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voitier · 1 day ago

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HANS - In your Hands

하나 : Gran Premio de España

In a world where every single step is recorded and analysed by cameras, F1 racer Jeon Jungkook could care less about his reputation, having decided that with the amount of money he has he could buy the silence of everybody, if he wished.

Behind him, there's a girl losing her mind trying to get him to behave, knowing that her job is at risk if she doesn't cover up his mess-ups in time.

What happens when one of the most influential and world recognised racers falls head over heels for his PR manager, who absolutely despises his "I've got it all" attitude and wants nothing more than to keep doing her job in peace?

WORDCOUNT: 3K

CONTAINS: 18+! sex, hooking up (occasionally and not), mentions of blood and paramedics (brief, not too much descriptive), car crashing description (again, not too much detailed)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: okay, so... here's chapter one. okay. WOW. literally shaking rn I'm so scared it's gonna flop LMAOOOO. anyway, literally one of the longest pieces I've ever written, lowkey surprised myself. oh, and that thing I said that I wanted to wait until I was working at least on the second half of the story to post chapter 1? yeah, call me a liar cause that's what I am, I literally couldn't resist anymore, especially not when I saw how much "popularity" it was gaining. SO HERE IT ISSSS. I don't wanna spoiler anything so I'll shut up right here. hope you enjoy it and are ready to run a Grand Prix. love you all <3

Jungkook knew that he had the whole world at his feet. And he didn't think it because of a weird god complex whatsoever, but it was kinda hard to not do so when he stood high and tall on the podium, the whole crowd tinted of a bright orange, screaming his name and whipping around McLaren flags.

For an hour, Jungkook was the owner of the world.

And it felt so fucking nice.

That was almost three years ago though, and for the next three years, he always ended up on the podium – just as second or third place each time. It didn't matter, as much as he was craving that first place rush, he was happy he could stand on the podium itself.

This time, though? He had to win first place. No ifs, no buts.

He was doing so good already, he could almost feel the weight of the cup in his arms and his skin wet and sticky with champagne as he screamed at the top of his lungs.

Just two more races and he would be reborn as F1 World Champion – twice. He could do it: he and Namjoon, his strategist, had studied the Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya of the Spanish Grand Prix over and over again, meticulously measuring every variation of speed, every rough corner, obsessing over the track until they became disgusted of the mere thought of sitting down with the map in front of their eyes.

Jungkook trusted Namjoon. He was the mastermind behind all his wins, after all. And he saw it in his eyes, too – that endless thirst of win, the need to see his racer becoming World Champion again. Something was in the air for sure.

Anyway, Jungkook was a... man of needs. He needed his morning coffee to function properly. He needed to jog at least 30 minutes by himself before a race as a way to slip into a focused zone. But, most importantly, he needed to release all of his pent-up stress before sitting down in his race car.

Which was exactly the reason why he was locked in a stall of the McLaren garage's bathroom, the zip of his suit pulled all the way down to his crotch as he pounded into one of the models' pussy. What was her name again?

"Jungkook, they’re looking for you–"

"They can wait," he snapped back, covering the pretty girl's mouth with his hand, desperately chasing his orgasm. From the outside, someone – probably his other teammate and racer, Jimin – kept yelling his name, followed by "5 minutes left, hurry up!"

A string of profanities left his lips as he felt his body tense up, every fibre getting ready to welcome the long awaited release. The girl in his arms whimpered softly, clearly overstimulated. Eh, he had told her prior that he could last longer than most, and she was the one who said it was no big deal, so it wasn't really his fault if she was trembling now.

"Fuck!" a groan left his lips as his body finally gave in, filling the condom spurt after spurt. He breathed heavily, chest heaving as he slowly recovered from the post orgasmic bliss.

"Two minutes! Jungkook, fuck!"

A prayer of "shit shit shit" was whispered in the air, the racer rushing to throw the condom away, zip his suit back up, and go out there like nothing had happened.

As he exited the bathroom, everything blended in a blur of hands grabbing him wherever they could, pushing him against his car– and what a car. Orange, shiny, looking better than ever, ready as much as him to win another Grand Prix. Someone handed him his helmet, urging him to put it on before sitting down in the vehicle.

As soon as the cold leather touched his suit, it was showtime.

You hated Jungkook.

No, scratch that, you didn't hate the guy per se.

You hated the cocky attitude he carried around everywhere. And you hated the fact that he didn't facilitate your job, at all. Being a PR member is already hard as it is, but being a PR manager? Jungkook's PR manager? Oh baby, hiking on Mount Everest would be easier.

The kid could not care less about his reputation. It was admirable, really, being unapologetically yourself in a world full of judgement, if it wasn't for the fact that he was a public figure. A well-known one, too. And whose job was it to not let him taint it? Yours, of course.

Teaching foxes how to talk would be less stressful.

"Where the fuck is he?" a sharp voice interrupted your endless thinking, grounding you right in the moment. You whipped your head to the right, watching as a frantic Hoseok walked around the garage to look for their number one driver.

The McLaren team had three drivers: Jungkook, Jimin, and Hoseok. Usually, it was Jungkook and Jimin who would race, Hoseok was put aside mainly because he was new. Whole team decision, of course.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose before sighing heavily, already feeling a growing headache nagging at the back of your head.

What you didn't know, was that it was bound to get way worse than that. With the corner of your eye you had caught a weird movement, followed by a big commotion.

Ah, that's where he was. Checks out, actually. Last minute nerves, right?

Yet– something was off. Something was... unusual. Something...

A man tripped not too far from you. Another one screamed at him, threatening to fire him. "Pull yourself together, we're Netflix, for god's sake!

Your heart dropped.

Netflix.

And coming right from the bathroom, you saw a hand. Delicate, long, well groomed. A woman.

Shit.

You sprinted for the bathroom, running for your life like you've never done before, dodging engineers, mechanics, PR members, anyone who dared to stay in your way.

You pushed the girl back inside before anyone could see her, slamming the door closed behind you.

"What–"

"Shh. I'm sorry. I'm Jungkook's PR manager, Y/N. Nice to meet you" you whispered through the whole presentation, your eyes darting from the girl to the door, back to the girl again. You swallowed hard, breathing in and out slowly as the drumming in your ears settled for something less dramatic.

The girl in front of you was... beautiful, to say the least. Tall, clear skin, flawless makeup on. Shoulders and back straight and stretched nicely, her collarbones peeking over her shoulder-less dress. Dark hair framed her slim face, a nice contrast to her blue eyes. Yeah, definitely a model.

You could almost see it – Jungkook's and this model's faces plastered all over the media, them holding hands and acting like the paparazzi had caught them in a private moment while walking in the streets of some élite class city, probably Monaco. Everything would be piloted by you, of course. There were no caught red-handed moments with you, everything was planned, studied, thought out.

Oh, if only Jungkook made things this easy for you.

“Oh, uhm…” the girl eyed the spot where your hand touched her arm a couple times, definitely trying to find a polite way to get your hands off her skin. Understandable, anyone with that type of perfectly clear skin would grimace at the view of a woman who has no time for a full eight hours sleep, yet alone pay attention to skincare and stuff, touching what you probably had to work your ass for. Not that Jungkook was any better, by the way, but at least he was rich and handsome, and known enough to be on the same social step as the model in front of you. Hell, he was probably even higher up than her. You pulled your hand back, whispering a rather embarrassed apology.

From the garage, you heard one of the engineers yell, followed by a general roar as Jungkook overtook one of the Ferrari’s drivers. The girl gasped, her body jumping startled. “It’s fine, I– let me see if it’s safe to go out.”

The cold metal of the doorknob kissed the scorching hot skin of your hand as you gently twisted it, opening it just the right amount to peek outside. Your eyes scanned the place, looking out for anyone not dressed in orange and a couple men carrying a camera and a boom microphone.

Her fingers gently tapped your shoulder, peeking over it before softly asking “Is it safe?” in an accent that sounded anything but native.

You gave one last look around before nodding, opening the door to let the woman through.

“Wait!” your exclamation stopped her in her tracks. She turned towards you, confusion written all over her face. “I didn’t get your name.”

“Isadora. Isadora Ioannou.”

The rest of the Grand Prix was spent glued to the screen in the garage, occasionally scribbling down notes in your agenda as ideas for new content popped up in your mind, and downing at least two more shots of espresso.

However, no matter how hard you tried to engage in other activities, the name of the model kept haunting you. Isadora Ioannou, Isadora Ioannou, Isadora Ioannou. You were sure you had heard that name before, but no matter how hard you focused, you just couldn’t pinpoint when and where. The clock in the garage ticked slowly, its sound buried by the absurdly loud people inside and the echo of the cars’ tires screeching on the hot concrete, reminding you that in a few hours you could retrieve to your room and finally look up her name, maybe while soaking in the bathtub of the fancy hotel the McLaren team had reserved for those flying to Spain with their racers.

A heavy arm slumped around your shoulders pulled you out of your thoughts and back in the garage, where a rather enthusiastic Namjoon kept yelling to Jungkook over the intercom about the last overtake he just did. You didn’t even need to look up to know whose arm it was, recognising Taehyung’s cologne immediately. You had met him back in college, then life made you part ways before it brought him back in your track. He was one of Jimin’s best friends then, got a place as a member of your PR team almost by luck. Witty, clever with words, sly in a way that made people think twice before opening their mouth in his presence, you just couldn’t let him run away. And so, here he was. “How did the… date go?”

You groaned, throwing your head back in annoyance. “Awful, truly awful. I’ve been with first timer men who knew way more than this dude. Seriously, if I had known about it I wouldn’t have spent so much time getting ready.”

He chuckled, a low sound coming deep from within him.

Oh, god. You knew that sound far too well for your liking.

He leaned down, tip of his nose brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered “Wouldn’t have had this problem if you had accepted my suggestion, and you know it.” He pulled back as soon as he came in, raising his other hand to wave at a coworker a couple feet away from you, completely unfazed by the suggestion.

You sighed, shaking your head softly before slipping your orange headphones on, effectively drowning out any noise other than Jungkook’s heavy breath echoing in his helmet mic and the vroom of sports cars running at 300 km/h.

Back in college, you and Taehyung used to be… friends. Who occasionally fucked. And by occasionally you mean even two times a day hidden in the very back of the library, if you wanted. But still, no more than friends, you didn’t really do “date”. Anyway, the sex was great, the guy used to be fine as hell already back then, and he knew how to make you finish like no other did. Then he moved back to South Korea for his Master’s degree, and when he came back he became your coworker and part of your own team. You couldn’t really sleep with a man who was now “dependent on you”, work wise. It just didn’t feel ethically ok to do so, even though he had made clear more than once that he truly couldn’t care less about it.

“You really think I’d give a fuck about our job positions when I’m buried balls deep inside you? C’mon, Y/N, you know me better than this,” he had begun once, and since then you decided to not bring it up anymore. At least, not until the very end of the season.

But geez, how you missed having a man who knew what he was doing, especially when work pulled at your every possible string, waiting for you to finally snap.

Of course, no one in the team knew about you two and your past. You weren’t even sure if Jimin knew, and the two boys shared everything with each other. Gossip is quick to spread in the workplace, and you didn’t want anyone to think that Taehyung had access to his position because he had bought it. The guy was genuinely what the team needed. Plus, he had to work even harder than all the others since he was part of both Jungkook’s PR team and Jimin’s one. Thank god Jimin’s PR manager, Jin, grew a great liking of Taehyung soon, and in tandem you both decided to split his workload so that he wouldn’t go into burnout too quickly, too soon.

Gotta protect the good ones, no?

Anyway, that's how Taehyung ended up being a constant in your day to day life again. Were you complaining? No, but did you wish that the circumstances were different? Absolutely.

Fuck you, Taehyung, you could have turned down the job offer at least.

Inside the vehicle, Jungkook was breaking out in cold sweat. Just another car before he could proclaim victory. Behind him, Jimin was stuck at a tie point with one of Mercedes racers, the two continuously trying to overtake the other, yet without succeeding.

If they wanted to win, he was the one who would have to do so.

Right in front of him, a Red Bull Racing car was just a couple meters away from crossing the finish line.

Not again, not again, he thought, adrenaline kicking high in his body as everything in him screamed for him to just do something.

“Jungkook!” Namjoon's panicked voice echoed in his helmet, the urgency crystal clear in his voice. “Swerve to the right! Now!”

Jungkook had no time to think, his hands immediately bending the steering wheel to the right, his car abruptly swerving right as the left tire of the Red Bull car detached itself from the vehicle, rolling on the concrete until it hit the perimeter of the track and then rolled back.

The racer inside the car had no time to react as he was pushed to the side, smashing the pedal to the floor to try and stop his car from killing them both. Loud screeching noises were heard all around, but no matter how hard he tried to brake, his car wouldn’t stop until he finally hit the fences at the side.

Inside Jungkook’s helmet, Yoongi’s voice, one of his engineers, called him back to attention. “He’s fine, just keep going. You’ve got Jimin right behind you, the victory is ours.”

Being part of the McLaren team had its perks, like the continuous paid trips and luxury hotels, but its downs too, like having to watch another human being probably in his early 20s being brutally pushed to the side in a scorching hot car with no power to control its direction, while simultaneously having to celebrate your two drivers making it to the finish line first.

It’s in those bittersweet moments, when everyone else seems to be completely unaffected by the repercussions that other people had to live, that you find yourself asking: are we really doing this? Are we really working for a sport that could end someone’s life in a matter of seconds? Is our team’s victory really that important that we hold no shame in celebration when there’s paramedics all around taking care of another man right in front of everyone’s eyes?

The garage was full of people screaming, hugging, celebrating Jungkook and Jimin’s victory, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to truly participate in the chaotic celebrations, your eyes fixated on the screen monitor filming the rescue mission of the boy inside the car. You knew him, a barely 20 years old boy with too much determination for his own good. You were sure you would see him again on the track soon, even with a concussion, if needed. You understood him, you knew what it meant to have a passion that kept you going even when the only outcome is heading head-first against a wall at full speed.

“Here are the champions!” Hobi’s voice resonated inside the garage, and more cheers and whistles and clapping rose in a matter of seconds. Jimin and Jungkook came inside, tired, almost limping, slipping their helmets off with a relieved groan, shaking their heads side to side. Towels were handed to them, and you observed silently as they ran them over their sweaty hair.

Jimin was almost immediately pulled back by Jin, ready to have him talk to the cameras of god knows what channel. But you stayed back, watching as Jungkook soaked in all the congratulations, the compliments, observed as his ego visibly inflated as honey coated words were fed to him, and he swallowed them whole, one by one.

You sighed, shoulders dropping as you diverted your eyes to the screen again. The car was ruined, its rear part wrecked by the impact, but the boy was taken away, at least. The camera slowly panned to the spot where paramedics had him laying on a hospital stretcher, his team surrounding him to ensure privacy while he had a big cut over his temple cleaned and disinfected, probably getting ready to stitch it back together.

“So? No congratulations for me?”

You didn’t register Jungkook’s teasing voice at first, way too immersed into the scene displayed in front of you. “Hey,” he tried again, morphing his voice into something softer, almost careful. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, gently squeezing you to his body. “He’s gonna be fine. We’ve seen worse, you’ve seen worse.”

A little hum escaped your lips, not too convinced by his words yet. It was true, you had seen worse before, but it still didn’t stop you from thinking, from worrying. Isn’t that what makes a human being different from an animal? The capacity to doubt, to worry, to be stuck in a moment even when the world keeps spinning and life keeps going on.

“Okay,” you sighed at the end, shrugging your shoulders like you were trying to shake off the icky feeling off your body. You turned around, smiling softly at Jungkook before wrapping him in a hug. “Congratulations, bun”

Jungkook groaned at the nickname, clearly trying to look annoyed, yet failing when he met your smile again. “C’mon, let’s go celebrate,” he announced, grabbing you by your elbow, pulling you in the middle of the chaos, “we’re going to Monaco!”

find the introduction post here

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honeytonedhottie · 2 days ago

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honey's guide to having the BEST closet ever.ೃ࿔*:･🍨🎀

as a fashion girlie who's curating the wardrobe of her DREAMS i've come with my notes, tips, and everything i've learned thus far on how to have a cohesive, FABULOUS closet…💬🎀

HAVE A CLOSET COLOR PALETTE ;

this is the GOLDEN rule of having a fabulous closet. keeping a color palette thats true to u doesn't mean that u cant play around with colors and textures, but it means that ur pieces will ACTUALLY go together and you'll buy pieces that actually go with other pieces in ur closet and you'll be able to make like DOUBLE the outfits.

since my vibe is super feminine and glamorous i stick mostly with pinks, creams, browns, whites, nudes, blacks, etc etc. i love that glamorous look. it makes making outfits and getting dressed so much easier bcuz everything matches. plus ur closet is so aesthetic and looks like a boutique.

PRO TIP : buy cute hangers for your closet, it'll help with an overall cohesive look. i got the CUTEST pink heart shaped hangers off of ali express for like $0.99 and they're actually amazing quality and i LOVE them…💬🎀

BE INTENTIONAL WITH EACH PIECE ;

do.not.buy.fast.fashion. dont spend more than a hundred dollars on fast fashion, heck dont even spend a hundred dollars on fast fashion. i get that its tempting when u see those low prices but the quality HELLO?? i understand sometimes wanting something quick and easy but just don't overspend on fast fashion.

another thing, don't buy things just because they're trending right now or because they're cheap. u have to ask yourself if this piece SPEAKS to you, does it fit ur vibe? how many diff ways u can wear it? does it fit ur palette? etc etc. we wanna CURATE our dream closet, not a super cluttered one that we dont even have any like attachment to.

THRIFTING ;

when thrifting, my first tip is to always head to the pajama/lingerie aisle first for some cute tops! those fit my vibe so i head there first. bcuz i know my closet color palette i check the pinks, creams, browns, etc first and then i go on from there. know ur color palette and look through those colors first. next, go to the kids sections for super cute tops.

TAILOR YOUR PIECES ;

do u know how FABULOUS it is to have pieces that look like they were made FOR your body?? like thats peak glamour. yes it costs a pretty penny but its an investment! i get every single pair of jeans i own tailored because in my opinion i feel like thats the piece where its the most notable.

if you find the perfect skirt but it’s a little too long or the waist is off, get it tailored!! or learn some beginner sewing and do it urself. having clothes that fit you perfectly makes such a difference in how you feel in them.

SIGNATURE PIECES ;

every girly girl should have her signature piece of jewelry, signature scent, signature lipgloss, heck even a signature hairstyle. i love having signature things because its all part of the branding you know? if ur not a bracelet girly, have a signature necklace. or if ur not a necklace girly have a signature pair of earrings.

and take your time when finding your signature pieces because when you have something that is ur signature _ it'll be like a part of you so you wanna take time into thinking and choosing the piece that best represents you and who you are/want to be.

UTILIZE CANVA TO MAKE OUTFITS ;

i use canva for EVERYTHING, school projects, moodboards, and to curate outfits. i use pieces that im thinking of buying and put them into canva and just make a bunch of outfits so i can get a visual of what the piece would look like styled. it’s actually so fun like i feel like a fashion editor making layouts for vogue. sometimes i’ll screenshot pieces from websites and mix n match them with items from my closet. plus it helps u be more intentional with your shopping bcuz u can see what ur closet is missing. it’s like building your own lil fashion universe.

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meiyokbf · 1 day ago

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brat!megan x brat tamer!reader ......... im having thoughts

the first time she acted out, you almost didn’t catch it.

you were between her thighs, soft and slow, hands holding her open like something sacred. she was already close, already gasping and holding you for dear life.

— don’t move. — you commanded in a murmur, looking deeply into her brown orbs.

her hips bucked anyway. just once. deliberate.

you looked up at her. her bottom lip was caught between her teeth, but she wasn’t shy. not even a little.

— megan…

— wasn’t me. — she said, eyes gleaming. — must’ve been a ghost.

you laughed. let it slide. but something shifted after that. she got bolder.

the second time, she took your shirt off with such a hurry that it made it rip. it was one of your favorite shirts ever.

— babe-

— it’s fine! you didn’t even like that one. — then she kissed you so hard you forgot why you were mad.

the third time, she faked being asleep when you told her to clean up the mess she made in the kitchen. but she left one eye cracked open; watching you.

— you’re evil. — you muttered, grabbing a paper towel.

— yeah, well. i’m pretty, though. — she sang, already halfway under the blanket.

but the fourth time? that’s when you really should’ve known what she was doing.

you were in good company. friends, drinks on the patio, everyone talking, laughing.

and then she sat next to you, thighs pressed to yours, all soft smiles and innocent looks. her hand slid over your knee, then higher.

you didn’t react. not right away. but she leaned in, lips brushing your ear, making you sense that one perfume she had that absolutely drove you insane.

— guess who forgot to wear panties tonight?

you turned your head. her eyes sparkled dangerously.

— so you think you’re cute? — you asked, a deadpan look in your eyes.

— oh, i know i am. — then she spread her legs. just slightly. just enough, and that was it.

you didn’t say a word the whole ride home. didn’t touch her, nor looked at her. she giggled once in the hallway, stumbling out of her heels.

— you’re so quiet. are you mad at me, baby?

you shut the door behind her. — strip.

she blinked. — what?

you stepped forward, slow. unbothered. voice low. — strip, megan.

— oh, you’re gonna fuck the brat out of me? — she bit her lip, head tilting like she still wanted to play.

— no. — you reached for her wrist, walked her backward until she hit the bed. — i’m gonna remind you who you belong to.

you had her naked in seconds. didn’t let her speak, didn’t let her kiss you. and then you bent her over the edge of the bed and spanked her; hard, slow, rhythmic. the way you knew it would drive her to the edge. one hand on her back, the other turning her ass red.

— now count.

— wh-what?

you grabbed her hair, tugged gently until her spine arched. — if you wanna misbehave, then you better learn your numbers.

— fuck- one…

by the time she hit ten, she was shaking. moaning. breath hitching with every slap. the gap between her thighs slicking with her own wetness as she tried to get some friction out of it.

— still wanna act like a brat? — you leaned in, voice brushing her ear.

— n-no… — she breathed. — fuck… i’m sorry-

you pulled her up, flipped her over, climbed on top. kissed her hard until you could almost taste the blood on her mouth, then fucked her until she was crying. the sight of her hands gripped tight in the sheets was enough to drive you insane. back arching. hips twitching as you worked her open, filled her deep with your digits as you wrecked her slowly.

— say you’re mine.

— i’m yours- baby, please… i’m yours…

— louder.

— fuck! i’m yours… i’ll be good, i promise- please…

and you didn’t stop until she meant it.

#blurbs.#asks.#nsfw.#katseye x reader #katseye #katseye smut #katseye imagines #katseye thoughts #katseye x reader smut #katseye blurbs #megan skiendiel x reader #megan skiendiel smut #katseye megan smut #katseye megan #megan x reader smut #megan x reader #katseye x you #katseye x y/n

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girlinterupptedsblog · 3 days ago

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Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High?

Pairing: situationship!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Smut, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional manipulation, drug use, swearing, angst, possessiveness, late-night phone calls, obsessive behavior, heartbreak, emotionally charged themes, sexual tension, mentions of drinking and weed.

It started like most things on the island did—after midnight, under a haze of weed smoke and red Solo cups. Rafe wasn’t looking for a girlfriend. You weren’t looking for whatever this was. And yet, over a year later, he still hadn’t let you go and whatever you two were.

You told yourself it was just sex.

But it wasn’t just sex. Not anymore. Not after 15 months of whispered nothings, of him pushing your hair back and saying he’d never been like this with anyone else. Of late-night joint sharing, tangled in his bed in that goddamn house that always smelled like rich boy apathy and weed. Of him holding you in the dark when no one was around to see.

But never once—not once—had he asked you to be his girlfriend.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what this was. He called you when he was bored, when his ego was bruised, when he got too high and needed something to cling to that reminded him he still had control.

“Baby,” he’d slur into the phone, his voice low and scratchy, “I was just thinkin’ about you. Fuck, I miss your body. Wish you were here. Wish you were underneath me right now, i would fuck you so good baby.”

Same thing. Every time.

Tuesday, 2:48 a.m.

Your phone buzzed against your nightstand. You were already half-awake—he had trained you like a dog with a bell, conditioned you to expect him around this time. You didn’t even need to look. You knew it was Rafe.

RAFE CAMERON

3 Missed Calls

1 Voice Message

You stared at the glowing screen. Your heart pounded—annoyed, expectant, aching. You wanted to ignore him. You wanted to pretend you didn’t care anymore. You hit play.

“Shit, hey. It’s me. Obviously. I just—uh—fuck, I don’t even know why I’m calling. Just miss you, okay? Been thinking about your mouth on me all goddamn day. Can’t fuckin’ sleep. Feel like im gonna explode if you wont suck me off. You still got that picture I sent you? Bet you do. You’re probably touching yourself to it right now. Jesus… call me. I need to hear your voice.”

You threw your phone across the room.

He wouldn’t remember this in the morning. Or maybe he would. Maybe he’d just pretend not to.

You didn’t text back. Not this time. Not again.

You met up with him again three nights later.

He had this pull—like a magnet made of sin and privilege and some raw part of your heart you didn’t want to admit he still owned.

The second you stepped into his room, he grabbed you by the waist and pushed you against the door, lips on your neck like he was starving.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he mumbled between kisses, his breath heavy with whiskey and kush. “I’ve been going crazy.”

You rolled your eyes, but your hands still found their way into his hair. “Maybe you should’ve called me when you were sober for once.”

“I did,” he lied. You both knew it was a lie. “You just didn’t pick up.”

You wanted to slap him. You wanted to kiss him harder. You bit his lip, shoved him back onto the bed, and rode him like he didn’t own your thoughts every hour of every day.

It was always like this.

You’d go days without speaking. Then he’d come knocking—or worse, calling—at 2 or 3 a.m., voice rough, stoned out of his mind, saying the exact same thing.

“Miss you.”

“Need you.”

“I wanna fuck you.”

But never, never:

“Be my girlfriend.”

“Come to this party with me.”

“Let me take you out.”

You weren’t a secret. People knew. Everyone knew. Rafe made sure of it when he’d drag you into bathrooms at house parties or pull you onto his lap in the back of his truck.

But you weren’t anything real either.

You were a placeholder for whatever he needed at the moment. A fix. A warm body. Something to text when his high went sideways and he got too in his head.

Monday, 3:02 a.m.

Incoming call: RAFE CAMERON

You let it ring.

You let it go to voicemail.

He called again. And again.

3:17 a.m.

RAFE CAMERON (Voicemail)

“Y/N. C’mon, don’t do this. I fucked up, okay? You mad ‘cause I didn’t say the right shit the other night? You want me to say it? I’ll fucking say it. I want you. I need you. No one fucks me like you do. No one gets me like you do. You win, alright? Just… just answer. Please.”

You were crying by the time it ended. Not because he meant it. But because part of you still wanted to believe he did.

You confronted him once—after a week of silence, a week of blue ticks and cold shoulders.

“You only want me when you’re high, Rafe,” you said, standing in the doorway of his kitchen while he lit a blunt. “Do you even know what I mean to you sober?”

He blinked at you, slow. Stoned. Emotionless.

“You’re overthinking it.”

That was his answer.

"And you arent thinking at all because all the drugs eat your brain away"

You almost walked away that night.

But he looked at you like you were the last fix on Earth and dragged you onto the counter, fingers bruising your thighs, voice in your ear, whispering every dirty promise he could think of to make you stay.

Because he held you after. Because he called you baby sometimes. Because he said he missed you, even if it was only when his eyes were glassy and his mind was fried.

But deep down, you knew.

You werent his favorite drug.

Saturday, 4:06 a.m.

Your phone buzzed. Again.

Again.

RAFE CAMERON:

You up?

Pick up.

Wanna feel you.

You always ignore me when I need you the most.

Don't do that shit to me.

I’m outside.

You peeked through your blinds.

His truck. Parked crooked. Headlights off. Him in the driver’s seat, head tipped back like he was praying to some god that never listened.

You didn’t go outside.

You let him wait.

You were his constant.

His always.

But he was never yours.

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dollerin · 2 days ago

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𝑺𝑷𝑶𝑹𝑻𝑺 𝘊𝘈𝘙 ۶ৎ 니키

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝑳𝐔𝐃𝐄 ─── when your boyfriend wants to show off the fact that he finally got a car.

𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑚𝑢𝑟𝑎 𝑟𝑖𝑘𝑖 x f. reader romance non idol au suggestive physical touch making out 𝑝𝑒𝑡𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝗐𝖼. 677 ─── 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑒

riki had been raving about his dream car since the both of you started dating. it was something he looked forward to nearly every single day (other than seeing you) and you didn’t mind.

he was absolutely obsessed with the thought of going on late night drives with you, drive-in movies or even just being parked outside of your house after a date, holding you.

so once that message came through on your phone, “be ready in 10 ;)” you knew his dream had come true.

the engine rumbled lowly outside of your home, the moon reflecting off of the sleek paint of the car. he sat inside of it, one hand gripping the steering wheel while he waited for you.

you locked your door behind you before heading straight to the passenger side. the window rolled down once you got close enough.

“hop in, pretty.” he said with a small smirk, unlocking the door for you. you shook your head, climbing in without a word.

“you like?”

you hummed, glancing at the interior of it. sleek, bold, definitely riki.

he pulled off down the road again, foot pressing down on the accelerator lightly at first.

it was quiet between the both of you for a moment, other than the hum of the car and the quiet bass of whatever r&b song he had playing on the radio.

he glanced over at you briefly, one hand still rested on the wheel while the other moved to rest on your thigh, squeezing it gently.

your eyes shifted over to him, watching as he kept his gaze on the road, his lip tucked between his teeth in concentration.

“never thought someone could look so good while driving,” you murmur, but still loud enough for him to hear.

he huffs out a laugh, “oh yeah?”

your hand comes to rest on top of his, looking down to see his fingers twitch in surprise.

“yeah.”

the compliment seemed to fluster him a bit, his hand squeezing your thigh again, grip tightening.

“you know what else i look good while doing?” he asked, making you raise your eyebrows. “parallel parking.”

you swatted at his arm, causing him to chuckle, “what? what’d you think i was gonna say?”

you shook your head, leaning over to kiss his arm before laying your head against it.

“you’re ridiculous.”

“yeah, but you love me.”

“unfortunately.” you snorted.

a few minutes later, he pulled into an empty lot, the gravel crunching under the car’s tires. he parked with a flick of his wrist, the engine still humming quietly.

“back seat,” he murmured, voice husky. “wanna show you something.”

by the time you climbed into the back seat and he met you there, his hands were already on you, gripping your waist and pulling you on top of him.

“thought you wanted to show me something?” you asked, tilting your head with a teasing smile.

“yeah, yeah. i will.” he grumbled, already leaning in. his lips crashed into yours before you could say anything else, all heat and want.

he sighed into the kiss, his grip on you tightening like you were going to disappear. calloused hands drifted up into your shirt, resting on your sides.

your hand came to cradle his jaw, fingers tracing over his skin as you tilted your head, leaning in and deepening the kiss.

riki’s brows furrowed as he groaned into your mouth, feeling your lips move slower now, more deliberate.

one of your hands tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck—fingers raking over it.

his lips trailed down further— over your cheek, your neck, and stopping at that spot under your ear that was extra sensitive.

“mm.. right here, huh?” he mumbled against it, lips brushing over your skin. he felt the way you shivered, the little breaths that escaped you.

you tilted your head to give him more access, your fingers gripping the fabric at his shoulders.

you hum, “we should really get going.”

“why?” his fingers trace patterns over your jeans. “i was just getting started, baby.”

🌺: hey so i hate this! milan try to stop using tate songs in your fics challenge

#© 𝐷𝑂𝐿𝐿𝐸𝑅𝐼𝑁 #enhypen niki #enhypen ni ki #enhypen nishimura riki #enhypen riki #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen suggestive #enhypen fic #enhypen ff #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen drabbles #enhypen thoughts #enhypen oneshots #enhypen fluff #k films

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urrmomzfavorite · 2 days ago

Text

What Makes Them Fall for You? (Movie Edition)

If there’s one thing I love in this life, it’s a 2000s rom-com. He’s Just Not That Into You? Easy A? Crazy, Stupid, Love? Sign me up! As cheesy as it sounds, I do believe in love and soulmates. I just think people are so busy pretending to be someone they’re not that it makes it impossible to recognize true love. But I have a feeling Cupid’s arrow is going to strike several hearts this summer—and I hope it touches yours.

Pile One

You didn’t want to go out that night. They didn’t either. But the universe had other plans.

If only you could see all the hard work they put into making this happen—the hearts that had to break, the tears destined to fall, the sleepless nights spent making tough decisions. So much effort went into this meeting. So when it finally happens, when your eyes lock with theirs, everything makes sense. The world stops for a second—a long one—and it finally clicks.

They see their dream life flash before their eyes, and you catch a glimpse of it.

So when they apologize for making you drop your drink (after what feels like an eternity), you’ve lost your words—and your composure. While you’re internally screaming at yourself to calm down, they’re thinking they haven’t seen someone this cute in ages.

Lol, this is so sweet. Cupid’s proud of this one.

Suddenly, the night you were dreading becomes one of the most significant of your life. It feels major. You don’t have proof, but you have certainty—this person will change the trajectory of your life. Soon enough, you’re planning meals together at the supermarket, getting used to weekly flowers, and the mundane becomes a little more exciting.

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

Pile Two

It’s a stressful day. You need this job.

Somehow, the morning couldn’t have gone worse. You woke up late and had to rush out the door to make it on time. If only you hadn’t stayed up all night. It was hard to sleep with that gnawing feeling of doom in your gut. You brushed it off as interview nerves, but that little voice inside whispered something else.

Now you’re speed-walking to the office, hoping to arrive on time—or better yet, that they’re the ones running late. That’d be a blessing!

You make it to the receptionist with two minutes to spare, congratulating yourself—until you step into the waiting room and feel it again. The second your eyes meet theirs…

You were doomed.

So were they.

Just seconds earlier, they were making fun of you—mocking how out of breath you sounded talking to the receptionist. Only an amateur shows up less than 15 minutes early. They couldn’t wait to see the face of the "late sucker."

Then you appeared. Cheeks flushed, hair slightly out of place—looking like a god. They’d never seen anyone so beautiful.

Who’s the sucker now?

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

Pile Three

They’ve never wanted someone this badly. It’s hard to describe the effect you have on them—like you were perfectly crafted for their demise. The only weapon that could breach their defenses.

They built a fortress around their heart, yet you crossed it effortlessly. They’re still astonished they handed you the key without a second thought.

This is dangerous. Now, their defenses feel useless. Every time you’re near, that soft, hidden part of them—the one they kept locked away—comes out just for you.

They try so hard to stay away—from you, your scent, your face. Every time they look at you, the truth screams at them: You’re the one.

They can’t hold back anymore. Tonight, they’re weaker—drank too much? Dreamt too much? They just stared at your profile (again) on their phone, unable to look away.

Their fingers tap your number in seconds, like the countless times before when they talked themselves out of it.

You pick up on the first ring. You sound tired, barely getting a word in before they blurt it out—no thinking, just raw truth.

Those three little words you’d given up on hearing.

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

#tarot #tarotcommunity #tarot cards #tarot reading #pick a picture #pick a pile #pick a card #tarotblr #spiritual journey #astrology

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rainrot4me · 2 days ago

Note

How are the creeps when they’re jealous/their gf gets hit on?

Kate the chaser??? In one of my posts??? Maybe 😏 We’ll see!

── .✦

✦ . jeff the killer

“Excuse me? You wanna try that again, pretty boy?”

Jeff’s first instinct is always violence, fast and unfiltered. The second some poor fool lays eyes or hands on you, Jeff’s already halfway to breaking their jaw and flying their skin like a kite.

He’s the kind of boyfriend who walks up mid-conversation, wraps an arm around your waist, and stares the guy down with that carved smile. It doesn’t matter how familiar you and the guy are, if Jeff sees them as a threat, he’s going to treat them as one. It could be your literal brother, but if Jeff thinks you’re having a better time with him, he’s upset.

If you look even slightly amused by someone else, he gets so pouty later. He’s very territorial.

“Bet you liked that, huh? Should I start dressing like a dumbass too?”

✦ . ticci toby

“Didn’t your mom teach you not to talk to other people’s girlfriends?”

He gets stunted emotionally. You can literally see him twitching, stammering, eyes jumping between you and the idiot hitting on you. His voice drops when he speaks, way too calm, and it’s like the awkward, cute boyfriend you have fizzles away into a growling dog.

If the guy doesn’t back off, Toby doesn’t say much, he just breaks something. Usually a nose, but he’s not above an arm or collarbone.

Later, he’s clingy. It’s like he’s come down from the adrenaline spike of violence and is simmered back down to his normal self, it’s like a sugar crash. Head on your lap, fingers intertwined with yours, whispering:

“You still like me be-best, right? Right?”

✦ . eyeless jack

“Do you have a death wish, or are you just stupid?”

Jack is eerily still when he’s jealous. That void where his eyes should be locks onto the offender, using nothing but the absolute terror that he is do the talking. He doesn’t need loud threats or violence, just cocking his head and promising the poor guy nightmares for the rest of the week.

If they’re more brave than they are smart and decide to around, he waits until you’re safe back in his truck to deal with it. The person who hit on you may never realize how close they came to being dissected like a frog.

He won’t bring it up unless you do, but you’ll notice his touch lingers longer, like he’s re-staking his claim and ridding any remnants left behind.

“You alright? You don’t have to worry about it.”

✦ . masky (tim wright)

“Back the fuck off. That’s not a suggestion.”

Tim’s entire body tenses. He clenches his jaw, shoulders stiff, eyes dark. He’ll take one final drag of his cigarette or sip the last of his beer before sauntering over to you, readying himself for whatever is about to happen. Stern words or a mean punch, he’ll deliver anything.

It doesn’t take much. Masky has been worked and bred to give nasty clocks to the jaw and leave them broken. Enough scrambling with poor victims to get away from him has taught exactly where and how to hit someone where it’ll hurt.

He’s the type to grab your hand after and walk away without a word, but later, when it’s just you two, he’ll hold you tighter than usual. He doesn’t let you get far, no matter if it’s to bed or to take a shower, he’ll hang around.

“You’re mine. Don’t forget it. And don’t let anyone else forget it either.”

✦ . hoody (brian thomas)

“Be smart here, alright? Go ahead and just leave.”

Hoody watches first, evaluating whether you need his help or not. But when he decides he needs to step in, you hear the loud stomps of his boots before you ever see him.

He’s not going to make a scene, but he will record everything so he can remember every detail about this guy for later. And if the guy touches you? Brian will make sure he forgets how to use his hands. Much like Masky, they’re whipped for violence, it’s a first instinct to them. They couldn’t care less who is around or who will get hurt, especially if it’s to protect you.

Doesn’t talk about it much, but you’ll feel his arm curl around your waist, his gloved hand holding yours tighter.

“You’re not a prize to win. You’re mine because you chose me. Don’t forget that.”

✦ . kate the chaser

“She’s taken. Try again and you’ll be spitting out teeth.”

Kate is not loud. She’s lethal in her silence. If someone tries to flirt with you, she’s immediately on alert, analyzing every move, every tone. She doesn’t interrupt with words at first, just appears, sliding into the conversation with her arms crossed and her eyes fixed on the guy like a predator sizing up prey.

Quiet possessiveness. A sharpened edge wrapped in calm. She has a strong handle on her emotions, but when it comes to you, there’s little she won’t do. She won’t start a fight unless she has to, but if she does? It ends quickly.

She’s not one for jealous affection later. But when it’s just the two of you, she’ll press her forehead to yours and whisper slowly.

“You’re mine. Don’t let anyone make you forget that.”

✦ . ben drowned

“Wow, bro, real original. ‘Hey girl, you a controller? ‘Cause I wanna press your buttons.’ Nice.”

Ben is instantly sarcastic. So sarcastic. The poor guy can’t even glance the wrong way without Ben laughing at him and how stupid he looks. Violence isn’t really his forte, but he knows how to strike an ego where it’ll hurt. They’ll go home feeling like a walking loser afterwards.

He’ll glitch in between you and the guy if he has to, or teleport right behind him like a jump-scare. His jealousy really shines through when you laugh at his assaults, Ben turning to the guy with a smug grin and sly eyes like he doesn’t even have to try to win you over.

Later on, he gets real soft and needy though. He doesn’t like to call it insecurity, but he just has to make sure.

“You’d never leave me for some normie, right? I’m literally a haunted cartridge, babe.”

✦ . clockwork

“You’re barking up the wrong girl. Mine.”

Natalie does not play games. If someone hits on you, they’re lucky if they just get an eye-roll. She’ll say threats flat-out, smiling sweetly as she shows the blade hidden up her sleeve. She’s not afraid of conflict or interrogations, she thrives in them, lives off the uncomfortable nerves that usually follow.

She’s territorial to a fault. If you want to go off by yourself while she sits at the bar? Perfectly fine by her. It’s only when she sees you start to get comfortable with someone else that she slides over and throws an arm over your shoulders protectively.

She’s not insecure, but if you flirt back even a little? Even just a laugh at their joke, she’ll be furious later. She may not be territorial, but she does have ownership belief. What’s hers is hers, respect it.

“You think I won’t make you beg for my attention tonight? Hmph. Watch me.”

✦ . laughing jack

“Ohhh no no no, sweetcakes, this one’s spoken for. Why don’t you try dating a whoopee cushion instead?”

Jack’s reaction depends on the mood he’s in. Sometimes he’s a clown about it and will have no problem making a glamorous joke to distract before swiping you away. It’s in his nature to entertain, even when he doesn’t approve of the person he’s showing for. Anything to get the attention off of you.

But if it goes too far? His face twists into something terrifying, and the guy’s laughter dies in his throat. He’ll make sure the offender doesn’t forget what this night has cost him, because his dreams will be nothing but vivid recreations of his death until Jack decides he’s had enough.

He’ll kiss your hand with a dramatic bow after, swooping you off of your feet, and taking you to somewhere more private where you two can just relax and forget this ever happened.

“You’re the only audience I perform for.”

✦ . slenderman

Slender doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. He never needs to.

The moment someone hits on you, the air gets cold, pressure builds, shadows stretch. People will turn their heads when the poor guy starts screaming, pointing his finger and retreating back into the corner. But when people look at what he’s pointing to, there’s nothing there. They can’t see the horrifying visions Slender is placing onto them that will be sure to scar them.

The guy might suddenly forget what he was saying, or where he is at all, lost in the fog of his brain that he has no explanation for why he can’t recall his own name.

Later, Slender will materialize behind you in silence and gently wrap his arm around your middle, pulling you back into him. He’ll let you continue to enjoy yourself, but you can be sure you won’t leave his sight for the rest of the evening. He offers just one word, whispered like a threat and a vow.

“Mine.”

꩜ .ᐟ

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messylxve · 3 days ago

Text

bewitched | aaron hotchner x reader

contains: little angst, lotta fluff; bad date; hints at stalking (barely); idiots in love; laufey inspired fic

credit to @enchanthings-a for border

You sat alone on the cold wet bench outside of the restaurant you were supposed to be eating in and all you could do was pull your thin sweater tighter around you. You could hear chattering from inside, taunting and reminding you of your embarrassment.

Around you, the city continued on with indifference; cars moving by and momentarily illuminating you before forgetting you ever existed.

Your phone sat in your lap, the last four messages you sent to your date left read, but unanswered.

Penelope set you up with him, claiming how he was exactly your type: the rugged, brooding, yet charming bad boy. You didn’t have the heart to tell her that wasn’t your type, but you also weren’t in a place to complain.

So you got excited. Obsessed over what clothes you’d wear, anticipated the conversation that would come, imagined what it would look like dating this guy and the image of him you crafted in your head.

A dry laugh escaped you at the thought as you threw your head back to blink away the tears. You could only imagine how you looked to the passerbys.

But somewhere between the cars passing by and the muted chatting from the restaurant, you thought you were hallucinating the sound of a familiar someone calling your name.

Maybe he was summoned by a strange twist of fate or even a cruel prank played by the universe to amplify your embarrassment, but seeing Hotch, ever put together in his suit and tie while you looked like a hot mess only made you pray a black hole would swallow you on the spot.

“Hotch!” Your voice naturally pitched itself up and you attempted to wipe away your tears. “What are you doing here?”

For a profiler you were a terrible actor.

“I should ask you the same thing.” In a swift movement, he shrugged his jacket off and placed it on your shoulders, sitting next to you on the cold wet bench.

His touch was warm, the back of his fingers trailing across your arm so gently. It burned an imprint in your skin, but as soon as you got used to the feeling of his touch, he pulled away and adjusted his jacket over your shoulders.

Your eyes lingered on his hands, watching the way they clenched shut. Only for a second.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?”

You looked up at him, startled for just a moment before you masked teasing smile over it. “Why are you so curious about my whereabouts Aaron.”

You’ve called him Aaron so many times before. Late hours, long after everyone had gone home, a chair pulled up to his desk so the two of you would be side by side, bumping shoulders, making jokes. But something in the way you called his name this time and the way he didn’t smile, only stared through your facade, made your heart stutter.

His response came with an air of hesitation, as if he was measuring, picking and choosing his words before he spoke them. “Because I care about you. And I’m allowed to be worried about you. Especially when I’m driving by and see you alone at night.”

Silence struck you, leaving you unsure of what words to muster up.

“You don’t have to tell me, but at least let me take y–,”

“He stood me up,” you let out a watery laugh, one attempting to cover up every other emotion that rushed forward with the burning embarrassment in your chest. “I didn’t even wanna go but Penelope insisted. Then I was stupid enough to get excited and god I just feel so dumb.”

You hated looking and feeling like this in front of him. You wiped each tear as quickly as they came, but they still fell.

“Here.” He handed you a tissue, his voice only a whisper on the cold night air. “Did you drive here yourself?”

You took the tissue from his hands with a sniff, doing your best to wipe your face clear of tears. “Penelope dropped me off. I guess she assumed he’d take me home or whatever.”

Hotch sat in silence, thinking. You could see the gears turning in his head. Not in the ways he would when solving a case, trying to get into the head of an unsub. His expression was lighter this time, his brows no longer downturned and furrowed. Even his eyes seemed to be painted a lighter shade of brown.

“Can I drive you home?”

There were many truths you could state about Aaron Hotchner. How he has the brownest of eyes or how he has such an expressive face when he allows it, or just that he cares so much about each of his team members. But nothing could have prepared you for the way he pleaded with his eyes without even knowing it. He’d never force you to say yes to anything, so all he could do was hope, but the hope in his eyes was enough to make you go weak in the knees.

“...yeah.”

You watched as he rose from the bench and extended his hand to you, making you scoff out an amused laugh.

“Don’t leave me hanging,” he smiled, shaking his hand for you to grab. With a smile and a roll of your eyes, you let your hand slip into his and let him walk you to his car.

The car ride was quiet at first. Your eyes were closed, listening to the sound of the radio softly humming in the background and the cars passing by. When the car stopped and you felt the red glow of the streetlight glowing over you, you let your glance shift open to Aaron.

But his eyes were already on you.

In a moment of instincts he looked away, but like a force drawing him back, his eyes met yours again.

“For what it's worth, you look beautiful tonight.”

You felt your heart again, stumbling stupidly in your chest as he looked at you with this emotion in his eyes you weren’t confident enough to pinpoint.

A small piece of you knew the truth hidden in his eyes, the part of you that could profile a disorganized serial killer with just a background and a few glances. But the bigger part of you, the part that cried on a bench after being stood up on a date, folded it away and shoved it under the rug. In fear and self-preservation.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Aaron.”

You saw the green of the street light stretch across Aaron’s face before he could find some response to rival yours. With a half smile, he drove on, missing the turn to your apartment.

“You went the wrong way,” you pointed, looking back to the street you were supposed to be on.

“I know,” he smiled. “There’s a stop I wanted to make if that’s okay.”

“Yeah no, that’s fine.”

It wasn’t too far from your place, but eventually he pulled into the parking lot of a diner you’d never seen before.

“You like burgers right?”

Your lips parted as you looked over to him in disbelief. “Hotch–,”

“Aaron. Don’t get formal with me now.”

“Aaron, you don’t need to do all this for me.”

“You were promised dinner.” His voice was light, a gentle smile on his lips. “It’d be rude if I dropped you off hungry.”

You watched as he stepped out of the car and made his way to your side, opening your door. Once more he offered a hand to you and once more, you accepted it with a laugh and a smile.

“Wait wait wait, you’re telling me that you, Aaron Hotchner, was once a leather jacket wearing, rule breaking bad boy?”

Aaron could only laugh coyly as you pointed at him with a french fry and a never ending flow of laughter.

“It was a rebellious phase,” he chuckled, his cheeks tinged with a subtle hue of embarrassment on his cheeks. “Performative if anything.”

You squinted at him, barely able to hide the amusement on your lips. “Is that what you tell yourself?”

You watched as his smile grew bigger, tilting his head at you. “You’re really funny.”

A broad smile, reading smile adorned your lips. “I know.”

The diner was mostly quiet save for the few chattering at their own individual booths including you and Aaron. It was small and cozy, something you hadn’t expected from him, but sitting in front of him now, seeing him with his rare laugh that only few got to see, you felt safe; a warm feeling spreading through your chest, like a cup of tea on a cold evening.

Just like Aaron’s laugh, the feeling was rare, but wholly welcomed.

“Here’s your check.” An older woman smiled warmly at the two of you before placing down a milkshake with two straws. “Milkshake’s on the house. For the lovely couple.”

“Oh we’re not–” But she was already gone.

The two of you stared at the milkshake in front of you. Vanilla.

“Well that's just,” you trailed off, unsure of what to say.

“Yeah.” Hotch was left just as speechless as you.

“Well…” you sighed deeply and smiled. “Perfectly good milkshake. S’not like it’ll kill us right?”

The two of you were adults. You could have taken turns on who takes a sip so no space was invaded but somehow, both of your brains short-circuited as the two of you leaned in, taking a sip at the same time.

It only lasted but a moment, but every inch of you lingered in his touch.

His knuckles brushed against yours where you both grasped your own straws; a match meeting the striker of a matchbox.

Your foreheads bumping softly together; the match striking against the box.

Your knees touch, bumping each other in the same way your shoulders would in those late office hours; spark flying between the match and the box.

Eyes meet, his brows dipping down and yours pinching in as you each get lost in the unspoken. But you look away, you tuck your foot in, and you sit back in your chair.

A match won’t always light when stricken.

You missed the disappointment in his eyes when you pulled away

“You never told me,” you coughed, pulling Aaron’s suit coat closer to your chest absentmindedly. “What were you doing in the area anyways? You live on the other side of town.”

“I–hm…I was–” It was strange seeing the usually stern and sure man, stammering at a single question. “Garcia might have let it slip where you were supposed to be.”

An amused smile slipped onto your lips once more, the tension of the moment fizzing out as quickly as it came. “So you were looking for me,” you grinned. “You told me you just happened to find me.”

Aaron looked away, his own coy smile sneaking his way on his expression. “Okay, maybe I overstepped a line…or two. Like I said, I care about you and I was worried. That doesn’t excuse me go–,”

“Aaron Aaron, slow down.” You watched as he looked up at you with those brown eyes you’ve grown so accustomed to. “I’m grateful you were there. Really. I would probably still be crying on a park bench.”

Your smile wasn’t broad or teasing as it was before, just one of genuine admiration.

“Thank you Aaron.”

“I hope your night didn’t turn out all too terrible.”

The night was well broken in—hours past since your now-forgotten bad date. The two of you hung outside of your home, leaning on Aaron’s parked car comfortably.

“With you? Never.”

You smiled, looking up to him before nudging his shoulder. You still wore his jacket and even with it being many sizes too big, you wore it like it was your own.

With a shiver and a yawn, you pulled it tighter against you as the wind picked up.

“Should probably turn in.” His hand was already in yours, tangled together somewhere between getting out of the car and now. Neither of you could remember exactly when.

“No,” you groaned, as he attempted to pull you from the car. “You’re no fun.”

Aaron grinned as you fell in stride with him, walking along the sidewalk that led to where you lived. “Weren’t you just telling me how a night with me is never bad?”

“Hmm,” you hummed in thought, stopping in front of a set of stairs that lead to your home. “You said ‘I hope your night didn’t turn out too terrible’,” you mimicked with an exaggeratedly low voice, making him chuckle. “And I said, ‘With you? Never.’ The word ‘bad’ never left my mouth Mr. Hotchner.”

“That’s the same thing and you know it.” His words were accusing but his smile and playful tone never wavered.

“Look at the time,” you exclaimed, climbing up the stairs with a newfound speed. “I think it’s about time I turn in, don’t you.”

Aaron laughed, watching as you backtracked out of the conversation. “I do think so.”

With a final wave and smile, you grasped the knob of your door before suddenly turning around.

“Aaron!”

“Yes?”

His response was quick, his eyes expectant, as if he was waiting for the moment you’d call him back. Your words died on your tongue, lost in the way he stared at you with such intensity. Just like before, he was pleading with just his eyes. They were wide, his brows raised hopefully in your call.

“I, um…I forgot your jacket.” Your movements were slow at first as you shrugged it off, immediately missing the warmth it gave.

By the time your arm stretched out to hand it back, he was just a step below you, his hand brushing against yours as you handed it to him. Wordlessly, he took the next step up, his full height comparing itself to yours.

In a moment of pure impulse, he pressed the softest of kisses to your cheek. “Thank you,” he murmured, taking a final step back. “I had fun tonight.”

You didn’t know where to settle your eyes as he took another step down the stairs. “Me too.”

You don’t quite remember turning away or putting in the key to get inside. One moment you were there, once more getting lost in all that was unsaid between the two of you, the next your back was pressed against the closed door inside your darkened apartment.

You couldn’t even tell if you were breathing. All you could feel was the tingling feeling left from where Aaron’s lips touched your cheek. You felt like a teenager all over again, a broad smile spreading over your lips, a burning at your cheeks, and even butterflies in your stomach.

You were by no means an impulsive person. You couldn’t be in your line of work. Nearly everything you did had to be carefully measured in order for everything to work in the way you needed it to. It was rare you led with your heart and followed where your adrenaline guided you.

It still existed in you though. A very small part that wanted you to follow your immediate impulses. For the first time in a long time you let that small part of you take charge.

You surged forward and threw open the door, expecting to see him climbing into his car or driving off down the street.

What you didn’t expect was to see him, standing right at your doorstep, prepared to knock at your door.

You weren’t sure what you were supposed to say. Maybe some love confession or great reveal to how you truly feel, but it all died when your eyes fell on him.

But you didn’t need to say a single word. Not to Aaron. Everything you ever wanted to say was spelled clearly in your eyes for him to read.

Just like you, Aaron was not an impulsive person. But in the rare moment when he’d run into a building without back up or he’d take charge of a case that wasn’t his to investigate, he’d let his gut lead in front of his brain.

And so he kissed you.

You could barely process it, it happened so fast. One moment he was standing there, wordlessly. Helplessly. The next moment his hands were on you, both cupping your face carefully as if he was afraid you’d shatter in his hold.

But you were holding him tightly. One grasping his wrist and the other finding home on his chest. You held him as if you were afraid he’d be ripped out of your hold.

But he didn’t.

And neither did you.

It was only you and him and no one else.

taglist!! @whothehellismack @casp1an-sea @gghostwriter

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unr3markable · 2 days ago

Text

— mark grayson x f!reader

masterlist

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+ ONLY

summary: mark has a tendency to push you harder, he doesn’t mind a little whining and some tears. in fact, it makes him want more…

content warning: possessive! mark, piv, slight praise kink, overstimulation, dacryphilia, slight humiliation, slight dumbification

wc: 600-700 ish ?

author’s note: first time posting for the Invincible fandom so let me know if this is any good. i haven’t written in years lol. send me whatever your heart desires, i’d like to get the creative juices flowing. (and make friends!! <3)

“mark,” you whine, hiding your face with a hand, “too much, too muc—“

you have a quick fuse and tend to get overwhelmed. you’re not used to this kind of pleasure, never really let yourself explore the more exhilarating parts of the human experience. but mark discovered how you came so easily during sex and thought it was so cute. what was even better was seeing how many he could pull from you until you broke.

he shakes his head, smile coming onto his face. “then why are you still enjoying it, baby?”

you always have tears clinging to your lashes, cheeks wet from spit (or from warming up his cock in your mouth or maybe from him slapping it against your cheeks or all of the above). it happened every single time he fucked you. he loved how fucking messy you got, all the spit, the tears, the sweat, the hush of wetness he’d get from fucking his fingers right against your sweet spot, coxing orgasms from you over and over again ‘til you’d squirt all over his fingers.

your skin would flush warm and hot in the prettiest way, pouty lips loose and crying his name like a prayer. perspiration sticking to your skin, he loved to smell the sweat on you, the mix of sex in the air. and god, you loved that wild look in his eyes, a predator eyeing its prey.

you hiccup, trying to get the words out. “‘because icanthelpit.”

mark kisses your nose, finding your inability to respond properly endearing. his lips take yours again and he pulls on your lower lip, murmuring, “wanna try that again, sweets?”

he is so used to going again and again, his stamina impossibly high from years of superhero training and pushing his body to the limit. so this? it’s nothing compared to what he usually puts his body through.

the difference between his half-alien body and your human one always made itself very apparent, the fact that he could do so much to you and barely break a sweat made your sex throb at the thought. the power difference appealed to you, only because you know that he’d never hurt you, at least not in a way you didn’t ask for.

the bedsheets wrinkle in your clutch, your breath stuttering as you try to string out a cohesive reply. mark knew that it was always so hard for his poor babygirl to try to talk to him when you’re so out of it.

“b—because i can’t help it,” you whine, refusing to make eye contact with him. shame makes you dizzy, intimacy intoxicating you, and mark is the root of all this.

he has a playful smile, clearly enjoying seeing you tremble and cry. he basks in your ruined state of tear stained cheeks and lips red and raw from biting down on them. he reaches your face with a firm grip, fingers pressed into your cheek, cupping your whiny little mouth with his hand as he forces you to look at him.

as much as he loved it when you behaved, when you were a good little girl. he also loved it when you were a tinsy bit bratty. teasing him until he snapped was secretly something so exciting to you. (of course he knew. he knew you too too well.)

and when you refuse to meet his insatiable gaze. you feel him watching you like he wanted to eat you alive. his appetite for you insatiable.

he taps your cheek hard, pulling a gasp from you, your skin flushing with warrmth you know he’ll be able to see.

“look at me,” mark growls, canines peaking out from behind his lips. you could help but think that it suited him with his selfish appetite.

your head moves towards him, looking at him through your lashes. eyelids heavy with want as you heed his demand.

“good girl.”

his cock twitches inside you, the sight of you beneath him so little and submissive for him is such a turn on. his balls tighten at the fact that you voluntarily let him push you around like this, let him use you how he wants.

your walls clench down on him, a reaction to his reaction as if you were begging him to keep going. your nipples peaked and hard from arousal, imploring him to pull and pinch at them ‘til he found out if you’d cum on his cock just from that stimulation alone. he loved staying inside you if that meant he could just feel you writhe under him.

but if he were being honest the hardest times for him to hold back are when he’s working your tight cunt open with the sensitive tip of his dick, letting your swollen, pretty little puffy cunt drool all over him while he kisses away your moans. or when you finish around him, shaking and babbling about god fucking knows what because you’re so stupid when he’s fucking you dumb.

mark loves the fact that you crumble so easily the minute he’s worked himself up into you; you are his and everything he does to you is just what you asked for.

#mika writes #mark grayson x you #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x reader smut #invincible x you #invincible x you smut #invincible x reader #invincible x reader smut #mark grayson x you smut

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anonmousegosqueak · 1 day ago

Text

Too many :(

One shot- 100%. I cannot write long things, it's actually why I haven't written anything lately! Long fics have killed my family and now I'm struggling.

"though" I couldn't remember how to spell it...

Yesss~ I have so many ideas for cool scenes that I write down. No I will not share though, mostly because I cannot spell and I don't wanna have to transcribe nonsense into actual understandable words.

Titles? What's that? I titled one work and it was literally just the first line for all three bits.

It depends. Sometimes I throw on a video I've watched 100s of times so I can put it on low volume for basically white noise. Other times I put on video game soundtracks.

...I don't wanna answer this one...

Well- yes and no? @writer-fennec drew my OC (and I can't stop screaming over it) but I don't think anyone has drawn anything for a specific fic.

Day, specifically when I'm miserable and tired and possibly a bit sick

Whole thing- usually because I'm answering an ask and I don't like multipart stuff

Hah! No? Obviously not? I don't even have a doc for my fics, I keep everything on Tumblr and hope for the best.

Aesthetics are not my strong suit, moodboards are out of the question (sadly)

What do you think??

I'm not entirely sure? I like it when I look back and my stuff is less shit than I thought, but I don't think there's anything special about it.

I get a notification and I literally explode. I write for myself, yes, but I also need to read everything anyone has said ever the second they say it.

...I make drafts and hope Tumblr doesn't delete my stuff?

Mostly keep to myself unless I'm yapping with other people online. Even then, I don't really like talking about what I'm writing about.

¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

Multiple and each one zaps life-force from my shriveled corpse.

I... Don't know?

I like to use repetition/mirroring previous stuff I said. Like everybody has a slightly different way they describe when Soap DOESN'T DIE in that one fic I made, but it also always ends the same. I dunno, I guess that?

Fluff <3

What schedule???

I want to actually write something? Please? Just one motivation, I swear

Yes. Poor Boner's period sex ask. I can't :((

I like the fact that I get to share my thoughts and ideas with the world. I've always been pretty creative, it's nice that others can look at my brain and go "wow! That's a cool thought!"

Not this one but I have an OC for a different thing with SO MUCH LORE and I don't ever get to talk about it :((((

Uhh- both? Like it's all cannon, I don't do many aus, but I do change a few things. Those who know, *know.* 🧼 🔫

No but just because I would rather make shit and never touch it again vs. obsess over it and never move on.

I don't 🥲

Title? What's that?

I genuinely don't remember a single line from any of my fics. I hit post and every thought leaves my head.

No I haven't but I would *love* to

Literally every time a stranger leaves a comment, it makes me giggle and kick my feet

Nah, it's Ghoap content. As much as I don't really like them (well I like Ghoap, I don't like Ghost), I know others do. :/ so yes- I pander to my audience.

Fluuffff

Any of them! I love all the ideas, I just can't find the motivation to write. Still though, I'd love to get back to my Minecraft idea, maybe make my MLP one? I also really wanna finish my super secret surprise.

No snacks, no liquid... I mean I like water quite a bit but I do my best writing when I'm miserable (aka out and about- y'know. When I don't drink water? I literally don't drink anything during the day and it sucks)

Happy. I made angst once and I immediately made a happy ending. I'm a miserable pathetic wet rat and I need my silly fictional men to be happy.

@sirbonesly your turn!

Fanfic Author Asks!

(I love these things so much, I thought I would do my own lol)

How many WIPS do you currently have?

Do you prefer oneshots or longfics?

What was the last thing you looked up for a fic?

Do you save your 'cut scenes' from your fics? (Want to share one?)

Where do you get your title inspiration from?

Do you listen to anything while you write? Or do you prefer silence?

What fic are you the proudest of?

Has anyone ever drawn fanart for one of your fics before?

What time do you prefer to write? (Day, night, etc.?)

How much do you write before you post?

Do you outline your fics before writing them?

Have you ever made a moodboard for a fic? (Do you want to share it?)

Have you ever made a playlist for a fic? (Share?)

What is something you really like about your work(s)?

Do you look at comments right away? Or save them for later?

How do you write your fics? (Handwritten, google docs, word, etc)

Do you regularly discuss your fics, or do you keep most of the info to yourself before you start posting?

How do you decide what POV to write in?

Do you work on multiple fics at once or only one at a time?

What made you start writing?

What is something that no one has caught about one of your fics?

What is one of your favorite tropes to write?

Do you post your fics on a schedule?

Do you have any writing goals? (Word counts, chapters, finishing fics, trying something new?)

Is there a scene you are dreading writing? (Want to share what it is?)

What is your favorite part about writing?

What is a question that you never get asked about your fics that you really want to answer?

Do you prefer canon compliant fics or AUs?

What fic are you the least proud of?

Is there something you would go back and change about a fic if you could?

How do you stay motivated?

Out of all your fics, what is your favorite title?

What is your favorite line from *insert fic name here*?

Have you ever done a collaboration? Would you?

Favorite review you've gotten?

Are/were you surprised by your top fic? (hits, kudos, comments, anything)

Favorite genre?

Fic idea you're most excited to get to?

Do you have a preferred writing snack/drink?

Happy Endings or Sad Endings?

Bonus: Readers, tell your fave authors something you liked about their fics/works!

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demie90s · 19 hours ago

Text

The Way Life Goes

UConn WBB x fem!reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: Your slipping—mentally, physically, emotionally. Your grades are tanking, her game is off, and her spark’s gone out. No breakdowns, no pleas for help. Just soft shrugs and quiet “I’m fine”s.

Genre: Angst, mental health decline, found family dynamic, emotional detachment, slow-burn comfort (implied)

Warnings: Depression, academic stress, sports performance anxiety, emotional numbness, isolation, mentions of disordered eating/sleep, no overt self-harm

Word Count: ~ 8.3k

I don’t remember the last time I felt like I was actually here.

Like—not just physically. But really here. In my body. In this life. In this uniform with my name stitched across the chest like it means something.

Most mornings I get up because I don’t wanna make anybody worry. Not because I have anything to look forward to. Not because I believe it’ll get better. Just because I don’t want someone knocking on my door, asking why I missed weights again. Or why I didn’t show up to film. Or why I haven’t eaten anything that wasn’t from a vending machine in two and a half days.

Coach yelled at me last week. Said I’ve been coasting. Said I don’t look locked in. I nodded. Took the hit like I should. My fault. I’ll get better. That’s what I said. But I knew I wouldn’t.

I’m tired.

But it’s not the kind of tired you fix with sleep. It’s deep. Rooted. Like my bones are waterlogged and I’m dragging around someone else’s body.

My grades are circling the drain. I missed a quiz two days ago because I genuinely forgot what day it was. Showed up to the wrong class building the next day. Laughed about it when Jana asked. Told her I was just “fried.” She smiled, but she looked at me too long after. Like she was trying to figure out if I was actually joking.

I wasn’t.

My car broke down last week outside the Shell station on Whitney. Smoke poured from the hood like my life was trying to take visible form. I just stared at it. Didn’t call anyone. Just sat on the curb with my chin in my hands and watched people pass like I wasn’t sitting in the middle of my own collapse.

I think someone recognized me. I heard, “Isn’t that—” and I smiled before they could finish the sentence. Not because I was happy. Just because it was automatic. I’ve learned if you smile while everything’s burning, people assume you’re fine.

They walked off. I walked to campus. Halfway there it started raining and I didn’t even flinch.

Hair wet. Socks soaked. Hoodie clinging to me like skin. I looked up at the sky and thought—at least it’s not snowing.

That’s where I’m at now. Finding gratitude in the bare minimum. No tears. No anger. Just… acceptance. Like, damn. This is what it is, huh?

I cracked a tooth in practice yesterday. Slipped on a rebound, elbow to the mouth, and all I felt was the crunch. I got up slow, spit blood into a towel, and shrugged when Ice asked if I was okay.

“Yeah,” I said, licking the jagged edge with my tongue. “Could be worse.” I smiled.

Azzi looked at me like I’d said something in a language she couldn’t translate.

I’m losing pieces of myself every day and all I can do is keep count. That’s all I got left. The keeping track of the downfall. Hair falling out in the shower? That’s six days in a row. Appetite gone? I’ve had a protein bar and three sips of water since Tuesday. Can’t sleep without waking up in a full sweat? I stopped counting that one. Doesn’t matter. I’ll still show up. I’ll still run. I’ll still fake it.

Because what else is there?

Sometimes I hear them whisper about me in the locker room. Not loud enough to be shady, but not quiet enough to be innocent either.

“She look tired.”

“She ain’t been eating.”

“She snapped at Coach the other day.”

“She smiled when her lip was bleeding.”

And I know it don’t make sense. I know I look like a warning sign in human form. But every time someone asks if I’m okay, I say the same thing.

“I’m good.”

KK tried to pull me aside last week. Put her hand on my shoulder and said, “You know you can talk to me, right?” Her voice was soft, real. The kind that makes you wanna break down just outta spite. But I couldn’t do it.

“I’m okay. Just a lot on my plate.” I smiled.

She looked at my plate like she could see straight through it. Like she knew there was nothing on it but air and pride. Still, she nodded.

I appreciated that.

Nika’s the only one who stopped asking. She just watches now. From across the gym, in film, walking out of class. Her eyes track me like she knows I’m about to disappear.

And maybe I am. Maybe I already did.

I put my airpods in before games now. Not because I’m listening to anything. Just so I don’t have to talk. Just so I can pretend the silence is a choice.

Sometimes I play that Trippie song, though. The one that goes, “I wish you would find your chill, ‘cause Lord knows this shit get real.” That one line feels like a prayer. Like someone wrote it with me in mind. I whisper it under my breath like a spell. Doesn’t work. But I say it anyway.

Coach pulled me into his office yesterday. Said he’s worried. Said the staff’s noticed. Said I look “distant.”

I nodded again. Said, “I hear you.” He asked if I needed anything.

I smiled. “No, sir. I’m good.”

He looked like she didn’t believe me. But what can you do? You can’t force someone to want to be helped. And I don’t. Not really.

I just want to float. Just for a while. Not swim. Not sink. Just… drift. I go to sleep hoping I don’t dream. I wake up hoping I feel something.

I laugh when I forget things now. When I show up to practice without my jersey. When I leave my shoes in the locker room. When I forget to eat. When I mix up plays. I just laugh. Not loud. Not crazy. Just a soft, “Huh.”

Like I’m watching myself from somewhere else. Somewhere colder. Somewhere quiet.

I’m not looking for sympathy. I don’t even want anyone to check in. It’s too late for that. I already made peace with it. This is the part where I fade out for a while. Maybe forever. Maybe just long enough to feel real again.

And if I don’t? Then I guess that’s just how the story goes.

———————————————————————————————

Practice was brutal today.

Not cause it was hard. Not cause I was sore. Not cause we were running drills ‘til our lungs gave out. I barely felt any of it. The burn in my legs, the ache in my shoulder—background noise. White static. I heard it, sure, but it didn’t matter.

What got me was Geno’s voice. Sharp. Heavy. Constant. Cutting through the gym like it was trying to fillet my spirit in real time.

“Are you serious right now?”

“What the hell was that?”

“You do know you’re not just here to jog around and look tired, right?”

“Pick it up. You been sleepwalking since warmups.”

I nodded. That’s it. No excuse. No attitude. No fire. Just… nod.

What could I even say? That he’s right? That I know I look like shit? That I feel worse than I look?

He moved on, barking at someone else, but his eyes flicked back to me like he knew he didn’t get through. Like he saw the dull in my stare. The silence behind my nod. The nothing.

At one point, Ice passed me the ball and I missed it completely. Like didn’t even move my hands. It bounced off my knee and rolled into the corner.

“She wide open and asleep,” Paige muttered, just loud enough. I smiled.

Not cause it was funny. Not cause I cared. Just cause I didn’t want her to think I’d heard it and been hurt. Easier to smile. Easier to act like I agree.

Later, in the locker room, no one really talked to me. Azzi handed me a towel. I said thanks. She didn’t move right away. Just looked at me like she wanted to say something.

I tucked the towel into my lap and bent down to untie my shoes. Silence is my defense now. Not cause I’m trying to be cold, but cause I don’t trust what’ll come out if I open my mouth. Maybe a scream. Maybe a sob. Maybe nothing at all.

Some of the girls are starting to get frustrated. I can feel it in the way they pass me the ball just a little too hard. The way they huddle without me. The way their tone shifts when they say my name.

Caroline called me out during walkthroughs.

“You’re not even running the plays,” she said. “You’re just kinda… there.”

I nodded. Again. Said, “My bad.”

She blinked at me like she was waiting for more. Something. Anything. But I didn’t have it. Didn’t even try.

They don’t get it. How could they? I used to be sharp. Funny. Reliable. I used to know every damn set like muscle memory. I used to lead warm-ups. I used to hype people up when they missed. I used to care.

Now I just… exist. Like a light switch someone forgot to turn off in an empty room. Coach Geno pulled me aside after practice. Private, but not gentle.

“You either get your head on straight, or you’re gonna sit. I don’t care how much talent you’ve got. You’re hurting this team.”

His voice was steady, not yelling. Almost worse. He sounded disappointed. And that—that used to break me. But now? Now it just bounced off. I stared at the wall behind him and nodded.

“You hearing me?”

“Yeah.”

“You care?”

That one made me blink. I didn’t answer. Just looked at him with eyes that probably said more than I could. Eyes that whispered, I’m trying. But I think I already drowned. He sighed. Walked off.

I sat in the locker room after everyone left. Hoodie on. Music low. Something old—Trippie, maybe. Something sad with too much bass and not enough hope.

Wish you’d get out my face

Might go MIA

Might just blow my brain…

I mouthed the words but didn’t sing. Just let them sit on my tongue like smoke I didn’t have the energy to exhale.

I haven’t cried in weeks. I want to. Desperately. I want to sob. Scream. Punch a locker until my knuckles split. But there’s nothing left inside to release. No pressure. No build-up. Just a flat line where my heartbeat used to live.

I can’t sleep. Can’t eat. Can’t feel my face half the time. I watch the world through glass, and nobody notices I’m behind it. Or maybe they do, and they’re just scared to tap on it too hard.

I laugh now, at everything. At nothing. Dropped my phone in the shower yesterday. Fried it. Laughed so hard I had to sit down.

Stepped in gum. Laughed.

Burnt my toast. Laughed.

Got an email saying I’m failing two classes. Laughed so long the girl next to me in the library moved tables. I think I’m becoming a ghost.And the worst part? No one can even say I didn’t try.

———————————————————————————————

I didn’t go to practice today. Not because I overslept. Not because I was sick. Not because I had something else to do. I just didn’t feel like going. I knew what time I needed to be there. I knew what would happen if I missed.

I knew Geno would call me out, that the team would probably run for me, that my absence would be loud even if I didn’t say a word. But I stayed in bed for a while, then I got up, grabbed my hoodie, and walked off campus until I found somewhere with water.

It was some lake—I couldn’t tell you the name. I don’t even remember how far I walked to get there. I just sat down and watched the ripples.

The way they moved like they had direction, like they had somewhere to be, calmed me. Everything in my life feels stuck, but the water kept flowing. That made me feel less alone, in a weird way.

My phone vibrated in my pocket every couple of minutes. I didn’t look at it. I knew it was them—coach, teammates, maybe even someone from academic support. At one point, I think my mom called too.

I felt it ring a little longer than usual, which is what happens when she’s trying to wait me out. I let it pass.

It’s not that I don’t care. It’s just that I don’t have the energy to pretend I do. I haven’t felt anything in weeks—not really. I eat because my stomach cramps when I don’t. I show up to class and sit in the back because if I don’t, I get flagged for attendance.

I speak in practice when spoken to. I smile when someone makes a joke. But it’s all fake. A tired performance I don’t have the strength to keep doing. So today, I didn’t perform.

I haven’t answered a call from my mom since last Thursday. I’ve opened her messages, read them in full, and just… set the phone down.

She keeps saying she’s worried about me, that I sound different, that I “don’t check in anymore.” And I want to say something. I really do. But nothing feels true. Nothing feels worth saying. What would I even tell her?

That I think I’m fading out of my own body? That I sit on the floor of my room at night and stare at the same spot on the wall for hours and it brings me more peace than any conversation could? That I don’t want to die but I wouldn’t fight it if it came?

I came back to my dorm once the sun started dropping. I took a shower without thinking—hot water on my neck, just standing there until I was dizzy. I laid in bed in a hoodie and let music play from my laptop, but I couldn’t hear any of it. I couldn’t feel it. The lyrics were there. The bass was low. But it didn’t reach me. It’s been like that for a while now.

I checked my phone briefly. Three missed calls from my mom. Two from my dad. One from Paige that just said, “You straight?” with a question mark and no follow-up. I didn’t reply. I stared at it until the screen dimmed, then flipped it over.

The team had bonding night tonight—Azzi posted a photo on her story. Everybody was smiling, even the ones who never smile.

I was tagged in it, even though I wasn’t there. I think that was someone’s attempt at pulling me in without forcing it. I didn’t repost it. I didn’t even look long.

They’ve stopped asking me to come to things. The invitations have turned into suggestions, and then into silence. And I get it.

I wouldn’t want to be around me either. I’m not fun. I’m not present. I’m not even angry anymore. I’m just… empty. I laugh at things that aren’t funny. I smile when I’m shaking. I tell people I’m okay when I feel like I’m made of glass.

And the worst part? I’ve accepted it.

I’m not trying to get better. I’m not journaling. I’m not meditating. I’m not reaching out. I’m letting it happen. Letting it all fade. Letting the world run past me while I sit still. I don’t think I want to be saved. I don’t want to be fixed. I want to be left alone, to let whatever this is run its course.

Maybe this is the end. Maybe this is just the part where I disappear without making a sound.

———————————————————————————————

The door wasn’t locked.

That’s the first thing I remember—hearing it click open. Then footsteps. Hesitant. Too soft for Coach. Too unsure to be campus security. It was one of them. Or maybe more than one. I didn’t look. I didn’t move. I barely even breathed.

I was curled up on the floor between my bed and the wall, right where the light didn’t reach. Hoodie on. Legs pulled to my chest. Arms limp. Not crying. Not asleep. Just still.

The room was dark. Not dim—dark. Curtains drawn. Lights off. Laptop closed. The only real sound was the faint hum of the mini fridge and the occasional creak of the building settling around me. I hadn’t cleaned in days. Maybe longer. Clothes everywhere. Trash untouched. Air stale. My toothbrush still sealed in the little cup of water I’d left it in three nights ago.

The silence broke when they stepped fully inside.

“…She in here?” someone whispered. A girl’s voice. Familiar. Too careful.

Another voice—closer. Lower. Less afraid. “Yeah. God…”

I didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just focused on the cracked piece of paint on the baseboard across from me. I’d been staring at it so long I started seeing patterns in it—faces, rivers, maybe even a map if I tilted my head enough.

Then the light from the hallway stretched across the floor, and I felt it touch my hoodie. A hand hesitated in the air next to me. Didn’t grab. Didn’t shake. Just hovered like they were scared I’d shatter if they made contact.

I would have.

“Hey…” It was a soft murmur, like they were testing if I was still alive. I was. Barely. I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. No energy left for anything but existence.

Someone crouched down. I heard a knee pop against the floor. Then breath. Real close.

“Can you… can you hear me?”

Yes. But I didn’t nod. Didn’t move. Couldn’t figure out if the truth mattered. What difference would it make? They were here now, and I was still on the floor.

Someone else walked around to the side of the bed. They were trying not to step on anything. There was too much to step on. I’d stopped noticing the mess. It had become part of me. Part of the decay.

“She’s not talking,” a voice said, somewhere in the corner. I didn’t know who. I could name every one of their shoes by sound, but their voices melted together. Gentle. Uneasy. Like I was something they didn’t know how to fix.

“She’s breathing, though.”

“Barely.”

“Fuck.”

The one next to me finally touched my sleeve. Just two fingers. Barely a nudge.

“You good?” she asked. Not because she didn’t know. But because people don’t know what else to say.

I could’ve laughed if I had the strength. Am I good? I was limp on the floor of my own room like a corpse that hadn’t made up its mind yet. Frail. Faded. My eyes were open but there was nothing behind them.

No hunger. No pain. No fear. Just… gone.

“She’s freezing,” someone said. “Her hands—look.”

There was rustling. A blanket. Arms. I didn’t resist when they shifted me slightly. I barely felt it. My body didn’t register the weight. I was used to being weightless now. Useless. Empty.

One of them settled on the floor behind me and let me lean into her. I think it was Azzi. I knew that smell. Subtle lavender, soft sweatshirt cotton. She didn’t say anything. She just exhaled and rested her chin against the top of my hoodie. Her arms wrapped loosely around my knees like she was scared to squeeze too tight.

The silence grew thick. Nobody tried to break it.

Someone turned on the lamp. Not the main light—just enough to see. The room looked worse in the glow. More real. More alive than I felt.

“I didn’t know it was this bad,” someone whispered.

“She’s been like this for how long?”

“I don’t know…”

“I didn’t think—”

“Nah. Me neither.”

I kept staring. Blank. Detached. Somewhere else. The weight of Azzi behind me was warm, but I wasn’t sure if I felt it or just remembered what warmth used to be.

The girls around us didn’t leave. They didn’t press. They didn’t cry. They just sat there, like they were waiting for me to come back to earth. But I wasn’t ready yet.

Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never. But they stayed. And for the first time in days, I realized I hadn’t imagined the world outside my head.

———————————————————————————————

I could move. That’s what scared me most.

Not that I was stuck. Not that my body had finally quit on me. But that I could move—still. That there was just enough breath left to keep going even though everything inside me was begging to stop. I wasn’t paralyzed. I wasn’t dead. I was functional, and that was worse.

The girls were still in my room. Not saying much. Just there. One of them—Azzi, I think—sat behind me, quiet and steady. She hadn’t moved since I’d curled into her chest. Her hand rubbed small circles on my knee. It was meant to be comforting. It didn’t reach me.

The others didn’t say my name anymore. They’d said it earlier. Once. Twice. Too many times. It hung heavy in the room like smoke no one could wave away. They knew now. Knew this was beyond a rough patch. Beyond a bad day. This was a collapse. A full shut-down in a girl-shaped body. This was what it looked like when someone gave up and didn’t bother to announce it.

After a while, I shifted. Slow. Mechanical. Like I had to remember where my limbs went.

Azzi’s arms eased back as I sat up. Her hand lingered for a second, just in case I fell again. I didn’t.

I didn’t look at anyone. My eyes were blurry anyway. Not from tears—there were none left—but from everything being too sharp, too loud, even in silence. I stood. My legs ached like they hadn’t been used in years. My back cracked when I straightened. I felt everything. Every joint. Every bruise. Every rib like it was separate from the rest.

I walked to the bathroom with bare feet, stepping over wrappers, books, and clothes without reacting to any of it. The light in there stung, so I turned it off and let the hallway lamp behind me throw in a little glow.

I shut the door. Not slammed. Not even fully closed. Just… pressed it mostly shut. Enough to breathe without them watching. I didn’t lock it.

My knees hit the tile slower than expected. My hand found the edge of the bathtub. I climbed in, not to run water. Not to wash off. Just to sit.

I curled again, this time in porcelain instead of carpet. My hoodie was too big, but the weight of it felt safe. Like armor I didn’t earn.

I opened my mouth to speak and nothing came out. My throat burned. Not from sickness. From silence. From fear. From knowing that if I said what I was actually thinking, I’d never be able to take it back.

Because if I said it—if I really let the words come—it’d be too real. The part of me that’s been quiet would finally scream. And it’d sound something like:

“I want to die.”

And I wasn’t sure who I’d become after that. So I didn’t say it. I sat there with my lips parted, my voice crumpled in the back of my tongue, and I imagined what it’d sound like anyway.

What it’d sound like if I let the truth slip out the way it always tries to in my sleep.

I imagined the water filling. I imagined floating. I imagined peace. Not escape. Not relief. Just nothing. Blankness. Silence that didn’t need to be survived.

My fingers twitched in my lap. I wasn’t in pain. Not really. Pain implies sensation. I was beyond that. I was absence. I was empty space. But still alive.

That’s the worst part.

They didn’t knock. They didn’t call my name. Maybe they knew. Maybe Azzi put her hand against the door and waited. Maybe someone cried quietly into my pillow. Maybe Geno was on the phone already, demanding answers no one had.

I didn’t care. Not because I was selfish. Not because I wanted to make anyone feel bad. I just didn’t have it in me to care anymore.

Not about practice. Not about school. Not about the game I used to bleed for. Not about the people I love who love me back. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t resentful. I was just done. Done trying to fix it. Done trying to explain it. Done pretending like I wanted to stay.

The water wasn’t running. The light was off. The tile was cold. And I sat in the tub, knees to my chest, staring into a dark corner, breathing as quietly as possible, just waiting to either disappear or be left alone long enough to stop hoping I would.

And that smile—the small one I’d been holding on to like a shield—was still there. Tight. Faint. Fragile. But there. Because if I let go of that smile, even for a second, I knew what would come next. And I wasn’t ready to say it out loud. Not yet.

———————————————————————————————

I didn’t plan to die that night. But I also didn’t plan to stay alive.

I wasn’t thinking about tomorrow. I wasn’t thinking about anyone else. I was just… sitting. Letting the cold of the bathroom tile creep up through my bones, curled in the tub like a forgotten thing. My arms were wrapped around my knees, my hoodie damp with sweat and something else I couldn’t name. My lips were parted slightly, but no sound had come out in hours. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I didn’t try. My body was still, my mind somewhere far past quiet—hovering in that eerie space between numbness and surrender.

I could feel the edges of my thoughts turning darker. Not loud, not explosive. Just whispers. Steady, certain. You’re done. That was the tone. Not panicked, not afraid. Just done.

The room had been still for so long I’d forgotten how it felt to hear movement. When the door eased open, I barely noticed. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t lift my head. But I felt the shift—the pressure of air, the faint creak of the hinges, the gentle sound of sneakers moving slow across the tile.

Someone was here. But it wasn’t just anyone. It was Azzi.

She didn’t knock. Didn’t call my name. She must’ve heard them outside the room. Or maybe she saw my face back in that moment on the floor and couldn’t get it out of her head. I don’t know what pulled her in. All I know is that the second she stepped into the bathroom, everything inside me started to shiver. Not my body. My soul. Like it knew someone had finally come too close to the truth I’d been hiding.

Azzi didn’t hesitate. She didn’t try to make sense of the scene. She didn’t stop to ask questions or assess. She just moved. Fast and certain. She dropped to her knees beside the tub and looked at me, like really looked—like she already knew she wasn’t going to leave without me.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. So she did the only thing she could. She climbed in.

I didn’t even realize what was happening at first. One minute I was alone, the next there was weight behind me. She pressed her body into the space, wedging herself between the edge of the tub and my hunched frame, and before I could think to resist, she wrapped her arms around me. Tight. Firm. Like she was physically anchoring me to earth.

I didn’t respond. Not right away. But when her arms didn’t loosen—when I felt her breath against the side of my neck, and her hands pressed flat against my chest like she was trying to catch my heartbeat—I broke.

Not loud. Not all at once. Just… cracked.

My head fell back against her collarbone. My fingers twitched against her arm. My chest rose in one sharp breath that didn’t quite make it out. I couldn’t speak. I was too afraid. Afraid of what would come out if I opened my mouth. I hadn’t said anything all day because I knew if I did, it would come out sounding like death. It would be the truth I’d been avoiding. The one I knew would scare her. Scare them all.

Because what I was feeling wasn’t just sadness. It wasn’t exhaustion. It wasn’t even hopelessness.

It was surrender.

If I had spoken, if I had said anything at all, it would have been, “I don’t want to do this anymore.” And once I said it, I couldn’t unsay it.

So I stayed quiet. But I held her. My hands clutched her sleeves, desperate and shaking. My head turned into her neck and I gripped her like she was the only thing keeping me here, because in that moment, she was. I couldn’t feel the floor. I couldn’t feel the tub. I couldn’t feel myself. But I could feel her. Warm, alive, breathing.

She rocked me slowly, not saying a word. Not telling me it would be okay. Not promising anything. She didn’t give advice or ask questions. She just held me like she knew I couldn’t hold myself anymore.

Eventually, I felt her whisper against my ear. Her voice was soft, cracking under the weight of her own fear.

“I got you.” That’s all she said. And that was enough to break me open.

Not in a messy way. Not in a way that made noise. Just in a way that finally let some air in. That allowed something inside me to tremble and not completely fall apart.

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My throat was still too tight, my thoughts too dangerous. But I shifted closer. I pressed back into her like I was trying to disappear into her skin. Like if I held her tight enough, the darkness in me wouldn’t win.

And Azzi stayed. In that cold, dark bathroom. In the tub. On the floor. With her arms around a girl who wasn’t sure she wanted to live past sunrise.

She stayed. And for the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel completely alone. I still wasn’t okay. But I was still breathing. And for now, that had to be enough.

———————————————————————————————

I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Truth is, I didn’t fall asleep—I passed out. There’s a difference.

Sleep is something you ease into, something your body chooses when it feels safe. Passing out is when your body decides for you. When it can’t take anymore and pulls the plug without warning. That’s what happened.

One minute, I was in the tub with Azzi wrapped around me like she was trying to shield me from my own thoughts. Her arms still tight. Her breath steady against the back of my neck. My hands still gripping the sleeves of her hoodie like she was the only solid thing left in a world I’d long since floated away from.

And then everything just… went blank. There was no fade. No tunnel vision. Just lights out. No pain. No panic. Just stillness. It was the most peaceful I’d felt in weeks.

Azzi said later that she didn’t even notice at first. That I was already so still, she thought I’d finally fallen asleep. She didn’t want to move me, didn’t want to break the fragile quiet. But then my weight shifted. My grip loosened. My head dropped just a little too hard against her collarbone, and I didn’t correct it. She said she whispered my name and I didn’t flinch. She shook me and I didn’t respond.

That’s when she knew. She screamed my name. Once. Loud. The girls outside the door heard. They came running. Somebody was already on the phone before Azzi could finish the sentence.

“We need Geno. Now.”

And that was it. That was the moment everything finally cracked open.

They couldn’t reach my parents right away. My emergency contact on file wasn’t even them—it was Geno. I’d put him down when I first got to UConn. It was a joke at the time. Might as well put the man who runs my entire life.

No one was laughing now.

They said he got there before the ambulance did. Said he pushed through whoever was in the way and didn’t stop moving until he was kneeling beside the tub, checking my pulse like he was trying to will it steady.

He didn’t yell. Didn’t panic. But his face was white. Like he’d aged ten years in five minutes.

He rode in the ambulance. Sat right next to me the entire time. Quiet. Holding the blanket around my shoulders like I was glass and he wasn’t sure which piece to catch first.

When I finally opened my eyes, the hospital room was dim. Clean. Too cold. Wires were taped to my chest. My arm had an IV. My mouth was dry and my lips cracked. I didn’t feel pain. Just weight. Like someone had replaced my blood with wet sand.

There were nurses nearby, moving soft, not saying much. I heard them whisper things like “dehydration,” “malnutrition,” “severe exhaustion.” But I didn’t care about any of it.

I turned my head—slow, foggy. He was there.

Sitting in the chair next to my bed. Elbows on his knees. Eyes red. Still in his UConn jacket. He didn’t look like Coach. He looked like a man trying not to break in front of one of his kids.

I could’ve asked for anyone. My mom. My dad. My sister. But the first thing I whispered—barely audible—was:

“Coach?”

He looked up instantly. Eyes sharp, like he was waiting on that single thread of sound to come through. His jaw clenched, but he nodded. Stood. Moved to the side of my bed and sat on the edge like he was scared I’d slip away again if he didn’t get close enough.

“I’m here,” he said. I stared at him for a long time. Didn’t say anything else. Didn’t have to.

Because for the first time in this whole spiral, someone didn’t need me to explain. Someone had already shown up. Without conditions. Without questions. Just… present.

He didn’t say I scared him. He didn’t say he should’ve noticed sooner. He didn’t say anything at first.

He just reached over and wrapped his hand around mine, careful and firm. Like he was trying to ground me to something that mattered. And I squeezed back.

Not because I was okay. Not because I was fixed. But because for the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel like I had to hold myself together on my own.

———————————————————————————————

They put me on watch.

Not in the scary, screaming, strapped-to-the-bed kind of way. More like: someone had to be in the room with me. All the time. No closed doors. No unsupervised hours. And Geno made it clear—he was that someone.

When the doctor explained everything—dehydration, physical burnout, near syncope from starvation and stress—he didn’t blink. He just nodded once and asked, “What’s the recovery plan?”

They said rest. Fluids. Monitoring.

He said, “She won’t be alone. You have my word.”

That was two nights ago. He’s been here since.

I tried telling him to leave. Not because I wanted him to go, but because I felt guilty. Embarrassed. I was lying in a hospital bed with an IV and cracked lips, my skin pale, my bones sharp against the sheets, and he was sitting in a plastic chair next to me like it was his job. Like the Huskies didn’t have a game this week. Like film didn’t need to be watched. Like the world could wait until I got back on my feet.

I cracked my eyes open this morning and croaked, “You know you can go coach them now.”

He didn’t even look up from the stat sheet he was fake-reading. Just muttered, “Hush.”

I blinked at him, lips dry but tugging upward. “Yes, sir.”

He finally glanced over, the faintest twitch in the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. But almost.

He’d moved the rolling chair closer to the bed sometime during the night. I’d woken up once or twice, and he was still there—half-asleep, arms crossed, feet kicked out like he’d been guarding a door no one else could see.

Every nurse who came in, he asked questions. Double-checked vitals. Stood close but didn’t hover. When the attending physician came for rounds, Geno stepped aside but stayed in earshot, arms folded, listening to every word.

Later, the team came.

Not all at once. They rotated in. Small groups. Azzi was the first, obviously. She hadn’t left the waiting room since the ambulance pulled out. When they finally let her back in, she walked slow, like she didn’t trust the sight of me sitting upright in the bed, sipping water from a straw.

I gave her a tiny wave. She stared for a moment, then sat on the edge of the bed and touched my wrist like she was making sure I was real.

“You scared the shit out of me,” she whispered.

“I know,” I whispered back.

Then we just sat there. No crying. No explaining. Her fingers slid between mine and stayed there until the nurse came back.

The others came in waves—Paige, Nika, Ice, KK, Caroline. Some brought snacks. Some brought cards. One brought a plush husky someone had won at an arcade a month ago. I think it was Inês. She sat it at the foot of my bed and said, “He’s ugly but loyal,” and I actually laughed.

Geno didn’t say much while they visited. Just stood in the corner with his hands in his pockets, watching like a quiet referee. Every now and then, his eyes would flick to me. Checking. Measuring. Not for performance. For presence. He was making sure I was still here.

That night, after everyone had left and the room was quiet again, I looked over at him and asked, “Why’d you stay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just reached up and rubbed the back of his neck like the words were heavy.

Then he said, “Because you’re mine.”

My throat burned, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to. He kept going.

“I’ve seen injuries. Surgeries. Career-ending breaks. But this?” He gestured to me softly, eyes sharp but soft. “This scared me more than anything.”

I blinked up at him. My voice came out thin. “But I didn’t mean to—”

He shook his head. “I know. That’s the part that scares me. You didn’t have to try. You just… stopped.”

I looked down at my hands in my lap. They were shaking again.

“I didn’t want to die,” I whispered. “But I didn’t care if I lived either.”

He was quiet for a second. “That’s what watch is for.”

I smiled again, small and cracked. “You really don’t trust me, huh?”

“I trust you enough not to lie,” he said. “But I don’t trust your body yet. Or your brain. So yeah. You’re stuck with me.”

“Great.”

“Hush.”

I snorted into the pillow. “Yes, sir.”

And then he leaned back into the chair, one foot propped up, arms folded again like always. Like he could sit there forever if that’s what it took. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like maybe I didn’t have to fight alone.

Maybe I could let someone else stand watch for a while.

———————————————————————————————

The hospital cleared me to go home four days later.

Well—“home” was relative. Technically, I was allowed back in my dorm, but there was an asterisk on everything now. A counselor’s number. A new meal plan. A daily check-in from athletic staff. A list of suggestions that felt more like guardrails. I nodded through all of it. Smiled politely. Said thank you. But the truth was, I didn’t really hear most of it.

The one voice I did hear? Azzi’s. She rode back with me. Didn’t even ask. Just showed up at the discharge desk with my hoodie folded over her arm and said, “I’ve got her.”

And she did. Literally. She kept a hand on me the whole walk to the car. Not tight. Not possessive. Just… constant. As if her touch was the only proof I hadn’t disappeared again.

The team was already in my room when we got there.

Ice was sitting cross-legged on my bed with a smoothie in one hand and a protein bar in the other. KK was digging through my drawers looking for a clean hoodie to throw at me. Paige was trying to untangle my charging cord like it was a full-time job. Jana and Ayanna were at the desk building a Lego bonsai tree like it was life or death. Caroline and Inês? Hugging each other—until they saw me, and then it was me they were hugging. Hard.

I stood in the doorway, overwhelmed. I hadn’t said anything yet.

Then Azzi nudged my back gently. “Go on. They missed you.”

I blinked. Ice grinned. “Hey zombie.”

KK threw a hoodie at me. “Put that on. You look like you just broke out of a psych ward.”

Paige lifted her head. “Ok but if she did, that’s kinda iconic.”

And just like that, I was laughing. Not hard. Not loud. But real.

Paige’s eyes widened dramatically. “Oh my God. Did we just win?”

KK raised her fist. “YES. That’s one smile point for Team Dumbass.”

“Stop calling us that!” Paige yelled.

“We voted. It’s done,” KK said.

Azzi pulled me over to the bed and sat me down beside her. She handed me the smoothie Ice hadn’t touched and stared at me until I took a sip.

I raised my brows. “You watching me eat now?”

Azzi didn’t blink. “Yup.”

“I’m fine, Az—”

“Shush and drink.”

I sighed but took another sip. She held my gaze the whole time, like she was scanning me for secrets. I didn’t have the energy to hide anything anymore, so I just let her look.

Paige pulled KK up by the elbow like she was auditioning for Broadway. “Okay, so we’re doing a talent show.”

Azzi groaned. “Paige…”

“No, no—listen,” Paige said, spinning in a circle like a chaotic little planet. “KK’s doing spoken word, I’m doing a ventriloquist act with a sock, and y/n over here is doing—wait, what’s your talent again?”

I blinked. “Being alive?”

The room went silent. I let out a giggle. It was funny to me idk.

Then Paige clapped. “Honestly? That’s a showstopper. No notes.”

Caroline let go of my arm just long enough to squeeze my face with both hands. “We love you so much.”

Inês tackled me from the other side. “You’re never allowed to go ghost again.”

I mumbled into her shoulder, “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” she whispered. “Still not allowed.”

Azzi pulled me back into her side like she needed me closer. “You can sleep. You can cry. You can sit in silence. But you don’t disappear. Not from us. Not ever again.”

I nodded slowly. My hands were shaking, but I didn’t pull away. Jana tossed me a bag of Legos. “You’re on leaf duty.”

Ayanna handed me a piece with a wink. “It’s therapeutic. You’ll love it.”

And somehow, in the middle of my wreckage, I found myself surrounded by pieces that were trying—desperately—to build me back together. One sip. One laugh. One ugly little plastic bonsai tree at a time.

I wasn’t okay. That was the first piece I actually wanted to keep.

———————————————————————————————

The problem with recovery is that everyone treats you like you’re made of spun glass—pretty, delicate, and one good sneeze away from shattering.

I’d been out of the hospital for a week. Seven whole days. Enough to shower on my own. Enough to eat a full meal without Azzi breathing down my neck. Enough to walk across campus without someone holding my elbow like I might vanish mid-step. Or at least it should’ve been enough.

But everyone was still moving around me like I was some wounded bird they weren’t sure could fly again.

I was sitting on the floor in the locker room, lacing up my shoes before a light scrimmage when I finally snapped—gently, but loud enough.

“Guys. I’m fine. Please. Just… treat me normal.”

The room went still for half a beat. KK was mid-bite of a granola bar. Paige had one foot in a sneaker and the other on a bench like she was modeling. Ice was already halfway into her practice jersey. Azzi stood behind me, arms crossed, eyes locked onto my spine like she could see through it.

“Are you sure?” Caroline asked carefully.

“Positive.”

Inês looked like she wanted to hug me on the spot, but I held up a hand. “And no hugging. At least not every five minutes.”

That was it. That was the go-ahead KK needed.

She launched herself across the locker room with full linebacker energy, practically tackling me back onto the bench.

“I MISSED YOUUUUU—”

“KK!” Azzi’s voice shot out like a bullet. “Get off her!”

I wheezed, trying to suck in air under all the love and chaos. “Okay—okay, I take it back—”

“You said normal!” KK yelled, hugging me tighter. “This is so normal.”

“She’s not a jungle gym,” Azzi growled, stepping forward like she was ready to fight.

“Actually,” Paige chimed in, “this is exactly how KK treats people she loves. It’s terrifying. But very on brand.”

KK nuzzled into my neck dramatically. “Let me love you back to life.”

“I can’t breathe!”

Azzi yanked KK off me like she was detangling a toddler from a balloon. “Give her space, damn.”

KK threw up her hands. “Fine. But if she passes out again it’s not ‘cause of me this time.”

Azzi turned to me, kneeling a little to meet my eyes. Her voice dropped, calm but serious. “You sure you’re okay?”

I smiled, breathless but honest. “Yeah. I just… I want to feel like myself again. Not like a walking reminder.”

She scanned my face, searching. Then slowly, she nodded. “Okay.”

Paige popped up behind her, holding two rolled-up socks like microphones. “So you’re saying you’re well enough to help judge our locker room talent show.”

I blinked. “This is still happening?”

“Absolutely,” KK said, already doing stretches like she had choreography planned.

Ice tossed me a mini whiteboard. “You’re head judge. Be brutal.”

Caroline wrapped an arm around Inês’s waist. “We’re doing a dramatic reading of Twilight.”

Inês gave me a solemn nod. “I’m Bella.”

“And I’m Edward,” Caroline said, voice dropping two octaves.

I cracked up.

Like full laugh. No hesitation. No guilt. Just joy.

Azzi looked at me sideways, her mouth twitching. “You’re sure you want normal?”

I leaned into her just enough to feel her warmth. “Yeah. I want this.”

And for the first time since everything broke, it didn’t feel like I was putting pieces back together. It felt like they were already fitting.

———————————————————————————————

I don’t really know when it started. I just… started sticking close to Coach.

Not in a weird, clingy way. Not on purpose. It wasn’t a cry for help or some dramatic emotional moment. It was quieter than that. Subtle. I’d walk into the gym and instead of joining the girls in the weight room, I’d drift into his office and sit in the spare chair. Not talking. Not doing anything. Just… there.

And he let me. That was the thing. He never once asked why.

He never asked what I needed. Never said, Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Never told me to go join the others or encouraged me to laugh more. He’d glance up from his laptop, see me walk in, nod once, and keep typing. Like it was normal. Like I belonged there.

Sometimes I’d watch film with him. Just sit off to the side while he muttered about shot selection and turnovers under his breath. Sometimes he’d slide me a notepad and tell me to track plays, and I’d do it without question.

One afternoon, I followed him to weights.

Didn’t even realize I was doing it until he looked behind him in the hallway and blinked.

“You know we’re not conditioning today, right?” he asked.

I nodded. “I know.”

He held the door open anyway.

There were days I didn’t say a word. Days I just sat on the bleachers while he ran drills with the girls. He didn’t force me to participate. Didn’t try to make me run reps. He let me sit there, hoodie on, water bottle in hand, eyes dull but present.

Once, Ice tried to tease me about it.

“Yo, is Coach adopting you or something?”

Coach glanced over and without missing a beat said, “You jealous?”

The team erupted. I smiled into my hoodie.

Paige started calling me “Geno’s shadow.” KK started calling me “coach’s emotional support player.” Azzi just shook her head, but she never questioned it. She knew. Everyone did.

I don’t know what it was about him. Maybe because he never flinched. Never coddled. Never tried to fix what he didn’t understand. He didn’t ask me to heal faster. He didn’t give motivational speeches. He just let me exist near him like being around someone who always had a game plan made the world a little less chaotic.

One day, I dozed off in the corner of his office—hood over my head, knees to my chest in that ugly green chair. He was on the phone, probably with compliance or someone from admin. But when I stirred a little in my sleep, I heard him pause and say, “Hold on.”

A second later, he draped a blanket over me. Didn’t say anything. Just picked up the call again and kept talking like it was nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing to me. It was everything.

@xxsnowxx213 @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog

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partyven0m · 2 days ago

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‘I Wanna Hold Your Hand So Tight, I’m Gonna Break My Wrist’

In which… after weeks of distancing themself from you, kris appears outside your window in the middle of the night looking guilty as ever.

notes!!: [NOT PROOFREAD IM RUNNING LATE] [kris is not player] dont let the banner fool u ts is REALLYYY sappy & cringe... might be ooc! idfk! oh and no warnings, its not violent at all, title is just a ptv lyric ;B ok bye

It was impossible to tell whether you were asleep or not.

It was one of those weird nights you’d been having more and more lately, where your body is completely motionless and resting but your mind is racing a hundred miles an hour.

Your room was dark, quiet. The world felt still and everything was calm, as if your mind was trusted to bare all if it's chaos for the night.

You thought about everything and nothing, some positive, some negative, and most about your classmate who lived down the street.

Classmate. Is that all you two were now? Just… classmates? Two people who attend the same school with nothing between them but desks and silence …Whatever, you wouldn’t let it bother you.

It’s not like you care. After all, people fall out all the time… But was that what this was?

‘1 sheep, 2 sheep, 3 sheep —’

Because it didn’t feel natural.

It didn’t feel quiet or normal. It felt sudden. Like one day they were there, and the next they weren’t. Like they were choosing everyone but you. Like someone flipped a switch in their head and decided you didn’t matter anymore.

‘1 sheep, 2 sheep —’

But you don’t care, obviously.

‘1 …’

And yet...

“Ugh.” You groaned as you opened your eyes for the first time in hours.

You lifted your head slightly to peer over at your nightstand clock, sighing as you read the time.

‘2:13’

Dropping your head back on your pillow, you couldn't help but stare at the ceiling while your mind continued to spiral.

That was until, you heard a knock on your window.

At first, you thought maybe it was your imagination. Just your brain playing tricks on you again, like it always did on nights like this. But then-

Knock knock.

Your heart jumped.

You didn’t move. You didn’t even breathe. For a second, all you could do was stare at the ceiling and pretend you didn’t hear it.

Maybe it was nothing. Just the wind. Or a tree. Or—

Knock knock knock.

Your chest tightened. Every sound felt louder now. The soft hum of your clock, your breathing, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

You sat up slowly, eyes locked on the window across the room. The curtains were drawn, thank god. But somehow, not being able to see what was out there made it even worse.

What if someone was watching you? What if they’d been standing there the whole time?

Knock...

That one was softer. Almost careful. But somehow, it scared you more.

You swallowed hard, your body moving on its own now. Legs swinging off the bed, blanket slipping off your shoulders. Your feet hit the cold floor. You hesitated, then took a shaky step forward.

You didn’t want to check. You really didn’t want to check.

But almost unconsciously, your hand reached out, hovering just inches from the curtain. You stood there for a second, heart hammering, breath caught in your throat.

Then, before you could chicken out, you yanked it open.

And there, standing just outside your window in the dim blue light,

was Kris.

They didn’t move. They just looked at you, red eyes calm but unreadable, face half-lit by the moonlight.

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything but stare.

It was them.

It was actually them.

And somehow, that scared you even more.

They stood there. Eyes locked on you through the glass.

You didn’t know what you were expecting, maybe some shadowy creep or your imagination messing with you, but not this. Not Kris.

Their expression didn’t give you much. But something about the way they looked at you, calm like this wasn’t weird at all, made your stomach twist.

They raised a hand in a small, awkward wave.

“Hey.. you.”

You didn’t respond. You just stared for a second, then blinked hard snapping out of it, rushing to unlatch the window. The cold air hit your face as you quickly pushed it open.

Kris stepped back just a little to give you room. You leaned halfway out, arms resting on the windowsill.

“…What are you doing here?”

They looked away, then back at you. Their voice soft.

“I don’t know.” they admitted. “I just… needed to see you.”

Your brows pulled together slightly. You didn’t know how to feel. Confused mostly, maybe a little weirded out. A little… hurt?

You weren’t even sure why their recent behavior bothered you so much. It’s not like you and Kris were best friends or anything. You never spent weekends at each other’s houses, never stayed up texting, never told each other secrets.

You just… existed near each other. Sat next to each other in class. Walked home together (when they could have very well just driven back with their mom). Talked, sometimes, not much, but enough to make it feel like you were one of the few people they cared about.

And maybe that was enough back then.

Because Kris didn’t really talk to anyone.

They kept to themselves. Quiet when they had nothing to say, never truly involved with anything, always in their own world. At least… they used to be.

But with you it felt different. They’d make eye contact. They’d walk beside you instead of behind. They’d listen when you spoke, and laugh at all your stupid jokes.

So when they started pulling away, not gradually, but suddenly, it felt like something broke. Like you'd made it all up. Like they were never really with you in the first place.

And now here they were at your window at 2 a.m. like none of that had ever happened.

You swallowed, suddenly too aware of how cold the night air was against your skin.

“…Are you okay?” you asked, quieter this time.

Kris didn’t answer right away. Their gaze drifted past you, toward your room.

Then finally,

“…Can I come in?”

. . .

The clock ticked softly, and the leaves rustled against the window.

You sat on your bed, legs tucked close to your chest, arms wrapped around them loosely. Kris sat on the floor by the window, knees pulled up, back resting against the wall. They hadn’t said a word since coming in. Barely even moved.

You kept glancing at them, waiting. Hoping. The longer the silence dragged, the more you worried.

Until finally, they spoke up.

“…I know I’ve been different.”

You didn’t say anything, deciding to let them talk.

“I don’t really know how to explain it” they said, still not looking at you. “But I’m… I’m sorry.”

Your fingers curled slightly against your blanket.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t care. Or like you did something wrong.”

A pause. Then,

“You didn’t.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Kris shifted, turning their head just a little. Not enough to meet your eyes, but enough to let you know that they wanted to.

“I just…” They hesitated. “I might keep messing up. I might do stupid things again. Things that make it seem like I don’t… like I’m not trying. But I am.”

That’s when they finally looked up.

“I don’t want to push you away.”

“Then why do you?”

The words came out smaller than you meant. Not accusingly, just… honest.

Kris didn’t answer right away. Of course they didn’t. You weren’t even sure they could.

You glanced up, just enough to catch the way they tensed up. The way their eyes dropped again, like even holding your gaze was too much.

“…I don’t know.”

And somehow, that made it worse. Or maybe it made it better. You couldn’t tell.

Kris shifted again, arms hugging their knees tighter.

“I wish I could say it’s not gonna happen again” they said softly. “But it might. And I don’t want to lie to you.”

You swallowed.

For a second, neither of you spoke. You could hear the wind outside. The faint sound of your heater turning on. The beating of your own heart in your ears.

“…Then why are you here?” You asked before you could think. The words came out more bitter and harsher than intended.

Kris was silent.

You almost thought they weren’t going to answer. But they did.

“…Because I wanted to be.”

You frowned. “Now?”

A small nod.

“Why now?”

Kris’s hands fidgeted in their lap. Their eyes dropped to the floor for what felt like the hundredth time, and for a long second, you thought that was all you were going to get.

“…Because I finally could.”

You stared at them, confused. “What?”

They shook their head. “I’m sorry. I can’t explain it.”

Your brows furrowed. “But why—”

“I can’t tell you.” They interrupted, not loudly, but sharp enough to make you drop it. “I want to. But I can’t.”

You were quiet.

They looked away, hands tightening into fists.

“I just needed… I needed to see you. As me. Just for a little while.”

Kris didn’t say anything after that.

And really… what else could they say?

You let out a deep sigh, frustrated but not wanting to push them further away.

The air was quiet again, but it wasn’t sharp or heavy this time. It was light, like they had ran out of words to say, and you had ran out of energy to care.

You shifted a little on the bed, before slowly sliding off the edge, making your way towards the floor beside them.

Neither of you looked at the other. You just sat there, shoulder to shoulder, knees pulled to your chest.

After a moment, Kris leaned into you, just a little. Then, quietly, their head rested against your shoulder.

The two of you stayed like that for a while. Listening to the quiet.

But this time it was you who broke it,

“Not gonna lie, I thought you were like a demon or something.”

There was a pause.

And then Kris let out a small, quiet laugh.

A smile tugged at the corners of their mouth.

. . .

a/n2!! first fic on here! sry if it was rlly fast paced and doodoo, its been MONTHS since ive written anything! I lowk have another account where I used to post regularly but then I kept getting pressured to finish a series and eventually quit so now I’m posting here bc it’d be rlly awkward if my first post back is a randomass dr fic LMAO ok that’s all love u bye

#KRIS CHECK THE LEFT HALLWAY #deltarooone #deltarune #kris deltarune #deltarune x reader #kris dreemurr x reader #kris x reader #x reader #kris dreemurr

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halfway-happyyy · 2 days ago

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ahem - in this essay, I will be explaining why I think pope cody is the perfect person to cockwarm with.

18+ below the ✂️ 'cause we're gettin' spicy with it.

it's late into the evening when you finally get home, the whole of your condo is cloaked in inky darkness. pope's here somewhere - his truck in the driveway made that clear, and though hunger gnaws at your stomach, an entirely other sensation overrides it. a desire for him runs deep in your veins and causes goosebumps to bloom in waves on your skin.

"pope?"

the only sounds that greet you back are the waves on the breeze from your open windows.

you strain in the white noise until you hear the sound of the shower stop, and you decide to wait a couple of minutes before going to find him.

when you falter in the doorway to your room, he's sitting in the plush chair beside the window, clad only in a pair of black boxer briefs.

"you made it home in one piece," you try to keep the statement casual, but relief still finds its way in.

a gruff sound rumbles in the hollow of his throat before he meets your gaze.

"didn't think I would?"

you shrug, and push yourself from the doorway to where he's seated.

"it's always hard to tell with you cody boys."

you cross your arms and cock your head to the side, admiring the way the light from the candles he'd lit catches the stray water droplets that decorate the smooth planes of his chest. "you miss me, pope?"

he levels his gaze with yours, and a muscle flexes in his jaw before he nods his head. "only every damn day."

you eye the erection swelling in the crotch of his briefs, and a lump blooms in the hollow of your throat at the notion that he wants you as much as you want him.

"i need you, pope."

he nods and lifts his hips to shimmy off the useless material.

"wanna try something new," you murmur.

your ministrations are frenzied when you strip for him, which is also new territory because he usually prefers it when you take your time. he likes to watch every article of your clothing fall from your body and pool around your feet. he likes watching the rise and fall of your chest and how your breath changes depending upon how turned on you are... really, he just likes watching you.

"are you ready? do you trust me?"

and all he can do is nod dumbly because jesus - if he can't trust you, who the hell can he trust?

you trace a fingertip along the sharp line of his jaw. "need to hear you say it, pope."

he swallows hard before eliciting a choked, "I trust you..."

you place two hands against the curve of his shoulders and slowly sink down onto him.

his sheer size never ceases to steal your breath away. there's just something about being split apart by him that cause tears of pleasure to prick behind your eyes, and the urge to grind yourself against him is all-consuming.

"christ, you feel so fucking good," he groans against the shell of your ear before asking, "what's so new about this, hm?"

when you're able to speak again, you tell him: "we're going to stay like this, pope," you press a kiss the swell in his throat. "you've been gone almost a week, you've come back to me covered in cuts and bruises, and I just need this."

and that's really all he needs to know because he is nothing, if not a mere supplicant for you; a beggar at the hem of your silken robes.

ignoring the overwhelming desire to move against him, you trace a fingertip over the delicate creases next to his hazel eyes and smile.

"you're a beautiful boy, pope."

you watch the apple bob in his throat - a blush floods his cheeks at your words, and he takes cover from your attention at the base of your neck.

his warm, sure hands as they rub circles into the soft skin of your back help to lull you into a shallow sleep, but when you stir a little while later, he's gently coaxing you off of him.

"I don't want it to be over yet."

it's pathetic, but it's the truth. you've simply missed him too much.

"i know," he murmurs, before leading you to the bed. he doesn't say anything more as he guides you onto your side, and pushes back into you, burying himself to the hilt.

a soft hiss pushes past your lips at the ache of being filled to the brim by him again. you could quite happily live in the satisfying fullness of it all for the rest of your days.

his lips find the nape of your neck, where they leave behind trails of scorching kisses in their wake.

"we'll stay like this as long as you want, hm?" and he means it; he's entirely relentless in his dedication to something. his toned arm curls around you instinctively; protectively. "just take whatever you need."

i'm happy to give it all to you.

#happy hump day yall #pope cody #pope cody x reader #pope cody smut #animal kingdom #pope cody x you #andrew pope cody #shawn hatosy

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ikeu05 · 1 day ago

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𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 。 i love you because when i say i don't wanna talk you always call me

synopsis when yn starts dating her sweet, perfect boyfriend sunghoon, she doesn’t expect to fall for his annoyingly charming best friend, jay. between hallway run-ins, forbidden feelings, and a very confusing party confession, what started as bickering turns into everything they were both afraid to want. It’s messy, it’s complicated—but it might just be real.

pairing jay x fem!reader x sunghoon

genre love triangle (kinda), angst!!!, fluff here and there

word count 14.8k (who am i :3)

warnings implications of cheating (i am very against this, i do NOT induce cheating), small smut scene [unprotected sex (please don't do!!!!), piv], crying, reader is very confused about everything, happy ending <3

nessie note this was so random, sprung outta nowhere but it had been in the drafts for quite sometime now and i figure.... why not :p also i would like to apologise in advance about the smut scene. very evidently, i have no experience writing them so sorry if it's cringe or wtv.. hope y'all like the rest of it hehehe. also ness is her bff and flatmate in this just like how i am ur bff wink wink

sunghoon was yn’s complex neighbour—the kind you didn’t notice until you did, and then couldn’t stop noticing. he lived across the hall from her and ness, in an apartment shared with three other boys, jay, heeseung and jungwon. ness always had a way of describing people that stuck, and she labelled sunghoon as “a little airheaded, unconventionally smart, and just a hot loser.” and honestly, she wasn’t wrong. he was the type to walk into a room looking for his phone while it was already in his hand, but then turn around and say something so surprisingly profound that it made you do a double take. his mind worked in weird ways—ways that made no sense until they did.

yn never really thought much of him at first. he was just the boy who wore mismatched socks, left his laundry out for too long, and somehow managed to ace his physics exams despite never showing up to class. but something changed. maybe it was the way they started seeing each other more and more, casually at first—shared elevator rides, overlapping grocery runs, late-night knock-knock visits with leftover fries or missing chargers.

and then there were the hangouts.

every time the six of them—yn, ness, sunghoon, jay, heeseung and jungwon—ended up in the same room, she found herself gravitating toward him. somehow, by the end of the night, she and sunghoon would be in their own little bubble. laughing at a dumb meme only they found funny. debating whether cereal counted as soup. sharing glances across the table when someone said something ridiculous. it wasn’t intentional—it just kept happening.

sometimes he’d say things like, “i think time’s fake,” with a completely straight face, and then try to prove it with a whiteboard and a banana. sometimes he’d sit beside her, head leaning against the back of the couch, talking about parallel universes while trying not to fall asleep mid-sentence. and she’d just look at him, equal parts amused and curious, wondering how someone so ridiculous could be so weirdly endearing.

one evening, they were all piled into the guy’s living room for a movie night. jungwon had fallen asleep twenty minutes in, ness was loudly narrating her opinions from the kitchen, and jay kept skipping scenes he found boring. somewhere in the middle of all the chaos, sunghoon leaned over to whisper a dumb joke into yn’s ear. she laughed, trying to keep quiet, and he smiled like he’d been waiting for that reaction all day. she didn’t notice how close they were sitting until their shoulders brushed and he didn’t move away.

later that night, when she got back to her own apartment, she realized her cheeks still hurt from smiling too much. and that was when it hit her—maybe she’d started thinking about him a lot more than she thought.

maybe sunghoon wasn’t just the hot loser across the hall anymore.

maybe he was something else. something that made her heartbeat do stupid things.

it wasn’t long before they started dating. after knowing each other for about seven months—seven whole months of dumb jokes, inside memes, late-night texts, shared playlists, and those almost-but-not-quite lingering touches—something finally gave in. and of course, sunghoon had to ask her out in a way only he could. something ridiculous. something oddly sweet. something that left her speechless.

it all began at a party hosted by their college mutual friend jake—the hotshot. the party guy. the kind of boy who wore sunglasses indoors and had a playlist for every type of chaotic situation. it was a massive, noisy, glow-stick-ridden mess in the best way, and yn had agreed to go with the whole group. it sounded fun. a good distraction. she needed that.

because before the party, she’d admitted to ness—after one too many nights spent refreshing sunghoon’s chat—that she needed to get her mind off him. “he doesn’t see me like that,” she had mumbled into a throw pillow. “he’s probably just friendly with everyone. maybe i imagined the whole ‘thing’.”

ness, bless her soul, took it as a mission. “say less,” she’d grinned, dragging yn to her closet. “tonight, you’re getting over hot loser boy. we’re drinking. we’re flirting. we are not crying over weirdly poetic physics majors.”

and so, the night began—yn dressed a little braver than usual, eyes lined in confidence she didn’t feel yet, and a fake smile plastered on as she sipped on her first shot. ness kept her busy—introducing her to new people, pushing her into silly games, dragging her to dance floors. and it worked, for a while. she wasn’t looking at the door every few minutes. she wasn’t hoping he’d come talk to her. she wasn’t thinking about—

except she was. and he did come.

sunghoon showed up late, like always, with jungwon trailing behind and jay already a little drunk on arrival. and when his eyes found her in the crowd, they softened instantly. he smiled, like she was a favourite song he hadn’t heard in a while. but the moment he stepped forward, ness blocked his path with a look. a subtle shake of the head.

he got the hint. he kept his distance.

she hated it.

even through the chaos of the party, their eyes met sometimes. quiet moments in a loud room. he looked like he wanted to talk to her—desperately—but he didn’t. maybe he thought she didn’t want to. maybe he was trying to give her space. either way, she felt everything and nothing all at once.

later, during a game of spin the bottle, they sat in a circle, tipsy and flushed. the bottle spun, clinked against a few glasses, and landed on sunghoon… and some random girl. everyone whooped. the girl leaned forward with a smirk.

but sunghoon shook his head, laughing softly. “i’ll pass.”

“no way! c’mon!” someone whined.

he just shrugged, eyes flicking once—quickly—towards yn. “not really feeling it.”

she bit her lip, barely hiding her smile. her chest felt too tight, too light.

then it was her turn. she spun, not really thinking. it landed on jake.

“wooooo!” people shouted. “get it!”

jake raised an eyebrow, grinning. “hey, no pressure, but i am an excellent kisser.”

yn laughed, nerves buzzing through her. she always thought jake was attractive in a loud, attention-demanding kind of way—but he wasn’t really her type. still… maybe this would help. maybe kissing someone else would finally rip sunghoon from her thoughts.

she stood up, slowly moving toward jake.

and then—

“hey,” a voice said, soft, right beside her. “do you… really wanna kiss jake?”

sunghoon.

he stood between them, eyes gentle but serious, his voice low enough that only she could hear it.

she blinked at him, heart in her throat. the alcohol and the heat and the sheer stupidity of it all made her bolder than usual. “no,” she said, barely above a whisper. “i wanna kiss you.”

so she did.

right there, in front of everyone. she kissed him. his hands found her waist like they’d been waiting for this moment forever, and everything around them blurred. but the second it ended, panic bloomed.

“oh my god,” she gasped, eyes wide, suddenly all too aware. “i—” and then she bolted.

out of the party. down the street. all the way back to their apartment complex, barefoot heels in hand.

ness chased her down in a cab, shouting out the window, “you’re so fast for a drunk person, i swear to god!”

yn avoided him after that. for days.

she couldn’t handle the conversation. what if he regretted it? what if it was just a kiss to him? what if she ruined everything? every time she heard his voice across the hall, she ducked into her room. when the boys came over to borrow sugar or wifi or ask about missing laundry, she pretended to be asleep. it was childish. but she was terrified.

until one afternoon, she finally found the courage. she walked across the hall and knocked.

the door swung open.

sunghoon stood there, in nothing but an apron.

flour streaked his collarbones, smudged across his cheekbone and dusted in his hair. he looked startled for a second, then grinned sheepishly.

“hey,” he said. “i was just, um… baking.”

she stared. “are you… naked under that?”

“i mean… technically, yes. but it’s a long apron.”

“sunghoon—”

“i was making donuts,” he added quickly. “to ask you out properly. because you said you like donuts. and i wanted to make it… you know. cute.”

something in her chest finally eased. she let out a breathy laugh, stepping inside. “you don’t hate me?”

“what? no!” he blinked. “i thought you were avoiding me because you regretted it.”

she covered her face, groaning. “oh my god. we’re idiots.”

“well, yeah,” he said, stepping closer. “but you kissed me. and then you ran away. which was, like… very cinderella of you.”

“i panicked,” she mumbled. “i didn’t think you actually—”

he didn’t let her finish. he just pulled her in by the waist, arms wrapping around her, flour and all. “so,” he murmured, looking down at her. “wanna date a dumbass who bakes naked and wears a ‘fuck the cook’ apron?”

she laughed, cheeks burning. “i mean… if that dumbass is you…”

he kissed her.

flour smeared across her cheek, the smell of vanilla and sugar hanging between them, the forgotten donuts cooling on the kitchen counter. somewhere between the kiss and the laughter, his apron slipped slightly off his shoulder.

let’s just say… the donuts weren’t the only thing getting devoured that evening.

it had been three months since the kiss, the donut proposal, and the flour-dusted beginning of whatever she and sunghoon had become—and things were good. like, genuinely good. easy in the way you hope relationships will be when they start. sunghoon was still his chaotic, apron-wearing self, the kind of boyfriend who brought her weird snacks from the convenience store just because they “reminded him of her” (???), and who left her notes like “don’t forget to eat or i will cry and you’ll be responsible for emotional damage” stuck to her laptop.

they weren’t perfect—he forgot their coffee dates, she got impatient with his dreamy tangents—but they worked.

until jay happened.

jay was sunghoon’s annoying best friend. nothing more, nothing less. at least that’s how yn had always seen him—loud, cocky, with a grin that could either charm or irritate depending on the day. she had tolerated him purely because of sunghoon, her boyfriend of four months now. jay was always around—he lived across the hall with sunghoon, part of that never-ending trio of chaotic energy, plus jungwon.

she’d met jay the same day she met sunghoon, almost a year ago now. he had always been there, lurking in the background of her life like a sarcastic shadow. bickering with her from day one, making snarky remarks across the hall, stealing her charger when she wasn’t looking. it was like his full-time job was to get under her skin and she had never let him win. if he rolled his eyes at her, she rolled hers harder. if he made a joke, she made a better one. their entire relationship was based on mutual annoyance and a shared love for one-upping each other.

especially in stats class.

god, stats class.

they sat on opposite ends of the second row, both refusing to give up their assigned unofficial seats. every test, every assignment, every stupid little pop quiz was a personal challenge. “who got the highest this time?” was not a casual question—it was war.

“enjoy that 92 while it lasts,” she smirked one day, tossing her test on his desk.

jay raised an eyebrow. “enjoy being second place, yn. it suits you.”

“your ego doesn’t.”

“yeah, but my gpa does.”

she hated how smug he looked when he said that.

but she hated even more how cute he looked when he got flustered.

because jay—annoying, sharp-tongued, infuriating jay—had these moments. tiny, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moments where the sarcasm dropped. when he picked up her pen without a word. when he brought her coffee once before class because “you looked like death and i figured your boyfriend’s probably too busy thinking about time travel to remember caffeine.” when she accidentally let slip she was stressed about her internship interview and he—without looking at her—slid a printed prep sheet across the desk with a grumbled “don’t screw it up. you’re my only real competition.”

moments like that threw her off. always had. because he didn’t stay sweet. he’d say something nice and then immediately ruin it by saying something like “i miss when you were failing stats. you were quieter back then.”

and she’d pretend to hate him all over again.

but lately… lately it was like he was everywhere.

she saw him more than she used to. ran into him at the cafeteria when she was sure he had a different break slot. bumped into him at the library when she swore she was alone. he was behind her in lines, next to her in labs, texting her things like “your boyfriend microwaved a spoon again. come collect your man.”

and when they bickered now, it felt… different. quicker. sharper. almost funnier. like there was a rhythm to it, a beat she couldn’t stop syncing to.

“you’re really annoying today,” she told him one afternoon, pushing past him in the hallway.

“thanks,” he replied smoothly. “it’s a skill i’ve refined over years. just for you.”

she paused, staring at him. “do you practice these lines or do they just fall out of your mouth like stupidity?”

jay smirked. “you tell me, yn. you’re the one who keeps listening.”

and the worst part?

she was listening. she always did.

she was starting to see him more. not just as the annoying boy who lived with her boyfriend, but—unfortunately—as someone she noticed in ways she didn’t want to admit. someone whose presence filled more space than it should. someone who wasn’t sunghoon, but who still made her heart skip, even if it was only out of irritation. (or so she told herself.)

it was like the universe kept shoving him into her orbit, over and over again, like it was trying to tell her something. and maybe she was too afraid to admit what that something could be.

because everything was good with sunghoon. wasn’t it?

so then why the hell was jay everywhere all of a sudden?

and why did it feel like she was starting to like it?

it was well past midnight when yn finally gave in to the itch crawling under her skin. her room felt suffocating, her thoughts louder than her playlist, and even sunghoon’s goodnight text hadn’t calmed her nerves. the silence had become too much. she needed air, and not the kind that came from an open window.

“let’s go on a drive,” she mumbled, sitting up suddenly. ness, who was half-asleep on the floor next to her with her phone pressed to her cheek, blinked up in confusion.

“now?”

“yes. like, now now. i need to get out of here. i’m going crazy.”

ness yawned and stretched, already reaching for her hoodie. “fine. but you’re buying me fries or i’m turning this car around.”

the hallway outside their flat was dim, the yellow ceiling light flickering like something out of a horror movie. yn tiptoed ahead, hoodie pulled over her head, keys in hand. just as they rounded the corner to the main door, yn halted in her tracks so suddenly that ness almost bumped into her.

“shit. jay.”

“what?” ness whispered back, blinking.

yn pushed her forward without a word, ducking behind the half-open door of the utility room next to the stairs. ness was too confused to protest, stumbling out into full view like a deer caught in headlights.

and there he was—jay. dressed in grey sweatpants and a navy oversized t-shirt, hair still damp like he’d just taken a shower, casually walking down the hallway with a garbage bag in one hand. he paused when he saw her.

“where you headed?” he asked, voice low but curious, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

ness smiled awkwardly, trying to keep things casual. “just… stepping out. needed a change of air.”

jay raised an eyebrow. “at 12:30 a.m.?”

“i like the stars,” she shrugged, internally praying he wouldn’t look too closely. “they hit better at night.”

he glanced past her, his eyes narrowing slightly like something didn’t sit right. “you alone?”

“yeah. solo vibes,” she nodded quickly.

and then—of course—yn’s phone rang. for exactly one millisecond. the notification barely echoed before she silenced it, but it was too late.

jay’s head tilted slowly. that ringtone. he knew it. he’d changed it himself once when she left her phone unattended at a group movie night last semester—“spaghetti western gun draw”—as a joke. she never changed it back.

“solo vibes, huh?” he asked again, but now he was smirking. “tell her next time to at least mute her phone before hiding.”

ness let out a sigh of defeat, facepalming. “god, you’re so annoying.”

he stepped past her slightly, not peeking around the corner but clearly amused. “how’d her stats paper go, by the way?” he asked casually. “tell her i said good job. that presentation she did last week was lowkey impressive.”

ness narrowed her eyes. “why do you even know that?”

jay shrugged. “i pay attention sometimes.”

“go throw your trash and mind your business.”

jay gave a little mock salute, backing away with a grin. “night, ness. night, yn.” he didn’t even need to look. he just knew.

once he was out of earshot, yn stepped out, groaning as she smacked her forehead lightly. “he knew.”

ness gave her a deadpan look. “yeah, no shit. this is why i said let me drive alone and you can meet me downstairs.”

“but you’re a horrible liar.”

“and you’re a horrible hider.”

they walked toward the elevator, yn pulling her hood tighter. her heart was still racing—not because of the close call, but because of the way jay had said good job. because he noticed. and remembered. and for some reason, that meant too much.

the city was quieter than usual. the streets stretched out in long, empty lines, dotted with the occasional blinking yellow signal and the hum of streetlamps. the air smelled like wet concrete and jasmine from someone’s nearby garden. yn drove with one hand on the wheel, the other fiddling with the car’s stereo until it landed on a mellow playlist—soft indie, just loud enough to fill the silence.

ness had her feet up on the dashboard, sipping from the iced coffee they picked up from the all-night drive-thru. they’d barely been on the road ten minutes when she finally said it.

“i’m just gonna say it.”

yn glanced sideways. “say what?”

“i think jay likes you.”

the words hit like a stone skipping across a calm lake, each ripple sharper than the last.

she scoffed, too fast. “what? no. no, he doesn’t.”

ness didn’t even blink. “he so does.”

“don’t be ridiculous.”

“you’re telling me it was a coincidence that he recognized your ringtone in a millisecond, complimented your stats presentation unprompted, and looked directly at the wall you were hiding behind?”

yn exhaled through her nose, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “he’s just being… jay.”

“exactly,” ness said smugly. “jay, who makes fun of everyone else equally, but never forgets your coffee order. jay, who teases you, but never crosses a line. jay, who somehow remembers your exam schedule but doesn’t know what day it is half the time.”

yn stayed silent, her eyes fixed on the road.

ness leaned closer, watching her carefully now. “you haven’t denied it convincingly even once, by the way.”

“i have.”

“nope. you’re all blushy and twitchy. you’re practically glowing like a ‘crush detected’ siren.”

“i don’t like him.”

“right.”

“i don’t,” she repeated, but her voice cracked halfway, which only made ness laugh.

and in that moment—between the streetlights flashing across her face and the quiet hum of the song playing—ness saw it. the way yn’s expression faltered. how her mouth opened slightly, like she was about to say something and then thought better of it. the way her eyes clouded, like she was trying too hard to convince herself.

“oh my god,” ness whispered. “you like him too.”

yn didn’t answer. she just bit the inside of her cheek and kept driving.

ness leaned back in her seat, letting out a dramatic sigh. “this is insane. you’re dating sunghoon.”

“i know,” yn said quietly, her fingers tightening again on the steering wheel. “i know.”

and the car went quiet again, only the music filling the air between them—soft, aching, and way too honest.

they ended up at a tucked-away little café on the far side of town, one of those late-night gems with fairy lights draped across the windows and mismatched furniture that somehow made everything feel more intimate. the barista barely batted an eye at the two girls walking in at nearly 2 a.m.—this place seemed to cater specifically to the restless and heart-heavy.

they sat near the window, nursing hot mochas and splitting a flaky almond croissant and a warm cinnamon roll between them. the silence was heavier now, not uncomfortable, but loaded. ness was staring at her, chewing slowly.

“what,” yn said, not looking up from her pastry.

“just thinking.”

“stop thinking.”

“i can’t.”

yn gave her a look, but ness just pushed her plate away and leaned on her elbows.

“okay, i’m doing this. pros and cons.”

“no.”

“too bad. we’re doing it.” she held up a finger. “pro—jay makes you smile when you don’t even want to.”

“can we not—”

“con—you’re dating sunghoon. obviously. big, fat con.”

yn groaned, resting her forehead on the table.

“pro,” ness continued, “jay actually listens to you. remembers things. supports your tiny wins like they’re world records. he’s annoying, but he’s there. he’s present.”

yn sat back up slowly, face drawn.

“con,” ness said, quieter now, “sunghoon’s your boyfriend. he treats you well. he’s sweet. stable. you’d hurt him.”

yn didn’t say anything.

“pro,” ness added, “jay… i don’t know, he challenges you. he keeps you on your toes. you light up when you talk back to him. like you enjoy the chaos.”

“that’s not a pro,” yn muttered, staring into her cup. “that’s a problem.”

ness chuckled, but it faded quickly when she saw the look on her friend’s face—eyebrows drawn, lips pressed tight, fingers tapping nervously against the ceramic cup.

“yn.”

“i don’t want this,” yn whispered, almost more to herself than ness. “i don’t want to feel anything. i want to be happy with sunghoon. i am happy. i think.”

ness didn’t press, just nodded slowly.

“but when jay looks at me…” yn’s voice broke a little. “it feels like my chest is going to split open.”

the café was quiet except for the soft jazz playing through the overhead speakers and the occasional clink of dishes being washed behind the counter. outside, the street was still and empty, the world asleep while yn’s own thoughts screamed too loud to ignore.

ness reached over, her hand covering hers gently. “you don’t have to figure it all out tonight. but you do need to stop lying to yourself.”

yn nodded, swallowing hard, unsure whether the ache in her throat was from guilt, confusion, or something far more dangerous—hope.

somewhere between the fourth existential thought and the last sip of her mocha, yn sat back in her chair and declared, “i need to get drunk.”

ness blinked. “here? now?”

“right now,” she nodded, deadly serious. “i’m done thinking. no more boys, no more feelings, no more jay, no more ‘who-do-i-even-like’—i just want to not feel anything for a few hours.”

and that’s how they ended up at the shady little 7/11 a block down, giggling through the fluorescent aisles, grabbing way more bottles of soju than necessary—green bottles clinking in a tote bag, some spicy chips thrown in for chaos. by 2:45 am, they were sitting at a quiet crossroad at the edge of town, where traffic lights blinked uselessly over an empty street and the wind carried the faint sound of a dog barking in the distance. they sat on the curb like a pair of drunk philosophers, legs sprawled out, faces flushed from laughter and alcohol.

“this is freedom,” yn mumbled, holding a half-empty bottle above her head. “this is girlhood.”

ness laughed so hard she almost dropped her own bottle. “girlhood is being heartbroken over a boy you don’t even want to like.”

“girlhood is betrayal in a crop top.”

“girlhood is lying to your sweet, perfect boyfriend while lowkey obsessing over his best friend!”

they burst into cackles, so loud it echoed down the street. yn wiped tears from her eyes, lying back on the warm asphalt, staring at the starless night.

meanwhile, back in their apartment complex, jay was pacing around his room, thumb hovering over his phone. he had texted ness over an hour ago:

jay: u guys back?

no reply. nothing since they left. which was weird, because ness never ignored him. but he reasoned she’d probably just fallen asleep. maybe yn was venting and they were up late talking. or maybe she was crying, he suddenly thought, anxiety tugging at the edge of his chest.

he shook it off. it wasn’t his place. sunghoon was probably with her—wait, no. sunghoon had gone to bed early, he remembered. so… where the hell were they?

jay sat back on his bed, brows furrowed, phone still glowing in his hand.

across town, yn was balancing her bottle on her chest, staring at the red blinking streetlight.

“do you think the light’s judging us?” she asked seriously.

ness nodded. “definitely. red for stop being dumb bitches.”

“too late.”

they clinked bottles weakly in agreement, two tiny specks of chaos in the middle of a sleeping city, unaware of the ripple their absence was already starting to cause.

the sky was bleeding into soft shades of blue and lavender, the night slowly surrendering to dawn. the crossroad was still quiet, the only sound now the distant chirping of birds waking up and the occasional hum of a delivery bike speeding through empty lanes.

ness was curled up beside a lamppost, hoodie pulled over her head, a half-finished chip packet cradled to her chest like a comfort blanket. yn sat cross-legged on the curb, eyes burning from lack of sleep, head spinning not just from the alcohol but from the weight of the morning hitting her too fast.

“we can’t drive back,” she said blankly, her voice hoarse.

“nope,” ness croaked. “we’ll die. we’ll literally die.”

they both sat in silence, dazed and miserable.

“options?” ness asked after a beat.

yn pulled out her phone. “sunghoon?” she mumbled, but even saying his name made her wince. “i can’t. he thinks i’m at home. in bed. safe.”

“heeseung?”

“do you want to die slower?”

ness snorted. “jungwon would bring us home but would also give us a thirty-slide presentation on our stupidity.”

yn groaned.

they stared at each other. both came to the same conclusion. “jay.”

ness sighed. “we’re horrible people.”

“yup.”

ness dialed slowly, clearing her throat as it rang. the line picked up after the third ring.

“where are you?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

“jogging. near new flyover. why?” jay’s voice was low, but alert.

“cool. cool cool. so… um. can you jog a little bit further? like, to the big crossroad near that one old bakery place? it’s urgent.”

jay paused. “ness, what the hell? are you okay?”

“yeah—well. no. but not, like, hospital-level bad. just… come. please.”

“is yn with you?”

she hesitated for a beat. “yeah.”

there was a beat of silence.

“i’m coming.”

✭

fifteen minutes later, jay came jogging up the slope, his black tank top clinging to his torso, chest rising and falling as sweat glistened over his skin in the gold of sunrise. his hair was slightly tousled, and his brow furrowed in confusion as he spotted them slumped together on the sidewalk like abandoned chaos goblins.

the moment yn saw him, she physically gulped. god. his shoulders looked criminally illegal in the morning light. she shook her head sharply, almost scolding herself. you have a boyfriend. a sweet, gentle boyfriend who buys you muffins.

jay stopped a few feet away, his hands resting on his hips as he looked at her first, worry etched all over his face.

“what the hell happened?”

yn opened her mouth, but her brain had apparently clocked out for the day. ness came to the rescue.

“we got drunk.”

jay blinked. “at 3 a.m.?”

“yeah.”

“here?”

“yeah.”

he looked at them both again—chapped lips, sleepy eyes, and leftover soju bottles tucked shamefully behind them—and sighed deeply.

“jesus christ.”

“no judgment,” ness warned, holding up a finger.

jay ran a hand through his hair, looking at yn again. “are you okay?” he asked, voice softer this time.

yn blinked up at him, heart thudding a little too loudly. “yeah. just… don’t ask anything right now.”

he nodded slowly. “okay.”

and without another word, he turned, ness leading them toward car parked two blocks away. yn stood up, still dizzy, her shoulder brushing his for half a second—and that single moment lit a fuse somewhere deep inside her chest.

she had never been more aware of her guilt. or rather, more terrified of what that awareness meant.

✭

the silence in the car was heavy, almost sacred, save for the low hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of gravel under jay’s tires as he drove. yn had curled up in the passenger seat, arms wrapped around her legs, forehead resting against the window. her breath fogged up the glass in small bursts, and her fingers twitched now and then like she was still trying to hold onto something—maybe dignity, maybe clarity.

ness had barely buckled her seatbelt before passing out in the back, the exhaustion finally winning over adrenaline and alcohol. jay didn’t say anything at first, his grip on the steering wheel tight, eyes flicking between the road and the reflection of yn’s profile in the side mirror. she was quiet. still.

he hated that he cared this much.

he opened his mouth to say something—anything. a joke to ease the tension. a question he wasn’t supposed to ask. but then—

her phone buzzed.

the ringtone sliced through the quiet like a blade.

jay glanced at her instinctively.

she checked the caller id.

“sunghoon,” she muttered under her breath, more to herself than anyone. she hesitated for half a second, then hit accept and brought it to her ear.

“hello?” she said, voice soft.

jay’s hands clenched unconsciously on the wheel.

sunghoon’s voice filtered in through the speaker, muffled but warm and sleepy and honest in a way that only someone in love could sound. “hi baby,” he mumbled, still half-asleep. “i just woke up and wanted to hear your voice.”

yn closed her eyes, the words hitting like a punch to her chest.

jay’s heart sank instantly. everything he was going to say, everything he wanted to ask, evaporated. the reminder was brutal. real. she had someone. someone who called her “baby” without hesitation. someone she answered for. someone who woke up and thought of her first thing in the morning.

yn forced herself to smile, voice cracking slightly as she responded, “hey… morning.”

“i had a weird dream about you,” sunghoon laughed softly. “where are you? did you sleep okay?”

she flinched but didn’t let it show. “yeah, just… went for an early drive with ness. couldn’t sleep.”

jay stared straight ahead, jaw tense, blinking hard against the rush of feelings he didn’t have the right to feel.

sunghoon continued rambling through the speaker, soft laughter and gentle affection spilling into the quiet car like it belonged there—and maybe it did. just not in the way jay wished it didn’t.

“i miss you,” sunghoon said, so sincere it hurt. “you’ll be back soon, right?”

yn’s throat was dry. “yeah,” she whispered, her eyes flicking toward jay just once.

he didn’t look at her. he didn’t have to.

she knew he’d heard every word.

and just like that, the atmosphere shifted.

he turned up the ac slightly, more for something to do than any real reason. yn hung up a minute later, tucking her phone away like it had burned her fingers. no one said anything for the rest of the ride. but everything had already been said.

silently.

painfully.

loud and clear.

✭

the morning sun had fully risen by the time they pulled into the apartment complex parking. the streets had come back to life—delivery vans rushing past, birds louder now, the sky a pale orange hue with streaks of pink dying out. but the three of them walked up the stairs like they were in a parallel world, still stuck in the silence of that drive.

ness rubbed her temples and reached into her pocket for the keys, grumbling something incoherent as she fumbled with the lock. yn stood beside her, arms crossed, eyes still puffy and jaw clenched tight. jay lingered behind them, just far enough to be out of their immediate space but close enough that his presence still pressed on her skin.

she hadn’t dared look at him since they parked.

the hallway was too quiet.

and then—

a click. a creak. the door across theirs opened.

“yn?” came a groggy voice—sunghoon.

she froze.

jay looked up at the sound too, gaze sharp despite the tired droop in his eyes.

sunghoon stepped out in his oversized hoodie and basketball shorts, hair messy, eyes still adjusting to the morning light. but the second he saw her—his expression shifted entirely.

“hey,” he beamed, stepping forward like it was the most natural thing in the world. his hand reached out, curling gently around her wrist, tugging her closer. “i missed you,” he said, voice still heavy from sleep.

before she could react—before her brain could catch up—he leaned in and kissed her softly.

jay stopped breathing. he didn’t make a sound. didn’t shift. didn’t blink. he just stood there.

watching.

just for a second. and that second burned. then he turned. without a word, without so much as a glance, he walked past them, heading into the boys’ apartment and shutting the door behind him with a quiet click.

yn didn’t even respond to the kiss properly. her lips barely moved. she was too aware—of jay’s silence, of the guilt spreading in her chest like spilled ink, of the way her skin still remembered the car ride home and how suffocating it had felt.

sunghoon leaned back, smiling sleepily at her. “didn’t think i’d get to see you this early. what were you guys doing anyway?”

yn blinked. “just… late night drive. couldn’t sleep.”

he hummed, clearly buying it. “i’m gonna go make coffee. come over if you want.”

and then he yawned, brushed a knuckle against her cheek sweetly and walked back into his flat.

yn stood there, frozen. ness finally got the door open, swinging it wide.

“come on,” she said softly, not asking anything.

but yn didn’t move. her eyes flicked to the door jay had disappeared behind, a dull ache blooming in her chest.

she knew. from now on, things were going to feel different. and it would be her fault.

things were only slightly different at first—just enough to notice if you were paying attention. and yn was always paying attention now.

the banter with jay didn’t stop. it still existed in the same petty, teasing rhythm it always had. she’d roll her eyes at him in the hallway. he’d scoff at her taste in instant noodles. they still fought over the last slice of pizza in group hangouts, still tossed playful insults across the room like they were built to clash.

but something had shifted in the space between those moments.

jay wasn’t lingering as much anymore. his jokes came a beat slower. the heat behind his teasing had dulled—not gone, just guarded. he didn’t sit beside her at movie nights anymore. he didn’t glance at her when someone said her name. he barely looked her in the eyes unless he had to. and when he did, it was like a flicker. here, then gone. just enough to make her heart drop.

meanwhile, sunghoon was falling harder. you could see it. the way he looked at her like she was made of something fragile and precious. how he’d kiss the top of her head when she wasn’t paying attention, hold her hand tighter when they crossed the street. he wrote little notes and hid them in her notebooks, remembered how she liked her coffee, told her she was beautiful every chance he got.

and it made her sick with guilt.

because she liked it. she loved being loved like that. she liked sunghoon—really liked him. he was good. he was warm. he’d never hurt her.

so why, why did her eyes follow jay in a crowded room?

why did her chest tighten when he laughed with someone else?

why did her mind constantly circle back to that moment—her knees curled on the passenger seat, his voice tight with something unspoken, the sound of sunghoon’s “hi baby” echoing like a slap in the face?

yn found herself spiraling in quiet moments. brushing her teeth. waiting for the microwave. lying awake at 2 a.m. with her phone on her chest and the ceiling fan spinning lazily overhead.

how do you bring something like this up?

“hey, so, i’m maybe catching feelings for your best friend slash flatmate slash local chaos demon and i feel like the worst person alive. do you still love me now?”

what would sunghoon say?

what would jay say?

what if she was wrong? what if this was just a passing thing? a stupid, fleeting attraction she’d regret throwing everything away for?

but what if it wasn’t?

what if it was already too late?

she couldn’t tell sunghoon.

she couldn’t.

so she smiled through it. kissed him back. texted jay about dumb things, like leftover fries and lost hoodies, hoping he’d reply the way he used to. but it all felt like watching a slow fade. jay had pulled back. not completely, but enough to feel the distance. like he knew. like he was protecting himself before it all blew up.

and the worst part? she couldn’t even blame him.

✭

the next few months passed in a blur, and jay was almost like a shadow in the corners of yn’s life—present but distant, like a dream she wasn’t sure she’d actually had. and she thought… she thought maybe this was for the best.

with jay pulling away, the noise in her head finally started to quiet down. no more glances she couldn’t explain. no more guilt bubbling in her stomach every time their eyes met. he wasn’t around enough for that anymore. the group hangouts still happened, sure, but jay kept his distance. he laughed with others, spoke when spoken to, rarely directed anything her way beyond a “move, dumbass” if she was standing in front of the fridge.

so yn leaned in. fully. completely.

sunghoon made it easy. god, he made everything so easy.

he adored her. it was obvious. in the way he lit up when she walked into the room, in the ridiculous memes he sent at 3 a.m., in how he always waited for her after class just to walk her home even if it was out of his way.

he was so stupidly in love with her, and he didn’t even try to hide it.

and for once, she let herself feel it.

she laughed more. started falling into their routines—his forehead kisses, their matching phone charms, the inside jokes about their neighbors and their shared hatred for black licorice. he made her feel safe. chosen. like she was something he’d always been looking for.

and she… she loved that. she loved being loved like that.

one night, while lying on his chest as he absentmindedly played with her hair, she caught herself staring at his face and thinking, this is what it’s supposed to feel like. this is what people meant when they said they were happy.

he kissed her forehead and whispered, “you’re my favourite person, you know that?” she smiled, pressing her cheek against his heart. “yeah,” she whispered back. “you’re mine too.” and she meant it. she did.

for the first time in months, her chest didn’t feel heavy with guilt. the name “jay” barely flickered in her head. barely. maybe this was how it was supposed to end—the jay thing. quietly. without drama. just… drifted away like smoke from a candle that was never meant to stay lit.

yn breathed easier. she was happy. or at least, she told herself that often enough that she believed it.

it was such a stupid party.

some random get-together at heeseung’s friend’s place—half the people were strangers, half were familiar faces that somehow became mutuals over months of late-night games, shared rides, and hangouts that blurred the lines of strangers.

yn hadn’t planned on drinking, really. she was just going to show face, hang around for a bit, and leave before the usual chaos started. but then someone pulled out soju. and someone else suggested never have i ever. and now she was drunk.

not blackout drunk, but definitely leaning against ness’ shoulder, eyes glazed, cheeks flushed, and heart a little too loud in her ears. the circle of people around her laughed, groaned, and teased each other as the game continued, each question getting riskier and more chaotic with every round.

“never have i ever… kissed someone i shouldn’t have.”

a mix of groans and oohs echoed around the circle. yn didn’t move at first. but her eyes—her eyes were fixed across the circle. on him.

jay. god, jay.

he was sitting in his usual slouched way, his long legs stretched out, arms crossed as he leaned back, a lazy smirk on his face like he wasn’t even fully paying attention.

but he knew. he had to know. because her eyes hadn’t left him all night.

she told herself it was fine. sunghoon wasn’t there—he’d bailed at the last minute, said he had some work to catch up on, and promised he’d make it up to her later. and the truth was… she hadn’t minded. not even a little. not like she used to.

they were past their honeymoon phase now. it was obvious. things felt… muted. he still called her baby, still held her hand, still kissed her with that slow softness that made her chest ache—but they barely saw each other anymore, despite living literally across the hall. the calls had shortened. the texts had thinned. sometimes it felt like she was holding up a version of their relationship that only she still cared to make look picture-perfect.

and yet, what unsettled her more than all of that… was the fact that she didn’t miss it the way she was supposed to.

because jay was here. and she’d spent the whole night looking at him.

watching how his mouth twitched every time someone said something stupid. watching how his hair fell slightly over his eyes. watching how he laughed with the people beside him but never once looked her way.

not once.

she lifted her shot glass slowly to her lips and drank. one more round. one more silent confession. ness’s head turned slightly to look at her, clocking the way she was staring, but didn’t say anything. it hit her then, like a blunt force to the chest.

she liked him.

not in that passing way she used to tell herself it was. not in the “he’s just hot and annoying and i hate him” way she used to cover it up with. no. she liked jay.

she liked him like you like the person who sees through every mask you wear. like you like the person you can’t ignore even when they ignore you. like she loved him, maybe.

sunghoon, sweet as he was, felt like a dream she had once. a phase. something soft and kind that came at the right time but didn’t feel like forever.

jay? jay was the real thing.

and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t fight it. she just stared at him, dazed and drunk and devastatingly sure.

✭

ness had been leaning a little too close to heeseung on the balcony, her arms resting on the railing, head tilted as she listened to him ramble about some stupid gym story that somehow involved a pigeon, a protein shake, and a broken locker key.

she rolled her eyes at him, biting back a smile—and that’s when the balcony door burst open.

yn stumbled in with all the grace of a giggly drunk person who thought they were being subtle. her eyes were wide, her smile even wider, and her steps surprisingly steady as she tiptoed—dramatically—into the balcony like she was on a mission.

then, in the world’s worst attempt at a whisper, she leaned toward ness and slurred out:

“i like jay.”

it wasn’t even a full whisper. it was more like a scream that wore a fake mustache and tried to pass off as discreet.

ness’s mouth dropped open.

not in surprise—she’d known, she’d suspected this for months—but the fact that yn had chosen this moment, this volume, this balcony to finally scream it into existence?

heeseung blinked. “WHAT.”

ness immediately smacked his arm and shut the balcony door with the urgency of a spy defusing a bomb. “shut up!” she hissed, locking it behind them and drawing the curtain like a makeshift soundproof barrier.

yn, meanwhile, flopped into one of the balcony chairs like she’d just finished confessing a murder. “god, that felt so good,” she exhaled, throwing her head back. “it’s been living in my lungs, dude. like—like—how do people keep feelings like that inside?! i feel lighter.”

ness stared at her, still blinking. “yn. you have a boyfriend.”

“i know!” yn whined, dramatically flopping her arms. “and he’s sweet and perfect and he’s sunghoon, i know. but like. i like jay. not like ‘haha he’s cute’ like—i like him like i want to kiss him. and not feel guilty about it.”

heeseung, leaning against the wall now with the smuggest grin, pointed between them. “okay but like. she’s not wrong. you and sunghoon haven’t even hung out properly in weeks.”

“you’re not helping,” ness hissed at him, then turned back to yn, grabbing her shoulders. “you’re drunk. and you’re spiraling. you’re not thinking clearly.”

“i am, actually,” yn replied with terrifying clarity, eyes wide. “i’ve never been clearer. jay is the real thing. like—like when i looked at him during the game tonight, i felt like throwing my drink in my face just to snap out of it.”

heeseung snorted. “romantic.”

ness glared at him again. “shut up, heeseung.”

yn pulled her legs up into the chair, hugging her knees like a teenage girl in love for the first time. “i don’t think it was ever just banter. like all those months we used to fight? what if it was just us flirting in denial?”

“oh my god,” ness groaned, rubbing her temples. “you sound like a budget therapist.”

heeseung, ever the chaos enabler, crossed his arms. “okay but she might be right. the dude stopped hanging out with everyone at once, he barely even talks to her now. he’s protecting himself.”

ness turned to him with wide eyes. “how do you know that?”

heeseung shrugged. “because if i was falling for someone i wasn’t supposed to fall for, i’d do the same thing.”

and for a second, the balcony fell quiet. the muffled sounds of the party inside filtered through the glass door, but none of them moved.

ness looked at yn, who looked like she was floating—giddy, scared, but sure. too sure. “yn,” she said quietly, “you can’t just blow your relationship up because you caught feelings drunk at a party.”

“i’m not,” she said. “i already caught feelings. i’m just… finally admitting it.”

another silence.

heeseung just raised a hand. “if this ends in flames, i’d like to be excluded from all blame. but if it works out—i told you so.”

ness sighed, looking at yn. “you need to figure this out when you’re sober. and alone.”

yn smiled to herself, not answering, just staring out into the dark sky beyond the railing, a million thoughts racing through her head.

but one thing stood still in her heart. she liked jay. and now it was out. their mission that night had been clear—keep yn away from jay. at all costs.

ness had made it very clear before they even left their apartment. she’d even held yn’s face in her hands dramatically and said, “you are not allowed within a five-foot radius of that man. you hear me? no lingering glances, no innocent conversations, no ‘oops i tripped into your lap’ energy. we are going. we are vibing. we are not confessing.”

but fast forward two hours later, and things were… precarious.

yn, comfortably drunk and emotionally unstable, had just made her big balcony confession. she’d announced her feelings like it was a televised broadcast, her words laced with passion, delusion, and four too many shots of soju.

and now that they were back inside, ness was on high alert. the second she noticed yn’s gaze shift across the room—to him—ness smacked her shoulder lightly.

“no.”

yn blinked at her, eyes dazed. “i didn’t even say anything.”

“you thought it. i saw it in your eyes.”

“i just looked!”

“exactly.”

heeseung was already snickering behind them, cradling his drink. “you’re like a mom scolding her kid for looking at candy.”

ness turned to him and deadpanned, “i am. she’s drunk, and jay is the biggest metaphorical bag of sour patch kids alive.”

yn pouted. “you guys are so dramatic.”

ness raised an eyebrow. “are we? you literally whispered—screamed—on the balcony that you want to kiss him. and then proceeded to talk about his ‘emotionally tortured eyes’ for five straight minutes.”

“that was poetry,” heeseung chimed in, taking another sip. “kinda beautiful, honestly.”

ness flicked him on the forehead. “you’re not helping.”

then she flicked yn too.

“ow! what was that for?!”

“that was for even thinking about walking over there.” ness crossed her arms. “yn, you’re drunk. you cannot trust drunk you to make good choices. and if you tell him now—here, like this—you’re going to wake up tomorrow with a hangover and a crisis.”

yn looked mildly offended. “i’m very wise when i’m drunk.”

“you also thought it was a good idea to pretend to be a tree when jungwon’s ex walked in earlier,” ness deadpanned.

“…he didn’t see me, did he?”

ness just gave her a look.

yn groaned, sliding down into the couch, her head falling back as her eyes landed on jay again—just a glimpse, across the crowd. he was laughing at something someone said, head thrown back, unaware of the war going on a few feet away.

heeseung caught her line of sight and promptly held up a pillow. “visual block. you’re in a jay-free zone now.”

ness clapped. “see? that’s the energy. that’s the plan.”

“but i like him,” yn whined, muffled under the pillow.

“i know,” ness said gently, crouching beside her. “and when you’re sober, and not halfway into a bottle of bad party soju, we’ll talk about it. and maybe then, you’ll decide if you still want to tell him.”

“but what if it’s too late then?”

ness sighed. “if it’s real, yn… it won’t be.”

and with that, operation keep yn from jay continued—full force, emotionally driven, and slightly chaotic. because as much as they all joked, none of them wanted to see her heart broken.

but then it happened faster than ness could stop. one second yn was grabbing a drink, giggling at something heeseung said—her body safely wedged between the two of them like she was in a human barricade. and then—like a ghost—he was just there.

jay.

a shadow slipping into the corner of her vision. she just turned and their eyes met.

her heart dropped, stomach clenching in a way that had nothing to do with the lukewarm vodka-orange mix she’d just sipped. because she had spent all night imagining this moment—fantasising how it would feel if he finally looked at her again like he used to. and now, here it was. real. unavoidable. and she was dazed out of her mind.

“can we talk?” he asked gently, his voice low, barely heard over the music.

ness, from across the room, instantly spotted it—danger—and started moving toward them, but it was already too late. yn’s feet were already following him, her body betraying her like muscle memory. and heeseung? he was just watching with interest, like he’d tuned in to the first episode of a drama he knew was going to ruin him.

they stepped out into the quieter hallway, the distant bass muffled behind them. and suddenly it was just the two of them, the warm low light washing over jay’s face, his expression unreadable but… soft.

too soft.

he smelled like bergamot and something darker—like rain-soaked cologne and he looked at her like she was the only real thing in the room.

yn’s knees ached.

he rubbed the back of his neck, stepping slightly closer. “i know i’ve been distant,” he started. “and i’m sorry. i should’ve just told you earlier.”

she blinked, heart thudding. “told me what?”

“that i liked you,” he said.

the words landed like a gut-punch. even if she knew—deep in her bones, in the glances, in the way he avoided her like she was a lit match—hearing it like this?

her knees nearly gave out.

“i didn’t know how to act around you anymore,” he continued, eyes flicking to hers, pleading almost. “because you’re with him. and i didn’t want to fuck it up. i didn’t want to be that guy. but i couldn’t keep pretending either.”

she tried to focus. tried. but her thoughts were swirling, her breath catching, and she could see ness and heeseung behind him through the open door—ness wide-eyed, gesturing wildly like no. do not kiss. no touching. stay in your lane. heeseung trying to wildly gesture her to just run away.

yn swallowed hard, forcing herself to speak. “jay, i… i can’t.”

he nodded, slowly, painfully. “i know.”

“but i think about kissing you,” she whispered, “’til i can’t breathe.”

his eyes closed for a second, his jaw tightening with restraint. “i do too,” he admitted, stepping closer anyway, his voice hoarse. “so fucking badly.”

it completely contradicted everything he’d just apologised for, but neither of them cared.

not when her lips were trembling, not when he was standing this close, not when the entire night had been building up to this moment like the slowest, softest car crash.

but she didn’t move. and neither did he. not because they didn’t want to. but because if they did, they’d never come back from it.

so they just stood there—wanting. breaking.

and behind them, ness finally dragged heeseung away, whispering, “if they kiss, we kill them both.”

heeseung nodded, “fair.”

yn turned to walk away first, her heart pounding, lungs burning, mind completely wrecked.

jay watched her leave like he’d just let the love of his life walk away from him.

because he did. and neither of them knew what to do next.

things between her and sunghoon didn’t get better.

not really.

they were still together—technically. he still sent her good morning texts, still gave her a kiss on the cheek when they met, still held her hand when they walked. but it wasn’t the same. not in the way it used to be. it was almost like… going through the motions. the tenderness had faded. the small, secret smiles. the unspoken inside jokes. the silly arguments about whose turn it was to pick dinner. now, it was just silence. or surface-level comfort. a familiarity that felt more like habit than love.

and somehow, that wasn’t even the worst of her worries.

because now that jay had said it—really said it—everything had changed.

it was like the second he admitted it out loud, something inside him unlocked. he started showing it, like he wasn’t afraid anymore. like confessing gave him permission to feel out loud. and he did—god, he did.

he looked at her like she belonged to him, even though she didn’t. not yet. he smiled at her like she was the best part of his day. he said things that made her laugh so hard her stomach hurt, and he’d grin like it was his favourite sound. he didn’t say “baby” out loud, but it was in the way he called her name. soft. familiar. loaded.

he didn’t kiss her. but he looked at her like he wanted to. every time he said goodnight—whether in person, over text, or just from the hallway across the apartment—his eyes said all the things he wasn’t allowed to do. not yet.

and she let him. she let him look. let him smile. let him toe that line—just like she did.

even though sunghoon was right there. sitting next to her on the couch. staring at his phone. not saying a word.

they were at the guy’s place again, everyone just lazing around after dinner. a random movie played in the background. jungwon was asleep on the floor, ness was fighting with heeseung over popcorn, and jay was leaning against the kitchen counter, eyes flicking to her in between sips of his drink.

sunghoon was right beside her. close enough that their knees brushed. but he hadn’t looked at her once in the last half hour. hadn’t tried to hold her hand. hadn’t leaned over to whisper something dumb in her ear like he used to.

and she… she hadn’t said anything either.

because the air had shifted. they could both feel it. something unspoken had settled between them, heavy and fragile. he still cared—she knew he did. but it started to feel more friendly. like they were slowly morphing into something platonic, even if neither of them had the guts to say it.

and jay hated it.

she could see it in the way his jaw clenched whenever sunghoon passed her a drink. in the way his eyes followed them when they got up together. in the way his entire posture changed when sunghoon touched her, even if briefly. he hated it—not because he was jealous, but because he wished, so badly, that it was him.

that he was the one allowed to kiss her goodnight. that he was the one who got to sit next to her and play with her fingers while she talked. that he was the one who got to mean it when he looked at her like that.

but he wasn’t. not yet.

and yn didn’t know how much longer she could pretend she didn’t want him to be.

✭

it was late.

one of those unusually cold nights, even for the season, where the silence outside the apartment windows felt heavier than usual. yn had left after sunghoon laughed heartedly in conversation with heeseung, sitting beside her but somehow not really with her. she claimed needing some air and she really did. she was heading back after the short walk, hoodie pulled up, hands tucked deep in her pockets. when she reached her building, the hallway light flickered once before steadying, and just as she turned the corner—

jay.

he was leaning against the wall outside his apartment, phone in hand, like he’d been waiting for something. or someone. the second he saw her, his posture straightened, lips parting like he hadn’t expected her but had hoped she’d show.

they stood there for a second. just looked at each other. and then he spoke. quietly.

“you okay?”

she gave a soft nod. “just needed some air.”

jay stepped forward, a little closer than he should’ve. his eyes searched her face like he was trying to read something between her lashes. “you’ve been quiet lately.”

“so have you.”

“yeah,” he said, voice barely audible now. “that night… at the party. i didn’t mean to mess things up.”

“you didn’t.”

“i did.” he paused. “you just won’t say it.”

she didn’t respond.

the hallway buzzed gently with the hum of the fluorescent bulb above them. everything else—thoughts, emotions, the painful pounding in her chest—was way too loud.

jay stepped even closer. close enough that she had to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes. close enough that she could smell the faint trace of his cologne again. the one she was starting to associate with late nights and near-disasters.

“i can’t keep acting like i don’t feel this way,” he murmured. “every time i see you with him… i wanna lose it.”

“jay—”

“i know, i know. you’re with him. i’m not trying to mess with that. but i’m tired of pretending like i don’t want you.”

her breath hitched. he was so close now. their fingers almost brushed when her hand dropped from her pocket. his eyes flickered from her mouth back up to her eyes. slowly. carefully.

“i’m not gonna kiss you,” he whispered, like he was reminding himself more than her. “not unless you want me to.”

her heart was racing so fast she swore it echoed.

“i can’t,” she breathed. “you know i can’t.”

jay nodded, but didn’t move away. “but do you want to?”

silence. she hated that she didn’t have an answer. or maybe she did. maybe her silence was the answer.

his jaw tensed, eyes dropping for just a second before he stepped back, finally giving her the space she didn’t ask for but desperately needed.

“goodnight, yn,” he said, voice barely holding together.

she whispered it back.

he disappeared into his apartment without another word, the door clicking softly behind him.

and she stood there for a full minute, head pressed against the cool wall, hating how much she wished he hadn’t walked away.

it came out of nowhere.

a message from jay. just a casual notification on a regular tuesday night, lighting up her phone screen like it was any other day.

jay: hey. just wanted to say i’ve been good lately. hope you are too. i think i’m finally over it.

yn stared at it.

read it once. then again. and again. every word sinking heavier into her stomach, like wet sand pulling her under. her thumb hovered over the screen, unsure of what to type—if she should type anything. what did he mean by “it”? she knew exactly what he meant. and she hated how badly she didn’t want it to be true.

it wasn’t like she had expected him to wait. or chase her. or hang on forever. she never asked for that. but somehow, him saying it—putting it out there so cleanly, so calmly—hurt more than she expected. a lot more.

especially because he knew she wasn’t over it.

a minute later, another ping.

jay: met someone actually. nothing serious but it’s been good. healthy. idk. feels nice to like someone who’s not… yk.

you.

the word wasn’t written, but she read it anyway. her mouth felt dry. her heartbeat roared in her ears. it wasn’t jealousy, not exactly. it was more like mourning something that was never hers to begin with.

she typed, erased. typed again.

yn: that’s good. i’m glad. you deserve that.

three dots. he was typing.

then they disappeared.

then came back again.

jay: yeah. guess we both needed to move on huh?

did they?

because she hadn’t. not really. she was still stuck in place, heart split between what should be and what felt right. she still replayed that night in the hallway over and over again. still thought about how soft his voice had been. how warm his eyes were when he said he wanted her.

and now he was telling her he didn’t anymore.

except… except a few days later, she saw him in the lobby, laughing at something heeseung said. and when his eyes met hers across the glass doors, they didn’t look like the eyes of someone who was over it.

they looked like the eyes of someone pretending to be. and yn wasn’t sure what broke her more—that he was pretending… or that she was pretending too.

it was quiet.

the kind of quiet that didn’t feel comforting or peaceful—just… inevitable. like a slow tide pulling away from the shore, leaving nothing but wet sand and echoes behind. yn sat on the edge of the playground bench near their building, arms folded tightly over her chest. the air was warm, but her palms were cold.

she heard sunghoon’s footsteps before she saw him. they were familiar, light but a little fast, like he didn’t want to be late. he hadn’t changed much—still in that hoodie he always wore on slow weekends, hair still tousled like he hadn’t bothered to fix it before coming down.

but there was something different in his eyes when he saw her. a kind of understanding already sitting there. like he knew. he gave her a soft smile as he sat beside her.

“hey,” he said.

“hey.”

a pause. the longest one. the kind where you hear everything else—the rustle of leaves, the distant traffic, the laughter of someone’s kid echoing faintly from the other end of the street.

“it’s been a while,” he said.

she nodded. “yeah. didn’t realise how long it’s been since we actually… talked.”

sunghoon looked down, his fingers running along the seam of his jeans. “i guess we both got busy.”

“no,” she said, and her voice was steady now. “we just… stopped trying.”

he turned to look at her, face unreadable but not cold. just tired. “is this the part where you tell me you want to break up?”

her heart stung, but she nodded anyway. “yeah.”

there was no outburst. no angry words or tears. just silence again. and then he leaned back, exhaled a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.

“i kinda saw it coming.”

yn bit the inside of her cheek. “i liked you. i really did. and you were good to me. but this… whatever we had—it feels like it was something short. sweet, but short. a fling that just… slowed down.”

he looked up at the sky, nodded once. “we were fun.”

“we were,” she said softly. “and maybe we still can be. just not like this.”

“i never wanted to hold you back,” he said.

“you didn’t.”

he paused, then asked—very gently—“is it jay?”

she hesitated. not because she wanted to lie. but because her heart clenched the moment his name left sunghoon’s mouth. so she said, quietly:

“it’s not because of him. but… i won’t pretend he didn’t make me realise some things.”

sunghoon nodded again, slower this time. “he always looked at you like he knew something the rest of us didn’t.”

yn swallowed the lump in her throat. “i never wanted to hurt you.”

“i know.” he offered her a small, tired smile. “and i think i’ll still be around. just… as a friend.”

“i’d like that.”

they sat there for a while longer. two people who had once held hands and hearts, now just holding onto the soft understanding that sometimes, love didn’t last. and sometimes… that was okay.

✭

she cried herself to sleep that night.

not because of sunghoon. she felt guilty admitting it, even to herself, but her tears had little to do with him. that conversation had been quiet, mutual, almost too calm. there were no raised voices, no dramatic walkaways, no last-minute “don’t go”—just a soft, shared acceptance that whatever they had was over.

it wasn’t grief for that relationship that kept her chest heavy under the covers. it was something else entirely.

jay.

the thought of him with someone else—smiling at someone else the way he used to smile at her, even if only in passing—burned. the idea of him genuinely moving on, meaning the words he texted and not just pretending for her sake, was what made her turn over in bed and bury her face into her pillow.

she hadn’t broken up with sunghoon for jay. she didn’t do it to choose someone else. but maybe, deep down, she had still hoped. hoped that when she finally set herself free, jay would be right there. waiting. like he always had been. like he used to be.

but now…

now, he was texting her like a friend. smiling in passing. not seeking her out like before. now, he might be liking someone else.

and the worst part?

she had no right to be upset about it. that’s what broke her.

she curled up tighter, fists gripping the corner of her blanket, chest aching with words she never got to say. i didn’t choose you because i wasn’t ready. but i wanted to. i wanted you.

tears soaked into her pillow as the night dragged on. and she thought to herself, god, i just hope he hasn’t stopped wanting me too.

mia was nice. that was the best jay could come up with. she was nice.

she had pretty hair, smelled like soft florals, wore tiny gold hoops that glinted every time she tucked her hair behind her ear. she laughed at his jokes—even the dumb ones—and knew how to keep a conversation going.

but the entire time, jay sat there politely nodding, smiling in all the right places, all while subconsciously chasing shadows. he shouldn’t have done that. he wasn’t that guy. then again, he really wasn’t some guy to be on a casual blind date jungwon wore him to attend. but here he was. laughing half heartedly at something she said, asking her random questions to continue on without awkwardness.

but every time mia said something, he caught himself thinking how yn would’ve said it differently. her sarcasm sharper. her eyes more expressive. when mia said she hated mint chocolate, he nearly laughed because yn would’ve agreed—loudly, dramatically, maybe even started a fake fight over it.

and when mia reached over to take a fry off his plate without asking, he stilled. yn used to do that too. only, when she did it, he never minded.

he was fucked. so hopelessly, pathetically fucked.

still, he wasn’t going to be a dick about it. he walked her to her stop, said he had fun, even smiled when she touched his arm and said she’d like to do this again sometime. he didn’t say no. he just said, “yeah, maybe.”

then walked the rest of the way home alone, hands in his jacket, the streets dark and cold.

when he stepped into the apartment, it was quiet, save for the faint glow of the tv. sunghoon was on the couch, legs stretched out, scrolling through something on his phone. he looked up once when jay kicked off his shoes.

“how was the date?” he asked, eyes returning to the screen.

jay shrugged. “fine.”

another beat. “she seemed cool,” sunghoon added casually.

“yeah. she was.” jay didn’t elaborate. he walked over and sat next to him, their shoulders nearly brushing.

the silence stretched, awkward but familiar. jay picked at a loose thread on the hem of his sleeve.

and then—quietly, without looking away from his phone—sunghoon said, “me and yn broke up. last night.”

jay’s fingers froze. his breath caught. just for a second.

but his voice came out even, too even. “what happened?”

sunghoon let out a soft laugh. not bitter. not amused either. just… tired. “nothing dramatic. we just stopped feeling like… us. guess we were holding onto something we already outgrew.”

jay looked over at him, trying to read between the lines. sunghoon didn’t look sad. didn’t look angry. if anything, he looked relieved. but also… resigned.

jay didn’t say anything for a while. he just nodded. “i’m sorry.”

and sunghoon—knowing exactly what jay meant and not what he said—nodded back.

he wasn’t stupid. he had seen the way jay looked at her, long before jay even realised he was doing it. he had seen the shift in yn too. he wasn’t angry. just… weirdly at peace with it.

he kept his gaze on the tv. “you know, you really suck at hiding shit.”

jay finally smiled. just a little. “yeah… i know.”

they sat there for a while, two boys in the quiet, both loving the same girl at different times. and in some tangled, painful, unspoken way—both letting her go.

they hadn’t spoken in over a week.

not a word, not a glance. no messages. no stolen eye contact in the hallway. just this unspoken understanding that maybe space was safer—until space began to feel suffocating.

so when yn and jay both stepped out of their stats class, test papers in hand, and nearly collided in the doorway, it was as if the universe had finally lost patience with their bullshit.

“oh,” she blinked, taking half a step back.

he stopped too, awkwardly shifting his paper to his other hand. “hey.”

there was a beat of silence before she held up her paper and grinned. “A minus.”

jay let out a low whistle, then held up his own with a smirk. “A plus.”

she rolled her eyes dramatically, laughing under her breath. “show off.”

and just like that, like the simplest of interactions, his heart did that annoying thing—it thudded. hard. like it still hadn’t learned to stop reacting to her smile.

they fell into step together, the sunlight catching in her hair as they walked down the stone path leading to the bus stop. the early afternoon buzzed around them, people passing by, bikes whirring, conversations floating in the air—but jay only heard the quiet between their footsteps.

she broke it first. “so… your date?”

jay chuckled, shoving one hand in his pocket. “it was okay.”

she raised an eyebrow. “just okay?”

“yeah,” he shrugged. “how’d you even know about it?”

she shot him a knowing look. “mia’s been parading you around class like you’re already hers. i’m surprised she didn’t bring you a lunchbox this week.”

jay snorted, running a hand through his hair. “that explains the stares.”

a small silence passed again. not uncomfortable, but dense. like there were words crawling at the back of both their throats.

and then jay said it. softly. “i heard about you and sunghoon.”

she nodded, eyes fixed on the sidewalk. “yeah. last week.”

jay glanced at her, trying to read the corners of her expression.

“it was just a short one, i guess,” she added after a moment, her voice light, but not detached.

he nodded with her, slow, lips twitching like he was holding something back. and then—before he could stop himself—he asked it.

“was it… because of me?”

yn’s steps faltered just slightly. she didn’t look at him right away, just stared ahead, blinking. then she turned her face to him, her expression unreadable at first—somewhere between amusement and vulnerability.

a pause stretched, and then she smiled. not wide. not coy. just soft. like she was tired of pretending she didn’t have an answer. “maybe not just because of you,” she said quietly. “but… you didn’t exactly help.”

jay’s heart did that thing again.

he swallowed, gaze flicking to her lips and back up. “i’m sorry.”

she tilted her head. “for what?”

“for liking you,” he said, honest, raw. “even when i wasn’t supposed to.”

yn’s lips curved. and for a second, jay didn’t know if she was about to smile wider or walk away. but she just kept walking beside him, slower now. “you really suck at dates, by the way,” she muttered, nudging his arm.

and he laughed—really laughed—because somehow, even after everything, she was still his favorite person to be next to.

things settled into an odd kind of normal.

the same relentless bickering returned—sarcastic jabs and exaggerated eye rolls, arguments about literally everything under the sun: who was smarter, who looked better in their uniforms, whose stats paper was graded unfairly. but now there was a lightness to it. a flicker in their eyes, the way one smirked a little too long, the way the other blushed a little too fast.

they’d done this before, but it was different now. because now they knew.

jay knew exactly how she smiled when she was trying not to say something reckless. yn knew exactly how jay’s voice dropped when he was holding back too much.

they’d both been to the edge, toes curling at the boundary of something they shouldn’t cross, and now that they’d danced around it long enough, even sunghoon—of all people—was rooting for them.

he’d taken to calling their bickering flirting, usually with a mouthful of cereal and a raised brow. “just date already,” he’d said one evening, scrolling through his phone on the couch. “you’re killing the vibe with all that tension.”

they both had immediately denied it—at the same time—louder than necessary. sunghoon had just smirked. “whatever you say. just don’t drag me into your wedding speeches.”

and despite the quiet permission hanging in the air, they didn’t do anything. not right away. because bro code. and ex-girlfriend code. and the absolute mess that came with being so close yet still somehow in limbo.

but then came jake’s party. again.

a big one this time, packed and loud. the music pulsed through the walls like a heartbeat, and everything smelled like spiked soda and cheap perfume. yn had promised herself she’d take it easy. and then jay handed her a drink, his smirk making her forget every ounce of self-restraint.

she didn’t remember when they stopped drinking responsibly. somewhere between their third shared shot and her dramatic rant about the girl in the pink boots, jay was laughing beside her, tossing in jokes and reactions, his head thrown back, completely captivated by her storytelling.

they were inseparable that night.

he followed her around like he always did, teasing her every step, offering her his jacket when she stepped out for air and pulling her back into the party when her buzz began to fade. their shoulders touched constantly. her fingers curled around his wrist once when she almost tripped, and he didn’t let go for far too long.

and somehow, at some point, they ended up alone.

the hallway was dim, bathed in the leftover amber glow from the party lights. it was far enough from the crowd that everything else sounded like a muffled echo. they stood there, breathless from laughing, drinks still in hand but forgotten.

jay looked at her then, really looked. her lipstick was smudged from the cup, her eyes bright and unfocused. she leaned against the wall, head tilted, watching him the same way he was watching her.

there was silence. charged. heavy.

he stepped closer.

“so,” he said, voice soft, barely above a whisper. “we gonna keep pretending this doesn’t feel different now?”

yn blinked, eyes trailing from his lips to his collarbone and back up again. her heart thudded somewhere in her throat.

“i was gonna ask you the same thing,” she murmured, tilting her head just slightly.

his hand brushed against her hip, light and slow, testing the air between them.

“fuck it,” she whispered, barely audible.

and just like that his lips were on hers. it felt like the earth was caving in, the room was spinning—probably cause it was to them—like this was it. because it was

jay was finally kissing her like she had been pleading for months. his lips were desperate but gentle and moved so preciously like he wanted to imprint the feeling of her lips forever.

he pulled away first but only to trail down to her neck, every single peck on her skin feeling electric. his hand, which had been flat on her hip, was now crunching at her dress, nails slightly digging into her skin making her hiss.

yn could barely keep her eyes open, not when his warm tongue was licking over her collarbone. a moan slid out, strangled but low and audible to him, heat immediately rushing down his body at the sound.

“jay,” she called out breathless. he hummed into her neck, pulling away to look into her eyes, the gaze making her physically weak in the knees.

“i want you.” she said, like she meant it. and she fucking did.

that was all it took for him to get moving. he took her by the hand to the nearest room—which seemed to be jake’s bathroom—locking the door and just looking at her.

she was a little messy than when they originally entered the party, her hair undone, her dress crooked but still doing her justice. her eyes were trained to him, watching his next step.

he slowly walked closer, as if asking for permission for the millionth time and when her lips met his, he sounded out his everything into a guttural moan.

his jacket was on the floor in record time. the sleeve of her dress slipped off her shoulder as he took full advantage of the access he had been given. her hands tugged his hair as she felt his lips softly kiss down to her collarbone and over the lacy bra she had picked, hoping she would end up in this position.

his hands, that once gripped her waist, now found her thighs. she gasped at the feelings, heart thumping excitedly. he chuckled at the sound of her heart rate increasing against his mouth.

“are you excited, baby?” he asked softly, finally happy to be able to use that nickname for her.

she whimpered in response, letting out a noise that suspiciously sounded like ‘please’.

he toyed more, wanting her to say it. beg him for it. “what was that, love?”.

she tried to stand her ground, to be—or at least pretend to be—confident. “you know what i want” she said, voice surprisingly stable despite the alcohol she had consumed.

his fingers that once played with the plush skin of her thighs, moved towards her core, that had somewhat dampened with all his teasing.

“fuck yn. how are you already so wet, my love? i haven’t even done anything.” he didn’t mean for it to come out in a groan, wanting to prolong teasing her but quite frankly, none of them could really wait anymore.

in the next second, his pant was by his ankles and she was propped up against the bathroom sink. her eyes trained down his leaking dick, which he held in his palm. his eyes were only on her. “are you sure about this yn? we can always do it some other time–”

“you talk WAY too much just fuck me jay.” that did it for him, lining up with her core. her nails dug into his shoulders as she gasped softly at the feeling of his tip against her folds. she could only chanted a mantra of ‘fuck fuck fuck’ as he slowly entered her. he was suspiciously quiet but his jaw slacked open at the feeling of her around him.

“holy shit you’re so tight” he mumbled, body jerking forward as she clenched around him.

he only moved his hips when she gave him the go, hands holding her waist as he slowly moved in and out of her. a symphony of moans slipped out her mouth, his heart fluttering at the sound.

“you feel so good i’m..” she moaned out, head tilting back at the feeling. he leaned in, teeth grazing the neck of her skin, sending more heat to her stomach.

the sound of her voice only fueled him more, his pace increasing until they were both panting. he climaxed first, head against her shoulder. then he helped her through hers, drawing small circles on her bud.

“that was.. Insane” she huffed through. he nodded, kissing her sweaty forehead.

“it was good but i’m only now realising, our first time was in jake’s bathroom..” he said slowly.

yn’s eyes widened at the discovery, shaking her head in disgust as she dressed up quickly, mumbling “we better leave before we get AIDS or something”. jay just laughed.

✭

the bathroom door clicked shut behind them, soft and quiet, but their nerves buzzed like they had just fired a cannon in the middle of the party.

they walked side by side—casually, coolly, trying very hard to pretend they hadn’t just hooked up in the bathroom like reckless teenagers. they approached the group slowly: ness, heeseung, jungwon and a few others lounging on the couch, mid-conversation.

but the second the group saw them together, walking in sync and looking far too smug for two people who claimed they "weren’t a thing," everything stopped.

ness’ eyes narrowed.

heeseung tilted his head.

jungwon straight-up pointed. “you. two.”

yn’s eyes widened in mock innocence. jay rubbed the back of his neck, trying to play it cool.

“what?” yn asked, blinking.

“no way,” ness said, jaw dropped. “don’t even try to deny it—your hair is different, jay’s shirt is wrinkled, and you’ve been gone for exactly twenty-three minutes.”

heeseung gasped dramatically, grabbing a pillow and clutching it to his chest like he was in a soap opera. “y’all really did it in the bathroom?!”

jay opened his mouth to deny it, as did yn, both ready with some pre-decided excuse—but before they could even begin, the entire group cheered. loud, chaotic clapping, whooping, heeseung nearly falling off the couch.

“no shame!” ness shouted. “i knew it was gonna happen, but not like this.”

“you two are disgusting,” heeseung added, though he was grinning ear to ear.

jay and yn looked at each other, stunned for a second—then just gave in and laughed, cheeks flushed but not entirely from embarrassment.

she shook her head. “i hate you all.”

“you love us,” ness beamed, reaching out to pull her into the couch with them. jay followed after, dropping onto the floor beside her, his knee brushing against hers.

he looked up at her, eyes shining with mischief. “so… we’re really not denying it?”

yn leaned back, smirking. “they made it impossible.”

he grinned. “good.” because maybe it wasn’t supposed to be a secret anymore.

it was a lazy sunday afternoon.

the type where the sun slanted perfectly through the kitchen window and the city buzzed quietly in the background. the apartment was a mess — leftover containers from last night’s takeout on the coffee table, a blanket half on the couch, and jay’s hoodie thrown across one of the dining chairs. a spotify playlist hummed low in the background, something soft and indie and painfully romantic, not that either of them would admit to putting it on.

yn stood in front of the open fridge, hair tied in the world’s most unstable bun, a sour look on her face. “did you seriously eat all the mango yogurt?”

jay, sprawled across the floor with his back propped up by the couch. “it was expiring soon.”

“you ate four cups, jay.”

“i was being responsible.”

“you’re an idiot.”

he smiled, slow and wide, like he loved being called that by her. “and yet you’re dating me.”

she groaned dramatically, slamming the fridge shut. “god, what a mistake.”

he laughed, actually laughed, before sitting up and patting the spot beside him. “come here, mistake-maker. you can yell at me up close.”

yn rolled her eyes, but she crossed the room anyway, dropping down beside him and stealing the throw pillow from behind his back just to spite him.

jay turned to her, watching her face like he still couldn’t believe he got to look at her this close. “you love me,” he said smugly, like he was stating a universal truth.

she snorted. “sure.”

“no, say it,” he leaned in closer, lips brushing the side of her cheek. “say you love me.”

“i like you.”

“love.”

“tolerate.”

he kissed her then — just because he could. because it had taken them a whole mess of jealousy, broken friendships, midnight drives, stupid parties, and one too many bad decisions to get here. and because even through all of it, all the bickering and banter, the push and pull, she was his.

when they broke apart, yn was smiling — soft, teasing.

“i love you,” she whispered.

jay grinned like it physically pained him not to kiss her again. “told you so.”

she shoved him lightly. “ugh, i change my mind.”

but she didn’t. she never could.

and even as they argued over what to order for lunch five minutes later (because of course they did), even as she threatened to smother him with a pillow if he didn’t stop playing with the light switch like a five-year-old, it was obvious to everyone — to ness, to heeseung, to the group chat that never slept — that this was it for them.

a love built on chaos, stubbornness, endless teasing, and the kind of loyalty that stuck around — even when it was hard.

even when it was them.

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