katsuki's baby 🪷

katsuki's always had this knack — a silent understanding of the way your brain works. your quietness was never something he pushed against, only something he wished to ease.

even as his thumb drags slowly over your cheeks, you know he's only trying to steady you.

you whisper a small breath of his name, circling your hands around his wrists as your foreheads press together — that's all it takes.

and maybe, that's when something in you finally gives — when all that hesitation breaks the moment his eyes stare patiently into yours, and why you're the one pressing your lips together before you can even think twice.

he tastes like caramel, a warmth that settles onto your tongue slowly, like the sunlight peeking through an open window. 

surprisingly tense under your touch, his hands pause against your back — his mind insistent on following your guidance. 

he presses his lips gently against yours, slow and tentative, like if he rushes this moment it may end too soon. groaning breathlessly into your mouth when your hands card through his hair, and give the strands a gentle tug before they're back on his face.

it's not long before your confidence wavers, his muscles tightening subtly underneath your palms as you pull your lips away, breathlessly.

katsuki's cheeks are red, hair stuck to his forehead and a faint shine coating his chest. his lips are flushed a bright pink, spit-soaked — breathing unsteadily as he looks at you like he's trying to figure out what you're thinking.

"again," you murmur, chest heaving against his, "please?"

a toothy grin spreads across his face when your eyes dart over his features — as if they're in search of something — some kind of reassurance.

which katsuki is glad to give when he presses a teasing peck to your cheek, adjusting himself underneath you so your body's pulled even closer and whispering, "you drive me crazy, you know that?"

you can't help but smile.

lips skimming his for the last time tonight — this time with no intentions of pulling away. guiding his hands to your lower back as you press into his palms. 

your hips move against his thigh at a steady pace, soft sounds of your lips meeting blending with the hum of the AC.

"katsuki?" 

there's an annoyed sigh that tumbles from his mouth when your lips detach, "hm?"

"my bra . . . take it off"

© — tokkushin : all rights reserved. all works belong to me .ᐟ pls do not repost/copy, or feed into ai.

a/n: kali loves intimacy! i like writing this more than smut let's be so fr. i tagged it as smut cuz i don't want people yelling at me so just to be safe! -> masterlist. | comments and reblogs greatly appreciated! 💋

at twenty-two years old, your name carried the kind of weight most actors spent decades chasing.

not because you were loud or chased headlines, but because every role you touched became unforgettable. you were the actress critics called “emotionally dangerous” because people never watched your dramas casually, they felt them. deeply and pathetically at that. the kind of performances that left people staring at ceilings at 3 a.m. wondering why fictional heartbreak suddenly felt personal.

your rise happened obscenely fast.

at seventeen, you played the younger version of the female lead in a historical drama and completely overshadowed actresses twice your age with barely fifteen minutes of screentime. one crying scene alone went viral across korean platforms overnight, and directors began requesting you specifically after that.

at nineteen, you starred in your first lead role in the netflix drama ‘winter static’, a romance about two strangers communicating through old cassette tapes left inside a train station locker.

the drama exploded internationally, and tiktok edits of your scenes reached millions overnight. people quoted your monologues religiously, which was kind of stupid for you since they were just words stuck in your brain at this point.

your face appeared on billboards from seoul to tokyo to paris.

then came ‘velvet hour’ and ‘salt to the sea’, then the thriller ‘silhouette hearts’ that earned you your first baeksang arts award for best actress at the age of twenty-one. youngest actress in the category to win in over a decade.

after that, everything changed.

luxury brands fought over you. you became the global ambassador for miu miu and later the face of dior beauty in asia. campaign photos of you covered entire department stores. airport pictures became articles within minutes. fashiom editors loved your “old cinema” aura, soft eyes, elegant posture, expressions that looked heartbreakingly human even in still photographs.

and despite your fame, people adored you for smaller reasons too, your quirks became internet lore at some point. you were kind of awkward with the camera but in an endearing way, you didn’t know how to behave at award shows and came across as a socially akward person.

it wa also maybe the way you always carried disposable cameras instead of using your phone, and how you wrote handwritten letters to the staff after filming ended. how you fell asleep absolutely anywhere, chairs, makeup rooms, car rides shorter than ten minutes. fans also noticed you had a tendency to mirror people unconsciously. if someone leaned closer while talking, you did too. if someone laughed quietly, your voice softened automatically. interviewers said conversations with you felt strangely intimate because you listened with your entire attention and never felt unapproachable. there were compilation videos online titled:

“y/n being accidentally affectionate for 8 minutes straight.”

your management hated those videos. but the internet ate them up.

you also had one particular reputation in the entertainment industry: mv queen.

not because you appeared in many or anything, because every mv you touched became viral.

at eighteen, you starred in txt’s emotionally devastating “ghosting” inspired visual film project, playing a girl remembered through fragments an old footage. the chemistry between you and the members had fans posting edits of tiny interactions for months.

a year later, enhypen chose you for a vampire-themed comeback trailer where you portrayed a girl that anchored them to the mortal world. your final scene, holding member jake’s inanimate body in the sea, became one of the most replayed teaser moments of the year. you had a gift for making music videos feel cinematic instead of performative.

you understood silence, micro expressions, longing.

which was exactly why the cortis creative team wanted you.

specifically you.

mainly because of you name and the reputation you carried but also because “blue lips” wasn’t supposed to feel like a regular idol music video. it was supposed to feel like a lost teenager being put in an adult world after spending years as a trainee, caught on camera.

and your role inside it was very important. you would play the embodiment of what martin talked about in the song. the metaphor of swimming in a pool for a long period of time, referring probably to his trainee days.

you weren’t a girlfriend, not a muse either, something slightly in between.

the director had apparently rejected over thirty actresses before seeing one clip of you from ‘velvet hour’. a scene where your character silently cried while pretending to smile during dinner.

that was it.

the director reportedly paused the screen and said: “that’s her.”

⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡

so two weeks later, you found yourself seated inside a glass walled meeting room at the company building of one of the biggest rising fifth-generation groups in korea.

rain tapped softly against the windows outside while managers discussed paperwork around you, the conference table covered in contracts, visual references, concept photos drowned in blue tones.

You sat calmly in an oversized cream sweater, lazily spinning an expensive fountain pen between your fingers while your manager reviewed the conditions carefully.

“the filming schedule overlaps slightly with the milan campaign,” your manager noted, he was an overly serious guy with coffee problems.

one of cortis’ executives nodded immediately. “we’re prepared to accommodate her availability entirely.”

another added quickly: “the director is willing to reorganize scenes around her schedule if necessary.”

you tried not to smile, because it always felt surreal when entire productions adjusted themselves around you now. like you were more essential than you imagined.

at twenty-two, that level of influence still startled you sometimes. things came easy for you but that came with a price to pay.

the creative director slid a storyboard toward you, inside were rough sketches of scenes:

a flooded apartment, blue lipstick stains on skin, hands trembling beneath neon lights, a drowning scene, but everything weirdly coincided with the whole cortis aesthetic.

you skimmed through quietly. “it’s emotionally heavy,” you murmured.

“that’s why we wanted you,” the director admitted honestly.

he looked almost nervous speaking to you. you’d noticed that recently. older directors tended to treat you less like a rookie actress and more like someone they genuinely wanted approval from.

“the members were personally involved in choosing the female lead,” another staff member added.

“oh?” you glanced up with mild curiosity.

the director smiled faintly. “there was unanimous agreement.”

you tilted your head slightly. “that’s flattering.”

your manager laughed softly. “you say that like it isn’t obvious.”

you ignored him, not in a rude way but just because sometimes he made you look like a stuck up celebrity without meaning to.

the meeting continued for another hour, image rights, overseas distribution, teaser appearances, confidentiality agreements.

standard things. pleasantries if you will.

but eventually the conversation shifted toward the actual emotional dynamic of the music video.

the director leaned forward slightly, a head full of ideas, “the role requires natural chemistry with the members,” he explained. “especially james.”

your eyes flickered briefly toward the storyboard page featuring him.

you had had time to check who all the members were beforehand, not because you didn’t know them but because you simply never had a free moment to really give it a try.

cortis were monsters internationally right now, but james stood out even among them to you, he was extremely unfiltered, goofy even, alternating between insane visuals and unhinged moments. you heard he also had a reputation for being painfully outgoing offstage.

you had watched interviews while preparing for the meeting, he always spoke out and gave his opinion, always made funny faces and enjoyed things way too much.

the director continued speaking. “the emotional core of the mv revolves around your connection with him specifically, it’ll be grief and pain.”

your manager nodded. “understood.”

then the director smiled suddenly like he just remembered something,

“the members actually wanted to meet her personally tonight if she’s comfortable.”

you blinked. “tonight?”

“there’s a team dinner.”

your manager looked at you questioningly. you considered it for a moment before shrugging lightly.

“sure, i can make that work.”

⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡

and that was how, three hours later, you ended up entering a private hot pot restaurant room alongside two managers while five of the most talked-about idols in korea immediately stood up to greet you.

the room smelled warmly of broth and spice and low golden lighting reflected against polished wooden walls while steam curled softly from the simmering pots placed at the center of the table, the restaurant itself was cozy, sat tucked away in a quieter street of Seoul, the kind of place celebrities favored because paparazzi rarely bothered searching for it.

your manager walked slightly ahead of you as an employee guided both of you toward the reserved room.

“you’ve worked too much this week,” your manager muttered quietly while checking his phone. “try to eat properly tonight.”

“i always eat properly.”

“you had strawberries and iced coffee for dinner yesterday.”

“oh yeah… forgot about that.”

he sighed deeply. “one day I’m going to retire because of you.”

you smiled innocently just as the sliding wooden door opened.

inside, the members of cortis stood almost immediately. they bowed politely, intimidated not so much, but just cordial and respectful.

“thank you for coming,” one of the managers said warmly.

“thank you for inviting me,” you replied.

you greeted the members one by one.

martin was immediately charismatic, respectful but outwardly comfortable as if he treated this more like a job interview or a way to get more experience.

keonho shook your hand while joking that the pressure surrounding this music video already felt “oscar-level.”, he seemed the most introverted, nervous almost.

juhoon greeted you politely before admitting his sister would probably disown him if he didn’t get a selfie with you eventually, he seemed chill and easy to be around.

seonghyeon seemed calm and observant, speaking gently, a little nervous but growing confidence over the course of dinner.

and then there was james.

quiet.

polite.

a little reserved.

not at all what you’d expected, you were almost waiting to see him unhinged as he was on cortis’ reels, joking around, but he was way calmer, after all it wasn’t unknown that idol put on a bit of a show on-camera when asked.

he bowed respectfully, offering a soft greeting before pulling your chair out slightly without making a big deal out of it.

the dinner started slowly, mostly conversations between management teams about, and promotional timing. they talked about their new album, about how ‘blue lips’ would be totally different from other mvs and much more vulnerable.

this felt entirely different from your usual work settings, even though you weren’t immensely older than them, it still felt like grabbing lunch with high school friends, in a good way. you liked people who joked easily.

when it came to talking about the music video, you asked questions about the symbolism behind the flooded apartment set.

martin became overly passionate explaining how one choreography sequence represented emotional dependency.

he scratched the back of his neck with a small laugh at some point.

“it’s kinda embarrassing when people explain it seriously.”

“you wrote it,” juhoon replied. “you explain it.”

martin groaned dramatically while everyone else laughed softly.

the director slid one of the concept pages toward you. unlike the earlier boards filled with blue neon lights and cinematic references, this one was simpler.

a swimming pool with dark water and rippled reflections.

a figure submerged too long beneath the surface.

you looked up curiously.

martin rested his elbows against the table before speaking quieter this time.

“the song’s about being a trainee.”

you recalled seeing somwhere that he had spent 6 years as a trainee.

“i trained for years before debut,” he continued. “and eventually it starts feeling like you’re swimming without knowing where the edge of the pool is anymore. or at least that’s how i’d like to put it you know?”

“you’re exhausted all the time,” he continued with a small shrug. “but everybody around you is exhausted too, so you convince yourself it’s normal.”

your eyes drifted back toward the image of the water. cold enough to turn lips blue.

“the pool represents training?” you asked softly.

martin nodded. “the longer you stay in cold water, the harder it becomes to feel anything properly. but you still stay inside because leaving feels worse.”

for a moment, nobody joked, certainly not you, you hadn’t experience being a trainee, but you connected easily with words and experiences, so much that his words resonated with you in a silly way, really. You didn’t usually expect tha level of emotional intelligence coming from a person around your age.

then seonghyeon spoke gently.

“the song isn’t really about giving up though.”

martin nodded again.

“yeah.” his expression softened slightly.

“it’s more like… asking the people beside you if they’ll keep swimming too.”

that sentence stayed with you.

maybe because you understood it immediately.

not as an idol or anything. but as someone who entered the entertainment industry young enough to mistake exhaustion for ambition.

“that’s why the music video can’t feel overly glamorous,” the director explained carefully. “we want emotional intimacy more than perfection.”

suddenly all the visual references clicked together inside your head.

“you know what’s ironic?” martin said suddenly, picking his chopsticks back up. “the company hated the original demo.”

everyone burst out laughing.

“no seriously,” keonho added. “they said it was too depressing.”

the mood lightened again after that, but the conversation stayed centered around the song’s meaning now.

the members began sharing small pieces of their trainee experiences naturally.

long practice nights and monthly evaluations, the weird emotional numbness that came from repeating the same routines endlessly.

at one point, seonghyeon admitted quietly:

“you stop noticing how tired you are after a while.”

your expression softened instinctively. that sentence felt familiar too.

actors weren’t trained the same way idols were, but exhaustion translated across industries frighteningly well, especially when being underage in such a cruel industry.

“you just adapt to it,” you agreed.

several eyes turned toward you.

you laughed faintly. “filming is similar sometimes.”

“how long was your longest shoot?” keonho asked.

“twenty-one hours.”

the members stared at you in horror.

“damn that’s illegal.”

“it probably was.” you shrugged like it was no bigdeal

“what drama was that?”

“salt to the sea.”

martin physically pointed accusingly. “that drama emotionally destroyed my mother.”

“i’m getting blamed for a lot tonight… i mean not that i don’t usually get accused of sending people into meltdowns…” you cringed.

“you should. that shit was brutal.”

the table laughed again.

but then James spoke quietly from beside seonghyeon.

“i watched the behind-the-scenes documentary for that.”

your gaze flickered toward him.

he continued calmly, almost thoughtful.

“you kept filming even after collapsing during the staircase scene.”

you blinked once in surprise, very few people remembered that, probably you and your manager… that was about it.

the documentary itself had only shown brief footage before the production team cut the cameras.

your manager immediately sighed beside you.

“she scared everyone that day.”

“i was fine.”

“you passed out, y/n.”

“temporarily. see i came back.”

martin looked genuinely alarmed now. “why do actors live like nineteenth-century poets?”

“occupational hazards i guesss”

james smiled faintly into his drink at that.

“he watched all your dramas actually, big fan,” juhoon added helpfully, almost matter of factly.

keonho leaned dramatically across the table, chopsticks projecting sauce across the surface.

“he also defended your ending in velvet hour for two hours. which is weird since you killed someone and all.”

“because people misunderstood the symbolism—” james started.

“he took notes...”

you let out a soft laughter before even thinking. real laughter, the kind that makes your shoulders shake slightly.

at some point the staff began discussing practical filming concerns.

rain machines, and underwater camera rigs. cold temperature precautions and all the other overly serious things.

your manager immediately interrupted:

“she’s sensitive to cold filming environments.”

you groaned softly. “ah you say that like i’m an elderly victorian child.”

“you get sick every winter.”

“that’s just my immune system, i should be okay.”

the members laughed, then unexpectedly, james spoke up quietly toward the production staff.

“the water temperature should stay monitored anyway. hypothermia risks increase during long shoots.”

you glanced toward him. you didn’t take him as a serious and practical person at all before this.

the production manager nodded quickly. “of course.”

martin talked constantly, sometimes started rapping parts of his sentences like it was normal,

keonho teased everyone equally, even you, he was still 17 and had the energy of a high schooler. it felt refreshing to hang out with people around your age rather than 40 year olds.

juhoon had dangerously quick humor, pretty nonchalant guy overall, with a resting model face that made it hard to take him seriously.

and james… james observed today, he smiled from time to time but he put his bubbly personality aside for the night.

that was the first thing you noticed. he was not himself, or maybe he was just like that all the time and you were biased by youtube videos.

at one point you mentioned casually: “i haven’t slept properly in weeks because of filming, it’s been tough.”

twenty minutes later, without saying anything, james quietly slid the least caffeinated drink on the table toward you instead of soju after noticing what others were pouring.

cute, you thought.

⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡

the first day of filming began at 4:12 a.m.

you knew because you checked the time through half-open eyes while your alarm aggressively blared in your ears.

‘your driver is downstairs.’ your manager texted.

a muffled groan escaped you from beneath layers of blankets. you dragged yourself out of bed dramatically, hair messy, oversized sleep shirt hanging off one shoulder while your cat blinked judgmentally from the corner of the room.

early filming days always felt surreal, no matter how famous you became and no matter how many awards sat in your apartment collecting dust.

at four in the morning, every actor looked equally miserable.

your routine before shoots had become almost ritualistic over the years.

warm water first, never coffee immediately, your body reacted badly on an empty stomach.

skincare while still half-asleep.

voice warmups your acting coach forced into your life at nineteen.

then wardrobe references, probably the most annoying part.

your stylist had already sent final fitting photos the night before, so you scrolled through them while eating strawberries over the kitchen counter.

the styling for “blue lips” was intentionally understated compared to your previous projects. you usually ended up in chanel and dior but this time around it was way simpler. you liked that.

soft fabrics and muted colors, smudged makeup and natural hair.

nothing glamorous.

your manager arrived while you were still trying to force yourself awake properly.

“you slept three hours.” he checked the sleep schedule you had hung on the fridge.

“had to rehearse my lines for ‘if wishes could kill’”

another drama you were shooting.

he handed you iced coffee anyway, because despite his complaints, he enabled you constantly. he had worked with multiple celebrities but you were by far the most humble and hardworking one.

the drive toward the filming location stayed quiet.

seoul still looked asleep beneath pale blue dawn light while your phone buzzed endlessly with schedule notifications.

over the past few weeks, your life had become filled almost entirely with “blue lips.”

creative meetings, camera tests, wardrobe fittings, chemistry readings, storyboard revisions.

you’d met with the cinematographer twice alone just to discuss facial framing during emotional close-up shots.

rhe director was obsessive in the best possible way.

every visual detail mattered.

you also had several rehearsals with the members before filming officially began, not full acting rehearsals, but movement coordination, emotional pacing discussions, and camera positioning workshops.

those meetings unexpectedly became some of your favorite parts of preparation.

the members were involved in everything, fun to be around, and easygoing.

the filming location for day one was an abandoned motel complex outside seoul, transformed entirely by the production team overnight.

the moment your van pulled into the parking area, you could already see massive lighting rigs glowing through the early morning fog. staff members rushed everywhere carrying cables, garment bags, equipment cases.

the assistant director greeted you immediately.

“good morning y/n!”

“good morning,” you answered with a sleepy smile.

“you’re our first cast member here.”

“that’s concerning.”

he laughed. “the members finished rehearsal extra late last night, so they’re probably on their way.”

the makeup trailer smelled faintly like hairspray and coffee when you climbed inside, and for the next hour, your face slowly transformed into the exhausted melancholy the character required.

light concealer, smudged eyeliner, pale lips and a subtle shadows beneath your eyes.

the stylist adjusted your navy dress while reviewing continuity photos carefully.

“you look too healthy,” she complained.

“thank you?”

“no, for the scene.” she laughed.

she proceeded to make you look emotionally devastated again, because apparently it was a thing.

by the time you stepped back outside, the set had fully awakened, and unfortunately for your nervous system, so had cortis.

“you survived,” martin announced dramatically the moment he spotted you.

“barely.”

“you look sad already,” keonho noted approvingly.

“the makeup team worked very hard for this depression.”

juhoon immediately pointed toward your sweater, the oversized one you had put over the dress for temperature purposes. “damn youre even dressed like a cortis member now.”

you laughed softly while greeting everyone properly. the atmosphere felt noticeably easier compared to the dinner weeks ago.

familiar now, not totally strangers anymore.

even the staff interactions had relaxed over time.

then you spotted james standing near the monitor screens speaking quietly with the cinematographer.

black hoodie and messy dark hair, sleepy eyes.

he looked up when you approached.

“morning,” he greeted quietly.

“you look awake.”

a small laugh escaped him. “got some redbull, want one?”

“im good thanks, they make my heart go crazy.”

“…fair point.”

the first scene filmed that day took place inside one of the motel rooms.

the set design was extremely cortis-coded, sand in lieu of the floor, and dozens of misplaced items such as buoys and rubber ducks. dim blue lighting flooded cracked walls while rain projections moved softly across thin curtains. old cassette tapes littered the floor beside overflowing ashtrays and unfinished cups of coffee.

the room looked like something out of an abstract painting,

you sat cross-legged on the motel bed while martin paced near the window during his verse,

your role wasn’t to comfort him directly but rather just to exist beside him.

the director explained carefully before filming:

“you represent the reason he keeps enduring everything. not because you save him, but because loneliness feels lighter beside you.”

martin nodded thoughtfully, he hadn’t wanted to make this into a romantic music video but here you didn’t portray a lover but rather an emotion?

you understood immediately.

“action.” the room fell silent.

music echoed softly through hidden speakers while martin moved through the scene naturally, frustration building beneath restrained expressions. he was truly at ease with the cameras, the level of empathy needed to be an actor was really highlighted, so much so that you already begun imagining different career paths for him.

you watched him from the bed quietly, not smiling just observing while the camera cut through the room. the windows were open letting the curtains flow around martin’s figure.

the director loved it instantly.

“perfect,” he muttered behind the monitors. “don’t overact. keep it restrained.”

the next several hours blurred together in typical filming chaos. different angles, different lighting setups, endless camera adjustments.

one sequence involved all the members sitting together inside the motel’s dim laundromat at while water overflowed from broken machines slowly across the floor. another one showed you walking through narrow motel hallways illuminated entirely by flickering vending machine lights while james followed several steps behind, never quite reaching you.

the symbolism stayed subtle but emotionally heavy, it was truly nice seeing how invested they were in the artistic process.

at one point during setup delays, juhoon challenged everyone to balance grapes on their noses, it seemed like a common occurrence really, like it happened everyday.

seonghyeon succeeded immediately somehow.

martin cheated shamelessly, and you nearly choked when keonho dropped his directly into hot coffee.

meanwhile james sat across from you quietly watching them fool around.

“i really thought you’d be crazier,” you told him.

“i’m just too tired for that, i feel like u go through a threshold when you turn 20 and then you don’t have energy anymore,” he answered.

“hah, skill issues”

james smiled, his teeth peeking out as he wrapped his fluffy blanket around his shoulders.

the first real scene between you and him happened around noon. the setup was intimate visually but emotionally restrained.

a narrow hallway and a green screen for special effects purposes, you’d heard they wanted to add some kind of animal, again very cortis-coded.

your character sat against the wall while james stood nearby after an implied argument no audience would fully see.

no dialogue, just acted out emotional aftermath.

the director approached both of you before filming.

“don’t play romance,” he smiled “i know you’re used to it for the dramas etc and you’re obviously amazing at it, but right now it’s more….” he instructed carefully. “… familiarity.”

you nodded. and james beside you nodded too.

“action.”

the silence between you inside the scene felt strangely real almost immediately.

you stood while james leaned against the opposite wall, enunciating his verse while looking at you.

then slowly, without speaking, he slid a cup of vending machine coffee across the floor toward you.

that was it.

that was the scene.

the director looked content watching playback.

“…yeah,” he murmured softly. “that’s the feeling.”

⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡

by lunchtime, everyone looked genuinely exhausted already.

the production team moved outside near equipment trucks while staff distributed boxed meals and drinks. without cameras rolling constantly, the atmosphere shifted completely.

less professional.

you ended up seated in a circle of foldable camping chairs beside the members near the edge of the parking lot. large plaid blankets covered everyone because the wind had turned freezing unexpectedly.

martin looked half-dead beneath his blanket cocoon.

“i can’t feel my fingers anymore.”

“that’s because you keep standing in the rain you dick face,” seonghyeon replied calmly.

“the pics go hard though,”

“you’re gonna get hypothermia, that’s gonna hit harder.” a staff member said while walking past with cardboard boxes.

seonghyeon pointed at him like saying ‘see?’

you sat between juhoon and james while balancing hot soup carefully in your hands. for the first time all day, there were no managers nearby. no stylists fixing clothes, and no directors discussing angles.

just all of you resting together.

the conversation drifted naturally between random topics.

favorite dramas, terrible trainee dorm stories, foods everyone missed while dieting.

keonho confessed he once cried over fried chicken during debut preparations.

“that’s deeply moving,” you told him, ironically.

“it was a spiritual experience, shoulda been there.”

juhoon pointed at james suddenly like a kid remembering something, “he once got emotional over taiwanese food.”

james looked confused immediately,

“that happened once and stop oversharing dude.”

“three times.” juhoon raised a finger matter-of-factly.

you smiled quietly into your drink.

the members clearly adored embarrassing each other.

eventually martin stretched dramatically in his chair.

bside you, james sat slightly hunched in his chair scrolling through his phone silently, dark hair messy from filming. the sunlight caught faintly against the silver rings on his fingers.

and unfortunately for him, martin suddenly looked down at his screen with the exact expression of someone about to ruin another person’s life for entertainment.

“oh my god.”

james immediately narrowed his eyes.

Keonho physically turned away coughing dramatically into his fist.

“you know what’s weird?”

“what?” you asked.

“i feel like we haven’t addressed the rhino in the room.”

“elephant dude…” juhoon corrected.

“no this one’s way bigger and has big ahh horns and shit.”

you sat back, digging into your lunch, as everyone shot him a confused look.

“go straight to the point.”

“bro james, show y/n your saved folder on tiktok.”

james didn’t even look up from his phone when he said it, but the immediate redness creeping across his ears betrayed him instantly. he dropped his phone backwards on his lap.

“dawg shutup.” he gave you an awkward smile, “don’t mind him.”

“what’s in the folder ?” you asked, chewing on your food like you really had no clue wtf they were talking about.

“fangirling material” keonho coughed, looking around like ‘who said dat’.

“yeah my dude right here has thousands of edits of you saved.” martin chuckled, pushing his sunglasses on his nose like they would hide his amusement.

“why you out him like that?” you smiled, glancing at james.

the latter had one of his eyebrows raised, frozen and staring straight ahead.

“it’s nothing weird or creepy, he just always talks about how you’re the best actress korea has ever known.” seonghyeon comes to the rescue.

“well that’s sweet, can i see?” you turn directly to james now, trying to get him to look up at you.

the entire circle exploded immediately.

“OH MAH GOD.”

“BROTHER STAND UP.”

james looked ready to walk directly into traffic.

“it’s literally nothing,” he muttered.

“oh its absolutely somthing,” juhoon corrected.

you laughed quietly while trying to catch james’ gaze again.

“now i’m curious.”

for a second, he just stared at you, trying to determine whether you were joking maybe. but your expression stayed open and amused rather than mocking.

eventually he sighed softly through his nose.

“you guys are evil.”

martin looked proud. “look who decided to man up.”

james unlocked his phone slowly, still visibly embarrassed, before turning the screen slightly toward you.

and immediately your eyes widened. “dang.”

not because it was creepy or anything, it was just… extensive, there was a lot, you could probably scroll down a few times and still not come to the end of it.

edits from your dramas, interview clips, award show moments, cinematic compilations with dramatic music. one fan edit from winter static with over four million likes. you stared at the screen in disbelief while james, him, visibly contemplated death beside you.

“wait,” you laughed softly, “this edit has better color grading than my actual drama.”

james rubbed tiredly at his forehead.

“i told you it wasn’t weird.” martin mouthed.

“it’s adorable,” keonho corrected immediately. “he’s like a little fan boy.”

“it’s cinema appreciation,” martin added dramatically.

you kept scrolling slowly through the folder, some videos were emotional scene compilations while others focused on your interviews or behind-the-scenes moments.

then you paused at one specific edit. it was from salt to the sea. a scene where your character silently broke down at a bus stop in the rain while pretending to smile.

you remembered filming that scene vividly, it had taken hours because emotions were raw and because portraying mental decay and insanity was harsh on you.

“you saved this one?” you asked softly.

james nodded once. “it’s my favorite scene.”

something in his voice changed slightly when he said it. you’d knew then that this wasn’t a stupid crush or anything like that, it was just someone truly appreciating someone’s art.

you looked at him curiously. “why?”

for a moment, he seemed surprised by the question itself but then he answered honestly.

“because it didn’t feel acted.”

the others had quieted now too, because james rarely spoke this openly. he kept his eyes on the phone screen instead of directly on you.

“a lot of emotional scenes feel polished i think,” he continued carefully. “but that one just felt… human. and you transmit emotions in a way ive never seen before.”

your chest tightened unexpectedly, actors spent years hoping audiences would notice performances beyond aesthetics, not beauty or popularity, and in that moment you felt seen.

and somehow james articulated exactly what you’d wanted people to get from that scene years ago. you smiled softly without realizing it.

“thank you.” he finally looked up then.

and the expression on his face almost made your stomach flip unexpectedly, because he looked relieved, like he’d worried you might misunderstand him completely.

martin abruptly pointed between both of you.

“see this is why they have chemistry.”

“i been saying.” keonho added.

“oh my god,” james groaned, rolling his eyes.

“you literally analyze her scenes like a film professor,” juhoon added. “no really y/n we have to put up with his shit all the time.”

“meanwhile I just cry and move on,” keonho admitted.

“that’s cause you lack emotional depth,” martin informed him.

“you cried during toy story 3 my dude, fuck you mean emotional depth.”

“that movie is devastating.”

you laughed again, warmth settling naturally into your chest now. and honestly? there was something strangely touching about discovering that james admired your work so genuinely before ever meeting you. not in the shallow celebrity-crush way people often assumed.

he paid attention, and it explained a lot actually. from the thoughtful comments during rehearsals to the way he approached scenes carefully.

entually you handed his phone back gently.

“well,” you announced lightly, “i’m honored to apparently live inside your tiktok algorithm.”

james looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole, but beneath the embarrassment, there was the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth now too.

thankfully martin immediately ruined the moment.

“wow,” he sighed dramatically. “cinema soulmates.”

⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡

the second half of filming resumed around three in the afternoon. and somehow became even more chaotic. the official tiktok team arrived, which instantly destroyed any remaining dignity on set.

“oh no,” you muttered the moment you saw phones appearing.

“oh yes,” juhoon corrected.

you really weren’t into the whole tiktok filming thing, you’d given it a try but you looked akward more than anything.

thas how between filming emotional scenes, the members suddenly transformed into content demons. incorporating dance challenges to ‘blue lips’ choreographies that mind you, didn’t have anything to do with the vibes.

at one pointartin forced everyone into a trending transition video while staff members tried not to laugh watching from behind cameras. your manager had said something about requiring a few content for social media.

“you have experience with idol tiktoks already,” keonho accused while reviewing footage.

the social media manager immediately brightened.

“can we film one with only james and y/n too?”

james looked genuinely alarmed.

“why me?”

“fans will love it.”

unfortunately he was right.

the video itself was simple, just a slow cinematic trend using audio from “blue lips.” the concept involved james walking past the camera before the transition revealed you standing in the same hallway afterward, doing a silly tiktok dance.

easy in theory. except james became awkward anytime the camera focused too directly on him outside official filming.

“you’re overthinking it,” you told him while the staff reset lighting.

“i know.”

“pretend it’s an actual scene.”

“that’s worse.”

you laughed softly. and weirdly enough, that finally relaxed him.

the final take turned out perfect. the social media staff looked thrilled immediately.

“oh this shit is DEFINITELY going viral.” martin smiled at the screen. “‘s like two fandoms crossing.”

james looked exhausted already. “you people terrify me.”

“you chose fame my guy” martin reminded him.

“i was young and vulnerable.”

the sun had already started setting by the time day one finally wrapped.

everyone looked tired, cold and emotionally drained, but satisfied.

as staff members slowly began dismantling equipment around the motel set, you stood near the monitors reviewing final shots with the director. and honestly? the footage looked beautiful. exactly what the song deserved.

⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡

you said your goodbyes to the staff slowly before heading toward your van. as you climbed inside, your phone buzzed immediately.

lee minjae: u alive?

you snorted softly. you and minjae existed in that messy category of relationship nobody defined properly. friends sometimes, colleagues, occasional hookups other times. mostly convenience mixed with familiarity.

there had never really been emotions involved, which was probably why it worked.

he wasn’t deep, he was a stable constant, always there but not too much.

you: barely

minjae: come over after shoot?

you stared at the message for a second. normally maybe you would’ve considered it. a few hours together. satisfying sex, temporary distraction from exhausting schedules.

but tonight your entire body ached, and honestly?you just wanted silence.

you: too tired tonight sorry

three dots appeared immediately.

minjae: damn they got u working like a victorian child again

you smiled faintly.

you: exactly

by the time you arrived home, it was nearly midnight. your apartment felt blissfully quiet after the nonstop noise of filming equipment and staff chatter all day.

the first thing you did was shower. a long scrumptious hot shower. enough to thaw the cold still trapped inside your muscles from the rain scenes.

then came your actual night routine, an oversized hoodie, hair clipped loosely away from your face and your skincare lined neatly across the bathroom counter.

you moved through the routine automatically by now. cleanser, moisturizer, lip mask. finally you applied a cooling sheet face mask while walking barefoot into the kitchen for tea.

you were trying to be aesthetic but that failed instantly because the taste was awful. you hated tea. your apartment lights stayed dim while city noise hummed faintly outside enormous windows.

you should’ve slept immediately, but instead, you curled up on the couch with another script resting across your lap.

your next drama project. a psychological thriller filming later that year. something about wishes and an app. the character notes were covered in your messy handwriting already, underlined motivations, emotional beats, scene interpretations. you read through several pages while absentmindedly sipping tea, still half-lost in the atmosphere of “blue lips.”

then, annoyingly your thoughts drifted toward james again. specifically the way he observed scenes afterward instead of rushing away between takes. the way he listened carefully during emotional discussions.

the saved tiktok folder probably.

you smiled quietly to yourself before tossing the script aside.

“absolutely not,” you muttered aloud.

your brain needed sleep.

you eventually fell asleep sideways on the couch beneath a blanket, script pages still scattered nearby.

⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡

the next morning arrived cruelly fast. your alarm went off at 4:30 a.m.

you genuinely considered quitting the entertainment industry for a corporate job. for three full seconds before dragging yourself awake. today was the swimming pool shoot.

which meant one thing: cold.

the production studio sat inside an enormous indoor filming complex on the outskirts of seoul. when your van pulled inside, you immediately spotted massive water tanks, underwater camera rigs, lighting cranes suspended from ceilings, and crew members in waterproof gear rushing around the space.

the swimming pool itself looked unreal, huge and deep blue. artificial fog drifting softly above the surface beneath enormous studio lights.

underwater speakers played instrumental versions of “blue lips,” the haunting melody echoing strangely through the massive room.

the atmosphere felt dreamlike already. you stepped toward makeup still half-awake while staring around the set.

“this is insane,” you murmured.

one of the stylists laughed. “wait until you’re underwater for four hours.”

“don’t say things like that.” you chuckled, mentally preparing for the cold.

the styling process took almost two hours, you had to have the perfect amount of color corrector to look a certain way under the blue lights, but the makeup itself focused heavily on softness.

wet skin and smudged lashes with the signature pale lips, like someone submerged too long.

then came wardrobe, the dress waiting for you hung beside the styling rack beneath protective plastic. it was white and long, thin enough to become almost translucent underwater.

beautiful in a ghost way,

“its gonna weigh like twenty pounds once soaked,” the stylist warned while helping adjust the fabric.

“great. good news” you chuckled with her, sipping on your iced coffee.

“you’ll look amazing suffering though.”

when you finally stepped onto set fully dressed, several crew members visibly paused for a second. the dress flowed around you softly beneath the blue studio lights, already giving you an almost ghostlike appearance against the dark water.

and unfortunately, you also immediately spotted james already inside the pool.

your breath caught slightly, without you wanting, he gave you a small smile and went back to focusing.

his dark hair was completely soaked, floating against his forehead while stylists adjusted the drenched white button-up clinging to his frame underwater.

the first underwater sequence involved you diving into the pool after spotting james floating motionless beneath the surface. the symbolism represented trying to save someone emotionally drowning alongside you, from you’d been told.

the stunt coordinator explained everything carefully beforehand,

“you dive here,” he instructed, pointing toward a marked edge of the pool. “swim toward james, grab his wrist first, then pull upward.”

you nodded while adjusting your breathing, underwater filming always exhausted actors faster than people realized because everything became heavier and slower, each movement required extra strength.

after a few minutes of touch ups and the crew getting ready, you heard the director behind you.

“ready?”

you inhaled deeply. “yep, we can go ahead, i’m ready.”

the music started playing and like a choreography, you looked at the pool, seeing him in the water, the camera angled towards you as you walked, then dove.

cold swallowed you instantly, the white dress blooming around your body beneath the water while muted instrumentals echoed through the pool speakers.

across from you, james floated eerily still beneath blue lighting, eyes closed and body suspended weightlessly. you swam toward him quickly, fingers catching around his wrist before trying to pull him upward.

but the soaked fabric tangled instantly around your legs.

you both resurfaced coughing.

“cut!” everyone burst into laughter immediately.

“the dress is trying to murder me, i’m sorry, could we get it shortened maybe?” you gasped.

james pushed wet hair back from his forehead, laughing quietly too.

take two went smoother.

this time you reached him properly underwater, grabbing his arm while his eyes slowly opened beneath the surface.

the moment felt strangely intimate underwater, just eye contact and drifting fabric surrounded by blue light. you understood in that moment how one could think actors fell in love on set. this is probably how those stories started.

you pulled him upward carefully while cameras followed beside you.

“cut— beautiful!” several staff members clapped softly.

the cinematographer looked thrilled reviewing the monitor playback.

“again,” the director called. “one more for safety.”

several more takes followed afterward, some focused entirely on your expression underwater and others captured james reaching toward you weakly beneath the surface before sinking again.

by the fourth take, both of you were visibly freezing. your teeth chattered violently between resets while staff wrapped heated robes around your shoulders immediately after each cut

james looked equally exhausted.

“you okay?” you asked quietly while makeup artists fixed wet hair from his face.

he nodded once. “you?”

“yeah i’m good, cold though.”

martin suggested later, a brilliant idea really, that you guys filmed a tiktok with the sound ‘swim’ by bts, which you agreed to unwillingly.

the next sequence paired you with juhoon underwater instead. the concept was more abstract emotionally.

no rescue, no struggle, just two people drifting around each other in slow movements beneath dark blue lighting while the instrumental played overhead.

the underwater choreographer demonstrated soft turning motions and hand placements before filming began.

and once submerged, everything became eerily beautiful. your dress floated weightlessly around you while juhoon reached toward your hand underwater, both of you spinning slowly beneath the lights like fading memories. hair drifting, and fabric swirling.

at one point the director asked both of you to simply float motionless beside one another underwater while staring upward toward the surface.

the result looked haunting on playback and by the time the morning shoot finally paused, your entire body felt frozen.

staff immediately wrapped a heated blanket around your shoulders while you sat shivering near portable heaters.

wet hair clung to your neck while makeup artists tried repairing smudged eyeliner.

and then,

“rough?”

you looked up.

james stood nearby still damp from filming, oversized gray hoodie thrown over soaked clothes. you smiled tiredly.

“i can’t feel my limbs anymore.”

“good sign.”

“for hypothermia maybe.”

he laughed quietly before sitting beside you on one of the equipment cases, he reached on the small table behind him and handed you a warm drink of something.

“there you go, so you don’t get hypothermia.”

you smiled some more, fingers wrapping against the hot cup to get warm. “thanks, i owe you one.”

for a moment neither of you spoke, the massive studio echoed softly around you, crew members moving lights, water rippling gently behind cameras, distant instrumentals still playing faintly underwater.

then James glanced toward the pool.

“the underwater shots looked insane.”

“you saw playback?”

he nodded. “the scene where you grabbed my arm looked…” he paused slightly, “pretty real.”

you looked at him curiously beneath the blanket wrapped around you.

“well you were very convincing as a drowning man.”

“years of experience.”

you laughed softly.

and weirdly enough, sitting there dripping wet beside him beneath freezing studio lights felt strangely peaceful.

eventually lunch break arrived annd somehow the atmosphere felt even friendlier today than yesterday. everyone sat together around folding tables in oversized hoodies and blankets while inhaling hot food like survival depended on it.

martin looked emotionally broken already.“underwater filming was invented by sadists dude, fuck my life.”

“you swallowed half the pool, i’m dead.” keonho reminded him, cracking up.

“and lemme tell you something, that water tasted expensive. i kid you not i bet they fill it with fiji water.”

at some point seonghyeon asked about your upcoming project and everyone listened genuinely while you explained the thriller script you’d been preparing for.

“it’s like a cursed app thingy, shamanism and stuff.”

“shit that’s so cool, i wish i was an actor.” juhoon looked down.

“bro wants to be everything. model, idol, police man, dude pick a fight.” keonho turned to him.

“no but lowkey, acting is so cool, sounds exhausting though.”

“she works too much,” james said suddenly like he’d been thinking about it.

you blinked. “so do you.”

“yeah,” he admitted quietly. “but still.”

by early afternoon, your filming schedule wrapped for the day while the members prepared for additional solo scenes that didn’t involve you.

you said goodbye gradually while staff removed underwater equipment behind everyone.

“survive your scenes,” you told them while gathering your bag.

“no promises,” martin sighed dramatically.

juhoon saluted weakly from beneath three blankets.

and james looked up from his chair near the monitors.

“get home safe,” he said softly.

you smiled automatically, you did a lot of that these days.

“you too.”

then you climbed back into your van still smelling faintly like chlorine and studio fog, completely exhausted while Seoul blurred softly outside the windows on the drive home.

⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡

the studio doors slid shut behind your van and for about three full seconds, silence settled across the set.

then martin slowly turned toward james with the most insufferable grin imaginable.

“so.” he wiggled an eyebrow “how’s the crush going?”

james didn’t even look up from the towel draped over his head. “i’m going to drown you in that pool i swear to god.”

keonho gasped dramatically from nearby “you’re getting violent towards your homeboy, all this…. just for a woman. what happened to bros before hoes.”

“shut yo ass up keonho” james retorted.

“that sounded defensive,” juhoon pointed out immediately.

the members were still scattered around the massive pool set wrapped in blankets while staff members reset lighting for the next scenes. Wet clothes hung over equipment racks nearby, and the dress you had been wearing was there too.

james sat near one of the portable heaters trying to thaw himself back to life. unfortunately his members refused to let him exist peacefully.

martin dragged a chair directly beside him.

“no because lowkenuinely,” he continued, “you’re down catastrophic dude, talm about some artistic respect, man fuhhhh that”

james sighed deeply. “you guys say this every day.”

“because every day you prove us right,” seonghyeon replied calmly while sipping hot coffee.

james looked betrayed. “you too dude? no support whatsoever.”

“i support realism, fuck you mean.”

juhoon pointed dramatically across the empty set where you had been standing earlier beneath your heating blanket.

“bro looked at her like she personally invented cinema. she must be one of the lumiere brothers the way he bowed down to her.”

“ah shutup man, you don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

martin physically mimicked james’ expression from earlier, staring into the distance with exaggerated emo sadness.

“‘the underwater shots looked insane dude.’”

keonho clutched his chest dramatically. “the yearning…”

james shoved martin weakly with one hand.

“you’re all actually unbearable you bunch of virgins.”

“i might be a virgin looser,” martin replied smugly, “but i’m not incorrect.”

james groaned and leaned further back in his chair, towel still hanging over damp hair.

honestly? he knew they weren’t entirely wrong. that was the problem.

at first, before filming started, the crush had felt manageable, he just thought you happened to be the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, but overall just a celebrity crush. just someone he admired for their moving work. normal. but now?

after working a couple weeks with you in meetings, small artistic gatherings and whatnot, now that you sat beside him during breaks laughing quietly into your coffee. now he knew the exact expression you made before cameras rolled.

it was becoming a bad thing. what had started as a harmless crush, tripled in size by the hours. and apparently it was painfully obvious.

martin watched him silently for a second before speaking again, this time less teasing and more curious.

“you actually like her, huh?”

james stayed quiet, which unfortunately answered the question immediately.

keonho slowly sighed, “oh he’s cooked.”

“deeply cooked,” juhoon agreed.

james rubbed at his face tiredly. “i just think she’s…” he paused.

the members looked at him expectantly.

“really easy to be around. but i don’t thinks it’s a crush, it’s just admiration.”

that softened the teasing slightly, because they understood exactly what he meant cause you never acted superior despite your fame. never made filming awkward, never demanded attention. you listened carefully during conversations. thanked every staff member individually. stayed professional while still feeling warm somehow.

even martin had admitted privately that working with you felt comfortable.

still—

that didn’t justify why james felt this way,

martin leaned forward again. “she looks like she likes you too though.”

james immediately looked up. “… huh.”

“oh my god,” keonho groaned. “there he goes.”

“I’m serious,” martin insisted. “you think she smiles at all of us like that?”

“yes?” james replied cautiously.

the entire group stared at him. seonghyeon looked almost offended.

“she definitely doesn’t. she’s under that zhao yufine shit charm.”

juhoon nodded aggressively. “she laughs at your jokes specifically. That’s important.”

“that means nothing.”

“it means everything.” they continue feeding into his delusion.

james rolled his eyes but his ears had already started turning pink again. martin looked delighted noticing it.

“and the way she looked at you during lunch?”

“please stop talking.”

“nah cause see i’m analyzing.”

“nobody asked you to.”

martin ignored him completely.

“there’s tension.”

“there’s literally not.” james rolled his eyes.

“brother she asked to see your saved edits folder voluntarily.”

keonho pointed upward like that proved divine intervention existed. “that’s basically marriage.”

james nearly choked on his drink. “yall need serious help.”

juhoon shrugged. “we’re not the one staring at an actress like she’s gta 6 with a 50% discount.”

silence, then seonghyeon added calmly:

“don’t listen to him, that shot did look kinda insane though.”

unfortunately that was true. even the staff had noticed the chemistry during playback earlier.

martin suddenly leaned back in his chair dramatically.

“damn.”

“what now.”

“now that i think about it you’re living every man’s dream.”

james narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “what that mean?”

“you have a mutual slowburn with the nation’s most beautiful actress while filming a devastating music video. shit you might be blessed.”

“you need to touch grass.”

⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡

the final day of filming arrived wrapped in rain.

real rain this time, not artificial studio water or carefully controlled downpours created by production crews. actual gray skies stretched over the city from early morning onward, leaving streets slick and reflective beneath traffic lights.

your manager glanced out the van window while driving toward set.

“kind of fitting. did you grab an umbrella?”

you hummed softly in response, half-awake beneath your hoodie. last night you’d slept a little late, crawling under work. you were also preparing to be the mc of a variety show in a few months, everything was kinda crazy.

the atmosphere already felt different before you even arrived, final filming days always carried a strange emotional weight to them, even though this one wasn’t a big one, it still felt too good to end. you’d truly loved the project and the aesthetics, but especially working with the whole cortis crew. you saw shoots as a little world that people packed up once it was over.

you arrived at the set around six in the morning, as today was a shorter day, more centered around correcting any possible mistakes and issues.

today’s location was an abandoned indoor train station with graffitis on the wall. the signature blue fluorescent lights reflected against wet concrete floors while massive industrial fans pushed cold air through the enormous space probably to add visual effects onth hair. fake rainwater dripped steadily from ceiling pipes into shallow puddles arranged carefully for reflections.

The final scenes today would focus heavily on group shots, lypsincing with no excessive action.

you stepped into the makeup room while staff buzzed around quietly preparing for the day and even the stylists had stopped pretending they enjoyed early call times.

today’s makeup stayed minimal again, pale skinn, tired eyes and slight redness beneath the lashes. your stylist pinned sections of damp hair away from your face while studying continuity photos carefully.

“does this bother you? the piece of hair in your face.”

“yeah, if you could possibly pin it, please.”

“sure, should i add some more product or does that feel like too much on your head right now?”

“do whatever you think looks best, you’re the professional, either way you do amazing work.”

“you’re annoyingly kind, what are we gonna do once you’re gone.”

you laughed softly. “might need to start working on my sets.”

outside the trailer, you could already hear the members somewhere nearby arguing loudly over coffee. by the time you stepped onto set fully dressed, filming had already started on martin’s opening shots.

you paused automatically near the monitor screens. the scene looked pretty sick, martin stood alone beneath flickering station lights while rainwater dripped from dark hair onto his face, he was wearing baggy jeans as always.

you watched quietly beside the director until someone approached from your left.

“morning.”

james.

you looked up. his dark jacket hung loosely over layered black clothing while damp hair fell messily across his forehead. He looked tired too.

“morning,” you replied. “you look freezing.”

“i am freezing.”

you dug inside your pockets, “well i have these pocket warmer thingys, if you’d like one.”

he blinked once, then nodded as you handed them over, “warm, thank you”

you noticed immediately that talking to him no longer felt careful because atthe beginning of filming, every interaction carried awareness beneath it. professional politeness and measured conversation.

now things slipped naturally, like two good friends working together.

the assistant director eventually called you both toward the first setup together.

today’s scene involved you and james sitting inside the abandoned train car while rain hammered softly against the windows outside. you were supposed to be just sitting there, special effects added later to make it look like the train was moving, and to stare at the camera while james lip synced.

the director explained quietly before filming:

“remember, you’ve both stayed in the water too long by this point emotionally.”

you nodded.

“no dramatic sadness,” he continued. “you’re past that stage now. just tired.”

james glanced toward you briefly after that, and an eye contact that lingered half a second too long ended in a small smile.

“action.”

your character stared absently out the rain-covered window. and james watched you, lip syncing the word as if he were actually talking to you.

my blue lips ( we’ve been in here way too long) i’ve been feeling way too cold.

then slowly, your eyes met his, nothing dramatic. no touching. no speaking. but something unspoken passed between both characters anyway. recognition maybe. the understanding that neither of you knew how to leave the pool anymore.

“cut.”

nobody spoke immediately. the director stared at the playback monitor for several seconds before exhaling softly.

“…yeah.”

several staff members exchanged glances quietly behind cameras.

“let’s do a couple more just to be sure, but i’ve never gone through a scene this quickly, you guys are truly phenomenal.”

⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡

the next few hours passed through constant filming setups around the station. one sequence involved all the members standing motionless on separate train platforms while water slowly flooded the tracks below them.

another showed you wandering through empty hallways while distorted station announcements echoed overhead. everything felt dreamlike. the emotional tone of the project had settled fully into everyone now.

between takes, the members still joked around constantly, but softer today, like everyone subconsciously knew this temporary atmosphere was ending soon.

at one point keonho started aggressively singing ‘blue lips’ while staff reset lighting equipment.

martin threw a plastic spoon at him. “shut the fuck up bro.”

“yeah dude i’m tired of the song already. i’ve been hearing it too much.” juhoon expressed.

“fair.”

you smiled quietly from your seat beside a portable heater, you had your phone in hand, you and a friend texting back and forth about an upcoming event.

james sat nearby scrolling through monitor playback again.

you nudged his shoe lightly with yours. “you re gonna watch every take?”

he glanced up. “most.”

“why?”

he considered the question briefly. “i don’t know we all look pretty fly in them, it doesn’t feel like reality.”

you smiled faintly. “so i’m not fly off screen? that what you’re saying?”:

a small silence settled before he quietly corrected himself, “no, you look pretty fly all the time i’d say, i was mostly talking about me and the guys.”

before you could respond, martin suddenly appeared between both of you holding coffee cups.

“wow.” he said, dreamy.

james closed his eyes immediately, smiling amused. “please fuck off before i loose it.”

“am i interrupting cinema?”

“yes,” both of you answered at the exact same time.

james and you were growing friendlier, talking more, like it came easy. nothing had happened technically.

but something was definitely happening.

the afternoon scenes focused heavily on physical closeness.

one setup involved james resting his forehead briefly against yours while both characters sat on the flooding train tracks, completely exhausted. this was specially intricate, because it couldn’t cross an invisible line at the risk of upsetting fans.

the director explained carefully beforehand:

“you’re comforting each other without actually fixing anything.”

the scene sounded simple, but it absolutely was not. how could you communicate a feeling that wasn’t love, but still looked like it.

the station lights dimmed low around you while cameras moved closer slowly.

“action.”

you sat facing one another in silence. water started flowing the tracks, but none of you paid attention..

then slowly, james leaned forward, his forehead touching yours lightly. warm despite the cold set.

the proximity felt startling suddenly because you could hear his breathing, feel it on your mouth. feel water dripping from his hair against your skin.

things like these happened more than you’d like to think, physical touch scenes were always complicated to film because of the body’s natural reactions to being close to someone, it wasn’t necessarily that much of a challenge with james because you didn’t mind his closeness.

and worse, neither of you pulled away immediately after the director called cut.

just half a second too long, like you’d enjoyed it.

“that’s wrap!”

the entire station exploded instantly. staff members cheering. applause echoing everywhere.

you blinked slowly beneath dripping hair while reality returned all at once.

james looked at you quietly and for one strange suspended second, neither of you joined the celebration immediately, just stood there beneath the rain staring at each other like maybe something unfinished still lingered.

then martin screamed somewhere nearby:

“YES MY CHICKENS, THATS A WRAAAAAP.”

and you couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡

james stood quieter near the monitor station speaking softly with the director while absentmindedly pushing soaked hair away from his face.

your eyes drifted toward him automatically.

dangerous habit.

he looked handsome like that, with a bandaid on his left cheek from a careless scratch.

the director eventually gathered everyone together beneath the rooftop overhang for final thank-yous.

“i mean this genuinely,” he said while looking between you and the members, “this project only worked because everybody trusted each other emotionally.”

the atmosphere softened instantly.

the cinematographer nodded toward you specifically.

“we had to chance to work with the amazing y/l/n y/n, you brought exactly the realism we needed.”

you bowed your head slightly.

“thank you for trusting me with it.”

“and thank you,” the director added while turning toward the members, “for being vulnerable enough to tell this story honestly.”

“oh no,” Keonho sighed dramatically. “that’s so artistic i might cry.”

eventually people started separating naturally, staff packing up, managers discussing post-prod, stylists collecting clothing pieces from dressing rooms downstairs.

you had just started walking toward the elevators when martin suddenly clapped loudly behind you.

“food.”

juhoon looked up instantly from inside his fuzzy blanket.

“yes.”

“i’m serious,” martin continued. “we survived hypothermia together. we deserve meat.”

“real,” juhoon agreed.

“there’s a barbecue place nearby,” seonghyeon offered.

everyone looked interested instantly. then martin turned toward you.

“you’re coming.”

you blinked. “ was that a question or do i not have a choice ?”

“you don’t.”

twenty minutes later, the six of you were crammed into a private room inside a small korean barbecue restaurant tucked into a quieter seoul side street.

the moment you stepped inside, heat hit your freezing skin instantly. actual heaven.

everyone collapsed around the low table dramatically while staff brought endless plates of meat and side dishes.

shoes were kicked off beneath seats and heoodies tossed carelessly aside. exhaustion settling comfortably over everyone.

martin immediately raised his water glass.

“to good meat”

“cheers.”

“to chlorine poisoning,” juhoon added, coughing.

you laughed softly while clinking glasses with everyone. you and james were the only ones drinking alcohol as you were the only people of age, you had picked a japanese beer while he went with strawberry soju.

the atmosphere loosened almost instantly afterward, alcohol seeped in your veins, making you instantly more comfortable. conversations overlapped naturally while grills crackled loudly in the center of the table.

martin aggressively cooked meat while pretending he was a professional chef while keonho criticized him nonstop. juhoon kept stealing pieces directly off the grill before they finished cooking.

“you people are animals,” seonghyeon muttered calmly. “someone’s gonna get food poisoning if you don’t wait for the meat to cook.”

“erm hello? i’m martin edwards park i don’t get food poisoning. the only i poison is dat beeeeaaaat.” he said the last part loudly.

“unfortunately.”

you sat beside james almost accidentally after everyone settled into seats. not that anyone failed to notice.

the conversations drifted between memories of the tiktoks you hadmade, keonho’s hand showing the videos over the table, best places to eat in the city and other non importants.

at one point juhoon asked: “what was everyone’s hardest scene?”

“the underwater one,” keonho answered immediately. “saw my ancestors man.”

“you barely submerged.”

“dude i can’t hold my breath fr long.” he rolled his eyes.

martin pointed dramatically toward you.

“hers with James on the rooftop though?”

james closed his eyes immediately like he already knew where this was heading.

“here we go,” he muttered.

“i’m serious,” martin continued shamelessly. “the tension was insane.”

“there was no tension,” james replied too fast.

you smiled, looking at him while sipping on your second beer, the table went silent briefly.

then juhoon slowly leaned back. “that sounded crazy defensive not gon lie.”

keonho nodded solemnly. “bro folded instantly.”

you hid your smile behind your cup, he was the only one embarrassed cause you genuinely didn’t mind the teasing.

“this group is a nightmare.”

“shutup cause you’d be unemployed without us.” seonghyeon said.

“no the fuck i wouldn’t?” james frowned.

he was objectively hot, now that the alcohol made its appearance in your veins. sharp jawline and all tight muscles. nah you were definitely not going there.

but it didn’t help that at some point while everyone argued about whether mint chocolate was overrated, you reached toward the grill at the exact same moment as james.

your fingers brushed lightly.

both of you paused instinctively. the warmth blooming of the tiny moment suspended strangely long beneath restaurant lighting.

“my bad” he quickly said, leaving you space to grab meat.

who would’ve thought zhao yufan was shy when provoked.

⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡

somewhere between the endless teasing, food, and celebratory drinks, you and james had both crossed into that dangerous almost-drunk state.

you hadn’t controlled the drinks, just kept diving in for some more, it felt natural, like a friend gathering.

you felt warm in the cheeks, you were probably flushed red by now, loose around the edges.

james was becoming less guarded, easier, he laughed louder now, shoulders relaxed while leaning back against the wall beside you.

at one point keonho stared dramatically between both of you across the table.

“oh my god.”

james narrowed his eyes immediately. “what now.”

“you guys are literally glowing.”

you started laughin, not because it was necessarily funny but… yeah you didn’t even know why.

james was also laughing beside you, head dropping slightly while rubbing at his eyes. “you people genuinely need hobbies.”

“we had hobbies,” martin replied. “but now we’re gonna have to take you home.”

you hid your smile behind your drink, feeling way too jolly for your wellbeing.

honestly the alcohol made everything feel softer tonight, you weren’t one to drink usually but this felt right, like finally you claimed back all those teenage years spent working. the only thing that was bad though, was james’ lingering looks and the way they felt nerve-wracking. you’d promised yourself not to be stupid, and here you were.

eventually when the table became empty, everyone slowly started gathering their things. managers had long since gone home, trusting the members enough to survive one celebratory dinner without supervision. outside, the city glittered beneath rain-slick streets and blurred neon reflections like a scene straight out of cyberpunk.

cold air hit your face immediately when you stepped out of the restaurant. “damn,” juhoon muttered. “it’s so cold”

“pissesme off, we had sun last week,” keonho agreed while tightening his jacket.

the group lingered outside for several minutes beneath the restaurant awning while figuring out rides home. juhoon seonghyeon keonho and martin called an uber, while james claimed he would wait to sober up before coming back. you were gonna call a ride back home too.

the 6’3 giant looked between you and james suspiciously one last time before grinning.

“don’t do anything we would do.”

“that leaves literally nothing,” seonghyeon pointed out.

james groaned , “shutup you ball of hair.”

“fuck off receding hairline” martin shot back instantly.

“goodnight.” james deadpanned, already turning around.

everyone burst into laughter. then slowly, one by one, the members disappeared into separate cars still yelling dramatic goodbyes through open windows.

until eventually, only you and james remained beneath the glowing restaurant sign. rain had softened into mist now, cool against your cheeks while distant traffic hummed somewhere beyond the narrow streets.

you were painfully aware of how flushed you were and how undone your hair probably was, but decided not to worry, at the end of the day, he had seen you underwater, under the rain, in various weird situations.

then james caught your attention by shoving his hands deeper into his jacket pockets and glancing toward you.

“so…” he started softly. you looked up.

“do you have somewhere to be?”

the question lingered gently between you, he wasn’t pushy nor presumptuous. maybe he meant it in a friendly manner but it came across as hopeful.

you shook your head slightly. “not really.”

something subtle shifted in his expression then, probably relief.

“you wanna hang out a little longer?”

your stomach flipped embarrassingly fast, probably the alcohol.

“yeah,” you answered quietly like it was evident.

james smiled, the bandaid on his cheek crooking.

“cool.”

⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡

twenty minutes later, the two of you stood inside a convenience store near the han river laughing over candy choices like idiots. the alcohol absolutely wasn’t helping.

“that shit’s gross, worst flavor ever. you can’t possibly eat that.” you frowned.

“watch me.”

that made both of you laugh for some reason, carefree, like two morons.

“what flavor do you want?” james chuckled,

“those peach ones, stop with the crap we’re not eating cherry ones.”

he laughed, grabbing the peach bag, almost letting it fall.

the cashier looked mildly amused while ringing everything up, he couldn’t recognize you with your masks. james insisted on paying, struggling to get his card to go through with how much he was swaying.

outside again, cold night air wrapped around both of you while plastic bags swung gently from james’ hands.

the han river stretched dark and glittering beneath city lights ahead, and you eventually settled onto a quiet bench near the water. the city skyline reflected beautifully across the river while distant bikes rolled past occasionally along the paths nearby.

you sat tucked into your coat while james leaned back against the bench beside you sipping canned coffee despite already being energetic enough.

“you know,” you murmured, “this is pretty nice actually. i never thought you and i would be friends.”

he looked toward you, the word friend stabbing through his heart. ouch.

“yeah me neither”

“you’re pretty cool, i like hanging with you.” you said, head dizzy.

you took a sip of water, leaning closer to him for warmth. you gestured vaguely between both of you and the river and the convenience store snacks.

“i don’t even really hang out with people actually. i mean- i have friends but i never have time to hang out. so this is nice. ”

james smiled faintly.

“yeah, i’m glad, you can call me anytime if you wanna hang.”

“i probably will if i have time. schedules are pretty tough these days, i bet you guys have it the same.”

he nodded at that, “yeah we’re preparing for upcoming shows and stuff, it’s hectic. but i’ll make time for you.” you looked down briefly at the snack bag in your lap, trying unsuccessfully to hide your smile.

“that sounds dangerous,” you murmured.

“what does?”

“you saying things like that.”

james laughed quietly under his breath. “sorry.”

“you don’t sound sorry.”

“i’m not.” james leaned back slightly against the bench, shoulder still brushing yours.

then suddenly he squinted toward your phone sticking halfway out of your coat pocket. “…is that an arcane keychain?”

you blinked. “maybe.”

his head turned so fast it almost made you laugh.“no way, you play league?” the genuine disbelief in his voice was somehow offensive.

“yes?” james stared at you for a full second.

“you’re lying.”

“i literally have the keychain.”

“that proves nothing. people fake interests every day.”

“you’re lame”

“i need proof.”

you immediately pulled your phone out. “gatekeeping lol like millions of people don’t already play it.”

james leaned closer automatically to look at the screen and unfortunately your shoulder pressed fully against his now. his eyes widened immediately.

“you actually play.”

“told you.”

“what rank?”

you narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “that’s classified.”

“oh my god you’re bronze.”

“i’m not bronze.”

“so silver.”

“i hate you.”

james looked genuinely delighted now, like a kid. “this changes everything.”

“how?”

“i don’t know yet but it definitely does.”

you laughed softly while shoving his shoulder lightly. “what about you then, idiot?”

he looked annoyingly smug suddenly. “emerald.”

your jaw dropped. “no way.”

“way.”

that’s how you both ended up yapping about league of legends, because it was easier to do that than to pretend like there wasn’t an underlying tension.

“and junglers— oh my god don’t even get me STARTED on junglers.”

“you literally play jungle sometimes.”

“yeah and every lane blames me for EVERYTHING. top dies in a 1v1 thirty seconds in? ‘jg diff.’ bot lane pushes to enemy tower with no wards and gets ganked six times? somehow it’s MY fault. i could physically cure disease and my mid laner would still ping my smite cooldown.”

he then realized he had spoken without stoping for a breath, so he did just that, your shoulder brushed his slightly while reaching into the snack bag.

your eyes were bored on his, slightly drunk but it wasn’t just that. maybe it was the whole league of legends rambling that got you going, who knew you were into geeks. but you suddenly felt way too honest.

“that was the hottest thing i’ve ever heard.” your eyes trailed on his face, your voice carrying the softest drunken slur.

james didn’t expect that, his eyes slightly widened, but his ears went red. “what? you’re serious? i didn’t know that league of legends was hot…”

you didn’t waste a second, alcohol bringing back that bold side of you, “no, you are.”

his eyes went wild, like he couldn’t believe what you had just. said. “huh?” he said dumbfounded.

“just keep on talking.”

james took a shaky breath, hand retreating to his lap, and he looked around trying to distract himself from your gaze, your absolutely breathtaking gaze. you were so much bolder than he ever was, he hid behind jokes but he would’ve never been capable of telling you all the things he wished he were doing to you right now.

your heart stumbled violently against your ribs and the city noise around you suddenly felt very far away. when james’ eyes drifted back to you, they landed on your lips before lifting back to your gaze again.

“you know what the worst part is about all of this?” he murmured, trying to change the subject for his sanity. “i can’t watch your scenes normally anymore.”

your breath caught slightly, not really understanding where this was going. “why?”

a tiny smile pulled faintly at the corner of his mouth.

“because now i know what you sound like laughing between takes.” the whole changing the subject thing wasn’t working. “i know how you feel when you’re close to me and i know what you smell like.”

you stared at him silently. and maybe kissing a friend wasn’t all that bad. not that you had ever been friends truly. friends didn’t want to undress each other. at least that’s what you knew.

the tension stretched tighter but neither of you moved. james swallowed once before speaking again, quieter this time.

“can i?” he asked softly. then even quieter: “please.”

you nodded, you knew what he was asking for. with the way he was looking at your lips, it was painfully evident.

he wasted no time cupping your jaw, knees brushing against candy bars, he kissed you.

slow at first, like he’d imagined this too many times and was terrified of ruining it now that it was real.

his mouth moved carefully against yours, warm and slightly tasting like coffee and sweet alcohol while the city blurred somewhere far beyond the river.

you felt him exhale softly when you kissed him back harder, like tension physically leaving his body.

one of your hands instinctively grabbed the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer without even realizing it.

that made something shift in him immediately, the kiss deepened, like you weren’t outside, like you weren’t two famous celebrities eating each other in public. but that was long forgotten, the alcohol taking away every ounce of responsability.

james’ thumb brushed slowly against your jaw while his forehead nearly bumped yours from how close he’d gotten on the narrow bench.

and god,

he kissed just like he looked at you.

undressing you with attention, reverence and undeniable respect. your heart hammered violently against your ribs when he pulled back barely an inch, just enough for both of you to breathe.

you found yourselves in the same position as in the filming, foreheads pressed together, warm breaths, but this time it was different, because he had just kissed the living hell out of you.

“you have no idea,” he murmured quietly, “how long i’ve wanted to do that.”

the tension somehow got worse after the kiss. because now you knew exactly how he tasted. how he sounded when he lost composure for half a second. how his hand tightened gently against your jaw when you kissed him back.

“you’re staring,” you whispered.

“can you blame me? you’re beautiful.” his nose brushed against yours, mouths opened and chasing each other’s.

your stomach flipped hard but before you could answer, he kissed you again. this time there was nothing hesitant about it. his hand slid from your jaw to the side of your neck gently, thumb brushing beneath your ear while he leaned closer against you on the bench. the kiss deepened almost immediately, not afraid to use tongues, a little messy from laughter and alcohol and too much tension finally snapping loose at once.

you kissed him back harder without thinking and that earned the quietest sound from him,barely there, almost swallowed by the river breeze, but it made your entire chest tighten anyway. james’ other hand settled instinctively against your waist, pulling you closer until your legs brushed fully against his.

the convenience store bag tipped sideways somewhere beside you but neither of you cared. your fingers slid into the front of his hoodie, bunching the fabric of his undershirt slightly while kissing him again and again and again like maybe you were both trying to make up for weeks of holding back.

being kissed by someone who already liked you this much felt unfair. you could feel it in everything. it was so painfully sweet yet so filthy, so him. like the way he gripped your waist, scared to go lower, the way his sloppy kisses sent thrills down your body, the way he kept pausing for half-seconds just to look at you before kissing you again, like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

james tilted his head slightly, kissing you deeper now while his hand ventured underneath your shirt, tentative. he wanted to pull you on his lap right then and there, but that was the alcohol speaking.

“you’re killing me,” he murmured quietly against your mouth.

“you started this.”

“i know.”

then he kissed you again immediately like he physically couldn’t stop himself, his hands brushed against the under sides of your breast through your clothes for a second before he slid them down.

at some point your hand brushed against his lower stomach and james visibly lost composure.

“oh my god,” he muttered softly against your lips.

and then, a bike sped past somewhere nearby. very nearby.

both of you froze instantly. the reality of being outside in public slammed back into place all at once. james pulled back just enough to look around quickly while still keeping one hand at your waist.

you stared at each other for half a second, out of breath, not thinking straight.

“you were one second away from climbing into my lap.” he stated.

“like you would’ve said no.”

“right here yeah, i can control myself, i don’t want anything bad happening to your career.” he said.

you breathed out, taking his hand in yours and playing absentmindedly with his fingers and rings. you didn’t know what to say and everything was a blur.

so, you didn’t know how you ended up in the hallway leading to your apartment, pinned to a wall while james kissed his way to your neck.

it had probably started when you had resolved to innocent conversation but one wrong sentence ended up in another kiss, and another, and another, until you’d been halfway on his lap on the bench, both of your hoods pulled over your heads for a minimal privacy. after that youd stood up, hands unable to leave him, and you’d called over a taxi, putting face masks back on and requested your address. the drive had been intense, you’d wanted to climb on his lap right then and there, just to see how far his kisses would go.

the second you had been out, james had pulled you closer, almost running towards the elevator, and once inside he had pinned you to the wall, making you gasp in the feverish kiss.

and now, you struggled with your key to open the door, while he was behind you, mouth on your neck, your ass pressed right against his hardness. truth is, he didn’t wanna be disrespectful but he had a thing about your ass, had to physically refrain himself for looking at it while you walked past these last few weeks, couldn’t help but imagine how it’d feel against his palms, or if he ever got to slap it while you bounced on-

you let out a moan when he reached for the hem of your hoodie, tugging at it upwards, he managed to take it off as the key finally got in, you forced the door open, and he pushed you inside. it took everything in his power not to take you right there against the door,

"bed," you said with a shaky voice.

"yeah," he nodded, walking backwards, still kissing you while you guided him through the mess of your apartment.

once in your bedroom, he didn’t look around, he was too focused on you, on how perfect you sounded against him, undone, breathy, he sat you on the edge of your bed and his hands slid up your sides under your top,slow and deliberate and stopped at your chest. both of them. full. you inhaled sharply.

"fuck," he breathed, more to himself than you.

his thumbs dragged over your tits, testing, squeezing, like he had been thinking about this in the privacy of his own mind.

"is it wrong that i’ve thought about this?." he whispered against your neck, leaving wet kisses there.

you shook your head immediately, “no… tell me about it, i wanna hear.”

he pulled your top and bra down and his mouth replaced his hands, warm and open, taking your tit into his mouth, tongue circling your nipple before he sucked, harder than you expected. you gasped, back arching off the mattress while his other hand stayed on your other breast, squeezing, rolling your nipple between his fingers, alternating between slow and sharp until you had your hands in his hair and your eyes shut tight, absolutely no remaining composure.

“thought about these so many times, how perfect they looked in that dress, in the swimming pool, you’re fucking perfect y/n, so beautiful, everywhere.”

you moaned at his words, “james”

“i know, i know pretty thing.” he said, not looking up. he dragged his teeth lightly over your nipple as he pulled away, causing you to shiver. then he dropped to his knees.

“you know how many times i had to stop myself from staring at you? cause id feel guilty, always wanted to be so respectful, but i couldn’t stop imagining you…”

he got your jeans off and pulled you to the edge of the mattress; his mouth found your inner thigh, in absolutely no hurry. he mapped out slowly in open-mouthed kisses, the slight scrape of his teeth occasionally, and you propped yourself on your elbows to watch him, his hair tousled, eyes black and wild with arousal. he glanced up, catching you looking and the almost-smile he gave you was genuinely unfair.

when he finally got to your pussy, you shuddered, thighs already trying to close around his head, one hand draped across your face in anticipation. he started with the flat of his tongue, one long stroke, as the breath punched out of you. only then did he settle in. he learned you fast: what made your hips stutter, what made you tug at his hair. his tongue working your clit in slow circles, pulling you taunt like a thread, and when he slid two fingers and curled them just right, the dual pleasure made you go crazy. you thought you’d come with that gesture alone, your chest moving up and down with uncontrolled breaths.

"there," you say. “right there… please…”

he kept the same pace, looking up at you with adoration, learning the faces you made when you were touched right. his mouth then stayed on your clit while his fingers worked that spot relentlessly.

“look at you, so pretty, so fucking pretty.” he praised against the skin of your thigh, hooking your legs over his shoulders.

he was so turned on, his pants tight with the throbbing ache between his legs, he thought he could cum in his pants just by eating you out alone. he’d seen a lot of things in his short life, but nothing compared to this. to seeing you stretched out around his fingers, ever so compliant, beautiful and wrecked.

you moaned as he found the perfect rythm, the perfect coherence of fingers and tongue, your release building in the pit of your stomach, it was usually rare for someone to make you come that fast, but you weren’t at the end of the surprise, because when your hips started grinding down on his tongue, he flipped you around, ass up, arched on the soft sheets.

and god, james thought he knew what living felt like. he thought he was pretty damn accomplished already, a promising idol career, fans, brand deals, but this? james just stared,like this sight of you was a religious experience he wasn’t worthy of. 

you whimpered just then, face buried in your pillow, and he looked down, mesmerized, surely the alcohol had worn off, but now it was a different type of drug that possessed him. “so beautiful like this, all for me. what am i gonna do with you…”

your hips moved back, triggered by his words, and your ass pressed right against his pants. james clicked his tongue, the flat of his hand grabbing your ass. “what do you want? huh? tell me what you want and i’ll give it to you.”

you preened, one hand reaching behind you, spreading your ass shamelessly, your pussy glistening with your arousal and his saliva, clenching around nothing like you just couldn’t fathom not feeling him inside of you. you were ready to beg, you weren’t normally into that, but the way he carried yourself so differently from usual, not shy, not afraid of anything, made you want to tell him he could do anything with you.

“fuck… you’re gonna kill me.” james bent down to press a kiss against your spine and you shivered, so empty… and so cold.

“please… please” you crossed one of your boundaries, you had never thought you would ever want to- scratch that- need to beg. but it felt so good, the way his breathing stopped for a second, the way his hips rutted against your bare ass, like it was the best thing he’d ever heard.

“please what, baby?” he sucked a spot on your spine, right where you had a tattoo. “tell me what you need. use your words.”

and fuck, you’d always thought you were kinda dominant… maybe? or vanilla. sex only ever cringed you out when dudes started calling the girl ‘good girl’ and manhandling them. but this? you thought you would die from the tone of his voice, reverant but so fucking firm. it made your insides turn into burning fire, made you rethink your whole view on sex.

“please… i need you to fuck me.” you spoke, like a big girl. you felt james’ tongue drag a path down your spine, until it reached your tailbone.

“that’s it, you’re doing good.” he dropped a kiss there, one of his hands going back to your pussy.

he spread you, still giving unwavering attention to your tailbone while two fingers slipped inside, earning a dragged out moan from you. “so fucking loud… such a good girl.”

who was this? cause this certainly wasn’t the james from set, the james whose ears would turn red everytime you spoke to him for too long, the james who was worried he’d be a pervert if he so much as gazed at your tits. but you had no complaints whatsoever. your soaked thighs were enough evidence. you clenched around his fingers at his words, gripping the bedsheets, and he gave your shoulder a kiss. “is that good pretty thing? you like that?”

you nodded instantly, afraid he’d stop if you didn’t manage an answer, your breathing had long turned franctic, leaving you a mess, but it’s like he knew what he was doing to you, and he wanted more. he knew how surprised you were, god even he was surprised at himself.

“you want more? yeah?” james worked his jeans open, only the zipper, as his other fingers were busy hitting that delicious spot inside of you, the one that made you reconsider pleasure. the angle made it so unbearably good that you couldn’t even manage words out.

“yes … yes fuck yes please… - please.” you babbled, ass pushing against his hand with unabashed need.

“look at you, my pretty girl is so needy.” james pushed his jeans down, along with his boxers, his thick cock resting on your ass now.

you ground your ass against him, the feeling of him so heavy sending jolts right where his fingers where working tirelessly. you were so close, so so close, and he was so good, like he had done this hundreds of times, he touched you exactly where you liked being touched. “please… fuck me.” you begged, wanting to be properly filled.

“you’re being such a good girl for me right now… you think you deserve it?” he mused, tip leaking on your lower back, so much so that at first he thought he’d came.

you nodded aggressively against the pillow, teetering on the edge of release,walls fluttering around his digits. “yes yes - fuck yes- i don’t know… please… please i’ll- i’ll be your good girl, i’ll listen, just please.”

this was new for you, so foreign, but it felt somehow right, like you relished in his praise, his taunting tone. james was all man, and you were already ruined.

“so desperate, my sweet thing…” he sped up his fingers, cock now shamelessly grinding against the skin of your behind. “you’re gonna be a good girl and take what i give you okay?”

you nodded, because his hands were driving you insane, and now he was pinching your nipple, twisting it between his fingertips, and you were a goner.

your orgasm crashed into you like a train, body lapsing into convulsions while you didn’t even try to be keep sane anymore. you moaned over and over not caring about how loud you were, about how vulnerable you were, ass spread for him as he made you cum with only two fingers, and he kept praising you, like you were a precious thing, like he couldn’t believe he was getting to see you like this, he whispered sweet things in your hair, fingers never stopping.

only when he was satisfied with the mess between your legs, he flipped you around, on your back, his mouth immediately latching onto your neck, careful not to leave any marks that could harm your career, he spread your legs, throwing his shirt across the room, and settled between your thighs, cock heavy on your lower stomach. “you did so good… might have to do that again but this time i wanna see your face.” james said agains your jaw, mouth brushing but not quite touching.

your fingers raked through his hair, softly tugging, until he was groaning, cock slipping to where you needed him the most. when you felt his tip nudge your clit, you arched, breasts touching his chest. “so wet, look at you baby…” he kissed your cheek then forehead. “you want me to fuck you, yeah?”

you nodded incapable of forming coherent thoughts, your legs wrapping around his waist, “i’ll fuck you my love, i think you deserve that don’t you? you’ve been so good to me, came on my fingers like a champ…” james kissed your pulse point, cock sliding between your folds.

his forehead pressed against yours, he cursed, guiding the tip at your entrance. “are you sure my pretty girl?” you nodded immediately, hips chasing him. james wrapped his hand around his cock, almost like he had to restrain himself from burying himself inside of you, and he slid the tip inside, cursing. “shit… so wet baby.”

you whimpered, as he took in the sight of your pussy accommodating his length, squeezing on only the tip of him. he slid in ever so slowly, and when he was fully seated inside, he didn’t move. he thought he could cum from just the feeling of you, squeezing him, the tight fit, your moans… he couldn’t take it. “fuck… you’re taking me so well pretty thing…”

he took a second, grounding himself, before finally moving. he slid all the way out before slamming back in, kicking the breath out of your lungs. you moaned, so close to him in all the senses of the word, filled to the brim with only him. your heels dug on his lower back, you felt him so deep that you wanted to honestly cry.

you wrapped weak fingers around his wrist, without thinking it through, and guided his hand on your neck. it wasn’t something you thought you’d ever enjoy, but there you were, his hands so fucking attractive you could only think about them choking you. so he did exactly that, following your movements, he wrapped his fingers around your neck and squeezed, mouth slightly open at the sight of you, you were being so good, so perfect.

“so beautiful with my hand around your neck, you know that right ? you know how fucking pretty you are?” he rasped, eyes wild with want, and devotion. “answer me baby,” his lips trailed down your neck.

you nodded, gasping, but he didn’t seem content with that response, his cock dragging inside of you. “nuh-huh, words baby. i need to make sure my girl is aware- fuck- of how beautiful she is.”

and there he was, calling you his girl, you didn’t mind it one bit, cause somewhere in your head you were already ready to be his. “yes—… i know… fuck i know.”

james pushed impossibly deeper, knocking the sense out of you, “good girl,” and he showed you, just how pretty you were, every drag of his cock sending you closer to a devastating edge.

“mmmh… james” you moaned, the intimacy of the moment overtaking you, “- need more”

“yeah?” he reached for one of your leg, lifting it to rest on his shoulder. “there, better?”

you nodded, the pressure in your lower belly unbearable, the new angle dragging sounds you didn’t even know were yours out of your mouth. he fucked you harder into the mattress, his hands around your neck never too overwhelming, whispering sweet nothings interrupted by curses agains your skin.

“m so- so close…” you said delirious, arms wrapped around him, pulling him impossibly closer.

truth is, you had never felt so good, and that scared you, you were discovering another side of you, another side of him, and it was so dangerously good. you wanted to crawl into his skin, keep him around forever.

“mmhh… so tight, you’re squeezing me so tight sweet girl, are you gonna cum for me?” he pushed in faster and deeper, if that was only possible.

your walls fluttered around him, nails digging on his back, and you felt him twitch inside you, he wanted to tease you, edge you until you couldn’t take it anymore, but he was so close he couldn’t sustain that, he ached for you, wanted to bury himself inside of you and never leave.

“so so so sweet… so good to me, you’re doing so good my princess…” he whispered, feeling you getting closer and closer.

one last push was all it took, your orgasm shook you beyond reason, you trembled against him, moaning his name over and over, you weren’t even sure how long is lasted, james kept dragging out your pleasure, until he was the one violently twitching.

he buried his face in your neck, rutting inside of you, “oh fuck fuck fuck… so fucking… good” his hips snapped fast, “i’m cumming, i’m cumming… shit.” you felt him come inside, thick and warm, filling you up until it dripped between your thighs. james kept panting, pushing it deeper, before he crumbled on top of you, exhausted with the force of his release.

it dawned onto you just then, how fucking gone you were.

⋆˙⟡. ⋆˙⟡

what had undeniably been the best sex of your life ended with you both falling asleep jus like that.

exhausted by the alcohol, the tension, the day of filming, and the world wrecking sex. james didn’t pull out, he tucked you against him, still buried deep inside, and in a beat you were both asleep.

what was, as unspoken as it was, supposed to be a good time, nothing much more, ended up in- well… much more.

you started seeing often. when the screening of the music video came around and you saw the chemistry you had on screen, you remembered glancing at him through your lashes across the room, he’d felt the same things. you snuck out right after, kissing like lovesick teenagers not worried about loosing their jobs. he fucked you in the bathroom, loosing himself in you all over again. it happened a couple of times after, until one day, balls deep inside of you, he asked if you could be his. it was an evidence for you, and you retorted that you were already his.

that was how you ended up falling in love with him, pushing aside every boundaries you once had about dating, you couldn’t care less about anything. he loved you like a sickness, and that was enough to make the risk worth it.

Friendships never really break.

Because before there had been fights and misunderstandings and all the complicated feelings that came later, there had been something simple.

There had been you.

And there had been Satoru.

Long before either of you knew what heartbreak felt like, your fathers had been best friends. They had known each other for years before either of their children were born. By the time you arrived, followed six months later by Satoru, it had been practically decided that the two of you would grow up together.

You lived side by side in a quiet neighborhood. Comfortable homes and lives. Nothing outrageously extravagant, but enough that neither family ever worried.

Satoru's parents ran a successful business together. Your father was an engineer and your mother owned a boutique. Life? It was good. And somehow, between shared family dinners and weekends spent running through each other's gardens, a bond began to form.

One of Satoru's father's proudest accomplishments had been building a treehouse in their backyard. The structure wasn't particularly impressive. Well at least not to the adults but to you and Satoru, however, it may as well have been a castle.

Every spare afternoon was spent there.

The walls became cluttered with drawings, posters, stickers and crayon masterpieces. There were sketch pens stuffed into old jars, blankets thrown carelessly into corners, and enough snacks hidden beneath loose floorboards to feed a small army. Most of them had been smuggled in by you. Satoru had a terrible sweet tooth. His parents were forever limiting how much sugar he could eat, which meant every trip to the grocery store became a secret mission. Somehow your pockets always ended up full of candies and chocolates by the time you returned home.

You loved the way his face lit up whenever you handed them over. The grin. those dimples, that excitement. To you, it was worth getting scolded every single time. You had always been good at making friends. Satoru wasn't. There was anything wrong with him, it was in fact quite the opposite.

He was brilliant. Every hobby he picked up, he mastered. Every game he touched, he somehow won. Every test came back with marks that left teachers staring at him like he had descended from another planet.

Satoru Gojo was a genius.

The problem was that nobody had ever told him that. His parents demanded perfection and then demanded more and more of it. Every achievement became an expectation, and every success became the minimum benchmark.

As you got older, you began finding him in the treehouse more often, especially at night. From your bedroom window, you could see the tiny yellow bulb hanging from its ceiling, lit up. Sometimes it would flicker to life long after dinner, glowing softly through the darkness.

Whenever that happened, you knew that something had happened again. Maybe another argument or another impossible expectation. Always a reminder that he wasn't enough. At school things weren't much better. Kids were cruel to him, to them his white hair looked strange, or his eyes were too scary, his black sunglasses made him look different.

Children always found reasons, but Satoru never complained about it. He would simply sit through lunch alone, pretending not to care. So you made sure he never had to.

Whenever someone invited you to sit somewhere else, you declined. Whenever somebody made a joke about him, you made sure they regretted it. Satoru never hated anyone, but you hated enough people for both of you. And on bad days, when he sat quietly staring at his lunch tray, you would casually slide your dessert onto his side of the table.

"I don't want it."

It was a lie every time. He knew it and so did you. Neither of you ever mentioned it. One memory stood out above all the others though. When it was his eighth birthday. For weeks Satoru had talked about it and had been excited, convinced that he would invite all his new friends that he'd make. All convinced they would come and would celebrate his special day, his favourite day together.

Nobody asked.

Nobody cared.

He couldn't make any friend, and the invitations were never handed out. You remembered the disappointment he tried so hard to hide. So instead, the two of you celebrated alone.

Well not entirely alone. There was Satoru, there was you and there was his dog. Oh, and there were two dolls you had dragged along because every proper birthday party needed guests. Your mother helped you bake a cake overloaded with strawberries. An absurd amount of strawberries not to forget. Enough that you were genuinely concerned every bee in town might show up.

Satoru had laughed so hard when he saw you with the cake, eyes brimming with tears as if you'd everrrr forget his special day, the day that a boy so kind and beautiful had come into this world. It remained one of your favorite memories of all time.

Years later, another memory would join it. One particular rainy evening, when where thunder rattled windows and rain hammered rooftops. You were sitting at your desk attempting homework when you glanced outside and saw the familiar yellow glow.

The treehouse light.

Immediately you abandoned your work, threw on a raincoat and sprinted across the yard. By the time you climbed inside the tree, you were soaked.

Satoru was sitting in the corner.

Silent, scared, with his knees pulled to his chest. You didn't ask what happened because you were already familiar with the pattern. There must've been another argument or another impossible standard he had failed to meet this time. Without saying a word, you shrugged off your raincoat and sat beside him.

The treehouse was freezing. You looked around with your eyes drenched with the rainwater and wished there had been a fireplace.

Or a heater at least. Instead, you reached into your pocket and presented the only thing you ever had, a candy. Satoru stared at it and then at you, then back at the candy.

A tiny smile appeared on his face, he looked so cute. And suddenly that smile felt like the most important thing in the world. You smiled back. The rain continued drumming against the roof overhead while the two of you sat shoulder to shoulder beneath the soft yellow light, neither saying much at all because you didn't need to.

But the candy didn't seem to help much. Satoru accepted it, turning it over between his fingers, staring at the bright wrapper without really looking at it. His shoulders were still slumped, his eyes still distant. Whatever had happened at home tonight had cut deeper than usual. Even now, years later, you couldn't explain what possessed you to do what you did next.

Maybe it was the rain or maybe it was because seeing Satoru sad always made your chest hurt. Maybe thirteen-year-old you simply couldn't bear the sight of him looking so defeated.

Whatever the reason, you turned toward him, leaned forward and you kissed him.

It wasn't romantic. It wasn't some love scene with fireworks and swelling music. It was a bit awkward. A tiny peck on his pretty lips. It was barely even a kiss at all. The kind only two thirteen-year-olds could share and then immediately pretend never happened.

Neither of you said a word afterward. You simply sat beside him while the rain tapped against the wooden roof overhead. Ten minutes later, you got up, pulled your raincoat back on, and told him goodbye.

The storm had started calming by then.

You climbed down the ladder and ran back home. Meanwhile, Satoru remained exactly where you'd left him sitting beneath the yellow bulb, hair disheveled, candy sticky and forgotten in his hand. He started blankly at the spot where you had been sitting.

Thirteen years old.

Satoru Gojo was thirteen years old when he fell in love with you.

The unfortunate thing about falling in love with your best friend was that nothing changed. At least not on the surface. The world kept moving, school and studies continue, birthdays came and went. Summer turned into winter and winter became spring again.

And through all of it, you remained exactly what you had always been.

Best friends.

Years later, both of you somehow ended up attending the same university. By then your friend group had expanded considerably. Nanami, Haibara, Shoko, Yuki, Choso, Suguru, all the people who would eventually become some of the most important figures in your lives.

Most of them found your friendship with Satoru either fascinating or concerning. Depending on who was being asked because from the outside, it looked obvious. The way you gravitated toward each other, the way every conversation somehow circled back to the other person, the way you always sat together. The way everybody else's plans seemed secondary whenever one of you called.

Naturally, everyone assumed you two were in love. Neither of you ever corrected them. Neither of you ever confirmed it either. The truth was that labels had never seemed necessary. People dated because they wanted companionship, because they wanted someone to spend their time with, they dated because they wanted someone who understood them.

You already had all of that.

So what exactly would have changed? You never questioned it and you never needed to. Satoru did. Because while you were busy living inside the comfort of your friendship, Satoru was watching.

He watched you grow up to be the most gorgeous girl ever. He watched you change, his jealous eyes watched the world begin noticing you.

Even as children, people had always gravitated toward you, classmates wanted your attention, friends wanted your time. People always liked you. Yet somehow, despite all of it, you always chose him.

You chose him during lunch. You chose him after school. You chose him on weekends. You chose him on summer breaks. You chose him when nobody else did. And that was one of the many reasons Satoru loved you.

Because for most of his life, people only approached him when they needed something.

Homework help, some career advise, people always liked what he could do for them. You liked him. There was a difference, a massive one. Unfortunately, love became much more complicated once high school arrived.

Especially the day you went on your first date. Satoru still remembers it and he hates that day to his very core. That was the day it became clear to Satoru that you'll always see him as your best friend.

You had been excited talking about the date nonstop. Meanwhile, he had spent the entire day feeling like someone had reached inside his chest and squeezed his heart until it stopped functioning properly.

He never said a word.

Never showed any of his feelings, his sadness. He never once complained. Part of him had always believed that if you ever liked him that way, you would simply tell him.

You had always been the braver one. The more honest one. And the last thing he wanted was to risk ruining the only person he truly valued in his life. So, he kept his feelings buried.

The friends certainly didn't help. Every single one of them noticed but kept quite to not interfere with something you both seemed uninterested to talk about. They didn't want to overstep or cause any awkwardness between you two, but they talked about you both behind your backs and thought you two would eventually come around. If only they knew how stupid, you both would become.

Sometimes Suguru would tease Satoru but when it became relentless, Satoru cleared that there was nothing romantic between you two. Because the last thing he wanted was some rumor finding its way back to you.

If you were happy, then he would stay quiet. That was the deal he'd made with himself. The problem was that university only made things worse. You became even more popular and you started going out on frequent dates. Met new people and every single time, Satoru hated it.

Satoru hated everyone. He hated those egoistic Football players, the frats- those prudent council members who thought they were campus celebrities. The handsome boys with confidence, with experience and charm.

All the boys who weren't him. Still, he never said anything. Instead, he listened patiently whenever you returned from another disappointing date. Half the time you'd spend hours complaining about how boring it had been or how arrogant the guy was or how he couldn't stop talking about himself. The irony wasn't lost on him. You kept rejecting people most students would have killed to date. Yet somehow that never reassured him.

Because if those guys couldn't make you fall in love, what chance did he have?

He was just Satoru.

The nerd next door.

The boy from the treehouse. The kid you'd known your entire life and still never opened your heart to and sometimes that felt like the biggest disadvantage of all. Because maybe, just maybe, you couldn't see him as anything else.

For years, Satoru convinced himself that eventually you would notice. Surely you noticed the way he looked at you. Surely you noticed how every invitation from every girl was met with the same answer.

"No."

Surely you noticed that he never bothered spending his free time with anyone else when he could spend it with you. Instead, every attempt seemed to land in the same terrible place.

The friend zone.

God, he hated that fucking phrase. Because every time he flirted, you laughed. Every time he tried to test the waters, you brushed it off as a joke. Every time he tried to create an opening, you somehow managed to turn it into another best friend forever moment.

And maybe that should have been his answer.

Maybe he should have accepted it years ago.

Yet there were moments. Moments that made him hope, that kept him trapped. Friday movie nights where the two of you would end up curled together on a couch, sharing blankets and snacks until neither of you could remember what movie was even playing anymore. Moments when your hand would absentmindedly wrap around his bicep, tracing his muscles while you laughed at something stupid on the screen, moments when the atmosphere would suddenly shift.

And every single time, you were the one who pulled away first. Never Satoru. Because if there was even the slightest chance of having you closer, he would take it every time. There were busy sidewalks where he would instinctively pull you toward him by your waist to keep strangers from bumping into you. Shopping trips where he'd rest his chin on your shoulder while you stood in front of mirrors holding up different outfits. Countless moments where you'd accidentally step backward into him and suddenly realize just how close you actually were.

Moments where your lips had been mere inches apart, where his heart nearly exploded. And moments that you always seemed to recover from much faster than he did.

Then there was the kiss.

The one in the treehouse.

The one neither of you ever mentioned again.

Sometimes Satoru wondered if that had been his answer all along. Maybe it had meant something to him because it was you, Maybe it had meant nothing to you because it was him.

You had always been outspoken and honest. Brutally honest, sometimes. If there had been something there, surely you would have said it. Wouldn't you?

So eventually, Satoru did what every idiot in love eventually convinced himself to do. He tried to move on or at least pretend to. The girlfriend had never been about replacing you.

Nobody could replace you.

It had simply been his last desperate attempt at proving to himself that he was capable of wanting someone else. Capable of loving someone else. That he could build a life that didn't revolve around waiting for you. Because how long could a person wait? How long could someone sit in the same place hoping to be chosen?

Years.

Apparently.

Years.

Yet ever since he'd started trying to move forward, you seemed to be slipping further and further away. Your calls became less frequent, the conversations became shorter.

The easy comfort that had existed between you for years suddenly felt fragile. Like every interaction carried some invisible tension neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

And that terrified Satoru.

It wasn't because he thought he was losing his chance with you but because he simply didn't understand it. Didn't know whether you were angry, jealous or hurt.

Or simply didn't give a fuck about him. Maybe you hated the fact that he had a girlfriend. Or was it because you hated that he hadn't told you beforehand. Was it because you hated that you hadn't been part of the process?

The truth was that he'd tried his best. More times than he could count. There had been dozens of moments where he'd sat across from you and thought, tell her.

Tell her now.

Tell her before it's too late.

Tell her before somebody else gets there first.

Tell her before you spend another year wondering.

But every single time, his fear won. Rejection was one thing; he could handle that but losing you was another. And Satoru had survived a lot of things and he was sure he couldn't survive that.

The old treehouse was gone now.

Torn down years ago after weather and time finally claimed it. But sometimes he still thought about it. Thought about the little yellow bulb and your scattered crayons. Your stolen candies, the rain against the roof and the home he'd built there. Not the tree one but the one inside his heart.

The one that had your name written all over it. The one he'd never managed to leave behind. And now? Now all he could think about was the image burned into his brain. You sitting in Sukuna's lap. Looking at somebody else the way he'd spent years wishing you'd look at him. Kissing somebody else, choosing somebody else. How many guys got to see that side of you? Seeing you kiss Sukuna hurt him ten times more than every date you'd ever gone on combined. Because for the first time in years, he genuinely felt like he had lost you.

The apartment door slammed.

The sound ripped him from his thoughts and reality came crashing back all at once.

The party and the fight...

Everyone was still standing exactly where they'd been left. Nobody seemed quite sure what to do. Satoru exhaled shakily and only then did he realize how hard his hands were trembling.

Across the room, Utahime looked completely lost.

As if she was desperately trying to understand how she'd somehow ended up in the middle of a war she didn't even know existed. Guilt immediately flared in his stomach because none of this was her fault, not a single part of it and the fact that you had been so rude with her to her very face.

Slowly, Satoru looked toward her.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

The apology felt pathetic and insufficient. Utahime merely offered him an embarrassed smile. The one people gave when they didn't know what else to say at the moment.

Around them, the room remained frozen. Nanami had both hands buried in his hair. Haibara looked like he'd just witnessed a natural disaster. Shoko was staring at the front door and Satoru and Suguru had his eyes closed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Sukuna was still standing exactly where you'd left him, watching the door. Watching the place where you'd disappeared. Then, from somewhere down the hallway outside the apartment, came the faint echo of another door slamming shut.

And suddenly the reality of it settled over the room.

You were gone.

A couple of days passed.

Every single morning your phone lit up with Satoru's name and every single morning you declined the call. By the second day, you blocked his number.

By the third, you knew it was childish and that he still followed you on every other social media account. He could've messaged you there if he really wanted to. Hell, he could've walked the five minutes from his apartment to yours and knocked on your front door like he'd done thousands of times before.

But blocking his number felt... satisfying.

Was it petty and immature? Sure. You know it was completely pointless. Yet somehow it became the only thing that made you feel like you still had some freaking control over everything that had happened.

The days weren't kind to you either.

You cried far more than you'd ever admit to anyone, missing Satoru in all the stupid little ways only someone who'd known another person their entire life could. You missed his painfully terrible jokes that somehow only got funnier because he was the one saying them. You missed his crooked glasses sliding down his nose whenever he laughed too hard. You missed the messy white hair that never stayed in place no matter how much he fixed it, the ridiculous height that always forced you to look up at him, the way his cologne lingered on hoodies he'd accidentally leave behind at your place, how he'd hold you in his arms and swing you around whenever he had a good news.

God.

You even missed hearing him breathe beside you while the two of you watched movies in complete silence. He had always been there and that's why you took him for granted. Only if all of this could be undone, you'd run up to him and no matter how childish it would've sounded- you'd tell him that you loved him so so much and that you were an idiot to not say it out sooner, you were sorry it got to messy.

You'd tell him that no matter how many guys you kissed, none of them felt right like it did with him in that tree house.

He'd become such a permanent part of your life that his absence wasn't just noticeable, it was annoyingly loud and noticeable. You knew he was probably hurting too. You knew him better than anyone else ever could. But somehow every possible option seemed easier than facing him. Talking to him meant admitting why you'd reacted the way you had, and you weren't ready to peel your own heart open just so he could tell you he loved somebody else.

So you stayed quiet too.

Shoko called that same night while Suguru called the next morning, followed by Nanami and Haibara's conference call. You were surprised because Nanami always said that phone calls were "an inefficient form of real communication," and yet he somehow found himself checking in on you.

Suguru apologized over and over again, sounding genuinely guilty.

"I swear to God," he'd sighed into the phone, "Shoko and I invited him because we thought if you two were stuck under one roof, you'd finally sort out whatever the hell was going on between you. We never expected... that."

Shoko snatched the phone from him immediately." If I'd known he was bringing Utahime, I would've locked the door. Trust me."

Despite yourself, you laughed a little. "It wasn't your fault."

"No," Shoko replied quietly. "But I'm still sorry."

You knew that they meant it so you forgave them almost immediately. None of this belonged on their shoulders. If anyone had started this mess, it had been you. You were the idiot who'd gone and fallen in love with her best friend.

Nobody else deserved to pay for that. You convinced yourself Satoru would be fine, now that he had a girlfriend to check up on him.

He'd move on.

Eventually...

and so would you.

...

Satoru, meanwhile, wasn't doing much better. After everyone had finally left Suguru's apartment that night, the silence inside his car had been suffocating. Utahime had broken it first. "You should tell me."

He tightened both hands around the steering wheel. "...Tell you what?"

"The truth." For the longest time he simply stared through the windshield before letting out a tired laugh. Then everything came spilling out. He told her about growing up next door to you, about the treehouse, about sharing birthdays, never spending a single summer apart. He also told her how you'd become so woven into every part of his life that he genuinely couldn't remember who he had been before meeting you. He told her about Sukuna too, why he hated him. How the guy had a reputation for treating girls like games. He thought of you anywhere near someone like him made him sick with worry.

"I wasn't angry because she kissed someone," he admitted quietly. "I was angry because it was him."

Utahime listened without interrupting once. When he finally stopped talking, he leaned back in his seat, exhausted. "I'm sorry," he said after a while.

"I dragged you into... whatever this is."

"You don't have to apologize."

"I do."

He rubbed his eyes. "You deserve someone who's actually certain."

Utahime smiled sadly. "Sometimes people come with unfinished stories, Gojo." He looked over at her. "I know your friendship matters to you. I know you're confused. And... I'm not giving up on getting to know you just because things are messy."

He almost told her, almost admitted that this wasn't confusion. It was the love he'd been carrying around for years. Love he was desperately trying to bury by convincing himself that dating someone else was the mature thing to do.

The confession sat on the edge of his tongue and then he swallowed it.

Because what would be the point?

You weren't speaking to him anymore. He'd still lose you. The weight in his chest would still remain. He'd simply have another person hurting because of him.

So instead...when Utahime leaned forward to kiss him, he kissed her back but if the gods asked him for a confession, he'd have to tell them that he wished it was you instead.

...

Across town, you sat curled beside your bedroom window, absentmindedly tracing circles against a cold glass of champagne and without meaning to, your thoughts wandered back to him. To every time you'd caught those impossibly blue eyes already watching you before you ever looked his way.

To every accidental brush of shoulders that never really felt accidental. To Friday movie nights where he'd somehow always ended up close enough that your legs touched. To the way your heart had always reacted to him...long before you understood why.

A loud car horn pulled you back into reality.

Your phone vibrated almost immediately.

Sukuna Calling.

You answered.

"I'm coming down."

"You've been standing at that window for three whole minutes."

"...Were you timing me?"

"I was admiring the view."

"You mean me?"

"No, No. It was your stained windows you dumbass."

You laughed too hard at that "What a gentleman." You shook your head, grabbed your bag, and hurried downstairs. By the time you stepped outside, Sukuna had already climbed out of the driver's seat.

He wore an oversized grey sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up to his forearms, revealing the black tattoos winding over sun-kissed skin. His pink hair had been pushed back neatly with some hair product, a pair of small silver hoops decorated both ears, and relaxed dark jeans fell over an expensive pair of fresh sneakers. He glanced at himself one last time in the side mirror, muttered, "Good enough," sprayed another burst of cologne that completely overpowered the poor car freshener hanging from the rear-view mirror, then finally looked up.

And for a brief second he forgot whatever he'd been about to say. You stood there in a fitted black skirt and a soft, flowy crimson blouse that danced gently in the evening breeze, your hair framing your face just enough to catch the fading golden light.

"...Damn," he muttered under his breath.

Then, recovering almost immediately, he grinned. "You planning on making this date difficult for me already? How did you get hotter in a span of 5 days?'

You just rolled your eyes at the comment and gestured him to get closer to where you were standing in front of the bonnet, he immediately wrapped your waist around his big, calloused hands and gave a quick peck to your neck, then your jaw, and finally on your maroon lipstick!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! Lemme know what you think of this chapter. Mueheehhehe. 😼

I’m soooooo sorry that I can’t get back to all of your comments on these chapters, the past chapter got over a 100 comments and I’m so freaking honoured to have this kind of response to this fic. I promise I’ll get back to all the comments.

Taglist is closed.

He forgot to lock it.

Katsuki is frozen in place. He doesn’t know what to do, say, think— you just walked in on him jacking off in your bathroom. Precum is still dribbling out and all over his hand. He opens his mouth with a red face and lets his shirt drop to cover his abs, quickly shoving his cock into his pajama pants.

And you’re just standing there like you hardly even register what’s going on. Your eyes widen when two and two come together, making four. Watery carmine eyes meet yours as his lips tremble before he’s shoving past you with sparking palms.

He tries to rush out and makes a mad dash to your bedroom to grab his things. Embarrassment and guilt makes him panic, filling his being with a nauseous feeling. And he’s not sure what to do or say.

Does he say sorry? Does he confess? Does he block you and run?

For once, Katsuki doesn’t want to be brave. He is scared and he is tired of being the hero who has no fear. Anxiety makes his fingers shake while tears threaten to spill over his pretty tanned cheeks.

You come rushing around the corner with flushed cheeks and determined hands. Your fingers twist into his shirt and pull him back, spinning him around to face you. It’s a miracle you managed it with how much bigger and stronger he is.

Katsuki’s terrified gaze holds yours with a trembling lower lip. He might be much bigger but right now he feels small.

“Wait, wait, wait. Hey— hey what’s goin’ on?” You coo, pulling him toward your bed to sit. His feet move on their own accord and do as you please. “Why are you leaving?” Fingers twist tighter in his shirt.

The blonde gawks and scrambles for words. Quick breaths leave his lips with little to no time between. Katsuki wants to cry, scream, and just die. You caught him beating his fuckin meat in your bathroom and now you’re comforting him.

“What else m’ I supposed to fuckin do?” He grunts, putting his brave face and frown right back on.

“Get in bed and go back to sleep?” Your head tilts and you say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Katsuki confusedly jerks back with a frown and snort. Thick hands grip his sweatpants for dear life.

“You want me to get in bed with you and go back to sleep after—after that?” The AC kicks on in the background and whirrs to life, sending cool air through the room.

“Yeah? Unless you wanna talk about it now at,” you glance at the clock on the nightstand “, two fourty five in the fucking morning.” You rub your face with your palm.

“I don’t think me jacking off in your bathroom needs explaining.” He spits, flustered and annoyed. His face scrunches up all sour and huffs, the tips of his ears still red.

You sigh and frustration bubbles in his chest.

“What? You can’t seriously want me—“

Your hand presses to his mouth and you shoot him a glare. Exhaustion spreads your features with a huff to shut him up.

“What’s going on? And don’t give me some bullshit. Just tell me what’s going on.” Your tone leaves no room for an argument.

“You and your stupid fuckin— stupid shorts and whiny voice and shit. That’s what’s going on!” He leans in so that his nose is only a few inches from yours and snaps.

“Me?” You mumble, obviously confused.

“Yes, you.” His fingers press near your sternum and poke with a growl.

You squeak and narrow your eyes, moving closer to him yourself and pushing his chest lightly.

“What about you?” You guffaw. You’re not quite wrapping your mind around the situation yet, still tired and not understanding what the big deal is.

And Katsuki nearly loses it. The tension so thick you could cut it with a knife, his mind racing and chest heaving. He’s been dealing with you practically torturing him day in and day out for years— and now you’re asking about him. But before he can speak you start rambling on.

“You run around in these goddamn sweatpants-“ you tug at the grey fabric a little “and you say I’M what’s going on? You still haven’t explained shit!”

Katsuki turns a shade of red you’ve never seen before. He starts noticing your close proximity, the way your breath still smells like toothpaste, your pout. Your lips are an inch away from his and it is taking every little bit of willpower he has to not kiss you.

“Yes.” A puff of air ghosts over your lips and you take in the sight in front of you. Feelings you tried to shove down bubble in your tummy and spread.

The rubber band that’s been winding in his gut and mind for far too long grows tighter. Stretched to the point of which it’ll never be the same.

Heat in your stomach starts to flow and consume your being as things begin to click into place. He was getting off in your bathroom, he said you’re what’s going on.

“Oh..” you breathlessly whisper. Something in you burns. If he feels the same way then.. it couldn’t hurt, could it?

Katsuki jerks his head away from yours and looks to the side. His shoulders tight, grey t shirt with a damp area at the bottoms wrinkling as he fidgets with it. It’s like he’s waiting for the sting of rejection.

You grab his jaw with unsure hands and guide him back to look at you. His big, misty and wide eyes peering into your own.

And then you kiss him.

Snap

All tongue and soft lips, teeth clashing against his from the awkward position. You dig your nails into his chest like he’s gonna float away if you don’t.

And katsuki just might. Because you taste just like he thought you would, your mouth moves against his like he was just fantasizing about before. He soaks in the kiss like it will be his last until you break for air while panting.

“Don’t you ever try to run from me like that again.” You whine and dive back in.

His body acts before he can think enough to stop himself. You fall back against the mattress, plushie beside your head. His thick heavy body presses you into it and weighs you down while big hands travel up and down you. He explores your body like it’s something to be worshipped.

Your own hands push and pull at him. They slide under his shirt and drag nails down his toned, tan back. Your legs open up so he can slot between them with a particularly good suck on his bottom lip.

A breathy moan leaves your lips and it sends fire down his body.

“Fuck— god.” He whines between kisses. The line of his cock presses against you through your thin pajama shorts and makes you antsy. Your fingers grip at Wheaty blond roots and tug.

“Is this— oh,” You can feel him drag against you through his sweats. “ is this what you were thinking about?”

Katsuki shakes his head.

“Close enough.” He gasps, guttural and needy as your teeth nip under his jaw. Your tongue slides down the column of his throat as his clothed cock does against your heat.

“Wanna know what I think about?”

His mind stills and he nods feverishly before diving into the crook of your neck to suck. Pink marks are left in his wake and his fingers slide under the fabric of your shorts to rub little circles on your clit.

It makes you stutter and forget what you’re doing for a moment, your legs shake and squeeze around him.

“Been thinkin’ bout your cock in me—“ your pussy drools all over his fingers and the breath gets punched out of him all at once.

“God you fuckin minx.” He growls and slips a finger into your already soaked core. He feels a little more sure of himself, a little better about it.

Your head throws back when he adds the second finger and curls them up. The pad of his thumb works in little circles and flicking motions rhythmically. You keep making these little noises that send jolts to his cock and make it twitch.

For the second time that night, his cock drools precum. It smears against the inside of his pajama pants and dribbles even more when your eyes go wide.

“Katsuki— god, like that, like that!” You babble until a particular stroke of his thumb has your body tightening and then shaking. Release covers his fingers and he yanks your pajama shorts off your body and throws them to the side.

“Good girl, that’s a good girl.” Thick fingers rub soothing circles over your pussy while he slides his shirt and pants off.

You feel his cock press against your folds and then his face is right above yours. He licks lazily into your mouth, hand coming up under your thighs to guide them around his back where your ankles cross over.

“Shit— y’so wet for me.” He mumbles between kisses and then links a hand with yours, pressing it into the mattress. “You want it? Want my cock?”

“Quit being a tease! Just give me your ohhh” You whimper and gasp, head throwing back and free hand coming to clutch at anything you can get your hands on.

He’s girthy and hot as he fills you up to the brim. There’s not a space untouched by his cock, making you feel so stuffed and out of breath you can hardly move.

“That’s it, you can take it.” He breathes into your mouth.

You slowly adjust to him and as soon as you relax, he pulls his hips back and thrusts. It makes you hiccup and lose your mind. The sheets are much too sweaty, AC be damned, and he looks like a literal god over you.

All tanned muscle and flushed cheeks. His pretty focused face scrunched up in determination not to cum immediately. You’re not sure how much you can take before you tear the sheets apart and scream.

He sets an even pace with his hips before propping your hips up a little and slowing down. It’s slow but it’s deep. His cock head touches something in you that has expletives leaving both your mouths as your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-“ he desperately tries to keep hold of sanity. But you taste good, you smell good- better than any of his fantasies. Your pussy wraps around him in ways he couldn’t imagine. You’re really sprawled under him and moaning.

His cock is frothing near the base because of how wet you are, pussy juice and precum sliding between your ass cheeks and onto the bed. Your pink bedsheets are damp and one of your plushies has been thrown off the bed in the midst of your feverish mess.

It doesn’t last long. His face crumples as he cums and he rubs your clit and pussy until you squeeze down on him right after.

His jaw drops into a low “o” when he cums. You thank every lucky star for birth control while you both come down off a high. The two of you lay there and pant for a while before his cock slides out of you and he collapses onto your bed.

“Holy fuck.” Katsuki mutters to no one but himself. Half of him can’t believe it. He feels like icy hot with his back and forth his thoughts are, reeling and trying to take in what happened and what is happening.

“Yeah—“ you roll and press your chest against him. A kiss to his jaw makes his heart throb. “God that was good.”

A thick, beefy arm wraps around you and he hides his face in your neck. He sighs and pulls you in closer.

“I better not be readin’ this shit wrong but..” He mumbles, yanking up the blankets over the two of you. “We’re a thing now right?”

You snort and laugh for a minute.

“Yeah, duh, dummy” You smack his chest and roll your eyes.

The AC finally does it’s job at cooling the two of you off and he grumbles and gets a towel to clean you off. It only takes a few minutes before the two of you are back in pajamas and laying on top of a throw blanket. The massive comforter pulled over the two of you.

You flick on the TV and scroll through some of the go to shows before curling against him with a sigh. When you glance up, you notice a deep frown on his face and grumble.

“What are you looking so pissy for?” You place a peck on his jaw and turn your attention back to the screen.

His big hands run up and down your body, thumbs dragging over your hips. With a look of defeat and a pout, he admits, “Eiji’ bet me a hundred bucks you liked me back.”

satoru knows well enough that he adores your voice when it’s wrapped around his name.

but he’s decided that he loves it best when it’s completely breaking, paired with the gorgeously suffocating feeling of the skin of your thighs pressed into his fingertips and wrapped around his lips.

he loves when his name is exhaled, high-pitched and whiny like sugar, while his tongue paints a stripe across the wetness coating your lips, swirling circles around your pretty clit.

maybe he liked it the most because it’s how he’s always wanted to hear you say his name — it’s just that you’d always been too fucking stubborn, so insistent on hating him that you’d never stop to think how good you’d taste coating his mouth with your slick.

“sa-ah-toru,” you keen as satoru’s tongue dips past the edge of your soaked hole, curling inwards deliciously, moving slow like he’s savoring every fucking drop.

god, he’s hungry — but he’ll die if he goes too quick and can’t taste you ever again.

and if he grips the back of your thighs just a little bit harder when you sing his name like that? he simply can’t help it. he waited too long for this.

sa-to-ru.

you taste just as sweet as you sound.

you’d burst into his office this morning, bemoaning the fact that satoru hadn’t showed up to the previous briefing with principal yaga, of which ended with yaga blaming it on you. you’re bursting with rage, all up in his face, and it’s all a blur from there until your panties are hooked over your ankle, he’s getting on his knees in front of your office chair, wrapping your thighs over his shoulders, and lapping at your pretty cunt.

he hasn't gasped for air; he’s been too enveloped in your scent to care about breathing. he’ll devour you until no one else can. until all that pretty voice of yours knows how to sound out is sa-to-ru.

satoru narrows his tongue, bullying the muscle deep and slow, down to where you couldn’t have thought possible to reach. his eyes are hazy, half-lidded as you tug at his winter locks, shoving him further into your weeping pussy.

“mmph— fuck,” you pant out, eyes screwed shut as he thrusts his tongue in and out of you at a torturous pace. “fuck— gojo, ‘re going too slow—”

“hmm?” he hums into your clit, sending shockwaves straight up from your core. the sorcerer’s gaze meets yours from under the glimpse of your tits beneath your unbuttoned polo.

he loves you composed, he really does — but you look perfect when you’re all messy, just for him.

his lips glisten with your wetness as he grins. “i'll go faster if you say my name properly, beautiful.”

“h—huh?” your words trail off into a candied whine as he pads his finger just against your entrance, smearing the wetness that covers your folds and popping it into his mouth.

you’re so sweet. fuck, why are you so sweet?

“say my name.” he repeats, his voice cheerful yet rough, the tiniest bit of grit around the edge. “remind me how much you love me, gorgeous.”

your eyes still manage to narrow, even as they glitter with needy frustration. “fuck you— mmh!”

satoru simply frowns against the inside of your thigh as he abruptly bullies the first inch of his finger past your entrance, hissing at how tightly your walls were clamping down on him. his mind goes blurry, swirling with thoughts of how delectable you’d look with your thighs around his hips, bullied open and clamping like a vice down on his cock—

he pulls his finger out with a shudder, cooing at the little pout that forms on your lips. “poor baby. if you can’t handle it, you know, we can stop here. if you want.”

“w— what?” you breathe out, eyes wide and glossy like the thought was insulting. “no, please — please, need you, satoru…”

sa-to-ru.

and you’ve drawn out that last syllable like you want him dead.

“again, sorry?”

“satoru!” you squeal impatiently, and he obliged, simply because he’d never say no to you when you sound like that.

the white-haired man groans, biting down on the inside of your thigh and relishing in the way it makes you whine, all high-pitched and finally sweet on him.

his fingers thrust roughly into your aching pussy, stretching you out and moulding you to shape around his skin. you’re dripping down his palm, and satoru’s mesmerized by the sheen of slick that coats his hand as he pounds his fingers in and out of you steadily.

“shit— so pretty here for me, huh?” satoru whispers reverently, as if speaking directly to your pussy and not to you. “just as sweet as that mouth of yours. just as tight too.”

your hands are making a home for themselves in his hair, hips chasing his thick fingers, grinding yourself further into them like he wasn’t deep enough already. your perfect fucking voice isn’t helping the sorcerer’s case either — he swears he loses every semblance of control he has, bit by bit, at each breath of his name leaving your lips, garbled and slurred and destroyed.

“s’toru, satoru,” your mouth drops open, eyes screwing shut as he curls his fingers right into that spongy spot, office chair creaking as your body slumps back into it. “it’s so— fuck, ‘ts so—”

he laughs breathlessly. “yes, gorgeous?”

“it’s so— oh!”

satoru cherishes everything you have to say, he swears he does.

but he also cherishes the way your lips look, all glossed with drool pooling at the corners, when he leans forward and circles his tongue over your clit in mean little motions, lapping at the sensitive skin in tandem with the rhythm of his fingers. you’re a whining, squirming mess — struggling to stay upright, thoroughly desecrated on the office chair you’d chewed him out just weeks ago for stealing.

satoru hisses as your fingertips tug at his locks, so fucking drunk on the taste of your soaked cunt amidst the lewd sound of his fingers slapping against your sex.

“listen to that,” he rasps out, pausing to let the squelch of your pussy speak for itself before laughing dazedly against your clit. “she’s screaming my name too, isn’t she? so fuckin’ good for me, aren’t you?”

your bleary gaze peeks down at him, eyes questioning amidst the pleasure. “s—satoru, you asshole, stop talking to my— mmh!”

before you can protest, his mouth is diving back in. soft lips latch around your clit, and satoru’s painfully hard at the sound of your voice cracking around the syllables of his name, your throat thick with pleasure at the overstimulation. he doesn’t let up; the white-haired man sucks harder at the sensitive bud, all while scissoring his fingers deep inside of you as if mapping you out.

for when his dick goes inside you, of course.

“it’s t—too much,” you complain in a mewl, eyes blurry with forming tears, “satoru, please, please, ‘m so—”

“fuck, take it, gorgeous,” satoru gasps out against your pussy, lips drenched in your taste. “keep talking to me — shit, you’re tight — let it all out for me, okay?”

satoru’s mind had blanked out a long time ago. between the way your lips form his name in one strung out moan, and the way you taste sweeter than any candy he could’ve ever asked for, he’s starting to wonder if he’d died and gone to heaven.

your voice tangles with the filthy squelches that resound through the cramped space of your office, and he swears nothing could ever be better than this.

except for the way you sound saying his name while you cum.

“i’m— i’m—” you gasp, and satoru takes that as a sign to clamp his lips around your clit and suck, curling his fingers up against your g-spot until — “satoru!”

he’s never heard anything so perfect before. his gaze flicks upwards as you orgasm, watching the way your face scrunches up as your cunt tightens unbearably around every inch of his fingers. satoru’s transfixed by your stupid voice, something out of a porno curated by an angel, and if he’s hoping he’s ruined you with his fingers alone, you’ve ruined him with just the sound of your voice breaking.

your breaths are heavy as you come down from the high; soft and warm, sound waves radiating off of you like sunlight. satoru presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh, and you finally peer down at him.

“still mad at me?” the sorcerer grins.

your eyes narrow as soon as you’re back to life. “yes. yaga chewed me out for something that wasn’t even my fault, satoru.”

sa-to-ru. the white-haired man pauses against your inner thigh, raising an eyebrow up at you with something hungry in his eyes. because as soon as you say his name, he decides he’s not fucking done with you yet.

“i’m sorry, gorgeous,” satoru mumbles, giving you a faux-apologetic glance before mischievously pressing a kiss to your clit, watching how your eyes widen. “i guess I’ll just keep going until you forgive me.”

“w—wait!”

satoru gojo really likes the way you say his name.

and he’ll keep making you say it until you know it too.

@ ttakdoll, 2026

His mouth twitches into a frown against your neck. “Stop being dramatic.”

“You weigh so much.”

“That’s fuckin’ rude. And I’m not even on you.”

“You are literally on top of half my body!”

He makes a low, irritated sound at your unwillingness to quietly let him have his way. (Heaven forbid, you think, that you choose not to spend your last moments under his crushing weight.) Stubbornly, his leg hooks more firmly over yours when you try to wiggle away, and his arm tightens around your middle.

“Stop moving,” he mutters.

“Move over.”

“No.”

“C’mon,” you whine, huffing tiredly. “Just move over a little.”

“There’s no space.”

You pause at his words in disbelief. Slowly, you lift your head from the pillow, squinting through the dark room. The curtains are cracked just enough to let a thin line of streetlight spill across the bed, pale and silver over the rumpled sheets. The other half of his bed is empty and untouched, just as you suspected.

Of course it is, when he’s abandoned his own side completely and migrated fully into yours. 

You turn your head to glare at him as you hiss, “You liar.”

He doesn’t even have the decency to look at you as you catch him in his lie. His eyes are still closed, his face still buried in your neck, and his breathing slow and warm against your skin. “Fuck off,” he mumbles. “We’re cuddling.”

“I can’t sleep like this! You’re completely on my side of the bed—”

“It’s our bed,” he instantly corrects, giving you a grumpy look as he cracks one eye open.

“It won’t be for long,” you snap. “I’m going to leave.”

He waits thirty seconds before smugly humming, “Still here, huh? Knew it.”

“Where else am I meant to be?” you hiss, trying to pry his arm off again. “I’m being held hostage here literally against my will!”

He snorts. The sound is small and half-muffled, but you feel it against your skin, and that somehow irritates you even more because he’s clearly enjoying himself. Even despite being disturbed as he tries to sleep (doesn’t he have an early patrol in the morning?), even despite sweating through the sheets with you (and just how is he surviving this heat so unbothered?), even despite being shoved at and scolded (when will he grow a sense of shame?), Katsuki is still having a good time simply because he’s annoying you. 

Your vein all but pops at the smug satisfaction he gets from getting under your skin.

“Katsuki,” you groan, going limp in his hold for one exhausted second. “Please. It’s so hot, and your quirk doesn’t help. Just get off—you’re so stubborn.”

His eyes finally crack open, narrowed and gleaming in the dark. For a moment, he just looks at you—hair messy, expression heavy with sleep, mouth pulled into that signature annoyed little line that it’s always tugged into permanently.

Then he clicks his tongue, offended. “Fine.”

The word is sharp and dramatic, and before you can even feel relieved, he releases you all at once and rolls over onto his back with a huff, taking all of his furnace-like body heat with him. The sudden absence should be a blessing. It is a blessing. You are relieved and can breathe again as cool air slides over your damp skin, and you can finally move freely without his arm compressing your ribs.

But Katsuki, of course, is not done being insufferable.

“So fuckin’ unbelievably rude,” he mutters to himself, purposely loud enough for you to hear clearly. “Always clingy during the day, crawlin’ all over me. Sitting in my lap ‘n stealin’ my food. But when it actually fuckin’ makes sense to cuddle, suddenly it’s a problem.”

You narrow your eyes as you pout, “I am not clingy—and you’re the rude one! It doesn’t make sense to cuddle in this crazy hot weather and die—”

“And if I said that cuddling you would kill me, then you’d send my ass to sleep outside. At least try to hide your fuckin’ double standards.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper to yourself. “He’s impossible.”

“I’m right here, too,” he grumbles flatly, turning to you, mildly offended.

You roll onto your side to face him, propping yourself up on your elbow to look at him better. His arms are crossed over his chest now, biceps flexed, jaw set tight as though you’ve wronged him. (For someone who upholds the justice system of this country, you think it’s ironic of him to act that way—especially when he’s spent the last five minutes trying to suffocate you with his weight and body heat.)

You narrow your eyes. “Fine,” you click your teeth. His gaze cuts to you instantly as you throw the sheet off your legs. “You wanna cuddle?”

His eyes narrow suspiciously. “What’re you doing?”

“Exactly what you want,” you say sweetly, already moving. “You wanted to cuddle. So we’re gonna cuddle.”

“You—”

You roll on top of him before he can finish. All of your weight lands squarely against his chest as you sprawl over him, dramatically making a point to make your limbs seem boneless. One leg hooks over his thigh. One arm flops across his face. Your cheek smushes against his shoulder, and you make sure to go as limp as inconveniently possible.

Katsuki grumbles instantly, “Get off.”

“No,” you mumble into his skin. “We’re cuddling.”

His chest rumbles beneath you. “This shit isn’t how you fuckin’ cuddle, you damn idiot.”

You promptly ignore him, lifting your head just enough to shove your face next to his ear. Then you fake snore loudly. It’s an obnoxiously exaggerated replica of his own snoring.

Katsuki cringes before shoving at you (with little conviction). “Knock it off, moron!”

You snore louder, fighting back a giggle. His hand comes up to shove at your shoulder, but there is no real strength behind it. Not enough to move you, even though he easily could. Not enough to mean it, because he clearly doesn’t. His palm just rests there after a second, warm and broad against you, while he turns his face away like that might hide the way his mouth is starting to twitch.

You see it anyway—the small shake of his chest as the laugh he is trying very, very hard not to give you escapes against his will. You grin at the sight and snore again, right into his ear.

“Brat,” he snaps, but it comes out strained as he fights back a chuckle.

“Shhh,” you mumble, patting his cheek with the hand still flung half over his face. “I’m sleeping. You’re ruining our cuddle.”

“You’re ruining my life.”

“You’re the one who asked me out, so it’s your fault.”

“Well, I guess even I make mistakes.”

“So mean!” You gasp, lifting your head as you demand, “You’re saying I’m a mistake?!”

This time, the laugh actually breaks out of him. It is short and boyish, and it’s not something a lot of people witness. But you do—quite often, in fact, and you can’t help but melt at how sweet the sound is. Finally, you give in and properly curl against his chest, relieving him of the uncomfortable position your body is in over his upper half. Your eyes meet his, and you stare for a moment at each other before he looks away to the side. 

The tips of his ears are just slightly red, you think—but it’s too dark to tell for sure.

“Just go the fuck back to sleep,” he mutters.

“Sure thing,” you beam as you tuck your face into his neck and fake snore one more time.

Katsuki pinches your side. You laugh into his chest, and this time, when he huffs in annoyance, he does not bother hiding the smile.