fingers grazing the cool metal handle. 

Pulling it open, a wash of the pale, sterile hallway light spilled in, pushing back the amber glow and lingering scents of your apartment like a slow tide retreating.

He stood framed in that sudden contrast—his silhouette sharp, hands tucked casually into his pockets. His eyes caught yours for a flicker, quiet and steady, before he stepped out into the dim corridor.

“Goodnight,” he said, voice low but clear.

“Goodnight,” you echoed, the word hanging soft between the closing door and the returning quiet. 

And when your smile finally fell, a few moments after the door clicked shut, the ache in your cheeks was still there—like your face hadn’t gotten the message that he was gone.

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[kooktrash]

cool with you | jeon jungkook

summary: your break up from kim taehyung sent you spiraling into what felt like a midlife crisis of tear stained cheeks and tubs of half eaten ice cream with a broken heart. after finding out that your neighbor, jeon jungkook, was eavesdropping on your meltdowns and came to find out that your ex was his old friend, he found himself wanting to comfort you. he knew the kind of guy Taehyung was and he didn’t want to see you beat yourself up over a guy who wasn’t worth it so in the end he helped you through it and was unable to ignore the growing attraction you felt toward each other.

➣ genre/au: strangers to friends to lovers. smut. afab!reader [she/her] x neighbor!jk

➣ 14.6k words

warnings: f2l. s2l. oc dated Tae but only implied. tae is kinda an asshole. jk likes to mind his business but his neighbor was loud af. he jumps into a pool with oc. oc is a hot mess and a little crazy. unprotected intercourse. couch sex. mutual masturbation. rising. missionary. jk had a big one 😛. shirtless jk. he literally just be picking up oc whenever he feels like it. oc lowkey stresses him out like all the time. tae did Jk dirty before. mutual pining. heavy petting. make out. idk y’all this jk kinda deserves the world.

song inspo: cool with you — new jeans [you know me like no other]

Jungkook was not the type to care, and that’s him putting it simply. He considered himself an average guy, he had friends and he went out and he studied well. He went to parties and stayed in to play video games, very average. The girls he hooked up with always knew he wasn’t looking for anything serious and the guys he hung out with were as carefree as he was. The point is, he does his own thing and stays out of drama, that’s how he likes it.

He does everything he can to stay out of

complicated situations, so when he overheard something he definitely shouldn't have… he tried to ignore it.

“Yes, we broke up.”

All he wanted was to enjoy his cigarette on his balcony without having to listen in on his neighbor’s phone call because they had their window open.

“No, I am not crying.”

It sounds like you are.

“I swear, I’m not.”

Jungkook swears you were. He doesn’t care… he’s just nosy and it’s not like he could ignore how loud you were. It was actually a surprise, he’s never interacted with you aside from the occasional pounding on the wall to tell him to keep it down. He finds it rare whenever you’re the one being louder than he was and on this particular night he couldn’t help but listen in on your conversation.

“I already got all my things out of Taehyung’s place, we’re done, seriously.”

A cloud of smoke covered the air above him as he released an exhale and hit the cigarette against his ashtray to get some of the excess ash off. A small smirk came to his face as he came to realize what a hypocrite he was. After going on and on about being a drama free dude, he stands here to listen to his neighbor talk about Taehyung, this mysterious ex of yours.

Funny thing actually, Jungkook used to know a guy named Taehyung. It was a somewhat common name, maybe, and it sounded similar to others so maybe he’s just hearing wrong but it was funny nonetheless—especially if Taehyung really was the right name.

“I'm just over it now, it was always the same thing with him,” your voice sounded a bit clearer now and he honestly forgot he was even eavesdropping, “Kim Taehyung doesn’t care about anybody but himself and I’m just tired of following him around.”

The cigarette dangling between his teeth as he glanced over to your balcony almost fell when his eyes met yours. You had already stopped talking but you stood at your open window now, phone in your hand, and looking right at him. Like usual, you didn’t acknowledge each other aside from a quick up and down stare and when it became clear to you that he heard it all, you slammed your window shut with a glare.

Jungkook snatched the cigarette from his lips and quickly put it out before taking a step back so he could close his window too. He immediately threw himself down on his couch reaching for his PS5 controller and scrolling through his friends, inviting random ones to log on and play him.

It was a lazy, peaceful night, for him at least.

You stared at the picture in your Snapchat memories with disgust. You were in the second stage of grief, ‘anger’, and every stupid picture of Taehyung that popped up on your phone just pissed you off.

One year. 12 months. 52 weeks. 365 days with that guy just for him to bring up a break up on your anniversary? What a fucking asshole.

“I hate men,” you said mindlessly as you swung your legs back and forth on the edge of your friend’s bed, “No offense.”

“None taken,” Jimin walked around the bed, picking up whatever mess he had on the floor, “But I still can’t believe it’s been a week already. How does it feel to officially be single again? Have you talked to him?”

You released a scoff, “Not after I got all my things.”

Here’s the thing, despite the argument you had before the break up, it felt so out of the blue. You didn’t think that a conversation over the fact that he prioritized quite literally everything else but you. His photography was more important, his friends were, his gaming was… everything and when you brought it up to him an argument ensued and boom:

“If you feel that way then maybe we should just break it off, Y/n.”

“Fine, maybe we should.”

And that’s how you found yourself single and heartbroken on the day that was supposed to be your one year anniversary.

Now you’re at your friend’s house having to recount everything that happened the other night because despite telling him everything on the phone and through texts, Jimin still needed an in-person retelling.

After a while of being bored with nothing to do at his place, you decided to move it to yours where you planned to also do nothing and be bored—but with a change of scenery. He drove you both back to your apartment with no desire to do anything but continue to shit talk just in a new environment. The drive wasn’t long at all and it didn’t take much time for the two of you to be trudging up the three flights of stairs to your floor talking about whatever came to mind.

The second you got even close to your door, you heard it. Your neighbor, like usual, was being loud. From the way he was yelling you could tell he’s playing some video game right now and he never had a sense of awareness when he’s in a match. You let out a sigh as you struggled with your key for a minute and Jimin looked to your neighbor’s door, “The walls are paper thin, aren’t they?”

“Yup,” you huffed, finally pushing your door open, “And he’s always loud like that. You should hear when he has a girl over.”

“Is that why you were always at Taehyung’s?” He asked you.

“Kind of? He hasn’t lived here for long but ever since then he’s just been driving me crazy,” you told him as you looked for your remote control to turn the tv on. Jimin couldn’t help but smirk as an idea came to mind.

“You should sleep with him,” he said as he plopped down on your couch, “Nice little rebound sex and if you hear him having sex then that’s gotta mean he’s good.”

You rolled your eyes joining him on the couch, “Shut up, why don’t you go and see, yourself then?”

“Not my type.”

“You haven’t even seen him.”

“I just know,” Jimin said.

The topic of your neighbor fell once your friend and you got bored of it and found something else to do.

That night, after Jimin had left, you found yourself in a strange predicament. Now that you’re alone with your thoughts you couldn’t help but think about your ex again and that led to where you are now:

With a tub of half eaten ice cream in front of you and large, unnecessary crocodile tears falling down your cheeks. Some sad Taylor Swift played loudly in the background and you found yourself singing along annoyingly hiccuping while crying.

“NOW IM IN EXILE SEEING YOU OUT.”

Just next door, your neighbor was busy on his own. Well, okay, he’s not busy but he was trying to nap. He worked practically all night last night and he hasn’t been able to catch up on his sleep. He would’ve been asleep already if his neighbor wasn’t blurting out the wrong lyrics to Taylor Swift on the other side of the drywall. He was beginning to understand how annoyed you would get whenever he was too loud.

He tried to ignore it for a while but when the sad songs changed to upbeat ones that have you belching the lyrics loudly, he couldn’t take it anymore. He stormed out of his apartment and right next door where he pounded on the door loudly, hearing you scream.

It took you a moment to realize someone was knocking and he could tell because you lowered the music enough to hear him knock. A few seconds later the door opened just slightly and realizing it was your neighbor you opened it a little more.

Jungkook was shocked at the sight of you, bloodshot eyes and smeared mascara as you smiled and said, “Hello?”

He blinked in disbelief at the way you looked but tried moving on past that, accidentally blurting out something he didn’t intend to, “Do you mind keeping it down? I’m trying to sleep and I would rather not hear you sing Taylor Swift extremely off key at the top of your lungs—“

“I’ve gotta listen to you all the time,” you told him with narrowed eyes, glaring at him. He released a sigh, “I know and now I get it but I’ve been listening to pretty much every single part of how your break up went down and that’s not something I’m interested in. Kim Taehyung is not worth all this moping around.”

The words slipped but he knew he messed up when your eyes widened in surprise and before he could apologize and say he didn’t mean to eavesdrop and that you were just so loud, you grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him inside. Jungkook stumbled along, hitting the door on his way in and you shut it behind him asking, “How do you know Taehyung?”

Shit, he thought as he looked down at how close your face was to his, still holding him by his shirt and he had to move your hand before he could answer. He didn’t mean to say that but it just slipped and now he has to explain himself to his hot mess of a neighbor.

“Um,” he waited, trying to piece together how to say it, “I overheard you on the phone the other day and the name was familiar and… well, he’s an old friend of mine.”

“Then why haven’t I ever heard of you? Wait, what’s your name?” You asked.

“Jeon Jungkook, and that’s probably because him and I haven’t been on talking terms in a while,” Jungkook said vaguely, “And you were never really home until, I’m assuming, this break up.”

“It’s because you’re so loud, yourself, that it would drive me insane so I would just spend time at his place instead,” you said honestly as you finally went to turn off the song, at least that’s what he thought, but next thing he knew you were playing the beginning of an anime, Toradora, and singing along to the intro. You didn’t even seem to care he was in here.

“What happened? You guys had a fall out?” You asked, clearly not planning on kicking him out just yet and he walked over to where you sat and joined you, “Who said you could sit on my couch?”

That made him roll his eyes despite not knowing you and he sat anyway, “Uh because you dragged me in here and started asking me questions. I’m not just gonna stand, plus I can’t nap because of you so I guess I’m watching too, who’s your favorite character?”

“Ryuuji, I like his simplicity but I’m a fan of Ami’s too, she’s had the best character growth through the show and manga,” you said as you played a random episode.

“I know exactly what you mean,” Jungkook said making himself comfortable, “I like Ryuuji too, I think he’s a bit misunderstood and I know Taiga bullies him but I don’t know, I like that he’s comfortable with her and the way him and his mom took her in? Heart bursted right there.”

“Yeah, Taiga is just his neighbor but he recognized how hard it was for her to do things on her own and it was like an instant connection between the two. He didn’t mind nurturing her but also helping her see right and wrong, vise versa.” You told him turning the volume up and he nodded.

“What’s your name again?” He asked, hearing you sniffle but not bother to wipe off the mascara that ran down your cheeks. You picked up your ice cream tub and began to eat again, “Y/n.”

“Nice to formally meet you.”

The night was long and Jungkook was stuck at work. He can’t even explain how many drunk people he’s had to turn away already and the night has just begun. His friends stood at his side all doing the same thing, checking IDs, taking entrance fees, stopping bar goers from taking their drinks outside when they leave, etc.

“So your neighbor was dating Taehyung and you didn’t even know?” Namjoon asked as he flashed a light on someone’s driver’s license.

“I had never seen him in our building but to be fair she was rarely home and I didn’t have much of a reason to pay attention,” Jungkook said motioning for a group of guys to enter.

“That’s crazy,” Hoseok said as he came over with a box of donuts, “How long has it been since you and him even talked?”

Jungkook shrugged as he took a hit of his vape, “Like two years? How was I even supposed to know he was in a relationship?”

“True,” Namjoon said, letting another group in, “It doesn’t matter to you, it’s just crazy that your neighbor was the one dating him. Is she cute?”

“Hey, can I hit your vape?” Some girl asked as Jungkook checked her ID. She was cute and dressed for a night out bud he wasn’t even paying attention.

“No,” he said to her but Namjoon made a face that immediately made him backtrack, “I mean, yes she is cute—no to hitting my vape.”

“Ooo, maybe you should comfort her and see where it goes,” Hoseok joked, making Jungkook shake his head no, watching his friend eat a donut.

“Are you crazy? She seems like a lot and I would rather not get involved in any drama with him again. She’s cool though,” Jungkook said before turning to Hoseok again, “Where'd you get the donuts?”

“Some girl,” he said with a shrug, “Want one?”

Jungkook took one and bit into it, “And let me tell you, she seems like a lot to handle so I don’t even get how her and Taehyung got together.”

Namjoon chuckled, “Are you that curious? What happened to staying out of the drama?”

“I mean… that’s what I want but considering she’s loud when she cries it’s kinda hard not to get involved, Y/n sang like six heartbreak songs the other day and I basically got serenaded,” Jungkook said dramatically, “But I’m leaving it alone. I don’t want anything to do with Taehyung and whatever heartbroken girl he left this time.”

By the time they all got off work it was a little past 3:00am and he was absolutely beat. All he wanted to do was get home and make himself some of his special ramen and knock out but as he got to his door it was hard for him to ignore the sounds of pans clattering next door. He knocked on your door before he could stop himself and waited for you to open.

“It’s you again,” you said and you wore a tank top that showed a bit of your mid drift and some plaid boxer shirt with long socks, “Don’t tell me I’m being loud again, I’m so hungry I think I’ll die if I don’t eat something right now.”

You immediately went into a mini rant like he was a friend of yours and although it surprised him, he found himself saying, “I’m hungry too, I’m gonna make ramen, want some?”

Your eyes widened hopefully, “Please?”

“Come over.”

Jungkook wasn’t sure why he even bothered talking to you but he’s gotta be honest… he’s a sucker for girls crying. Listen, he’s been in relationships but he doesn’t care much for them. Of course when he’s actually in one he tends to pay attention to his partner a lot but truthfully, they’re kinda a bother. He’s not saying he wants a relationship with you but he’s been pretty closed off lately and maybe this is a sign that he should try and befriend people outside of his circle.

Anyways, now you’re over at his place and it’s nearly 4:00am but he’s in his kitchen making ramen as you looked through his manga collection.

“Wow, you’re like a weeb,” you said, “You’ve got all the popular ones too. Demon Slayer, Naruto — god awful taste — One Piece, Jesus the whole collection of Attack on Titan? You even got little figurines, yeah you’re a weeb.”

“Hey,” Jungkook glared at you, choosing to ignore your weeb comments in favor of asking, “What’s wrong with Naruto?”

“Nothing,” You said with a shrug, “I just personally don’t trust a man who loves Naruto.”

He couldn’t help but smile as he chuckled, “Okay, I don’t love Naruto but it’s nostalgic—and don’t lie, it’s not that bad.”

“I mean it’s not… but it’s not that good either,” you said, “I’m more of a shoujo girly so just ignore me.”

“Have you even watched it then?”

“Obviously,” you said, finally returning to him, “Are you almost done? I’m starving.”

“Are you always this impatient?” Jungkook asked and it’s strange that neither one of you have taken the time to note that you’re really just strangers. You’re not friends and you’ve barely started interacting but for some reason it felt like you’ve been friends for a long time. There was no awkwardness now and it kills him to know you used to date Taehyung because you’re nothing like him.

It shouldn’t matter to him, and it doesn’t but… it’s just strange. When he was friends with Taehyung it was mostly because they had a lot of history and not because they were similar. Jungkook was very different from him and oftentimes it would lead to unnecessary disagreements that friends shouldn’t have. It’s just hard to imagine your relationship with him and how you’ve landed yourself hanging out with Jungkook instead.

He’s a little uncomfortable with that because of what Taehyung has done in the past and it makes him feel a little guilty to even talk to you when he knows he has no reason to be.

“Yes,” you said, finally drawing his attention back to you, “Always.”

“Well it’s done so grab a bowl, top left cabinet,” he said.

Soon enough the two of you were eating ramen alone together in his apartment. If he explained this to his friends they would immediately make inappropriate jokes of ‘Ramen and Chill’ but it was anything but that. It was just two neighbors up late and hungry.

“So,” Jungkook cleared his throat as he swallowed a huge bite of noodles, “If you don’t care, can I ask what happened between you and your ex.”

“Um,” you hesitated, “I don’t know… if you’re still friends I don’t really want to get into i—“

“We’re not,” Jungkook quickly cut in, “We haven’t been for a while but if you still don’t want to tell me, I get it.”

“No, I’ll tell you,” you finally said and set down your bowl on the kitchen counter that you currently sat on. Jungkook just nodded his head waiting for you to start but it seemed like you were preparing to tell the greatest story of all time.

“Well, he dumped me on our one year anniversary for starters,” you said and that immediately made him cringe at his former friend’s cruel timing, “It sort of happened out of nowhere, I mean I noticed he had gone more quiet on the days leading up to it but I didn’t think it had anything to do with me. Clearly I had been wrong though because he dumped me a few days later like I had been the problem. He texted me a couple days ago asking how I’ve been but I haven’t responded. I’m still mad.”

“Rightfully so,” Jungkook said, taking your empty plate and setting it down in his sink, “Did he ever give you a real reason?”

“Maybe,” you shrugged, “Maybe not, I can’t remember.”

The two of you were quiet for a moment and before he could think of something else to talk about before you left, you asked, “What about you? What happened between you and Kim Taehyung?”

Jungkook didn’t respond right as he debated if it was worth telling you or not. It was years ago and it was never anything that serious but… at the time it had been and they’re clearly still not friends. He raised his shoulders in a shrug, “It’s a long story and not worth it.”

Instead of pushing him to go on you released a tired yawn not caring for how you looked as you hopped off his counter, “Alright well I’m fed and now tired too so I think I’m going to try and sleep a bit before work. You should catch some sleep before you have to go in.”

“I just got off,” Jungkook said as he opened the front door for you, “I’m a club bouncer, sadly.”

“Ooo, maybe you’ve kicked me out before,” you joked, “I can get messy if I’ve had one too many drinks.”

“I’m sure you can,” Jungkook said with a chuckle, “But goodnight, when do you have to wake up?”

“Mm, in like three hours? I work at a coffee shop,” You said, finally stepping out into the hall. His eyes widened before he was fully pushing you out, “Go to sleep, Y/n.”

When you were finally gone and he was alone in his home, he didn’t even make it to his bed and instead passed out on the couch.

You wouldn’t say you and Jungkook have become friends because you don’t actually know if that’s true. What you do know is that for the past week enough you’ve been talking way more to him than your other friends but only because they’re busy. Jimin has already argued with you [very dramatically, you will say] because he’s accused you of getting a new best friend which wasn’t true.

It was just extremely easy to talk to Jungkook, like you’ve been friends for years and he’s slowly helped you forget about Taehyung. He’s not doing anything out of the ordinary but for some reason Jungkook is really good at taking care of people. Take now for instance, he’s decided to come with you grocery shopping because you didn’t have a car and would have to take everything on the train.

Now you two are splitting a grocery cart and both going shopping as you asked, “Jungkook, how come I never hear girls at your place anymore?”

“Hm?” Jungkook asked absentmindedly as he stared at different types of milk, “Because you got annoyed by it.”

That made you smirk a bit as you used to shopping cart for support making it tilt slightly, “Wow, I didn’t realize you’ve grown so considerate of me, Mr. International Playboy.”

“I don’t know why you insist on calling me that, I’ve only slept with one person who wasn’t from here and she was Japan so still not too far,” he said with a sigh as he put things in the cart, “Besides, don’t get too cocky, I just don’t have the time to tell anyone that I’m not looking for anything serious.”

“Mm,” you said, pushing the cart along while he held onto the other end of it and dragged it along, “Well, I don’t even see your friends over. Do you even have friends?”

That made him roll his eyes, “Obviously, I just… I’m antisocial, you know this.”

“Do I?” You asked, picking through boxes of cereal, “You seem pretty social to me.”

“Yeah, well you’re different.”

“Ugh,” you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, leaving him behind as you kept walking, “I hate when guys so that because they can never explain how—“

“For starters you’re the only person I’ve seen have mascara running down your face while you watch Toradora, that’s different right?” Jungkook teased a bit by bumping into your shoulder when he caught up, “And cry and 3 in the morning because you can’t cook.”

“Okay that doesn’t make me different, that just makes me a hot mess.”

He smiled, “I mean yeah, but you’re not embarrassed. You’re actually kinda fun to be around and when we talk we can just talk about anything, y’know? That’s what makes you different.”

You shrugged and looked away trying to ignore the growing flush that filled your cheeks, “Good enough explanation—Hey! What are you doing this weekend? Do you have to work?”

“Yeah.”

“Lame.”

Jungkook stopped walking as he turned to look at you, “Why?”

“You know Kim Seokjin? He’s having a little pool party and he invited me but I know Taehyung is going to be there and I didn’t want to go alone,” you told him. Jungkook knew Jin, they used to be close friends but they’re a little distant now. He was also invited to the party but he had work so he was already not planning on going.

“Have you asked Jimin?” He asked you as he caught up to where you were. You nodded, “Yeah but he’s going to Busan for the weekend and my other friend Yoongi will be busy, it’s whatever. I’ll stop by for a second and then head out.”

Jungkook didn’t say much else after that. He understood how you must have felt. You want to go for Jin’s sake but you’re wary about seeing your ex boyfriend. He felt bad he had to work and your other friends were busy but it’s not like he could just call in to work for a party.

When Friday night rolled around you had taken about two shots before even leaving your house just to give yourself the courage to go. There wasn’t a need for you to go to the party but Jin had become your friend through Taehyung and you weren’t going to let any of them think you were avoiding Taehyung because you’re still heartbroken.

So when you showed up alone with your head held high, you were greeted warmly by the host. He wrapped you in his arms, “You came! So, drinks are inside, just get whatever you want and you can chill inside or outside. Did you come alone?”

“Yeah, the others were busy,” you told him honestly, “But it’s whatever, I’m just here to get drunk.”

Jin ruffled your hair with a smile, “Alright, come find me if you get lonely.”

You gave him a thumbs up and headed toward the kitchen where all the drinks were set up. You just got here so you haven’t seen Taehyung yet but you’re sure he’s around the corner getting drunk and you didn’t want to be sober when you ran into him.

“Y/n?”

Shit.

You looked up in time to catch your ex boyfriend walking into the open kitchen with furrowed brows. You debated ignoring him but that would just make it seem like you were still caught up on him, so instead you gave a nod of your head and said a short, “Hey?”

“Uh, hey,” he scratched the back of his neck nervously, “What are you doing here?”

Your brows knitted together in confusion, “I was invited?”

“I mean, I know but…” he bit his lip nervously and you dated Taehyung long enough to know something was up. Just as you were gonna ask what was wrong with you being here, a short brunette appeared at his arm, wrapping hers around his and looking up at him not bothering to acknowledge you.

“There you are, you can’t just leave me at a party with people I don’t know when you invited me, TaeTae,” she said looking up at him with starry eyes. You tried to not look surprised as he looked down in embarrassment, suddenly looking nervous when he looked back at you. The girl finally looked at you and asked, “Who are you?”

Taehyung opened his mouth to tell her to shut up but you were smiling already, “Y/n, you two look great together—even matching clothes—but I gotta go, there’s better things I could be doing.”

He watched you leave without another word and he slid the girl’s hand off his arm. He made a mistake, he should have known you’d be here. Why did he think you would still be mourning the break up and wouldn’t bother to show? He barely knew this girl but she was hot so he invited her in hopes of making hooking up after… but he didn’t plan on his ex seeing him with another girl. He kind of missed you.

Jungkook wasn’t telling himself he came to see you.

The reason he showed up at this stupid party was because Jin kept asking him too and since his other two friends would be working and it wouldn’t be too busy, they let him leave. He debated just going home and going to bed but then he remembered about yo—Jin—and he figured it wouldn’t hurt to show up.

“Dude, it’s been so long,” Jin said with a firm hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, “Let’s get you a drink an—“

“Have you seen Y/n?”

Jin stopped walking, he looked at his old friend with confusion, “Y/n?”

Jungkook nodded his head not bothering to question why Jin made a face. Jin was a lot closer to Taehyung so it’s not that he didn't know the two dated. Jungkook bets Jin is just surprised on why Jungkook, of all people, would be looking for you. Jin cleared his throat awkwardly and said, “Um, not totally sure but check in the back. Can I ask why?”

“I’m looking for her,” Jungkook gave him a short and vague response before he was leaving to find you. On his way out he saw something he wished he hadn’t and it only made him want to find you sooner. Just as he got outside he looked over to find Taehyung extremely close to another girl and before he could look away, his former friend looked at him but didn’t acknowledge him whatsoever.

Jungkook didn’t care about that, he cares more about finding you and if you’ve seen Taehyung yet or if Jungkook still had time to distract.

“Liar!”

He whipped around at an instance when he felt a pointed finger like his bicep, “How?”

“You said you had to work!” You said slurring just slightly and clutching a half drunken drink. Jungkook just shrugged, “I didn’t lie. I did have to work but they let me go. Shouldn’t you just be happy I’m here?”

“I guess,” you grumbled, taking another sip from your cup, “Want a drink?”

“Nah,” Jungkook said, “I drove so I’m staying sober in case I need to take you home. How many drinks have you had?”

You didn’t respond right away as you looked up in thought. Jungkook will admit your attempt to focus on your thoughts made you look a bit cute. Your brows were scrunched together and your cheeks puffed up with your index finger tapping your chin, “Like since I got here? Or in general?”

His smile slowly fell, “Y/n, how much have you drank?”

“Not a lot…” you said with a high pitched voice that gave way to the fact that you were lying, “Maybe?”

With a small sigh he looked down at your drink, “Is that your last one?”

“Probably not—Hey! Did you see Taehyung?” You asked, turning your back to him, “He’s here with some girl.”

“I know,” Jungkook said reaching a hand out to drag you back to him, “Did you two talk?”

“Yeah, he came up to me first,” you said with a small scoff, missing a step and Jungkook had to grab you by the waist to keep you from tripping, “And then that girl just shows up clinging to him and she had the nerve to ask who I was? As if he’s not the one who came up to me—as if I’m not the one who dated him!?”

Jungkook can just feel the rising anger bubbling up inside you the longer you looked and he didn’t like that. You needed a distraction, he knew you were over Taehyung for the most part because anyone would get mad seeing their recent ex act chummy with another person.

“What an asshole!” You nearly yelled in your drunken state as you turned your back to the sight of your ex boyfriend flirting with a girl right in front of you. Jungkook released a huff, “I know, just don’t let it get to you. He’s not worth it.”

He tried to grab you as you stumbled a bit in your steps but you just moved farther away from him. The party was loud and he felt as if everyone was drunk but him and that wasn’t usually the case. Usually, he’s the drunkest one here but right now he’s babysitting you and he doesn’t know why. All night he’s watched you down drink after drink until all you could do was slur on your words and stumble when you walk.

It’s only been a week since the two of you started to really talk and hang out so he’s not used to this side of you and he genuinely does not know what to do. How did he ever think his neighbor was quiet and uptight when you’re such a hot mess? Maybe it’s because he didn’t see you often considering you were always at Taehyung’s but damn, he did not expect this.

And on top of that, he doesn’t get how you and Taehyung ever dated when to him you were completely different. He can’t picture Taehyung following after you as you swayed in your steps ready to walk over to your ex boyfriend and tell him off like he was currently doing.

Wait…

Jungkook seemed to trip over the pavement as he pushed through the crowds of people that led outside to the pool area, calling after you, “Y/n! What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna talk to him,” you yelled, not bothering to look at him, “It hasn’t even been a month and he’s already hitting on other girls knowing that I’m here? That’s such a dick move!”

“I know, Y/n but listen— excuse me — “ he pushed past a couple of girls to get to you, “You’re not going to gain anything. You’re drunk and there’s a lot of people here and — excuse me — you don’t make any sense right now!”

You clearly weren’t listening and Jungkook was beginning to panic. You’re in stage four of grief, ‘depression’ and he knows you’re sad and you just want to get things off your chest but he knows that if you try and confront Taehyung in the drunk state that you’re in… you’re the one who’s going to look like a fool, not him. Nobody is even going to bat an eye at him but they’ll watch you judgingly and you’ll regret even speaking to him by morning. Jungkook came to a stop as he watched you chug back the drink in your hand zoning in on Taehyung who stood on the other side of the pool with his hand on a girl’s ass and a smirk on his face. Fuck.

You’re mad at Taehyung and you want to get it out but right now isn’t the time. If you want to confront him about something you need to do it sober and somewhere private, not at a party for all to hear and laugh at you as you slur on your words. Jungkook knew you were mad and that wasn’t going to change… all he could do is change who you’re mad at…

There was so much on your mind as you made room for yourself through crowds of people so you could get to Taehyung. The pool lit up the backyard in hues of blue and purple as neon lights sunk to the bottom of it yet nobody actually swam. Everyone just stood around it and in your way when you had a mission. You were going to march right up to Taehyung and ask him what his problem was. He dumped you but played it off like it was mutual… He called you two weeks later to get that he misses you [even after you got all your shit out of his house] and has the nerve to smile at you tonight but flirt with another girl knowing you’re here? God, you were so fucking mad and all you wanted to do was confront him, not even caring who saw or heard and what they thought about you. You were too drunk to care.

He was about fifteen feet away now and you tried to call for him, “Tae—“

A loud yell replaced his name and big hands grabbed you by your thighs and pulled you up. The familiar scent of Dior cologne filled your nose and when you got thrown over a muscular back you knew right away who it was, “Jungkook! Put me down! What is your problem?”

“Honestly?” Jungkook asked as he fixed you over his shoulder, turning you around in the opposite direction of where Taehyung was, “You. You’re my problem, right now so let’s go home before you make a drunk fool of yourself in front of everyone.”

“Fuck you, I’m not gonna make a fool of myself,” you said and even then you couldn’t hide the fact that your words were coming out all wrong and your vision was blurry, “I just want to talk!”

“Well now’s not the time!” Jungkook yelled ignoring all the stares the two of you recieved, “So shut up and let’s go!”

You groaned loudly, fighting his hold with everything you said, mind still foggy from the alcohol, “No! The only place I want to go is on the other side of this pool an—“

Jungkook didn’t waste a single second in thinking about what he was going to do to make you forget about how mad you were at Taehyung right now. The only thing that could come to his mind was to direct your anger toward him instead and before he knew it he was walking toward the pool hearing your shouts in protest thinking he was going to throw you in—but he had other plans.

His point wasn’t to leave you to be the only one embarrassed [which would have been the case if he let you confront Taehyung or if he threw you in the water by yourself], his point was to make you mad at him and only him. So despite your continuous effort to fight him off, he took the single leap into the deep end, not letting you go until you were both submerged into the water with his arms around you.

You barely managed to hold your breath once you realized what he was doing and even then you couldn’t wrap your mind around it till you swam your way back to the surface. Jungkook watched you brush your wet hair out of your face in search of him and he ignored all the loud cheering around the two of you for being the first in the water, cocky smile on his face when you glared at him.

“What is wrong with you?!” You yelled as you purposely splashed water in his face out of anger—surprisingly feeling sobered up now. Jungkook didn’t say anything, he only laughed and swam the very short distance to you, arms around your waist and dragging you back into the water with him, fighting to hold his breath when he felt your hand in his hair yanking him deeper inside.

The second time you came up for air the only thing on your mind was how to murder your neighbor and make it look like an accident. Jungkook just kept smiling at you with that cocky look in his eyes as he asked, “Well?”

You almost didn’t bother answering as you swam to the edge in search of a way to pull yourself up without having to go to the ladder which was conveniently very close to where Taehyung was now watching the two of you with furrowed brows.

“Are you mad?” Jungkook asked as he lifted you up the edge with ease despite you telling him to fuck off and pulled himself up swiftly to follow you. You wrung the water out of your shirt, “Obviously!”

“Okay! But at who?” Jungkook asked, ignoring everyone looking at him and trying to talk to him. You scoffed, “You! Asshole.”

“Good,” Jungkook said triumphantly, completely unaware of the way his former friend watched you two leave the backyard party completely drenched in water.

The only thing on Taehyung’s mind was what the hell was going on? When he saw you earlier you weren’t with anyone. It was just you and he didn’t even know Jungkook was here but maybe it’s because it’s been so long since he last saw the kid and he’s very obviously grown up and changed with all the tattoos and piercings. So all he wanted to know was how the fuck did you two know each other?

When morning came and the sun beamed down on your face more than you were used to, you woke up with an annoyed groan turning in bed to hide. The scent of shampoo coated the pillow you rested your head on and it was a surprisingly deep smell that had you snuggled into the pillow further you hid from the light. In an effort to fall back asleep and ignore the pounding of your head, you rolled onto your side hitting a wall of pillows and blankets. Your eyes opened just slightly, vision still blurry as you blinked sleep away and allowed yourself to look around, a scream leaving your lips as you toppled off the bed. Tangled in a blanket you hit the floor with a loud thud that had the person that made you scream shoot you abruptly.

Jungkook looked around, leaning over the side of the bed with an annoyed huff, “Jeez, you gave me a heart attack.”

Your jaw dropped as you sat on the floor, “I gave you a heart attack? Um what are you doing in my bed?”

“Your bed?” Jungkook furrowed his brows, “Look around sweetie.”

You did just that, eyes widening even further that he swears they’ll pop out of their socket, “Where am I?”

“My room,” Jungkook laid back down with a loud yawn.

“And what am I doing here?”

He released a sigh like he couldn’t be bothered but said, “Well after your drunk fiasco at the party, I brought you back and you couldn’t find your keys so you slept over here.”

Your brows furrowed, “What happened to my clothes?”

“They were wet and you were falling all over the place so I had to change you—don’t worry I had my eyes closed,” he told you and you took it in. Jungkook was sober majority of last night and you could only imagine what happened when he brought you home.

“Where are your keys?” He asked tiredly after he held you up with one arm ignoring the fact that you were both still drenched in pool water. You hiccuped, “I forgot them.”

“What?!” Jungkook asked louder than intended and you glared at him, “Don’t yell at me.”

“You’re a mess,” Jungkook grumbled, dragging you over to his front door, “I’ve never had to take care of a grown adult this much.”

“Just leave me outside to deal with my misery,” you said dramatically as he hauled you into his apartment, letting you fall to the floor once inside. Jungkook just shook his head as he left to his bedroom in search of something you could change into. When he came back you were sprawled on the floor half asleep and he punched the space between his brows in annoyance, “Y/n, get up, you need to change.”

All you did was groan, “I tired.”

“Yeah, well me too,” Jungkook kneeled down to grab you by your ankles and drag you across the floor before making you sit up. He angrily pulled the shirt over your head asking himself why he had to deal with you because your ex is a piece of shit.

Okay, he doesn’t have to but who else will?

The shirt fit you big so when you flipped back to the floor with a whine he asked, “Take off your jeans or else the wet denim is gonna give you a rash.”

“Yesh, dad,” you raised a hand to your forehead as if saluting him and you did as told, giving up halfway and making him finish yanking them down your legs with his eyes closed.

“You’re not allowed to drink anymore when we’re together,” Jungkook said, ordering you to slide your shirt off from under the tee, “At least not as much as you did tonight.”

He took your wet clothes and went to change before hanging it all to dry outside and when he went to the living room carrying a blanket for you to sleep on the couch with, you were asleep… still on the floor. With a stomp of his foot in a mini tantrum, Jungkook knelt down, slipped an arm under your neck and the other under your knees and picked you up with a huff. He wasn’t even careful when he let you fall onto the couch.

“Oh god, did we do anything stupid?” You asked referring to the fact that you had woken up in bed with him and wearing some t-shirt of his. Jungkook rolled his eyes, “No. You were supposed to sleep in the living room but you woke me up in the middle of the night because Bam kept kicking your face. Then you got all touchy and I made this pillow fort to protect myself from you.”

It had to be close to 3:00am when Jungkook finally let himself fall asleep. He made himself comfortable in bed trying to relax after the hectic night he’s had and when he was just finally starting to fall, a loud knock on his door snapped him awake.

“Ju—koo!” A whiny voice called from the other side of the door.

“What?!”

“Cold,” you whined, head leaned against the door, “And Bam won't stop licking my face.”

Jungkook huffed, “Tell him to stop!”

“I did,” you knocked on the door. He kicked off his blankets in annoyance, “You’re so needy!”

Even as he said that, he got out of bed and opened his bedroom door, moving to the side as you pushed past him and threw yourself down on his bed with your blanket wrapped around your body tightly. He watched you with tired eyes before going to his side of the bed. He grabbed all the extra pillows, moved you to one side and set up a wall to separate himself from you.

“God, what happened last night?” You groaned as you got up only to fall back onto his bed trying to piece it all together. You only remembered a couple things, “You threw me into the pool, asshole.”

“Yeah? Well, I would’ve been a bigger asshole if I let you make a fool of yourself in front of Taehyung and everyone else,” Jungkook said. You looked at him, only turning your head on its side and he did the same, neither of you saying anything for a moment.

You should probably say thank you but the way things unfolded, it might only make things more awkward. You were already slightly embarrassed but yes definitely seen you act stupid plenty of times so instead you said, “Help me get inside my apartment.”

The two of you stood on his balcony now, both looking toward yours which was separated from his by about two feet. He shifted his gaze toward you, “I’m confused, what are you trying to do?”

“The door is unlocked, I just gotta get over there and let myself in,” you said with a gulp as you poked down at the forty foot drop. Jungkook shook his head, “Are you stupid? I’m not letting you do that.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” You asked him with your hand on your hip. He mirrored your pose with more attitude, “Call the maintenance man, genius.”

“It’s gonna take them like three days to get back to me, Einstein, are you helping me or not?” You asked and you watched him stop to think.

“I’ll do it,” Jungkook said but you just shook your head.

“No, I’ve got underwear hanging to dry by the door, it’s not happening,” you told him, already walking to the railing. Jungkook gave up on arguing with you over it and followed after you. You gripped the railing looking over to your balcony which was only two feet away. This should be easy… all you have to do is get over his to yours, he ever has a little stool that he sits on that you could use as a boost.

Jungkook thought about what he should do to help you and in the end just held you by the waist to keep you balanced as you lifted a leg over the railing and stepped onto the short side of the cement ledge, “Oh my god, you’ve gotta be the craziest girl I’ve ever met.”

“You know a lot of people say that to me,” you said and the two foot gap didn’t seem as intimidating anymore, “Okay, let me go.”

“Y/n,” Jungkook begged as his arms tightened around your waist, “This is a bad idea.”

“Too late, I’m already halfway there so let go before I fall on purpose to make you feel bad,” you nervously joked as he let go but not without calling you a bitch. With your breath held tightly, you stretched a leg out first feeling the end of your balcony touch it and with a careful leap, you held onto your railing hearing Jungkook gasp nervously. He watched you swing a leg over until the railing was between both of them and as you finally touched down on your side, you slipped, falling into the hard cement with a groan.

Jungkook shielded his eyes with his hands, “Are you good?”

“Barely,” you huffed as you forced yourself to your feet and checked to see if the glass sliding door was in fact unlocked. Your heart seemed to tighten in relief as you opened it, huge smile on your face looking back to your neighbor, “Got it! Okay, I’m gonna get cleaned up, thanks.”

Jungkook was already picking up his pack of cigarettes and bringing it to his lips, “You stress me out.”

“I’ll make up for it,” you said already halfway through your door, “Whatever you want, just tell me and I’ll do it.”

With that, you left for your apartment in search for your spare keys and he sat down on his stool with a breath of relief. He couldn’t believe you and the more he thought about it, the more confused he got on how you and Taehyung found each other…

The thought didn’t last long in his head when he looked down at his vibrating phone, eyebrows furrowed as he read the caller ID.

“KIM TAEHYUNG”

It took Jungkook a moment to even decide if he wanted to answer or not but in the end he couldn’t help himself and curiosity got the best of him, “Hello?”

Taehyung’s voice was unusually cheery, “Hey man! How have you been?”

Jungkook shrugged even though his former friend couldn’t see him, “Uh, good I guess, what’s up?”

“I was calling cause of last night…” Taehyung said dragging out his words as if it would ring a bell for Jungkook.

He didn’t say anything wondering how this would go. It’s weird that Taehyung was even calling him and if there’s any reason behind it, it’s you, “Hm…”

Taehyung wasn’t sure why he expected a bigger response but he brushed off his small hum and went on, “Well I saw you with Y/n and everyone was kinda curious, what happened?”

“Oh, Y/n did something to piss me off so I got back at her. Why?” Jungkook said playing off the events from last night until he understood why Taehyung was bothering to talk to him after their fall out.

“Hm? Oh um, well, I just… I didn’t know the two of you were friends,” Taehyung cleared his throat awkwardly as he thought about it. Last night confused the hell out of him. First, he ran into you as he’s with another girl and second, he runs into an old friend—to make matters more confusing it appears you two knew each other and he doesn’t get how.

Jungkook couldn’t help but smirk, a little annoyed but he ignored it as he went inside, “I get it, how could you know anyway? When’s the last time you and I talked? Like two years ago?”

Taehyung nervously chuckled, “Yeah, I guess. So did Y/n get home safely?”

He rolled his eyes, “Why are you so curious about her?”

“Huh?” Taehyung was genuinely surprised, “She didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” He asked, deciding to play dumb.

“We used to date?” Taehyung said seriously, hoping Jungkook wouldn’t like the news if in fact, you’ve never told him. He wants to know what’s going on between you, he doesn’t care if he’s your ex, he deserves to know.

“Oh, no Y/n’s never even mentioned you,” Jungkook lied for your sake. He wasn’t going to give Taehyung the benefit of knowing he’s still on your mind.

“Not even at the party?” Taehyung asked with furrowed brows, suspicious if Jungkook was telling the truth or not.

“Uh, no? Why? Did something happen?” Jungkook asked as he pet his dog subconsciously as he smiled listening to the sound of music already coming from your apartment.

“No, not really. So, what are you doing? How about we get lunch and catch up?” Taehyung asked and if he could see Jungkook right now, he would see how unimpressed he was by that idea.

Jungkook leaned back in the couch and said, “I’m kinda busy, maybe another time?”

“I mean, okay… sure, yeah let’s catch up another time.”

Taehyung was suspicious, of course he was! When he broke up with you it’s because he told himself he didn’t have feelings for you anymore but clearly that’s not true because seeing you with Jungkook… it pissed him off. Sure, you and Taehyung didn’t have much in common but you worked, that’s why you were together for a year.

Jungkook is—he’s a shut-in hermit crab and you’re not. He doesn’t bother with drama or getting to know someone new so how the hell did you two even meet and have you really never even mentioned him once? Jungkook clearly didn’t know that the two of you were together and that just pisses him off even more. Why is it that you didn’t talk about him to Jungkook? It’s not like the two of you broke up long ago, it’s recent.

When the call finally came to an end he was left alone to wonder what the hell was going on with you two?

There wasn’t a shift in the air that you two have noticed but something has definitely changed. The amount of times you hang out has increased dramatically to the point where you were at least seeing each other once a day whether it be to eat ramen or go to the gas station. If you were free and Jungkook was free… chances are you’re gonna see what you can do together. Your friends swear that he’s all you talk about lately but you don’t think that’s true—until you hear that how friends think he talks a lot about you two.

It’s strange, your friendship has just grown stronger each day. Everyone keeps trying to say that there’s no way the two of you are just friends but you really are…

Seriously…

“I can’t believe you did that,” you said laying back on the couch with your feet over his lap. You wouldn’t have had your feet on him at all if he didn’t force himself down on your small couch.

“Did what?” Jungkook as he leaned over your legs so that he could sit forward and play his game better.

You pushed your heel against his thigh, “Drag your PS5 over here instead of just playing at your place.”

Jungkook just smacked his lips in annoyance toward his game, still not bothering to even look at you at all, his eyes stayed on your tv screen as he said, “You wanted to hang out.”

“But you’re not even talking to me,” You threw your head back against the armrest of the couch moving your feet off him and that finally got him to pay attention and he paused his game to look at you. He even went as far as setting his controller down on your coffee table, a little smirk on his face.

“Aw, you want me to pay attention to you?” Jungkook asked with a small laugh, “Okay, okay, how was your day?”

In reality he wanted to ask how you’ve been feeling lately—more specifically, toward him. The way the two of you became friends was a bit random and him even being here with you is strange considering the fact that he became your friend after you broke up with Taehyung. The timing wasn’t right but he does know that your friendship is strong and you don’t think about whatever happened in the past when you’re with him.

He likes that. He likes how easy it is around you.

Sure, sometimes the line in which he separates you from a friend to someone he is attracted to is beginning to blur.

No, he doesn’t find you attractive.

Well okay, yes he does. Even after seeing you with makeup down your face, drunk out of your mind, and first thing in the morning when your hair's a mess—for only being friends for a short amount of time he’s really seen a lot of sides of you.

But you’re just friends, he knows that, he doesn’t expect more… he didn’t even want more. Since the beginning all he’s ever done is talk about wanting to just be by himself and mind his business but clearly that all changed when you came along and to be honest, he liked the change.

“It was okay,” you said, making him realize that he had moved his hand onto your calf, and was softly sliding if higher then back down, “Just really boring and then I ask you to hang out and you’re just y’know… gaming.”

For a second Jungkook thought you were being serious and actually began to feel bad about possibly upsetting you by not giving you any attention. Just a moment later though he could see you smile and hold back a laugh when you watch him go serious with worry. When he realized you wanted to laugh, he rolled his eyes, “Whatever, I thought you were being serious.”

You just chuckled watching him lean against the other end of the armrest. He was sitting forward but he was looking at you sideways, one hand still on your leg and you just looked back at him. The game wasn’t even playing anymore and he was only focused on you now and the way you were looking at him.

His fingers began to tap against your leg, softly caressing every now and then, a small smirk coming to his face. Your brows furrowed, “What?”

“Nothing,” Jungkook said, running a hand over his face. You sat up a bit, “Now you have to tell me.”

“Nothing, it’s just…” he was hesitant, debating if he should be honest or not, “Don’t look at me like that.”

You released a scoff, sitting up further and moving away from him, “Like what?”

“Like you wouldn’t mind if I kissed you right now,” he was serious now as he said and you can see the change in his gaze. You were too stunned to speak, you wanted to say it was unexpected but like… things have felt different lately…

You could see the way his tongue poked against his cheek looking at you with a dazed look in his eyes. You’re not sure what made you say it but you asked, “You want to kiss me?”

Jungkook laughed softly, shifting his eyes to his lap, “Basically.”

You bit down on your lip in thought, quite literally checking him out from head to toe. He was even sitting with his tattooed arm in your view and he’s been rubbing your leg with it this entire time.

This isn’t a good idea.

Jungkook is your friend.

Sure, you’re not mad anymore about whatever happened with you ex, and sure… you haven’t been intimate with someone in a while, and yes Jungkook is attractive from the way his voice sounds to the way he walks but… but he’s your friend.

So why was it so easy for you to say, “So do it then.”

Jungkook didn’t need much else of a sign before he was going for it. He went to cross his end of the couch to yours but before he could get all the way over, you were meeting him halfway with your hands coming around his neck almost immediately. Your lips met so suddenly at first that it was a bit of surprise but neither of you shied away from initiating a kiss.

The first thing he noticed was how soft your lips were against his. They were warm too and your mouth felt so good that Jungkook brought his hand up to your hair so that you couldn’t pull away too soon but you kissed him so eagerly that he doubts that would even happen.

It was just wet and needy, soft sounds coming out whenever his tongue licked along yours. Your arms wrapped around him more and Jungkook was so quick to pull you into him until you were practically stumbling onto his lap. His hands found your waist and he slid them down toward your thighs so he could fix your legs to straddle him, not once pulling his mouth from yours.

Your hairs were in his hair, brushing it out of his face as you attempted to pull away. Jungkook just chased after your lips, feeling the line of split that connected your swollen lips together even when you backed away. He was just as out of breath as you and when your eyes met there was just a small moment of hesitation wondering if this was a good idea or not.

The moment didn’t last long when felt you the slightest hint of excitement in his sweats from the way you straddled him and you couldn’t help but grind your hips down. Jungkook swallowed back a moan with your lips as he kissed you, pulling you back against him so that you could sit directly over his growing erection. His eyes fell shut deepening the kiss with his tongue and yours relishing in your make out and the way your body felt pressed against his.

“Y/n,” his voice was hoarse as his hand slid down to the back of your cotton shorts, thankful for the thin material of them when he groped your ass. You were both in clothes ready for bed and he could still feel you through the layers. Your hair fell to one side as you kissed along the corners of his mouth, a hand flat on his shirt while you trailed down toward his jaw. He licked his dry lips when he felt the tender affections on the angle of his jaw as the hand over his t-shirt ran over his chest. He let his head fall back trying to catch his breath when you playfully nipped at skin, kissing away any pain and sucking lightly.

Both of his hands found your butt, squeezing here and there and tongue kissing you messily. It honestly felt so good and when his hands slid up to lift your shirt a little, you didn’t hesitate to sit back and behind taking it off yourself. His rough hands fell to hold your waist, holding you back as he took in the sight of you. Jungkook would be lying if he said he hasn’t checked you out before. It wasn’t entirely his fault, he had to get you out of wet clothes!—well, okay, yeah it was his fault they were drenched in the first place but his intention wasn’t to see your body.

It just happened and every day after that he had to remind himself that you were a good friend and you were going through it and him getting any feelings for you wouldn’t be good.

A pleased sigh left his lips when your hand began to touch the end of his shirt sliding underneath to run over the ridges of abs you knew he had. You could see them through pretty much every fitted shirt he wore. Even when he wore loose and oversized tees there was no way to hide his back muscles. He was so strong too, you didn’t expect anything less than the taut muscle in his torso and you just could help but want to feel all of it.

Jungkook helped you take his shirt off and it joined yours on the floor before he was leaning forward to kiss your neck. His thick fingers ran along your spine in search for the clip on your bra and swiftly unclasped it, dragging his hands under the material. While doing this, Jungkook begins trailing his kisses down your neck to your shoulder, following the straps down your arms, taking it off you and discarding it so he could touch you without barrier. A soft meowl left your lips when his big hands cupped your breasts and pressed the pad of his thumbs against your rounded nipples smoothly. It didn’t take long for his fingers circling around your nips to turn into his mouth swallowing around one.

“Jungkook,” you whined lightly when he moved his tongue around your erect nipples, you were getting so turned on your core was dripping with need.

Jungkook couldn’t find it in himself to be more patient and once he felt your covered push grinding on his dick, he just has to remove some of the layers between you two. His big hand raised your hips enough with you help so could his sweats down as far as they could and you shift to kneel beside him on the couch watching him undress.

You began taking your shorts off, a small groan leaving his lips at the sight, “You’re not wearing underwear?”

He was wondering why it was so easy for him to grope your ass and feel you so much more and it just made his dick throb with excitement at the sight before him. You nodded your head looking at him with those same eyes that started this in the first place and he felt your hand making its way to his hard cock. His lips parted with a gasp when you took it in your hands, giving one shy stroke right off the bat.

Jungkook didn’t waste a moment hesitating as he wrapped an arm around your waist pulling you closer in his side to jerk him off while his other hand began to teasingly run along your inner thighs.

You were soaked and it didn’t go unnoticed by his long fingers. His middle finger ran between your folds teasingly as you made a fist with your small hand and stroked him from his base to his tip making sure to rub against that soft spot and bulging vein. His precum was beginning to dribble out and every now and then you would coat his head with it before flicking your wrist on a downward stroke. Light moans from the both of you filled the room as his fingertips rubbed against your clit, covering it in your slick and swiping all the way to the puddle of wetness at your core. Your lips drew open in a moment when you felt his middle finger begin to tease your entrance and finally push its way in, a thick amount of slick joining him creating a light squelching sound.

You quickly dragged him into a hunger kiss as he began to fuck your with his thick finger while you fisted his cock. Jungkook licked the shell of your ear, “Wanna fuck you so bad.”

His words had you moaning and shaking when his finger became two getting but more rough, even bucking his lips into your hand. Your mouth was permanently open in pleasure as you said, “Do it then.”Jungkook just smirks as he removes his hand so he can pull you up to straddle his lap again but this time feeling your wet push right on top of his fat dick. Jungkook had to bite on his lip to stop from moaning when he felt some of your wetness coat his member as he moved to grip your hip. Your hands went to his shoulders to support yourself as you lifted your hips off his thighs enough for him to align his cock with your entrance, moaning when he ran his tip of your clit, “Fuck, I don’t have a condom, Y/n, fuck.”

“It’s okay.” You moaned as you helped guide him in, “Just pull out.”

Jungkook nodded his head as he finally held you by the waist and helped you down his throbbing dickwith a groan.

"Jungkook," you whined at the stretch and the way he dig his fingertips into your hip bone to steady himself when he pushed through your tight walls. It took you a second to get used to his size but once you had, your hands were on his shoulders and your feet on the couch, raising your hips until only the tip of his cock was inside, and slowly took him all in again. A low groan bubbled up in his throat, sliding his hands down ass, helping you fuck yourself on his hard cock, eyes on your chest which was just right in front of his face.

You were right and your pussy completely coated his dick with your slick that everytime you came up, the slide back down was easier. Your body clung against his as he began to mouth at your exposed neck and collarbone. His legs were spread apart to give you the room and he felt so good inside of you. It hasn’t been a crazy amount of time since you last had sex but it was long enough to make you appreciate Jungkook’s big dick. Your hands were curling into his hair feeling your lower back begin to hurt in this position but he helped you raise and lower your tight pussy on his length. A small gasp left your lips as you felt his tongue tease a hard nipple, licking it expertly before wrapping his lips around it. He had one hand on your other breast and the other hand guiding you to fuck yourself on him. He nipped at the bud playing with it while he twisted and pinched at the other. Your body pressed against his and each time you sank down his cock, you would grind your hips forward humping him and angling yourself where he could feel your folds parting.

Jungkook groped your ass, digging his nails in surely to leave a mark and he raised his hips off the couch enough to fuck into you, ramming his cock in and out with each pretty moan you let out, his mouth was still on your tits so he sounded muffled when he groaned, "So fucking good."

Jungkook left wet, sloppy kisses over your throat, moving his hands to grip your waist harshly. Jungkook's nail dug into your soft flesh as he lifted your hips up and down on his cock hearing you whine tiredly. You were already becoming puddy in his hands and he took it upon himself to wrap your legs around him as he turned your bodies to lay you flat on the couch. A loud moan left your lips with this new angle and now that he was on top, he didn’t ease up his thrusts, only let them get more forceful with more intent. Your nails clawed at his back, running them down toward where his back dimples should be and you practically guided his cock in and out of your wet cunt, making him fuck you more roughly than before.

“Oh my god,” you said breathlessly, throwing your head back against the armrest and looking up so you could try and calm down as he fucked you. He had a hand roughly groping your tits and the other on the back of the couch for support as he thrusted deeply into you, only moving his hips and contracting every muscle to do so, “Fuck, Jungkook, ngh.”

"Just like that," he bit into his lip looking down at how pretty you looked under him, only making his hips move more rapidly, “Take my cock, Y/n.”

You nodded but you couldn’t even look at him as you tried to keep yourself under control by staring up at the ceiling, “S—so close.”

Jungkook groaned when he felt your wet cunt tighten around him making it harder for him to drag his cock out but it made him have to fuck itright back into you with more force. He could feel your ring of nerves clenching around his member as it sucked him into your folds and each time was harder to get back out. It was wet and slippery and you were so fucking hot that he knew he wouldn’t last. He dropped his face against your neck, “You’re so good for me, so fucking right goddamn.”

He wasn't going to last much longer either.

He hasn't slept with someone in months and even if he did it didn’t feel like this. It shouldn’t feel like this because he wants to see you as just a friend but clearly that’s never been the case and if he had deprived himself of feeling your pussy tighten around him, he might’ve gone insane. Your legs wrapped around his waist making him go deeper and you were moaning loudly now, “I’m gon—I’m gonna—oh my god.”

It washed over your writhing body like a wave, Jungkook felt it travel through your body and around his cock till he felt your creamy fluid coat his member. He quickly pulled out with a loud groan as he was unable to stop himself from cunning all over your stomach in thick spirits of semen that made his legs give out and his body pressed against yours. You hugged him closely as the two of you tried to come down, his lips on your neck soothing you down from the highs of climax, “Felt so good.”

“Mhm,” you moaned softly as you unwrapped your legs from around him and let them fall limply, “Fuck.”

Your hand slid between your bodies to touch the muddles of cum be covered you in and it made him pull back enough to see the mess, biting his lip as he attempted to apologize, “Sorry, I was gonna—didn’t have time to—yknow.”

You smiled as you moved to sit up more, “Better me than my couch.”

He let you stand up, moving off of you, “Are you good?”

His hand held yours keeping you from moving and he couldn’t help but look down at your body and the mess he made on your stomach. You nodded your head, “Yeah but I need to clean up, asap, it’s sticky.”

You said it jokingly and he laughed with you, both of you still relishing in what just happened. You released a sigh, “I need a shower, want to join me?”

He nodded, not wasting a second to ponder over it, “Let me help clean up and then I’ll go.”

You left with a nod of your head and Jungkook looked at the mess the two of you made in your living room, already seeing a small stain on the couch.

As he searched for his clothes, the doorbell caught him off guard drawing his attention to the door. Deciding to ignore it so he could join you in the shower, he picked up his things to leave when the doorbell chime turned into a fist against the door and that had him curious. He quickly slipped on his sweats already hearing the shower run and went to answer. It was probably just a delivery or a neighbor complaining about the noise. He didn’t bother with a shirt and his hair was a messy but he didn’t care as he opened the door expecting anyone but the person in front of him.

“Jungkook?”

“Taehyung?” Jungkook looked at the guy in front of him with confusion.

He watched him take a step back as if to make sure the address was right for you and looked back at him, “What are you doing here?”

“Um, I live next door,” Jungkook said dumbly as he attempted to ignore the fact that he was shirtless and sweaty and your ex boyfriend was noting that.

Taehyung’s brows furrowed, “Wait, you’re the one who lives next do—why are you at Y/n’s then?”

Jungkook huffed in annoyance, “Taehyung, come on man… does it really matter? Why are you here?”

“Because I’m hereto talk to her about our relationship—“

That made Jungkook’s jaw clenched at Taehyung’s audacity, “What relationship? The two of you aren’t together.”

“Look, it doesn’t really concern you—why aren’t you wearing a shirt? What the fuck is going on here? Y/n?!” Taehyung tried getting through Jungkook to enter your apartment but he didn’t let him. Fuck no. He was not going to let Taehyung come in and ruin everything that has just happened between you. “Taehyung, don’t. You dumped Y/n just get out of here.”

Taehyung scoffed loudly, Oh, I fucking knew something was going on between you two at the party. You didn’t even hide it!”

“You have no idea what you’re even talking abou—“

“Why are you at my ex’s house?” Taehyung asked abruptly as he stood directly in front of Jungkook’s face, both equal in height.

Jungkook scoffed as he glared at his ex friend; “Taehyung, not everything is about you so get over yourself and just go already. Y/n does not want anything to do with you.”

That only seemed to piss Taehyung off more as he scoffed and said, “Oh I get it now, you slept Y/n… Is that what you’re doing here? To sleep with my ex?”

Jungkook was starting to get pissed, rightfully so in his opinion and he wants nothing more than to get this guy out, “I’m not saying it again, Taehyung, just go before Y/n gets out of the shower.”

Unbeknownst to either of them that you had already turned off the water early once you heard the banging on your front door and the muffled voices.

“So you did!?” Taehyung ignored his warning to accuse him further, “Was this your plan all along? You wanted to get back at me by fucking my ex? I didn’t realize you’re still not over what happened with Minsu. Come on Kook, that was years ago, did you really need to go this far? I still care about Y/n.”

That passed Jungkook off and he’s never been in a fight with anyone he considered a friend once before and right now he’s very close to doing it, “I’m not you! This has nothing to do with you or Minsu and stop lying. You don’t care about Y/n! You just found out her and I were close and suddenly you wanted to call dibs on her again? Jeez, you’re still the selfish asshole you’ve always been.”

“Fuck you, Jungkook. You’re just jealous, you’ve always been jealous. Yeah, I slept with the girl you liked but it wasn’t enough to stop being my friend!? Yes, I knew how much you liked her but it’s not my fault she got in my bed! How do you think Y/n is going to feel when she finds out you only slept with her to get back at me?” Taehyung as so cocky when he spoke and Jungkook was seriously beginning to lose his patience.

“That’s not tru—“

“What?”

The two men immediately looked behind Jungkook where you stood in a bathrobe that Taehyung recognized immediately at what had just happened between you and Jungkook.

“Y/n…” the both said and Taehyung took a step inside when Jungkook’s guard was down and a smile threatened to appear on his face when you looked at him.

“Taehyung, what did you just say?” You asked and Jungkook immediately felt his heart drop.

He took a cautious step toward you, wondering how much you heard, “Y/n don’t listen to him, he’s lying and he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“It’s true, That's probably why the two of you got clo—“ Taehyung tried to say only for your sharp tone to snap them both silent with surprise.

“Get out.”

His brows scrunched together in confusion, “What? No, I’m here to talk about us.”

You just rolled your eyes, “Well I don’t want to talk to you Taehyung, so get out.”

“Y/n—“

“Taehyung! Get out, I don’t know what you were hoping for coming here but I want you to leave,” you said louder now and there was no denying the finality in your tone that had your ex backing down reluctantly. When he looked at Jungkook it was like the final straw to push him over the edge and he stormed back out leaving the two of you alone, silent.

Jungkook was trying to get closer to you but also unsure if it’s what you wanted as he said a soft, “Y/n…”

“You too, Jungkook, just go.”

He knew he should just do as you say but that kind of hurt his feelings considering just a few minutes again he made you cum with his cock and he gathered the strength to say, “No.”

You released a deep sigh, turning to sit on the couch still without a thorough shower, “Jungkook, I want to be alone so please just go.”

You just needed time to yourself to think. You had no plans of getting back with Taehyung and him coming over just surprised the fuck out of you. On top of that you just had sex with someone who’s your friend and who’s helped you get over the break up and although it seems like just a rebound, it didn’t feel that way.

Jungkook stood before you, “No, I’m not leaving because I’m not letting you think for even one second that what he said is true. I didn’t sleep with you to get back at him. I couldn’t care less about Taehyung and the only reason I even thought about that guy again was because of yo—“

“I know.”

Your soft tone surprised him and he found himself stuttering out, “… you do?”

You nodded your head, running a nervous hand over your hair, “I mean, I know you — I think — you’re not the type of guy to do that…”

His heart raced in relief as he moved to sit next to you, “I’m really not, Y/n. You know me, I like staying out of the drama and with him, that’s all you get. I wouldn’t have even bothered to acknowledge him if it weren’t for you.”

“Jungkook…”

He leaned forward so that you were forced to look at him as he said, “Y/n, listen to me, okay? I like you… I know we just… y’know, but It’s not because I wanted to get revenge. That’s petty. I’ve been hanging out with you all the time because I enjoy it. You’re a hot mess and crazy and loud and the complete opposite of what I thought you’d be but… but I’m cool with you, y’know? I put up with all your late night meltdowns and early morning hunger because I wanted to spend time with you—I literally jumped in the pool with you so we can be fools together—why are you laughing?”

It was hard to ignore the way you smiled and fought back a laugh as he talked and it confused the hell out of him that he had to ask. You just sighed, “Because you don’t have to explain yourself, Kook. I mean, you’re right, I’m a hot mess…”

He shook his head, “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, I kinda like it… it’s exciting and you have good intentions and you’re not vindictive and you don’t really care what others think of you and I want you to know that you’re literally always on my mind but I tried to tell myself I just wanted to be friends but… look, I don’t expect you to feel the same even after tonight but I just want you to see that I really do like you, all of you, there’s nothing I want to change.”

You were still smiling as you slouched back on the couch that he just fucked you on, “You know, you’ve gotta be the only person who’s ever said that to me. Do you really mean it?”

He scoffed with a laugh, “No shit, Y/n. You stress me out in the best way possible.”

“That’s because you know me like no other and you aren’t trying to change me, you’re seeing me for me. I’m crazy into you,” you confessed, surprising yourself and him.

“You are?”

“Yeah.”

He gulped in thought, “Y/n, if we can just look past whatever drama just happened and try, but I get it if you don’t want to—I mean, I get it, honestly, you just got out of a relationship and getting with me right away probably won’t look good to others and if you’re not ready I get it but—“

You sighed, “Who cares what other people say?”

You don’t, not anymore. It’s just exhausting to always be thinking about others and right now you rather focus on yourself and who makes you happy and right now that’s Jungkook even if you hadn’t admitted it before.

“Y/n…”

“Jungkook, I don’t know about y’know, dating yet but… but I really do like you and I don’t care what other people say anyway. Can we maybe take things slow?” You asked shyly as his hand fell over yours to hold it.

He nodded, eyes looking down at your lips and watching you bite down on them. He took a deep breath feeling you move closer and he had to move back, “Y/n… we can’t take things slow if you try to kiss me.”

You sat back in surprise, “Why’s that?”

He chuckled softly, “Because I won’t be able to stop.”

“It’s okay, we can just cuddle then—that is, of course, if you don’t put a pillow fort between us again,” you said to him as you leaned into his side.

“Listen, I was being considerate about the fact I had a drunk girl crawl into my bed looking too cute in my shirt,” Jungkook said honestly as he helped you snuggle against him.

“Ah, so you’ve always had a thing for me? You sure you didn’t plot this?” You teased.

Jungkook scoffed as he poked your side, “Shut up, I did not, I just… maybe a little?—I mean you try and involve yourself with someone as crazy and fun as you and try not to fall for them!”

“Gross,” you joked, “I didn’t realize you’ve been obsessed with me this whole time.”

“Oh shut up.”

::.

just lyk It’s highly unedited 💀💀💀I forced myself to finish it this morning but anyways idk I love a good idiots to lovers but maybe that’s just me. also imagine jk as your friend and neighbor?

and his ass really did jump in that pool with y/n so she would get mad at him and forget about Tae

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