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sturnioz · 4 months ago

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─────── ꒰ THE FRAT WEDDING SERIES ꒱ SPECIAL.

the fake frat wedding event between shy!reader and fratboy!chris, written in fratboy!chris' perspective─a peek inside his mind.

tw. mentions of cocaine.

shy!reader's perspective. ╰› ꒰ part one ꒱ ꒰ part two ꒱ ꒰ part three ꒱ ꒰ part four ꒱

chris doesn't want to wake up, but the loud voices echoing through the frat house left him no choice, pulling him out of sleep and into a sour mood. he can hear some of his frat brothers leaving their rooms, slamming doors behind them and running down the stairs, their footsteps pounding against the floorboards.

it's enough to give chris a headache and make his jaw clench.

for a moment, he considers burying his head under his pillow, hoping to smother the noise. but now that he's awake—and extremely pissed off—there's no going back.

sleep isn't an option for him anymore.

grumbling under his breath, he forces himself out of bed, his muscles aching with stiffness from a restless night, and his body feels heavy as he shuffles toward his bathroom. he runs a hand through his tangled, messy hair, and he stares at his reflection in the mirror.

dark circles hang under his empty eyes, and his grouchy expression somehow looks even worse this morning. nightmares, he thinks. fucking nightmares.

he goes through his morning routine quickly, brushing his teeth and splashing cold water on his face in a half-hearted attempt to get rid of the grogginess. he opens the cabinet above the sink and grabs an orange pill bottle from the shelf, and with ease, he pops open the lid and shakes it until a single pill falls into his palm.

the sight of the nearly empty bottle makes him scowl, and he makes a mental note to ask matt to take him to the drugstore to stock up. but for now, he tosses the pill into his mouth and leans over the sink, drinking straight from the tap to wash it down.

chris leaves the bathroom and trudges out of his room, letting out a tired yawn as he heads downstairs. he threads his fingers lazily through his hair, rubbing at his face with a groggy sigh as the sound of frat brothers snickering in the living room irks his nerves.

he ignores them, making a beeline for the kitchen, but as he steps in, he stops abruptly. his gaze lands on you, and his tired eyes narrow slightly.

"didn't know you were comin' over," he grumbles tiredly, his attention shifting to the tupperware container in front of you, filled with veggies and cubes of chicken. "what? don't have food at your place? gotta be all greedy 'n eat ours?"

you glance up at him and respond softly, "nate made it for me," there's a pause in the conversation before you ask, "what event are you hosting this weekend?"

chris furrows his brows, your sudden question catching him off guard. "nothin'—we don't have one," he replies flatly, unbothered.

without hesitation, he reaches over you to steal a piece of chicken from the tupperware, popping it into his mouth and chewing lazily. he doesn't bother to say anything else as he turns away and heads for the fridge.

opening the door, he rummages through the shelves until he spots the juice bottle he shoved in the back the night before. he unscrews the cap and takes a few gulps, the cold drink refreshing him just enough to keep him functioning for now.

as he drinks, he hears you mutter something under your breath.

"but they're planning something in there..."

chris slowly turns to look at you over the juice bottle he's currently holding near his mouth, his brows knitting together like you've just said something utterly ridiculous. which, to him, you have.

planning something? the frat isn't hosting any big event this weekend, it's just a regular party—he's positive.

"the fuck you talkin' about?" he asks, his tone flat, his eyes hard as he stares at you. before you can answer, nate bursts into the kitchen, interrupting you both as he slings an arm around chris' bare shoulder.

chris stiffens at the unwanted contact, his irritation spiking as his glare sharpens, hardly biting back a harsh remark when nate grins and starts talking, wanting him to follow.

chris doesn't move at first, his jaw tightening as he shoots nate a withering look before he reluctantly trails behind, keeping a few steps behind you. but he stops in his tracks when the three of you step into the living room, his eyes sweeping over the room.

the frat brothers are all huddled together, grinning like idiots. he notices kitty and bee are here too, but he stays quiet, his tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek as he leans against the doorframe, watching everything unfold.

nate grabs a hate from the coffee table and shakes it in front of you, ordering you to pull out a folded piece of paper. chris' brows furrow, his annoyance growing even more when nate grabs a second hat and strides toward him, shaking it in front of his face to prompt him to pick next.

chris stares blankly before refusing, "no."

nate clicks his tongue against his teeth, clearly unimpressed with him, but chris doesn't care. he doesn't move, doesn't even say another word as nate turns to bee to ask her to pick from the hat instead.

his patience is wearing thin.

what the fuck is going on?

chris stays quiet as nate starts counting down, and his eyes flick to you as you begin to unfold your slip of paper, the confused look that spreads across your face making his brows furrow in suspicion.

he tilts his head slightly, trying to read your expression, and then he sees it—your name, scrawled across the paper messily as you hold it up for everyone to see.

his confusion deepens when bee unfolds her slip next, revealing his own name written across it. chris' gaze hardens, slowly shifting between the two slips of paper.

something feels off.

"congrats, bun 'n chris..." he hears nate say, his voice dripping with amusement. "you're gettin' married."

chris tenses up as the room erupts into laughter and hollers. his jaw locks, his eyes widen, and a strange, unbearable ringing fills his ears, drowning out the noise. his chest tightens as his head snaps toward matt, who's already looking at him. matt's expression is calm, almost reassuring, subtly telling him that it's okay and to calm down.

but chris isn't okay.

he's far from calm.

his eyes dart back to nate, and his glare sharpens into something deadly, his nostrils flaring. his clammy palms ball into tight fists at his side, his body rigid. he notices your lips are moving too, but he can't hear a fucking word you say.

it's like the world around him has muted itself, leaving only the thoughts racing in his mind at a hundred miles per second.

finally, something snaps into place, and he finds his voice.

“m’not gettin’ married.” he growls, his tone low but firm as his body coils in tight, ready to snap. “you’re out of your fuckin’ mind.”

“you’re actin’ as if this is real, bro,” a frat brother pipes up, his tone light and amused, which only makes chris’ anger simmer hotter. “s’all fun ‘n games. it's a chance to get fucked up. and it’s part of the rules... if you get picked to do somethin’…. you gotta do it.”

“especially when your name got picked out of a hat,” nate chimes in next, his grin widening across his face.

chris' heart thumps wildly in his chest, his pulse pounding as his head slowly swivels to look back at nate. his nostrils flare again, and he takes a step forward, his hand outstretched and tone demanding.

"let me see the hat."

nate’s grin doesn’t falter as he quickly pulls the hat away, holding it just out of chris’ reach, and chris' scowl deepens, his frustration bubbling dangerously close to the surface as he tries to grab it again.

the sound of the frat brothers’ laughter keeps ringing in his ears, making his face grow hot with anger. chris lunges for the hat again, but nate is too fast, keeping it just out of reach, and chris can feel the overwhelming heat of embarrassment and rage crawling up his neck.

something is up, chris thinks. something is wrong.

"let me see the hat," he snaps again, his voice harsh and commanding. but nate only laughs, shaking his head, his grin never faltering.

but before chris can snap completely, another frat brother calls out his name, reminding him that he needs to prep the stash for the party. that makes chris stop, and he pulls his focus away from everything around him as he exhales through his nose.

money is important, he reminds himself, his thoughts shifting abruptly. just focus on your money. forget this bullshit.

without another word, he turns on his heel, leaving the others behind as he heads toward his room. his hands still tremble faintly, his chest still tight, but he forces himself to push it all down.

one thing at a time.

the party’s coming, and he has work to do.

whether nate is playing some stupid game or not, chris doesn’t care—at least, that’s what he tells himself.

as he climbs the stairs, the ringing in his ears fades, replaced by the single thought that keeps him moving:

forget it.

just get through the weekend.

the weekend comes faster than chris expects, and now he's just a few hours away from fake marrying you for the sake of some stupid frat tradition. he doesn't understand why you and him were picked for this, and it pisses him off even more that no one considered matt and kitty—or nate and bee—actual couples who could've done this instead.

but no. it had to be him.

it always had to be him.

standing in front of the mirror in his bathroom, chris exhales sharply, his stress and annoyance already gnawing at him as his fingers fumble with his tie and the stiff collar of his suit, the fabric feeling foreign and suffocating against his neck.

the suit is an old one—something he bought for prom back in high school but never actually wore. he thought he'd trashed it years ago as he vividly remembers the moment he shoved it into the garbage back home.

apparently his mom had other plans.

she must've fished it out, washed it thoroughly, and stashed it away in case he 'needed it someday'. he didn't think he would fucking need it for some fake, stupid wedding.

yet, here he is.

chris exhales again, this time more forcefully, as he tries—and fails—to tie the damn fucking tie. every time he loops it, pulls it, or adjusts it, it comes undone—mocking him like everything else today.

he glares at his reflection, considering to just ditch the suit altogether. a sweatshirt and jeans would do just fine, even some of the other frat brothers aren't even bothering to dress up properly... so why should he?

a few of them are in hoodies, ripped jeans, denim shorts and even crop tops, while others are wearing suits with goofy props purely for some dramatic effect.

the only reason he hasn't ripped the tie off and thrown it across the room is because of the screen on his phone, propped up against a few cologne bottles on the sink, showcasing a series of texts from justin who gives him step-by-step instructions on how to tie the tie properly

chris' eyes flick down to the latest message, and he grits his teeth, following the instructions as best as he can. his fingers are trembling too much, his patience wearing thin, and his irritation only grows stronger with every failed attempt.

justin had to do this too, chris remembers that. he remembers him talking about it years ago—the same frat, the same stupid tradition. justin had to fake marry some sorority chick he was best friends with.

chris remembers seeing the photos. he remembers laughing back then at how silly it all looked. he remembers smiling back then at how justin managed to make it fun.

but chris isn't laughing now.

he isn't even smiling now.

chris glances back at his reflection, and the tie still isn't right—the knot slightly crooked—but fuck, he doesn't even care anymore. he's done. he grabs his phone, typing a quick reply to justin as he walks into his room, tossing the phone onto his bed as he runs his fingers through his hair.

he looks ridiculous. he feels ridiculous. and the worst part is, it's not even about the suit, or the tie. it's about him. it's about the whirlwind of emotions crashing through him right now: uncomfortable, stupid, humiliated, mocked.

it's emotions he hasn't felt in a long time—emotions he doesn't know how to handle anymore, not without cutting up a line or two, letting the burn numb his throat, and sinking into that blissful silence where his mind finally shuts the fuck up.

but now? there's no escape. the tie feels like it's suffocating him, the stiff fabric digging into his neck and he tugs at it, his fingers curling around the knot as if loosening it will somehow loosen the tightness in his chest.

why is this happening? why the fuck is this happening?

chris' mind spins as he glares at his reflection in the mirror that's in his room, his jaw tightening. did someone put his name in the hat more than once? nah. surely not. they wouldn't do that to him. they couldn't do that to him.

he bites down on the inside of his cheek, his thoughts racing. maybe it's just his shitty luck. he always has shitty luck—it's nothing new. that's not a surprise. but still, this feels different.

chris exhales sharply though his nose, a low growl of frustration rumbling in his throat as his reflection stares back at him, mocking him again.

he feels like a joke.

chris yanks at his tie again, loosening it even more so it hangs around his neck. he doesn't care anymore. he doesn't even know why he's still wearing the fucking thing.

he stares at himself for another moment, his teeth gritted, his hands twitching at his sides. maybe it is the tie, he tries telling himself. maybe it is the suit... maybe it's the fact that no matter how much he tries to act like he doesn't give a fuck, he does.

too much.

and that sets him off.

his movements are sharp—almost frantic—as he pulls open his drawers and grabs a worn metal tin box covered in peeling stickers, his fingers fumbling as he thumbs it open, revealing his stash inside.

he rifles through it quickly, pocketing a few baggies for later, but his focus is locked on one thing—the white powder-filled baggie sitting at the bottom.

he pours some of the powder onto the surface of his dresser before he grabs his wallet and pulls out a credit card, the edge of the card scraping against the wood as he works quickly, cutting the powder into one precise, clean line.

without thinking, without even hesitating, he plugs one nostril and leans down, inhaling sharply.

the burn hits immediately, sharp and familiar as it shoots up his nose. chris tilts his head back with a quiet groan as the grainy sensation settles in the back of his throat. it's not pleasant—not really—but that doesn't matter. what matters it the lump that forms, sliding down his throat.

that's it. that's the deal sealed.

he stays like that for a second, his head tilted back, his chest rising and falling as the feeling starts working its way through him slowly. his pulse picks up, his mind clouds over, and the tension in his shoulders begins to release.

he's fine now.

he runs a hand down his face, exhaling a long, shaky breath. his reflection stares back at him, but this time, it feels more distant—less suffocating. the suit still looks ridiculous, the tie still hangs crooked around his neck, but it doesn’t matter because he's fine.

he keeps telling himself that as he grabs the tin box, shoving it back into the drawer and slamming it shut.

it’s fine.

everything is fine.

he’s fine.

chris doesn't know how long it's been since the event started. he's spent most of his time surrounded by familiar faces, collecting money as he sells his stash into hands of other frat brothers and partygoers.

he's joined in a few conversations here and there, humouring people with idle smirks and half-hearted chuckles. most of the time though, he's rolling his eyes at the outfits people are wearing at the party: fancy suits and dresses are mixed in with mishap clothing, and some are even wearing costumes.

at one point, he spots a frat brother waddling around the decorated garden in a hot dog costume.

and then he saw nick.

for a moment, chris thinks the coke has finally fried his brain when he sees his brother standing near in a snazzy suit and a camera draped around his neck.

nick—who practically refuses to set foot in the frat house, who's turned down every invite to events—is here. chris almost does a double take, blinking hard like nick might vanish if he looks away.

but no, it was really him.

he's spoken with both nick and matt now. they had found him earlier, hanging around the edge of the crowd and stayed long enough to exchange a few words. nick had seemed ecstatic, tossing out a couple of jokes while matt stood nearby, arms crossed, taking it all in with that quiet, observant look on his face as he watches chris.

they both pretty much told him the same thing: just enjoy the night. relax for once.

relax.

chris scoffed at the advice, and matt even tried fixing his crooked tie, but chris flicked his hand away with a sharp; "fuck off, man. m'fine." nick didn't even bother trying—just gave him one of those knowing looks before walking off to do whatever.

now they're both gone.

matt's probably off somewhere with kitty, and nick? nick's likely tracking you down. he's always had a soft spot for you, chris knows that much. but nick and matt being gone means chris is back to being surrounded by other people—people who don't really matter to him, people whose faces blur together as the night drags on.

chris hasn't spoken to you yet, though he's seen you around. he catches glimpses of you standing on the sidelines, keeping to yourself in that white babydoll dress. you look small, fragile, watching everything around you like a deer caught in headlights.

his gaze lingers on you longer than he means to, but tears it away once nate and nick have accompanied you. part of chris wonders what you're thinking, if you hate this as much as he does, if you want to leave as much as he does.

he will never ask though, he doesn't even know if he wants to.

but for now, he'll keep his distance—until the time comes.

and fuck, that time comes fast as the night drags on.

he doesn't bother excusing himself from the people he's been in conversation with for the past hour. he just pushes through the crowd, shoving his way toward you—who, of course, is now surrounded by all your shared friends and brothers.

"can we get this shit over with?" he snaps immediately asks as he stands next to you, his fingers tugging at his tie again, feeling like it's constricting his throat despite it already hanging loose.

no one responds, which doesn't surprise him. then he hears you hum something—soft and unsure—and it makes something in him snap again.

"m'serious. lets get this shit over with before i fuckin' lose it."

that seems to work, because you're nodding your head to agree with him, and the group finally starts moving. nate, of course, can't resist making a joking remark, but chris shoots him a glare so sharp it shuts him up.

the group walks toward the makeshift ceremony setup, and the others scatter to find their seats—and odd collections of mismatched chairs, bar stools, bean bags, whatever.

chris makes his way to the altar and scoffs, his lip pulling into a grimace as he sees the empty beer cans, red solo cups, and... is that toilet paper? draped across in a half-assed attempt.

he stands stiffly at the altar, refusing to look at you when two frat brothers walk you down the makeshift aisle. he doesn't look up when he catches glimpses of phones aimed at you both either, recording everything.

the sound of drunken giggling, laughter, and hushed whispers fills his ears, and it makes his skin crawl.

chris barely pays attention to the frat brother playing the role of the officiant, slurring his way through a speech filled with jokes that make the crowd howl with laughter. but chris isn't laughing. neither are you.

this is uncomfortable.

when it's time for the 'vows', chris feels his stomach twist, and his grits his teeth, already dreading what's coming as the frat brother coaxes you into speaking first.

you take it seriously. too seriously for him to handle.

you talk about being there for him, about being his friend when he needs one. you even try to sprinkle in little jokes of your own—soft, harmless ones that are meant to make the crowd laugh. and they do. they laugh again and again and again.

chris feels mocked.

his jaw tightens, his shoulders stiffening up as he stares at nick and matt in the crowd. they're giving him small smiles, subtly nods, reassuring glances, but the laughter from everyone else feels sharp, cutting through him like needles.

he hates it. he feels stupid. he feels humiliated. he feels awful.

why are you doing this? why are you talking about him like that? are you trying to make them laugh at him?

his blood boils, coke pulsing through his veins, making his thoughts race in angry erratic loops: this is on purpose, this is on purpose, this is on—

"bun," he speaks when it's his turn, his tone dripping with sarcasm as his jaw clenches tight. he has to fix this. he has to take everyone's attention away from the humiliation clawing at him. he can feel the heat rising in his chest, the anger bubbling under his skin.

relax. make it funny. disract them.

"i vow to keep uh... keep fuckin' you. keep makin' you scream my name."

the reaction is immediate.

the crowd erupts into cheers, hollering and howling with laughter so loud it drowns out every other thought in his head. the weight on his chest feels lighter now, the suffocating embarrassment replaced by a familiar rush of control.

chris doesn't stop there.

he rolls his shoulders back, loosening up as he keeps going, each word filthier and more explicit than the last. he talks about everything—every little thing that's obvious about your situationship, every detail that will make the crowd laugh harder and louder.

and it works.

it works because now they're laughing with him instead of at him.

chris finally finishes his speech, and he exhales slowly, finally able to relax—or at least pretend to—as the noise washes over him.

the frat brother officiant stumbles through some more slurred words, something chris doesn't even bother trying to comprehend. he feels the cold glass of a vodka bottle shoved into his clammy hands, nearly fumbling it, and the movement of a plastic tiara being placed on your head catches his eye.

he glances at you briefly. just for a second—and then you're moving.

you're pushing through the crowd as they stagger up to the altar. you're moving fast—too fast—you don't stop, and you don't look back. you're gone so quick that you're nothing but a blur in chris' vision.

chris doesn't focus on it too much. he doesn't let himself focus on it as he's too overwhelmed by the crowd swarming him now, their laughter and slurred congratulations for this fake bullshit.

hands reach out to pat his back, to clap him on the shoulder, to ruffle his hair... chris hates it.

the noise, the touches, the smiles—all of it. it's suffocating. he decides to shove his way through the crowd, muttering for everyone to 'get the fuck off him' as they try to stumble into his way.

he doesn't want them right now.

what he wants are his brothers.

chris' eyes scan around, searching for matt and nick. they've always been his anchor, the only ones who can ground him when he feels like this—overwhelmed, irritated, and on the verge of losing his shit.

but they're not here.

he spots them moving away, slipping through the garden in a hurry and heading toward the frat house. they don't even glance in his direction, and that makes chris falter, his steps slowing as his eyebrows knit together.

why aren't they coming to him?

it's close to the end of the event when matt and nick finally bother to show up, but chris doesn't even look at them: not when matt pulls out one of the garden chairs to sit beside him, not when nick plants himself directly in front of him, tapping his foot against the ground.

chris sits slouched in his own chair, a joint dangling between his fingers, the other hand flipping through a wad of cash from the stash he sold tonight.

they money keeps him focus, gives him something to do—or at least something to stop that feeling that's been sitting in his chest all night.

"are you serious, chris?" nick's voice cuts through the silence, unable to control himself. "like, are you fucking dumb?"

"what?" chris murmurs disinterestedly, still counting the rest of the money before rolling it up neatly and pocketing it. only then does he glance up at nick through the haze of smoke, taking a slow drag from his joint, exhaling a cloud in his brother's direction.

"think you took it too far, man," matt speaks up, his tone quieter, a sigh slipping through his words as he rolls his tongue across his teeth. "bun's really—"

"think?" nick cuts him off, his voice rising slightly. "you think he took it too far? he did take it too far. why would you even say something like that during the vows, chris? all that shit about bun—"

"dude, keep your voice down," matt hisses, nudging nick's calf with his shoe. his eyes flick toward the last partygoers that stumble across the lawn, planning to call ubers or to walk in groups back to wherever they're staying. "nick's got a point, though. that shit you said about bun—"

"what about me?"

chris' voice cuts through the air, sharp and loud enough to silence the both of them as he looks between his brothers, his shoulders stiff and squared as those familiar but disgusting wave of emotions slowly start returning.

"what.. what about me?" he repeats, his tone faltering just a little which makes him grimace, and he takes another hit of his joint, hoping to calm himself down.

matt and nick exchange glances, but neither of them say anything, and that makes chris shift uncomfortably in his seat. he hunches forward, pressing his elbows into his knees to keep him grounded.

"you don't..." he starts, but the words catch in his throat. he scowls and looks away from both of them, exhaling another cloud of smoke. "didn't even fuckin' bother earlier. just left me—didn't even fuckin' look at me."

his voice cracks slightly at the end, and it pisses him off more than anything. he clenches his jaw, grinding his teeth as he stares at the ground, refusing to meet their eyes.

matt lets out a deep sigh as he leans back in his chair, rubbing at his jaw. "it wasn't like that, kid. we weren't—"

"don't wanna wear it," chris mutters bitterly, cutting matt off mid-sentence. his leg bounces restlessly now, unable to hold it down with his elbow, but it only makes the movement more erratic, jostling up and down as if it has a mind of its own. "do... do you even know how..."

his voice falters, trailing off as he struggles to get his words out once again. his jaw tightens, and he bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. his free hand twitches, fingers curling and uncurling like he's fighting to keep control.

"i... i'm uncomfortable."

that seems to grab nick and matt's attention instantly, and they both exchange a glance, their eyes wide with surprise. neither of them expected those to be the next words coming out of his mouth—especially not out here in the open.

"okay..." matt hums softly, his tone measured and careful now, like he's trying not to spook a wild animal. "what made you feel uncomfortable?"

chris can't help but scoff, his walls slowly starting to rise again, brick by brick. he prods his tongue against the inside of his cheek, "this stupid fuckin' event. i don't... don't—fuck."

abruptly, chris shoves himself out of the chair, standing tall. he drags his fingers through his tousled hair before rubbing his face with both hands, his shoulders tense and hunched.

he doesn't even notice—or care—that his joint has slipped from his fingers, now lying forgotten in the grass beneath his shoes.

matt stays seated, his worried gaze fixed on chris like he's trying to figure out how to help like he always does. nick, on the other hand, hesitates for a moment before reaching out a hand, intending to place it on chris' shoulder.

chris steps away before nick can touch him, his movements quick, creating space between them both.

he doesn't want to be touched.

not now.

"i... i understand frat traditions, 'kay? i get it. m'not stupid," chris starts again, his voice rough, his words tumbling out as his mouth feels dry and his tongue heavy. "if you get picked, you gotta do whatever bullshit is goin' on. i know how it works. but—but this...? s'fucked up. i should've been allowed to say no—you should've said somethin'..."

his eyes dart between nick and matt, but the silence they give him only makes the air feeling heavier. chris takes a shaky breath, trying not to focus too hard on the way they're staring at him—like they're waiting for him to crack.

"but nah," he continues, his voice bitter. "i had to get picked. my—my luck had to fuck me over, right? only pull my name out of a stupid fuckin' hat."

chris doesn't notice the guilty looks that nick and matt wear, their eyes flicking toward each other like they're silently deciding who should speak first. his mind is too loud, too chaotic to really paying attention to anything as he fumbles for his pockets, his hands desperate for something to ground him again.

but when his fingers come up empty, the realisation hits him like a punch to the gut.

he's out.

he sold the last bag.

fuck.

"hey," nick finally speaks up, his voice soft but strained, like he's bracing himself for some sort of impact. he scratches the back of his neck, his discomfort clear as he shifts awkwardly on his feet. "we... we need to tell you something about the hat—"

"i don't wanna hear it," chris interrupts, cutting him off with the same words he'd thrown at them earlier. he doesn't want to talk anymore. he's done. he's already too angry, too annoyed, his emotions are haywire.

he needs to go.

without another word, chris turns on his heel and stalks off, not bothering to tell nick goodbye or to tell matt he'll see him back at the frat. he doesn't owe them that—not right now.

his hands twitch at his sides as he pushes through the cluster of frat bothers still lingering around the entrance, his eyes staying locked on the ground with his jaw clenched so tight that it physically hurts him.

some of the guys call out his name—trying to talk or whatever else—but chris doesn't care. he doesn't even look back. he just keeps walking, keeps shoving past everyone until he's inside and climbing the stairs step by step.

all he wants is to lock himself in his room, strip off his suffocating clothing and crash. he doesn't want to deal with anyone's bullshit—not tonight.

but when he opens the door to his room, he stops.

you're standing at his dresser, your back to him, pulling out a shirt like it's the most normal thing in the world. (it is, but he's too far gone from the cocaine and his emotions). you're quiet, focused, not even sparing him a glance—just like matt and nick.

and chris can't help it.

he snaps.

"what is it?" chris barks, his eyebrows furrowing as he yanks the tie around his neck as you glance at him over your shoulder. but you still don't say anything, still so quiet. "huh? what is it?"

"what are you—"

"you've been weird with me all night, kid," he cuts you off sharply, managing to get that fucking tie off his neck before he hurls it onto the unmade bed. "think i didn't notice you pullin' some runaway bride bullshit?"

"you're not funny," you mutter under your breath, voice barely audible, but he hears it, and he scoffs.

"m'not tryin' to be," he shoots back, fingers moving to unbutton his shirt, feeling his heart thud heavily in his chest beneath his fingertips. chris is still on edge, his emotions running wild from everything that's happened. "you gonna tell me what the fuck is goin' on? or you just gonna keep sulkin' all night?"

chris watches as you turn slowly to face him, and for a moment, he actually tries to read your expression, to figure out why you've been acting so off—why you ran away earlier. but all he sees is that kicked puppy look on your face when you're upset.

it makes him want to scowl.

"you really don't know?"

chris pushes back immediately. "know what?"

"forget it."

he watches in disbelief as you turn your back to him, and his heartbeat grows louder, drumming in his ears as his frustration threatens to boil over completely.

maybe it's the coke he did earlier still swimming around in his system—or maybe it's something else entirely—but chris doesn't have it in him to just let it go. not right now.

he wants to fucking know.

"nah, don't pull that shit," he says as he shakes his head, his tone a lot sharper than it was before. "if you've got a problem, just fuckin' say it."

"okay," you snap at him, and chris deadpans at you, not expecting you to sound like that. "you... you humiliated me, chris. in front of everyone, you made me look like—like some joke... i—i get it, okay? this whole thing was supposed to be stupid and fun, and i know you hated doing it, but you didn't have to say all that stuff... you didn't have to make it so public and so embarrassing for me. it wasn't funny. it just... it made me feel awful."

chris blinks, catching one word quick.

humiliated.

he hears it loud and clear at first, but the other words start to sink in too, one by one, drawing his attention instead. the things he said about the two of you hooking up... that's why you're being weird? because of something so blatantly obvious to everyone around them both?

chris wants to laugh. he genuinely wants to laugh at how ridiculous this all sounds to him, but he doesn't. he exhales through his nose instead, keeping himself steady.

"you're takin' this way too personally, kid. everyone knows the fuckin' shit we do, yeah? everyone knows we're hooking up so i dunno why you're makin' it such a big deal," he ends up saying instead, unapologetic. because it's true. "it's not that deep."

"you don't get it. i.. i know that people know. i'm not stupid. but it doesn't mean—you can't just—we—" he hears you take a big breathe in between your rambling speech. "you can't just talk about me like that in front of everyone... even if they already know, even if they assume stuff.. it's still humiliating to hear you say it in front of them."

there's that word again.

humiliating.

chris doesn't know why, but this time the word definitely sticks. it claws its way into his chest, pressing down on his ribs until it gets harder to breathe.

humiliated.

you were humiliated.

just like him.

the realisation hits him harder than he expects, and he doesn't know what the fuck to say. it's not like chris to feel guilty or hurt anymore—but the weight of that ten-letter word doesn't loosen its grip. it stays with him, pushing and pulling at his chest, making him feel so raw and exposed in a way he doesn't know how to handle.

he doesn't say anything. he just looks at you, his hands still at the half-unbuttoned shirt on his chest, the silence stretching between you both.

and for once, chris doesn't know what to do.

he takes a long moment to collect himself, his thoughts racing too fast for him to catch. he tilts his head back slightly, as if the angle might somehow help oxygen flow back into his lungs a little easier.

he doesn't want to do this.

but he has to.

he has to.

he knows how it feels.

he has to.

"i.." he starts, but the words stick in his throat, foreign and heavy. he feels nauseous, his stomach twisting into tight knots, but he forces himself to continue. "i'm... i'm sorry, 'kay?"

the apology feels clumsy and awkward on his tongue—like it doesn't belong there. he notices the silence that follows, and it makes his skin crawl as he slowly glances at you, his eyes meeting yours for just a second before flicking away again.

he feels awkward. he feels exposed.

he feels humiliated.

that fucking word—that feeling—he hates it.

"i didn't mean..." he trails off, shoulders tensing up as the words catch again. he swallows hard, the lump in his throat almost choking him. "didn't mean t'make you embarrassed, s'all."

he can't bring himself to say that other word. he can't even think it without his chest feeling tight.

and he can't even look at you either, his gaze staying locked on the wall. he feels so fucking uncomfortable, like he's crawling out of his own skin. this isn't him—this hasn't been him in a long time.

"thank you for apologising..."

your voice is soft, but he doesn't response. he can't. the idea of answering—of dragging on this moment any further, makes his chest ache and stomach twist even more. instead, a strangled noise escapes his throat, low and guttural, and he turns away from you.

his back is to you now, his trembling fingers fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. he finally gets it off, tossing the fabric carelessly onto the chair in his room. he moves to his belt next, desperate to free himself from the stuffy clothing that clings to him like second skin.

when he's stripped down to just his boxers, he slumps into his bed without another word. his body feels heavy and drained, but his mind is still plainfully active: thoughts swirling and crashing into each other.

he bures his face into the pillow, trying to block it all out and to stop that fucking nauseating feeling—he wants to forget.

humiliation.

that word claws at him, refusing to let go.

he wish it never existed.

divider credits. @issysh3ll

#©sturnioz #☆ fratboy!chris #☆ shy!reader #꒰ fratboy!chris x shy!reader prompt ꒱

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meganegatari · 4 months ago

Text

regret & saudade; loose threads⭑.ᐟ

Made to attend a basement party in your heartbroken state, you come face to face with Ellie—your ex, the one you can’t forget. Tension lingers in every glance, every remark, as saudade thrums between you, a love lost but never gone. In the haze of liquor and longing, the night may unravel—and even reignite.

☆: this a collab with the loveliest of lovely people, @bloodstainedsapphic ♡ musing about this with you was the most fun thing ever, i don't know how i'll ever be able to express just how talented you are, and how thankful i am for all your contributions here!! ...i mean chat, all the credit goes to lyss. i'm serious!! thank you sm lyssbug, and i better see yall thanking her too!! hope y'all enjoy :) ellie's m.list.

◇: 18+ mdni. alcohol consumption, ellie’s a little mean (she's hurt), reader as well + tension, tension, and more tension. whiny sub!ellie x mouthy dom(ish)!reader, oral & nipple sucking (e! recieving), and she has hip tattoos lol. also contains angsty themes and a purposely ambiguous ending. ++ 3.6k word count.

Getting dragged out of bed for a basement party hosted by a friend of a friend was the last thing you wanted tonight. Yet, here you were, begrudgingly getting ready—much to your dismay—to indulge your friends’ wishes.

Parties weren’t exactly a common occurrence in Jackson, at least not ones that didn’t involve the community church. Hardly anyone bothered to put energy into organizing gatherings for the young folk to get drunk and act recklessly when survival took precedence. Still, once in a blue moon, someone made an effort, and word spread fast.

Yes, you understood why your friends insisted. They meant well. This was a rare chance, and they were worried about you, trying to pull you out of the misery pit you had plummeted into recently. Woe is you for having people who care, even if their grand solution included shuffling you into a crowded, musty room with cheap booze for a few hours.

But this was also the last party you wanted to be at for one crucial reason: your ex, Ellie, was bound to be there.

Your ex wasn’t any more of a party animal than you were, but you were sure the extroverted mutual friends who had adopted you both had undoubtedly coaxed her into going, just as they had with you.

There was simply no sugarcoating it. You had been drowning in the throes of heartbreak hell in the weeks since you and Ellie broke up. The decision itself was “mutual”—whatever the fuck that meant. Anyone with half-open eyes could recognize that unresolved feelings were lurking beneath the surface.

But still, you were somehow convinced that Ellie was coping with the heartache better than you. Mainly because you were managing it so terribly, it’d be difficult for her to be in worse shape. The thought of seeing her and proving your suspicions either way made your stomach churn.

Conjuring up the will to act like a functioning human for the night, you finally joined Jesse half a block away from the house and made your way over.

The space wasn’t anything special. Just another grungy basement, stuffy with age and ever-rotating crowds of partygoers. The wallpaper peeled, curling inward on itself, and the flooring was adorned with decades’ worth of spills and stains. A decent time hinged on the hope that everyone would get wasted enough to forget the unsavory details.

The liquor was crowdsourced—meaning passable but plentiful. Your beeline to the booze might have earned a few raised eyebrows, but you couldn’t be bothered to give a damn.

Ellie’s eyes found you just as you were taking in the low-lit room.

Already nestled in a corner and nursing her umpteenth drink, she was just intoxicated enough to sharpen her spite but not enough to embolden her to speak up—yet. You didn’t take long to find her either, carefully coordinating fleeting glances and using purposeful posturing to feign indifference.

Ellie tracked your every move, attentive to your every step and person you conversed with.

There was some mutual delusion: Ellie misread your avoidance as proof that you were doing just fine, and you misread her detachment in a similar vein. You both assumed the other was moving on when nothing could have been further from the truth.

Ellie had opted for a darker outfit than usual, all black, practically wearing the heartache on her sleeve. Her loosely buttoned cotton shirt hung amply off her frame, adding to her almost ghostly appearance. Her auburn hair, slicked back and muted, due for a wash, looked much less lively than it used to. The speckled ivy green of Ellie’s eyes had dulled, something far more monotone. Her undereye bags lay heavier, cheeks hollowed, a gauntness that was concerning for a girl already thin. Maybe you’d make a snide comment for Dina to pass on just to get her fed—not that you cared. You just didn’t like seeing the girl look like a husk of your Ellie- err, the one you used to know.

And—fuck. That necklace. It looked an awful lot like the one that had vanished from your nightstand months ago.

Wearing it was all but a confession of Ellie’s true feelings—that her apathy was merely a poorly executed act.

You slammed back the first drink too quickly, the burn hardly registering in your throat. The second glass didn’t fare any better. After a few more pours, the alcohol softened your edginess enough to lax you into joining conversations, to dance, to let your friends pull you into something resembling fun—even striking up idle chatter with a few pretty girls, acting as if it wasn’t just to dull the ache.

An indiscernible span of time passed, your focus clouding into a haze that lets you briefly forget the grievous weight in your chest, even if it didn’t wholly undo it.

Then, a brief yet audacious tap on your shoulder.

You already knew who it was from the distinct way her pointer fingers pressed into your skin.

“You’re out tonight?” Ellie bit out as a greeting, her suffering more pronounced now that she had closed the distance. Her stare, once dimmed, had reignited, brimming anew with an irate temper. Ellie wasn’t the jealous type, but the combination of alcohol and the sight of you mingling with other girls stirred something unfamiliar and ugly within her.

“I am. are you?” You asked snarkily, starting with the obvious of this tense reunion.

Ellie’s eyes twitched, brows furrowing. Your response went unappreciated but was understandably deserved. She wet her lips to buy another second before spitting out another question, too quickly to be casual.

“You come with anyone?”

Your eyes glossed over with irritation, this being the first conversation Ellie had dragged you into after weeks of silence. Her question seemed like a placeholder for everything else she wanted to say, though it came out too bluntly. The people you’d been distracting yourself with blurred into the background now that Ellie was here, her nerves showing with every crack in her composure.

“Nope,” you snipped. “You?”

“Nope,” she replied, exaggeratedly popping her lips at the ‘p’ sound. It sounded forced, like she was trying to make herself sound more confident than she felt.

Ellie shifted her weight onto one hip, her gaze raking a slow once-over of your form. Pretending she didn’t already have your every dip and curve memorized. Your eyes flicked across the room, grasping for any excuse to escape this friction, but naturally, the friends who had dragged you out tonight were suddenly nowhere to be found.

"Didn't know you were the type to move on so fast, getting cozy with a few girls over there..." Ellie remarked, her voice hung with bitterness, not even trying to hide her hurt there.

Your jaw clenched, miffed by the implication behind her words. "Didn't know you were the type to care. Or even notice..."

“Pfft. I don’t. Just funny watching you act like you’re over it,” Ellie replied, trying to play it cool, but her voice cracked, betraying her defensiveness.

You narrowed your eyes. “That right?”

Ellie shrugged, drawing another lazy sip from her glass. “Yeah. s’cute, really. Watching you pretend.”

Your blood boiled at the way she said it, like she wasn’t just as much of a wreck as you. Like she hadn’t been staring at you all night.

“Ellie, you’re not cool enough to act like this-“ you rip into her with a sneer. You never pictured you’d speak to each other in such a way, but harshness felt like the only language you shared left, especially in tandem with her own cruel barbs.

Ellie’s tongue poked the inside of her cheek, a tell she’d never grown out of. The callout cut deep, knowing you still saw right through her. Ellie’s fingers started to tap the length of the glass, keeping a rhythm to compensate for the fidgeting she often did when nervous. Another tell she couldn’t hide.

“Yeah, okay,” her voice wavered, but then she turned her attention to finishing her glass swiftly, struggling to cling to that false bravado that was irking you past your breaking point.

“Ellie—” you spat her name venomously, shielding your sadness with anger. “If you have something you want to say, we can go somewhere else.”

Ellie’s cheeks roseated, the weight of you threatening her to put her money where her mouth is sinking in. The liquor had clearly obscured her foresight into the risks of confronting you so impudently.

Not letting Ellie another chance to deflect, you grabbed a fistful of her onyx-colored shirt sleeve and tugged her from the foggy crowd to an isolated corner, into a dark hallway, finally ducking into a cramped, dingy storage room long left unfinished. You shut the door. no working lock. Just great.

In the time you had fiddled with the old, janky handle, Ellie had already slipped back into the jaded facade she wore at the start of your encounter. The awkward, needy girl was buried deep, but not deep enough. The blush on her cheeks, the stutter in her words, the way her breath hitched when you got too close—proof enough she wasn’t as composed as she wanted you to think.

You just had to figure out how to crack her open.

Stepping closer, you caught that false smirk creeping back onto her lips. You wanted to smack that cheshire grin off her face, but the fragility you could see in her eyes—despite her best efforts to conceal it—only fueled your fire.

“You’re so goddamn frustrating,” you snap, voice raw with irritation. “Thought maybe for once you could talk to me like a normal person-or, imagine, like the girl you claimed to love-”

Ellie swallowed thickly as you came closer with every word. Hell, she looked so good, even in this state. The scent of alcohol on her breath, the sliver of skin peeking through the buttons of her top, the closeness of her rouge lips—it was causing the last of your composure to slip. Your heart raced as the room seemed to shrink, leaving only the two of you.

If words weren’t enough, maybe a more physical approach would crumble her defenses.

In that moment, a sly grin spread across your face. Time for a bit of mischief.

Nearly chest-to-chest, breaths merging together, you reach up and begin toying with the hem of Ellie’s cotton shirt, and descend to the gleaming buttons on her jeans. Right as you make contact, you hear her hiss out a sharp breath, the derisive edge in her voice sends a chill down your spine.

“Missed me that much, huh? You were always so impatient.” She clicks her tongue. But you knew Ellie, you knew this was all a “tough-guy” act. She was not going to let you get under her skin so easily, not without a fight.

The chuckle that passes your lips is a scornful sound, her ears perk up in curiosity as to what you're planning.

After a moment of wrestling with the skin-tight denim—she's free. Ellie takes the liberty to pull her shirt up a touch, and the mere sight of her dark, wisplike happy trail leaves your mouth watering. Your eyes flicker up to hers; keenly, expectantly scanning her delicate features.

Most unfortunately, Ellie returns nothing worth celebrating, her facade still clambering to stay mighty. Just observing, cool fern eyes low—almost kubrick-esque—everything still under control. For now.

You continue undressing her, undoing her shirt and exposing her pale torso. Fuck, what a specimen. Eggshell and cinnamon skin, soft and supple as far as the eye can see. The thin fabric clings to her shoulders, and you push it aside to look upon her chest.

Luckily for you, she doesn't believe in bras, letting her dusty pinkish nipples harden when the air grazes her skin. Ellie lets out the quietest sigh, almost inaudible, but you still catch it and throw her a smirk. Her eyes roll, she's still acting unimpressed.

“Keep going then,” she drawls.

You ghost your mouth over her skin, before taking her nipple in between your lips and sucking. You snake your tongue over the bud and gently pinch the other one with two fingers. Still determined to break her, you look up again. She makes no noise, just tilts her head back until it hits the wall supporting her with a dull thud. You had to do more, you needed to.

Moving to press hot kisses in the valley of her chest, you drag your mouth lower, lower, and lower, until you end up on your knees with her still-clothed crotch an inch from the tip of your nose. With her help, her jeans are discarded into a heap to your right. The tight boxer shorts she was wearing hugged her lean thighs in such a way, you couldn't resist lurching forward and sinking your teeth into the flesh.

Above, you hear something resembling a startled gasp—there you go, the beginning of the end.

Making quick work of her undergarment, Ellie leans against the wall, bare before you. You look up once more at her, but in the perfect moment in time to spot a scarlet flush spread from her chest, up her neck, and decorate her cheeks. There's a crease forming in her forehead as well. You spot her hip tattoos, the ink was striking. Running your tongue along the linework, you taste her skin—salty-sweet.

Simultaneously, you drag your hands up and down the sides of her legs, feeling goosebumps rise as you pass over. Her breaths quickly go shaky, her primal need for your mouth on the crescendo of her thighs overtaking her. Slowly but surely, you were achieving your goal.

“God Els, you're so wet. Seems like you missed me more, hmm?” You titter, voice smooth as syrup, to which she grunts almost in annoyance, neither confirming or denying your tease.

“Sure you weren't so desperate, you came here just for me? Because you wanted to get eaten like a slut?” You hear her exhale shake. Your degrading words—like clouds of miasma—infected her entirely, she didn't know whether to be embarrassed or even more turned on.

Fucking finally, your tongue parts her folds; silken and dripping for you. Smoothly moving forward in and pushing her thighs apart, you take more of her into your mouth. The taste of her arousal makes your head spin, and you don't even register the fact you're lightly moaning into her core already. You missed this. You missed her. You missed the feel of her hot skin, her signature Ellie attitude, her sweetness and how she reacted to your touch—even more than you'd like to admit.

Your eyes close instinctively, and you lick a stripe from her needy hole up to her puffy clit, feeling the bud twitch on your tongue. You wrap your lips around it, and she almost wails. Although Ellie, as clever as she is stubborn, stifles her whines with a clenched fist. When you hear the cut-off cry, your gaze snaps upward. she's biting down on her own flesh, hard, her teeth causing the knuckles to discolor. The blush on her cheeks is approaching maroon, obscuring her freckles, and her eyes are screwed shut. She can't hide the tremors or the panting breaths, though.

You keep devouring her, getting more and more drunk the longer her essence invigorates your senses. She pleads for you some more, albeit impolitely, “Hurry- ah—harder, more…”

Your grip on her hips intensifies, nails leaving marks right next to her tattoos, adding to the artistry already there. She begins to whimper, the small, pathetic sounds of an impending defeat causing heat to spread in your own abdomen.

You tongue fuck her into oblivion, pushing the muscle inside her until you feel her walls pulsing around you. Your nose bumps at her clit, eliciting high pitched pleas from her.

At a glance again, you see there's nothing hiding her mouth, and the hand that was aiding her has moved to join her other one—bracing against the wall. You had Ellie utterly wrecked.

She teeters, rickety legs trembling and struggling to hold her upright. A gush of slick runs down your chin, and she squeals. Unable to hold back any longer, she starts begging you to cum.

Her voice is strained, wobbly. “Please, fuck-!! Ah…c'mon…come onnn.”

Music to your ears.

Smiling against her thumping clit, you continue to suck until her rhythmic pants are all you can hear. The climbing volume was more satisfying than you could have ever envisioned and you never wanted to let up.

“Ah, ah, ah— m'so close, pleasepleaseplease.” She pleads with vehemence, damn near calling on divinity to finish. It was ironic really, there was nothing holy about this.

Her pussy seizes and her body tenses before she's hit with the most forceful orgasm she's ever felt. Silent moans choking in her throat, you messily lap at her folds until you feel the flutter, and hear the most beautiful cry of pleasure.

She's loud, unabashedly so, the pornographic nature of the scenario before you making your face grow hotter than the sun. You lick up every drop of warm cum from her, savoring both the ambrosial taste of her, and the sight of her coming undone like this.

Low groans and mumbles transition to high-pitched squeaks, a telltale sign you were entering overwhelming territory. She's sniveling, all semblance of composure long gone. Babbled cries ring through the small space, all she can muster falling out of her, “Fuck, fuck, shit..okay, hahhh—”

You dont let up and fuck her through her high until she shakes above you, seemingly brought to tears by the sensation. You drag your tongue through her folds one last time, just for the hell of it, and to solidify all this in your memory, before kneeling back to examine what you made of her.

Her chest was steadily rising and falling, she was leaning against that solitary wall, legs quaking and about to give, completely out of it.

The blissed out look on her face was ethereal, she was still so pretty. Through everything, you'd always find your way back—lost in those springlike, agate-ringed greens.

You jump up to her level and yank her towards you by her—your—necklace, making her jolt and snap out of the post-orgasm euphoria. Roughly, you crash your lips onto hers. Ellie’s lips part to let your tongue in, and a guttural moan rips out of her when she tastes herself on you.

You gingerly pull away, trying to ignore the ache in your heart that blossoms when you notice her chasing your lips.

The pair of you are winded and still looking at each other with saucer-wide eyes, the intensity of what you did catching up to you as the bliss wore off. Automatically, you reach to hold her hand, but she pulls away and avoids your sympathetic stare. She looks up and down, side to side, pretending to be interested in the peeling wall behind her.

Seeing her uneasiness, you clear your throat. “Ellie, um…you okay?” Your voice is mellow and gentle, the complete opposite of what it sounded like earlier.

Ellie sighs and briskly nods, brushing any and all concern away. She meets your eyes, and you notice the vibrant green dulled once again—almost appearing gray, like wilted leaves amidst a drought.

Her expression was hard to read. Her cheeks are flushed and her skin is glossy, indicating physical satisfaction, but there was a certain longing there too. The way she fidgeted with her fingers, the way she pursed her lips ever so slightly—she misses you.

You absentmindedly begin to collect yourself, wiping the remnants of her from the lower half of your face, all while readjusting your shirt. You turn towards her, buttoning up Ellie's shirt and straightening the collar—you give her a meek smile when she lets you fix her up, both of you unsure of what to say. The air feels odd, not quite heavy, but cold. “Let's go back, play it cool.” You chuckle and attempt to crack a joke to lighten the awkward mood. Ellie simply huffs.

Accepting that it’s time to snap back to reality. You breathe in a sharp breath to compose and ground yourself. “I miss you, come back to me", was sitting just behind your teeth, but you steeled yourself and pushed those old feelings away.

It was too soon to unpack anything right now. Not to mention both of you still being drunk—in more ways than one.

Ellie starts, “We should leave separately, y'know, so no one suspects anything.”

“Oh for sure, yeah. Go- go, before everyone starts asking questions-“ you usher Ellie out with an instinctive hand pressed to her back, all but throwing her out of that cramped, now-suffocating space for the sake of avoiding becoming the town’s gossip. In Jackson, rumors tended to spread faster than a wildfire.

Ellie left, and you were all alone in the space. Your body's framework crumples weakly against a corner, overcome with emotion. You couldn't help but reminisce—silently lamenting for her in the dim, stuffy room.

But there was still a party going on, if you stayed in there any longer, it would become suspicious rather fast. You push thoughts of Ellie away into the abyss where you made sure the padlock was not planning on breaking. You threw the key away, but for good this time, you vowed to yourself.

Ellie had likely whisked herself away into the kitchen to get a light snack—you remembered that sex always made her hungry afterward.

You hear a familiar song start playing from the main room, something you could try to sway along to and you put on a faint smile—as genuine as you could muster, hoping to rejoin conversations as casually as you had left them. You slip out of the small storage space, closing the door behind you, hoping it’s not symbolic of where things stand with Ellie.

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gojhoes · 1 year ago

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my good neighbor

synopsis: You've lived next door to Geto for nearly a year, yet your neighbor remains all but a mystery. But as for you- he knows everything about you, from the shampoo you use to the books you keep by your bed.

warnings: MDNI 18+, NSFW contents: geto x fem!reader, yan(?)!geto, age gap, breeding, masturbation, no curse au, dubcon(?), SOMNO, toys!, p-in-v, panty kink, creampie, size kink, corruption kink, daddy kink lowkey wc: 6.3k

It all starts when an Amazon package with your name on it somehow ended up in Geto's mailbox. He would later refer to this occurrence as his greatest gift from God; the most blessed twist of fate to ever work in his favor.

A pink cardboard box sits on his counter, jarringly bright in comparison to the deep neutral design of his apartment. If the package's appearance wasn't proof enough, printed on top is an address nearly identical to his own, except his is 3-D, not 3-C. Clearly, it belongs to the tenant to his right- an easy mistake to be made by someone who reads hundreds of names and address every day.

Geto knows that he could march back down to the mail room and leave the package in the correct mailbox. He could walk away without another thought but given that the box is this specific shade of pink, he figures it might be something you're really excited for. You're probably wondering about it right now, peering confusedly at the 'Delivered' notification from your email. Besides, you both live on the third floor, so he'd be saving you an extra trip. He's just being a good neighbor.

But then he starts to think- he recognizes this shade of pink. His ex-girlfriend had once received a very similarly shaped package in the same color. Inside that package had been a vibrator that he'd grown quite familiar with over the course of their relationship. Could it be the same thing boxed up right here addressed to you?

Your door is cracked when steps out of his apartment with the package in his hand. From this angle, all he can see is the door to the coat closet directly to the right of the entrance. In his apartment, the same closet is on the left, confirming his suspicions that your bedrooms do, in fact, share a wall.

It also meant that your living rooms were connected, but Geto was already well aware of that. Yours seemed to be the gathering place for all of your friends and given the amount of chatter that trickled through the wall every evening, you had quite a few of them. Not that he minds- he works nights as a pharmaceutical lab tech, so it's not like he's there when you're having your get-togethers.

It was less bothersome during the week than on the weekend, which was when you hosted your entire gaggle of acquaintances for what sounded like game night. He was still working out the details of all the different voices, but over time, he'd developed the ability to recognize certain voices by the pitch and cadence of their speech.

It hadn't been on purpose, but the walls were stupidly thin, hardly a step up from a curtain. It was impossible not to eavesdrop, especially when the voices dwindled to only yours and another that was undeniably male. Geto'd glue himself to the wall trying to hear what the two of you were getting up to, but it seemed you weren't that kind of girl.

Or maybe Geto was assuming incorrectly that there was any type of romance going on. But for the last several weekends, he would hear the two of you chatting, then it would be quiet for a bit, as if you were pausing the conversation to make out. He has not, however, heard any sounds of pleasure from your side of the wall, and that alone has piqued his curiosity.

However, during the day, your side of the wall typically was quiet. Just as he would be getting out of the shower in preparation for bed, he'd hear your alarm blaring right at 7am. If it was loud to him, he could only imagine how your ears still functioned properly after such repetitive torture. He'd hear you getting ready through the walls and smell the coffee you brew while you take a shower. By eight o'clock, there is a jingle of keys followed by hours of silence, and he sleeps just fine.

It had to have been nine months or so since you'd moved in, yet Geto hasn't laid eyes on you even once. Your apparent opposite schedules have managed to keep the two of you from crossing paths despite living just inches from each other.

As he stands between your neighboring doorframes, he thinks about how strange it feels to know someone's daily routine despite never having glimpsed you. Based off your schedule and the lively nature of your social life, he's deduced that you must be an undergraduate student at the nearby university. He himself had graduated the semester before, but the rent was cheap and moving was too much of a hassle.

But what were you, 19? 20? With your own apartment, an 8-3 schedule, and enough time to hang out with your friends nearly every day? He couldn't be sure of your age, not without seeing you, but your behaviors made him sure that you were young.

Geto glances down at the box again, reading your name aloud to test the sound of it on his tongue. He eyes the opening of your door again, craning his neck to see what else might be behind it, but no dice. Maybe if he should just go in and leave it on the counter. He would get to see your place and hopefully satiate this prolonged curiosity, even for just a moment.

Besides, you've left your door cracked. Every front door in the building locks automatically when closed, so technically, it would be your fault if this was a robbery situation, regardless of the value of your things. It's too tempting- he's been too intrigued by the box clutched in his hand. It was fate for the two of you to meet this way. Every time you held it to your clit as you came, you'd think of the moment you saw him with the box in his hand at your door.

His hand hovers over the doorknob- is he really about to do this? Wherever you've gone, you'll likely be back any minute if you've been so careless about your door. No, it's not the right time. He's already nervous about how you will react, even more so knowing he's going to be seeing you for the first time.

You know when someone just sounds hot? The music your body makes is so human, yet so graceful and controlled until your friends come over. You sound perfect when you're just simply existing by yourself. He feels, in so many ways, that he knows you so well already. It wouldn't take him any time at all to learn how to give you what you want. Maybe he'll tell you that, if the moment presents itself.

He's fortunate yet again for the lack of insulation used by the contractors. There is a rushed set of footsteps echoing from the stairwell at the end of hall, giving him enough warning to take a step back until he's standing just the perfect distance between your two neighboring doors. He looks up as the footsteps close in, and his heart skips a beat when he finally, finally sees you.

"Hi!" you chirp. "You must be my neighbor."

The last few steps you take give him enough time to drink you in. You can't be older than 20 with plush lips and a pretty smile, one that lights up your face and showcases your lack of smile lines. And what you're wearing makes his mouth go dry. It's a baby blue pajama set with thin straps and the shortest goddamn shorts Geto has ever seen in his life. He's staring, he knows he is, but you're even more gorgeous than he could've imagined. Your hand shoots out to shake his, small and soft enveloped within his grasp for just a wink of time.

It's not enough, not even close to satisfying the desire you've instilled in him. He forces himself to look at your face and not at the tops of your tits threatening to spill out of that useless pajama top. God, and he can see your nipples straining against the thin fabric-

"I believe this belongs to you," he says, holding out the pink box.

Your face lights up impossibly as you pull it into your hands, and Geto thinks he might die right there. He smiles at your excitement; he was right- you were excited to get this. God, he would be so good to you if you'd let him.

"Oh, thank you!" you say enthusiastically. "I've had a lot of packages go missing lately, so it's really nice to actually get this one. Thank you so much."

You're practically worshipping him with the sinful sweetness dripping from your words. So well-mannered. Would you be this polite if he brought you into his bed and offered to give you his cock? Would you smile at him as you are now, and say please every time you ask him to fuck you? He'd do it for you- he'd give you everything simply just for being such a sweet girl for him.

Geto smiles and introduces himself. "It seemed like a pretty important package."

He catches the way your shoulders tense and the slight flush of your cheeks- shit, was it actually a vibrator in there? Clearly, you're embarrassed, so it would make sense, but there's no need to be ashamed of getting one.

But you're smiling sweetly again, any trace of worry wiped clean. "It's nice to finally meet you, Geto," you say, and he swears that he sees your eyes flick down to his lips.

He hums, tilting his head to side as if to study you. "Likewise."

You send him one more polite smile before disappearing into your apartment. As he's closing his own door, he's imagining you making a cup of coffee like you do every morning. Are all of your pajamas that pretty? He's met you once, but already he can tell that you're a princess. He bets your parents pay your rent and send you money for groceries anytime you ask. A girl as sweet as you was probably well-accustomed such doting and pampering.

Someone was taking care of you, but were they making sure you were safe? Who was reminding you to keep your doors locked? You were a young pretty girl living on your own in the city- anything can happen. Clearly it seems that you need someone to look out for you, and who could possibly be better for the job than him? He lived so close by already; checking on you would be no problem at all.

And after seeing your perfect thighs in your little shorts, the swell of your breasts straining against the blue fabric...he'll do anything if it means he might get to see that again. He'd come up to you from behind and wrap his arms around your waist, pulling your ass against his hips. One hand holding your chin as he kisses the side of your neck, squeezing your thigh with the other...

You need him. Someone older and more mature to nurture you properly. Besides, he was just being a good neighbor.

That evening, he rearranges his room so that the head of his bed is flush against the innermost wall of his apartment, the one that he shares with you.

*** Geto will admit that somewhere deep inside, he does feel guilty. This part of him is disgusted and ashamed, constantly wishing he could be different and cursing himself because he's not. But he was going to make you love him. Once you let him in, you'll wonder why you hadn't come to him sooner. You'll see- he'll prove it to you, and then you'll understand that everything he does is for you.

But the rest of him, the more dominant parts of his personality, run rampant once he's fallen for you. He isn't acting right, deep down he knows that, but he can't stop. He doesn't want to stop. He wants to know every secret you might be hiding. The home a person keeps says so much about them, and he wants to know everything. You won't have to hide from him, not ever, and he'll make sure you know that. Maybe he's obsessed, but can you blame him? You're just so perfect.

He's starving for you, but he's got to be subtle; if he's too forward, he risks upsetting you or scaring you away. He doesn't want to stress you out, either, but it's essential that he sees your apartment. He needs to check your locks, especially the one on your balcony and make sure that you're keeping up with your cleaning.

It means taking advantage of the several minutes you leave your door cracked when you've gone down to the basement to do your laundry. Every Saturday afternoon, before your friends come and steal you away, you gather your basket and leave your deadbolt extended to avoid locking yourself out.

He's managed to pull it off twice, the first time being harder than the second. It took him three days to work up the courage to even try thinking of a plan, but after moving his bed to the wall, closer to you, he's descended quickly into absolute agony. It's a stroke of luck- no, of fate- that has made you put your bed against the same wall- and he can hear everything.

A few days have passed since the package mishap, and by that point, Geto had almost forgotten about the contents of the box. That night, just as he's getting ready for a shift at the lab, he hears a strange buzzing as he's brushing his teeth. It's an electric toothbrush, so his first thought is that maybe it's time to replace it. But as he rinses out his mouth, he finds that the buzzing had not ceased. It's go to be you, he thinks, immediately drying his face and flying over to the wall to press his ear flush to it. He's just in time to hear the beautiful, merciful sound of a mewl escaping from your lungs.

A shaky breath passes his lips. He's dumbfounded by the pleasure that flows through his abdomen when he realizes what you're doing. He'd totally been right about the package. Even through the wall, he's able to recognize the same vibrations. Maybe he's just been Pavlov'd, but immediately he can feel the blood rushing south as a faint throb starts in his cock.

He knows without a doubt that you've got the cutest pout on your lips, maybe a few strands of hair falling into your face as you lay your head back. "Feels good," he whispers, despite knowing that you can't hear him. Do your hips buck up into your hands, or do have those plush thighs squeezing them tight while you try to cum?

Is this really happening right now? Heat creeps up his neck and high on his cheeks as another moan, albeit quieter this time, blesses his ears. He can't stop his hand from finding his cock and palming at himself as he eyes slip shut.

He's dying to know- he wants to see you right now, wants to watch as you spread apart your folds and fuck yourself until you're trembling. He needs more, he needs everything that you can give him- and you will give him all that you can. He knows you will because you're just that good of a girl.

Fuck. He's got to get to work on time before the cultures expire and he fucks up three weeks' worth of data, but you are killing him with each sweet little moan that leaves your mouth. He's picturing you on your knees with your ass in the air, two fingers pumping in and out of your tight cunt while your other hand has a death grip on the vibrator.

He's waited so long to hear your pathetic little whines as you fuck yourself as fast you can on your too-short fingers. You're so desperate, and with how hard you're trying, it's obvious that you're getting frustrated. He wants to help you- it's clear from your desperate cries that you need him to. He would help you cum, over and over if that's what you wanted. "It's okay," he breathes. "Keeping going, it's okay."

Using a vibrator for the first time can feel almost painful if you're not used to the intensity. You're so overstimulated that you're struggling to reach the orgasm you chase so desperately. He feels genuine pity for you as cry out, "please! so close...mm." If you'd just asked him, he would've been able to introduce it your sensitive clit the right way.

He's begging you more, anything you could give him. He knows you'll do it for him soon. You were just that good of a girl, and maybe you were too sensitive to cum without a little bit of a help. If he was inside you, you'd have creamed all over his cock by now, too fucked out to ride him anymore as he pounds into your pretty pussy from behind.

As much as he would love to see you beg for it, he truly thought that you deserved to cum and felt frustrated for you. You were such a sweet girl; the only reason it took you so long to try your new toy had to be because you were nervous. Good girls deserve the best orgasms, after all.

Shit, were you still a virgin? Did you even know how to make yourself cum yet? That would explain why he hadn't ever heard those pretty sounds before. Fuck, you were going to make him lose his goddamn mind if you didn't cum in the next 60 seconds. "Y-you'll cum for me, right? I know you can do it."

Geto did not make it to work on time that day, quintessentially ruining over 300 specimens all because you wanted to play with your pussy right as he had to leave for work. It was terrible timing, but he can't say he regrets bringing himself to one of the best orgasms he'd ever had without even touching you. It wasn't enough, though, just hearing you. He needs to see it, needs to feel your warm, tight cunt squeezing him dry while you moan into his ear.

A plan comes to him, albeit a risky one. The next time you leave to do your laundry, propping your door open like always, he slips into your apartment. It's an inverted copy of his own- the same appliances, same gray tiles, a balcony at the back of the living room. Your apartment is so girly, so shamelessly you, and not to mention spotless. Geto makes a poignant effort to keep his place clean, but only a control freak would keep their apartment this organized. You must be an anxious person- but that's okay, because he'll be there to help you through it.

Two minutes pass- you should be back any moment, and while he has an idea of what he'll say if you catch him, he really wants to avoid scaring you. He can't have you feeling scared around him, so he turns to leave- he can always come back another time after he's more prepared. But then he sees a set of keys lying on your counter, and the gears in his head start turning.

You've left your door open, so you'll be able to get back in- he doesn't have to worry about that. He knows you won't be leaving anytime soon. He's confident that he'll have enough time and he doubts that you'll notice your apartment key missing if you're not actively needing it. So, he pockets the whole set and slips right back out as silently as he'd come.

Early on Monday morning, Geto waits until he hears the jingle of your keys and the click of the deadbolt as it slides into place. The smell of coffee lingers, and his clock reads 8:06, but he can't risk you coming back, so he forces himself to wait a little longer. He's nearly vibrating with the anticipation of getting so much unadulterated time in your apartment. The copied key in hand is representative of everything he's done to get closer to you. This observation will help him learn who you are- what shampoo you use, what you keep on hand in your fridge, what toys you have hidden away.

He decides it's been long enough when 20 more minutes pass, and Geto makes a beeline for your bedroom. Compared to the rest of your apartment, your room is much more lived-in. The white comforter topping your bed is rumpled, exposing light pink sheets under a plethora of stuffies and pillows. He's more interested, however, in the nightstand on the side.

He pulls open the single drawer and sure enough, there's the white vibrator that you've been using quite often lately. Aside from a bottle of lube, there's nothing aside from some medications and a pair of nail clippers. His suspicion that you're a virgin persists from your lack of sex toys- no wonder you were so embarrassed when he hinted at the contents of your package. Already, he was half-hard thinking about how good he was going to make you feel. He was ecstatic to think that no one else had touched you yet. Whoever that guy was, the one you your often spent evenings with alone, wasn't going to stand a chance.

Geto steps away to make toward your bathroom, and feels something soft under his foot. He glances down and bends to retrieve the black lacy thong you've left so mercifully on the floor. It's foul, it's intrusive, it's perfect- he brings the fabric to his face and breathes in your scent. His cock throbs in his pants, begging for attention- for your attention, but he can't have you yet. No, it has to be perfect because you are perfect, and you deserve nothing less.

He shoves the thong in his pocket before going into the ensuite bathroom.

Later that week, the universe finally gives him a break.

That fateful Friday evening, he calls in sick to work. His throat is a bit sore, and he knows the ache in his muscles isn't from last night's workout, so he opts to take his temperature, which reads 38.2°C. He knocks back some cold medicine before burying himself in the blankets on his couch, dozing in and out as the effects sweep him away.

He's roused by a rap-rap-rapping on his front door, and even through his medicated haze, his heart jumps- is it you? Is he really about to get this lucky? He glances at the clock above the stove to see that it's half-past 11, and from the din coming through the wall, he knows that you've got your friends over. As he crosses to answer the door, he does feel a bit better aside from the persistent fog clouding his brain.

And it is you, dressed in a pair of jeans and a pink top that shows off your midriff. Your cheeks are painted with a light flush and your hair is bit disheveled, obviously tipsy from the way you're swaying a little. He smiles at you, drinking in the soft curves of your hips that he's been dying to dig his fingers into.

"Hey," you say. Your speech isn't quite slurred, but there's a lilt to your words that says all he needs to hear. "I'm so sorry to bother you like this, I know it's a little creepy, but-"

He doesn't mean to cut you off, but the words spill out of his mouth before he can stop them. "No, it's no trouble at all. Bother me all you want."

You're tipsy enough that the line works- you even laugh a little, and the sound makes his heart skip a beat. Every sound you make is so sweet

"Right," you say. "D'you have a wine bottle opener by chance?"

He shoots you his best disarming smile. "I do."

"Could I borrow it for a moment? I promise I'll bring it right back, I'm right next door."

He'd give you his left lung if you asked for it. He considers inviting you in, but the state of his illness deters him. All the lights are off in his apartment and he hadn't bothered to change out of his gray sweats and black sweatshirt. His hair is down, likely tangled and flat from dozing on his couch. No, you deserve to see him at his best- he'll get you to come over soon enough.

"Of course," Geto says. "Just a second."

He leaves the door cracked in the same way he's seen yours over the last month. Your fingers linger on his own when he places the wine opener in your hand. Even that slight contact sends a wave of excitement through him.

"Swear you'll come right back?" he teases, smirking a little.

You smile again, making him fall even harder when shoot him a wink before disappearing back inside of your apartment without a response. If this was your way of flirting, he's even more enamored with you. So coy, yet so sweet as you look at him over your shoulder before the door closes.

Geto goes into his kitchen to heat up a bowl of broth. Your tits sat so pretty in that little top- did you always dress like that? Not too revealing, showing off just enough to drive him mad with desire. He didn't get to see your ass, but if it was anything like he remembered, he knew that those jeans would cling to it like a film.

As he's sipping on his soup and scrolling mindlessly through his phone, there's another knock. He's on his feet and at the door in seconds, not even bothering to hesitate to swing it open so he can see you again. This time, you're holding a bottle of rose (because of course, you are) and his wine opener.

"Can you do it for me?" You're looking up at him with what he swears is a pout, and with how you bat your eyes through the question, how can he refuse? It would be criminal not to help, especially when you're asking so nicely with that cute look on your face. "None of us can get it open."

He's delighted that you've asked him. Were there no boys over there to help you? Did you choose him over them, or were you truly just too clumsy to do it yourself?

He cranes his neck to see if anyone else stands in the hall, but it seems deserted save for you, so he pushes forward. Geto does his best to seem mildly disinterested yet nice, not wanting to scare you away with the words he really wants to say. If he didn't fuck this up, maybe he wouldn't have to wait so long to get you to come back. His plan would get to move so much faster, but he had to be careful.

"I should probably do this over the sink," he says, reaching out to retrieve the bottle from your grasp. He purposefully lets his thumb brush the tip of your pinky- enough to test the waters, but not so much that it can't be played off as sheer coincidence. As he turns to go into the kitchen, he says over his shoulder, "Feel free to come in, by the way."

The suggestion is very forward considering you've said less than 20 words to the guy since moving in a year ago. Had you been of a better state of mind, you would have politely declined- you barely knew the guy even if your beds were separated only by a few inches of drywall. But you can't deny your curiosity; not once have you glimpsed what lies on his side of the wall. So you indulge yourself and step over the threshold, making sure to pull the door as you do so.

There's no way he's getting this lucky right now. All the plotting, the strategic timing of your meetings, and his careful research are finally paying off. You are walking right into his apartment without him having to lift a finger. He doesn't think you can get any more perfect- he hasn't even touched you yet, and you seem to already know what he wants. It was proof that the invisible string was real.

You stand at a safe distance on the side of the bar opposite from his, watching intently as Geto works the wine opener into the cork. There's a satisfying 'pop' as he gives it a firm tug. What would've taken you an embarrassingly long amount of time is accomplished with one quick flex of his forearm and a small grunt of effort.

"What's the occasion?" he asks.

You stare at him blankly. "Huh?"

He returns the wine opener to its rightful drawer, drawing out the motions to maximize how long he's got you in his apartment.

"It's champagne, so I figured maybe it was for something special," he explains. "Or are you just fancy like that?"

You're smiling at him again and his heart soars. He prays that you'll always look at him like that, and only him, but he gives no indication of the depth of his feelings. He wraps his hand around the neck of the now-open bottle and extends it toward you as he rounds the side of the counter.

"You could say that," you reply with a giggle. "Thank you..um, it's Geto, right?"

He nods. "Anytime. What's mine is yours."

It comes out wrong- way too intense to say if he's trying to stay above ground with you. But you don't seem to mind. If anything, the flush on your cheeks deepens as you take the bottle from him. From where he stands, he can make out a faint scar dragging across your exposed collarbone. He wonders what it might feel like to run his tongue across you delicate skin and leave marks. Would you keen into him and clutch at him as the quick, sharp pain pulls a whine out of you?

"Um, I'm sorry if I'm ever loud or anything," he says. "I work nights, so I think we have opposite schedules." A white lie, but he doesn't want you to leave yet. If he just keeps you talking, maybe he'll get the chance to ask you to hang out. He's desperate, honestly, but he tries to hide it as he stands between you and the front door.

Your face lights with a carefree wave of your hand. "Oh no, I can hardly tell you're there most of the time. I'm a super heavy sleeper, too, so don't worry about it."

He hums and shoots you a grin. "Guess I've been worried for nothing, then."

"Same to you, though," you continue. "I have people over like, all the time, I know they can get really loud."

It's awkward now, as you stand there with your eyes darting around the room and occasionally meeting his. You're nervous, he realizes, shifting your body in a way that makes your hip jut out. He doesn't want you to leave, but he's less apt to make you too uncomfortable, so he makes to walk you out.

"Thank you again," you say, smiling at him widely. He returns your thanks, and watches you disappear into your apartment once more. Already, his mind is reeling as he checks the time. Your friends should be leaving in a couple of hours- the noise usually diminishes around 2am, which will be no trouble to stay up until.

And he makes it despite taking another dose of medicine, having long since grown used to being awake during these hours. You should've have mentioned that you were a heavy sleeper, because now he has to do this.

His clock reads 3:10 when he quietly turns the lock with his copy of your key. The lights are off and it's silent, such a vast difference from the earlier commotion. He leaves his keys on the counter in case there's an unfortunate jingle when he finally enters your room.

You sleep naked- god, you make it so easy for him to love you. Your lips are parted and the passive rise and fall of your chest signals just how deeply you're sleeping.

He slides a hand between inner your thighs, unable to help himself any longer. He teases at your entrance to see how wet you are, dipping his fingertip in just far enough to get a taste of you as he brings it up to his mouth.

And fuck, his index finger slides right in and your cunt flutters around it.

But you don't stir; there's not even a hitch in your breath as he curls his finger into that spongy tissue that he's sure should've roused you. You weren't exaggerating about your being a heavy sleeper, and Geto silently sends praise to whatever gods that were helping him pull this off. However many drinks you'd had earlier were keeping you pulled under the sea of unconsciousness.

He thinks about sliding his hands under your thighs and burying his face between them, licking and sucking at your clit to properly taste you. Surely you'd have to wake up from that, but his patience is wearing thin.

He needs this- he needs you. He's so desperate to finally sink into you, to fuck you like he's been aching to for months. His hands are on the waistband of his sweats and he's pulling out his cock, the tip already weeping as he thumbs at his slit. He wraps his hand around his shaft and starts thrusting into it, finally letting himself begin to unravel as he lets out a pleasured sigh.

God, he doesn't know where to start. Your perfect tits bounce ever so slightly with every rise and fall of your chest. The collarbones he's been wanting to bite are so vulnerable and delicate, sitting right there for the taking. But he doesn't want to ruin the moment by waking you from too much stimulation. He leans over your still body, holding himself up on his palms as he glimpses your pretty face.

He feels that he might die if he doesn't fuck you right now, lining up his cock with your entrance before he buries himself inside you.

"Ohh, fuck," he breathes. So tight, so warm, so perfect- his own perfect little pussy, so much better than anything he could've imagined. He fears that he might cum right then, digging his fingers into the sheets in attempt to steady himself. Even in such a deep sleep, you're soaking his cock with each slow thrust. Are you dreaming about him fucking you right now? Is that how your slumbering brain is making sense of all the pleasure?

Once he's got some semblance of control, he rolls his hips into yours, sinking back into you until. It's too good, and he needs more, he needs to have his cock as deep as you'll take him. He moves his hands to your knees and bends your legs until your thighs are pressing against your chest. It's desperate, the way he fucks you, but somehow, you remain as still and quiet as you'd been when he first came in. Your body jostles with each thrust and he sees the tip of your tongue creeping out from between your parted lips- fucked dumb, even fast asleep.

He knows he should probably pull out, but he's too fucked out to think straight, not to mention the cold medicine running through him right now. It's not right, but with how fucking good you feel, he doesn't care. You're going to wake up with his cum dripping out of your aching cunt, wondering obliviously if your period came early. Traces of him will be all over you and he just knows you'll love the feeling. He can already tell you're going to be his little cumslut- you're too sweet to deny him such a pleasure.

His thrusts get faster until his balls are full on slapping against your ass and his muscles tense all over. You're squeezing him so fucking tight, it's a wonder he's lasted this long, especially with how needy you've made him.

An involuntary flutter of your cunt sends him over the edge. His orgasm wracks his entire body and he's trembling with each spurt of his cum that covers your gummy walls, uncaring as to what consequences might await him. He moans out your name, panting as he empties every drop into you, and you just take it so well. Just as he's about to pull out, your eyes flutter open ever so slightly.

But you're so tired- you don't even notice that it's Geto hovering over you before they slip shut again. "Mm," you murmur. "Wh-what are you..mm." The words trail off, and a moment later, your breaths are soft and even again as sleep takes you once more.

You're adorable. He slips out of you as gently as he can, he waits until he can see his cum start to trickle down to the curve of your ass. He lifts a hand to stroke your cheek and brush away the stray hairs on your face, but he doesn't want to risk waking you when you're already so sleepy. With how pliable and motionless you are, it's clear that you need your beauty sleep.

As he slips out of your apartment and back into his, he can't help but think of how lucky he is. He's so lucky- how is it that fate has blessed him so richly? He was going to make you his. You were going to get so addicted to his cock, to his scent, to his taste that you'd never dare to leave him. You'll belong to him, free for him to use and praise as he pleases. But he will always reward you for being his sweet girl.

And, he thinks, you are so so lucky to have such a good neighbor.

i felt like a mad scientist the entire time i wrote this. if you've thought about trying to write fanfic, JUST DO IT because sometimes it's really fun.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #geto suguru #suguru geto x reader #geto smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto suguru smut #somno breeding #yandere #yandere geto suguru #obsessive love #idek

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another-lost-mc · 5 months ago

Text

Shower Thoughts: Their bathing habits, with and without you.

Featuring: The Dateables x gn!Reader

NSFW // Content: Domestic fluff and non-explicit smut. Sharing a bath/shower together; sexual and non-sexual touching. 3k words

Read Part 1 (with the Demon Brothers) here.

DIAVOLO

It goes without saying that the Devildom's Crown Prince has a luxurious bathroom that would put some of the most popular spas to shame. It's been upgraded over time with modern amenities and incorporates trendy human world elements in its design. The large space, designed meticulously for Diavolo's comfort, is equipped with a large, ornate claw-foot tub and a spacious walk-in shower room, encased with frosted glass and furnished with rain shower heads and a large marble bench. Stepping into the space triggers magically-heated tiles; plush rugs throughout the space soak up excess water that may drip onto the floor. There's an entire cabinet full of clean, soft towels and the prince's favourite body care products. Along the far wall, impressive bay windows that offer a breath-taking view of the city and allow moonlight to illuminate the space in a bright, otherworldly glow. Only on the darkest and cloudiest days do the wall sconces need to be lit.

Diavolo enjoys the novelty of collecting body care from the human world. His collection of body wash, shampoo, and scented oils are an eclectic selection of items from all three realms. He even has a basket full of items taken from the Hotel Corvo: travel-sized bottles of the same items provided to guests, that he tested personally before selecting them for guests that visit the hotels.

Most of the time, he prefers to shower. The walk-in space is large enough to accommodate his impressive wingspan. It's more convenient. At the end of a long day, usually when he's weary from hosting yet another social function at his castle, he prefers to stretch his limbs and soak in a hot bath instead. It's also one of his tried-and-tested cures for late-night insomnia when endless responsibilities weigh heavy on his mind.

He's not a stranger to sharing his bed with a casual partner from time to time, but bathing with them is something he doesn't do. It's far too intimate. He simply allows them privacy and most know not to overstay their welcome.

Inviting you into his bathing chamber is a wholly unique experience and quickly becomes part of the routine when you spend nights with him at the castle. He makes the space more inviting for you too: stocking the cabinet with body care in your favourite scents as well as his own, and a shelf of monogrammed towels and linens specifically for your use.

When he's feeling nostalgic or whimsical, he likes sitting with you in the bath, enjoying your fluttery pulse beneath his fingertips when he wraps himself around you and holds you against his bare chest, or when he smooths fluffy suds across your skin and massages gently at the stiff muscles underneath until you melt into his embrace, boneless and content.

On nights when flirty touches and lingering glances make his heart race and his cock twitch just thinking of you in his bed, your sinful deeds ultimately lead you both into a hot shower. He drags his lips over the suckled marks and indentations of teeth littering your skin. The room fills with steam but you still shiver against the cool wall tiles when he smothers his body against your own. His hand trails down between your legs and seeks out the remnants of his spend smeared across the inside of your thighs. With sticky fingers, he pushes it back inside you before the water can wash it away completely.

(The marble bench is sturdy enough for both of you, should you whine and push your hips back against him and ask for more of him instead.)

BARBATOS

Perhaps it's his unique perspective on the passage of time that makes the thought of indulging in long baths or showers somewhat unappealing to a demon like Barbatos.

It's fitting that the Prince's butler may have better things to do with his time than indulge in longer showers or baths than necessary. He is extremely busy, the faithful shadow at Diavolo's side. When he's not with Diavolo, he's usually taking of other important tasks himself, seemingly everywhere and nowhere at once.

Barbatos' private washroom is located within the complex path of levels and staircases scattered throughout his living quarters, not too far from his bed but strangers to his room would easily climb past it without realizing it.

Like most bathrooms in the rest of the castle, this one has been modernized for comfort and efficiency too. However, it lacks the ornamental decadence found within the royal quarters or in some of the nicer guest suites.

More often than not, Barbatos prefers to shower at the beginning of his day. It's enough to rid him of the last traces of sleep that slow his limbs and helps him clear the fog of sleep that lingers behind his eyes, the confusing tangle of memories and possibilities of the past and the future that no one else can see.

Sometimes he finishes his day with another shower, quicker than the ones he usually takes in the mornings. It's enough to clean off the sweat and grime from a long day spent busting around the castle or RAD and the rest of the Devildom. (These showers can take longer than usual if there were any kitchen-related mishaps while baking with Luke or preparing dinner with the Little D's nearby. It wouldn't be the first time he had to carefully detangle bits of food or sticky-sweet syrup or sauce from the fringe of his hair.)

If someone (other than you) touches his tail by accident, he spends extra time and care scrubbing vigorously at the smooth, glossy skin until all traces of the unwanted scent is gone. He won't be able to sleep otherwise.

He rarely takes the time to draw himself a bath, except for the most frustrating days when even the hot water and lightly scented steam filling the air isn't always enough of a distraction from whatever is bothering him.

More often than he would like, some minor disagreement between the Little Ds leads to an all-out brawl that causes havoc in the kitchen. Barbatos rarely raises his voice with them, but that might be less terrifying than the sight of his tail whipping behind him erratically as his eyes glow ominous, like crackling thunder trapped in glittering emerald stones. But he can't stay mad at them for long, no matter how much he might want to.

Not long after he storms to his room and settles into the bath, he can sense their familiar brand of magic as a trickle of cool air settles somewhere near the foot of the tub. Seven pairs of shadowy claws hook over the edge of the tub as the Little Ds rise up slowly through the floor and materialize in his private bathroom. Entering his chambers without permission is something they wouldn't think to do except under the most dire of circumstances. They chatter amongst themselves quietly and rehearse their apology speech, but even that threatens to dissolve into chaos as No. 1 and No. 4 curse at each other and No. 7 has to try and stop No. 6 from eating a bar of soap. Barbatos, who pretends to be dozing in his bath, has to school his expression even though the corner of his mouth twitches with the urge not to smile at their increasingly ridiculous antics. By the time he pretends to "wake up" and assure them that all will be well between them tomorrow, he feels calm enough to try getting a decent night's sleep and leaves the bath not long after they disappear with seven little pops.

In the privacy of his private quarters, Barbatos prefers to spoil you with personal attention and all the indulgence you'll tolerate. His sparsely-decorated bathroom fills with bottles of your favourite body care products and scented candles to give the space a soft, romantic glow that the wall sconces alone can't offer.

Sometimes he prefers to start right there in the tub, where his intimate touches and quiet, affectionate words prepare you for what's to come later once he carries you to bed. He sits on a stool behind you, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows and plucking off his gloves one finger at a time so he can feel the gooseflesh erupt across your skin when bare hands trail gently down the curve of your neck. He rubs away the tension in your muscles and follows the path of his fingers with his mouth: water-slicked lips that kiss the dewy beads, inhaling the subtle scent of your skin between nips of needle-sharp fangs that draw delightful gasps from your throat. He ignores the small stack of washcloths in the cupboard and gathers fragrant suds between his palms as he smooths his hands over your shoulders and down your chest, and when he leans forward he listens to the moans and gasps you try to smother with your teeth dragging uselessly across your bottom lip. He hears it all, when he's close enough to turn his head and kiss the skin below your ear, and he feels it against his chest when your body shivers against him. Water sloshes and a bubbly cascade spills over the edge of the tub when his hands pry your legs apart, a tantalizing sight that chips away at his resolve, and when you trap his hands between your legs to keep him there, he thinks that perhaps you're clean enough for now. He has a feeling you'll both need another bath by the time he's finished with you, and he looks forward to doing this all over again.

SIMEON

Considering he shares the spacious bathroom with his dorm mates, Simeon doesn't have many complaints. Luke goes to bed much earlier than he does, and Solomon is up all hours of the night and often sneaks away when he wants to work on something without prying eyes. That leaves the bath and shower facilities free for Simeon to use most of the evening without worrying about interruptions or needing to rush.

There are novelties in the Devildom he appreciates - magic warming floor tiles, spells to keep the water clean and fragrant no matter how long he soaks in the tub.

In the Celestial Realm, hot showers are soothing after a long day in the gardens or an exhausting training session with the other warrior ranks. Sometimes he opts for cool baths when the realm's sun bears down mercilessly during the hottest season.

Unlike the Celestial Realm, the Devildom air is crisp with the slightest chill. It was difficult to adjust to at first, and he found himself retreating into hot baths every night when the lack of sunshine left his bones feeling brittle like icy glass.

Indulgent baths or overly-long showers are something he enjoys infrequently, a selfish treat when he knows he won't be interrupted by the other residents of Purgatory Hall. Sometimes he keeps a cup of tea on a stool near the edge of the tub while he flips lazily through a book on his reading list. Other times, he leans back and lets the ends of his hair float like wispy tendrils across the bath water's surface while he thinks about his next writing project.

He enjoys those rare moments of peace and quiet. Nothing is more frustrating than skimming the edges of sleep only to be startled to full consciousness by the unexpected bang of an explosion coming from Solomon's room, or Luke calling for him after an upsetting nightmare woke him up. Sometimes he wants to be selfish and ignore them; sometimes it would be easier if he could, but that would make him a poor angel and an even poorer friend, would it not?

He grows infinitely more selfish when the idea of sharing his bath time with you tempts him to do the unthinkable: find reasons to send Luke to the castle or the House of Lamentation for an overnight visit when Solomon also happens to be gone for the evening.

Simeon loves the idea of bathing with you. Pressing his bare chest against your back while he holds you close, feeling your fingers smooth through his hair while you scrub shampoo onto his scalp, watching candlelight flicker in your eyes when he leans forward to inhale the alluring combination of bath oils and your natural scent before brushing his lips against yours.

Simeon might not be a perfect angel, but the temptation of seeing you naked and having you in arm's reach is often too much for him to bear. Would he trade sunny skies for endless night for all eternity? Perhaps he would; the fire flickering in your gaze is more than enough to keep him warm.

SOLOMON

For someone that spends so much time elbows-deep in whatever magical experiment tickles his fancy, access to adequate bathing chambers is essential. Potions have a habit of getting messy - and sometimes there’s an unexpected explosion or two - and it’s important to clean any lingering stains or fumes as quickly as possible.

Purgatory Hall isn’t the best place for Solomon to conduct some of the experiments he considers risky or dangerous, so he goes to his home in the human world where he can tinker without distractions or collateral damage nearby.

His home, like many houses in the Devildom, has been upgraded over time. Whatever feature can’t be easily acquired with the wonders of modern-day plumbing or carpentry, he can replicate with a bit of magical engineering instead.

The shared bathroom of Purgatory Hall is satisfactory when efficiency trumps luxury. Although he wondered about having to share the space with the others that live in that dorm, his late-night schedule usually means he can shower or soak at his leisure long after the others have gone to sleep - so long as he’s not too noisy. He tries to be a considerate roommate, most of the time.

When he wants to indulge, or if he simply wants the privacy and space he rarely has at Purgatory Hall, he makes a short trip back to his estate in the human world.

Tucked away in a corner of the world, the ancient stone ruins he’s rebuilt and calls home is one of the last existing tributes to his reign over a long-forgotten kingdom, a reminder of who he was before woven with the man that exists today.

His private bathroom is a unique blend of ancient practicality and modern comfort. The stone walls and windows are fortified with magic to prevent cold drafts, and the floor heats up with a simple enchantment. His collection of body care - some of his own creation, some gifts from Asmodeus and other friends in the Devildom - litter the shelves nearby.

Always a charmer, Solomon can’t help but show off the casual majesty of his beloved home when he invites you to see it. He goes out of his way to ensure you have your own rooms near his own, so that he's always close should his adorable apprentice need him. Making room for you in his life, when he's grown accustomed to being alone, is something he does willingly for you and for no one else.

You could use your own private bath when you visit him there, but his is so much more enticing — probably by design. He amazes you with charms that cause the stone walls to shimmer and fade away so you can see the starlit night sky through them instead, and he shows off his magical whimsy by filling the room with bubbles that float in the air but never burst as they carry the fragrant scent of bath oil and disperse it all around you. He calls them simple tricks; you call it showing off. (You get the feeling that both of you are correct.)

The glorified bathtub that looks more like a large stone pool than a tub, built into the floor and could easily fit a dozen others, holds crystal clear water that warms to the perfect temperature and never cools or grows cloudy no matter how much shampoo or soap suds drip from your skin. Another effortless trick, a wave of his hand and a spell so simple he merely needs to think of the words. He could teach it to you, but why do that when this gives him an excuse to stay close? Your eyes light up with wonder and amazement when he charms you with the simplest things, and even the smallest bit of praise fulfills him.

Perhaps that's why he finds more and more excuses — ahem, reasons — to whisk you away from the Devildom to the private paradise in the human world where he can have you all to himself. The demons and angels and occasional reaper complain, but they can't argue when he declares that there's some ritual you need to practice, a spell you need concentration to master, some obscure elixir he wants you to brew. You'll always be his darling apprentice and the life of a sorcerer is like that of a student. "You're always learning, always striving to improve," he tells you one day in his library, surrounded by books older than you by several lifetimes. "The good ones do, anyway, and my dear, you're already one of the best."

His joyful mood and playful banter make it hard to resist him, even if your back aches from leaning over the desk in his lab. Your nose twitches from the slightly acrid fumes rising from the small cauldron simmering over the fire, the thin veil of smoke curling in the air around you. Solomon makes sure you're always wearing protective gear when handling anything even the least bit dangerous, but there's still a singe mark in your protective apron where a splash of something burned through the thick fibers. Your clothes remain intact, but the heavy scent of tonight's experiment clings to your skin. Wiping his sweaty brow with his bare arm, white shirt sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up haphazardly to his elbow, Solomon manages to smudge ash across his cheek as he breaks out into one of his Cheshire grins. His offer to shower together sounds far too good to resist, and as you follow him out of the workshop and down the hall to his bathing chamber, pretending it's merely a conscious effort to conserve water.

(A blatant lie, and not one you'll risk voicing out loud; not when showering alone takes fifteen minutes at most, but with Solomon, the better part of an hour has usually passed before his greedy touches finally relent and he wraps you in a fluffy towel - only to begin with renewed vigor once he nods shamelessly towards his bed where you'll be much more comfortable for what he has in store for you next.)

Read More: Obey Me Masterlist

#obey me headcanons #obey me x reader #obey me diavolo x reader #obey me barbatos x reader #obey me simeon x reader #obey me solomon x reader #x reader #gn!reader

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tinystepsforward · 9 months ago

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autocrattic (more matt shenanigans, not tumblr this time)

I am almost definitely not the right person for this writeup, but I'm closer than most people on here, so here goes! This is all open-source tech drama, and I take my time laying out the context, but the short version is: Matt tried to extort another company, who immediately posted receipts, and now he's refusing to log off again. The long version is... long.

If you don't need software context, scroll down/find the "ok tony that's enough. tell me what's actually happening" heading, or just go read the pink sections. Or look at this PDF.

the background

So. Matt's original Good Idea was starting WordPress with fellow developer Mike Little in 2003, which is free and open-source software (FOSS) that was originally just for blogging, but now powers lots of websites that do other things. In particular, Automattic acquired WooCommerce a long time ago, which is free online store software you can run on WordPress.

FOSS is... interesting. It's a world that ultimately is powered by people who believe deeply that information and resources should be free, but often have massive blind spots (for example, Wikipedia's consistently had issues with bias, since no amount of "anyone can edit" will overcome systemic bias in terms of who has time to edit or is not going to be driven away by the existing contributor culture). As with anything else that people spend thousands of hours doing online, there's drama. As with anything else that's technically free but can be monetized, there are:

Heaps of companies and solo developers who profit off WordPress themes, plugins, hosting, and other services;

Conflicts between volunteer contributors and for-profit contributors;

Annoying founders who get way too much credit for everything the project has become.

the WordPress ecosystem

A project as heavily used as WordPress (some double-digit percentage of the Internet uses WP. I refuse to believe it's the 43% that Matt claims it is, but it's a pretty large chunk) can't survive just on the spare hours of volunteers, especially in an increasingly monetised world where its users demand functional software, are less and less tech or FOSS literate, and its contributors have no fucking time to build things for that userbase.

Matt runs Automattic, which is a privately-traded, for-profit company. The free software is run by the WordPress Foundation, which is technically completely separate (wordpress.org). The main products Automattic offers are WordPress-related: WordPress.com, a host which was designed to be beginner-friendly; Jetpack, a suite of plugins which extend WordPress in a whole bunch of ways that may or may not make sense as one big product; WooCommerce, which I've already mentioned. There's also WordPress VIP, which is the fancy bespoke five-digit-plus option for enterprise customers. And there's Tumblr, if Matt ever succeeds in putting it on WordPress. (Every Tumblr or WordPress dev I know thinks that's fucking ridiculous and impossible. Automattic's hiring for it anyway.)

Automattic devotes a chunk of its employees toward developing Core, which is what people in the WordPress space call WordPress.org, the free software. This is part of an initiative called Five for the Future — 5% of your company's profits off WordPress should go back into making the project better. Many other companies don't do this.

There are lots of other companies in the space. GoDaddy, for example, barely gives back in any way (and also sucks). WP Engine is the company this drama is about. They don't really contribute to Core. They offer relatively expensive WordPress hosting, as well as providing a series of other WordPress-related products like LocalWP (local site development software), Advanced Custom Fields (the easiest way to set up advanced taxonomies and other fields when making new types of posts. If you don't know what this means don't worry about it), etc.

Anyway. Lots of strong personalities. Lots of for-profit companies. Lots of them getting invested in, or bought by, private equity firms.

Matt being Matt, tech being tech

As was said repeatedly when Matt was flipping out about Tumblr, all of the stuff happening at Automattic is pretty normal tech company behaviour. Shit gets worse. People get less for their money. WordPress.com used to be a really good place for people starting out with a website who didn't need "real" WordPress — for $48 a year on the Personal plan, you had really limited features (no plugins or other customisable extensions), but you had a simple website with good SEO that was pretty secure, relatively easy to use, and 24-hour access to Happiness Engineers (HEs for short. Bad job title. This was my job) who could walk you through everything no matter how bad at tech you were. Then Personal plan users got moved from chat to emails only. Emails started being responded to by contractors who didn't know as much as HEs did and certainly didn't get paid half as well. Then came AI, and the mandate for HEs to try to upsell everyone things they didn't necessarily need. (This is the point at which I quit.)

But as was said then as well, most tech CEOs don't publicly get into this kind of shitfight with their users. They're horrid tyrants, but they don't do it this publicly.

ok tony that's enough. tell me what's actually happening

WordCamp US, one of the biggest WordPress industry events of the year, is the backdrop for all this. It just finished.

There are.... a lot of posts by Matt across multiple platforms because, as always, he can't log off. But here's the broad strokes.

Sep 17

Matt publishes a wanky blog post about companies that profit off open source without giving back. It targets a specific company, WP Engine.

Compare the Five For the Future pages from Automattic and WP Engine, two companies that are roughly the same size with revenue in the ballpark of half a billion. These pledges are just a proxy and aren’t perfectly accurate, but as I write this, Automattic has 3,786 hours per week (not even counting me!), and WP Engine has 47 hours. WP Engine has good people, some of whom are listed on that page, but the company is controlled by Silver Lake, a private equity firm with $102 billion in assets under management. Silver Lake doesn’t give a dang about your Open Source ideals. It just wants a return on capital. So it’s at this point that I ask everyone in the WordPress community to vote with your wallet. Who are you giving your money to? Someone who’s going to nourish the ecosystem, or someone who’s going to frack every bit of value out of it until it withers?

(It's worth noting here that Automattic is funded in part by BlackRock, who Wikipedia calls "the world's largest asset manager".)

Sep 20 (WCUS final day)

WP Engine puts out a blog post detailing their contributions to WordPress.

Matt devotes his keynote/closing speech to slamming WP Engine.

He also implies people inside WP Engine are sending him information.

For the people sending me stuff from inside companies, please do not do it on your work device. Use a personal phone, Signal with disappearing messages, etc. I have a bunch of journalists happy to connect you with as well. #wcus — Twitter I know private equity and investors can be brutal (read the book Barbarians at the Gate). Please let me know if any employee faces firing or retaliation for speaking up about their company's participation (or lack thereof) in WordPress. We'll make sure it's a big public deal and that you get support. — Tumblr

Matt also puts out an offer live at WordCamp US:

“If anyone of you gets in trouble for speaking up in favor of WordPress and/or open source, reach out to me. I’ll do my best to help you find a new job.” — source tweet, RTed by Matt

He also puts up a poll asking the community if WP Engine should be allowed back at WordCamps.

Sep 21

Matt writes a blog post on the WordPress.org blog (the official project blog!): WP Engine is not WordPress.

He opens this blog post by claiming his mom was confused and thought WP Engine was official.

The blog post goes on about how WP Engine disabled post revisions (which is a pretty normal thing to do when you need to free up some resources), therefore being not "real" WordPress. (As I said earlier, WordPress.com disables most features for Personal and Premium plans. Or whatever those plans are called, they've been renamed like 12 times in the last few years. But that's a different complaint.)

Sep 22: More bullshit on Twitter. Matt makes a Reddit post on r/Wordpress about WP Engine that promptly gets deleted. Writeups start to come out:

Search Engine Journal: WordPress Co-Founder Mullenweg Sparks Backlash

TechCrunch: Matt Mullenweg calls WP Engine a ‘cancer to WordPress’ and urges community to switch providers

Sep 23 onward

Okay, time zones mean I can't effectively sequence the rest of this.

Matt defends himself on Reddit, casually mentioning that WP Engine is now suing him.

Also here's a decent writeup from someone involved with the community that may be of interest.

WP Engine drops the full PDF of their cease and desist, which includes screenshots of Matt apparently threatening them via text.

Twitter link | Direct PDF link

This PDF includes some truly fucked texts where Matt appears to be trying to get WP Engine to pay him money unless they want him to tell his audience at WCUS that they're evil.

Matt, after saying he's been sued and can't talk about it, hosts a Twitter Space and talks about it for a couple hours.

He also continues to post on Reddit, Twitter, and on the Core contributor Slack.

Here's a comment where he says WP Engine could have avoided this by paying Automattic 8% of their revenue.

Another, 20 hours ago, where he says he's being downvoted by "trolls, probably WPE employees"

At some point, Matt updates the WordPress Foundation trademark policy. I am 90% sure this was him — it's not legalese and makes no fucking sense to single out WP Engine.

Old text: The abbreviation “WP” is not covered by the WordPress trademarks and you are free to use it in any way you see fit. New text: The abbreviation “WP” is not covered by the WordPress trademarks, but please don’t use it in a way that confuses people. For example, many people think WP Engine is “WordPress Engine” and officially associated with WordPress, which it’s not. They have never once even donated to the WordPress Foundation, despite making billions of revenue on top of WordPress.

Sep 25: Automattic puts up their own legal response.

anyway this fucking sucks

This is bigger than anything Matt's done before. I'm so worried about my friends who're still there. The internal ramifications have... been not great so far, including that Matt's naturally being extra gung-ho about "you're either for me or against me and if you're against me then don't bother working your two weeks".

Despite everything, I like WordPress. (If you dig into this, you'll see plenty of people commenting about blocks or Gutenberg or React other things they hate. Unlike many of the old FOSSheads, I actually also think Gutenberg/the block editor was a good idea, even if it was poorly implemented.)

I think that the original mission — to make it so anyone can spin up a website that's easy enough to use and blog with — is a good thing. I think, despite all the ways being part of FOSS communities since my early teens has led to all kinds of racist, homophobic and sexual harm for me and for many other people, that free and open-source software is important.

So many people were already burning out of the project. Matt has been doing this for so long that those with long memories can recite all the ways he's wrecked shit back a decade or more. Most of us are exhausted and need to make money to live. The world is worse than it ever was.

Social media sucks worse and worse, and this was a world in which people missed old webrings, old blogs, RSS readers, the world where you curated your own whimsical, unpaid corner of the Internet. I started actually actively using my own WordPress blog this year, and I've really enjoyed it.

And people don't want to deal with any of this.

The thing is, Matt's right about one thing: capital is ruining free open-source software. What he's wrong about is everything else: the idea that WordPress.com isn't enshittifying (or confusing) at a much higher rate than WP Engine, the idea that WP Engine or Silver Lake are the only big players in the field, the notion that he's part of the solution and not part of the problem.

But he's started a battle where there are no winners but the lawyers who get paid to duke it out, and all the volunteers who've survived this long in an ecosystem increasingly dominated by big money are giving up and leaving.

Anyway if you got this far, consider donating to someone on gazafunds.com. It'll take much less time than reading this did.

#tony muses #tumblr meta #again just bc that's my tag for all this #automattic #wordpress #this is probably really incoherent i apologise lmao #i may edit it

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circeyoru · 6 months ago

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Shell of What’s Left Behind *Alternate End*

[Traumatized!Sung Jinwoo x Former Close Friend!Reader]

Ask —Main Story — Alternate End (here) + Silly Comic

*Read the [Main Story] before this, else you'd miss out on a lot of details/plot

**Note: This is the alternative ending to the story, but you can see this as a continuation end if you want a good/happy end or just some comfort for the angst. I say "Alternate" cause the main story's end is the true end, but you guys choose your preferred end~ (still gotta read the main story though)

When the time came and time was reversed, Jinwoo sought you out immediately. The horrors he endured and will endure would all be worth it if you were back. It was a weekend, so you’d be at the park playing. So he rushed there. He huffed as he scanned the playground for you.

There, in the crowd of noisy children, was you smiling and laughing. You were mature enough to wait for your turn and even put your hand out when a nearby kid was nearly falling or just running too close to you. You’d still put others before yourself. Even at such a young age.

Jinwoo held back and calmly walked over to you.

You greeted him first, “Hi there!”

“Hey.” Jinwoo collapsed on you.

“Woah there!” You caught him a bit flustered and nearly falling over. Your gaze, clouded with shock, turned to concern when you noticed his exhaustion. You opted to push the questions to another time and looked around for a place where you could let him rest.

After setting your sights on a shaded area, you dragged the boy over while hugging him by the waist and his chin on your shoulder. You sat down comfortably, leaning against the bark of the tree and readjusted the boy so he was laying his head in your lap. You hummed softly, your hand placed over his chest and the other combing through his hair.

A giggle escaped your lips as you gazed down at his resting self. “You’re so weird.” Your eyes looked back to the playground where kids and their parents were doing their business, a strange sense of serenity and peace washed over you. Even the stranger resting on you brought you a familiar sense of protectiveness and worry. “So weird…”

Out of sight, Beru and Igris watched the peaceful interaction with relief. Everyone else in the Realm of Eternal Rest cheered for the proper and beautiful reunion of their Liege’s love.

“Why aren’t you eating?” Jinwoo questioned as he saw you poking your food, “Waiting for me?” He placed his meal beside you and sat down. “So nice of you.”

You groaned and leaned against him, “No…” You pouted as memories came up, “You know I have a biology elective and just… Eww…” You shivered, “The teacher showed us a clip about parasitic life forms and how they function.”

As you started sharing, you didn’t notice Jinwoo’s flinch as his particular memories were brought up.

“The way these things control the host’s brain and act similar, then killing the host slowly is so cruel. Well, there are different types but I hate the zombie one. This parasite just goes into a living body and control that host’s life. Can you imagine if a human was- Jinwoo?!”

Your boyfriend hugged your form close to him, so tightly as if you’d disappear if he let go. His face buried between your neck and shoulder, and his larger hand covered the back of your head. You returned his hug and patted his back. You didn’t say anything and let the moment go, sometimes waving to your passing friends or his that gave the two of you snickers or dirty teasing looks.

Not sure when, but you have noticed Jinwoo carried something with him—something he has yet to share with you. You could tell he wanted to but could never bring himself to, even after returning from his disappearance two years ago. You’d notice that look he gave you: worry, longing, pity, and the worst one was guilt. You can’t recall when he wronged you, so you couldn’t understand where it all stemmed from.

Still, you’re not one to push.

“Is everything okay?” You asked when Jinwoo released you.

Jinwoo’s stare at you was hazed and fuzzy. You were right in front of him, healthy and alive, living as you would. Yet, from time to time, that form of you being taken over by that parasitic monster would pop up like a hologram that haunted his mind.

There were so many red flags. Too many to count. But they were there. It felt like he let that monster defile your body and mind. To disrupt your peace.

Īⱦ ⱳⱥꞩ ħīꞩ ӻⱥᵾłⱦ.

“Sung Jinwoo!” You squeezed his face with your hands, your eyebrows furrowed, and a cute angered face of his love was before him.

“Ah, sorry.” Jinwoo snapped out of it and smiled embarrassingly.

“Good, now that you’re back to normal…” You hugged him by the neck with one arm, then another that pointed in a direction. He followed your finger and flinched, his face in complete shock. Before he could get a word out, you shook him to the point he was seeing triple―or more―of everything around him. “What are those giant creatures that keep cheering for us!? And why is there a giant statue of us!?”

Right… The Realm of Eternal Rest… And the two of you were sitting at the fountain with a perfect view of that statue his Shadows created since the day he reunited with you. He must have accidentally pulled you into his realm because of his uncontrolled emotions. This is as good of a time to tell you then.

“Right, the thing is…” Jinwoo chuckled awkwardly, avoiding your glare.

“The Queen is here!”

“All hail the Liege’s beloved!”

“Yeahhhhhhhhhh!”

While you were overwhelmed with the cheers and screams of Jinwoo’s Shadows and other giant creatures, you stuck close to Jinwoo and tried to have him explain the situation. Your attention shifted from shaking Jinwoo to the clacking of metal coming closer. You looked over and saw a tall knight coated from head to toe in black armour with neon purple lining.

The knight kneeled before you and Jinwoo, his voice firm and assertive. “Welcome to the Realm of Eternal Rest. I swear to protect My Liege’s friend and lover till the end of time. This time, this vow is sealed.”

Jinwoo looked at you from the corner of his eyes, observing silently. Back then, he assigned Igris to protect you, but it turned out it was a fake you that he was too blind to see through. It was Igris’ reluctance to protect you after he first gained his voice; he didn’t care for how His Lord and allies wronged him, but he defended your honour and exposed the truth. Hence, that night happened where his knight killed the parasite and freed your body.

You were spellbound, an expression that was hard to tell what you were thinking. “It’s weird, I somehow feel… gratitude towards you… Have we maybe met somewhere before?”

Igris looked up. For a brief moment, like a trick of the light, a look of cruelty and animosity overshadowed your expression. He tilted his head down, taking a moment to compose himself before meeting your gaze again. Right, this was the real you, not the you that was used by a parasite to cause harm to his Lord. “I have been by your side for a long time, at My Liege’s command.”

You clapped your hands together, “Oh! That’s why. I guess you protected me from crazy stalkers or something. Thanks!” You smiled at the loyal knight. “In that case, I’ll be in your care once more.”

“I, too, swear to keep any harm from coming to you! As My Liege’s lover, it is only natural!” Beru quite literally burst into the frame.

“My Liege?” You gave Jinwoo a teasing look and a raised brow.

Jinwoo looked away and mumbled, “Don’t copy him…”

You laughed with a bright smile, cupping Jinwoo’s cheeks and showed it to his crowd of onlookers. “Tell me everything about your Liege! Leave nothing behind! I especially wanna hear the cheeky and embarrassing ones!”

“Hey!” Jinwoo glared at you, but you only responded by squishing his cheeks together to make his complaints incoherent.

Igris watched behind his helmet; the play between His Lord and you was like that of a fairy tale. That smile that looked more natural and divine. That laughter that came from true innocent joy. Whatever expression that parasite used to gain power and sympathy was all in the past. So long as His Liege, him and the rest of the Shadow Army stand, no harm will come to you or threaten your pure smile.

“Yes, My Queen.”

Note: Ta da~~ Now this is over~~ Beru's scenes are added AFTER I saw what @vereimeja drew for me in the inbox. Kudos to them~~ Otherwise, everything's the same really. Thanks for joining this story, even though it's heavy angst.

𝕮𝖎𝖗𝖈𝖊 𝖄.

My Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist: @mydearestbeloved @icefox8155 @loudlylovingcreator-blog @o-qi-shisme @vereimeja @shineinouzen15 @crxscnt @lovelietaciturn @cottonbeeeeeeee

#Circe's Nighty Writings #Circe's requested writings #Solo Leveling #Only I Can Level Up #solo leveling x reader #solo leveling jinwoo #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo #sung jinwoo x you #jinwoo #Shell of What’s Left Behind

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uchinagai · 7 months ago

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The rhythm of winter - karina

𝜗𝜚 idol!Karina x figure skater!reader

𝜗𝜚 synopsis : y/n, one of the biggest names in figure skating and Karina, also a big name in the K-pop industry. None expected these two worlds to collide, even if y/n secretly enjoyed their music, but all it took was 2024 winter Olympics that was hosted in south Korea to make the idol fall in love with the girl.

𝜗𝜚 contains : idol! Karina, figure skater!reader, fem!reader, wlw, mentions of ED, starving, overworking, cursing, bad mental health, strangers to lovers, the reader is 20, angsty but not really, mostly written in 3rd person view, kind of rushed in the end??

𝜗𝜚 w/k : 4.6k+

𝜗𝜚 a/n : english is not my first OR second language so please, ignore anything incorrect. this story is heavily inspired by Alexandra Trusova's 2022 Beijing but then just changed up. first time writing something this big so if spotted any mistakes please ignore them.. some Olympic events are changed for the plot and stuff. . Check out moodboards for a better idea of the vibes they bring to the function hehe… enjoyyyyy :3

Y/n moodboard || Karina moodboard

y/n, a top tier figure in skating known for her dark yet captivating aura. Some may even call her Yuzuru Hanyu's girl version in skating, she was that good. But the girl was mysterious, she had a lot of friends in the industry, Yuzu himself, Anna Scherbakova, Mao Shimada and so many others, but she was reserved from the public eye. Nobody knew her but also everyone did because she still made headlines. It was either about her dark fashion sense, skills, interviews, she was everywhere and was known as “South Korea's pride” that was till the 2022 Beijing incident.

She was promised, she was encouraged, she starved herself for this. She needed that gold medal like breathing, but no. everyone lied to her, including her coach, whom she trusted with everything. She got second, which in her world was losing: “winning is first place, everything else is losing.” She was mad at everyone and everything, they PROMISED her. She needed to land that god sake five quads that no woman has ever landed in history and she did it. She had to stop eating, lose weight, train unrealistically to achieve it yet it was not enough. When she finished her routine she was happy, she landed something no woman has ever done at age of 18 but her own friend, Anna, beat her to it. She was crushed, devastated, to say the least. She cried her heart out, cursing everyone who tried to get near her, her makeup was ruined but she could care less. She was so mad that getting near her was the same as stepping into a minefield—dangerous and potentially explosive. She pushed her own friend away. Was it slightly silly to end your friendship of 8 years over skating? Maybe. Did she care at all? No. This sport is her life and if someone ruins her perfect life, she gets rid of them. She blamed Anna, her coach, judges, everyone. In the changing room she lost it officially to her coach, she kept throwing skates at her cursing her out while the coach just dodged the, tried talking her out but y/n was never gonna have it. When she got back on stage for the awarding she had a mask on, yet it was obvious how shattered the girl was. In the interview said the lines that would change her career:

“I'm never stepping on ice again, I hate it.”

Who was she lying to? Of course she would make a big comeback for the 2024 olympics. She laughed at anyone who thought she was actually going and could freely compete without being threatened by her skills. She took private training in those two years while also working on her mental health away from the public eye, something she was expert in. In two years she also got into her home country's pop music. K-pop was all over so she gave it a chance and discovered a few groups she enjoyed music of. She loved girl groups. Some of the groups didn’t match her usual aura but yet she enjoyed Girls generation, Red Velvet, (G)I-DLE, Newjeans, Kiss of life, Aespa., she loved the girls. But she had a goal to achieve in her home country: get the gold that was once stolen from her.

Karina, leader and main dancer of girl group Aespa, one of the biggest names in K-pop industry. Everyone was losing their mind over the girl. She looked unreal since her debut and earned the title of “human ai” along. She was pretty, talented and sweet and loved making friends in and out of the industry. She loved her job and the spotlight even more, so when her group got invited to the 2024 Winter Olympics as special guests, she was absolutely ecstatic, buzzing with excitement at the thought of being in the center of attention with cameras and she would also get to enjoy such shows as olympics live. Aespa opened the ceremony with their title track Armageddon and it was time for countries to come out. First was traditionally Greece to open and when it finally came to their country, South Korea, Karina fixed her posture to watch her home country athletes enter. They seemed so cool, Karina thought but a black haired girl seemed to draw her in. she couldn’t tear her eyes away from her. Maybe it was the look she gave to everyone, how reserved she seemed, but the girl was for sure interesting. She was wearing a basic white jacket as other athletes walked down while waving their country flag, the girl walked behind, looking around confidently with a small smirk that was till she looked to the side…. Russia. Her once best friend, Anna, had to be there. Not like she wasn’t expecting her but seeing her was… a painful reminder of everything she had lost and everything she was determined to reclaim. Anna already knew the girl was there, she felt sad watching her from afar knowing nothing was changing between them. On the other hand, Aespa girls sat at a special spot, watching them. Karina couldn’t feel the tension between athletes but her focus never left the girl.

As they walked down and finished everything, she turned to her manager.

“Who was that girl, in the back, looking all scary?”

“You mean y/n l/n? She's figure skater”

“I'm shocked that she actually made the comeback…” said Ningning, shocked in a low whisper..

“Why is that?” Karina questioned.

“You don’t watch the Olympics at all, do you?” winter said, causing girls to laugh while the leader just sulked.

“Long story short, at Beijing 2022 she went crazy… absolutely lost her mind over winning second place.”

“Why? Second place is very good” Karina said.

“That's y/n for you. Her famous quote is “Winning is the first place, everything else is losing.” plus she did something no woman athlete has ever achieved at the age of 18.” Ningning explained as Karina realized just how serious the younger girl was.

The actual tournament was planned a few days later since there were other sports but instead of training, y/n was stuck with government officials of Korea and a bunch of chaebol kids ripping her ear off while talking. She had no interest in being here, she needed to train but couldn’t decline the offer since other athletes were going too and it was hosted by officials. So here she was, standing in front of the table with red wine in her hand. From afar it looked like a vampire had sneaked in, y/n is pale, tall, slender with deep black hair and bloody red lips. Her outfit wasn't anything big either, a black dress tight around her figure, a big puffer chrome hearts jacket, and big boots adding a few inches to her height even if she was tall without them. Her makeup wasn’t anything special either, not like her usual dark concept, it was light but she balanced it with “Kro 02” from Gentle Monster (sorry I really had to specify). Party was… boring to say the least. It was more like money talks between the rich, while athletes and singers were present for formal purposes.

Right, talking about singers.

y/n saw a few familiar faces that she saw on TV which made her slightly excited but had about zero courage to walk up to them. She was too tired of humans in general even if she hasn't seen the public eye for 2 whole years. y/n was shocked seeing how almost flawless these idols were: perfect posture, always collected face and easily socialized with everyone. They had no problem with walking up to any chaebol old or young and starting a flowing conversation. What were they even talking about? God knows.

That was till y/n spotted her so called ‘bias’ from Aespa standing away from party, observing and seemed like she was just as bored with everything happening in front of her.

They locked eyes.

y/n just locked eyes with the Karina of Aespa.

She felt slightly intimidated by her gaze, that was still the girl's face softened and sent her a small smile which made y/ns heart flutter… just a little.

None of them dared to step forward first even though Karina felt drawn to the younger one and without her knowledge the feeling was very much the same.

y/n considered Aespa, especially Karina, one of the best groups in their generation. SM for sure knew how to pick visuals AND talent at once because the girl across the table was everything. She was the prettiest girl y/n has ever seen on camera and in real life, the camera does no justice to her beautiful face. Sharp jawline, a smooth nose, and a perfectly shaped nose with amazing facial harmony, the girl was breathtaking. And talent? She had everything an idol needed, she was the main dancer for a reason, her movements were clean and sharp, her vocals were unmatched and the girl could even rap if she wanted to. She was sweet and playful with her fans too.

She was perfect.

y/n wanted to be as perfect in her job as the older one. Even if they had different professions, y/n looked up to her idol due to her determination and hard work. She knew being an idol was no easy job at all and they trained just as hard. They had a huge hate train too and one scandal could ruin their whole career,

which was new to y/n even if she caused the scene of 2022 in Beijing. She had a huge fanbase who supported her and understood her pain of losing. She was more than grateful but she knew it wasn’t the same for them; they were criticized for everything so it was normal for them to get criticized for even looking at the opposite gender, which was so silly to y/n. So what if she looked at another guy? Doesn’t that mean they’re in love with each other; she was friends with so many opposite-gender figure skaters due to projects or introductions from friends. She could never see them more than a friend and colleague.

While y/n got so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice one of her childhood friends, who was one of the only chaebol kids she could stand, approach her with the black-haired girl next to him.

“Yo, y/nnie.’

Pause

“y/n, I call your ass back to this universe!” he says, as he nudges her side to snap her out of her clouds.

“What?”

As she freezes. Karina was next to him, standing there looking right at her. The gaze was alluring, like it was serenading y/n into her; or she was just reading into it deeply before speaking up.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, y/nnie,” she says as she reaches out her hand for y/n to shake.

“Nice to meet you too, Karina, was it?” she says as she shakes her hand slightly awkwardly due to y/n being starstruck by the girl's beauty up close.

While y/n was star-struck, Karina was no better; it was like the girl wrecked her whole orbit to bits and was having a hard time staying nonchalant about this small interaction.

“You two finally met. I think y’all know each other from TV a least so I thought u guys would get along. I present Jimin to you, y/n” Jaewon says and whispers into Karina's ear “She’s not very social” which Y/n hears right away giving an offended look.

“That’s not true”

“It is”

“Is not !!”

“Anyways!! I leave you two to it” he says as he grabs a champagne and leaves the girls alone, standing awkwardly. That was till Karina just burst out laughing which caused y/n to tilt her head in confusion.

“What’s so funny?”

“No- no it's just that it was so silent and awkward I couldn’t help but laugh.”

“Oh right,” y/n says and chuckles awkwardly.

“Well im Karina, of Aespa, I don’t know if you know much about us, but yeah”

“I’ve heard a few thing or two. I'm bae y/n, the figure skater”

“I did my research about you before I came over here, you’re quite interesting”

Oh, that means she probably knows about Beijing…

“Oh really? What did you learn?”

“Well that first, you’re the ‘quad’ queen, seriously those 5 quads were amazing, how long did it take you??”

She knows.

“Quite a lot it was one hell of a deal too,” y/n says as she giggles and and takes a sip from her wine.

If Karina ever had a chance to re-hear the girl's giggles she would give anything, literally. It was so smooth and angelic that it made her want to become more of a funny person so she could get to hear the girl's laughter more.

“How’s the idol life? I don't really know much” a lie. y/n knew everything that was related to Aespa, she followed the fansites of each member and kept up with them WHILE training.

“Nothing exciting, we just had a comeback, if you watched the performance, scandals there, brand deals here, and it a little messy but we managed it!!” says Karina excited “We are a group of four, I'm the leader, ningning, Giselle, and winter”

“Winter? As in season??” y/n jokes as she chuckles.

‘Yes!! But she’s not cold or anything, she’s the sweetest, it's her stage name. Her actual name is Minjeong, I'm Jimin, ningning is Ning Yizhuo, and Giselle is Aeri.”

“Oh so that’s why Jaewon called you Jimin,’ y/n says as she starts laughing “-also, ningnings name is so pretty, is she Chinese?”

“Yeah she's from Harbin”

“Oh, the cold queen? We would get along, all the ice made me immune to cold”

“What are your plans for this Olympics?”

“Gold.”

“She knows what she wants.” Karina thought.

“By what I’ve seen so far, I think you’ll for sure get that.”

Even if y/n knew that she was good, these words coming from her idol, for sure encouraged her and made her feel more proud.

“Thank you, Karina-ssi.”

—

The time passed, and the party came to an end without her being sick and tired of people talking non-stop, because Karina was next to her, making her laugh and enjoy the might little more. Of course, they exchanged numbers and for the last bid their goodbyes.

Has y/n always been this nervous before the match? No, but she was the last one to come out for her stage, and right before hers, Anna was on the ice and she was magnificent. Y/n knew Anna loved ice just as much as she did and truly enjoyed it. She was talented, determined, and very gentle and smooth with her movements, she was artistic, which y/n lacked a bit. Y/n always focused on tricks and spins while Anna was mesmerizing even if she didn’t have many tricks up her sleeve, she still had an impact on judges; that’s why her current score was looking at 243.12, which was good, but lower than 2022, which made y/n a bite happy, she could beat that, right?

y/ns choreography was complicated but didn’t lack the artistic side of it while also being full of tricks. The program concept was “the fallen angel”. y/n was wearing a dark black costume with hints of silver. The design was a well-fitted costume with metallic and feathered accents resembling broken wings with a combination, but the sleeves were flowy enough to make her movement seem more balanced while having dark smokey eyes.

The coach was talking in her ear, some encouragement but she muffled it out and calmed her breath as she did small jumps at the spot to warm up.

“AND FOR THE FINAL… Y/N L/N, REPRESENTING REPUBLIC OF KOREA!!”

Was announced by speakers as people started cheering for her. At least she didn’t get a black ocean or silence.

The door opened and after stepping on that ice with her black, leather skates everything went black; y/n made her way to the center and the beginning pose was simple: bend down on one knee, head bowed, with one arm extended as if reaching for something unattainable. Slowly “Dies Irae” by Verdi fades in and the choreo begins for a dramatic and intense opening

She Begins with a clean 4S to maintain the technical momentum

then lands 4F, challenging jump with precision to earn high base points and GOE.

After 4F we get 4Lz with amplitude and control.

Is she gonna try the same thing? But her body can’t take another 5 quads. As her coach thought, the music fades to “O Fortuna” by Carl Orff, building towards a powerful climax.

4T+3T serves as a technical highlight in the middle of the program.

4Lo Incorporate this difficult quad to maximize the technical score.

There it was; another five quads. The crowd goes loud, she did it once again, these would for sure earn higher than Anna, right? … but she was not done yet while the music goes to the last part, “Symphony No.7, in a major, Op. 92 - II. Allgeretoo” by Beethoven for a solemn and reflective ending.

3A+2T A reliable combination that adds to the overall technical difficulty.

3Lz Execute later in the program, maintaining a clean technique despite fatigue.

3A+1Lo+3S This combination sequence increases the difficulty, especially in the latter part of the program.

She also did a few spins to earn more points such as Flying Camel Spin (FCSp4) Layback Spin (LSp4) and Combination Spin with Change of Foot (CCoSp4).

Finally.

The ending pose was with a deep knee bend, one arm reaching upward as if making a final plea, and the other hand placed over the heart.

She got up, and looked at the judges from her lashes, almost glaring with a smirk, she didn’t celebrate like last time for 2022 instead left the stage and made her way to the changing room.

Little did she know, the black-haired girl that she was texting each night was watching over her, with a satisfied look, she didn’t know anything about the tricks y/n landed but they for sure looked amazing and memorable. She watched her 2022 performance and she could feel the change in her. The aura was unmatched, she was magnetic, and everything about her was Karina's style even if the girl texted like an elder due to being slow with the keyboard and not being into texting. As she watched in awe winter nudged her

“Fallen angel got your heart?”

“WHAT?? NO??”

“Oh, she definitely has~” ningning teased causing Karina to glare at her.

“We just became friends and I think she’s very… cool,” Karina admitted as members started making random sounds to make the leader blush.

Younger was sitting in the waiting room, the camera on her, focused on the screen waiting for her overall score.

Technical Element score: 136.23.

Of course, she gets a pretty high score, that’s her best trait.

Program Component Score: 112.14

This was unexpected; pretty high for skating skills, transitions, performance, composition, and interpretation.

Deductions: 3.15

Wait.

Oh my god.

Overall score: 245,22

She just won, not only over Ana but she also won gold for her country with 2 whole points of difference. She was stunned, frozen.

Not like she wasn’t secretly waiting for it but still, it felt unreal.

She made it.

She was leaving the room for the medal presentation when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anna clapping and cheering for her.

She smiled back at her.

Everything wasn’t over, after all.

As the gold was placed around her neck she bit down on it, for the tradition as she looked up to the crowd waving happily with Ana on her right, with silver.

There she saw the girl.

Clapping and jumping for her, screaming and she couldn’t help but laugh at Karina's silliness. She waved at older as she waved back.

Karina didn’t care about the spotlight or cameras that would capture this moment, she was cheering for her friend and her idol image was her least of worries. She saw how Anna and Y/n looked at each other. She couldn’t put this feeling in words but it for sure made her uneasy. If she could be on that ice, she would snatch Y/n right away and never let them interact but she’s meters away from the stadium and it would for sure cause a scene, so she's standing back, clapping for the winners. She could see how Anna was admiring her Y/n from the lower platform as Y/n was too oblivious due to her excitement. Older was glad Y/n was not paying attention because if she did acknowledge Anna she would drop all of her morals and cause the scene she’s being held back from. But Karina was also very conflicted, why was she feeling like this? Why is she all of a sudden so possessive over the girl? They’re not even that close, yet she yearns for her attention all of the time, calls her, spams her, and says random things JUST to get her attention, so what would older do?

Leave her position as soon as the crowd goes thin and walks to the lounge where athletes are gathered, complimenting each other's performance and just chatting. She spots her desired figure, the whole reason for her to consider being in a relationship late at night, the whole reason why she felt her knees go weak over a smile.

She was standing in front of a girl, y/n's honey-like laughter dripping out of her voice as she spoke with the person.

She was holding a panda plushy, an animal that Karina discovered to be Y/n’s favorite in the interview Younger mentioned. The person in front of her, whose face was shadowed by y/n was still an easy one to recognize.

Anna.

They seem to rekindle their relationship. So it appears.

Karina is probably the only person in this world to hate this sight, so here she is, standing there like a sore thumb watching the two interact with ease.

While she just stood there, the rest of the members decided to follow their leader to wherever she was heading off to and stood behind her.

“Rina?” the youngest called out to her frozen figure making her jump a little and look over her shoulder seeing her members with worry plastered on their faces.

“Yeah?”

Without a response, Giselle nudged her towards y/n and Karina took it as a sign and approached the younger, tapping on her shoulder as she turned around, a small smile flashing on her face.

“Hey,”

“Hey..”

Silence fell for a moment broken by Winter's small slip of a giggle making Karina glare at her over her shoulder while y/n looked at the short-haired girl, crackling a chuckle herself.

“The performance was excellent… I knew you could do it…” Said Karina mentally cringing at her awkwardness while the girl in front of her burst into laughter. Was she laughing at her?

“I never imagined you this awkward, especially over messages and that night at the party,” said y/n causing Karina to relax and now pout.

“I didn’t know how to approach you since you were already talking to somebody else…” she said, causing Anna to peek over her shoulder, a small smile on her face, assuming that idol meant her.

The girl was Slavic and looked like a perfect doll. She had a classical, graceful look with soft, light brown hair that flowed in loose waves. Her facial features were harmonious and refined, with a gentle and approachable expression. Even if on ice, she looked icey, in real life, she made up for all the warmth. Her sweet aura and presence made Karina feel uneasy.

It ate her up inside seeing them so casually together, chatting.

“Hello,” the girl greeted with a small accent slipping, which sounded adorable.

Idol smiled at her and bowed turning her gaze back to the younger.

“Remember, you promised me ice cream” Karina reminds y/n which causes the skate to sigh.

“I thought you would drop that..”

“Not after you told me you have never tasted mint chocolate,”

While the two kept going back and forth, the skater trying to reason with the idol, Anna stood there, watching the two bicker. It warmed Annas’ heart watching a person she associated with her childhood be so lively after everything she had to put herself through. Even if Anna wasn’t there, watching y/n prepare for the 2024 Olympics, she knew she wouldn’t be so easy on herself with food.

She noticed the lack of fat just as they stepped on ice, not like the girl wasn’t already in great shape.

“It was great, catching up, y/n” Anna interrupts the duo as y/n turns around.

“That’s sounding like a goodbye to me,” y/n joked as Anna nodded.

“It’s best I head back now,”

“Oh, sure then, text me… if you ever feel like it,” Y/n says as they hug each other for the last time and bid their goodbyes.

“You never tell me that,” Singer breaks the silence that was once achieved, causing y/n to turn around.

“Huh?”

“Do you like Anna?”

“You’re overwhelming me what is going on??” y/n was lost for words, idol always managed to mess her up, and not be able to form a straight thought.

“Do you, or do you not love Russian ice skater, Anna Shcherbakova, y/n l/n?” Karina asks determined to find out the question fearing for the answer.

“No, No I don’t, Yu Jimin,” y/n answers back in the same tone but in a slightly mocking way.

‘No’ as an answer was all it took for Karina to lose all her threads holding her back to slide her hand from y/ns jaw to her neck and pull her into a kiss.

Figure skater was frozen, confused, and conflicted but couldn’t help but return the kiss as she grabbed older by her waist, pulling her closer as they savored the moment till both of them had to pull away, panting for air but saliva still connecting the two.

“W-wha?-” y/n looked at the older girl, wide-eyed, her voice barely above a whisper, “What… was that?”

“I think it’s the right time to tell you that I like you,”

“And you thought that was a proper way to say it instead of communicating like adults?”

y/n saying that to Karina felt like she just got rejected, right in front of others she tried to pull away but the second she tried, she felt y/ns grip on her tighten

“I didn’t say I hated it either.”

“You’re so complicated…”

“You still owe me that mint chocolate ice cream date and then I won't be so complicated”

“oh-ohhh, so you’re inviting yourself on a date now?”

“Yes or no jimin?”

“Million times a yes.”

"we are still fucking here," Ningning chimed in.

of course. they followed their leader.

540 notes · View notes

saythenametotheworld · 2 months ago

Text

Tsunami | c.vn (18+)

You knew you deserved better; you figured that out yourself. But what use is better when Vernon’s all you wanted? A rebound gone wrong. Or maybe right. Depends on who’s asking, really.

Genre: rebound relationship, smut Pairing: Chwe Vernon x afab!Reader Warning: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+), angst. Notes: 16k words. Title is based on Tsunami by NIKI. Prompt for this was from an anon who submitted a request a while back. I hope you like it! Disclaimer: I do not know them, nor do I claim they would ever act irl the way they are portrayed in this story.

Enjoy!

"A roaring tsunami, you came crashing in like an act of God. Shake my earth, suck the air out, burn me down."

They called it the Midterms Party. It wasn’t an official university function, but it was a tradition—it happens every semester, with students or groups of students bidding to get the opportunity to host it. This semester, it was hosted by a posh Fashion and Design senior who had invited every single student on campus to attend the party at a sprawling mansion on the upper side of town.

You haven’t even met the girl, but you sure felt at home in her Chesterfield couches and expensive wool carpet.

“Rich kids sure know how to host a party,” said Vivi, throwing her head back as she drank a shot of tequila. “Hooh! That’s the good stuff.”

“We should take that shot glass home,” you grinned drunkenly, half-lidded eyes trying to focus on the crystal shot glass in Vivi’s hand.

Vivi’s eyes were gleaming when she asked, “Should we?”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Jules interjected, snatching the crystal away. “Did you see those security guards outside? Yeah. Not happening.”

Vivi was about to protest, but stopped midsentence, eyes focusing somewhere across the room. “It’s Vernon.”

“Vernon?” Jules asked, just as you turned to follow her line of sight. “He’s here?”

“Is that why Mina didn’t want to come tonight?” you asked, squinting to find which one was Vernon in the sea of students flooding the entire hall.

Vivi snorted. “Pretty sure it’s because she’s going out with Dean tonight.”

“I don’t see him,” you muttered, still squinting.

“He’s right there, brooding,” Vivi sighed, shaking her head. “Don’t mind him. Let’s go get refills.”

You rose to your feet, letting Vivi tug you by the arm. You made sure to grab Jules by the wrist too, and you made your way through the crowd until you reached the mini bar.

You got a refill while Vivi chattered nonstop about some guy she was eyeing across the room. Jules was only half-listening, distracted by something on her phone. You zoned in and out of the conversation, distracted by the sheer chaos of it all.

You were trying to grab another drink from the mini bar when you accidentally bumped into someone, hard enough that your glass nearly sloshed over the edge.

“Whoa—sorry,” you said quickly, eyes going wide.

It took a second for you to realize it was Vernon. He stumbled slightly, trying to keep his drink in his glass as he locked eyes with yours.

“You okay?” you asked, more out of reflex than concern.

Vernon blinked, and for a moment, he just stared at you, his gaze unfocused like he’d been lost in thought. “Yeah, fine,” he said, his voice a little rough. Well, all of him looked a little rough and messy—his clothes, his hair, the knot between his eyebrows.

“Uh-huh. Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” you added, not knowing what else to say.

He shrugged, and the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Guess that’s the point of the crowd.”

Vernon’s eyes flickered around, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be there at all. Then, as if deciding something in his mind, he glanced at you and nodded toward the back of the room, where people were mingling by the sliding glass doors that led out to the balcony.

“Wanna get some air?”

You snorted before you could stop yourself. “With you?”

He blinked, caught off guard. And for a second, you considered taking back what you’d said, but then he smirked, all gleaming teeth and pointed canines. “You’re right. That was so random.”

He sighed, tucked one hand in his jacket pocket, and tipped his glass in the air. “Well then, excuse me.”

You weren’t sure what possessed you to stop him—guilt, curiosity, intrigue—but you found yourself calling out, “Wait,” and following him toward the glass doors.

It was cooler out here, quieter. The music from inside thudded against the closed windows, but it was not as loud. Guess the thick walls of this mansion had other purposes.

You leaned against the balcony railing, arms folded over your chest, while Vernon stood a short distance away, swirling the drink in his glass like it might give him answers. Neither of you said anything at first. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t exactly nice either.

“So,” you said eventually, “you always this cheerful at parties?”

He huffed a laugh. “Only when I’m spiraling.”

You glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at you—just watching the trees sway in the wind. “Okay, Drama King. You’re not doing a very good job hiding it,” you muttered.

He shrugged. “Didn’t really come to hide. Just figured standing around in a new location might change the vibe.”

You smiled despite yourself, small and quick. “Classic coping mechanism. Relocate the sadness.”

He took a sip. “I think I’ve mastered that. Relocation. Repression. Deflection.”

“Big words for a guy holding jungle juice in a red cup.”

That earned a laugh. A real one, low and warm. “Fair enough,” he said, then added, “I’m not usually like this, you know.”

“Well, we all have our days,” you said simply, not to dismiss him but to draw a line. Because maybe he was, or maybe he wasn’t. Either way, it wasn’t your place to say.

After a while, he said, “I messed a lot of things up lately.”

You looked at him again, but his expression gave nothing away.

“I was kind of… stupid,” he went on, casual like he wasn’t slowly peeling a layer off himself. “Or maybe not stupid, just… I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Your gaze drifted back out to the street lights. “Happens to the best of us.”

He gave a small nod. “Still sucks though.”

You didn’t say anything else. You just let the silence fill in the blanks—you didn’t mention Mina, and neither did he, but the echoes of her name lingered in the air anyway.

You stayed like that for a while, leaning against the railing, both of you watching nothing in particular.

“So, what’s next after relocation and repression?” he asked after a while, straightening up and taking a deep breath.

“Why? Are you gonna practice how to face it like a man?” you quipped, chuckling. Vernon chuckled too, shaking his head in amusement.

“Is it denial?”

“Mm,” you nodded solemnly. “Denial is a classic. Works great until you’re crying over leftover noodles at two in the morning.”

Vernon hummed. “Been there.”

“No, you did not,” you sneered.

“Actually, I did.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked, cocking an eyebrow skeptically. “Tell me your noodle sob story.”

He shrugged. “Well, for starters, it was supermarket ramen. The eighty-nine-cent kind. Barely edible unless you throw an egg in it.”

“That’s when you know it’s serious,” you said, eyes lighting up mischievously. “Low-grade ramen tears.”

You both laughed. It wasn’t loud, but it felt good. And when the laughter faded, you found him still looking at you. Not just looking—watching, like something about you had changed in the last few seconds, and he couldn’t figure out how or why.

You blinked. “What?”

Vernon didn’t answer right away. He just tilted his head slightly, like the angle might help him understand something.

“Nothing,” he said, though it didn’t sound like nothing. He took a breath, like he was going to say something else, then didn’t.

Your brow lifted. “Okay… why are you looking at me like that?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “You just… caught me off guard.”

You frowned, but not because it upset you. You were just confused—confused and a little too aware of how close you were standing now. The space between you had vanished, like neither of you had noticed yourselves stepping closer.

“Caught you off guard, how?”

Vernon’s gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then flicked back up to your eyes. “You’re kind of funny when you’re not being mean.”

You laughed. “I wasn’t mean.”

“You were a little mean.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Earlier, you said ‘With you?’ like I was some random stranger.”

You stifled a laugh. “Well, you were being kinda random.”

“But not exactly a stranger.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already smiling. And before you could say anything else, he leaned in—not fast, not slowly either. But naturally, like it made sense, like maybe you’d both been leaning this way all along.

And you didn’t pull away. You didn’t even think to.

At some point, you’d gone from the balcony to the backseat of his car. The windows were fogging up with the heat of your breathing, your bodies, and everything building up between you.

Vernon’s mouth was on yours, hungry and careless. His hand was cupping the back of your head, the other gripping your waist. You’d straddled his lap at some point, your knees pressed awkwardly into the cushions, your dress pushed up, and your fingers clutching the collar of his jacket.

It was messy. Uneven. All teeth and tugging and short, shaky breaths.

He groaned softly into your mouth when your hips rolled against his crotch, his hands tightening at your sides. “Fuck,” he muttered, making you push back a little, one hand pressed on his chest.

You stared into his eyes, half-lidded and clouded with desire. You could feel his heartbeat on your palm, or maybe it was yours thudding loud enough to count for both of you. And his lips, god, those lips. You’d want nothing more than to have them on yours again.

“I should go,” you mumbled, trying to be rational despite every fibre of your being not wanting to leave this cramped space.

Vernon’s forehead creased, confused. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Because he’s Mina’s ex-boyfriend, that’s why. Because it’s weird. Because you shouldn’t want this as badly as you do. “I don’t know,” you muttered, your hand curling tighter against his shirt.

He searched your face, his breathing still uneven. “Do you want to go?”

You didn’t answer right away. Maybe you should’ve. Maybe the decent thing would’ve been to untangle yourself, fix your dress, and head back inside like nothing happened. But the pull of his body against yours, the warmth of his breath on your skin, the way he was looking at you like you were the only real thing in his night—it made the decision for you.

Fuck it, you whispered in your head, and then you kissed him again.

This time, it was you who leaned in first. You who parted your lips, who pressed your hands against his chest, who deepened the kiss like you’d never had any doubts at all.

Vernon made a low sound in his throat—like relief, like hunger—and pulled you closer. His hands slid down your waist, gripping your hips like he didn’t trust you to stay. Your thighs clenched around him, the angle was tight and awkward, but god, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered right now except the way his mouth felt against yours and the heat building fast, faster than you could keep up with.

Clothes were soon forgotten. His jacket was shoved off. Your dress was bunched around your hips, his hands sliding up your bare thighs.

You gasped when his mouth left yours, grazing your jaw, your throat, then lower, taking a mouthful of your boobs with the kind of reverence that had no business existing in the backseat of a car.

And then he paused. Just barely. One breath, maybe two. His lips brushed yours again as he whispered, “Do you wanna go out with me?”

Your brows furrowed. “What? Like… sometimes, or…?”

He didn’t answer. He just kissed you again—deeper this time, more urgent. Like the question was real, but this was more real. Like whatever came after this could wait, because right now, all he wanted was you.

And you let him have you.

The rest was a euphoric blur. Your underwear shoved aside, his jeans undone. The cramped space made every movement clumsy and rushed, but that only made it feel more desperate. You could barely breathe, panting into his neck as he pushed into you, a grunted curse falling from his lips when you clenched around him.

It was raw and uninhibited. There was no talking, just looking into each other’s eyes as he drove you to the edge of your sanity. Outside, the music from the party was still faintly audible. Inside, there was only the sound of your breathing, of skin against skin, of your hands scrambling for something to hold onto as the windows fogged and the car rocked beneath you.

You weren’t supposed to want this. Weren’t supposed to have this. But god, he felt good. He felt real. And right now, that was enough. You’ll worry about the other stuff later.

You stirred under a blanket that wasn’t yours, in a room you didn’t recognize. The light was sharp through half-open blinds, and you caught sight of the hardwood floor and the polished furniture around the room.

You blinked, groggy. Your head was a hurting a little, but not splitting—just enough to make you regret the fourth or fifth glass of whatever you’d been drinking last night.

Vernon! You screamed in your mind, memories of last night’s excursions flooding in.

You turned your head to the side and saw a shirtless Vernon, leaning against the headboard, scrolling through his phone like this was just another Tuesday. His hair was messy, sticking up at odd angles, and a few faint red marks stretched across his collarbone. You didn’t need a mirror to know you probably matched.

“Morning,” he muttered, not even glancing at you.

You stared at him for a moment, still trying to piece things together. “Where… where are we?”

“My house,” he said simply.

Your heart kicked a bit. His house?

You sat up slowly, letting the blanket fall to your lap as you looked around. The room was modern and clean—high ceilings, thick curtains, and framed art on the walls that didn’t look like they came from a dorm room clearance sale. There was even a full-sized couch on one corner, and a desk that looked more like a workspace than a dumping ground for laundry.

“What part of town is this?” you asked slowly, eyes narrowing. “Did you drive drunk last night?”

Vernon finally set his phone down and looked at you properly. “No. We both knocked out in the car. I woke up at, like, five and drove us here. It’s not that far from the party.”

“Where is this exactly?”

“Greenview,” he said simply.

Green-fucking-view. Rich people lived here. Football stars and neurosurgeons, and kids who wore designer slides to class. You processed that in silence, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself as you stared at the pristine bedroom.

You looked back at him, brows furrowed. “I didn’t know you lived around here.”

He raised a brow, then shrugged. “Now you do,” he said, leaning to plant a quick kiss on your lips before pushing himself off the bed.

Vernon stretched when he stood, all lean lines and muscle as he crossed the room in nothing but a pair of dark sweatpants that hung dangerously low on his hips. You stared—not out of curiosity, but out of sheer, involuntary appreciation. He was pretty muscular, not bulky, but firm—defined arms, a sculpted back, and that sharp taper of his waist.

You caught yourself biting your lip and squeezing your thighs together.

Then you shook your head violently and pulled the blanket up like it could shield your shame. Get a grip. This was a one-time thing. A mistake fueled by tequila, dim lighting, and heartbreak. Nothing more.

Vernon glanced at you over his shoulder, smirking like he knew exactly what you were thinking. “Breakfast?”

You ended up downstairs, wearing fluffy slippers and half-swallowed by his hoodie that smelled vaguely of fabric conditioner and him. It hung down to your mid-thighs like a hoodie dress, with the sleeves dangling over your fingers. He set a warm plate of eggs and toast in front of you on a patio table overlooking a private pool—blue, serene, and surrounded by tastefully trimmed hedges. The whole scene felt like something out of a very rich, very confusing Instagram story.

“Thanks for breakfast,” you said eventually, poking your fork through a slice of avocado. “I’m leaving after this. I’ve got errands and evening classes.”

“I’ll drive you,” Vernon replied easily. “You can shower if you want. I had someone wash your dress from last night.”

“Oh, thank you,” you said, relieved. “I was worried I had to go home like this.”

“You don’t look bad like that,” he chuckled, sipping from his coffee like this was the most normal thing in the world.

After breakfast, you padded back into his bedroom, marveling again at how neat everything was, and stepped into the en-suite bathroom that was nearly half as big as your apartment. The tiles were smooth under your feet, and a huge rain shower waited at the far end behind a glass door. You tugged at the hoodie, just starting to lift it over your head, when you caught movement in the mirror.

Vernon was leaning against the bathroom doorway, arms crossed, shoulder propped on the frame. That same smirk played at his lips—mischief, confidence, a hint of sleep still softening his face.

You narrowed your eyes. “What are you doing standing there like a creep?”

“You’re not gonna invite me in?” he asked, his voice low and playful.

“No?”

He shrugged. “Guess I got my hopes too high. We did defile my car last night.”

You tried to scoff, but it came out breathless. “Defile is a strong word.”

He stepped closer, slow and steady like a lion who knew the prey wasn’t running. “Okay. How about sully?”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t stop him when he reached for the hem of your hoodie and tugged it upward. Didn’t stop him when his mouth brushed your shoulder. And definitely didn’t stop him when you both stumbled into the warm spray of the shower, your laughter drowned out by the hiss of water and the sudden heat of his mouth on yours.

The water was already cascading down, steam filling the bathroom like fog. Vernon backed you into the shower, hands on your waist, thumbs dragging slowly over bare skin as he kicked his sweatpants off.

“You always this handsy in the morning?” you muttered against his lips, breathless and teasing.

“Only when I wake up with a pretty girl in my bed,” he shot back, before nipping gently at your lower lip.

You gasped, more from surprise than pain, and your hands curled around his shoulders, feeling the solid, flexing muscles beneath your palms. He didn’t seem like a gym rat, but he was strong and big enough to make you feel small when he pressed into you, chest to chest, with the water pouring down between you.

His mouth moved to your neck, kissing beneath your jaw, then down to your collarbone. “Still not inviting me in, huh?” he murmured, and then dropped lower, crouching slightly as he kissed the space between your breasts.

“What? This isn’t invitation enough?” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut.

He huffed a laugh and pulled you flush against him again, hands trailing down the slope of your back to your hips. You could feel him, hard against your thigh, and god, it was dizzying—how easily your body responded, how warm everything felt, how right it somehow was despite how wrong this should’ve been.

You tangled your fingers into his wet hair as he leaned into you again, one hand gripping under your thigh to lift your leg around his waist. The angle made your breath hitch.

“You good?” he asked, voice hoarse, eyes half-lidded and focused entirely on you.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Vernon didn’t need more than that. He adjusted slightly, one arm bracing behind you against the tiled wall, the other still cradling your thigh. His mouth found yours again—slower now, but deeper, more consuming. You kissed him back just as desperately, your hands wrapping around his back, the other on his neck, nails grazing his skin, and he groaned softly into your mouth.

You could feel him prodding your cunt before he pushed into you with just a little bit of struggle before smoothly filling you up. You gasped sharply against his lips, your back arching instinctively.

The heat of the water blurred the lines between his body and yours, every nerve ending dancing and buzzing alive. He moved steadily and relentlessly—and the wet slap of skin, the shallow sounds of breathing, and the occasional grunt were swallowed up by the sound of rushing water and fogged-up glass.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t slow. It was raw, fast, a little uncoordinated, like you were both still half-asleep and making sense of each other all over again. But there was hunger in it, and desperation, chasing a high you’d once experienced with each other and now can’t seem to get enough of.

“Vernon—” you breathed, fingers tightening on his shoulders.

His response was a grunt and a kiss, messy and off-center as his pace quickened, hot breath fanning your cheek. You could barely think, only feel. With the pressure building, your knees growing weak, and your wet skin sliding against his.

And then it hit, sudden and intense. You clenched around him, gasping, biting down on his shoulder to keep yourself from crying out. He cursed under his breath, holding you tighter, hips stuttering once, twice—then pulling out to finish himself with his hands, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a low groan that vibrated against your chest.

You stayed like that for a second—tangled limbs and shallow breaths as Vernon held you in place to keep your knees from giving out. His hair was soaked, dripping water into your eyes while you were shaking from the aftermath.

Eventually, Vernon let out a breathless laugh. “Bet you don’t regret inviting me in, did you?”

You rolled your eyes, feigning disinterest. “Oh, please. It was just fine. And you invited yourself in, perv.”

He smirked. “Whatever you say.” He caressed your cheek and kissed you slowly.

Vernon dropped you off just before noon. The ride was mostly quiet, but not awkward. You’d both already said what needed saying—or not saying—between tangled sheets and shower steam. When he pulled up to your building, he leaned his arm over the wheel, glanced at you once, then leaned in to press a quick peck on your cheek.

“Get some rest,” he said.

You nodded back. “You too.”

Then you stepped out of his car, smoothed your dress down your thighs, and walked into your apartment like you hadn’t just had sex with your friend’s ex-boyfriend in the backseat of his car, then again in his marble-tiled shower.

Closing the door behind you felt like snapping a chapter shut. No closure, no commentary—just done. It was just a momentary lapse of judgment—a one-time thing. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

You changed, tossed the dress into your laundry hamper like it was evidence, and went about your day like nothing had happened. Like you hadn’t crossed a moral line and then dove over it headfirst.

By the time late afternoon rolled around, you were on campus for your evening classes, hair washed, face fresh, voice steady.

“Jules said you disappeared last night too,” Vivi said as she adjusted her sunglasses—indoors, because fashion. Her grin turned sly. “Let me guess. You found yourself a hot guy and ran off like the good girl that you are.”

You choked on your iced coffee, sputtering into the straw. “What? No. I just—got tired. Turned in early.”

“Turned in early, I see,” Vivi snickered, turning to Jules. “She totally found a hot guy and ran off last night.”

Jules groaned dramatically. “Wow. So both of you left me at that party to fend for myself while you chased boys.”

“Uh-uh. I didn’t chase him,” Vivi said, arching a brow. “He chased me, for the record.”

You laughed along, trying to keep it casual, hoping the warmth in your cheeks wasn’t giving you away. Then Vivi turned back to you, squinting playfully.

“So? Who’d you leave with?”

You opened your mouth—then closed it again. Your brain panicked. Do you lie? Deflect? Pretend you don’t remember? You’d promised yourself this would stay a secret, but you hadn’t exactly prepared a cover story.

“There you are, darlings,” came a familiar voice, cool and clear with a posh London accent. “God, I’m starving. Can we eat before class? Did any of you eat anything at all?”

Your heart did a full-body jolt. Speak of the fucking devil. And what an alluring devil she was.

Mina crossed the green with two of your mutuals trailing behind her, iced matcha in hand and an oversized tote slung over one shoulder. Her long coat fluttered behind her. Her honey-brown hair was pulled into a high claw clip, with a few strands left loose deliberately, and gold hoops on both ears catching the sunlight.

You blinked. Somehow, next to her, you felt…pale. Underdressed in your plain knitted sweater and faded jeans. You’d never really compared yourself to any of your friends before. But now, after Vernon—after last night—you felt that creeping sense of awareness. Mina was beautiful. Magnetic. The kind of girl men didn’t just get over.

“Mimi!” exclaimed Vivi, immediately forgetting about her question as she rose to give Mina a kiss on the cheek. “Tell me everything about last night.”

Mina rolled her eyes and sighed exasperatedly. “Later, love. Food is top priority right now,” she said as she turned to give Jules a kiss, too.

You froze for a second when she turned to you. “Hey,” you said dryly, leaning in as she moved to kiss your cheek.

“You look knackered,” she said, almost kindly. “Late night?”

You forced a shrug, praying no one noticed the spike in your pulse. “Something like that.”

“Oh, she’s had a good night alright,” Vivi teased, nudging your arm playfully. “Wouldn’t tell us who the lucky guy was, though.”

You sighed, feigning indifference. “Give it a rest, Viv.”

“Yeah, leave the poor girl alone. Let’s go get something to eat before we all pass out.”

The rest of the day was torture. Between classes and casual conversation, you nodded along, smiled at the right times. But inside, you were spiraling.

You hated the way your stomach tensed every time Mina spoke. Hated how you couldn’t look at her too long without remembering the weight of Vernon’s body on yours. His hands, his mouth. His raspy voice in your ear.

The guilt sat quietly in your chest, not loud or dramatic, but constant. You’d never really felt it like this before—this itchy, unplaceable guilt that followed you from the café to the lecture hall, even during your brief moments alone between classes. It only left you alone when Mina wasn’t there. When it was just you, breathing in an empty hallway or listening to the professor yap about theories and whatnot.

By the time your final class ended, you were drained in a way you couldn’t explain. The others were already discussing dinner—some new bistro that had opened just a few blocks from campus.

“It’s cute, and they do cocktails,” Vivi said, tugging at your arm. “Come on, you’ve been weird all day.”

“I have a deadline,” you said, wincing at how unconvincing you sounded. “Digital storytelling.”

“Sounds fake but okay,” Jules said, already turning to Mina, who was too distracted flipping through her phone to press.

You waved them off with a tight smile and walked away before anyone could question it further.

The taxi ride home was quiet. You watched the city pass by, lights flickering in windows and street signs. And as the car rolled to a stop in front of your apartment complex, your heart started picking up pace.

There he was, leaning against the hood of his car, hoodie on, hands in his pockets, head bowed slightly as he stared at the ground like he’d been waiting a while. He looked up as your taxi pulled in, his gaze locking with yours through the windshield.

You stepped out slowly, paying the driver without breaking eye contact. “What are you doing here?” you asked, genuinely confused.

Vernon straightened, giving you a half-smile. “Hi. I texted you.”

“My phone was dead,” you replied, standing in front of him, keeping a reasonable distance.

“I see,” he said, nodding. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to grab dinner with me.”

“It’s past nine o’clock.”

He paused. “I know. But I texted you earlier. I didn’t know your class would finish this late.”

You shrugged, arms folding across your chest. “So? Why did you come all the way here?”

Vernon’s brows creased, like he didn’t understand why you had to ask. “I came to see you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Why?”

“Because I wanted to,” Vernon replied, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

You didn’t answer, just looked at him, unsure what to do with the sudden flutter in your chest. It made you nervous.

“You’re standing kind of far,” he said, squinting at the space between you. “That’s not very welcoming.”

Before you could respond, he reached forward and tugged you in by the hem of your jacket, pulling you close until you were flush against him. You gasped, hands automatically landing on his chest. You glanced over your shoulder, scanning the street like someone might’ve followed you.

“Vernon,” you warned, trying to take a step back, but his arms wrapped around your waist before you could. He caged you in, not forcefully, just firmly enough to keep you in place.

“What?” he lilted and then leaned in to kiss you.

It was softer than you expected. Less urgent than last time. When he pulled back, you blinked at him, half-dazed.

“We are not in the kind of relationship where we can do that in public,” you chided, rolling your eyes. “In fact, we’re not even in any kind of relationship at all.”

He tilted his head. “You sure? ‘Cause I asked you if you wanted to go out with me.”

“When?”

“Last night. You didn’t say yes, but I kind of assumed it was a done deal after this morning,” he explained, smiling.

You frowned. “What—wait. I thought you meant ‘go out’ like hang out sometimes, not a… relationship.”

Vernon scoffed, looking baffled. “No. That’s— come on.” He sighed and shook his head. “Baby, I don’t do hook-ups.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really? So you talked to me once and decided you want me to be your girlfriend?”

He chuckled softly, brushing a thumb along your jaw. “Come on now, that wasn’t the first time we talked. We’ve hung out several times before.”

“Oh yeah, there’s that too.” You pushed yourself away from him. “We’ve hung out before when you were still seeing Mina. You know? My friend Mina?”

Vernon sighed, his shoulders slouching as he leaned back on his car again. “Mina and I broke up weeks ago.”

“Doesn’t really change the fact that your ex is my friend.”

His brows furrowed, but you cut him off before he could say anything. “And I know it might seem a bit hypocritical coming from me because, well, I did make the sound decision to sleep with you despite it all. But that was just the moment. Plus the alcohol. We were vibing, having a good time and got carried away. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more?” Vernon repeated.

“I said what I said.”

He paused. “So, it didn’t mean anything?”

“Maybe it didn’t,” you said, softer than you meant to.

His eyes flicked over you, unreadable. “Did it?”

You swallowed but said nothing.

Vernon didn’t press. He just stood there, his gaze steady, lips parted like he wanted to say more but knew better. You looked at him then, properly. The slouched posture, the furrowed brows, the hint of disappointment in his voice. Not the smug guy who had you pinned in the shower hours ago. Just a boy standing by your curb, asking if it meant something.

You could’ve walked away. You should’ve. That would’ve been the responsible thing, the friend thing, the safe thing. But your feet didn’t move.

You did a quick mental math. Vernon, as Mina’s ex: a con. Vernon, as the guy who made your heart race, your knees weak and cooked you actual breakfast: a decent-sized pro.

Mina and Vernon were done. Everyone knew that, even Mina had started going on dates lately. You hadn’t broken any sacred code exactly… right? Maybe there was a statute of limitations on exes. You didn’t exactly plan for this to happen. But it did. Somehow, it did.

And yeah, maybe this was messy. Maybe it would come back to bite you. But maybe it wouldn’t.

You sighed, pressing a hand to your forehead like the thought gave you a headache. “Fine,” you muttered, dropping your hand. “Let’s do it.”

A crooked smile spread across his face, canines peeking through as if he couldn’t quite hide how pleased he was. “You sound like you’re being forced into this.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t say anything. You just turned toward your door and started walking away. You’d taken a few steps ahead when you noticed Vernon wasn’t following you.

“Are you coming or not?” you called out without glancing back.

“I’m coming,” he said briskly, and you could hear him shuffling before you felt his arm around your waist, followed by a soft kiss just below your ear.

Vernon, it turned out, was a pretty decent boyfriend. Not the flowers-and-sonnets type, he wasn’t exactly sweet but he was thoughtful. Considerate. The kind who remembered something you’d said in passing and sent you screenshots of memes that reminded him of you mid-lecture. A little deadpan sometimes, but surprisingly funny when he wanted to be.

You didn’t go out on dates much. Most of the time, you hung out in your apartment. Late-night fast food runs. Coffee breaks in between classes. And those long, lazy evenings where you both lay on the floor listening to whatever playlist he was obsessed with that week.

“I’m telling you,” he said one night, head resting on your thigh as you sat on the floor scrolling through your phone. “This guy’s gonna be the next big thing.”

“Vernon, that’s the third SoundCloud rapper you’ve said that about this week.”

He just grinned up at you, fingers lightly stroking the bare skin under your hoodie. “One of them’s bound to make it. Law of averages.”

He was freaky, too. Always touching, always finding a way to close the space between you. Whether it was sliding up behind you while you brushed your teeth or slipping his hand under your shirt while you were trying to find a movie to stream.

“You’re like a raccoon in heat,” you complained once, swatting him away as he kissed the back of your neck. “You don’t even ask.”

“You never say no,” he muttered into your shoulder, sniffing your skin afterwards like he was addicted to it.

You rolled your eyes, half-laughing. “That’s not the same thing.”

But you didn’t push him away. You never really did.

He was bold, sure, but not pushy. Just… shameless, really. Just always in the mood. Always ready to turn a casual kiss into something steamier. And he made it funny, somehow. Endearing. Like he wasn’t taking himself too seriously, but couldn’t help himself either.

And it wasn’t just about the physicality—he liked looking at you. Really looking. Sometimes it made you squirm, that intensity in his eyes like he was trying to memorize every inch of you.

“You’re doing it again,” you said one evening after, still breathless and sprawled across your bed.

He propped his head up on one hand. “Doing what?”

“You’re staring.”

“I like staring at you,” he admitted. “You’re really pretty.”

You scoffed, tossing a pillow at him. “You are such a liar.”

He laughed and caught the pillow mid-air. “No, seriously. You’re way too good for me. You could do better.”

“Don’t say stuff like that,” you muttered, fixing your gaze on the ceiling. “That’s not funny.”

His smile faded a little, just enough. “I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you just kissed him again. Lightly. Like a thank-you. Like a stop-talking-now.

You never told your friends.

At first, it was just easier that way. Although it did make you feel guilty and anxious. You knew they’d find out eventually—especially since Vernon didn’t seem all that interested in hiding it—but for now, you did what you could to keep things under wraps. Avoided walking too close on campus. Left his name out of your stories.

Anyway, you’d just started. You weren’t even sure if it was serious yet.

You kept telling yourself that. It wasn’t serious. You weren’t serious. Just vibing, having fun, seeing where it went.

Except… day by day, you kept falling for him. Little by little. The way your stomach flipped whenever his name lit up your phone. The way your day never really felt done until you’d seen him.

It was a slow Saturday afternoon when the knock came. You weren’t expecting him—you hadn’t even texted him yet—but when you opened the door in your oversized pajamas, there he was, standing with a plastic bag in one hand and a smug look on his face.

And a buzz cut.

You stared, jaw dropping. “No way,” you blurted, blinking at him like he’d shown up with a new face. “What is that?”

Vernon grinned, stepping inside as he rubbed his head. “A haircut?”

“No, that’s shapeshifting,” you said, clinging to him and tiptoeing a little to poke his head. “Where’s your hair? Where’s my hair? I liked your hair.”

“I just thought I’d cut it for a change,” he said, setting the bag on your kitchen counter like nothing was wrong. “It’s just hair.”

“Wrong. It was beautiful hair,” you argued, crossing your arms. “It was soft. Brown. Touchable. Now you look like you’re enlisting.”

That made him laugh out loud, head lolling back and all. “Come on. I brought snacks.”

You narrowed your eyes at him but then reached up to gently rub a hand over his buzzed scalp, curiosity winning over irritation. It felt... nice, actually. Warm. Neat.

He tilted his head, giving you a little side-eye. “See? You love it.”

You dropped your hand, huffing. “Fine. It looks good on you.”

Vernon smirked. “So, you’re into it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

He stepped in closer, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you flush against him. “I know you like grabbing my hair when I’m down there, but I assure you, the haircut won’t affect my performance at all.”

You snorted, though you decided to play along. “I’m sure it won’t, but what about me then? Where will I hold on to?”

Vernon appeared to think, then lifted your hands to the back of his head. “You can hold onto the head.”

You giggled, pushing him away. “Stay away from me, Private Chwe.”

But you didn’t really mean it. Because a few minutes later, you were curled up on the couch with your legs over his lap, sharing a bag of chips and casually running your fingers over his fuzzy head every now and then.

It was late. You were curled up in bed with Vernon, the room dim except for the soft glow of your phone screen. He’d knocked out not long after your second round, arm slung over your waist and his breath warm against your shoulder. You hadn’t moved, just mindlessly scrolling and letting the post-sex haze stretch a little longer.

He stirred behind you, mumbling something incoherent and making you glance over your shoulder. “Hmm?”

No response. His arm tightened around your middle slightly, and then, just barely awake, he muttered, “Go to sleep, Minmin.”

You froze. It was quiet, almost just a whisper, but you heard it loud and clear.

He didn’t even realize he’d said it. You could tell by how his breathing deepened again right after, like nothing happened, like he hadn’t just called you by her name.

You turned back to your screen, but the words there blurred. Your stomach twisted tight and cold. You knew it wasn’t on purpose. Knew he hadn’t meant it. Knew people said weird shit in their sleep all the time. But still.

You locked your phone and willed yourself to sleep after that.

From the start, you told yourself it was fine—Mina and Vernon were over, she was moving on, you hadn’t done anything technically wrong. But “technically” was doing a lot of heavy lifting. Because the truth was, Vernon wasn’t just some guy you met. He was Mina’s ex. Mina, your friend, the sweetest girl you’d ever known.

You hadn’t pried into their relationship much. Mina liked to keep those things private—she wasn’t the type to air out dirty laundry unless it was already halfway down the street. But in a friend group like yours, sometimes things slip. You knew they were on-and-off for two years. Knew that sometimes she’d show up to brunch with puffy eyes and a thin smile. Knew she once admitted she loved him, but called him exhausting in the same breath.

As her boyfriend, Vernon never really hung out much with all of you. He was always just a name, a shadow in the corner. Mina liked to keep her worlds separate: her friends, her boyfriend, her self. Clean boundaries. Maybe that’s why it was so easy to pretend he was just your Vernon now.

Until he sleep-mumbled her name. After that, you started seeing her everywhere.

In his car—her music taste still in the saved playlists on his stereo. A cracked compact mirror in the glove box. One of those pink hair ties looped around the gear shift.

In his phone—random photos of her mixed in with others. Her caller ID and photo still unchanged. Even in Vernon himself. Mannerisms. Phrases. Words he’d unintentionally—maybe even unconsciously—say with an accent. You hadn’t noticed it before, but now, in your ears, it was unmistakably her. Mina rubbed off on people that way.

But it was his house that really got you.

The first time you stayed over, you didn’t notice much. You were too wrapped up in the moment, in him. But when you started spending more time there—sober, dressed, paying attention—you saw her. In the closets. The bathroom drawers. Earrings in the dish on the nightstand. A polaroid photo tucked in the back of a book you grabbed off his shelf. Her smile. His arm around her.

They were everywhere, those little echoes. Maybe he didn’t even know they were still there. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t care enough to clear them out.

And that was awful because it meant you were walking through a space still haunted by someone else. Living in the leftover corners of someone else’s love.

You hadn’t said anything yet. You weren’t sure if you would. But ever since that night, since Minmin slipped out of his mouth and his arms curled around you like it didn’t mean a thing, something had changed. You couldn’t unsee it.

You couldn’t unfeel it either.

“Okay, spill. Who is he?” Jules demanded one day, putting her cup down a little too firmly.

You were halfway through your iced coffee, huddled in the corner booth of your usual café. “Who?” you asked dumbly.

Jules and Vivi exchanged a look like they were tired of your bullshit. “The guy you’ve been sneaking around with,” Vivi said, folding her arms. “Don’t act clueless. You’ve been weird for weeks. Dodgy. Distracted. Glowing.”

“Glowing?” you scoffed, aiming for a laugh, but it came out strained.

“Yes, bitch. Glowing. And don’t think we haven’t noticed how you vanish every weekend,” Jules added, leaning in. “We want a name.”

“I don’t vanish every weekend, not all the time,” you said quickly, but they weren’t buying it. You tried to keep your voice casual. “I’ve just been… busy.”

“Busy getting laid,” Vivi muttered into her straw.

You rolled your eyes. “Can I have some privacy?”

“Sure,” Jules said. “But you’re making it weird by being so cagey. We just wanna know who’s been putting that look on your face.”

You could feel the walls closing in. They meant well—you knew that. But their faces were too expectant, too trusting. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t drop the name and watch their expressions change. Couldn’t say Vernon and watch Jules flinch, or Vivi blink twice and say “Mina’s Vernon?” like she’d misheard.

So you laughed and said, “It’s nothing serious. Just someone I’m kinda seeing. No labels or anything.”

Jules groaned. “Ugh. Boring.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You deflected just enough to wriggle free, changed the subject, let the attention drift elsewhere. But even as the conversation moved on, something in you stayed stuck.

Because the truth sat heavy in your chest, pressing down harder now.

Your friends weren’t dumb. They’d figure it out eventually. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but they will. And what then?

You hadn’t meant to pull away, but you could feel it happening. You texted less. Skipped the group chats more. Turned down plans with vague excuses. Not because you didn’t love them—but because it was easier to not be around them. To not have to lie.

And yeah, it was the guilt.

Not just because Vernon was Mina’s ex, but because it was all happening behind their backs. The secrecy made it feel worse. Like every kiss you shared with him, carved a little more distance between you and the people who used to know you best.

You didn’t want to imagine what they’d say. How they’d look at you. Whether they’d be angry, or just… disappointed. You didn’t want to imagine Mina’s face at all.

So you didn’t. You smiled. You laughed. You swallowed the guilt.

On one sunny Sunday morning, you were stretched out on a lounge chair, legs crossed, eyes fixed on the glistening ripples on the pool. Vernon lay next to you, arms behind his head, chest rising and falling slowly, with a small towel draped over his eyes to block the light.

“Are your parents away?” you asked, squinting at the house behind you. “I haven’t really seen them around.”

He hummed, slow and lazy. “Yeah. Dad’s busy with business. Mom’s a diplomat so she’s not around much.”

You nodded, letting that settle for a second. “Do you have siblings?”

“I have a younger sister. Sofia. She’s in high school back in Seoul.”

“Are you close?”

“Pretty much.” He pulled the towel down briefly to peek at you. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” you said with a shrug. “I’m nosy.”

He smiled faintly and pushed the towel back over his eyes. You watched the pool glimmer and shift in the sunlight. You picked at a thread on your cover-up. “It’s a nice house.”

“Yeah. A little sterile, though. My mom decorated it like a hotel.”

You gave a short laugh. “It kinda does feel like a resort.”

He hummed again. “No one’s around much anyway.”

Silence fell between you, broken only by the low splash of water against the pool's edge and the occasional rustle of leaves overhead.

You turned your head toward him. “You know… I ask a lot of questions.”

“Mmm?”

“You don’t really ask me much,” you said, watching him carefully.

Vernon peeled the towel off and cracked one eye open at you. “Huh. Yeah. I guess I don’t.” There was no apology in his voice. No defensiveness either. Just a simple sort of agreement, like you’d pointed out the weather.

You pushed up slightly on your elbow. “Why not?”

“I just… don’t ask a lot of questions,” he said with a shrug, propping himself up a little too. “I usually just let people talk and pick up on stuff naturally.”

That made your stomach twist a little. “So… you’re not curious about me?”

“It’s not that,” he said, glancing at you with a casual smile. He reached to cup your face, pressing a soft kiss on your lips before saying, “I like being around you. I don’t need to interrogate you to figure you out.”

You stared at him for a moment. He looked utterly at ease, like this was just another afternoon in a long string of afternoons. And maybe for him, it was.

But for you, it wasn’t. You wanted to be known. To be seen.

You tried to swallow the ache rising in your chest, brushing it off. “Right. I just—yeah, okay.”

He reached over absently, fingers brushing your knee. “I’m sorry. I suck at talking sometimes.”

You nodded. Smiled even. But your heart didn’t quite settle. Because he was right. He did suck at talking sometimes. But the problem was, you didn’t. You liked talking, you liked getting to know him.

And his indifference, for you, was starting to feel like rejection in disguise.

The days that followed were… good. Objectively speaking. Late brunches that turned into grocery runs that turned into him falling asleep on your couch while you watched something he picked but never finished. Evenings spent trying new recipes in his too-perfect kitchen, burning things, laughing about it, ordering pizza instead.

You had your routines. A shared toothbrush at both houses. A playlist that lived in his car, mostly because it was your Spotify account and you liked to DJ from the passenger seat. He never complained. He liked what you liked, or at least pretended to.

There were always the moments, too. The soft ones. Like when he laced your fingers together without thinking about it. Or when he reached out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear while talking about something completely unrelated. Or when he’d murmur, “Come here,” and pull you against him with a kiss that felt like it could break you in half. In the best way.

And still, you couldn’t stop your brain from running circles around itself. Because he’d say things like “This café’s got the best chai latte—I used to come here all the time,” and your stomach would drop.

Used to. With who?

He’d point at a movie on your screen and go, “Oh, I’ve seen this already. Mina made me watch it like eight times,” and not even flinch.

He didn't even seem to notice. And maybe that was what made it worse. That he could speak her name like it was just another fact. Like it didn’t send you into a spiral. Like it didn’t feel like being poked in a bruise you were trying hard to pretend didn’t exist.

You never told him when it happened. Never asked him to stop. You didn’t want to seem petty. You didn’t want to be that girl—the one who made everything about the ex.

But sometimes it would stick with you the whole day. Sit heavy in your chest like something sharp you accidentally swallowed. And you’d try to shrug it off while you were sitting across from him at a café, laughing about something stupid he said. Or in his bed, legs tangled together, your heart beating a little too fast, hoping he didn’t notice the way your smile faltered every time he kissed you and wondered if he was seeing you or someone else.

You hated how jealous you were. Not of Mina herself—but of the time Vernon had spent with her. How embedded she was in his life. How the memory of her clung to everything, like faint perfume on old clothes.

And the worst part? He wasn’t trying to hurt you. You knew that. He was just being Vernon. Which only made it harder to justify how mad you felt. Because how could you fault someone for not reading your mind?

“You okay?” Yuna asked, tugging you out of your musings.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Yuna didn’t seem convinced, but she didn’t push. You were on campus, sitting on a bench seat at the quad, sipping your matcha when Jules and Mina strolled over mid-convo.

“—she looks like she’s going through something,” Jules was saying, phone in hand. “I saw her IG story. She bleached her hair again.”

“Again?” Mina snorted. “What is it with women and changing our hair every time we feel feelings?”

Yuna laughed. “It’s girlhood, babe. We don’t need a reason for it.”

“You know who else had a hairstyle change lately?” Vivi joined in, showing her phone screen for everyone to see. “Vernon Chwe.”

You almost spat your drink. Luckily, they were all too focused on Vivi’s phone to notice.

“Oh my god, he got a buzz cut?” Mina exclaimed, chuckling. “It looks good.”

Vivi hummed. “Yeah, well, he’s lucky he’s blessed with good looks. But it definitely looks like he’s processing.”

“Or that he’s moved on with his life,” Jules said matter-of-factly.

“What’s he even doing lately?” Yuna asked, turning to Mina. “Has he been trying to talk to you again?”

Mina shook her head, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “Nope. And thank goodness. We are absolutely, completely over.”

That should’ve been reassuring. Should’ve been your green light. But instead, you just sat there, fingers clenched around your cup. Mina didn’t sound hurt. She sounded like someone who had moved on. You should’ve felt relieved. Instead, you felt small.

The rest of the day passed in a fog. You made excuses to go home early, told Vernon you had to work on something, even though all you did was sit in your room, scrolling your phone and staring at nothing.

You hadn’t told your friends. You hadn’t told anyone. But now, even without opening your mouth, it felt like the secret was slipping out anyway.

And the worst part? You were starting to feel like you didn’t belong anywhere—too dishonest for your friends, too temporary for Vernon. Teetering, always, on the edge.

The annual interdepartmental sports meet was always full of energy and chaos in the best way. Overcrowded gyms, matching shirts in clashing colors, and a week’s worth of trash talk between departments that took themselves way too seriously. You weren’t exactly a hardcore athlete, but when your department needed players for the volleyball team, you and Jules had said yes before thinking twice. It was supposed to be fun. A way to bond with classmates and rack up a few points for team spirit.

But now, standing courtside with sweat already gathering at the back of your neck and nerves tying knots in your stomach, it felt bigger than that.

Because Vernon was there.

You spotted him just before warm-ups ended—seated halfway up the bleachers, water bottle in hand, eyes focused on you. He didn’t cheer or wave. He didn’t need to. Just knowing he was there made you happy.

On the opposite side of the gym, your friends were already making a scene. Mina, in her oversized jacket and Vivi in sunglasses, even though you were indoors, were yelling like it was the World Cup. The others were scattered around them, with poster board signs in hand. They had no idea Vernon was here. They probably spotted him, but they definitely didn’t know he was here for you.

The whistle blew, and the game began.

The PE department had always been a formidable opponent. Every serve they hit came in like a missile, and you were convinced one of their blockers had arms made of steel. Still, your team fought back—scrambling, diving, shouting encouragements across the net.

Vernon didn’t look away once.

You scored a couple of solid points—enough to get your friends hollering your name from across the court—and for a moment, you forgot about everything. The guilt, the secrets, the constant balancing act. All you cared about was the high of the game and the thrill of being seen.

But the PE team was too good, and the final set ended with their victory. Just like that, it was over.

You were still catching your breath when your friends swarmed you.

“You. Are. Insane!” Vivi said dramatically. “Be honest, you guys have invisible wings, don’t you?”

“No?” you chuckled, smiling apologetically as you watched Jules wipe her face when your sweat smeared her after a hug.

“But you girls were flying!”

“Yeah? Well, wings or not, we lost anyway,” Yuna pouted, shoulders sagging.

Mina rolled her eyes. “Darling, it’s PE. Athletics are rigged in their favor every year.”

“Or they’re just that much better than we were,” you said matter-of-factly.

Mina shook her head disapprovingly. “We’re getting celebratory boba anyway, win or lose.”

Their affection came in shouting, hugging, someone sticking a phone in your face for selfies. And in all the noise, all the praise, you glanced up toward the bleachers.

Vernon was already standing. He met your gaze across the gym and lifted his hand in a small wave. Your heart flipped. You wanted to run to him. To hear what he thought of the game, of you. But you couldn’t. Not here, anyway.

So you waved back, just once, hoping it said all the things you couldn’t say out loud. Then your friends pulled you in another direction and Vernon disappeared into the crowd, just like that.

You’d spent the whole day surrounded by friends, moving from post-game snacks to the campus fashion exhibit where Vivi was showing off her latest collection. The group had squealed and clapped when she won a prize, and you were just buzzed enough from pride and fizzy drinks to forget for a little while that Vernon was waiting.

But there he was, leaned up against the stairwell railing in front of your apartment when you finally got home. Hoodie, backwards cap, and a grin that’s smoother than butter.

“Took you long enough,” he said, stepping forward to help carry your tote. “Didn’t think watching models in boxy dresses would take this long.”

You snorted. “They were avant-garde, thank you very much.”

Inside, you kicked your shoes off and beelined for the bathroom. “Give me ten minutes to rinse off before I pass out,” you called behind you.

Vernon’s voice floated in casually. “Make it five. Any longer and I’ll assume you’re crying over your loss.”

You rolled your eyes in the shower.

By the time you emerged, skin damp and cozy in a fresh set of shorts and a cropped tee, he was sprawled on your bed, scrolling on his phone. He looked up the moment he heard you, his head cocking slightly as his eyes ran over your still-wet hair and bare legs.

You dropped down beside him with a dramatic sigh. “Everything hurts.”

“Your pride?” he chuckled. “Those PE girls are a different breed, it’s not your fault.”

“My back, you clown,” you muttered, flopping forward onto the mattress.

“I’d be surprised if it didn’t. You were all over the court.” He put his phone down and shifted closer. “Good thing I’m excellent at back rubs. Among other things.”

You turned your head to give him a look. “How excellent?”

“Guess you’ll have to let me show you,” he said, pushing you gently on the bed so you were lying on your belly.

He climbed over you, straddling your thighs as he pressed his hands on your lower back, kneading slow circles over your aching muscles. The pressure was good, soothing in the first two minutes, until you noticed his hands kept creeping under your shirt.

“I can smell your ulterior motives from here,” you said into the mattress, eyes closed and basking in the relaxing pressure he was putting on your muscles.

“Ulterior what?” he said innocently, still kneading with one hand while the other shamelessly cupped your ass.

You let out a soft laugh. “You’re such an animal. I should sue you for this.”

He leaned forward until his chest brushed your back, lips right by your ear. “Come on. Let me make you feel good.”

You could feel his hard-on against the back of your thigh, his breath warm on your neck. You gave a whine of protest, but it was already dissolving as he kissed down the curve of your shoulder, teeth grazing lightly, hands moving more intentionally.

“Turn over,” he murmured, voice a little rough now.

You obeyed without thinking, shifting under him until he was settled between your legs, tugging your shirt up and over your head. He looked down at you for a second, eyes dark with desire, but there was something tender there too. Admiration, affection.

“You really killed it today,” he said, thumbs stroking the skin just under your bra. “Even if you lost.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Were you even watching the game?”

“I was watching,” he grinned. “Not the game, though.”

Your forehead creased and he kissed that space between your brows.

“You in those shorts, jumping around? I almost embarrassed myself on the bleachers,” he added, grinding against you.

You gasped, smacking his arm. “Vernon!”

He caught your wrist, guiding it down between your bodies. “Here. Feel what you did to me.”

Your breath hitched as your hand grazed him through his sweats, thick and hard and hot under the fabric. You curled your fingers around him, watching his jaw flex as he pressed into your touch.

“Fuck,” he muttered, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as your hand started to move. “You’re not helping my self-control right now.”

You smiled, tilting your head up so your lips grazed his jaw. “Since when did you have any?”

That earned you a low laugh, one that vibrated through his chest as he tugged your shorts down your hips, leaving you in just your panties. He dipped his head to kiss your stomach, then lower, his mouth leaving a warm trail on your skin as his hands gripped your thighs to spread them apart.

“Were you thinking about this in the shower?” he murmured against your underwear.

You let out a breathy moan, fingers threading through his hair as he nuzzled you. “I was thinking about sleep.”

“Liar.” He grinned up at you, wicked and boyish, before dragging his tongue along the edge of your panties, making you twitch.

When he finally pulled them aside and licked a long, slow stripe up your folds, your back arched off the bed. His hands were firm on your thighs, keeping you open, keeping you still, even as you writhed. He worked you over with maddening control, slow flicks of his tongue, then deep, insistent sucking, then back again. You were already panting, hips rolling into his mouth, desperate for more.

“God, Vernon—” you gasped, fingers digging into his nape.

He hummed in response, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure straight through your spine. One of his fingers slipped inside you, curling just right, and your breath broke. He added another, fucking you slow and deep while his mouth stayed busy, tongue teasing your clit until your thighs started to tremble.

“Come on, babe,” he whispered against you. “Let me have it.”

Your orgasm hit hard, blinding and hot, a shuddering wave that tore through you as you cried out his name. He didn’t stop until you were twitching, breathless, pushing weakly at his head.

He crawled back up your body, grinning smugly. “How’s your back?”

You were too dazed to answer, grabbing his shirt and yanking it up over his head. “Take your pants off.”

“Ooh. Bossy.” He complied without hesitation, kicking off his sweats and boxers. His cock slapped against his stomach, flushed, thick and already leaking. You stared for a second before reaching for him, but he caught your wrist.

He grabbed one of your legs, hooked it around his waist, and lined himself up. “Ready?”

You nodded, lips parted, and he slid in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you open until he was fully inside. You clung to him, gasping into his shoulder.

“Fuck, you feel unreal,” he growled, holding still for a second as if trying to compose himself. Then he started to move.

His thrusts were deep and slow at first, but it didn’t take long for him to pick up speed. You locked your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, chasing that burn, that fullness. The room was filled with the sound of skin on skin, of breathless moans, and the creak of your bed frame.

He kissed you between thrusts, messy, open-mouthed, like he couldn’t get enough. His hand found yours above your head, fingers lacing with yours as he pushed harder, faster, hitting that perfect spot over and over again until you couldn’t help but pull away from his lips so you could moan out of ecstasy.

“I love it when you make that face,” he panted, canine grin gracing his face. “Like I’ve got you losing your mind.”

You were losing your mind. You were close again, tighter and wetter and needier than before, every nerve ending on fire. You clutched his hand tightly, clinging into it like a lifeline.

“I’m gonna—” you barely managed.

“I know,” he murmured, biting at your jaw. “Come for me again. I’ve got you.”

And you did—body locking up beneath him as you came hard, muffling your scream into his shoulder. He followed with a low, broken groan, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you, his whole body trembling with it.

He collapsed on top of you, panting, sweaty, and smug. After a few minutes of catching his breath, he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“How did you like my ulterior motives?”

You couldn’t even speak. You just let out a soft, dazed laugh, chest rising and falling beneath his.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he grinned.

You lay together on the messy bed, his arms wrapped around you while your head rested on his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. You could feel the sticky warmth between your legs, the light throb of overstimulated muscles, but none of it felt uncomfortable. Just, intimate. Like all of him was still inside you somehow, even after he’d pulled out.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured, lips brushing your forehead.

You hummed and closed your eyes. “Barely. You ruined me.”

“That’s my love language,” he said smugly, lifting your chin so he could kiss you.

Your eyes fluttered open. “You’re so annoying.”

He grinned. “You say that, but you never kick me out.”

“Because my legs don’t work right now.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You let out a quiet laugh, turning onto your side to face him. He looked like a handsome mess—his skin flushed, lips still kiss-swollen, and somehow, in this disheveled, post-sex haze, he looked lovely. Boyish. Completely unguarded. It made your chest ache with affection.

He stared back at you, brushing a strand of hair away from your cheek. “You were really good today. At the game, I mean.”

Your brow arched. “Are you saying I wasn’t good just now?”

“Hey,” he said quickly, laughter in his voice. “You were great just now. I’m still seeing stars. I’m just saying… I was proud of you. Watching you out there.”

The words hit somewhere deep in your chest, too warm, too sweet. You looked down at his hand, now resting over your ribcage. “You didn’t even sit on our team’s side of the court.

“Well, your friends were there. I thought you wouldn’t want me somewhere near them,” he admitted. “Since they don’t know about us.”

You nodded. You didn’t need the reminder. The guilt still lived under your skin like a bruise that hadn’t healed.

“I’ll tell them soon,” you said, mostly to yourself.

Vernon didn’t push. He just leaned in and kissed your temple. “Take your time. I quite enjoy feeling like someone’s dirty little mistress.”

You chuckled heartily, letting your eyes fall shut again, breathing him in. You stayed like that for a moment, pressed against him, warm and full but still not entirely at peace. His “dirty little mistress” joke echoed in your head. Not because it wasn’t funny—it was, in a Vernon kind of way—but because it reminded you of the reality you kept tucking under the rug. That this was still a secret.

“Hey,” you said after a pause. “Can I ask you something?”

He glanced down at you, relaxed. “Go ahead, baby. You always ask me something anyway.”

You ignored the tease. “What really happened between you and Mina?”

Vernon blinked, visibly surprised, but not thrown. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… why did you break up? Like, for good.”

He didn’t answer right away, and part of you hoped he wouldn’t. That he’d brush it off. But he didn’t.

He sat up a little, leaning back against your headboard, his hand sliding away from your waist. “We just… stopped making sense, I guess. At first it was great. But I kept fucking up. I wasn’t always present. She needed consistency, and I was all over the place back then.”

You stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“I didn’t even realize how much I was hurting her until she’d already started checking out. We kept going in circles. Break up, I try to figure out what I did wrong, get back together, repeat. I guess she got tired. By the time I got serious, she didn’t want it anymore.” He let out a laugh, one that was bitter and self-deprecating. “She said loved me. I loved her too. But love doesn’t mean shit if you don’t put in the effort to make it work.”

You watched the way his face softened, the way his gaze drifted toward something far away, something not in this room. You wondered if he even realized it.

“I used to wish I was better, you know,” he added quietly. “For her.”

Something twisted in your chest. You sat up, pulling the blanket to your chest even though you weren’t cold. “You still wish that?”

His eyes flicked to yours. “What?”

“For her. You still wish you were better for her right now?”

He blinked, confused. “No. That’s not what I meant.”

“But it’s what you said.” You tried not to sound hurt.

He sat up straighter, brow furrowed. “I know, but it’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I meant I used to wish I was— wait. Are we gonna fight about this?”

“No,” you said quickly. “I just—” You faltered, heart racing, lump forming in your throat. “I just wanted to know if you’re over her.”

“I am.”

“You don’t sound like it.”

“Because I said I used to wish I was better?”

“Because you said it like you still do.”

His expression hardened, just a little. “Baby, I told you, that is not what I meant. Hold on. You asked me to tell you. And now you’re mad because I did?”

“I’m not mad,” you said, voice rising. “I’m just— I don’t know. I thought hearing you talk about it would make me feel better.”

“Okay…? Where is this coming from?”

“I don’t know, Vernon.” You laughed, hollow. “Maybe from me pretending not to notice that your whole life still has her fingerprints all over it.”

Vernon stared at you like he didn’t know what to say and that silence only made your chest ache even more.

“I knew I was a rebound,” you said, voice lower now. “I’ve always known. But I’m so tired of feeling like one.”

“Come on, you’re not a—”

“Don’t lie to me and say I’m not, Vernon.”

His brows pulled together, but he didn’t argue and just sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

He ran a hand on his head, frustration starting to leak into his voice. “You never said anything. You never told me it bothered you that I’d just gotten out of something.”

“Because I wasn’t even planning to date you, Vernon!” you snapped, the words leaving your mouth before you could stop them. “You’re the one who had to go and make me your girlfriend. You didn’t even give me a chance to think about what any of this meant before it already meant something.”

That shut him up. Completely. He stared at you, lips parted just slightly, as if he’d been mid-sentence but forgot how to make a sound.

“Come on, baby,” he said softly, a bitter laugh escaping. “You’re acting like I dragged you into this.”

“You didn’t drag me,” you snapped. “You just… pulled me in so fast I didn’t have time to realize I didn’t want this.”

His expression cracked, like you’d just confirmed the worst thing he suspected about himself. “So what, this whole time you’ve just been regretting it?”

You didn’t say anything. You just looked at him. Steady. Honest.

“Oh,” he said quietly. “Got it,” he added, voice tight as he reached for his hoodie on the chair. “Loud and clear.”

“Vernon…”

“It’s fine,” he said, already walking toward the door. “You don’t have to explain.”

You stood too, blanket falling from your shoulders. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just… I don’t know what to do anymore.”

He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Yeah. I think that makes two of us.”

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he. The door clicked shut behind him.

The silence that followed was louder than anything you’d heard before. You stood there for a moment, staring at the door like maybe he’d come back, but the hallway stayed quiet. The echo of the door clicking shut still rang in your head.

You sank onto the edge of the bed, pulling the blanket around you again, but it didn’t help. You were still cold and it had nothing to do with your naked body and everything to do with what just left the room.

Your breath hitched as the first tear fell. Then another. And another. Until you couldn’t stop them, until your chest shook and your hand clutched the blanket like a lifeline.

You pressed your palm to your mouth, trying to quiet yourself, but it was no use. Your sobs still filled the entire apartment.

When you woke up the next day, your eyes were heavy and puffy. But you had classes later, so you tried your best to bring the swelling down and look completely normal. It worked; your eyes returned to normal, except for the redness on the corners that you couldn’t do anything about, no matter how much you tried.

And so you willed yourself to calm down, to face this day without the burden of the fight with Vernon weighing you down. To leave it all behind in the confines of your apartment.

But the moment you stepped into the deserted lecture hall where your friends were hanging out, you immediately felt the air around you change. Their attention immediately shifted to you, and you could already feel nervousness creep up your chest.

Vivi raised an eyebrow, her phone held up for you to see, and Mina—of course, it had to be Mina—was the first to speak.

“You and Vernon, huh?” she asked with a lilt in her voice, but you didn’t recognize that.

Your stomach dropped. You didn’t want to answer. Of all the timing in the world, this had to be the worst. You didn’t want them to know. Not like this. You were still spiraling from the fight with Vernon, trying to piece together what had just happened, and they were about to walk straight into the wreckage.

“Yeah, I’m seeing Vernon,” you snapped, more harshly than you intended. The words tasted bitter as you spat them out. “Mina’s Vernon.”

The moment you said it, it felt like the entire room was holding its breath. You could feel your palms sweating, your heart racing. They’d seen the Instagram story Vernon posted the day before. And they’d recognized you. It was so obvious, your reflection in the glass, the way you had been with him just the day before. But this wasn’t how you wanted them to find out. Not after the mess with Vernon.

“I didn’t want to tell you guys,” you snapped, the words tumbling out, sharp and jagged. “Because I knew you’d think I’m a terrible friend, that I’m some kind of asshole for getting with my friend’s ex. But I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, okay? It just did.”

You felt the words spill out in a rush, but it didn’t feel like relief. It just felt like more of a mess. More of a disaster that you couldn’t control. “I was just having fun with him, alright? But now it’s all complicated, and I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing anymore. So sue me for being an asshole!”

The group exchanged glances. Vivi blinked, clearly caught off guard, but instead of the judgment you had prepared yourself for, she just scoffed. “You’re not an asshole. Calm down. Geez.”

She walked toward you, cautious at first, as if she feared you might lash out, and gently patted your shoulder. “It’s no big deal, really.”

“It’s a bit weird, yeah, but what does it matter?” Jules chimed in, glancing at Mina. “They’re broken up. It’s not like you’re trying to date him while they’re still together.”

Yuna nodded nonchalantly. “No one thinks you’re an asshole. If it feels right to you, who cares?”

You blinked, caught off guard by her acceptance. It wasn’t exactly the response you’d expected, not the condemnation you thought you’d face, not the judgment.But it didn’t matter much what they thought. It was Mina you were more worried about.

Mina, who had been silent the entire time, stood up and without a word, pulled you into a tight hug. You didn’t know how long you stayed there, in the comfort of her embrace, but it was long enough for you to start crying again. She didn’t say anything else. She just held you, as though she knew something had happened, as though she understood that this confrontation was a result of all the emotions you hadn’t let out before.

When she finally pulled away, you saw the understanding in her eyes. “You alright, love?”

You nodded, still sobbing. “Are you?”

“I’m fine, silly,” she said softly, smiling. “You’re not the first person to date someone’s ex, and you’re not doing anything wrong.”

You expected to hear some kind of anger, some kind of hurt, but instead she just sounded resigned. After spending all those days worrying that you were a horrible friend, you needed more from her. You needed her to be mad, or at least to tell you that you were making a mistake.

“But... don’t you think it’s kind of—” You swallowed hard. “I don’t know, Mina, don’t you think it’s fucked up?”

She gave you an apologetic look, like she was trying to gauge how much of this you needed to hear. You saw her glancing over at Vivi, her face unreadable. “It’s not fucked up. If you’re happy with him, then you’re happy. I don’t see the point in holding on to grudges about who dates whom after a breakup. It is what it is.”

You could feel your heart sinking. The validation you had been searching for from her wasn’t coming. You almost wanted to scream at her, tell her she was wrong, that you had no idea what you were doing, that this was all so messed up. Everything felt like it was spinning out of control. And yet, she wasn’t angry. She wasn’t even mad. She was just unfazed.

And for some reason, that lack of anger felt like a thorn being plucked from your chest.

“Okay, girls, this is obviously something we need to unpack,” Jules said, slapping Vivi and Yuna on the back. “Let’s ditch class and blow off some steam.”

You chuckled bitterly, wiping your face as you tried to compose yourself. “Let’s not. It’s okay. I’m fine.”

Jules shook her head, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “No, you’re not.”

Vivi scoffed lightly. “You’re just looking for an excuse to run off.”

After a round of glances and a half-hearted protest from Yuna about attendance, the group had collectively decided that, for the sake of everyone’s emotional well-being (read: yours), the day should be devoted to ‘girlhood’. No lectures. No readings. No pretending everything was fine when something had clearly almost rattled your friend group.

You wound up spending the afternoon doing what you always did when one of you was getting some drama thrown your way—retail therapy, greasy food, dumb photo booth pictures you’d all cringe at later. The mall wasn’t particularly exciting, but it was the place you and your girls were most familiar with. You tried on sunglasses you didn’t intend to buy, stole fries off Mina’s plate, let Vivi drag you through every store offering a SALE.

No one mentioned Vernon. No one had to. He wasn’t part of this detox, not part of this girlhood.

By the time evening rolled around, you’d collected a half-dozen shopping bags and a little more peace than you’d started the day with. The group voted on takeout from your favorite Korean fried chicken restaurant and decided to eat it at your place.

“Honestly, can’t remember the last time we hung out at your place,” Vivi said as she linked her arm around yours, peeking at your face with narrowed eyes. “I wonder why...”

Jules smirked. “It’s the boy, obviously.”

“Did that dude have you on lockdown?” Vivi asked, not even trying to be subtle.

You rolled your eyes, shifting the paper bag in your arms. “It’s not like that.”

But the teasing stopped as soon as you turned the corner onto your street. Because Vernon was there. Sitting on the steps outside your building, hoodie on, elbows on his knees, and eyes on the ground. He looked up at the sound of your voices and immediately stood.

You froze, the breath catching in your throat. Your friends didn’t.

“Absolutely not,” Vivi snapped, stepping in front of you before you could say anything. “Turn around.”

“What are you doing here, Vernon?” Mina added, moving to block his view of you.

“I just wanna talk to her,” Vernon said, hands up like he knew exactly how bad this looked.

“Hmm, I don’t know about that,” Vivi grimaced, feigning an apologetic look. “We have a thing and you’re not invited.”

You could see his jaw tighten at that, but he didn’t argue.

“Go home, Vernon,” Mina said. “Maybe use this time to reflect, yeah?”

Vernon sighed. “How do you know this is my fault?”

Mina shrugged, glancing briefly at you. Vivi replied, “Doesn’t matter whose fault this is. It was you who made her cry. We don’t want you here.”

“Guys, this is between me and her, please.”

Your friends all turned to you with inquiring looks, suddenly making you feel nervous. You swallowed the lump in your throat and smiled. “Let’s go inside, girls.”

Vivi didn’t move until you did. Even as you stepped forward, she stayed close, her arm brushing against yours like a silent signal: “Just say the word, and I’ll swing.” Before trailing after the others, she paused just long enough to glance at Vernon over her shoulder.

You didn’t look at him. Not once. Just kept your eyes on the entrance, heart hammering, keys slipping slightly in your sweaty grip as you ushered the girls inside and shut the door behind you.

And for a while, everything felt normal again.

There was fried chicken on the table, open soda cans scattered across every surface, and someone had put on a feel-good playlist that kept the room alive with laughter and off-key singing. You danced barefoot on your living room floor with Yuna, both of you losing it over Vivi’s ridiculous two-step. Jules was perched on the back of your couch like a cat, chewing on a piece of tteokbokki and pretending to be unimpressed with everyone’s moves. Mina laughed so hard at one point she had to clutch her side and collapse onto a throw pillow.

You didn’t know who brought him up first. Maybe it was Jules, maybe it was Vivi throwing a not-so-subtle glance your way when the laughter finally began to quiet down. Either way, it was inevitable. You’d made it through the mall and dinner and two hours of messing around in your apartment without saying his name—but that silence had started to feel loud.

“So… Vernon,” Jules said, curled up on the far end of your couch, chopsticks dangling between her fingers. “Are we gonna talk about it or keep pretending we didn’t see the human roadblock outside earlier?”

You sighed, resting your chin on your hand. “There’s not much to say. We hooked up once, drunk, and it just kind of… kept happening. We were dating, I guess.”

“Just like that?” Vivi frowned. “He broke up with Mina, what, two seconds ago?”

“Exactly.” You let out a humorless laugh. “He said I wasn’t but I really felt like I was a rebound. Like he was just killing time with me until he figured his shit out. He didn’t ask questions about me, didn’t really seem interested in the things I liked. He said he liked being around me, said he liked me a lot and stuff—but it never felt like he was trying to know me.”

You sighed slowly, heart lighter now that you were able to talk about this. But there was something still catching in your throat. Something you couldn’t say. That it wasn’t just about how he acted—it was how you felt every time Mina’s name came up in conversation, or worse, when it didn’t. Like you were constantly living in the shadow of a relationship that you hadn’t witnessed but couldn’t stop imagining.

You didn’t say any of that. Your damn pride wouldn’t let you.

There was a pause. Yuna blinked and said, “Well, shit.”

“I mean,” Jules began slowly, “that’s valid, babe. It makes total sense you’d feel like a rebound. The whole situation was set up to make you feel that way.”

“He probably has commitment issues,” Vivi added with a scoff. “That or he didn’t take it seriously from the start. Not even trying to know you? That’s a red flag. Come on.”

But Mina, who had been quietly picking at the leftovers of dinner, surprisingly had other opinions.

“Vernon’s not really like that,” she said calmyl. Not defensive, not biting—just honest. “He’s not big on questions. He gets to know people by doing things with them, being around them. Not through twenty-questions or late-night heart-to-hearts.”

You glanced at her and it was Jules who asked, “So he’s not deep?”

“No, he is,” she said. “He just doesn’t show it the usual way. It took a while before I realized he liked me back then. He’s spontaneous. And he doesn’t like wasting time on things that don’t matter to him. So if this was just a rebound… that would actually be kind of weird for him.”

That made your chest tighten. The way Mina talked about him like she really knew him. Somehow, you thought it would be painful, but instead, your heart was tightening for an entirely different reason.

Affection, and pride. Like a mom hearing other mothers praise your child for being well-behaved and smart.

“But,” she added, tone shifting slightly, “he does love bomb a little. When he’s into something, or someone, he throws himself all-in, fast. And sometimes it fizzles out just as fast. So maybe you’re right. Maybe it was temporary. But only Vernon knows how he really feels.”

There was a second of silence. Yuna finally muttered, “That’s so frustrating.”

“Tell me about it,” you mumbled.

Still, you appreciated Mina’s honesty. Her ability to speak about Vernon without bitterness, even if part of you wished she had been bitter. You wished someone had been angry enough to make you feel like you weren’t just spiraling alone.

“You want me to tell you something?” Jules said sternly, pointing a fork at you. “You deserve better.”

“Hear, hear!”

You knew that. You didn’t need people to tell you. You were smart enough to know you deserved better. That you shouldn’t be in a relationship if it feels unstable and uncertain.

But what use is better if Vernon is all you want? If, despite everything, you still wanted to be with him?

You could unpack this with your girls, knowing they’d have enough angles and perspectives for you to help make a decision. But you didn’t wanna do that because this was something you had to figure out on your own. This was something only you and Vernon could talk about. This was between the two of you.

And your friends were good. They didn’t push further. They let you rest your head against the couch cushions again and made plans to sleep over next weekend. Normal things. Safe things.

And then, it was time to go. You walked them downstairs, one by one, clinging to the lightness you’d clawed back during the day. But the second you stepped outside, that lightness evaporated.

Because Vernon was still there.

Sitting in the exact same spot, hoodie pulled up, expression unreadable in the glow of the streetlights. He stood the second he saw you. You could hear your friends making surprised sounds and murmurs around you.

“You’re joking,” Vivi said flatly.

He didn’t speak. Just looked at you as if he couldn’t see anyone else.

“Should we stay?” Mina asked quietly, her fingers brushing your arm.

You hesitated, then nodded. “No. It’s okay.”

The others weren’t so sure. Jules gave Vernon a sharp look. “You sure you don’t want us to stay?”

“It’s fine,” you said again, firmer this time. “Really.”

With reluctance and a few more side-eyes at Vernon, they said their goodbyes. Vivi mimed her two-finger “watching you” gesture.

Jules even pointed at Vernon’s feet and said, “Stay,” like he was a dog.

And then, finally, you were alone with him. He didn’t speak right away. Just stared, like he wasn’t sure you’d come out at all.

“I didn’t know if I should wait,” he said eventually. “But I didn’t wanna leave without trying.”

You stepped out, slowly. “Okay. Try.”

The wind blew and the cool air made you hug yourself. It was getting late and the night had gotten colder. You wondered how long he was waiting there. Had he really been sitting there the whole time?

“Can we talk inside?”

“No,” you replied before you could even think about it. “I don’t trust myself to be alone in private with you right now.”

“Right, I understand,” he nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Um, that night, when we fought… I, uh… I shouldn’t have left like I did.”

He paused, eyes softening as he met your gaze. “It’s just, when you said you didn’t want… this—” he motioned at the two of you— “us, dating. It kind of got into my head. I was a little upset because I thought I dragged you into something you didn’t want and that everything that happened was just…”

He paused again, looking away and then chuckling in a self-deprecating way. “Anyway, I don’t wanna make excuses. Point is, I understand now why you were upset. Why you felt like a rebound and what I did… and didn’t do to make things better. I understand the Mina thing. I understand why you thought I didn’t like you enough because I didn’t ask much about you but…”

You raised an eyebrow, urging him to continue.

“But you were wrong about something,” Vernon said, stepping closer, his voice low, not pushing, just stating a truth. “ I know you. We haven’t been together long, but I’ve known enough about you.”

He paused, glancing up like he was searching for the right words. Then, almost awkwardly, he started counting off on his fingers.

“You hate ketchup. Like, viscerally. You always wipe it off your burger before eating it. You set three alarms every morning but never wake up until the fourth, which is somehow always a voice memo of you yelling at yourself to get up.” A small smile tugged at his lips. “You like watching horror movies but always cover your eyes during the scary parts. You don’t like soda but you always steal sips of mine.”

You felt yourself go still. Not because he was saying anything particularly grand, but because it was clear—he’d been paying attention. More than you thought. Maybe more than you let yourself believe.

“You read too fast and finish books in a day, then spend the next three days depressed about it. You dance in your seat when your food’s good. You always fall asleep during car rides unless you’re the one driving. You get quiet when you’re thinking too hard. You ramble when you’re nervous.” He smiled faintly. “Like on the day of your volleyball tryouts. You talked about how avocadoes are a scam.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “They are though. Four bucks for something that goes bad in a day.”

He gave a soft chuckle. “Point is, I notice. I might not ask a million questions about your childhood or your star sign, but I see you. And I like you. A lot.”

He stopped, letting those last words sink in. His eyes were on you, not pleading, but open and vulnerable.

“I’m not gonna promise you anything I’m not sure I can keep. But I know I want you. I know I care about you, and that’s not just me saying it because I’m scared of losing you, even though I am. I just…” he sighed. “I don’t want this to be over before we even tried, baby.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Just watched him, arms crossed, heart thudding in a way you were trying hard to ignore. Because you wanted him—but you weren’t sure if you could trust him yet. Or yourself, for that matter, to stop letting your insecurities eat at you.

But you didn’t tell him any of that. Instead, you turned away, slowly walking to your door.

You unlocked it, paused with your hand on the knob, and glanced back over your shoulder. “Are you just gonna stand there all night?”

Vernon blinked. “No, I… um, I’ll leave you alone if you want me to.”

You huffed, stepping just inside the doorway. “Come on in,” you said simply, not looking at him. “It’s cold and you’ve been sitting out here like an idiot all night.”

It took him a second, but then you heard his quiet footsteps behind you, following you in.

Inside, you paused in the middle of your apartment, took a slow breath, and turned. Then you threw yourself into his arms. Vernon nearly toppled over, but managed to steady you, arms wrapping around your back, one hand cradling the back of your head.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled into his chest, sighing like it physically hurt to get the words out. “I overreacted. Got a little over dramatic. Just… got in over my head.”

Vernon shushed you gently, kissing the side of your head and tugging you closer. “Don’t be sorry. I get it. You can be a little crazy sometimes, and I think I can deal with that.”

You pulled back just enough to smack him lightly in the chest. Vernon just chuckled, throwing his head back before pulling you back into his arms.

“I’m kidding, baby. It’s not your fault,” he said, nose brushing your temple. “I missed you so much. You had no idea.”

You rolled your eyes despite the flutter in your chest. “Liar. It hasn’t even been a full day.”

“You sure about that?” Vernon murmured, pulling back just enough to kiss your forehead. “Felt like five weeks.”

You scoffed. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Says the girl who cried when I left,” he chuckled, “even though she’s the one who picked a fight with me.”

You tried to pull away again, but he tightened his hold. “Don’t worry about it. I like my women emotional.”

You groaned, letting your forehead fall against his chest. “Shut up or I’ll kick you out for real.”

“Please don’t,” he replied, arms still wrapped tightly around you. “I missed you too much.”

You didn’t respond, just closed your eyes and listened to the steady beat of his heart. For a second, neither of you moved. The room was warm, and so was he. And even if you were still a little mad, and still a little scared, it felt good to be in his arms again.

He lifted your chin up, gaze dropping to your lips, then back up. “Can I kiss you?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” you said, before pressing your lips to his.

He kissed you like he meant it. Like he missed you. Like he was trying to remind you of every reason you’d let him in to begin with. His hands moved up to cradle your face, gentle, a little desperate. Yours were still fisted in his hoodie, keeping him close. Just in case he changed his mind. Just in case you did.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you a little breathless and grinning, he rested his forehead against yours.

You didn’t believe in neat resolutions. Relationships didn’t fix themselves overnight, and a kiss wasn’t a magic bandage for everything that had gone wrong. Maybe nothing would change. Maybe you’d still fight, still misunderstand each other. But for now, your walls were down and his arms were around you.

And that was enough. You weren’t going anywhere. Not unless one of you said it was over.

“I’m still mad at you,” you whispered.

“I’d be worried if you weren’t,” he murmured back, brushing your cheek with his thumb before leaning to kiss you again.

[fin]

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